Christmas Spirit

For the past several weeks I have been frantically trying to clean the house, decorate inside and out, finish my Christmas shopping, wrap gifts, bake cookies.... wait, where was I?  Oh yes, losing my mind!  Let me know if you find it. 
 
In the meantime, I was getting more stressed out and starting to dread the big day - not as a celebration, but as a deadline. It was a deadline in which all the gifts had to be wrapped, the packing for traveling done, the big dinner prepared, and the shopping completed.  From under a mountain of rolls of wrapping paper, I realized I had to have everything done by December 25th and the day was speeding toward me like a freight train with no intention of stopping.  

But tonight, as we attended mass at our church, all the stress and anxiety melted away.  As I sat in church with my family at my side, the church decorated with lit trees and colorful poinsettias, I felt everything else slip away and was able to focus on the true meaning of the holiday.  Before mass began, I sat admiring the nativity scene and thought on a quiet night, thousands of years ago, a young mother was having a very special baby in a stable. Jesus was born.

The service continued with song and prayer and with each passing minute, I could feel the Christmas spirit flowing through me again.  I became at peace. I glanced  at my husband, smiled at my children, and realized that everything I need in the whole world was in that building right then and there.  I had God and my family.

On the way home in the car, even the children talked about how much they liked the priest that presided over the service and what a nice homily he delivered.  They marveled over the lights all over the Christmas trees and the huge star that hung over the manger. I told the children that it was in church that it started to feel like Christmas for me.  They, of course, said they have felt it all along since we started decorating right after Thanksgiving,  But then again, they weren't doing all the work!

This time of year really is a magical time of year.  At night everything falls quiet. I sit in the silence, which seems more profound on Christmas Eve, like the whole world is holding its breath anticipating the big event, the birth of our Lord.  And as I sit in silence, I really am reminded that it's not the presents or the decorations that make it Christmas.  For me, it is the time to reflect and be thankful for all the happy, healthy family I have, for good friends, and the faith we share that carries us through the difficult times.

My wish for you, my readers, is that you find that same sense of inner peace and appreciate the wonderful things that are already in your life and slow down a bit to savor each and every one.

Have a very merry Christmas and a blessed New Year! 

Family Traditions

I think one of the things that knits families closer together are family traditions.  We have many; some that we do every day (like reading together at night) and some that we carry out through the holidays.  It's the holiday ones I am addressing today. 

I often complain about putting our Christmas tree together.  It is so time-consuming and hard on the hands; and don't even get me started on stringing the lights!  Every year I say "Next year we are getting a pre-lit tree", but once our tree is up, I can't help but fall in love with it all over again. Due to my hubby's allergies, we have an artificial tree, but I have to say it is the most realistic-looking artificial tree I have ever seen.  I spotted it in a Hechinger's hardware store when my husband and I had our first apartment 17 years ago.  The store was right across the street from our apartment complex. While I was there one night looking for a gift for my husband, I saw that tree.  It was so full and pretty, I just had to get it.  Problem was, I was driving a Ford Escort at the time (the old, old ones) and the tree wouldn't fit on the roof, let alone the trunk.  So, I drove home, walked across the street to the store, bought the tree and wheeled it home on one of their large, flatbed carts!  Once there, I pushed it up the steps to the building and then pushed it down the stairs to our own apartment.  (Yes, I did take the cart back across the street to the store.) 

"Way back then" they didn't have pre-lit Christmas trees and we had very little to put on it; just a couple of boxes of red and gold ornaments, white lights and baby's breath with an angel on the top.  Our first "special" ornaments were put on the tree that year.  One was a personalized bride and groom ornament made from dough.  The other was a photo frame for our first Christmas together in which we put our photo.  Every year since, I have added an ornament or two that symbolizes what significant changes came our way that  year, or things we did together that year.  The second year, we had added a dog to the family and had purchased our first home.  So I bought an ornament that looked like our dog and another ornament that I painted to look like our house.  The year we had our first baby, we added several ornaments to the tree since we bought her a first Christmas ornament and about three other people bought them for her too.  When we went to Bolivia to live for two years, I acquired several ornaments that represented our time there as well as the culture.  We also have ornaments from Paris, Germany, Switzerland, and Australia - all places we have traveled to during my husband's career.  With each new baby came a new ornament.  And even when they were very young, they started making their own ornaments to put on the tree.  The first ones were made when my children were 4 years, 2 years, and 6 months old.  I took them to a local ceramic shop and let them choose an ornament to paint and they painted them all by themselves.  For my son, being too young to hold a paintbrush (he would probably have eaten it), I painted his feet and pressed them onto a plate with his name and the date since it would be his first Christmas.  Those ornaments along with the many others, still hang on our tree. 

One of our traditions is that the kids and I go to the craft store and choose one ornament to paint or decorate.  Then we sit around the table and paint them together.  Once dry, they go on the tree (name and date on back).  Each child has their own "section" of the tree where they place their ornaments themselves.  They lay claim to their own sections.  And I still continue to add ornaments that signify events that took place each year.... our next new house, our new dogs, a little wheelbarrow with gardening items in it to signify all the hard work we did landscaping outside that year, etc. 

And when we are done decorating our tree, I sit in awe of it.  No, not because it is the most beautiful tree you will ever lay eyes on.  I am sure there are some really beautiful designer trees out there and I could have one if I chose to decorate it that way.  But I don't.  When I look at our Christmas tree, it tells a story - the story of our family over the years.  I even found an ornament with a broken arm and leg on it to signify my physical struggles over two holidays!  This year, we started the summer tradition of cookouts around our new fire pit.  We would roast hot dogs over the fire and make s'mores for dessert.  It took some searching, but I managed to find a s'more ornament and a campfire ornament to recognize that new summer tradition.

The tree is chalk-fill of ornaments and I love it!  And the kids enjoy it too because they can see how they have changed both in photo ornaments and their skill level in making their ornaments.

Our other tradition started when my first baby, Jessica, was just three weeks old.  I had gotten a free stuffed snowman at a store and brought it home and thought it was bigger than she was.  So I sat her on the floor with daddy's hand supporting her and took her photo next to the snowman to show the size comparison.  It turned out to be something we do every year.  The children love looking at the photos of themselves next to "Frosty" - how small they were next to him first and now how tall they are beside him. 

We also have many other family traditions like opening one gift on Christmas Eve, something my father did with us when I was a youngster.  Every year "Santa" would make a personal appearance at our house and give us a gift.  I remember thinking how strange it was that daddy always missed Santa's visit for some reason.  Then, one year, I noticed Santa's shoes looked just like daddy's shoes!  Why was Santa wearing daddy's shoes?  Now this is a tradition we do every year, though without the Santa suit.  Our other traditions at the holiday are going to church, of course, and leaving cookies and milk for Santa and fruit and water in a bowl for the reindeer!  Then the day after Christmas we make the long drive in the "old family truckster" to see our extended family in our hometowns. 

Those traditions are the things I hope my children carry with them and look back on with fondness once they are all grown.  And maybe they'll continue the traditions with their own families along with the ones they will create for themselves.   

It is a hectic time of year, no doubt, and I won't deny that there are days when I want to pull my hair out if I have to drive around the lot even one more time to find any parking space or wait in one more line to pay for gifts or decorations; but when I come home to my family it all melts away when I get to spend that extra special time with them.

Official Mother of a Teenager

I can't believe it, but all of a sudden my first baby turned 13.  I am officially the mother of a teenager.  A teenager! Where did all the time go?  I look in the mirror at the roots that have grown back in my hair and they are gray!  How can that be?  I don't feel old enough to be going gray or have a teenage daughter.  But I am and I do.  Would I change anything though?  Not in a million years!

