Kids Today Oy Vay

Number 4: Remember other people's birthdays

2011-11-04T17:04:00.000-07:00

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

2011-11-02T14:01:00.000-07:00

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.

2011-10-28T11:37:00.000-07:00

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

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

2011-10-26T16:39:00.000-07:00

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

2011-10-06T15:10:00.000-07:00

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

2011-09-15T11:12:00.000-07:00

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

2011-09-08T15:15:00.000-07:00

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

2011-08-11T18:56:00.000-07:00

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?

2011-03-15T13:48:00.000-07:00

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

2011-02-27T14:44:00.000-08:00

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?

2011-02-19T16:25:00.000-08:00

"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

2011-02-15T18:40:00.001-08:00

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

2011-02-13T16:54:00.000-08:00

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

2011-02-10T16:55:00.000-08:00

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

2011-02-09T17:54:00.001-08:00

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

2011-01-14T17:34:00.001-08:00

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

2011-01-07T14:11:00.000-08:00

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.

Worst Mother Ever

2010-12-21T16:48:00.000-08:00

A month of Christmas television specials have already come and gone since Thanksgiving, and my three kids have seen exactly ZERO of them. Well, Nora did see the Grinch on video one day because we own it, and all three of them saw part of Elf at their cousins' house on Thanksgiving. But that's it. By contrast, when I was a kid I flipped through that thick TV Guide like it was a dog-earred Bible. I had the whole week scheduled out. The toughest nights were those on which two equally AWESOME Christmas shows were airing at the same time. But today, in a tech-crazy world of streaming and on-demand programming, my kids could conceivably be watching Christmas shows all day, every day. But their ingorance is my bliss. I have checked the listings online often during the past month, checking for a show they could watch together. But whenever I softened enough to think I would let them stay up to watch something, I changed my mind well before 8 o'clock. Aidan doesn't even know about Jim Carey's character in Pet Detective, yet he mimics it beautifully every night between 6 and 8. All three of them are wild that time of night, and it's all I can do to get them up the stairs by 8 pm.

Save the Drama for your Mama

2010-11-23T09:21:00.000-08:00

I don't have enough drama in my life. Clearly, it's just another day in the life when my daughter Nora mutters, "I hate my mother". I know she's the baby, but she doesn't get whatever she wants. Instead I see her at the end of a perpetual queue - always waiting to tell me something. I triage her with a finger to my lips and a nod to one of the older kids to continue with their monologue of the moment. Poor Nora, I think. But she is no shrinking violet. She mutters and retaliates, moans and complains. I don't really know what to do to fix it (I've tried a bunch of things). Of course, not all drama is bad drama. I'm fortunate to have children who can't go an hour without singing. In the car, I get to listen to the Willy Wonka soundtrack. Track numbers are shouted from the back seat and I scramble to find them. Around the house, everything is a dance number or a comedy sketch. Zany one-liners are regurgitated ad nausea. Lucky me!
Check out Rowan at her cousin's graduation party this summer.

Home Schooled

2010-10-13T19:40:00.001-07:00

I have just experienced an epiphany bubble. If I had to do it all over again, I would (alright, maybe could is the better word here) have home schooled my children. My kids begin arriving home at 3:15 and this process wraps at around 3:55. They drag out snack until about 5 pm. Then we need to shake a leg because we're usually due at some sort of team activity by 5:30 which doesn't end until 7 pm or thereabouts. Then onto homework, flute/sax, math facts, yucks, dinner, crazy nonsense, and don't forget the micromanaging through every ridiculous detail of their lives. Here's me (and don't forget to come up for air because you are merely reading this, not saying it in one robotic monologue like I have to do), "hang your jacket on the hook, put your shoes away, hang up your backpack, put your lunchbox on the island, put the icepack in the freezer, get out your homework and show me what you have to do ...". Truth be told, they are fried. I can tell because they can't listen to one another without attacking, deflecting or crying (or all 3 at once!). But if I home schooled them, we could waltz around the grocery store comparing prices and ingredients. We could find FUN ways to master math facts and read about myths and legends. We could spell, and write letters to friends and congressmen. We could whip up something fun in the kitchen (and maybe even eat it). Now home schoolers, don't take offence. I am not built to home school. The stress of it would most certainly paralyze me. However, it is a little sad that there seems to be so little time left after the school is done with them, and yet there's still so much left to do.

Back to School

2010-09-10T17:25:00.000-07:00

So the kids have been in school for just over a week and I'm not nearly approaching any sort of daily rhythm yet. Day two or three I grab a quick osmosis dose of Faith Middleton's Food Schmooze on the radio. I'm only half listening because I'm kind of sick of the perpetual orgasm Faith has while talking recipes. Then I hear her say, "It's back to school and were thinking sandwiches and homemade bread". Well that's just about all I can handle. Come on Faith? While I'm busy pushing a variety of store-bought breads - trying to spice them up with Nutella and Fluff - Faith is busy stoking her olde world oven, at least in a virtual way. So here's what I have to say: My kids have proven time and time again that they eat differently at school than at home. For the years they've been in school, they've snubbed apples, cheddar slices, organic yogurt, turkey breast sandwiches and homemade soup. So in an effort to avoid my starving child's inability to learn in class, I'll send just about anything if I know they'll actually eat it.

Rich Girl

2010-08-31T18:48:00.000-07:00

My lovely visionary announced today that she was going to have her lawn mowed by other people and have her grass fertilized everyday. She said that she would color her toilet water blue and that she would be rich to pay for it all. Ready to pounce with a moral lesson about hard work, I asked -

"How will you do that?".

"What do you call those things that suck your blood?"

"Leaches?", I guessed. "Yes, I'm going to be a leach hunter. They get paid a thousand dollars a day."

Good to know...

Thank you Dirty Jobs.

Guns ~ for the kid in you

2010-07-16T18:53:00.000-07:00

Is it wrong of me to use an image of my son toting a gun as the cover of his birthday thank you notes? But nothing better captures the revolutionary spirit of Aidan's sleepover birthday extravaganza than this photo of him sizing up his next target (in this case, me) using a Nerf weapon. Are you picturing a half dozen 8-9 year old boys infiltrating splinter factions in every pocket of my yard with varying degrees of Nerf artillery. And it seems like only yesterday that I bonded with other new moms at play groups over our tacit commitment to raising nonviolent males based on our loosely researched position to keep all manner of toy guns OUT of our homes. It was our responsibility after all. Violence was not something we were willing to condone. Since then, as most mothers of boys become quickly schooled, weaponry has spawned itself. Seemingly benign Legos and Lincoln Logs render themselves rifle butts or better still, nature lends a helping hand by improvising with limitless sticks. Wrap them up with some electrical tape, and you've got something high-end, specialized. After awhile, the battle to sequester young boys from their weapons of choice becomes pointless and you end up with photos like this one and mail them to friends. Voila!

