Life in the Mom Lane

Empower your Kids

2012-02-18T19:08:00.000-05:00

There isn't much I can do to dance around the severity of what happened- or almost happened- to my son this week. It's not pretty, it's not easy to talk about and it scared the crap out of me.

If you know me, you know that I don't keep things under wraps. I think talking about uncomfortable things we like to sweep under the rug are what will ultimately change our society for the better.

So it shouldn't come as a surprise to know that Jeff and I have been talking with Tank since before he could talk back about how to protect himself out in the world. We've gone above and beyond the mandatory "private parts" discussion. We've taught him what to do if he's ever in an uncomfortable situation. We've role played how to escape a kidnapper, the kinds of words to yell to get the right attention, and who to ask for help if he's lost.

We cover the uncomfortable truths at an age appropriate level- that most sexual abuse comes at the hands of people we know, people we trust, people that will ask him to keep secrets, make his body feel good despite the imbalance of power and people that will reward him for secrecy. As ugly as it is, it's the truth and we've always believed that while we can't protect Tank from the world we can empower him with the tools he needs to protect himself.

Thankfully he remembered those tools this week on the school bus- the K-1st grade school bus in the wealthy, predominantly white suburban neighborhood of my small Midwest town.

A boy on his bus propositioned my son. That's ugly sounding enough without getting into the details. The language was vulgar and shocking and completely inappropriate knowledge for a Kindergartner. And yet, my son prevailed and came away unharmed.

Why? Because he said no. Because he told. Because he listened to how his body felt, knew that feeling "dizzy" and "fizzy" meant something wasn't right.

Tank was unharmed. The incident was reported to school counselor and principal and they took the next steps. They determined the other boy was not being abused (thank God!) and got his parents, teachers and bus driver involved.

I took my kid of the bus and praised him for doing the right thing. And then I started to share. I am sharing so that YOU will talk to your children. The world can be ugly but our best defense is to empower our kids to protect themselves as best they can.

Predators seek out vulnerability. Kids that are verbal and knowledgeable are less likely to be targets. And if they ever are approached by anyone, they need to know you've got their back 100%. They need to know they can tell. So talk to your children- early and often. Keep the conversation open, honest, and ongoing. Knowledge is power.

Local resources: www.thecarehouse.org

National resources: www.missingkids.com

Please share any resources you have in the comments section below.

These are Days

2012-02-07T09:24:00.000-05:00

During much of Tank's third year I would call my mother in tears. It was by far my most challenging year as a mom (terrible two's got nothing on three) and I would often ask her if "I was like this as a child?"

My mom couldn't remember the times I was a challenging child. Sure, there were a few moments, like when she threatened to throw away all my toys if I didn't pick them up. But she couldn't conjure up memories that resembled my day-to-day frustration with my own child. I was shocked and convinced that I must be doing something wrong. I was positive that his tantrums and my failures were going to be the only thing I remembered about Tank's childhood.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday my son and I had one of those moments that seem to defy time and space- a moment that made me realize this is why we forget the rough times.

The weather was beautiful for a Midwest February. It was sunny and in the high 40s. My son got off the bus with his usual cheer and after playing a game (that I actually suggested,) we put on our jackets and went outside.

He rode his bike while I walked along and we talked. He told me he was going to be an inventor when he grows up, told me about his school day and his friends. He's got big dreams and he shared them- with his mother.

And in that moment I forgot every tantrum, every failure, every frustrated sigh of the last five and a half years. I realized that I am doing something right. I am enjoying time with my son. That alone makes every day of struggle worth it.

Facebook Moms

2012-02-02T08:53:00.000-05:00

I've noticed there are several types of Facebook mom updaters. Do you fall under any of these categories? I know I do, but I'll let you guess which ones I consider myself. (Ahem- politimom complainer....)

1. The Complainer

This mom signs on just to let us know how hard her life is. She's tired and the kids are going nuts. She'll give us a list of things she's going to do or has done that day and will punctuate her posts with lots of (sighs.) She's reaching out to commiserate- throw her a bone, will ya?

2. The TMI mom

This is the mom who will give us play by play updates on potty training, diaper blowouts, kid snot and vomit. If you post a picture of your kid's first poop on the big girl potty you deserve to be defriended. Gross. Save it for people who care- like no one.

3. Politimom

This mom will bombard you with her personal political beliefs and causes despite her party affiliation. She doesn't care if you agree or not, she wants people to know she's more than "just" a mom. If the post sparks a rousing debate then all the better because it gives her something to talk about during the day. What she doesn't know is that everyone hides her posts because no one really wants to talk about it on Facebook.

4. Granola mom

A milder version of politimom, this mom's posts will be less vitriolic as they are more apt to be child and health centered.. Posts will include links to organic food, baby products, grass fed beef and cloth diapers. If it's likely to send you into a panic about how our environmental choices are killing our children, then she'll post it with glee- because, you know, she's not using any of those products.

5. The Busy Creeper

This is the mom who is so very "busy" that she doesn't "have time" for Facebook. But at dinner she'll casually mention something you posted earlier in the week because she's there, she just doesn't have anything to say. She is the silent stalker who wants you to think she's spending "quality" time with her kiddos instead of Facebooking like the rest of us losers.

6. The Braggart

This mom wants you to know how great her life is, how perfect her kids are and how much time she spends hand knitting wardrobes for charities while making her own laundry detergent and teaching her one year old how to speak Latin. There will be pictures. Lots and lots of pictures. And her kid will be in Harvard by the time yours learns to sit up.

7. The "Liker"

A step up from the Busy Creeper, she admits she's there by "liking" everyone else's posts and pictures. While she's "too busy" to actually say anything, she wants to remain relevant. She "likes" you, damnit, so don't forget to "like" her back.

Hey, it's what Facebook is for. If you "like" this post, please "share" it because the one I left out is the "self promoter" mom who needs you way more than you need her. Post on.

Lucky Duck

2012-01-28T18:19:00.001-05:00

OK, bear with me for a minute, I'm about to complain again. Please know I love my husband very much. He is a catch and the perfect man for me. We are friends before all else and have been through a lot together in our almost nine years of marriage. However, I'm told time and again how "lucky" I am to have him. That bugs me.

I know, I know, I'm too sensitive. For years, though, it's a common term used among family and friends and I'm starting to get a complex.

What does it mean that I'm "lucky" to have my husband? Let me tell you what it translates to inside my deeply insecure self image. If I'm "lucky" to have him it seems to imply I don't deserve him. I "lucked" out, as it were. "Whew, that girl is a hot mess. How did she get so lucky?"

They don't tell him how lucky he is to have me. Because, apparently, I suck. Apparently, I duped this poor schmuck into marrying me and the jig isn't up yet. Aren't I lucky?

Yes, I know that's not what they "mean." But, really people? How about we are "lucky to have found each other in the crazy world of dating?" How about I am smart enough to have CHOSEN such a worthy partner?

Let's just make this clear- before I was married I was living on my own paying all of my own bills. I CHOSE to marry a military man and become little more than his social security number on paper.

But I chose him because we fit- because I love him- because we understand each other. And he chose me. We aren't lucky, we are BLESSED to have found one another and made a good decision.

And we WORK at our marriage. We WORK at understanding each other and staying committed to the marriage. It's way more than dumb luck.

That's all I have to say about that. So luck off.

Shit stay-at-home moms say

2012-01-20T13:24:00.001-05:00

Mama Bear on ballet

2012-01-14T07:37:00.000-05:00

This is a rant because I'm pissed off. My beautiful boy is five years old and since starting public school I am slowly but surely watching his spirit being squashed and dimmed by "society." I don't know if there is any way to stop the idiotic ideas of other people's children.

Yesterday as Tank got off the bus I met his seat buddy for the first time- a six year old boy with two earrings. Tank informed me his buddy gets teased by two girls who sit behind them because, you know, only girls wear earrings.

At school yesterday, Tank's teacher asked the class what they wanted to learn the following week.

Girl 1: Dinosaurs

Girl 2: Cars

Tank: Ballet

Who do you think got laughed at by the other boys? Ballet, of course, is for girls.

This pisses me off. Is it any wonder our boys grow up to be withdrawn men afraid of expressing themselves? Why wouldn't some of them get angry or turn to fetishes when almost from conception we are forcing a stereotype down their throat? Why is it cool for girls to be "tomboys" but God forbid a boy like pink?! He's a pussy.

My job is to raise a human being capable of compassion, service, forgiveness and expression. How can I possibly do this when the rest of the world is determined to extinguish his light- starting at five.

My beautiful BOY likes pink, purple, cars, soccer, doll houses, Legos, fairies, swords, dancing, karate, drawing, mermaids, airplanes, and apparently ballet. And the more your kid tells my kid that he has to weed out the "girl" stuff from his list of passions, the more I will remind him that passions are gender neutral.

And, mark my words, I will encourage him to keep his pink colored light shining brightly regardless of what "society" says. Because I AM RIGHT. And if I think your kid is partly responsible for trying to fit my son into a non-communicative, sulking, conformed box, I will go all Mama Bear on your kid's ass. I will eat your kid.

Because ballet is not a girl thing- it's just ballet, son. So dance on.

Sweet dreams

2012-01-13T20:15:00.000-05:00

Today Tank asked me to explain why school is closed on Monday. He wanted to know which holiday we were celebrating. I explained we weren't celebrating a day, but rather a man and his dreams. What struck me as I feebly tried explaining the great Dr. King, was how hard minority Americans have had to fight for something that would never even cross the innocent mind of a child.

"Can you believe that at one time black people couldn't do the same things that white people could do?" I asked him. "Some people are afraid of anything that's different from them. Isn't that stupid?"

Tank agreed without pause that it was stupid.

I explained that Dr. King thought everyone deserved to be able to do the same things, no matter what color they are. I told Tank he was a true hero. Because it's never once been an issue for Tank, explaining it to his innocent soul seemed so very stupid. Grown-ups are stupid.

So here's a list of other stupid things that I hope, by the time Tank has children, he can explain as outdated ideas.

I have a dream.

1. That boys can like whatever color they want without being told it's girlie.

2. That girls can dress up like Spider man and boys can be Smurfette for Halloween, or playtime, or whenever.

3. That my son can talk about his uncles' marriage without being told he's wrong, or they're wrong, or that they are only married in New York.

4. That women are shown in the media for their true beauty- their brains.

5. That the same educational opportunities reach all neighborhoods, regardless of what "side of the tracks" they're on.

6. That our media will highlight real heroes and my grandchildren will say Kardashian who?

7. That non-conformity will be celebrated and respected in grade school instead of being relentlessly bullied into withdrawl.

8. That our childrens' role models will stop using the B word to refer to women and the N word to refer to African Americans- that those words won't be on the radio or TV, that women won't flip over tables or claw at each other in the name of entertainment. That "reality" TV will be a historical fad.

9. That our children take back America after giving the idiots in Washington a good political spanking.

10. That my son will continue to realize Dr. King's dream (which was anything BUT stupid.) That he will live inside that dream the way he does as an innocent child.

Sweet dreams.

"I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal." Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Rules for visiting my home

2012-01-03T10:27:00.001-05:00

1. Do not eat off the floor unless you want to build up your immune system.
My floor has never been nor will it ever be, clean enough to eat off.

2. On that note, don't look at my floors.
I clean them, but not very well. Don't look under things or in corners. While we're at it, it's best to avoid looking closely at the baseboards, walls or fridge.

3. Take your shoes off.
Let's not make the floor any more toxic than it already is.

4. But, keep your socks on.
I can't promise there isn't a spill somewhere or that you won't step on something small and sharp like a teeny tiny Lego piece that is on the floor because I haven't vacuumed. Socks will absorb the blood.

5. Don't open closed doors.
That's where I put all the junk I "cleaned up" on your way over.

6. Keep an eye on your little ones.
There are choking hazards and open light sockets everywhere. It's not my fault your toddler ate a four month old Cheerio off the floor. My son is five, when he eats it, it's a conscious choice.

7. Check your sense of decorum at the door.
I can't promise my son will smell good. He explodes gas like Mentos in a diet coke bottle. He will say excuse me, though.

8. Rest assured the toilet will be clean.
I do check for bodily fluids in the bathroom before having anyone over. Call first, though or it's Russian roulette.

9. Bring some conversation.
I guarantee a good chat.

10. Know when to leave.
When my son's cheeks get flushed and he can't listen- when he's wild and getting physical, please help a sister out. It's uncomfortable to ask you to leave and I'm trying to help Tank succeed and learn when he needs a break. When he gets wound up and put in time out, it's time to GO. But please, please, come again.

You're never too young....

2011-12-31T18:56:00.000-05:00

.....or too old to make a fresh start. I've never believed in New Year's Resolutions in the traditional sense. They've always been too easy to break. Instead, I've made promises to myself that I plan, from the beginning, to work on for the entire year. When I inevitably fall off the wagon, or make a mistake, I get back on and keep going. I think the New Year should inspire change in all of us and this year I made my family write ours down.

We'll keep this on the fridge as a reminder throughout the year, our own personal extension of the Gratitude Project we started this year. Tomorrow, we'll add up our thanks and see how much time or money we plan to donate to our charity of choice.

I've heard 2012 is supposed to mark the end of the world. I think it's meant to translate as the "world as we know it." And man, does this world need some change. Let it begin with you. Happy change, y'all.

What are your promises for the New Year?

Tank's, mine, and Jeff's resolutions for 2012. Good ideas, huh?

Decking the Halls (because that song is stuck in my head)

2011-12-22T16:52:00.000-05:00

To My Five Year Old

Tis the season to get si-ck,

Fa la la la la la la la la.

Please, your nose you should not pick,

Fa la la la la, la la la la.

If you must, please use a tissue,

Fa la la la la la la la la.

