Dinner in a Minute

We moms juggle. When I think about my life as a mom, I picture myself mentally, juggling. I've never mastered the skill of really juggling, I've tried several times and ended up once with a black eye from an apple (a brilliant episode in my life). Shortly after that I had to go to an emergency room for an unrelated problem. I was asked by no less than a dozen well-meaning medical people if I felt safe in my home. Number one it was a dorm, so really, the answer was no, but I didn't dare. Number two, I don't know how many times you can say, "I'm fine. I was attacked by fruit while attempting a circus act because my chemistry grade wasn't what it was supposed to be and I was looking into alternate careers."

When I later became a registered nurse and had to bumble my way through ER rotation, I found that most of workers had great senses of humor. Apparently, none of them were on duty that night.

I'm wandering again. It's all this juggling. It's like my brain is juggling and I'm madly typing to keep up with it and I can't quite make it and I really want to make a point, but

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Deep Breath.

I believe that moms do more than multi-task. Muti-tasking is for whimps. I mean, right now, I've got laundry tumbling, dinner bubbling, I'm on the phone with the laptop repair man, I'm writing, I'm carrying on an IM conversation with my husband, and I'm petting the dog with one foot and shoving Tech Decks under the couch with the other (Don't ask. I'm attempting to teach Young One the answer to what happens when you leave your teeny toy skateboards in an area where your mom, in bare feet will step on them while carrying a large load of laundry in a basket which will launch six feet in the air while she screams in pain and angst and watches several hours of folding and sock matching scatter on the floor of the family room. Yes, probably the best answer would be to have him help clean up the mess, but he wasn't going to be home for hours and I'm just waiting for him to ask, "Where are my Tech Decks?" And of course my response will be, "I have no idea. You'd better search the house.")

Where was I?

Oh yes, juggling.

Have you ever had one of those days where you're running around doing all the assorted things it takes to make a home a home and it's about a half an hour until dinner time and you have no idea what you're making? You know, those days when you:

• put the covers back on all the kitchen switches and outlets because they've been off for a project for forever


• find the replacement shoelace to a shoe because the first one was used to swing Spiderman across a room and didn't survive the trip


• menu plan while keeping within the budget and finding meals that your kid won't turn his nose up at (or you hubby either)


• fish Matchbox car parts out of the dryer vent (don't ask)


• try to figure out how to clean between that impossible to reach without moving the entire oven crack between the stove and the cabinets
  
• cut all the coupons that you've left in a pile to cut and then realize you didn't know about most of them when you were menu planning


• curse menu planning and coupons and anything else that has to do with trying to save money and budgeting and grocery shopping


• water the plants and accidentally water the dog requiring a towel and a milkbone for the dog and a mop for the floor


• decide once and for all that cleaning between the stove and the cabinets can happen when we need a new oven


• make some laundry detergent (this isn't as weird as it sounds, search under homemade cleaners and you'll find my powdered recipe) I made liquid today. More details later.


• wipe off the counters for the 400th time in one day


• bake a cake


• coordinate a playdate


• do at least 700 loads of laundry


• realize you forgot to renew the tabs on your car, so you quick run to the licensing office to take a number, wait in line, and then have them skip your number, so you have to make a scene to get service, and everyone in the office looks at you like you're completely looney.


• get home after receiving new license plates that look awfully funny because they're no longer embossed, but printed digitally, and learn that you can't get the bolts off the old license plate by yourself. And this pains you. Oh, it's awful, because you want to be an independent woman and really don't want to ask your husband to help you with something that he can easily do in five minutes and you curse your wimpy upper arm strength and vow to do more push ups and bicep curls and you'll lateral raise until your delts are steaming.
  
  
• Sort through the giant pile of mittens and gloves and hats and scarves and realize there are no matching pairs and the hats are all too small for Young One's winter wardrobe.
  
• Clean a bathroom.
  
• Walk with cleaning supplies into another bathroom and stand in a stupor wondering how two human beings can make such a mess in such a short time. Scowl at what looks at an entire tube of toothpaste in the sink. Wonder for two seconds how and why it's there. Entertain the thought of running away to Tahiti rather than cleaning it up. While cleaning it up, realize this is why Mrs. Cleaver took valium.
  
• Greet the child as he arrives home, hoping to appear like Mrs. Cleaver minus the apron and the valium.
  

I have to say, the meet and greet is one of the best parts of my day. I love to see Young One's first smile. I love to just listen, not ask a bunch of questions, but just listen to his day. I love to watch him devour a snack. When I had my business, I didn't get to have this precious time with him. I was too busy and too overwhelmed with all the work to be done that there was really only time for a quick hug and to get him settled before I had to head back to the desk. I do have to be thankful, though, that I rarely had to miss being the person he saw when he got off the bus. That was one perk of being a business owner--I set my own schedule!

Then, all of a sudden, the dinner hour is looming down on me. And with any luck, I've planned something and it's happily defrosted in the fridge. There are those days, though, when last minute dinner planning does happen. Thankfully, I usually have something around the house for just such a day. Sometimes it's breakfast for dinner, sometimes it's jazzed up sandwiches, sometimes frozen pizza and a tossed salad, sometimes the leftover buffet.

