Recently, as we were driving about town, Nora announced that she wanted to marry a cowboy.
Also, she wants to become a veteranarian, own horses, a few dogs, and have some kids, though she hasn't decided exactly how many yet.
"But Mom, where exactly do I find a cowboy to marry?" she asked.
"Well, Nora, you could find a cowboy at the rodeo, or working at a ranch out West" I replied. "But you can't just go and marry someone simply because he's a cowboy...you have to become friends with him and make sure you guys get along really well first."
"Of COURSE, Mom. I'm definitely NOT going to marry someone I don't even LIKE."
Glad we got that squared away.
Simultaneously fascinated and comforted that there are in fact, "real" rodeos (read: cowboys) in the greater Raleigh area, though intrigued by the idea of moving out West, she moved on to inquire about how to become a vet. Not at all phased by the amount of school and training that lay ahead of her, she seemed satisfied that her career as a vet would make owning and keeping horses (and dogs) a bit easier.
"So you see Mom, I can keep all the animals healthy, and the cowboy can take care of the regular horse stuff." Clearly, she has done some thinking about all of this prior to our conversation.
A few minutes of silence followed, then I heard a big sigh, and she said, "But Mom, how am I going to take care of the horses, work as a vet, be married to a cowboy AND have kids???? There is just SO much to do and it just doesn't seem like there will be that much time to do it all!!"
Welcome to mothering in the 21st century, Nora.
All I could think of to respond to her profound little query was "Nora, if you really want to do all of those things, you will find a way. It's not always easy, but Moms always find a way to make things work out."
Maybe since you are pondering this at the tender age of five, by the time you are actually working, and a mother, you really WILL have it figured out.
Personally, I'm just making it all up as I go along.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Boys and Girls...and Girls and Boys...
My three oldest kids started school in July. Nora started kindergarten, Brady is in third grade, and Brennan is in fifth grade.
On the second day of kindergarten, I meet Nora at the sidewalk of the school to walk her back to our car. Anxious to hear about the first full day with all 26 children, I ask her how it went. Holding my hand, with her oversized backpack bouncing along with her, she looked up at me with her gorgeous blue eyes and breathlessly said, "Oh Mom, it was really, really great! I fell in love with this boy today!"
Not the answer I anticipated. I fell off the sidewalk in surprise. What about Math? Reading?? Tell me something about Art, PE or Music! Not boys. No, no, not at 5...
Not only did she find her prince charming (who's name she did not know) but she spent her recess watching him and following him around on the playground.
Now I have to talk to my five year old about anti-stalking laws.
Girls are a non-issue for Brady, as one would expect. He has a handful that he refers to occasionally, but they are either A) the really funny ones that make him laugh, or B) the really bossy ones that tick him off. Nothing else. I've seen a few of them giggle around him, as schoolgirls are prone to doing, but he's clueless. He is operating in a completely different realm.
The generous splash of freckles and those big blue eyes that you loathe at 8 will come in handy someday pal, even though you may not know it yet...
Then there is Brennan, my level headed, practical, type A, tween. Having spent most of last year memorizing sappy Talyor Swift lyrics, and recently having seen "Gnomeo and Juliet" she asked me about Romeo and Juliet. "Who were they?" "Why are they in so many songs and movies?" "What's the big deal about them?" (she also asked me this same question about Mick Jagger recently, funny enough).
I explained the short-short version of the story of Romeo and Juliet, the star crossed lovers bit. I told her that as the story goes, they were so desperately in love with one another, that they both decided life was not worth living without the other, and they killed themselves.
She looked at me incredulously with a hint of annoyance, and said, "Mom, that is just really, really stupid. I mean, why didn't they just wait a while and find someone else to fall in love with?"
And that, right there, is one of the reasons that I write this blog. Someday, in the not-too-distant-future, she will be wallowing in a seemingly insurmountable hearbreak, as only teenagers can. I will call up this story and show her how wise she was at the tender age of 10. Maybe she will take some of her own advice.
On the second day of kindergarten, I meet Nora at the sidewalk of the school to walk her back to our car. Anxious to hear about the first full day with all 26 children, I ask her how it went. Holding my hand, with her oversized backpack bouncing along with her, she looked up at me with her gorgeous blue eyes and breathlessly said, "Oh Mom, it was really, really great! I fell in love with this boy today!"
Not the answer I anticipated. I fell off the sidewalk in surprise. What about Math? Reading?? Tell me something about Art, PE or Music! Not boys. No, no, not at 5...
Not only did she find her prince charming (who's name she did not know) but she spent her recess watching him and following him around on the playground.
Now I have to talk to my five year old about anti-stalking laws.
Girls are a non-issue for Brady, as one would expect. He has a handful that he refers to occasionally, but they are either A) the really funny ones that make him laugh, or B) the really bossy ones that tick him off. Nothing else. I've seen a few of them giggle around him, as schoolgirls are prone to doing, but he's clueless. He is operating in a completely different realm.
The generous splash of freckles and those big blue eyes that you loathe at 8 will come in handy someday pal, even though you may not know it yet...
Then there is Brennan, my level headed, practical, type A, tween. Having spent most of last year memorizing sappy Talyor Swift lyrics, and recently having seen "Gnomeo and Juliet" she asked me about Romeo and Juliet. "Who were they?" "Why are they in so many songs and movies?" "What's the big deal about them?" (she also asked me this same question about Mick Jagger recently, funny enough).
I explained the short-short version of the story of Romeo and Juliet, the star crossed lovers bit. I told her that as the story goes, they were so desperately in love with one another, that they both decided life was not worth living without the other, and they killed themselves.
She looked at me incredulously with a hint of annoyance, and said, "Mom, that is just really, really stupid. I mean, why didn't they just wait a while and find someone else to fall in love with?"
And that, right there, is one of the reasons that I write this blog. Someday, in the not-too-distant-future, she will be wallowing in a seemingly insurmountable hearbreak, as only teenagers can. I will call up this story and show her how wise she was at the tender age of 10. Maybe she will take some of her own advice.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Brennan's Mother's Day Essay Contest
In honor of Mother's Day, here is the essay Brennan wrote for class, which was then submitted to a local jewelry store. Mark teases me about how I always throw him under the bus on my blog. I am not above throwing myself under the bus for a good chuckle, so here goes. I am not holding my breath for any Jared's box arriving at my door on Sunday...
Brennan, 4th Grade
People say that nobody is perfect. This is true. But the person I think is the closest to being perfect is my Mom. She loves me, cares for me, feeds me, and gives me shelter. This is another part, the most important part. She gave birth to me.
If you didn't have a mom, and if there were no moms, there would be no people. God created the world and people. It is a great and wonderful thing. Love him for the world and love him for moms!
Moms aren't perfect, but they do a pretty good job of running the house. They do give you chores, but imagine what your house would look like without chores! "A pig sty!!!" That's what my Mom would say.
Moms get mad, but it's a part of Mom-world. My Mom got mad because my brother and I were fighting over a doughnut. My Mom yelled and screamed. Then she threw the whole box of doughnuts on to the floor. She got really mad. But she is my Mom, and no one is perfect. And if she didn't give birth to me, I couldn't have written this beautiful story about why I love my Mom.
Brennan, 4th Grade
People say that nobody is perfect. This is true. But the person I think is the closest to being perfect is my Mom. She loves me, cares for me, feeds me, and gives me shelter. This is another part, the most important part. She gave birth to me.
If you didn't have a mom, and if there were no moms, there would be no people. God created the world and people. It is a great and wonderful thing. Love him for the world and love him for moms!
Moms aren't perfect, but they do a pretty good job of running the house. They do give you chores, but imagine what your house would look like without chores! "A pig sty!!!" That's what my Mom would say.
Moms get mad, but it's a part of Mom-world. My Mom got mad because my brother and I were fighting over a doughnut. My Mom yelled and screamed. Then she threw the whole box of doughnuts on to the floor. She got really mad. But she is my Mom, and no one is perfect. And if she didn't give birth to me, I couldn't have written this beautiful story about why I love my Mom.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Good Listening Ears
We often joke around our house how similar Mark and Brady are in personality and disposition. Mark and I are frequently getting on Brady about being a better listener, paying attention to what he is being told, and work harder on following directions. A tall order for a 8 year old boy. Sometimes, a tall order for a 46 year old boy too.
Things have been nuttier than normal around her lately. Mark returned a week ago from nearly 2 weeks in Europe, during which any combination of the kids and/or I were sick. Over the weekend, both Brennan and AJ were fighting a fever and/or coughing incessantly. Brady had his first lacrosse practice Saturday at 9am and Brennan's basketball team (which Mark coaches) has a game at 10am. Divide and conquer is the name of the game most days where there are multiple activities.
On my way back from lacrosse (and running late), Mark is texting/calling me repeatedly saying that AJ was hacking up part of a lung as he was checked into the Nursery at the YMCA (he was fever free - I swear - but can't seem to shake the cough he has had for a month...and yes, I have taken him to the doctor).
I have no small amount of disdain for the moms that smile as they check their darlings into Y childcare (in the name of getting the almighty workout so they can fit into $200 size 4 jeans) while ignoring their flushed, feverish, hacking, children whose faces are caked in thick green snot, and preparing to turn the nursery into a festering petri dish of viruses and bacteria. But, I digress...
