LLIBD Number 2: Have a dog.

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

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

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

Number 2: Have a dog.

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

Life's Little Instruction Book Deconstructed

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


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


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

Soccer Mom

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

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


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

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

Picture Me Crying

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

Living With Awareness

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

Who's still afraid of Mommy Dearest

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


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

You Call That A Stick?

Ella at eight weeks.

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