The Very Hungry Twelve-Year Old

(In the style of The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle)

One Friday afternoon, in eighth period English, an almost-teenaged boy sat slumped in his chair.

When he arrived home almost an hour later, he was very hungry. Very, VERY hungry. He started to look for some food.

He ate through one Honeycrisp apple. But he was still hungry.

He ate through two flour tortillas. But he was still hungry.

He ate through three yellow bananas. But he was still hungry.

He ate through four bags of goldfish crackers. But he was still hungry.

He ate through five slices of cantaloupe. But he was still hungry.

He ate through six juicy strawberries. But he was still hungry.

He ate through seven warm taquitos. But he was still hungry.

So he ate through eight slices of pizza, three bags of mini muffins, one-half a watermelon, two raspberry smoothies, and a pile of pretzel sticks as big as his face.

He did not even get a tummy ache. And, he was still hungry.

So his mother thought and thought and thought. Finally, she had an idea.

On Monday when the very hungry twelve-year old came home from school, he found a surprise waiting for him. It was a giant gumball machine and a pile of quarters.

Now when the very hungry twelve-year old comes home from school, his mouth is so busy chewing that he can't eat up all the food. Instead, he obediently waits for dinner. His siblings are extremely happy that the very hungry twelve-year old is no longer eating all their food. Peace is once again restored....

Until the very hungry twelve-year old brings home some friends.

THE END

A Very Scientific Experiment

Okay, so it's not very scientific. Only sort-of.

It all started one morning last week. In my haste to get Plucky to her dance class, I did a mediocre job of washing out the bananas Caboose had smashed into his hair during breakfast. I didn't realize I'd missed some until we got to dance and I looked at him properly. His hair looked...well...quite good, actually. My boys' hair never looks good because I never bother to do it. In fact, it's a struggle just to make time to run a brush through the girls' hair each day, let alone fix it into one of the intricate hairstyles I used to practice on my American Girl doll. Or take the time to put gel in my boys' hair. So the fact that Caboose's hair appeared to be styled was enough to make me stop and pay attention.

I spent the rest of the day reminding myself to wash my baby's hair, but never quite got around to it. And his locks remained firmly in place and perfectly spiked all day long. By the end of the day I was thinking I might be onto something: baby hair gel that doubles as breakfast! The ad campaign would go something like this: Save time and money! No need to bother with styling products--let baby style his own hair each morning as he eats! Genius, right?

So the next day when Caboose ran his macaroni and cheese fingers through his hair during lunch, I decided to leave it and see what happened. And so began the experiment:

A Week in My Baby's Hair

Hypothesis: Food makes a great substitution for hair gel in a pinch (read, every single morning). Okay, that doesn't sound very scientific. How about this: If I don't wash my baby's hair after he eats breakfast each morning, then he will look like a Baby Gap model.

To test my hypothesis, I've allowed Caboose free creative reign with his food over the course of several different meals and then compared the results as follows:


Bananas
Hold: Excellent
Notes: Easy application, dries clear, and leaves hair smelling good all day long.

Mac and Cheese
Hold: Excellent
Notes: Not ideal as it leaves hair with an unsightly orange glow and putrid smell.

Warm Chocolate Chip Cookie
Hold: Poor
Notes: If you're the baby, rubbing this in your hair will provide you with a stash of chocolate to eat later when mom's not looking. But it doesn't work well as a styling product.

PB&J Sandwich
Hold: Fair
Notes: Unfortunately, the scent attracts unwanted canine attention. Also, depending on baby's natural hair color, the Peanut Butter may or may not discolor his hair.

Chicken Noodle Soup
Hold: Poor
Notes: This is just an all-around bad choice. Don't use it.

Yogurt
Hold: Poor. And moist.
Notes: Yeah, this is a bad one, too.  

Watermelon
Hold: Poor
Notes: Though this doesn't offer much in the way of hold, it does leave baby smelling like a sweet summer day.


Conclusion:

It would appear that turning your baby into a Baby Gap model is more complicated than simply allowing him to play with his food. Bananas are clearly the only food that produced the desired results, so you would have to feed him bananas every single day for it to work on a regular basis. But if you're not into consistency, then forgetting (accidentally-on-purpose, of course), to wash those bananas out of your baby's hair every once in a while might be a good way to go.

