Another Life Lesson from the Berenstain Bears

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

Child's Play

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

Worst Mother Ever

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

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

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

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

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.