Pasta is almost always an option. This is one of our favorites. Don't try to juggle this recipe. It pretty much needs your entire attention for about 7 minutes. You can do it. Focus.

Shrimp Noodle Bowls

This recipe is quick to the table and delightfully delicious. Shrimp and pasta tossed with veggies in an Asian sauce. Please use your recipe builder to confirm Weight Watchers Points. It all depends on the ingredients you use. My recipe below is approximately 7 Points per serving and serves 6 generously.

1 box Ronzoni spaghetti (or other high fiber pasta)

1 bunch green onions, cleaned and chopped

1 bag broccoli cole slaw

1 16 ounce bag of medium-sized, cooked shrimp, thaw under cold, running water and drain well

Light Asian salad dressing--Ken's Steak House brand is great, Newman's Own is fab

Cook pasta as directed. Meanwhile, heat a skillet over medium high heat, spray with nonstick cooking spray, add onions and cook until tender. Remove from heat and set aside until pasta is done and draining. Place pan back on medium-high heat and add shrimp and broccoli slaw. Stir fry until crisp tender. Add noddles and toss to combine. Add Asian salad dressing, approximately 1/4 cup at a time, until noodles are coated and flavors are combined.

Add any veggies you have around. Peapods and red peppers would be delightful additions.

This is great with fresh mangoes topped with a little coconut for dessert.

The picture above is a delightful creation by ChimeraCrochet. Please visit her etsy store. I find her work filled with whimsy. She's very talented.

Mom, Lighten Up and Enjoy Halloween!

I love this blog. The Educated Plate. She's so informative about nutrition and what I like most of all, she advocates balance. Love it! I've shamelessly borrowed the title from her post, linked in below.

If you're thinking about giving your kids homemade fruit leather, high fiber granola, or a hunk of sweetened tofu and calling it a celebration, then click here. I can't say it any better than she did.

This intervention is for your own good. Lighten up and enjoy the holiday. Joy is so limited these days. Our country is so sad. Celebrate. It'll do ya good--and a little high fructose corn syrup won't hurt you. In fact, it might just sweeten you up.

Happy Halloween!

(And if it absolutely kills you to go out trick or treating with your kids, then hand out campaign materials--or stuff a Tootsie Pop in your mouth and shut it. I dare you not to smile when you see your kids scampering around spreading joy. And when they get home, I dare you not to dig through their stash to find your favorite!)

I've been voyaging on to other blogs and I've seen so many moms going overboard and being hypervigilent about this holiday. I truly believe that if you deprive, as The Educated Plate says, it will "lead to greater temptation and desire down the road". That is so true.

My son is eleven. He has a few friends that come from households that limit. They limit computer time, video games, monitor the books their kids choose and read. There are weird dietary specifications and rules about what they can and can't eat. Do they follow these limits at my house? Not really. I'm not going to be policing other people's children at my house. Don't get me wrong, I do believe in everything in moderation and I'll try to make sure the kids are doing what they should be. But, these kids that have so much micromanaging of their time and diet and reading by their parents CANNOT control themselves when they're on their own. They don't have the tools to do so because someone else has always guided them. And when they're away from their parents, they go nuts.

How do I approach this? Well, my job as a mom has been to prepare my son for life away from me. What good would it do for me to micromanage him? He certainly wouldn't be able to survive away from home if he couldn't learn self limitation, right? So, we've taught him how to make good decisions, using his own mind and abilities. If it's a nice day outside (we live in MInnesota, the weather rules our lives!), why would you stay inside and play video games? If you're getting frustrated by a game, if it's making your heart race and your face flush, take a break as this isn't good for your body in the longterm. If a book seems too scary or upsetting or seems against your values, then quit reading it.

If we moms are there for every little decision, how will they learn? What about life experience? We all remember a stomach ache from too much candy. What valuable lesson did you learn from that? Perhaps that's where moderation in all things starts revealing itself to us human beings as such a valuable life lesson. So, hey, couldn't Halloween be a vehicle for this very valuable life lesson?

I think you make a great mistake if you voyage forward from the infancy and toddler stages of parenting, where their every need is met by you, and still try to orchestrate their every move as they grow older. Once they've reached this independent stage, you've got to let go and let them live a little. As well, you can't let every day, every minute feel like a crucial, critical decision that might very well jeopardize your child's well being.

In other words, lighten up.

You'll be a better mother, a better parent, if you look at the big picture. The big picture, as in, a day of candy never hurt anyone. In fact, for many of us, Halloween stands out with very vivid and happy memories of our childhood. I wouldn't want to deny my son that joy.

We've seen a trend in the past few years. Schools no longer celebrating Halloween, but having a HARVEST festival. Churches preaching against the evils of trick or treating and the holiday in general. Health nuts preaching against the dangers of high fructose corn syrup.

Come on people. Let's just settle down and enjoy the season, set aside some of this policing of our kids, and just let them have fun. That, outweighs any negative effects of the experience.

(Oh and please don't comment about Young One having weapons in the above picture. Once again, I'm going to give you a big eye roll and a "lighten up." He was New Goblin last year from Spiderman. The sword and knife were all part of the costume. We're a peaceful family, but hey, you've got to have a big sword to be New Goblin. It's required. Boys will make guns out of their fingers and swords out of sticks if they have nothing else!)