Since the banana gel worked so well, I'm thinking that Caboose may have known what he was doing when he smashed it into his hair that day. But now I'm wondering if his actions were an innocent mistake, or a naked plea that I pay more attention to his appearance? I suppose we'll never know. And if they were a plea then I must take a moment to apologize to my last-born.

I'm sorry, Caboose. Due to the birth order which has unfortunately left you in last place, you will never look like a well-groomed Baby Gap model. But take heart, because in six short years your older siblings will begin to leave home (yikes!) and strike out on their own. As this happens and you are left increasingly alone with mom and dad, that's when the real fun will begin. Vacations we couldn't afford to go on with everyone, and a hand-me down car you will get to drive to school when your dad has his mid-life crisis and buys a sports car for himself are just the beginning. Trust me on this. I'm speaking as a first-born child who watched it all happen from the impoverishment of my college dorm room. Being the youngest is definitely the place to be...even if you have to suffer through a year of mashed banana gel substitute!

Veggie Tales and Finding Happiness

I have a confession to make: I am obsessed with Veggie Tales. It's been over ten years since a friend attempted to explain the bizarre cartoon to me as follows:

"It's a bunch of vegetables that sing and tell Bible stories," she'd said.

Okaaaay, I'd thought. We're not going to be watching that. But she insisted on loaning me an episode, so we walked away from our morning play date with Rack, Shack and Benny on VHS. (Yes, VHS). Later that week, Energy and I curled up on the couch together to see what all the fuss was about. Really, I was planning on taking a little nap. I certainly didn't expect the quick-witted veggies and random silly songs to leave me doubling over in laughter. After that first video I became a dedicated veggie tales fan, buying several episodes for Energy and watching them with him when I should have been folding laundry.

Before I get to the real point of this blog post (which is Happiness) I have to share my all-time favorite silly song with you as evidence of how awesome Veggie Tales truly is. This song is a spoof on boy bands where a group of veggies known as 'Boyz in the Sink' confess a lurid secret to one of their girlfriends through a song titled 'Belly Button'. Go ahead and watch it. I dare you not to laugh.

Okay, so now that you've been indoctrinated, I'll move on. One of my favorite episodes of Veggie Tales is Madame Blueberry. It's the story of a horribly depressed Blueberry (get it? A blue berry?) who spends all her time pining for the nice things that her friends have. One day, salvation arrives at her door in the form of three salesmen promoting a new store (The Stuff Mart!) that has just moved in down the street from her. They promise happiness in the form of a store carrying everything she could ever want and more. They sing her a classically hilarious song introducing her to the Stuff Mart and enticing her to come with them to check it out. The final line in their song is, "Happiness waits at the stuff mart. All you need is lots....more....stuff!" (Sung in an appropriately melodramatic and ridiculous manner). Here is a recording of the song if you're interested, though it cuts off before the happiness line I referred to and I'm not savvy enough to upload my own version.

My kids typically watch Veggie Tales on Sundays (since it's one of the few shows we let them watch before church) and last Sunday the selection was Madame Blueberry. Consequently, the line "Happiness waits at the stuff mart" has been running through my mind all week (complete with background music, I might add.) I've been singing it while doing dishes, folding laundry, pushing my kids on the swings and, well, really any time my voice has been otherwise unoccupied.

However, since the idea that happiness waits at the Stuff Mart in the form of lots more stuff is obviously flawed, I felt it was appropriate to compose a list of what happiness is to me.

Happiness is:

Children's laughter

There is truly no better sound on earth

A warm chocolate chip cookie, fresh from the oven 

I'm sorry, but as much as I try to tell myself that this isn't an acceptable form of happiness, I can't deny that it makes me sublimely happy every time I eat one. Or ten.

The smell of rain 

Clean. Fresh. A new start.