Calling 911

2010-06-15T17:18:00.001-07:00

While driving alone in the car the other day, my phone rang and I answered it. "Hello", I said. The unfamiliar voice identified herself with the state police and asked, "Are you alright, is everything alright? We received a 911 call from this number." Flabbergasted yet sure this wasn't a prank, I responded, "Gee, I don't know how that happened. I'm sorry. I'm fine, every one's fine." The call ended cordially and the caller was so nice that I didn't even feel guilty. But after I hung up, I looked at the display on the phone and read the words, emergency mode activated. So that was it. Who knew I even had an emergency mode on my phone, and God help me should I ever need to activate it. Oops! The next thing I did was laugh out loud as it occurred to me that I had butt-dialed 911. That's right, the phone was in my rear pocket while I was driving. I laughed harder when I thought that I had just birthed song lyrics. "I butt-dialed 911" could so readily echo the flippancy and begrudgingly likable melody of "I kissed a girl and I liked it".

Lions and Tigers and Beers, Oh My

2010-05-28T20:39:00.000-07:00

So I just checked my blog (like I do). And for those of you who have ever noticed the ads running alongside my posts, you should see what's up there right now. I'm trying not to read too much into it, but it's not that easy. Currently there are a total of five ads and each one is related to drinking and alcoholism. In order, they read: Alcoholism Rehab Center, Stop Drinking Alcohol, 12 Step Alternative, Tired of Drinking, and Alcoholism Natural Remedy. So what the kooky marketeers at Google Ads must be saying, based on my posts, is either that I can't conceivably come up with such brilliant blogger crap without first tossing some back, OR that I can't possibly limp through my dizzying oy vay daze without getting my drink on. Now if I can only find that camera...

Another Would-be Empire Vanquished

2010-05-16T13:38:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I came across some signs hidden away in my linen closet. What an absolute riot. A few years back I had heard about family behavior codes at a time when I was desperate for a stab at even modest control over my three kids. I grabbed some sharpies and went to town scribbling an all-purpose mantra for daily life defined by GOOD behavior. I remember having a ribbon attached to them and hanging the signs on a doorknob in the upstairs hallway. When things got out of hand (or should I say - several times a day), I would run and grab a sign from the doorknob and start pointing and reading (with ENTHUSIASM) through the list. I don't recall that it helped to change behavior, but it probably helped me a little as a prop. It gave me a script which kept things from going from bad to worse. I had to photograph them so I would always remember how ridiculous this parenting gig can feel at times. The signs will be repurposed, but they will always make me laugh.

Dumber than a Fifth Grader

2010-03-31T08:46:00.000-07:00

My daughter invited me to attend fifth grade again. I told her no, I must decline her generous offer. Don't get me wrong. Who wouldn't want to push dinner prep and laundry aside week after week to dive into some math? And those who know me best know that I'm itching to identify some greatest common factors in fractions. But like I told her, if I don't get the grades, I'm not doing the work.

White Whale Continued

2010-03-24T05:01:00.000-07:00

I while ago, I wrote about something I don't do well as a mother - bathing my children. Short of risking people thinking that there's only one white whale floating in my pond, let me enlighten thee. I'm a bit embarrassed as the things that escape me tend to be pretty basic, and yet I've never nailed them. For instance, bundling. I have never been a mother that fusses over getting every appendage covered before heading out somewhere, even in the bitter Vermont winters that our two oldest children weathered the first years of their lives. As infants, my kids were on the less is more program because their mother didn't go the extra mile with the sherpa surrounds. I relied on them. Certainly, if they could cry to nurse, than they could cry if they were too cold.

All you need is love

2010-03-18T16:40:00.000-07:00

I remember collecting wisdom about having children before I ever had children. One thing sticks out in my memory as universal advice (voiced heavily by my parent's generation). I think it's a cliche, but never-the-less, it was something I really latched onto. The advice was this: Just love them, that's all they need.

Really? That's all they need. O.k., I guess loving them covers some ground like feeding them, keeping them close to you in a parking lot, and discouraging them from eating glass. But what about the rest of the crapshoot? I spend way too much energy (and it's riddled with tension like I'm about to explode) on correcting and admonishing behavior - ultimately (and hopefully) molding some kind of useful human being that won't need to be locked up down the road. Honestly, I couldn't begin to list the other stuff that I need to do to in addition to loving them. I guess the message was that the love part is a bare necessity and everything else is icing. Huh?

Your Moment of Zen...

2010-03-17T19:40:00.001-07:00

I'll leave you with this. I long for the day when I thought I could lose weight by cutting my hair. Seriously, I'm up at least 5 pounds, maybe more, thanks to winter indulgences such as cookies and chocolate. Cutting my hair won't make up the difference I need. I'm so desperate that I've stopped drinking the magical elixir - Coca~Cola. And I'm quitting my gym membership because they no longer have a magazine rack - no more People Magazine. On the upside, shop vaccing my basement full of water and hauling buckets has brought me closer to my goal weight in short order. Yahoo!

All in a name

2010-03-13T11:35:00.000-08:00

I have a problem. The name of my blog is no longer working for me. In fact it might be working against me. First of all, (and this may come as a big shocker) I'm not Jewish. The other big problem with calling my blog Kids Today Oy Vay is that I often find myself wanting to write about something other than kids. So as I poured pancake batter this morning, I wondered outloud - "I think I want to rename my blog". Now six year-old Nora, always willing to contribute, suggested, "You could name it Kaden, that's a cute name for a blog". Well darn it, she's right. Kaden is a cute name, and not just for a blog. However, I want a more clever name - something that underscores the themes about which I write. So if anyone reading this post has a good idea (and you may need to go back and read some of my older posts), please send a comment with your suggestion. I would really appreciate the collective brain power.
P.S. And if you think I should keep it as it is, tell me.

Eureka!

2010-03-10T10:14:00.000-08:00

I finally figured out the IFs and WHENs of my blog sessions. When I feel like a crappy failure of a mother, I dry up and no words come. But when I feel decent about the things going on and all family members are nearly on the same page, I can write. So, can you guess what mode I've been in since March 2nd? That's right, crappy failure of a mother. When I look back on my life since becoming a mother, a huge paradigm shift took place the moment my children entered school. When I began to regularly turn them over to someone else for the first time, it was as if they suddenly became mini-me's. If they didn't behave well (and I had the pleasure to hear all about it), I wanted to shrink into a ball and slink away unseen. I felt shame and guilt, while a burning need to make things right oozed from my every pore. For the first time, there was another arbiter. And for the next several years, there will always be some other adult outside of our family to evaluate, monitor and even judge my kids. It's hard for me to separate myself and remember that I can't make my kids behave a certain way. Sure, I can discipline behaviors, reiterate rules and dispense lectures from the hip. I can bribe and motivate with creativity. But, alas, at the end of the day, I must remember that we (they and me) are not the same.

Ludicrous

2010-03-02T17:46:00.000-08:00

A few months back, my husband and I witnessed the most ridiculous television commercial. It opens with a couple of young kids watching TV in a dark family room. Next you see the kids levitate ala superman as they are slowly sucked toward the TV. Just when I think, good, somebody out there gets it - here's a mocking commentary on the evils of television and its suffocating grasp on our children, the mom and dad pop their heads into the shot with a cheery, "Hey kids, we've got donuts" (or something like that). Now we see the vortex of television go limp as the kids run toward the Dunkin Donuts contraband delivered by their folks. That's right kids, not only do you win, but you can have it all. Watch all the television you want AND feast on fatty fried donuts.

