Learning to balance the teenager line

It must have been quite late, that night several months ago, when the creeping footsteps woke me. I could feel her in the room, hesitating by my bedside, hoping to not startle me awake.

"What do you need?" I mumbled, still half asleep.

"Matthew just threw up. I've started a bath for him and stripped the sheets. I'll wash him off, remake the bed and clean it all up. I just remembered running water in the middle of the night often wakes you, and I didn't want you to worry when you heard it."

I felt instant relief as I sank back into dreamland. My teenager seemed to grasp what needed done and had it under control. My precious sleep time could be preserved.

Just as I hit the brink of oblivion, a thought jolted me back; I suddenly remembered that I am the mother. She was a good-hearted teenage girl who still needed sleep before facing a full day of middle school. Just because she is willing to take on responsibility doesn't mean I should make her. So I sighed as I forced my body fully awake. I thanked her for being so kind to her youngest sibling, and sent her off to bed while I headed down to take care of a sick preschooler.

---

I know I lucked out with my teenagers. So far, they still like my husband and me. In fact, they still model their behavior on us. I guarantee you if I'd heard how she comforted her brother that night, it would've been exactly what I'd say. They crave responsibility and often thrive on it.

My struggle is finding the balance. Where is the line between teaching them to be a grown up and letting them be a kid a while longer?

The hard thing is I suspect that darn line is moving around. Not only is it vastly different for every child and age, it is different from day to day. Sometimes it's movement can be measured in minutes. At times, I realize I've heaped too much responsibility on and other times I've let the load become too light. Tracking our proximity to this child-teenager-adult line is often near impossible.

But even I knew midnight sick duty for a four-year-old jumped far over the line. Despite what my sleep addled mind whispered in the moment.

Dinner tonight, however, will be up for you-should-know-how-to-do-this grabs.

Abdicating as Cool Mom, or Am I?

I've been the mother of a teenager for all of one month and I've already abdicated my position as Cool Mom.  I would like to say I did so willingly, but my husband forced my hand with his good example.

Good examples sure can stink sometimes.

It went down like this...

Elise recounted a conversation she was having with her friend.  In response to Elise mentioning she wasn't going to a party that weekend, her friend asked, "Why not?  It's your mom again, isn't it."  Apparently the fact that she has a bedtime, she can't go to dances until she's fourteen, does not yet own a cell phone, and has to check with her parents before RSVPing a party makes us, well, less than cool.

(We also make her do chores and share a room with her sister. Oh, and there is the small matter of my dressing abilities, but her friend couldn't have known that.)

But wait!  I was sure the decade between me and the other moms' age allows me to be Cool Mom for at least another few years.  I mean I twitter, I text, my hairdo didn't come from the 1980's.  I felt sucker punched.

The worst part was Elise had assumed I wasn't letting her go to the party when all I'd said was that I needed to know more information about parental supervision.  I was misquoted.  I should still be Cool Mom!!!

Anyway, that night I was teasing Elise about stealing my Cool Mom status, when my husband piped in with his opinion:

"I'll tell you what my mom told me, you can always use me as the excuse for anything you don't feel comfortable doing."

Shoot!  He was, of course, right.  I should play the scapegoat happily.  (Don't worry, he was only right for about 5 minutes and then the keys he was sure I'd misplaced were found in his pocket.)

Anyway, have you heard?  Strict is the new cool.  I am Cool Mom after all, her friends just won't realize it for another 15 years.

Choosing our battles in the Hormone Wars.

We realize we're in a battle field

Getting ready for a lovely Sunday afternoon walk escalated quickly last weekend into a scream fest between my two oldest children.  Seems one decided the only acceptable bike helmet was her brother's and the other decided (after not wearing said helmet for a year or so) he absolutely had to wear it, too.  Peter and I watched, perplexed, and I asked him if my memory was shot or hadn't they both been wearing our helmets forever?  He assured me my memory is indeed shot, but I was correct in this instance. 

As we began walking down the street I asked him, "What, pray tell,  is wrong with them?!?" 

(Yes, I do speak sometimes as though I belong in a different century)

"Don't you know, yet?  The Hormone Wars have begun.  Estrogen makes her overly sensitive and testosterone makes him a territory protecting maniac and a bit of a confrontation junky."  

(I cleaned his response up a bit, there was some mention of hair growing in unmentionable places)

My husband is a wise man.  Hormone driven battles explain why those two have recently started fighting all the time! In that moment of clarity I saw the next 20 or so years of my life.  It would help if I wasn't also still a participant in the Hormone Wars from time to time.  We estrogen driven soldiers like to eat our own, don't we?

The battle is over, but the repercussions are not

The battle ended with a BRAND NEW not INEXPENSIVE bike left for dead at the end of our driveway.  I will let you decide if it was "dropped" or "pushed" as I wasn't there and both claims came from unreliable sources.  My daughter stomped inside to fume and my son decided he didn't want to ride a bike after all and joined the rest of the family on foot.