Feeling very guilty, I swing by the YMCA, grab AJ, and head home.
Fast forward 4 hours. AJ wakes up early - too early - from his nap. While I am trying to get him back to sleep, I hear Mark calling my name, repeatedly, and getting louder. As I am trying to get a cranky toddler back to sleep, I am temporarily unable to respond. Unable to avoid the inevitable, in comes Mark, followed by Nora.
Very kindly (but not necessarily quietly), he points to his watch and inquires about a reminder for a birthday party invitation that just popped up on his calendar. Nora is supposed to be at a party for a little girl named Sydney from preschool, in 15 minutes. Whoops. Seeing my predicament, he offers to take her. I thank him, whisper to him where to find the gift and wrapping supplies, give him the location of the party as well as directions.
Specific directions.
Thirty minutes later, I get a call from Mark. "Great news!" he says, "I dropped Nora off at Sydney's house. They are going to take her to Jelly Beans for the party."
I pause, wondering how the hell he knows where Sydney lives. I don't even know where Sydney lives.
What I do know, is that Sydney's party is NOT at Jelly Beans. It is at Young's Gym. The place that he said he knew, but I gave him directions to anyway.
Specific directions.
It turns out, that as he raced down our cul de sac, he passed a different Sydney's house (who is Brennan's age, by the way). This particular Sydney, coincidentally, was also having a birthday party, that they were leaving for, at Jelly Beans Roller Skate. Seeing them load up in the driveway, Mark asked the (confused) Dad if they wouldn't mind taking Nora. Politely, this Dad responded, "Sure, uh, I guess Nora can go to Jelly Beans with us."
Mark then headed out to get his tires changed. Thankfully, he called me on the way to report his crafty maneuvering. I clarified for him that he had dropped Nora off at the wrong Sydney's house, and apparently was now on her way to the wrong party. Simultaneously, I was receiving phone calls from the "wrong" Sydney's mom, wondering why Nora was on their doorstep? Was anyone left at our home? And more inportantly, could she "red rover" Nora back home so she could get to her own daughter's birthday party?
I tried to keep my sense of humor and not lose my cool. I sighed, then laughed and teased Mark that he told me he knew where Young's Gym was (which is not near Jelly Beans), and that he needed to come back, retrieve Nora and her gift, change her back into her gym clothes, and take her to the correct party.
Then I politely asked him to please refrain from calling Brady out for not listening and not following directions for a while...a very long while...
The apple does not far fall from the tree. Even if it is an Elms tree...
Things have been nuttier than normal around her lately. Mark returned a week ago from nearly 2 weeks in Europe, during which any combination of the kids and/or I were sick. Over the weekend, both Brennan and AJ were fighting a fever and/or coughing incessantly. Brady had his first lacrosse practice Saturday at 9am and Brennan's basketball team (which Mark coaches) has a game at 10am. Divide and conquer is the name of the game most days where there are multiple activities.
On my way back from lacrosse (and running late), Mark is texting/calling me repeatedly saying that AJ was hacking up part of a lung as he was checked into the Nursery at the YMCA (he was fever free - I swear - but can't seem to shake the cough he has had for a month...and yes, I have taken him to the doctor).
I have no small amount of disdain for the moms that smile as they check their darlings into Y childcare (in the name of getting the almighty workout so they can fit into $200 size 4 jeans) while ignoring their flushed, feverish, hacking, children whose faces are caked in thick green snot, and preparing to turn the nursery into a festering petri dish of viruses and bacteria. But, I digress...
Feeling very guilty, I swing by the YMCA, grab AJ, and head home.
Fast forward 4 hours. AJ wakes up early - too early - from his nap. While I am trying to get him back to sleep, I hear Mark calling my name, repeatedly, and getting louder. As I am trying to get a cranky toddler back to sleep, I am temporarily unable to respond. Unable to avoid the inevitable, in comes Mark, followed by Nora.
Very kindly (but not necessarily quietly), he points to his watch and inquires about a reminder for a birthday party invitation that just popped up on his calendar. Nora is supposed to be at a party for a little girl named Sydney from preschool, in 15 minutes. Whoops. Seeing my predicament, he offers to take her. I thank him, whisper to him where to find the gift and wrapping supplies, give him the location of the party as well as directions.
Specific directions.
Thirty minutes later, I get a call from Mark. "Great news!" he says, "I dropped Nora off at Sydney's house. They are going to take her to Jelly Beans for the party."
I pause, wondering how the hell he knows where Sydney lives. I don't even know where Sydney lives.
What I do know, is that Sydney's party is NOT at Jelly Beans. It is at Young's Gym. The place that he said he knew, but I gave him directions to anyway.
Specific directions.
It turns out, that as he raced down our cul de sac, he passed a different Sydney's house (who is Brennan's age, by the way). This particular Sydney, coincidentally, was also having a birthday party, that they were leaving for, at Jelly Beans Roller Skate. Seeing them load up in the driveway, Mark asked the (confused) Dad if they wouldn't mind taking Nora. Politely, this Dad responded, "Sure, uh, I guess Nora can go to Jelly Beans with us."
Mark then headed out to get his tires changed. Thankfully, he called me on the way to report his crafty maneuvering. I clarified for him that he had dropped Nora off at the wrong Sydney's house, and apparently was now on her way to the wrong party. Simultaneously, I was receiving phone calls from the "wrong" Sydney's mom, wondering why Nora was on their doorstep? Was anyone left at our home? And more inportantly, could she "red rover" Nora back home so she could get to her own daughter's birthday party?
I tried to keep my sense of humor and not lose my cool. I sighed, then laughed and teased Mark that he told me he knew where Young's Gym was (which is not near Jelly Beans), and that he needed to come back, retrieve Nora and her gift, change her back into her gym clothes, and take her to the correct party.
Then I politely asked him to please refrain from calling Brady out for not listening and not following directions for a while...a very long while...
The apple does not far fall from the tree. Even if it is an Elms tree...
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Raising the Bar...I Need to Start Lifting Weights
Having grown increasingly frustrated by the inactivity, non-response, and otherwise general ignorance of my four darlings, I decided that I had reached a major crossroads. Either I could continue half-enabling them, and allow the current state of chaos to continue, or I could raise the bar, and begin expecting more of, and from, each of them.
I briefly considered doing the whole "Mom On Strike" idea, as you may recall from some ABC afterschool special in the 1980's. But I don't think most of my kids are old enough to get it, nor do my days conclude as neatly as a made-for-tv-movie, so I continued to brainstorm.
We started off by creating a family contract, that everyone, even Mark and I, had to sign. First, we included the obvious (homework before tv), to the mundane (make you bed and pick your crap up off the floor and put it in its place), to the stretch (no whining, interrupting, or fighting). I put some lines in there to give them a taste of empowerment (I deserve to get up in the morning and start each day without any grudges)...and so far, everyone seems to be (mostly) towing the line...
I also made some critical changes to our bedtime routines. With four young kids and a traveling husband, evenings are when I get things done, not to mention the few precious minutes of peace and quiet that I hold so dear. Trying to get all the kids fed, bathed, teeth brushed, changed, books read, kids snuggled, kissed, and sleeping (or on their way) by 8pm was all but impossible. By the time all the kids were "snuggled" and tucked in and kissed goodnight, it was nearly 9 o'clock. Doesn't sound that late...until you factor in that I still have to clean up dinner, pick up the house, switch over and fold the laundry...and that I am waking everyone up at 6:15am every morning for school. Time to make the donuts............
So I decided that each kid gets one designated night a week for snuggling. Monday is Brennan's night, Tuesday is Brady's night, Wednesday is Nora's night, and Thursday belongs to AJ. Friday, Saturday and Sunday are a little flexible, but officially they are considered just "tuck in" nights.
At first I felt a little guilty, as if I was depriving them of some sort of critical maternal nurturing opportunity. But you know what? They LOVE it. Each of them looks so forward to their "special night" when they know that three other little whiny voices aren't going to constantly interrupt our time together with "when is it MY turn for you to snuggle ME, Mom...". Everyone gets tucked in with a kiss goodnight, and then I get 15-20 minutes of good, quiet, uninterrupted time with one. Whether we read together, talk about the day or some pressing matter, or just get sleepy together, it doesn't matter. It's different from night to night, kid to kid...but it is WORKING!! and I get the best of both worlds...a pleasantly efficient bedtime routine with meaningful time for the child, and I can get it all done by 8pm on most nights.
We also stole an idea from their school, the "Caught Being Good" jar. When I catch them doing something right/good/helpful/polite I simply say "I caught you being good!" and they grab a little square of paper and put their name on in (as well as what they were caught being good doing) and place it in a big jar we keep in the kitchen. At the end of the week, we draw one name from the jar and they can choose from a couple of little rewards (maybe a $5 gift card to Dunkin Donuts, or they get to choose what movie we rent from Blockbuster, or a Date with Mom/Dad, etc...). They are NOT allowed to come running to me, self report a good deed, and actively solicit the "CBG". I have to "catch" them, recognize it, and hopefully reinforce good behavior in a positive way. At any rate, it's more fun for them and I do find them trying a little harder to help each other out (at least whenever they think I'm in earshot)...