My daughter did a lot of debating over what she wanted her party to be like this year.  She said the roller skating rink was out - given my past history - even though I promised not to go near a pair of skates.  Then she thought maybe a party at the bowling alley, but ultimately decided on a slumber party with a group of her closest friends. 

I have to say, I really like having birthday parties out somewhere.  When you have a party at your house, you have all the food preparations, the baking, the chaos of other people's children running through your house and then, the mess to clean up after.  A party at a venue, on the other hand, is worry-free.  Other people set up, make the food, decorate, and clean up the mess afterward.  (Thus the concept of Chuck E. Cheese was born.  I have done no research, but I feel sure that the idea for that restaurant came after some parents' nervous breakdown after a party for kids in their own home!)  So, I was keeping my fingers crossed for the bowling allley - especially considering the fact that the party was just days before Thanksgiving.  But, she decided to have it at home and I went along with it.  Thankfully, she is not that all into decorations like crepe paper and balloons anymore.  But, you can't placate a group of 12- and 13-year-olds with games like pin the tail on the donkey.  So, we had to come up with a party activity and Jessica decided she wanted to tie-dye shirts with her friends.  Now keep in mind, we live in Virginia, so it is not warm enough to undertake this activity outdoors; especially when it is a sleepover and the party started at 6 p.m. after it was already dark.  Against my better judgment, I agreed and we went out and got the supplies.  To my surprise, it actually went well and there was very little mess.  A plastic table cloth covered the table and the dyes have come a long way since I oversaw the activity with girl scouts back in my college years.  Back then, there was vinegar involved, buckets of dye, letting shirts soak longer for darker colors, etc. etc. etc.  Now though, the dye companies have come a long way.  You simply mix the powder dye that is already in its own bottle with warm water and each child can wrap their shirt in rubber bands and then squeeze the dye onto the shirts section by section.  Very little mess was made and what there was wiped right off the party tablecloth. They all loved the activity and couldn't wait to see the results the next morning. 

The best part of the party for me, and I am sure I can speak for my daughter when I say it was the best part for her too, came when it was time to open gifts.  I was so excited about what we got her, I could hardly wait for present-opening time! 

My daughter has been begging for a cell phone for well over a year now.  I told her she really didn't need a cell phone and I didn't think she was old enough at 12 years of age to be responsible with it.  (In terms of loss, that is.)  She tried to make a case that she could call her friends, but I told her she could use our land line.  Then she said she could call to check in with me when they were out playing to see if it was time to come home or if she needed to ask me something.  I told her she could do that like we did in the "olden days" and use her little legs to walk the 50 yards between our house and those houses of her friends.  Behind the scenes though, as her birthday approached, my husband and I discussed the cell phone.  It was a nominal additional cost to the plan we already have, the phone was free with a two year renewal of our contract, and now she was turning 13 years old and was proving herself to be more responsible.  She earns straight A's in school and is very trustworthy.  So, we secretly ordered the phone for her birthday.... call it a right of passage for her move into "teendom".  Then I went out and bought the decoy present.  I wanted this moment to be big - one she would remember.

I was out shopping without her one day and bought a purse I thought she would like that suits her age along with an umbrella.  Her umbrella had recently broken, so I thought she might like to have a new one.  (I chuckle.)  When I got home, I charged her new cell phone in my bedroom with a pillow over it so she wouldn't see, set it all up, and then zippered it inside the front section of the purse.  I wrapped the purse-holding cell phone and umbrella in a shirt box.  My husband and I made a plan to call the phone after she opened the box and saw the purse and umbrella.  I couldn't wait for her to open it because I knew how thrilled she would be once she found her "real" gift. 

Finally the moment arrived.  With her friends gathered around her, she opened each gift and read each card.  Then she got to our gift and was sure it was clothes.  You could almost read the word disappointment on her face when she first opened the box.  But she played it well and said how nice it was and thanked us.  Brad had the video camera and I had the still camera to catch it all on film.  While she was looking at the umbrella with the purse still in the box, the purse started to ring - well sing, being that the ring tone sounded more like a song than a ring. 

It was hysterical watching the faces turn from disappointment to bewilderment to hopeful to sheer joy!  You could see it like a wave.  Her friend nearest her heard it first and kind of cocked her head, wondering if she was hearing something or not.  Then her other friend heard it and everyone started shushing everyone else.  When it was really quiet, Jessica heard it and started to search for the source of the noise.  She looked in the purse's main compartment and pulled out.... paper stuffing.  Then she looked in the zippered compartment and pulled out.... a cell phone!  You have never heard shrieks and squeals like the ones that hit the airwaves that day. Every dog in the neighborhood probably ended up with a migraine due to how high-pitched and loud they were!  She practically flew out of her seat to hug me and her father and seven teenagers were literally jumping up and down in the living room.  Even her friends hugged me and thanked me because they could finally call and text Jessica, who had been the last living girl in the county without a cell phone.

Immediately they started texting each other - though they were all sitting right there together, so I guess that's a generational gap that I will never understand, and entering each other's phone numbers and contacts.  I made it to #3 on her speed dial.  Number three?  I would think that the gift alone would have warranted me the top spot of #2!  (Number one dials voice mail.)  But alas, I came second on the list.  I would probably have been fifth if she could call her two dogs!  Thanks goodness they don't have cell phones!

The rest of the evening was work-free.  They all went off to the basement to text, chat, paint nails and slumber.  Turned out to be a pretty easy party after all, and a lot of fun. 

The best part though was her reaction to her gift.  That's why I enjoy gift giving so much; seeing the joy on the face of someone I love and care for.  That is something that is truly priceless.  And for a moment I forgot about my graying hair and aching bones and the number of my age (no, I won't tell) and just relished in the moment. 

Break a leg!

Break a leg.... I don't see how that expression is meant to mean good luck.  It sure isn't me.  Now that the holidays are upon us, it's time to break out the decorations, participate in family traditions, and celebrate the joy of the season.  Well, so far I am batting two out of three.  Well, I broke out the decorations, but also broke my ankle.  Like all our neighbors this weekend, we got out our decorations and took advantage of the nice weather to put up our outdoor lights.  Who knew it would turn out to be an extreme sport?  After trimming our Carolina Sapphire pine tree to dress it up for Christmas, I strung the lights on.  As luck would have it this year, all four sets actually lit on the first try.  With the added glee from not having to find the bad bulb in a string of 400 lights, I then moved on to the lawn ornaments.  This year I finally bought the two lit wicker reindeer and one lit wicker snowman that we have been wanting for a long time.  I couldn't wait to get them up.  Unpacking them was a feat in itself, but after unpacking and assembling the first one, I thought I had it figured out and moved on to the next.  After a little struggle with the legs on that deer, I finally got it staked into the ground.  Everyting was coming together nicely.

As daylight dwindled, I called my hubby up from his project in the basement to help with coordinating all the extension cords, timer, and circuits.  Everything was fine until I went to clean up the boxes, scissors, and cable ties from the front yard.  While simply walking, just walking - with one foot in front of the other - I somehow mis-stepped and twisted my ankle outward so hard that I heard a crack and went tumbling to the ground.  My foot had turned under, spinning me around backwards and landing me flat on my back in the front yard.  Searing pain immediately coursed through my ankle.  My husband, having also heard the crack in my bone from his position on the front stoop, rushed to my side and I told him I thought my ankle was broken.  After he helped me up and got me to the sidewalk, I tried walking on it but quickly discovered that was not going to happen.  I had been hoping that it was just a bad sprain, but when I couldn't walk on it and a large egg started to appear where my ankle bone used to be, we knew a trip to the ER was imminent. 