Then your mom won't have an issue,

Fa la la la la la la la la.

To My Ass

Tis the season to get fa-t,

Fa la la la la la la la la.

I see nothing wrong with that,

Fa la la la la la la la la.

Hit the gym in January,

Fa la la la la la la la la.

Until then just please be Merry,

Fa la la la la la la la la.

To My Husband

Please don't notice all the bi-lls,

Fa la la la la la la la la.

Be-cause they will make you ill,

Fa la la la la la la la.

Maybe I get spending crazy,

Fa la la la la la la la la.

But it's cause you're Christmas lazy,

Fa la la la la la la la la.

For 2012

Stop and notice for a whi-le,

Fa la la la la la la la la.

Things that really make you smi-le,

Fa la la la la la la la.

Spread some love in twenty twe-lve,

Fa la la la la la la la la.

It's not just about ourselves,

Fa la la la la la la la la la.

The 12 Days of Dismas

2011-12-19T15:51:00.000-05:00

The twelfth day of Dismas that proves I love Disney,

Twelve trips and counting,

Eleven hidden Mickeys,

Ten favorite rides,

Nine souvenirs,

Eight soldiers marching,

Seven days of sweet treats,

Six thirty bed time,

Waiting for five hours!

Four a.m. wake-up,

Three months of bills,

Two Postal workers,

and an extra week spent with the family.

Yes, it's a disorder. My son has been six times in his five years and I've been twelve. No telling how many times Jeff has under his belt, as he grew up near Anaheim.

Hidden Mickeys- look it up. http://allears.net/btp/hiddenm.htm

Our family's top 10 rides at WDW and DL parks (in no particular order of awesomeness):

1. Toy Story Mania

2. Star Tours

3. Indiana Jones (DL)

4. Pirates of the Caribbean

5. Peter Pan's Flight

6. Haunted Mansion

7. Autopia (aka Tomorrow Land Speedway)

8. Alice in Wonderland (DL)

9. Jungle Cruise

10. Soarin'

The 9th Day of Dismas

2011-12-15T07:15:00.000-05:00

The ninth day of Dismas that proves I love Disney,

Nine souvenirs,

Eight soldiers marching,

Seven days of sweet treats,

Six thirty bed time,

Waiting for five hours!

Four a.m. wake-up,

Three months of bills,

Two Postal workers,

and an extra week spent with the family.

Disney shopping is like no other- especially at Christmas. Little tip, though- www.disneyshopping.com has items I've seen in the parks at discounted prices. Just click on the theme park gear link, then head to "sale." Buy a few souvenirs online ahead of time and save money and packing space.

The 8th Day of Dismas

2011-12-14T06:51:00.000-05:00

The eighth day of Dismas that proves that I'm happy,

Eight soldiers marching,

Seven days of sweet treats,

Six thirty bed time,

Waiting for five hours!

Four a.m. wake-up,

Three months of bills,

Two Postal workers,

and an extra week spent with the family.

The parade at Mickey's Very Merry Christmas party was totally worth the extra cash.

The 7th Day of Dismas

2011-12-12T07:00:00.000-05:00

The seventh Day of Dismas that proves that I'm happy,

Seven days of sweet treats

Six thirty bed time,

Waiting for five hours!

Four a.m. wake-up,

Three months of bills,

Two Postal workers,

and an extra week spent with the family.

Ha! Did you notice I changed things up? Our luck has turned and Magic has commenced. I'm happy. And the sweet tooth in me has wide eyes ogling all of the delicious treats Disney has to offer. I got one of these. Mmmmmmmm.

The 6th Day of Dismas

2011-12-10T18:44:00.000-05:00

The sixth day of Dismas that proves that I'm crazy,

Six thirty bed time,

Waiting for five hours!

Four a.m. wake-up,

Three months of bills,

Two Postal workers,

and an extra week spent with the family.

So on our first full day of Dismas, Jeff is down and out with food poisoning and Tank is just plain tired and asleep. It's 6:30. pm, people. It's like, dinner time. The plus is that it's 75 degrees, quiet, and so far no one else has gotten ill.

It's been almost 24 hours, so I'm going to say we're in a safety zone (knock on wood.) I've quarantined Jeff to the master bedroom and disinfected the doorknobs multiple times. Fingers crossed he's better tomorrow in time for the Very Merry Mickey Christmas somethingorother we paid extra to attend. Magic fail.

The 5th Day of Dismas

2011-12-09T16:46:00.000-05:00

The fifth day of Dismas that proves that I'm crazy,

Waiting for five hours!

Four a.m. wake-up,

Three months of bills,

Two Postal workers,

and an extra week spent with the family.

The only problem with an early flight is waiting to check into your resort. And waiting. And waiting. But hey, at least we're waiting at Downtown Disney. Magic straight ahead.

The 4th Day of Dismas

2011-12-08T16:13:00.000-05:00

The fourth day of Dismas that proves that I'm crazy,

Four a.m. wake-up,

Three months of bills,

Two Postal workers,

and an extra week spent with the family.

How come the only non-stop flights from our town to Disney leave before dawn and return in the dead of night? Yawn. It's almost bedtime!

The 3rd Day of Dismas

2011-12-07T18:57:00.000-05:00

The third day of Dismas that proves that I'm crazy,

Three months of bills,

Two Postal workers,

and an extra week spent with the family.

The 2nd Day of Dismas

2011-12-06T09:51:00.001-05:00

The second Day of Dismas, that proves that I'm crazy,

Two Postal workers,

and an extra week spent with the family.

Seriously? Why doesn't the USPS hire extra employees for the holidays? It's like a joke how slow they are, but there is some truth in the stereotype. I mean two postal workers? Come on!

I'm lodged in the doorway. At the end of the line. Sigh. Grumble.

The first Day of Dismas

2011-12-05T18:17:00.003-05:00

The first day of Dismas, that proves I am crazy-

An extra week spent with the family.

I mean, really? Tank already has two weeks off for Christmas and New Year's. I just spent a seven month deployment alone with him so I tack on an extra week of togetherness for "fun." Yes, we take our child out of school for Disney. No, I normally wouldn't have a problem with that. Coming home to two long weeks of togetherness though....hmmmmm.

12 Days of Dismas

2011-12-05T18:08:00.000-05:00

Before I get down to my post let me explain what Dismas is. It's the magical combination of Disney and Christmas. While I love both of these things, I'm currently packing for our first ever Dismas vacation and wondering what kind of crack I was smoking when I thought it would be a good idea.

We've established that this is my griping post, but make no mistake- I'm super excited and can't wait to get my Dismas vacay on. But, I am not going to do it without complaining a little before and during my trip. It's how I roll. Just take my gripes with a grain of salt and know I really am enjoying myself.

If you're a mom or wife you understand why Christmas is stressful. You also understand why going to Disney can be stressful. So how smart am I to add more stress to the pile by committing to the 12 Days of Dismas? Maybe not so much, but I'll do almost anything for a chuckle.

So without further ado, I bring you Day 1 in the series. Please feel free to sing along as you go along. You know the tune and I'll compile it all nice and neat for you after Day 12.

Ahem......

How to make your husband less annoying

2011-12-02T17:03:00.000-05:00

I watched a Dr. Phil show today about the imbalance of household chores when divided between spouses. You won't be surprised by the fact that women typically do more of the chores. You also won't be surprised by the fact that the major difference between men and women regarding chores was perspective. Simply put, men just don't give a shit. It's not that they can't pick up after the mess, it's that they don't want to. It's not that they don't know how to work the vacuum- again, they just don't want to until the dirt somehow affects them. They don't see the mess we see. So knowing that the only person you can change is you, here are five easy steps to keep your head from exploding when living with a man.

1. Change your perspective.

They won't change theirs, so you might as well give. it. up. Seriously, how much fun is it to stomp around the house in a constant state of stress because the kitchen floor is dirty again? If they aren't complaining about it then it isn't dirty enough yet so let it go. No one sees it but you. Pick a few things to keep clean (like toilets...ugh) and don't worry so much about your windows or baseboards.

2. Pay someone else to do your dirty work.

Men, this one's for you. One of the best gifts you could ever give your wife is a maid. Even if it's just once a year, or before company is coming- if you don't want to help, hire someone who will. Your wife will be so happy, you may even get laid twice that week.

3. Widen your time window.

Wife: "Honey, will you please take out the trash?"

Translation: "I feel overwhelmed so I am asking you to do this one freaking thing and I mean NOW. Like, right now. Because if I have to wait longer than the time it took me to do it myself then it's not even flippin' worth it."

What your husband hears: "Honey, will you please take out the trash when you feel like getting around to it? I mean, I can still stuff things in there if I remove the lid, so don't hurry yourself by getting off the couch or anything. You are so awesome and I just want you to do it when you're comfortable so it doesn't seem like I'm nagging you."

You have two options here: 1) Just do it yourself or 2) Understand what he hears and be prepared that it will probably get done within 48 hours at which point it's safe to ask again without seeming like a nag.

4. Ask for help.

Take it from one who likes to play the martyr- if you want help you need to ask for it. They don't see the mess-they don't know it needs to be cleaned. If you want help you're going to have to ask.....BUT (see number 5.)

5. Ask in the right way.

Wife: "I need you to take out the trash."

Translation: "Please help take a load off me and take out the trash like a man."

What he hears: "You are a loser. I am your mother. Take out the trash, you moron."

Note the difference when asked politely:

Wife: "Honey, would you please take out the trash when you have a minute?"

What he hears: "You are da' man and I want you because you big and strong and take out trash."

Follow these steps and your chore wars might get less irritating. (Note to husbands: vacuum in your boxers once in a while and it's like mom porn- you might get lucky!)

Status Update

2011-11-29T19:19:00.000-05:00

A few months ago, Facebook started a running scroll of updates in a bar on the side of their page. Twitter runs minute to minute commentary we write about ourselves- as if anyone actually cared. News networks have a ticker on the bottom of their shows to constantly update us on "breaking" news.

I've become so used to this steady stream of information that it took my husband to point out how much conversation with Tank runs like a status update feed. It's so obvious to me now that I even hear the little ding-dong instant message alert every time he speaks. If you haven't noticed it in your own child yet, I offer a brief glimpse at mine. Please to enjoy. Just for fun, let's run it like a real Facebook feed.

Tank: Mom, it's 6:02

Tank is going to the bathroom.

Tank "likes" breakfast.

Tank wants to watch a show.

Tank: Mom, I'm dressed.

Tank wants his mom to watch every freaking thing he does before she has coffee.

Tank is in time out.

Tank: Mom, I have to poop!

Tank: I'm wiping now!

Tank washed his hands.

Tank coughed.

Tank: I'm OK, Mom.

Tank is going to school.

Tank is buckled.

Tank: Mom, the lights are on. They're ready.

Tank says goodbye.

Mom "likes" school.

Mom is giddy.

Mom is waiting for the bus.

Tank is at home.

Tank is now the Mayor of home.

Tank wants a snack.

Mom "likes" wine.

Tank wants a bath.

Tank: Mom, do you notice anything about how quiet I am in the bath?

Mom "likes" quiet.

Tank: Dad's home!

Mom "likes" Dad.

Tank: Watch this, Dad!

Dad "likes" bedtime.

Tank: Goodnight, Mom. Love you, sweet dreams, see you in the morning.

Tank is asleep until 6:02 tomorrow.

World of Mom

2011-11-21T12:45:00.000-05:00

Check out my new gig over at the World of Mom on What to Expect.Com!

This is a huge opportunity for me so I'd appreciate it if you tweet, share, email my article, "The Gratitude Project," to as many people as possible.

Even better, start your own Gratitude Project with your family and "be the change you wish to see in the world."

Holiday Spirit

2011-11-21T09:42:00.000-05:00

So I had friendly "discussion" yesterday with a pal who was putting up Christmas decorations. I insisted it was disrespectful to Thanksgiving to put up decorations until the day after. He respectfully disagreed. But I hold fast that there is something inherently wrong about how early the retail industry wants us to start shopping for Christmas. Before Thanksgiving is too early. This year I even saw a few Christmas items on display at Halloween!

It's wrong! Wrong, I say! You can't just forget about Thanksgiving!

I understand that for the retail gods it's all about the bottom line. But it's not just corporations that seem over eager to begin the Holiday season. It's "us," too. And that got me thinking....

What do the Holidays mean to us as a society? Take away the retail giants' need for money and think for a moment about what people crave during the Holidays. The whole season represents good will towards our fellow man, a spirit of giving, forgiveness and new beginnings. The season reminds us about what's really important in life.

I'm convinced the reason we're rushing the season is because we're craving connection and renewal. Our collective subconscious is starting the season earlier every year, especially in the U.S., because we want what the season represents.

Maybe if we become aware of our human need we can start to fill it every day of the year instead of channeling it towards the retail gods. Maybe we can look past our desperate need for decorations and "stuff" and filter our desire for peace, joy and good will into our daily life then maybe we could change the world.

Just a thought. Share this post if you agree. Maybe we can wake each other up and start filling that need for connection- before, during and after Thanksgiving.

Disney Trips

2011-11-19T18:20:00.000-05:00

We are a family of Disney freaks. We are in that class of Disney freakdom between people that visit the parks every year and people who decorate their whole house in Disney memorabilia. As of my last inventory we only really deck out the house Disney style at Christmas.

We do, however, visit the Disney parks at least once a year. We primarily visit Disney World, but make an occasional pilgrimage out west to visit Disneyland. I mean, family. We visit family and then end our trip with Disneyland.

We go often enough that people contact us before planning their own trips. It happens often enough that I created a word document filled with tips on how to have a magical time at Disney.

For your reading pleasure, I decided to share a few of my most prized Disney planning tips here, but just a few. I can't give away all of my secrets.