When we finished the 3/4 miles around the block, the BRAND NEW not INEXPENSIVE bike was still at the end of our driveway, laying there (lying there?) as a symbol of the devastation possible during the Hormone Wars.  This despite the fact that I had emphatically reminded my daughter, and made her repeat it back to me,  that she was to never, ever, under any circumstances to leave her BRAND NEW not INEXPENSIVE bike unattended outside.

I quickly captured it as a prisoner of war, stashing it on the side of the house, and going inside to tell her to put her bike away.   Unfortunately she found her "stolen" bike before taking my suggestion to run around the block looking for the thief.

(Hey, we parents have to find entertainment wherever we can.)

Punishment Ensues


So there we sat, my irritated daughter on one couch, my husband and I on the other.  As the hider of the bike I had instigated punishment and it is an unspoken understanding that the punishment instigator gets first rights in deciding punishment.  While she listened, this is the conversation my sweetheart and I had (please remember the remark about my memory being shot, this is the best approximation of the conversation that I can come up with):

"So, what are you going to do with her?"



"I haven't decided yet, any ideas you're particularly fond of at the moment?"


"The way I see it, there are two things that need punished, right?  Not going on the family walk and leaving the bike out."

"I was leaning towards making her cook dinner.  You know, serve the family since she abandoned us on the walk, plus I don't want to cook. What dinners are left on our menu for the week?"

At this point she breaks in with "Chicken and rice.  I know that was on the list this week and hasn't been made yet."


"Alright, Elise you have to cook chicken and rice for dinner tonight."

"Is that all you got!?!"  You're getting lazy in your old age."

"You mean you don't think making her do one of her favorite things (cooking) with one of her favorite meals (chicken and rice) is punishment enough?  All right, let me think."


(We are all struggling to keep straight faces.)

"I was thinking about grounding her from her bike, but that would be counterproductive.  We bought the bike so that she could use it for exercise.  No sense in punishing her by taking away something we want her to do.  What's your thoughts?"


"I was leaning toward grounding the bike, but you're reasoning is sound.  It can't be that."



"I know, let's punish her by making her ride her bike!  Since she didn't join us on a walk around the block today, she must ride her bike two times around the block every day for a week."


"Maybe 10 times."



"10?!?  That's over 7 miles.  How 'bout four times?"

"Seven?"

 

"Three.  Elise, you have to go around the block on your bike 3 times everyday for a week."


"Unless it's raining." 



(Remembering we live in New England)

            "Or snowing."



"You should be punished for mentioning snow."


All's well that ends well

Granted, the punishments were not severe, not even really punishments.  But in the process:

• We got our Hormone War wounded daughter to smile.  
• I didn't have to make dinner. 
• She is going out on her bike everyday (and her combatant participant is being "forced" to accompany her for safety).  
• We made our point: family walks are not exactly optional and leaving the bike out will not be tolerated (this was her one and only warning, we made it clear the next time it really will be GONE).
• Not to mention showing her that her parents are a unified front and our punishments are based on some sort of thought process and not randomly pulled from the air (most of the time)

In the Hormone Wars, we sometimes have to choose our battles.

Birthday Cake . . . The Rest of the Story

I'd asked Elise for a couple weeks what she wanted for a birthday cake.  I've noticed my kids are getting more daring with their cake ideas, and knew I would need time to make whatever she choose.  So far I've been able to make whatever they've thought up, but Elise took the cake (HaHa!) when she finally chose her design.  I really shouldn't let them watch Cake Boss anymore.

She wanted a topsy turvey cake.  That was by far more difficult than anything I'd yet attempted, so I started googling.  I spent at least 2-3 hours looking up the right way to make the cake, how to make a box cake mix dense enough to carve, and the best way to make a smooth frosting (since I am not ready to try fondant yet).  Then I bought the supplies: 3 cake mixes (with the dense rich recipe made it more like 6 mixes) and 3.5 batches of frosting (2 lbs powdered sugar each), 2 cake pans each of three sizes.

And then I started baking.  9 layers baked, frozen, stacked, carved, frosted, re-frozen, stacked again, frozen again, frosted again and then decorated.  I made it early (just in case I couldn't do it and needed an alternative cake).Oh hubris, I even took pictures as I went.  I knew from the beginning it would be either spectacular or spectacularly disastrous and thought the documented journey would be fun either way. 

It was spectacular!  Don't get me wrong, I don't think I'm the next cake decorating diva.  What I mean is that it was the hardest cake I'd ever made and it turned out better than I expected.  Elise loved it, I loved it, and that made it spectacular.

