Life Isn't Rocket Science

It's Time For Allowance

2012-01-21T09:26:00.000-05:00

The time has come that I must close my wallet and begin asking my kids to take a look in their piggy banks to determine how much money they have to do the things they want to do.

I'm not a big fan of allowance for things my kids should normally be doing like taking out the trash or setting the table. No, I won't be monetarily rewarding them for doing chores they are supposed to do as members of our household. But somehow, someway, we need to start a list of things my kids can do to earn some money. Not a lot of money, just some money.

When they come to me asking for bagel or popcorn money for school PTA fundraisers, I need to tell them to use their allowance. If they want a bagel or popcorn they are going to have to want it bad enough to use their own money to pay for it.

We are also going to set up a system where they earn an allowance, but must take 1/2 of their earnings and put it in their savings account. They will need to save 1/2 but can spend the other 1/2 in any way they choose.

I cringe when I realize my kids aren't really thankful for some of the things they have. Sure they love and are happy with their toys and extracurricular activities but don't have any concept of how much those things cost. It's time to start working for some of those coveted items that they simply "must" have. They might learn like those of us before them that some of those must-haves aren't really worth the cost.

I am bracing myself for the onslaught of "it's not fair!" and "but Johnny doesn't have to pick up dog poop in his backyard!" The best lessons for our kids seem to be the toughest to implement. It's hard to work to stand tough and create consistent rules because it's not easy being the bad guy all the time. My parents used to tell me, "you will thank me for this someday." It's true and I do.

So, let's add something else to the list of things my kids will get mad at me for. Why not?

Here we go. Wish me luck!

Why Nonsense is Necessary

2012-01-05T10:56:00.000-05:00

When you are at a loss for (or have forgotten altogether) what makes you happy, the common sentiment is to dig deep into the recesses of your mind to remember what brought you great joy as a child. Chances are what made you happy then will still make you happy now.

Did you enjoy playing with trains? You probably still do although you may not want to admit it. Did you enjoy fishing, playing football, surfing, reading, sewing, acting, singing? Any number of things we did as kids we did with wild abandon. No societal rules telling us what is "right" or "wrong." We just played and enjoyed our extracurricular activities.

When I was a kid I loved to read poems. Especially nonsense poems by Lewis Carroll, Edward Lear or Shel Silverstein. My grandmother gave me a book called The Illustrated Treasury of Poetry for Children when I was 7-years-old. I still have it and my favorite poems are still marked with paperclips from thirty some-odd years ago.

I took my old poetry book off the shelf not too long ago and started reading the poems with Nicholas. He was having fun with the Limericks and I felt like a kid again. A really happy kid.

Have you ever read Jabberwocky? How could you read that poem and not have all sorts of fantastical dreams about the frumious bandersnatch? It doesn't matter if you have not one clue about what a frumious bandersnatch is. The words of that poem will take you on one heck of a wild ride. Let your imagination soar.

I still get lost in Shel Silverstein's words and wonder, where does the sidewalk end? What do these kids know that I don't know?

When the boys were very young they received copies of almost all of Shel Silverstein's books. The Giving Tree is an obvious favorite, but Nicholas and I especially like Where the Sidewalk Ends and The Light in the Attic. We have fun reading the silliness and laughing together. The best part is that for a few moments at the end of the day we can forget about our responsibilities and get lost in the make-believe worlds of some pretty incredible characters.

This is why nonsense is necessary. In our structured, rigid, "right" or "wrong" world, we need a little nonsense to break up the seriousness of it all. These authors made their life's work about nonsense. Maybe we all need to find a little more nonsense in our own lives.

When Christopher was about 3-years-old we read The Owl and the Pussycat 3,645 times. I kid, of course, but it was probably something close to that. I even have a video of him singing the verse. Hands down, my favorite video of all time. But, back to the the story, how many times have you known an owl and a pussycat to fall in love? Genius!

The boys received the book, His Shoes Were Far Too Tight: Poems by Edward Lear, for Christmas. It's a wonderful compilation of Lear's most beloved poems of pure, unequivocal nonsense. The book just came out in March of last year and as soon as I saw it I knew we must have it. I think I was more excited about the book than they were.

Nicholas and I read the poems in the new book and laughed, as we do, at the silliness of it all. We read The Jumblies and wondered together why their heads were green and their hands were blue? No matter, they went to sea in a sieve and lived to tell about it!

We've reread that poem several times and Nicholas even did his book report on the new book of Edward Lear poems writing about and drawing The Jumblies. He gave it 5 out of 5 stars!

What they say is true. If you dig deep enough you will find what brought you great joy as a kid. And, if you recognize and welcome the same joy as an adult, happiness is sure to follow. I plan to add a little more nonsense to my life.

When Nicholas asked to read Jabberwocky again the other night I opened my trusted poetry book to the paper-clipped Jabberwocky page. I wondered what other poems I had paper-clipped so Nicholas and I perused my poetry book to see what I had listed as my favorites when I was his age.

I should have known what I would find. I should have remembered why I was so eager to get my hands on the new Edward Lear book.

There in all my old poetry book's dog-eared, paper-clipped glory was Edward Lear's The Jumblies.

Nicholas and I laughed some more. Like mother like son.

Has Your Kid Ever Had a Bad Day?

2011-12-20T11:52:00.000-05:00

Nicholas had to write a story based on the concept of the book Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. He had to describe a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day of his own.

I help with the Writer's Workshop in his class so I had the good fortune of reading his story as he was writing it. I was confused with his story because I'm pretty sure his brother didn't push him down the stairs and I know I've never grounded him for an entire week.

When I asked him about his made-up story he said, "Mom, I had to make up my story because I've never really had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day."

Wow. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

I was secretly thrilled that he couldn't conjure up a day so terrible that he remembered every detail. But, I wondered if it's OK that his idyllic life thus far hasn't presented him with any problems necessary for some serious introspection. OK, he's only eight, but still...

It reminded me instantly of the Modern Family Tree House episode where Haley has to write about the biggest obstacle she's overcome for a college application essay. Only, she can't remember any obstacles she's had to overcome and blames her mom for fostering a boring, sheltered existence.

Of course Haley blames her mother in the TV episode and I'm sure my kids will blame me for whatever misfortunes they think they have endured or will endure. But, would it be the worst thing in the world if I were blamed for fostering a boring, sheltered existence?

I'm not so sure.

There are plenty of opportunities ahead for my kids to have bad days. There are plenty of opportunities ahead to overcome obstacles. His idyllic days won't last forever. I may resemble the overprotective Claire Dunphy now, but I will allow my kids to fail and I will allow them to experience heartache. They will never know their full potential if their mettle isn't tested a time or two or ten thousand.

But, for the time being, if my eight-year-old hasn't experienced any terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days, I'm OK with that. When I was his age my parents were divorced and I was getting in trouble at school, among other things. I can think of several horrible, very bad days before I even turned eight.

I read stories every day about kids living in homeless shelters, getting in trouble with the law, hampered by a learning disability, or worse. I'm saddened by stories of kids who grow up too fast without parents who provide boundaries and love.

I much prefer that Nicholas has to make up a sad story rather than live one.

My New Kindle Fire

2011-11-30T13:07:00.000-05:00

I never thought I would be an e-book reader. I pooh-poohed all of the hoopla surrounding e-book readers like the Kindle and Nook because I have plenty of magazine subscriptions that are delivered to my house and plenty of books I can curl up with on the couch. I can be a little old-school when it comes to all of the new technology available. It took me awhile to come to the texting party. I just recently started to Skype. But, I still refuse to bank online. I will continue to write checks out of my little checkbook, putting a stamp on my envelopes to send in my bills. I'm proud to support my local post office!

So, when my husband asked me what I thought about a Kindle for my birthday my first response was...no thanks. No need. I am firmly ensconced in my habit of stacking my magazines on the kitchen counter and pulling one out when I have a few minutes to sit and read by my lonesome. Or, if I am so inclined, I stop by my local library to check out a book I've been meaning to read. I'm proud to support my local library!

I heard from several people who love their Kindle that they couldn't imagine life without it. Which made me think back to when I told my husband several years ago "no thanks" on an iPod because I don't listen to music when I work out. I walk with a friend in the morning or do yoga DVDs and when I'm on my treadmill I'm catching up on past episodes of Bill O'Reilly. Again, no need. My husband bought me one anyway and I was ready to return it until I found out I could listen to my iPod through the car's FM radio. Now we're talking! I was getting tired of making music CDs for my kids to listen to in the car. Presto! Bammo! Now I had an entire music library to choose from and could play whatever songs my little ones requested with the click of a wheel. Our car rides became more bearable and the kiddos were happily singing along in the backseat. I have upgraded since my first nano and now have the iPod Classic because my music library exceeded the 8 GB nano capacity. Who knew?

Still, I wasn't sure I should jump on the Kindle bandwagon. So I started investigating. As it turns out the Kindle Fire is much more than an e-reader. I'm not in the review business so this isn't going to be a "Kindle Fire is better than the Nook because...." post, but let's just say I was intrigued by Kindle Fire's capabilities. I didn't know you could browse the web. Or email, stream TV and Video or play games. I didn't know you can e-mail documents - including Word, PDF and more - directly to your Kindle so you can read them anytime, anywhere. I didn't understand the cloud storage of all my Amazon content.

Once I realized the Kindle Fire was much more than an e-reader I regretted telling my husband I wasn't interested in a Kindle. Shame on me for being so close-minded about new technology. It wasn't the first time and certainly wouldn't be the last.

Lucky for me I opened my birthday present and saw a Kindle Fire in my hands. I realized my husband did an investigation of his own and predicted, as he did many years ago with my iPod, that I really would use this device in many more ways than I could possibly imagine.

And he was right. Again.

I love my Kindle Fire! I'm still learning about all of its potential, but I think the coolest thing is that I can peruse the Amazon bookstore, click a button and poof! A book is delivered to my Kindle. Just like that. It's magic! I'll probably be laughing a few years from now when my Kindle library exceeds even my wildest expectations.

Lesson learned. Never say never!

Your Words Mean Something

2011-10-27T12:22:00.000-04:00

When I was in 6th grade I got the most hideous perm. Why I permed my already wavy, full-of-body hair is beyond me. I suppose I begged my mother to perm my hair because all the other girls were perming their hair. Anyway, my perm was a disaster.

I was mortified that my already voluminous locks were now even more voluminous. I didn't really fancy the idea of going out in public looking like a mushroom. Knowing that a perm was, well, permanent I knew I would have to live with that hairstyle for a long while. I cried. I began planning ways to join the circus or at the very least come down with a bad case of the six-month flu so a tutor would have to come to my house. How could I ever show my face at school again?

As it turns out school was the least of my problems because I promised my sister I would go roller skating with her and my Dad had no intention of letting me break my promise.

I didn't want to peek my head out of my front door let alone go to the roller skating rink on a jam-packed Saturday afternoon. I would have preferred sticking a hot poker in my eye than hanging out with all the popular kids sporting their back-pocket combs used to run through their beautiful, perfectly placed locks. Nope. No assortment of rainbow-colored, fuzzy pom-poms with silver bells could have enticed me to leave my house.

But, my Dad insisted I go roller skating. I promised. It didn't matter to him that I was a highly vain 11-year-old. He didn't care that I was embarrassed.

"You promised your sister you would go roller skating with her. You need to keep your word."

I was dragged kicking and screaming out of the house, but I went roller skating with my sister that day. I made a promise and I had to keep it. I've kept every promise since. Once it's ingrained in you that what you say influences how you're perceived, you work a little harder to make good impressions.

When Christopher tells Nicholas he will play catch with him in the backyard, but then gets a better, more interesting offer to play on the swings with the neighbor, guess what he chooses? If you guessed he chose to play catch with his brother you'd be wrong. But, he has to play catch with his brother anyway because he said he would. He has to keep his word. Of course better offers come along every day, but we don't get to just dismiss a promise or dismiss our family because we changed our mind. We learn in our house that you don't get to tell someone you will do something and then not do it.

Even I have to live by this rule.

Christopher had a bad case of the hiccups. We tried everything to get the hiccups to go away to no avail. Finally, I told Christopher I would give him $5 if he could hiccup again. I cursed myself as soon as I said it because I should have said $1.00 or something smaller, but out of my mouth came the $5 dare. He hiccuped again and now I owe him $5. Rats.

I wonder today if when I'm waiting with my kids at the park for friends to meet us and no one shows up if those friends were ever dragged kicking and screaming to the roller rink against their wishes. I wonder if they were every held accountable for keeping promises made? The ones who were held accountable will call and tell me something came up and they can't make it. They might even drive to the park to tell me they couldn't get a hold of me on the phone and didn't want to keep me waiting indefinitely, but they need a raincheck. The ones who were not held accountable will brush it off as no big deal and go off and do something else without any explanation.

My roller skating/perm fiasco wasn't my only lesson in the importance of keeping promises. It took many other reminders and crying fits about cause and effect over the years for it to finally sink in that my words mean something.

The one thing I know for sure is my kids will be dragged kicking and screaming into many situations they don't want to be in. I will hear excuses and curses and pleas. But, I won't let them off the hook, just like my Dad never let me off the hook.

One day they will look back on their own roller skating/perm fiasco story and laugh when they realize how much impact one tear-filled afternoon actually had.

My Long Weekends Magazine Article

2011-10-08T07:39:00.001-04:00

The Fall/Winter 2011 edition of LongWeekends magazine is on the newstands and my article about feeding the adorable Chickadees at Kensington Metro Park Nature Center is on page 44.

LongWeekends is a regional publication serving the Illinois, Indiana, Kentucky, Michigan, New York, Ohio, Ontario, Pennsylvania and West Virginia areas so if you live locally you can pick up a copy at your local Barnes and Noble bookseller. It's a great magazine that lists tons of fun stuff to do in our region (like the Kids Gotta Play showroom in New Hudson I wrote about last year).

If you don't live in the region you can go online and peruse the digital version here. All you need to do is click the lower right-hand corner to turn the pages. When you get to page 44, click on the Chickadee Chow article and it will zoom in so you can see it better.

The Chickadee in the picture is perched on Christopher's hand. Yep, those are his little fingers!

Enjoy!

Support Local Museums Before They Disappear

2011-09-26T06:37:00.000-04:00

I was heartbroken to read in the Detroit Free Press on Saturday that the Detroit Science Center was closing temporarily to evaluate the museum's financial operations. The goal of the two-week closure is to review the financial operations to plan for long-term viability. A Science Center spokesperson said they hope to reopen but can't "make that promise." Sheesh. No Detroit Science Center? Say it ain't so.

Our family has been Detroit Science Center members for several years. Our membership allows us to experience incredible hands-on exhibits explaining how rockets work or teaching us how much effort it takes to burn the calories equivalent to eating a cheese burger and fries by propelling a wheelchair or walking on a treadmill. The boys have played bass guitar and drums as they rocked out to Ike and Tina Turner and learned about engineering accomplishments on the Mini Mac Bridge, an 80-foot-long pedestrian bridge modeled after the Mackinac Bridge. The list of exhibits goes on and on and on. Every trip uncovered something new.

It didn't matter how many times we watched the DTE Energy Sparks Theater shows explaining how electricity affects the world, we were mesmerized every time someone's hair stood on end from too much static electricity. We learned about coral reefs and Mount Everest in the Chrysler IMAX Dome Theater and about an Olympic kayaker who designed and built the world’s largest man-made whitewater rafting park in the Toyota Engineering multi-media 4-D Theater. The Kids Town area kept us entertained with a diner where the boys pretended to be cooks or waiters, serving food and counting money. We always took part in the art activity of the day where crayons, paint, tissue paper, glue, sparkles and other items were available for the boys to create whatever artwork their hearts desired. We never left Kids Town without a trip to the water table or a quick costume change for the boys to dance on stage.

The best part about our Detroit Science Center membership was the reciprocity agreement with other science centers in Michigan and across the country. We took advantage more than once of 1/2 price admission to the Cranbrook Institute of Science in Bloomfield Hills and the Ann Arbor Hands On Museum in Ann Arbor and free admission to the University of Michigan Exhibit Museum of Natural History in Ann Arbor and the Impression 5 Science Center in Lansing. We even took the whole family to the South Florida Science Center for free when we were visiting the grandparents. Our Detroit Science Center membership has served us well in our never-ending quest to find fun, imaginative things to do as a family.

I hope the Detroit Science Center can figure out a way to stay open. The problem is they rely on ticket sales and memberships among other individual donations to stay open which means people have to use the service they are providing. People have to go to the science center and support its mission to "inspire visitors to pursue and support careers in engineering, technology and science." One woman quoted in the Free Press said, "I heard good things about it," along with "It's a shame if they close because we need places like that in Detroit."

It sounds like she never took advantage of the incredible resource right in her own backyard. And that is a shame.

First Day of School Woe

2011-09-06T10:00:00.002-04:00

Gosh, it's quiet in my house.

The school bus just pulled away with my baby on board. Oops. I mean my 6-year-old. Wait a minute. How did he get to be six already? The operative word here is "minute." That's about how long it took to give birth and send my precious babies off to school.

I have written here before about how grateful I am to be a stay-at-home mom and how wonderful the past eight years have been for me (six years home with the oldest before he started school and two extra years with my youngest ...now headed to school full-time). I've touted the glories of part-time Kindergarten that enabled my kids to learn at school but continue our other activities like museum trips and park play dates - during which learning took place on a whole different level. I've even shared my horror stories about how my kids turn into the Incredible Hulk at the very tender age of six.

I've had to navigate the crazy, constantly-changing, anxiety-producing stages of babies, toddlers and preschoolers. It seems like just when I get my groove on and start to understand a certain stage, it changes. They grow and change some more. Nothings ever stays the same.

And so in my too-quiet house I have to come to terms with the fact that I no longer have babies, toddlers or preschoolers running around. I have a 1st and 3rd grader who will keep me busy with school volunteer opportunities and sports practices. Our lives will change, yet again, with our brief conversations over breakfast before the harried morning starts and our brief conversations at dinner before we head out the door for practice. We won't get too many opportunities for sleeping in late or making homemade granola together. Oh sure, on the weekends maybe, but that would have to take place in between soccer games and playing outside with friends.

I love that the boys are excited about school and eager to get back in touch with classmates they weren't able to see over the summer. They were all smiles as they got on the bus today. Their first day of school is an exciting time of new teachers, new friends and new opportunities.

The first day of school for me is a head-scratching, teary-eyed, reminiscence of two boys who were babies just a minute ago. As they move forward toward independence, I cringe at the the thought of another year passing by so quickly.

So, I'm just going to sit here today and feel sorry for myself. I will probably cry a little (okay, a lot) and then I will look forward with anticipation because our lives are changing, yet again. Change isn't always bad, right? More often than not it brings unexpected potential. What will this new change bring to our house? Dunno. But, I'm open to the possibilities...after I spend my day looking through old photo albums and feeling sorry for myself. And crying.

I'm not sure my tears can drown out the tick-tock of my family room clock. Who knew it was so loud?

Why I Won't Go Back To Work Full-Time

2011-08-03T08:19:00.000-04:00

I had a job before I had kids. When Nicholas was born I quit working to stay home and have not regretted that decision for one nanosecond. Before you have kids you think, oh, I'll just go back to work when the kids are in school but you soon realize that being a mom is a full-time "job" all its own. I'm sorry to put "job" in quotes as if being a stay-at-home mom isn't a legitimate vocation but let's be real. If I had a dime for every time someone asked me "what do you do all day?" my husband could quit working, too. I realize now what I didn't know before I had kids. I'm not willing to sacrifice what I do for my family to go work for someone else.

Between school homework, school events, sports, piano, and just getting a decent meal on the table every night, our time is limited. I'm not sure how I could squeeze another job in there unless something else suffered. Now that Christopher will be in school full-time this year people always ask me "what are you going to do with all of your free time?" What free time?

I volunteer in the classrooms and am involved other in school committees and events to stay informed and get to know the personnel who spend seven hours with my kids every day. If there is an opportunity to get involved I usually raise my hand because I want to say in the loop. I've told my sons that if they ever think about doing something they shouldn't do or saying something they shouldn't say to watch out. I have eyes and ears everywhere so whatever indiscretion they choose I'm liable to find out about it. I have a deal with other parents that we'll watch out for each other's kids. I couldn't be involved at the school if I worked full-time. I couldn't know all that I know about my son's friends if I didn't spend time at the school to decide which friends he should be hanging out with and which ones are potential bad seeds.

If I worked full-time I couldn't get dinner on the table every night and eating dinner as a family is extremely important to me. Between sports and piano schedules I have to start cooking by at least 4:00 so we can eat before the event. I refuse to send my kids off to practice with just a quick snack and then expect them to eat dinner at 8:00. And, we don't eat dinner from a box. I cook all of our meals from scratch. Believe me when I say it takes a lot of time to cook healthy meals for your family. Between planning the menu and shopping, prepping and cooking the food, I feel like all I ever do is think about food.

Once 4:00 rolls around and the kids get off the bus it's non-stop until bed time. If I didn't have time during the day to accomplish everything that I need to do I would have to complete those tasks after work which means something else isn't getting done. Dinner suffers, homework suffers, bedtime reading suffers and the list goes on.

I want to be with my kids in the morning when they get on the bus and waiting for them when they get off. I want to see my kid's eyes light up when I walk in their classroom and I want to hear the pride in their voices when they point to me volunteering at the Fun Run and say, "that's my mom." I want to have time to go to practices, help with homework and read bedtime stories without worrying about what I might need to do at work the next day.

I am forever grateful to my husband who works so hard to provide for his family. He works hard so I can stay home and be the kind of mother I want to be. I have a job and my job is to take care of my family and raise my boys to be responsible, well-mannered, articulate, educated, hard-working members of society. I give credit to working mothers everywhere who can do both, but I'm not one of them.

So, when people ask me "what do you do with all of your free time?" as if being a stay-at-home mom evokes images of soap operas and bon-bons, I won't bore them with my whole litany of to-do's between the hours of 9:00 - 4:00. But I will smile politely and say, "what do you do with yours?"

When they try, and fail, to recall their last moments of free time we can have a good laugh and agree that "free time" is pretty hard to define. For all of us.

Summer Entertainment Schedule (a.k.a. Camp Mom)

2011-07-09T07:38:00.000-04:00

When spring rolls around many moms are busy perusing camp schedules trying to figure out which camp(s) will best fit into their summer schedules. Should Billy do Lego camp or Science camp? Should Suzy try Dance camp or Princess camp? I've looked through the brochures and I know the the camp possibilities are endless. But, I've never sent my kids to any organized day camps because we have way too much fun checking out all there is to see and do in our area. I tell my kids they are officially enrolled in Camp Mom for the summer because we have the time to do things, together, that we can't typically do during the school year.

I am dreading the day they are too old and too cool to hang out with Mom anymore so I take these summer schedules seriously. As long as they are not embarrassed to be seen with me, I will continue the Camp Mom tradition of filling our schedules with fun outings.

So, what do we do all summer?

Mondays start out visiting Rocky Gardens CSA. We pick up our share of delicious produce and either work an hour or two at the garden or venture off to another stop. If I'm planting lettuce or spreading mulch the boys are checking out the chickens, riding the John Deere tractor toys or figuring out which garden row is Kale and which is Swiss Chard. A few hours of fresh air surrounded by beautiful gardens is the best way I know how to start the week. After our "chores" are done we are free to stop by Indian Springs Metropark and ride bikes, play in the splash park or see if the tadpoles have turned into frogs.

Tuesdays find us at the beach. We pack our beach gear, especially the shovels, and meet our friends to build sand castles and swim in the lake. A day of sunshine and surf tires rambunctious boys out like nothing else I know. The day speeds by too fast and we find ourselves packing up when it seems like we just arrived.

Wednesdays start out at the library for Nicholas's math tutor. Nicholas listens to his tutor about 1,000 times better than he listens to me so why not pay someone else to help him keep his math skills sharp over the summer months? It's a no-brainer. His tutor helps him complete his summer math workbook and Study Island which, in turn, helps him prepare for the MEAP (Michigan Educational Assessment Program) test which he will take in 3rd grade. Math is not my forte so it's money well spent. Christopher practices spelling words or reads or writes during Nicholas's tutoring time so he gets some homework done, too. Win-win. After an hour of math homework and spelling drills we are free to ride bikes, run errands, turn on the sprinkler in our backyard or whatever the heck we want to do. Work is done so it's time for play!

Thursdays and Fridays are open for whatever. We've enjoyed an outdoor kids' concert at Marshbank Park, checked out Marvin's Marvelous Mechanical Museum, toured the Ford Rouge Factory, had tea and scones at Greenfield Village, gone for a dip in our friend's pool, and picnicked at the park. We spend many days at Greenfield Village during the summer because every visit uncovers something new.

Of course I have to clean my house so if we go out on Thursday I clean on Friday or vice versa. The boys are required to help because it goes much faster and they are learning to do more things for themselves. Each boy has to hang his own clothes after I do laundry, dust his bedroom, make his bed, pick up his room and clean his bathroom sink. Does that happen without crying and complaining? Absolutely not. But, I'm not backing down so the chores must be done. I've threatened to shut down Camp Mom indefinitely if I don't get the cooperation I expect and deserve. The thought of losing bike privileges or not being able to go to the beach keeps two little boys dusting and cleaning albeit through gritted teeth. Besides, if we all work together our chores get done faster which means more time for play.

Our elementary school garden is doing great and the boys have been a big help with watering, pulling weeds and planting seeds. I'm happy they will grow up gardening and knowing the difference between a sugar snap pea and a snow pea because I never did. We are trying all kinds of new recipes with our fresh produce from both our school garden and the CSA.

Nicholas is also learning how to kayak this summer. When he's not discovering how to paddle and turn the kayak, he's jumping off Grandma and Grandpa's dock or tubing behind the boat.

We still have plans to go to the zoo, catch a Tigers' game, run down the Sleeping Bear Dunes, take a leisurely ride around Kent Lake on the Kensington Island Queen II and explore more bike trails. That is if we have enough time. It's hard to believe it's the middle of July already.

Summer is short here in Michigan. I see the back-to-school items lining the shelves in the stores already. But, Camp Mom is in full swing and we aren't thinking about school. We are thinking about taking the fishing rods or nets down by the river to catch Bob the Bass on our next walk around the neighborhood.

Summer memories at their best.

Listen To Your Mother

2011-06-16T07:56:00.002-04:00

So, I'm not the only one whose kids question my knowledge on virtually every subject imaginable. I really tire of saying to my 8-year-old, "listen, kiddo...I've been around a lot longer than you have and I know a thing or two." Apparently, he takes that literally to mean I only know one or two things. Every other topic is up for debate.

"You know, Nicholas, you might make a few more outs if you move toward the ball instead of expecting the ball to come to you." I get the you-have-no-idea-what-you're-talking-about looks and rolled eyes. I need to dig out my old softball pictures to prove I was on a team and I used to catch pop flies and field grounders. I'm not sure the picture would do any good, though. I'm just a mom, after all.

"Mom, I really, really, really want those Nike shoes. Can I please, please, please have the Nike shoes like Billy?" I asked Nicholas what people usually do when they really, really, really want something. After a period of reflection during which Nicholas's blank stare meant he had no idea what I was talking about, I answered my own question.

You work for what you want. If you want something bad enough you will find a way to pay for it. I'm not sure he really, really, really wants those Nike shoes enough to scrub toilets or pick up dog doo-doo in the backyard. However, I know from experience that you appreciate things you work for more than you appreciate things given to you. Of course my 8-year-old thinks I'm stone-cold crazy, but it's true. He will learn this valuable lesson. Someday.

I have a lot of explaining to do. I have a lot of repeating to do. I also have a lot of role-modeling to do. But that's my job. As a mom I am required to take the guff that comes with raising self-reliant, independent kids. Because my kids question me I know they are creating their own opinions and values about life that will prepare them for adulthood. I might go insane in the process, but I look forward to the day when my kids figure out that I really did know what I was talking about. I really did know more than one or two things.

Unfortunately, that day won't come until they have their own kids. When Nicholas and I were disagreeing about something at the breakfast table, I start laughing and he wanted to know why. "Because I can't wait until you are sitting where I am and arguing with your son. You aren't going to understand a word of what I've just said to you until then."

When he's debating with his kids and throwing out a, "listen, kiddo...I've been around a lot longer than you have and I know a thing or two" it will all become crystal clear.

No More Second Chances

2011-05-26T15:16:00.000-04:00

Why is it that we let Kid #2 get away with more than Kid #1 could ever dream of getting away with? Is this why the first born is such a stringent rule follower and second-born children are typically more carefree? Whatever the reason I am coming to the unfortunate conclusion that I've got some work to do making Christopher more accountable for his actions. I've been lax. I've made too many excuses (but he's only 3, 4, 5,...and...but just look at that face!). I've been too permissive. No more.

Christopher is out of second chances.

This was the hard lesson he learned when he didn't get ice cream with the family the other night. We were standing in line at the ice cream shop for Pete's sake and he had to go and do something we told him not to do. His father told him no. I told him no. And, he went and did it anyway. No ice cream for Christopher.

He screamed and he cried. The other ice cream patrons must have thought I was the meanest mom in the entire universe, but he made the bad decision and now he had to live with the consequences. Period. He tried to make it up to us. Sorry. He tried to state his case. Not interested. He tried to say he didn't hear us. Nice try. He was flabbergasted that we all walked around licking our delicious ice cream cones while he walked around licking his wounds.

Since then he's lost American Idol-watching, dessert, and other privileges. What Christopher thinks is cute, charming or charismatic can be disrespectful. What might have been humorous coming from a 3-year-old is not even remotely funny in a kid who just turned six. Christopher is used to working a crowd and using his God-given persuasion potential to get what he wants. And most of the time it works. Until now. I'm drawing line in the sand. He will cross it at his own peril.