Sleeping in

These days I would even take being allowed to wake up naturally at 7:00 am when my body says it's ready, as opposed to once every half hour starting at 5:00 am to accommodate various childish requests. For example, last Saturday Energy started doing his chores--the vacuuming, to be precise--at 6:30 am because he was awake and knows he's not allowed to turn on any screens until 7:00. While I admire his initiative and his desire to make good use of his time, I was not happy to hear vacuuming right outside my bedroom door (and the doors to the three youngest children in the house) so early on a Saturday morning. 

Watching my kids play together. Happily, of course.

This is especially sublime when they don't know I'm watching or listening.

 A properly functioning toilet that never has to be plunged or snaked

Did I mention I have five kids in a house with a septic tank and not enough bathrooms?

Eavesdropping outside my kids' bedroom doors after tucking them in at night

An invasion of privacy, you say? I hope they wouldn't see it this way. Anyway, so far I've only heard things that warm my heart. There is nothing quite like witnessing your children realize over time that they can rely on and confide in each other as siblings.

A good rainstorm without basement flooding or crazy-loud/scary thunder and lightening

Ever since I was a little girl, one of my favorite things was listening to rain fall while snuggling up with a good book and a blanket on the living room couch. But that was before I had to worry about grown-up things like flooded basements, ginormous trees in my backyard that bend unnaturally anytime the wind blows, and lightening that shakes my bones as it crashes so close I swear it's hit my house.

Mario Kart for Wii

I have four brothers, but despite their best efforts and to their great disappointment, I do not enjoy video games. They just feel like a pointless waste of time to me. But the one exception is Mario Kart. I loved it in the 80's when it came out for Nintendo, and I love playing it now on our Wii. Even though I still cannot make it through Rainbow Road (I couldn't in the original version and I can't now) without falling off a gazillion times, I still love this game. And I love playing it with my kids.

Lying on the trampoline with my family

Cloud-watching or gazing at the stars as they begin to emerge at the end of a summer day

Date night!!!

We've always made room in our budget for babysitting because my husband and I need those moments together to regroup, talk and remember why we fell in love.

Having a child that's old enough to babysit 

Oh, yeah! This. Though Energy is just barely twelve, he's been practicing changing diapers and putting his younger siblings to bed while I'm around. We have high hopes that our babysitting budget might soon be allocated elsewhere. (Or at least reduced, as I feel bad making him do it completely for free all the time.)

The smell of spring 

It smells like hope, making me instantly happy every year right as winter threatens to crush me for good. 

Having a creative outlet

There are several activities that I float between, but no matter what, I always have to allow myself a creative outlet. I believe humans were wired to create beauty and that we aren't whole without the opportunity to do so.

So in summary, happiness does not come from the stuff mart (ground-breaking revelation, right?). Nor does it come from the Success Mart, the Food Mart, or the Twitter Follower Mart (yes, those do exist). It doesn't even come from having a spotless house, exercising every day, always being on time, or the host of other things it's possible to fail at within the course of a week. Happiness is found in the simple, small moments of life. Our tiny successes (like getting five semi-presentable kids to church, even if they're grumpy about it and you were a half hour late). Our ability to love and be loved. Our freedom to try new things, even if we fail at them.

I have to link to another video here, (sorry for all the links today), because this video conveys what I'm trying to say so much better than I can. And the background music doesn't hurt either. If you only click on one link from this post, it should be this one.

That video makes me cry every time I see it! Now that you've seen it, do you have anything to add to my list? What is happiness to you? Leave it in the comments section below, and happy happiness seeking!

Birthday Parties 101--Five Things I Wish I'd Known Earlier

When Energy turned four years old, I decided to throw him a huge birthday bash. I was feeling guilty for not throwing him a party the previous year when he turned three, and decided his fourth birthday would be a party to remember. I settled on a carnival theme and began planning how to turn our cozy townhouse into a fairgrounds for a bunch of four-year-olds... in the middle of winter and without the benefit of a backyard, garage, or basement.

Despite the challenges, I was determined to make it work. I borrowed a huge plastic slide. I bought some large crawl-through toys and an exercise trampoline. I found a huge under bed storage tub at Wal-Mart and filled it with several giant bags of rice and tons of tiny new toys to search for. I set up a bowling ally in the hallway. I cleaned out our local Michaels arts and crafts store of their foam sticky shapes and set up a table with butcher paper, crayons, and other art supplies for puppet making. I went wild with streamers in an effort to transform our home. Needless to say, my perfect party was already racking up a hefty bill. And I hadn't even done the party bags yet.

