I'm getting tired of the sirens.

So, I had this post all ready to go about how I don't have time to run all my errands and stay organized and be on top of everything in my life, really a very whiny post. And then today I spent over an hour in the basement of our school trying to calm the kids as a tornado whooshed nearby. Sometimes a little perspective is a good thing.

So, I'm going to direct you here, instead, to my regular blog, where I posted about today's tornado warning events. And the little reminders that a day like today gives you~each day is a blessing. Live it to the fullest.

Also hug somebody who needs it. Anybody.

firsts

The biggies are the ones we prepare for - the first time they smile, giggle, roll over, rock on all fours, crawl, walk, cut a tooth, lose a tooth, go to school, sleep over, or go on a trip. What I find, though, is the small firsts are the ones that make me catch my breath. The first time he gets his own snack. The first time he makes his own bed. The first time he walks into the school by himself.

These small firsts make me smile with pride at my boy growing up, but as soon as I smile I grab at my chest - he is growing up. He pours his own milk, makes his own toast, and cleans his room (sometimes) without asking or assistance. He walks Duncan down to the corner and back.

I love my little dude, but he will not be little for much longer - in fact, he would grimace if he ever thought I called him little, but then he will smile, give me a hug, and snuggle into my side to listen to a story - so I still have that for another blink of an eye.

It makes me want to pay attention more to the small, little details of Drew and Owen's lives. I want to notice the first time they solve a riddle, the first time they hit the ball, kick the goal, or hold another's hand. I want to pay attention to their heart firsts, and allow the big firsts to roll on up on the heels of all the little waves of firsts that precede.

Running Away.

When I was a kid, I remember my little brother stomping around the house in his cowboy boots and pajamas, angry about something. He announced he was going to run away. My mother, ever the calm presence, said, "Well. Okay. Let me help you pack."

I was a little taken aback by that, as was he. But she very calmly pulled out a little suitcase and laid it on his bed, and laid in a clean pair of pajamas and Underoos (I think he was in a pajamas only stage, I guess? It was a long time ago.) She asked if he would like to take a snack, he might get hungry while walking. He nodded, still angry but a little confused, and so she dropped some cookies into a zip bag and laid them into the suitcase. She zipped it up, walked him to the front door and handed him his suitcase to carry (not a rollaway, we didn't have those in the seventies, you know,) kissed him on the head and said she would miss him indeed. He walked out the front door and down the sidewalk, his two little arms lifting his suitcase up, getting tired almost as soon as he was out the door.

At this point, I was a little beside myself, that my mother would let her six year old son walk out the front door to run away, much less help him pack. She didn't even try to convince him to stay! But then I heard her go to phone and call the neighbor down the street and tell her what was going on. And then I understood.

Sure enough, the neighbor leaned out her front door and invited him in to share some milk and cookies. He stayed for a couple of hours, watching cartoons on her TV while she piddled around the house, and then she announced that they would be having brussel sprouts for dinner. My brother didn't like brussel sprouts (and rightly so, they are food of the devil, as far as I'm concerned.) Ooh, that's too bad, the neighbor responded. I hear they're having spaghetti, down at your house.

And so he came trudging back up the walk shortly before my dad got home from work, and never a word was spoken in our house about the entire episode.

I often wonder how my mother knew how to deal with that situation, I guess I should ask her. Not only to allow him to follow through on his threat, but to never bring it up and try to drive home a lesson in it, allowing his little ego to stay intact (at least until he was an adult and we all teased him about it.) As a parent, I planned for how I would carry out the exact same technique with my own two stubborn boys, but oddly, the moment has never come.

Instead, sometimes I'm the one dreaming of running away. Sometimes my frustration with working and mothering and being a spouse and a housekeeper and a cook and a chauffeur get to me, and I can't seem to care about any of it anymore.

Sometimes when I get on the highway to go somewhere, I wonder what would happen if I just keep on driving instead of taking my exit. But I never seem to have enough gas in the tank to get very far, or any cookies should I get hungry.

And so I sigh a big sigh, and turn around and go home, knowing tomorrow will be a better day.

Or at least planning to stash some snacks in the car for next time.