Without further ado, here is the cake:

And here is how it looked the next morning:
(2 days before I needed it)

I guess the boxed cake with extra dense additions wasn't strong enough.  Or I moved it too often trying to get pictures, or I should have kept it frozen until we ate it.  You can see the dowel sticks stuck in for support.  They failed.

This is the first time I've had a cake that was both spectacular and a spectacular disaster.

I'm thinking I might smack the candles on top of the mess and still use it (no friends party just our family).  What do you think?

_____________

I can't believe I forgot to do the beautiful blogger last post!  The next person on my list is Jane at Seagull Fountain.  Jane writes beautifully and thoughtfully.  She is able to give her opinions directly without being offensive (I don't always agree with her but never feel attacked), probably because her ideas are always so well thought out.  Her writing is a wonderful mix of the angst and joy involved in motherhood and life in general.  She also twitters as @SeagullFountain

I must confess I have extra love for her blog because she was my first.  That's right, back when I was checking friend's side bars trying to find long lost friends I clicked over to her blog.  Back then I would usually move on if I didn't know the person, but her writing drew me in and I read and read.  I found I was always searching for her blog on that side bar to check for new postings and finally added her to google reader.  About 6 months later I finally had the courage to comment on her blog. I still get excited to open google reader and see that she has posted.  I'm excited to meet her in May.


Please note I am not some sycophant stalker, I just believe in giving credit where credit is due.

This week has joined the last 13 years of my life.

What do you mean it's Friday?  I know it can't be Friday because this was the week I was going to get caught up on everything.  Since I'm not caught up, surely it is yet to be the end of the week.  Besides next week my oldest becomes an official teenager, and I know that must still be light years away.  Right.  Right?  RIGHT?!?

Please don't tell me I don't look old enough to have a teenager because what I desperately need is to feel old enough to have one.  I don't need reminders right now that I'm on the young end of the mothering spectrum.  For this week only I will accept "you seem very old for your age" as an acceptable compliment.

But that is a tangent.  I didn't mean to ramble about becoming the mother of a teenager, I meant to ramble about where my week went.  It started out well enough, but things kept getting in the way.  For instance, when Elise finally decided on a birthday cake she choose a topsy turvey design, which has been quite labor intensive and knocked a couple hours of planned productivity out of the last two days (and the next two, probably).  But then again, she seemed to think I was capable and I'm trying hard to not disappoint.

And somehow it is back to that darn birthday staring me in the face.  I am not freaking out, I promise.  I'm not.  It's not that some magic switch is getting turned next week.  (There is a magic teenage girl switch, but that was flipped over a year ago, so no suspense left on that.)  I mean to make this post about my last week.

It's just that the week somehow disappeared on me.  I keep thinking of things I did, but they were actually from two weeks ago.  I'm beginning to wonder if I actaully participated in this week at all. Maybe I hibernated.  But I know that's not possible because my house is relatively clean ("relatively" being the KEY word) and my kids are dressed, fed, and still alive.  I know I did all my regular weekly activities.  But somehow the week has just spun past me and I'm left at the end wondering where it went.

Then again the last 13 years have spun past me and I'm beginning to wonder where they all went, too.  Long past are the days of cuddling and reading Mr Brown Can Moo.  I can shut my eyes and see that little girl, my first, learning to walk and talk, going to kindergarten and learning to read, looking up to me to see if I'm watching.  I'm watching, I'm taking it in.  I know because I have it here to ponder in my heart.

As near as I can tell, these last years with her will go even faster than the first.  There is no way to slow down now. I know I didn't believe anyone who told me the days wouldn't last, that I would miss them someday, because the days seemed plenty long then.  But guess what?  They were right.  That eternity was momentary.

But that is NOT what I want to talk about tonight.  I want to talk about what I've done this last week.  But as I sit down to write, I can't seem to think what I've done.  It's almost as though something else is on my mind.  And I'm finding it hard to see what I'm typing through the tear filled eyes anyway, so I'm going to go see what Elise is doing.  Because I want to enjoy this time.  I now know I'll miss it when it's gone.

Normal? Don't Waste Time With That Fallacy

The other day I pulled out the good hot chocolate.  Stuff that requires milk instead of water, may cost more than drinking shaved gold, and must be how heaven tastes.  I keep it hidden from my children so it doesn't get wasted on their less cultured palates (it might kill me to see it congeled and forgotten on the cupboard like I regularly find the other hot chocolate).  So when my oldest son asked to have a cup, it was a big deal to allow him 4 tablespoons from my hoard.  And when I saw the teapot heating up as my oldest daughter pulled out a packet of Swiss Miss, I felt rather gracious informing her of my temporary generosity.
"That's okay, Mom, I like this kind just as well,"  was followed with a reflective "I know that's not normal, but I don't mind not being normal all the time."  Those are words of comfort to the mother of a near teenager.  I have noticed lately that many people, even at my age, are still battling the idea of Normal.