Then I invited close to twenty kids, not wanting to leave out any of my sons friends from church, preschool, or the neighborhood. And since four-year-olds don't exactly have hopping social calendars, all of them were able to make it. Oh, and did I mention I also had a two-year old and was five months pregnant at the time?

Since I am a crazy, detail-oriented hyper-planner, the party went well and everyone had a blast. Everyone except for me. Sure, I was glad everything went smoothly and, although it was noisy and only semi-under control, no-one got hurt. But by the time the games, crafts, and cake-eating were done I was a sweaty, frazzled, pregnant mess. Gift opening sent me over the edge as children clamored over me to give Energy their presents, and Energy tore them all open in the middle of a huge mass of tiny bodies before I could make note of which toy came from which friend. When the parents finally came to take their tots home (some of them stayed to help out, but since it was a small space, the extra bodies only added to the melee), I was so glad it was finally over.

At the end of the day when it was all cleaned up and the kids were in bed,  I realized I had spent a small fortune and almost two months of my life planning the perfect party. (I didn't yet know about the additional two months I would spend cleaning rice from various nooks and crannies of my kitchen where I had set up the rice bin). And though Energy had fun, my husband and I did not. I didn't understand until several years later that Energy would have been just as happy with something simple. The desire to plan an amazing, over-the-top birthday party came only from my own obsessive need for perfection.

Well, party planning season has arrived again and I'm currently in the throes of birthday plans for Plucky. Spring sees the bulk of our family's birthdays and, though there are several close together, I have learned a few things over the years that have made the concentrated party planning more manageable. I share them with you now in the hopes that they will be of some benefit to you, whether in planning your own kids' parties, or perhaps just so you can laugh at my expense.


Number One: Kids don't care about the details. You know those super-cute parties on Pinterest that make you feel supremely unworthy when you consider your own parties? Well, you are in luck because your kids won't notice the decorations no matter how cute they are. I'm really glad Pinterest was not around to make me feel inferior while I was planning parties for Energy, Mellow and Bright. I stand in awe at the many creative and talented people who plan beautiful parties, but I'm not that great at it and frankly, I don't have the time. So, even if you have the talent to create a Pinterest-worthy party, be aware that your kids won't notice or care. (But, if you want to do it as a creative outlet for yourself or to impress your kids' friends' parents, go for it!)

To illustrate my point, please see this amazing kitty adoption party I found after planning the one I'll be throwing for Plucky this weekend. Seriously? I bow to the creator of that party, but I do not have time for that. Now here are pictures from the party I just finished setting up for: 

Visit to the vet after adopting their kitty--Mellow helped set this up

 Decorating their kitty carriers

 Outside relay race, mouse hunt game and face painting to be set up in the morning

Now, I'm happy with what we've planned for tomorrow, but I have to admit it's pretty lame compared to the party I found online. So I will repeat this mantra to myself: I refuse to feel inferior because of my sub-par party decorations. Plucky and her friends will still have fun and that's all that matters.


Number Two: Create a budget and stick to it. I've found that once I have a theme in mind and start hammering out the details, it is very difficult for me to stop buying stuff that will turn the party in my head into reality. I learned after that first party to plan wisely where I want to spend my (okay, my husband's) money. Again, kids don't care about the details. Even if you find the perfect centerpiece or paper ware to go along with your theme, the kids won't be any wiser if you forgo it in favor of a pinata. (I do have to say here that pinatas are super easy and always worth the money because kids love them! If you make your own pinata, I don't want to know about it.)

Putting together party bags can also be quite pricey, even if they are filled with junk from the dollar store. But here's the thing about party bags: my kids play with the stuff inside them for about ten minutes. Then the party bag sits on their dresser for a few weeks until the baby comes and spills it all over the place, destroying whatever was inside. Then I secretly throw it away and no-one ever notices. So spend wisely (or don't spend) on goody bags.

