Number 4: Remember other people's birthdays

BACKSTORY: Does anyone remember the small book by H. Jackson Brown, Jr.?  Life's Little Instruction Book, as many of my peers may recall, was written by a father as a gift for his college-bound son. For anyone unfamiliar with the format of the book, it lists “511 suggestions, observations, and reminders on how to live a happy and rewarding life”.  I thought it would be fun to blog about the entries as they relate to my own experiences. 

Number 4: Remember other people's birthdays

Once upon a time, I was well intentioned.  I had been in the habit of transferring birthday dates from the outgoing calendar to the incoming. And whenever a birth announcement arrived in the mail, I added the date to my calendar. But over time, my system has broken down. My calendar is still marked with some birthdays, but only the ones I'm compelled to remember - husband, children, parents, siblings... If you pressed me, I'd admit that I'm wholly disappointed in myself for this breach of memory and record keeping. At this point, my brain is unreliable and I should set up something electronically.  Facebook works well if you check your page every day, but I don't.  An email reminder might be just the thing. 

Birthdays are important. As I've gotten older, I've had to slowly extricate myself from all of my former birthday expectations. With every birthday, gift volume is reduced to a trickle. Fanfare is typically mellow.  And realistically, adult birthdays can feel like an afterthought. As I get older, it remains important to me to recognize this celebration of my birth, but sometimes the fanfare is quieter. And these days, I don't need gifts, just a simple "Happy Birthday" from a friend and I feel a bit heady. I'd like it if I could reliably do this for others by always remembering their birthdays. There's room for improvement, most definitely. Maybe tomorrow I'll research www.mybirthdaytracker.com. And if tomorrow is your birthday, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Number 3: Watch a sunrise at least once a year

BACKSTORY: Does anyone remember the small book by H. Jackson Brown, Jr.?  Life's Little Instruction Book, as many of my peers may recall, was written by a father as a gift for his college-bound son. For anyone unfamiliar with the format of the book, it lists “511 suggestions, observations, and reminders on how to live a happy and rewarding life”.  I thought it would be fun to blog about the entries as they relate to my own experiences. 

Number 3: Watch a sunrise at least once a year.
I have only happened upon sunrises. This night owl has never been motivated enough to rise early for one. And since I have only witnessed them while en route to the airport or to the hospital (to delivery a baby), my sightings have always been overshadowed by other big events and have never forged stand-alone memories. A sunrise is beautiful to be sure, and life seems to bring us together without much effort.  I'm not sure people need to treat a sunrise like an event.  It happens every day after all.  But I'm glad to have a sense of them, and the stillness they inspire. It's comforting to know that the curtain so reliably opens on each new day, whether I've got a leading role or not. 

LLIBD Number 2: Have a dog.

(LLIBD stands for Life's Little Instruction Book Deconstructed.)

Does anyone remember the little book by H. Jackson Brown, Jr.?  Life's Little Instruction Book, as many of my peers can probably recall, was written by a father as a gift for his college-bound son. We have two copies in our house. One was given to my husband by his mother, and the other was given to me by my mother. This actually makes sense since the once popular book was published in 1991, about the same time that we graduated from college. For anyone unfamiliar with the format of the book, it lists “511 suggestions, observations, and reminders on how to live a happy and rewarding life”. 

Of course I’ve read the book, at least once, but I thought it would be fun to blog about each entry and deconstruct them one by one through my own experiences. 

Number 2: Have a dog.

For starters, I have a dog. Her name is Ella and she ate a squirrel last week. Even still she is a constant source of joy for me (and for the rest of our family). I kiss her soft head more than I kiss anything else in this world. I feel honored to have her trust. I love to look at her beautiful face and I marvel at her agility and endurance. At night time, I look forward to sharing my bed with her, especially when it's cold. She asserts herself cozily in between me and my husband. Best of all, I believe that Ella loves me. I'm her human and that is a responsibility I don't take lightly. Having a dog gives my life depth because I'm not exclusively coming at the world as a person would. Life is somehow reduced to its most basic parts when I'm forced awake at 3AM because Ella ate something that disagreed with her. 

Life's Little Instruction Book Deconstructed

Does anyone remember the little book by H. Jackson Brown, Jr.?  Life's Little Instruction Book, as many of my peers can probably recall, was written by a father as a gift for his college-bound son. We have two copies in our house. One was given to my husband by his mother, and the other was given to me by my mother. This actually makes sense since the once popular book was published in 1991, about the same time that we graduated from college. For anyone unfamiliar with the format of the book, it lists “511 suggestions, observations, and reminders on how to live a happy and rewarding life”. 


