Conquering Fear

This was a big weekend for us. Each of the kids made huge progress conquering their fears at the swimming pool.

It all started Friday night. We went for our usual evening swim, only to find out that the pool was sponsoring a Flick & Float -- essentially a drive-in movie right at the pool with night swimming until 11 p.m.

I asked the pool director what movie they were showing. In one word, she became my sons' favorite person.

Transformers.

So, Friday night was spent swimming and cuddling in sweatshirts and beach towels to watch a great film.

But... back to the fear. As we were walking from our seats over to get into the shallow end, my three-year-old daughter was looking at her brother instead of watching her step. She walked right off the edge into the water.

I jumped in after her and pulled her out, but not before she had quite a shock. She cried more out of surprise than actual hurt, and as I comforted her, I stressed again that you have to watch where you're walking when you're near water!

When she calmed down, and the pool director was sitting near us making sure she was okay, I told her, "Congratulations! You just jumped into the pool for the first time!" Through the tears, she gave me a high-five.

What a trooper.

She was a little clingy afterward, but once we were back in the shallow end, she was too busy making friends with other girls to worry about clinging too much to me. I was relieved, but thought the jury's still out on whether or not fear of the water will kick in.

Saturday was a busy day with chores and church. Sunday, we were the host family for coffee and donuts for the parish, so I spent equal time serving people and making sure my children didn't gorge themselves on donuts.

As the weather turned hot, I pulled my husband aside. "Do we have time to go to the pool again this afternoon?" I asked. He smiled. Of course.

So, off we went for another evening swim. I held my breath as my daughter approached the water. Her brothers had struggled for years against water fear, but she was our little mermaid. The boys still only swam with a noodle or lazy river ring, even though they had the mechanics of swimming and floating down pat. I worried we would have the same struggle now with our daughter.

Then she smiled at me and jumped right in.

I was thrilled... And I wasn't the only one who noticed how brave she was. Her six year old brother told me he could jump in, too. (Although he never had before.) A minute later, there he went! So did my oldest. The boys and their sister spent the next hour climbing out and jumping in, with no worry about getting their faces wet or getting water up their noses. They just laughed and had fun.

Then came the real shocker.

My oldest came out of the pool to put his lazy river ring by our seats. "I'm going to swim without it." He said matter-of-factly.

He jumped in.

And he swam!

He didn't need any help or support. (Just an attentive audience and plenty of praise, which I was happy to provide.) I was so proud of him. Better yet, he was so proud of himself. He positively glowed with confidence.

He said to me, "Mom, I know why I couldn't swim before, but now I can.
F - E - A - R. I don't have it anymore."

"That's right," I said and returned his grin.

Check one fear off the list. My boy is growing up.

- Midwest Mom

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.

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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.


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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

Right Here in River City

Trouble with a capital "T"
And that rhymes with "P" and that stands for pool!

~ "Ya Got Trouble" from The Music Man

Yesterday, we had our first visit to the community pool. The pool actually opened on Saturday, but as luck would have it the weather was cool and overcast. My husband got called in to work to boot.

So, Sunday it was. We packed up the beach bag and a cooler of snacks, noodles, goggles, and lazy river rings, and headed out the door for an afternoon of swimming.

It was fantastic.

The boys jumped right in and started swimming. It's the doggy paddle, but it worked for them. I think their goggles made them feel a lot more confident about whether they would survive getting water in their eyes. Plus, this year, they are taller than last, so they could explore the pool more confidently without feeling like they would get in over their heads.

There was one problem I hadn't anticipated, though. My Little Mermaid, who has always been the most comfortable of my three, started acting afraid of the water! I thought, "unbelievable! Just when the boys are finally finding their feet... this happens!"

I took her out a few times, usually against her will at first, and got her to kick and float on her back. We decided to buy a membership at the pool this year (they just opened a new Sprayground adjacent to it!) So, we'll be swimming our hearts out several times a week.

Hopefully, it will just take a little time, patience, and persistence to bring back the Little Mermaid's fins.


... if I don't turn into Ursula the Sea Witch first.






(Wish me luck. )

- Midwest Mom

It's Time To Reach Out

People in the news talk about unemployment numbers as though they were just numbers. They're not. They're people without jobs.

My husband works for an automotive supplier, and last week he came home every day talking about who was heading home for the last time.

I didn't let on, but I dreaded the conversation we would have every evening. Early in the week, he told me a few people were "let go" with a sense of half-relief. "They usually make all the cuts in one day," he said. But the next day there were more cuts and more and more. By the end of the week, we found ourselves talking about financial strategy.