Got Smarts?

2010-02-25T14:54:00.000-08:00

Well it's official. My ten year-old daughter is smarter than me. I knew it would happen, but I was blindsighted by how quickly it morphed from a nagging fear to an absolute reality. I'm not exactly upset by this news. I think it's great. My daughter has a sophisticated world-view and an incredible wit that will render her more capable in just about any situation than I have ever been. In terms of genetic hand-me-downs, she got the best of both me and my husband and I am grateful. You go girl!

School is out...

2010-02-21T17:21:00.000-08:00

I've just spent nine straight days with the kids (winter break) and witnessed an astounding array of bad behavior. An hour ago, Nora accidentally hit Aidan with a carrying tote for a stuffed dog. As Aidan began to cry, Nora beat him to the punch with a much louder and more emphatic outbreak of tears. "I'm so sorry Aidan", rang out from the upstairs hallway. Meanwhile, Aidan was now in the kitchen, with no sign of tears or injury. While Nora cried her guilty heart out, I validated Aidan's miraculous recovery and directed him to tell Nora that he was alright and that he accepts her apology. A moment later, I heard Aidan say, "Nora, I'm alright and I expect your apology". Well, that just about says it all - I'm out.

Fiddler on the Roof

2010-02-18T18:12:00.001-08:00

I'm writing tonight while listening to the original sound recording of Fiddler on the Roof. My mother used to sing me to sleep with a track from the show called, Do you love me? I used to feel so special as my eyelids grew heavy. This week has been school vacation week for my kids and we've had some good times, Boston Science Museum and the amazing Harry Potter exhibit and bad times, poor Rowan's first tooth extraction. That part happened this morning and that cursed baby molar proved to be a rough one. I expect I'll look much older tomorrow morning. On the plus side, Nora thinks we should all head to the Plasma Hotel for a few days of respite - you know the one, where Eloise lives. I suppose it could be a handy spot to lay low if we experience some blood loss on the way.

Instant Bonus Room

2010-02-10T19:43:00.000-08:00

You know you're desperate for "space" when just days before your big New Year's Eve party, your husband suggests you invite your favorite contractor over for a quote to create a bonus room by bumping out the back of the house. Oh my God. Yeah, and eight years from now we'll be footing an extra $75K a year bill for the oldest child to head off to college. Is my projection that ludicrous? And two years after that, another kid will go, and so on... Anyhoo, I saved the day by suggesting that our guestroom be converted into an upstairs den/playroom instead. In the eight years we've been in this house, I can count on one hand the number of times our guest room has gotten any action and it's really dropped off lately. We've noticed that if people can get home to sleep in their own beds, they will. I got to work right away knowing that the $2000 I might spend to furnish this room would be a far cry from any would-be bonus room construction costs. During the course of a Sunday, I heaved and hauled and solicited the help of underdeveloped muscles (not mine) to carve the space for our new room all the while relocating the middle child to another bedroom. The result has been nothing less than magical. My kids go nuts for change. The furniture arrived two weeks ago and we just painted the walls an outlandish shade of green and bought a second TV. Wallah - our mini bonus room looks amazing and middle child loves his new digs with its crazy jogs and angles. Everybody wins.

More Sugar Please?

2010-02-08T06:44:00.000-08:00

In our house, waffles and confectioners sugar have become a welcome duo. Funny how sleepovers and morning-after breakfast at the homes of friends can so readily broaden our kids' worldview (and expectations). For months my youngest has called the tantalizing powder "infectioners sugar", but this weekend she asked for "perfectioners sugar". I didn't know if she was just stepping up her request (perhaps suggesting that I'd been buying generic or something), or if it had finally reached a supreme place of status for her. And I really don't know which will eventually do more harm - infectioners or perfectioners. Thank God I discovered a simple way to record these hilarious gems without missing a beat. Whenever one of my kids says or does something that I want to remember, I walk over to the wall calendar in our kitchen, grab the hanging marker and jot it down. The result is brilliant because I know down to the day what happened and when. At the end of the year when I replace the calendar, I grab an index card and transfer the highlights so I can record them elsewhere. Ta-da!

Seeing Dollar Signs

2010-02-05T06:31:00.000-08:00

My kids are well on their way to developing a full-blown complex. I can't help myself, but in my world everything has a dollar value. When my son pours more orange juice for himself, I remind him, "Go easy on the juice Aidan, you know that bottle cost almost six dollars?" Or on the weekends when we have waffles and pancakes, I'm such a nut case when they go for more maple syrup. I'm all like - "Whoa! Easy with that stuff. That stuff is like spun gold - it cost sixteen dollars". Shamefully, I even perpetuated my daughter's preference for the fake stuff - Aunt Jemima and Mrs. Butterworth can thank me later for the increased revenue. Granted, I am a child of children of the Depression, but this is getting rediculous.

How do they make me?

2010-02-03T19:15:00.000-08:00

One of my children asked me once, "does it hurt when they make you?" When you're in the thick of in-fighting with your siblings, or worrying about where your next snack comes from, how do you even think to ask that question? Consider for a second the things a small child may have seen being made. An assembly line churning and freezing ice cream at the Ben & Jerry's Factory, or maybe they witnessed horseshoes being shod or glass being blown at Sturbridge Village. Ouch! Both of those require hellish fire and some of it with pounding. No wonder...

See how menacing Ella looked in those early days?

2010-02-02T05:36:00.001-08:00

Sick of you, sick of me

2010-02-01T20:15:00.000-08:00

I took a look at some of my earlier blog drafts. When it comes to doling out daily doses of punishment, my puppy isn't quite as unrelenting today as she was in August.

What can I say, pneumonia and a new labrador puppy combine for a cocktail without FDA approval. Ella, please take Aidan's leg out of your mouth. What began as an ordinary summer has turned into a battle of wits. I fight my dog for alpha status with one hand, and nurse my squatter of a cough with the other. When the doctor said I had pneumonia, my ever-present cough and pathetic show of frailty finally had scope. I spent my days sighing, crying, and cursing. When I felt brave, I would escape to walk the dog only to have her beat the crap out of me all the way home. It's a good show over here on Carriage Drive, watching me in all manner of embarrassment trying out some new training technique or another on the front lawn with the dog. Today I discovered that if I spray my hand with diluted white vinegar and shove it in the dog's face, she'll start to sneeze. Note to self, buy more vinegar.

Where is the Isle of Me?

2010-01-29T16:52:00.000-08:00

Nothing gets you focused on the right stuff - yourself that is - like the promise of a new pair of shoes. It doesn't take much when you are 5 (or 50). Last night during a trip to Marshalls, the greatest store in the world, my girls and I were there to cruise the shoe department. All business as usual in a retail setting, looking for bargains and nothing less, I was whipping up and down those aisles when I heard 5 year-old Nora (audibly frustrated) say, "Where is the aisle of me?" Well I've been asking that same question for forty-one years. I heard that the folks from Lost may have found it once, but that was just a rumor.