And finally, I have mounted a dry erase board on the kids bedroom doors. As I buzz around the house and come up with things that they haven't done (make your bed! put clean laundry away!) or need to do (homework! feed the fish!), I jot them down on their board, as well as whatever activities they have that afternoon (don't forget drama at 4:15!). It beats the heck out of repeating myself 50 times, in increasingly loud and shrill tones, and they can cross off or erase the things as they are completed.
So, I feel as though I've begun a P90X program for my house and family. The easy part was coming up with the ideas...the hardest part, as always, is the follow through.
I briefly considered doing the whole "Mom On Strike" idea, as you may recall from some ABC afterschool special in the 1980's. But I don't think most of my kids are old enough to get it, nor do my days conclude as neatly as a made-for-tv-movie, so I continued to brainstorm.
We started off by creating a family contract, that everyone, even Mark and I, had to sign. First, we included the obvious (homework before tv), to the mundane (make you bed and pick your crap up off the floor and put it in its place), to the stretch (no whining, interrupting, or fighting). I put some lines in there to give them a taste of empowerment (I deserve to get up in the morning and start each day without any grudges)...and so far, everyone seems to be (mostly) towing the line...
I also made some critical changes to our bedtime routines. With four young kids and a traveling husband, evenings are when I get things done, not to mention the few precious minutes of peace and quiet that I hold so dear. Trying to get all the kids fed, bathed, teeth brushed, changed, books read, kids snuggled, kissed, and sleeping (or on their way) by 8pm was all but impossible. By the time all the kids were "snuggled" and tucked in and kissed goodnight, it was nearly 9 o'clock. Doesn't sound that late...until you factor in that I still have to clean up dinner, pick up the house, switch over and fold the laundry...and that I am waking everyone up at 6:15am every morning for school. Time to make the donuts............
So I decided that each kid gets one designated night a week for snuggling. Monday is Brennan's night, Tuesday is Brady's night, Wednesday is Nora's night, and Thursday belongs to AJ. Friday, Saturday and Sunday are a little flexible, but officially they are considered just "tuck in" nights.
At first I felt a little guilty, as if I was depriving them of some sort of critical maternal nurturing opportunity. But you know what? They LOVE it. Each of them looks so forward to their "special night" when they know that three other little whiny voices aren't going to constantly interrupt our time together with "when is it MY turn for you to snuggle ME, Mom...". Everyone gets tucked in with a kiss goodnight, and then I get 15-20 minutes of good, quiet, uninterrupted time with one. Whether we read together, talk about the day or some pressing matter, or just get sleepy together, it doesn't matter. It's different from night to night, kid to kid...but it is WORKING!! and I get the best of both worlds...a pleasantly efficient bedtime routine with meaningful time for the child, and I can get it all done by 8pm on most nights.
We also stole an idea from their school, the "Caught Being Good" jar. When I catch them doing something right/good/helpful/polite I simply say "I caught you being good!" and they grab a little square of paper and put their name on in (as well as what they were caught being good doing) and place it in a big jar we keep in the kitchen. At the end of the week, we draw one name from the jar and they can choose from a couple of little rewards (maybe a $5 gift card to Dunkin Donuts, or they get to choose what movie we rent from Blockbuster, or a Date with Mom/Dad, etc...). They are NOT allowed to come running to me, self report a good deed, and actively solicit the "CBG". I have to "catch" them, recognize it, and hopefully reinforce good behavior in a positive way. At any rate, it's more fun for them and I do find them trying a little harder to help each other out (at least whenever they think I'm in earshot)...
And finally, I have mounted a dry erase board on the kids bedroom doors. As I buzz around the house and come up with things that they haven't done (make your bed! put clean laundry away!) or need to do (homework! feed the fish!), I jot them down on their board, as well as whatever activities they have that afternoon (don't forget drama at 4:15!). It beats the heck out of repeating myself 50 times, in increasingly loud and shrill tones, and they can cross off or erase the things as they are completed.
So, I feel as though I've begun a P90X program for my house and family. The easy part was coming up with the ideas...the hardest part, as always, is the follow through.
Monday, August 16, 2010
How the Fairy Tale Really Ended...
I recently received an email from my Mom entitled, "How the Fairy Tales Really Ended."
The pictures were hilarious. Here are a couple...
A few hours later I received a phone call from one of those friends. She very pointedly explained to me that her daughter had gotten a hold of her phone and what popped up on her screen was my email. I laughed, thinking that she'd seen Snow White toting around her "Irish Twins" or asking why Cinderella was not in her castle but before I could ask her for any additional details, she told me that her daughter was very, VERY concerned and upset. She wanted me to explain to her (daughter via conference call) just what exactly had happened to Belle? (see below)
Clearly, Belle was having some work done...
The pictures were hilarious. Here are a couple...
 |
| Cinderella... |
 |
| Snow White... |
Unable to contain my laughter, I sent this along to a select few of my friends who are knee deep in diapers, juggling kids, activities, school, husbands, work, etc...you know, "living the dream."
A few hours later I received a phone call from one of those friends. She very pointedly explained to me that her daughter had gotten a hold of her phone and what popped up on her screen was my email. I laughed, thinking that she'd seen Snow White toting around her "Irish Twins" or asking why Cinderella was not in her castle but before I could ask her for any additional details, she told me that her daughter was very, VERY concerned and upset. She wanted me to explain to her (daughter via conference call) just what exactly had happened to Belle? (see below)
Was she in the hospital?? Was she back in Disney World?? How did this happen? She just had to know that Belle was okay.
Clearly, Belle was having some work done...
I did some quick thinking. I was in hot water...I felt as if I'd given up Santa's gig or something... "Well, you see honey, Belle and the Beast were, um, riding horses in the forest, yeah... Outside the Beast's castle...and uh, the horse was startled by um, something, and reared up...and poor Belle fell off and bumped her face on a fallen log...she did get a little bit hurt, but yes! she's totally fine! The doctors stitched her ALL up and now she is as good as new...and even more Beautiful than ever..."
[end speaker phone conversation]
Thankfully, I think she bought the story. I'm sure the next time her family visits Disney World, she'll have all kinds of questions to ask Belle...hopefully Belle will have that morning off from the Princess Breakfast and can dodge the inquisition...
The good news is that Belle's work has fully healed and she is lovlier than ever, thanks to the skilled hands of Disney's finest plastic surgeons. The bad news is that despite Belle's best efforts at maintaing her youth and beauty, the Beast has left her for Selena Gomez, who just recently celebrated her 18th birthday.
The good news is that Belle's work has fully healed and she is lovlier than ever, thanks to the skilled hands of Disney's finest plastic surgeons. The bad news is that despite Belle's best efforts at maintaing her youth and beauty, the Beast has left her for Selena Gomez, who just recently celebrated her 18th birthday.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Small Affirmations...
Being a parent is tough. There are no raises, promotions, titles, or year-end bonuses, so it's tough to figure out when to give yourself a pat on the back. I often find myself mired in the refereeing and daily trials of parenthood, just trying to get everyone fed, clothed, cleaned, and to their respective activities and schools. I am guilty too, of forgetting that I am not perfect, so why do I expect my kids to always be perfect? There's nothing wrong with setting the bar high, but within reason!
The last couple of weeks, I've had enough "huh" moments that I think I can say, with some small amount of certainty, that I might be doing something right. Not everything, for I am surely scarring them in ways that will take a therapist many thousands of dollars to un-do at some point in their futures, but something, which is better than nothing...
AJ (21 months): I sneezed this morning and he stopped what he was doing (running down the hall), looked at me and said, "Bess noo, Mama." Then he resumed his sprint, until the wall stopped him.
Nora (age 4): Cleaned my truck, because it was "dirty and she wanted to surprise me". Or should I say, cleaned the front grill and headlights, because that was all she could reach. With a scrub brush and half a bottle of Palmolive dumped into a beach bucket.
Brady (age 7): Used the word "gossamer" in a sentence, in the proper context. Seriously? Gossamer? Didn't that word go out of use in the 1700s? On a separate, but no less profound note (for him), he's made it through the first week of school, getting up at 6:30am, plus three nights of football camp (2 hours/evening in 100 degree heat) without whining, complaining, or having a meltdown.
Brennan (age 9): Gave me one of the highest nods a "tween" can: held my hand, gave me a kiss and a hug, and said "Love you, too" on her way into 4th grade orientation. It was also her idea that we stop by "GiGi's" house on our walks up in Michigan (I would have stopped in anyway, but thought it was sweet that Brennan said it first). How awesome is it that a 9 year old thinks her Great Grandma is fun to visit?
Of course, you may notice that "I" am taking all the credit for their affirmation of "my" outstanding parental abilities. I'll be happy to write the next post on all of Mark's bad habits they seem to be modelling....... ; )
Oh, that was just me again, forgetting that I am not perfect. Darn it!
The last couple of weeks, I've had enough "huh" moments that I think I can say, with some small amount of certainty, that I might be doing something right. Not everything, for I am surely scarring them in ways that will take a therapist many thousands of dollars to un-do at some point in their futures, but something, which is better than nothing...
AJ (21 months): I sneezed this morning and he stopped what he was doing (running down the hall), looked at me and said, "Bess noo, Mama." Then he resumed his sprint, until the wall stopped him.
Nora (age 4): Cleaned my truck, because it was "dirty and she wanted to surprise me". Or should I say, cleaned the front grill and headlights, because that was all she could reach. With a scrub brush and half a bottle of Palmolive dumped into a beach bucket.