Of course I’ve read the book, at least once, but I thought it would be fun to blog about each entry and deconstruct them one by one through my own experiences. 


Number 1: Compliment three people every day.
This one almost isn't fair. I have three kids (and one husband) and if I don't throw a compliment to each of them at least once a day, I feel like an animal. Right? Aren't we programmed to compliment those we love. Complimenting loved ones nurtures alliances and rewards good behavior. On the other hand, I enjoy telling my son that he has beautiful fingers because there's clearly no manipulation going on.  Outside of that, I would say that I'm pretty free and easy with my compliments. I like reminding people of their talents and strengths. It's powerful giving to people in this way, and while it's absolutely free, it can yield greatness.

Soccer Mom

The term soccer mom has had a bum rap for years. And while my three kids play soccer, making soccer the week's dominating extracurricular activity, I don't define myself as a soccer mom. Whether it be dance, hockey, horseback, or soccer, OUR kids are involved like never before. To be honest, I used to fight it. I tried to deny the intrusions. I failed to be organized or even engaged enough to integrate these activities into our week in any kind of orderly way. In short, I failed the entire family until now. 

This year, I kiss my children awake. To be sure, my techniques were less gentle last year. I now rise early to drive my 7th grader to Jazz band rehearsal twice a week. I look forward to soccer games and reach the sidelines in anticipation of the amazing foot skills I will see on the field (instead of fretting over lost time spent there). 


I can't really explain these changes. Part of me thinks that I finally evicted my inner child, the little girl who wants to do whatever she wants, on her terms. The next few years are weighted with some hefty responsibilty. I can either wake up and make everyone miserable with my kicking and screaming attitude, or I can rise to meet the challenges of the day. 

My move to make things run more smoothly was not actually calculated, not seriously anyway. I think I just thought that shifting gears a bit would actually make my life easier and, so far, it has. Just days from my 43rd birthday, you would think I'd have it figured out by now, but I don't.

Picture Me Crying

Why doesn't anyone take pictures of their kids while they're crying? It's crazy, really, considering how much time they spend doing it. And I don't mean babies. I haven't looked lately, but most of us probably have a picture of a crying infant somewhere in an album or box. It's the older kids, let's say eight and older. I think I might start photographing crying as a punishment for crying. If someone starts to cry, I'll grab the camera and take their picture. Simple. Then I'll show it to them. No one likes the look of themselves all tear-streaked, and wet-eyed. Maybe this way I could curb their enthusiasm for crying in general. Now I'm not talking about getting rid of crying altogether. It's fine for general disappointment, death of a pet, cancelled vacation, didn't get the lead in the school play, that sort of thing. But if you start crying because you have to get your homework done before soccer practice, then I just may take your picture. I may even blog about what precipitated the crying or post the photo on Facebook. By the way, if you do take pictures of your kids when they cry, I would love to see them.

Living With Awareness

Today I 'm reminded that I continue to develop a keen awareness of my personal context inside a much bigger picture. I learned that a dirty look can still go the distance, even when cast from my 5 foot 1 inch frame. I learned that it was the right decision to pass on the t-shirt printed, "I'm not short, I'm fun sized". And finally, I realized just in time that my act of ripping page after page from a magazine while waiting for my child at the hair salon caused the grey haired woman beside me to admonish through a punishing sidewise stare directed at me. Of course, why would she think I had bothered to bring a magazine from home? 

Who's still afraid of Mommy Dearest

Tonight during dinner I pantomimed Faye Dunaway's Joan Crawford from Mommy Dearest for my three kids. I'm still surprised by how much I got into the role. I briefly explained who Joan Crawford was and how there was a book, and then a movie, about her life called Mommy Dearest. I used the word berserk to describe Joan's character losing control after discovering that Christina left some cleanser clinging to the bathroom sink, or was it the bathtub? I got down on my hands and knees and wailed, "Scrub Christina, scrub". My kids were appalled, but laughing pretty hard just the same. No time for a costume change, and I was raging in the kitchen about wire hangers, favoring to beat my pretend hanger against the air instead of one of my kids. All in all, I put on a pretty good show. But it didn't end there. I told the kids that now that I'm thinking about Joan Crawford for the first time in 30 years, maybe I need to see the movie again. I said, "You know guys, I've lost it before. With each of you." I'm grateful that Rowan cut me off so quickly, "Yeah, but not like that." 