Laughing at nothing

2010-01-29T13:10:00.000-08:00

If a housewife laughs at her own joke and no one is around to hear it, is it funny? No, really, I need to know. And yes, I did just call myself a housewife.

My daughter is sitting beside me and just asked, "do other people think your blog is funny?" "Of course", I couldn't get the words out fast enough. By the way, if anyone is wondering why I've been writing again, I decided that I had to change the way in which I approach this silly blog. For one thing, I'm writing during the day instead of at night while I'm still fresh. I'm also keeping the posts shorter and fretting less about them. Don't forget to leave a comment if the mood strikes. Thanks for reading.

2010-01-28T10:28:00.000-08:00

Nora getting ready for work.

All in a day's work

2010-01-28T10:15:00.001-08:00

When I played Moms yesterday with my kindergartner, she told me she might be quitting her job. I asked if she and her husband could make it without her salary, and she said, "oh yes, he makes a thousand dollars". I stared at her, choking back the laugh, when she added, "a day". "Oh", I smiled, "well that's a significant income, you guys would be fine if you were to quit."

Ella Bo Bella

2010-01-27T10:08:00.001-08:00

What a morning! I had to drop three kids off at two schools and bring a pup to doggie daycare. Am I one of those people? I can't believe I'm actually paying somebody to wear out my dog. She's only been twice before today and must be getting used to the idea of being shipped off for a few hours. When I made my second school stop this morning, I had Ella in the car. I tried to restrain her as two kids unloaded, but she broke out and went running up the school sidewalk, right up to the front door. What a scene... cars, buses, kids, parents, mayhem. It was absolutely hilarious. In short order, I gathered her up in my arms and carried her back to the car. I was so embarrassed, but glad for the laugh.

Up all night

2010-01-26T14:04:00.000-08:00

Let's see, what happened today? Well, it started with a bang at 4 am when my daughter woke me with her cries - turned out her arm was asleep. At least her arm knew what to do in the middle of the night. After 60 seconds of soothing her and waking her arm, I went back to bed, but couldn't fall asleep. Instead, I lay in bed and listened to the wind and rain, praying that the basement wasn't filling with water. I was panicked, yes, but couldn't convince myself to leave my cozy, if not sleepless, nest to walk downstairs and check. Hours later, vindication. When I finally made it down the two flights, I found a dry basement.

If only I had a fancy house

2010-01-24T09:48:00.000-08:00

If you have a fancy house, please don't invite my 5 year-old over for a play date. My post-playdate debriefing sessions with Nora go something like this... Me, "Did you have fun at (fill in the blank's) house?" Nora, "She has a fancy house, I want a fancy house." Then there's ten minutes of whining, followed finally by an admission that, while our house is nice, so and so has a nicer house. You can see where this is going. There is no place to hide here and certainly no way to win. If she only knew about a little thing called spectrum, my words might begin to make sense to her. The way I see it, that day is still about fifteen years away.

Remembering Rudy

2010-01-23T06:12:00.000-08:00

My dog Ella was born last May, so she is not yet a year old. She's coming along, growing tall and bringing moments of pure delight (well, not always). For those of you who don't know, our last pet (beloved Rudy) died last spring from cancer after loving us unconditionally since 1996. But when you grieve something you've lost, there's no speeding up that process. Remembering Rudy is something I fit into everyday, no matter how much I have to do. And the great thing about remembering someone in this way is that you don't have to include it on a to-do list, or even set aside time to do it. It just happens at its own speed and with its own sense of grace. Thank goodness for that...

Winter *ucks!

2010-01-22T16:38:00.000-08:00

I feel as though I won't survive the rest of January with a positive mental attitude. It's weird how December seems to just fly by thanks to a few holiday decorations, a party or two and time spent buzzing through stores like a lunatic. It doesn't seem to matter how low the temperature drops in December either, I just clip along. But come January, things begin to look different. The first week or so, I'm good -I catch a little of that, "let's organize our whole life and things will be swell" syndrome. But after that, I'm done. February I can handle. Maybe it's the short month, or maybe I know that March always follows, and no matter how awful March has ever been, I still picture myself flying a kite wearing only a sweatshirt (and pants) come March. But until then, I'm taking long showers and looking really dumpy with lots of goofy mismatched layers, socks and slippers.

Christmas is in the Air

2009-12-26T10:23:00.000-08:00

Am I the only one who feels depleted when I see a pile of airless sacks of Christmas decor on front lawns? You know, the Santa Claus that quite literally gets the wind knocked out of him everyday for a month. When I drive by a house with these shapeless heaps scattered here and there, the only word that comes to mind is massacre (and I hope there were witnesses). But I'm a purist when it comes to holiday decorating. I want my house to look like a home may have looked a hundred years ago with a simple evergreen wreath, and a single candle lighting each window. Merry Christmas to my 2 fans - Jim H. and Diane M.

Over-Achiever?

2009-10-26T07:38:00.000-07:00

You know you're determined not to bite off more than you can chew when your To Do list contains only 4 items and one of them is "dinner". Seriously, can I be more of a slacker? If I'm so concerned that I'll forget to make dinner for four other people living at the same address, I must be in a pretty thick fog. Could I actually make it to bedtime without making dinner for my family, all-the-while ignoring the bitching and moaning from the wee ones (whose stomachs, by the way, can't be very big to begin with)? As for my husband, he starts texting me questions about the dinner menu before lunchtime. But I have heard that listing things that are realistic and within reach and crossing them off when they're completed is a valid approach to tackling a To Do list.

Bath Time

2009-08-30T10:16:00.000-07:00

Ever since I became a mother, one of the most idyllic motherhood scenes has eluded me. The art of bathing a child before bedtime and the relaxing lightness of play that accompany it has always been something of my white whale. Whenever I have taken to the routine, I have felt harangued by resistance. Instead of thinking of bath time as a spa-like respite, my kids always see it as a disruptive break in play. Washing and rinsing their hair is like torture for all parties, even when wintertime brings ladybugs to roost on the ceiling for something new to focus on. Whether the shampoo is tears free or not, tears invariably fall. Despite my warnings, the floor always gets overly wet along with whatever I'm wearing making me cold in the winter and merely annoyed in summer. As time has passed, I've wondered why I've never been able to take on this most basic life activity with more grace. But before I get too hard on myself, I think of the hundreds of other things I do well as a parent. And if my kids don't naturally gravitate to the pursuit of pampering - well, it isn't necessarily a bad thing, is it?