Normal.  There are three lifestyles I've noticed that are based around it. 

1. There are those who spend their whole lives on a quest to achieve Normal with all goals centered around reaching that blessed state.  Differences sprout embarrassment or self castigation and are often hidden in shame.  If only I {whatever} like everyone else, then I would be happy, productive, liked.  If Normal is crafty, so must I be (even if I hate crafts, I just pretend).
2. Then there are those so frightened of Normal they spend their lives running or hiding from it.  They think if match up to Normal too often, they will cease to exist as an individual.  They spend their whole life making sure they don't like Normal.  If Normal is crafty, I'm not interested in crafty.  I won't even try.   (I must admit that there was a time when this described me and I didn't do things merely because it was Normal or popular with women my age.  It wasn't until I overcame my fear of Normal that I found I liked scrapbooking and baking bread)
   
3. With similar fear, but stronger reactions, are the fighters.  Somehow they see normal as an evil that must be eradicated, with shame and superiority as favorite weapons.   Normal is wrong and they seem bent on proving it.  Normal is mundane, small minded, ignorant, and low class.  They are different and that somehow makes them better than Normal. If crafty is Normal then those who like it should be ridiculed, I have too refined taste for such things.
   

What none of these people seem to understand is that Normal is really quite imaginary.  There are certainly norms and things many people have in common, but nobody typifies everything.  The longer I live the more I see how little anyone has in common with Normal.  Actually, a lot of conceptions on Normal depend on where you live.  I may be Normal with my 6 kids in Utah but I am odd here.  And it doesn't matter to me if I live where it is Normal or not, I enjoy my large family.  If you still think that everyone else is Normal and you're the odd one out, you need to look a little harder.  Besides, if you spend your time seeking, fighting, or hiding from Normal your going to miss how fun it is to be you! 

Don't be scared of not being Normal.  Hate chocolate?  Embrace that fact.  Prefer odd hair colors?  Why not!  But don't be scared of Normal either.  Like to scrapbook?  Read Twilight?  Prefer McDonalds?  Don't let a fear of Normal get in the way of liking what you like.  And if you find a knee jerk reaction to Normal is to argue or feel superior?  You need to reevaluate.  There are norms that should be argued, but there are norms that have good reasons, too.

So I say be who you are and throw Normal out the door.  It is when you stop worrying about Normal that you see how illusive a concept it is.  I hope my daughter keeps wanting to be herself.  I hope she continues to not mind Abnormalities and that she doesn't shun something merely because it's Normal.  I hope she knows that the only thing completely Normal is the lack of Normal.  I hope she can embrace that fact wholeheartedly.  (And I hope she continues to prefer the cheap hot chocolate so I can enjoy my expensive stuff in peace).

Hannah Montana taught me a lesson...

...and if you've seen the movie, you'd be surprised that it was about letting children be themselves.

Let me be clear about something. I am not a huge fan of the Disney Channel. All their shows feel like extended commercials for merchandise or concerts. Plus, they have a tendency to take cute little kids and turn them into fantastic role models, like Spears and Lohan. I do let the kids watch some of the shows, I even find a few entertaining. However, I find Hannah Montana, besides having a ridiculous plot line and questionable acting, to be nothing short of a full blown Disney propaganda attack. So I was a little bit proud that my 12 year old had no interest in watching the recently released to theaters movie.


Cracks in her "I can't believe all the girls are so giddy to watch this movie" resolve quickly showed. I first noticed with her simple statement of "Mom, I heard that Hannah Montana movie isn't as bad as we thought." Over the next few days that statement, with slight variation, was repeated often. Finally I asked her if she was implying she wanted to see the movie. "Why?!? Are you going to take me?" she squealed. I quickly changed the subject, but the damage had been done. The next week was filled with, "Remember if you asked if I wanted to see that movie. Did you ask because you're going to take me?"


To make matters worse, my almost 7 year old joined her sister in wanting (and asking) to go. While on spring break in North Carolina she had missed a birthday party where they had rented out an entire theater to watch the movie. I think most of the other girls in her class had attended. "But you got to have fun with your aunts," just wasn't cutting it.


The final straw was the annual father-son camp out. Last year we had a girls' night- plus 1.5 year old Matthew- when the guys left. This year Peter decided to take all four boys. I decided it was time to take my girls to that movie: I only had to drive a half hour to find a theater that was still playing it.


The guilt started as soon as I saw how excited they both were with my decision. This obviously meant more to them than I had anticipated. They chattered nonstop to the theater, jittering legs and huge grins betraying their excitement. By the time we left the theater I had to admit Hannah Montana the Movie had surpassed my (rather low) expectations. As we drove home my girls joyfully reviewed their favorite parts; their happy spirit was quite contagious. I had learned a lesson.