Number Three: Kids don't need a party every year. I wish I had realized this sooner. Energy got an elaborately planned birthday party every year from the time he turned one until his eighth birthday (with the exception of year three, probably due to the arrival of his first sibling). As the years turned and our kids multiplied, it became apparent that having lots of kids means nearly year-round party planning. In favor of keeping my sanity and paying our mortgage, we decided to cut back on birthday parties.

We dubbed years five through eight as reasonable years for planned parties. After year eight, we would go somewhere fun as a family (think Coldstone or Chuck E. Cheese) instead of throwing a party, and they could bring a friend or two along. But there would be no invitations, no games, no party bags, and no theme. Last year we learned that sleepovers are way easier to plan than regular birthday parties. All it takes is lots of junk food, a new movie or two and a few rented video games. (For boys, that is--I suspect it may be an entirely different story with a girlie sleepover, which we have yet to attempt).

Number Four: Have a detailed party plan that includes time to open gifts. It may be considered tacky to open gifts at a party, but I've learned I need to include it anyway. Kids don't understand tacky. They just want to see their friend open the gift they've picked out. And if you don't have a plan, you will end up with a chaotic mess of kids presenting their gifts to the birthday child and insisting they open it right as their parents are arriving to pick them up. A good old-fashioned game of Duck, Duck, Goose works well for this, with each child holding their gift and giving it to the birthday kid when they are picked to be Goose.

I also plan out my parties in fifteen-minute increments. Very Type A, I know. But it works. I like to have a new activity start every fifteen minutes, since attention spans are short when there are lots of hyper kids crowded together. Sometimes we don't get to all of my planned diversions, so I always make a prioritized list of which ones I'll cut if needed. In my experience, it's better to be over-prepared than to have a cake-filled bunch of kids bouncing around with a half hour till their parents show up and nothing to do in the meantime.

Number Five: When all else fails, put on a silly hat and adopt an Australian accent (or make your husband do it) The absolute best party we ever threw was a jungle safari party for Mellow's sixth birthday. I had a jungle obstacle course set up in the yard (party planning became much easier once we got a house!), which the kids were led through by their personal safari tour guide (my husband wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a crazy hat). They filled jungle safari journals with stickers to make note of animal sightings along the way. The safari ended with an alligator pinata, resting in the mud underneath my kids' favorite climbing tree.

But the best part of that party was witnessing the kids faces as my awesome husband filled his role as crazy tour guide. An accountant by day, his naturally creative side tends to get stifled at work. So he let it all out and put on quite a show that day. He was so funny that Mellow's friends talked about his cool dad for the rest of the year. Making a fool of yourself is always a big hit with kids.


So, there you have it. Five party planning tips I wish I had known twelve years ago. May they bring you joy (or at least release you from unnecessarily high expectations), in your own party planning endeavors!

Rejection & Resilience--Schooled by a Tenacious Toddler

The Pinewood Derby: an emotional roller coaster masquerading as fun, where dads boys aged 8-10 years build wooden cars in the hopes of crushing their friends the competition on race day.

My family recently attended the Pinewood Derby, where we supported Mellow and my husband in their efforts to bring home the gold. We have been participating in said derby for several years now, ever since Energy turned 8, and each time proves yet another test of character for my boys. The weeks leading up to the event are spent in giddy anticipation as the boys plan, design and build the most amazing car the world has ever seen. The day of, however, often culminates in tears when their perfect car fails to bring home the gold.

This year was pretty typical; that is, at the end of the event, our scout was in tears. Despite the fact that Mellow's car actually did quite well, taking second in his Den and third overall, the only thing that stuck in his brain was that he didn't win. Consequently, he left the event believing he was a failure.

My husband and I tried to cheer him up. I told him about my disappointing week of rejection in my writing endeavors, thinking that since misery typically loves company, perhaps this knowledge would make him feel better. But he didn't care. Then my husband pointed out the fact that, since he was the one who actually did the cutting and physical building of the car, maybe he was worthless for making such  lousy car. To this statement, Mellow agreed wholeheartedly (a very different reaction from what my husband had been hoping for), but still refused to be comforted.