Wishing

I'm wishing for a backyard that isn't covered in dog poo so I could just kick my kids outside at any time. I suppose I could send them out front, but there is this whole "scare thing" we have with kids playing in the front unsupervised. This makes me angry because of "thegoodolddays" (when did I become old?) I spent my life outside, running around the neighborhood without worry about my safety or strangers. I was well versed in "stranger-danger", but it wasn't necessary where I grew up.

I miss that for my kids.

We have a lovely neighborhood with great neighbors, but one of us is on the stoop while our kids play...always. We live two blocks away from a park, but I don't know if I can just send my kids up there to play like my mom sent us out to play. The short answer is I can't...which is sad, so sad. I learned so many lessons playing with my friends outside with no adults around. We learned to manage our disagreements without intervention. We deciphered which injuries were worthy of tears and which were not. We learned how to stay away from bullies, how to make new friends, and how to have fun without someone telling us how. We learned how to maneuver around our neighborhood on our bikes like ninjas!

Right now my kids are playing in the snow out front. I'm typing on the bench next to the window with it cracked just enough to hear their every word. It's a step. It's a start. I hope with our neighborhood association we continue to build a community in which it is okay to send our kids out to play. That we have each other's backs. That we take care of our neighborhood kids so they too can be free within safety. Free within reason. Free to learn to play in the wonderful world of childhood.

Denial

My baby girl is going to start preschool in September. In some ways September seems eons away but as time has a habit of doing, it slides by faster than my brain can process the changes. Honestly, didn't I just find out I was pregnant with my third child?

D is my always baby. My last child. She's going to hate that label someday I suppose...until she has her always baby and then she'll understand.

One of my friends has 5 children and commented a few weeks ago about preschool for her fourth child who is 7 months older than D. I was taken completely off guard. There was no way these kids were old enough for preschool next year...but they are. Sigh.

Seeing your kids grow up is bittersweet. I miss the babies and toddlers they once were but love to see the kids they grow into. I suppose this is why I take so many photos. Thank goodness that the digital camera came along when I was pregnant with my first baby because I would definitely be broke by now if I had to buy film and pay processing fees to get all these photos of my kids!

genuine thanks

Though we say it, make calls, and email, I haven't taught the boys to write true, genuine thank you cards - and after listening to this interview, I realized that it is such an important piece of our family culture that I want to foster. It was even part of our wedding vows - to not take each other for granted and be grateful for each other every day of our lives.

To be sincere.

I wonder if this is a quality that is being choked out with our busy world...and in our desire to get closer to a simple life that is enriched with the beauty of the natural world and enhanced with the wonders of our modern world, I know sincerity is a quality we want instilled in our family values.

So this week we will sit down together at dinner and fill out our thank you cards together and I just might take Kralik's lead and try to write one each day - what a way to create the kind of world we want to live in instead of accepting the one that has been given.

I like creating.

I like sincerity.

I like where this is pointing us.

Boys and hygiene: like oil and water. Lots and lots of oil.

Remember when your little ones were so excited for that evening ritual of bathtime? When they couldn't wait to finish dinner so everyone could all run upstairs and strip off their clothes and climb in that big, bubbly hot, toy-filled tub of joy and splash around for a while, getting clean in the process?

Well, it ends. Especially with boys. They no longer long to be clean. They no longer care. They are too busy playing Nerf gun wars in the backyard or building intricate lego sets to be bothered with bathing, putting on clean socks, or for that matter, pajamas. Sometimes they sleep in their clothes. Nowadays all I hear when I suggest it's time for the bath or shower is whining. Now that my kids are a little more self-sufficient, (or at least I thought they were) I find myself saying things like, "when was the last time you used shampoo?" and "dude, you are ripe."

And what do I hear back from them? "Um, do I need to change my underwear?"

YES! This is a question that needs to be asked?

My friends with teens tell me it changes again soon, the pendulum swings back again, and then you cannot get them OUT of the shower.

I look forward to that. I think.

Modern Family.

