On Sunday, I tested for my TaeKwonDoe High White Belt. In order to pass, I had to break a real board. I was the very first person called and I didn't break the board on my first try even though I thought my kick should have broke the board.
My heart started racing. My cheeks were hot and all eyes were on me. I tried again. I still didn't break the board on tries 3, 4, and 5. I sat down as the next nine people broke their boards.
I sat on the YMCA gym floor breathing and rubbing my heel. I wanted to break that board. I knew I could do it. It seemed like all my hard work in class was more determined to leave my brain than I was to keep it inside of me.
I felt like a character in a movie as I thought about all I had overcome in order to be ready to test. There were times attending class was a challenge: My kids, my husband, my other commitments always seemed to need me more than going to class. At one point, I had to be honest with myself and figure out how badly I wanted my black belt. The answer: Badly. There was always going to be something in my life to stop me: I could either make excuses or go for it.
The testers came back to me. I put the past behind me and broke my very first board.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Cold Revenge
There are times where our house is like a clown car of kids. Extra kids keep coming in and the neighbors must wonder how they all magically fit, when the noise is going to stop, and if they are ever going to stop pouring out the doors.
Friday was one of the those nights where we had extra kids. Things were pretty mellow and everyone was getting along well. Xbox custody seemed to be shared with little drama and it was finally time to attempt to quiet the house. I was not foolish to believe that everyone was going to sleep.
After Lauren and her friend had cozied into their fort, Jonathon took it upon himself to think it would be a great opportunity to scare them with a deep voiced, "Raaahhhhrrr!!" The girls screamed. And then yelled at Jon and his friend. And then proceeded to tell me about the near heart attack they experienced while Jon and his friend proceed to laugh. Finally, everyone was separated and settled for the night.
The next morning, Lauren and her friend went outside to play. I thought nothing of it. When a very disgruntled Jon's friend walked up the steps and said, "Why did you wake us up so meanly?" I was confused. He asked why I was banging on the windows. Jon was soon upstairs and we pieced the story together: Two young ladies had been throwing snowballs at Jon's window knowing the boys were sleeping. Although the boys wanted me to exact some kind of punishment, I pointed out that I would then have to punish them for what happened last night. The boys exchanged sheepish grins. I blew my bangs out of my face so I wouldn't laugh.
The moral of the story: Sisters always get their revenge.
Friday was one of the those nights where we had extra kids. Things were pretty mellow and everyone was getting along well. Xbox custody seemed to be shared with little drama and it was finally time to attempt to quiet the house. I was not foolish to believe that everyone was going to sleep.
After Lauren and her friend had cozied into their fort, Jonathon took it upon himself to think it would be a great opportunity to scare them with a deep voiced, "Raaahhhhrrr!!" The girls screamed. And then yelled at Jon and his friend. And then proceeded to tell me about the near heart attack they experienced while Jon and his friend proceed to laugh. Finally, everyone was separated and settled for the night.
The next morning, Lauren and her friend went outside to play. I thought nothing of it. When a very disgruntled Jon's friend walked up the steps and said, "Why did you wake us up so meanly?" I was confused. He asked why I was banging on the windows. Jon was soon upstairs and we pieced the story together: Two young ladies had been throwing snowballs at Jon's window knowing the boys were sleeping. Although the boys wanted me to exact some kind of punishment, I pointed out that I would then have to punish them for what happened last night. The boys exchanged sheepish grins. I blew my bangs out of my face so I wouldn't laugh.
The moral of the story: Sisters always get their revenge.
Monday, March 4, 2013
Teens and Trees
You know what's really hard about raising middle schoolers besides everything?
Not giving into the self-doubt that you as a parent are on the right parenting track. There are times when you are walking that track shoulder to shoulder with other parents, other parents are way ahead of you, some parents are way behind you, and other parents are so far off the course you wonder if you should be doing it differently or if they bothered reading the directions to get to the course.
I really like my teenagers. All in all, in spite of the struggles, and because of the good times, I have the privilege of seeing glimpses into the men they will become one day. I am blown away by their compassion, their humor, and their negotiating skills.
There are days that it feels like I am not doing enough to prepare for them the world or more accurately: They think their father and I are doing our jobs a little to well to prepare them for the world. Truthfully, it can be exhausting, but obviously necessary, to maintain consistent parenting standards.
One day, I was heart-weary in the way only parents can be of fighting the same battles, when I read this verse from Luke 6:43 "No good tree bears bad fruit, nor does a bad tree bear good fruit." I stopped what I was doing and took a deep breath. As I breathed, peace just filled my body. I knew in my heart Rich and I are "good trees" and we're doing our very best to give our four "branches" the best resources at our disposal. Those resources include our time, our faith, our family histories, and our community of friends to support their endeavors.
I opened my eyes and I was still the parent of middle schoolers. There was no changing that fact. I, however, am more confident my husband and I are on the right path.
Not giving into the self-doubt that you as a parent are on the right parenting track. There are times when you are walking that track shoulder to shoulder with other parents, other parents are way ahead of you, some parents are way behind you, and other parents are so far off the course you wonder if you should be doing it differently or if they bothered reading the directions to get to the course.
I really like my teenagers. All in all, in spite of the struggles, and because of the good times, I have the privilege of seeing glimpses into the men they will become one day. I am blown away by their compassion, their humor, and their negotiating skills.
There are days that it feels like I am not doing enough to prepare for them the world or more accurately: They think their father and I are doing our jobs a little to well to prepare them for the world. Truthfully, it can be exhausting, but obviously necessary, to maintain consistent parenting standards.
One day, I was heart-weary in the way only parents can be of fighting the same battles, when I read this verse from Luke 6:43 "No good tree bears bad fruit, nor does a bad tree bear good fruit." I stopped what I was doing and took a deep breath. As I breathed, peace just filled my body. I knew in my heart Rich and I are "good trees" and we're doing our very best to give our four "branches" the best resources at our disposal. Those resources include our time, our faith, our family histories, and our community of friends to support their endeavors.