Mom Lane Disney Tips

1. Kids ruin shit.
     Seriously. Let this be your Disney planning mantra. Those Disney commercials you see with everyone magically frolicking down Main Street holding hands four abreast are crap.
     First, it's impossible to walk anywhere at Disney World four abreast. Secondly, if you're a parent you must remember that kids can ruin all things magical. Kids- because they are kids- are not going to appreciate anything until they're older.
     They will still whine at Disney World even though you just bought them a Buzz Lightyear light-up spinny thing and Mickey head ice cream treat. If you go with the knowledge that they will ruin your magic then your expectations will be right where they should be- in the gutter.
     It's like reverse psychology- expect them to be overtired, grumpy and unappreciative and you will be pleasantly surprised at how lovely they can be compared to everyone else's brats.

2. Disney World is an acid trip.
     For kids 6 and under, Disney World is sensory overload. For your own peace of mind, don't try to last in a park all day. They can't do it. Even if they aren't nappers, they're going to need a rest. Give it to them and no one gets hurt. All day at Disney World will make some one's head explode. Trust me.

3. Bribery works.
     Your Disney trip isn't really a good time to start new disciplinary plans. Well timed candy keeps kids quiet, happy and in line. For the sake of everyone, just bribe them with candy please.

4. Be flexible.
     Look at the maps, decide what your family must see and be flexible enough to miss some of the other stuff. The best times we've had are when we go without an iron clad plan in mind. Kids walk slow, they get tired, they will still throw fits at Disney World. The less time constraints, the better.
     And hey, if you go every year, like us freaks, you won't mind missing some things. Which leads me to my final tip (because I'm a Disney freak like that.)

5. Go often.
     Period.

For the record....

2011-11-12T08:30:00.000-05:00

My son's name isn't Tank. I know it's trendy to name your kids weird things. We're a military family so maybe Tank would be cool in some alternate universe that I don't live in. I thought it was obvious, but amongst celebrity kid names like Apple, Kal-el and Knox, I guess Tank isn't as far-fetched as I imagined.

My full name is on this blog and to obtain some semblance of privacy I gave my kid a blog nickname. Maybe not necessary, but people can be creepy. I chose the name Tank because of how my son is built, both internally and externally- like a Tank. Other names I considered were Ox, Bulldozer, Wrecking Ball-you get my point.

I realize, the more blog readers I meet, that people think I actually named my son Tank. So I just have to set the record straight.

I am weird. But not that weird.

A few days early because it's always in my heart

2011-11-09T10:24:00.000-05:00

My husband just spent seven months in Afghanistan. It was Tank's first deployment, mine and Jeff's third.

The first time Jeff deployed was a few months after 9-11-01. I couldn't speak with him for weeks at a time. He traveled for days in a Humvee without showering, carrying a gun, on alert, watching and waiting.

His second deployment was to Iraq and interrupted our marriage plans. We eloped one day before he left. He called in air support for the 82nd Airborne division of the Army.

This deployment he was safer, at least. We had Skype. It was the longest deployment of the three and because of a career change he worked critical care medical transport. He was safer, at least- but the guys he transported were not. They were critical. They were 19 and limbless and my husband cared for them on a plane, keeping them alive until they got to better medical care. He didn't sleep for days at a time, but was safer, at least.

I live with this man, who is a three time war Veteran. My son's father is a true hero. He has seen things, experienced things that I don't like to hear about. He never complains. He never regrets his decision to serve. He is silent and strong and has assimilated back into family life with grace.

This man is one of many. This man is my hero, my son's hero, my love. I am so very proud of him and thankful for all of our Veterans and service members. I teach my son to approach military members and Veterans and say thank you.

On Veterans Day and every day. I can never forget.

Tank and his Daddy Doll

Jeff after a long flight.

Sweet homecoming!

Longest. Day. Ever.

2011-11-06T09:48:00.000-05:00

I didn't do much to research my facts about this post. Why? Because I'm damn tired. Why? Because my child was exhausted by 8 last night, which was really 7 and up at 5 because it felt like 6.

And all I have to say about that is: Screw you, Benjamin Franklin. Screw you.

In the course of my weak research on who I should be pissed at this morning, I stumbled upon an essay written by Benjamin Franklin in which he suggested the idea of Daylight Savings Time. What a brilliant idea to have when you're 78 years old and your children are raised and out of the house, Ben!

Why didn't either of Ben's sons say, "Hey, dad, this is messing up my kids' sleep schedule old man, take it down a notch?" I mean, if one of those tools had spoken up maybe we could have forgone this whole extra hour crap.

As a parent, the time switch messes up our sleep twice a year. It takes the kids about a week to adjust. We don't get an extra hour of sleep like the rest of you, so please stop rubbing it in. Or I will call you next year just to wake you up.

The fall back just makes this the longest day of the year. It gives us an extra hour of whining, "moms," and "I'm boreds." It's an extra hour of trying to entertain our kids while the rest of you are sleeping and nothing is open until noon (which is really 1.)

So, I blame Ben Franklin just because it makes me feel better. Ben Franklin was obviously experiencing dementia when he thought of this brilliant idea. Suck it, Ben. Suck it.

Vegetarian in the making?

2011-11-05T18:32:00.000-04:00

I've written about Tank's concern for the meat we eat before. Well, he's at it again. I'm wondering if some people are just born vegetarian. He's never been fond of meat but he's getting more and more in-depth with his questions. Tonight it was about chicken murder.

"Mom, how do the farmers kill the chickens?"

You all know I don't lie to my kid so as I'm telling him the truth I'm secretly glad I had steak for dinner, since actually thinking about how the farmer kills the chicken makes me want to hurl. Lucky for me (and Jeff) I don't think about it often.

My son continued, "Do they take a big knife and kill them and chop them all up?"

Ew.

I answered the best I could. The truth is, I have no idea how they kill chickens these days. I probably don't want to know how they really kill chickens en masse because it might make me want to stop eating chicken.

"Well, Tank, they try to be as nice as they can about it (not true, is it, Uncle Paul?) They do it as quickly as they can because they don't want the chicken to hurt and it usually means they just cut the head right off."

I mean PUKE. UGH. WHY is my son going to turn our whole family vegetarian? I mean, I hate vegetables. Sigh.

So I told him, "You know, Tank, some people, like Uncle Paul choose not to eat meat because they don't like that animals are killed for food. That's always a choice for you. You just have to tell me you don't want to eat meat. But you will have to eat lots more vegetables and beans to get your protein."

I'm dreading his teenage years. Time to dust off the veggie recipes.

Save the Candy!

2011-11-01T19:36:00.001-04:00

A few of my friends won't agree with this post, but lucky for me most of them know by now to take what I say with a grain of salt. Or in this case, a pound of sugar.

But here it goes, popular or not. Kid Holidays are sacred. It's bad enough they are growing up on iPhones and keyboards instead of playing outside. They do "new" math and get trophies just for showing up. Can't we leave Halloween alone?

As Tank shouted in the street last night, Halloween to a kid is the "best night ever!" And why shouldn't it be? You get to stay up late and get lots of candy. Free candy. If you're doing it right, you and your kids are out exercising together, walking briskly, or running from house to house to get as much candy as you possibly can in two hours. Like when we were kids.

When you're five, 50 pieces looks like 500 and because your parents won't let you eat it all at once it lasts forever. Unless your parents make you take it to a buy-back.

If you haven't heard of them, candy buy-backs are set up by Dentists and health food stores who "buy" back your candy in trade for a toy or "healthy" alternative.

How much does that suck?

Yeah, yeah, I know. Kids are obese and rotting their teeth. They don't know the difference and would rather have a toy that lasts. Whatever you need to tell yourself, fogeys. Leave Halloween alone. There is already too little magic left in this world.

And if you're really concerned about them eating too much candy, then make sure they brush their teeth, monitor how much they eat, and raid the candy bucket when they're in bed. It's what any good parent would do.

Robo Vag

2011-10-20T18:33:00.000-04:00

So we are full steam ahead in the birds and bees discussion. Tank isn't interested in how the sperm meets up with the egg as much as he's concerned about how a baby grows and exits his or her uterine abode.

So we have a book with pictures. I show him something that looks similar to this:

I explain how the egg moves from the ovary and into the uterus, grows into a baby and uses his head to travel down the vagina. You get it, right? You're grownups.

The whole process reminds Tank of this:

That's right. My son just compared the miracle of birth to the micro robotic creatures known as Hexbugs.

"So it's like a hexbug track," he concludes. "It starts over here (he points to the ovary,) then finds its way into here (the uterus.) Then it bumps its head down the tunnel (the vagina.)"

Well, uh, yeah, it is like a hexbug track. Vaginas are just like hexbug tracks. Robo vagina. The vagina of the future.

Beauty is only skin deep.....

2011-10-19T13:07:00.000-04:00

....but innocence is in the heart of a child.

Tank goes to a culturally diverse Montessori school. His teachers and classmates are a rainbow of colors- Indian, Japanese, Caucasian, bi-racial, British, African American, Lebanese- it's a beautiful place. The fact that Tank is a minority at his school was a welcomed perk that's hard to find in our rather small, Midwest town.

His teacher today pulled me aside with a smile on her face. Turns out one of his best friends in class was bonding with another little girl. They noticed they had the same shoes on and ran eagerly up to one of their teachers to show her.

"Miss Masumi," the girls yelled, "me and L. have the same shoes on!"

Miss Masumi fawned appropriately over the girls and their discovery.

Feeling left out and searching for some common ground between them, Tank chimed in with glee, "Miss Masumi! Me and L. have the same skin!"

I'm sure I blushed bright red when his teacher told me the story. But they all thought it was lovely and sweet. How can you argue with that kind of innocence and truth? You can't.

Reason to be Happy #26: Winning

2011-10-13T09:06:00.000-04:00

When I started my reasons to be happy posts, I said the winner was going to be drawn on October 18th. However, since the book signing is tonight, I drew the name today instead. I put everyone who commented into a jar and pulled the name randomly.

Drumroll please..........the winner is BETHANY MILLER.

Bethany is my childhood friend and first guest blogger ever. Congrats, Bethany!!

Me on the left and Bethany circa 1982

Reason to be Happy #25: Reese's

2011-10-12T19:37:00.000-04:00

There is no better marriage than chocolate and peanut butter. Reese's mini peanut butter cups are my Achilles' heel. I'm okay with that.

Reason to be Happy #24: Contests

2011-10-11T20:25:00.000-04:00

Who doesn't love free stuff? Only two days left until Katrina Kittle's book signing for her latest Reasons to be Happy. Want to win something? Just comment on any of my reasons to be happy and I'll be getting YOUR personalized copy signed on Thursday night! Free stuff is cool. Winning is even cooler.

Reason to be Happy #23: Cheese

2011-10-10T18:12:00.000-04:00

I mean, really.

Reason to be Happy #22: Not having cancer

2011-10-09T08:51:00.000-04:00

Cancer scares the crap out of me. It seems so unpredictable- so ruthless. I hate that there isn't a "cure" for cancer yet. I hate it when people say someone "lost" a battle with cancer. I don't think that's fair. It's like saying terrorism wins, or evil wins. Cancer can't win. Cancer is an asshole and in my life view, assholes are not allowed to win. Let's change that terminology, please.

How about "so and so fought cancer for as long as she could here on Earth. And now she's fighting it on the other side." That's better, I think. They're up there, guiding researchers towards the cure- lifting up their sisters on Earth who are gearing up for the fight.

Because assholes are not allowed to win.

http://www.truthfulmothering.com/2010/11/dont-be-sad.html

http://www.blurb.com/bookstore/detail/1887321

Reason to be Happy #21: Having fun with your kids

2011-10-09T06:54:00.000-04:00

I had such a great day with Tank yesterday that I forgot to post an "official" reason to be happy. That, in itself is a reason to be happy.

Reason to be Happy #20: When dogs carry things in their mouth

2011-10-07T15:39:00.000-04:00

I passed a yellow lab walking his owner today. He was carrying a stick in his mouth with a big important grin on his face.

Yes, yes, who's a big happy important stick carrier? You are. Such a good boy carrying your stick. Good boy.

Sorry, that's what I was thinking in my head. How can this not make you grin from ear to ear? It makes my heart smile.

Reason to be Happy #19: Silly giggles

2011-10-06T19:31:00.001-04:00

Tank has a laugh that he reserves just for me. It's different from the laugh he gives his friends, his dad, himself. I think it's the best one he has. It's my favorite laugh of all time, but of course I'm biased.

My boy's laugh for his mom reminds me of innocence and simplicity. It is a sleep over with your BFF laugh, an up too late and having fun laugh- a laugh full of silliness and presence. A laugh of married souls and joyful abandon- one that makes me laugh too.

A laugh that says "I am so secure with you, I can let go of everything." And so we do.

Reason to be Happy #18: Sunshine

2011-10-05T10:09:00.000-04:00

Ohio is having an Indian Summer. The combination of warm temperatures, ample sunshine and fall foliage equals perfection. I wish I could bottle the weather this week and save it for Ohio's gray season, aka January through April.

Reason to be Happy #17: Friends you've known since grade school

2011-10-04T15:57:00.001-04:00

Bethany Miller is a working mom and self professed couch potato. She lives in Maryland with her two adorable daughters, dog, and cute husband who snores. I've known her since 2nd grade where we played obsessive amounts of MASH, dated the cutest boy in class simultaneously and uttered our very first curse word on the Catholic school playground. We both grew up to be the same kindred spirits we were back then. I heart her. The following is her guest post that I pilfered from Facebook.

Reflections on Maternity Leave

by Bethany Daley Miller

1. I am a couch potato. In real life, and in maternity life. Sleep deprivation and frequent breastfeeding only serves to reinforce this default position. My couch literally shows more wear on my cushion as compared to Brian's. Since this is who I am, I would like to purchase a newer, nicer couch sometime soon.