It was and is nerve-wracking.

Today, the President came out and said that the economy may worsen before it gets better. That may be true, but I can feel my hair going grey and those pesky worry lines on my forehead getting deeper. When I opened this morning's news paper, I saw that John Deere announced they're cutting jobs in Iowa. Caterpillar is cutting jobs in Illinois. I won't even talk about Michigan. The evening news held announcements of job cuts at Home Depot, Nextel, Spring, Pfizer. Every state is being hit -- hard.

During the past year, we have trimmed our household budget down to bare bones, or so I thought before last week. Now, when I think about how we could survive job loss, if that were to happen, I know that we could have to cut much more. All over this country, men and women are having to make choices about whether to buy food or keep warm, whether to get a doctor's care or fix the car, whether to pay their house payment or their credit card bill. There is no doubt about it; we are in a rough place as a country.

The question is, what do we do about it?

During times like these, when I feel my sense of worry deepen, just about the only way I can find comfort is by reaching out. Last week, we went through all our clothing to donate warm snowsuits, jackets, sweaters, and boots to our local family clothing ministry. My boys are participating in a food drive through school to help keep our local food pantry stocked. We have set aside furniture to donate to the YWCA shelter for abused women. I know it's not much, but it is something.

When I think about how bad the economy is and how bad it may become, I think about how our grandparents' generation made it through the depression. I think about how my own parents made it through tough economic times, even with 6 children.

They made it through by counting on each other.

People make the difference in difficult times. Neighbors help to fix a car. Sisters help to share food or babysit. Friends offer a shoulder to cry on or a listening ear. Strangers donate food or clothing or transportation to the doctor.

And so I tell myself, no matter how worried I am about the future, I have a loving family. I have caring neighbors. I have friends at church and school. I have faith.

I take a deep breath and despite my worry I tell myself, We will be okay.

And then I look around to see who I can help. Please, I truly hope you do, too. In our lifetime, there has never been a more important time to pitch in.

Maybe if we all do, these troubled times might become a little bit easier.

- Midwest Mom

Getting Ready for the Freak Show

Yesterday afternoon I opened up our box of Halloween decorations. It is always fun to do, but never more than when the costumes and masks come out of the box.

A few years ago, I purchased a pack of 20 masks that was on clearance. It's nothing too scary; there are animals and monster-movie monsters like Frankenstein and a werewolf. They are made out of craft foam. We bring them out about a week before Halloween, just to get the kids psychologically ready for the freak-show that will come straight to our front door.

I will never forget my oldest son's first Halloween. His teeth were starting to come in, so I made him a black satin cape with red lining and painted a red onesie turtleneck with the words "Baby Dracula." I was so proud of him, and incredibly eager to have him with me when I handed out candy at our front door.

Unfortunately, he was just starting into the "stranger anxiety" phase. When the first trick-or-treater came to our front door, I went temporarily deaf in my left ear. The next day, my neighbor Janet joked that our house was the spookiest. "The screaming was so realistic."

After that, I decided to spend a little time preparing the kids before the big day. We make lots of opportunities for them to wear their costumes or experiment with new ones. Sometimes they choose to scare each other or just to play together. But after a while, even the scaring becomes playful. Last night, one of my sons wore a tiger mask with Dracula teeth and bugged-out googly-eye glasses. It was a hoot.

So, if you happen to come by our place anytime in the next week, don't be surprised to find some pretty spooky looking creatures. I've seen a mummy wandering around here someplace. He even had toilet paper wrapped around his head.

Creepy.

- Midwest Mom

Ants in my Pants

My oldest son cracks me up. His favorite toy is named "SuperBug". He loves bugs of all kinds. He sleeps with a bee and a ladybug. When we are outdoors, he studies ants, bees, spiders. Last year, he caught a grasshopper longer than my index finger and a praying mantis or two. He took them to school for show and tell. His entire kindergarten year was spent reading library books about the life cycle of bugs. We read about ants and butterflies, but also about termites and cockroaches. It was disgusting.

I can't stand bugs.

The reason I can't stand bugs is very simple. Of course, there is a story behind it. When I was in kindergarten, we lived in Southern California. Our street was, essentially, built upon a giant ant hill. Every week, a different house on the street was being treated for ants. They would make giant highways of ant bodies that would stretch up to an open second floor window because some child had left the cap off the toothpaste and they could smell the sugar. It was disturbing, but living there, you just put the ants at the back of your mind. I was, after all, in kindergarten.