A few weeks ago I was shopping at my local Target store. I was in a hurry, running in to grab a birthday present for a party my son was going to, on the way to the party (natch.) There was a young family shopping in the toy section, a black mom, a school age boy, a toddler girl, and a white dad. The dad especially stood out, not just because he was white and the rest of his family was not, but because he was covered in tattoos and had some interesting piercings, whereas the mom didn’t seem quite so alternative. (Given my penchant for people watching, I’d say she has an office job, whereas he might be in the music industry, or a bouncer.) Both kids were dressed normally, with light brown skin. The girl had a pretty little afro the color of brown sugar, but the boy’s hair was darker.

At any rate, they had been shopping for back to school stuff, I could tell as I quickly ran past their cart, and for some reason had migrated over to the toys (danger, danger, Will Robinson!) This is when the toddler girl started to lose her mind, over a doll she wanted. She began to wail, sharply, “MY DOLLY I WANT THAT DOLLY GIMME THAT DOLLY I WAAAAAANT IIITTTTTTT!”
The mom sighed and gave the dad That Look. And so the dad picked her up out of the cart, and did what most of us would do. He walked out of the store with a screaming, thrashing child, going back out to the car.

I went through the checkout not thinking anything else about it. But as I hit the parking lot, I realized there was some kind of disturbance, and it was this dad. A woman had stopped him, along with a Target employee retrieving stray shopping carts, and was trying to intervene as he was trying to strap his screaming, thrashing daughter into her carseat. He finally got the girl buckled in and turned around to the woman, apologizing, pulling his i.d. out of his wallet and trying to explain. “I know what it looks like,” he said as the girl continued screaming “NOOOOO” at the top of her lungs, “but I promise this is my child!”

The woman was so upset she was crying. She had pulled her phone out of her purse and was getting ready to dial, presumably 911. I said, “No! I saw them in the store. She threw a tantrum and melted down. I saw him with his wife, who is still inside shopping. They are fine. It’s fine.”

The woman looked at me, unsure, but put her phone back in her purse. He approached her to show her his i.d., I don’t know why, it was all he could think of to do, I suppose. The woman turned away from him toward me, thanked me and started walking into the store, she didn’t speak to him again or acknowledge his driver’s license. The teenager collecting carts went back to his texting.

Exasperated, the dad turned and looked at me. He was near tears. I smiled at him and continued to my car.

I’ve been thinking about it ever since.

So many times I have left a cart full of groceries in the middle of the frozen food section of the grocery store and taken my screaming, thrashing child out to the car, giving up on shopping. So many times I have forcefully strapped a bucking bronco of a toddler into a car seat, red faced and screaming, and then quickly driven away. Has anyone ever thought I was taking a child out of a store that wasn’t mine?

Probably not. My kids look just like me, blond and blue eyed. Well actually, they look like their father, but still, close enough. I’m sure if one was to study this little family long enough, say in a picture, you would be able to make out features of these children that resembled the dad, despite the ethnic differences.

Here is where I’ve arrived after pondering this for a few weeks. I probably would have done the same thing that woman did, given the information she had at the time. I am not a fan of stereotyping based on race. However, I think it’s better to offend someone and be safe than sorry. Sometimes we have to make quick decision in a parking lot to keep children safe, it is indeed our responsibility as human beings to do so. And that may involve stereotyping.

I don’t know what it was that concerned the woman most, that the child was so upset, that they did not appear to be related, or that he was covered in tattoos and piercings. But I think it may have been that the family vehicle he was struggling to strap the child into was an older model white cargo van.

Totally not making that up. A white cargo van. I mean I AM SORRY, but be more self-aware than that, people.

Parenting: I think I'm doing it right, actually.

Sometimes I really wonder how damaged my kids will be when they grow up because I lost my cool at how long it takes them to make faces in the bathroom mirror before they actually brush their teeth. I joke with my friends about "well, that's why you save for therapy, Amiright? Ha ha, hee hee!"
But sometimes I worry. Like at 2am, when insomnia has made me her bitch once again, and I can't seem to shut off my brain. Well, and also because my husband made me watch Inglorious Basterds right before bed, and who wants to fall asleep after that? Not me.