As hard as it is to see my kids suffer (I really did feel bad about not giving Christopher ice cream...not bad enough to break down and give him a cone...but bad nonetheless) it's harder for me to see kids who aren't required to take responsibility for their actions. Christopher will be held accountable. Neither one of us may like it because I'd rather not send him to his room or eat ice cream in front of him and he'd rather be doing what we do as a family instead of sulking off on his own, but what I say goes and no means no. It's not always up for discussion.

We all learn from our mistakes. Let's hope Christopher learns from his that we will have a much more enjoyable summer if he gets it right the first time because he's out of second chances.

Fingers crossed...

Finding the Silver Lining

2011-05-08T11:47:00.000-04:00

I felt extremely violated when my email account was hacked into and messages from my hacker were sent to everyone with whom I've ever had email contact about me being stranded in Spain and needing money asap. It was laughable that my hacker thought my friends and/or acquaintances would fall for such a prank (these scams have been around for awhile although the location periodically changes) but even more absurd that he thought he could impersonate me by writing such a grammatically incorrect email. I have not and will never write run-on sentences like his ridiculous email did or use a lowercase "i" in any correspondence ever. Ever. Even in text messages.

When I realized what was happening, I tried to lock him out of my account. Only every time I locked him out, he would sign on and lock me out. He added his name and email address to my email account so I couldn't change anything without him receiving notification that I was changing something. As I was sending email messages to my friends telling them to disregard anything coming from my Hotmail account because I really wasn't in Spain, he was sending those same contacts emails saying it wasn't a prank and I really was in Spain. The nerve!

After about an hour of locking each other out of my account, he won. I was locked out completely and unable to get back in. Luckily, before his final lock-out I managed to do a quick export of my contacts so I didn't lose every single email address in my address book.

I called Microsoft and received no help. I was told to run a virus scan on my computer and try to log back in. I was transferred from department to department, my calls were disconnected at least five times and I was put on hold for untold hours. I opened support tickets online, sent emails to abuse@hotmail.com and searched the Internet for answers. I came up empty-handed. I spent at least 8 hours trying to fix my problem until I finally gave up. I was exhausted. I was defeated. No amount of support tickets or phone calls could get this guy out of my email account.

You never realize how far-reaching your email address is until you have to change it. I set up a new email account and began the time-consuming process of connecting my new email address to everything from my own contacts to school and sports databases to travel websites to software registration sites to... you name it. I'm still making changes.

Almost five days after my hacker took over my account Microsoft finally sent me a new password and I was able to temporarily change my old password to lock my hacker out of my account. Realizing I had very little time before he potentially started his lock-out routing with me again, I signed in to Hotmail, perused my multitude of folders and sub-folders for pertinent information and transferred some sensitive emails to a dummy account. I didn't want to transfer anything from Hotmail to my new email address in case he followed me there. I transferred some emails to my dummy account and then transferred those emails to my new account. Talk about labor-intensive. I then deleted my Hotmail account for good. Goodbye kbernard53@hotmail.com. We had a good 12-year run.

As annoying and outrageous as this process was (actually still is) I have to admit I found a silver lining to the rather dark, ominous cloud hanging over me. I was mad, no doubt. I felt violated, yes. But my hacker did for me what I should have done for myself a long time ago.

My hacker made me take a good, hard look at what was important or essential information and what wasn't. Email subscriptions I was signed up for were clogging my account. Every morning I was greeted with numerous emails in my Inbox requiring my attention to read, delete or unsubscribe from. Writing newsletters, shopping discount coupons, free digital scrapbook downloads, travel deals, newspaper headlines, etc. I was so afraid to miss out on "important" information that I was practically suffocating myself in the process. My elevated heart rate and shortness of breath every time I opened my Inbox should have indicated to me the information I thought I needed to process really wasn't doing me any good at all. I should have deleted those subscriptions a long time ago. Thank you hacker-man for forcing me to get rid of all of that useless information by forcing me to delete my Hotmail account altogether and start anew.

I deleted my Facebook account. I hated Facebook anyway and rarely signed in for fear of seeing the posts of the most relentless narcissists who insist that I care one whit about what they had for breakfast. I never added a status update and only posted the occasional picture, so what good was Facebook to me? I decided that if I needed to share my occasional pictures with friends and family I could just as easily open a photo-sharing website. Spending so much time fixing my email problems forced me to prioritize how I really feel like spending my time and Facebook ain't it. Thank you hacker-man for helping me see the light. Goodbye useless waste of time.

I used to check my email from my phone. My Hotmail account was connected to my Samsung Instinct and that little blue, blinking star beckoned me to open my email every time a new message was delivered. It became something of an obsession. I was constantly checking for the blue, blinking light. Was checking email on my phone absolutely necessary? Absolutely not. I have yet to set up my new email account on my phone and I doubt I will. I will now answer emails when I have the time not because of that damn blinking star.

Getting rid of nonessential information has done wonders for my heart rate. I am breathing more deeply than I have in a long time. I don't have 20 folders with sub-folders of saved emails in my new email account. My Inbox is not clogged with useless subscriptions. My phone's blue star doesn't blink. I am free of Facebook. I am starting over with a clean slate and it feels g-r-r-r-r-e-a-t.

Ask me if I felt great two weeks ago and my eyes would have shot hot, scorching daggers directly at your heart just before I emasculated you with a sling of blistering barbs. These last two weeks have not been fun. But they have been enlightening. In our world of 24-7 access to just about everything and everyone I realized I don't want to be that accessible and I don't want to drown in useless information. No more. I've had enough.

Thank you hacker-man. In the beginning you may have sabotaged my precious time but in the end you forced me to reclaim it.

Why Being Smart Isn't Enough

2011-04-14T08:56:00.001-04:00

I often hear other parents talking about how smart their kids are. They enlighten us about their kids' test scores and reading levels like the rest of us talk about the weather. While I'm happy that Billy is getting all A's, has read War and Peace six times and has memorized the Periodic Table of the Elements, my main concern is that he doesn't say hello when passing by or can't even look me in the eye when he does choose to speak to me.

The measure of of someone's success isn't always wrapped up in IQ scores. The most successful people are usually the ones who get along well with others, don't have a sense of entitlement, work hard for what they want and have a positive attitude. Some smart people I know have these characteristics, some don't. But, without these characteristics, their intelligence level is of little matter.

So, while I obviously want my kids to get good grades, I want them to learn how to get along in the world even more. I want them to take others' feelings into consideration before speaking or acting. I never want them to feel entitled to anything. If they are not willing to work hard for something, it's not worth having. These are all characteristics they learn at home, by the way. My husband and I are responsible for teaching our kids to be the best human beings they can possibly be. The school isn't responsible. My in-laws are not responsible. I am. I want responsible human beings far more than all A's on a report card.

If I teach my kids that it's OK to complain about everything that doesn't go their way or to blame someone else for the decisions they make that didn't turn out as planned I will be setting them up for failure. If they get everything they ask for just because we (or Grandma and Grandpa) can afford it, they aren't learning about the value of a dollar or setting monetary goals. If they get all A's on their report cards but can't take responsibility for their actions or get along well with others, I haven't done my job.

Intelligence doesn't always determine success. When I hear about Billy reading War and Peace please know that I'm not impressed. I would be far more impressed if Billy said, "good morning, Mrs. Murray" while looking me in the eye or stood up for a friend in need. I might stop breathing momentarily and pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming but I would think to myself, now there's a kid who's going places.

Things I Will Miss About My 5-Year-Old

2011-03-22T15:47:00.000-04:00

Christopher will be turning six in a few weeks and I'm really, really, really going to miss him being five.

I will miss the sweet words with r's that aren't pronounced quite right like "fuhst" (first) and "puhson" (person) and "buhd" (bird). I videotaped Christopher reading a book with these words in it because I know pretty soon he won't say them like this anymore. I don't ever want to forget his little voice or the way he says these little words.

I will miss the agreeable, sweet, always-smiling 5-year-old who, on the verge of his 6th birthday, is argumentative, sometimes nasty and beginning to clench his teeth in fits of anger. I remember his brother started turning into the Incredible Hulk when he got mad...right after the six-year mark. What the heck is it about turning six?

Up until now I've been able to call the shots and rattle him with my "don't-you-even-think-about-it" looks that stop him dead in his tracks. Not that I had to do that very often because Christopher is my agreeable one. He never used to argue, always did as he was asked and rarely got upset. Now he's arguing. A lot. I do want my kids to be independent and I do want them to think logically for themselves, but not at the expense of my sanity for Pete's sake. No one told me I would have to choose between sanity and independent kids. Now I know why I used to think my mother was a little bit crazy.

I will miss five because my 5-year-old thought I knew everything. My almost 6-year-old questions my definitions and motives. My 5-year-old tells me to wear lip gloss because it makes me look pretty and my almost 6-year-old grunts when I dive in for a kiss. Can't I just stop time and keep my agreeable, adoring, 5-year-old for a little while longer? Does he really have to cross that threshold into a challenging, opinionated and very stubborn little man?

I will miss my 5-year-old because the days of us spending all of our waking hours together is coming to an end. He will be in school full-time in the fall and I already know what life is like when that happens. I will get to see him for a few minutes after school and at dinner in between playing with friends, homework, sports and piano practice. When Nicholas crossed that threshold, I still had my baby at home. Now that my baby is crossing that threshold, I'm left to wonder where the hell the time went.

So, I want to hang onto five a little longer because it was an amazing year. I will keep a special place in my heart for the year we had so much fun together and thoroughly enjoyed each other's company, just the two of us. We've made the most of our time together, had some great adventures and equally terrific conversations. I'm not saying we'll never have another adventure or another great conversation after he turns six, but we'll never have the innocence and simplicity that we do right now.

When life interrupts and years go speeding by and Christopher matures even more, I will miss the simplicity of my 5-year-old the most.

Dropping Anchors

2011-03-04T09:20:00.000-05:00

I like her because she smiles at me and means it. ~Anonymous

When I was younger I had a lot of friends. My self-esteem was tied to how many people wanted to be in my company and I made the mistake of measuring my worth by the number of friendships I had. I must be a really great person if so many people like me! Unfortunately, I've learned over the years that not everyone I considered a friend had my best interests at heart. People will befriend you for all different reasons, but it's important to differentiate between those who serve you well and those who don't. Now I understand the quality of friendships matters far more than the quantity. I've redefined my friendships several times over the years and continue to do so as I progress from one phase of my life into another. In other words, I've dropped some anchors.

I still have a lot of friends, only now I nurture the friendships that are important to me and don't spend a whole lot of time on those that aren't. As Dr. Phil often says, "we teach people how to treat us." In my youth, I taught people that it was OK to be phony, narcissistic or spiteful because I based my self-worth on whether or not they liked me. Now, I choose to be treated with dignity and respect and surround myself with like-minded people. I never knew that I would feel better about myself with fewer friends than I ever did with more. I'm pretty sure turning 40 had something to do with that.

I feel so bad for that younger version of me who put up with so much nonsense from people who were never that important to begin with. I endured jealousy, half-hearted concern and selfishness in the name of so-called friendship. My younger self didn't know that her life was all about choices. My older self knows that I don't need anyone's permission to do what's best for me. I make better choices now.

Do you have relationships that drain you? Have you tried dropping the anchors? Just look for the friends who smile at you and mean it.

Children Learn By Example - Duh!

2011-02-19T09:11:00.000-05:00

Children learn by example. We all know this. (You do know this, right?) So, while your saying, "duh, yeah, I already know this" I challenge you to take a look at your own life and examine how your children are learning by your own example, good or bad.

I'm sure you can pick out the parents who namedrop and spend too much time obsessing about labels. Their kids are judging their peers by the name on their tennis shoes and labels on their jeans. Trust me when I tell you that kids whose parents don't care about labels aren't interested in scrutinizing their friend's clothes and accessories. But, if Suzie walks around school bragging about the specific brand name of her sweater or shoes or makes comments about your kid's attire, rest assured that mom and dad (well, probably just mom) are too.

Do you know the positive self-esteem parents? Don't criticize your children! Everyone is a winner! You are special! UGH. Why didn't these parents get the memo explaining that life isn't fair? Sometimes we win and sometimes we lose. Sometimes your kid does well and sometimes he doesn't even try. In the very simplest terms, some of life's best lessons come from disappointment so if your kids aren't experiencing disappointment they aren't learning anything. I'm sure you can pinpoint the parents who gush about their children's accomplishments like you and I talk about the weather. I'm all for self-esteem, but in the real world not everyone is going to think my kid is so great. So, while I do tell my kids when I think they've done a good job, I've been know to throw out a "you know, that really wasn't your best work" when asked about a piano performance or a baseball practice. My criticism is usually followed with a "how about practicing some more and trying again?" The onus is on him to want to do better, not wait around for pointless praise.

On the opposite end of the spectrum are the Negative Nelly parents. Their toxicity radiates so far that you need a Hazmat suit just to get within ten feet. They pass onto their kids that being mean or complaining about everything is a way to get noticed. These kids don't stand a chance.

Do you know a rude kid? The parents are rude, too. Do you know a kid who drops f-bombs in class? The parents swear at home. What fascinates me is how these parents are oblivious to their own involvement in their child's behavior. As I've shared before, I yell. Therefore my children yell. I'm not proud of this characteristic but I know that my kids haven't picked up on this terrible trait by watching some stranger on the street corner. I've shown it to them and I repeatedly do it and cringe every time. I'm aware of my behavior. I'm also aware that my kids are picking up on my perfectionist tendencies. I have to make a concerted effort to own up to my blunders and let my kids know that I make mistakes, too. I'm not good at admitting mistakes (in fact, I hate it), but I'm doing it for their sake.

I have no tolerance for parents who can't imagine why junior is lazy and unwilling to work for anything. His parents gave him everything he ever wanted. Why would he have to work for anything when Mom and Dad have provided without question all these years? I refuse to raise lazy, unmotivated kids so my kids are required to earn their privileges. Christopher has to take the trash out on Tuesdays. Just because I can buy Nicholas a lift ticket at the skiing hill doesn't mean I will. He is learning to ski this year with his school ski club, but it's an expensive sport. How about cleaning your bathroom and picking up dog poop to earn some skiing privileges? Nicholas grumbles every time I ask him to clean the toilet or get out his pooper scooper shovel, but he eventually does it. There is usually some yelling involved (hey, I've already admitted my shortcomings) before the job is complete, but he is learning that his Dad and I don't just stand there with an open wallet handing out dollar bills.

Here are the examples I try to set for my kids:

Be polite and respect others' feelings
Work for what you want and earn your privileges because I won't give you everything you ask for
Suffer through some disappointments because that's how you learn
Make your own decisions even if those decisions aren't the most popular
Surround yourself with friends who add something to your life and drop the anchors who don't (blog post coming soon!)

What are your children learning from you?

Why I Exercise At The Crack Of Dawn

2011-01-31T14:57:00.000-05:00

Finding time to exercise is hard. I'm aware of all the reasons exercise gets sidetracked because there are so many things vying for our attention at the end of a day. Do laundry, make dinner, pack lunches, stop by the grocery store, pick up a birthday present, wash the dog....the list goes on and on and on.

We all start off with good intentions like when we joined that cool, new gym or bought that really cute workout outfit. We promise ourselves that this week will be the week we start exercising. Excuses be damned! But, it's too hard to walk past the pile of laundry and too hard to extract any sort of motivation after dinner. Lethargy kicks in and the exercise regimen is put on hold once again.

That's why I exercise at the crack of dawn. The only excuse I have to fight at the beginning of the day is the urge to sleep in. Take it from me the urge to sleep in is far easier to fight than the other one million excuses I can find at night. I used to try to find time to exercise in the evening and failed miserably night after night. Something always needed to get done. By the time my to-do list was complete it was time for bed. I figured there had to be a better way.

When I turned 30 I quit smoking and made a plan to get healthy. I decided the only way I would consistently exercise was if I worked out in the morning. I didn't really want to get up before work to exercise because I was never what you would consider a "morning person" but I needed to do something. I tried and failed and tried again and just kept trying to get up with that damn alarm. You know what happened? It finally worked. No more excuses. I was in a groove and not only did I find time to exercise, I developed a habit that has continued for 11 years. Yes, it was hard to get used to at first, but like any other habit, it's now a typical part of my day.

Some mornings I want to throw the alarm clock across the room when it goes off at 5:15 am. I'm not always eager to get up and start my day before the birds (or any other living creature) are even awake. But, I always feel better after I do. I always feel better knowing that I'm starting my day off with one thing already crossed off my to-do list - one thing I've done today just for me.

Getting up at the crack of dawn to exercise isn't for everyone. But if you are struggling to find time to exercise, I urge you to set your alarm early and see what happens. You might just develop a morning exercise habit, too. It's not as bad as you think. When I'm done exercising and the house is still quiet, I grab a cup of coffee and take a deep breath. Ahhhh.

Let the day begin.

Can You Hear Me Now?

2011-01-11T06:58:00.000-05:00

When my sister and I used to tune my mom out because we were far too busy to listen to her or we just didn't want to hear what she had to say, she would repeat the same two irritating sentences over and over again. She would shout in the most infuriatingly sarcastic tone, "Am I speaking in a foreign language?" and "Did a train just go through this room?" as if our selective listening was a result of our obvious inability to understand English.

Oh, we understood English. We just chose not to respond. Yelling typically ensued as my sister and I rolled our eyes in an only-a-sibling-would-understand kind of way while we watched my mom morph into a ranting, crazy woman. I would clear my throat self-indignantly and say to my sister, "I will never yell at my kids like that." Clearly I thought there was a better way to handle children than yelling so hard every blood vessel popped in your face. I mean, what was she so mad about anyway?

OK, so I get it now. Kids don't pay attention. She yelled because my sister and I weren't listening to her. I yell because my kids don't listen to me. I've tried to uncover the secrets of zen motherhood by trying scream-free parenting techniques, deep breathing and repeating mantras ("I will relish the simple moments with my children") but sometimes they just don't want to listen and I just want to scream. When I've exhausted all of my resources and I want my kids to do what I'm asking them to do, I end up with a wicked case of ranting, crazy woman and yell ""I'm not talking for my health here, people!"

My younger self promised that I never would, but I scream at the top of my lungs sometimes because that's the only way to get my kids' attention. When I enlist the help of my deep, guttural - can you hear me now- voice that even scares me sometimes, they stop in their tracks. Oops. Mom means business now. Did you see her blood vessels pop?

I used to think I was failing miserably as a parent because I yell at my kids. Talk to any number of mothers, who are honest about it anyway, and you'll find that most of us scream a lot more than we want to. Whew. It's not just me. If you aren't screaming at your kids I give you kudos but please know that I secretly think either you or your kids are part Android.

The rest of us are just human, that's all.

Best Christmas Present Ever

2010-12-29T07:59:00.000-05:00

I can't believe Christmas has come and gone already and we are getting ready to start a new year. And a new decade! Life is passing by at warp speed and I don't see it slowing down anytime soon. Where does the time go?

The boys were good this year so Santa brought them some special gifts. Nicholas is so enamored with his new Nerf-N-Strike Stampede ECS blaster that he actually sleeps with it. He carries it downstairs with him in the morning and every attempt to bring it to the breakfast table is met with, "please put the Nerf blaster down until you're finished eating."   He carries it upstairs, he carries it downstairs and he carries it everywhere in between.

Christopher's puppy dog Pillow Pet fits in nicely with the other five or six puppies he has piled up on his bed. Christopher is all about the puppies. If our 10-year old dachshund actually paid any attention to him it would send him over the moon.   Unfortunately she doesn't so he is satisfied with the love he receives from his stuffed animals. When he's sleeping and snuggled up with his Pillow Pet the content look on his face is priceless.

Other fun presents were found under the tree but I was as surprised as the boys to find that Santa left the Best Christmas Present Ever outside on the front porch Christmas morning. As the boys eagerly tore open the huge plain brown boxes, each one found a Flexible Flyer sled and a note from Santa asking him to share his sled with mom and dad.

We love to sled and we have some great sledding hills by our house. Over the years we've tried different sleds like saucers, foam sleds with slick bottoms and other plastic types. While those sleds are OK and do the job, none of them is as good as the Flexible Flyer. Made from birch wood and powder-coated steel, the Flexible Flyer lets us cruise down the hill at high speeds using the flexible steering bar for control. While all the other novice sledders are crashing into burms, sledding backwards or flying off mid-hill, we sail by with complete control over our direction. Yes, I am now officially a sled snob.

These Flexible Flyer sleds are built to last so hopefully our kids will enjoying using these sleds with their kids one day. The times we spend together sledding are some of my best memories and hopefully will be some of their best memories, too. When we are out on the sledding hill we are enjoying each other's company, having fun and getting some much-needed wintertime fresh air. We are also taking turns, encouraging each other and helping carry each other's load when someone gets too tired. It's teamwork at its best.

When I hear other people lament about how cold it is outside or how drab and dreary winter is here in Michigan I'm convinced they've never been to the sledding hill. When you're sledding, you get to act like a kid again. Kids don't pay attention to things like cold or dreary - they just have fun. I rarely see anyone on the sledding hill who isn't having fun.

So, when life gets so busy that we can't even remember which day it is, we will take our sleds out and spend a few hours zooming down snow-covered hills.   Our only worry will be whose sled went the farthest. In those few hours we will create special memories for years to come.

Thank you, Santa, for reminding us that the best present is the gift of time spent together.

The Year of Forgetting Things

2010-12-11T07:53:00.001-05:00

I used to remember stuff. In the good 'ol days I got by without a day planner, a Google calendar or email reminders. I dashed between meetings while putting the finishing touches on projects and answered phone calls and instant messages at the same time without - get this - forgetting a single task! I think back to the days when I used to juggle what I thought was an excessive amount of to-dos and got everything done in a timely manner. Who was that girl?

That girl was obviously not a mom. She had the advantage of pre-baby brain cells that were still multiplying. No one tells you that after you have kids your brain cells diminish at a rate far faster than they used to increase. In other words, you start forgetting things.

I remember being pregnant and forgetting things. I blamed my forgetfulness on my hormones because everything was out of whack. Then I remember taking care of babies and toddlers and forgetting things. I blamed my forgetfulness on lack of sleep. Now that my kids are both in school I am forgetting far more things than I actually remember. What gives?

I write things down on the calendar and still forget. Christopher had a soccer game that started at 10:00 am. Both of my calendars and the official schedule hung on the refrigerator listed the game as 10:00 am but for some reason my brain was convinced the game was at 12:00. Needless to say, Christopher's team was minus a player that day.

I received numerous emails from the media specialist at Nicholas's school reminding us about the Scholastic Book Fair. I was told many times that Nicholas's class was shopping on Tuesday. I remember reading all of the emails and thinking, Tuesday-book fair-got it. Wouldn't you know that Tuesday came and went with nary a thought from me about the book fair? I need more help remembering. From now on, it's up to Nicholas to remind me when he's scheduled to shop at his book fair. It obviously doesn't matter how many email reminders I get.

I have to continually apologize to Christopher's Kindergarten teacher because he doesn't bring in his library book or turn in his homework on the right day. I chalked my forgetfulness up to getting used to our new school schedule, but it's well into December and I'm still forgetting.

I was especially upset at my forgetfulness when Nicholas auditioned for his school talent show. I volunteered to help at the auditions so I signed Nichols up for a slot 1/2 hour after he got out of school thinking he could just walk down the hall to my volunteer table, change into a more presentable outfit and maybe have a few minutes for a quick practice. I told Nicholas repeatedly not to get on the bus because I would just meet him at the school. Mark would pick Christopher up from his school and meet us for Nicholas's audition. We all knew where we were supposed to be. Everyone knew the plan. Or so I thought.

The one person I forgot to tell all this to was Nicholas's teacher. Because she didn't have a note from me letting her know that it was OK for Nicholas to stay after school, she directed him to the bus - which was the right thing to do (I almost stopped at Nicholas's classroom before the bell but figured he knew what to do so why check in on him?) When he didn't meet me at my volunteer table, I assumed he got on the bus but it didn't dawn on me why until I saw her in the hallway and immediately thought - crap, I forgot to tell his teacher! I called my neighbor to meet Nicholas at the bus stop, called Mark and rerouted him to pick up Nicholas after he picked up Christopher and head back to the school. Nicholas's audition was at 4:30 and they managed to walk in the door at 4:25. Whew.

Nicholas didn't get to change his clothes or practice before his audition and was flustered from all of the miscommunication, but he handled himself with much grace under much pressure. He rocked his audition and did it with a smile on his face. I, on the other hand, was cursing myself for forgetting the most important detail of the day (I will never forget to tell his teacher about his after school plans again) and trying really hard not to cry. Will this forgetfulness fog ever lift?

I could blame my absentmindedness on lack of Vitamin D or lack of sleep or some other malady. But, the truth is, we all make mistakes. I've made more mistakes in this Year of Forgetting Things than I care to admit, but I'm learning that I can't do it all. I can’t volunteer or take the lead on every project or be in two places at once. I have to learn to say no more often.

I've also decided that next year will be The Year My Kids Became More Responsible. In order for me to forget less I will hold them accountable more. I will let you know how all that goes, if I can remember.

Trust Your Instincts

2010-12-02T15:03:00.000-05:00

I'm not sure how long it will take me in this lifetime to learn to trust my instincts, but let's just say I'm still working on it. Hindsight being 20/20 I can see where my instincts or first impressions were usually spot on in the past, so I have concrete evidence of my ability to make a good decision. But why do I fight those first impressions so hard?

After 41 years on this earth I've learned a thing or two about myself. One thing I've learned that never, ever changes is that I have to make every project I undertake about 10,000 times harder than it has to be. I am a glutton for punishment. I must...MUST...spend inordinate amounts of time obsessing over minute details and internally debating my choices. If I had to choose between two paths, one that said, "take this path if you trust your instincts and you'll finish faster" or the other that said, "take this path if you want to second-guess your decisions, change your mind 956 times, berate yourself and develop stomach ulcers," I will always, without fail, choose the second path.

We had some rooms in our house painted this week and choosing colors was hard. Damn hard. Every time I thought I narrowed it down, I noticed a color I hadn't seen before and started obsessing over that color. For those of you who trust your instincts choosing paint colors would be no big deal because you would say, "It's only paint. If you don't like it paint it again." But we were paying someone else to paint so I pretty much had to nail down my choices or risk paying double for making a color mistake. For a Type A, anal-retentive obssesor like me, choosing colors was more monumental than building the whole damn house. I wanted my choices to be right, perfect and flawless.

I had color swatches from Sherwin Williams, Benjamin Moore, Valspar and a host of others. I plotted color combinations on my computer using Photoshop and compared magazine layouts to my rooms to determine whether or not I should use one or two colors, an accent color or some other faux-finishing technique. I spent weeks (not days) going over every possible color combination. I narrowed down my choices and felt confident until I asked for other people's opinions. Big mistake.

Not that the opinions received were bad ones, it's just that other people have other ideas. Not good or bad, just different. I knew what I wanted my rooms to look like and I had an idea of colors in my head, but each time I saw another magazine article or listened someone else's advice, I started second-guessing my choices - which pushed the project back because I was tortured with indecision.

When I finally decided that enough was enough I chose the colors I was originally drawn to when I started this project. If I had just trusted my instincts in the first place I could have saved some serious time and stomach pain. I can't get those hours or minutes back, but I can mark this is a lesson learned.

My rooms turned out beautifully. I couldn't be happier. I made good decisions. Maybe next time I can spare myself the stomach ulcers and shave a few weeks off of my project time if I remind myself that I don't need to obsess. I don't need to chase perfection. I just need to trust my instincts.

A girl can hope.

What I'm Thankful For

2010-11-17T19:19:00.000-05:00

I know Thanksgiving isn't until next week, but I'm sure I will blink my eye and it will be next Thursday. So, I'm going to share what I'm thankful for a week early this year. Time goes by so fast these days that I seem to lose track of months. September? Don't even remember it. I know October made its appearance because I have a ridiculous amount of Halloween candy to show for it. Aside from Halloween, I don't remember much else about October. But, I never, ever forget November because that's when we usually go to Disney, it's my birthday month and Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays.

The biggest thing I'm thankful for is my family, of course. What did I ever do without them? As hard as it is to be a mother sometimes I wouldn't trade my job for any other. I'm pretty lucky because I get to spend my time with a couple of great kids. I'm also thankful for my husband who is the kindest, and funniest, man I know. When I think back to some of the greater accomplishments of my life like graduating from college, backpacking solo through Europe or climbing the corporate ladder, none of them is as valuable to me as finding the one man who encourages and supports me no matter what.

I'm thankful that another year has gone by and I am still in good health. Even though I will be 41 I still feel like I'm about 25. I am thankful that I'm not 25, because I don't think you could pay me enough money to go back and do my twenties over again. But, I am thankful that I feel so much younger than my actual age. I am thankful that I can run, jump, skip and hop anytime I want to.

I'm thankful for my friend, Lisa, who gets up at 5:15 am with me to walk three miles every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. I'm thankful for my spinning instructor who has the best music play list on the planet. I am thankful for my yoga instructor who never criticizes.

I am thankful for all of my friends who don't bother to correct me when I repeat myself. I repeat myself often. I just forget who I've talked to about a particular subject so some friends get to hear me talk about the subject more than once. Oops. I'm usually halfway through the conversation before an eerie sense of deja vu sets in and then I get sidetracked trying to apologize but most of my friends pretend like they are hearing my story for the first time. Thank you, friends.

I have so much to be thankful for. I could go on and on and on, but what I know for sure is that the things I'm most thankful for aren't things.