First-Day Euphoria

2009-08-27T11:03:00.000-07:00

Well, only half-way through the first day of school and I'm already relishing that good-time euphoric feeling. Like me, I bet you did a decent job of keeping the get-ready-for-another-school-year stress at bay during the last few days of summertime, but really we just wanted to pull the trigger and get into it again. Looming so near in the future leads to a sort of we might as well be back default setting. For me, I questioned whether I could really get up at 6:30 am, feed three kids, and pack 3 lunch sacks meanwhile giving the new pup enough exercise to hop back into her crate until lunchtime. Well I'm happy to say, I pulled it off and it feels good. It sure helps that we landed one of the most picture-perfect days in terms of sunshine and temperature in recent memory. And frankly, it doesn't matter a lick how I do the rest of the year. The first day is nearly over and the school hasn't called. My wee kindergartner is safely off the bus and all smiles. Dinner is being made as I type. Life is good.

Does Anybody Remember Laughter

2009-08-24T19:17:00.000-07:00

Exasperation seems to be the name of the game when you're a parent. For instance, my youngest was pushing buttons the other night (can you guess whose buttons?). Anyway, we were having dinner in the kitchen while my five year-old was besting her latest impression of a brat when I finally charged in with what I thought was a deflection, "If you insist on going down this road...". Her interruptive delivery was comedic genius as she blocked with, "what road?" Disarmed as I was, I found plenty of energy for laughter as did the whole family. I could write a book with her one-liners.

Canine Babies vs. Human Babies

2009-07-20T08:05:00.000-07:00

I honestly don't know which poses a bigger personal challenge right now - puppy or human training. Of course, we've already realized many immediate benefits upon bringing our new puppy home. A pup already knows how to walk, talk and eat by itself. There are no diapers and no nursing (ouch - that would hurt). We've managed to keep soiling in the house at bay quite easily, and there isn't a whole lot of crying. Getting Ella to sleep through the night took less than a week. Sounds ideal, really.

But that whole biting stage can hurl things into a twister pretty quickly. Coming up on three weeks in our home and our soft, sweet canine is still biting the hands that feed her. All members of the family are sporting fresh puncture wounds each day and at least two of the three kids have taken to screaming and running away from Ella whenever she looks askance. My husband and I have flipped through a dozen dog training books trying to get a handle on the right approach. Just bought the bitter spray today - we'll give that a whirl. I'll keep you posted. In the meantime, email me if you have any skin-saving techniques for us to try.

Playing to an Audience

2009-07-11T10:06:00.000-07:00

It occurs to me when I think about what to write next, and how I relate to my job as mother, that the easiest part of my job is behind me. In fact, I laugh when I remember my pregnant self and the trepidation I felt waiting to actually begin parenting. Looking back at my early foibles and missteps which sometimes overshadowed the sleep-deprived noose of caring for infants and toddlers, I have the gift of hindsight. I could have done anything with or to my very young children, and the generic responses were few - a scream or a good-old, gut-wrenching cry. I think back to diaper blowouts at the mall, and I remember times when I forced red and rigid screamers into car seats, or took away sippy cups cold-turkey. For the most part, these moments were performed without audience. As my children have grown older, exercising their ability to articulate thought with meaningful words, they wield feedback I would shun from the most tyrannical boss. Kids become an audience of critics and hecklers that grows stronger with every birthday.

Blogger Backstory I

2009-07-01T06:48:00.000-07:00

When my middle child - my boy - was four years old, he wasn't always quite himself. For a while, he insisted that everyone call him "Rockstar". So picture me dropping him off at preschool, when one of the other parents said something benign, like - "Hey Aidan, I like your shirt". Aidan would swoop in with a swift correction, "Rockstar, call me Rockstar". Believe it or not, the day finally arrived when he no longer wanted to be called Rockstar. He continued, however, to speak fondly of his friend Yo-yo which he did for more than a year. Apparently, Aidan and Yo-yo went to car school together (don't ask) and a day didn't go by when we didn't hear of some plan or another that Aidan had made with Yo-yo. At least "Nother Mother" was finally gone. We used to hear of Aidan's Nother Mother who always drove a cooler car and routinely let Aidan do things that I, his real mother, wouldn't let him do.

Let's make Whoopi

2009-06-10T18:24:00.000-07:00

Nora needs to start kindergarten. I mean, there's such a thing as too much fun with a whoopi cushion. Together my daughter and I logged in a lot of time with one today and it is with pure delight and admiration that I admit her technique for inflating one is superior to my own. We're now the proud owners of two of them thanks to the clarity of mind that must have possessed our friends. I can picture them striding through the aisles of Party City, when one notices a glowing pile of orange whoopi cushions, deflated and inconspicuous, triggering an aha moment as they both say, "yes, whoopi cushions, our search for party favors is over". Nora and I tried to out-do each other while showboating our flare for farting. Of course, she didn't realize she was in the presence of a master (and I never used to use props). When you spend 85 waking hours a week in the world of a 5-year-old, and she in yours, there's bound to be some cross-over. On any given day, for example, we're both likely to have a tantrum or two. The difference is that the one I'm having is invisible. As luck would have it, kindergarten is a mere season away. But thanks to half day kindergarten, I'll still get to enjoy 71 hours a week in the wacky, wonderful world of the under six set.

Dump Bike

2009-06-08T19:03:00.001-07:00

"Mom, please tell Nora that her bike came from the dump, and not the bike shop." In my head I picture the transfer station and think free pile, please. This is the scene as my older daughter crashes through the garage door like Kool-Aid. Nora is at least a few lengths behind, but broaching hysteria at the thought that her bike was acquired so meanly. I spend the next five minutes (wringing my hands) extolling the virtues of used items. "A little kids' bike is used for such a short time", I tell her, "why would we spend money on it when we can get it for free...(yada yada yada)". I trail off completely unheard, "of course noodle, we'll spend heaps of money on a bike once you're grown". Nora begs me for the truth - that is, the only truth she can handle -- that her bike was purchased brand spanking new, by her parents, at a proper bike shop. Then I remember the white wicker basket decorated with faux silk flowers and the fact that it was purchased by me, for her, at a bike shop. Heck, I even paid full-price and I didn't dare think about hunting down a cheaper version at Walmart. After all, it was the least I could do to let my little girl know how special she was to have a brand new bicycle... (wait for it) - basket.

New Pets and Old Loves

2009-06-04T11:10:00.000-07:00

It's hard to be funny when your dog dies. What started out as a vacation-induced respite from blogging has grown to include my hazy days of grief. Rudy was by my side for thirteen years and no dog will ever replace her. She died on May 19th, and I haven't felt like writing for weeks - I still don't. But we're getting a new puppy on the 4th of July, so it's time to get my head around that. Our family moments have been singly focused on finding the perfect name for our new dog. This consumption has been exhausting and I've taken to spouting wildly inappropriate suggestions whenever inspiration strikes. Names like Maggot and Tree Frog, Pickles and Cereal, Chardonay and Vader have been fielded and dropped. I'm inclined to think that the name doesn't matter too much. All the same, I've been jotting top picks on the chalkboard in the kitchen. This morning when my son noticed a new entry left behind from an erased grocery list, he chimed in with his endorsement for the name Cool Whip.