Anyway. Parenting. I often worry I'm doing it totally wrong. And then every once in a while, I get a little brush with how I must be doing it pretty well, at least some of the time.
Like tonight, getting ready for bed. We spent a large portion of this holiday weekend cleaning up around the house, cutting back trees and bushes, overseeding the yard. I also spent some time indoors, doing laundry, excavating my way through to the playroom, sifting through size 6x T-shirts and shorts to be handed down or tossed, etc. The boys got into the swing of it, too, and took down old stuff from their bulletin boards in their bedrooms to make way for the piles of new stuff. Stuff I had brought from the towering stack of papers that had been living in my kitchen since school was out last May. My oldest, now ten, took down a Sports Illustrated for Kids centerfold of Alex Rodriguez and gently set it aside. He shares a birthday with ARod, but that's about the only thing they have in common. The kid doesn't even play baseball.

"Buddy," I said, "if you don't want that anymore just throw it away."
"Someone might want it. Lots of kids like Alex Rodriguez."
"I know, bud, but it's from last year, he doesn't even have those stats anymore, it's obsolete."
"Mom! I bet there are lots of poor kids who don't have any posters who look up to him and would love a poster like this. I can't just throw it away!"

Just when I think nobody is looking, they are getting it. When I stop and pick up someone else's empty cup on the ground and put it in the trash, even though they don't look up from their DS game, they make some kind of mental note in the back of their brains, back behind How To Reload A Nerf Gun Magazine On The Fly. When I take them to Harvesters to sort apples, or I mention that I am serving lunch at a food kitchen, they are absorbing. When I walk out my front door with an extra leash and try and capture the neighbor's dog who has broken through a weak spot in the fence, they see me. When I tell them, many months ago, that we are going to donate an entire bin of toys to kids who don't have any, start sorting what you want to keep and what you are willing to part with, they understand. And they kind of enjoy it.

When my kids are adults, they may have some memories of me screaming at them, exasperated, to please put on their shoes and get in the car so we can make it to soccer practice, maybe only a few minutes late. Do you have your shinguards? A ball? A water bottle? No I don't know where your cleates are, they aren't mine, you are old enoughtokeeptrackofyourownshoes maybeifyouputthemawaywheretheyaresupposedtogoyouwouldn'thavethisproblem ohmyGodgetinthedamncar.

But I'm hoping that if they think of these things, they will think of them in between the doing, the acting, the loving and supporting and volunteering and being responsible that I've tried to display myself. I'm hoping my actions will linger longer, and louder, than my words.

Welcome to my world.

turns out, if you normally set your phone in the cupholder of your minivan while you drive, and then you uncharacteristically bring along an open cup of water into the car with you to run errands, the odds of you dropping your phone into that cup of water after sending a quick text (at a red light!) are probably not worth betting against.

This is what happens when your kid gets a hold of your camera.

Lessons from Little Dude...

On April 9th, my position was eliminated, closing one chapter in my life and beginning another one. Since that time, I have been working hard at finding a new job, and starting our own business with my wife. And... I have been taking lessons.

As I have mentioned before, I have a little guy who is 20 months old... and with me being home more often during the day I have learned a lot from him. I thought I would share those lessons as it was a good reminder for me... so here are my lessons as learned from the Little Dude...

• Splash in the puddles... they are sure to bring squeals of delight and reminders of simpler times when we could be carefree.
• Stop and look at the bugs, poke your hands in the dirt and turn over leaves.
• Explore the world with wide open curiosity and awe... saw a sunset last night that was beautiful, a rainbow on Friday and a gazillion cool things in between
• Give hugs often... and kiss back with passion.
• Roll on the floor with toys and make sounds that are funny, and laugh.
• Show appreciation for food that is good - nothing like "yum" sung loudly while enjoying pancakes.
• Sing - whether you know the words or not - just sing along and enjoy it.
• Naps - ah naps. (Not that I have had a lot of time for these).
• When walking in the woods - find a stick. It can be your magic wand, walking stick, noisemaker, and picture drawer. What a great tool....
• If you don't like your clothes, get rid of them. There are more comfortable ones in the drawer.
• Laugh like you mean it... from the belly.