I had been so determined that my children would not admire a TV celebrity that I had force fed them my opinions. Spoonful by spoonful of "ridiculous plot line", "terrible acting," "ludicrous outfits," and "preying on parents' wallets." I even took pride in hearing those opinions regurgitated out of their mouths. After all, my daughters were too sophisticated for the intense pandering of Disney.

I was so busy making sure they conformed to my ideal, I had nearly forced them to miss out on something they truly enjoyed. As we drove home I realized that I have limited time of unconditional adoration. I'm pretty sure stifling their personalities and belittling their interests cuts into that time. I need to be careful of my criticism, not just about my children, but about everything. Good thing to learn on something simple like a TV show.

My girls are not Hannah Montana robots. They aren't obsessed. They don't want to be just like her. They wanted to see a simple movie that all their friends had loved. They loved it. To show them I wasn't disappointed (a conclusion they could have easily drawn from everything I'd said about the movie previously), I bought them the sound track on the way home. We put on new pajamas and painted our nails while listening. A movie I was so resistant about seeing ended up creating a precious mother-daughter bonding moment. I guess I don't mind Hannah after all. I might even owe her a big thank you.

Birthday Parties

If I happened to have a child born on leap day, they could have a birthday party on their actual birth day every time. Which is my roundabout way of stating my strict once every 4 years birthday party policy. Since Elise turned 12, she was able to throw party #3 (and they said you'd never use math in everyday life).

She decided on a sleepover party, which means my chief responsibility was to sit in the corner and pretend to be invisible. I overheard more girl talk than can possibly be healthy for someone past the age of 25. Luckily, the talk had a damper from the incessant texting (this texting also doused any consideration for ever buying my poor daughter a cell phone). Anyway, the girls had a lot of fun, I got prime uninterrupted laptop time, and the other kids got to go to a movie with Dad.

The cake is my attempt at an iPod. I was running late, so didn't have time to make it perfect. I was trying to make it the color of Elise's nano, but it didn't work as well as I'd hoped. If you're interested, click here for a better looking example and instructions.

6 Births and 1 Epidural Part 1

There are so many things that can not be described, only experienced. Like color, kissing, chocolate, and (of course) child birth. That is why, a week before my due date, I had no idea I was in labor. Well, that, and the fact that I am very good at being in denial.

It all started when I kept waking up to this uncomfortable sensation. My constant thrashing was bothering Peter, so I decided to get up, hoping that moving would make the pain go away. Now, in my defense: 1) sleeping when 8 ¾ months pregnant is always uncomfortable; 2) all women start with false labor to warm up for the real thing and I had had nothing, 3) the day before at the doctor’s office I had not been dilated or effaced at all, and 4) I had watched Brazilian women giving birth in one of the 2 birthing classes I attended, and my discomfort was nothing to the (obvious from her screams) excruciating pain of that poor woman squatting over the floor.

Anyway, I may not have known what was happening at first, but an hour or so into the Perry Mason rerun, when the “discomfort” was coming exactly 7 minutes apart and lasting about 20 seconds, you’d think I’d figure it out. But I didn’t. Oh sweet denial! I did, however, walk past the bedroom and inform my husband of this weird “tightening” and its timing and duration. Due to his tendency to sleep deeply, I received some mumbled reply. And less than 30 seconds later a wild-eyed Peter burst into the room, “You’re having WHAT every 7 minutes?!?” I assured him it wasn’t labor. More like menstrual cramps (funny, I couldn’t relate uterus contracting to get rid of tissue with uterus contracting to get rid of baby. Oh sweet, sweet, denial).

Peter forced me to call and ask my mother, who assured me that what I felt WAS labor and I should start the drive to the hospital. And, low and behold, she was right. I had decided to keep the epidural option on the table and see how I went without it; I knew that after transition it would be too late. After a while in the hospital, I wanted to know how much time I had left to decide, so I asked the nurse how long it would be before I hit transition. She looked at me like a freak and told me I was already halfway through transition. This meant, of course, that I WAS a freak, since I obviously wasn’t going to need an epidural.

Things went great until it was time to push. That was when we discovered the baby had decided to come out turned the wrong way (posterior). So, during the next contraction, they flipped her. And she flipped back. Thrice. So they flipped ME onto my hands and knees. The baby turned, but as soon as I was on my back again she re-flipped. So I spent the next 3 hours on my hands and knees, pushing out my baby. At one point I asked if I could rest through a few contractions. Everyone laughed, but I was completely serious. Sweet denial that I could just stop myself from pushing even for one contraction.

Finally, the head crowned and I could flip back over. She still came out sideways. And then the nurse told me to stop pushing. Are you kidding me? My entire entourage (Mom, Dad, and husband) abandoned me for the foot of the bed where they could oow and awe at the baby’s head and now the nurse is telling me to breathe in a hyperventilating fashion and not push out the rest of the baby yet. Not push! Who was in denial now?