The neighborhood kids had witnessed my graceful sprawl to the ground and ran to tell their parents.  Thanks goodness for great neighbors, who immediately offered to take our children and watch them and feed them dinner while my husband and I made our way to the ER.  At the hospital, the nurse asked if I broke my ankle putting up Christmas lights... apparently she sees enough of this sort of accident during the holiday season to assume.  I told her yes, though she thought I fell from a ladder or rooftop trying to put lights on the house.  I was almost embarrassed to say that I was already on the ground and walking on a relatively flat surface when I did this.  I should have told her I was sky-diving that day and had a rough landing or fell from a tree after trying to rescue a kitten.  At least then I would have sounded adventurous or heroic instead of just clumsy!  I was even more embarrassed when the nurse remembered me from crushing both wrists last year.  (Even more embarrassing!) Several hours later, I returned home with painkillers and a large plaster splint around my leg from my toes almost to my knee. 

This accident, unfortunately seems to be part of our family traditions with me.  Every autumn for the past four years, I have managed to land myself in the hospital for one thing or another.  I have even made two birthday parties more interesting with injuries.  For 36 years I managed to walk the earth with nary a broken bone.  I guess it was bound to catch up with me.  But given the last four years, even my children are suggesting I wear bubble wrap as part of my every day ensemble!  Last year I crushed both wrists at my oldest daughter's birthday party.  It had been one month after having my cancerous thyroid removed, I decided it was time for a little fun to lighten my mood.  So for the first time in my life, I donned a pair of roller skates at the skating rink during Jessica's 12th birthday party.  All went well until it was time to eat.  I managed to exit the rink gracefully and was feeling quite proud of my accomplishment.  But as I walked on my skates across the carpet to the party area, one wheeled foot got ahead of me, sending me into a backward fall.  Being that I had had two back surgeries for a ruptured disc and pinched nerves, my first thought as I started to go down was to protect my back.  So, I threw my arms down to break my fall and immediately regretted the decision when I heard and felt them break. Maybe I should start skipping the holidays - or autumn in general for that matter. 

This latest tradition of broken bones and surgeries I can live without.  But, even in these difficult times, I will be able to look back and remember how I was able to come through those tough times and still manage to celebrate the season and give thanks to all the things we do have - not just material things, but a happy family, healthy children, and good friends.  The difficult moments will be a speck on the map of our family's history and they also remind me that I have an inner strength that I forget about sometimes.  It goes with my belief that everything does happen for a reason.  Sometimes we have to live through the bad to appreciate the good... an example I hope I am setting for my children by mustering up enough effort to keep things as normal as possible.

Now, before I start the celebrating can I add bubble wrap to my Christmas gifts wish list?  Or maybe a large hazard sign to warn others  approaching me that I am a walking disaster! I think they should be the new mainstay in my wardrobe!

Black Friday

I was in the store the other day starting to do a little Christmas shopping and after waiting in a line of three people deep with carts full of items, I finally got to place my few things on the conveyor belt.  When I moved up toward the clerk at the check-out, she remarked it looked like I was doing some Christmas shopping.  I confirmed her guess and then she said something I did not need to hear. "Just 49 more days until Christmas!"

"Really?", I asked.  I thought, how does she know, did she count it down already?  Yes, in fact, she had!

Oh no!  That knot settled into my stomach.  The one that you get when you know you have a ton of things to do and very little time in which to do them.  My day was going wonderfully until the clerk said that.  She was chipper about it, too chipper in my opinion.  I, on the other hand, was not as amused. 49 days?!  Just 49 more days?  You mean in the next 49 days, besides working, doing my volunteer work, running kids to and fro, and my other daily activities, I have to shop for everyone on my list, wrap all those presents, bake cookies, host Thanksgiving for family, decorate the house, and oh - fit in a 13th birthday party for my oldest daughter.  As I started to hyperventilate, the wickedly cheery clerk handed me my receipt and told me to have a nice day.  Well not anymore, thank you!

Every year the holidays seem to sneak up on me.  One day it's summer and we are swimming and having campfires, the next it's Halloween.  I barely recover from that holiday and all of a sudden Christmas comes barreling toward me like a big freight train.

Don't get me wrong, I love Christmas.  It's the preparation for it I could do without.

Let's look at the shopping.  If I start too early by buying a few things here and there in the summer and accrue them until the big day, I forget where I stashed the presents to keep them from the snooping eyes of my three little spies.  Sad, but true.  If I start too late, then I face the busy stores, packed parking lots, long lines, and "Black Friday".  Now that's a day I will never understand.  It seems to be known nation-wide: "Black Friday", the day after Thanksgiving when department stores open early promising one-time-only, super-special bargains that people trample each other to get to.

Black Friday was an annual tradition when I was a kid.  Every year my mother would get up and go shopping on this unofficial holiday to get those sales. (She still does.)  So, when I grew up, I followed the tradition and did the same thing;  for awhile.  It used to be a little fun, kind of like a scavenger hunt or looking for buried treasure, finding those great deals. The fun would start by stalking people coming out of the stores to follow them to their parking space since all the lots were full, continue with snaking my way through the aisles and stealthily grabbing that last item on the shelf, pausing for brief nourishment breaks at the food courts, and ending when I collapsed on the couch at home with all my packages at days end. Of course, that was when I didn't have kids to take with me and before the insanity started in the retail world.
I don't know when it started or who started it, but all of a sudden, Black Friday took an ominous turn.  Stores didn't open at 8 a.m. anymore and offer their sale prices all day.  No, they moved it back to 6 a.m. And to make matters worse, they offered early-bird specials.  So if you wanted the great sale prices, you had to arrive at the store during a few precious hours or you'd miss out.  Six in the morning?!  I am not a morning person and now if I want to save 50% off that "Tickle Me Elmo" I have to trudge out of my cozy house, bed-headed and bleary-eyed  to get to the store at six?  No, it's even worse.  As I learned, if I wanted to actually get into the store when they first opened the doors, I had to arrive at least an hour early to stand in the line from the store that was already two blocks long.  Then, by the time I finally made it into the store, everything was gone, the shelves empty, like a pack of hyenas had just gutted the store and I was there to pick at the left-overs.  The next year, feeling wiser and more prepared, I showed up at one store to get in said line at oh-dark-thirty only to get into the store and then find myself being shoved and stepped-on at every turn.  Boxes were dropping on heads from high shelves, people were trampling each other to get to the electronics department, and I fleeing for safety, ran out of the store empty-handed, but feeling lucky to have made it out alive.  I don't know where everyone's Christmas spirit goes on Black Friday, but holly-jolly gets thrown overboard and it's every man, woman or child for themselves.

The following year, the stores made it easy on me.  They opened even earlier.  Now, there is only so far I will go to save a few dollars; and getting up in the wee hours of the morning to stand in the freezing cold temperatures to deal with rude mobs of people is where I draw the line.  When the first store decided that one year they were going to open at 6 a.m., their competition decided the next year that they would open at five.  And the year after that, other stores decided to get a jump on their competition by opening at four! 

Why? Why, oh why do they want us all there at the same time?  Why must we arrive at such an unholy hour to get a special price?  Why do I have to pay more for my items if I show up one minute past the early-bird time?  Did the items suddenly become more valuable?  Is it that they want to see how many people it actually takes to fill a Wal-Mart to capacity?  Is the government running some secret psychological tests on the effects that  overcrowding, hot stores, and long lines have on people's personalities?  I'll probably never know.  But I do know that I will no longer be a participant.  Now, while everyone else is out standing in line freezing their noses off waiting for the stores to open, I am tucked snug in my bed, happily sleeping.  While everyone else is waiting in long lines to purchase their goodies, I am on the internet buying mine... with the computer I nabbed at that last early-bird sale.