Mellow calmed down eventually, but was never able to enjoy the second place trophy he brought home because he was dwelling so heavily on his loss. Mellow's reaction to his perceived failure, combined with my own despondency after a week of fruitless toil along the road to publication of my novel, got me thinking about rejection and how we handle it (or fail to handle it, as the case may be).

The thought has occurred to me more than once that perhaps I should give up on my dreams, since they sometimes seem so impossible to attain. But I have never been a quitter. Afraid and hesitant to take on challenges in the first place, yes, but not a quitter. Once I commit to something, I have a very hard time giving it up. So when I first decided to venture down the publishing path, it took a lot of courage for me to even admit I wanted to try. And I can't give up now.

So it seems I need to be taught a lesson in resilience and, as it happens, I have found the perfect teacher living right under my own roof. He is with me almost constantly, and he is less than 3 feet tall. Yes, my teacher is Caboose.

Toddlers have to be the most persistent creatures on the planet, and if you've ever tried to keep one from doing something they're bent on doing, then you know what I mean. If they've got their sights set on something, they won't give up on attaining it until the object of their desire is actually removed from their presence.  And sometimes not even then.

For Caboose, his object of desire is the kitchen table. Climbing on it, that is. And since I can't physically remove our kitchen table from his presence, he never stops trying to get on it, no matter how many times he falls off, or how many times I snatch him away just before he succeeds. Often as I pull him off the table after he has eluded my so-called clever attempts at stopping him, I think how frustrating it must be for him to get so close and then have to start all over. Surely he'll soon realize it's a fruitless endeavor and give up, right? Wrong. As long as his goal is in sight, he will never stop reaching for it.

I've realized I can learn quite a lot from my tenacious toddler if I will let him teach me. Young children  absolutely never give up--defeats don't deter them because they exist only in the present.  If they can see a way to reach their goals, and sometimes even if they can't, they persevere. Because their failures are forgotten the moment they become history and the future is an incomprehensible concept, the only thing that's real for them is now. And now holds all the possibilities.

The take-away for me then, is that I can't let failures taint my future prospects. That's not to say I don't learn from my failures, but failure should not be a reason to quit trying. Caboose has learned a great many things from his failed table-climbing attempts: only do it when mom's not looking; step stools are portable and should be utilized whenever possible; if you push really hard on the kitchen chairs, they will move to where you want them; never attempt to get off the table without first looking to make sure there is a chair nearby; and other such useful tidbits. His failures have not stopped him, rather they've taught him how to modify future attempts to ensure a higher rate of success.

The challenge for me now is to take this lesson to heart and apply it in my own endeavors. And to teach this concept to my older children who have lost some of the tenacity of their youth. Now is the time to dream big, and now is the time to follow those dreams even when they seem impossible to reach. Failure should never be a reason to quit trying.

I resolve to live in the present, because the present is what holds the magic of possibility.

Evicting Winter

If you're like me, you may feel that winter has overstayed its welcome this year. I recall a similar notion entering my mind last March, as well as the one before that, so in reality, the present circumstances may be fairly normal. But I am quite fed up and have decided to take matters into my own hands. If only it were as easy as writing a simple eviction notice...I do so love talking things out.


Dear Friend:

I've held my tongue for as long as possible, but find I can no longer remain silent in good conscience. You have been an exacting house guest these many months and, though I have enjoyed certain aspects of your company, I simply must ask that you move on.

Since I know you'll be back again next year, and will certainly be staying elsewhere in the meantime, I feel compelled to offer a word or two of advice. I share these words of wisdom in the hopes that you will employ them in the future to assist you in perceiving when it is time to move on. You wouldn't want to alienate your hosts, of course, and to that end, it's in your best interest to depart quietly before you have overstayed your welcome. You never know when you'll find yourself in need of hospitality. 

There are several clues you should be looking for when determining your departure:

When you can't drive to the store without unwittingly entering a twisted game of minefield, where the punishment for driving over a pothole is a flat tire, a loose bumper, or worse...that's when you know it's time.

When babies scream bloody murder at the prospect of entering a car when they mistakenly believe they've been bundled up for some much-needed time outside...that's when you know it's time.

When wallets everywhere will soon be empty as the time comes to settle up the bill with the oil-delivery man...that's your cue.