I opened my eyes and I was still the parent of middle schoolers. There was no changing that fact. I, however, am more confident my husband and I are on the right path.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Learning the Hard Way
In high school, the summer before my junior year, I had a three month relationship that my parents knew was going to crash and burn before it even started. It had all the wonderful things teenage melodramas need: A boyfriend who was still in love with my best friend, a friend who was still in love with my boyfriend, the boyfriend who had the emotional maturity of a gnat, teenage hormones, and no worldly experience for any of the teenagers involved to say: "This is going to end very, very badly with many, many tears and lots of landline phone calls."
At some point while I was crying my broken heart out on my dad's lap, I had an inkling that he had a premonition that this relationship was going to last about as long as the latest boy band. I asked him why he let me do it, knowing it was going to have such a tragic ending. My dad looked me in the eye and said, "I struggled with it, but in the end, I knew you had to make your own mistakes. I can't live your life for you. It's the hardest part of being a parent...knowing your kids are going to fail and letting them do it anyway."
When my dad explained his reasoning to me, I was shell-shocked. I heard the lesson but thought his timing was rather lousy, given everything *I* was already dealing at the time. Major break-up, here! Hello?!? So, I filed it away under "things parents say to their kids when they think they are being helpful" and went about my life.
Now that Richard and I are raising two middle schoolers, I finally understand what my dad was trying to teach me: It isn't easy to let our kids knowingly make mistakes. However, if they are mistakes the kids can afford to make, with no serious consequences except to themselves, I am learning to bite my tongue. It's hard. I hate it. I don't always know when to let them fail and when to offer help, so sometimes I jump in too soon or not soon enough.
I am learning that kids need to be able to safely fail at things so they can learn how to handle the disappointments in life. It makes the successes they will experience that much more triumphant. We can't save our kids from every curveball thrown at them, but we can equip them emotionally and mentally. We can be there to cheer them on when life is going well as well as comfort them when it is not going quite their way.
As parents, we can teach them to learn from mistakes, rather then letting mistakes define who they are as a person. It's a continuous process, but if we want children who are not afraid to explore the world, it is one well worth the effort.
At some point while I was crying my broken heart out on my dad's lap, I had an inkling that he had a premonition that this relationship was going to last about as long as the latest boy band. I asked him why he let me do it, knowing it was going to have such a tragic ending. My dad looked me in the eye and said, "I struggled with it, but in the end, I knew you had to make your own mistakes. I can't live your life for you. It's the hardest part of being a parent...knowing your kids are going to fail and letting them do it anyway."
When my dad explained his reasoning to me, I was shell-shocked. I heard the lesson but thought his timing was rather lousy, given everything *I* was already dealing at the time. Major break-up, here! Hello?!? So, I filed it away under "things parents say to their kids when they think they are being helpful" and went about my life.
Now that Richard and I are raising two middle schoolers, I finally understand what my dad was trying to teach me: It isn't easy to let our kids knowingly make mistakes. However, if they are mistakes the kids can afford to make, with no serious consequences except to themselves, I am learning to bite my tongue. It's hard. I hate it. I don't always know when to let them fail and when to offer help, so sometimes I jump in too soon or not soon enough.
I am learning that kids need to be able to safely fail at things so they can learn how to handle the disappointments in life. It makes the successes they will experience that much more triumphant. We can't save our kids from every curveball thrown at them, but we can equip them emotionally and mentally. We can be there to cheer them on when life is going well as well as comfort them when it is not going quite their way.
As parents, we can teach them to learn from mistakes, rather then letting mistakes define who they are as a person. It's a continuous process, but if we want children who are not afraid to explore the world, it is one well worth the effort.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Social (Media) Awareness
I like Social Media. A Lot.
In fact, I read books about how to use it more and how it is impacting our society. I'm equally fascinated/startled by the privacies we are willing to give up in order to immerse people into our lives at the expense of letting advertisers mine thier way through our digital homes.
That being said, I share much of my life through status updates and pictures on facebook. I chose facebook because Instagram freaks me out with their lack of privacy controls. I like twitter, but it isn't my thing. I don't feel home there. I also have this blog which I am horrible at updating.
Like many people before me who found something a little too enticing for their own good, there was a point where I felt facebook had more control over me than I did over it, so I walked away from it for awhile, reassessed my priorities, then returned wiser for the experience.
If you know how much time I'm spending on social media and it bothers you, the problem is yours, not mine. I love sharing my life and the support that is freely given and offered. I have been able to interact with my family and friends in a way that would not have been possible years ago. I am incredibly grateful for the opportunity to see pictures of events that would otherwise have been missed.
I am not going to apologize for choosing to live an interactive life. It brings me an incredible amount of blessings and joy to share the adventures of family life.
It is my fondest hope you join me for the journey.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Growing Imperfection
Rich and I spent the better part of today ripping out our failed container garden in the front of the house.
Before we started, we knew it was going to require trip(s) to garden centers around town. Of course, our Princess of Color could not be left behind, so she came along with us, offering her opinions about flowers the flowers we should plant by her senses rather then our overall garden design.
Since we are still new to any kind of gardening, I cannot fault her aesthetic.
Lauren was so inspired by the first place we went, she just had to plant a flower planter of her own.
I thought long and hard about letting her do it. If I said, "Yes." it meant that I would be the helper, not the leader of the project. I would have to stifle all my perfectionist tendencies and let her place the flowers however she wanted to place them in planter. This sounds really great on paper...let the kid put her flowers in the planter...they are just flowers. But be honest with yourself. We all have our own way of doing things. We like things just so and letting other people "interfer" with our system is a hard thing to do. We have to let go of our control and trust that their way and their system is just as okay as ours. Even children deserve the respect to safely explore their world in a way that is different than ours, but it is not easy to give up the control to which we so tightly cling in order to keep our world secure.
I trusted my daughter. I let her pick out pink, purple, and white petunias as well as some yellow/orange geraniums to split between to big planters I already owned. I bought more potting soil. I stayed silent and showed her how to carefully transfer little plants to the big planter. We had a blast together!
Do the planters look the way I would have put them together? No. Does it matter? Not a single bit.