Trick or Treat!

A hobo, Raggedy Ann, Casper, and a two-headed monster; those were some of the costumes I wore as a kid to trick-or-treat in.  The two-headed monster I will never forget and don't recommend, not even to the best of friends and especially not to married couples!  What a disaster that would be:  one of the heads would definitely end up sleeping on the couch by the end of the evening.  My sister and I did the two-headed monster when I was in junior high and we fought all night about who wasn't keeping step, who stepped on whose toes, who was walking too fast, who was walking too slow; you get the picture.  And our mother!  What was she thinking - letting us attempt that in the first place?!  She deserved to hear every bit of bickering that went on between my sister and I that night.  Yeah!  It was her fault.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it!

Halloween is a favorite holiday among many kids from 1 to 92, mine included, second only to Christmas.  What is it about this holiday that gets kids, and even some grown-ups so excited?  Is it the candy?  I mean, you can buy candy at any store, any time of year, so what makes it so special on October 31st?  I guess part of the excitement of candy on the hallowed night is that you get it in such large quantities and it's all for you!  Well, what's left of it that is, after the parents rummage through it taking out what they deem "unsafe" for one reason or another: homemade treat, could be drugged; and we all know about the dangers of apples and razor blades, right?  And then there's the candy that's just unsafe, well, because let's face it, it's our favorite kind (yes, I am talking about us parents) and we couldn't possibly subject our children to the dangers of what might be lurking in that kind of candy so, oh look!  There's a tiny hole in the wrapper of that one.  And that one looks a little suspicious too - a bit smashed, they might have been tampered with; better take those out for safety reasons.  (Little do they know that we munch on these delightful tidbits later on whilst they slumber.  But, what's a few pieces out of a thousand, right? And what they don't know can't hurt them.  And we're thinking of their overall health.  Too much candy is not good for those growing bodies, not to mention their teeth.  Yeah, that will justify it.  Keep munching!)

Decorations have become much more elaborate for Halloween than they used to be.  I remember when I was a kid, we were lucky if we hung some paper decorations on the front door.  Now we walk by yards with fog machines, lawns of graveyards made with store-bought tombstones, black-lights, shrubbery covered in fake cobwebs, talking skeletons hanging from trees, and even DJs out on the street with karaoke for the kids to sing for their candy!  It used to be if you turned your porch light on, it meant you were open for business.  Now if you don't have at least one Mr. Skullybones somewhere on your front lawn, people pass on by.  Apparently, if you can't afford or bother to put a couple of tombstones out there, then your candy must not be worth the effort of walking all the way to the front door for!

Maybe what really makes Halloween so special is the costumes.  Though I will admit that there are a few teens that come to my door who don't  even  bother to put forth even a tiny bit of effort and just show up as themselves.  They hold out a pillowcase for candy, barely mumbling the words "trick-or-treat",  and expect me to reward them for this lack of imagination.  On the other hand, if I don't give them anything, I may find my house egged or toilet-papered the next morning, right?  But really, I should be the one toilet-papering them for not putting on a costume if they are going to have the nerve to go around asking the neighbors for free candy!  At least then they'd have costumes.  They would all look like mummies!

But really, I think it is the costumes; The chance to be anonymous;  The opportunity to be someone else for a day - a movie star, the president, or something fun, something that tells a little about the hidden side of you. My kids started thinking about what they wanted to be for Halloween this year the day after Halloween last year. They changed their minds about 200 times between then and now, but about two months before the big day, they had it narrowed down to one or two and that's what we went in search of.  Christopher was set on Venom, Spider-man's arch enemy.  It was looking grim for awhile whether or not we would find the outfit, but managed one at the 11th hour.  Sara chose a hippie-chick and I have to say the outfit suits her well.  She could almost pull it off as a new fashion trend.  It just fits her personality.  Jessica waffled a bit more, but finally decided on a witch... correction, as I have been told again and again - a graveyard fairy.  There are no fairy wings on the costume and I don't know of any fairies that typically hang out in graveyards, but then again, I don't really know any fairies, so call it what she wants.  They are all happy now and looking forward to the big night.   

I dress up every year, whether I am the one at home handing out the candy each time the door bell rings or the one walking the neighborhood with the kids as they go door-to-door.  Not only is it a bit of fun for me, but it shows the kids that no matter how old I am (so far) I still have a sense of humor and can have fun with them too.  Of course, sometimes my kids don't quite appreciate my sense of humor or costume style.  They all want to go for the glitz and glamour of the fancy costume shop outfits.  I, on the other hand, appreciate the thought behind the costume.  For example, one year in college I dressed all in green, made the letter "P" on my shirt with masking tape and used black eyeliner to give myself a big shiner and went as a - (have you guessed it yet) black-eyed pea!  Another year, right after my husband and I were married, we threw a Halloween party and the theme was a play on words.  I was "Holy Cow!".  I took a white sweat suit, cut out and glued on black spots all over it and wore a wing and halo set that I bought at the store.  Coming up with the idea is as much of the fun for me as wearing the outfit itself.  Sadly, this concept has gotten lost on my children.  When I suggest costume ideas like serial killer to them where they cut the fronts off of their cereal boxes and pin it to their clothes, carry a plastic ax and put on some scary face paint, they give me that look like the orderlies in movies do right before they are ready to put the patient into the straight jacket!  Alas!  I guess I will get to use all the good ideas on myself.

This year, I added some sarcasm into my costume.  My husband Brad appreciated my costume immensely.  We both laughed out loud, heartily, I might add, when we saw the children's expression at my outfit this year.  I decided to go as a referee.  The sarcasm was not lost on our children and though they tried to hide it, snickering was heard and mouths were covered to hide smiles.  They got the joke, even if it was on them.  I found the outfit quite appropriate as I have had to play that role during several tiffs recently between my children and the many neighborhood children that almost live at our house from time to time.  (The neighbor kids are over here so often that it really gets to be like a bit of sibling rivalry at times.)  I got the shirt, the hat, even the whistle.  Ah!  The whistle!  I reminded my kids of the movie "Kindergarten Cop" when Arnold Schwarzenegger gets the whistle out to get the class of unruly five-year-olds under control and my eyes gleemed as the whistle glistened in the afternoon light.  I even broke into my best Arnold impression.  That really had them laughing.   I told them I was already getting ideas of how this whistle might come in handy.  The power!  Think of it:  A lifeguard whistles and everyone stops and listens or gets out of the pool, a referee at a game whistles and everyone stops to listen to what he has to say.  Now I, Gianna, aka Mommy, have a whistle of my very own.  They shuddered at the thought.  I told them how I chose my costume this year based on what I have had to do so much of in recent weeks and I thought I would just go with it.  And now that I have the tools on hand, I might just pull them out and use them once in awhile. I wonder if it would be too much to learn and use the hand signals too?

'Tis the Season

It's that time of year again: the season of giving.  No, not Christmas. I speak of different gifts that others are sharing earlier this season than others it seems.  Unfortunately, this gift is one that no store will take back - with or without a receipt.  There are no refunds.  You can't even re-gift it.  No one wants it.  It will make any recipient recoil in horror and send them running for the nearest hand sanitizer and disinfectant to spray your way to repel you. It is one size fits all - a little invisible, creepy, crawly gift that I would much rather the giver keep for themselves.  It is the flu bug.  ♫'Tis the season for the flu bug, fa-la-la-la- blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.♫

It's amazing how generous others can be with this gift.  There are moments where I can not get anyone to give me a minute of their time, lend me an ear, or give me a hand, yet no one hesitates to pass on the flu.