And as post script, when packing my bags for the hospital I was unsure what to wear home. I asked my mom and she told me (TOLD ME!) that she wore her regular clothes home when she had me. So I packed my favorite jeans. You know when I fit those jeans again? Never. I wish I could stay in denial about my pant size.

Only 2 more births left. Read about the other 3 births here!

Recipes by an 11 year old: MILK

I keeping with my last post:

Take one 11 (for another week) year old. Add a desire to bring milk to school (in an old water bottle). Put in bag in locker and then forget to bring bag home. Works overnight, better over weekend, but best if left over a week long winter vacation. Open locker, freak out about smell.

Find out the lid was not properly screwed on. Spill on self, coat, notebooks, and anything else possible. Have nurse call mother to bring up new clothes. Have mother gag when she smells the clothes. Have typical 6th grade boy call you "milk girl" the rest of the day.

Have mother consider sending you to school with a small Tupperware full of baking soda to help absorb rotten smell lingering in locker, but realize that bringing unidentifiable white powder to keep in a locker might not be the best idea. Put car freshener on shopping list instead.

How was your yesterday morning?

Assemblies, Middle Schoolers, and Growing Wings

The morning starts with dread. My daughter is performing with her chamber choir in an assembly at school. She desperately wants me to come and watch. So I send the younger kids off to school and then, with the 20 minutes left before I need to leave, hastily dress myself and my two preschoolers. Taking granola bars to eat for breakfast on the way, I grab my video camera and arrive just as the middle schoolers begin to filter into the cafetorium.

I sit in the parental seats hastily thrown up along the back wall and watch in fascination as the students saunter into the room. They are just becoming aware of their individuality and it shows in their extreme fashions and overly thought out attitudes. If I look close enough I can almost see them sprouting wings. I have an unobstructed view of my daughter as she sits on the back row with her choir. As hard as I try, I can not quite tell where she fits into this complex social structure. Is she a leader, a follower, a do her own thing anomaly? An 8th grader in the choir walks along the back row, high 5-ing his friends along the way. As he passes my daughter, her hand goes up and gets the slap. This leaves me strangely disconcerted.

The choir director has asked the choir to stay after school for an unknown reason. I assume it is a celebratory party, so I’m surprised to see my daughter’s tear streaked face when I pick her up. The choir director, her favorite teacher, is leaving. Today was his last day. Apparently he was here only for a year while the normal teacher was on maternity leave and, being offered a permanent spot elsewhere, has decided to leave. The school refused to let him tell his choir until his last day; they will return from winter break with a new teacher. The news, broken at lunch, has left my daughter devastated. The supposed celebration was actually a final goodbye. As we drive home, she tells me she was teased for her tears the rest of the afternoon, but it didn’t matter, because she was sad and it is their problem if they couldn’t understand. I find this revelation strangely comforting.

And as I hold my baby and let her sob, I am glad she is still only a 6th grader. And I am very grateful I dragged my preschoolers out so early today. It was her chamber choir’s only performance of the song they practiced so diligently, and, more importantly, she knows I was there. She still wants me to watch her perform. She still wants me to comfort her aches. Today, she has shown the strength to be herself. She may be growing wings, but she’s not ready to fly away just yet. I hope I can help her wings grow strong and sure.

A New Tradition I Can Love

I have always held that if Peter wants better dinners the only way he would get them was if he started cooking himself. After 13 years, he finally realized I wasn't bluffing. Actually, for Christmas this year he gave me a very thoughtful gift: 3 cookbooks. From which he would choose dinners to make. The first week he took Elise with him to the store. After 5 calls home asking if we owned ingredients I had never heard of, he came home and they made a delicious dinner and dessert (on a sidenote, notice the 3 boxes of soda stacked next to Elise).

Thus was born a new tradition in our home. Once a week, more or less (sometimes less, never more), Peter and one of the kids choose a recipe and a dessert, go out and buy the ingredients and make it for the family. I get a break, the kids get one on one time with Dad, and Peter gets a meal that requires more than 3 ingredients to make. It is a win-win for everyone.

He's done it 2 times so far and they have both been excellent (and I now know some nonalcoholic substitutions for rice wine, have cinnamon sticks in my spice cabinet, and spinach has made its first appearance in my fridge).

Gingerbread Houses, if Gingerbread was made out of Graham Crackers

As a Christmas tradition, Gingerbread houses are awesome. As a reality, they are a lot of work. Because they involve mixing, cutting, baking, etc. So we use a simpler, lazier alternative. Graham Cracker Houses. One box makes 5 houses. I doubled the frosting recipe (but you could also half it easily)

Notes-

• Make one bag of icing per person, it is easier!!
• This is a great project for inviting people over (the frosting and graham crackers are cheap and the candy lasts FOREVER- even making 10, we had tons of leftovers)
• You can dye the frosting red and green (forgot till after I made the houses)
• The houses need to set for an hour before using, but put the rest of the frosting in bags right away so they don't also set
• Waffle Icecream Cones are great Christmas Trees

Cookie cutter houses are so boring!!