2. Stay at home parents are superheroes to me. Playing this role for 12 weeks doesn't really count, since I have an end date and know that it's OK if I don't come up with the perfect routine or activity list - the day care will do for my kids what I have failed to do. (I know how horrible that sounds, but the truth isn't always pretty) But to get up, day in, day out, and be THE sole source of food, love and nurturing, AND entertainment and education? Nope - I'm terrible at it. So terrible at it that I am incredulous that this is a skill that others can have at all.

3. Never...EVER...underestimate my ability to watch reruns of stupid shows.

4. In between TV-watching and general slovenly living, if left with no structure, I WILL create my own drama. Then I will analyze it using numerous spreadsheets to support my cause. And I will be very convincing.

5. It has taken me until #5 to actually mention the purpose of maternity leave: children. For a cold-hearted snake like myself, a baby's smile is like a drug. It should be patented by pharmaceuticals and brought to market. Nay - it should be provided as a basic necessity like water. There is absolutely nothing like it. It makes me want to actually quit my job just to elicit that smile over and over (See #2) -- that's how powerful it is.

6. (Caution: this is where it starts to sound like beatitudes) Time is elusive and slippery. Try as you might to be in the present and seize the fleeting tender moments of infancy, they slip right through your fingers even as you try to grip them. And while the very next moment is every bit as exhilarating as the last one, it is nevertheless bittersweet to watch your baby emerge from post-birth coma cuddliness to moderately interactive to fidgety and engrossed with you to (eventually) a sassy, giggling toddler full of "NOs!" Nothing can be done to stop the time, so take lots of pictures. Or, better yet, leave the camera on the table and just soak up the moment.

7. When you have the rare opportunity to put your professional life on hold for awhile, it gives you a chance to evaluate just how much of your time and energy you put into work, and whether or not you have invested that precious resource in the right career. Lesson? Do what you love. Take risks if necessary. Do not waste ONE.MORE.MINUTE.doing something that brings you stress, or even indifference. Forget the talk about the economy. Blah blah blah. DO WHAT YOU LOVE. Period.

8. Marvel at the family you have. The one you were born into (family of origin), the one you created (nuclear), and the one that you choose (friends). Build your life around this, fit your career into it, and when you're done with that, find a hobby -- ideally one that allows you to include family and work. If you don't have your family, well....what DO you have?

9. Love thy neighbor as thyself. Don't worry -- I'm not insinuating that you be nice to people (cuz we all know that is NOT in my makeup). This is what I mean: Do you like your house? the garden you tend? the pool you swim in? the vacations you take? the car you drive (even if it breaks down on you)? the TV you watch? the retirement portfolio you've pinched and saved for? How about your kids -- wouldn't you do ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING for your kids? GOOD. Now -- don't you think that everyone should enjoy these things? If not, why not? Why shouldn't everyone enjoy the finer things in life? Are you quick to judge others who need help from those in good fortune? Why? In this country, no one should want for anything. Ever. Love thy neighbor as thyself.

10. If there is something that brings negativity into your life, don't ignore it. I promise: It won't go away. If you can't chuck it entirely, then change something -- ANYTHING -- about it. Don't wait. Do it today. Seriously. (And no, just thinking about it doesn't count.) Wouldn't you want your kids to do that? Be the change you want to see in the world. Gandhi was a pretty smart dude.

11. One of the few things that rivals a baby's smile is a good, solid laugh. The kind where tears roll out of your eyes, your stomach muscles get tired, causing the sound that emerges from your mouth to sound like a wail, and where your cheek muscles twitch afterwards. Yup.

12. Sad as I am to leave my sweet, awesome little ladies, I am a better self when I go to work everyday. I know my shortcomings, and I truly believe that my kids are getting a richer life by going to day care everyday. I am definitely bummed that I will likely miss many of Lola's "firsts." But as someone once told me (Laura MacDonald), the first time she does something for me is still the first time. WHO CARES if it was really her first step? And one day when she comes home saying, "Hice caca," I will be super proud that not only is she talking, she just told me in a second language -- that I did not teach her but that someone else did -- that she went poop. Talk about a proud moment...

Reason to be Happy #16: The smell of lilies

2011-10-03T19:32:00.000-04:00

Not everyone likes the smell of lilies. I'm not even sure I did at first until Tank came along. And I swear, when he was a baby, his breath smelled like lilies. Totally weird, but totally true. They've been my favorite flower ever since.

Reason to be Happy #15: The sound of the dryer

2011-10-02T07:42:00.000-04:00

I know I should balk at the sound of the dryer running. It only means more laundry to fold when it's finished. But I find it comforting, another sound that reminds me of home. A gentle, musical backdrop reminding me I'm warm, loved, and fortunate enough to have a home with a dryer. Security. Aren't we all so lucky?

Reason to be Happy #14: Wood burning fireplaces

2011-10-01T20:31:00.000-04:00

Perfect on a chilly October night like tonight. Nothing says cozy like a real, wood burning fire in the fireplace.

Reason to be Happy #13: Girlfriends

2011-09-30T21:00:00.000-04:00

I got a phone call from my friend Emily.

"Come outside," she panted, in her best Scream inspired skeery voice.

I opened my door and was greeted by a mini-van full of stay-at-home moms. They didn't tap on my window and try to scare me. Instead, they bundled up and left their Girls Night In to bring me a plate full of yummy junk food. Just because I couldn't go to the party.

Girlfriends rock.

Reason to be Happy #12: Autumn Acoustics

2011-09-29T18:22:00.001-04:00

Crackling fires

Crunching leaves

Laughter on a school playground

Football whistles and cheering crowds

Horses hooves and wagon wheels on a dirt road

Costumed feet shuffling up the drive

The trick-or-treat chorus on All Hallow's Eve

Wind rustling through an aging corn field

Reason to be Happy #11: Endorphins

2011-09-28T06:54:00.003-04:00

I hate exercise. I don't like to be sweaty or sore, I don't like to feel the burn in anything other than my writing fingers. However, I also don't like being fat. So I've started exercising and it sucks. Except for about an hour after I exercise. The space between the sweaty, burning part and the post workout inability to move. The endorphin part is pretty cool. Maybe I'll eventually get to the point where the rush of endorphins is enough to get my ass to the gym. Until then, I'm accountable to some of my skinny friends in my Move 2 Lose program at the local YMCA.

Reason to be Happy #10: Fair Food

2011-09-27T13:26:00.000-04:00

This one is for my friend Autumn who "loves her some fair food." Me, too, girl. Ohio in the fall is fair food central because of all the festivals. Here are my top five fair foods, beginning with my least favorite and working up.

5. Caramel Apples: It's healthy, right? It's fruit.

4. Roasted Corn: Another healthy one because it's a vegetable.

3. Giant Turkey Legs: OK, I don't really eat these often, but a fair just isn't a fair without a Giant Turkey Leg Stand. Combined with the corn and apples it's practically all of the food groups.

2. Funnel Cake: Nothing healthy about it- pure fried fatty goodness.

1. Kettle Corn: It's salty. It's sweet. It's the perfect snack.

What are your favorite fair food indulgences?

Reason to be Happy #9: Reading

2011-09-26T08:55:00.000-04:00

I love being inside a story in all its stages. I love the beginning of a new book, when the backdrop is being designed in my imagination and the characters are mere acquaintances extending their hands for a "how do you do?" I love the middle when I'm so invested in the characters I think about them even when I'm not reading. I admit, I sometimes hate the end. Sometimes during a particularly good read I will slow down near the end because I'm not ready to let go. My favorite books are ones that take a piece of me with them after I've finished the last page- stories that make me feel like they were my own. Those are the books that never really have an ending, the ones that make me feel like I'll live forever because I'm a part of them. Here are a few stories that took a piece of me, but just a few, because the list could go on and on forever.

1. The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver

2. The Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling

3. Room by Emma Donaghue

4. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee.

5. Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

6. The Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins

7. The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova

8. The Heretic's Daughter by Kathleen Kent

9. Lord of the Flies by William Golding

10. The Red Tent by Anita Diamant

Reason to be Happy #8: The Sunday paper

2011-09-25T07:03:00.000-04:00

Coupons, Parade, colored funnies, inserts.- the thick Sunday paper makes me feel all squishy inside. I'm officially old.

Reason to be Happy #7: Saturday morning pancakes

2011-09-24T06:58:00.000-04:00

My visions of Saturday mornings with Tank always included cartoons and pancakes. My vision started closer to 8, but after 5 years, I've given up on that dream. But, hey, it's Saturday! Now that he's in school all day that really means something. So it's pitch dark out, the coffee isn't even brewed yet, but the kid wants pancakes for breakfast. And because it's Saturday we have the time. So pancakes it is. Yawn.

Reason to be Happy #6: Snuggling under a comforter

2011-09-23T07:25:00.000-04:00

I love when the house is cold at bedtime. The initial shiver as I climb into bed fades as I warm up underneath the covers. All that's left is snugly, warm perfection through the night. I especially like waking up in the morning and realizing it's not quite time to get started on the day. The moment when the light beyond the window hasn't yet broken, when I can feel the cool of the house tapping me on the head. "Time to get up," she whispers. "Not yet," I reply and burrow underneath mama comforter again, cozy in my cocoon of warmth.

Reason to be Happy #5: Facebook

2011-09-22T06:50:00.000-04:00

I'm addicted to facebook. I've always been social, so social networking is right up my alley. I'm not exaggerating when I say I LOVE facebook. Yeah, yeah, they keep changing it. Big deal. They're just trying to stay current, trying to keep up with Twitter and Google and whatever other social sites are out there (I don't know, because I'm a one drug kinda' gal- OK, two- but I don't love Twitter.) You want to talk about change take a look at Apple- by the time I get an iPhone 5 it will be obsolete and they'll be releasing 6. Now THAT is expensive change. Facebook, on the other hand, is free. Here are the top 5 reasons why facebook makes me happy.

1. I can stay in touch with friends that move away. My friends are all over the world and I like the updates from Hong Kong, the UK, Japan and NY- courtesy Bonnie A., Vandy K., Erin R. and the Pauls.

2. Some of my favorite facebook updaters are people I've never met face to face- like fellow writers who inspire me daily in ways they don't even know- Cyndi P., Wes G., Lori L. and Lisa P.

3. I have found dear, dear friends from my childhood, like Stephen M., Bethany D. and Jenny C. People who represent wonderful stages of my life. I like knowing they are out there and doing well.

4. I have found out some mere acquaintances from my past are really cool people. I am so glad for the opportunity to know them better now. I'm looking at you Nikki S., Tami G., Susan S., and Donna K, and Pam & Chris D.

5. A few broken friendships have been healed and I'm happy to have Mindy K. and Shannon W. back in my life.

6. I can stay in touch with family I don't get to see very often. I like feeling closer to the Matthewses, the Simaks, the Grosses, Littles, Stanfords, Rodgerses and Tarkingtons, despite how the miles separate us.

Facebook can change all it wants. As long as I don't get de-friended I don't mind. Because facebook makes me happy. And change is inevitable- why fight it?

Reason to be Happy #4: Singing at the top of my Lungs

2011-09-21T06:36:00.000-04:00

I like to sing in the car. I'm the person you pass on the road that you think is yelling at you because of the pained look on my face and my gaping, moving mouth. But I'm not yelling- I'm emoting. At the top of my lungs. Probably off-key. But when I'm alone in the car, I'm a rock-star. Believe it.

My current album of choice is Adele. In my mind I sound just like her. The past five days it's been this song, on repeat. Cause' I like repetition.

Reason to be Happy #3: Head rubs

2011-09-20T06:58:00.000-04:00

My son and I snuggle together on the "big chair"- a lazy boy recliner we can both squeeze into. We sit there and watch a show after school or at the end of a long day. He absentmindedly lifts his left arm and gently strokes my hair while we watch. Such a small gesture, but it's filled with such love and familiarity and connection. It makes my day. And it feels really good.

Reason to be Happy #2: Programmable Coffee Pots

2011-09-19T07:17:00.000-04:00

I love waking up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Being able to auto program the brew time on my coffee pot saves time in the morning. I like walking into the kitchen and pouring my cup without having to stumble around in the dark, half asleep searching for a filter, measuring the coffee and the water- you get the idea. And then there's the waiting. Waiting for the coffee to finish brewing while Tank comes at me fully rested, talking, talking, waiting, waiting, waiting.

Oh, inventor of programmable coffee pots, how I love thee.

Reason to be Happy #1: The early morning walk to get the paper

2011-09-18T11:16:00.001-04:00

No matter the time of year, this is my favorite part of the morning. No one is awake, the streets are void of traffic, the world full of promise. It's in this moment I can choose how my day will go. In the short time it takes me to walk down my driveway in silence, I feel the wind lap at my shoulders and breathe in God.

This morning it was cloudy (that's not my picture down below) and it was just the three of us. The Moon, Venus and me. A brief moment of peace, then Tank burst through the garage door in footie jams and rubber boots, to loudly proclaim how cold it was.

I pointed out Venus in the sky. Or tried to. Funny how kids can't see what is right in front of them.

"It's right there," I pointed for the fourth time before he saw it. He made some monkey sounds and did a little dance before running back into the house.

Peace denied. Almost.

Reasons to be Happy

2011-09-18T11:06:00.002-04:00

A writer friend of mine has a new book coming out in October. Reasons to be Happy by Katrina Kittle is the author's first Young Adult novel and it promises to be compulsively readable just like her grown-up books! Katrina started her own list of reasons to be happy on her blog, where she vowed to find one reason to be happy every day for a year. I'm too grumpy to commit to a years worth of happiness, so I'm going for a month. I like the idea of waking up and finding something simple to be happy about. It promises to be a great way to start the day.