Completely and Utterly Alone... And Enjoying the Company

I'm almost at the end of my long weekend alone.

I have to tell you. As a mom, I've never felt more rejuvenated in my life.

My thoughts have been my own and uninterrupted. I've just wandered and done only things that are enjoyable. No chores, no work, no nothing, unless I wanted to do it. I got to shop a little, went to the salon, chatted with friends, and went to Target without ever setting foot in the Lego aisle.

It has been bliss.

After speaking to a number of moms this weekend, I'm left wondering. Why don't we do this more often? I mean, you know you need a break when you jump into action at the high pitched whine of "Maaaaaahuuuuuummmmm" from some radom kid in the mall--that's about where I was before this weekend. When I almost introduced myself to a new parent at school as "Mom" I knew it was time. When I could remember all the rules to Life, the Simpsons version, but not my own Social Security Number, it was time.

I don't want to wait this long before getting another true break. There's something about getting to know yourself again that is so delightful. Please, get something on the calendar NOW. Set aside some time and don't make any concrete plans. Just let the time happen.

And as I say this, I realize, I need to make sure Hubby gets the same thing too. It's only fair.

Letting Go

I should be turning cartwheels and happily enjoying my first moments of a four day weekend alone. (I promise, I will do that soon.) I'm just having a bit of sadness here.

Young One's school owns an environmental learning center about 4 hours North of our house. It's just one more reason that we love our district. Every year, the fifth graders of his school get to spend a four day weekend there. It's a tradition at his school. And every parent I've talked to whose child has participated has had a blast. It's a jam packed weekend of bog stomping, wall climbing, archery, environmental studies, and just hanging out in the woods with your classmates. It's sort of a right of passage. It's the time when their class begins to bond as a class.

Young One has been very nervous about going and, I think, Hubby was too. He's chaperoning. I don't envy him, but I am so thankful that he's going. It's good to get to know other parents and the kids better. Having a boy, though, it wasn't an option for me to go. Secretly, all of us wives have been chatting. The dads were all pretty reluctant to go. Hey, I've done my time volunteering, this will make up for it.

There were lots of anxious parents and kids there this morning. For many kids, this was the first time away from home for more than just a night. We arrived bright and early. Young One's biggest fear? That he and his best friend would not be on the same bus. They assign buses and yes, his fear came true. While they're assigned to the same cabin, they weren't on the same bus. And this just broke his heart. And then, horror of horrors, he started to cry in front of his classmates. Well, for about 2 minutes, anyway. Enough to make me feel horrible.

As I looked around, it appeared that the members of the planning committee's kids all seemed to be on the same buses with their best friends, but I may have been seeing through the eyes of the MAD MOM. You know, mother bear, mother cougar starting to growl and grumble, looking for a chance to pounce. That mom. The one we all have lurking underneath our smiles. Don't hurt my kid. Such a strong instinct to protect, to fix, to make it all better.

The Momma Lion in me asked if we could do some switching, but I was met with the unrelenting stare of the PTA president. Now, I'm a little embarrassed for saying anything because he did find another good friend to sit with and when last I saw him, he was sitting as far away from his dad on the bus as he could get. Or, at least, that's what it appeared to be. Perhaps I was waving at some other kid. The smokey glass of the bus made it difficult to discern if there even were children on the bus!

These little steps of breaking away are hard. I wish What to Expect When You're Expecting would release a how-to book for preteens. You know, sort of a manual for how to hold yourself back when life throws your kid a curve ball, that in the end will just teach him to be a more adaptable person. There could be chapters about how to give them roots and wings. There could be chapters about how not to embarrass them. There could be a whole chapter about how to develop a secret code that would stand in place of a hug in public. ("Don't touch me in front of my friends," he has said, repeatedly.)

I do know that my kid is an intense person. He's a worrier. He needs a lot of predictability, which is hard because I'm a spontaneous person. He likes to know what to expect and he expected four hours with his best bud on the bus and this didn't happen. Will he survive? Certainly. Could we have pushed a bit more than we did? Maybe, but then I would have been THAT Mom. You know, the one that micromanages her kid's life and makes an ass of herself. I wasn't willing to go that far.

He'll have a good weekend. More than learning about the environment, he'll learn about being relatively on his own (despite dad being there--he won't be with dear old dad that much). He'll get closer to a lot of classmates. He'll find out that he can survive away from his best friend and that he can actually thrive without him.

Teachers and other parents have all told me that he is very well liked at school. A mom just told me this morning that he has so many friends and is so kind to everyone. I'm proud that he's in the top of his class, but I'm even prouder of the fact that last year he was voted unanimously as the kid that everyone in his class would like to be friends with. That means so much more to me than good grades.

I'll worry this weekend. I'll think about him. I've calmed down from the stress of the morning and I'm ready to move forward with some really great personal time for me. I miss those days when it was easier. When they're small, they're problems are smaller. Don't hit. Use your inside voice. Eat your vegetables. When they get older, the issues become bigger and it's not as easy to deal with as a mom.