Well, one day, a group of neighbors were in our back yard playing in the sprinkler. We were all in our bathing suits, and our moms were sipping iced tea in the shade of our back patio. We were having a great time running and being crazy and cooling off. I decided to take a short rest, sitting down on a small wall that separated the patio from the rest of the yard. There was a puddle at the base of the wall. I put my feet in it.

(Right now, something inside of you should be saying, "Uh-Oh...")

Well, the "puddle" was a collapsed ant hill. After a few seconds, I felt an itch inside my suit. I scratched, but the itchiness continued. I looked in my suit.

IT WAS FULL OF ANTS!

Screaming, I ran back into the sprinkler. (I had, of course, instinctively ripped off my suit and was bare naked and screaming until the ants were gone.)

Did I mention that all the neighbors were over?

Of course, my mother, laughing so hard that she was crying, rushed over to help. We got the ants off, but the laughter didn't die down until quite a while later. I don't care. I still blame those ants. Forever afterward, my dad and mom would rib me about my lingering bug phobia. On Saturday afternoons, Dad would turn on movies like "THEM". Talk about creepy.

But, fast forward to now. As a result of my son and his this love of all things buggy, I have had to temper my own distaste for the little beasts. We've come to a bit of a truce. In my generosity, I have decided to give the outdoors over to the bugs. (Inside the house is another story.)

I have to, grudgingly, admit that certain bugs DO serve a very useful purpose in my garden. Our wildflower patch and clover patch have been great places to see butterflies grow and honeybees do their work. We don't use bug control chemicals on anything at our place, so we even have predators, like the mantises. They are such fun to watch in action. And this time of year, the lightning bugs are out every evening. My son is very good at catching those, too.

"Hey, mom, do you want to hold it?" he'll ask me.

"That's okay, honey." I say. "You go ahead. I think I'll pass."

I haven't told him the story about the ants yet.

Midwest Mom

How do you help kids deal with fear?

We are a news-watching and news-reading family. Between the recent earthquakes in China and tornadoes and flooding here in the Midwest, I am finding that the news is creating a whole new category of fear among my children. Of course, we turn off the television if they are showing graphic images of destruction, and we do not parade such stories in front of our little ones. But they are not living in a vacuum. They know these things are happening. And often, they find out details I would not have shared with them.

One such case happened when my 7-year-old was sitting in the seat opposite mine at the breakfast table the other day. He began reading the headlines on the back of my newspaper. He said aloud, "Four children killed as Tornado hits Iowa Boy Scout Camp." I immediately put down the paper to a barrage of questions from my children. At the root of it all was disbelief, "How could this happen?!?"

For that question, I'm afraid I don't have a good enough answer.

Since they inadvertently learned about schools collapsing in China and Boy Scouts being swept away by tornadoes, my children have developed a strong fear of the forces of the earth. When we have severe weather, especially thunderstorms, they call out for us in the night. It is something we haven't dealt with in this way since our oldest was 2 years old. Granted, we've had some real boomers in the past month. But the fear that has emerged in our children is much stronger than we could have anticipated.

Recently, there were strong storms involving hail and torrential rain. They happened during the day, while my husband was at work. As we kept an eye on the weather channel, with the sound turned low, the children worried about Daddy. "We know we have a safe basement to go to, but what about Daddy?" I told them to pray for God to take care of Daddy and assured them that God knows us and cares for us. I was amazed at the fervent prayer that commenced and continued until the storm had eased.

I think what may be happening is that my children, especially the older ones, are beginning to understand what we adults know, but keep buried deep -- that in the eyes of the world, we are really quite small. We may be masters of our own universe, but that only applies to those few things we can control.

"I cannot control the weather." I often say, when called upon to make it less hot or less rainy or warmer or to make it snow.

In the aftermath of a disaster, I repeat the words of Mr. Rogers. "Look for the helpers." I firmly believe that God always sends helpers, and that we must be ready and paying attention, so that when it is our turn to be the helpers, we are ready.

A relinquishing of control, a turning to a power larger than ourselves, and a dedication to find and to be the hands of help when people are in need do not begin to explain why tragic things happen. But they are a start, and I hope they will be enough to see my children through.

For right now, though, I will just try to be ready when the sky looks stormy and they call out for me in the night.

Midwest Mom

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To share your family's stories on dealing with fear, click on "comments" below this article. I would love to hear from you.

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