CONTEST ALERT: Comment on any or all of my reasons to be happy and get yourself entered in a random drawing for an AUTOGRAPHED copy of the Katrina's book, Reasons to be Happy.

Because I know people.

Winner drawn on October 18th.

Living the Dream

2011-09-13T20:34:00.000-04:00

I started working out again and I'm super sore after day one. As I stretched in the living room this evening, Tank, who learns yoga at his awesome Montessori school (mentioned in the previous post) was showing me various poses. After posing alongside him for a few minutes, I became impressed with his incredible, child-like flexibility. OK, so I became jealous of it.

I sat down to stretch my adductors (those are inner thigh muscles for those of you that never took anatomy,) butterflying my legs and touching my heels together.

"Tank," I said as I struggled, barely inching towards my toes. "I bet when you do this you can get your head all the way down to your feet."

"Sure, mom." He sat down next to me and assumed the position. Sure enough, he effortlessly bent his head and touched his feet, folding his little body in half.

I pointed at him, "that's called being young." Then I pointed at myself and said, "this is called being old."

I lay back on the floor and stretched out my poor, sore muscles, letting out a small groan.

"You're living the dream, mama girl," Tank said before casually walking away to bounce on his trampoline.

That I am, Tank. That I am.

What Ifs?

2011-09-13T18:07:00.000-04:00

I recently began working at Tank's Montessori School. I'm the new administrative assistant. I drive him to school, work for a few hours, then drive him to public Kindergarten in the afternoon and go home. It's just a few hours several days a week and I was hesitant about some things at first. I wasn't sure how Tank would respond to me invading his territory. I wasn't sure I'd like working out of the home as it takes away time from the solitary confinement of writing. I wasn't sure I'd want to be around Tank more than I already am let alone a bunch of children I don't even know.

Boy was I wrong to worry. First off, Tank is handling it great. He is so absorbed in his work he barely notices me. Secondly, I'm in the office so I don't have to interact with the children if I don't want to. I've learned they are not as annoying as I thought they'd be. In fact, they are delightful. Maybe it's because they aren't mine and I'm not in charge of anything relating to them that allows me to just absorb how happy they are.

The atmosphere at Tank's school is amazing. (www.efficamontessori.com) It's peaceful, yet joyous, both structured and free. In a word, you just feel GOOD there. So while my place of employment may contribute greatly to my new love of employment, I am loving employment nonetheless.

It makes me wonder why I waited so long to go back to work.

I'm not saying I made a mistake to stay home all these years. That would be counterproductive. But I can't help but wonder if I haven't been just a little miserable.

I used to secretly judge moms that went back to work- ok, before you get pissed off, I said used to. I think I resented them and the utter lack of notice that anyone took in my daily job. Because, make no mistake it is a full time job to be a stay at home mom. You don't get paid, you don't get respect or praise and you can't help but feel like your being judged by moms that work. So you know, I judged them back. I thought, "sure you love your kid because someone else is raising them most of the time. Try being with them all. the. time. and see how that works out for you." Staying home is not for the weak.

But neither is being a working mom. And there is something very, very gratifying about doing something, anything that feels productive for someone who gives a shit. (as opposed to someone who literally shits.) I am happier because I see productive results. Someone is praising me, giving me direction during the day. I am responsible for something other than my loveable yet ungrateful child.

And I'm just wonderin' what I would have been like if I had gone back to work earlier. Maybe I wouldn't have gained so much weight or had to face my temper. Maybe I would have been happier, and in turn an even better mom. I turn back time and I won't regret my choice to stay home. On the whole it has been a great experience. I've really gotten to know Tank and be present for so many things. But.....

I know every mother is different. Some thrive by staying home. Some would rather die than stay home. Some would love to stay home but can't afford it. Some may wish they could go back to work. Maybe I just found the perfect job that fits into my schedule and Tank's. I don't begrudge anyone their decision anymore.

It just got me thinking and gave me some insight into the other side of the proverbial sandbox. And that- is always a good thing.

For a New Mom I know...

2011-08-31T19:00:00.000-04:00

Welcome to the club, it was so worth the wait.

But no one told you he wouldn't sleep past eight

in the evening, of course because his schedule's flip-flopped.

Being up all night, the dream bubble's popped.

And now you feel guilty 'cause reality bites,

and no one can give advice that's quite right.

Never fear, newbie mom, we all have your back.

With this list and some time you'll soon get the knack.

1. Breast pumps are your friend.
2. So is Starbucks.
3. The baby will not implode if you let him cry for a few minutes. Put him somewhere safe and take a hot shower.
4. There is no such thing as perfecct. (See, I'm leaving that typo in!)
5. Sleep when the baby sleeps. Don't be all Donna Reed and try to do anything but sleep. The laundry will wait. Sanity won't.
6. None of us knew what we were doing either.
7. It's okay to say it sucks. Everyone knows you love your baby.
8. Talk to friends about the good, bad and especially the ugly.
9. If you need a break, take one- see item 3.
10. Takeout is good.
11. Give your partner a night shift- refer to item 1.
12. Don't buy anything on TV after 10 pm. Put the phone down.
13. If your blues keep getting bluer tell your husband and your doctor.
14. Get out of the house- even if it's just a walk around the block.
15. For God's sake don't wake the baby up to eat every three hours like I did.
16. Did I mention you should sleep when the baby sleeps?
17. It's hard. People who say it isn't are lying or have blocked it out.
18. Rent "Bridesmaids" for a good laugh when you're up in the middle of the night.
19. Babies are resilient. At this age they won't remember if you hurl a swear word or two.
20. You are a rock star. Don't believe anything less of yourself. Take it one nap at a time.

The birds, the bees and the egg

2011-08-29T19:14:00.001-04:00

At dinner tonight Tank and I were talking about our day, something we always do at the end of the day around the dinner table. He got up mid-bite to come around to my side of the table and give me a hug- my little love bug.

He returned to his seat and I said, "I am so lucky I got such a cuddle bug for a son."

He replied, "yep. You don't want to have any more babies. I'm the only one, right?"

"My one and only."

We chewed for a few moments in silence. Then he dropped the bomb.

"Mom. How do babies get in your belly?"

I paused. Time froze. I'd been preparing for this moment since the minute I became a mother. I had a plan- no shaming, no lying, no embarrassment. Just the facts. Honest. Simple. Don't give more information than what he's asking for.

That's the big one for me. I talk too much. While part of me fought the urge to draw diagrams and explain every step in detail the beautiful event called birth, the other part of me was configuring the simplest answer I could come up with.

The egg, right? It all starts with an egg. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? I'm pretty sure it was the egg. Yes, yes, I've got it now. Go.

I looked my son in the eye and calmly reported, "all mommies have a little tiny egg inside of their bodies. The egg gets fertilized and grows into a baby."

Stop. Wait for it. Simple- don't give him more than he asks for.

"Oh," he replied taking another scoop of macaroni and cheese. "Then your belly gets really, really big and when the baby comes out (did I really see him gesture towards his mouth??) your belly goes back down to normal."

"Sort of," I laughed. Whew.

I feel confident I was honest without over informing him. I sense the time is coming for more questions. Tonight, however, I'm pretty sure his quest for knowledge was satisfied.

Especially since his next train of thought was dessert.

Twas the night before School

2011-08-23T17:39:00.000-04:00

Twas the night before school would begin for the year.

The mothers were giddy, it was easy to hear.

Their laughter it rang with delight through the town.

The children were sullen, their faces turned down.

But Mom didn't care as she opened the wine

and toasted the school year- the kids will be fine!

Thinking of all of that free time ahead,

she looked at the clock, only hours til' bed!

The clothes were laid out and ironed with glee-

Lunches were packed cause brown-bag is free.

She tucked them all in and kissed them good-night,

then dreamt of the school bus, oh what a sight!

Gone was the heat, the mosquitoes and pool.

Lying ahead- endless days of school.

Summer was fun, the children adored,

but so tired was she of hearing "I'm bored."

In the morn' she awoke with a start and a sigh.

Kids fed and ready she kissed them goodbye.

Coffee in hand, at last all alone.

Nothing for Mom beats a quiet home.

Primal Moments

2011-08-22T18:26:00.001-04:00

Right now I'm watching Tank through the screened living room window as he plays outside in the cooling summer air. It's a sight to behold and one of those moments I wish I could freeze in time.

We have large weeds near our vegetable garden. Like, really large. Like, taller than Tank, large. So I'm letting him go at them with a stick, and he is, with all his five year fury.

Right there, outside this window, he is everything he is supposed to be. There is no reason to tell him to stop, or to keep his hands to himself, or to be gentle. He can go buck wild.

You should see him, brandishing his stick as he viciously attacks those weed demons. It's his only job right now and he pauses now and again to hold up a particularly impressive kill. It's like Lord of the Flies in our own back yard.

He is so happy and young and primal right now. And it's so appropriate here, in this moment.

The wonderful thing about Tiggers....

2011-08-20T19:18:00.001-04:00

Tank has been drawn to Tigger since he was a wee babe. Tigger was his first stuffed buddy and remains his favorite to this day. The first time he met "the real" Tigger at Disney World, he was just ten months old. He couldn't walk or talk, but as Jeff approached the large and lovable orange guy in a suit, Tank's eyes widened. He started cooing, hands shaking in excitement as he latched on to that big, fluffy paw.

We love Tigger. Unfortunately, we live in a town that is home to several large apartment complexes who use knock-off Disney characters to try and lure motorists in with big signs reading "Move Here" and "Apartments." You know, in case you're going grocery shopping and get so moved by a second rate Mickey Mouse you detour and decide to relocate. Sign me up. You had me at Disney.

We pass these characters often and today Tank noticed a knock-off Tigger outside with a sign. I tried to tell him it wasn't the real Tigger- that the real Tigger was at Disney World. This was just a guy in a suit. Tank wouldn't have it.

"No, mom," he protested. "It's not a guy in a suit. It's a real Tigger. They have real Tiggers all over the world. China, Ohio, Disney World. That is an Ohio Tigger."

Bet the guy in the suit would be happy someone is paying attention to him.

How could I argue with that? I guess the wonderful thing about Tiggers is that Tiggers are magical things for my kid. Hoo Hoo Hoo Hoo!

Dear Moms of Girls...

2011-08-15T17:47:00.000-04:00

I don't envy you. Girls are complex, I should know. You don't notice the complexities as much when you're living them, but watching little girls grow up along side my little boy makes it more obvious. Or less obvious as it were. Girls are complex.

I think "sugar and spice and everything nice" didn't really hit the nail on the head. That line must have been written by a man. A man who couldn't grasp the complexity of girl world. What I have seen in little girls is that they are emotional, sometimes moody and well, just different than boys.

Of course, girls aren't bad. I just don't envy moms of girls. Boys, like men, are kind of easy. Yes, I've struggled with things I don't understand about my boy. I think because I'm a girl who grew up with a sister there are things I just have a hard time "getting" about boy world.

The key to boy world is that there isn't much to "get." They make everything obvious. Kind of like cavemen. Hit, eat, destroy, run, blow stuff up, jump, destroy, eat again. What's tough about boys is teaching them to reign in their animal instincts. It's just so against their grain.

It seems harder with girls- almost like you're raising two people in one. The private girl and the social creature who has to learn to navigate backstabbing, fickle friendships, their physical appearance, body image and how they fit in to girl world. I've watched girls snub each other and make other girls cry. I've cringed as girls confuse my son with back and forth emotions. I've seen girls question their self esteem based on the opinions of other girls.

And it makes me glad I have a boy. Eat, run, hit, destroy, eat again.

So, to moms of girls, I commend you and wish you luck. None of it is easy, but girl world seems scary. As for my boy- I'll do my best to raise a gentleman who learns to control his hit, destroy, eat impulses- if you teach them not to break his heart.

Well, I can't promise the eat.

Venus Vs. Predator

2011-08-08T20:06:00.000-04:00

Tank noticed her across the pavilion. She was a wee thing, maybe three, maybe four, but he towered over her. His height and weight had always been in the upper ninety percentiles, his tender heart betrayed by his size. He only wanted to say hello and to make a new friend.

He approached her unabashedly, his large shadow reaching first. Her eyes moved upwards and she stumbled back a step in nervous anxiety. Unaware of her personal space, he got too close and she glanced over her shoulder for some adult reassurance- a rescue.

"Tank," I called. "Back up a little, sweetie, you're much taller than she is. I think you might be scaring her."

He heard me but ignored my suggestion. Instead, he placed his hand at his forehead and then to hers to measure their obvious difference. He lumbered towards her again and she bolted to the comfort of her mother's legs.

Tank retreated, disheartened.

"You're much taller than her," I tried to comfort him. "I know you are trying to make friends, but she might need a little more space until she knows you."

He thought for a moment. "Maybe, if I get down to her level," he said. Then he squatted down, knees flush with his chest and began to walk, if you can call it that. He waddled, his body scrunched in half, crab-like and awkward. He thought this was a solution- that this would make her more comfortable.

And it may have. Until he got something caught in his throat and began to gargle and scrape his voice- a strange symphony of weird to narrate his bizarre alien movement.

"This is how I clear my throat, mom," he yelled back to me between coughs.

Between tears of laughter I summon him and convince him to abandon his courtship for now. But look out, ladies. He's single and on the prowl.

Hang in there, Mom!

2011-07-25T18:36:00.000-04:00

I recently had an online discussion with a facebook friend regarding an article on permissive parenting. My friend was frustrated by the article while I could understand his point. I'm not fond of screaming children in restaurants and my husband and I are the parents that yank our kid out to the car and take him home when he's disrupting other people. As a stay at home mom I have the luxury of time and therefore can afford to leave grocery stores and the like in the wake of a 5 year old tantrum.

Not everyone has that luxury.

