Lions and Tigers and Beers, Oh My

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

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

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

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

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?

All in a name

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!

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

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.

School is out...

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

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.

More Sugar Please?

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

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?

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...

Where is the Isle of Me?

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

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.

All in a day's work

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

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.

If only I had a fancy house

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.

Over-Achiever?

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

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?