This is the short list of the many things he has reminded me of. To have that child like innocence and ability to look at the world through his eyes has been engaging, delightful and relaxing. These times could be extremely stressful, instead I am finding peace and enjoyment in the process. What a blessing to have the family I have and the opportunity to learn again...

Overparenting

Lil John is 19 month old today... Perhaps I failed to mention that he was born at 8:08 pm on 8-8-08. No it wasn't planned that way! Trust me...

We are fortunate enough that Camille can stay at home with him as her classes are at night, but we also knew it would be good for him to be around other kids and interact and learn. Daycare wasn't needed or required, so Camille took the time to look at some alternatives... which lead us to a Little Sprouts program at the City of Lakes Waldorf School in Minneapolis. John loves the time in the school, around the other kids and parents that are actively involved in the process.

Since work prevents me from attending the classes, I pour through all the information they send home to learn about his experiences and understand the philosophies. Recently, they shared an article on Overparenting that was published by Time Magazine. The magazine talked about helicopter parents that fly in, protect and fight all the battles for the kids. Here is a link to the article.http://www.time.com/time/nation/article/0,8599,1940395,00.html

As parents, we want the best for our kids, for them to be safe, and for them to be the best at everything we weren't. I think it is critical we all take a step back, breathe, and let our kids be kids. If we don't allow them to learn from their mistakes, to get the bruises of life, how will they ever survive college or worse, corporate America? Our kids need to learn to problem solve, to get themselves out of jams and be aware of what's happening around them. If I respond to John's groan every time a ball gets stuck under the chair, soon his reaction is to sit and complain until I solve his issue. Instead, I encourage him and help him solve the issues at hand so he learns. We want our kids to be strong, independent, make decisions and most importantly weigh the consequences of those decisions. Flying in, solving the problem, only hurts our children in the long run... let them learn!

I'm trying to get off on the right foot for vacation

Since moving to the midwest from the south, I've finally figured out the winter school schedule for the kids. You get a winter break, which is around Christmas time and two weeks long. You also get a spring break that starts before Holy Week and is roughly a week and a half. In addition to these breaks, you also get what is called around here, mid-winter break, another week off of school at the end of February. It's is mid-winter break when families take their winter vacations. This year we are going to travel during mid-winter break, to the south to see family.

It seems that as soon as we made the final decision to drive all the way from Michigan to Florida, the complications began. Was the car big enough for all of us? How long could we reasonably expect to drive before the baby expressed her discontent with the situation? How long could we reasonably expect to drive before the TEENAGER expressed her discontent with the situation? And underscoring every one of these questions was the big one: in the end, will all this effort be worth it or will we regret we even made the trip in the first place?

When I was a kid, my parents went to great lengths to make sure we saw most of our family every year. We drove 300 miles and 600 miles to visit both sets of my grandparents, we could drive another 400 and trek onward to Alabama to see my father's family. It didn't seem hectic; it felt relaxing. But as I try to plan and execute similar trips as an adult, I feel tense and stressed out.

For right now, our family's mid-winter trip to the south will not include a visit to my grandmother who lives on the beach in Florida's panhandle. It's a long story as to why, a story that, frankly, is too confusing and too frustrating to relate. Something inside of me wishes I could not only travel to the small beach town she lives in, but that I could travel back in time to those vacation days that were relaxing and refreshing.

When we visited, we spent hours outside, mostly at the beach. We'd swim and play on the sand in the morning, working up our appetite for lunch. Many times my mother and grandmother would bring lunch down to the dock and we would eat right there in the sunshine. By the end of the day after we had come back to the house and bathed and settled down, my body would feel untwisted, restful.

Now I'm realizing that this restfulness and carefree luxury was made possible by the adults in the scene who were perhaps tense or stressed out. The worries on their mind were similar to the ones I have now:

Will the girls get sunburned by spending too much time in the sun? Are they well-rested enough? I wish my parents would stop arguing so much. Do I bring along the children's tylenol because it seems like [insert child's name here] could use some. If I didn't bring it along, I going to have to drive all the way into town, find a drug store, and buy more. I wonder if [insert car problem here] is going to cause us problems later on this trip. I wonder if [insert relative's name here] is going to be happy when we arrive two hours late tomorrow in case car troubles arise.