As I shivered in bed the other night under the covers with my Nyquil and hot tea after receiving this lovely gift of the flu from an anonymous giver, I watched as an anchorman on the news reported that over 250 students at a local college were absent from classes due to the "swine flu".  Even pigs, apparently have gotten in on the gift giving; who would have thought?  And now, because those little farm dwellers have gotten in on the act and have mutated this germy gift into a particularly contagious version of "pass it on", the flu is now headline news. By then the Nyquil kicked in and sleep overcame me. I dreamt of little pigs in Santa hats delivering virulent, moldy green packages underneath Christmas trees and stealing cookies that had been left for Santa.  By morning, I switched to Dayquil. Delerious visions of crazed Santa-pigs would not help get me through my day. 

I decided that while I had this flu, I would do my best to keep this gift all to myself. Normally I am not so selfish, but in this case, I thought it would be appreciated.  I quarantined myself off, for the most part, in my bedroom.  When the kids wanted to kiss me goodbye, I told them to blow me kisses, and I "blew" them kisses back.  Homework help was done at as much a distance apart as possible, with my son reading what was on his worksheet to me since I could not see it from across the room and then me telling him what that problem meant so that he could solve it.  Binoculars aided in checking whether it was correct or not once completed. School photo order forms were slipped under the door for me to sign and the slipped back out again once completed to be placed in each child's backpack.  I was determined to keep this flu away from my family. 

Then it occured to me that even with all my extra precautions, I still send my children out the door each day to a world full of invisible, creepy, crawly things that live on the surfaces of every thing they touch and float in the very air they breathe.  They will come into contact with hundreds of kids between the school bus, their classes, and the cafeteria at school.  And all those kids are constantly, silently sending out little "gifts".  Some of those gifts my children will end up keeping, whether they want them or not, and some may turn into one form of bug or another.  But at least this time, I will know they didn't get it from me.

The Assignment

My son Christopher had an assignment his first day of school.  He got to make a "Me bag".  In the bag, he was to include five things that told something about who he was and what he liked.  My son was very excited about his assignment.  Though it was a Tuesday and the assignment was not due until Friday, he set to work right away, gathering things that he thought would tell his teacher and classmates a little bit about himself. 

The first thing he chose was the bag itself.  He picked a blue reusable grocery bag because he decided this week his favorite color was blue (for the other eight years of his life it has been orange and red, but hey, everyone is entitled to change their mind). 

He then commenced his search for the items to put in the bag.  First in were some matchbox cars.  These went into the bag to reflect his love of watching racing and playing with his cars.  Next in the bag: his plush golden retriever and maltese puppy dogs.  These dogs look just like his dogs in real-life and were the next best things to actually being able to take man's best friends to school.  He loves his dogs and wanted to show the class what they looked like more than just taking a photo.  His next choice for the "me bag" was a Pittsburgh Steelers keychain.  He shares his daddy's love of our 'hometown' football team and will watch the games with his dad (for as long as each one holds his interest), so the keychain represented that.  Last, but not least, he put in my rock collection because he likes to collect cool rocks for me.

I say "my rock collection" because these are rocks that my son started bringing me as soon as he was old enough to walk.  It was when we lived in Switzerland and would take walks along the Aare River that he became interested in rocks.  The rocks there had particularly beautiful patterns on them and he loved playing with them.  One day, he brought me a rock to keep.  Then, months later, he found another he liked and gave it to me to add to the first on my desk.  Awhile later, there was another, and before I knew it, I had a collection of rocks from all over the world.  Some kids bring their moms little flowers they pick from the yard; my son brings me rocks. It makes me smile when he comes home from a walk or from school and hands me a little rock.  I smile because that little gesture lets me know that at one point during the day, he picked up that rock and thought of me.  (One day I even found I had one in my coat pocket and it made me think of him and chuckle because I had a rock in my pocket, but I digress.)

So, his bag was all packed for school.  I suggested he take it to school the next day so it would be there for Friday and he wouldn't forget it, but he wanted to wait so everyone would be surprised.  All week long, the "me bag" sat by the door.  Each day I would ask him if he wanted to take it and each day he said he would wait.  Finally the big day came.  It was Friday, time to take the "me bag" to school!  I kissed him good-bye and told him not to forget his bag, then kissed his sister good-bye, and turned to hold on to the dogs to keep them from going outside.  The bus came and went and when I turned to go upstairs, what did my eyes spot sitting near the door where my son exited just moments earlier?  His "ME BAG"!  My last words to him after "I love you" were "don't forget your me bag".  How he managed to still leave it sitting there remains a mystery.  But, he did. 

So, there I am, standing in disbelief looking at this bag that was so thoughtfully put together with such excitement, faced with a decision.  Do I pick up my keys and get in the car and drive the bag to the school for my son or do I leave the bag sit in its spot on the floor to teach my son to be more responsible and that there are consequences to his actions?  With an audible sigh, I took the keys off the hook by the door, picked up the bag, and... and put it back down again and placed the keys back on the hook.  Why?

The very fact that that bag was left sitting, forgotten, at the door, even though I reminded my son to take it with him just moments before he left for school that day reflected a part of who he is.  It was actually a part of the "me bag"! 

Christopher can go on a mission from one room to another and forget what the mission was halfway there and not be seen again for hours unless we send out a search party. Remember that attention span I spoke of in my intro of our family - the one of the gnat?  There it is.  Bless his little heart.  So, I had to let that part of him show that day, regardless of the consequences, so that he would learn from his mistake.

It was a tough decision, not bailing him out, and the "me bag" guilted me a bit sitting there all day, so I tossed a blanket over it.  (Out of sight, out of mind did help with the guilt.) 

When my son got home that day, I asked him how school went and what his teacher said when he didn't have his "me bag".  Turns out the teacher was OK with it.  She said to just bring it on Monday since other kids could talk about theirs that day.  (OK, so teacher didn't help with the responsibility lesson.)  So, I told Christopher that he wouldn't always be so lucky and he would have to be more responsible and learn to remember things and focus better.  I asked him how we might be able to do this.  He said maybe he could write notes.  I told him that was a great idea.  So, we have some post-it notes that he is going to use to write on and stick on his bedroom door to remember important things.  He is also going to try to stay more focused on one task at a time and not get distracted by other things.  It will take time, but it will come to him. 

Monday came and he remembered to take his "me bag" to school.  He got to tell the class about all the items in his bag along with why he chose the bag itself.  And getting to chat about the items in his bag is also a big part of who he is.

The Chatterbox

My oldest daughter takes after her father.  She likes to talk... A LOT.  In the right social setting, this can be a gift; one I often wish I was blessed with.  But in other places, left unchecked, it can be inappropriate.  One of those places is in the classroom at school. 

During her fifth grade year, my daughter's motor mouth landed her in the sights of her teacher's radar early on in the school year and from then on, she was constantly targeted for talking in class.  Every day, her clip was being moved out of the "green zone" on the behavioral stop light and into the "yellow" for her constant chatting.  If it made it to "red", it was principal time and eventually went on to her permanent record to follow her wherever she went.  She never made it that far because I decided it was time to intervene. 

Jessica's father and I had talked with our daughter and told her there were appropriate times to talk at school, such as lunch, recess, etc.  We had previously grounded her for getting in trouble for talking, only to have her do it again a few days later.  Our daughter explained at one point that other kids were talking when she was and they didn't get in trouble, but we told her that the point is, they should not have been talking either and that just because others were doing something, doesn't make it OK for her to do it. (Insert your best "if your friends jumped off a cliff would you do it" here.)  And besides that, she had made a target of herself early on and now she had to deal with the consequences of that. 