Maybe I need to invite a bunch of my girlfriends over to my house for a viewing with popcorn and wine. Who knows, we might empathize more now that we have kids of our own.  

You Call That A Stick?

Ella at eight weeks.

I am grateful for my dog. She is a complete freak. When we're in the woods together, she has this routine where she locates the biggest piece of wood around. Today, she wrestled a 10 foot length of branch with a diameter of 4 inches. Here's a visual key for you: Ella weighs about 40 pounds. She relies on two modes of hauling to move her prize along the trail. Most of the time, she grabs one end and hauls it battering ram style (and you better watch your back). I made it three quarters of the way around Millers Pond and was feeling a little smug until she pierced my quadriceps. Ouch! But it's when she grips it in the middle, tightrope walker with balancing pole style, that the fun really begins. She's good for a jaunty canter, no matter where she is, and to see her gaining speed while trying to balance the branch as it hits every tree in the woods is hilarious. I laugh out loud with sadistic glee. My dog is tenacious and resilient, both excellent qualities.

Cake Boss Continued

Nora turned 7 in the company of a bunch of cake decorating fiends (yeah, and they were also friends). Cake Boss Tara had it all figured out employing an adorable cheese wheel and mice theme and the kids had a great time. It never fails, though, the prep and planning that go into one of these birthday shindigs can generate an awful lot of stress. I try to do my thing and convince myself that I'm not out to top any of the parties of birthdays past. My kids have said often enough that a party they went to was the "best party ever". It does become a competition, but not the kind you might think. I'm not trying to best anyone. I just want my kids to feel like I put in some effort. Of course, I don't do this for the summer or spring birthdays in our family. For those, I leave it to the outdoors and pray for sunshine. Anyway, this subject actually came up during Nora's party. You know, how we parents are forever trying to make it into the birthday party hall of fame with our original ideas. This all comes under a heading I like to call Pottery Barn Kids. I try to put it out of my mind most days, but sometimes I can't help myself and I let the doom settle inside my head. I worry with a heavy heart that the kids being raised by my own generation are headed for big trouble. Entitlement is certainly on the short list of worrisome character traits and throwing fab birthday parties for our little princes and princesses seems like it just might be a very bad idea. By the way, don't miss the sparkly silver crown on the head of my princess.

Can You Beat the Stomach Flu?

"Awww, come on. Where's your confidence? You can beat this." These are the encouraging words my husband offered to me after witnessing me endure four hours of pre-stomach flu nausea, followed by the seal-breaking first vomit session. When I rejoined him on the couch, visibly beaten, I waited for the next wave to hit. It took about 35 minutes, at which time I dodged the ottoman again in a sprint to the bathroom. The tough part lasted another 6 hours, culminating at 3 am with a brown toilet and a bile-filled waste-basket. Gross, right? We've all been there. And it's literally something we have to gut out:) My husband thinks I'm from weak stock. Whenever a virus or bacteria get the better of me, he compares his in penetrable genetic immunity to my pathetic one. Yes I get sick. But I'm not a huge baby about it. Can you read between the lines? It's going around. First Aidan on Wednesday, me on Thursday, Rowan on Friday (cast from her father's mold - no actual vomitting). Only two left to fall - who will be next?

Homage to the Cake Boss

Well it's been a real think-tank around here, everybody in the family trying to nail down a theme for Nora's upcoming 7th birthday. We finally made some progress today. After seeing one of Tara Jay's awesome cake photographs on FB, I asked her (on a lark) if she would consider doing a cake decorating session for the party. She said YES and I am grateful to cross that one off the list. At tuck-in just moments ago, I probed a little further.
Here's me, "You know what you need to do next?"
Nora replied, "What?"
"You need to jot down a few things that you would like for your birthday."
Well she cut me off like a texting teen behind the wheel and offered in a whisper, "You know what I want?
"What Nora?"
"A robot that does everything for my family."
I cannot stop laughing.

Monkey Business

Last night we were in the car for the 30 minute drive to North Haven on our way to visit my brother and his family. The 3 kids were in the back discussing, of all things, evolution. They kicked it off wondering how it was that Adam and Eve came on the scene. Where did they come from? Short on answers, I heard someone say something about the first man and woman appearing in a poof. The conversation suddenly headed away from the Garden, with Rowan explaining the chain of life throughout the ages. She told them about the primate link and that was it. What else is left to say when your 6 year old says, "So I used to be a monkey?" That's right Nora, we could never find the words to tell you...