When bleary-eyed mothers walk with a gaggle of stir-crazy kids into a store, not even registering the deafening decibel level of their brood, you will know they've been broken by the months of sound torture. It's time.

When waistlines everywhere have swollen, threatening to burst through the jackets holding them in after months of hiding under bulky sweaters, scarves and coats have convinced their owners that they're the same size they were when you arrived, you should think about packing up. It's time.

When your host, deprived of a park to get her kids' energy out transforms her living room into a jungle gym, using a huge plastic outdoor slide and an exercise trampoline, and is, furthermore, happy to keep the arrangement indefinitely despite its interference with her trendy decor, that's when you know it's time.

So, dear guest, while I have enjoyed being able to leave my milk in the trunk of my car without it spoiling before I get home, and I have certainly gotten my money's worth out of those super-cute and cozy winter boots, the time has come for me to politely ask that you leave.

Please pack up your things and move on quietly or I will be forced to employ more drastic measures.*


Respectfully yours,



The Bleary-Eyed Mom



*Said measures have yet to be determined. You'll just have to trust me when I say they won't be pleasant.

The Magic of Play

One thing I love about being a mom is the opportunity I'm sometimes given to peek into the minds of my children and thereby experience a little of the magic that is being young. Often these glimpses are stolen by watching my kids at play. Sometimes I have to sneak up on them to witness it because they stop when they realize they've been discovered mid-game. Other times they are forthright, playing their latest and greatest game loudly and rambunctiously for the entire universe to hear.

Either way, watching children at play is fascinating and endearing. Today I'd like to share a short story I wrote, inspired by the many years I've spent witnessing the magic of playtime. Enjoy!

The Soldier 

 I am running through a dense jungle, covered in several days' worth of muck. I dodge bullets as they fall like rain, tree branches and vines slapping me in the face as I flee. I haven't slept in oh, so long and I feel the weight of exhaustion in my legs, slowing me down by degrees. I dive into the hollowed out section of a fallen, decaying log and lie flat on my back, breathing heavily. The bullets cease and I fidget before checking my watch for the millionth time. She should be here by now.

The jungle waits like a hungry beast, its silence daring me to make the first move. I check my watch again and exhale in frustration. Where is she?

I decide to give her three minutes, hoping the enemy doesn't find me in the meantime. I search the ground at my feet, finding a small stone, and lob it high in the air to my right. It lands in a bush, startling a flock of tropical birds that take flight in confusion. The bullets resume, now conveniently aimed away from me.

The enemy has fallen silent and the vicious jungle is eerily still. I ease my head up and peer over the edge of the log, scanning the horizon. I can't see far, of course, on account of the dense vegetation I've gradually come to regard as home. I'd actually be content to wait here all day if it weren't for her. Why did she have to come with me?

I glance at my watch, seeing that she has just thirty-three seconds left. I give myself a pep talk, detailing all of the reasons why I shouldn't wait for her and steeling myself to run when her time is up. Yet I know deep down that I would never leave without her.

Finally, ten minutes and twenty-six seconds later, I catch sight of her little head bobbing towards me through the trees. I rock back in shock as I register that she is crawling! Adrenaline shoots through me and, after throwing a smoke bomb to give us some cover, I rush from my hiding spot and hurry towards her. She smiles at me, but I know she's been hit. Why else would she be crawling? I don't wait to find out; rather, I scoop her up and run as fast as my little legs will carry me.

This is exactly why I didn't want her to come along today, but she insisted. The rendezvous point is still several miles away and I would manage it much better without having to look after my little sister. Yet here she is, bright-eyed and smiling at me, as if I'm the greatest person on the planet. And crawling in the jungle, no less! Really, I thought we were passed all that.

Just then, I hear a loud crashing several yards off and my heart lurches in fear. Oh, no! I know what this is. I've only heard it on one other occasion--a time that did not end well, I might add.

I do the only thing I can. "Run for your life!" I scream, to no one in particular. Sometimes it just feels so good to yell at the top of your lungs. Ruthie starts slightly at my outburst and then, turning to gaze at me, flashes one of the cutest smiles I've ever seen. I simply can't resist smiling back before tearing my eyes away from her adorable little face, forcing my mind back into the game.