I gave up the control, trusted my daughter, and realize we planted flowers, memories, laughter, and love.
Before we started, we knew it was going to require trip(s) to garden centers around town. Of course, our Princess of Color could not be left behind, so she came along with us, offering her opinions about flowers the flowers we should plant by her senses rather then our overall garden design.
Since we are still new to any kind of gardening, I cannot fault her aesthetic.
Lauren was so inspired by the first place we went, she just had to plant a flower planter of her own.
I thought long and hard about letting her do it. If I said, "Yes." it meant that I would be the helper, not the leader of the project. I would have to stifle all my perfectionist tendencies and let her place the flowers however she wanted to place them in planter. This sounds really great on paper...let the kid put her flowers in the planter...they are just flowers. But be honest with yourself. We all have our own way of doing things. We like things just so and letting other people "interfer" with our system is a hard thing to do. We have to let go of our control and trust that their way and their system is just as okay as ours. Even children deserve the respect to safely explore their world in a way that is different than ours, but it is not easy to give up the control to which we so tightly cling in order to keep our world secure.
I trusted my daughter. I let her pick out pink, purple, and white petunias as well as some yellow/orange geraniums to split between to big planters I already owned. I bought more potting soil. I stayed silent and showed her how to carefully transfer little plants to the big planter. We had a blast together!
Do the planters look the way I would have put them together? No. Does it matter? Not a single bit.
I gave up the control, trusted my daughter, and realize we planted flowers, memories, laughter, and love.
Triage
When you put your kids in activities that will require physicality, they will inevitably become injured at some point on the field.
To be perfectly honest, it took my husband sitting on me multiple times for me to not be the mom running onto the field screaming, "What happened to my baby?"
To be even more honest, in most cases, my "baby" was (and is) usually fine.
To be brutally honest, it would have been more traumatic for my child to have me run onto the field checking them over, then having their coach dust them off and (when required) bandage them up.
In the few times they've come to me for treatment, I have learned to how to triage*:
1. Look at the injury and assess if it needs to be treated by a professional. If not:
2. Apply ice, band-aids, and reassurance. Send them back to their coach. If the child refuses to go:
3. Tell injured child I am so sorry that the injury is so bad that they will be unable to play video games/ride bikes/do whatever kind of fun thing that was planned that day.
4. If #3 does not produce a miraculous and instantaneous recovery, I then reassess whether or not we need to go to the doctor.
*This is not professional medical advice. I am only a professional mom. Results may vary at your house.
**Disclaimer: I did this when my kids were just starting out in sports and wanted to quit every time they were bumped or received a little scratch when they fell down. There are injuries that have to be taken very seriously right away. I have four kids in numerous sports who receive medical attention when they need it, as soon as they need it.**
To be perfectly honest, it took my husband sitting on me multiple times for me to not be the mom running onto the field screaming, "What happened to my baby?"
To be even more honest, in most cases, my "baby" was (and is) usually fine.
To be brutally honest, it would have been more traumatic for my child to have me run onto the field checking them over, then having their coach dust them off and (when required) bandage them up.
In the few times they've come to me for treatment, I have learned to how to triage*:
1. Look at the injury and assess if it needs to be treated by a professional. If not:
2. Apply ice, band-aids, and reassurance. Send them back to their coach. If the child refuses to go:
3. Tell injured child I am so sorry that the injury is so bad that they will be unable to play video games/ride bikes/do whatever kind of fun thing that was planned that day.
4. If #3 does not produce a miraculous and instantaneous recovery, I then reassess whether or not we need to go to the doctor.
*This is not professional medical advice. I am only a professional mom. Results may vary at your house.
**Disclaimer: I did this when my kids were just starting out in sports and wanted to quit every time they were bumped or received a little scratch when they fell down. There are injuries that have to be taken very seriously right away. I have four kids in numerous sports who receive medical attention when they need it, as soon as they need it.**
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
A Tool for Every Job
The night before the big day of Lauren's ear piercing
appointment Brandon did not feel well, which started a round of "take every ones
temperature whether they are sick or not."
Jokingly, Jonathon said,
“take Mom’s temp, she doesn’t look so great...”
(Thanks kiddo!)
Brandon, who was deemed to be in perfect health, took my temperature and discovered that I had a fever of
101.8F! It explained why I didn’t
look so great and had been feeling even worse. However, it was not going to help Lauren make her much anticipated appointment.
Fortunately, Rich agreed to
take Lauren to her big event. She
was thrilled and excited. I was
feverish, weary, and wary. Rich was
non-pulsed and once again initiated into the world of all things
girl. Father and daughter arrived home
untraumatized.
The weekend happened to be Halloween and I rallied enough to take the kids Trick-or-Treating, only to pay for it Monday morning with a migraine. Rich had to help Lauren manage the morning cleaning of her new earrings. I did tell Lauren that if her dad had a really hard time to come get me and I would manage it.
I did hear one yell from the bathroom but it was short, so I fell asleep. I should have investigated because an outraged Lauren practically flew into my bedroom after school yelling:
"I LOST A EARRING! I TOLD HIM NOT TO USE THE PLIERS THIS MORNING!..BUT DID HE LISTEN?? NOOOO!! ...at which point Lauren commenced into more yelling, ranting, and sobbing...
Apparently, the "yell" I failed to investigate was Rich taking the back off of one of Lauren's earrings off with a pliers because his fingers were too big to manage such a little piece of jewelry and he did not want to bother me when I felt so poorly. Lauren did not see things from her father's perspective. All she felt was a pinched ear that was already tender ear compounded by the additional pain of a newly lost earring.
We managed to console Lauren, find a replacement starter earring, and at the end of a slightly painful day for her, teach Lauren that her Daddy loved her enough to help her with something new to him.
Monday, October 24, 2011
We Don't Want Your Stinkin' Tacos....
Tuesday night was supposed to be Taco Night. Rich had to go into work late, so I thought I would finally get this mothering thing down and whilst the kids finished their homework, I would have supper prepared and ready to go. We would then sit down like reasonably civilized people, eat, and then get on with the rest of our night.