I can't make this stuff up

2009-04-30T18:18:00.000-07:00

So after a 9-day cruise through the eastern Caribbean with my family, I am again reminded that the ability to suspend reality is alive and well among our children (mine at least). After five days of cruising, dancing, sporting, swimming, eating, et cetera, we disembarked in St. Thomas where we hopped an open-air bus, and rode for thirty minutes up steep hillsides with nary space for a passing iguana. At last we arrived at breathtaking Coki Beach, known for its incredible reefs ideal for snorkeling and scuba diving. We rented snorkels, masks and fins, and hit the reefs for the rest of the day, feeding dog biscuits to some of the most gorgeous scaled creatures we'd ever seen in the wild. Breaking for lunch, I sat beside my 5 year-old on a lounge chair, toes dug deep into the hot sand, when she asked, "Are we still on the cruise ship?"

Hocus Precocious

2009-04-16T09:56:00.000-07:00

"Mommy, will these nibbles grow up to be boobs?" - spoken like a true-blue American-bred daughter (yikes!). Only four at the time when this gem was scribbled onto paper, my youngest daughter is filled with vision for her future as we generally spend hours each week pretending we're moms (still not clear who's doing the pretending), chatting on our cellphones, toting babies around, and making plans together. Her vision of motherhood and being a wife is at times hysterical, and sometimes so completely on-point that I convince myself that she really gets it. When she talks about her husband working late or I notice the way in which she so readily mirrors my facial expressions (eye-rolling mastered), I realize our kids really do reflect us. Anyway, not much of a blog for now, but it will have to do for a few days since I'm setting out for a short vacation. Stay tuned - I've got blogs in the hopper.

The Final Tuck-In

2009-04-11T19:58:00.000-07:00

In my house, we have this thing called the final tuck-in. It is the result of many years of failed strategies for getting our kids to bed. Essentially, the final tuck-in is a work-around, buying time for our kids to delay bedtime without consequence. Oy vay. Anyway, final tuck-in works like a charm (most of the time). It goes something like this: Kids dress and groom for bed, parents read stories then head downstairs. Meanwhile, kids are entitled to quiet awake time in their rooms until said final tuck-in time arrives. At the appointed time, husband and wife exchange looks, shrug, wife sighs resulting in wife striding up the stairs, two at a time, to drop the hammer. Kids climb under covers and hugs and kisses are proffered. The best part for dad is that he always gets out of final tuck-in. No matter how tender and present are his bedside renderings, the kids always ask for mom. Again, audible sigh.

Television

2009-04-09T19:21:00.000-07:00

I'm a TV kid, born before limiting television could earn you bragging rights. Still, I've always been willing to adapt to the new regime. Ten years ago as a fledgling parent, I nursed my first baby with abandon (in front of the television). As those days waned, I retained a routine which included NBC's Today Show. One day, my husband gently reminded me that the Today Show wasn't a news show per se. In fact, I realized that the Today Show provided nothing more than a video version of People Magazine. Say no more, I went cold turkey, eliminating any form of morning television believing it wasn't a suitable background noise for my kids, present or future. The only TV time that remained on the schedule for me arrived after 8 pm. When the kids go to bed, my husband and I join one-another on the couch for together time. Unfortunately, the networks aren't in cahoots because (in our opinion) TV sucks. Every night, we banish our children to their bedrooms in the event that the networks might deliver sixty watchable minutes (or even 30 for Heaven's sake). The kids don't always cooperate. They creep down again and again to glimpse our program, overtly coveting it. We know that we should expand our world to include our nine year-old (and maybe even our soon to be eight year-old) with suitable family prime-time programming. We are rigidly reticent to lose our precious adult time. Yet we both hear the clock ticking. Like it or not, our TV world will soon evolve to include our children.

Walking on Eggshells

2009-04-07T18:34:00.000-07:00

How bizarre it is to feel as if you're walking on eggshells with regard to one of your children. One of my three is currently acting out in a way that needs to be curtailed. Step one, access severity of disturbing behavior. Step two, research and explore curtailment procedure. Step three, execute a livable plan for curtailment. Step four, hold your breath and walk on eggshells everyday until either the disturbing behavior is magically exiled or something more pressing takes center stage in you head.

Reading Cues

2009-04-06T18:45:00.000-07:00

What is the deal with my children's complete inability to read the escalation of their parents' emotional cues? It's bedtime. The kids decide for the hundredth consecutive night that 7:25 p.m. is the perfect time for an "impromptu" dance party. Damn those built-in stereo speakers. We let it go, willing to wash a few more dishes while they exorcise their pre-sleep wiggles. Over the course of approximately sixty seconds, a fever-pitch is reached, break-dancing and full-on floor spins end with head-butts into furniture legs. Suddenly, the volume is too much to take. My husband interrupts for the second time, "Guys, time for bed." As the frenzy unleashes some of the most innovative dance moves of the night, it becomes clear that the kids didn't hear their father. He interrupts again, "Guys, that's it, upstairs now". Oh my God, they still don't hear him. He's abruptly loud and angry-sounding, but their faces glow with bliss and ignorance. When will my kids learn to read?

Bedtime Sage

2009-04-04T18:55:00.000-07:00

"Mom, I always bees bad at Christmas time, and Santa still gives me presents." This is what I heard from my five year-old at bedtime tonight. What an absolutely perfect commentary on the breakdown of parental consistency and follow-through. It could have been the beginning of a 20/20 special documenting how parents threaten their children irresponsibly - wielding consequences on a whim, and exaggerating for the kind of self-derived amusement parents crave. Spelling out if/then scenarios is one thing, but if you don't have the stomach to deliver the final death blow, be prepared for defeat every time you step into the ring. Shaping kids behavior by dosing consequences with consistency and follow-through isn't radical or new. Hell, it's tried and true. Yet we all know how easily we get carried away, and how squeamish we can be when faced with actually taking television away for a week.

Baby Talk

2009-04-02T19:21:00.000-07:00

Strolling outside with my pre-school ladybug, I was struck by something I said. "Oh my God, it's like sunscreen weather." Now forget my Valley Girl lapse for a minute. Instead, think about how focused I was in the moment. A short walk to the bus stop was now about whether or not my daughter needed the protection of sunscreen for the next twenty minutes. It happens a million times a day. The things parents say are forever one-step-beyond themselves - reflecting instead on the safety, entertainment, or enrichment of their offspring. At 8:30 this morning, I was almost rear-ended. Why you ask? I finally spotted the elusive black squirrel while in the company of my youngest child who was desperate to see one. As I applied my brakes and shouted, "Black squirrel, black squirrel. Look left", I was vindicated. All three kids caught a glimpse of a black squirrel playing with two grey squirrels.