What are you thankful for?

Throwing a Ball And Growing Closer

2010-11-06T05:34:00.001-04:00

I am the mother of boys so it's no surprise that we have sports-related equipment dotting every corner and crevice of our garage. Basketballs, footballs, baseballs, hockey sticks, golf clubs, etc. We should buy stock in Dick's Sporting Goods.

Luckily, I was an athletic girl so I can play catch, throw a football and shoot hoops when the boys' friends or their Dad is not available. I understand I'm not always going to be their first choice and I'm usually off doing something else anyway, but when Nicholas or Christopher asks me to throw the ball around, I try to stop what I'm doing and play even if it's only for a few minutes. Those few minutes can offer a goldmine of bonding opportunities.

My boys don't come home from school and tell me, in detail, about their day. I get a few uh-huhs and I dunnos sprinkled in with the names of who they ate lunch with or played with at recess. I have to draw those details out at an excruciatingly slow pace and I might not even end up with a name. But, if we are playing catch in the backyard, I might hear about how Billy threw the ball at Jimmy's head at recess. Why did Billy throw the ball at Jimmy's head? Because he's not a very nice boy. Aha...now we are getting somewhere. Note to self: keep your eye on Billy when volunteering in the classroom.

When we play basketball in the driveway before the bus comes I might get a quick recap of who did what to whom on the bus yesterday. Who got in trouble? Who was given a warning? Those answers seem to come easier between each dribble and pass instead of me trying to pry it out of the boys at the dinner table. I have to be careful, though, because between those passes and dribbles I sometimes wipe out on my driveway, rip a hole in my pants and twist my knee into a oversized lump. Oh well, I guess that's the price I pay for a little bonding time with my boys.

I don't always feel like playing catch and sometimes Nicholas resents my instruction to keep his glove turned up when catching a pop-fly or cover the ball with his hand after he catches it so it doesn't fall out, but that comes with the territory. If you're going to ask me to play, I'm going to show you how to do it the right way. Sometimes we get in a good conversation and sometimes it's a bust because we are both too stubborn to listen to the other person's point of view.

Good or bad, I take the opportunities as they come. I write frequently about how the boys are growing up at warp speed and I won't always have these opportunities to play catch. When they get older and want nothing to do with me I will sit back and remember the days when I was a kind-of a cool mom because I knew how to throw a baseball. I'm not looking forward to the days when I am really uncool.

Until then I will use the baseball, football or basketball as a ruse to get all of the information I need. So, what happened in the cafeteria today....?

Lullabies Aren't Just For Babies

2010-10-25T12:56:00.001-04:00

When my kids were babies I used to rock them to sleep while singing lullabies. It didn't matter if they fell asleep after the first or second song because most nights I would just continue singing until the CD finished. It was a time when I could sit for an hour doing nothing but rocking and listening to the sweet sound of my baby's breath. I remember the stillness of the nursery and how nothing in the outside world mattered.

My boys still listen to their lullaby CD's. Not every night, but the lullabies are in the CD rotation right next to the Curious George soundtrack, Skippyjon Jones stories, Captain Banjo ukulele music and other favorites. Some nights when Nicholas or Christopher is having a hard time falling sleep I will play a lullaby CD, lay with him in bed and sing some songs as I listen to the sweet sound of my now little boy's breath. Nicholas usually asks if we can move to the glider chair and rock back and forth while we listen to the Suo Gan (old Welsh) or Waltzing Matilda (Australian) songs from Susie Tallman's Lullabies for Sleepy Eyes CD. Unfortunately, the rocking chair doesn't work too well anymore since Nicholas is getting so tall and lanky. We barely fit together. How I wish I could rock him to sleep and get back just a moment of those nights when he fit in my arms.

We make do without rocking and after a few songs I sense that sleep is near because I can feel the tenseness disappear and the heavy breathing set in. Both of us are transfixed on the music and like a form of meditation we become one with our breath. For all the nights of reading logs and homework and discussions about the day's events, it's nice to go back to that place of stillness. Nothing but music and soft breath.

I put our lullaby play lists on my iPod and we listen to the songs occasionally when we are on a long car trip or we've been overwhelmed by the day's events and need some downtime. If the boys are fighting in the backseat or yelling over one another for my attention, a simple round of Golden Slumbers usually calms us and returns us to our sane place. Sometimes I even listen to the songs when I'm all alone.

My days of rocking babies to sleep are gone. But lullabies aren't just for babies. We elicit special memories every time we hear our favorite song so we continue to play those lullabies. Because our lives are busier and more complicated now, it's even more important that we slow down wrap our arms around each other and synchronize our breath to the songs that bonded us so long ago.

What is your favorite lullaby?

Give It Your All

2010-10-11T14:46:00.001-04:00

When I play a game, I play to win. I don't like to come in second or even tie for that matter. I like to win. I don't see any reason to play a game if you are not playing to win whether it's a competitive sport like baseball or a casual dice game like Bunco. If a winner is announced at the end of the game, I want it to be me.

As much as I would like to, I don't always win. Sometimes I lose. But I'm OK with losing if I know that I gave 110% in my effort. I tried explaining this concept to Nicholas who is learning that it's no fun to lose. He likes to win, too. But he has to understand that his effort is more important than the outcome. If you give your best effort and lose, you still gave your best effort.

Nicholas's soccer team lost its game on Saturday, but it was the best game Nicholas has played so far. He worked hard. He ran hard. He played the entire 60 minutes because the team was down a few players and his coach needed him on the field. The best move of the whole game was when Nicholas blocked one of his opponent's goals. Imagine seeing the opponent racing down the field, the crowd is cheering and the opponent kicks the ball straight toward the goal. The ball is hurling steadily toward the net. All of a sudden, Nicholas appears out of nowhere from the side of the field running toward the ball. He jumps, soaring through the air like a bird, just in time to block the goal. The opponent and his crowd look confused, not too sure what just happened, and our side bursts into applause. I've never seen anything like it.

Nicholas was so hung up on losing that he didn't hear people praising him for his efforts. He didn't praise himself for his efforts. We had a long talk that night about how losing is a part of life but how you handle that loss makes all the difference.

Berating yourself for losing isn't going to make you a better player. You can't be number one at everything. You can't always win. But, you can learn from the losses, correct mistakes and try to do better the next time. Nicholas needs to take pride in his accomplishments and in his improving skills. Sometimes the scoreboard will go in his favor and sometimes it won't.

I always want my boys to play to win. If they aren't playing to win they shouldn't be spending time out on the field. I'm not one of those parents who thinks it's okay for every kid to get a medal just because he was on the team. If Nicholas didn't even try and lost the game as a result, I would be upset. But, he gave his best effort and that's all that anyone can ask for.

Better luck next time, kiddo.

It's Just Stuff

2010-10-02T15:18:00.001-04:00

I think I have a pack-rat in the making.

Nicholas is so attached to his "stuff" that it's difficult for me to remove items of his from my house. He has seven drawers in his dresser and only two have clothes in them. Every other drawer is filled with trinkets, papers, baseball cards, broken pencils, stickers, etc. You name it, it's in there. Last year he used to forage through the recycle bin looking for things I threw out. Of course, he would see a Math paper or piece of homework of his and have a fit. "Mom, I worked so hard on that!" he would scream. I have to discreetly move papers to the recycle bin and bury them so deep that his peering eyes cannot see them.

How much stuff am I supposed to keep?

I started an Elementary School file for each of the boys so I can keep some of the precious artwork (self-portraits!), written stories or other priceless things (mother's day cards!) they bring home from school. I do set aside several things to put in their file. The rest has to go. We only have so much room.

I have gotten better about purging as I get older. Because it's up to me to make sure our house is in order I'm the one who goes through like a tornado every once in awhile whisking things into trash bags, Salvation Army bags or To-Sell bags. I can't stand the clutter anymore. It's too much.

I wish I could keep every piece of clothing the boys ever wore. But I can't so I set aside a few pieces of clothes from each of their first five years and plan to make a quilt. Other clothes, toys, high-chairs, pack-'n-plays and miscellaneous items I've sold at Mom2Mom sales. It's tough to get rid of the Leap Frog toys that remind me my boys are no longer babies or even toddlers. I get a little teary-eyed when someone walks off with the aquarium the boys used in their cribs. But, the boys are getting older and some other little boy can get some good use of it. I don't want to end up like the Hoarders.

I've obviously learned over the years that it's all just stuff. It's not easy, but I keep what's necessary and part with the rest. I believe the boys will get much more out of the letters I write to them at the end of every month and the scrapbook albums showing our family vacations than they will ever get remembering the helicopter toy or school bus phonics set.

I will let Nicholas keep his drawers-full of stuff because as long as it's out of sight, I'm not really bothered. If it was up to me I would clean out the drawers completely, but I don't want to emotionally scar him for life so I will have to give a bit on this one. Maybe he will eventually learn how to purge and make room for the new things he will find interesting and worthwhile.

Nicholas was sobbing the other night because I told him I planned to sell the glider chair in his room to make way for a new, smaller-scale chair. This was just a cheap-o glider chair I bought when Nicholas moved out of the nursery. I don't think he's actually sat in that chair for four years, but he's convinced his life will not be the same without it. Nothing I said reassured him that he would, in fact, be OK.

Christopher chimed into the conversation and said matter-of-factly, "you know Nicholas, sometimes life is difficult."

Well said, little brother.

You Gotta Have Goals

2010-09-23T09:34:00.000-04:00

“A goal without a plan is just a wish.”

My goal to be a published author is coming true. I'm taking baby steps and little by little I'm getting a piece published here and a piece published there. I've spent the last two years immersed in writing websites, reading books about writing and learning the craft. I've followed writers whom I admire, asked tons of questions of those who have come before me and compiled a list of rejections along the way.

I still have quite a lot to accomplish on my goal list, but the point is I have a list. When my kids tell me they can't do something or are not capable of accomplishing a task I say, "baloney." Figure out a way to make it happen. You want to be a better baseball player? Play catch every chance you get. You want to improve your piano skills? Practice, practice, practice.

They are learning that I will never say, "you're right it's too hard. Forget about it." Instead I will say, "the only limitations are those you place on yourself." I get lots of eye-rolling and dirty looks, but eventually they will learn that success is a journey, not a destination. If they can learn to set goals they are that much closer to achieveing them.

I have two more published credits based on my goal list. Check out my article in the Fall/Winter edition of Long Weekends magazine: Perennial Playtime. Also, I had my essay A Boy and His Shovel published on the This I Believe website.

What are your goals?

And Then Came The Tears

2010-09-15T15:27:00.001-04:00

Christopher started Kindergarten and I was fully expecting tears. My tears, not his tears. But, my independent, scared-of-nothing, little guy got a little scared. And he melted into a puddle of sobs after I left him in the classroom on his first day.

I've seen mothers ripped away from their kids' death grip outside the school every morning. It's horrifying to watch a sobbing child being dragged away from his mother. I was always so thankful that I never had to experience the horror of walking away as your child is crying, "please mommy, don't leave me!" Until now.

Lucky for me, there is no death grip. There is no dragging. Christopher walks up to his classroom with no problems. But, once inside the classroom, the tears begin and his little voice tries to spit out, "but I will miss you mommy" amid gasps and sobs. Can't I just take him home and forget about this whole Kindergarten thing? I miss him, too.

On a deeply disturbing level I'm glad he misses me. I've raised two boys that, thus far, have had zero problems when I'm not around. Neither one has batted an eye when I've gone out of town, dropped them off at Grandma's or left them at a play date. Christopher never shed a tear when I walked out of his preschool classroom. I'm a little bit happy that Christopher is sad that we're not together every day anymore. Is that so wrong?

He can miss me and he can be sad, but he can't cry and tug at my heart strings when I leave him at school. He has to get used to the fact that he now has a job and that job is going to school. I think once the routine sets in everything will be OK. For now, we are still adjusting.

We read The Kissing Hand last night in an attempt to bypass the tears at school this morning. We discussed how it's OK to feel sad and it's OK to miss mommy but he has to go into his classroom and let me go home or I won't be able to walk him to his classroom at all. I kissed his hand so he knows he can touch his cheek and feel my kisses throughout the day.

When we got to the classroom door this morning his lip was quivering a little bit. I told him that I loved him and that I was proud of him for doing such a great job this morning. I said goodbye and he went inside. As I walked away I heard his little voice yell, "mommy" and I turned around. He came out in the hall and asked if he could have one more hug. "Of course," I said. I squeezed him tight, told him that I loved him again, and asked him if he would kiss my hand, too. I figured I could use a few of his kisses throughout the day also.

Christopher didn't cry today. As we hugged goodbye we both knew that we would miss each other terribly but we would be OK. He went on his way and I went on mine. What Christopher doesn't know is that his separation from me is just beginning. He will be sad today, but he will relish in his independence as he gets older and the tears will become a distant memory. My sadness is just beginning as I realize today and every other day that he is growing up way too fast. My tears might never end.

Life is funny like that.

Summer, Why Do You Have to Be So Short?

2010-08-25T08:15:00.002-04:00

We've had a busy summer. I can't believe it's the middle of August and we only have a few days left until school starts. Wow.

Our carefree days at the beach are winding down and I had to take my kids school clothes shopping. I need to start thinking about pencils and backpacks and glue sticks. I can't believe I'm making phone calls already to plan events for the school's welcome back picnic. How did summer pass us by so fast?

I have so enjoyed having Nicholas home this summer and spending time with my boys at Greenfield Village, the playgrounds and biking around town. We are out and about most days just finding fun things to do. I know a lot of people like to hang out around home without a schedule, but with two rambunctious, energetic boys, I find it's easier to get out for at least a few hours each day.

I have to admit, though, that my job as entertainment coordinator, picnic packer, band aid supplier, laser-gun finder, sand vacuumer, dirt and grime washer, writing journal prompter, library-book gatherer, bike chain fixer, baseball catcher, and fight breaker-upper (among other things...what have I forgotten?) has taken its toll. I think summer is so short so we don't take it for granted.

If summer were much longer I might not have as much fun. I'm exhausted!

I Need a Vacation From My Vacation

2010-08-18T09:04:00.003-04:00

We just got back from a fun trip to Lake Michigan. As much as I enjoy getting away every once in awhile, a "vacation" for me is a lot of planning and a lot of work before, during and after the trip.

For starters, there's the trip planning. Where to go and what to do? I'm not the kind of person who can wing it on vacation. I need some sort of plan. I'm not naive enough to think my plan will go off without a hitch (it never has) but at least I have an outline of things to do and see. For our trip this summer we decided to go to Michigan's Adventure, bike riding and the beach in Grand Haven and the Great Lakes Naval Memorial and Museum.

After the trip planning (make hotel reservations, buy discount tickets to Michigan's Adventure at Meijer, gather list of things to do in Grand Haven, verify museum admission prices and hours) there's the packing part. We decided to take our bikes since Christopher is now riding a two-wheeler so I had to remember to pack the bike helmets. Also, since we were going to the beach I had to remember to pack our bathing suits, beach towels, goggles, the beloved shovel, sunglasses, sunscreen and hats. Of course this is in addition to our regularly needed items like clothes, underwear, socks, toothbrushes, combs, etc.

I knew there was a state park in Grand Haven and I happened to see that the library was offering a free one-day state park pass for any state park in Michigan, so I put that on my list of things to do before we left (the park pass is only valid for one week). We decided to pack lunches for the trip so I made PB&J sandwiches, grabbed some apples and veggie sticks and threw in some granola bars (Blueberry for Nicholas, Strawberry for Christopher). I also remembered to pack the DVD player for the car (don't forget Fox &Hound DVD!) and grab the blankets from the boys' beds so they could get all cozy and comfortable while watching their movies in the car.

What am I forgetting? I am constantly asking myself, what am I forgetting?

Once on the road I feel like I can breath a sigh of relief. We are on the way! When we get to our hotel, the first thing I hear is "so, what's on the agenda? What are we going to do?" I feel like Julie McCoy, the cruise director on The Love Boat, who sole purpose in life was to make sure everyone was having a good time. I have my handy-dandy list of things to do, so I suggest we go into town and grab a bite to eat, maybe walk around a little. But, all the boys want to do is swim in the hotel swimming pool. We have a multitude of choices and they want to swim in the hotel swimming pool. We compromise by saying we will go out for a bit and come back later to swim.

The rest of the weekend went pretty well. We managed to do and see everything we set out to do and see amid constant questions of "what are we going to do now?" and "what time does this open or close?" or "where are we going to eat?" The entertainment coordinator job is a never-ending one!

We had a blast at Michigan's Adventure, although I won't go back until Christopher is tall enough to ride everything. I really don't want to spend any more time with Christopher in the water park wading pool while Mark and Nicholas go on the water slides. Mark and I switched kids after awhile and I managed to talk Nicholas into riding the Funnel of Fear with me which is shocking since it was listed on a scale of 1-to-5 as a 5 which means, "Agressive Thrill" ride. Neither of my boys has an affinity for roller coasters or any ride with any kind of large drop. So, I give him kudos for riding with me. He was scared, but he did it. In the future if my boys don't outgrow their fear of roller coasters or heights I may need to rent some kids to go on rides with me at the amusement parks because my husband doesn't like roller coasters either.

Riding bikes along the boardwalk in Grand Haven was great. Christopher kept up like champ. Lake Michigan was awesome and we had a fun-filled day at the beach . I spent my summers swimming in the ocean in Cape May, New Jersey but I gotta say the waves on the lake could definitely compete with the waves in the ocean. Plus, we didn't have to worry about stinging saltwater, jellyfish or sharks! The boys spent the entire day in the water. We were pooped by the time we got back to our hotel.

"Have you seen my sunglasses?" my husband asked. "Mom, where's my Power Ranger?" UGH! How is it that I'm responsible for everyone's stuff? After awhile I just said, "I'm not in charge of the sunglasses or water bottles or toys." If they get lost, they get lost. I can't keep track of everything!

The naval museum was incredible. We got to tour a real WWII submarine, the USS Silversides, which sank 23 ships and damaged 14 during her service. She ranks third highest among all World War II U.S. submarines in ships sunk, totaling 90,080 tons. The Silversides is the nation's most famous surviving submarine. The museum itself was an amazing collection of WWII exhibits. I would love to go back again.

I was definitely tired after our trip. We accomplished a lot and had a great time, but after getting home and unpacking everything I packed, putting everything back in its place, getting the car cleaned out and doing laundry, I feel like I need a vacation from my vacation!

Anyone who has ever traveled with kids knows that it's challenging. And frustrating. And tiring. But, I will do it all again and again and again because this is what my kids' memories are made of. When they say, "mom, remember when we were on vacation and we walked on that pier and saw that cool lighthouse?" or "remember when I ate perch for the first time at that restaurant on the marina?" I won't remember the frustrations. I will remember, like they do, the great time we had together as a family.

How Much Help is Too Much...Or Not Enough?

2010-08-01T07:56:00.004-04:00

I continuously struggle with the notion of how much "help" I should provide my kids knowing full well they are capable of doing some things on their own. When do I step in and offer assistance and when do I let them figure it out on their own?

I was at the park the other day when Nicholas starting climbing the monkey bars. He got stuck in a spot and shouted for me to help him. He wasn't that far off the ground so I said, "Just let go. You can fall to the ground." He kept yelling for my help and I kept telling him to just drop to the ground. He was much closer to the ground than he thought he was, but he decided to work his way around the bars back to the play structure base instead of dropping. Nicholas snorted like a mad bull and his pursed lips and lowered eyebrows clearly let me know that he was not happy with my decision not to assist him. If his eyes could shoot out fire blasts he would have singed a gaping hole right through me.

I felt a little guilty. Oops. Maybe I should have helped him? Maybe I'm a rotten mother who would rather sit on a park bench and chat with my friend than help my son figure out how to maneuver the monkey bars. Well, before you think I'm the worst parent in the world, consider that Nicholas has maneuvered these monkey bars numerous times before. Consider that he is capable of dropping to the ground from these monkey bars as he's demonstrated numerous times before. Consider that Nicholas loves to blame me when things don't go his way.

I'm at a tricky stage of motherhood where I need to allow my children to be the independent beings I've nurtured without racing in to provide help at every turn. They need to make choices and learn about the consequences of those choices, good or bad. We all have to make those choices on our own, eventually. I will help with the moral choices or the choices that present new challenges, but I'm not helping a 7-year-old drop to the ground from monkey bars he's conquered before. He made the choice to work his way back to the platform instead. The point is, he evaluated his options and he made the choice.

Nicholas likes to blame me when he doesn't get his homework done or when he doesn't finish a project he started. He doesn't like to make mistakes (I can't imagine where he got that from) so instead of owning up to doing something incorrectly, he stops trying altogether and blames me for not finishing. I know that I can't help him if my help prevents him from ever trying it on his own and making his own mistakes. That's how we learn. We make mistakes and figure how to do it better or different the next time. It's hard for me because as much as I want to help, I can't. He needs to learn his own capabilities by stretching out of his comfort zone every once in awhile.

Part of making our own choices is dealing with the consequences of those choices. Part of dealing with the consequences of our choices is learning not to blame other people if things don't go our way. As I said before, I will help with choices that present new challenges. Like whether or not to tell a friend that another friend said something derogatory about him.   Nicholas chose to tell his friend about the derogatory statement thinking that his friend had a right to know what was being said about him. I told Nicholas I didn't think that was a good idea because the only purpose it served was to make his friend feel bad about the derogatory statement. The friend would never have known about the derogatory statement if Nicholas didn't tell him. Nicholas asked me if what he did was "bad" and I said it's not "bad," it just wasn't a good choice. A good choice would have been to tell the friend who uttered the derogatory statement that it wasn't nice or, better yet, ignore the comment altogether because it had nothing to do with him.

I explained that the consequences of sharing conversation details with someone who wasn't present for said conversation would be 1) his friends think he's a tattletale and 2) he can't be trusted with information. Whatever issues his friends have with each other is none of his business. He can be friends with other friends who don't like each other and respect each friend's privacy when it come to sharing details of conversations. As in, don't share those details. Boy that's a hard lesson because even some adults have a hard time exercising restraint when it comes to sharing useless or harmful information.

My heart aches each time I see my kids struggling with a problem, whether it's one they can figure out on their own or not. I've been down these roads before. I can see the outcome clearly. They can't. But, they have to learn, just like I did (and have and continue to do) that we have to take responsibility for our own actions. I wish I could step in at every turn and help my kids with all of their problems. But that doesn't produce responsible adults and I look forward to my kids turning into responsible adults.

Even if it means enduring the snorting bull whose glare shoots scorching, hot fire blasts. Ouch.

Farts are Funny (Except in Yoga Class)

2010-07-20T17:46:00.003-04:00

If you are the mother of girls, or have no reference to what young boys find amusing, you may just want to stop reading right now. If you don't live with boys who think the departure of gas from either end of the body is side-splittingly, pee-your-pants, hilarious, well...you probably won't find this topic very amusing.

I have to teach my boys manners and how to act civilly. That's my job. And, it's a damn hard job when toots and burps and other bodily functions that society (maybe it's just women) generally find offensive seem to be the highlight of my boys' existence. I try to be stern and all, "that's not appropriate behavior" when they have contests to see who can fart the loudest or longest. I remind them that passing gas is a personal matter and not something to which we draw attention. But, sometimes their antics are just plain hilarious. I can remind them to be polite and say excuse me and try to keep the passing of gas on the down-low when we are out in public. I will continue to demand respect and courteousness. But we usually end up in fits of laughter because the hilarity is contagious.

As the mother of boys I have figured out that I can't fight testosterone on some subjects and testosterone wins when it comes to gas. Boys think farts are funny. Period. Not just little boys, but grown men also. Ask a bunch of guys what they did on their fishing trip and your bound to hear some detailed, comical stories about someone cutting the cheese. Most of the time I admit to laughing too because farts are funny. Except in yoga class.

An older gentleman in my weekly yoga class spends the entire 60 minutes burdening us with his flatulence. He expels gas every few minutes with each new posture for the whole class. These aren't just little toots I'm talking about. His long, drawn out gas bombs sound like demons being exorcised from his intestines. His anal acoustics prevent me from enjoying even a sliver of my yoga experience. And I pay good money to for that experience.

I don't even want to take my yoga class anymore. I've had it. I know it's not very yoga-like for me to be so intolerant of someone who is clearly incapable of controlling his gassiness, but why does the rest of the class have to suffer? Maybe the yoga studio needs to add a new Old Farts class (pun totally intended).

Any book worthy of young boy's attention must have some reference to farts. In an entertaining comic strip section from the Diary of a Wimpy Kid Do-it-Yourself Book, The Amazing Fart Police swoop in and arrest unsuspecting tooters who fart in public. In one scenario, The Amazing Fart Police arrest a boy whose aunt hugged him so hard a toot popped out. The boy pleads, "but it wasn't my fault! My aunt squeezed it out of me!" The Amazing Fart Police said, "tell it to the judge, kid."

Now, that's funny.

Wants Vs. Needs

2010-07-12T08:25:00.004-04:00

How do you get your kids to understand the difference between wants vs. needs? Some things we need like food, shelter and clothing. Some things we want like filet mignon, a pool house and a Neiman Marcus credit card.

I understand the difficulty kids have in processing the idea that money isn't readily available anytime we want something. After all, they see us whip out our credit cards and swipe it through a machine at every store. What kid wouldn't think we could just use the credit card to buy whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted? In the eyes of a child it seems so simple; have credit card, buy things.

I remember as a kid asking my mom for a toy or something that I really wanted and she said no. As I continued to press her about said toy she told me she didn't have any money to pay for it. I said, "just write a check!" as if money magically appeared from the mere act of writing a dollar amount in the little window.

When we moved into our house I bought a new dining room table. It was a 48" round wrought iron beauty with a glass top. I loved the scroll design legs and table base and it fit perfectly in our kitchen area. We didn't have any kids yet so little did I know that my glass top table would become the bane of my existence. Fast forward three years to two kids, lots of smudgy fingerprints and gallons of Windex. I came to loathe the table and all of its glassiness that was impossible to keep clean. I wanted a new table and I wanted it bad.

The problem was that I didn't need a new table. The table we had was in perfect condition. I hated trying to keep it clean, yes, but it technically was still usable and I couldn't justify spending money on a new table when we had other household expenses that required our funds. I wanted a new table but I didn't need one. How to solve the dilemma?

I told my husband that I would like to buy a new table, but I would use the money I earned from selling the kids' outgrown toys and clothes at a twice yearly Mom2Mom sale. Each sale only netted a couple hundred bucks, but at least it was a start. I also sold a few things here and there on Ebay so little by little my table fund got bigger. Saving for a new table enabled me to choose the table I wanted without any input from the peanut gallery. I perused catalogs, showrooms and even consignment shops. I searched high and low for the perfect fit.

Fast forward four years. Yes, it has taken me four very long years to save for my new table, but my perfect table ended up costing more than I anticipated. Instead of settling for a mediocre table that cost less, I continued to save for the table of my dreams. I finally reached my goal when I sold my current table on Craig's list. I ordered my new table and breathed a sigh of relief.

I can't express how much I love my new table and chairs. The chairs' scalloped details and contoured ladder backs are exactly what I was looking for. The 48" round chestnut-colored pedestal table is just right. But, I'm not sure what I love more. The actual table or what it represents.

When the boys asked me over the years why I didn't just go out and buy a new table, I explained the whole wants vs. needs concept to them. We've had the same conversation many times. When I say no after they ask me for something they want, but don't really need, I remind them of how I had to save my hard-earned money for my new table. After many whimpers and moans and "but I really, really need it!" I ask my kids to figure out how to pay for what they want, like I did. I can always use a hand cleaning and taking out the trash. Sometimes the need wasn't so monumental after all. But, if the need was monumental enough to help me dust or scrub a toilet to earn a few bucks, it must be pretty special.

After all, the treasures we buy from our own hard-earned money usually turn out to be the things we love the most.

Toy Story 3 Delivers

2010-07-02T16:34:00.000-04:00

I love the Toy Story movies. I'm not big on sequels or third installments of a movie for that matter, but I have to say that Toy Story 3 was just as good as its predecessors. Disney has a way of providing a great message for kids and usually enough entertainment for the adults. Toy Story 3 delivered.

The great thing about Toy Story is its continual message of teamwork and looking out for your friends. What a terrific bunch of toys. Woody is a great leader who makes sure all the toys stick together. Even though he's the favorite toy he never assumes that he's better than any of the others. It would be very easy for Woody to boast and brag and make fun of the others, but he doesn't. He treats everyone with respect and, for that, the other toys respect him.

What a simple and universal concept. Treat others as you want to be treated. Speak to others and you wish to be spoken to. To have a friend, be a friend. We could use more of the lessons learned from Toy Story in our playgrounds, schools and backyards. Maybe they should make watching the Toy Story movies mandatory in school. Maybe make Woody the new mascot?

We have had a rule in our house since my kids were born; my sons are not allowed to be mean to their toys or stuffed animals. If Puppy comes flying over the ballisters from the second floor, that is cause for an instant time-out. If Puppy gets thrown through the air or twisted out of shape, someone is in trouble. We don't hurt Puppy's feelings or hurt him physically. Some people might think I'm flat-out crazy because it's just a stuffed animal, but not only does this teach the boys to respect their things it also teaches them about compassion. Everyone has feelings that we need to be aware of. Even Puppy.

I have always had a hard time getting rid of the toys with which the boys were especially enamored, but after watching this movie I may never get rid of another toy again. I used to feel a twinge of sadness after rounding up the toys the boys outgrew because it meant admitting the boys were getting older. Every LeapFrog or Fisher Price toy that I got rid of brought a new level of mourning for the babies who were no longer babies. I felt a sort of punch in my gut as soon as I dropped off the very toys that made my toddlers squeal with delight more times than I could count. It stings.