Brady (age 7): Used the word "gossamer" in a sentence, in the proper context. Seriously? Gossamer? Didn't that word go out of use in the 1700s? On a separate, but no less profound note (for him), he's made it through the first week of school, getting up at 6:30am, plus three nights of football camp (2 hours/evening in 100 degree heat) without whining, complaining, or having a meltdown.
Brennan (age 9): Gave me one of the highest nods a "tween" can: held my hand, gave me a kiss and a hug, and said "Love you, too" on her way into 4th grade orientation. It was also her idea that we stop by "GiGi's" house on our walks up in Michigan (I would have stopped in anyway, but thought it was sweet that Brennan said it first). How awesome is it that a 9 year old thinks her Great Grandma is fun to visit?
Of course, you may notice that "I" am taking all the credit for their affirmation of "my" outstanding parental abilities. I'll be happy to write the next post on all of Mark's bad habits they seem to be modelling....... ; )
Oh, that was just me again, forgetting that I am not perfect. Darn it!
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Be Careful Where You Put Your "Things"
The kids and I recently visited a friend's house for an overnight stay. We both have four children and it was a rainy day, so they were working very hard on staying busy and not fighting.
We finally caved in and put on a movie. About that time, my friend's oldest daughter, walked over and whispered something into her ear. While I couldn't hear what she said, I could tell by my friend's face that it was something unexpected.
Some time later, she and I were in her master bedroom setting up a pack n play when her daughter rounds the corner into her room, and heads for the closet. She was stopped in her tracks and reminded that "Mommy's and Daddy's Room is not the playroom, and there are lots of other places to play, so find somewhere else to go."
Brennan was lurking outside the bedroom door, I believe, awaiting the daughter's return, so we told them both to skedaddle. After they were well on their way, my friend starts laughing and tells me that earlier, her daughter had asked where the book of "naked exercises" was. It doesn't take a great leap of imagination to figure out what the book was about.
Apparently, over the years my friend had acquired a book of "365 Sex Positions for 365 Days of the Year". She'd found it earlier in the week out on the closet floor, open but face down (it had been stowed away in the top drawer of a lingerie chest). Not a pornographic work, it was more along the lines of "The Joy of Sex" with artful (yet very detailed) illustrations and instruction. Definitely not for the inquiring minds of a 7 and 9 year old.
We surmised that the girls' curiosity was piqued, so they were sneaking in to explore a little more of the book of "naked exercises." Unfortunately, their attempt was thwarted by The Moms.
Note to parents: be careful where you put your things...you never know who might find them - or with whom they might shared!
We finally caved in and put on a movie. About that time, my friend's oldest daughter, walked over and whispered something into her ear. While I couldn't hear what she said, I could tell by my friend's face that it was something unexpected.
Some time later, she and I were in her master bedroom setting up a pack n play when her daughter rounds the corner into her room, and heads for the closet. She was stopped in her tracks and reminded that "Mommy's and Daddy's Room is not the playroom, and there are lots of other places to play, so find somewhere else to go."
Brennan was lurking outside the bedroom door, I believe, awaiting the daughter's return, so we told them both to skedaddle. After they were well on their way, my friend starts laughing and tells me that earlier, her daughter had asked where the book of "naked exercises" was. It doesn't take a great leap of imagination to figure out what the book was about.
Apparently, over the years my friend had acquired a book of "365 Sex Positions for 365 Days of the Year". She'd found it earlier in the week out on the closet floor, open but face down (it had been stowed away in the top drawer of a lingerie chest). Not a pornographic work, it was more along the lines of "The Joy of Sex" with artful (yet very detailed) illustrations and instruction. Definitely not for the inquiring minds of a 7 and 9 year old.
We surmised that the girls' curiosity was piqued, so they were sneaking in to explore a little more of the book of "naked exercises." Unfortunately, their attempt was thwarted by The Moms.
Note to parents: be careful where you put your things...you never know who might find them - or with whom they might shared!
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
And All Was Right With the World...
We just returned from our annual sojourn up North. By North, I mean a 16 hour drive to the sandy shores of Lake Huron in Michigan. I drove to Pittsburgh with the kids, spent the night with my brother and his family, drove to Cleveland, spent the night with an old friend and her family, then picked up Mark at Cleveland Hopkins Int'l Airport (lucky duck to slide in with only 4 1/2 hours remaining!!) and headed North on US 23. Phew! I am exhausted just by recalling that trip (the kids were all very, very good for me in the car though, it must be noted!).
Northern Michigan is my happy place. Walking the beaches with my kids looking for Petosky Stones and "sea" glass, snorkeling over the weed bed where we fish to see what species of fish are calling it home each summer, and walking down to Taylor's Motel and Cottages to get an ice cream cone (just as my Dad and his 4 brothers did when they were kids) are just a few of the simple delights that await us each summer.
And while the sunrises and sunsets make truly magnificent scenery, they are but a backdrop to the memories we create with our family.
My Mom, recalling her conversation with Nora (and the subject of my last post) ordered a butterfly cake and surprised the kids with it. Nora was absolutely delighted, and gasped, "oh, I've always wanted a butterfly cake!"
Thanks, Mom, you really hit the ball out of the park on that one! Not to mention the whole crumbled-Doritos-on-honey-nut-cheerios-for-breakfast thing....
(the picture is of my Mom fishing one evening with Brennan, Brady and their cousin Graden in her "favorite" little rowboat...Brady hooked into "Walter" the huge, elusive, Walleye of the Weed bed, but he broke the line before they could get him into the dollar store butterfly net they'd brought on board to help them land their catch...)
My Dad had the kids create their own colored crawler harnesses for walleye fishing (they caught 4 walleye)! An avid hunter and fisherman, it is important that he pass down his love for outdoor sports. "Puppa" as the kids call him, is a special person. He's just got a way with kids that is endearing, unique, and genuine.
Mark came up with a very realistic map and buried Pirate's Treasure that they "stumbled" upon while scouring the beach with metal detectors. The kids were all jumping up and down on the beach shouting "we're going to be famous!"
While my sister was not able to join us this year, my brother, his wife and their two children did come. The kids all enjoyed spending time with their cousins. Brady in particular, enjoyed having his cousin Graden, as a full time playmate. He is generally surrounded by girls (AJ apparently doesn't count as a boy yet), so that was a great break for him.
That beach is one of the few I know of these days, where you can have a beach fire. While it doesn't get dark in the summer until after 10:30pm, at night, the stars are absolutely magnificent in both number and brightness. We saw two comets (or perhaps it was trash from the Russian Space Station?) that were the brightest, boldest streaks across a night shy that I've ever seen. It's was like Bill Cosby's Magic Pen on Picture Pages...
At night, you can see the camp fires dot the shore as far as you can see. It's magical.
We are fortunate that my Grandma, or "G.G." (for Great-Grandmother to the kids), is still alive and well. So much so, that she drives herself to and from East Lansing (her home) and Au Gres (her lake house and about 1/2 walk along the beach from my parents house) throughout the summer. Did I mention that she'll be 94 this Halloween? Incredible. The kids all enjoy her, and Brennan in particular always requests to stop in and visit G.G. when we go for a walk on the beach. Sharp as a tack, with an Irish wit, she has an endless knowledge of family history and colorful stories of the cast of characters that comprise our family tree.
Hopefully, you all will have the opportunity to take some time this summer and enjoy the simple pleasures in life.
Slow down, get rid of some of the clutter, minimize the chatter, and make some memories.
I, for one, recommend Northern Michigan (anywhere), but if you can't get there, any place where you can look up and see the milky way will do.
Northern Michigan is my happy place. Walking the beaches with my kids looking for Petosky Stones and "sea" glass, snorkeling over the weed bed where we fish to see what species of fish are calling it home each summer, and walking down to Taylor's Motel and Cottages to get an ice cream cone (just as my Dad and his 4 brothers did when they were kids) are just a few of the simple delights that await us each summer.
And while the sunrises and sunsets make truly magnificent scenery, they are but a backdrop to the memories we create with our family.
My Mom, recalling her conversation with Nora (and the subject of my last post) ordered a butterfly cake and surprised the kids with it. Nora was absolutely delighted, and gasped, "oh, I've always wanted a butterfly cake!"
Thanks, Mom, you really hit the ball out of the park on that one! Not to mention the whole crumbled-Doritos-on-honey-nut-cheerios-for-breakfast thing....
(the picture is of my Mom fishing one evening with Brennan, Brady and their cousin Graden in her "favorite" little rowboat...Brady hooked into "Walter" the huge, elusive, Walleye of the Weed bed, but he broke the line before they could get him into the dollar store butterfly net they'd brought on board to help them land their catch...)
My Dad had the kids create their own colored crawler harnesses for walleye fishing (they caught 4 walleye)! An avid hunter and fisherman, it is important that he pass down his love for outdoor sports. "Puppa" as the kids call him, is a special person. He's just got a way with kids that is endearing, unique, and genuine.
Mark came up with a very realistic map and buried Pirate's Treasure that they "stumbled" upon while scouring the beach with metal detectors. The kids were all jumping up and down on the beach shouting "we're going to be famous!"
While my sister was not able to join us this year, my brother, his wife and their two children did come. The kids all enjoyed spending time with their cousins. Brady in particular, enjoyed having his cousin Graden, as a full time playmate. He is generally surrounded by girls (AJ apparently doesn't count as a boy yet), so that was a great break for him.
