Kids can be so brutally honest. Usually, around our place, their honesty leads to pointed comments about Mom's appearance.
Like, "Oh, Mommy. Does that boo-boo on your face hurt?" [Translation: Mom, you have a zit.]
or "Wow, Mommy. You're turning blonde like me!" [Translation: Mom, you're going gray.]
Sometimes, Dad's the victim and the comment is phrased in the form of a question. Such as, while brushing teeth...
"Dad, how can a person's teeth get so yellow?"
But, every once in a while, the honesty dice get rolled in our favor... Sort of.
Such was the case yesterday during lunch, when I was trying to have a conversation with my husband. My daughter had a tiny play cup at the table and wanted milk poured into it instead of in her regular glass...
She said with increasing volume, "Mom-ME! IwantheOTHERglaass! IwanmymilkinthePRETTYone! Mom! Mom! Momm-ME!"
I made a weak comment that I was talking to Dad, and she needed to just drink what she was given. But as the whining libretto continued, I just wanted peace. With an exasperated sigh, I reached over and poured some of the milk from her regular cup into the play cup.
"Thank you, Mommy."
All my mind registered was that our world was now peaceful and we could finish our conversation. Two minutes later, it was done.
Silence.
Then a tiny voice.
"You know what mom?"
"What, honey."
"I stop whining when you give me what I want."
Not-so-veiled threat from Ms. Four-year-old.
I looked over at my smirking husband, who raised his eyebrows, and realized I'd just been perfectly manipulated by my child.
Well... at least she had the decency to let me know.
- Midwest Mom
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Monday, October 26, 2009
Adventures in Housebreaking
I am a felon at heart. And worse, so is my son.
The other day, I rushed and rushed to get my kids out the door and into the car so that we could head over to the local superstore forbeer essentials. I'll admit it. I was in a hurry.
Once everyone was buckled in, I reached into my pocket. The tell-tale combination of weight and jingling left me confident we'd be on our way in no time. But instead of keys, I found eighty-five cents and a paper clip.
Rats. Locked out.
No problem, I thought, I'll get the spare.
But whoever had used the spare last (probably yours truly) hadn't put it back.
I unloaded the kids from the car. Fortunately, it was a sunny fall day and they were thrilled to play in the leaves for a while Mom figured things out. I contemplated breaking a window. I contemplated calling my in-laws. Both options (for obvious reasons) were off the table.
I contemplated calling my husband. Too much trouble. He would be home in an hour and I was planning on having my errands done by then.
What remained? I searched my memory banks and flashed back to a time I was in similar situation. I was eight years old.
The year was 1980. I was a flip-haired flare-wearing third grader. Life was good. That is, until my kindergarten-age brother and I arrived home from school one Spring afternoon to find the doors locked and the garage empty. We were perplexed. Where was Mom?
At first, we sat on the front porch steps, waiting. I have no idea what we were waiting for, but whatever it was, it never came. There was no sign of Mom and our street was as deserted as a Utah ghost town.
It occurred to me that, sitting out front like that, we were sitting ducks for a child predator of some sort. After all, Nancy Reagan had told me to be careful of that sort of thing. Someone could see us -- no Mom in sight -- and try to sell us drugs or something.
I suggested we go around to the back patio. Everyone knows drug dealers wouldn't be caught dead on a patio.
We waited, seemingly, forever. In reality, it was probably twenty minutes. Still no sign of Mom, though.
It was then that my eyes spied a way in. The kitchen window had been left open a crack. If I could just get the screen to pop out, we'd be in like Flynn. I pried. I finagled. I coaxed that screen open. My younger brother Drew mopped sweat from my brow. The screen came loose! And my tiny fingers reached through to ease up the latches and remove it from the window. With a hearty shove, the kitchen window opened, and we scrambled up and onto the kitchen floor.
I was flush with success. I thought, breaking into houses is exciting! I could do this for a living!
Nancy Reagan, I was sure, would have been ashamed, but I didn't care.
My brother and I helped ourselves to some snack and started in on our homework. My mom walked in about 10 minutes later. We grilled her about where she'd been and regaled her with the tale of our amazing feat. As she eyed the bent kitchen screen, I was sure I saw pride at our self-sufficiency gleam in her eyes.
I was wrong. It was fury.
As a mom now myself, I recognize that the angry words that flew through our harvest gold-applianced kitchen too fast for the eight year old mind to process were really just the guilt talking. She hadn't been home when her children got in from school, but rather than beat herself up about it, she decided yell up one side of us and down the other. Honestly, I can't remember much of what she said... but it was something like we were supposed to go to the neighbor's and get a spare key and now the screen was ruined and also darnit our house isn't as secure as we thought...
We went to our rooms until supper. We were in that much trouble. But for the first time in my life, I don't remember being hurt that she was upset. Even if I didn't get dessert for a week or was grounded or (God forbid) had to wait until Dad got home... I was on cloud 9. Because I had just successfully perpetrated my first felony.
Fast forward to 2009.
As the kids started a battle-royale with the fallen leaves, I turned to my house -- seemingly impregnable -- and was filled with a sense of challenge. All the tools I would need were in the garage to which, fortunately, I had access.
All I needed was an accomplice who was lithe and agile -- and willing.
My eyes fell on my eight year old third grader.
He'll do, I thought -- perfectly.
- Midwest Mom
The other day, I rushed and rushed to get my kids out the door and into the car so that we could head over to the local superstore for
Once everyone was buckled in, I reached into my pocket. The tell-tale combination of weight and jingling left me confident we'd be on our way in no time. But instead of keys, I found eighty-five cents and a paper clip.
Rats. Locked out.
No problem, I thought, I'll get the spare.
But whoever had used the spare last (probably yours truly) hadn't put it back.
I unloaded the kids from the car. Fortunately, it was a sunny fall day and they were thrilled to play in the leaves for a while Mom figured things out. I contemplated breaking a window. I contemplated calling my in-laws. Both options (for obvious reasons) were off the table.
I contemplated calling my husband. Too much trouble. He would be home in an hour and I was planning on having my errands done by then.
What remained? I searched my memory banks and flashed back to a time I was in similar situation. I was eight years old.
The year was 1980. I was a flip-haired flare-wearing third grader. Life was good. That is, until my kindergarten-age brother and I arrived home from school one Spring afternoon to find the doors locked and the garage empty. We were perplexed. Where was Mom?
At first, we sat on the front porch steps, waiting. I have no idea what we were waiting for, but whatever it was, it never came. There was no sign of Mom and our street was as deserted as a Utah ghost town.
It occurred to me that, sitting out front like that, we were sitting ducks for a child predator of some sort. After all, Nancy Reagan had told me to be careful of that sort of thing. Someone could see us -- no Mom in sight -- and try to sell us drugs or something.
I suggested we go around to the back patio. Everyone knows drug dealers wouldn't be caught dead on a patio.
We waited, seemingly, forever. In reality, it was probably twenty minutes. Still no sign of Mom, though.
It was then that my eyes spied a way in. The kitchen window had been left open a crack. If I could just get the screen to pop out, we'd be in like Flynn. I pried. I finagled. I coaxed that screen open. My younger brother Drew mopped sweat from my brow. The screen came loose! And my tiny fingers reached through to ease up the latches and remove it from the window. With a hearty shove, the kitchen window opened, and we scrambled up and onto the kitchen floor.
I was flush with success. I thought, breaking into houses is exciting! I could do this for a living!
Nancy Reagan, I was sure, would have been ashamed, but I didn't care.
My brother and I helped ourselves to some snack and started in on our homework. My mom walked in about 10 minutes later. We grilled her about where she'd been and regaled her with the tale of our amazing feat. As she eyed the bent kitchen screen, I was sure I saw pride at our self-sufficiency gleam in her eyes.
I was wrong. It was fury.
As a mom now myself, I recognize that the angry words that flew through our harvest gold-applianced kitchen too fast for the eight year old mind to process were really just the guilt talking. She hadn't been home when her children got in from school, but rather than beat herself up about it, she decided yell up one side of us and down the other. Honestly, I can't remember much of what she said... but it was something like we were supposed to go to the neighbor's and get a spare key and now the screen was ruined and also darnit our house isn't as secure as we thought...
We went to our rooms until supper. We were in that much trouble. But for the first time in my life, I don't remember being hurt that she was upset. Even if I didn't get dessert for a week or was grounded or (God forbid) had to wait until Dad got home... I was on cloud 9. Because I had just successfully perpetrated my first felony.
Fast forward to 2009.
As the kids started a battle-royale with the fallen leaves, I turned to my house -- seemingly impregnable -- and was filled with a sense of challenge. All the tools I would need were in the garage to which, fortunately, I had access.
All I needed was an accomplice who was lithe and agile -- and willing.
My eyes fell on my eight year old third grader.
He'll do, I thought -- perfectly.
- Midwest Mom
Monday, October 19, 2009
The Law of the Pack
My boys and their Dad have their first foray into the world of Scouting tonight. My first-grader, especially, is stoked.
What is he most excited about, you ask? Is it learning to camp or canoe or tie knots? Is it making new friends?
Nope.
He feels the irresistible pull of this...
"Ooh, Mom... it looks like a police shirt!" he told me last night when I showed him this photo of the Cub Scout Uniform.
Um... I thought, Police shirt?? Seriously?!??
Then I showed my son the Cub Scout promise. He recited faithfully:
I, (say your name), promise
to DO MY BEST
To do my DUTY to GOD
And my Country
To HELP other people, and
To OBEY the LAW of the Pack
Oh, how he relished those last words... You know, the part about THE PACK.
It makes me think he's going to come home howling tonight.
[This is the part of the post wherein Julia pauses to thank the Lord in heaven that the boys' DAD is doing scouts with them, not her... Because -- well -- giggling during pack meetings would be frowned upon, I'm sure. ]
I showed him the Cub Scout Motto immediately after the promise. With the same irrepressible joy, he practically shouted Do Your Best!
I thought, well... that doesn't sound so bad.
(I'm still 50-50 on it... so we'll see how it goes. At the very least, a photo of him in that uniform will be SO worth it.)
- Midwest Mom
What is he most excited about, you ask? Is it learning to camp or canoe or tie knots? Is it making new friends?
Nope.
He feels the irresistible pull of this...
"Ooh, Mom... it looks like a police shirt!" he told me last night when I showed him this photo of the Cub Scout Uniform.
Um... I thought, Police shirt?? Seriously?!??
Then I showed my son the Cub Scout promise. He recited faithfully:
I, (say your name), promise
to DO MY BEST
To do my DUTY to GOD
And my Country
To HELP other people, and
To OBEY the LAW of the Pack
Oh, how he relished those last words... You know, the part about THE PACK.
It makes me think he's going to come home howling tonight.
[This is the part of the post wherein Julia pauses to thank the Lord in heaven that the boys' DAD is doing scouts with them, not her... Because -- well -- giggling during pack meetings would be frowned upon, I'm sure. ]
I showed him the Cub Scout Motto immediately after the promise. With the same irrepressible joy, he practically shouted Do Your Best!
I thought, well... that doesn't sound so bad.
(I'm still 50-50 on it... so we'll see how it goes. At the very least, a photo of him in that uniform will be SO worth it.)