And we haven't even started with girls yet. Sigh.

I had about 2 tears when I got home. No big, ugly, sobbing cry. After all, his dad is with him and now that I've written about it and talked to a friend, I feel much better. I decided I'd better not dwell on being lonesome and start enjoying MY time. As a mom, we get so little of this, I'm gonna savor it.

Bad Mom, Oh the Guilt

Today is field trip day to a local nature center for Young One. It's on, rain or shine, the permission slip said. And it's pouring. And, what do we find out this morning? His, what I thought was a rain jacket, is not really a rain jacket. It's a wind breaker.

I just got off the phone with a friend of mine who is chaperoning the field trip. She said, isn't it great that we'll find out that their rain gear works before the four day fifth grade trip this weekend? I told her our situation and the hope that they wouldn't be outside all day. She was silent. I asked her to give him a garbage bag if it gets bad. She laughed.

The guilt. I feel so bad.

This is supposed to be my job and I royally screwed up today. I hate this feeling.

The Darndest Things

Cute kid comment from this week.

"I just love those Peanut M&Ms, especially the ones without the peanuts."

I am the Toilet Paper Fairy

I am the CEO of our Home. The Queen of the Clean Latrine. Domestic Goddess is an understatement. I am a stay at home mom. Oh, I've been a working mom too, don't jump on me. Neither is harder than the other, but I will find that my current job comes with much less guilt than the other.

Watching Oprah yesterday, she featured "The Country's Most Hated Mom". You remember the story of the mom who was a vice principal (I think) of an elementary school. On a busy day, with her young child sleeping in the back of her car, she bypassed the daycare drop off and headed straight to work. Eight hours later, her daughter was discovered, dead of heat stroke, in the back of the car. A horrific story. A horrible accident. No one was to blame.

I'm not going to talk about the craziness of mom's lives and the busy schedules that we lead, whether working or "not" (which are you kidding me? I work all day at home!). I'm not going to go into our first thought at this story: how could you forget your child? She didn't forget her child, she was just juggling and rushing and racing and their schedule had changed (dad usually dropped off the wee ones) and a horrible, horrible thing happened. I forgive her. She will never forgive herself, so adding to that is really a waste of our time.

So, why am I writing this? Well, it's because there are so many things that we moms juggle on a daily basis. Terrible accidents like this are rare, but what happened after she told her story was so interesting. Oprah had opened an anonymous phone line to let mothers call in their stories of being overwhelmed. She shared other stories of braver women who faced the camera and talked about their insane schedules and their thinly stretched selves. They all cried out for understanding, help, sympathy, and for a chance to just vent.

I think what people don't realize is that there's only so much that our brains can handle at once, but yet, we try to cram in even more. We live in a fast-paced world and I don't think we're any better for it. Information comes at us at lightening speed, people work harder and longer than any time in the past, and crazy schedules are the norm. I'm lucky, in some respects, that I only have one child. After having five miscarriages and being denied adoption due to a medical condition, I never thought I would say that. (I guess I'm finally in the acceptance stage--yeah!) Last night, while helping with homework, I was also: cleaning the kitchen, refilling a prescription, filling out a permission slip, writing a check, writing a list, crossing off on the list, feeding the fish and the dogs, having a conversation with D about our kitchen floor, answering an email, and looking for some cough drops while trying to figure out just what a factor is so I don't look stupid when Young One asks another question and thinking that I should just sneak over to my laptop and Google "factor", but then can I really be that old that I can't remember what it is and then it comes back to me and...

Deep Breath.

Sometimes I think if you could look inside the mind of a mom you would see a whole circus spinning around with jugglers, clowns, gymnasts, daredevils, and that obligatory little girl over in the corner crying into her cotton candy because she's afraid of the clowns. The lion tamer is cracking the whip and somewhere in there is a Ringmaster who's so freaking tired of managing the whole thing that she's ready just to drop. (But, she looks good in her black pants and snappy red blazer!)

Now, back to the title. Just where did I come up with that anyway? Well, you see, it comes from just one of the many invisible jobs that I do around the house to keep it running smoothly. Oddly enough, in a house with three bathrooms, one that I rarely use, it seems that I am the only one that can change the toilet paper. Sometimes, there will be two squares on the roll, but no one has changed it (Am I alone here?). I've threatened, cajoled, nagged, but to no avail. My question of, "Could you use two squares to do the job?" has gone unanswered. Some day. SOME DAY. I am going to hide all those full rolls that are always available under the cabinet, leave the two squares on the holder and make sure not another paper product is in sight, and wait for my trap to spring. I'll be nowhere near the bathroom, but within earshot, and laugh gleefully when I hear the, "Hey, where's the toilet paper?!!"

I'm rambling again, aren't I?

I do a lot of invisible jobs. Toilet paper fairy is just one of them. Here are some more:

• Warm Feet Fiend (Bathroom Rug Cleaner) Young One thought I just "bought new or somethin' "



• Flame Thrower. (Oven cleaner) Yes, we do have an automatic one, but someone has got to wipe it out.



• Refrigerator Deep Sea Diver and Brave Explorer. I do delve into the nether regions and open containers that only a mom could look into and survive the smell. I also have been known to fight toxic spills to the death.