As I'm looking back at my childhood vacations to the beach, I'm realizing that perhaps the best thing for me to do in this upcoming trip is to make sure these worries don't take up the forefront of my attention. I need a relaxing break and so do my husband and my girls. The only way to give them that chance to let go of the mundane every day responsibilities is to not let the every day stress get in the way.

So even though we won't actually visit the beach on this vacation, I'm going to try to remember how I approached each day when I was a child at the beach. Be flexible in each day's agenda and welcome its serendipitous moments. Let each problem come as it may and deal with them as blips on the radar, rather than letting them consume my thoughts from sun up to sun down. And remember to enjoy the company of those around me. This is my family, the ones I love, and the moments I have with them should be treasured. If I can achieve this state of mind, hopefully my girls will grow up and have memories of being carefree, just like I do.

Rearranging for Baby

When you find out for the first time that you’re having a baby it is both exciting and terrifying. I remember also feeling a little bit of remorse for the life I was leaving behind.

Some people will tell you that your lives will be drastically different and others will tell you to just tell your child “no” and things will be fine. When I was pregnant with M, our house was filled with knick knacks. They were on low tables, medium tables, tall shelves. There were knick-knacks that, when I had a mobile toddler, I was sure she wouldn’t be able to reach. She reached. She climbed and reached those knick-knacks and as I approached her telling her “no no!” she’d smile, wind up, and LOB that precious Hummel figurine at me with glee.

Her behavior disturbed me. My mom was one of the people who told me that all I needed to do was tell my child “no” and that should be fine to stop her from touching things. I was frustrated beyond belief that my beautiful, spunky child so openly disregarded everything I said. I was at a loss. I figured I was failing as a parent less than two years into my new gig. To top it off I was pregnant with another child that I figured I would screw up just as much. I brought up my concern at the ECFE class that M and I were currently in and the facilitator gave me sage advice: put the knick-knacks away if you don’t want them broken.

It seemed a bit like admitting failure, but I packed away my precious Hummels and other decorative objects. I decided I’d rather enjoy my little girl than battle her to save my “things.” The day after I packed away those things my stress level dropped dramatically. I was no longer worried that my collectibles would be damaged. M was free to climb and explore and touch.

Seven and a half years later (and two more kids later) those knick-knacks I packed away are still packed away. I don’t really know what is in that box. I will bring those things back out when D is a bit older. I’ll have all my Hummels out again. I’ve acquired a few more things since then, some of which D has taken to climbing the sofa to touch. She is more patient with me though, and will hand me the object as I come to retrieve it rather than trying to take out my head.

I know the day will soon come that I can have breakables scattered on low tables and shelves and I will almost definitely prefer the need to have them packed away.

Let them dream...

I am the youngest of eight boys - a blessing and a curse. I can remember growing up and hearing messages about what I could and couldn't do. Didn't matter the subject I always had someone looking over my shoulder and telling me what was allowed or acceptable. Sometimes it was my Mother's Catholic guilt, other times it was the threat of a slug from a brother. Yes - eight boys will fight!

With my kids, I have made a conscious effort to let them dream, let them use their imagination and creativity to be who they want to be. Let them define who they are. My daughter flew through the Barbie / Princess stage in 20 seconds. Much to her mother's dismay, she wanted to play Lego's, build things in the garage and be a tom boy. Here favorite clothes to this day are t-shirts and jerseys. Her wearing a dress is an act of Congress and bribery. I have always allowed her to dream about the sports she wants to play, the hobbies she enjoys.

I have two nephews that are bright and imaginative kids. A couple of years ago, one of them choose his costume for Halloween. He was a Pirate Fighter Plane... imagine combining a fighter plane and pirate costumes. Was he different? Most definitely! But his parents encouraged him to use his imagination, have fun and most importantly - be himself!

My challenge personally, and to all of you, is don't let stereo-types and our own limitations block our kids from becoming the person they are! Perhaps I would be a rock star today if I hadn't been told that I couldn't play the guitar when I was a kid. We set limits on our kids - instead lets encourage them to imagine, explore and most of all to dream. They are our future....

Tough Choices...