- Midwest Mom
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Girl Power
My 4-year-old daughter is starting to discover her -- er -- feminine powers.The other day, as my husband and I got breakfast ready for the family, she strolled into the kitchen in her new 'rock star' pajamas.
"Mom, Wonder Woman has super-panties," she declared. "I like them."
Her dad had his back to us. I heard a snort and saw his shoulders start to shake as he fought to compose himself.
Playing along, I replied, "Well, honey, she walks around in her super-panties because she wants to embarrass the bad guys. As soon as they see her, they drop the loot to cover their eyes."
At that point, Dad regained control -- at least long enough to give us both a lesson in superhero powers. "Actually," directing a pointed look at me, "Wonder Woman has a magic lasso and bracelets that make bullets bounce off and an invisible plane." Then, with a smirk, "maybe her super-panties are powerful enough to make her plane disappear."
My daughter's look was deadpan.
"No, Dad."
There was a meaningful pause.
"She does that with her super-breasts."
- Midwest Mom
Friday, September 25, 2009
BlogCatalog Blog Spotlight: We are THAT Family ... you know the ones
As some of you may (or may not) know, I have been an active member over at BlogCatalog since I started blogging. It has been a great place to learn about the art and craft of blogging, to have technical questions answered with precision, and to enjoy a diverse and colorful group of bloggers from every blog genre and practically every country, too.Recently, I was asked to help BC add an additional Member Benefit -- weekly Blog Spotlight pieces on great blogs and bloggers in the Family and Home & Garden sections of the directory.
So, today, I'm proud to announce my first Spotlight piece and to introduce you to Kristen Welch, author of We are THAT Family... you know the ones. If you enjoy clever writing, you are sure to enjoy Kristen's humorous take on her family's (mis)adventures. She also has very thoughtful pieces on blogging and online community. So, her blog is absolutely worth a visit.
If you haven't joined BlogCatalog yet, I wholeheartedly recommend it. It has a great (and growing) group of Family and Parenting bloggers who are truly worth knowing.
- Midwest Mom
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Imagination and a Good Read
What is the sound of a writer on vacation? One part sigh, one part stretch, twenty-seven parts hilarious laughter (that's the kids... at least partly).
As a little gift, here are some of my favorite parenting, gardening, and humor articles. I published them back when my blog had zero readership. So, if you come by while I'm away from the computer, enjoy them.
Then, imagine me sitting in my lawn chair with my feet in the inflatable kiddie pool as I don my shades and sip a Frozen Strawberry Margarita with my Mom friends while our kids go crazy in the backyard.
Or, alternately, you can imagine me setting out in the family truckster with Hubby and the kids to explore the wilds of the East -- the Shenandoah Mountains, the Maryland Shore, the City of Brotherly Love, the Farms of Connecticut, the White Mountains of New Hampshire, and the Rocky Shores of Maine, only to return exhausted and sunburnt, but with renewed closeness that comes from spending 601 hours in the car together with nothing but country stations on the radio (Okay... that's only in Indiana).
Or, you could imagine me helping my sons fulfill a summer adventure wish with a day at a waterpark where they have the courage to go on the biggest, fastest, most watery of the waterslides! (And I hope your imagination photoshops my face onto the body of Cindy Crawford... for the sake of -ahem- accuracy.)
However you imagine me, though, please imagine me with a smile on my face.
There's nothing better than being a Mom, spending summer vacation with your family.
But if you get lonely for something fun to read, please consider one of these:
Gardening
Plants that Attract Butterflies
Going Green: Early July Vegetables
Tips & Tricks
Laundry Tip: Keeping White Clothes White
The Art of the Long Car Trip
Getting Ready for Kindergarten
Parenting
Separation Anxiety: We all have Clingons from Time to Time
On the Road to Raising Resilient Children
Can't We all Just Get Along? What to do when Children Fight
Chores or No Chores?
Time for Me: The Sisterhood of Moms
Humor/Our Life
I am Carnac, the Magnificent
Ants in My Pants
Giving Primo his Props
The Best Laid Plans of Elastigirl
I should be back in a bit. Until then, I hope all is well for you and yours. If you want to reach me, please email me at midwestmome@yahoo.com . I can't wait to hear from you.
Until next time!
All the best,
Julia (aka, Midwest Mom)
As a little gift, here are some of my favorite parenting, gardening, and humor articles. I published them back when my blog had zero readership. So, if you come by while I'm away from the computer, enjoy them.
Then, imagine me sitting in my lawn chair with my feet in the inflatable kiddie pool as I don my shades and sip a Frozen Strawberry Margarita with my Mom friends while our kids go crazy in the backyard.
Or, alternately, you can imagine me setting out in the family truckster with Hubby and the kids to explore the wilds of the East -- the Shenandoah Mountains, the Maryland Shore, the City of Brotherly Love, the Farms of Connecticut, the White Mountains of New Hampshire, and the Rocky Shores of Maine, only to return exhausted and sunburnt, but with renewed closeness that comes from spending 601 hours in the car together with nothing but country stations on the radio (Okay... that's only in Indiana).
Or, you could imagine me helping my sons fulfill a summer adventure wish with a day at a waterpark where they have the courage to go on the biggest, fastest, most watery of the waterslides! (And I hope your imagination photoshops my face onto the body of Cindy Crawford... for the sake of -ahem- accuracy.)
However you imagine me, though, please imagine me with a smile on my face.
There's nothing better than being a Mom, spending summer vacation with your family.
But if you get lonely for something fun to read, please consider one of these:
Gardening
Plants that Attract Butterflies
Going Green: Early July Vegetables
Tips & Tricks
Laundry Tip: Keeping White Clothes White
The Art of the Long Car Trip
Getting Ready for Kindergarten
Parenting
Separation Anxiety: We all have Clingons from Time to Time
On the Road to Raising Resilient Children
Can't We all Just Get Along? What to do when Children Fight
Chores or No Chores?
Time for Me: The Sisterhood of Moms
Humor/Our Life
I am Carnac, the Magnificent
Ants in My Pants
Giving Primo his Props
The Best Laid Plans of Elastigirl
I should be back in a bit. Until then, I hope all is well for you and yours. If you want to reach me, please email me at midwestmome@yahoo.com . I can't wait to hear from you.
Until next time!
All the best,
Julia (aka, Midwest Mom)
Monday, June 8, 2009
Lots of Misc
Have you ever read the garage sale section of the newspaper and seen the magic words people imagine will send loads of prospective buyers their way with fists full of cash?
Lots of Misc
It's at the end of every ad, and quite frankly, I find its meaning ambiguous at best. "Lots of Misc" could mean every piece of my grandmother's German china or it could mean seven bottles of my grandmother's Miss Breck hair color from 1968. You never know. Which is why I stay away from garage sales that just give an address and Lots of Misc.
With that said, today's post is a hodge-podge. It is miscellany at its best, so do your best to wade through. Hope you find something you like.
********
Have you ever noticed that in the Midwest, a man is not a man until he owns a riding lawn mower? And once he owns one, which he will call "the tractor" (although it is clearly not a tractor), he will find any opportunity to use it. He will spend hours of his precious Saturday mowing all five acres of his property to a precise 2.5 inches height. Not that he'll use the 5 acres. Not that he'll golf on it or chase his children on it. He just wants to have a ride on "the tractor".
With that said, Midwest men have a virtual age of 7 where tractors are involved.
********
Here's a unfortunate realization I've made during my last seven years here...
In the Midwest, there is nothing wrong with ending a sentence with a preposition. It makes my East Coast daughter-of-an-English-major's blood curdle to hear my Midwest friends and family ask for someone's location.
Where you at?
It has been spoken into Nextels and Blackberries thousands of times in my town alone, just this morning. I am fortunate that my husband is sensitive, in that he understands my revulsion for the phrase and tries not to use it. The rest of the population, however, is oblivious.
Though my skin crawls, my mind feels assaulted, my inner grammarian wants to shout, "Listen to yourselves!!" I suffer in silence.
But the moment it comes out of one of my children's mouths... I swear to you, I will declare war.
********
Now an admission: When my mother and I talk on the telephone, we inevitably compare garden notes. She always seems so impressed with the way my garden is progressing. But, honestly, I can't take credit for it. It's the soil and the weather.
Is it any wonder that Midwest farms are so productive? The soil where I live is as black as coal. I could grow a lollipop tree from a scrap of paper and a grain of sugar.
So, as much as I go on about my garden this and my garden that... I am keenly aware that my garden is as successful as it is only because of where I am, not necessarily what I do. What I do helps, to be sure... but the key to garden success is the same as the key to real estate success -- location, location, location.
********
This weekend I noticed some newcomers to our little plot. I was pulling alfalfa from the garden -- it had grown as tall as I am and was blocking the sunlight from the lance-leafed coreopsis just coming into bloom -- when I noticed a small, grey creature as small as one of my daughter's shoes. Our bunnies have had their babies.
They. Are. Darling.
I love that they have found a home in our wildflower garden (not our vegetable garden, like last year!) There is nothing as cute as watching a bunny chew on something -- even if it is your entire pea crop. Fortunately, thanks to the bunny hutch fencing we chose for our vegetable garden this year, we don't have to go through that again.
Also, my eye caught a flit of yellow as I looked out the window this morning. Our goldfinches are back. This year, I want to get a picture of them. Looks like I'll have to camp out for a while until they get comfortable with me... or until our sunflowers bloom. At current count, there will be 14 of them in the wildflower garden.
It's a good year to be a goldfinch.
********
A bit of news that is pressing on my mind today... I found out this weekend that one of my best friends back East was attacked by a man with a gun in broad daylight. Without going into detail about it, she is bruised but okay -- never underestimate the power of screaming your head off.
But if you're a praying person, please keep her in your prayers. She is feeling a good bit of fear right now.
********
Today, the kids have the day off. They go back to school Tuesday and Wednesday for Field Day and the last day of school. Then, we're off for the summer. Part of me can't wait for the schedule to ease up. But, part of me is ambivalent about the portion of our time that will be spent "adjusting" (i.e. bickering). Summer vacation is fun, but sometimes my children need some time to get used to sharing the same space.
The bigger they get, the smaller our house seems.
********
That's it for now. Hope there was something in there of interest.
If not, I'm sure I could dig up a couple of half-filled Avon perfume bottles, a pair of used Odor-eaters, or a paperweight shaped like a human heart.
I'll give you the lot of them... Got a nickel?
- Midwest Mom
Lots of Misc
It's at the end of every ad, and quite frankly, I find its meaning ambiguous at best. "Lots of Misc" could mean every piece of my grandmother's German china or it could mean seven bottles of my grandmother's Miss Breck hair color from 1968. You never know. Which is why I stay away from garage sales that just give an address and Lots of Misc.
With that said, today's post is a hodge-podge. It is miscellany at its best, so do your best to wade through. Hope you find something you like.
********
Have you ever noticed that in the Midwest, a man is not a man until he owns a riding lawn mower? And once he owns one, which he will call "the tractor" (although it is clearly not a tractor), he will find any opportunity to use it. He will spend hours of his precious Saturday mowing all five acres of his property to a precise 2.5 inches height. Not that he'll use the 5 acres. Not that he'll golf on it or chase his children on it. He just wants to have a ride on "the tractor".
With that said, Midwest men have a virtual age of 7 where tractors are involved.