Wouldn't you rather live in this neighborhood?

(minus the frosting splattered EVERYWHERE)

You'll have to click to enlarge this collage:

1. Ryan likes to build walls 2. I have my white picket fence

3. Uncle Gordon likes lots of SNOW 4. Matthew enjoyed eating the candy the most

5. Kirsti added presents around her tree 6. Ethan likes the overgrown garden look

7. Elise added a little of Everything 8. Simplicity was the key for Aunt Jessica

9. Joseph takes us inside the mind of a 4 year old 10. Peter likes Candy Pavers, Stones, and Ponds.








Here are pictures of Uncle Gordon setting up the frosting, the mess left over, and what we did instead of cleaning up (which made the frosting set on the table=a lot longer to clean up)

What Kids Know Tag

Last tag. I told my friend I didn't want to know my kids' answers, so she tagged me in her comments. I asked the kids as they woke up so they didn't know each other's answers (except the youngest two). Please note that we are in the midst of nighttime wars, making them all sleep in their bed at night (this has been hard on the youngest two and the last few nights have been pretty tough battles). That helps make some of the answers make sense. Also, if you can't tell, Matthew is in the parrot stage. Answers are listed oldest to youngest.

1. What does mom always say to you?

1. Quiet or you'll go to bed.
2. Get off the computer or turn off the TV
3. I love you
4. Go to bed
5. I don't know
6. I da-no

2. What makes mom happy?

1. When we go to bed
2. When I do my chore and take out the garbage
3. my smile
4. Dad
5. reading me stories
6. mom happ-ee

3. What makes mom sad?

1. When she has to clean up stuff she already picked it up (too true, Elise, too true)
2. When I don't get off the the TV when she tells me to (got grounded last night when I found him at 10:30 watching TV)
3. Me going to school
4. A lamp getting broken (Random)
5. When I have a bad dream, that makes you sad. Last night I dreamed . . .
6. Mom dad (sad)

4. How does mom make you laugh?

1. When she does something funny on accident
2. When she complains about me not laughing
3. tickle me
4. tickle me
5. Ha,ha,ha. You just made me laugh
6. Mom waff

5. How old is mom?

1. 32
2. 32
3. 31
4. 30
5. 29
6. Josive two

6. How tall is mom?

1. probably 5'2'' because I am 4'9''
2. 5'7'' (how does he know that?)
3. 62 inches?
4. 20. (Me: feet or inches?) Um...inches?
5. 20 and one half pounds
6. How taw mommy?

7. What does mom like to do?

1. drink hot chocolate
2. write comments on blogs
3. clean
4. yawn (Kirsti is on a random streak I guess)
5. clean the house every day, duh. (it was the duh that really got me)
6. cwap (clap) (it was either that or he was saying lap, as in "I want on your wap". I couldn't tell.)

8. What is mom's job?

1. To help us and clean the house
2. to stay at home and watch the younger kids
3. clean
4. cooking dinner
5. clean the house
6. mommy jab

9. What is mom's favorite food?

1. chicken, maybe?
2. teriyaki chicken
3. chicken and rice
4. Mexican soup
5. stir fry
6. bagel (Again, I think he was actually asking for a bagel, not answering the question)

10. How do you know your mom loves you?

1. you're always nice to us and help us in places and times we need help
2. because you give me lots of hugs and kisses
3. you give me hugs
4. you give me lots of hugs
5. I don't know how you love me, I only know how I love you
6. luh-you. Maw-maw luh-you.

Eye Doctors, Malls, and Black Friday crowds

I had another brilliant, well thought out scheme the other day. Two of my children were sent home with the "your child failed our vision screening test, how could you not know they were blind?" note. The third already wears glasses, just had them replaced two months ago, and was kind enough to tell us the NEXT DAY he sees much better when he wears his prescription sports goggles and regular glasses together. Anyhow, it only took being knocked in the head a couple hundred times before I realized I needed to make some eye appointments.


For some odd reason, I kept avoiding making the call. Could it be the thought of sitting with 6 kids in a tiny waiting room for hours doesn't sound like fun? Perhaps I dread finding out I need to spend a small fortune on accessories that I will then have to monitor constantly (where are your glasses?), fix (I just need to screw that in tighter), and replace (I mean it, WHERE ARE YOUR GLASSES?). Probably I'm just the master of procrastination. For whatever reason, I kept putting off making the call until guilt, and Kirsti's constant reminder that she can't see, finally got the better of me.