There are times you look back on your life an reflect on the steps you have taken, the roads traveled and the decisions made. Ironically, my post is not related to the New Year of the New Decade. Although I am grateful for 2009 being over, and look forward to the new challenges and opportunities of the upcoming year, my reflections are not something that happens at the beginning of a new year. I am one that often looks back while looking ahead, as I am determined to not make the same mistakes twice... just as I am determined to continue to be a better husband, father and friend.

In that vain, I thought I would take a moment to give some perspective to trying to raise a daughter as divorced Dad. My daughter is 12, a great kid and I adore her. Always have... When she was 5, I made a decision to leave her mother and get a divorce. The marriage was broke, and I had stayed in it longer that I should of because I knew as a father, my leaving meant that my time with her would go from every night to every other weekend. Through counseling, much soul searching and the prayers and help of family and friends, I made the choice and I am glad I did. I have been blessed to now be married to a lovely woman who is an incredible person who I truly enjoy being with. My wife and I have a great respect for each other and constantly work on our relationship as well as parenting.

Where I struggle is watching my daughter grow and morph into a young woman... and as I watch her struggles in life, I often beat myself up thinking her life would probably have been so much easier had I not made the decisions I did. On the flip side, what would I have taught her about relationships, love, marriage and respect had I stayed? I dwell on these thoughts as I strive to set examples on what a relationship should be like and how a married couple should be. I can only pray that her life is filled with love and happiness and she won't have to deal with the heartbreak I have had to. As a father, it is my nature to want to protect my little girl and be there for her... but I also know, just as that day I choose to leave, I have to let her live her life, pray she makes wise decisions, and pick her up and support her when she doesn't.

For anyone that has gone through a divorce, I am sure you can relate. My best advice is to love your kids and put them first.... Regardless of how things work with the ex-spouse. Never put the kids in the middle, never leave them out and never stop being a role model and parent. As my daughter is with me, they are always watching to see how you react, how you live and how you love.

The interferer

I’m an interferer.

It’s true. I jump in the middle of the boys’ arguments way, way, way too fast. I forget that Owen can and does instigate and therefore, should take the consequence from his brother, not in harm’s way of course, but that natural shunning thing that teaches the lesson better than I could ever imagine anyway. This started me down memory lane in which many of the most impacting lessons…I didn’t learn from my parents.

Good parents have to let the lessons come as they may.

And pick up the pieces afterward.

It is so hard for me to listen to the fighting, the idle threats, the mean words, the pushes, the shoves, the tattles, the yells. It is so hard for me to not mama bear in, pick them both up by the neck and give them a little shake. It is so hard for me to let them learn on their own! ARRRRRGGGGUUUUUUUHHHHHH I LIKE PEACE!

Peace comes in small doses with 6 and 3. When it does come, it is delightful. Like the time last week at the dinner table when Randy motioned to me, “do you hear that?” and it was silence. Like the time at Target when Drew grabbed Owen’s hand to cross the street and Owen let him. Like the morning after Owen threw up all night and Drew asked how he was and gave him a hug….a real one, not one demanded by his bear mama. Like right now where their pure, unadulterated laughter floats up from the basement.

Come what may.

It is my new mantra.
It is the idea for 2010.
Come what may, and let it be.

Not every aspect of life needs to be forced, planned, and responded to by me. Sometimes, many times, I need to sit back and let it come.

Come what may

I'm a philosopher. I like to figure out what I'm thinking, why I'm thinking that, and how it all works in the greater spectrum. I am a thinker.

Every year at New Year's, Randy and I sit down and discuss the year previous, the year to come and I start to hem and haw about my resolutions, or more like reminders. I remind myself little things like: move more, eat less, drink more water. I remind myself about bigger things: organization is a good thing, one that lessens stress and relaxes the whole house. I remind myself of even bigger things: we get one go at this world, and do I really want to spend it in hurry and bustle all the time? Then I go to the big Guy and start talking about the stuff that really matters -

relationships.

How are my relationships with family - immediate and extended? What have I been doing to facilitate friendships - both here and there? What have I been doing to keep my lines open with the big Gun? What have I been doing? what have I been being? What am I? Who am I?