********
Here's a unfortunate realization I've made during my last seven years here...
In the Midwest, there is nothing wrong with ending a sentence with a preposition. It makes my East Coast daughter-of-an-English-major's blood curdle to hear my Midwest friends and family ask for someone's location.
Where you at?
It has been spoken into Nextels and Blackberries thousands of times in my town alone, just this morning. I am fortunate that my husband is sensitive, in that he understands my revulsion for the phrase and tries not to use it. The rest of the population, however, is oblivious.
Though my skin crawls, my mind feels assaulted, my inner grammarian wants to shout, "Listen to yourselves!!" I suffer in silence.
But the moment it comes out of one of my children's mouths... I swear to you, I will declare war.
********
Now an admission: When my mother and I talk on the telephone, we inevitably compare garden notes. She always seems so impressed with the way my garden is progressing. But, honestly, I can't take credit for it. It's the soil and the weather.
Is it any wonder that Midwest farms are so productive? The soil where I live is as black as coal. I could grow a lollipop tree from a scrap of paper and a grain of sugar.
So, as much as I go on about my garden this and my garden that... I am keenly aware that my garden is as successful as it is only because of where I am, not necessarily what I do. What I do helps, to be sure... but the key to garden success is the same as the key to real estate success -- location, location, location.
********
This weekend I noticed some newcomers to our little plot. I was pulling alfalfa from the garden -- it had grown as tall as I am and was blocking the sunlight from the lance-leafed coreopsis just coming into bloom -- when I noticed a small, grey creature as small as one of my daughter's shoes. Our bunnies have had their babies.
They. Are. Darling.
I love that they have found a home in our wildflower garden (not our vegetable garden, like last year!) There is nothing as cute as watching a bunny chew on something -- even if it is your entire pea crop. Fortunately, thanks to the bunny hutch fencing we chose for our vegetable garden this year, we don't have to go through that again.
Also, my eye caught a flit of yellow as I looked out the window this morning. Our goldfinches are back. This year, I want to get a picture of them. Looks like I'll have to camp out for a while until they get comfortable with me... or until our sunflowers bloom. At current count, there will be 14 of them in the wildflower garden.
It's a good year to be a goldfinch.
********
A bit of news that is pressing on my mind today... I found out this weekend that one of my best friends back East was attacked by a man with a gun in broad daylight. Without going into detail about it, she is bruised but okay -- never underestimate the power of screaming your head off.
But if you're a praying person, please keep her in your prayers. She is feeling a good bit of fear right now.
********
Today, the kids have the day off. They go back to school Tuesday and Wednesday for Field Day and the last day of school. Then, we're off for the summer. Part of me can't wait for the schedule to ease up. But, part of me is ambivalent about the portion of our time that will be spent "adjusting" (i.e. bickering). Summer vacation is fun, but sometimes my children need some time to get used to sharing the same space.
The bigger they get, the smaller our house seems.
********
That's it for now. Hope there was something in there of interest.
If not, I'm sure I could dig up a couple of half-filled Avon perfume bottles, a pair of used Odor-eaters, or a paperweight shaped like a human heart.
I'll give you the lot of them... Got a nickel?
- Midwest Mom
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Tickled Pink
My daughter is tickled pink. Can't you tell?
You see, we spent the weekend painting our garage. Well, not actually painting it per se. We scraped it and primed it.
Since we decided to change the color of the garage from it's original (stained and peeling) white to a darker, deeper red brown that matches our brickwork, the helpful man in the paint department suggested we tint the primer.
He dutifully plugged our chosen color name into his trusty paint-mixing computer, and out poured perfectly-measured amounts of red, brown, and black. He loaded the can of primer in the shaker. He warned us that the color would not come out as dark as our paint -- so there would be a contrast between coats.
Out of the paint shaker it came; our daughter couldn't have been more pleased.
We started to apply the primer, and just as we finished, the sky opened up. It rained and rained, preventing us from painting the much darker finish coat.
It's raining again today, much to my daughter's pleasure and my husband's chagrin.
Why? This is why.
All I can think of is Pepto Bismol and the fact that our neighbors may disown us.
But at least my daughter is happy. That has to count for something, right?
- Midwest Mom
You see, we spent the weekend painting our garage. Well, not actually painting it per se. We scraped it and primed it.
Since we decided to change the color of the garage from it's original (stained and peeling) white to a darker, deeper red brown that matches our brickwork, the helpful man in the paint department suggested we tint the primer.
He dutifully plugged our chosen color name into his trusty paint-mixing computer, and out poured perfectly-measured amounts of red, brown, and black. He loaded the can of primer in the shaker. He warned us that the color would not come out as dark as our paint -- so there would be a contrast between coats.
Out of the paint shaker it came; our daughter couldn't have been more pleased.
We started to apply the primer, and just as we finished, the sky opened up. It rained and rained, preventing us from painting the much darker finish coat.
It's raining again today, much to my daughter's pleasure and my husband's chagrin.
Why? This is why.
All I can think of is Pepto Bismol and the fact that our neighbors may disown us.
But at least my daughter is happy. That has to count for something, right?
- Midwest Mom
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Compulsion Cleaning
Moms agree: there are certain types of cleaning that qualify as compulsion. It can be a three-week-long Spring cleaning binge or weekly cleaning before the cleaning lady comes. I have a friend who used to clean like a fiend -- for the exterminator. As for me, my compulsion cleaning is the cleaning I do before my Mother comes to visit.
What am I afraid of?
Will she disown me if she looks under the love seat and finds the lonely remnant of the stinky sock fight my boys had last night?
Will she click her tongue in disapproval at the tiny hand prints of my three-year-old left from watching squirrels play outside our dining room window? Will she check for dust behind the refrigerator? Will she scowl at an unscoured bit of shower soap scum?
Does she walk through my home judging, running her glowing white gloves over every surface?
Of course not. But in case you're listening, SC Johnson, if you ran television ads with only the words
YOUR MOTHER IS COMING
and the music from Psycho, I would buy every product in your product line.
What is funny is that my Mom and I have a good relationship, and I look forward to her coming. She is my friend and my children's treasured grandmother. But while she is here, I live in fear that she will notice something that needs doing around our home and utter those four fateful words no mother wants any other woman to say in her home.
"Let me do it."
When Mom comes to visit, I work myself ragged just trying to beat her to whatever job catches her attention. After supper, there is practically a race for the job I despise the most -- washing the dishes.
In any other circumstance, I would bring flowers to someone who washed the dishes for me. I have been known to pay my oldest son a whopping dollar to do a big load of dishes. Today's true confession of motherhood is this: our supper dishes usually wait until morning to be done. At the end of my day there are just a thousand places I would rather spend my last reserves of energy. So, dishes get rinsed or scraped and neatly stacked, but I do not load the dishwasher or wash the pans until morning. Need proof?
Voila. Last night's dishes. Martha Stewart perfection I am not.
Maybe that's what I'm worried my mother will suddenly "discover." It's my horrid truth of mothering, that I would rather have a tickle fight with my kids after supper or sit and watch the news with my husband than tackle a pile of dishes.
I guess that's why for the next five days there will be a race from the supper table to see which woman can get the fastest case of dishpan hands. It's a pride thing.
I suppose it's something I should work on. Maybe I should be more accepting of help or give my mother more credit for understanding the stresses of raising my brood. After all, she raised six of us, so she's no stranger to the cluttered life of a mother with young children -- right?
Right.
So, I'm resolving to do better during this visit, here, publicly, on Midwest Moms. (She arrives tomorrow... have I mentioned it?) I will try to let go of small details and stop this compulsive cleaning behavior.
Yep. I'll get started on that...
... right after I clean the grout in the front hallway. Anybody got a toothbrush?
- Midwest Mom
Friday, February 27, 2009
Tag! You're It! Kids Games to Keep you Fit and More
One of my favorite ways to stay active is to play games with my children. I have three between the ages of 3 and 7, and they are running around constantly. The more they run, the more they seem to want company -- "Mommy, Daddy, come play with me!"
It's music to my ears, really.
For today's Fit Mommy Friday tip, I give you another no-brainer. Try to channel your inner kindergartner and play outdoor games with your children. Here are a few to try.
Tag and Freeze Tag: One of the best ways to get running with your kids is to chase them or be chased. In the game of tag, one player is "it". He chases the other players trying to touch them. As soon as he catches one, the caught person becomes "it." In freeze tag, the tagger touches people to freeze them. Tagged players must stand perfectly still. They can only be unfrozen by another player crawling through their legs or running in a circle around them. The goal is to "freeze" all the players but one. Whoever is the last person left unfrozen becomes "it."
Blast Off: This is a great game to play with a playground ball and lots of room to run. The person with the ball gets ready to throw it while the other players stand in a circle around her. Everybody counts: 5-4-3-2-1, Blast off! She throws the ball as high as she can straight up into the air and calls out a name of one of the players. Everyone but the person whose name was called runs as far away as they can get. The child whose name was called tries to catch the ball. If they do: they automatically win. If not, they get it and call out, "1-2-3 STOP!" Everybody freezes. The person with the ball then has five giant steps toward the closest person. If they can throw the ball and hit that person, they get to be in the middle and the ball gets thrown up in the air again. If they can't, they are out. The last person remaining wins.
Monkey Races: We play this game at the playground. Essentially, it is an obstacle course race on the playground equipment. We call it monkey races because it always starts with a side-by-side race on the monkey bars. What a workout for Mommy! (I don't mind telling you that I usually lose to my 7 year old.) Set up the course, ready, set, go! There's nothing like winning to make any game irresistible.
******************************
And now, for a different sort of Tag -- one that doesn't work up quite as much of a sweat!
My bloggy friend Melissa at Green Girl in Wisconsin tagged me the other day to participate in a meme called "Love Me, Love Me Not". I have to list 5 things I love about myself and 5 things that aren't so lovable about me. (Trust me, my husband had a ball "helping" me figure out what to write! Who knew he loved it when I let my hair dry naturally? Who also knew that he notices how grumpy I am before my a.m. coffee infusion?) Then, I have to "tag" 5 bloggers to play the game next.
Because I like to end on a positive note, I'll start with the 5 things I don't love about myself.
1. I am a worrier. I worry about my children and my parents, about their health and their futures. I worry about the country because I want us to finally have our priorities right. (Lately, I worry about that a lot less.) I worry that I'm not doing enough for everyone else. I worry that I will fail. Worrying is something I try to turn into positive action, to use it rather than succumbing to it. But in my heart, I know I will never be entirely free of it.
2. On a lighter note, I am far too ticklish -- physically ticklish. It is a terrible weakness because it means that my children (or my husband) can completely immobilize me at a moments notice. It has all but dashed my dreams of ever becoming a ninja. Ninjas can't be ticklish. But I totally am -- virtually everywhere.
3. I am risk averse. There is always this voice in my head that is telling me all the ways something could hurt before I do it. I often wish I could just turn that voice off instead of always having to overcome it or act in spite of it. My risk-averse nature comes out in my parenting; I know my children will tease me later in life for the number of times the words "be careful" came out of my mouth.
4. In the mornings especially, I am hopelessly grouchy. And when I say grouchy, I mean terse and crabby. My three-year old daughter calls my hairspray "grouch spray". (That disarms me right away, for sure!) Fortunately, my grouchiness is easily overcome by the caring look on her face when she asks if I'm feeling grumpy today -- and coffee... plenty of coffee.