After typing the above paragraph, I realize all the flaws in my plan. What I didn't realize on Tuesday night was....the kids were planning ....
THE GREAT TACO REVOLT OF 2011
I have no idea what tweaked them out about having tacos on Tuesday night, but all four of them were.not.having.anything.to.do.with.tacos. I wasn't overly perturbed that the kids didn't want tacos. So, I calmly told them if they didn't want to eat tacos, they were going to have to eat....
LEFTOVERS.
Apparently, this particular Tuesday, eating leftovers was the equivalent to making them eat gruel or dirt. Or gruel made out of dirt. Somehow, leftovers were bad....really, really bad. I didn't get it. But every other night of the week my husband and I don't tolerate it. Eat the leftovers or go to bed hungry. We don't care. We are not a short order chefs. (Although, we usually find the kids eating "leftover" cereal. Again, we don't care...as long as we are not making a special meal because what is our fridge doesn't meat your standards it's fine with us...get it yourself or go to bed hungry.)
But, this Tuesday night was not quite special enough. Oh no. When Rich is gone, one child always feels it their duty to make my evening a little more special. After the epic meltdown about the leftovers, I received...
A LECTURE ABOUT FOOD PRIORITIES
Specifically, one of my children told me that it was my duty to have supper on the table every night. AND if I couldn't get my act together enough to have a decent supper cooked for the family, then I should at least have my priorities straight and order take out that they preferred. BUT if he was going to be FORCED to eat leftovers....
THERE BETTER BE LEFTOVER STEAK!!!
After I picked my jaw off the ground and explained a few things about the world to my child, I put myself in a timeout because I really had nothing nice or coherent to say. In my time out, I realized 1. this is was not a gender issue for this child....this is a "I'm a hungry kid and I want what I want" issue and 2) I am really okay sending this kid to bed without supper if he doesn't feed himself tonight and/or change his attitude after said child and I have a coherent talk (which we did) about "my priorities" and "child's attitude/tone of voice/respect/all kinds of things."
Unknown to this child his dad had been grocery shopping and came home with lots of yummy stuff right before bedtime. And that night, this child
WASN'T ALLOWED TO EAT ANY OF IT
After I picked my jaw off the ground and explained a few things about the world to my child, I put myself in a timeout because I really had nothing nice or coherent to say. In my time out, I realized 1. this is was not a gender issue for this child....this is a "I'm a hungry kid and I want what I want" issue and 2) I am really okay sending this kid to bed without supper if he doesn't feed himself tonight and/or change his attitude after said child and I have a coherent talk (which we did) about "my priorities" and "child's attitude/tone of voice/respect/all kinds of things."
Unknown to this child his dad had been grocery shopping and came home with lots of yummy stuff right before bedtime. And that night, this child
WASN'T ALLOWED TO EAT ANY OF IT
because my priorities were all screwed up.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Riding Dirty
For the past few (okay seven) years, Rich has had the luxury of a company car. This has meant a fast, sweet, up-to-date ride from him every two years.
It's a really, really clean car.
Meanwhile, I've been driving our minivan:
The Kid-Shleper-Mobile...You know, another thing they never mention in the parenting books.
Most parents have a Kid-Shelper-Mobile, although yours might not be a mini-van.
I guarantee at some point it will be dirty. Really dirty. And for the all the ice cream in the world, you will at an utter loss to explain how candy wrappers ended up under the passenger seat. How your child spilled milk from "leak proof" sippy cups all over the floor. And frankly, there is no explanation why boys feet smell soooo bad after sports and why it is still there the next day.
I confess that I've made an exasperated peace with my dirty mini-van.
Along with the dirt, my mini van is filled with laughter on the way to soccer games. It's filled with the tales of many, many trips and adventures. Now that summer as arrived, there is sand on the floor from our times at the parks and swimming spots. I am sure if you listen closely, there are echos of Veggie Tale songs, now replaced with the much cooler radio station 95.5.
Mostly, my mini van is filled with love.
It's a really, really clean car.
Meanwhile, I've been driving our minivan:
The Kid-Shleper-Mobile...You know, another thing they never mention in the parenting books.
Most parents have a Kid-Shelper-Mobile, although yours might not be a mini-van.
I guarantee at some point it will be dirty. Really dirty. And for the all the ice cream in the world, you will at an utter loss to explain how candy wrappers ended up under the passenger seat. How your child spilled milk from "leak proof" sippy cups all over the floor. And frankly, there is no explanation why boys feet smell soooo bad after sports and why it is still there the next day.
I confess that I've made an exasperated peace with my dirty mini-van.
Along with the dirt, my mini van is filled with laughter on the way to soccer games. It's filled with the tales of many, many trips and adventures. Now that summer as arrived, there is sand on the floor from our times at the parks and swimming spots. I am sure if you listen closely, there are echos of Veggie Tale songs, now replaced with the much cooler radio station 95.5.
Mostly, my mini van is filled with love.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Doing What Needs To Be Done
While jamming at the Tom Pease concert last week with Brandon and I, Lauren wanted to go up stage and join the other kids more.than.anything.else.
She screwed up all her courage. She walked down the the steps of theater and made it all the way down to the bottom step.
Then...
She ran all the way back up to Brandon and I and told us she couldn't do it.
So, I told her if she really wanted to be on the stage, to go back down the steps, get up on the stage, and join the other kids.
This would seem incredibly mean of me, unless you know that Lauren has been on that same stage almost ten previous times. So, I wasn't asking her to do something she was incapable of doing, I just wasn't coddling her.
So, Lauren ran back down the stairs and stopped at the bottom of the stage.
Brandon was watching everything and not saying a word.
He looked at me, looked at Lauren, looked at me, and said, "I've got this." and then took off after his sister.
He walked down the steps, said something to Lauren (I don't know what and I will never ask), but the the next thing I know...
Lauren is on stage, smiling, singing, and dancing.
Brandon is right next to me (and I have tears in my eyes) the embarrassed recipient of my hugs: "That was a wonderful thing you did for your sister!"