That beach is one of the few I know of these days, where you can have a beach fire. While it doesn't get dark in the summer until after 10:30pm, at night, the stars are absolutely magnificent in both number and brightness. We saw two comets (or perhaps it was trash from the Russian Space Station?) that were the brightest, boldest streaks across a night shy that I've ever seen. It's was like Bill Cosby's Magic Pen on Picture Pages...
At night, you can see the camp fires dot the shore as far as you can see. It's magical.
We are fortunate that my Grandma, or "G.G." (for Great-Grandmother to the kids), is still alive and well. So much so, that she drives herself to and from East Lansing (her home) and Au Gres (her lake house and about 1/2 walk along the beach from my parents house) throughout the summer. Did I mention that she'll be 94 this Halloween? Incredible. The kids all enjoy her, and Brennan in particular always requests to stop in and visit G.G. when we go for a walk on the beach. Sharp as a tack, with an Irish wit, she has an endless knowledge of family history and colorful stories of the cast of characters that comprise our family tree.
Hopefully, you all will have the opportunity to take some time this summer and enjoy the simple pleasures in life.
Slow down, get rid of some of the clutter, minimize the chatter, and make some memories.
I, for one, recommend Northern Michigan (anywhere), but if you can't get there, any place where you can look up and see the milky way will do.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Lost in the Shuffle
As I was tucking Nora into bed last night, she began her nightly conversation with me in a happy, upbeat mood. Since Brennan was sleeping over at a friend's house (the two girls share a room), Brady had a friend sleeping over, and AJ was already in bed, Nora and I had a rare opportunity to talk - uninterrupted.
And talk she did.
We started off light and easy-breezy...discussing the events of the day (pool and outdoor concert with picnic dinner) and how much fun we had! Somehow, we veered into planning her 5th birthday party (she just turned 4 in April). She listed off all of the people who she would like to invite - neighbor friends, dance friends, school friends, siblings of friends, etc. (she is a soft-hearted soul who doesn't like to hurt anyone's feelings, so everyone in a 5 mile radius should be receiving an invitation).
Then she reminded me that we need to make a butterfly cake for her 5th birthday. Apparently, I had, at some point months ago, agreed to make her one for her 4th birthday and forgot. She mentioned this to my Mom a few weeks ago, and was apparently upset by it. I had no idea. I thought we were in agreement about the cupcakes for everyone to decorate (her idea) and a candle for everyone to blow out (which was her idea too - again, how sweet is she?). My Mom even offered to make Nora a butterfly cake. In her infinite widsom though, Nora replied, "No Grammy, it wouldn't be my real birthday."
Apparently, we were not in agreement about the whole cupcake thing. As for the candle for each kid thing, well, that all went fine, except for Nora's hair catching on fire while she was waiting for me to light everyone else's candles...but that's another story.
So there I am, already in the hot seat, and suddenly the conversation takes a turn for the worse. As we are talking about her school friends, and when can she see them again (pre-school has been over for two weeks now), she starts reminiscing about her year of preschool. Before I know it, her voice starts to crack and her bottom lip is trembling as she tells me about all of the mommies (or daddies or big brothers and sisters) who came in to read a book to her class. As she is rattling off the names of all of the kids who have (dutiful, involved) parents, huge, crocodile tears starrt spilling from her big blue eyes, and then she says, "but Mommy, YOU never came into my class and read a book..".sniff, sniff...
Dagger. Right. To. The. Heart.
..."and Ava's Mommy AND Daddy came in and read TWO books...and Avery's big brother and big sister and Mommy came in...and nobody from my family ever came in..."
At this point, Mark hears her sobbing and comes in, thinking something is terribly wrong. She repeats her lament, in between sobs, and I may be mistaken, but I think I heard Mark's heart fall to the floor.
Grasping at straws, I apologize profusely and tell her that I (we) love her dearly, and didn't mean to hurt her feelings...I just didn't know about the whole book reading thing. She replied that "Mommies are just supposed to KNOW these things."
Now, I am the one about ready to cry.
Trying to make myself feel better, I asked her if there were any other kids whose mommies didn't come in and read. There was only one, who happens to be a friend of mine, and also happens to have four children. That was about a nanosecond's worth of comfort.
Apologizing again, and offering to make sure that we ALL come in to read to her class next year, she settles down with that and the prospect of an extra long snuggle.
As I snuggled in next to her, I promised myself not to let little Nora get lost in the shuffle again. The details do matter. Especially to a four year old.
And talk she did.
We started off light and easy-breezy...discussing the events of the day (pool and outdoor concert with picnic dinner) and how much fun we had! Somehow, we veered into planning her 5th birthday party (she just turned 4 in April). She listed off all of the people who she would like to invite - neighbor friends, dance friends, school friends, siblings of friends, etc. (she is a soft-hearted soul who doesn't like to hurt anyone's feelings, so everyone in a 5 mile radius should be receiving an invitation).
Then she reminded me that we need to make a butterfly cake for her 5th birthday. Apparently, I had, at some point months ago, agreed to make her one for her 4th birthday and forgot. She mentioned this to my Mom a few weeks ago, and was apparently upset by it. I had no idea. I thought we were in agreement about the cupcakes for everyone to decorate (her idea) and a candle for everyone to blow out (which was her idea too - again, how sweet is she?). My Mom even offered to make Nora a butterfly cake. In her infinite widsom though, Nora replied, "No Grammy, it wouldn't be my real birthday."
Apparently, we were not in agreement about the whole cupcake thing. As for the candle for each kid thing, well, that all went fine, except for Nora's hair catching on fire while she was waiting for me to light everyone else's candles...but that's another story.
So there I am, already in the hot seat, and suddenly the conversation takes a turn for the worse. As we are talking about her school friends, and when can she see them again (pre-school has been over for two weeks now), she starts reminiscing about her year of preschool. Before I know it, her voice starts to crack and her bottom lip is trembling as she tells me about all of the mommies (or daddies or big brothers and sisters) who came in to read a book to her class. As she is rattling off the names of all of the kids who have (dutiful, involved) parents, huge, crocodile tears starrt spilling from her big blue eyes, and then she says, "but Mommy, YOU never came into my class and read a book..".sniff, sniff...
Dagger. Right. To. The. Heart.
..."and Ava's Mommy AND Daddy came in and read TWO books...and Avery's big brother and big sister and Mommy came in...and nobody from my family ever came in..."
At this point, Mark hears her sobbing and comes in, thinking something is terribly wrong. She repeats her lament, in between sobs, and I may be mistaken, but I think I heard Mark's heart fall to the floor.
Grasping at straws, I apologize profusely and tell her that I (we) love her dearly, and didn't mean to hurt her feelings...I just didn't know about the whole book reading thing. She replied that "Mommies are just supposed to KNOW these things."
Now, I am the one about ready to cry.
Trying to make myself feel better, I asked her if there were any other kids whose mommies didn't come in and read. There was only one, who happens to be a friend of mine, and also happens to have four children. That was about a nanosecond's worth of comfort.
Apologizing again, and offering to make sure that we ALL come in to read to her class next year, she settles down with that and the prospect of an extra long snuggle.
As I snuggled in next to her, I promised myself not to let little Nora get lost in the shuffle again. The details do matter. Especially to a four year old.
Friday, April 23, 2010
It's That Time of Year Again...
I have this old Nike Ad that I cut out of a magazine sometime in college (let's say 1994-ish) laminated and posted to my bathroom mirror. This is what it says:
A WOMAN IS OFTEN MEASURED
BY THE THINGS SHE CANNOT CONTROL. SHE IS MEASURED BY THE WAY HER BODY CURVES OR DOESN'T CURVE, BY WHERE SHE IS FLAT OR STRAIGHT OR ROUND. SHE IS MEASURED BY 36-24-36 AND INCHES AND AGES AND NUMBERS, BY ALL THE OUTSIDE THINGS THAT DON'T EVER ADD UP TO WHO SHE IS ON THE INSIDE. AND SO IF A WOMAN IS TO BE MEASURED, LET HER BE MEASURED BY THE THINGS SHE CAN CONTROL, BY WHO SHE IS AND WHO SHE IS TRYING TO BECOME. BECAUSE AS EVERY WOMAN KNOWS, MEASUREMENTS ARE ONLY STATISTICS, AND
STATISTICS LIE.
So as we approach That Time of the Year (swimsuit season) I find myself reflecting upon those words yet again, as I stare down the barrel of 37 years and four kids. How can women find peace with their physicality? How do we reconcile all that we have to offer on the inside with what we see on the outside?
A friend once commented that she "didn't want to look good for having three children." She just wanted to look good. Period. Without the qualifier.
I get her point. In essence, they are saying, "you look good, considering...you've gained and (mostly) lost roughly 90 - 100 pounds, had babies hanging off your boobs around the clock for nearly three years (total), and have lost many, many critical hours of beauty sleep while tending to little people in the wee hours of the night.
But a compliment is a compliment, isn't it? Why can't we be okay with the qualifier? It's the reality, right?
It's not just the physical changes of pregnancy and motherhood, but add to that the new wrinkles, varicose veins, age spots, sun spots, and grey hair that is beginning to spring up.
I know I'm getting older, but when did I start to age?