5. I cannot eat anything I want. Trust me. I so totally wish I could, but I have always had to watch my weight and curb my appetites. Life has had a way of throwing that little foible in my face by making me fall in love with the one man who could eat pancakes and bacon for every breakfast, fries at every lunch, and cheesecake for dessert every day and never gain an ounce. He is metabolic perfection. I, sadly, am not.
Okay. Now, for the fun part! What I truly love about myself.
1. My teeth. I have always had straight teeth -- I get them from my mother. I've never had to wear braces, and was cavity-free until I was about 17 years old. Even then, I only had a pit in one tooth. My older sister had to go through a variety of face-altering devices so that she could look more like a human and less like a shark. Growing up, I tried not to gloat over my perfectly straight teeth. But as she moaned in the night from the pain of the medieval torture devices she was forced to wear by sadists we call "orthodontists", I secretly thanked the Lord Above for giving me a mouthful of dental perfection.
2. I have an abiding, honest-to-goodness L. O. V. E. of sports. I love to play them. I love to watch them. I love to talk about them. A side-benefit of loving sports is that my husband's friends have openly labeled me as being pretty darn close to the Ideal Mate. When we were dating, we went to a party for the Michigan-Ohio State game. After a great play, I noted that the guys on SportsCenter had been talking about the player involved. Hubby's friends looked at each other as though their world had been fundamentally altered. "You watch SportsCenter?!??!" they exclaimed with incredulity. Then, to Hubby, "She's a keeper." If my love of sports put me in the "keeper" category and makes me happy, anyway, it should definitely be on this list.
3. I love my sense of humor and my willingness to poke fun at myself at least as often as I poke fun at other people. Laughing is good therapy -- so is laughing at yourself. I would not change my sense of humor. It's one of the essential parts of me.
4. I love that I have a green thumb. There is something profound and powerful about being able to help the earth bear fruit. It is a gift I am grateful for because it nourishes me as much as I nourish it.
5. Finally, I love having an open heart. There are few people on this planet that I have no use for or that I believe are beyond hope. It is a wonderful feeling not to judge my fellow human beings, but to simply appreciate them and care for them. I have often said to friends and family members who have been hurt that, for me, one of the surest ways to know God is through the act of loving again. I have always tried to let love guide my decision-making. It hasn't steered me wrong yet.
And now, (drumroll please) for the five fantastic bloggers I hope will carry forward this fun game of Tag...
1. Laurie Rodak at The Playground Observer
2. Susana at Firefly Shop - My Thoughts
3. Suzen at Erasing the Bored
4. Julie at Octamom
and
5. Abby at My Sweet Babboo
Have a great weekend, everyone!
- Midwest Mom
It's music to my ears, really.
For today's Fit Mommy Friday tip, I give you another no-brainer. Try to channel your inner kindergartner and play outdoor games with your children. Here are a few to try.
Tag and Freeze Tag: One of the best ways to get running with your kids is to chase them or be chased. In the game of tag, one player is "it". He chases the other players trying to touch them. As soon as he catches one, the caught person becomes "it." In freeze tag, the tagger touches people to freeze them. Tagged players must stand perfectly still. They can only be unfrozen by another player crawling through their legs or running in a circle around them. The goal is to "freeze" all the players but one. Whoever is the last person left unfrozen becomes "it."
Blast Off: This is a great game to play with a playground ball and lots of room to run. The person with the ball gets ready to throw it while the other players stand in a circle around her. Everybody counts: 5-4-3-2-1, Blast off! She throws the ball as high as she can straight up into the air and calls out a name of one of the players. Everyone but the person whose name was called runs as far away as they can get. The child whose name was called tries to catch the ball. If they do: they automatically win. If not, they get it and call out, "1-2-3 STOP!" Everybody freezes. The person with the ball then has five giant steps toward the closest person. If they can throw the ball and hit that person, they get to be in the middle and the ball gets thrown up in the air again. If they can't, they are out. The last person remaining wins.
Monkey Races: We play this game at the playground. Essentially, it is an obstacle course race on the playground equipment. We call it monkey races because it always starts with a side-by-side race on the monkey bars. What a workout for Mommy! (I don't mind telling you that I usually lose to my 7 year old.) Set up the course, ready, set, go! There's nothing like winning to make any game irresistible.
******************************
And now, for a different sort of Tag -- one that doesn't work up quite as much of a sweat!
My bloggy friend Melissa at Green Girl in Wisconsin tagged me the other day to participate in a meme called "Love Me, Love Me Not". I have to list 5 things I love about myself and 5 things that aren't so lovable about me. (Trust me, my husband had a ball "helping" me figure out what to write! Who knew he loved it when I let my hair dry naturally? Who also knew that he notices how grumpy I am before my a.m. coffee infusion?) Then, I have to "tag" 5 bloggers to play the game next.
Because I like to end on a positive note, I'll start with the 5 things I don't love about myself.
1. I am a worrier. I worry about my children and my parents, about their health and their futures. I worry about the country because I want us to finally have our priorities right. (Lately, I worry about that a lot less.) I worry that I'm not doing enough for everyone else. I worry that I will fail. Worrying is something I try to turn into positive action, to use it rather than succumbing to it. But in my heart, I know I will never be entirely free of it.
2. On a lighter note, I am far too ticklish -- physically ticklish. It is a terrible weakness because it means that my children (or my husband) can completely immobilize me at a moments notice. It has all but dashed my dreams of ever becoming a ninja. Ninjas can't be ticklish. But I totally am -- virtually everywhere.
3. I am risk averse. There is always this voice in my head that is telling me all the ways something could hurt before I do it. I often wish I could just turn that voice off instead of always having to overcome it or act in spite of it. My risk-averse nature comes out in my parenting; I know my children will tease me later in life for the number of times the words "be careful" came out of my mouth.
4. In the mornings especially, I am hopelessly grouchy. And when I say grouchy, I mean terse and crabby. My three-year old daughter calls my hairspray "grouch spray". (That disarms me right away, for sure!) Fortunately, my grouchiness is easily overcome by the caring look on her face when she asks if I'm feeling grumpy today -- and coffee... plenty of coffee.
5. I cannot eat anything I want. Trust me. I so totally wish I could, but I have always had to watch my weight and curb my appetites. Life has had a way of throwing that little foible in my face by making me fall in love with the one man who could eat pancakes and bacon for every breakfast, fries at every lunch, and cheesecake for dessert every day and never gain an ounce. He is metabolic perfection. I, sadly, am not.
Okay. Now, for the fun part! What I truly love about myself.
1. My teeth. I have always had straight teeth -- I get them from my mother. I've never had to wear braces, and was cavity-free until I was about 17 years old. Even then, I only had a pit in one tooth. My older sister had to go through a variety of face-altering devices so that she could look more like a human and less like a shark. Growing up, I tried not to gloat over my perfectly straight teeth. But as she moaned in the night from the pain of the medieval torture devices she was forced to wear by sadists we call "orthodontists", I secretly thanked the Lord Above for giving me a mouthful of dental perfection.
2. I have an abiding, honest-to-goodness L. O. V. E. of sports. I love to play them. I love to watch them. I love to talk about them. A side-benefit of loving sports is that my husband's friends have openly labeled me as being pretty darn close to the Ideal Mate. When we were dating, we went to a party for the Michigan-Ohio State game. After a great play, I noted that the guys on SportsCenter had been talking about the player involved. Hubby's friends looked at each other as though their world had been fundamentally altered. "You watch SportsCenter?!??!" they exclaimed with incredulity. Then, to Hubby, "She's a keeper." If my love of sports put me in the "keeper" category and makes me happy, anyway, it should definitely be on this list.
3. I love my sense of humor and my willingness to poke fun at myself at least as often as I poke fun at other people. Laughing is good therapy -- so is laughing at yourself. I would not change my sense of humor. It's one of the essential parts of me.
4. I love that I have a green thumb. There is something profound and powerful about being able to help the earth bear fruit. It is a gift I am grateful for because it nourishes me as much as I nourish it.
5. Finally, I love having an open heart. There are few people on this planet that I have no use for or that I believe are beyond hope. It is a wonderful feeling not to judge my fellow human beings, but to simply appreciate them and care for them. I have often said to friends and family members who have been hurt that, for me, one of the surest ways to know God is through the act of loving again. I have always tried to let love guide my decision-making. It hasn't steered me wrong yet.
And now, (drumroll please) for the five fantastic bloggers I hope will carry forward this fun game of Tag...
1. Laurie Rodak at The Playground Observer
2. Susana at Firefly Shop - My Thoughts
3. Suzen at Erasing the Bored
4. Julie at Octamom
and
5. Abby at My Sweet Babboo
Have a great weekend, everyone!
- Midwest Mom
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Misadventures of Wondermom: True Story #527
In this episode, we join our heroine at the local playground where she and her rag-tag band of mini-heroes -- Primo, Brain (aka Captain Kindergarten), and Princess Peanut -- are training in an attempt to further hone their superpowers. Little do they realize that a routine training session can lead to some of the greatest challenges they have yet to face.
***********************
Climbing deftly to the top of a rotationally molded, ultraviolet light stabilized polyethylene plastic behemoth from the deep, Brain calls out to one and all "Look at MEEEeeeeeeee!"
But he realizes his fateful error too late! Increased visual attention has thwarted Brain's grip of ultimate firmness. (Either that, or it was his slippery supermittens...) At any rate, his cry for attention echoes endlessly as he plummets into the mulchy abyss.
Instantly, his faithful companion Primo is at his side to assess the extent of the damage.
As Brain writhes silently amid the wood chips, Primo asks a series of probing questions.
"Did you hurt your head?"
Brain shakes his head, no.
"Did you hurt your back?" no.
"Did you hurt your arm? your legs? your nose? your funny bone?" no, no, no, and no.
"Did you hurt your..." Primo looks shiftily from side to side and envokes his power of stealth-speech, "tenders?"
Wondermom's superhearing powers up.
She continues to push Princess Peanut on the swing and notes to herself that four viewings of Kung Fu Panda seem to have brought some new terminology into the mini-heroes' vocabulary.
After what seems (to his brother) like an eternity, Brain musters the strength to speak.
"Not my tenders." he states in clinical gasps, "the place right next to them." A pause. "I think it's called your groan."
Brain surreptitiously indicates the place to his trusted friend.
[Pretending not to pay attention, Wondermom invokes her power of giggle suppression.]
Primo places a sympathetic hand on Brain's shoulder. His tone is instructive. "That's not your groan. It's your crutches."
[Wondermom boosts giggle suppression to maximum.]
Brain responds, "Yeah? Well, I think I just broke my crutches."
With naked shock and deep concern, Primo sets his supervoice on full power, "Mom! BRAIN JUST BROKE HIS CRUTCHES! HELP!"
"Oh, no!" thinks Wondermom, "full failure of giggle suppression systems!"
The laughs are coming! She is powerless to stop them!
*************************
Can Wondermom regain her composure?
Will flashbacks reduce her to teary-eyed laughter?
Find out next time on --
Misadventures of Wondermom!