The problem went on until one day I told my daughter that if she got into trouble for talking one more time, I was going to go to school with her and babysit her in class since she didn't seem to be able to handle it on her own.  I told her I may or may not go dressed in my pajamas, depending on my mood that day.  I told her I would sit in her classroom, follow her to lunch, etc. until talking was a problem no more. 

Now, my children know me.  They know when I say something, I follow through; so even if there was an inkling of doubt in my daughter's mind, it must have been enough to keep her on the quiet path for awhile because she did quite well for about two weeks.  But then it happened one Friday.  She just couldn't hold it in any longer.  All that chatter that she had been holding inside of her for the last two weeks just couldn't be held in anymore and came bursting out of her like lava from a volcano.  Her clip made it into the "yellow zone" once more and it was the moment of truth.  She begged and pleaded for me to give her one more chance.  I explained I gave her plenty of chances already and that I didn't know of any other way to make this clear to her: that when she talks during class, it interrupts learning and is disrespectful to the teacher.  I informed her that come Monday morning, mother and daughter would attend school together.  She was quite upset and asked if I would be wearing my pajamas.  (This, apparently, was an even bigger concern than me being at school - what I would be wearing.  Oh the embarrassment!)  I told her I would see how tired I felt on Monday, whether or not I felt like getting dressed or just throwing on my robe and slippers.  I called her teacher and informed her of my plan and the arrangements were made.

What a long weekend that must have been for her! The agony and worry that she must have suffered that weekend alone was probably worse than the punishment itself! 

Monday arrived, the big day.  I decided to minimize her embarrassment (and the distraction my pj's would cause in the classroom) and get casually dressed.  I sat in the back of the room close to my daughter's desk and watched over her all day. I went to lunch with my daughter and chatted with her and her friends during lunch.  My daughter, oddly enough, was very quiet during this time.  Then back to class we went where I finished sitting watch over my little chatterbox. (I also observed the teacher and noticed that there was a good bit of disorganization, especially during transitional times, in which there were a lot of children talking. If this were more organized, chatting and moving about the room could be cut down in general.  She was a younger, inexperienced teacher and did not have a good command of her classroom.  I brought that point to the principal later, who said she was aware of that and was having a mentor teacher work with her.)

It was a looong day for both of us, but an important one.  My daughter learned that I dared and cared enough to follow through on my word. And I learned why she talked in class when she talked, though I was not excusing her for it.  I had spent a day in her shoes and had seen what the classroom dynamics were. 

When the day was over, I asked her if I needed to go to school with her the next day or if she thought she could handle things on her own from now on.  She insisted she could contain her chatter and no longer needed me to watch over her at school.  I told her I would give her a chance to prove herself then, but if I had to go back, it would be every day for a week and this time I would wear my robe and slippers and might not comb my hair. 

But, she was right.  From that day on (two years now - I should give her some kind of pin), she remained in the "green zone", apparently so mortified that I might show up in her classroom again one day that she kept her chatter to herself until it was the right time to socialize.

Tales of a Seventh-Grader Mother

So, there I was, standing in the new homeroom of my oldest daughter Jessica, who is entering the seventh grade this year, during her school's open house.  And I found myself thinking, "What am I doing here?"  "How did I get to be the mother of a seventh grader?!"  It seemed so surreal.  I couldn't possibly be old enough to have a daughter going into the seventh grade! I was surrounded by teenagers that looked beyond their years.

Where did the years go?  It seems like yesterday I was kissing her baby feet.  Now, as much as I still love my daughter, I wouldn’t dream of kissing those stinky, sweaty feet after they have spent a day of running around in her Converse sneakers!  Where is that baby that used to hang on my every word and laugh at every funny face I made?  Now, almost thirteen years later, I have to mention something like money just to get her attention and the mere sight of me at the wrong moment could cause her dire embarrassment in front of her friends.  The baby who used to want cuddled and held and rocked to sleep at night would now rather spend the day hanging out with her friends and spend the night going to sleepovers. 

I am not the only one who has noticed this “growing” phenomenon.  Even my daughter herself has noticed changes in her friends this year.  On her first day of school, I asked her about her day and the biggest thing she had to tell me was how much her friends had changed over the summer.  She couldn’t believe how tall some of them had gotten.  According to her, one girl had grown eight inches, seriously, eight inches!  Another girl that used to have long blond hair now has short black hair and yet another has gone “Goth” with black clothing and leopard leggings.  One more has hair that is two colors at the same time!  She was even interested in the clothes her teachers were wearing, describing her Civics teacher’s outfit down to the funky pattern on his tie. 

Jessica has noticed that her friends are growing up too and with that they are exploring their own sense of style and testing their independence.  My daughter’s style used to be determined by me:  cute little coordinating outfits with ruffled socks and the occasional dress with bonnets in the summertime.  Now that she is on the brink of “teendom”, the only Ruffles that come near her are of the Frito-Lay variety and the last dress she wore was for her first communion because it was a must.  

Yes, my baby is growing up.  No, she is not there yet, but it is happening and there is nothing I can do to stop it.  All I can do is help her along.  She has already gone through so many changes from the first time I held her in my arms and she will go through many more in the next few years.  It will be a rocky road for her, (and most likely for her father and I), these coming teen years.  I have already had “the talk” with my daughter, and many other talks.  I make time to chat with her and make sure she knows she can come to me with anything, good or bad, and that it will never change how much I love her.

All I can say is cherish every moment with your children because it goes by in a blink.  Don't wait until "tomorrow".  Take the time to play with them today.  Talk with them today.  Teach them today. Snuggle with them today and let them know they are loved like crazy.

Hopefully everything we have taught our daughter and will continue to teach her, and all the love we have given her and will continue to give her will provide her with the skills to cope with the challenges she will face in the coming years and to embrace the joys life has to offer as well.  Because at some point, no matter how much we want to hold on, we will have to let go.

Random Acts of Patience

Did you ever find yourself wishing or praying for more patience?  And did you ever notice it doesn't ever get handed to you in a nice little gift bag or on a silver platter?  Patience is one of those things that I think is given to us through opportunities.  You don't have to look for them, they find you; some small, some big, every single day. 

As parents, our patience is tested more times than McDonald's has served hamburgers.  Yet the culmination of how we pass or fail those tests has an impact on our children greater than we can imagine.  It shapes their self-esteem, how they interact with others, and what their own patience meter turns out to be.  I don't know when I began to notice other parents' stress meters, but more and more lately, I see patience levels falling.  I can only speculate as to why.  Maybe it is the struggling economy, the stress of both parents having to work and then come home and take care of the children and household chores, the high divorce rates and single-parent homes, or the fact that our kids seem to be growing up much faster nowadays and facing adult-like challenges sooner now than they used to. 

I have always noticed the signs of a person starting to short-circuit.  That started in my own childhood.  So, I have well over 30 years experience in recognizing the signs.  But only recently did I feel confident enough to reach out and do something about it.  Before, I feared that maybe if I spoke up, the parent would become more hostile or there would be worse repercussions for the child once they got home.  But, I started to look at things in a different light in the past year or so.  Not just "how can I help this child", but "how can I help this parent" out at this moment?  There is a saying I read one day that I find applicable here, "Be nice to everyone you meet. They're facing battles you have no idea about."  There is no way of knowing what a person is going through or why they might have lost their patience with someone at a given moment.  They might be like that all the time, or it just might be a bad snapshot in an otherwise wonderful album of a personality.  Losing one's patience doesn't make them a bad person.  We have all been there.  But it's being aware that we are doing it, or have done it and then reconciling afterward that makes a difference.

Maybe the recent realization and confidence is partly a result of my volunteer work.  I volunteer as a Court Appointed Special Advocate (CASA), speaking on behalf of and working with abused and neglected children in the court system and foster care.  While doing this volunteer work, I can't help but think, what can be done before these families get to this point?