Blog Job

2009-04-01T19:08:00.000-07:00

I'm serious about this blog. For the first time in almost ten years when my first child was born, I am taking a genuine stab at something other than surrendering myself to the improvement of my home (and yes, cleaning toilets qualifies), or endeavoring to build genius material among my brood. Yet clearly I'm not cut out for this since just over two weeks into it, I find myself making pathetic apologies to my children for oversights. Last night, I promised to wash some clothes for my fashion plate. At bedtime, the clothes had indeed been washed, but I crawled into bed forgetting to dry them. By morning I remembered, and slunk downstairs to turn on the dryer. When my daughter was getting dressed and asked after her jeans, I hemmed and hawed, all the while apologizing that they were still tumbling. I suggested she wear her PJ bottoms until just before we leave for school. At the appointed hour, she extracted her jeans from the dryer, only to find that they were uncomfortably damp. I was annoyed, but I actually felt bad about the whole event. As she whined well past the time we usually leave, I thought a tardy would quickly turn into a "sick" day. She rallied, we left, and her jeans were dry by nine. How can it be that the addition of a thirty minute-a-day blog can wreak havoc for a family of five? And what does it say about the matriarch and her habits, schedules and accomplishments?

Lemonade

2009-03-31T18:53:00.000-07:00

For two days running, my daughter has practically tripped off the bus rushing to ask, "Did you buy lemonade at the store?". I notice my eyes begin to roll without official permission. I can't believe it. She can't remember how to subtract three from twelve, but she cannot forget that her mother hasn't bought lemonade yet and outside temperatures are soaring past fifty. How does a parent ever deal with disappointment of this magnitude? There's whining. And did I already mention there's whining? I remind her that nine year-olds are supposed to be over the whole whining thing. She flashes a fake grin, apologizes, then asks if she can make strawberry smoothies. "NO", I say. "And what about the cupcake mix, can you make cupcakes today?" "No". "Can you make them tonight?" Do I really have to say no again? Well of course I do, because if I don't answer her, this could go on FOREVER. I try to stay calm, refocus her or me or both of us. Impossible.

Taking a Break

2009-03-29T19:07:00.000-07:00

Lately my husband has been away more than usual. And while I don't mind it (I'm not a saint, just used to it), I'm programmed to think that I need a break once he's back. Today I had just such an opportunity. I grabbed the car keys and was gone before the kids could ask "wh...? Once I'm out, I almost never do anything fun, frivolous or irresponsible. I usually tackle to-dos. Today I did a favor for my dad, returned some purchases, bought a hand-mixer to replace a broken one, and shopped for all-season tires. My break lasted about three hours including travel time. But when I got back to the house, the chaos that hit me at the door was so much more than I could handle. It never fails, my kids sense my disorientation and regularly assault me on all fronts. I felt like a scuba diver who surfaced without taking time to make decompression stops. I nearly had the bends. I tried to get my game-face on, hoisting the chicken from the fridge. Over the next two hours, I struggled to get my chicken ready to roast, practiced math with the oldest, read a pile of books to the youngest, and fawned over my middle child's latest Lego creations. The idea of a break works better if it actually feels like one. Racing against time to get errands done just isn't relaxing, no matter what's playing on the radio. Next time, I need to stay put. On the rare occasion when I've announced that I'm going out to garden, or heading to my paper piles to sort and file, I've fared far better. I get a break and I accomplish something that alleviates more stress than errands. And, I'm not too far out of the mainstream to suffer the throngs of re-entry once I'm finished.

Bonding with my Baby

2009-03-28T18:13:00.000-07:00

Tonight I was fortunate to have a friend host two out of three of my young children for a sleepover. I was left to cuddle with my sweet five year old - my baby. Everyone with children (or a pet) has one. It's the last one and we all know it. My sweet baby flew from my womb like a rocket thanks to a three-times-a-charm mantra. But there really is a special bond with that baby. For me, it didn't crop up immediately as significant - different from the others (I feel suddenly transplanted to a Lost episode). Anyway, tonight my baby and I heaped ourselves in blankets and bathed in the black and white reality of "I Love Lucy" episodes for an hour. We shared pretzels and Kix cereal. When she noticed me falling back on a bad habit (mine is picking at hangnails - how glamorous), she cooed, "don't pick, don't pick". And when I didn't listen, she rang out again with the same sage advice. I whispered back to the sage, whose wisdom I read with respect, "I know". What I notice about the baby isn't that the child is more special than the other children in the family, but rather the parent has a greater appreciation for time with her children in general because it is the best measure of finite and fleeting available. Given the chance, any among my children would fill the same role, notice the same insights. But rushed through chores, homework, activities, friends, and scripted inquiries of their day, there are days when neither parent nor child has time leftover to relish much of anything.

Fiscal Responsibility

2009-03-27T19:13:00.000-07:00

I just sat with a complete stranger while be doled out an impressive case against my ability to provide for my children. I was asked questions such as, "have you and your husband formulated a plan to finance the college educations of three children graduating within five years of each other?" Uh, nope, not even close. So here I am, musing over homework habits, over-scheduled children, and whole grain snacks via my blog only to learn that the small stuff may not be enough. I tried to sound responsible, thinking hard about his latest question. What if my kids do really well and want to go to MIT? For the first time, I allowed the frightening reality behind the financial planner's questions to take hold. Can college tuition costs continue to escalate unchecked? Will community colleges become the new state schools? Can kids grab some credits online for huge savings? At forty, I feel like an infant - clinging to life's basics because they are all I know. But what if I fail my children because I'm too scared to plan for them, or too scared to fill my financial holes. We may end up relying on loans, refinancing the house, or applying the best bang-for-your-buck criteria when choosing schools for our kids. But when the time comes, we need to have actually thought about all this stuff.

Kids and their Stages

2009-03-26T19:26:00.000-07:00

It can be all too easy to think of your children in a certain fixed way. The way they rush through the slalom course between this stage and that one. The youngest of my brood is currently finding her inner-student, begging for homework. My middle son flashes to anger when scolded, then storms into mutiny and eventual unchecked sobbing. The oldest is smart and sassy, and dare I say, intellectual in a way her parents are not. She practices fresh and snappy retorts to her parental overlords, but quickly backs down in response to her mother's less encouraging expressions. Each phase, stage, call it what you will, is du jour, with no promise for tomorrow. It reminds me that parents have to adapt like persevering guppies in old water. The hard part is that sometimes we, as parents, forget to move on to the next stage. Maybe we were at last comfortable with the preceding stage. Or maybe we don't even notice that yet another transition has been initiated. Whatever it is, our job remains like that of a vigilant oracle, ready to anticipate the next new thing.

Greed

2009-03-25T19:03:00.000-07:00

I just took four kids to the seasonal ice cream stand in town for a random treat. By explaining that I only had eight dollars and wanted to leave the ATM out of the equation, I hoped to squash rampant requests for upgrades such as milkshakes and cherry dip. Despite my empty pockets and full disclosure, I shook my head to deflect their greedy demands. Borrowing a sentiment from my seven year old, I thought "what the heck?" Number one, it's a sweet treat. Number two, it's free and undeserved. Why is it that entitlement is always in the room (or the parking lot)? Crushed by their bad attitudes, I sat in the car with my slightly under-the-weather five year old to eat my kiddie cone on a perfectly sunny day. I needed a time-out. On the way home, I eavesdropped as the three older kids, smashed together in the back of the minivan, spouted on about the delicious ice cream. Apparently, and I quote, "it was the best ice cream ever".