***********************
Climbing deftly to the top of a rotationally molded, ultraviolet light stabilized polyethylene plastic behemoth from the deep, Brain calls out to one and all "Look at MEEEeeeeeeee!"
But he realizes his fateful error too late! Increased visual attention has thwarted Brain's grip of ultimate firmness. (Either that, or it was his slippery supermittens...) At any rate, his cry for attention echoes endlessly as he plummets into the mulchy abyss.
Instantly, his faithful companion Primo is at his side to assess the extent of the damage.
As Brain writhes silently amid the wood chips, Primo asks a series of probing questions.
"Did you hurt your head?"
Brain shakes his head, no.
"Did you hurt your back?" no.
"Did you hurt your arm? your legs? your nose? your funny bone?" no, no, no, and no.
"Did you hurt your..." Primo looks shiftily from side to side and envokes his power of stealth-speech, "tenders?"
Wondermom's superhearing powers up.
She continues to push Princess Peanut on the swing and notes to herself that four viewings of Kung Fu Panda seem to have brought some new terminology into the mini-heroes' vocabulary.
After what seems (to his brother) like an eternity, Brain musters the strength to speak.
"Not my tenders." he states in clinical gasps, "the place right next to them." A pause. "I think it's called your groan."
Brain surreptitiously indicates the place to his trusted friend.
[Pretending not to pay attention, Wondermom invokes her power of giggle suppression.]
Primo places a sympathetic hand on Brain's shoulder. His tone is instructive. "That's not your groan. It's your crutches."
[Wondermom boosts giggle suppression to maximum.]
Brain responds, "Yeah? Well, I think I just broke my crutches."
With naked shock and deep concern, Primo sets his supervoice on full power, "Mom! BRAIN JUST BROKE HIS CRUTCHES! HELP!"
"Oh, no!" thinks Wondermom, "full failure of giggle suppression systems!"
The laughs are coming! She is powerless to stop them!
*************************
Can Wondermom regain her composure?
Will flashbacks reduce her to teary-eyed laughter?
Find out next time on --
Misadventures of Wondermom!
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Bargain Valentine Dos and Don'ts
Let's face it; most of us aren't spending a lot these days. That can be a problem when it comes to "conscious splurge" holidays like Valentine's Day.
"Romance on a Budget" might not be in your comfort zone. Heck, you may never have even put those words together in the same sentence. (For instance, most husbands might avoid the first word in favor of the second... and most paperback novels feature a man who thinks only of sweeping a girl off her feet, never worrying about the bill.)
Life just isn't fair. But I digress... Instead of grumbling, it seems like a good time for
Bargain Valentine Dos and Don'ts!
To save money and have a romantic Valentine's Day,
DO spend time cooking some heart-and-soul-warming comfort food together instead of going out to an expensive restaurant.
DON'T order in two dozen buffalo wings because what could be hotter than hot sauce on your partner's face? (The breath is an added bonus.)
DO go to an auction together to buy your spouse something beautiful without breaking the bank.
DON'T bemoan the prices at the jewelry store and use them as an excuse to get her nothing at all.
DO take a long, quiet walk together at a local park, followed by warm cocoa at the coffee shop just like you did when you were dating.
DON'T suggest a walk, but bring along the kids and make the playground your destination. (Trust me, ask Grandma to watch the kids for an hour. She will say yes.)
DO bring your wife an inexpensive bottle of wine and a single red rose.
DON'T buy flowers because you feel you have to, spend too much, and then "confess" the price to your wife as you apologize for the fact that the flowers are wilting on the first day.
DO write a note telling your spouse how much you appreciate what they do for you each and every day. Let your partner know one thing that happened in the past year that proves you are perfectly matched.
DON'T write your message in one of those cards with a bikini girl inside or a picture of a chimp. No matter what you write or how cheap the card was, the romance value is zero.
DO assemble photos of your spouse from high school or college, from when you were dating and first married, from when you first had children, from that last romantic vacation, from today, and let your spouse know that he or she has only grown more and more beautiful as time has gone by.
DON'T look at a beautiful woman or handsome man that walks by and say, "I remember when you looked that good." It's not the same thing. Trust me.
DO turn out the lights, light the fireplace and candles, and talk about the day you first met. Laugh together and remember why you are together.
DON'T turn out the lights, roll over, and start to snore.
I hope you and your special someone have a wonderfully romantic Valentine's day.
And if it doesn't turn out like a paperback novel, at least have a good laugh about it -- it's a great coping mechanism. Right?
- Midwest Mom
"Romance on a Budget" might not be in your comfort zone. Heck, you may never have even put those words together in the same sentence. (For instance, most husbands might avoid the first word in favor of the second... and most paperback novels feature a man who thinks only of sweeping a girl off her feet, never worrying about the bill.)
Life just isn't fair. But I digress... Instead of grumbling, it seems like a good time for
Bargain Valentine Dos and Don'ts!
To save money and have a romantic Valentine's Day,
DO spend time cooking some heart-and-soul-warming comfort food together instead of going out to an expensive restaurant.
DON'T order in two dozen buffalo wings because what could be hotter than hot sauce on your partner's face? (The breath is an added bonus.)
DO go to an auction together to buy your spouse something beautiful without breaking the bank.
DON'T bemoan the prices at the jewelry store and use them as an excuse to get her nothing at all.
DO take a long, quiet walk together at a local park, followed by warm cocoa at the coffee shop just like you did when you were dating.
DON'T suggest a walk, but bring along the kids and make the playground your destination. (Trust me, ask Grandma to watch the kids for an hour. She will say yes.)
DO bring your wife an inexpensive bottle of wine and a single red rose.
DON'T buy flowers because you feel you have to, spend too much, and then "confess" the price to your wife as you apologize for the fact that the flowers are wilting on the first day.
DO write a note telling your spouse how much you appreciate what they do for you each and every day. Let your partner know one thing that happened in the past year that proves you are perfectly matched.
DON'T write your message in one of those cards with a bikini girl inside or a picture of a chimp. No matter what you write or how cheap the card was, the romance value is zero.
DO assemble photos of your spouse from high school or college, from when you were dating and first married, from when you first had children, from that last romantic vacation, from today, and let your spouse know that he or she has only grown more and more beautiful as time has gone by.
DON'T look at a beautiful woman or handsome man that walks by and say, "I remember when you looked that good." It's not the same thing. Trust me.
DO turn out the lights, light the fireplace and candles, and talk about the day you first met. Laugh together and remember why you are together.
DON'T turn out the lights, roll over, and start to snore.
I hope you and your special someone have a wonderfully romantic Valentine's day.
And if it doesn't turn out like a paperback novel, at least have a good laugh about it -- it's a great coping mechanism. Right?
- Midwest Mom
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Fun Feature on TwitterMoms!
I was so surprised yesterday to get a message from Lea Curtes-Swenson, one of the featured bloggers at TwitterMoms -- the Influential Moms Network. She wanted to put Midwest Moms in the spotlight and write a profile of me as Twitter Mom of the Week.
The Twitter Mom Of The Week interview went a little something like this:
TMOTW: So, Julia, tell me a little about yourself so I can write this piece...
Julia: Well, I was born on a cloudy afternoon in 1971 in Northern Virginia. There was a gentle breeze blowing in from the Southeast and the scent of camellias filled the air....
[an hour later...]
TMOTW: -sigh- Yes, yes... how interesting. [rolls eyes] I'm amazed that you learned to walk at such a young age... You spoke 3 languages by age 5? Really??!?? [looks at watch and wonders how much of this she can actually use.]
Julia: Well, I don't like to brag... but... blah blah first place jump roper blah blah first to earn a crochet-a-potholder brownie badge blah blah blah...
TMOTW: [jolts awake] Have you done anything more... recent? What about your blog?
Julia: Oh, sure... I've written about Ants in my Pants and Lotion... You know -- important stuff all Moms need to know. I teach people how to make Mud Puppies or find buried treasure in their yard. blah blah very useful blah blah
[sounds of roosters crowing]
TMOTW: -yawn- Well, I guess that covers it. By the way... how long has it been since someone's asked you to talk about yourself?
Julia: Oh... about a hundred years. Why do you ask?
TMOTW: [snort-giggle] No reason.
Seriously, though. The Twitter Mom of the Week Profile was a real honor. In the few months since TwitterMoms began it has grown to over 8,000 members. After the welcome I have received, it's no wonder.
If you don't know much about TwitterMoms, here's the 411.
TwitterMoms -- the Influential Moms Network is an active social networking site that provides blog hosting and photo sharing for its members. It features a variety of Discussion groups that cater to diverse interests -- from Healthy Moms to Moms of Multiples to Work-At-Home-Moms [WAHM] and Stay-At-Home-Moms [SAHM]. Some groups are great for parenting tips -- like one I'm in called Raising a Reader. Others are just for fun, like the fan groups -- Grey's Anatomy Moms, Twilight Moms, even Martha Stewart Moms. TwitterMoms was founded in September 2008 by Megan Calhoun, the original influental mom. It is a supportive community of intelligent women that I feel proud to be a part of.
So, head on over. They're always looking for more smart and talented women (which, of course, if you're reading Midwest Moms, you must be!) Becoming a Member is easy, and it's a great way to meet other fantastic women in the Sisterhood of Moms.
- Midwest Mom
The Twitter Mom Of The Week interview went a little something like this:
TMOTW: So, Julia, tell me a little about yourself so I can write this piece...
Julia: Well, I was born on a cloudy afternoon in 1971 in Northern Virginia. There was a gentle breeze blowing in from the Southeast and the scent of camellias filled the air....
[an hour later...]
TMOTW: -sigh- Yes, yes... how interesting. [rolls eyes] I'm amazed that you learned to walk at such a young age... You spoke 3 languages by age 5? Really??!?? [looks at watch and wonders how much of this she can actually use.]
Julia: Well, I don't like to brag... but... blah blah first place jump roper blah blah first to earn a crochet-a-potholder brownie badge blah blah blah...
TMOTW: [jolts awake] Have you done anything more... recent? What about your blog?
Julia: Oh, sure... I've written about Ants in my Pants and Lotion... You know -- important stuff all Moms need to know. I teach people how to make Mud Puppies or find buried treasure in their yard. blah blah very useful blah blah
[sounds of roosters crowing]
TMOTW: -yawn- Well, I guess that covers it. By the way... how long has it been since someone's asked you to talk about yourself?
Julia: Oh... about a hundred years. Why do you ask?
TMOTW: [snort-giggle] No reason.
Seriously, though. The Twitter Mom of the Week Profile was a real honor. In the few months since TwitterMoms began it has grown to over 8,000 members. After the welcome I have received, it's no wonder.
If you don't know much about TwitterMoms, here's the 411.
TwitterMoms -- the Influential Moms Network is an active social networking site that provides blog hosting and photo sharing for its members. It features a variety of Discussion groups that cater to diverse interests -- from Healthy Moms to Moms of Multiples to Work-At-Home-Moms [WAHM] and Stay-At-Home-Moms [SAHM]. Some groups are great for parenting tips -- like one I'm in called Raising a Reader. Others are just for fun, like the fan groups -- Grey's Anatomy Moms, Twilight Moms, even Martha Stewart Moms. TwitterMoms was founded in September 2008 by Megan Calhoun, the original influental mom. It is a supportive community of intelligent women that I feel proud to be a part of.