"Aw, Mom, I just did what needed to be done!"
Indeed, you did son. Indeed you did.
She screwed up all her courage. She walked down the the steps of theater and made it all the way down to the bottom step.
Then...
She ran all the way back up to Brandon and I and told us she couldn't do it.
So, I told her if she really wanted to be on the stage, to go back down the steps, get up on the stage, and join the other kids.
This would seem incredibly mean of me, unless you know that Lauren has been on that same stage almost ten previous times. So, I wasn't asking her to do something she was incapable of doing, I just wasn't coddling her.
So, Lauren ran back down the stairs and stopped at the bottom of the stage.
Brandon was watching everything and not saying a word.
He looked at me, looked at Lauren, looked at me, and said, "I've got this." and then took off after his sister.
He walked down the steps, said something to Lauren (I don't know what and I will never ask), but the the next thing I know...
Lauren is on stage, smiling, singing, and dancing.
Brandon is right next to me (and I have tears in my eyes) the embarrassed recipient of my hugs: "That was a wonderful thing you did for your sister!"
"Aw, Mom, I just did what needed to be done!"
Indeed, you did son. Indeed you did.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Can You Hear Jon Now?
As my oldest son goes into middle school there is one thing he wants more than world peace.
A cell phone.
A cell phone with unlimited texting and internet access.
A smart phone.
A phone smarter than his parents.
It seems like a reasonable request on his part.
Except Jon has unreasonable parents.
Parents who are making him pay for his own cell phone.
Parents who have talked to other parents and are not allowing a middle-schooler unlimited access to the world wide web.
Parents who are making him pay a portion of his allowance towards the cell bill every month on a phone that only rings and texts.
We get it. The way people communicate have changed drastically since Rich and I were kids.
(For example, the thing I wanted more the anything in the world when I was in middle school was a phone in my room, or barring that, call-waiting. For the record, neither one happened.)
What hasn't changed since Rich and I have been kids is that it really stinks when the stuff you pay for with your own money breaks or you lose it. Our kids know this first hand.
We're under no illusions in this house: It's a convenient luxury for Jon to have a cell phone.
However, it will be nice to text him when it comes time for him to clean his room. ;)
A cell phone.
A cell phone with unlimited texting and internet access.
A smart phone.
A phone smarter than his parents.
It seems like a reasonable request on his part.
Except Jon has unreasonable parents.
Parents who are making him pay for his own cell phone.
Parents who have talked to other parents and are not allowing a middle-schooler unlimited access to the world wide web.
Parents who are making him pay a portion of his allowance towards the cell bill every month on a phone that only rings and texts.
We get it. The way people communicate have changed drastically since Rich and I were kids.
(For example, the thing I wanted more the anything in the world when I was in middle school was a phone in my room, or barring that, call-waiting. For the record, neither one happened.)
What hasn't changed since Rich and I have been kids is that it really stinks when the stuff you pay for with your own money breaks or you lose it. Our kids know this first hand.
We're under no illusions in this house: It's a convenient luxury for Jon to have a cell phone.
However, it will be nice to text him when it comes time for him to clean his room. ;)
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Amie and The Leaf Blower
There is one item in my garage I covet among all others. It is my most favorite thing ever. I love it. Rich is ambivalent about it and thinks me owning it completely ridiculous.
It's my plug in, super-ultra-delux, Toro leaf blower.
I had wanted a leaf blower for a very long time but it was never made a priority to purchase it because *whisper*
Rich had never wanted one.
Once we moved to our cul-de-sac though, our neighbors on either side of us had FANTASTIC leaf blowers. Leaf blowers that made other leaf blowers refuse to start because they knew they couldn't keep up their end of leaf-blowing-ness next to these awesome machines.
So, one fall day, I looked at Rich and said, "My day has come. I'm buying a leaf blower. With or without you. At Fleet Farm. A good one."
Rich's response to my declaration: "You've finally lost your mind."
But, wisely he didn't argue as we packed the kids in the van.
At Fleet Farm, Rich didn't share my thrill or rapture of the wonderfully red Toro leaf blower. He came to dead stop in the middle of the aisle, kids hanging from the cart, and asked me, "What do you think you are doing putting an $XX.XX leaf blower in this cart?" After some "discussion," he proceeded to assure himself that I had indeed lost my mind, and explain to our kids in great detail what it meant to keep up with the Jones, or at least Don and Wayne (our neighbors).
The kids thought it was great that Rich was shell-shocked by the leaf blower AND that they had learned this concept of their Mom keeping up with the Jones, which was quite ridiculous to them....especially because we knew a family with the last name of Jones. They became quite outrageous with their examples of how we could and should try to keep up with the Jones and our neighbors.
When I came home and started up the motor of leaf blower, it was like the sound of angels singing. I was in love, love, love when pine needles and leaves were efficiently blown into a neat little pile for collection.
When my neighbor Wayne waved, smiled, and yelled, "Nice leaf blower!" I gave him a happy leaf blower club smile and merrily waved back.
It's my plug in, super-ultra-delux, Toro leaf blower.
I had wanted a leaf blower for a very long time but it was never made a priority to purchase it because *whisper*
Rich had never wanted one.
Once we moved to our cul-de-sac though, our neighbors on either side of us had FANTASTIC leaf blowers. Leaf blowers that made other leaf blowers refuse to start because they knew they couldn't keep up their end of leaf-blowing-ness next to these awesome machines.
So, one fall day, I looked at Rich and said, "My day has come. I'm buying a leaf blower. With or without you. At Fleet Farm. A good one."
Rich's response to my declaration: "You've finally lost your mind."
But, wisely he didn't argue as we packed the kids in the van.
At Fleet Farm, Rich didn't share my thrill or rapture of the wonderfully red Toro leaf blower. He came to dead stop in the middle of the aisle, kids hanging from the cart, and asked me, "What do you think you are doing putting an $XX.XX leaf blower in this cart?" After some "discussion," he proceeded to assure himself that I had indeed lost my mind, and explain to our kids in great detail what it meant to keep up with the Jones, or at least Don and Wayne (our neighbors).