So, Puppy isn't going anywhere anytime soon. He and Moosey and the Polar Bear and other puppy and the other puppy will always have a safe place in our home. I may do just like Andy did and save the toys Nicholas and Christopher have loved for another deserving child who will treat them with respect. My boys have learned valuable lessons with their toy friends. They have learned how to be a friend and how to take care of their friends. In return, Puppy and the others have been loyal unlike many others.

Friends like that last a lifetime.

Thanks Dad

2010-06-20T09:54:00.000-04:00

Today was a very special Fathers Day.

I flew down to Florida to be with my dad this weekend and to hand-deliver a copy of the book Chicken Soup for the Soul: Thanks Dad because a story I wrote about him was published in that book. This story was special for two reasons. 1) It's about the greatest dad on the planet and 2) It was my very first published piece of writing.

My story, The Constant, is about how my relationship with my dad has defined my life. My dad has been my best role model, friend and ally. For those of you who know my dad you will recognize the man I have always admired in the story. For those of you who don't know my dad, my story provides a glimpse into the heart of a man who has always been the greatest dad a girl could ask for.

Thanks Dad for helping me realize my dream of being a published author. I couldn't have done it without you!

Jumping Off Bridges

2010-06-06T10:47:00.003-04:00

Remember when your parents told you not to do something just because someone else was doing it? In other words, use your critical-thinking skills to make educated decisions and not just follow someone off a bridge just because the other person decided it was a good idea to jump. Why do people keep jumping anyway?

The sheep mentality. I sooooo dislike it. People who act like sheep (sheeple?) and simply follow the crowd and do whatever the crowd is doing might as well follow them right off the bridge. Instead of looking into other options most people will simply do what the "majority" is doing. It's human nature. And, it's easier. If the majority thinks that it's a good idea for 5-year-olds to spend the equivalent of an adult work week in the classroom then, by all means, we should send our kids to all-day Kindergarten. If the majority thinks it's okay to let your kids play video games for hours on end, then it must be a good idea. After all, these kids are developing visual acuity and spacial perception as well as other cognitive skills (that's the spin anyway). Most people will tell you that "studies indicate..." that this increase in academics or hand-eye coordination is good for the kids, but these people have never bothered to actually read the studies they are quoting. All they know is what their neighbor told them that they heard from another friend who misquoted a person they overheard talking about it at the PTA meeting.

When I was a new mom I was overwhelmed with all of the gadgets and toys available for babies and toddlers. All the sheeple I talked to had a Baby Einsten DVD or CD or some brain-based toy that was supposed to "encourage discovery" as if a DVD could do what a simple set of blocks couldn't. I remember knowing that I didn't want to put my baby in front of a TV but feeling a bit out of sorts because everyone else was doing the "Baby Einstein" thing. This was my first foray into the parenting-sheep mentality and I didn't like the feeling one bit. What was a new mom to do?

When I found Kathy Hirsch-Pasek's book, Einstein Never Used Flashcards, I was so happy to read that it was OK for my children to just play. She gave me permission to give my children simple blocks, kitchen utensils and other uncomplicated toys. Christopher's favorite thing to do when he was 2-years old was to play with pencils (unsharpened of course). He would take several pencils , sit on the floor and make shapes like houses or triangles or even, according to him, birds. He would be completely absorbed for hours. Nicholas had more fun with plastic cups in the bathtub than any other colorful bathtub paint or musical "must-have" toy.

Instead of watching classical music DVDs, my boys and I would turn on our stereo and dance around our living room. Our favorite songs when they were little were Shout by the Isley Brothers and The Hokey Pokey. Now, we have the Glee soundtracks that keep us all equally absorbed. I use music to lessen the excruciating pain of Christopher's 5,000 questions asked during a routine drive to the grocery store. "Hey buddy, do you want to hear the Glee version of Don't Stand So Close To Me one more time? Please?"

Don't get me wrong. We have (had) the newest and best toys. After all, the grandparents wanted to make sure our kids had the latest and greatest gadgets. But even though we had those toys they were not necessarily the boys' favorites. The most memorable times we have had include going out and exploring our neighborhoods, visiting museums, walking around the zoo, reading books or just hanging out and singing silly songs. The best playlists on my iPod include songs the kids and I can sing together.

A very hard lesson to learn at any age is that it's OK to disagree. It's not OK to be mean about it or disruptive or cruel. But it's OK to accept that you have a different viewpoint; not always better or more correct...just different. I gave up a long time ago trying to be "right" in the eyes of my peers. I do some things differently, that's all. No need to justify my decisions.

I see new moms struggling with the same things I struggled with in the past. Am I doing this right? Am I making the right decisions? Am I emotionally scarring my kids? All I can say is do what's best for your family and shut out the noise from everyone else. That noise you hear is just bleating from the sheeple who are teetering on the edge of the bridge.

I don't worry as much as I used to about doing things "right." If it makes sense in my world, that's all that matters to me.

Never Pass Up An InvitationTo A Destination Wedding

2010-05-27T20:39:00.000-04:00

We just got back from a wonderful trip to Cabo San Lucas. Mark and I made the trek for a family wedding and I am so glad we went. Our first thought upon receiving the "save the date" card was how are we gonna swing this, but we finally came to the conclusion that it was important to be with our family. So, we packed our bags, left our kids with Grandma and Grandpa and flew off to the southernmost tip of the Baja Peninsula. It was paradise.

I had several reservations about going not the least of which was leaving my kids for five days. I know they are in competent hands with Grandma and Grandpa but it's still hard to say goodbye and fly several thousand miles away to a foreign country no less. I also worried about the cost of our trip and other logistics, but none of that prevented us from getting on the plane. I really felt compelled to renew relationships with relatives that I rarely see. An added bonus was getting to be with some of my favorite family members in one location.

We had lots of laughs and lots of Mango Margaritas. We reminisced about funny events in our past and predicted possible outcomes of our various futures. We relaxed in the sun and took walks on the beach. We witnessed two young people beginning their lives together. And, we got to know each other even better. I couldn't even begin to put a price tag on that kind of reunion.

Time is flying by at an alarming speed and years go by in the blink of any eye. It's a shame I can't see my extended family more often but I will take as many opportunities as I can get from now on. My first instinct won't be "I shouldn't" or "I couldn't." I won't hesitate when I receive the next "save the date" card because I will remember how important it was for all of us to be together, regardless of time or place.

We did put a bug in the ear of all of our younger, single relatives, however, that a destination wedding to a nice, warm beach location would be most appreciated.

The Talent Code

2010-05-14T10:13:00.000-04:00

I recently read a great book called The Talent Code based on a friend's recommendation. What I loved most about the book was the basic premise that all of us can achieve excellence if we practice our craft. Whether it be music, sports, or basket-weaving, we all have the ability to become great at any given skill through repetitive practice.

OK, so the book goes into much more detail about how the physiological aspects of our brain operate. I'm in no position to try and summarize that here, but the mind-blowing thing about each and every case study was that it didn't matter if you were smarter, richer or better-looking than the next guy or girl. Each one of the talented people outlined in the book came from different backgrounds. Different countries. Different centuries. But the common characteristics in all of them were similar methods of training, motivation, and coaching. To get really good at something you need to practice. Not just practice once in awhile or every other week. Practice daily. Practice with passion. You need to be motivated and care about the outcome. You need to want to become more proficient. And, you need a good coach, teacher or mentor.

Practice makes perfect. How many times have you heard that? We hear it so often because it's true. We can't get good at something if we don't hone the skill, learn from our mistakes and keep practicing. Nicholas and Christopher amaze me with their piano skills at such a young age. But, they have a great piano teacher and they practice often (their Dad makes sure of that!). Nicholas has been practicing for four years. He has a lot to learn, but he sees the older kids in other classes who play so well and so confidently and he knows that one day that will be him. For now, he is honing his skill. He is getting frustrated and he knows that it's hard work but he's willing to put in the time because he knows he will only get better if he practices.

Nicholas also likes to play baseball. He asked me other day if I thought he would be a good pitcher and I said he could be good at anything he puts his mind to. When I asked him what the essential element was to being a good pitcher he cocked his head to the side as if to contemplate this deeply philosophical question and said, "oh yeah, I know, practice!" If Nicholas wants to be a pitcher, he needs to practice. Christopher is riding his bike without training wheels. How did he manage that? Practice.

My boys get irritated sometimes when I tell them that they can do whatever they want as long as they put in the time to perfect their skill. The irritation comes from realizing that it takes work on their part. Even if I had a magic wand that would instantly make them competent at any given ability I wouldn't use it. Their greatest achievements will be those they have to work hard for. By themselves. Mustering their own resolve. Nothing good ever comes easy. It usually involves a lot of...you guessed it...practice.

The Grass Isn't Always Greener

2010-04-27T12:00:00.000-04:00

Comparing yourself to other people is a pointless ritual that does nothing but lower your self-esteem and create invaluable criticisms. People (women) do it all the time. We convince ourselves that so-and-so has a better car, house, husband, job, etc. and begin the ridiculous routine of second-guessing our own existence. Haven't we learned, finally, that the grass isn't always greener on the other side?

What we don't realize when we subject ourselves to these comparisons is that most of the time the comparison is not apples-to-apples. The surest way to ruin your self-esteem is to try to keep up with the Joneses when the Joneses are, in reality, unhappily trying to keep up with someone else. To whose level are people aspiring and why?

We don't know what goes on behind closed doors. We usually don't even have an inkling of what is going on in other people's lives. Sure, the Joneses have a new car and a new boat and well-dressed kids. But, maybe they are on the verge of bankruptcy and are buried under a mound of debt. I certainly don't aspire to be like the Joneses if it means they can't even afford all the toys they have.

Jane Doe might seem like the epitome of calm in the midst of utter chaos. Women marvel at Jane's ability to handle stress so well and wonder why they can't be more like her. Why can't I just let things roll of my back so easily and not sweat the small stuff? What we don't know is that Jane's calmness probably doesn't come from her innate ability to handle stress. Jane might hide vodka bottles in the linen closet or need medication take the edge off. Nobody is perfect.

Some people like to drop names, wear labels or constantly tell us how smart their kids are. While these people can be annoying on so many levels, they deserve some pity, too. I am convinced that they must be trying to fill a gaping hole in their lives they may not even know exists. Why else would they try so hard to convince us that they are better, wealthier or smarter than everyone else? What is really missing in their lives?

That's why I don't care if someone else drives a fancy car, has a house with more square footage or takes exotic vacations. I don't care someone else's kid read his first book in preschool or could speak three languages before his 5th birthday. I'm not impressed by the continual barrage of greatness because too many people are trying to fill gaping holes.

If you are feeling less than stellar because you are surrounded by people who appear to "have it all," think again. The grass isn't always greener. Sometimes you just have to take a closer look.

Are You Brave?

2010-04-14T08:30:00.001-04:00

If someone asked you the question, "Are you brave?" what would your answer be?

I used to think I wasn't brave. I'm not the type to sign up for bungee-jumping off large cliffs or skydiving out of airplanes, but bravery doesn't always consist of endeavors that push my physical limits. Being brave sometimes involves the mental challenge of just getting out of my comfort zone. Christina Katz, author of Writer Mama and the popular ezine, The Prosperous Writer, writes in her ezine about the 52 Qualities of Prosperous Writers. Number 15 just happened to be bravery.

After reading Christina's take on bravery, I reminded myself that I am brave. Crossing a huge threshold of comfort to start and continue this blog requires courage. Submitting essays to local, regional and national publications requires guts. My fear of rejection and ridicule is paralyzing but I continue anyway. Why? Because every other writer I know has the same paralyzing fears.

Christina says, "You have to be brave in your writing to say what you mean, not what you think others want to hear" and "It takes some serious chutzpah to present your work to industry gatekeepers like agents and editors." If a successful author like Christina says it takes bravery and chutzpah, well, then, I guess my timidity has merit. I also hear from every writer I follow that at one time or another (or even continually for some) they felt fear. I can't read a book or a blog by a respected writer without discovering how they pushed through that fear. When I realized that I didn't corner the market on "anxious new writer," I started writing.

I am still nervous when I hit the submit button. What if the editor didn't get my analogy? What if she thinks I'm too vain? Did I follow a narrative arc or add enough dialogue? The questions go on and on and on. But, whenever a question about my ability pops into my head I recall past accomplishments in which I was called upon to be brave. I remind myself that I have already tackled fear. And won. Like the time I backpacked through Europe by myself. Or, the time I interviewed for a new job and negotiated a salary almost three times what I was currently making. Or, becoming a mother. If being a mother doesn't require bravery, what does?

So, I keep writing and I keep submitting. The only way to become a published writer is to write. The only way to get better is to keep practicing. The only way to combat fear is to read ezines, like Christina's, to learn about the industry and other writers' experiences. To belong to writers' forums to develop a camaraderie and gain insight from like-minded people. I learn. And I learn some more. And with each learning process the fear becomes less like Mt. Everest and more like a sand dune. It still exists, but it's slightly more manageable.

If you think you aren't brave, think again.

Learning By Osmosis

2010-04-03T09:00:00.004-04:00

I'm not the most patient person when it comes to teaching my kids things like how to brush their teeth properly, tie a shoe or ride a bike. I know it takes time to learn how to do these things the right way, but my patience level wanes with every "but it's tooooo haaarrrdddd" or "I caaaaan't dooooo iiiitttttt." I'm aware that my kids are capable of tying the shoe and riding the bike. Convincing them of their capabilities is another matter altogether.

But, what I find fascinating is that when it comes to learning about schoolwork such as reading or counting or rhyming or adding, Christopher is learning by osmosis. He seems to absorb the information we talk about at the dinner table with his older brother, Nicholas, regarding his homework and somehow, magically, Christopher understands it. He begins to repeat it. And he learns it with minimal instruction or prodding by mom and dad. Wow. Who knew it would be so easy the second time around?

Christopher likes to read. He wants to learn how. We pick up beginner books and he sounds out the letters to form the words. We shop at the grocery store and he says to me, "Mom, this says Taco" as he points to a box of taco shells. He draws pictures for his brother and signs it "To Nicholas rot (wrote) bi (by) Christopher." He doesn't ask me how to spell a word, he just tries to sound it out on his own. I marvel at Christopher's ability and secretly let out a huge sigh that he doesn't fight me at every turn like his brother who wouldn't read a book before he started Kindergarten if I lined it with $100 bills. I tried to get Nicholas to sound out words and learn a few easily identifiable ones like "the" and "and." He balked. No interest. Dug in his heels. Funny thing is, Nicholas is an above-average reader now so even though he appeared to not want to learn to read, he really didn't want to learn to read from me. He likes to do things on his own terms. His reading took off like a rocket in Kindergarten when he learned the ins and outs from his adorable teacher. And, his 1st grade teacher tells me she can hardly keep up with his reading progression. Obstinance duly noted.

Christopher on the other hand is learning much more at an earlier age. He is learning how to read. He is learning how to tell time. He is learning how to count coins. I'm not saying he correctly identifies coins all the time or can tell me when it's quarter past the hour, but the information is seeping into him one of Nicholas's homework lesson at a time. Because Nicholas is learning all of this in school, Christopher gets the added benefit of learning it too - and that makes my job a whole lot easier.

I have also learned a few new things along the way. Like, it doesn't matter if a word is spelled wrong it only matters that the correct sounds are present. It doesn't matter if the words in a book are memorized, that is part of the learning-to-read process. And, if an addition or subtraction result is wrong, a simple, "try that one again" is all that's needed. Christopher gets another added benefit of a mommy who isn't as worried about precision as she was the first time around. Sorry, Nicholas. Is it any wonder that firstborns always try to be so perfect?

Now, if I can just get Christopher to ride his bike without training wheels...

Lessons We Can Learn From the Real Housewives of Orange County

2010-03-20T10:30:00.002-04:00

Yes, I watch The Real Housewives of Orange County. Yes, I am ashamed to admit it. And, yes, we actually can learn valuable lessons from ladies whose sole purpose on this Earth is to love themselves more than they love anybody else.

The title of the show is slightly misleading because the Real Housewives of Orange County aren't "real" in any sense of the word. I have never witnessed a phonier bunch of women in one television series before. Oh sure, the ladies on any given afternoon soap opera are superficial and shallow, but they are acting. The Real Housewives of Orange County prove week after week that they are the ultimate narcissists. Week after week we witness another crack in their moral foundation. Week after week the train wreck continues. What does it say about me that I continue to watch the show? Well, I think that's a discussion for another blog post, so for now let's stick to bashing the egotistical, brainless blonds (and brunette) from the O.C.

Lesson #1 - When it comes to parenting, do the exact opposite of whatever any of the housewives is doing. (Or, I would rather stick a hot poker in my eye than take parenting advice from one of these broads).

Let's just start with the worst parenting moments ever witnessed on TV. Lynne you oughta be ashamed. Lynne's daughter is begging her to set some boundaries. Begging! How much clearer does she need to be? I wish Lynne would stop acting like she is so clueless. All we hear from Lynne is the same old tired cries of "I want to be a good mom" or "I only want the best for my daughter" or "Teenagers are soooooo hard." Boo Hoo Hoo. Stop you're caterwauling and step up to the parenting plate, Lynne. If she cared more about her daughter's prolonged absences or blatant disregard for authority than she does about how much shorter she can wear her miniskirts without getting arrested, she might get a pass. Actions speak louder than words, Lynne. Get a backbone!

Alexis is a stay-at-home mom with a nanny. I tune her out when I hear her talk about how hard it is raising kids, because she isn't raising them. She can take them to church and she can drag them along on her mani/pedi outings (seriously, 2-year-olds in a nail salon? Really?) and make it look all cute and like "I'm the most involved mom in the world" but she isn't pulling the wool over anyone's eyes. She has a nanny and gets to work out and have mani/pedis. Enough said.

Lesson #2: People Who Live in Glass Houses Shouldn't Throw Stones
Vicki works and everyone knows it. I'm glad she has a job that she loves going to everyday and that she is successful but she has a real problem with her mouth. If you can dish it out you better be able to take it right back or else keep your mouth shut. But, Vicki can't take in what she dishes out. She cries. Boo hoo hoo "these girls are so mean." Well, take a look in the mirror sister , you ain't no Pollyanna.

Lesson #3: Keep Your Friends Close and Your Enemies Closer
Not one of these women is a friend to the other. Not one. I am sick of hearing about who has whose "back." Each of these relationships is as fake as their breasts. The only thing on the back of each woman is a protruding knife plunged there by her so-called "friend."

Lesson #4: Stop watching the show
Okay, this lesson is for me. I'm done. No more Orange County. I'm not even going to comment on Tamra's pathetic marriage or Gretchen's belief that her boyfriend isn't using her. I'm feeling nauseous. I've spent too much time talking about these ladies already. I need to stop watching a show the elevates my blood pressure and increases my heartbeat to unnatural rhythms. I don't like these women and have no sympathy for them. They sold their souls to be on a reality television show which is a pretty steep price to pay for fame.

Karma will come-a-calling. It always does.

The Procrastination Problem

2010-03-06T07:49:00.002-05:00

I am a procrastinator. I am not proud of the fact but I do try to tame the procrastination monster from time to time. I do try to talk myself into getting the laundry ironed as soon as it comes out of the dryer or to wash the floor before the bottom of my kids' white socks start to turn brown. I try. But, I am not always successful because it seems like something else is always vying for my attention.

We all have tasks we don't like to do. We all have reasons for putting off today what can be done tomorrow. But, I have an extra incentive to complete my tasks promptly and efficiently; two pair of eyes watching and learning from my every move.

Because children learn by example, it's up to me to show my kids how I plow through and get my jobs done no matter how much I dislike a certain job (like ironing). I can't whine or complain or whimper about why I don't like to iron, I just need to iron. I shouldn't balk at the chance to wash my floor or offer reasons why I should wait until tomorrow (like, because my kids are having friends over after school and what's the point of washing the floor at all) I just need to wash it. The person who really wants to do something finds a way; the other person finds an excuse.

Nicholas is learning about the consequences of procrastinating and not completing tasks in a timely manner in 1st grade. Because he is a natural observer he watches people and situations with great interest. He is also very social. While these traits may be admirable in certain situations, they are a deterrent when he is supposed to get in his seat before the bell or turn class assignments in on time. Nicholas was making a habit of being the last student ready for instruction in the morning or the last student to turn in his work during the day. Once Nicholas's teacher brought it to my attention, Nicholas and I sat down for a discussion.

I explained to him, in what I thought was a non-accusatory tone, that his teacher was concerned that he wasn't completing his assigned tasks in a timely manner. He offered excuses about why he was late turning in assignments, but I gently reminded him that he just needs to pay attention to his work, not his neighbor, and submit his work in a timely manner. He got frustrated, offered more excuses and became increasingly agitated whenever I said the words, "timely manner." I reiterated that I wasn't mad at him and he wasn't in trouble, I just wanted him to be aware that his teacher knows he is capable of doing his work and turning it in on time. He just needs to find a way to do it.

Our conversation about his responsibilities continued over several breakfasts and dinners. We agreed upon ways to apply better time management skills at home. Now, instead of me asking Nicholas to brush his teeth, make his bed and get dressed in the morning, I tell him he has 15 minutes to complete his tasks. He has to look at the clock, tell me what time it is now and what time it will be in 15 minutes and finish his tasks by that time. I also tell him if he finishes his tasks on time he will have extra time to play before we leave for the bus. Play is a great incentive.

I told Nicholas that I would follow up with his teacher to make sure he was using good time management skills at school. Nicholas tried to offer more excuses about why he couldn't get to his seat on time (the bus was late) or why his worksheet wasn't complete (his pencil broke), but I finally told him what my boss used to tell me, "I don't want to hear excuses, just show me the results."

I did follow up with Nicholas's teacher and she told me after about a week that his performance improved. I will keep getting periodical updates from his teacher just to make sure he continues to be aware of his student responsibilities. I will, in turn, continue to make sure I am setting a good example and keeping my procrastination monster at bay.

It wasn't until I overheard Nicholas's younger brother, Christopher, playing tag with a boy at the bus stop that I realized how many times Nicholas and I must have had our conversation about getting things done on time. The tagger wasn't chasing Christopher fast enough, but instead of asking the tagger to chase him faster, Christopher instructed him to "Chase me in a timely manner!"

Getting Back on the Horse

2010-02-27T07:10:00.001-05:00

So just when I think I've overcome my fear of doing the Yoga Handstand (see What Are You Afraid Of? post on 2/10/10) I went and dislocated the second toe on my left foot doing the very thing I have been trying to conquer for so long. UGH. Does this mean I'm going right back to square one?

The ironic part of dislocating my toe is that I was doing the handstand quite well last Sunday in my yoga class. I got up on the first try with my feet balanced against the wall. I managed to stay up for 15 solid breaths after which I came back down to the ground. I heard the instructor say "five more breaths" and for some reason thought it was necessary to get back up again for those last five breaths. Because I was still kind of wobbly from being upside down for 15 seconds, when I tried to vault myself back in the air I lost my balance and came down the wrong way on my toe. I heard the most horrific cracking sound and looked down to find my toe bent in an unnatural, completely abnormal way. My toe was actually turned toward me.

I packed up my yoga gear, hobbled out to my car, (barefoot in the Michigan winter, no less) and headed to the emergency room. I was convinced my toe was broken and I would have a disfigured, crooked toe mocking me for the rest of my life every time it peeked out from a pair of summer sandals. Can you believe my first thought was that I better not have a crooked toe peeking out of my summer sandals? To my huge relief, the ER doctor reassured me that my toe was merely dislocated, not broken. She popped it back into place (yes it hurt like a son-of-a-bitch) and I was on my way.

The whole time I was driving to the hospital I kept thinking that I shouldn't have done that stupid handstand anyway and that I would never try it again. Ever. I clearly have issues with this particular pose and I thought this was surely a sign from above that the yoga gods were excusing me from ever doing a damn Adho Mukha Vrksasana (ah-doh moo-kah vriks-SHAHS-anna) again. I swear I could hear their sarcastic whispers in the far off corners of my mind teasing me as they speculated about my inability to do such a simple thing. I convinced myself by the time I reached my destination that I may not even do yoga again at all. Period. I was talking myself right out of ever doing another silly downward facing dog or triangle pose.

When I found out my toe was dislocated and not broken, I sighed with relief that foot would not be grossly disfigured and I would, indeed, wear my sandals this summer as planned. As I thought more about my morning however, I realized that I needed to find a silver lining to this story instead of vowing to swear off yoga forever. I had to find a good reason to get back on the proverbial horse.

As I replayed the morning's events I realized that I was obviously mad about hurting my toe but I never gave myself credit for getting up on the handstand for 15 seconds in the first place. I only chided myself for not accomplishing my task the second time around and managing to damage a toe in the process. I really didn't need to attempt the second handstand. My bad. I know better now that I should only get up once and however long I stay is my measure for the day. I need to be cognizant of that incredible accomplishment and give myself credit where credit is due. My dislocated toe might not have been a sign from the yoga gods to quit altogether, but rather a warning to quit pushing myself past natural limitations. The more I thought about how far I have come in my yoga journey over the past several months the more I appreciated what my body is capable of doing, not what it isn't.

So, I took this week off from my usual workout routine to let my toe heal. I slept in a little bit later each day. I enjoyed a little extra TLC from the hubby and kids and I gave myself a break. I won't be going to my yoga class this Sunday, but I will go next week. I promise I will get back on the horse and this time I will try to keep myself moving at a slow trot and resist the urge to sprint into a full gallop.

My toes, and I'm sure the rest of my body, will thank me.

When is it Okay to Lie?

2010-02-16T18:49:00.006-05:00

Some lies are a necessary evil. There I said it. Some of you might think that I'm off my rocker because you assume that any form of lying is wrong and I used to believe that, too. But, if I didn't censor some of my more scathing thoughts with an occasional, complimentary little white lie, I might be friendless. I choose not to be friendless so I lie. How do I justify lying even if it's to protect someone's feelings? Because I'm lying to protect someone's feelings...duh!

Don't for a minute kid yourself into thinking you don't lie or that other people aren't lying to you. You do and they are. How else could we live in a semi-civilized society? I have the utmost respect for someone who tells the little white lie to help ease the awkwardness of questions like, "does this make me look fat" or "do I sound like my mother?" When I was pregnant I remember receiving over-the-top compliments like, "you can't even tell that you're pregnant!" or fibs like "you're legs really aren't that swollen" Those unsubtle liars need to come clean right now and admit that I clearly resembled a Weeble (Weebles wobble but they don't fall down!) and my bloated legs required their own zip code.

So, you and I lie now and then to protect someone's feelings. We can rationalize it and condone it. But what do we tell our kids who are, hopefully, learning that all forms of lying are wrong? I can't very well separate a little white lie from a bold-faced lie and explain to an almost 7-year-old that it's okay to lie in one situation and not in another. What kind of message does that send? We are pretty clear in our house that lying is unethical no matter the reason and I'm sticking to it. I am cultivating consciences here and those consciences need to know right from wrong. I'm not giving any indication now or in the foreseeable future that it's okay to lie even if it is a little white one.

My kids will figure out on their own, eventually, when and if a little white lie is necessary. By the time their consciences are equipped with a compassion meter that allows them to protect a friend's feelings, they will have already developed a sensible moral base. Until then, I'm going to continue my mantra that lying is wrong. I am going to keep pounding it into my kids' heads day after day. I'm going to keep acting exceedingly dramatic when Nicholas tells me that his friend lied about pushing another kid on the playground (What?! That sounds horrible! What kind of animal would do that?!) or that his classmate ate someone else's cookie at lunch and didn't confess when asked (What?! He told a bold-faced lie...just like that...with a straight face?! I know you would never lie like that Nicholas. You know it would break my heart!). I want him to notice that I'm terribly disappointed when I hear stories about other kids that lie so that he won't even consider lying when presented with the chance. I am not naive enough to think he won't ever test his own moral values, but his capacity of knowing right from wrong will ultimately prevail.

Nicholas is understandably skeptical when I tell him that bold-faced liars will get their due punishment. He doesn't have any solid evidence of that yet because some of his friends get away with being deceitful. I continue to try and convince Nicholas that, in the long run, it's much easier to tell the truth and face your consequences. When he asks why I tell him simply - liars need good memories.

What Are You Afraid Of?

2010-02-02T09:30:00.002-05:00

Have you ever heard the quote, "do something every day that scares you" by Eleanor Roosevelt? The message is obvious that you must challenge yourself to do things you think you cannot do. I'm not sure I want to do something that scares me every single day, my to-do list is already long enough, but I am intrigued by the idea of getting out of my comfort zone now and again and pushing myself to cross over my self-imposed boundaries.

I'm scared of doing things at which I think I'm no good. I'm scared of looking silly or doing it wrong, which often puts me at odds with myself because I want to try new things but my fear somehow gets in the way. My older son, Nicholas, on the other hand, is scared of monsters and the dark. He doesn't like to go in his room by himself or up the stairs by himself or anywhere where there is no light. Even if he turns a hall light on he still doesn't want to enter his room alone. Both of us are letting our fear dictate what we do and when we do it.

I have been thinking a lot lately about doing more things that scare me. Like, trying to do a handstand in my yoga class. I have been going to the same Ashtanga yoga class for about six months and for six months I have avoided doing the handstand. Every time the class embraced the pose and walked or floated their legs up the wall, I would wimp out and do a reverse table pose instead. Week after week I convinced myself that I couldn't do the handstand because my wrist hurt or I would just fall back down anyway. I didn't think I could get my legs up, let along keep them up. So, I never even tried.