Last week I was at the local pool with my husband and children when I saw a mother and her very small six-year-old girl near us.  The mother was holding her daughter trying to teach her how to tread water.  Then she would let go and the girl would sink.  They did this over and over and over again until the mother was frustrated and yelling at her daughter that if she didn't do it they were going to leave, and the little girl was crying.  I watched them, wondering why it was so vital that this child have to learn to tread water on the last day the pool was open and the little girl starting school the next day.  Why couldn't she go have fun and play with the other kids and splash in the pool and stand under the buckets that dump water on the kids' heads on her last day of summer vacation?  Watching the little girl, she could barely swim, let alone tread water.  She was only able to swim underwater for short bursts. 

So, I took a chance and approached them. I gently introduced myself and asked what her daughter was trying to learn.  The mother's demeanor softened and she explained to me what she was trying to teach her.  My middle daughter was nearby.  I told the mother that I used to teach swimming and had once been a lifeguard and had taught my own children to swim. I said I would be happy to work with her daughter for awhile if the two of them didn't mind.  She was very happy about that.  I asked the little girl her name, told her mine again, then introduced her to my daughter Sara and showed her how she was treading water.  I told her I taught Sara to do that.  I asked if she felt ok about me spending some time with her and she said she was.  So, her mom went off to relax for awhile under the umbrellas poolside and her daughter and I spent some time together practicing the basics of treading while chatting about school and swimming and such.  I told her treading takes a long time to learn and gave her some visuals and pointers to keep in mind. I used a lot of positive reinforcement as well and she loved to hear what a good job she was doing.  After the adult swim came and went, this little girl sought me out and wanted to learn some more, so we spent more time together while my children went down the slide with their dad.  Her mom was very relaxed now chatting on her cell phone. 

Once our lesson was done, I talked with the child's mom and told her some pointers that we used to remember for the next time.  She was very appreciative and then the little girl was allowed to swim and play the rest of the afternoon. 

On another occasion, my family and I were at a local pizza chain having dinner one weekend.  There was a young mother there with a toddler and infant in a booth at the end of the room.  The toddler was climbing all over the booth and the baby started to fuss and eventually went into that all-out crying mode for his bottle.  The mom was clearly frustrated trying to feed the baby and keep the toddler from running through the restaurant.  At one point she grabbed the toddler by the shirt, yelling at him.  It was clear she was overwhelmed.  I went by her table and told her she had beautiful boys.  She thanked me and I started to talk to her toddler, asking him if he was helping take care of his baby brother.  He started to engage in talking and then sat in his seat.  The mother and I got to chatting then and I just listened as she talked for awhile.  It turned out her husband worked in the restaurant and she was waiting for him to get off, but his shift was running late.  The kids were tired and hungry and the little boy knew his dad was in the kitchen and kept trying to go back there.  She seemed calmer just having someone to chat with while waiting and so did her son having "company" there to interact with and behave for. 

These were not heroic feats by any means.  But I hope that in reaching out to people in these small ways, it helps someone on that edge of losing the last of their patience see things from a new perspective, be able to take that breath, and just have someone to vent their frustration to.  Don't be afraid to reach out to someone and just listen. 

And when it comes to our own families, remember that patience is something that comes through practice; so practice every chance you get - like you would with yoga, or running, or other interests you have.  The more you practice it, the more naturally it will come.  Believe me, you will never find it wrapped up for you under the Christmas tree!

Choredom

The expressions on the faces above often mimic those on the faces of my own children.  No, not when they are in danger, or in fear for their lives, or even faced with taking the dreaded cough medicine.  Rather, it is how they look when they are told they have to do chores.

The shock!  The horror!  The doom!  How could I possibly expect them to give up even thirty minutes of their daily lives to help out around the house?!  What kind of mother am I?!  Other children, it has been brought to my attention by my eldest daughter, get paid to do chores.   So why don't my children get paid too?  Ah, it all comes down to the almighty dollar.  Where's the love, I ask you?

I explained to my children that chores are part of pitching in and helping out as part of the family.  We all have our part - even us parents.  Nobody particularly enjoys chores.  I mean, I would much rather be floating on a raft in a pool with a large, cool iced tea than pushing my Hoover and pulling weeds from the garden; who wouldn't?  But things need to get done and we all need to take responsibility in doing our part. We all have some part in making the dirty laundry, the dust, the dirty dishes, etc., so we all take part in cleaning up. 

At first, the kids loved to do chores.  They were toddlers and helping out was fun.  It was part of being "big" and doing "grown-up" things.  That, unfortunately, didn't last long.  Even toddlers know that making the messes is far more fun than cleaning them up.  So, when that fad wore off, I had to come up with a way to get my kids interested in doing chores;  An incentive that would make them want to do chores without having to pay them regularly.  That's when the "room fairy" was born.  The "room fairy" would visit every morning and look at each child's room.  She would look for neatness, if the bed was made (age appropriately), if toys were picked up in the rest of the house, and she would give a star to the child who had the most items picked up and neatest bedroom that day.  The child with the most stars at week's end got a little prize. (Dollar store prizes - sticker books, balls, etc.)  Once in awhile, there would be a three-way tie and there would be a special dinner out to their favorite pizza place or a special movie rental or some other such prize.

The room fairy worked for a very long time... years in fact.  I loved the room fairy.  We were very good friends.  With her help, my kids' rooms were kept relatively neat and their toys were picked up from the rest of the house.

But, within the past six months or so, the kids have kicked the room fairy to the curb.  (The tooth fairy still flies in on occasion... maybe she pays better!)  So, I have had to change strategy.  When school ended and summer break started, we all kicked back the first week and just enjoyed not having to run anywhere, do any homework, or abide by a tight schedule.  I work from home, so I was able to adjust my schedule to spend time with the kids.

As one week turned to two, however, I started to notice that I was picking up after the children more and more.  And as the third week rolled around, I noticed that not only was I cleaning up after my own children, but all the neighborhood kids that flocked to our house as well.  My children were becoming "beach bums" without the beach.  Dirty clothes and wet towels on the floor, toys and laptops lying about, dirty dishes left wherever they had last been eaten from, sticky fingerprints on every surface, bikes and toys lying about in the driveway all made it apparent that it was time for action.

I quietly went to my office and made each child a chore chart.  I hung their chart on their bedroom doors and then when their father got home, we held a family meeting explaining the new method of chores.  There was a little protest at first, but I told them that it was up to them when they did the chores each day.  The catch was there wouldn't be any tv or computer time until the chores were done.  If chores were not done at all that day, then privileges could be taken away.  We had the talk about how this would teach them responsibility, which I hope they heard.  Knowing children though, it probably went into their heads more like blah, blah, blah, responsibility, blah, blah, teamwork, blah, blah, blah.... 

The most protesting, as you may imagine, came from my preteen.  But my husband and I pointed out that we have our chores too and that their chores added up to a half hour or less a day.  My middle child, Sarah, does great with this method.  She is a true creature of habit.  So she gets up, checks her chart, does her chores, and goes about her day.  And Christopher does well with it too.  The checklist actually helps keep him on track since he tends to get distracted so easily.  Even Jessica has quit complaining and has realized she can breeze through her list pretty quickly.  And just the fact that they were told they can decide when to do the chores each day made them feel in control of some part of the situation.

As for payment for chores, there is the occasional job that is "above and beyond" they get paid for, like helping clean out the basement or garage, washing the cars, etc.  But for the most part, the kids do seem to be learning that chores, as boring as they are, are part of the teamwork of being a family.  And as for the room fairy, she will remain a fond memory for me of their childhood.