The kids thought it was great that Rich was shell-shocked by the leaf blower AND that they had learned this concept of their Mom keeping up with the Jones, which was quite ridiculous to them....especially because we knew a family with the last name of Jones. They became quite outrageous with their examples of how we could and should try to keep up with the Jones and our neighbors.
When I came home and started up the motor of leaf blower, it was like the sound of angels singing. I was in love, love, love when pine needles and leaves were efficiently blown into a neat little pile for collection.
When my neighbor Wayne waved, smiled, and yelled, "Nice leaf blower!" I gave him a happy leaf blower club smile and merrily waved back.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Locked Out
Of all the phrases I've yelled at the kids as they've headed out the door on their way to school, never once have I yelled (or thought to yell):
"Hey, take your father's Masterlock out of your backpack!"
Since *I* lacked such foresight, Brandon used his father's Masterlock to padlock his locker at school and then lost the key on the playground.
It happened on the Friday before Memorial Day weekend.
When his teacher showed me Brandon's locker, I didn't even have words to deal with it...I just laughed. Mostly because I knew how emotionally attached to the Masterlock Rich had been over the years. Brandon was most upset that he didn't have access to his backpack for three days.
Three days later, Brandon was exasperated that he had to give up recess time to write a letter of apology to the janitor of the high school, who had to give up an hour of his day to drive down to the elementary school with a bolt cutters in order to free the locker.
(Rich and I thought it was fantastic that Brandon had to write the letter.)
Brandon is still unremorsefull over padlocking his locker...it kept people from going through his stuff or worse...putting love notes in there.
Rich is still a little bitter a perfectly good Masterlock that was older than Jonathon is gone.
I'm trying to convince myself this kind of stuff isn't going to happen next school year, but failing miserably.
"Hey, take your father's Masterlock out of your backpack!"
Since *I* lacked such foresight, Brandon used his father's Masterlock to padlock his locker at school and then lost the key on the playground.
It happened on the Friday before Memorial Day weekend.
When his teacher showed me Brandon's locker, I didn't even have words to deal with it...I just laughed. Mostly because I knew how emotionally attached to the Masterlock Rich had been over the years. Brandon was most upset that he didn't have access to his backpack for three days.
Three days later, Brandon was exasperated that he had to give up recess time to write a letter of apology to the janitor of the high school, who had to give up an hour of his day to drive down to the elementary school with a bolt cutters in order to free the locker.
(Rich and I thought it was fantastic that Brandon had to write the letter.)
Brandon is still unremorsefull over padlocking his locker...it kept people from going through his stuff or worse...putting love notes in there.
Rich is still a little bitter a perfectly good Masterlock that was older than Jonathon is gone.
I'm trying to convince myself this kind of stuff isn't going to happen next school year, but failing miserably.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Nut Cups and Man Thongs
When boys play sports, two things become obvious:
First, they need to score more points than their opponents, and as their parent you have now committed many hours of your life helping their team achieve that goal. You will be driving them to practice and games as well as other various and other assundered associated tasks that go along with team sports.
Second, not only do boys need to defend against their opponents, they need to defend their, shall we say, family jewels. In short, they need jock straps and cups.
If you're a mom, what is not so obvious is that boys don't care where they leave jock straps and cups. To them, it's another piece of sporting equipment to be dropped where ever the last pile of dirty clothes were left.
So, if I happen to find a cup next to my makeup and scream, "Get that thing out of here!" my boys laugh. (They think I'm over-reacting.)
If I walk into their bathroom (under duress) and find a cup in the middle of the floor and demand that it finds a new home, the owner saunters in like he has all the time in the world to put it away.
I'm not going to name all the places I've found non-drinking cups, but I will tell you, the boys have learned to put them away.
Recently, Rich was out of town and I had to help with the purchase of a cup and jock-strap.
I discovered these things come in all shapes, sizes, and colors. I swear there were aero-dynamic and titanium options, but none in stock that were the color blue in the size we needed.
Eventually, we did settle on an acceptable color choice, made our purchase, and headed to practice.
My son was SO EXCITED to get into his new equipment, he started changing in the minivan...while I was still driving it.
Soooo....
We were at a red light....I was telling my son to get into his seat and buckle back up, my son was holding up his jock strap up asking me which direction it went on, telling me he would only be one.more.minute, and I happened to check the rear view mirror where I see the guy behind me laughing....but he's trying really hard not too...
because I realized...
He was on the receiving end of a little boys bare butt, probably saw the jock strap, and figured out what was going on.
When I pointed out to my son that he mooned the guy behind us, my son was confident that it never happened. I didn't argue with him. I'm relieved that the authorities didn't follow me to the field.
You would think that would be the end of it...However,
Later that night, yet again I had to tell this son to put away his cup. As an added bonus, his brother yelled,
"And don't carry around your man thong around the house either! That's disgusting!"
First, they need to score more points than their opponents, and as their parent you have now committed many hours of your life helping their team achieve that goal. You will be driving them to practice and games as well as other various and other assundered associated tasks that go along with team sports.
Second, not only do boys need to defend against their opponents, they need to defend their, shall we say, family jewels. In short, they need jock straps and cups.
If you're a mom, what is not so obvious is that boys don't care where they leave jock straps and cups. To them, it's another piece of sporting equipment to be dropped where ever the last pile of dirty clothes were left.
So, if I happen to find a cup next to my makeup and scream, "Get that thing out of here!" my boys laugh. (They think I'm over-reacting.)
If I walk into their bathroom (under duress) and find a cup in the middle of the floor and demand that it finds a new home, the owner saunters in like he has all the time in the world to put it away.
I'm not going to name all the places I've found non-drinking cups, but I will tell you, the boys have learned to put them away.
Recently, Rich was out of town and I had to help with the purchase of a cup and jock-strap.
I discovered these things come in all shapes, sizes, and colors. I swear there were aero-dynamic and titanium options, but none in stock that were the color blue in the size we needed.
Eventually, we did settle on an acceptable color choice, made our purchase, and headed to practice.