The one thing I like about yoga, or about how my instructor teaches it anyway, is everyone is allowed to feel comfortable at whatever level suits him or her. For example, I don't feel bad that I can't do a boat pose because I know my core is weak. I am working on that. But, I still attempt the boat pose and modify it as necessary. My instructor is very good about offering modifications and reminding us that we are okay wherever we are in our practice. He never pushed me to do the handstand and never belittled me when I didn't try. But, that damn handstand was still haunting me. Why was I so afraid to try it? What was I avoiding?

A friend decided to join me for a yoga session and I convinced myself that I would do the handstand that morning. She was new to Ashtanga and I assumed she would be watching me as she tried to understand the poses and twists and bends. I figured that morning was as good a time as any to just put my fear aside and go for it. When we got to the studio and found out that not only was my instructor not teaching that morning, but it was a "follow the yogi" class instead, I almost turned and ran. I had no desire to do a "follow the yogi" class (what if I don't know the poses?) and I was not at all interested in doing a class with the owner and master yogi himself. Talk about intimidation.

I didn't run. I was scared, yes, but I took a deep breath and we went inside anyway. I was uncomfortable, but I decided to push through it. I know that the only limitations are those that I place on myself so I decided to cross over my silly, self-imposed boundary. Why do I impose these ridiculous boundaries anyway?

It turned out to be a great class. I learned a few new poses and came out of my comfort zone a time or two. The highlight of my morning, however, was finally accomplishing the handstand. Even though my heart was racing and I was anxious, I planted my hands on the floor and pushed my legs up into the air. I seemed to float effortlessly as I placed my feet on the wall, relaxed and took several deep breaths. I stayed up longer than I ever thought possible. As a matter of fact, the handstand was so easy that I was shocked I didn't try it sooner. I was convinced for so long that I couldn't do a handstand only to find out it was much easier than I ever anticipated.

I wish Nicholas could understand that the monsters he manufactures in his head are much worse than anything real. He makes himself sick with worry and panic by creating an unrealistic vision of what lies ahead. I can see that so clearly in him, but apparently not in myself. I realized that morning in my yoga class that my fear of the handstand was completely unfounded. When I try to convince Nicholas that monsters aren't real, I need to practice what I preach. My monsters aren't real either.

I thought of all my Sunday morning yoga sessions spent fretting over something that turned out to be much simpler than expected. Imagine if all of my fears were allayed by trying something new and finding out that my fear was worse than the actual task. Imagine what I can accomplish if I choose to believe that I really am capable and let everything else fall into place.

I am capable. And, I'm going to start doing more things that scare me. I am convinced now that I will be pleasantly surprised.

Grammar Rules Rule

2010-01-23T10:00:00.004-05:00

I have two boys who were born and are raised in the Midwest. How on earth they ended up sounding like two little California valley girls is beyond me. I can't say they are channeling Julie from the movie Valley Girl when I hear them say, "like" and "um" 20 times in one sentence because they obviously have no knowledge of the valspeak explosion of 1983. But, I'm a little concerned that the insidious "like" and "um" keeps hanging around. Can we erase it from our vocabulary... please? It's so, like, gag me with a spoon!

Christopher says, "Um, mom, can I, um, go into the garage and, like, um, play?" Really? Did he need two ums and one like to ask me a simple question? Did he really need to say in 13 words what he could have accomplished in seven? How about, "mom, can I play in the garage?" That is all I need to understand his request. I zone out with each and every "um" and I stop listening. Which is what everyone else will eventually do, too. I stop Christopher at every "um" and say, "start over."

Nicholas says, "Mom, you know my friend Fred, he, like, said the "s" word (stupid) and his mom, like, heard him but didn't, like, say anything to him." Seriously? Three "likes" in one sentence? I stop Nicholas at every "like" and say, "start over." The boys get very frustrated every time I interrupt their speech, but it's nothing compared to my frustration at the very thought of raising boys who are unable to speak articulately and coherently.

Grammar rules are around for a reason. The English language isn't easy to learn and we have lots of weird rules to live by, but grammar rules do improve our speech. Grammar rules prevent us from sounding unintelligible or lazy. My kids are in for a lifetime of hearing the same frustrating lessons I was taught as a kid. My family members were constantly on my case with rules like not using a preposition at the end of a sentence (Where's it at? UGH. It sounds terrible...really terrible). Or how to correctly use "me" vs. "I" in a sentence (as in, "you can sing better than I," not "you can sing better than me" because if you were to continue the sentence you would say, you can sing better than I can sing, not you can sing better than me can sing). I know, I know...it gets complicated. I understand that the boys find it maddening now, but they will thank me later. I am forever grateful to my relatives for providing me with a solid foundation of language rules that I remember to this day.

The problem is, my kids seem to relapse as soon as they get the hang of a certain rule because their friends are using equally appalling language. I hear them on the playgrounds and in our backyard. Every single one of them overuses "like" and "um" in every single sentence and every single conversation. They say other infuriating things like, "I seen it, too" or "I ain't got a skateboard." Why aren't their parents trying to correct them, too? Am I fighting an uphill battle?

I know my kids will learn proper grammar and usage in school. I know they are young and are just learning to navigate this weird, sometimes awkward language called English. But, I intend to make sure they never, ever say "ain't" and understand quirks like using "somebody" as the singular pronoun that it is ( "somebody forgot his lunch today" instead of "somebody forgot their lunch today"). Does it matter in the overall scheme of things? Will Nicholas or Christopher be that much farther behind if they don't know that "somebody" is a singular pronoun? Yes. They will. Is it worth it to nitpick? You bet it is. People who speak well are taken more seriously than those who don't. The way my kids communicate will be a solid measure of their future success just as much, if not more, than any math, science or technology skill.

I know my kids' grammar journey is just starting and I will have to stand firm and stay committed. I am prepared for lots of frustrating moments but I believe they will heave a big sigh of relief when the grammar rules start kicking in and making sense. They will be that much farther ahead of the game.

For starters though, I just have one simple request. Please, for the sake of my sanity, stop saying "where's it at?" Nails on a chalkboard, people! Nails on a freakin' chalkboard!

The War of Art

2010-01-13T06:00:00.000-05:00

I want to thank my friend, Jenna, for featuring Steven Pressfield, author of the book, The War of Art, on her blog recently. She read his book, found it compelling enough to write a blog post about it, and he contacted her to see if she would like to do an interview with him on her blog. How cool is that? He was gracious enough to offer a few books as a giveaway to her readers and I was one of the lucky winners.

So, I sat down to read the book. Wow. What can I say? Here is the gist of the book:

"Pressfield's book aims to help readers overcome Resistance so that they may achieve "the unlived life within." Whether one wishes to embark on a diet, a program of spiritual advancement or an entrepreneurial venture, it's most often resistance that blocks the way. To kick resistance, Pressfield stresses loving what one does, having patience and acting in the face of fear. The War of Art emphasizes the resolve needed to recognize and overcome the obstacles of ambition and then effectively shows how to reach the highest level of creative discipline. Think of it as tough love . . . for yourself. "

So, I'm getting misty-eyed about one-quarter of the way into the book because I realize that I have been sabotaging myself for most of my adult life. I have loads of ways to rationalize that I shouldn't, couldn't, wouldn't do something because of the fear of the unknown. I can convince myself so easily that I shouldn't, couldn't, wouldn't do something because I'm really not that good at it anyway. If I can't do something well enough the first time around I really don't want to do it at all. So I stall and I rationalize and I sabotage. What a cop out. It's easier sometimes to provide excuses than to actually do the thing we really want to do in the first place but have convinced ourselves is out of our reach because of self-sabotaging behavior! Whew. Why on earth are we so hard on ourselves?

Plain and simple fear. At least for me it's fear. Steven says in the book that, "We fear discovering that we are more than we think we are. We fear this because, if it's true, then we become estranged from all we know. We know that if we embrace our ideals, we must prove worthy of them. And that scares the hell out of us."

Bingo. I must prove worthy of my ideals. And that does scare me. What if I lose? What if I am not as good as I thought I was? Confidence is a hard thing to come by but it's the only thing that will help us achieve any results because if we don't believe in ourselves, who will? It sounds simple enough. Have confidence, will conquer. Steven's book is a great reminder to keep plowing forward in the face of fear.

During my reading and revelations, I kept thinking about my mom. She was a talented person who never fully realized her talents. She could write, she could draw, she could sing and act and do just about anything creative. But, she avoided her calling and spent most of her time manifesting sicknesses instead. She was always ill and always trying to find a cure for her ailments. The time she spent visiting doctor's offices would have been better spent providing an outlet for her creative talent. But, she didn't believe in herself. At all. She died never realizing any of her potential. "Casting yourself as a victim is the antithesis of doing your work." All of her energy went into her victimhood. What a waste.

After my mom died I took out of her house one of her paintings that I had always admired. I brought it home and put it in the Armoire near my desk because I didn't really have a place for it at the time. I knew I would hang it up somewhere, someday, but just never gave it much thought as to where.

After reading the chapter in Steven's book about "Resistance and Victimhood" it became very clear to me that I needed to hang that picture up...right now. I stoop up, grabbed a hammer and nail, moved picture frames and other paraphernalia off the bookcase near my desk and hung my mother's painting. Her painting is now in clear view as a constant reminder that I still have the opportunity to realize my dreams. My mom lost her chance. I don't want to let that happen to me. I want to overcome self-sabotage and overcome my obstacles of ambition. I want to provide a great example to my kids of what it means to find your calling and be true to yourself.

I have some work to do, but I am ready to do it.

No Gender Biases Here

2010-01-01T07:50:00.000-05:00

I have spent the last few days trying to figure out the myriad electronic appliances we received over the holidays. Between Christmas and Mark's birthday (December 26) I have been knee-deep in USB cables, Wii remotes, Powermats, Bamboo tablets and new-fangled iPods. Trying to figure out how all of this technology works can be frustrating, to say the least, but I have managed to get everything set up, connected and working properly. Whew.

When it comes to installing, configuring, monitoring or updating anything electronic, wired or related in any way to a computer I'm your (wo) man. Whatever is not intuitive enough to figure out on my own I will find in the instruction manuals. I am not the most technical person you know by far, but I really enjoy learning about new technologies and the latest gizmos on the market. On the other hand, Mark calls me to his computer to help send email attachments, so chances of him doing something like backing up his own computer are pretty slim. It's just easier if I do it myself. I finally signed us both up for the Mozy online backup system because we have had too many hardware malfunctions and too many lost files. Now our computers back up everyday and I don't have to be anywhere near the darn thing.

Mark doesn't know, or care, about wireless routers or registry errors so I am summoned whenever a cable comes unplugged or an ominous message appears. It's better that way since we have had many virus infestations from seemingly harmless clicks. I took a chance and bought Mark an iPod for his birthday but he has no idea what to do with it. Because he is an iPod newbie I load his iTunes songs, subscribe to his Podcasts and sync the iPod (but syncing is a piece of cake with the new Powermat). I am blown away by the Nano 5th generation capabilities. I was excitedly telling Mark about all of the cool things he can do like listen to FM radio, shoot video and record voice memos. He wasn't as impressed as me, but give it time. I wasn't too sure about my iPod when I got it 2 years ago and I can't imagine now ever living without it. I sadly realized, however, that my 3rd generation Nano is completely outdated. I know what I will be asking for next year.

For all of the tasks Mark doesn't like to do there just as many he can do better than me. He can sew buttons, fix holes in sweaters and apply knee patches to the boys' jeans. If Nicholas or Christopher needs anything sewn they ask dad. Christopher had a stuffed animal whose seam was coming apart on its tummy. Mark sewed it up perfectly, gave it back to Christopher, and told him his kitty got some "stitches." Christopher was thrilled. Mark can also iron a shirt better than I can with his eyes closed and one hand tied behind his back. And, when it comes to making Christmas cookies to distribute to teachers and neighbors you will find Mark and the boys merrily mixing gingerbread men and formulating frosting from scratch. Every year they try to perfect a new cookie concoction. They take over the kitchen and I am no where to be found.

It's ironic how society tends to assign gender biases to particular tasks. Usually, we assume the man takes care of electronics and the woman bakes the cookies. But we don't live by any gender biases in this house and I believe the boys will benefit greatly because of it. They are learning at a very early age that dads can sew and moms can read technical manuals. They are also learning about give and take. It's not that Mark isn't capable of installing software or that I'm not capable of baking. Mark just doesn't like technology and I can do without assembling and wrapping dozens of cookies . We appreciate our strengths and weaknesses are and we accommodate them.

Nicholas and Christopher are also learning that everyone chips in to help around the house. Mark does laundry when I need some help and I shovel snow when he's too busy at work. He makes breakfast on the weekends and I take the trash out when he isn't able. I have been told on numerous occasions how lucky I am to have a husband who does as much as he does around the house. I know I'm lucky. I realize my good fortune every single day.

But there are some tasks we just don't mess around with. I have never, ever mowed a blade of grass for fear that I run the diagonal lines the wrong way. That is Mark's domain. The men in our neighborhood are pretty serious about their lawns. And, I have the family schedule under control. If an activity is not listed on the calendar, it doesn't exist. Please don't mess around with my calendar.

After all, if you want some things done right you are better off doing it yourself.

An Funny Thing Happened On The Way To My Computer...

2009-12-19T07:22:00.000-05:00

I picked up a copy of Jack Canfield's book The Success Principles several months ago. I knew I needed a little kick-in-the-pants inspiration that only he seems to be able to provide. Lots of other authors/life coaches and motivational speakers do what Jack does, but for some reason I seem to relate to his philosophies better than others. He's pretty no-nonsense and I like that kind of approach.

So, I bought the book with the best of intentions. The only problem is, the book sat on my counter for months. I was sidelined by something else each time I thought about reading it. I was looking for the perfect time with the perfect setting to sit down, engulf myself in positive vibes and ponder the infinite ways of success. Before I began, I wanted to eliminate all other outside factors competing for my attention, figuring I needed some quality reading time to contemplate his message. Considering I have a husband, two rambunctious boys, a dog in desperate need of attention, a household to run and various volunteer activities to fulfill, my alone time is at an all-time low. I get up two hours before anyone else does every morning just so I can exercise and do my crossword puzzles in peace.

Even though I couldn't find the time to read Jack's book, I still managed to peruse lots of magazines and school papers and newsletters. I read newspapers and blogs. I created photo books on my computer, wrote a few essays here and there, updated my son's teacher's website, read some articles and other books on writing techniques and kept up with my email. I kept looking at Jack's book on my counter and kept feeling a twinge of regret. Was I procrastinating on purpose or did I really not have the time to read this particular book? Days passed. Months passed. The book sat idle.

My time had also been consumed with trying to fix some computer problems I was having. I wasn't able to find the source of the issues by myself, so I took the computer into the repair shop. A simple operating system restore seemed to repair what was most likely a computer virus infestation. After I got my computer back and spent several hours reinstalling software and getting it back to normal, my screen went blank and an ominous message appeared. "Hard disk failure is imminent! Please back up your hard drive and have it replaced."

I was confused by the message because after running initial diagnostics my hard drive was given a thumbs-up for good condition. Why was my hard drive failing now? Needless to say, my computer went back into the shop. And the hard-drive did indeed need to be replaced. I was told it might take up to a week to repair by the time the hard drive was ordered, delivered and installed. I felt a little lost as I contemplated seven more days without my computer. It was like imagining another week without using my right arm.

The next morning as I was pouring my first cup of coffee, I saw Jack's book out of the corner of my eye. Well, I guess now is as good a time as any to start reading this book, I thought. My computer was out of commission as was any excuse to delay reading what I intended to read months ago.

After reading the first few pages of the book I realized that the timing of my computer's hard drive failure and me starting to read the book was not a matter of coincidence, at all. I think the computer malfunction was a very clear, in-my-face, red-light-flashing sign that if I wasn't going to find the time to sit down and prioritize my to-do lists and start setting some goals, someone was going to find the time for me. I'm pretty good at making lists and following through with my to-do items when they concern everyone else, but I can become a procrastinator extraordinaire when it comes to focusing on me. Couple this awareness with the fact that a brand new year ripe with new beginnings is right around the corner and I can plainly see now that everything happens for a reason.

I knew when I bought the book that it would be the kick-in-the-pants that I needed. I was obviously not ready up until now to feel the brunt of Jack's steel-toed boot on my backside. He is very clear in the philosophy that one is 100% responsible for the life he or she leads. Period. I agree with him wholeheartedly and I do take full responsibility for my actions and my decisions. That is not at issue. The tricky part is figuring out what I want to do with my life (deciding what success means to me), setting goals to achieve that end result and following through. I won't bore you with the minutiae of my personal goal-setting, but I will tell you that I am taking the time now to focus on my future.

Message received. Loud and clear!

Baby, It's Cold Outside

2009-12-05T16:00:00.010-05:00

The Farmer's Almanac is predicting a "numbing winter with below-average temperatures" for us here in Michigan this year. Hmmmnnn....sounds suspiciously like most of our winters here in Michigan. People are all abuzz about how cold it's going to get this year and how miserable it's going to be. As if winter is ever really that much different from year to year. It's cold. It snows. We freeze.

I'm not a huge fan of the cold, but I have lived here all of my life so I at least know what to expect. I wear long johns under my pants when necessary and sometimes wear an extra sweatshirt jacket underneath my winter coat for added warmth. I have different hats and gloves for different events like a simple after-dinner stroll or a snow-in-your-face swoosh down the sledding hill. One must be prepared for all different levels of cold in the Midwest.

I'm not sure, however, that I can take another winter of people complaining and moaning about the cold. It is cold. No need to debate the issue. Like I said, not a big fan. But, in order to get myself through at least seven months of it, I have to train my brain to like at least something about the winter.

So, without further ado, here is my Top Ten list of reasons why I will gladly welcome the wintry weather his year:

My Morning Walk. Inhaling my first gulp of frigid-cold air on my way out the door jars me to attention like nobody's business. If I'm not fully awake by the time I open my garage door, I am raring to go after I swallow a few icy shards of air. I feel so alive!
Watching My Kids Watching Their Cold Breath. Another fine example of paying attention to the little things in life. Do you ever stop to look at your cold, winter breath puffing through the air like a smoke stack anymore ? It is pretty amazing.
Snow Angels. It's so fun to see my little angels layered so tight they can barely bend a knee trying to make their own little angels in the snow. Pure Kodak moment.
Snow Covered Branches That Shine Like Diamonds. Some days I can walk outside and see the beautiful snow glistening on the branches in the trees and an immediate calm envelopes me. Nothing seems so pure and tranquil as newly fallen snow.
Building Snowmen. There will come a time when building snowmen will not be on my kids' list of favorite things to do. For now, I will bundle up, happily seek twigs for arms and rocks for eyes and hold these moments close to my heart.
Hot Chocolate After Building Snowmen. Family traditions are what keeps us close. Hot chocolate after a cold day outdoors is a must!
Christmas. We have had snowy, white Michigan Christmases and we have had warm, sunny Florida Christmases. Christmas just isn't Christmas at the beach. Bring on the winter wonderland!
Sledding and/or Ice Skating. Need I say more?
Movies in the Middle of the Afternoon. You just can't justify snuggling up under the covers in the middle of the day and popping The Aristocats into the VCR during any other season. Winter is the only time we get to rationalize being as lazy as hibernating bears.
Indoor Water Parks. When the arctic conditions have reached gloomy proportions one heads to an indoor water park. It's like you're in the tropics but with a really cool water slide.

What are your favorites things about winter?

40 is Freakin' Fabulous

2009-11-27T08:37:00.002-05:00

I am 40-years-old today and I feel fantastic. I would never have imagined in my early twenties that 40 would be so great. To all of those youngsters who think that 40 is "old" I have only one thing to say, "it's freakin' fabulous!"

Why is it fabulous? Because I look and feel better than ever. In my twenties I lived on fast food, cigarettes, Miller Lite, stress and severe anxiety. What's fun about that? I worried constantly about my job, my life, my savings account, my health, my future, what other people thought of me. My life was one big worry fest. I couldn't enjoy the moment because I was always planning ways to make the moment better.

I don't worry about those things anymore. I have the best job in the world as a mother. My husband and I save for our future because we don't live above our means. Some years are leaner than others, but we still manage to live comfortably. However, the most important lesson I learned along the way is that it really doesn't matter what other people think of me. I can't make everyone happy so I might as well just focus on making myself and my family happy. As Dr. Seuss so aptly reminds us, "Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind."

I don't stress now about things I can't control. Okay...that might a bit of a stretch. I stress less about things I can't control. But, I have a great teacher in my husband. He doesn't get angry very often and I admire his ability to let things roll so easily off his back. He concerns himself with things he has some influence over not the things he doesn't. I watch and learn from him. I am working on it.

I put my health first instead of last. I quit smoking, have been exercising regularly for the past 10 years and made friends with fruits and vegetables. I don't diet but eat in moderation. I didn't give up my beer, although I switched to a higher quality brew. Nothing will come between me and my Sam Adams! I keep it simple. The better ingredients I put into my body, the better my body works. It's not rocket science.

I don't put as much emphasis now on trying to prove myself. I have already proven that I can be successful at work (promotions, pay raises, accolades). I have already proven that I can be successful at home (great family, well-rounded kids). And, I have already proven that the quantity of friendships don't matter nearly as much as the quality (goodbye to toxic people who bring me down or cause me grief...hello friends who add something positive to my life).

Wanna know one more reason why 40 is freakin' fabulous? Because I love my life. I don't think anyone on the planet has a better husband than I do. I couldn't be my best self without his constant love and support. My kids are wonderful little human beings who have brought more joy and happiness to my life than I thought possible. I wake up most days in awe of my good fortune.

As the saying goes, "you are only as old as you feel." In that case, I should be about 18. But, seriously, I wouldn't take a million dollars to go back and do my twenties all over again. What a drag. I have paid my dues and learned some hard life lessons along the way. But at least I learned. I took every one of my mistakes and every sad story and turned it around to an "aha" moment. I constantly ask myself, "what can I learn from this?" I may not always find an answer but I am always aware of the question.

I'm not unhappy about getting older. I am embracing the fact that I am much smarter than my younger self. I love that with age comes wisdom. It's true. Every birthday brings me that much closer to the me I want to be. Every year I stop making excuses about why or how I do what I do. Every year I realize that fewer justifications are necessary.

Whoever said "40 is the new 30" wasn't living in her moment. Forty isn't the "new" anything.

It's just plain fabulous exactly as it is.

The Value of a Dollar

2009-11-17T12:21:00.015-05:00

We just got back from an amazing trip to Disney World. I still can't believe how much we accomplished in one week. We managed to tour all four theme parks, spend approximately three days by the pool and even attend the Mickey's Very Merry Christmas Party in seven extremely busy but downright thrilling days. We actually made it home in one piece, but I'm not sure we will ever be the same again.

Never been to Disney? It's stimulation overload to the nth degree. The sheer magnitude of sensory experiences is overwhelming for an adult let alone a 4 and 6-year-old. The music, the lights, the rides, the characters, the food, the...everything. We were pumped up on endorphins from morning until night because we were having so much fun. I don't know of another place on the planet that provides as many opportunities for entertainment for every person.

Nicholas loved Test Track, the automotive-testing ride that simulates the safety and quality tests that General Motors performs on every prototype it manufactures. Christopher enjoyed Soarin', the multi-passenger glider that lifts you 40 feet into the air as you swoop up and soar towards the clouds and spectacular California panoramas. Mark was in full competition mode on Buzz Lightyear's Space Ranger Spin video-game inspired ride as he blasted away Evil Emperor Zurg's robot minions with laser cannons. And, I couldn't get enough of Expedition Everest, the high-altitude, high-speed, train ride that combines coaster-like thrills with the excitement of a close encounter with the Abominable Snowman.

As your brain is processing all of the fun and excitement, it's hard not to succumb to every single monetary temptation that is dangled in front of your nose every 2.5 seconds. Be it a $4.00 box of popcorn served in a cool, collectible Disney box, a $3.00 chocolate-covered Mickey Mouse shaped ice cream bar or the ridiculously high-priced, character-inspired t-shirts, pens, mouse pads, toys, etc. that are offered along the way, your dollars are subliminally called forth at every opportunity. Whenever you exit a ride or a show you are plopped smack-dab into the middle of a merchandise mecca designed to insist that you part with your hard-earned dollars. Your children are begging, the merchandise is so darn cute and your normal hard-as-nails resolve has dwindled to microscopic size. How can you not buy that cute, little (made-in-china) Mickey Mouse shaped pancake mold for $10.95?

Nicholas and Christopher each received $10 from their grandparents to spend as they wished at Disney World. Because Nicholas was presented with so many mind-boggling options he was basically tortured with indecision. Not to mention the fact that $10 ain't gonna get you much in the most magical place on Earth. Every item available for sale has been marked up by at least 300%. I'm not joking. The fact that some people actually buy some of the merchandise for the indicated price is preposterous. Mark and I had to make a united front, and quick, to make sure we didn't buckle under the cute-kids-acting-all-sweet-and-nice syndrome and buy things we really don't need or want. We even ate breakfast in our condo each morning and packed a lunch, with snacks, every day. We strategized ways to spend as little as possible inside the parks since we already knew the temptation (and price) was way too high.

So, Nicholas and Christopher learned a very hard, but valuable, lesson on their trip to Disney World. They learned they couldn't purchase the $15.95 item because they only had $10 to spend. They learned that mom and dad were not going to give in to each, "but I really, really, really want this" outburst. They had to learn that most items were outrageously overpriced and not worth even one-quarter of its suggested cost. They had to learn to buy something that they would enjoy and get some use out of and not just buy something to buy something. It's such a hard lesson and I felt small twinges of regret as I said "no" time and time again, but I know how important it is to learn the value of a dollar. They are not too young for this lesson. In fact, it's a great time to start teaching them that they will not always get everything they want.

Nicholas and Christopher finally decided on an autograph book (with coordinating pen) that each of the characters could sign. What a great idea! The boys could have wonderful memories for years to come with their autograph books instead of throwing out a toy that ran its course too soon because it was poorly made. Lesson learned.

The boys also learned another valuable lesson on this trip. Memories are created from spending quality time together as a family not spending money on material possessions. No Indiana Jones sword or Buzz Lightyear stun gun can replace the memories of us skipping hand-in-hand through the parks, floating down the lazy river together in the pool or enjoying S'mores by the campfire on the beach.

Those memories are priceless.

I Have Goals and Aspirations Too

2009-11-03T07:50:00.001-05:00

Don't tell my children, but I daydream sometimes about returning to work. I reminisce about the days when I was paid handsomely for 2-hour lunches, solo bathroom breaks and leisure time behind my computer. Oh sure, I thought I was busy at work. I would have been seriously offended if you ever suggested otherwise. But, now I know better. I became a mother. And, busy doesn't even begin to describe my day which starts at 5:15 am and ends around, well...does it ever really end?

So, sometimes I daydream about work. I think a little extra money in my pocket would be great. I think that using my brain for something other than umpteen Candy Land or hide-and-go-seek games seems thrilling. I even think that I would be a better employee now that I have multi-tasked my way into power-mom status. Actually, just a simple distraction from the more mundane chores of my day would be a welcome relief.

But, after taking all of that into consideration I remind myself that my greatest accomplishment thus far is being a mother. No other "job" has ever brought me so much satisfaction or made me as proud. When I worked I was always striving for my boss's and co-worker's approval. I was always yearning for accolades about how well I did my job. Now, when I hear my son say, "you are the best mom in the whole world" or when he hugs me so tight I think I might burst I know that I am doing a good job. Nobody has to give me a performance review. No one has to send me a congratulatory email. My kids remind me daily with their "I love yous" and their bright, confident smiles.

So, yes, I have goals and aspirations beyond motherhood. I would love to be a published writer someday. I would love to earn a paycheck. But, I also want to continue to be the parent at the bus stop every morning and the one who greets my kids after school. I want to be the PTA volunteer who attends all the school fairs and fund-raising drives. I want to participate in classroom activities so my kids know that I value their time and effort. I overheard Nicholas telling his friends that I was volunteering for the recent fall fair at his school and he sounded so proud. My rewards don't come in the form of a paycheck, they come in waves of adoration and love.

So, daydreaming about work will stay at the daydreaming stage for now because I have more important things to take care of. Like accompanying my son on his field trip or helping his teacher with her classroom website. Don't assume that because I am a stay-at-home mom that I have nothing to do all day. I won't bore you with my to-do list because it's too damn long. Just know that I am, and have been, preparing my kids to be confident, generous, kind, polite, educated human beings. I take my job seriously.

And it's the best job in the world.

Fast Food Fanatics and Advertising Hype

2009-10-22T09:25:00.000-04:00

Would you wait in line at a fast-food restaurant for two hours just to order a cherry-limeade drink?

Me neither. But apparently, lots and lots of people in the metro Detroit area are willing to wait two hours or longer for a chance to eat and/or drink at the brand new Sonic -fast-food drive-ins that are infiltrating our area. Maybe that has something to do with the fact that we are almost always cited as being one of the nation's fattest cities.

An article in the Detroit Free Press Sunday, October 18, edition reported that massive traffic backups are common around Sonic openings because customers are waiting for two hours or more in some cities just to get a bite of artery-clogging cheeseburgers, trans-fat loaded tater tots, shakes and limeades. The customer who waited for two hours for her limeade drink was quoted as saying, "They have good, cheap food and the commercials are cool." Good food is definitely be questionable, but I can't argue cheap.

Wow, another example of marketing and advertising madness at its best. Commercials played for what seemed like years before the actual drive-in joint was built anywhere in the near vicinity. I remember saying to my husband, "why do these commercials keep playing here? We don't have any of these Sonic drive-ins." I guess the advertisers knew what they were doing by gently guiding our subconscious and sending subliminal messages encouraging us to want something we couldn't have. Until now.