I need to focus. We have a hungry dinosaur to outsmart.

I shift Ruthie abruptly to my back, where she clutches to my shoulders and waist just before I take off at top speed through the jungle. I've always been great at running away and I utilize my skills, weaving in and out, jumping over rocks and ducking under tree stumps, all in an attempt to confuse and outmaneuver the giant lizard trailing us. This one is smart, though--he stays right with us, hot on our scent no matter what tricks I pull out of my impressive, time-tested arsenal. Soon I'm breathing heavily, not used to bolting through the jungle with a baby on my back, and I begin to think maybe this will be the last of my great adventures.

And that's when I see it: Our salvation. Looming high over our heads, not far in the distance. I smile.

"Don't worry Ruthie, I have a plan!" I inform her. She's starting to get restless and I squeeze her legs tighter, preventing her from lowering herself off my back. She protests and squirms, trying to free her legs. I know that if she gets down she'll be a goner, and I just love her too much to let that happen. 

"I'm sorry, Ruthie. You can't get down or the hungry dinosaur will eat you up!" I inform her, changing course abruptly to accommodate my new plan. She squirms some more, but I'm holding her fast and there's nothing she can do about it. I will not let her fall prey to that horrible monster on my watch.

I soldier on bravely as it begins to rain. I hear shots in the distance and wonder absently what my enemies are firing at. A massive scream of protest reaches me from the depths of the jungle and the dinosaur behind me roars in response, pausing briefly in his pursuit. I take advantage of his lapse and dart to my right, ducking behind a massive boulder and crouching out of sight. 

At last, we've reached the tree! I know the dinosaur will be pursuing us again soon so I don't lose any time. I release Ruthie's legs and silently help her slide to the ground, where she giggles and stretches up on her toes, attempting to run away from me. Oh, of course now she wants to show off her new skills, when she would be running straight off a cliff and into a churning waterfall!

I reach out and pull her back, clapping my hand over her mouth and gritting my teeth as her ear-piercing shrieks ring out through the air. Well, if we had lost the dinosaur, he knows where we are now. I stretch up and grab the end of a massive vine hanging from the gnarled old tree and tie it quickly around Ruthie's waist.

"Hold still," I insist, knowing that if I don't get it just right then she runs the risk of tumbling into the waterfall we'll be swinging across in order to escape mister cranky-pants dinosaur. When she's tied up nice and tight, I secure another vine around my own waist.

Ruthie is kicking and screaming now, red in the face and angry as anything that she's tied up. I'm trying to soothe her when I hear our pursuer crash back to life behind us, joined now by a second set of rumbling footfalls. I know time is running out, but just as I move to push Ruthie off the rock, I hear the most dreaded sound in the entire world.

"Tristan! What on earth are you doing?"

The dinosaurs flee in fear, the jungle fades away, and I am left standing at the top of a staircase, the loose end of a rope in my five-year-old hand. The other end of the rope is wrapped around the waist of my livid one-year-old sister, who is outraged by the fact that she's been tethered to me unwillingly.

"Tristan, I asked you a question! Answer me, please."

I gaze sheepishly up at my mother and explain that we were trying to escape from two hungry dinosaurs by swinging over a waterfall on some tree vines. Really, what does it look like we're doing? Does she think I want my baby sister to get eaten by dinosaurs? 

I don't say that last bit out loud, of course.

Mother deftly unties Ruthie, picking her up and cooing softly in an attempt to soothe her before turning slowly to me. She has that look in her eyes--the one I have come to know quite well.

So now I'm sitting in Time Out. Again. I don't understand what was so wrong with trying to save my sister from the jaws of death, but apparently, benevolence is frowned upon in this house. I will be sure to remember that the next time we are under attack.

I sigh and rest my chin on my knees.

Suddenly, I perk up as I hear something. Faint at first, but getting stronger. I know what it is at once: far off in the distance, I hear the distinct sound of a fighter jet whirring to life. I lift my head and turn to face the horizon. I see a blue sky peppered with puffy white clouds looming over a lonely terrain.

I bounce anxiously in my seat, waiting for the moment when I'm released from my prison sentence.

The sky is calling.