• Milk Maid. No matter how fast you drink it or how slow it goes, we will never go without. Your cereal is safe.



• Junk Mail Banisher. There will be no recyclable junk mail that doesn't meet my wrath.



• Dr. PooLittle. OK, I stole this from a dog poop clean up service, but it's way to cute. Yes, I do the doo, occasionally.



• Juliet the French Maid. No, not what you think, that would be too obvious. But, I do clean and make beds every day.

I'm running out of time, so I can't write more. But, I think you understand what I'm getting at. We moms juggle. When you work outside the home, you juggle even more. Sometimes it goes unnoticed all that we do and that can be extremely frustrating, but I think dads do the same. When was the last time you thanked your spouse or partner for a little thing? Maybe if we start doing that, our little things will get noticed too!

On a side note, I've tried to offer up prayers for this poor woman who lost her daughter. I get a little dumbstruck, though. I can't find the words. So, I'm just sending up some positive prayers for some healing and for some peace. Anything else, would be impossible. She was very brave to tell her story and perhaps, she can find some solace that because of her, many others will not make the same mistake.

The Housewife--One of Those Days

I woke to Young One beating on my arm, yelling, "The basement is a lake." Oh crap. I seriously took a heartbeat to think about burying my head under my pillow while wishing the world away.

When I got to the basement, my initial assessment was that all was lost, but when I looked closer it was less of a lake and more of a pond. I tried to do the I Dream of Jeannie arms-crossed-eye-blink to make it all go away. When I opened my eyes, though, it was still there. You've got to give me credit for trying! As a kid, I thought that one day my magical powers would just instantly arrive. Maybe this morning could have been the day. I'll keep working on the wink part.

I've just spent the last couple of hours soaking up water with a shop vac, throwing out the ruined stuff (which was mostly junk), and cursing the fact that I was ultimately responsible for the flood in the first place. You see, in a fit of industry yesterday, I cleaned my laundry room sinks. Not a bad idea, in theory, right? I thought that I should soak them with bleach water to get some grime off, and remembering that the water softener drains through one side of those sinks, I realized that I needed to set a timer to remind me to drain them before going to bed that night. The timer went off during dinner, a particularly busy time in all households, and I shut it off without resetting it. "I won't forget," I thought. Famous last words.

It's these little reminders of our humanity that sometimes give us pause, right? I mean, here I've been plugging along, taking care of a sick kid, juggling medicine and thermometers and laundry and trying to figure out foods that appeal to him and neck rubs and warm blankets and Popsicles and lack of sleep and doctor trips and nausea from medicine and temperatures so high I think he'll have a seizure and missing school and friends phone calls and cleaning up spaghettio's off the floor because that's what he wanted for lunch but then the dog ate most of it when he was away from his plate and then BAM. The first day back of relative normalcy around here, the day that I thought I would catch up, and God sends a curve ball.

It's moments like these that I remind myself of the importance of sometimes just surrendering to whatever it is that needs me most. These little bumps in the road remind me that I need to just let go. I didn't curse or cry, I just dug in and got the job done. So much of being an At Home Mom is just that--slogging through the days, the monotony, the repetition--it's enough to make even the most patient of people go nuts. Then there are those days when you actually stand back, hands on hips and realize, I'm making a home for my family. That's the paycheck and if I have to slog through it a few days of the year, so be it. I definitely had those days in the working world too, but these are so much more rewarding.

The pond is almost dried up and I'm thinking about using it to my advantage. There are a few things down there that just might become innocent victims of the flood. Like that box of stuffed animals that Young One just can't part with. Could I claim that unused weight bench that D just had to have as a victim too?

My Favorite Day: Eleven Ten Year Old Boys--the aftermath

I think this was the last big group birthday party. Well at least until there's a milestone celebration, like 16. Perhaps I've said this in years past. When the aftermath of the birthday party is still surrounding me, it's hard to want to host another one. I think there are at least 7,000 little pieces of plastic masquerading as presents floating around our first floor. I just spoke in tongues when I stepped, barefoot, on a Lego on the way to the kitchen.

Here I sit in our family room, blogging and catching up on the happenings on Wisteria Lane. The party was Saturday, but I was too wiped out to write then, plus we had family guests that night too. Young One spiked a 102 fever the night of his party and then again Sunday night. So, I've been pretty busy and pretty tired being up all night. According to the doctor, he has a sinus infection and she's pretty sure he has strep, although he didn't test positive for it the first time around. He has a horrible sore throat and is talking like he has marbles in it. That, and the fever, are pretty sure signs for him. Oh well, regardless of what he has, he's being treated. He's home again today and seems a little better, despite not eating.

What is it about kids not eating that gets us moms all worried? It's not like he's wasting away, it's just a couple days of bomb pops and white grape juice. He'll survive. But, I digress.

Back to the party. The original guest list had about 25 kids, but we had to pare it down. This was such a great group. Of course, there was a clinker or two (but only briefly), and for the most part, they were really well behaved.