I do hate numbers. Sizes are a joke (while I appreciate retailers new "Glamour-Sizing" letting me now fit into a size that I haven't wore since middle school, I know that it is a farce). I own a scale, but seldom step on it, as I still haven't figured out how I can gain or lose 5 pounds in any given day, and I refuse to let my entire day be clouded simply because I ate too much the night before and the wrong "number" is on the scale. Life is too short for that nonsense.
That's not to say that I have a complete disregard for healthy living. For my own physical health, for mental balance, and for my kids (setting a good example for them and so that I can hopefully be alive and well when they have their own children), I enjoy exercise and try to eat reasonably well. But I find it tedious when people are ruled by either. Not the folks that are in training for a marathon or a triathalon, but those who have little to talk about other than their bodies, other peoples bodies, how much (or how little) they worked out, or how much (or how little) they eat.
I would like to think that there is so much more to me (and you) than what you see on the outside. That I am not one-dimensional. There are many, many other more interesting things to discuss, ponder, marvel or fret over in this world than my stretchmarks or my butt.
Have we been drinking the Kool-Aid too long?
What are we really made of ladies?
Who are we and what are we trying to become?
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
Truth In Advertising
I reconfirmed the appropriateness of the title of this Blog today. That is, Teetering on the Edge.
For those of you who (have read this blog at all and still) think that I've got it together here's one for ya.
Mark's home this week, which is good news. Up until last night, there was a possibility of him being gone at least 2 -3 days. Since he was in town, and working at home, he was kind enough to let Nora stay home while I went to pick up Brennan and Brady from school. AJ was in the back seat, munching happily on Sunchips and soaking in another (repeat) episode of Elmo. It's his crack (Elmo, not the Sunchips, but those might be a distant second). And I am in complete violation of my no-tv-unless-we're-on-a-road-trip rule since aquiring this Elmo DVD (all of our other Elmo videos are on VHS).
I wait in the carpool line, notice Brennan and Brady exiting the buildings and line up in the queue. There are five construction cones that act as stations lining the sidewalk for the children to stand and be let into their car. Deep in thought about my agenda for the afternoon, how I am going to fit a decent nap in for the baby, and also thinking about the family who owns the car ahead of me (and how Brady and her son should really get together again and play soon). I see that she is starting to pull away, so I pull up, following her car (she was at the last station). I should be stopping at the first cone, where my children are anxiously waiting for me to end their school day and take them back home for a much anticipated snack.
So deep in thought am I however, that I continue right past my children. Not only did I not stop, I didn't even notice them standing at the curb. I made it through the round about, and almost onto the bypass that leads to the highway...and home. All the while I am thinking, "gosh, I really have to stop playing this Elmo video in the car...even the big kids are so sucked in that they don't even talk..............."
Well no kidding.
They weren't talking because:
a) they were not in the car and
b) they were slack jaw on the curb having just watched their mother drive right past without so much as a passing glance.
I turn around on the first road I could find, circle back through the round about and park on the street. Since I just threw AJ in the car without a coat, shoes or socks, I left him, locked in the car and sprinted down the hill and around the corner. It was only about 42 degrees, and quickly weighing my options, I figured it was better to leave him than to freeze him. For those of you who are alarmists, it was for a total of 30 seconds, and I could see the car the whole time, so don't go calling CPS. The kids, still hanging out by their assigned cone see me and are now laughing at me.
Thankfully they are not upset.
The teacher that was supposed to help them load into the car is laughing as well. Hysterically. Catching her breath, she tells me that the kids were convinced that they saw me drive by to which she responded, "Oh, that couldn't have been your Mother...she didn't stop!"
All I could do was hang my head in shame, laugh and acknowledge that I am a complete and total dingbat and tell the kids to sprint back to the car with me because I had left the baby.
Teetering on the edge. Yup, that about sums it up.
For those of you who (have read this blog at all and still) think that I've got it together here's one for ya.
Mark's home this week, which is good news. Up until last night, there was a possibility of him being gone at least 2 -3 days. Since he was in town, and working at home, he was kind enough to let Nora stay home while I went to pick up Brennan and Brady from school. AJ was in the back seat, munching happily on Sunchips and soaking in another (repeat) episode of Elmo. It's his crack (Elmo, not the Sunchips, but those might be a distant second). And I am in complete violation of my no-tv-unless-we're-on-a-road-trip rule since aquiring this Elmo DVD (all of our other Elmo videos are on VHS).
I wait in the carpool line, notice Brennan and Brady exiting the buildings and line up in the queue. There are five construction cones that act as stations lining the sidewalk for the children to stand and be let into their car. Deep in thought about my agenda for the afternoon, how I am going to fit a decent nap in for the baby, and also thinking about the family who owns the car ahead of me (and how Brady and her son should really get together again and play soon). I see that she is starting to pull away, so I pull up, following her car (she was at the last station). I should be stopping at the first cone, where my children are anxiously waiting for me to end their school day and take them back home for a much anticipated snack.
So deep in thought am I however, that I continue right past my children. Not only did I not stop, I didn't even notice them standing at the curb. I made it through the round about, and almost onto the bypass that leads to the highway...and home. All the while I am thinking, "gosh, I really have to stop playing this Elmo video in the car...even the big kids are so sucked in that they don't even talk..............."
Well no kidding.
They weren't talking because:
a) they were not in the car and
b) they were slack jaw on the curb having just watched their mother drive right past without so much as a passing glance.
I turn around on the first road I could find, circle back through the round about and park on the street. Since I just threw AJ in the car without a coat, shoes or socks, I left him, locked in the car and sprinted down the hill and around the corner. It was only about 42 degrees, and quickly weighing my options, I figured it was better to leave him than to freeze him. For those of you who are alarmists, it was for a total of 30 seconds, and I could see the car the whole time, so don't go calling CPS. The kids, still hanging out by their assigned cone see me and are now laughing at me.
Thankfully they are not upset.
The teacher that was supposed to help them load into the car is laughing as well. Hysterically. Catching her breath, she tells me that the kids were convinced that they saw me drive by to which she responded, "Oh, that couldn't have been your Mother...she didn't stop!"
All I could do was hang my head in shame, laugh and acknowledge that I am a complete and total dingbat and tell the kids to sprint back to the car with me because I had left the baby.
Teetering on the edge. Yup, that about sums it up.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Desperately Seeking Madonna
Little did I know that she'd be putting Britney's "3" on replay so she can figure out what all the lyrics are.
I can now completely empathize with my own Mom, as I recall her pause, (and cringe) when I asked her what Madonna was saying in "Like A Virgin." Who knew that Madonna would someday be considered tame by comparison?
In case you aren't familiar, "3" is song with a great beat and catchy chorus, but unfortunately for us parents out there, is all about having a threesome. I'm thinkin' that it's not the kind of threesome you inadvertantly get caught up in on the dance floor either (sandwiched by two incredibly creepy, greasy, and short men).
Not that you really want to have to explain what any type of threesome is to you children.
I have tried my best, and mostly successfully, to give her lots of suggestions on what the words might be, and make sure that none of them are PG or R rated. I also told her that songwriters frequently write lyrics just to make them rhyme or sound good in a song, and that the lyrics don't always make sense. She bought it.
Then, before bedtime tonight, we are having a little "Family Time" and Brennan, excited to be playing her new music for all of us, is cranking out the tunes. Fortunately, she skips right past "3" after announcing to me that she's figured out all the words.
Thankfully, they are all wrong and make absolutely no sense.
As I was breathing a sigh of relief about her botching of "3s" lyrics, I began plotting how and when to retrieve her ipod shuffle and delete the song. Just then, she proceeds to play a fun little ditty, also by Britney Spears, called "If You Seek Amy." Now, I had listened to the little soundbyte on itunes, and thought it was harmless enough...only to see Mark's eyes about fall out of his head as he hears it, and asks me, "what the hell is that doing on her ipod????"
Clearly the song must have come out while I was in some sort of post-pregnancy (which pregnancy I am not sure) hibernation. I had NO idea that there was any sort of (not-so-hidden) meaning in the song. Mark proceeds to explain the brou-ha-ha that surrounded the release of the song and exactly what "If You Seek Amy" really means......
If = F
You = U
Seek = C
Amy = well, you can pretty much figure the rest of it out on your own.
Completely appalled at my own ignorance, I am now apparantly so completely out of touch and un-hip that I am letting my 8 year old listen to the pop music equivelent of soft porn. And I thought being called a cougar was embarassing. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go find that ipod. I have some deleting to do...
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Just Because You Can...
Doesn't mean you should.
I wrestled with that a lot around Christmas. Even more so as the effects of the economic crisis loom large and the profound poverty and despair that has been exposed in Haiti since the earthquake last week. As I listened to my own kids and their friends, I just couldn't get over the insanity of the annual Christmas lists. I-phones, ipods, cell phones, Nintendo DS or DSi (I still don't know the difference), Barbie Townhouse (if that sounds innocuous, it comes with a $170 price tag) or the Barbie Glamour Camper for a mere $75. I heard of a Mom lamenting she had gotten her 14 year old daughter a nicer phone than she had. Seriously?
Let me be candid, my kids don't want for anything. Sure, there may be lots of things that that want, but their basic needs of shelter, food, and clothing are more than covered. And that doesn't even touch on the plethora of Webkinz, Wii games, American Girl Dolls, Littlest Pet Shop, MP3 players, etc. that they own.