So, head on over. They're always looking for more smart and talented women (which, of course, if you're reading Midwest Moms, you must be!) Becoming a Member is easy, and it's a great way to meet other fantastic women in the Sisterhood of Moms.
- Midwest Mom
Monday, January 26, 2009
Oh, to be more Organized!
This weekend, we moved my office to a different part of the house. It's hard to believe that four years of carefully accumulated paperwork can be boxed up (and totally jumbled) in less than 30 minutes. But it's true. It can. And it was.
So, yesterday began the long process of de-jumble-ification. At this point I have come to one conclusion: "Psychic Filing" does not work.
Psychic filing is when you can look at the mass of piled paperwork that surrounds your desk and say to yourself, "I know exactly where everything is." You get frustrated when someone (usually your spouse) asks to see a bill or receipt or God forbid! the manual for a major appliance. "You can't just ask for that!" you say, then "Give me a minute to get it, for Pete's sake!"
You focus your concentration with the skill of a trained Jedi Knight as you think back to the last time you saw the piece of paper in question.
I had it in my hand when Primo gave me his class photo. That was the day we made paper flowers in playgroup for Mother's day. Which, of course, means I had gone shoe shopping earlier in the day for sandals to go with my green dress. I used the shoebox to hold the seventeen beautiful rocks the boys picked up for me during our walk to the purple dinosaur playground, and the shoebox was... the shoebox was... Blue! Keds! I didn't find sandals, but I picked up my summer pair of Keds!
You walk over to the teetering pile of precariously piled paperwork and pull out a single sheet of paper from beneath a blue Keds box. It is the April water bill your husband just asked for.
He is mystified. And with good reason. He has just experienced the wonder of psychic filing. (And the only time it has ever worked in the history of humanity.)
Of course, any good psychic filing system is helped by bursts of cleaning, shredding, and re-piling, which can only be performed by a trained psychic filer.
It can be completely destroyed, however, by simple things:
I wonder, as I spend hours shuffling these papers into that pile and that and that folder, whether my move from psychic filing to something more organized can ever be permanent. I usually "resolve" to get more organized and do, from about Jan 1 until March 12th or so. But this year could be different -- especially since I just moved my office and everything.
Maybe this is a brand new starting point. I hope it is. I guess only time will tell...
"What's that honey? You need the long-distance bill from July?"
Oh, brother.
- Midwest Mom
So, yesterday began the long process of de-jumble-ification. At this point I have come to one conclusion: "Psychic Filing" does not work.
Psychic filing is when you can look at the mass of piled paperwork that surrounds your desk and say to yourself, "I know exactly where everything is." You get frustrated when someone (usually your spouse) asks to see a bill or receipt or God forbid! the manual for a major appliance. "You can't just ask for that!" you say, then "Give me a minute to get it, for Pete's sake!"
You focus your concentration with the skill of a trained Jedi Knight as you think back to the last time you saw the piece of paper in question.
I had it in my hand when Primo gave me his class photo. That was the day we made paper flowers in playgroup for Mother's day. Which, of course, means I had gone shoe shopping earlier in the day for sandals to go with my green dress. I used the shoebox to hold the seventeen beautiful rocks the boys picked up for me during our walk to the purple dinosaur playground, and the shoebox was... the shoebox was... Blue! Keds! I didn't find sandals, but I picked up my summer pair of Keds!
You walk over to the teetering pile of precariously piled paperwork and pull out a single sheet of paper from beneath a blue Keds box. It is the April water bill your husband just asked for.
He is mystified. And with good reason. He has just experienced the wonder of psychic filing. (And the only time it has ever worked in the history of humanity.)
Of course, any good psychic filing system is helped by bursts of cleaning, shredding, and re-piling, which can only be performed by a trained psychic filer.
It can be completely destroyed, however, by simple things:
- a child looking for a blank piece of paper to draw on,
- unexpected "helpful" cleaning by your mother-in-law,
- wind,
- or an untrained psychic filer dropping an ill-balanced piece of child's artwork onto the top of the pile causing everything to fall.
Of course, it can also be destroyed by an office move... but that goes without saying.
I wonder, as I spend hours shuffling these papers into that pile and that and that folder, whether my move from psychic filing to something more organized can ever be permanent. I usually "resolve" to get more organized and do, from about Jan 1 until March 12th or so. But this year could be different -- especially since I just moved my office and everything.
Maybe this is a brand new starting point. I hope it is. I guess only time will tell...
"What's that honey? You need the long-distance bill from July?"
Oh, brother.
- Midwest Mom
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Pee Wee Design Squad
Run for the hills! My children (with some help from us) are redecorating their room!
It's a project we've been working on for a few weeks, making our winter vacation less of a vacation for my husband than he probably would have liked. But the drywall work finished on Sunday. Yesterday we adults primed the walls and painted the ceiling. And today it begins.
My children are going to paint their own room.
Yes, they are 3, 5, and 7. And yes, I plan on taking plenty of pictures and having plastic drop cloths on the floor -- and on myself, come to think of it. (Would a rain poncho work, do you think?)
Messiness aside, I'm actually excited about it.
We have involved the children at every stage of this project. My boys put on their work clothes during the drywalling and helped their Dad hold and cut the wallboard to size. They held it steady while he screwed it in place.
My youngest supervised periodically. Her contribution has primarily consisted of cheerleading the project and asking her Daddy, at least daily, when the room would finally be ready. (So helpful, really.)
Then came the difficult part. We had to negotiate paint colors with them. My oldest wanted a black room with glowing planets and stars painted on the ceiling. (Conceptually interesting, but a black room? I said 'no.') My five year old wanted a "rainbow" room where every wall, the ceiling and the closet would all be different colors. (Slightly too Punky Brewster for me. Besides, in one year, when his school supply list contains a box of 24 crayons instead of 8, I had an odd feeling he would want to repaint.) And of course, my girly girl wanted pink and purple stripes at first. When we told her that her brothers wouldn't appreciate that color scheme, she said green and white stripes would be fine with her. How considerate.
We decided a visit to the hardware store paint aisle was in order. "Maybe we could look at wallpaper borders to get ideas," my husband helpfully suggested. We ventured out only to find that our local big-box hardware store is discontinuing all their wallpaper.
sigh
"You can go look at the cart at the front of the store," the clerk helpfully suggested. My mind flashed images of what could possibly be on the closeout cart... perhaps desert wallpaper with the sunbleached skulls of dead livestock. Perhaps we could find a suitable wallpaper border -- with my luck it would be black with glowing planets on it -- but surely not in a suitable quantity. I trudged to the front of the store with my overenthusiastic tribe leading the way. The stench of disappointment hung in the air (or maybe that was turpentine?)
My husband and children descended on the clearance rack, hooting wildly. I stood back, listening for the inevitable wailing and gnashing of teeth that comes with dashed expectations.
It didn't come.
Instead, my crew found -gasp- something they all liked -- a wallpaper border with brightly colored tree frogs hidden among the leaves of a rainforest! My oldest was thrilled to find that there were bugs hidden there, too. My five year old excitedly counted the vivid colors. My daughter pointed out that one of the flowers in the picture was bright pink, and one of the frogs had purple legs.
I was flabbergasted... in a good way.
So, coordinating paint and discontinued wallpaper in hand (which, for a dollar a roll, there's no complaining about) we happily left the store.
Which brings us to today. After school, the plan is to don the latest in shabby painting clothes and baseball caps and arm them with green paint and rollers of their own.
Did I mention tonight was also bath night?
- Midwest Mom
It's a project we've been working on for a few weeks, making our winter vacation less of a vacation for my husband than he probably would have liked. But the drywall work finished on Sunday. Yesterday we adults primed the walls and painted the ceiling. And today it begins.
My children are going to paint their own room.
Yes, they are 3, 5, and 7. And yes, I plan on taking plenty of pictures and having plastic drop cloths on the floor -- and on myself, come to think of it. (Would a rain poncho work, do you think?)
Messiness aside, I'm actually excited about it.
We have involved the children at every stage of this project. My boys put on their work clothes during the drywalling and helped their Dad hold and cut the wallboard to size. They held it steady while he screwed it in place.
My youngest supervised periodically. Her contribution has primarily consisted of cheerleading the project and asking her Daddy, at least daily, when the room would finally be ready. (So helpful, really.)
Then came the difficult part. We had to negotiate paint colors with them. My oldest wanted a black room with glowing planets and stars painted on the ceiling. (Conceptually interesting, but a black room? I said 'no.') My five year old wanted a "rainbow" room where every wall, the ceiling and the closet would all be different colors. (Slightly too Punky Brewster for me. Besides, in one year, when his school supply list contains a box of 24 crayons instead of 8, I had an odd feeling he would want to repaint.) And of course, my girly girl wanted pink and purple stripes at first. When we told her that her brothers wouldn't appreciate that color scheme, she said green and white stripes would be fine with her. How considerate.
We decided a visit to the hardware store paint aisle was in order. "Maybe we could look at wallpaper borders to get ideas," my husband helpfully suggested. We ventured out only to find that our local big-box hardware store is discontinuing all their wallpaper.
sigh
"You can go look at the cart at the front of the store," the clerk helpfully suggested. My mind flashed images of what could possibly be on the closeout cart... perhaps desert wallpaper with the sunbleached skulls of dead livestock. Perhaps we could find a suitable wallpaper border -- with my luck it would be black with glowing planets on it -- but surely not in a suitable quantity. I trudged to the front of the store with my overenthusiastic tribe leading the way. The stench of disappointment hung in the air (or maybe that was turpentine?)
My husband and children descended on the clearance rack, hooting wildly. I stood back, listening for the inevitable wailing and gnashing of teeth that comes with dashed expectations.
It didn't come.
Instead, my crew found -gasp- something they all liked -- a wallpaper border with brightly colored tree frogs hidden among the leaves of a rainforest! My oldest was thrilled to find that there were bugs hidden there, too. My five year old excitedly counted the vivid colors. My daughter pointed out that one of the flowers in the picture was bright pink, and one of the frogs had purple legs.
I was flabbergasted... in a good way.
So, coordinating paint and discontinued wallpaper in hand (which, for a dollar a roll, there's no complaining about) we happily left the store.
Which brings us to today. After school, the plan is to don the latest in shabby painting clothes and baseball caps and arm them with green paint and rollers of their own.
Did I mention tonight was also bath night?
- Midwest Mom
Friday, January 2, 2009
Welcome to the Midwest!
If you're new to the Midwest, especially small-town Midwest, here are a few things you should know...
- You can always tell where you are by reading the name on the nearest water tower.
- All roads intersect at right angles. As a result, directions are always given in cardinal directions [go north 2.4 miles, turn east…] Funny thing, though, a road named 2800 East is actually a north-south road.
- A town actually can have more miles of road to maintain than it has residents.
- Don't trust the Governor as far as you can throw him... especially if he has more hair than your Aunt Matilda's persian cat.
- The land here is so flat you can actually see the curvature of the earth as you look at the horizon… as long as you can see past the grain elevators.
- Housing bubble? What housing bubble?
- Where we live, there are three donut shops but no Starbucks. We manage just fine.
- Yes you may let your dog ride in the front seat... Heck, you can let him drive if you want.