Here are some highlights:

• The Red Team demolished the Green Team at laser tag. However, I was informed that there were several malfunctioning guns on the Green Team, so there had to be a rematch. I believe all the subsequent games were ties. I may have the colors wrong, so if I discuss this later with Young One, I'll just play along. I have no idea what team was the supreme ruler of the universe, but I do know, they were sweaty, giggling, and grinning after every game.



• The Darth Vader cake did semi-permanently stain their mouths black. They loved it! Mission accomplished. Thank you Magic Byerly's Cake Ladies



• If you pull hard enough on the ticket dispensers in the arcade, more come out, but to use the word of the week, it's totally "random".



• The automatic climbing wall thingie was driven by body weight. Most could make it go, but of course we had one that couldn't get it to move and one who's body weight kept it at warp speed.



• If you pull on the controls of the bumper cars a certain way, it makes an extremely horrendous sound. If you all do it at once, the odd dude running the ride will call you all Asswipes. Well, not so the kids can hear it, but I heard it enough to find it extremely funny. Poor guy. That job must be hell.



• Eleven boys and not even one armpit fart noise the entire time. I think this is a record.



• Eleven boys and only one slight injury--a couple of skinned knees.



• Eleven boys can go through an 18 whole miniature golf game in less than 10 minutes. I think I owe the poor little girl and her awestruck parents that were ahead of us a pony and a couple of t-bone steaks. They were relatively good sports and were seriously stunned by the force and speed with which our group played.



• Eleven boys with marshmallow guns will make your front yard look like a snow storm passed through. I bought the guns wholesale on ebay. Cost was about a buck a piece, so much cheaper than making them.



• Birds don't like marshmallows. Bummer. I think the squirrels do though!



• My van smells like feet, I can't get the song I Like to Move It out of my head (it's required birthday party cd play), and I'm still smiling at the kid who told me he hasn't had this much fun since Christmas.

Apparently, according to some of the other moms, I've been voted the cool mom. I've never felt more honored. I do enjoy them all and have always loved to hang with the kids. They're so honest and kind and don't carry all that stuff that adults do.

Young One has awesome friends. They're a great mix and his best friends are just amazing. These kids! I can see them several years from now as big guys, wearing Axe cologne and going to the prom. I actually can envision them driving (shudder) and going through teen angst together. I can see the men they're going to be. What a great bunch. Polite, fun and funny, cute, and kind. I hope they never change.

I'm off to Google "how to get feet smell out of your van". Oy.

Sometimes Letting Go Means Letting it Be

So, I have these days where I make mad dashes from the computer to my errands or from keyboard to household jobs. Today is one of those days. As I was vacuuming the stairs I was thinking so deeply about parenting (while rocking out to Pink on my iPod) that I just barely missed getting clobbered by the vacuum cleaner as I stretched beyond the limits of the reaches it's hose attachment thingie. With a rush of adrenalin and the need to get these words down, here I sit.

No, my life didn't pass before my eyes, but I did think that at Parent Night tonight I could have had a black eye or that I could very soon be in the market for a new vacuum cleaner!

Anyway, as I was cleaning the carpets, I was thinking about how sometimes, we as moms don't allow our spouses or partners to just parent in their own way. I'm guilty of this. I know how Young One likes his eggs, Dad just couldn't possibly do it the same way. Dad can't possibly match clothes. (well, this is most certainly true in our home, but they're just clothes.) What message does this send our kids? Not only does it teach them to be inflexible, it also creates an environment where you, as mom, are the be all end all. The, "here, just let me do that" takes away from your kid more than it helps.

This is something that I've been working on for a long time. Well, since Young One was born, anyway. I'm a bit of a control freak. I'm really good at reading people and knowing what they need or what they're thinking. I can multitask and anticipate needs really well--that's why I was a great nurse. My docs never needed to ask for a thing. Now Hubby isn't this way, but that doesn't mean his methods are inferior. It just means that they're, well, different. And different is sometimes, more than I'd like to admit, better.

So, every day, I'm letting go of more and more of the control. Young One demands it as he's very independent. I honestly can't remember the last time I made him breakfast (except for weekend treats). He usually is really good at picking out his own clothes. He cleans his own room when the clutter gets deep enough on the floor. He needs me more on a different level than he did when he relied on me for physical needs. And he needs his dad to do things for and with him, just because he needs a strong role model who goes about things differently than dear old mom.

Letting go means letting it be. By that, I mean, sometimes you just have to let things slide in the interest of promoting independence or letting a different point of view rub off. That doesn't mean it's going to be easy, but sometimes you just have to remind yourself of what's more important. Is it more important that his clothes match perfectly or is it better to foster that sense of self that he chose them himself? Is it more important that the eggs are soft scrambled just the way he likes them or is it better to discover a new way of eating eggs, like the Daddy Omelets that were so popular in preschool?

We moms aren't the be all end all. It's what we do now that will make them want a relationship with us when their older. If we do everything for them our way all the time, what will they do when we set them free?

I'm so lucky. I get to work at home, and my job is making a Home for my family. I have a spouse who respects the fact that my job insures that he can do his. I don't need to justify my days to him. He doesn't worship the almighty dollar, wanting more, therefore wanting me to get a "real" job. He knows that I already have one. Our partnership isn't always easy. Being a control freak, I'm pretty certain that I make it difficult for him, but I'm working on it. Thankfully, though, we balance each other out. So, appreciating that he lets me be, makes me want to let him be and that sometimes means, letting go.