And you see where it goes from there.

So each year, spurred from Ali Edwards, I choose a word. Some sort of reminder of all these pieces of life that I want to keep in the right order of priority for the year.

Each year, about April, I refresh and revisit - at Easter. Then about the middle of summer....the word is done.

So I've decided to change the pattern this year.

I will still revisit all those essentials and maybe put some new patterns into practice, but I'm going to let life come.

Come what may.

I know, Moulin Rouge - but really, it works here. Just let life come, worry less, invest more, love on the boys more, and relax.

It is a gift to be here. It is a gift to be healthy, in a house, employed, with family, have stuff - too much in most cases - and to be in a place where relationship...Relationship is always available, always supportive, and always loving.

So come what may.

It's the most horrible time of the year

Am I the only one who finds the first week back after New Year's the bleakest of them all? The festivities are over, we're all trudging back to the normal routine, the winter weather is suddenly no longer charming, and we're all realizing that the egg nog and candies have indeed had their effect on our waistlines. Right now my den has become "De-Holiday-ication Central," complete with a 7" desiccated Douglas Fir and more bags of discounted holiday paraphernalia than I care to admit to. And through it all, I just keep nibbling on the leftover gingerbread men and red, green and silver chocolate kisses.

The day before we left for Christmas weekend, December 23rd, I had my prescription for migraine medicine filled at our local pharmacy. I just picked it up yesterday. They had messed it up, billing it incorrectly and giving the incorrect amount of pills. It took 2 hours this morning to sort it out.

The weather outside is frightful, no? We don't even have it that bad compared to the rest of the region; we're in the 20s with flurries. My recollection is that this same time last year we were having days in which the temperature stayed sub-zero around the clock. Still, the clouds won't break and it's making things a bit dreary.

Just yesterday, my oldest daughter, a high school sophomore, brought me a note from her orchestra conductor. The note came home two weeks ago, of course, but I was just getting it on January 3rd. The message? She needs to perform her solo piece with accompaniment at a school recital in a week. There are two catches: she's not ready to perform it...and I'm her accompanist. I hadn't even looked at the music until I saw the note. Eep.

The laundry is piled up in the basement, the kitchen is a mess, the baby is turning 5 months old this week and I STILL have not sent out birth announcements. I've been trying to hang window treatments in the den and in the nursery for months to no avail and we're still trying to solve the problem of sweating windows throughout the house (maybe it's an unknown setting on the humidifier we had installed in March?).

My birthday is coming up in 3 weeks and I'm feeling old. And fat. And tired.

And yet...

In each of these annoyances, isn't there a blessing?

I have a home, one I have wanted for years. The first home my husband and I have ever shared, even though we were married for three years before having one home we called "ours." More than that, it is more than I could have ever dreamed I would have. Plenty of space, lots of comfy corners, and beautiful wildlife that visit every day.

We have a driveway that needs to be cleared if we want to drive out of the house. But we have a car and a driveway and places to go in the car.

We have clothing to put on our backs to keep us warm. More than we need, in fact. We should donate some of our less-used coats and sweaters to a charity. Especially at this cold time of year.

I have health insurance with prescription coverage. And I can afford the co-pay. Yes, I could bitch all day about how broken the system is when it takes so long to get the medicine I need. But five years ago, I was suffering without the medicine, dealing with migraine pain with overdoses of OTC pain medicines because I didn't have sufficient insurance coverage. I'm definitely better off than I was five years ago.

About a year ago, I got a piano for free through our community's freecycle. Because of this, I have been able to enjoy making music in my more dismal moments. Sure, I've got to practice my head off in order to perform with my daughter in a week, but it's a simple pleasure that doesn't present itself often. It's a pleasure I wouldn't have at all if someone else hadn't given their piano to me.

We had a wonderful gift-giving season, full of family time and plentiful provisions. Food was flowing, and the smiles were all around. The gifts were spot-on and I went out today donning all new clothing. Clothing that fit around my broad belly. My broad belly that really isn't that broad, but I'd like to believe that I should have my 25-year-old body back despite my lack of discipline.

There, now. I think I've gotten my head screwed back on straight-like. A new year full of blessings.