- December music programs at school actually can still contain the word “Christmas”.
- It’s okay to play with your food. Dried corn is a great substitute for sand in the sandbox. (Castles are tough to make with it, though.) And corn mazes are an essential part of fall fun.
- It can be just as thrilling to see $3.60 corn prices as it can be to see gas prices go down below $2.00 (we heat with corn, by the way… another Midwest reality. It’s nice to know that my energy dollar is going to a local farmer instead of a conglomerate.)
- Here, sunsets and storms help you understand just how small you really are. And a little perspective can be a good thing.
So, welcome to the Midwest... and welcome to a new year of Midwest Moms.
- Midwest Mom
Friday, December 12, 2008
Our Christmas Elf (shhh... don't tell anyone!)
I’ll let you in on a little secret.We have a Christmas elf who lives at our house.
He usually arrives right around the beginning of December. He sits in our family room, watching and listening to the way we treat one another. (And, amazingly, we usually are a little kinder when he’s spying.) Last year he decorated our tree with tinsel one night when we were all asleep. One year, he delivered brand new jammies to each of my children’s pillows on Christmas Eve.
Every morning after my children are dressed, there is a dash downstairs to check and see where our elf will be. He chooses a different vantage point every day.
(My dad thinks that’s a little creepy… I think he’s worried about being on the naughty list.)
Sometimes he’s on the mantle or above the television. Sometimes he’s peeking out of a stocking. Yesterday, he was seated among the figures in our Fischer Price manger scene. (He gave us the opportunity to talk about Baby Jesus, that clever little elf.) This morning, he was nestled in the branches of the Christmas tree.
In a week or so, we’ll give our little elf some letters to bring to the North Pole. He must travel there with elf magic, because he manages to deliver our letters and be back in the morning when we wake up.
My boys are wary, though. They have noticed that our plate of Christmas treats is always a little more empty in the morning time than it was last night before bed. They suspect that the elf is getting a little snackeroo while we snooze. (But those darned striped pants are so slimming… it’s hard to tell if he’s putting on weight.)
We can’t really say where our Christmas elf came from. We have seen him at Grandma’s house when we’re visiting. He likes to sit on her cookie jar and smile at us as if he knows we just thought of removing the lid when no one was looking. Our neighbor claims she gave us the elf when we first moved in, but her recollection is foggy at best. It won’t stand up to serious scrutiny. (Maybe we need to put Pat Fitzgerald on this one… or Perry Mason – he might be a little less busy.) At any rate, the origins of the elf have passed out of our family memory.
What is certain, though, is that his presence in our lives is only temporary. Christmas Eve is the last we see of our little friend. Before bed, the children are certain to say goodbye (and yes, there has been a tear or two shed from time to time.) But when Christmas comes, we are celebrating the birth of Baby Jesus. I have a feeling the elf doesn’t like being upstaged.
Having our friend here in our home is a singular honor, and my children know that it is a secret for us to keep. I’m letting it slip, though, just this once, in the hope that you might catch a glimpse of your own little elf friend. You never know when he’ll show up, or for how long. If you do see him, though, you may find it’s a little easier to show some Christmas cheer. There is, after all, a little someone watching.
That’s all for now, though. I’m off to get me some of those striped pants. …darned Christmas treats.
- Midwest Mom
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Did YOU Make The List?
I am the keeper of The List.
Not the Bucket List or the Naughty/Nice list (although I admit I’m a helper on that one)…
The Christmas Card list.
Today, as I do every year, I sat down with it to try to “whittle” it down.
First, I searched my memory for all the vital family members we must send cards to.
Next, I listed our local friends and neighbors.
Then, I listed childhood friends, college friends, and the families of our children’s best friends, friends of our parents, church friends, school friends, teachers, the mail carrier, the kids’ bus driver, my husband’s work associates, my husband’s work friends (not the same thing!), my girlfriends (although, let’s be honest… I listed them in the ‘family’ column because they are like family to me!)
And the final tally is…
-sigh-
My list grew by seventeen.
I guess I am finding it impossible to channel my inner Heidi Klum...
That’s okay… somehow, I have the feeling my Naughty/Nice list will go the same way.
- Midwest Mom
Not the Bucket List or the Naughty/Nice list (although I admit I’m a helper on that one)…
The Christmas Card list.
Today, as I do every year, I sat down with it to try to “whittle” it down.
First, I searched my memory for all the vital family members we must send cards to.
Next, I listed our local friends and neighbors.
Then, I listed childhood friends, college friends, and the families of our children’s best friends, friends of our parents, church friends, school friends, teachers, the mail carrier, the kids’ bus driver, my husband’s work associates, my husband’s work friends (not the same thing!), my girlfriends (although, let’s be honest… I listed them in the ‘family’ column because they are like family to me!)
And the final tally is…
-sigh-
My list grew by seventeen.
I guess I am finding it impossible to channel my inner Heidi Klum...
You are out! Aufwiedersehen!
That’s okay… somehow, I have the feeling my Naughty/Nice list will go the same way.
- Midwest Mom
Monday, November 24, 2008
How to Avoid Thanksgiving Stress
As a mom, I always view big holidays like Thanksgiving with a mixture of excitement and anxiety.
There are a few kinds of preparation that will save both parents and children a few holiday headaches. Packing extra clothes for your children or allowing them to change into their pajamas for the long ride home are great ideas. Giving your children nutritious snacks before going to the big family meal (with lots of strange foods they've never seen before) can take the stress out of whether they're eating or not. Reminding yourself that Thanksgiving is one day out of 365 can help keep the day in perspective.
Still, there are some parts of Thanksgiving that are bound to cause some stress. Here are a few parenting hints to keep in mind.
___________________________________
Control Your Expectations:
As soon as you arrive at your holiday gathering, there will be a whole host of introductions to be made. Please remember that relatives you know but your children don't feel like strangers to them. A crowd of unfamiliar faces can be very stressful -- especially when an introduction is followed by unreasonable expectations. We've all heard introductions like this one (or been the victim of them):
When you are introducing someone to your child, do so in a way that reveals important information about the new adult -- not potentially embarrassing information about your child. Saying, "Aunt Doris used to fly airplanes!" can intrigue your child and get them to ask questions.
Another way to introduce older relatives is to make the family relationship plain. Tell Lucy that Aunt Doris is Danny's Grandma or Great Grandpa's sister. Then, sit back and let your child find his or her own way to relate to Aunt Doris. It may not happen right away, but over the course of the night, your child might surprise you.
We usually make the introductions easier on our kids in two ways. We arrive early, so they're meeting people one-at-a-time. And we arrange to meet relatives we know well and all walk in together. It can be a lot less intimidating to meet people when you are already surrounded by friends.
___________________________________
Keep the Schedule in Mind:
If yours is a family with a definite routine -- naps at a certain time, dinner at a certain time, etc. -- then family holidays can throw a wrench in the works. When you're planning your day, think about your children's schedule.
If you're nursing a newborn or you have a child who will need a nap, talk to your hosts in advance about setting aside some "quiet space" that won't be violated. When we were first married, we were guests of my husband's parents for more than one holiday. They were always so thoughtful when I asked for a little "retreat space" for the baby and me. Usually, I could go to a quiet guest room when the baby needed to eat or sleep, or when I could tell that the baby was feeling stressed by all the noise. Sometimes a little quiet was what we both needed to refresh.
Now that my children are older, my husband's mother still keeps one room as a quiet room for those times that the kids need a break or a rest. Making space away from the action can be just enough to help your children manage the holiday schedule without a major breakdown.
________________________________________
Keep Private Matters Private:
The biggest source of parent stress at the holidays (besides what your brother's new wife will think when she sees Uncle Martin drunk) is how very public our parenting of our children becomes.
Holiday parenting can sometimes be initially lax (when you ask yourself "why on earth isn't someone stopping this behavior??!??") Then, as you watch cousin Harold try to feed popcorn to the new baby and decide you must be the one to step in and stop it, you are startled by the blur that is cousin Harold's dad moving at superhuman speed to LOUDLY and with a scowl that would frighten the most hardened criminal shout at his son WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?? CAN'T YOU SEE SHE'S JUST A BABY?!??! I DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW YOU COULD BE BEHAVING SO BADLY IN FRONT OF ALL THESE PEOPLE! GET YOUR COAT ON, MISTER, BECAUSE WE'RE GOING TO THE CAR RIGHT NOW!!!
Whew. What a nightmare. Please be sure that isn't you. I'll do the same.
I know it can be tempting to just let the kids be kids when there is a large group, but my husband and I always are sure to keep a close eye on how ours are behaving throughout the holiday visit. If I find that one of my children is having trouble keeping his hands to himself or following the other basic rules of happy play, I pull him or her aside into a separate room (usually pointing to the offending child and saying, "come with me, please") and I parent them firmly, but privately. That way, I can get my point across without distraction or drama and my child feels respected, not embarrassed, and has a chance to 'reboot'. When we're both ready -- sometimes I wait even 10 minutes if necessary -- then we can rejoin the group.
_____________________________________________
Don't forget to Laugh:
This was a lesson taught to me by my sister-in-law. She is a terrific laugher -- even in the face of the worst circumstances.
Imagine, your family is seated at your Grandmother's formal dining room table with place settings of her finest china and silver and guests dressed in their Thanksgiving best. You look over to make conversation with your sister's new fiance and are distracted by the fact that he seems to be looking past you. As you slowly turn your head, you take in the aghast expressions of your Grandmother, your parents, Uncle Bernard, Aunt Ruthie, and every other family member present at the Thanksgiving feast.
"What ever could they be looking at?" you wonder to yourself. Then "oh, no!" flashes through your mind.
Your head snaps to your two-year-old smearing mashed potatoes and gravy all over his face and hair. In the ten seconds you looked away to make conversation, he has managed to fling cranberry sauce across the room and onto Cousin Larry's toupee. He is now filling his nose with sweet baby peas and blowing them as far as he can. (Your brother is laughing. For a fraction of a second, you aim your darkest thoughts at his future progeny.)
What do you do?
You politely say, "excuse me" and remove your child from the room. Your loving husband offers to help. "Save a plate for me. Okay?" you ask, and he agrees. You spend the next twenty minutes bathing your little rascal.
Don't forget to laugh.
That's the worst-case scenario. Even if it happens -- which it won't -- it is nothing you can't handle. Just, as you deal with even the worst of circumstances, don't forget to laugh.
Today's tragic behavior will be a hilarious family story... someday. But only if you can bring yourself to deal with it gracefully. So, deal with it... and laugh, even if you have to laugh so hard, you cry.
_________________________________________
And finally,
Be Thankful.
If you remember how lucky you are to have a loving family, the craziness doesn't seem to matter so much. If you remember to be grateful for a roof over your head and healthy children and warmth and laughter, then the bumps in the road can seem smaller. Take the time to appreciate the people around you and let them know how much you care about them. Do that, and the Thanksgiving stress will seem to melt away.
(Oh... and a little drink won't hurt, either...)
- Midwest Mom
There are a few kinds of preparation that will save both parents and children a few holiday headaches. Packing extra clothes for your children or allowing them to change into their pajamas for the long ride home are great ideas. Giving your children nutritious snacks before going to the big family meal (with lots of strange foods they've never seen before) can take the stress out of whether they're eating or not. Reminding yourself that Thanksgiving is one day out of 365 can help keep the day in perspective.