Tonight is Parent Night at school and I'll get to see all kinds of parents, some new and some that I've known for years. Most of us are kindred spirits, but there just might be more from that mom who at Meet Your Teacher Night just had to get in there and micromanage her kid's school experience (God help him and our teacher!). Let it go, sweetie!

I wrote this a couple of weeks ago and just now scheduled it to be published. As I'm setting it up, what comes across my computer screen, but this quote:

"The worst thing you can do for the ones you love are the things they could and should do for themselves." John Wooden

Well said.

Mompetition

“Well, I’m a more of a Mom than you are,” I said and then I pushed her into a conveniently placed mud puddle which somehow happened to be in the hall outside the school library.

I was having a conversation in my mind with a particularly perfect mom. She’s at school every day volunteering, gets up (or claims to) at 4 am to run and do butt lifting exercises. Her kids are all named to sound like cereal (Quisp, Crunch, and Shredded Wheat) and they all play soccer, while in the chess club and the student council. They wear matching sweaters in their Christmas photos. She drives a massive SUV and has her roots retouched every two weeks. She’s a professional mom, a competitive mom, and I can’t stand her. I think it’s the way that she inserts snippets of her perfect-hood into the conversation. You know the type, “Oh, my sons would never eat fruit snacks,” as if my son was doing crack. And, it's fruit leather, you idiot.

A couple of weeks ago, my son told me that one of her kids eats his own boogers and the other one cries at school a lot. I secretly rejoice in the first bit of information and get teary eyed over the second.

Mompetition. Mom Competition. I hate it. Maybe it’s just a woman thing. When I talk to my husband about this, he just snorts and gets a blank look on his face. I honestly don’t think there’s anything like this in the Man World. I mean, they have full contact sports where they can work it out. Or they have that ability to call each other an asshole without the threat of it turning into a month long snit fest.

The thing about Mompetition is that it gets inserted into conversations, casually and before you know it, Moms are one-upping each other right and left. I once broke up an almost sure to be fist fight that started with one mom talking about how busy they are (certain Mompetition fightin’ words).

A wise woman once said to me, “When you have one child, they take up all your time. When you have a second, they both take up all your time. When you have more, they take up all your time.” No mom is more busy than another. And, come on ladies, our kids are all not perfect. Quite honestly, I just love hearing about the struggles so much more than a litany of little Johnny’s goodness. I find it refreshing to talk to other moms about how our kids assert their independence or how they, as all humans do, mess up.

Want to start a really interesting conversation? Ask other moms what their child’s most recent learning experience was. Rarely will women start trying to one up each other showing off their kid’s mistakes. In fact, there just might be a bit of relief in sharing some really real experiences.

Declaration of Independence

Officially, my job as a parent has an objective and that is to make sure my son is equipped with the ability to live on his own. I must make sure that he is constantly challenged with independence. And while that might sound like a huge challenge, it really isn't. I mean, kids come with this inner drive to be independent. Ask any mother of a two year old and she'll laugh when you talk about her little one saying, "I can do it myself." And she'll roll her eyes if you ask her how long it took her little sprite to get herself dressed that morning (and most likely, the conversation will lead to just how long her kiddo has been wearing her brother's Batman costume and rain boots.)

I guess what I'm trying to say, is that Young One is a pretty independent kid. Now, this does come with a price, as in, cleaning up the kitchen (with his help, of course) after he's successfully splattered Chicken Noodle-Os all over the stove, counter, and floor. But, he had to learn how to not make a mess and the best way to learn that lesson is to have to clean up one of your own in the first place!

At this point in his rearing (a strange word, if I do say so myself), I've realized that it would take MORE work to do for him than it does to have him do something himself. So, perhaps we've turned a bit of a corner. Our relationship now is more about guidance, friendship, and laundry. I guide, we hang out together, and he produces a lot of laundry. Actually, he helps with the laundry too, so that's not even that bad.

I know a lot of parents who won't let their kids grow independent and I wonder what price this smothering has on their children. Is it that they need to be needed, need to guarantee that they have this job called parenting. Is it that they can't stand the thought of the messes that might initially result from independent exploration in the kitchen or that their kid just might not get the bathtub as sparkling clean as they can? Or worse yet, that they might suffer some freak accident, getting soap in their eyes or cutting themselves on a butter knife? These things may all very well happen, but they may not, as my dear old dad used to say.

As parents, we give roots and wings to our kids. Sometimes the wings are harder to give. I'll admit, that only having one child, I don't have room for mistakes (not like you think of your kids as spares, but I have only one chance to do this job). So, I can be a little overprotective when it comes to independent voyages to the men's room or riding his bike alone to a friend's house. But, when it comes to independent life skills, I'm all over it. Fly, Young One, fly. I'd much rather stand back and watch him succeed after many failures than fail to let him succeed.