Boredom

2009-03-24T18:14:00.000-07:00

Are you bored? Based on the number of times my kids claim boredom, I'd guess it was their primary objective. Yet how can the three of them be bored? At 5, 7 and 9, they are perfectly juxtaposed to laugh at poop jokes on cue. Teasing and unsolicited torturing provides hours of entertainment, as does climbing on off-limit furniture, and sliding down staircases in sleeping bags. There are at least a couple thousand dollars stowed away in IKEA bins, disguised like Legos, Barbies, Polly Pockets, Littlest Pet Shop, and Playmobil. Then there are the basics like old fashioned wooden blocks, dollhouse, puzzles, books, boardgames, arts and craft supplies, an over-flowing dress-up bin, a family of Potato Heads and baby dolls with all the fixin's. The yard offers a playset, bikes and scooters, wooded acres and climbing trees. Heck, we even have a lovable Labrador called Rudy. When my oldest daughter describes herself as bored, she either wants to bake cookies or use the computer. The only thing I can figure is that the word boredom, say it isn't so, has been mislabeled. Boredom is really code for "forget all that other crap, all I want to do is... "

Switching Gears

2009-03-23T18:35:00.000-07:00

As a parent, I feel more like a stick shift than anything else. I move from one mode to another with just a twitch of my emotional gears. One minute, my youngest is screaming that the dog wants to come inside. The next, because I'm actually upstairs finally brushing my teeth at eleven, or maybe I'm taking a shower at three just before racing to the bus-stop, I roll my eyes, rushing to her side to quell the nagging. When I see her, I get into her face, grab her by the arms and with an equally charged response, I mock her saying something like "get off my back you battle-axe". She lights up and explodes with laughter like you've never seen. We hug and laugh, and then I let the dog inside. I love switching gears - what a roller-coaster it is.

Dad's Home

2009-03-22T17:04:00.000-07:00

What is this phenomenon where one parent can fly solo while the other is away? You tap into auto-pilot mode with relative ease. To survive, you might dumb the whole routine down a notch or two (or five), depending on how many kids you have. You serve breakfast for dinner one night, nachos another, and take them out to a restaurant. The house may be more unkempt than usual, and the bathtub might be dry as a bone. You lie to yourself about how easy it is, and how you could do this indefinitely. But the minute that spouse returns, your system undergoes a series of shut-downs only akin to a security breach at the White House. You may still be there in body, but you cannot be reached. As you eke out a break to regroup (and maybe use the potty sans kids in the bathroom), you tell yourself that it wasn't half bad. In fact, it was pretty easy and if you had to, you could do it all over again tomorrow. The truth is, it can seem easier to parent solo because you are acting on behalf of only one person (yourself), instead of two.

What makes parenting so extra-challenging is that you NEVER do it in a vacuum. Instead, parenting almost always takes place in front of a huge mirror. Of course, even the most renegade among us check our own reflection occasionally. But when we parent with a partner (that huge mirror I just referred to), everything we do is a little harder because we aren't just trying to please ourselves. We have the dreams and goals of another parent to respect. And those dreams and goals are what our partners want for their children. The only way to win here is to respect, share, listen, repeat (and don't forget to breathe).

Shopping

2009-03-20T19:28:00.001-07:00

How many times have you, as a parent, said "I will never ... again!" Well, today I attempted to shop for shoes for the three of them, and was rewarded with such beastly behavior that I wanted to morph into a cyclone right in the middle of the shoe department. My son was such a spaz that I had no idea how to handle myself, let alone him. It presented one of those moments where you just search around, desperate, finally admitting you've got nothing. Thirty years ago I could have hauled off and hit him for everyone to see. Well, apparently I wasn't born early enough. All I could do was grab his hand, while simultaneously over-enunciating a side-bar lecture into his ear, and march him towards the exit hoping to keep him from escalating the trouble he had already started with his youngest sister. The truth is, I probably will do it again. Sometimes you have to take your children to a store. You either find the strength to quietly persevere or impose a strategy to subdue their awful behavior that actually works.

Filling Time

2009-03-19T19:11:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid (and I was born in 1968), I took a baton twirling class, one parks & rec dance class, and then nothing til high school when a friend urged me to go out for field hockey - what a different world my children inhabit. My kids, believe it or not halted by an activity-minimalist mom, have tried gymnastics, t-ball, basketball, soccer, dance, karate, theater and swimming. Holy cow. What next? I spent hours in the woods with my friends and a collective imagination. If we choose the things that fill our kids' lives, we must choose carefully. And if we choose too much, we could rob them of the basic things they might choose for themselves given the opportunity. Time, open space and the freedom to create need to be on their menu everyday.

Candy

2009-03-18T18:34:00.000-07:00

Neither one of my three children can go to the neighborhood pharmacy without the unrelenting expectation of a candy reward. I can easily recall how this all started and admit my seems-like-yesterday compliciteness. When they were very young, I would get through long-haul errands such as trips to the grocery store, Target and the like, by first grabbing and then ripping open a huge bundle of Twizzlers. As they suckled the strawberry goodness, I told myself it was survival. Now look at us. My kids expect sweets whenever and wherever they want them. My youngest whines and chants for more. Today I gave her a box of mints for no reason, and 3 hours later she had squirreled away all but the last few. When I told her that was enough, she FREAKED out. Surprise! Oh, the damage I reap. Yet I only have myself to blame. Admitting guilt is easy, but breaking the pattern and ensuing damage that I began feels impossible.

Modern Parents We Salute You

2009-03-17T17:25:00.000-07:00

Welcome to my very first blog post. My mind's passion is all about raising kids today. Not that kids, themselves, are innately rotten, but we as parents are charting new waters when it comes to raising them. Oh, you can say that everything is cyclical and that today's techno kids are no different than any other generation, but that isn't what this blog is about. My blog is about a generation of parents raising kids, for the very first time, without a cut-and-dry method. For thousands of years, children have been raised as ancillary components of the family unit - integral to the survival of the family - running the farm, sewing the clothes, etc. Modern days have presented parents with a shift. In many families, children are no longer necessary to support the homestead, instead children are born into a role of accessory. People have the luxury of having children just for the fun of it. Imagine that, having kids for the fun of it. In the meantime, starting in the 20th century, parents were stripped of their ability to raise their children with fear and respect as core motivators. Legions of parents were admonished and in some cases shunned, thanks to modern parenting dogma, for employing corporal punishment as a discipline technique. American parents universally began to feel spied upon, and rightly so as neighborhood do-gooders would call the police if they saw a child spanked in public. Now the question remains, and believe me, we're all still trying to figure it out, how do you raise successful, respectful and good children without applying the same discipline tools and techniques used by thousands of years of parents before us? And what are the consequences of raising kids without such a time-honored technique to show us the way? What will our children be like as adults, and how will they parent? Will they be as conflicted as their parents, struggling against manic extremes to keep up outward signs of normalcy. Parenting as we know it is a new frontier, folks, and we are basically fumbling with a clean slate. The first person to figure it out gets an honorable mention.