My friend was lamenting the unavoidable "stink-eye" she gets when stuck in a place that you have to complete an errand with a screaming child. Tell me you've never been in the same situation as a parent and I'll tell you you're lying.

I have certainly been on the receiving end of such mom judgment and I usually address it with humor. My theory is that almost anything can be avoided with either humor or an apologetic look of trying. We've all seen the difference between the parents who don't care if their children are disrupting other people, and the frustrated mom or dad who is just trying to get through the day and get an errand done.

You should have seen the grocery store tantrum I witnessed today- not Tank's, he's at a play date. I heard it several aisles away. A loud no from mom with lots of screaming from kid. I purposely walked towards the sound because I already knew what I wanted to say.

They were easy to find- frazzled mom with a cart full of food and 2 kids. She was blocking the aisle asking her older child to take the other child away from whatever toy it was he wanted. Her back was turned to me and I approached her, gently putting my hand on her back.

She turned towards the touch and looked at me. "Hang in there, mom," I said.

You should have seen her face break into smile. "Thank you."

Her child was having a tantrum, like they all do. He was also in a wheelchair, a special needs boy- probably about 7 or 8. I can only imagine how much harder his tantrums are to deal with on a daily basis.

I passed her again later in the store. You should have seen how her eyes searched mine- how she beamed- how much it meant to her that someone else understood.

It was the best part of my day. Pass it on, moms. We're all in this together.

Rehab: My thoughts on Amy Winehouse

2011-07-24T19:53:00.001-04:00

Today I was accused of sounding "high and mighty" because I was less than moved by the passing of Amy Winehouse. I stated that there were more important things going on in the world, like the massacre in Norway to which my old friend pointed out that people are capable of caring about more than one issue in the world. He said I shouldn't be so quick to judge a person who dealt with the demons of addiction.

It gave me pause.

I didn't mean to be high and mighty- at least I don't think that was my intention. I certainly know I can be Judge Judy from time to time, and as I age I find myself more rigid in my beliefs. I am sure I wasn't trying to diminish the disease I know as addiction.

Maybe I did sound high and mighty but I'm angry. I'm angry about wasted talent, wasted youth and wasted life. I'm angry that these talented stars that die too young (and there a lot of them) are glorified in our media. These are role models to our kids and despite their self-destruction we, as a society, happily watch them stumble and fall without requiring more from them. I'm angry they are even more glorified through death and I find it trite when the media, social or otherwise, beats the dead horse that "This person was sick. What a shame, they were so talented and young."

Addiction is a disease, it's true. However, there is a choice being made every day, isn't there? There is a choice to get help, there is a choice to continue drug abuse. I'm not an idiot, I know it's hard. I know people who have beat addiction. I know people who haven't. Beating it isn't easy and I don't mean judgement when I suggest it's a choice.

But there are thousands upon thousands of people who make a different choice every day. People who have been through horrible tragedy- Jaycee Dugard, Elizabeth Smart, Sudanese refugees, Vietnam vets, 9-11 survivors- people who choose not to anesthetize themselves from life's pain with drugs and alcohol. I don't know what kind of pain Amy Winehouse had (or Janis Joplin, or Chris Farley, or Heath Ledger, etc, etc, etc.) She seems to have had a family that loved her. And for them, I am heartbroken.

But I won't apologize for my lack of interest in another sad tale of wasted talent, youth and opportunity. Opportunity that many, many everyday Joes wouldn't squander. I don't want to be lofty, but I also don't want to wallow in misplaced grief for a celebrity when I could focus my energy on action instead. It's true, we can all show compassion for more than one cause at a time. I think it's a shame about Amy Winehouse and I can empathize with her family and friends.

But I challenge all of her fans and long distance grievers to put away their proverbial handkerchiefs and do something to make Amy Winehouse's death meaningful. If you're an addict, get help. If you know an addict, fight for them. If you care, volunteer. Donate. Give back and pay it forward. Don't hurl empty words into the Universe. Act. As Gandhi said, "Be the change you wish to see in the world." And make every Amy Winehouse count.

What bugs me about the Smurfs

2011-07-20T14:19:00.001-04:00

The better question is what doesn't bug me about the Smurfs? One of my own favorite TV shows from childhood has me shaking my head and asking why? Since it's Tank's new favorite show I have had ample time to examine the Smurfs with the critical and perverted (yeah, I said it) mind of an adult.

1. What the hell kind of name is Pushover Smurf? I get how some Smurfs get their names from their talents, like Handy Smurf and Brainy Smurf. I see how some Smurfs might have lower self esteem because their names come from personality flaws like Vanity and Lazy. But Pushover Smurf? Huh?

2. Smurfette. I'm sure she's been discussed before, but come on, she is the only noticeable adult female Smurf in the bunch. Is this like the opposite of Sister Wives or something? Is Smurfette a polygamist in some weird counter culture? Because there are children Smurfs, better known as Smurflings and if Smurfette is the only adult female Smurf then one has to conclude she is their mother. Right? Do you catch what I'm laying down about Smurfette?

3. Why don't these Smurfs just move already? If I was being stalked by some bald freak who lived alone with his cat I would probably move away or at least call the Smurf Patrol. Isn't there any law enforcement in this town? Where the hell is Officer Smurf?

4. I would like to know the actual definition of Smurf. Because Smurfs are Smurfs but they also replace many words with Smurf. How would that work if I tried it with my own name? Ex. 1. This show is really smurfy vs. this show is really Erin-y. Ex. 2. Today was really smurferific vs. today was really Erinific. Weird, right? And how do they pick which words to Erinize- I mean, Smurferize?

5. I think the key here are Smurf berries. Someone is tripping. I can't quite figure if it's Gargamel that's on an acid trip or if it's the Smurfs themselves. Who exactly is hallucinating whom? But methinks one cannot live on Smurf berries alone, so something freaky is happening in Smurfville- or Erinville maybe.

Whatever. Have a Smurfy Day!!

P.S. How come Smurfette just gets the feminization of Smurf for her name? Doesn't she have any talent or quality that would deem her a more appropriate Smurf name? How about Fertile Smurf? Or There's no way you'd keep your figure after all those Smurflings Smurf?

You, at Five

2011-07-20T13:45:00.000-04:00

Dear Tank,

You're five today and even though you already popped the CARS balloon I got for you, I want to wish you a Happy Birthday. I'm pretty sure the biggest compliment I can give you is that I don't remember my life before you. I can't picture it. You completed me in a way I could never have imagined. You filled a hole I didn't realize was there.

Five years ago today began the biggest lesson of my life. You are more than my son. You have become a mirror for reflection, a challenge to my habits and a teacher of the gentlest nature. You have taught me about myself- to love and let go, to change even when it's hard, to forgive and to apologize. Thank you for coming into my life.

You have made me laugh from a place so rich and deep it's like I never truly laughed before. You are passionate, determined and forthright. Funny, bright, talented- you like Star Wars and CARS, Toy Story and LEGO. Your fine motor skills are advanced and you enjoy building things with Tinker Toys and blocks, always making some kind of invention or other. You have a vivid imagination, playing pirate and knight in the yard, always defeating the bad guys and rescuing the princess.

You are learning to ride a bike with training wheels and learning to read and write. You can sound out letters and words and write your name well. You still love to sing. All the time. And you are very particular about it, starting over if you "mess up the words." Your favorite shows are "Jake and the Never Land Pirates" and the "Smurfs."

Your behavior has improved ten-fold through the year. You are still quick tempered but are learning your boundaries, better able to control yourself and quicker to calm down. You are a good friend. You are compassionate. You are stubborn. You like your routine.

And I love watching you grow into a young man. No longer a toddler, you are now a young boy on his way to Kindergarten. I love getting to know you, day by day, year by year. Happy Birthday, my best boy.

Love,

Mama

Things that make summer tolerable

2011-07-18T21:25:00.000-04:00

A few posts back I was griping about Summer. I'm not a big fan of the heat, and I'm a big fan of the school year. However there are a few things that endear me to Summer, even if I prefer to enjoy them from a nice air-conditioned living room and an open window.

1. The evening sounds of cicadas and crickets.

2. Fireflies.

3. The smell of Coppertone (it's actually crappy sun protection, but there is usually somebody wearing it at the pool- their skin damage is my sensory delight.)

4. S'mores. They're even pretty good when made in the microwave. Don't judge me- it's hot.

5. Veggie gardens. Nothing more organic than growing your own food- even when your garden is completely overgrown with weeds like mine might be (weeding is sweaty, OK?)

Whimsy

2011-07-02T19:55:00.000-04:00

They exist unto themselves, dancing through dreams on a warm Summer's Eve. Alive in their Land of Nod they sacrifice day lily petals to the gods of their imagination. Potions for this, incantations for that- good witches born of youth and play.

She with her sun-spun hair, laughing at his every nonsense word. His only desire to make her smile, he is both jester and knight.

He attacks the villainous air to reach her as she feigns damsel in distress, locked in both evil forest and cloud dwelling castle. Mission accomplished, they switch roles, then back again until they tire of rescuing the other.

They turn their pursuit towards teamwork, hiding together from shadows or working to cross the glassy deserts of our back yard.

"Heave, ho! Heave, ho!"

They make way through worlds shared only by the other. Red Radio Flyer, a beacon in the fading light of day. Their eyes illuminated by the magic glow of fireflies- or fairies- it doesn't matter which to Tank and his best girl. Unending friendship forged from within their world of fancy.

Turning the Day Around

2011-06-24T17:01:00.000-04:00

A light bulb went off for me today, as I reacted to Tank out of frustration. He was following me, bothering me, while I was doing laundry. It was only 6:30 am and I was still without coffee. I growled at him to back up out of my space and promptly slammed the dryer door shut. Hard.

And like a reflex, Tank hit me.

Not hard, but enough to turn my inner light bulb on. DING! I get it. I finally get it.

Tank is not abused, spanked or hit. On the contrary, he is in a home where he is so very cherished.
But his mom has a temper. And I've used it as an excuse my whole life to stomp around when I'm angry or frustrated, slamming doors or cabinets to passive aggressively show the world how very important my mood is right this minute.

And yet, I'm asking my child to react to life in a way I can't even model for him. I'm exactly what I never wanted to be- a hypocrite. And I don't know how to change behavior I've lived with for as long as I can remember.

DING!

Except I do know how! I created my own behavior chart, similar to Tank's. Tank earns magnets for certain chores and behaviors. The magnets are then turned in for rewards. And now I have my own- with my own reward in sight. 100 magnets and I get an iPhone. And better than that, I get a healthier way to express my frustration and a better relationship with my son.

How ridiculous to expect respect when you don't model it. So starting today, I'm turning things around. I've given up the expectation of perfection. I know I'll probably always have a short fuse, but if there's one thing I do not want to be, it's a hypocrite. The world has enough of those already.

Tank's behavior and responsibility chart

My behavior and responsibility chart: Note it also contains things that are good for me. If I don't take care of myself, I can't possibly take care of Tank, right?

Bogeyman in the Brain

2011-06-22T20:28:00.001-04:00

As a kid in the eighties, I remember the national cyanide-in-the-Tylenol scare. As a child with an obsessive thinking pattern, I became obsessed with the story- rather, what little I actually knew about it- and went through a few weeks where I was scared of "those people." The people that put the cyanide in the Tylenol.

I pictured them dressed in colonial Western wear (circa Little House on the Prairie garb) and I was convinced they were hiding under my bed, ready to grab me and force cyanide laced Tylenol capsules down my throat. I devised an intricate route from my door to my bed that kept my feet from ever touching the floor. Using pillows and a chair, I made my way to my bed, surrounded myself with stuffed animals, never allowing the evil cyanide-toting Mrs. Olsen the chance to grab my feet.

I was eight. And weird. And I apparently passed the trait onto my son.

It's no secret I talk too much. I give my son way too much information for his age- not because I am trying to scar him, but because his advanced verbal skills make me think he can understand more than he really can. And because I think if a child asks a question, he should get an honest answer. My problem (well, one of them) is that I sometimes offer information before it's wanted and that causes all sorts of conundrums.

Like our recent trip to the Air Force Museum. We've been many times before and Tank rushes through the museum without any real concern for what he's seeing. He's anxious for the snack, of course, which he thinks is a given at the end of any museum trip. On this trip, however, I was determined to have him learn something. He is, after all, almost five.

After several failed attempts to read different airplane descriptions to him, we approached the very poignant and somber tribute to the Holocaust victims of World War II. As it's something I feel deep emotions about, I paused to look at pictures and read some of the historical text. Tank started his customary rush through the exhibit and I stopped him and tried to explain.

In the simplest terms I could muster I told Tank that a man named Hitler was very, very bad and he killed a lot of people just because they were different from him. I explained how our country went to help the people being hurt, and that it was a very sad War.

Note to self: Never tell a five year old with a genetic tendency towards obsessive thinking about shit like Hitler.

Since our museum trip, Tank has asked me countless questions about Hitler, all while nervously glancing over his shoulder into our shadowed hallway, as if Hitler himself were going to walk down the hall and grab his feet.

"How did he kill the people mom? Why did he make the choice to be a bad person? Did he ever have any good in him? I think he must have been wicked. Like a bully. If Hitler came back to life and I had a bomb and he was in my room standing at the end of my bed, I would bomb him. I am pretty sure he killed 49 people. Did he chop them? Where was he from again? Were we alive when- what was his name again- when the bad guy was alive? Why did he bully South Korea mom (another failed attempt at history- don't ask.) Well, he was more evil than Darth Vader. I think he was Storm Trooper evil. What if he comes back to life and tries to kill us? I will beat him up, then, right mom?"

Sigh.