Now that Sonic has arrived, people are ga-ga over the menu and, apparently, over the commercials. I can't say that I have ever frequented an establishment because I thought the commercials were cool, but I understand that is the advertiser's goal. And, the 18-year old who waited in line for two hours for her drink is an advertiser's dream because she fits the valuable 18-35-year-old demographic. Advertising works.

I remember seeing the first Sonic in our area and thinking maybe the kids would get a kick out of checking out the drive-in, ordering from and eating in our car. I thought it might be a fun lunch outing one day. But, after reading the article in the paper, I think I will just pass up the opportunity altogether. We are not big fast-food eaters anyway and I'd like to buck the system that assumes I am easily swayed by all of the hype. I'm not.

Cities that have opened a Sonic in metro Detroit have had "traffic backups for days" and must hire extra people to handle traffic control. The entire area is afflicted with traffic snarls for at least a week if not more. I am a little disturbed that city planners are spending so much time on traffic management plans for a fast-food grand opening.

Time is precious to me. I don't plan on wasting my valuable minutes or hours waiting in line for a cheeseburger or any kind of drink.

If You Don't Correct Your Child, I Might

2009-10-07T14:00:00.002-04:00

I'm not really sure what happened to the notion of "it takes a village" to raise a child because, as I see it, parents aren't taking responsibility for parenting their own children let alone looking out for anyone else's. I hear older adults tell fond stories about growing up respecting authority figures such as their own or other parents, teachers, neighbors, etc. because fear was a common denominator. Bad behavior just wasn't tolerated.

Nowadays it's all I can do to get a kid to even look me in the eye when he's speaking to me. I have to bite my lip more than I care to admit when I observe kids' behavior. I have to sit on my hands sometimes to keep from clutching some unfamiliar boy's wrist in a restaurant and saying, "you are not an animal in a barn. Chew your food with your mouth closed, sit up and start acting like a human being." I have to close my eyes when I see a cunning little girl cutting in line like she is a princess entitled to royal treatment. What I really want to say to the little delinquent is, "taking shortcuts in life will only hurt your chances of ever succeeding at anything worthwhile." Not that she will have any idea what I'm talking about, but I am convinced it would make me feel better. Many times I keep my mouth shut. But, sometimes I don't.

Christopher and I recently went to an end-of-summer fair on "Mom and Tot" day during which all kids under five can ride unlimited rides for $5. The bargain of the century! Christopher was enamored with the toddler train and rode it several times. He decided after awhile that he wanted to act like the conductor and ride in the front car. I explained to him that he would have to wait for a full round and let all the kids get on the train before him so he would be first in line for the next train and get his first choice of seats. He agreed and waited patiently. As the train came to a stop, Christopher waited, again very patiently, for the attendant to open the gate and he then made his way to the front car. Only, the boy sitting in the front car didn't move.

"Didn't you just ride the train?" I asked. No answer. No eye contact.

"Excuse me" I persisted, "didn't you just ride this train?" Again, no eye contact. He wasn't budging.

I looked around for his parents but couldn't locate anyone to whom he might belong. I asked the boy again to move and finally a woman approached from the other side of the fence.

"Does he belong to you?" I asked.

She nodded and I proceeded to tell her that her boy just rode the train but hasn't gotten off yet. It was time for him to depart so other kids, who have been waiting patiently, could ride the train. She stared at me blankly and shrugged her shoulders. The boy didn't move.

Infuriated, I picked Christopher up and heaved him over the seat right next to the line cheater. Christopher didn't seem to mind that the seat was cramped, he was just thrilled to be in the first car. I would have preferred he bask in his conductor's glory alone, but the line cheater obviously had no intention of moving. What more could I do short of yanking the boy up by his collar, pulling him off the train kicking and screaming and risking assault charges? His parents obviously didn't care that he was breaking the rules.

My husband says I shouldn't bother saying anything at all, but I cannot tolerate rule-breakers. I also cannot tolerate the inattentive mother who won't discipline her kid.

We attended a pool play date this summer during which an older boy was tormenting the younger kids by knocking them over the head with a flotation noodle. He hit the kids several times. The mother was sitting right there and didn't make a peep. Not a peep! I asked the boy to stop hitting with the noodle but I received no reply and no eye contact (surprise). The boy's mother remained silent and I assumed that on her planet, hitting with flotation noodles must be a sign of camaraderie. On my planet, it's just plain rude. The final straw came when the tormentor pushed Christopher under the water. I pulled the boy over to the side of the pool and tried to calm my sobbing, anxious-under-the-water, 4-year-old.

"Keep your hands to yourself," I screeched at the boy. And to his mother I shouted, "I think it's about time he got out of the water. He is obviously not playing well with others."

She didn't heed my advice as is her right as a parent. But, she did move him to another part of the pool. They left shortly after that and the other mothers who were part of our play date shared their concerns and thanked me for saying something. But, I questioned their silence. Why didn't anyone else say anything? If they were so thankful why didn't anyone back me up?

I still believe it takes a village. But the villagers need to speak up. I still need help from my friends and neighbors and school personnel to make sure my kids are using their manners, respecting authority and staying out of trouble. If my kid is disrespectful, I give you permission to correct him because I will correct yours.

Parents ,we are all in this together.

Unhealthy Lunches and Snacks - Stop the Madness!

2009-09-23T15:15:00.012-04:00

I often wonder how seemingly educated, smart and sophisticated grocery shoppers (that includes you, too, Dads) get sucked up in the commercial marketing of unhealthy foods. Really? Do grocery shoppers not already know to steer clear of virtually everything in the middle aisles of the market? Have you been living under a rock?

I can't stand the commercials or advertisements for kids' food. Hate 'em. Marketers know that parents are pressed for time. They know we have busy schedules and lots of lunches to pack. So, they appeal to our need for speed. According to the perpetrators of the marketing madness, the faster we can open a box and plop out a meal the better. The problem is, these meals are not good for us and these products are making us sick.

Magazines include Wal-Mart ads which appeal to our sense of "saving money." The ad says that for less than $1 or two you can feed your family breakfast. You can shove a plain, white bagel down your kid's throat along with some OJ and voila! A healthy and low-cost breakfast! Shame on you Wal-Mart. Parents, can't you offer a healthier alternative and toast a slice of whole-grain bread, add a dollop of natural (no sugar added) peanut butter and include a glass of milk for breakfast? Does it really take that much more time or cost that much more money? I don't think so.

Day after day I see kids with unhealthy lunches. It makes me lose my appetite. The problem is, it's not the kid's fault his lunch is unhealthy. His parents are basically teaching his palette to rely on added sugars and modified foods to satisfy him. He doesn't know any better yet he will pay for this unhealthy practice for the rest of his life when he won't really want to eat anything that isn't sweetened. We owe it to our kids to take a more responsible approach to eating.

Here are some examples:

Lunchables. Really? You need to buy processed, packaged food with a long list of artificial flavors, partially hydrogenated oils, high fructose corn syrup and more for your kid's lunchbox? These products have no business being marketed as lunches for kids. Why not choose lunchmeat with no preservatives or artificial ingredients (Dietz & Watson, Boorshead, etc), whole grain crackers , and a piece of fruit instead? It's not that hard.

PB&J Uncrustables. Parents, you need to buy a PB&J sandwich? One with upwards of 25 different ingredients, some of which you can't even pronounce? You can't make a PB&J sandwich on whole-grain bread with natural (no sugar added) peanut butter and natural fruit preserves? C'mon. Isn't your children's health more important to you?

Applesauce. On the surface, applesauce looks like a good choice. But when you add a flavor like Cinnamon/Strawberry/Raspberry, etc. you add unnecessary ingredients like high-fructose corn syrup. Why? Applesauce is naturally sweet. Without added sugar. If you want a flavor added to natural applesauce why not sprinkle your own cinnamon or puree your own strawberries. It's not that hard, really.

Fruit Juice. The epitome of wasted calories. Sure, some fruit juices are 100% juice and, boy, those marketers love to appeal to your sense of "wholesome" and "nutrient-packed." If it's 100% juice that is high in Vitamin C it has to be good, right? But why not get more bang-for-your-buck and offer up a whole apple instead? Your kids get the benefit of a serving or more of fruit, with added fiber from the apple peel. Don't give your kids juice, give them an actual piece of fruit instead. And, make sure they are drinking water (which they probably need more of anyway) or milk for lunch.

Granola Bars. Snacks like Kudos which advertise "excellent source of calcium" and "made with whole grains" try to suck you into the "granola is healthy" mentality. Don't be fooled. With five different listings for sugar and hydrogenated oils to boot, these are not healthy snacks, they are candy bars. Do parents really think that granola bars with M&M's, Chocolate chips or Snickers is a "healthy" choice? Really? If you want to give your kid a candy bar, just admit it and quit trying to pass a Kudos granola bar off as a healthy snack.

Go-Gurt. Sounds like a great idea...yogurt on the go! Yogurt is a nutritious snack, right? Not this yogurt. It has more sugar per ounce than a can of Coca-Cola. The problem is there isn't one but two sugar sources listed in the first five ingredients. Both Sugar and
High-Fructose Corn Syrup. Is this necessary? Nope. Get your kids off Go-Gurt for good! Try Stoneyfield Farms brand instead. Yes, sugar is listed as the second ingredient, but it is a natural source of sugar that isn't processed. The sugar ratio per ounce is much less than Go-gurt and not artificial colors or flavors are included.

Please stop making poor food choices. Please read food labels. Stay away from high-fructose corn syrup, added sugar and partially hydrogenated oils. Use real, whole foods not processed, artificial, fake foods.

Some great places to search for easy recipes for lunches and/or snacks are:

www.ilunchbox.com
www.nourishmd.com
www.101cookbooks.com
www.wholefoods.com
www.laptoplunches.com.

Check them out, print off a recipe or two and see how easy (and satisfying) it can be to make a good, healthy lunch or snack.

It's really, truly, is not rocket science.

Confessions of a Control-Freak Mom

2009-09-08T13:45:00.001-04:00

Nicholas started 1st grade today (cue sobbing). He will now officially be under the care and tutelage of essential strangers for the majority of the week for the majority of the year. I get the privilege to see him on nights and weekends and during the occasional school break. I have tried really, really hard to prepare myself for this day, the day that I have to wave goodbye and step completely out of his sight. Not just be in the other room, within arm's reach, as he plays with his race cars. Not just be within eyesight as he tackles the monkey bars on the playground. More or less be absent from his life for eight hours a day, five days a week. To some mothers, the start of school is deserved reprieve. To a control-freak mom, it's an anxiety attack on steroids.

I have had my finger on the pulse of every single event or occurrence in Nicholas's life over the past six years. As a stay-at-home mom, we have enjoyed the closeness that comes with spending all of our waking hours together. I have relished in watching the baby grow into the toddler who grew into the preschooler who was a Kindergartner just last year. I knew the day would come when he would grow up a little bit more and become a little bit more independent. When he would venture off to school full-time with a backpack full of cool pencils, colorful erasers and a trendy lunchbox. I knew it in the back of my mind. But that day was light years away as I changed diapers, held the hands of an unbalanced walker, listened with amusement to the awkwardness of new speech and watched chubby legs transform into strong, muscular limbs. My mind cannot quiet comprehend that the day I anticipated for years has actually arrived.

I know that Nicholas is ready for his big debut as a 1st grader. Just because I'm having issues with his initiation into the world of raucous bus riding, potential bullies and influential older kids doesn't diminish the fact that Nicholas has developed a decent moral foundation. His dad and I have spent countless hours instilling in him the principles of honesty, respect, and compassion. But, up until now, I have been right by his side to encourage him to demonstrate those principles and I have reprimanded him when he has not. Today, he has to accomplish those tasks all by himself.

I wish more than anything that I could stand by him on the playground and lob away every hurtful remark. I wish I could hold a shield over his heart so that anyone who tries to deflate his good nature would be unsuccessful. I wish I could just go back to when Nicholas was a baby and do these past six years all over again. But, I know that's not possible or realistic. As much as I struggle to accept the inevitable, I am aware that I can't be there to wipe every tear or calm every nervous tension. I wish like hell there was a way that I could.

Because he will spend the next 11 years in school surrounded by different cultures, personalities and environments, I pray that Nicholas makes good decisions. That he chooses his friends wisely. That he teaches people how to treat him by not tolerating cruel remarks and callous behavior. That he stands firm in his beliefs and doesn't succumb to unscrupulous influence. It is ironic, however, that I am expecting a six-year-old to accomplish what I have struggled to pull off for the past 39 years. I just hope that Nicholas learns how to stand up for himself a lot sooner than I did.

Nicholas asked me at breakfast today, "what should I do if some boys are mean to me on the bus?" I asked him what he thought he should do and before he could answer, Christopher chimed in with a simple, "just ignore them." Nicholas said he would certainly try this strategy but I also reassured him that it would be OK to ask for help from the bus driver. I resisted the urge to tell him, "just give me the names of the mean boys and I will take care of the rest."

When Nicholas goes to bed at night and asks if we can have a "conversation," he usually has some questions he needs answers to or situations he needs help sorting out. Sometimes he just wants to delay his bedtime, but I never miss an opportunity for a "conversation." I know now that these little talks will become even more precious now as I learn about his teacher and friends and school day from afar.

Nicholas got on the bus today. He turned around and waved goodbye to me today. He ventured off into uncharted, exciting, scary territory today. My control-freak instincts kicked in as I reached for my car keys, but I also resisted the urge to drive behind the bus and follow Nicholas to school. I just have to take a leap of faith and hope that those in whose care I have entrusted him do their best to support and protect my son.

It's tough to let go. I have a sinking feeling that it never gets any easier, either.

A Lesson in Boasting (and Perseverance)

2009-08-20T10:00:00.002-04:00

Nicholas loves trying to convince his little brother that he is more knowledgeable in just about every topic of conversation. It doesn't matter what question Christopher asks, what statement he makes or what tidbit of information comes out of his mouth, Nicholas is right there to correct him. Poor Christopher doesn't know what to do or say half of the time because his big brother unceasingly sets out to prove him wrong.

We were driving to Greenfield Village the other day when Christopher asked me how long it would take to get there. "Oh, about 45 minutes or so" was my answer. Christopher wondered if we should play our "count to 100" game where the boys count to 100 to see how much time has passed. Usually we play the game in restaurants when the boys are getting antsy waiting for their food. I tell them to count to 100 and by the time they are finished their food will come out. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't, but it keeps the boys occupied for awhile and helps them practice their counting skills.

During our drive, Christopher commented that if we counted to 200 we would arrive at Greenfield Village. "I think it might take counting a little bit higher than that," I claimed. So, Christopher guessed that maybe it might take counting to 600 before we got to our destination. "Hmmmmn...yes, counting to 600 might just get us to Greenfield Village." Christopher decided that it was too hard to count to 600 and I agreed. It would take a lot of time and counting to get to 600. Nicholas, on the other hand, chided his brother for thinking that counting to 600 was hard. "It's easy to count to 600, Christopher. Geez, what a simple thing to do!"

In Christopher's defense I reminded Nicholas that counting to 600 is actually a hard, not to mention time-consuming, thing to do. "No it's not" he argued. "I'll show you." With that, Nicholas started to count. When he got to 106 and he said, "See, that was easy. Nothing to it. I told you I could do it!" I said, "Nicholas, you just counted to one-hundred and six, not six hundred. In order to count to 600 you would have to count to 100 six times." I watched the smugness on his face turn to confusion as he contemplated that audacious goal. "I think you owe your brother an apology for boasting that you could do something so easily that Christopher correctly decided was tough thing to do."

Nicholas still maintained that counting to 600 was easy. He was not to be deterred. I encouraged him to try knowing full well that he would probably peter out right around the half-way mark. He counted up to 250 before he decided that his task was more enormous than he thought. He tried to blame me for losing his concentration. He started whining a bit and getting agitated. I told him he could quit counting at any time if he just apologized to his brother for his unnecessary boasting. He continued to count.

When he got to 300 I told him he was half-way there. He was getting tears in his eyes at this point and breathing a lot heavier. I had to help him a bit here and there, but he mostly did the counting himself. He tried to skip some numbers but I subtly reminded him of his error to make sure that he was counting every single number. I wouldn't allow any shortcuts for Mr. bossy britches. Again, I reminded him that he could stop counting at any time if he just apologized. He was still crying and trying hard not to show his frustration, but he kept counting.

We pulled into the Greenfield Village parking lot at number 500. Nicholas continued to count and heaved and sighed his way to 600. He finally accomplished his goal. He breathed a deep, profound sigh of relief as he counted his final number. All in all, with a few stops and starts and some do-overs, it took him about 35 minutes to count to 600. I reminded him that I wasn't proud of his boasting and I hope he learned his lesson, but boy did I admire his tenacity. I told him how proud I was of him for sticking with it. His resolve never ceases to amaze me.

In no way, shape or form was Nicholas about to admit defeat. He realized pretty early on that counting to 600 was not easy and I know he wished at some points that he never uttered those boastful words, but in the end he persevered. He reached his goal. He never gave up. People have watched him and commented to me before on his will and sheer determination including his Kindergarten teacher who wrote me a note at the end of the year saying that she could tell, "he is going to do great things in his life." I couldn't agree more. Nicholas just has to realize that actually doing great things is much more satisfactory than boasting about doing great things.

I have been eagerly awaiting the day that Christopher can offer a comment or observation that doesn't come with a big-brother retort. After Nicholas's counting experience, that day just might be closer than I think.

Why Isn't Common Sense More Common?

2009-08-11T06:18:00.004-04:00

If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. If it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, it's a duck. What you see is what you thought before you looked. Stupid is forever, ignorance can be fixed.

Over and over we hear these common phrases that point out, quite simply, common sense will guide you if you are open to seeing things for what they are. Not your perception based on what you think the outcome should be or how it might benefit you better or what your friend said is true. Just recognizing simple facts.

Common sense is defined in Merriam-Websters dictionary as "sound and prudent judgment based on a simple perception of the situation or facts." The operative word being simple. We sometimes take common sense for granted because we really want to believe something other than the facts presented. Employing the KISS principle, "keep it simple, stupid," universally applies to most situations. Taking out all of the extra crap clogging your brain (like other people's opinions) helps. But, if common sense is so simple, why isn't it more common?

Sometimes we just want to believe something other than the facts staring us in the face. We really want to believe we can make unlimited income selling magical acai berry juice. If Joe is doing it, why can't I? We really want to believe that our friend has our best interest at heart and make excuses for each disrespectful or hurtful remark lobbed our way. We really, really want to believe that if we spend a lot of money on lottery tickets sooner or later we have to win. It sounds so easy. But the facts tell a different story. Joe probably got in on the bottom of a pyramid scheme and will make a ton of money off of you selling acai berry juice for him. Not all of our friends are good ones. Some friendships need to be reassessed from time to time to make sure only the genuine get to stick around. And, let's face it, if it were so easy to win the lottery we would all be millionaires.

I'm not sure if common sense is inherent or learned, or a combination of both, but I have to believe that those who use common sense generally trust their own intuition and instinct. Using your own instinct, coupled with a simple perception of the situation or facts, is a win-win situation. Trusting your own instincts, however, can be a hard lesson to learn.

Many times Nicholas has come home and asked me if something is true. Usually the "something" is a far-fetched, ridiculous story concocted by one of his little buddies. Usually, the buddy is trying desperately to impress his friends. And, usually, the story hasn't the slightest chance of believability. But, to a 6-year-old with a vivid imagination, anything is possible.

"Mom, Danny told me today that he ate six hundred licorice sticks all at once and didn't even get sick. Do you think that's true?"

Before I crush his brilliantly imagined scenario with an unequivocal, "there isn't a snowball's chance in hell that Danny ate six hundred licorice sticks. Period." I always try to turn it around and ask Nicholas what he thinks. As in, do you really think that Danny could have consumed six hundred licorice sticks in one sitting? How long would it take to even do that? Can his stomach old six-hundred licorice sticks? Does that even sound feasible?

My questions back to Nicholas serve a few purposes. First, I want him to stop and really think about what he hears and not just believe everything everyone tells him. I can tell him that his friend didn't really wrestle a two hundred pound alligator and live to tell about it or that his friend's dad simply did not land on the moon, but it is much more effective if I ask Nicholas's opinion and he comes to the conclusion all by himself. He wants desperately to believe his friend but most of the time he realizes that some things just don't ring true.

Second, I stress to him that because he is even asking me to validate his friend's allegation he already doubts its believability. If he believed his friend he wouldn't have to ask me what I think. So, in the end, we agree that he has already figured out the allegation was nonsense all by himself. I am happy that he applied simple common sense and he is happy that I think he is a genius. Little by little Nicholas is beginning to understand the concept of trusting his own instincts and using common sense when trying to make sense of the senseless.

Seeing things for what they are and not what we want them to be is tricky. But, it is possible with a little practice. Keep repeating the mantras: if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. If it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, it's a duck. What you see is what you thought before you looked. Stupid is forever, ignorance can be fixed.

Pretty soon common sense might become more common after all.

A Boy and His Shovel

2009-07-26T10:13:00.019-04:00

A version of this essay appears in the online collection of NPR's This I Believe essays.

We meet our friends at the beach every Tuesday at 10:00 am. Tuesday is our beach day. We pack a lunch and make a day of it. We really don't have that many Tuesdays each summer by the time school gets out in June to before it's back in session early September. So, we make our Tuesday beach days a priority. It doesn't even have to be sunny or particularly warm. As long as a shovel is within reach for the boys, the weather, or anything else for that matter, is hardly a concern.

The beach has a huge toy bin that houses anything from dump trucks to buckets to flotation devices. People bring their toys and leave them in the bin for their return visits or for others to enjoy. I also have a bag of beach toys that I carry in my trunk. It doesn't matter how many creative, ingenious new toys are stacked in my bag or in the toy bin, none can evoke the sheer giddiness of a plain, old shovel. Put a shovel in a boy's hands and he is transformed to a secret world of his own making.

My friend has two boys the exact same ages as mine so the four of them have countless hours of fun on our Tuesday outings. They laugh and play and swim and run, but the most fun they have, hands down, is with a shovel. We marvel at their ability to spend hours digging. They dig and dig and dig. They add water. They dig some more. They add more water. They make rivers that chart undiscovered territories, dams to thwart invasion attempts by mean pirates and innovative paths to outsmart the bad guys. A vivid imagination is a beautiful tool and the shovel its best collaborator.

I am amazed at the quality of play each boy has on our Tuesday jaunts. From morning until afternoon, with a break in between for lunch, the boys are doing what boys do best...conquering. Their feelings of supreme power and strength are evident on each sun-kissed face. As the big shovel gets passed from boy to boy the smiles and smirks and sneers give us a peek into his prowess. With a shovel in hand, anything is possible.

I don't know of any television show, video game, structured day camp, or classroom that can provide the kind of creative, resourceful education the boys dig up each Tuesday. In some form or another each boy is figuring out what his role is in their games of make-believe. Sometimes he wins, sometimes he loses. Sometimes his plans go through without a hitch, sometimes they don't. Sometimes he has to stop and consider the others feelings, sometimes he doesn't. But, most of the time, he is just having fun.

Isn't that what summer, and being a kid, is all about?

Vita-Mix

2009-07-14T19:00:00.001-04:00

I recently bought a Vita-Mix machine and can I just say it is absolutely awesome? Is it possible to really love a machine? It is and I do.

I looked for about a year at the Vita-Mix at various home shows, websites, magazines and such. I had a friend who owned a Vita-Mix and told me she used it daily. I would live vicariously through her stories of how she made homemade applesauce, smoothies and Butternut Squash soup. I wanted one really, really bad but I just couldn't justify the cost. They are super-duper expensive. However, after a year of salivating over this amazing, turbo-charged blender, I finally broke down and bought one at our local Costco for about $100 less than the website retail price. I could justify a savings of $100 even if it meant spending several more!

I have since made the most delicious sorbets, ice cream, smoothies and whole fruit and vegetable juices. How do I love the Vita-Mix? Let me count the ways.

My kids are learning about whole foods, eating nutritiously and avoiding added sugar. After making a delicious Strawberry Banana Coconut smoothie one morning, the boys and I had a lively discussion about how great food in its natural form tastes. We talk about why on earth companies add extra sugar or high-fructose corn syrup to juice or applesauce when fruit is already naturally sweet? Now, we just puree our own fruits for juices or apples for applesauce and call it a day.

When I ask the kids what they want for breakfast they say, "can I have a Vita-Mix?" Apparently it doesn't matter what I make in the Vita-Mix, they just want some pretty, colorful concoction that comes from it. One morning it was Strawberry/Grape Juice, the next it was Orange/Apple/Carrot juice. Their favorite drink so far is an Apple/Banana/Sweet Potato cooler. They don't even know their favorite drink includes sweet potatoes. Sweet potatoes for breakfast...imagine that!

We are adding way more fruits and vegetables to our daily menu than I ever thought possible. I can add spinach to just about anything. It doesn't alter the taste and we get a serving or more of a powerhouse vegetable. One day I made pineapple juice and added spinach. Nicholas wanted to know what I put in his pineapple juice because, as he pointed out to me, pineapple juice isn't green, but I just told him I added a super-secret, muscle-building ingredient. He just shrugged his shoulders and downed the juice no questions asked. Yummy.

My husband now eats breakfast. I make enough of "whatever" to give him a glass on his way out the door.

Cleaning the Vita Mix couldn't be easier. I add a little liquid soap, fill the container with water, turn it on High and run it for about a minute. Presto. Cleaned. Done.

The Vita-Mix has more than paid for itself. If I were to buy a smoothie for all of us, every day, at the grocery or health-food store, it would cost me a small fortune. I will be using this machine for years and have already realized my investment.

I use it daily. Every single day. Sometimes twice a day. I love this machine.

We are now trying things in our drinks that we might never have thought to try. I used to pass right by the Kale and beets and mangoes in the grocery store. Now we have a reason to throw in a new fruit or vegetable or two just to see what it tastes like.

Some concoctions have not worked very well, but we keep trying. If all else fails, add a banana. It makes everything taste better!

Sometimes You Just Have to Walk Away

2009-06-30T16:22:00.002-04:00

My best friend is getting divorced after 15 years of marriage. UGH. What a drag. This is a pretty low time in her life right now and I feel very badly for both her and her soon-to-be ex. It's never easy to end a relationship, but sometimes the absolute hardest thing we ever have to do in our life turns out to be the best thing we should have done a long time ago.

I remind myself often of a very powerful sentence in the book The Alchemist by Paul Coelho. In it he writes, "To realize one's destiny is a person's only obligation." In the story, an Adulasian Shepard boy travels from Spain to the Egyptian desert in search of a treasure. All along the way he is presented with several "omens" or "signs" about his destiny but he doesn't always listen. During his travels he encounters many obstacles from his lack of perspective, but his journey is ultimately successful because he realizes he had the tools to find the treasure all along.

I remember the day I finally recognized a strong omen and made the decision to sever all contact with an ex-boyfriend. We had met in college, dated on and off for about five years and had an extremely tight circle of friends. His friends were my friends and vice versa. Although I knew for a very long time that our incredibly dysfunctional relationship was doomed, I continued the charade of a "relationship" because it was familiar...pure and simple. I knew in the deep, deep pit of my stomach that we were not meant for each other. But I continued to coast and continued to silence my inner voice that was screaming at me to get out.

For years I hushed the voice that said to me, "You deserve better than this. What are you doing? Why are you doing it? What's in it for you?" I put a pillow over the voice and suffocated it so I wouldn't have to face the fact that I was making terrible decisions for myself. He finally met someone else and got engaged, but we kept in contact and continued to exchange Christmas cards. I was even invited to their wedding. I tried desperately to believe that we could actually maintain a friendship because, at the time, that was easier for me to accept than the fact that our relationship had imploded right before my very eyes.

And then, one day, I had one of my shower epiphanies and realized that I needed to just walk away from this whole mess. Cut ties and walk away. No other option existed. I realized that we could never be friends and that it was grossly inappropriate to even try. His life had moved in one direction and I needed to move mine in the exact opposite. Even though some of our mutual friendships suffered and several ended completely, I had to do what was best for me. It was my obligation to realize my destiny attract a better life for myself.

In retrospect, what was an extremely painful decision turned out to be one of the best decisions of my life. I could never have opened up my life's possibilities by continuing to close the door on my inner voice that was saying, "you will have a better future if you endure this pain today." I finally listened and finally heeded its advice. As a result, my life has turned out better than I could have ever expected. I am still amazed at my good fortune. I met my amazing, wonderful husband, I have two terrific kids and I live a pretty fantastic life. How's that for kismet?

So, I say to my friend today...congratulations for listening to your inner voice. Congratulations for wanting to make a better life for yourself. Congratulations for believing that you are worthy of more. Although it's a painful time in your life and some people will, unfortunately, get hurt in the process, it's a life direction you are supposed to take. You can only prosper by charting your own course and listening to your destiny. If your omens are telling you to walk away, heed the advice and reap the rewards. The rewards are out there and you will find them. I have no idea how long that will take but it's up to you to put yourself on the road that will lead you there.

The best piece of advice the Alchemist shares with the Shepard boy in the story is, "When a person really desires something, all the universe conspires to help that person realize his dream." Don't fight it. Listen to your instinct. Shut out the noise.

Trust yourself.

Game On Little Man

2009-06-16T08:00:00.008-04:00

Check out a version of this post on the Findlay Area Family website.

I was bamboozled by a 6-year-old. Tricked. Hoodwinked. Duped.