Exploring Friendship

Having kids gives you a chance to revisit all the ugly stuff about peer relationships. Nearly everyday you can lend your support, or at least an attentive ear, while kids unload about the ups and downs (and pitfalls) of friendship. It's a great reminder for ourselves as adults to practice what we preach. For example, if I try to convince my child that her unsupportive friend du jour is jealous of her achievements and has limited coping strategies, I might want to remember those words the next time someone in my own circle hurls an insult my way. I try to remind my kids to apply the box of chocolates analogy (ala Forrest Gump) to the idea of friends. You know, life is much sweeter if you have more than one - blah, blah, blah. But too many of the wrong variety, and you may start to feel a little sick. Some of them are especially rich and just a taste is more than enough, or maybe you avoid the one with nuts until the day you take a leap and discover it's your favorite. I could go on and on. The truth is, I love navigating relationships and figuring people out, but it never gets easier. It's always a challenge. Relationships are the most individualized things. I could have a dozen friends, all serving different needs and I could be a different version of myself with every one of them. But on some days, I'm better off blazing a trail in the woods, on my own time and on my own terms. Sometimes a friend is exactly the opposite of what I need. Sometimes I just need a one-on-one with myself.

Tribute

My daughter is presenting her family heritage project tomorrow (first grade) and we (I) decided to do it on my mother who died nearly 20 years ago. It was neat gathering things together so that Nora has a tangible handle on my mother's memory. We leafed through an old photo album in which my mom had written comments on her pictures. One of them was of my mom at around 11 or 12 years of age and she had a giant bow in her hair. Across her face she wrote, "How Perfectly Horrible". She always had such a good sense of humor, and was so grounded about herself and the people around her. Nora and I assembled some special treasures that belonged to my mother including a piece of her jewelry; her sterling silver hairbrush, comb and mirror set; her Elgin compact; her Sheaffer fountain pen; and a handful of photographs. The best item, though, is the stunning black velvet cocktail dress that my mother and I both wore when we were in our twenties. It's so gorgeous, I hope to see both of my girls wear it some day. Nora thinks her grandmother was beautiful - and she was. It's good to make time to remember her. I don't do it that often. My mother was, in modern terms, a stay-at-home-mom. She wasn't famous, and she didn't have a career. But she was a good person and a terrific mother. Smart, funny and musical. My mother knew the power of a hug and gave of herself without asking anything in return. She made me who I am, and I am forever grateful to her. Of course I miss her, and that is something that gives my life meaning. She was and remains the most incredible person to me.

Another Life Lesson from the Berenstain Bears

Has anyone read the new Berenstain Bears book titled, "Too Many Snow Days Followed by a Professional Development Delayed Opening"? It got so-so reviews, but the plot sounds fascinating. It centers around the children who don't know what to do with themselves after a dump of 2 feet of snow strikes Bear Country and they're stuck at home for two days. They spend exorbitant amounts of time searching for matching gloves, and stepping in puddles inside the treehouse, then stomping around shouting that their stuff is all wet. Once outside, so the story goes, they hurl things at the dog as it repeatedly grabs all of the snowbear's accessories. The story progresses predictably as Mama is depicted outside shoveling snow for two hours, just to escape from the children and their incessant whining, only to wrench her neck. The climax is the story's undoing, veering strongly from the typical Berenstain Bears moral denouement. Front and center, Mama can no longer take it: the crying and the complaining, the constant needs for food and drink, and the huge messes in every room. She finally screams and threatens making such a scene, but backs off in the end, because she is simply too exhausted to enforce any rules anymore.

Child's Play

My older kids were invited to play at a friend's house today. Now that's all well and good, but when you have 3 children, it's about as common as a lunar eclipse to have them all playing elsewhere. Alas, you still have one hanging around. Today, I felt guilty for my young one. So I told her that I would play anything she wanted. We played SCHOOL for awhile (I read a child's dictionary aloud to my pretend class), then we sashayed over to the pretense of Barbie's world. I played with Nora for a solid chunk of time and it felt good. Now I don't want you to think that I have never played with my kids before. I used to be pretty good at - back when I had to be. But these days, I'm not called upon that often. You're probably thinking, get to the point. Anyway, in the middle of playing together, Nora said, "I love you so much Mom, you are the best Mom." Then later when I had moved onto other things, and Nora started to watch Eloise, she said it again. I do and I don't wish that I could find that kind of time to play with her every day. It's a little wierd though. It's such a simple formula and I just don't apply it very often.