Just because you can...
I am not trying to be holier than thou here. We have provided lots of niceties for our kids. We are blessed in many ways, we can provide for our kids well over and beyond the necessities. I'd like to think that we try to keep in reined in, but it's all a matter of perspective.
Doesn't mean you should.
While it would be fun, really fun, to get them the latest cool toy or the cutest outfit from Mini Boden or CrewCuts, sign them up for each new activity they express an interest in, what does that teach them? If I start introducing and placing value on labels or brands at age 7 or 8, where will that put me (us) at 16 or 17? If I give in to the ipod now, will I be that Mom who is whining about her daughter having a better phone than I do in 10 years? If I sign them up with each whim, will they learn how to persevere in a difficult comittment?
What kind of adults am I trying to create as I raise my kids?
It's no wonder kids today have such a prolific sense of entitlement and lack self-discipline. We give them everything without asking (much of) anything.
The last time I checked, that's not how life works. At least not as an adult.
A friend sent me an article citing a study from the 1960's about children and marshmallows. If you have a minute, read it. It's well worth your time, and it's brief.
http://www.msgen.com/downloads/Marshmallow.pdf
The upshot is that if a four year old could wait a few minutes for an extra marshmallow, this restraint translated into better marriages, better paying-jobs, and having higher levels of career satisfaction later on in life. And as parents, when we say "no" to our kids requests for the latest and greatest thing or demand, we are helping them prepare for life as an adult. The results demonstrate that teaching children how to wait, how to delay gratification and the art of self-discipline, are skills every bit as valuable as teaching them how to read or write.
Cool. Now I have scientific back up for when I am the Mean Mom who "always" says "NO".
Just because you can, doesn't mean you should. Something to think about.
I wrestled with that a lot around Christmas. Even more so as the effects of the economic crisis loom large and the profound poverty and despair that has been exposed in Haiti since the earthquake last week. As I listened to my own kids and their friends, I just couldn't get over the insanity of the annual Christmas lists. I-phones, ipods, cell phones, Nintendo DS or DSi (I still don't know the difference), Barbie Townhouse (if that sounds innocuous, it comes with a $170 price tag) or the Barbie Glamour Camper for a mere $75. I heard of a Mom lamenting she had gotten her 14 year old daughter a nicer phone than she had. Seriously?
Let me be candid, my kids don't want for anything. Sure, there may be lots of things that that want, but their basic needs of shelter, food, and clothing are more than covered. And that doesn't even touch on the plethora of Webkinz, Wii games, American Girl Dolls, Littlest Pet Shop, MP3 players, etc. that they own.
Just because you can...
I am not trying to be holier than thou here. We have provided lots of niceties for our kids. We are blessed in many ways, we can provide for our kids well over and beyond the necessities. I'd like to think that we try to keep in reined in, but it's all a matter of perspective.
Doesn't mean you should.
While it would be fun, really fun, to get them the latest cool toy or the cutest outfit from Mini Boden or CrewCuts, sign them up for each new activity they express an interest in, what does that teach them? If I start introducing and placing value on labels or brands at age 7 or 8, where will that put me (us) at 16 or 17? If I give in to the ipod now, will I be that Mom who is whining about her daughter having a better phone than I do in 10 years? If I sign them up with each whim, will they learn how to persevere in a difficult comittment?
What kind of adults am I trying to create as I raise my kids?
It's no wonder kids today have such a prolific sense of entitlement and lack self-discipline. We give them everything without asking (much of) anything.
The last time I checked, that's not how life works. At least not as an adult.
A friend sent me an article citing a study from the 1960's about children and marshmallows. If you have a minute, read it. It's well worth your time, and it's brief.
http://www.msgen.com/downloads/Marshmallow.pdf
The upshot is that if a four year old could wait a few minutes for an extra marshmallow, this restraint translated into better marriages, better paying-jobs, and having higher levels of career satisfaction later on in life. And as parents, when we say "no" to our kids requests for the latest and greatest thing or demand, we are helping them prepare for life as an adult. The results demonstrate that teaching children how to wait, how to delay gratification and the art of self-discipline, are skills every bit as valuable as teaching them how to read or write.
Cool. Now I have scientific back up for when I am the Mean Mom who "always" says "NO".
Just because you can, doesn't mean you should. Something to think about.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
You're A Mean One, Mrs. Grinch
We have an Elf on the Shelf. His name is Alex. He comes around the 1st of December through Christmas Eve to keep an exta watchful eye on the kids. Theorectically, his presence will reinforce good behavior and decision making by the kids, thus ensuring they'll be rewarded by Santa.
That didn't work exactly. For some reason, my four little angels (well, 3/4) have been crazy and out of control since Friday. Friday was the last day of school for 3 weeks for the older two. That may have played a part. Christmas is fast approaching, which adds a tremendous amount of nervous, anxious energy. Brennan has been sick, so her patience and self control are low. Nora, who is usually the kindest, most eager to please, threw a couple of fits that rivaled her worst during the terrible twos. Excuses, excuses.
I hate excuses.
I reminded them that Alex was watching and reporting back to Santa. I told them that Santa was watching too. I reminded them that it wasn't too late to take presents back to the store, the North Pole or wherever they come from. It didn't work.
The last straw was when their Grandfather, his friend Kate, and an Uncle came over Sunday for cookie decorating and dinner. Since we won't be seeing them on Christmas Day, they brought gifts. My kids, who normally are good but certainly not perfect, were crazy. Their manners went missing. Gone. Completely gone.
Later, after letting them all know how inappropriate their behavior was and sending them off to bed, I had a chat with Alex, the Elf. I instructed him to take the presents that were already under the tree up to the North Pole (temporarily). He agreed to it.
The kids woke up Monday morning, and searched for Alex (he is in a different spot every night). They found him on the mantel with a letter. Not a present was under the tree. I came downstairs to a very solemn and quiet Brennan and Brady. Strangely, they were not terribly upset, as I had thought they might be. They realized that they'd acted out of control, and upon reading the letter, knew that this was the consequence. Brennan said that she felt ashamed, and helped pen a note (with Brady and Nora's input) apologizing to Santa and promising to try harder the rest of the week.
Now before you too, call me Mrs. Grinch, know that Alex returned some of the gifts after 2 days. The kids have reined in their behavior and have tried very hard to do what has been asked of them.
Sure there are still fights, and multiple, multiple, requests (by me) to put their (insert article of clothing, toy, or other item here) away. They're kids, and they're not perfect. But I do think they'll remember this Christmas for a long time to come.
That didn't work exactly. For some reason, my four little angels (well, 3/4) have been crazy and out of control since Friday. Friday was the last day of school for 3 weeks for the older two. That may have played a part. Christmas is fast approaching, which adds a tremendous amount of nervous, anxious energy. Brennan has been sick, so her patience and self control are low. Nora, who is usually the kindest, most eager to please, threw a couple of fits that rivaled her worst during the terrible twos. Excuses, excuses.
I hate excuses.
I reminded them that Alex was watching and reporting back to Santa. I told them that Santa was watching too. I reminded them that it wasn't too late to take presents back to the store, the North Pole or wherever they come from. It didn't work.
The last straw was when their Grandfather, his friend Kate, and an Uncle came over Sunday for cookie decorating and dinner. Since we won't be seeing them on Christmas Day, they brought gifts. My kids, who normally are good but certainly not perfect, were crazy. Their manners went missing. Gone. Completely gone.
Later, after letting them all know how inappropriate their behavior was and sending them off to bed, I had a chat with Alex, the Elf. I instructed him to take the presents that were already under the tree up to the North Pole (temporarily). He agreed to it.
The kids woke up Monday morning, and searched for Alex (he is in a different spot every night). They found him on the mantel with a letter. Not a present was under the tree. I came downstairs to a very solemn and quiet Brennan and Brady. Strangely, they were not terribly upset, as I had thought they might be. They realized that they'd acted out of control, and upon reading the letter, knew that this was the consequence. Brennan said that she felt ashamed, and helped pen a note (with Brady and Nora's input) apologizing to Santa and promising to try harder the rest of the week.
Now before you too, call me Mrs. Grinch, know that Alex returned some of the gifts after 2 days. The kids have reined in their behavior and have tried very hard to do what has been asked of them.
Sure there are still fights, and multiple, multiple, requests (by me) to put their (insert article of clothing, toy, or other item here) away. They're kids, and they're not perfect. But I do think they'll remember this Christmas for a long time to come.
Friday, December 11, 2009
You Called Me a WHAT?
I was fortunate enough to get away for a Girls Weekend recently. We went to Asheville, NC - if you ever have the chance to go, you should. It's a great little mountain town, with an artsy, crunchy vibe to it.
Friday night, we were very lame. After the drive, some shopping, dinner and a couple of drinks, I think we all fell asleep around 11:30.
Well rested, we attacked Saturday like a bunch of starving vultures. We shopped, we ate, we stopped in for a bit of "The Truth," a local micro-brewery's latest creation, and hit the stores again.
Saturday night, we ate a great tapas style dinner, and on our way out, began talking to a nice young girl who is from Durham and works as a nanny when she's not in school at UNC-A. She was with a date and his friend, (both much closer to my age than hers). We ran into them again later at a bar and played a round of darts (we also managed to snag a business card of hers, since she's going to be in the triangle over Christmas break). Stacy Jo, you can expect a call from me this week, by the way...