Please, rest assured that I am not trying to make light of Hitler. This is just how things are in the eyes of a child. So innocent and full of questions that his stupid, big mouthed mother planted in his head way before he was ready. It was an honest mistake. I thought he would learn a bit of history, but focus more on how human beings should be kind and loving towards each other instead of hating each other over stupid, stupid things. That was the moral of my story.

But I should know by now how much Tank's brain works like mine- latching onto to horrific bits of information and obsessing and wondering and turning and ruminating. Poor kid. I've put a real monster in his head. I've given him Hitler as a Bogeyman.

History lesson fail.

My little Carbivore

2011-06-14T10:44:00.000-04:00

I've always been a carnivore. I'm okay with eating meat- well, sort of. I was raised on meat and I like some of it, but I am appalled by some of the horrendous conditions our meat endures before it becomes meat. I'm against "the man" filling our meat with antibiotics and hormones to make it meat-worthy faster. I enjoy a burger or steak and grilled chicken kabobs. I like meat- as long as I don't have to 1) deal with it raw for more than a few minutes, 2) touch it raw (I've become really good at maneuvering utensils to avoid this) and 3) think about where it comes from.

I've become adept at ignoring the fact that meat was once alive. Until dinner last night. I baked a tasty dinner of chicken topped with salsa and a sprinkling of cheese. Quite good, I thought. I put a plate in front of Tank, who looked at it skeptically.

Tank: "Mom? Is this real chicken?"

I froze with my fork poised mid-bite and braced myself. I knew what was coming. The day before I'd had a discussion with my friend Sarah about her children. Her son had recently discovered where bacon comes from and threatened all of his little sister's plush pig toys with the slaughterhouse and made her cry.

Me: "Yes, it's real chicken." I tried to be casual. I didn't want to take it further unless he did.

Tank: "No, I mean, like it used to be alive?"

Me: "Why yes, it was alive."

Tank's eyes widened as he looked from me to his plate.

Me: "Humans are predators and many of us eat meat. It gives us protein. It's the circle of life." Cue Disney theme music.

Tank: "Did you kill it?"

Me: "No, I didn't kill it. But the farmers do before taking it to the store where we buy it. We eat cows and pigs and fish, too." By now I was already in it, might as well get this all out of the way.

Tank: "That's sad." He pouted out his lower lip and looked pitifully at his plate.

My own stomach was starting to turn as I chewed what started out as my tasty dinner. Flashes of live chickens began to bombard my mind and I put my fork down.

Me: "It's not sad (I fibbed- because it is a little sad, when you're 4.) People have to eat something. Some people, like Uncle Paul are vegetarians. They choose not to eat meat because they also think it's sad." Tank perked up until I finished my sentence. "But they eat lots and lots of vegetables."

By now I was disgusted with my dinner. I tried to mask Tank's awareness of the dead bird on his plate by rolling it up in a tortilla and plopping some sour cream on it to no avail. One bite and he would have gone to bed hungry if I hadn't caved and given him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

We'll see where his current realization leads us. I hope he stops talking about it at the dinner table so I can at least enjoy a good steak now and again. For now I think I'll let Tank be a carbivore, which is kind of his nature anyway. Pasta, sandwiches, cheese, crackers, with lots of veggies on the side and wherever I can sneak them in. And I think I'll be having salad tonight.

Watch your mouth!

2011-06-13T10:12:00.000-04:00

OK, I'm not a total prude. I understand the artful and purposeful drop of an F-bomb or two when certain situations require it. My previous post drops a few that are hilarious. Profanity, in moderation, can be a useful form of expression. But I don't understand people who use nothing but profanity in their every day speech.

I was never a big swearer and I became even less of one when Tank was born. Maybe it was because my parents didn't swear in front of me, or because I have a proclivity for grammar and language. I can't help but find it offensive out in public, when I don't know who you are or why you're swearing.

When used excessively it does nothing but prove your lesser intelligence- in my opinion.

It's ugly. This weekend, Tank and I were enjoying a beautiful summer festival. I was enjoying the smells and sights, the music and the ambiance until my senses were assaulted by young men, walking shirtless through the crowd dropping F bombs within earshot of me and my son. Didn't their mother's raise them better?

Or this morning, on my artist's date at a downtown coffee house, laptop in hand, ideas abloom, again audibly abused by grown men dropping curse bombs that tumbled from their conversation into my space.

Really? Grown men. Find a different way to express yourself- a better way. You sound like an idiot. It's crass.

I couldn't help but imagine the days long ago when men wouldn't be caught dead speaking like that in a woman's presence. Chivalry is indeed dead, my friends. Those grown men didn't bat an eyelash as I gave them my disgruntled stink eye across the patio.

My challenge to the curse abuser is to consciously try and watch your mouth. Respect yourself enough to find the right words. The intelligent words. Or maybe the curse abuser isn't smart enough to even read this.

Just sayin'......

My new hero

2011-06-10T06:17:00.000-04:00

File this one under "things I wish I wrote." I'm thinking of writing my own sequels: "F**king go back to bed," "Shut the F**k up," and "I'll f**king give you something to cry about," are a few that come to mind. Check out this hilarious new classic by Adam Mansbach.

He wasn't kidding!

2011-06-09T17:30:00.000-04:00

So remember when I said Tank's favorite one-liner of late is "my life is changing, mom?" He wasn't kidding. He's informed me that now he is a whopping four and seven eighths old and his life is indeed, changing very much.

He's like a different kid.

For years, I stressed about getting him to try new things. The result was always a tantrum from one of us, until I learned one of the Universe's great life lessons. Stop pushing so hard and things will happen in their own time (it's kind of a variation of 'if you love someone, they will come back to you' and so forth.) Once I gave up trying to make Tank into someone he wasn't, he blossomed into someone I didn't recognize.

And I'm loving it.

A week into summer vacation and we can cross several items off Tank's bucket list.

1. He is wearing sandals without socks every day.

2. He can now walk comfortably around the house barefoot.

3. He likes pepperoni on his pizza.

4. He's stayed awake past 9pm (although the later bedtime prompted an EARLIER wake up time.)

5. He tried chocolate milk.

6. He got COMPLETELY wet at the local splash park. First. Time. Ever.

7. He sat on a swing.

8. He took his shirt off at the splash park.

It's the little things, right? Maybe he's turning into a carefree kid after all. Maybe it's because I stopped hovering. Whatever the change, it's good. It makes me happy to see him happy and enjoying life after so many years of tentativeness.

The little things make all the difference.

Summertime and the living is......easy?

2011-06-06T10:52:00.000-04:00

The recent lack of blogging directly correlates to the increased level of time spent with Tank. That's right, folks, it's that time of year again. Summer vacation.

Summer has it's own unique feel and it plays out in my head beautifully. I imagine long, lazy days filled with the pool, cookouts, s'mores, sleeping in and staying up late to catch fireflies. Lemonade and Popsicles fill my fantasy along with bare feet and warm breezes.

But, as we've all discovered, this fantasy Norman Rockwell portrait is a crock of crap. Our iconic portrayal of summer captures only the ideal, fleeting moments of a childhood remembered. Ideals leave out the real stuff.

Granted, this list won't apply to everyone. Some of you will have fabulous, fun filled summers that will annoy the crap out of us that are counting down until school starts. No offense meant to you, but here's how my summer is going so far.

Top 10 reasons Summer Sucks

1. Just because it's summer, doesn't mean the kids will sleep in. Mine is still up at dawn's ass crack, the only difference is there's nothing to do.

2. My kid can't swim. It took us three years just to get him to put his feet in the water. And even when they can swim, they need constant supervision, which makes the pool a little less than relaxing.

3. My kid doesn't go barefoot. It took us four years just to get him to wear sandals without socks.

4. According to Tank, "there's nothing to do" and "go play" translates to "play with mom," which translates to Mom as "bug mom."

5. If I keep my kid up late enough to catch fireflies he'll still get up at 6 a.m. He'll just be extra cranky.

6. Um....it's HOT!

7. Today's kids just want to watch TV and play video games and trying to get them to give it up is a constant battle.

8. The economy: Gas, cookouts, pool memberships, summer camp and sunscreen are EXPENSIVE these days.

9. The days are longer. Way longer. Damn Daylight Savings Time.

10. Did I mention it was hot?

Who knows? Maybe this is the year Tank decides to put his head under water or his feet in the grass. He is growing up and often informs me "my life is changing, mom." And I don't really want it to change too fast. I should probably stop griping and let summer unfold slowly, the way it should. And maybe, when Tank's in bed tonight, I'll walk barefoot in the grass and catch some fireflies of my own.

The Force on My Shoulder

2011-05-26T20:24:00.000-04:00

Forgive me for referencing Star Wars again. My son is four, it's how we roll. And I thought the juxtaposition of good vs. evil was funnier with Yoda and Count Dooku as opposed to the overused Angel vs. Devil analogy.

Especially since I'm going to associate it with soccer.

It doesn't have to be soccer. The Shoulder Force can manifest it's ugly battle during any activity your child is participating in and it will go down something like this:

I'm watching Tank play his last indoor soccer game of the season, waiting to see the shining moment where all of his training springs to life and he gets it. I'm waiting for him to zen-focus on the ball, run with it down the court and score the winning goal.

But what's actually happening is that he's digging in his shorts again. He's not paying attention to the ball at all. He's falling down for fun, lifting up his shirt and kicking the ball the wrong way.

And Count Dooku is a little embarrassed. Count Dooku is whispering in my ear that despite my son's size, he's not that athletically inclined. Count Dooku is reminding me of how much I hated group sports- how tense I felt at the prospect of failure. Count Dooku is growing a lump in my stomach as I try to will my son into the star athlete I wish I had been.

Thank God Yoda is on my other shoulder. He's there, with his hmms and nods, squashing Dooku with his much wiser and more infinite wisdom. Yoda's telling me that just because my son came from my body, he is in fact his own being.

"Have nothing to do with you," he says, "boy's skill or lack thereof."

Yoda reminds me that a Jedi needs many years of training and that the real skills he's learning are teamwork and self esteem.

"Having fun he is," Yoda whispers. Dooku falls to his demise as Tank pretend-falls again on the indoor court.

"He sure is," I whisper back.

The Force is in the fun.

Moved by the Spirit

2011-05-23T15:02:00.001-04:00

In church this weekend, one of the youth coordinators called the children to the altar for a small, child-focused discussion. Tank has always been one to hold back for a few minutes, feeling out a situation from the sidelines.

From the safety of his seat next to me he participated in the discussion, calling out answers to questions and engaging with the group from a distance.

Until he saw the M&Ms.

The coordinator was explaining stewardship to the youngest members of our church. She held up a tube of mini M&Ms and gave the children a project: eat the M&Ms, fill the empty tube up with coins for donation to the church.

Tank sat upright, his eyes wide as he looked from the M&Ms to me.

"You better go up there if you want to get M&Ms," I whispered.

He shot out of his seat like a fourth of July firecracker and high-tailed it to the front of the church, at which point the entire congregation burst into laughter and applause. Astonished by the noise, Tank took a seat amongst the other children, got up and went to Sunday school and eventually got to eat those M&Ms.

Wouldn't you know though, he filled the empty tube right back up with coins from his own piggy bank and has been carrying them around proudly with instructions to remind him when it's time to take them back to church.

A little bit of chocolate makes the world a better place.

Today's Lesson: Double Standards

2011-05-21T19:58:00.001-04:00

We pulled out of our driveway on the way to an afternoon birthday party. The sun was strong, the weather warm- a much needed respite from the recent weeks of rain. Our neighbor was mowing his lawn. As we passed by, Tank took notice.

"Mom, he's not wearing a shirt."

"Well, yeah honey, it's hot."

"Well how come he doesn't wear a shirt? He should."

"Boys don't always have to wear a shirt. In certain places like the beach or the pool or in their yard boys can take their shirts off."

Here's where I should have stopped talking.

But I didn't.

"Women can't take their shirts off like men can because they have breasts. It's called a double standard. When boys can do things that girls aren't allowed to do."

"Women?"

"Like grown up girls. Like mommy."

"Yeah, boys can take their shirts off but girls can't," he repeated, sounding smug.

"Yeah, but it's not fair. That's why it's a double standard. A woman can't take off her shirt because everybody would freak out if they showed their breasts. And just because a man can take off his shirt, doesn't mean it's always polite to do it."

"Like in a restaurant?"

"Right. Everybody should wear a shirt in a restaurant."

There was a long pause as Tank thoughtfully pondered Americans' double standards regarding gender.

After a while he said, "well even if you don't have breasts you should wear a shirt in a restaurant."

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you our future.

More than Mom

2011-05-15T18:17:00.000-04:00

The last few months, Tank has been an "all day friend" at school. Instead of attending just the morning session, he has lunch and attends the afternoon session too, which means I'm free from 8:15 to 3:15 every day.

Gulp.

I should be ecstatic, right? I've been looking forward to all day school since Tank was born. But I'm not ecstatic. I'm lonely. I feel guilty. I'm following Tank around the house trying to reassure myself that he doesn't want to go to school because I'm boring and don't play with him as well as his dad.

I've watched enough Law & Order SVU to know this isn't good. This is a defining moment in my relationship with my son. One of those moments where I can royally screw him up and make him so co-dependent that he wants to keep mother with him for always ala' Norman Bates. The moment I turn him into a hoarder with mommy issues.

I knew all day school was in the cards. I never had illusions of home schooling. But I didn't expect all day school until Kindergarten or 1st grade. I expected to be a more functioning member of society by the time we reached all-day school- with a job. Or something.

Now I have all this time on my hands. Time to make me feel like a failure because I don't spend it cleaning my house or cranking out novels ala' Stephenie Meyer. Time I could spend at a job, making a financial contribution to my household. But it's almost summer. School is almost over for the year and my job will be mom again.