My son was SO EXCITED to get into his new equipment, he started changing in the minivan...while I was still driving it.
Soooo....
We were at a red light....I was telling my son to get into his seat and buckle back up, my son was holding up his jock strap up asking me which direction it went on, telling me he would only be one.more.minute, and I happened to check the rear view mirror where I see the guy behind me laughing....but he's trying really hard not too...
because I realized...
He was on the receiving end of a little boys bare butt, probably saw the jock strap, and figured out what was going on.
When I pointed out to my son that he mooned the guy behind us, my son was confident that it never happened. I didn't argue with him. I'm relieved that the authorities didn't follow me to the field.
You would think that would be the end of it...However,
Later that night, yet again I had to tell this son to put away his cup. As an added bonus, his brother yelled,
"And don't carry around your man thong around the house either! That's disgusting!"
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Running on A Full Circuit
In Mo Willems wonderful book, Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus, the pigeon says: "But I'm a curious bird."
Rich and I have used this line often to explain the unexplainable messes and conundrums in which our children tend to find themselves.
For example when one child explained his attempt his lack of a Mother's Day gift:
"I wanted to create a heart that was attracted to a magnet using parallel circuits for your Mother's Day present, so I took two wires, two light bulbs, two batteries, and put the magnet in the middle. The heart was on the side.
Something went wrong though because sparks started coming out of one of the batteries, and...honestly, I quit befoe I burned down the house."
My first thought was, "But I'm a curious bird."
There are times I wonder if Rich and I have done too good of a job instilling a sense of wonder and exploration of the world around them in our children.
My second thought was, "Thank you Lord that you gave my child the gift of common sense."
The best part of Mother's Day really is having my house intact.
Rich and I have used this line often to explain the unexplainable messes and conundrums in which our children tend to find themselves.
For example when one child explained his attempt his lack of a Mother's Day gift:
"I wanted to create a heart that was attracted to a magnet using parallel circuits for your Mother's Day present, so I took two wires, two light bulbs, two batteries, and put the magnet in the middle. The heart was on the side.
Something went wrong though because sparks started coming out of one of the batteries, and...honestly, I quit befoe I burned down the house."
My first thought was, "But I'm a curious bird."
There are times I wonder if Rich and I have done too good of a job instilling a sense of wonder and exploration of the world around them in our children.
My second thought was, "Thank you Lord that you gave my child the gift of common sense."
The best part of Mother's Day really is having my house intact.
Monday, May 9, 2011
(A) Typical Mom's Day
You will never hear me claim to be the June Clever of my cul-de-sac, but I do feel that company should not be forced to don haz-mat suits before entering the front door.
It's a fine and delicate line; however my kids crossed it big-time earlier in the week, so in honor of Mother's Day, they earned the privilege of helping me clean the house.
Yep, I spent Mother's Day cleaning the house.
I woke up at 6:30am and couldn't fall back asleep. So, I folded all the laundry that I had washed, dried, stacked....repeat....while Rich was in Virginia.
As I was folding laundry I started to think about how much easier it would have been to sleep if the house had been tidier.
Then I started to get irritated in only the way moms can become irritated.
I wasn't mad or angry. I just wanted my house back. I wanted sporting equipment in the proper place (fyi: my dining room floor is not the proper place). I wanted my kitchen counters free of clutter. Bedrooms needed to be neater. Bathroom counters less bathroom counter-y.
Among the refrains of: "You're mean." "You're unreasonable." "Why do we have to do this?" "You're beyond cruel (personal favorite)!!"
and the possibility of life without electronics of any kind, the work was unwillingly and grudgingly accomplished before our neighbors came over for supper.
The house looked wonderful! *
I felt so peaceful in my own space!
Truly, it was worth all the hassle with the kids because I could sit down and enjoy the time with our friends rather than worry in the back of my mind that I should be cleaning something.
As an even better bonus, the kids were so polite and respectful during the supper that I was even prouder than usual to call them my own.
It's a fine and delicate line; however my kids crossed it big-time earlier in the week, so in honor of Mother's Day, they earned the privilege of helping me clean the house.
Yep, I spent Mother's Day cleaning the house.
I woke up at 6:30am and couldn't fall back asleep. So, I folded all the laundry that I had washed, dried, stacked....repeat....while Rich was in Virginia.
As I was folding laundry I started to think about how much easier it would have been to sleep if the house had been tidier.
Then I started to get irritated in only the way moms can become irritated.
I wasn't mad or angry. I just wanted my house back. I wanted sporting equipment in the proper place (fyi: my dining room floor is not the proper place). I wanted my kitchen counters free of clutter. Bedrooms needed to be neater. Bathroom counters less bathroom counter-y.
Among the refrains of: "You're mean." "You're unreasonable." "Why do we have to do this?" "You're beyond cruel (personal favorite)!!"
and the possibility of life without electronics of any kind, the work was unwillingly and grudgingly accomplished before our neighbors came over for supper.
The house looked wonderful! *
I felt so peaceful in my own space!
Truly, it was worth all the hassle with the kids because I could sit down and enjoy the time with our friends rather than worry in the back of my mind that I should be cleaning something.
As an even better bonus, the kids were so polite and respectful during the supper that I was even prouder than usual to call them my own.
*I think it's important to note that the house still looks like four kids live here. It's a home. It just DIDN'T look like four kids who had never seen a cleaning supply or heard the words, "Pick up your stuff and put it away! NOW!" lived here." Again I'm not June Cleaver or a miracle worker.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Brandon Vs. The Badger
I do normal mommy things like pick up my kids from school.
I expect my kids to do normal kids things like walk from their classrooms, down the sidewalk, and into our van. Since we don't live in an unsafe town or school district, this is not an unreasonable expectation.
What I do not expect is to be waiting outside the van for a missing child, namely, my son Brandon, and another mom to say to me, "Oh, Brandon is still by the fence on the sidewalk figuring out how to set a badger trap."
