Another Life Lesson from the Berenstain Bears

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

Guns ~ for the kid in you

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!

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?

Your Moment of Zen...

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

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.

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.

Got Smarts?

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...

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.

Instant Bonus Room

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?

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...

Sick of you, sick of me

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?

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."