Meet Mr. Nobody

Did you ever find yourself wondering who "Nobody" is and why he is always getting into so much trouble?  In our house, if something breaks, "Nobody" broke it; if there was grape juice spilled on the carpet, "Nobody" did it.  And, if there is marker on the wall, you can bet that "Nobody" is the guilty party.

I always thought that with three children, the blame would be more evenly spread.  Boy, was I wrong!  It is interesting what causes children to not want to confess to a wrong-doing or an accidental mishap.  We have never hit or spanked our children, so there is no fear of corporal punishment there.  The biggest punishment they have faced to date is loss of computer privileges or being grounded to their room for a day or two.  We really try to make the punishment fit the crime, so to speak.

We have always tried to instill in our children the importance of telling the truth and how it is linked to trust in a relationship.  We have also told them that though they might get into some trouble for a wrong-doing, it will also be worse if they are caught in a lie.  Yet, still, "Nobody"  resided at our house from time to time.

My oldest daughter has a difficult time blaming "Nobody".  Her face is as easy to read as a picture book.  She tried telling me she had finished all her lunch when she was about four-years-old one day.  I knew she couldn't have finished in the few seconds I had left the kitchen, so I checked the garbage can and, sure enough, found her lunch there.  When confronted with the evidence, the guilt overtook her and she cried.  I didn't even have to punish her she felt so bad.  She never lied after that to my knowledge.  She has withheld some information for a period of time. But eventually it eats at her until she spills it at bedtime one night or another.   

My son has been the one recently caught blaming "Nobody" a couple of times.  The first time, it was a minor incident and we had a chat and moved on.  I thought the matter was behind us.  But a week later, as I worked on my computer, I heard a crash come from the dining room.  It was the kind of crash where there is a loud thunk followed by shattering glass and makes a mother go running.

Upon arrival at the scene, I found my son standing near my china cabinet, one cabinet door on top open, its glass panel now missing, shattered on the floor.  My son stood as still as a statue, perhaps thinking if he was very still I wouldn't notice him there; like maybe my eyesight was that of a T-Rex and I could only detect movement!

My first concern, of course was his safety.  I told him not to move and asked him if he was ok.  He told he that we was.  I reiterated not to move so that he wouldn't step on glass and I went around and lifted him out of the area of the shattered glass.   Upon inspecting him for any cuts and finding none, I asked him what happened.

"Nothing," he replied.  "I was walking by and the glass just fell out!"  Hmmm.  Now, I am no detective, but I play one in my world, so I suggested to my son that we examine the evidence. I pointed out how what he said happened was impossible unless he had opened the door and moved the tabs that held the glass in place.  I showed him how the glass sits in a grooved ledge with tabs and with the door shut, it was inconceivable for the glass to just fall out.  I also reminded him of our talk the previous week about lying and its consequences.  Now the look of guilt swept over his face.  He cracked!

"I did it," he said.  "I opened the door to try to turn on the light inside on the top and when I did, the tabs moved and the glass fell out."  Aha, my dear Watson!  I do believe we've got it!

I decided it was time to make an impression on my little storyteller.  So I told him a story of my own.  I told him a story of this book I read once called the "Scarlet Letter" and how this lady did something wrong and had to wear a big red "A" on her dress everywhere she went so that everyone would know what she did.  I told him to imagine if we all had to do that with everything we did wrong!  How terrible that would be.  I said, "Can you imagine if you had to wear one of those stickers that says 'Hello my name is...' and write 'liar' in it?!"  "Yikes!  That would be pretty embarrassing wouldn't it?"  He just nodded his head as his eyes grew as big as dinner plates.

Now before anyone gets upset, I would never, ever make my children wear that label.  I was just telling him the story of how that lady had to do that and planting an image in his mind of "what if"....  I never told him he would have to wear one.  I did, however tell him, he would have to write an essay on why lying is wrong and how it breaks our trust in one another while he was grounded.

He did write a wonderful essay.  And the combination of the story and the essay must have done the trick, because he hasn't lied since.  He has been faced with the decision, but when I ask him to remember to tell the truth, he says, OK, I did it.  "Nobody" seems to have disappeared, for awhile anyway!

"Momdar"

As a mother, I have come to learn that it is my job to know, at all times, where every belonging of every family member in my household is. From a husband's lost wrist watch to a son's missing shoe or a daughter's crucial missing accessory-of-the-day, the object is to be on my radar, which I like to call "momdar" at all times. It holds so true that somehow, all children and fathers believe that mothers have some "momdar": Some magical global tracking device on every object on the planet (except our own, of course) that allows us to precisely locate anything they may have misplaced with pinpoint accuracy and within a fairly reasonable amount of time too. It is amazing. I mean, we moms could all work for NASA.


A perfect example of this came this past February. I had recently undergone a radiation treatment for cancer, and being radioactive, did not want to come into close contact with my young children. (It could damage their thyroids, long story short. But, I digress.) Given the circumstances, I had quarantined myself in a nearby hotel for the weekend.

That night, I received an urgent sounding phone call from my oldest daughter Jessica, who tells me that her father told her to call me. Right away, my heart skips a beat as I think someone must be hurt or there has been an accident or some other terrible family emergency has occured for me to be getting such a phone call when I (unbeknownst to them) am not feeling well.

"What's wrong?", I ask her. "Is everything OK?"

"No," she replies. In a split second time lapse my mind is racing through terrible things that might be wrong. I am starting to go into panic mode! Then she says, "do you know where the Reese's Pieces are that I bought the other day to use in the brownies I am making?" (And now in my mind I am both relieved and want to hang up on her for causing me that moment of worry and the ten extra gray hairs!)

Now, I had no prior knowledge of the existence of these candies in our household at all. I never saw them, never heard of their purchase, until this phone call.

So, I reply to her, "no sweetie, I didn't even know we had any."

This obviously was not enough to satisfy her. Apparently I was not lucid enough to pick up on the fact that she was waiting for my "momdar" to kick into action. So she pressed further.

"I bought them the other day for the brownies I made and now the brownies are done and I want to put them on top and I can't find them!" (My husband, Brad, helpfully chimes in in the background that the bag is about one-and-0ne-half pounds, huge, and hard to miss. Yes, apparently so hard to miss that they-who-cannot-find-it-in-the-same-house-with-them think I will have much better luck spotting it from several miles away!)

At this point my patience is growing thin, but I calmly try to walk my daughter back through steps I think she might have taken when she might have purchased them while trying to think like my preteen in the process.

"Did you check the snack cupboard, the baking cupboard, the garage where you take your shoes off before you come inside?", I ask. She replies "no" to all.

"Did you sit them by the computer? In the kitchen? The dining room?, " I ask again.

"No, no, and no," Jessica replies, sounding more urgent than ever. Her brownies are cooling and she must, absolutely must get those Reese's on soon or it will be too late!

(At this point, I am thinking that the grocery store is only two blocks away and they should just go buy another bag!)

I turn my "momdar" on high power and give it one more try. I ask her when she bought them. She tells me she bought them when she shopped for Valentine's Day with her dad. OK, now we are getting somewhere. I remember now she hid those gifts in her bedroom. I send her to her room to look. She tells me they are not there.

Now, I know how my oldest daughter searches for things. If she walks into a room and turns her head once to the left and once to the right and does not see the object in site, then it is not in there. She does not believe in moving things around and looking under and between things. So, I do a little redirect.

"Where did you hide the presents you bought your friends and siblings for Valentine's day?"

"In between my floor pillows," she replies. "but I already looked and they are not there."

I tell her to look again. "Momdar" is on full alert now! And.....

Crisis averted! Reese's found in the nick of time to add to the brownies while still warm!

Once again a mom's radar has saved the day. Now if I could only use it to find my own car keys.