It takes a lot for my eyes to get really, really big and my jaw to drop wide open, especially when it comes to Brandon and his antics, but yep, after school, real-life badger-trapping, on the playground, in the middle of Wisconsin winter....that one will get me every single time.
Now, the other mom's son is friends with Brandon and the friend was also very excited about catching a badger, so the mom kindly filled me in:
An animal burrow had been found on the playground at recess. No one knew for sure what was living in it, but our boys were convinced it was a badger. The kids were not allowed to go anywhere near it (for safety reasons), but our boys were going to to figure out how to trap it from the sidewalk side of the school because that wasn't school property. Brandon had stayed behind to figure out the best way to build a trap.
So this conversation happened in less than a minute. I told Jon to watch the kids in the van (I always have extra kids with me, just in case), and I BOLTED for Brandon. My heart was racing and I was extremely worried that I was going to have a hot mess of kid vs ticked off Wisconsin winter mammal on my hands.
I'm not all up-to-date on my Who's Who of Wisconsin Winter Wildlife, but I do know enough to know that most of them are hungry, unfriendly, and do not want to be trapped by a curious eight year old.
So I found an rather excited Brandon examining all the possibilities this burrow could hold. He KNEW it was a badger. He KNEW he and his buddies were going to trap it. He was irritated that I was cutting into his planning time. I just didn't get it. I was mean.
In short, I was stifling his creative process.
I was awed at Brandon's tenacity, his curiosity, his creativity, and so danged relieved that I was almost in tears. My blood pressure at finding all his fingers intact was such that I could no longer hear my heart beat in my ears and my breathing was almost normal.
Brandon spent the night dreaming of ways to catch his badger.
When I picked him up from school the next day, it was to find a rather irritated Brandon. It turns out the school had someone come in and safely remove the animal from the school grounds, which was rather boring.
And, to add insult to injury, the badger wasn't a badger. It was a raccoon.
I expect my kids to do normal kids things like walk from their classrooms, down the sidewalk, and into our van. Since we don't live in an unsafe town or school district, this is not an unreasonable expectation.
What I do not expect is to be waiting outside the van for a missing child, namely, my son Brandon, and another mom to say to me, "Oh, Brandon is still by the fence on the sidewalk figuring out how to set a badger trap."
It takes a lot for my eyes to get really, really big and my jaw to drop wide open, especially when it comes to Brandon and his antics, but yep, after school, real-life badger-trapping, on the playground, in the middle of Wisconsin winter....that one will get me every single time.
Now, the other mom's son is friends with Brandon and the friend was also very excited about catching a badger, so the mom kindly filled me in:
An animal burrow had been found on the playground at recess. No one knew for sure what was living in it, but our boys were convinced it was a badger. The kids were not allowed to go anywhere near it (for safety reasons), but our boys were going to to figure out how to trap it from the sidewalk side of the school because that wasn't school property. Brandon had stayed behind to figure out the best way to build a trap.
So this conversation happened in less than a minute. I told Jon to watch the kids in the van (I always have extra kids with me, just in case), and I BOLTED for Brandon. My heart was racing and I was extremely worried that I was going to have a hot mess of kid vs ticked off Wisconsin winter mammal on my hands.
I'm not all up-to-date on my Who's Who of Wisconsin Winter Wildlife, but I do know enough to know that most of them are hungry, unfriendly, and do not want to be trapped by a curious eight year old.
So I found an rather excited Brandon examining all the possibilities this burrow could hold. He KNEW it was a badger. He KNEW he and his buddies were going to trap it. He was irritated that I was cutting into his planning time. I just didn't get it. I was mean.
In short, I was stifling his creative process.
I was awed at Brandon's tenacity, his curiosity, his creativity, and so danged relieved that I was almost in tears. My blood pressure at finding all his fingers intact was such that I could no longer hear my heart beat in my ears and my breathing was almost normal.
Brandon spent the night dreaming of ways to catch his badger.
When I picked him up from school the next day, it was to find a rather irritated Brandon. It turns out the school had someone come in and safely remove the animal from the school grounds, which was rather boring.
And, to add insult to injury, the badger wasn't a badger. It was a raccoon.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
I swear I didn't raise my hand!
I am starting to suspect that I am addicted to volunteering.
Not in a bad way. Just in a "let me eat the last Oreo so my kids don't have too" kind of way.
Jobs have to get done. Oreo's are yummy. I'm capable. I don't want the kids to fight. So I say yes to the project. And the Oreo.
I'm not unhappy.
The reason I bring this up is because I am attempting to put myself in a "volunteering time-out."
The time-out is turning out to be an utter and total epic fail.
I have two projects that I agreed to before the time-out....and kind-of another one in the works...alright, two....I just remembered the email I sent last week. *blush*
What I have learned throughout this process is this: I need to be wise when I volunteer my time, talent, or resources. It's perfectly okay to say, "No, not this time."
When I am able to fully give myself to things I love to do with or for my children, it doesn't feel like volunteering at all. It feels like what Lauren said to me tonight, "You're the best mommy in world!" because I am present in the moment with my children and they know it...which is my motivation for doing 99% of the work I do.
The random Oreos (and coffee) are what give me the energy to keep doing it. ;)
Not in a bad way. Just in a "let me eat the last Oreo so my kids don't have too" kind of way.
Jobs have to get done. Oreo's are yummy. I'm capable. I don't want the kids to fight. So I say yes to the project. And the Oreo.
I'm not unhappy.
The reason I bring this up is because I am attempting to put myself in a "volunteering time-out."
The time-out is turning out to be an utter and total epic fail.
I have two projects that I agreed to before the time-out....and kind-of another one in the works...alright, two....I just remembered the email I sent last week. *blush*
What I have learned throughout this process is this: I need to be wise when I volunteer my time, talent, or resources. It's perfectly okay to say, "No, not this time."
When I am able to fully give myself to things I love to do with or for my children, it doesn't feel like volunteering at all. It feels like what Lauren said to me tonight, "You're the best mommy in world!" because I am present in the moment with my children and they know it...which is my motivation for doing 99% of the work I do.
The random Oreos (and coffee) are what give me the energy to keep doing it. ;)
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