How is that possible? How did I let myself get sucked into the guilt-inducing games of a clever little boy and also, for a brief moment in time, actually think I might have done something terribly wrong? Boy, he's good...he's really good.

Nicholas is starting the "you love my brother more than me" and "I am no good at anything" ridiculousness that drives me nuts. He likes to see how upset I get every time he says, "You hate me!" and I protest for long periods of time trying to convince him otherwise. He likes to see me squirm when he says, "you think Christopher is a better piano player than I am" and I go on for hours about how he is a fine piano player and because of his ability he is always given a harder song to play for his recitals. He loves it when he says, "I am a terrible writer" and I gush about how I love to read his stories and am so impressed with his handwriting and how he is spelling the words so much clearer than before.

Keep in mind that I give praise where praise is due and often when the boys least expect it. I tell them I am proud of them even when they aren't doing the specific thing I am telling them I am proud of. But, I have been feeling kind-of bad lately that, boy, I must have really done something wrong for Nicholas to have such low self-esteem. How is it that he thinks he is bad and stupid and unloved? How did that happen? Where did I go wrong? I know that I give my kids praise. I know that I nurture and respect their differences and different abilities. I know that I offer words and actions of support.

One night after Nicholas got ready for bed and he and I were reading in his room he started acting really goofy and flopping around like a fish. It was time to turn out the lights and go to sleep and he was babbling about how I don't like the way he reads and I hurt his feelings. I was confused and asked him to specifically tell me what he meant. How did I hurt his feelings? His reply was "I don't want to tell you" and that set off the next half-hour of coaxing and cajoling to get him to tell me what was bothering him. He kept repeating that he wasn't going to tell me what I did and I kept insisting that he explain how I hurt his feeling. I needed to know how to remedy the situation but I couldn't do that if I didn't know what was at the root of his feelings. We danced around this until I realized that it was way past his bedtime and we were getting nowhere. Time to turn out the lights.

I was walking with my neighbor the next morning explaining what happened with Nicholas the night before when she said matter-of-factly, "yeah, my kids started that right around Nicholas's age and they still do it now that they are 10 and 12. Not quite as much as when they were younger but they still do it." Started what? Do what?

Try to get as much attention as possible; that's what. Whether it's claiming to love one sibling more than another, announcing that they are no good at anything or declaring that a parent has made them feel really bad about "something" it's clear that these self-absorbed little rascals have stumbled upon a really good way to get lots and lots of attention and push mom's buttons.

As my friend and I were walking and she related some stories to me about the way her kids did (and still do) practically the same thing that Nicholas did the night before I stopped dead in my tracks. I realized instantly that the inane conversation Nicholas and I had the night before had nothing to do with his hurt feelings and everything to do with his desire to keep my attention for as long as possible and avoid going to sleep. It worked. He had my attention and his bedtime was pushed back by at least 30 minutes. Chalk one up for Nicholas.

I felt a lot better after my conversation with my walking friend because I realized that I'm not a bad parent, I just have a clever kid. Now that I am aware that this happens to other people in other families with strikingly similar stories I can feel confident playing the game instead of sitting on the sidelines frantically reading the player's manual.

For example, every night before the boys go to bed they ask me what we are doing the next day or as Christopher puts it "when the sun comes up." I told them the other night that we were taking Grandma Murray to Greenfield Village for the day. It's one of our favorite places and the boys always have a great time.

Nicholas tried earnestly to delay his bedtime that night by insisting that I read what he wrote in his notebook. I let him come downstairs to show me and saw that he wrote "I do not fel lik going to Grenfeld Vilg." Hmmmmnnnn. Don't feel like going to your favorite place? That's weird. I asked him why he didn't want to go and he declared, "I hate Greenfield Village! It's boring." I asked him why it's boring and he said there is nothing fun to do there (which is utter nonsense). I sensed that he was wanting desperately to avoid his bedtime by announcing that the plans I made for the next day were clearly unacceptable to him. So, I told him calmly and simply that since his dad was working from home the next day he could stay home and I wouldn't make him go to the nothing-to-do-boring-dull place. Problem solved.

Only Nicholas did not get the reaction he expected from me and was perplexed. I told him he needed to get back upstairs into bed because it was past his bedtime. He said again that he didn't like Greenfield Village and I said again, simply, you don't have to go to Greenfield Village but you do have to go to bed. My conversation about Greenfield Village was over. He turned to me, stomped his foot and yelled emphatically, "Fine! I'll go to Greenfield Village." His tune changed completely when he realized that I wasn't falling for his shenanigans and that his option to stay home with his working dad wasn't quite as appealing as going out to have fun for the day. Chalk one up for mom.

I can't believe I was hoodwinked before by a 6-year-old, but kids instinctively know how to push buttons. Nicholas especially can zone in with amazing precision on what makes me crazy. Talk like "I'm no good" or "you hate me" makes me nutty because it's simply untrue not to mention unfair. But, I am learning to read his cues a whole heck-of-a-lot better and like the old saying goes, "fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice shame on me."

Game on, little man. Game on.

How Did You Get To Be Six?

2009-06-04T08:30:00.001-04:00

I write a letter to each of my boys at the end of every month. In the letter I tell them about all of the fun outings we have been on during the month; all the people, places and things that we have seen. Writing my monthly letters serves two purposes; 1) to keep an historical record of their childhood and 2) let them know how much I thoroughly enjoy being their mom.

I shy away from writing too much about the negative (yelling, fights, temper tantrums) but focus more on the quality time that we spend together. I would rather they remember the good times and not the bad when they are older and reminiscing (hopefully with their own kids one day) about things like our trips to Greenfield Village, the science centers or the zoo. I wish I had kept a running tally of how many times we have actually ridden in the Model T cars at Greenfield Village. No one would believe us!

Every once in awhile I get a little down on myself for thinking that I didn't give Christoper the attention I should have when he was animatedly explaining his play date to me or when Nicholas asks for a long bedtime story and I'm trying to convince him that the shorter one is better. The easiest way to get out of that slump is to sit down and read my letters. Page after page describes from the day they were both born how we have spent our days engaged and totally captivated by one another.

I'm not quite sure how so many months and years have passed by already. We were all driving in the car the other day and Nicholas wrote something on his hand with a marker. Mark told Nicholas not to write on his hand with a marker and Nicholas said, "well...you did it Dad." (My husband was on the phone with a customer and needed to write a number down really quick and didn't have any paper. So he wrote on his hand.) Anyway, I said to my husband, "I guess he got you on that one." We had a good chuckle and I said, "really, what do expect a 4-year-old to do?..I mean a 5-year-old...wait a minute...holy crap...he's six!" I laughed when I realized that I still think Nicholas is four or at the very oldest five. I haven't quite grasped the fact yet that he is 6-years-old. It's too mind-boggling.

I sat down with Nicholas the other day and thought it might be fun to read some of his letters together. I did not even get through the first page because the tears were streaming too hard down my face. Just starting off telling Nicholas about the night of his birth brought back so many incredible memories. Hopefully, one day we can get through some more of his letters together without my waterworks display. I don't really see that happening, but I can only hope.

People tell me all the time to enjoy every age and stage because it all goes by so fast. Fast doesn't even begin to describe it. I blinked my eyes and my babies are little boys...no longer babies or even little toddlers. Little boys with boy faces. If I didn't have pictures of Nicholas and Christopher's chubby baby cheeks I might not ever remember them.

But, I have my letters to take me back to those days of first smiles and first steps. I have my letters to remind me that Nicholas used to say "moozget" instead of "music." I have my letters to tell me again how Christopher used to sing "The Owl and the Pussycat" with the sweetest, most angelic voice you have ever heard.

Whenever I get nostalgic about the past I just need to remind myself that I am really looking forward to reading the letters of our stories yet untold.

Keeping It Real

2009-05-14T09:00:00.008-04:00

Check out a version of this post at the Hybrid Mom website.

I was staring into the eyes of a strange-looking boy whose face was so contorted with rage and whose fists and teeth were clenched so hard I thought he might explode into a million little bits. His face got redder and redder while under his breath he made inhuman gurgling sounds and looked as if, one-by-one, he popped all of the blood vessels in his face. He was so angry I was convinced if his red face were actually green he might look like the Incredible Hulk did when he was 6-years-old.

Only this was no stranger. It was Nicholas. And, this wasn't an isolated incident. These angry episodes occur over and over again. I never thought I would see the day that my generally mild-mannered son would turn into a livid, unrecognizable creature who foams at the mouth and is unable to articulate a coherent sentence. But, then again, he started school. He spends more time with his friends. And, he turned six. Welcome to my world.

I share this story as a way to reassure others that it happens in my house, too. I have kids who break rules, question authority, scream at the top of their lungs (note to self: stop yelling at boys and model better behavior) fight and act out. It's no surprise that with three fire signs living under one roof things tend to get a little... heated. Nicholas and Christopher are both Aries who according to their astrological description "do not make very good followers because they are too 'take charge.' They may be unwilling to obey or submit to directions for which they can see no reason or with which they disagree." Oh boy. As a Sagittarius I am "impatient and demand too much of people who cannot work at the pace I require." Hmmmnnnn. We are in for a lot of fun times at my house.

Seriously, though, I find it laughable that some parents choose to put on such a false facade of perfection when it comes to their kids. No one is perfect. Not my kids, not your kids, not your neighbors' kids. I always get a good chuckle when I hear a parent say exasperatingly after, for example, a particularly extreme outburst or after their kid said something mean to someone else, "I have no idea why Junior just did that. It has never happened before. Junior never acts this way." Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. That is me laughing at the expectation that some parents expect me to believe such poppycock.

I remember an acquaintance of mine who commented to me on how well the boys got along and how nice they play with each other. She has boys right around the same age and was frustrated that, according to her, her boys don't get along as well as mine do or act as well in public. I had to remind her that she only sees my kids occasionally and she has, fortunately, never had the opportunity to spend a day at my house when it's raining and the boys are inside all day and I'm trying to clean the house. Let's just say it is not a pretty picture. I assured her that my boys have their "moments" just like everyone else's and you never know what goes on behind closed doors. It's too easy to compare ourselves to others but what we fail to realize is that it's rarely an apples-to-apples comparison. Too many other factors affect what we "think" we see.

Let me "keep it real" for you. Nicholas still writes his nines and sometimes his twos and threes backwards. He is reading above his grade level, but he has a hard time recognizing the value of coins. He can play complicated piano arrangements, but can't follow two-step instructions like make your bed and brush your teeth. He can be very polite, but his sassy mouth gets him in lots of trouble. He gets very angry that he has to follow some of my rules (when his friends don't have the same rules) and will have to learn the hard way that I am still in charge. Regardless of what new, exciting, forbidden things he is learning in his ever-expanding world, he still needs to know that he has boundaries.

On the other hand, Christopher can be very charming and tells me often that I am beautiful, but he cries and whines waaaayyyyy too much. I thought he might outgrow that phase when he turned four, but I don't see an end in sight. My neighbor half-jokingly told me last summer that he didn't have to set an alarm clock in the morning because Christopher's crying woke him up every day at 8:00 am. Yup. I have that kid. The crier who wakes up the neighborhood. I may not be able to open my windows this summer if Christopher doesn't get it under control.

My boys and I continue to learn about each other, continue to grow and continue to change. I love being at home with my boys and I love that I am witness to their incredible past, present and future. I wouldn't change my circumstances for anything in the world. However, all this parenting and all this change has turned my once brunette hair gray at an alarmingly fast pace. I have good days and I have bad days. But, I am not ashamed to admit that my kids are not perfect and I have long since abandoned the notion that my parenting style requires input from or comparison to others. It is what it is.

I just wish the Incredible Hulk would take up camp in someone else's house. He is really starting to wear out his welcome.

Mind the Gap

2009-04-30T09:08:00.003-04:00

I usually have profound, life-altering epiphanies while taking my morning shower. I don't know what it is about this particular space and/or time, but it generally happens while I am having conversations with myself and preparing for my day. I'm not a shower singer, I'm a shower talker.

The other morning my epiphany had to do with being cognizant of my ability to either talk myself into our out of a positive experience. We, as human beings and expressors of free will, have the capacity to train our brains to be positive or negative. It really is a choice. However, to be successful in our endeavor we need to remind ourselves, often, of that goal. Sort of like keeping a gratitude journal, or filling (real or imagined) buckets, or whatever else relates to expressions of happiness or joy.

We all have "tapes" we sometimes play in our brain of words or phrases we constantly repeat to ourselves. These words can be things we heard from parents, teachers, spouses, friends, etc. The words can be either positive (such as, "you are successful") or negative (such as, "you will never amount to anything"). Regardless of the source, we play these tapes over and over in our heads until we actually believe the claim. If we tell ourselves something often enough we believe it to be true. The key is to change the tapes from negative to positive and realize that we are in complete control of our own emotions regardless of who said what to whom.

When I lived in London, England after college I used the underground subway (or "tube") as a mode of transportation. When you are waiting for the train to arrive, an automated voice comes over the speakers and repeatedly says, "Mind the Gap." This is simply a warning to stay clear of the space between the platform and the train until the train comes to a complete stop and you can get on. When you first hear the warning you realize you need to be aware of the "gap" and you move appropriately. When you hear the warning for the 6,000th time your brain has already processed this tape so many times that it's not even a conscious effort to mind the gap. The motions to move away from the gap are automatic whether you are even really hearing the automated voice or not.

If we can get to the point where we tell ourselves often enough that we are good or successful or beautiful or whatever, we can get to the point where it's not even a conscious effort to actually say the words, we will simply just believe. It takes time, no doubt, and that time frame is different for everyone. But, the point is to say the positive words. Repeatedly. Again and again. Over and over.

I tell my boys all the time that they have to believe they can accomplish something in order to actually accomplish it. Nicholas will say,"but I can't do this, that or something else" and I say,"I have faith in you. Why don't you have faith in you?" I ask Nicholas to repeat the mantra "I have faith in me" as many times as necessary until he believes he can do it. He needs to make sure that he controls the tapes that are playing in his head before the tapes start to control him. I just have to learn to practice what I preach. I'm working on it.

The other day Nicholas finished some math problems he was having trouble with. He was really proud of himself, as was I because I didn't help him at all. He said, "you know, mom...that was actually pretty easy." I asked him how his solution went from being practically impossible to so "easy." He said to me, grinning from ear to ear like the Cheshire cat, "because I have faith in me." Hallelujah and amen!

What is your "Mind the Gap?"

Filling Buckets

2009-04-10T09:00:00.004-04:00

I came across a fabulous book for kids about how to treat other people and how important it is to be nice and kind. The book is called Have You Filled a Bucket Today? and it encourages positive behavior as children see how rewarding it is to express daily kindness, appreciation, and love.

This book explains to children that we all carry an invisible bucket in which we keep our feelings about ourselves. When our buckets are full, we are happy; when they are empty, we are sad. We fill our buckets by doing nice things for others such as offer a smile or a helping hand. It's important to know that other people can fill our buckets but we also fill our own bucket when we do something nice for someone else. We can also dip into our own bucket when we are not nice to someone else. The premise of the book is that we want to be "bucket fillers" not "bucket dippers."

I have read this book to my kids several times and they really seem to take the message to heart. They are very inquisitive about why people would do things to dip into someone else's bucket. We have used this book several times as we determine how to be bucket fillers.

What I like about this idea of being bucket fillers is that my kids now have something to aspire to. To just tell my kids to "be nice" or "be kind" or "don't be rude" is one thing. I could explain myself until I am blue in the face, but when I can say something tangible like, "If you tell your friend's mom thank you for a nice party, you will fill her bucket" my kids can actually put into perspective what being kind really means. They envision an actual bucket and someone with a smile on his or her face that they helped put there.

The bucket premise also works wonders for explaining why bucket dippers really hurt someone's feelings and how being rude is not acceptable. When we eat breakfast and one boy interrupts the other or calls names or doesn't say please and thank you, I can say something concrete like, "please don't interrupt your brother and be a bucket dipper." I see a light bulb go on. Bingo. They get it.

Christopher gets very upset when he thinks he has dipped in my bucket. If I have to repeat something to him several times or he doesn't do as I ask, I simply tell him that he is emptying my bucket. He does not like to empty mommy's bucket and gets very upset. He cries and says, "I didn't mean to empty your bucket, mommy. I'm sorry." Bingo. He gets it.

I'm not saying that discussing buckets is a panacea for all of my kids' transgressions. Sometimes I talk about bucket dipping and am met with blank stares and glazed expressions or rolled eyes. Eye rolling is a serious bucket-dipping offense! My kids do still push boundaries and take everything to the limit (just as they are expected to do). They can sometimes be bucket dippers more than bucket fillers. But we have made great progress in our quest to consider the feelings of others, treat others how we expect to be treated and understand the consequences of our actions.

All thanks to a little bucket.

OK, So I'm Not Controller of the Universe

2009-03-20T14:52:00.008-04:00

I surrender. I wave the white flag. I admit defeat and sadly relinquish my self-proclaimed title of Controller of the Universe. I am annoyingly reminded (way too often) that I am not actually Controller of the Universe, so I am just going to stop trying so hard to make sense of the senseless. My Controller of the Universe moniker needs to change to something more realistic like...Controller of a Few Random Things Here and There.

I am a planner and, I admit, a bit of a control freak. As such, I like things to be a certain "way," in a certain order, and in some kind of logical system. My theory has always been that the better prepared I am for...well...anything really, the better outcome I will personally have regarding said thing. I don't think it's too much to ask for a prepared person to be rewarded with her desired outcome? Guess again.

As Controller of the Universe I put a lot of pressure on myself to make everything in my life go as smoothly as possible, unwavering in my preparedness. I plan, I edit, I plan again, I edit again, I tweak, I twist, and I end up with what I think is a feasible solution. Whew! That took some effort! I work out the kinks and forge ahead. The problem is, things don't always go according to my plan. I have had it up to my eyeballs with things not going according to my plan.

For example, I had a "birth plan" before Nicholas was born, as any ridiculously prepared pregnant woman would do. I listed everything from labor and breastfeeding preferences to what music to play in the delivery room. Because I diligently studied my breastfeeding options, I was adamant that my child be put to my breast immediately after birth and not be given a bottle. That is what the book said so that is what I was prepared to do. Under no circumstances should my baby be given a bottle. I will breastfeed. It was in my birth plan. Mothers everywhere, including myself, are laughing hysterically at the naive young girl who thought she actually retained even a modicum of control after childbirth. Control? Ha! A birth plan? Ha! Ha!

I was in labor for 22 hours and Nicholas was not progressing. He was already six days late as it was...this kid did not want to come out. Time to prep for a c-section. Wait a minute? Prep for what? A c-section was not in my birth plan. Where is my birth plan? WHY ISN'T ANYONE READING MY BIRTH PLAN? After they whisked me off to the operating room and cut me open like a fillet of fish a beautiful baby boy was born. I did not see beautiful baby boy for two more hours because they knocked me out with more anesthesia after I screamed hysterically that I didn't think I was supposed to feel anything. I felt alot of everything.

My first words, which I slurred incoherently after awakening from drug dreamland, were, "...don't...give...baby...bottle." Even in a half-drug-induced state, I was worried about my birth plan. My husband came in to inform me that the nurses gave Nicholas two bottles since his birth because I was knocked out and could not feed him. Seriously, did anyone read my birth plan?

I planned to breastfeed because that is what all ridiculously prepared new mothers do. That was my plan. I read the books, I practiced with dolls, I had it mastered. Even though Nicholas was given a bottle for his very first suckling experience, I was not deterred. That is until almost two weeks later when I finally admitted that breastfeeding for us was not the mother-baby bonding rapture that other mothers experience. After many, many futile attempts I bought a breast pump and mechanically squeezed breast milk into bottles to feed my baby for the next six months. I could have fed a small village with the amount of extra milk I produced. The extra milk ended up in the freezer, but thawed to completely unusable portions after the electrical Blackout of 2003. Thank goodness I had an adapter for my breast pump because I spent the next three days filling my bottles back up in the front seat of my car, in the garage, in the dark. Really, really, not part of my plan.

I was convinced with my second child that I could master the breastfeeding thing. Because I was scheduled for a c-section I knew that my husband would have to be my eyes and ears in the operating room and tell my doctors to not, under any circumstances, give my baby a bottle. I will breastfeed, dammit! After Christopher was born they whisked him away to the ICU because he had low-blood sugar. For the next two days he was fed via a bottle. So much for my plan.

When Nicholas was ready to start Kindergarten, I filled out all of the necessary paperwork, quizzed my neighbors about teachers, took my son to the school to get a feel for his new academic surroundings and talked to him about riding the bus with his neighbor friends. He was ready and I was prepared. Three weeks later I got a notice that our district changed its Kindergarten curriculum from part-time to full-time. What? He ended up going to a different school that offered the part-time hours and I ended up driving him every day. Clearly the Superintendent did not consult the Controller of the Universe for any input before making such a drastic change. The nerve!

Christopher has been prepared to go to the same preschool as his brother. He told everyone all year that he is going to the "red" school in the fall and Ms. Holly will be his teacher. We were both eager for Christopher's new adventure and talked about Ms. Holly and the red school all the time. Well, Ms. Holly had a difference of opinion with the board of the preschool and is no longer teaching there. No more Ms. Holly. No more red school. That was not part of my plan.

Now that I think about it, my Controller of the Universe status seriously started to deteriorate the moment I got pregnant and had kids. Not much of anything I plan now comes off without a hitch. I have to rework my plans continuously and without much of a break. I live through constant bombardments of "...what the hell just happened?"

So, I have come to terms with fact that, contrary to my own popular belief, I am not Controller of the Universe. I am not controller of much of anything else for that matter. I have been reminded on too many occasions that I am a tiny dot, a small crumb, a "who" living on a infinitesimal speck of dust in this immensely huge world of ours.

I vow to try, from this day forward, to give myself a break, not take myself too seriously, go with the flow, do some yoga, meditate and take more deep breaths. Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat.

That is my new plan.

This Isn't About You

2009-03-04T15:12:00.005-05:00

Christopher and I walk Nicholas into his school each day as part of our morning routine. I enjoy walking with Nicholas to his Kindergarten classroom and Christopher enjoys feeling like one of the "big kids" as he rushes down the hall with all of the other hurried kids who have places to go, things to do and people to see.

The other morning in our car, Nicholas looked at me and said, "Mom, do you think you could just drop me off at the front door and not come into the school today?" Uh oh. The day I have been dreading. Please, please, please don't say what I think you just said! I'm sure I must have misunderstood the question...

I said, "hmmmnnnn, so....Nicholas, why can't we walk into the school with you today?" He replied, "Well, I just really want to go in by myself. I can do it, mom. I can do it by myself."

Yikes. I am sort-of a liar when I say that I want my kids to be independent. I secretly want them to depend on me at least a little while longer. Just a little while. Is that so bad? Is that so wrong? All these years I have encouraged my kids to learn to be independent and do things by themselves without realizing that the day would come too damn quick when they decide they want to walk into school by themselves. What's next? Asking for my car keys?

I composed myself, took a deep breath and thoughtfully looked at my son trying in vain to invoke his compassion gene. I tried to explain my position. "Nicholas, I know you can walk into school by yourself. I know you can find your room. I know you are capable. I know you are ready. But, this isn't about you. It's about me and my incredibly selfish desire to walk with you into school each and every day because this is the last year that I can. Next year you will ride the bus to 1st grade and I won't be able to walk with you at all anymore. This is 100% totally and blatantly about me holding your hand just a little bit longer." I decided that the direct approach was best; here is my story and I’m sticking to it.

Nicholas being his reflective self, pondered my request for about a millisecond. "Mom, I really want to go in by myself." Well...what else could I say? I stated my case and it was dismissed. I kissed him outside the school door and Christopher and I waved as we watched him walk in unaccompanied. We stared at his backpack that heaved with each step until Nicholas turned the corner and disappeared.

The next time we drove to school, Nicholas did not say a word about going in alone. He was content to walk in with his brother and me, holding hands just as we have done day in and day out for the past several months. He did what he needed to do, accomplished his solo-entrance goal and now was offering to resume the routine that satisfied all parties involved. I hugged Nicholas profusely at the corner by his Kindergarten room and whispered, “thank you, buddy. Have a great day!”

Nicholas might not realize that he did something special that day. He might not realize how important our routine is to me. But, sometimes we just need to do things for people that we might not necessarily want to do. Sometimes we need to appreciate that someone else’s needs outweigh our own. Sometimes we take and sometimes we give. By giving unselfishly we gradually build our reserves so that one day we can withdraw from our karmic bank account without regret.

Nicholas was obviously the giver and I the taker, but I don’t feel any guilt or shame. As a parent, I have made numerous deposits in my karmic bank account to justify this small withdrawal. If Nicholas was even remotely determined to continue his solo entrance I would have relented. But, I believe that Nicholas was also secretly relieved to continue on with our morning ritual.

Not that he would ever say that out loud.

25 Random Things

2009-02-25T15:15:00.000-05:00

I have seen this list repeatedly on Facebook and it took me awhile to sit down and write my own "25 Random Things" list. I was both intrigued and repulsed by the list at first. Intrigued because it is really interesting to learn new things about people and repulsed because I feel like I have enough "time suckers" in my life right now that it was not easy to justify taking time for this sort-of inane activity, too. But, it turned out to be a fantastic trip down memory lane and I was pleasantly reminded of how far I have come and who has been along with me for the ride. Because I hope my kids will one day read my blog I am including my list of 25 Random Things here so they too can learn a thing or two about their mom.

I met my husband playing darts

I am the mother of two boys

My husband is my biggest supporter in every area of my life

I have no desire to ever go to Africa. Nothing good ever comes from going to Africa.

I have walked in the 60-mile Breast Cancer 3-day twice

I have the same best friends since 7th grade

I hate curry

The most reliable car I have ever owned was my 1987 Chevette

I worked in a pub in London, England after graduating from college

I backpacked around Europe for six weeks by myself

I love to eat sardines with ring bologna

My favorite place in the whole world is Cape May, NJ

I was hit by a car and broke my leg when I was 5-years-old

I have Tony Orlando and Dawn on my iPod playlist

My favorite book is The Alchemist by Paul Coelho

I was born on Thanksgiving

My husband and I have season tickets to the Fisher Theater in Detroit

I play Bunco with my neighbors once a month

My kids' and my favorite activity is riding the Model T cars at Greenfield Village in Dearborn

We have a miniature Dachshund named Lucy

My kids and I belly-laugh watching Tom and Jerry cartoons

I have never played a musical instrument

My favorite beer is Sam Adams

I love to play board games (...Balderdash anyone?)

I live a remarkably fulfilling life

Perception is Reality

2009-02-14T09:35:00.003-05:00

We live in a world where we are judged by how we look. Is it fair? Is it just? Doesn't matter. How you look on the outside is how you are perceived by those around you, period. The better or more put together you look the more seriously you are taken.

My 5-year-old and I have this discussion frequently. He wants to know why he can't go to school or piano practice wearing his sweatpants or his jeans with holes in them. I explain to him that sweatpants are for playing at home, not for school. What difference does it make, he wonders? Other kids do it, why can’t he?

I tell him simply that it’s important to feel good about yourself and what you wear is a central part of that feeling. We are in charge of how we are viewed. When you dress nicely and make an effort to look presentable, people notice. People notice that you think highly enough of yourself to take a shower and brush your hair, put on a nice shirt (unwrinkled) and a nice pair of pants. If you feel good about yourself you will have and project more confidence. Projecting more confidence means you are taken more seriously. Being taken more seriously means people listen to what you have to say. And so on, and so on, and so on…

I made a promise to myself when Nicholas was born that I would not be one of those moms who walked around the grocery store in pajama pants or wore my hair in a perpetual ponytail because I didn't make the effort to take a shower and wash my hair. I have made it a priority to take a shower and put on a coordinated outfit every single day. I hear so many women saying, "I just didn't have time to take a shower today." I find that odd. I live a pretty busy lifestyle too, but I have always managed to find time to take a shower. Granted, I allow for that time in my schedule even if it means setting my alarm clock fifteen minutes earlier than usual. The thought of walking out my door without washing my hair is as foreign to me as poking a stick in my eye. It's just not going to happen. That doesn’t mean I’m vain; it simply means that I make an effort.

If you look at the people in the sweatpants or messy clothes, do you notice anything about them? Are they disheveled? Most likely. Are they dirty? Not necessarily. But, the perception of them looking unkempt is the reality regardless of whether or not they actually bathed. Do you generally take someone seriously who looks disheveled or unkempt? If you were debating the merits of, say, nuclear energy, chances are you wouldn't think too highly of that person's opinion. Now, put that same person in a nice, coordinated outfit and the whole perception changes. The reality becomes different. The bottom-line question is: do you want to be taken seriously?

I drive Nicholas to Kindergarten and we park the car and walk together into the school each morning. We have been doing this for the last several months and we see the same parents everyday out walking with their kids. The other morning, the mother of another Kindergartner in Nicholas's class asked me if I work. I answered that, no, I don't work and she remarked that I looked so nice every morning she was convinced that I must be going off to a job somewhere. In her mind, why else would I bother to comb my hair and put on a nice outfit if I wasn't employed?

I put on a nice outfit every day to provide an example to my kids that it's important to be confident. It's important to be taken seriously. And, most of all, it’s important to feel good about yourself. I want my kids to be conscious of how they present themselves because presentation matters. The sooner they learn this valuable lesson, the better. It might seem awkward to talk to a 5-year-old about the importance of proper dress, but if I don’t tell him how else will he learn? And, if he doesn’t learn by example how can I convince him of the importance?

Perception is reality. Get used to it. Believe it. I have defined what my appearance means to me and what image I choose to project. Have you?