So I asked Tank once, "do you want to go to school because mom is boring or because you have fun?" He answered it was because it was fun, and I vowed to never ask him that psycho mom question again. Because I don't want to be an SVU mom. I don't want to be Joan Crawford, thank you.

So maybe this defining moment as a mom needs to be re-defined. My discomfort with Tank choosing school over home is a perfect example of why we should never, ever define ourselves by our children. For our health, and theirs, we need to be more than mom. We need to be okay with being more than mom. Because one day they'll choose the world over us. And that's exactly how it should be.

The Saga of the Space Pigs

2011-05-13T20:17:00.000-04:00

Tank: "Mom, when I grow up I am going to be a Space Pig."

Me: "What is a Space Pig?"

And thus ensued the following description of life as a Space Pig as told by Tank, the four and three quarters Space Pig in training.

"Space Pigs are pigs in space. They fly around in outer space. They have ears that flap in the wind and they don't use space ships, they use jet packs to fly around. They throw cannonballs at monsters in space. There are two kinds of Space Pigs. Dark pigs and Light pigs, but they're both good. The Dark pigs live on Ceres and the Light pigs live on Jupiter. But they're friends."

Me: "How do you get to be a Space Pig when you grow up?"

Tank: "Well, when you're born you just choose to turn into a Space Pig when you grow up."

Me: "Okay then."

Oink. Oink.

Slow down!

2011-05-10T07:00:00.000-04:00

Tank told me this morning that a boy at school told him that if he puts up his middle finger it means something bad. This is a different boy than the one who taught him about chopping and killing. Luckily Tank just blew off the middle finger and told the kid it didn't mean anything bad. And he thinks that BECAUSE WE DON'T INTRODUCE CHOPPING, KILLING OR MIDDLE FINGERS IN OUR HOME!

I did not overreact with Tank present. I don't know if these kids have older siblings or what they are allowed to do in their own home. No one is older than five and I can't help but wish I could keep Tank in a protective, innocent bubble until he's much, much older. Where are the parents? Are they just like me? Wondering where their kids pick stuff up? Maybe they have wonderful homes that don't tolerate chopping and middle fingers either.

Or do they let their kids play video games and watch R rated movies? I don't know, but I do know there are both types of parents in the world and that Tank is going to be exposed to a lot of stuff I wish he wouldn't be exposed to.

Knowing that doesn't stop me from wishing it would all slow down, though. Innocence is lost too quickly, isn't it?

Then I find myself wondering if innocence isn't just another myth of life, of parenting. Because I remember my eight year old self in Catholic school muttering my first curse word on the playground with my BFF. I remember a boy in the same Catholic school first telling me, to my parents' horror, about the birds and the bees. Eight is older than five, but not by much.

And it makes me think, like I have about so many things in motherhood, that it's the myth that needs to change in order to appropriately navigate reality. The innocence doesn't just lie in our children's ignorance, but in their lack of judgement on what's right and wrong.

Maybe it's not my job to shield him from the inevitable onslaught of human kid behavior, but to help him learn to react appropriately to the onslaught. I can't control what's thrown at him, but I can teach him what to catch, what to throw back, and when to duck.

Innocence may be fleeting, but purity of heart can last a lifetime.

What Mothers really want on Mother's Day

2011-05-08T07:21:00.001-04:00

Don't get me wrong, we cherish the handmade gifts, the flowers, the meal out and the family togetherness. We really do. But deep down, what we'll never admit (OK, some of us will) is what would really make our day special.

1. Sleep

Breakfast in bed is great, but lunch would be better. Many of us are constantly sleep deprived. We would love it if dad could take our children out to breakfast and let us sleep until our bodies wake us up in a quiet house.

2. Alone time

We love you. We love you 365 days a year, 24 hours a day- we would love to love you 364 days a year. We don't even need a whole day- a few hours would be nice. A few hours with no one crawling on us or asking us for stuff. We would like to choose where we spend our hours. If we want to be alone in the house, then please leave. Just for a few hours. Alone.

3. Momcation

It's rare a mom will ask for this, but trust me. If you want to make mom super happy, give her a vacation with her friends. A long weekend, a spa day, a night in a hotel with people waiting on her hand and foot. Help her remember who she was before becoming a mom. It will rejuvenate her and help her be an even better mom when she gets back.

And then there are the less tangible gifts. The ones where our request for them will unleash that slow trickle of mother induced guilt that only moms are capable of injecting. The ones that will haunt you. The ones that make it really fun to be a mom.

1. We want you to grow up to be good people.
We hope you'll hear our voice in your head before you make a bad decision.

2. We want you to be productive members of society.
Don't be a slacker on the couch, please dear.

3. We want you to respect women and yourselves.
No one night stands. Use protection. Bring home a nice girl. Be a nice girl worth bringing home.

4. We want you to listen.
And get to the point where we don't have to tell you anymore because you do it on your own.

5. We want you to thank us.
Someday. When you have your own kids. We want you to understand.

Here's to all the single moms, military moms, single dads, stay-at-home moms and working moms. Today is for you. Thank you for everything- from one mom to another. Happy Mother's Day.

The Wife and the Mistress?

2011-05-04T08:02:00.000-04:00

Last night we had one of Tank's best and oldest buddies over for dinner. We'll call her Rapunzel, since that's currently her favorite Princess. I had the pleasure of observing this conversation (she's 5, he's 4 and three quarters.)

Tank: I made that necklace and was looking for the prettiest girl in the world to give it to and I chose you.

Rapunzel: Well, I was looking for the handsomest boy to marry and that's you.

Tank: Oh, I have two girls that want to marry me now.

Me: Oh really? Who else wants to marry you.

Tank: Jasmine. (Not really her name, but it's been changed to protect her feelings.)

Me: Oh, boy.

Rapunzel: Well, you're going to marry me. You'll just have to tell Jasmine that you're marrying me and she'll get all busy. (Scrunches up her face and makes fists to illustrate "busy.")

Tank: Yeah, she'll get mad.

(they burst into laughter over their dastardly plot)

Me: Well, why don't you just all be friends for a while. You have a long, long time before you need to get married.

Rapunzel: Yeah, I'm only five.

Tank: And I'm only four and three quarters.

Rapunzel: Maybe you could have two wives?

Tank: Yeah.

Me: Not in this country. How about Jasmine marries Aladdin (another name change) and you just all stay friends.

Rapunzel: Yeah, she can marry Aladdin even though that's your best friend.

Yeesh- the drama over the royal wedding is ridiculous.

Happiness Is....

2011-05-01T10:03:00.000-04:00

No TV

A ticking clock

A lazy Sunday morning

Chirping birds outside

Soft, falling rain

Quiet sounds of a four year old boy playing in his room

A cup of coffee

PJs

A rocking chair

Zip it!

2011-04-30T16:38:00.001-04:00

I've gotten lucky with Tank. In his almost 5 years, he has rarely said anything extremely embarrassing in public. Until today.

Granted, it wasn't all that bad. It could have been so much worse. We had just finished up in Walgreens and were heading towards the door when he ran in front of me, blocked my way and yelled at the top of his lungs, "NO, NO, NO, NAKED BODY."

Everyone in line burst into laughter. I of course, blushed fiercely and darted my eyes nervously about to see who had heard, even though I knew it was only everyone. I couldn't help laughing at his abandon and my own prudishness.

But come on! It's bad enough he can't keep from digging in his shorts during soccer, but at least I can feign a modicum of anonymity there.

Not in Walgreens.

After he heard the laughter, it egged him on.. There were constant "NO, NO, NO, NAKED BODY" chants all the way to the car.

Too bad kids don't come with a zipper for their mouths.

Parenting with the Force: Y is for Yoda

2011-04-29T14:47:00.001-04:00

Everything I needed to know about being a mom I learned from Yoda

1. Do or do not. There is no try.
Even Yoda knows it's all about consistency.

2. Size matters not. Judge me by my size, do you?
Yoda knows you should never underestimate the power of an angry three year old.

3. Ready, are you? What you know of ready?
You can buy the gear, but nothing can prepare you for actual parenting until you're in it.

4. Oh, great Warrior. Wars not make one great.
Choose your battles.

5. Happens to every guy sometimes this does.
Even Yoda has bad days.

6. Always in motion is the future.
Kids take a lot of energy. A lot.

7. Train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose.
That about sums up being a mom.

8. If no mistake have you made, yet losing you are.....a different game you should play.
Don't chatter back and forth over discipline with your four year old. You are the parent. Set the rule, set the consequence and stop talking about it. Follow through.

9. You will know the good from the bad when you are calm.
Don't react to your child in anger.

10. Truly wonderful the mind of a child is.
Thanks for reminding, Master Yoda.

W is for Wall Flower

2011-04-28T21:24:00.000-04:00

Tank is a watcher. When he was an infant and I first started taking him places like music class and parties it upset me that he wasn't a joyous joiner of all the fun going on around him. It frustrated me because we paid money for the class and he didn't participate. It worried me because I thought it was a sign of some kind of developmental delay.

As he got older and could express his feelings better he surprised me by watching the action stone-faced, then coming home and exclaiming how much he enjoyed whatever event we attended. Because I'm pushy I of course continually encouraged him to participate with me and his friends. He almost always refused and would get angry at me for trying to force him.

It was then I realized how different we are. I'm an extrovert. Tank is a totally wonderful, social and happy introvert. Like his dad. Just like Jeff, Tank will watch from the sidelines. People will wonder if he's ok- if he's having fun. He will look miserable or sometimes angry or shy.

But, he's having a blast. He'll tell me so later, when we go home.

And I've learned to love my little wall flower. I enjoy the program myself, whatever it happens to be. I check in once in a while with Tank- and leave him alone to enjoy the world in his own way.

Tank enjoying a local pirate and princess party in his own, quiet way.

What happened to W?

2011-04-27T09:48:00.000-04:00

Woken this morning at 4:30, not even through my first cup of coffee and I skipped the letter W. Super. W is for wait until tomorrow. Ha!

Xcuse me

2011-04-27T06:15:00.000-04:00

Granted, I might be a bit cranky because Tank and I have been awake since 4:30 a.m. thanks to Mother Nature and the Thunder gods, but excuse me for wanting just a portion of my own body for ME, thank you.

Just because you gestated there for ten months doesn't mean that you still belong there almost five years after the fact.

I mean, have you noticed how territorial your kid can be about your body? Grabby, touchy, sit on top of me instead of next to me and squiggle squiggle, cough, twitch, squiggle. It's now ten after six and Tank is "snuggling" as he puts it. We are crammed into a lazy boy kinda' chair, his butt is on my hip, legs sprawled onto my legs, elbow propped onto my shoulder. He is making some kind of weird, allergy phlegm sound with his throat, coughing on occasion, sniffling into my ear and squiggling his feet, his butt, and his elbow.

We have two hours until school.

And he wonders why I lock the bedroom door for my shower.

V is for Value

2011-04-26T16:30:00.002-04:00

Today I heard about a beautiful, red-headed, 9 year old boy who lost his battle with cancer a few days ago. Reading about it makes me feel nauseous.What mother can't empathize with that family? Losing a child has to be the most emotionally raw experience anyone can go through. I don't know if I could bear it. How do you go on?

Hearing about a tragedy like this makes me immediately think of Tank.

I use this blog to complain and commiserate the trials of parenting. I try to be funny. I try to be sarcastic and real. Make no mistake, though, that for all of my snark and complaints, I love my son beyond what I can even fathom.

I write to remember this time in his life because I know my memory will fade.

Despite my struggles as a mother, it is nothing- NOTHING- compared to the strength some parents are forced to find. And it is such a reality check.

I have a beautiful, healthy, vivacious four year old boy for which I am so very, very thankful. I value every second- cherish his vitality and am honored he is part of my life.

This trip is too short. Value every moment.

U is for Underwear

2011-04-25T17:52:00.000-04:00

How could the A to Z post for U not be underwear with a 4 year old boy? It's been a hot topic around here since Saturday's soccer game. While Tank is playing offense, he spends more time picking at his underwear than running after the ball. It's not only embarrassing for me, but obviously uncomfortable for him. It's apparent that something is going on down there.

I started by buying bigger underwear, but the problem persisted, so I hit Target's underwear aisle for the second time in one week.

What I've discovered is that Tank is a boxer shorts man. I wasn't aware they even MADE boxer shorts for 4 year olds, but they do. They even make boxer briefs, which seem like they'd be more comfortable to me, but what do I know? I don't wear boxer shorts. Boxer shorts seem like they would be super bulky and actually make you warmer than briefs, but my husband wears them (in case you were wondering) so I guess I shouldn't be too surprised that Tank wears them, too.

It's just that I thought we had a few more years before man underwear- before cute little plaid boxer shorts that look like MY HUSBAND'S underwear! Despite my discomfort with his growing up too fast, Tank is happier and more comfortable in his drawers. I won't be able to really claim success until he can focus more on the soccer game than his butt. SCORE!

T is for tulips

2011-04-23T21:29:00.000-04:00

I used to work for a lovely woman named Fran. She reminds me of my mother and became a surrogate to me while I lived in VA and worked for her and her husband. One of my fondest, silliest memories of Fran was when she tried explaining who Tiny Tim was. In my mid-twenties, I had no idea what she was talking about, but cracked up laughing with her as she danced and belted out Tiptoe through the Tulips in her best impersonation of him. Every year, when the tulips bloom I think of Fran. This year, Tank has started singing the chorus with me. Please to enjoy.

S List

2011-04-22T20:02:00.000-04:00

Things I miss since becoming a mom

1. Sleep

2. Sanity

3. Sex

4. Silence

5. Skinny jeans

Things that get me through the day since becoming a mom

1. Starbucks

2. Soda (diet with caffeine)

3. School

4. Sisters (aka fellow moms)

Things that make being a mom worth it

1. Snuggles

2. Smiles

3. Simplicity

4. Sweetness