I took the 1st available appointment. 4 of them in a row (if I need to do the other 3 kids in school, I might as well do 1 more). For the Friday after Thanksgiving. Did I mention our eye doctor is in the MALL and it was BLACK FRIDAY? Yep, I am the well-thought-out-plan-making guru. Some might say this was punishment for not Black Friday shopping for the first time in years.


So I loaded up the kids and got there early so we could make the 4 mile trek through the parking lot. We arrived at 2:45 for our appointments starting at 3. We left the mall at 7:30. With the exception of 1/2 hour at the end, spent getting pretzels and walking around waiting for the glasses, it was all spent in a waiting room the size of my closet. Jealous?


Although gratefully, Matthew slept the 1st two hours in his stroller, the receptionist happened to have the American Girl movie for them to watch, I had them bring in books and coloring things and, thankfully, they all decided to be pretty well behaved most of the time. It could have been much, much worse.

Oh, and Ryan's prescription had doubled (which is why he saw better wearing two sets of glasses), Kirsti and Elise need to wear theirs all the time except when reading or on the computer, and Ethan got a clean bill of health.


And during the "extra" 1/2 hour I found a store with a great deal. Buy one get one free on everything AND spend $50 get $40 in gift cards. I would tell you where I bought the girls an outfit, but I'm embarrassed that I shopped somewhere so expensive (even if I did get a deal). You will just be LIMITED TOO your imagination.


Here are my kiddos with their brand new glasses. Sorry for the glare, I was a little tired.

Halloween Costumes & Results of an All Candy Diet

This year I went with an easy, no-sew costume idea. All I used was felt, under wonder, fabric paint, and hot glue. You'll notice that my "quirky" dresser opted for a lollipop over a candy bar. And yes, we dressed as Almond Joy and Mounds just for the joke you could make.

Trick or treating was a lot of fun. I was worried when at dusk there were no lit porch lights. By the time we went out there were plenty of lights. Everyone in the neighborhood gave out candy bars (see diagram at right)! By the time we finished half the neighborhood, our bags were full and heavy (chocolate weighs more that smarties, I guess).

Anyway, today after an all candy 24 hour diet, my kids reacted quite strangely. The older three had to take turns. Not on the computer, or the wii, or even the TV. They took turns using my sewing machine and proudly displaying their creations. Then they spent at least 3 hours playing on the beach (except Elise who opted for rare, alone, creative time upstairs). This gave me time to clean up the house and catch up on old Clark Howard Podcasts. If this is how they react to candy, I think that is all I will ever feed them.

PS We had spaghetti with bread sticks and corn for dinner and now they are fighting. I think my theory IS true . . . .

Family Update

Thought I would leave a quick post on what our family is up to these days.

Elise has been doing great in middle school. She got all A's on her progress report and just found out she made it into Chamber Choir.

Matthew has learned the value of talking. He talks all the time and seems to add at least 3 new words every day. Last week he learned "uh-uh" and "ya". Now that he can tell us his opinion, he thinks he should always get his way! He is starting to put words together. His favorite song? We Will Rock You. I will try to get some video one of these days.


Ryan is enjoying school, too. Last week he finished testing for the gifted program. He was accidentally signed up for flag football (there are 4 Ryans in 4-5th grades and somehow his name got added to the list). That means he is doing tackle football and flag. His last tackle game is this Friday during the high school football team's half time. He really enjoys it.

Ethan loves, loves, loves football. He kept circling the play, always holding back, and then on his last game of the season, something clicked and he was in on every play. You can find him outside playing pretty much all the time. Only 2 more months till baptism time!

Kirsti has become a reading fiend. She can finish the Magic Tree House books, although her true heart is with Henry and Mudge. This is a picture of her school project. Those are strips of paper we wrapped into circles and glued onto a the pumpkin she brought home. We had a blast finishing this project together (although it did take a little longer than I expected).

Joseph has started preschool. It is 1 hour twice a week. He gets so excited every week. Matthew, however, gets upset every time we drop him off. He loves to tell stories and they totally crack me up. Today he told Peter and I about the billy goat gruffs. It involved "the highest number" of goats, grass that was made into necklaces, and jumping over the trolls.


He had two birthday cakes. The Pirate for his party and this one the week earlier on his actual birthday. For the last year, ever since he saw this cake, he has told everyone, "I am having a Transformer birthday." I knew he would eventually realize if I didn't make it, so I did. The picture was taken after some frosting surgery to repair Matthew damage to the cake.


Peter is doing well. Lots of recruiting and what not. They lost a doctor last month, which was hard, but a new hire starts Monday and another in November. And at least one in July. We are hoping for 2-3 more hires this year (which means lots more work). He is going to the American College of Emergency Physicians conference in a couple weeks and is hoping for some good leads while out there.

And me? I have 8 costumes to finish by Friday. I also have a basement to clean out, library books to find, 2 school parties and plan, and a wheat grinder to still buy. I'm keeping busy.