Still, there are some parts of Thanksgiving that are bound to cause some stress. Here are a few parenting hints to keep in mind.
___________________________________
Control Your Expectations:
As soon as you arrive at your holiday gathering, there will be a whole host of introductions to be made. Please remember that relatives you know but your children don't feel like strangers to them. A crowd of unfamiliar faces can be very stressful -- especially when an introduction is followed by unreasonable expectations. We've all heard introductions like this one (or been the victim of them):
-Lucy, this is your Great Aunt Doris! The last time she sawI have found it is best to give children a chance to "make friends" with new relatives in whatever way they are most comfortable. Sometimes that means that it will take time to warm up to someone new.
you, you were in diapers!-Aunt Doris, Lucy was the lead in the school play this year.
-She was a rutabaga.
-Why don't you say your lines for Aunt Doris, dear?
-C'mon! She'd love to hear them!
-Louder, honey, Aunt Doris can't hear very well....
-Oh, well, at the actual play, she didn't forget her lines like that,
Aunt Doris.-Hmm? Oh! Yes, of course she'll give you a kiss.
-Lucy, kiss Aunt Doris.
-I don't care what she smells like, kiss her! Oh, goodness. Why
on earth are you crying? [Lucy runs away.]-Sorry, Aunt Doris...
When you are introducing someone to your child, do so in a way that reveals important information about the new adult -- not potentially embarrassing information about your child. Saying, "Aunt Doris used to fly airplanes!" can intrigue your child and get them to ask questions.
Another way to introduce older relatives is to make the family relationship plain. Tell Lucy that Aunt Doris is Danny's Grandma or Great Grandpa's sister. Then, sit back and let your child find his or her own way to relate to Aunt Doris. It may not happen right away, but over the course of the night, your child might surprise you.
We usually make the introductions easier on our kids in two ways. We arrive early, so they're meeting people one-at-a-time. And we arrange to meet relatives we know well and all walk in together. It can be a lot less intimidating to meet people when you are already surrounded by friends.
___________________________________
Keep the Schedule in Mind:
If yours is a family with a definite routine -- naps at a certain time, dinner at a certain time, etc. -- then family holidays can throw a wrench in the works. When you're planning your day, think about your children's schedule.
If you're nursing a newborn or you have a child who will need a nap, talk to your hosts in advance about setting aside some "quiet space" that won't be violated. When we were first married, we were guests of my husband's parents for more than one holiday. They were always so thoughtful when I asked for a little "retreat space" for the baby and me. Usually, I could go to a quiet guest room when the baby needed to eat or sleep, or when I could tell that the baby was feeling stressed by all the noise. Sometimes a little quiet was what we both needed to refresh.
Now that my children are older, my husband's mother still keeps one room as a quiet room for those times that the kids need a break or a rest. Making space away from the action can be just enough to help your children manage the holiday schedule without a major breakdown.
________________________________________
Keep Private Matters Private:
The biggest source of parent stress at the holidays (besides what your brother's new wife will think when she sees Uncle Martin drunk) is how very public our parenting of our children becomes.
Holiday parenting can sometimes be initially lax (when you ask yourself "why on earth isn't someone stopping this behavior??!??") Then, as you watch cousin Harold try to feed popcorn to the new baby and decide you must be the one to step in and stop it, you are startled by the blur that is cousin Harold's dad moving at superhuman speed to LOUDLY and with a scowl that would frighten the most hardened criminal shout at his son WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?? CAN'T YOU SEE SHE'S JUST A BABY?!??! I DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW YOU COULD BE BEHAVING SO BADLY IN FRONT OF ALL THESE PEOPLE! GET YOUR COAT ON, MISTER, BECAUSE WE'RE GOING TO THE CAR RIGHT NOW!!!
Whew. What a nightmare. Please be sure that isn't you. I'll do the same.
I know it can be tempting to just let the kids be kids when there is a large group, but my husband and I always are sure to keep a close eye on how ours are behaving throughout the holiday visit. If I find that one of my children is having trouble keeping his hands to himself or following the other basic rules of happy play, I pull him or her aside into a separate room (usually pointing to the offending child and saying, "come with me, please") and I parent them firmly, but privately. That way, I can get my point across without distraction or drama and my child feels respected, not embarrassed, and has a chance to 'reboot'. When we're both ready -- sometimes I wait even 10 minutes if necessary -- then we can rejoin the group.
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Don't forget to Laugh:
This was a lesson taught to me by my sister-in-law. She is a terrific laugher -- even in the face of the worst circumstances.
Imagine, your family is seated at your Grandmother's formal dining room table with place settings of her finest china and silver and guests dressed in their Thanksgiving best. You look over to make conversation with your sister's new fiance and are distracted by the fact that he seems to be looking past you. As you slowly turn your head, you take in the aghast expressions of your Grandmother, your parents, Uncle Bernard, Aunt Ruthie, and every other family member present at the Thanksgiving feast.
"What ever could they be looking at?" you wonder to yourself. Then "oh, no!" flashes through your mind.
Your head snaps to your two-year-old smearing mashed potatoes and gravy all over his face and hair. In the ten seconds you looked away to make conversation, he has managed to fling cranberry sauce across the room and onto Cousin Larry's toupee. He is now filling his nose with sweet baby peas and blowing them as far as he can. (Your brother is laughing. For a fraction of a second, you aim your darkest thoughts at his future progeny.)
What do you do?
You politely say, "excuse me" and remove your child from the room. Your loving husband offers to help. "Save a plate for me. Okay?" you ask, and he agrees. You spend the next twenty minutes bathing your little rascal.
Don't forget to laugh.
That's the worst-case scenario. Even if it happens -- which it won't -- it is nothing you can't handle. Just, as you deal with even the worst of circumstances, don't forget to laugh.
Today's tragic behavior will be a hilarious family story... someday. But only if you can bring yourself to deal with it gracefully. So, deal with it... and laugh, even if you have to laugh so hard, you cry.
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And finally,
Be Thankful.
If you remember how lucky you are to have a loving family, the craziness doesn't seem to matter so much. If you remember to be grateful for a roof over your head and healthy children and warmth and laughter, then the bumps in the road can seem smaller. Take the time to appreciate the people around you and let them know how much you care about them. Do that, and the Thanksgiving stress will seem to melt away.
(Oh... and a little drink won't hurt, either...)
- Midwest Mom
Saturday, November 15, 2008
One Way Ticket to Frugal
What do you call that place where mothers tell their children that the brown spots on fruit are just "the sweeter parts"? Where otherwise reasonable people actually spend time washing out Ziploc bags and hanging them to dry so they can be re-used? Or the land where fathers rush to save a paper plate from going into the garbage can because "it only had toast on it!"
That odd place is the little-known American town of Frugal. And my family is living there right now. It's one of those places where many come to visit, but few stay on. If you're wondering how to get here, it's about halfway between You-Get-What-You-Pay-For and Good-Enough-For-Government-Work. If you start seeing signs for Savvy and Thrifty, you're getting close. But if you get to Miser, you've gone too far.
The residents of Frugal are an odd sort. They started out normal, but trying times and anxiety about the future have caused a strange transformation. The longer one lives here, the more likely his or her personality is to morph into a strange mish-mash of all our grandparents' depression-era habits. We call it frugality.
To understand what frugality is all about, you need to understand the types of people who take up residence here.
Ah, well... these things go in cycles, don't they?
I've got to get back to my lunch. I've got one apple left -- you want to split it?
- Midwest Mom
That odd place is the little-known American town of Frugal. And my family is living there right now. It's one of those places where many come to visit, but few stay on. If you're wondering how to get here, it's about halfway between You-Get-What-You-Pay-For and Good-Enough-For-Government-Work. If you start seeing signs for Savvy and Thrifty, you're getting close. But if you get to Miser, you've gone too far.
The residents of Frugal are an odd sort. They started out normal, but trying times and anxiety about the future have caused a strange transformation. The longer one lives here, the more likely his or her personality is to morph into a strange mish-mash of all our grandparents' depression-era habits. We call it frugality.
To understand what frugality is all about, you need to understand the types of people who take up residence here.
- First off, there's the Splitter. Splitters often declare that they are dieting or otherwise "cutting back." But really they just have a terrible habit of only ever being willing to take half of something. They'll split a doughnut or a pizza, even a beer or a smoke. Splitters make a big deal about refusing what is offered to them and then relent with little coaxing. "Okay. I'll split it with you," the Splitter will say, as though you would welcome the idea of them biting off half of your cookie or slurping from your coffee mug.
- A cousin of the Splitter is the Halver. They're a bit different. The Halver believes that half of any good thing is just as good as the original. They make a practice of using half of the recommended amount of laundry detergent, for example. They dilute even non-condensed soup. They only fill their gas tank halfway on a regular basis. "No really. It's just as good! Really!" is their motto.
- Also in that family are Dutchmen. These are people who pretend to be generous, asking you out to lunch as a treat when you've just been complaining about your lack of ready capital. You think, how kind. That is, until the bill comes. The words "Let's go Dutch" are uttered before the glossy black folder containing your lunch tab even hits the table. A true Dutchman will magically pull out exact change for his half of the bill -- to the penny -- while you are forced to put your half on your already-maxed-out credit card. That's when you notice that he only had half a sandwich and a glass of water, while you ordered a steak.
- Then there's the Martyr. The Martyr makes it her practice to always give away the last of something. And then, just as the grateful recipient is relishing the last morsel, the Martyr will sigh. "I'm glad you're enjoying it."
- A pair of brothers, the Saver and the Scavenger are next. They are the ones who cut the mold off of a piece of cheese in the fridge because "cheese is really just mold anyway." These two also have no qualms about consuming something after it has hit the floor. They often invoke the "five-second rule" even if the dropped item was something sticky dropped on the floor at the barbershop. "Blow the hairs off of it! You'll be fine!" they say encouragingly. The Saver is the one who will drive that 1989 Toyota Corolla until it falls into a pile of rust dust with four tires around it. The Scavenger is the one who will crawl the junk yard for spare parts to keep it running as long as possible. Both use duct tape to make stuff last longer -- so much, in fact, that all their stuff is silver.
- As I do my errands here in town, I often come upon the Clucker. The Clucker stands in front of the dairy case loudly bemoaning the astronomical price of milk. She loves to use the phrase "these days" in conversation. As in, "I don't know what they're thinking these days! People can't pay $4.00 for a gallon of milk these days! What are they thinking, charging an arm and a leg for yogurt! These days, people just won't pay that!" The Clucker usually says these things quite loudly as people smile uncomfortably and reach around her for the expensive products she is complaining about.
- Finally, there is the Scrimper. The Scrimper walks around the house all day shutting lights off to save electricity -- even when there are people who need the lights to see what they're doing. They also make it a practice to turn down the thermostat to near-freezing while they mutter, "if you're cold, why don't you just put on a sweater!" I hear our local Scrimper may be moving to Miser soon. I just heard her telling her son to do jumping jacks because his problem wasn't the cold... it was his circulation. That's what I heard, anyway.
Ah, well... these things go in cycles, don't they?
I've got to get back to my lunch. I've got one apple left -- you want to split it?
- Midwest Mom
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