Cry Baby

Sometimes I hate kids. I mean, you've got to love their honesty and cuteness and all that, but sometimes, I just don't like them. Well, not the collective them. It's actually just one that I don't like. One that just gets my hackles up, whatever hackles are. When a kid does something that gets my fierce mother lioness side all hot and bothered. If you're a mom, you know what I mean. I don't think dads come programmed with this. Thankfully, they come with the "let's build something or blow something up" gene that is somewhat useful at times. But, I digress.

The incidents I'm thinking of didn't happen recently, but are forever burned in my mind and last night I saw the kid responsible for them. Oooh, kid, I still don't like you.

So, you know this kid. Everyone has one of these kids in their class. You know, the one who they now are labeling with "anger management issues". (Insert big eye roll here.) The one, who for reasons you don't know or reasons you really don't want to know, can't control himself. He's the one that has been raised wrong. He's broken and really, there is no hope for this kid. But, somehow he has more rights to an education than the rest of the rule-abiding children that surround him in class. But, once again, I digress. Back to the incidents.

In first grade, Young One was still very trusting. He was a cute kid who got on the bus with the big boy neighbors, wearing a backpack bigger than he was. Until the incident that became his first peek at how not nice human beings just can be to each other.

Anger Management Boy, who I believe at the time was maybe called Oppositional Defiance Disorder Boy or Hyperactive Attention Deficit Boy, just walked up to Young One and put him in a choke hold. It took several teachers to get him off my son. We were called. The Principal (insert Dun, Dun, Duhhhhhhh music here) was involved. A social worker chimed in. It was chaos.

Bottom line: my son had a red bruised neck for a week, his voice got raspy, and he was extremely traumatized (as was I) by the whole experience.

So, what's a mom to do? I called, trying to keep my mother lioness personality at bay the best that I could. I spoke with the teachers, the principal, and the social worker. I hear about Anger Management Boy's "issues", his "family environment". I hear about the "messy divorce." And what I discovered is that my child doesn't have the same right to an education (in a safe environment) that the child now known as Anger Management Boy does.

So, a couple of years go by, and for the most part, encounters with A.M. Boy are limited. I refuse to allow Young One to be in a class with him and so far, my requests have been honored. This year, however, A.M. Boy attacked Young One again. As the teacher put it, "It happened so fast, no one could react. We were all so shocked." Young One came off with a scratch and a swollen nose from a punch to the face. His glasses were bent and the lenses gouged. More traumatic to him was the trip to the Principal's office in which he was made to feel as if HE was also in trouble (not really by the school staff, just his own perception).

This time, I went to school, and took Young One home for a breather. He needed to recharge before going back to his class and Lord knows, his whole school didn't need to see him with a tear streaked face, red nose, and crooked glasses. A.M. Boy's parting words from the office to my son were, "Cry Baby." I've never spanked my child, but man, did I want to lay out this kid.

Once again, I call, I speak to anyone that will listen to me. And once again I ask, why does this child have more rights than mine? At what point, do we intervene and remove this child from the school? What does it take to actually get expelled these days? I'm told, again, that this is a child caught up in a very messy divorce ("The divorce is still taking place three years later?" I asked). He has "issues", he has a "personal behavior plan" in place. His blah blah blah blah blah, politically correct terms, blah blah blah blah, blathery blah blah. So, placate me and keep it quiet, and wait it out and pass this kid off to the middle school principal in a year. GRRRR.

So, Young One lays on my bed, we watch a few cartoons. I wait until some calmness comes over him and until his heart beat isn't thumping hard enough to flutter the front of his shirt. And I tell him that we're not going to let this boy keep him from his friends and HIS school. That we're going to get it together and go back. And that he should hold his head high, not let this boy defeat him. I explain to him as gently as I can that this boy is broken and most likely will never get better and that he needs to stay clear of him. I also told him that it is appropriate to protect himself in any way he needs to and to use his Tae Kwon Do moves if he needs to defend himself. (This was so hard for the pacifist in me, but Mother Lion had taken over somewhat here.)

Fast forward a few months and A.M. Boy is now stealing lunch money from kids on a field trip I was chaperoning. The money gets back to it's rightful owners, but really nothing but a wrist slap happens to him. He laughs on the bus ride back to school. "Next time, I won't get caught," I hear him brag. Oy.

So, last night is Young One's Summer Orchestra Concert and A.M. Boy is part of the orchestra (which is so surprising to me because as a general rule music kids are good to the core--it's probably part of his behavior management plan! HA!). I now just look at the kid and think, "What a little creep," and don't spend much more time thinking about him other than picturing his future in some Boot Camp for Bad Kids (I think this is a franchise!) or in jail.

The concert is lovely. What a great group of kids. With all of them playing, you don't hear the squeaks and ear bleed inducing squeals that can happen when you give a ten year old a string instrument and a bow. And they play a Jewish song that happens to be Young One's favorite song of the concert. And it reminds me of the last time he practiced that song for me. As he finished it, he got this funny look on his face and his eyes filled with tears. "It's just such a sad song, Mom. It just gets to me."

And I'm touched. And so proud of my Cry Baby. He may be the one that has tears again at school and just might hear that name calling again someday. But, he'll also be the one that will cry as he makes his wedding vows and when he sees his child for the first time.

Cry Baby.

That's okay with me.