In between the round of darts, I was waiting on a pitcher of beer at the bar and started chatting with a couple of boys. I'll strike up a conversation with anybody. I love talking to people. Well, to be specific, I love starting up conversations and just listening to people. It can be fascinating. But these people were young. Little boys. And by little, I mean it was someones 21st birthday type little boys, and I'd bet my pitcher of beer that several of the other ones had fake IDs. They were fairly uninteresting to listen to, so once I got my pitcher, I went back to darts.
A little while later, we were discussing the youths (who had now begun playing darts next to us). We decided that one of them had hair like my friend's 5 year old (but a 21 year old fraternity boy version). Her son has these loose, tousled, angelic little curls that you hate to cut because they might just decide to go away forever. So someone suggested that I take a picture. So I walked over, and asked if I could take his picture.
He asked me if I was a Cougar.
A COUGAR??????
I laughed, told him not to flatter himself, took the picture and walked away. Mortified.
While I recognized that they were a lot younger than I am, what I failed to recognize was that when you are 21 anything over 30 is ancient. Seeing as young men tend not to think from their cerebral cortex, in their eyes, there was only ONE reason I could have wanted to talk with them. To them, I was Mrs. Robinson.
coo coo cuh choo.
I am having a little trouble wrapping my mind around the fact that someone even thinks I am old enough to even be called a cougar. Here's my visual of a cougar: a chain smoking, bejewelled sweatsuit wearing, fake tanned, raspy voiced, white zinfandel drinking, sex-starved, divorcee.
I suppose that perhaps I should be flattered. Courtney Cox might be giving cougars a new image with her sitcom, Cougartown (I haven't seen it yet). But frankly, I just felt like a dirty old woman. I went back to my beer and thanked God that I don't have to deal with 21 year old boys anymore. I don't even think I liked them when I was 21.
A little while later, we were discussing the youths (who had now begun playing darts next to us). We decided that one of them had hair like my friend's 5 year old (but a 21 year old fraternity boy version). Her son has these loose, tousled, angelic little curls that you hate to cut because they might just decide to go away forever. So someone suggested that I take a picture. So I walked over, and asked if I could take his picture.
He asked me if I was a Cougar.
A COUGAR??????
I laughed, told him not to flatter himself, took the picture and walked away. Mortified.
While I recognized that they were a lot younger than I am, what I failed to recognize was that when you are 21 anything over 30 is ancient. Seeing as young men tend not to think from their cerebral cortex, in their eyes, there was only ONE reason I could have wanted to talk with them. To them, I was Mrs. Robinson.
coo coo cuh choo.
I am having a little trouble wrapping my mind around the fact that someone even thinks I am old enough to even be called a cougar. Here's my visual of a cougar: a chain smoking, bejewelled sweatsuit wearing, fake tanned, raspy voiced, white zinfandel drinking, sex-starved, divorcee.
I suppose that perhaps I should be flattered. Courtney Cox might be giving cougars a new image with her sitcom, Cougartown (I haven't seen it yet). But frankly, I just felt like a dirty old woman. I went back to my beer and thanked God that I don't have to deal with 21 year old boys anymore. I don't even think I liked them when I was 21.
I Give Up...
As you can see from my Christmas card (2007), I really try to maintain my sense of humor when it comes to balancing the demands and obligations of the holidays with managing a family. Yes, this really was the picture I sent out that year. Yes, that was the best one out of about 50 shots.
I also am a typical first born type A who likes to (at least) have everybody think I have everything pulled together. I think I am slowly starting to lose that battle.
By no means have I ever been confused with Martha Stewart. Particularly when it comes to decorating. That being said, historically, I have taken some small amount of pride in decorating the house for Christmas. I may not have all the coordinating color ornaments and ribbons, and I often regret chintzing out and buying two small sized "things" (angels, santas, trees, you name it, I've got it) instead of ponying up and buying the large ("item") so you can actually see it sitting on my mantel. Generally though, I can pull it all together so that it looks, well, alright.
This year, I pulled down the boxes of Christmas decorations from the attic. Unfortunately, the kids got to them before I could. Let's just say that any glimmer of an organized decorating event went out the window.
There are paper Santas and reindeer hanging from curling ribbon from our upstairs railing to greet you as you walk through our front door. Every home made craft, ornament, and odd collection of Christmas collectibles (none of which I recall every buying) is proudly on display on every ledge, shelf, and table. Everyone's bedroom door is adorned with some type of classroom Frosty or Santa (you know, the kind with the moveable arms and legs?). That burgundy curling ribbon that Santa and his reindeer are hanging from? There are a few strategically placed pieces of that hanging around, mixed with some green ribbon they found. Yup, just random strings of ribbon hanging from things...because "it looks like a party." Now how can I argue with that?
It's Jesus's birthday, Mom. That's a good enough reason for a party, right?
Basically, Christmas has thrown up all over our house. In all of it's tacky, technicolor, sparkly, shiny, homemade and store bought glory.
So, instead of getting annoyed, after a number of deep, very deep, cleansing breaths, I gave up. Actually, that's wrong. I didn't give up. I gave in. After all, how can you argue with a child's pure enthusiasm for and spirit of the season?
There will be years and years of picture perfect (well, "perfect" would be a stretch for me) Christmases ahead of us. But with all of that pretty, matching, coordinating Christmas decor comes the silent recognition that the magic of hanging Santa and his reindeer by red ribbons from our railings has slipped away.
So I will try and smile back at Frosty and Santa as I pass into the kids rooms to put away (another) load of laundry...and be thankful for the four little creatures that scotch taped them there.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Now I Know Where the Expression Comes From....
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I've never had a baby become interested in the toilet. Until A.J. came along. On more than one occasion since he's become mobile, we've found him happily splashing in the frequently "yellow so it can mellow" water (although I'd love to claim a fanatical love of the environment as the reason, it's more my kids forgetting to flush). Thankfully, more often than not, it has been clean toilet water.
Right. As if toilet water is ever really "clean."
Knowing that he fancies an occasional splish-splash, I try to keep the toilet lid down or the bathroom door closed. As I mentioned though, it's hard for the bigger kids to remember to flush half the time. Getting them to put the lid down, well, that would take a small act of God.
This afternoon, I came in from getting the mail to hear Nora announce, "Mom, I'm going to go poop now." She always announces the impending arrival of her bowel movements to us. It's nice to be in the poop-loop, I suppose. A special privilege given to only a select few...
So off she goes, and apparently A.J. follows because I hear her yell, "Mom, A.J.'s in the bathroom with me."
I holler that I am on my way and make a bee-line down the hall. Not three strides in and Nora very calmly announces, "MOM. A.J. IS EATING MY POOP."
Shit.
Literally.
I sprint the remaining 10 feet to find Nora mid-wipe and A.J. laughing and grinning with not one, but two hands full and a definite and distinct smudge across him mouth.
No he didn't.
Yes, he did.
As I said, you just can't make this mothering stuff up.
Right. As if toilet water is ever really "clean."
Knowing that he fancies an occasional splish-splash, I try to keep the toilet lid down or the bathroom door closed. As I mentioned though, it's hard for the bigger kids to remember to flush half the time. Getting them to put the lid down, well, that would take a small act of God.
This afternoon, I came in from getting the mail to hear Nora announce, "Mom, I'm going to go poop now." She always announces the impending arrival of her bowel movements to us. It's nice to be in the poop-loop, I suppose. A special privilege given to only a select few...
So off she goes, and apparently A.J. follows because I hear her yell, "Mom, A.J.'s in the bathroom with me."
I holler that I am on my way and make a bee-line down the hall. Not three strides in and Nora very calmly announces, "MOM. A.J. IS EATING MY POOP."
Shit.
Literally.
I sprint the remaining 10 feet to find Nora mid-wipe and A.J. laughing and grinning with not one, but two hands full and a definite and distinct smudge across him mouth.
No he didn't.
Yes, he did.
As I said, you just can't make this mothering stuff up.
And now I know exactly what a "shit eating grin" looks like.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Polly Update
Polly has a new home. She actually had a new home 72 hours after "the incident" occurred, but with the crashing computer, a baby with bronchitis and volunteering for the YMCA We Build People Campaign, not to mention the regular, run of the mill, mom-of-four-kids stuff, the announcement of her "re-homing" was pushed to the back-burner.
She is now with a lovely couple, no children, but two cats and a 75 pound black laboradoodle who goes by the name of Melissa. She could not have been placed in a more perfect home. They have professional pictures of their pets, framed and hung throughout their townhouse. Their neighborhood has more dogs than children. There are geese and squirrels (not to mention cats) to chase. I received emails noting that Polly was "being observed for signs of depression" which, thankfully, she displayed none. They invited the kids to come see her if they want, or bring her a Christmas present around the holidays.
To attest to how well she has adjusted to her new life, I've posted a picture of Polly (as a lion) and Melissa (as Snow White with a blond wig). They took the dogs out for Trick or Treating on Halloween. Seriously. I'm not sure what the cats were dressed up as....
The kids have asked about her occasionally. Still not a single tear has been shed over her. I did come close to tears the other day though, once I realized that I was sweeping the food from under the kitchen table for the 4th time and it was only 2 o'clock. She was good for something.
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