Living in the Moment

2009-02-05T09:30:00.003-05:00

I spend every day with my kids doing fun things like going to museums, libraries, parks and play dates. We are pretty much on the go most days and we take advantage of the great resources surrounding us here in metro Detroit. On most days my kids wake up and say, "What are we doing today?" A shortage of things to do simply does not exist in this area.

Even though we spend most of our days together, sometimes I have to stop and really focus on living in the moment. I hear myself saying, "just a minute..." or "not right now..." more times than I care to admit. I catch sight of my kids out of the corner of my eye and wonder...when did Nicholas lose his chubby cheeks? How did he get to be so tall? Or, when did Christopher start singing and pronouncing Hakuna Matata correctly instead of trying so hard to just articulate "kunta tata?" It just doesn't seem possible that they are as big as they are right now.

I get up most mornings before the boys wake up to exercise, drink my coffee and do my crossword puzzle. That is my routine. Day in and day out. I don't veer from that routine very often because routine comforts me and I can always find an excuse not to exercise so I rarely ever offer myself the option. I just get up and do it. My alarm went off at 5:15 am this morning and just as I was getting out of bed, Christopher stumbled into my room with his prized blanket half sleep-walking. He woke up unexpectedly and wanted to crawl into bed with me and finish sleeping in my room. I said, "Honey, mommy is getting up right now to exercise. You need to go back into your own bed." He stood there for a moment rubbing his eyes and contemplating what I said until he finally whispered, "but I need you, mommy." My rigid, routine-based brain thought briefly about ignoring his request because, well, that really wasn't part of my plan. But, instead, on this morning, I grabbed Christopher's hand and heaved him up onto my bed. Christopher snuggled in with me and fell back asleep so effortlessly. All he needed was his mommy. I turned off my alarm and drifted off to sleep listening to his delightful breathing. I decided to live in the moment.

I wrote Detroit Science Center on the calendar for today. The boys love to touch and play and absorb everything the science center has to offer. Nicholas is off from school today so I thought a trip to the museum would be a great idea since we have been eager to see the Deep Sea IMAX movie. But, considering that it's only 0 degrees out right now (that is not a typo), we decided we would be better off staying home and making some homemade granola and trying out some new recipes we haven't had time for. We leisurely did some homework at the table this morning after breakfast. We made some valentine cards for friends. The boys are playing a game of bad guys and after awhile we are going to try out our new recipes. We are living in the moment today.

I am reading an interesting book right now called The Survivor's Club. The author "travels worldwide to gain insight from people who have survived a slew of near fatal phenomena ranging from a mountain lion attack to a Holocaust concentration camp, and interviewing an array of experts to understand the psychology, genetics and jumble of other little things that determines whether we live or die." These are truly amazing stories. But, the one thing I have come away with more than anything after reading this book is that these survivors' lives have changed, for the better, and they are more aware of living in the moment because they are grateful just to be alive. All of these people have survived against completely unrealistic odds. I don't want to have to survive death-defying odds just to live in the moment and be thankful for what I have right now. I want to do that today just because I can.

My kids will be in school full-time in about a minute and I will only see them on evenings and weekends. I am reminding myself today that when Nicholas wants me to listen to him practice piano, I will stop whatever I am doing and listen attentively - even if he plays the same song fifteen times. I am reminding myself today that it’s OK to sleep in every now and again breathing in-sync with a certain little blonde-hair, blue-eyed angel. The treadmill isn’t going anywhere. I am reminding myself today that it’s OK to change up our plans because we decide that watching Tom and Jerry cartoons in bed under the covers to keep warm is way more fun than going to the science museum. I am reminding myself today that it’s OK to turn off my computer because my kids are much more important than someone’s status update on Facebook.

I hear my kids calling me now. “Mommy, we are done playing bad guys. Can we make our granola?” You betcha. I’m turning off my computer right now. We are living in the moment.

Other People Don't Change

2009-01-22T13:20:00.000-05:00

If I had a dime for every time I heard someone say, "he/she just needs to change x or y behavior" and (insert result here) all of life's problems would be solved, I would be a very rich woman. How many times have we secretly wished (or even verbalized) that someone change his behavior to better suit our needs? Probably too many.

Alfred Einstein's definition of insanity is "doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." This time it will be different…I know it! So many people are, by Einstein's definition, obviously insane because they continue reacting to a person or an event the exact same way, but expect that, magically, the outcome will be different the 1,000th time. I know I am guilty (or insane). Why do we spend so much time trying to get other people to change their behavior when it makes more sense to simply change our own? Why do we continually justify requesting someone else to do all of the hard work?

Other people don't change. We might as well accept that fact before we succumb to insanity's relentless clutches once and for all. Instead of continuing to wreck your mind with justifications of why someone else needs to do something differently, why not focus solely on what you can do differently in your own life. No more wishing for the impossible. No more expecting change by osmosis. No more excuses. You are 100 percent in control of your own actions and reactions. If something in your life isn’t working, change it. I’m not saying that change is easy, but who ever said life was easy?

I had a college friend that I used to see occasionally but only after I initiated a meeting. I did all of the calling and all of the inviting whenever we got together. After awhile I was very angry at this friend because I felt like I was doing all the work. I kept calling and inviting her out to dinner and getting angry each time because she never reciprocated the invitation. I was at a loss. Instead of confronting her with this observation and accusing her of being a terrible friend, I simply stopped calling her. I changed my reaction. I figured if my friendship was important to her, she would realize the lapse in communication and, hopefully, try to contact me. I never heard from her again.

Other people don’t change. I’m not a pessimist - I’m just being realistic. We are born with inherent personality traits that are part of our genetic makeup and not something we necessarily have a lot of control over. For example, I am a perfectionist. I come from a long line of perfectionists. Try as I might I can’t get away from the fact that I like things to be done in a certain way. If I try to act like I don’t care if it’s done a different way I am not being true to myself. I do care. And, I will be more content if I know it’s done to my satisfaction. I will spend an inordinate amount of time reviewing and tweaking and inspecting every little facet of every little thing I create. Our idiosyncrasies and quirky traits are what make us unique.

But, to expect me to change from being a perfectionist to being something non-perfectionists find more appealing or easier to manage is ludicrous and virtually impossible. I am what I am. Expecting your husband to change from being an introverted wallflower to an extroverted entertainer is impossible. Expecting your wife to change from being a Type-A workaholic to a cookie-baking wife is impractical. Expecting your child to change from a quiet bookworm to a theatrical stage performer is simply unfair. It is what it is.

If you are certain that your life would be so much simpler if someone else changed his/her behavior to suit you, you are headed down the wrong path. Take a look in the mirror. The change that needs to take place needs to happen from within. It’s a pretty liberating experience. Try it sometime and you will realize that you have had the potential to be content and satisfied all along.

Making Unpopular Decisions

2009-01-05T15:07:00.001-05:00

I have never made more seemingly unpopular decisions than since I became a mother. The choices I make for my children have been analyzed, whispered about and challenged by other mothers and even those without kids. Opinions are usually offered by people unfamiliar with the careful analysis that goes into each and ever choice I make and with whom I probably wouldn't even ask over for a cup of coffee. Who would have thought that the conclusions I reach about what is best for my family would spark such skepticism in others?

Before Nicholas turned 3 I contemplated sending him to preschool. I wasn't comfortable with the thought of him going to "school" at such a young age and since I am a stay-at-home mom we were regularly attending outings with other kids his age. Socialization skills were a non-issue. But, I felt it was in my best interest to look at all of my options and choose the best-case scenario. Almost everyone I knew was sending their 3-year-old to preschool, so I thought I better execute some due diligence to find out about this whole preschool scene.

I worked up a preschool checklist to help me conduct side-by-side comparisons of schools within about five miles of my house. Location was the main criteria since it did not make sense to me to drive any farther for such a short period of time. I interviewed several teachers and even talked to current and past participants of each school. I covered every angle, researched every teaching style and categorized my findings.

My final decision was to not send Nicholas to preschool until he turned four. He was a bright, articulate, socially-adept 3-year-old and I did not feel that he needed to go to "school" to learn any more than he was already learning by our museum and park visits, social outings and play dates. Another important fact was that I thoroughly enjoyed his company during the day and I wasn't interested in sharing him with anyone else.

I was really taken aback by the comments from supposedly well-meaning friends and acquaintances who could not believe that I chose not to send my son to preschool at age 3. I was told everything from, "he will not be ready for Kindergarten," to "you really do need to let go." I second-guessed my decision for weeks (I am human, after all) but ultimately believed that I was making the right decision for my family. Nicholas and his brother and I had an extraordinary, fun-filled year that I look back on fondly because we had no schedules, conflicts or interruptions of our precious time together.

When it was time for Nicholas to attend Kindergarten our school district changed the curriculum from a part-time to a full-time program. I was devastated and heartbroken at the thought of Nicholas being gone all day, every day during the week. I was prepared for this to happen in first grade, but not prepared for it to happen so soon in Kindergarten. After much discussion between the administration and other Kindergarten families our school district opted to continue offering a part-time curriculum for those who were interested. We jumped at the chance. I would have to drive him to another elementary school, but it was a perfect, win-win scenario for us.

Again, the comments and confused looks from friends and acquaintances followed us as I tried to explain the decision that was best for my family. Comments this time ranged from, "oh, he must not be ready for full-time," to "aren't you afraid he will be behind his peers in full-time Kindergarten?" to "he might not make the transition to first grade." I was offended that people actually thought the part-time curriculum was somehow sub-standard now that a full-time curriculum was offered. How could years and years of a stellar part-time Kindergarten curriculum that produced students who learned effectively and confidently made the transition to first grade be forgotten so quickly?

I have had to defend my position repeatedly to people who just simply don't get it. I am not the parent who looks forward to someone else caring for or watching my kids. I am not jumping for joy that my son will be in school full-time so that I can have some free time to myself. I am not ready to push my son out the door into the "real world" when he is only 5-years-old. He has plenty of time for learning and for school over the next 12 years. I simply opted to give him one more year of childhood.

If I thought for a minute that Nicholas would somehow be scarred by my decision I wouldn't have done it. But, I know for sure that the time we have had together as a family over the past five years will be more socially and academically beneficial to him that any preschool or full-time Kindergarten classroom ever could. The picnics in the park, games of hide-and-go-seek, fun times, shared laughs and family togetherness will go a long way in building Nicholas's self-confidence and knowledge that he is an important and loved person. If by continuing to make unpopular decisions I can show Nicholas that it's more important to do what's best for him than to follow a majority opinion, he will be well on his way to mastering one of the most important life lessons of all.

Kill 'Em With Kindness

2008-12-21T10:58:00.002-05:00

Mean people suck.

No shortage of unpleasantness exists in this crazy world and I am reminded daily that it takes increasingly more effort to be nice to the malcontents. My goal to take these grouches and "kill 'em with kindness" has nothing to do with needing to be their friend but everything to do with proving that I can.

I have met people who, for no apparent reason (or at least not apparent to me), are convinced that I am not worthy of existing in the same space. The kind of people who make it clear that I am not their favorite person without actually verbalizing it. I just know. I'm not talking about people I pass on the street that I'll never see again. I'm talking about a new neighbor, a friend's significant other, a teacher, etc. People that I will have to see on more than one occasion for the foreseeable future. These are my kindness targets. These folks usually have a reason to need more friends.

Now before you think I stare in my mirror every day invoking the spirit of Stuart Smalley by chanting to myself, "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me!" this is not about self-confidence. It's just about being nice. I understand completely when someone is not nice to me because I took their parking space, unintentionally cut them off in traffic (oops) or took 13 items into the 12 items or less lane at the grocery store. I get that. I also understand that I won't have great chemistry with everyone I meet and vice versa. Fair enough.

But people who are simply sad, underappreciated or just plain gloomy, deserve to know that not everyone rides on the misery bandwagon and I, for one, would like to unearth the fragments of niceness that most likely exist. The operative word being "likely." I've made killing with kindness attempts that fail miserably. I can't win 'em all.

I have found, however, that for some of these friendships the hard work really paid off. I had a male friend in college with whom I had a completely platonic relationship. We lived right next door to each other and hung out together all the time. When his girlfriend came to visit our introduction was so chilly I thought for sure that she would break into a million shards of ice if I shook her hand too hard. She was cold. She obviously thought the relationship between her boyfriend and me was more than just platonic but she could not have been farther from the truth. She was a perfect kill with kindness target.

I would tell her stories about her boyfriend and how much he loved her, talked about her, admired her, etc. The more I told her that her boyfriend adored her, the more she realized I was not the enemy. The more we talked the more we realized we had in common. We ended up becoming great friends. We still keep in touch to this day and actually have a lot of fun reminiscing about our first awkward meetings.

I also had a new neighbor whose body language from first meeting screamed, "I intensely dislike you." She would sit with her legs and arms crossed and her body turned completely away from me. She would practically climb onto the arm of the chair she was sitting in to turn her body as far away from me as possible. In conversations she would talk to and make eye contact with everyone except me. My husband even asked me what I could have possibly done to her to make her so obviously revolted by me. I had no idea. What intrigued me, though, was the fact that she seemed very sad, just a really gloomy sort. So, I set in motion my killing with kindness endeavor and set out to get to the bottom of her disgust.

I simply said hello and waved whenever I saw her outside. I would always engage her in conversation when it was just the two of us in our backyards and ask her over for a cup of coffee or iced tea to chat for awhile. The more I listened during our conversations, the more I realized that she really just needed someone to talk to. She was very lonely. Our outside chats became more frequent and her ice cold armor continued to melt. Slowly but surely our relationship turned from scorn to admiration. We never did discuss the reason for her initial dislike because it really didn't matter. She also turned out to be a good friend.

I don't walk around every day trying to make friends with ornery people. I just believe that some people need a little extra prodding or a little more attention to warm up. I will kill them with kindness if it's necessary. I love a good challenge.

It's important to emulate kindness even in the most difficult of situations. I tell my kids all the time that it's a heck of a lot easier being nice to people than being mean. These are sometimes hard lessons to learn when we are the subject of the cruelty. But friendliness begets friendliness and the more often we kill others with kindness the more often we will reap the rewards in our own lives. It's not rocket science.

The 3-Year-Old Oath

2008-12-01T13:00:00.017-05:00

This essay appeared in the June 2010 issue of MetroParent.

I have 3-year-old son who likes to push buttons. Not the literal kind, mind you, just the symbolic kind that drives an otherwise sane mommy a little nutty. He not only pushes the button, he keeps his finger pressed down firmly with the strength of Hercules and the stubbornness of an uncompromising mule. This kid wants to push until he is absolutely certain his requests have been heard and honored and he has all the time in the world to wait. I'm sorry? You didn't understand his request? OK, he will repeat it 7,416 times.

Christopher has an aura about him that screams little devil. Even strangers we pass in stores will stop me and make remarks like "ah, this one is a little hard to handle, huh?" pointing to my charming boy with the impish grin. His blond hair and blue eyes alone elicit whispered comments from most passersby, but strangers who don't know even know us feel the need to comment on his apparently obvious resolve. The scary thing is they are right. His vivid, lively blue eyes hold the full story of this little boy whose determination matches no one. Except mine.

My son’s main concern in life right now is complying with his pledge to the 3-Year-Old Oath which states: "Push parent(s) to the limit and watch seemingly sane adults slowly teeter on the brink of insanity from being asked the same question repeatedly at the highest decibel level the human voice can possibly reach." But, I have an oath too. I pledged to the Mommy Oath which states simply, "win at all costs." I am just as stubborn and optimistic as Christopher is and in no way willing to set a precedent that allows a 3-year-old to outwit, outsmart or outwait me. As a result, battles ensue and lots and lots of Christopher’s tears are shed. If we could turn tears into a viable energy source Christopher could single-handedly solve the current crisis and we would be energy-independent, like, yesterday.

Christopher is the ultimate optimist. He doesn't care if the answer is no after he asks 7,415 times. He asks again and is supremely confident the answer will be yes the 7,416 time. It reminds me of Thomas Edison's quote, "Many of life's failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up." Because Christopher feels like he inches closer to success with each repetition he has no intention of giving up and for that I give him great kudos. I know his tenacity and perseverance will serve him well later in life but I have to admit that tenacity in a 3-year-old is absolutely, positively exhausting.

Nevertheless, I love that Christopher feels confident in his quests. I love that he stands up for himself and points that little finger in the face of boys (regardless of age) who push him on the playground and tells them that they are “not nice!” I love that he says to me confidently (after many discussions on the topic) “mama, if a boy asks me to put my tongue on a frozen pole I will say no and just walk away.” I love that his determination will lead him on all kinds of great journeys. But, for now, he is learning that he has rules to follow and sometimes no just means, “because I said so.” It’s tough to be 3.

Christopher is just as amusing as he is exasperating. Sometimes I simply cannot hold a straight face when I try to stand firm with him and we both break out in enormous giggles. The crafty looks of innocence/deviousness are too hard to resist without out-and-out belly laughs. I hope he uses his charm for the greater good when he finally realizes how much persuasion potential he actually owns.

I watched Christopher walk away from me on his way upstairs one night to brush his teeth. He was still talking a mile a minute and animatedly waving his hands. As he turned the corner and his voice faded off in the distance a tear rolled down my face. I realized suddenly - I am really going to miss this little boy.

You Don't Get What You Don't Ask For

2008-11-19T20:52:00.016-05:00

I have learned over the years that asking for what you want is a sure-fire way of getting it. Not asking for what you want and expecting to get it anyway is a bit like riding a stationary bike; your wheels are going to spin frantically but you aren't going to get anywhere.

In order to get what you want you have to know what it is that you are seeking in the first place. In my old customer service days, I would get countless calls from irate customers who were pissed off that something unjust happened to them, yet when I asked them what I could do to make them feel better they had no idea! I would hear a lot of "ums" and "uhs" while they struggled to articulate a proper settlement. More often than not, people just wanted to vent their frustration and I was the unfortunate ear on the other end of the phone. I often wondered why someone would waste the time to call and complain and hang up without getting anything in return. I was willing to offer compensation of some sort if I just knew what it was the caller was looking for.

I was working in a dead-end job and ready to switch careers into a higher-paying field when my husband asked me what I was looking for in a new job. Honestly, I wanted a higher salary and that was about it. I was ready and able to change fields but my primary motivator was money. My husband suggested a pay range he thought I should ask for based on industry standards and my experience. I thought he was crazy and under no circumstances could I command that kind of salary. I was new to the field for one thing and unsure of my worth for another. However, he was pretty confident that I could do it and I wanted desperately to believe him. He very patiently pointed out over several conversations that I would never know unless I tried. To make a long story short I took a deep breath, put on my best brave face, summoned some buried self-confidence, went into a new job interview and negotiated a suitable salary. I asked for what I wanted and I received it. It works! I have negotiated job salaries, promotions and other extras ever since with that very simple concept in mind. You are not going to get what you don't ask for.

The same concept applies to all areas of life. Keep in mind that what you are asking for needs to make sense, of course, and just because you ask for a million dollars to drop in your lap doesn't necessarily mean you are going to get a million dollars. You must show your value to a company if you are asking for a raise. Just asking for the raise isn't going to help you if you have no evidence of your worth. If you want your spouse, significant other or friend to help you or understand your position, state it clearly instead of assuming that person should instinctively know what you want. If you are calling the customer service department with a complaint, your suggested compensation must be within reasonable limits. But, do ask. It's amazing what people are willing to help you with when they are aware of and understand your requests.

Of course you might ask for things that don't come to fruition. That's OK, too. At least you asked and now you know. Without asking and learning the inevitable outcome you might still be spinning your wheels on an endless ride to nowhere.

I Believe Therefore I Am

2008-11-02T08:19:00.002-05:00

Kids are the ultimate pretenders. They can use their vivid imaginations to conjure up all sorts of superheroes, villains, animals or cartoon characters and they truly believe what they have conjured up is real. All it takes is the mere act of vocalizing the wish for it to be true. My sons can simply say "I am a lion" or "I am Davy Crockett" and it becomes fact. No bells or whistles, no pomp and circumstance, just a simple belief and a statement as such makes it true.

As adults we tend to take things a bit more seriously. We know after a few shattered dreams and unrealized goals that it takes more than mere wishful thinking to make something come true. As we age and become more proficient at amassing failures (whether real of perceived) we leave behind a little of the naiveté of our youth and transform from unapologetic dreamers to cynical bubble-bursters. Our belief systems become altered because they are constantly challenged and as a result we play it safe. I know I typically abide by the rule, "better safe than sorry" but what child do you know that would ever place those kinds of limits on himself? The belief that they are indestructible and can be or do whatever they want to be or do is what we should constantly be reminding ourselves of not trying to bury with idealized notions of what it is to be an adult.

Watch a child at play and learn a lesson or two. Give yourself the ability to use your imagination, dream big, make mistakes and learn from them. Don't we teach our kids to never stop believing they can accomplish any task that they put their minds to? The tasks will take time, energy and effort. It may even take even more time, energy and effort than originally thought but anything is achievable if the belief exists. No obstacles, barriers or naysayers can take away your desires or your dreams without your consent.

It sounds simple, yes, but the bottom line is if you don't believe in yourself, who will?

No Excuses Just Results

2008-10-26T10:28:00.002-04:00

Another lifetime ago, I used to work for a large rental car company in Metro Detroit as the general manager's assistant. To say that an administrative assistant's job is simply clerical is a gross understatement and would likely cost you some serious suck-up points. Whatever the manager can't get to typically falls right into the lap of the administrative assistant. If you want to get anything done be very, very nice to the administrative assistant.

I was expected to do everything from creating training manuals to planning quarterly and yearly managerial parties to handling customer service inquiries, to finding competent and cost-effective vendors, to picking out carpet for our new corporate headquarters. I actually worked side-by-side with an interior designer for months to select carpet, workstation cubicle colors, art and window treatments for our brand spanking-new building and I knew less than nothing about interior design. I was expected to make the decisions because my boss had no time (or inclination) to but needed to sign off on the decisions anyway.

When I first started my job I was a little taken aback by the vast pool of knowledge I was supposed to have. People expected that since I was the GM's assistant I must know about "x" and surely had some insight into "y" and clearly could make x + y =z. My boss was on the road a lot so he would simply ask me to handle whatever came across his desk. The more I completed on my own the more my boss gave me to handle. Whenever I complained to him that I could not complete a task because so-and-so wasn't cooperating, returning my calls, sending an invoice, etc. he would simply say to me "I don't want to hear the excuses, just show me the results." He wasn't necessarily being mean or callous. He just didn't want to hear, nor had the time for, the particulars. The only thing that concerned my boss was that his to-do list was getting shorter. Sometimes I felt overwhelmed by the decisions I was entrusted to make, but the autonomy in my job was the trade-off. I was pretty much allowed to do what I wanted as long as the task was completed on time.

I have used the "no excuses, just results" mantra more times than I can count in both my personal and professional life since then. I was forced to own my decisions back then and I have willingly owned them since. It is infinitely easier to take responsibility for your own decisions than to place blame. To place blame you must include others and hope like heck you can really prove they have mistreated you. What a waste of time. Regardless of whether you are right or wrong in your perceived mistreatment, who really cares? Your boss doesn't care. The amount of time it takes to prove your case could have been better spent simply taking responsibility to fix the problem in the first place even if it's not your fault. We all know life isn't fair and in the working world it's even less so. But, it takes self-motivation to get ahead in both work and in life. Rely on yourself to get things done instead of complaining that other people are standing in your way. In the words of George Washington, "It is better to offer no excuse than a bad one."

Don't Confuse "Can't" With "Don't Want To"

2008-10-24T15:09:00.002-04:00

I quit smoking when I turned 30. I was a pack-a-day (or more) smoker who so enjoyed the entire act of smoking that I really wasn't sure how I could successfully quit. How do you voluntarily give up something you loved to do? I loved to hear the click of my lighter. I loved to take deep, long drags and hold the smoke in my throat until it just slightly burned. I loved to exhale and watch the puff of smoke vanish into thin air. I loved drinking coffee and smoking. I loved talking on the phone and smoking. Oh, how I loved to smoke.

I would usually think more about smoking than just about anything else. I was always wondering when I could get my hands on my next cigarette. Of course I knew smoking wasn't good for me, but I rationalized the continuation of smoking like shopaholics rationalize shopping or gamblers rationalize gambling. I had an addiction to nicotine and it was, bar none, the most powerful force in my life.

When I actually admitted the power cigarettes had over my life I was able to put it into some perspective. A small, slender inanimate object that is laced with such harmful ingredients as ammonia and hydrogen cyanide was dictating what I did, when I did it and with whom. If smoking wasn't allowed somewhere I just simply wouldn't go. The toxic chemicals I was ingesting were nothing compared to the idea of being without my smokes.

Isn't admitting you have a problem the first step toward addressing it? I slowly began to realize that my rationalizations to continue smoking were utterly ridiculous. I knew that cigarette smoking is directly responsible for 87 percent of lung cancer cases and causes most cases of emphysema and chronic bronchitis. I was avoiding the inevitable. The year I turned 30 I decided that enough was enough.

I quit smoking one day when I finished the last cigarette in my pack and didn't bother to buy another. I remember driving with my window down, inhaling what I knew to be the last burning tinge of smoke and flicking my cigarette butt out of the window. I felt like I had just lost my best friend.

Quitting smoking was the single, hardest thing I have ever had to do in my entire life because I basically had to change my entire life in order to succeed. I stopped going out with friends to the bar after work because it was too tempting. I stopped working my crossword puzzles because it was too painful of a reminder. I didn't talk on the phone as much and I had to actually sit on my hands to keep from continually reaching for my phantom pack of cigarettes. Everywhere I turned I had a reminder of my old friend Marlboro and wondered longingly who was enjoying his company now.

My journey to non-smoker status was extremely difficult, but I have been smoke-free now for eight years and I couldn't be happier. I am healthier than I ever have been in my entire life. I don't miss the chronic coughing, smoking outside in the snow or the dreadful, musty smell. I have since started doing crossword puzzles again and I can drink coffee, talk on the phone and meet friends at a bar without any problems. I wish my friends who still smoke would make smarter health decisions, but some people simply don't want to. The bottom line is they have not made the decision to quit. I hear people say " I can't quit" when what they really mean is "I don't want to." There is a difference. A self-fulfilling prophecy is a prediction that directly or indirectly causes itself to become true. If you tell yourself often enough that something is impossible (can't), it will most certainly become impossible.

Don't confuse "can't" with "don't want to." If you want to do something badly enough you will make the decision to do it and follow through on that decision by whatever means necessary. No excuses, no whining, no rationalizations. It's that simple. Make your decision and just do it.

The Manager

2008-10-19T10:35:00.003-04:00

My boys are no different than other kids when it comes to listening to their parents. We get the runaround, the hems, the haws, the sighs, the rolled eyes and all of the other typical, defiant behavior associated with "the rules." I explain that we have rules to follow to make our world a little more reasonable and our society a little more fit for human habitation. As long as we have rules, we have some semblance of order. To a toddler, however, that sounds more like, "rules really stink."

I found out really early on that when I tried to enforce the rules I had to repeat myself too many times for it to take effect. My boys would simply push boundaries until we were both exhausted from stating our cause. My voice would get louder as my kids got wilder. I was sick and tired of being the bad guy. Something had to change. My light bulb moment occurred when almost pushing a button on a plane trip to North Carolina. I discovered the power of blaming someone else for the rules.

My son Nicholas was kicking the seat in front of him to the intense irritation of the occupant. He was only 2 years old at the time and keeping those little legs perfectly still is next to impossible short of hogtying the boy to the flight attendant's drink cart. The aforementioned seat occupant was getting really hot under the collar and I wasn't in the mood to rationalize a 2-year old's behavior to a sneering, ornery old coot. I showed Nicholas the flight attendant's call button and said, "if you don't stop kicking that seat in front of you I will push this button and call the pilot. If the pilot has to come out of the cockpit to talk to you, you will be in b-iiiiii-gggggg trouble." I put my finger next to the button and Nicholas stopped kicking immediately. He looked at me with wide eyes darting back and forth to the front of the plane and said, breathing heavily, "is the pilot coming out?" I explained that I wouldn't have to push the button if he did as I said and behaved for the remainder of the flight. Let's just say we had a smooth landing.

I told the pilot story often. What a simple concept! The more I told the story, the more I realized I could use the pilot analogy in other situations as well. If we are at the grocery store and the boys can't keep their hands to themselves I threaten to call the grocery store manager. I tell the boys he is watching them from his hidden cameras in the store and the grocery store manager does not like boys who misbehave in his store! As we are walking down the aisles the boys point to a stranger and say, "is that the manager?" By the time they determine who they think is the manager our shopping is done. When we are at a restaurant and the boys are misbehaving I threaten to call the chef. I clarify that if the chef has to stop preparing meals for everyone in this restaurant to come out and talk to the boys not only will the chef be angry but so will everyone else who is waiting for their food. Don't make me call the chef! My younger son usually asks me, "is the chef the manager?" I always say yes because it's much easier to relate to a "manager" since most stores or businesses have managers. Most of the time I threaten to call "the manager" and my boys know exactly what I am talking about regardless of what type of business we are frequenting.

I have had so much fun blaming the manager and equally as much fun watching my boys look around and try to figure out just exactly who this elusive figure is. Is that the manager over there in the red shirt? Is that the manager behind the counter talking on the phone? Is that the manager in the suit wearing a tie? The "manager" has saved my sanity on numerous occasions where my simple, "because I said so!" isn't working.

In all the years we have been using this ruse, I have never actually had to place the call. The threatening gesture of simply picking up my phone is enough. My oldest son is so enamored with the supreme authority of the manager and the allure that comes with that much power. It's not rocket science to figure out what he wants to be when he grows up. When Nicholas is asked this question he answers without hesitation; the manager!