Shooting for the stars--yes or no?

Today Energy came home from school with yet another proof of my failing mathematical intelligence:

It's a division problem.  Using fruit.  To solve it you are given one tiny, enigmatic clue in the bottom right hand corner.  Okaaaay...

Once he finished solving it (with minimal help from me since I couldn't get much farther than figuring out the answer to the clue), he asked if I could make him some sample problems that were similar so he could practice for next time.  I laughed and told him that I wasn't that smart, so sorry.

Later in the day I got to thinking about his request and wondered why it seemed so ridiculous.  If I had enough time on my hands, I could probably come up with something meager to satisfy his request.  Possibly not with a clever clue, but I think he just wanted help solving problems with tricky variables.  And if my brain failed me, there is always the internet to turn to where I would most likely be able to find someone else who had the time and inclination to come up with tricky math problems for sixth graders that I could borrow.  So why was I so quick to deny his request?  Was it because the request was impossible?  Or was it just because it was hard?

Thinking back over the years, I can recall several seemingly-impossible requests that I have hastily denied (somehow I don't think it's a coincidence that they have all come from the same child).  One Halloween, Energy begged me to make him a Yoshi egg for his costume.  He wanted it to look just like a real egg but with polka dots, be big enough that he could fit inside, and have the ability to open so he could sit on someone's front porch and then pop out when they answered the door.  Yeah, I shot that one down pretty quickly. 

He also begged me to give him permission to build a seven-story clubhouse in the backyard, complete with a ninja training studio on the top floor one summer and hounded me mercilessly when I said no.  Additionally, I ixnayed the secret underground tunnel that he wanted to build (okay, Mellow was in on this idea as well) to connect their bedroom to a friend's bedroom who lives next door.  Frankly, I blame Phineas and Ferb for giving my kids such crazy ideas and making them think they are attainable.

As a child, I don't ever recall having any lofty goals, with the possible exception of my desire to become a professional musician (a goal I quickly relinquished as soon as I became old enough to understand the mathematical improbability of it ever becoming a reality).  I never tried to build a working spaceship, I never tried to dig a hole to China and I never tried to fly.  I was always too practical for things like that.  Sure, I had an imagination and did my fair share of playing in the backyard, but I never believed that I could make the impossible possible. 

I am extraordinarily happy with the life I have led so far and the things I have accomplished, but still I wonder what would have happened if I had let myself believe that anything is possible.

Thinking of why I am hesitant to set lofty goals, I am struck by the idea that it's not the 'hard' that bothers me, rather it's the uncertainty of it.  Obviously, I am okay with taking on things that are hard.  I have five kids, after all.  But there is a relatively simple formula to follow in taking care of them: feed them, bathe them, keep them safe, play with them, listen to them.  Those are often hard things to do, but if I do them, I feel fairly confident that my goal of raising these kids will be attainable.  It's the uncertainty of life's loftier endeavors that scares me and causes me not to even try.

So here's the question: is it wrong of me to discourage my children from trying to shoot for the stars by telling them that it's impossible?  Am I doing them a disservice by trying to instill in them a healthy does of practicality?  Perhaps these children are the ones who will be inventing things I never dreamed of several years down the road, but it won't happen if I squash their dreams with my never ending reality checks.

As a parent, how do you encourage your kids to dream big while still giving them the confidence to be okay if or when they fail and to not be afraid of trying again?

Maybe the first place to start is with me.

Why I Love the Mess

Thanksgiving day is almost over and I successfully cooked an awesome meal for friends and family.  Now that the crowd is gone and the kids are in bed, I am thinking about what I'm really grateful for.  I'm thankful for my home, my freedom, and my husband's job, among other things.  At the risk of sounding cliche, I have to say that I'm also very thankful for my family.  My family means a lot to me and I express my gratitude for them often, but I thought it would be instructive to stop and explore why, exactly, I'm grateful for my family.  More specifically, why am I grateful for my children who make messes and drive me a little bit bonkers?  (Of course it goes without saying that my husband is perfect, so obviously no explanation is needed there.)

Here are some reasons I came up with for why I love the crazy little people in my life:

1.  I am grateful for my built-in alarm clock.  It comes snooze-button-free as an industry standard and for the past 11 years, God has given me a replacement every time one gets old enough to think twice before waking their cranky non-morning-person mommy.  These little alarm clocks have encouraged me to embrace the adage, 'Early to bed, early to rise; makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.'  Just for the record, I am far from embracing said adage at this point in my life, but I'm grateful that they have given me a reason to get an early start for the past 11 years because there's no way I would have otherwise.

2.  My children inspire me.  For reasons I can't explain and will never understand, I get my best ideas when there are kids running around creating chaos.  I can't control when inspiration strikes so I have learned to accept it.  And keep lots of sticky notes handy to record my ideas.  (Oh, and I'm also thankful for sticky notes--up until a year ago, that is--and now I'm grateful for my iphone with a built-in pad of never ending sticky notes.)

3.  They give me something to look forward to every single night.... bedtime!
Just kidding.
Sort of... let me explain.
While I do relish the silence that spreads through our home after the kids go to bed in comparison to the noise of a crazy day, one of my favorite things to do is to sneak into my kids' rooms while they are sleeping and just watch them sleep.  They resemble angels in this state, and I feel privileged to witness the innocence on their sleeping faces every single night.  Watching them sleep melts the hard out of any day and fills me up with peace in preparation to tackle yet another tomorrow.

4.  They take my mind off of other things.  As a perpetual worry wart, I am prone to working myself into a tizzy over whatever national or social disaster is currently ensuing.  Taking care of my kids pulls me out of panic mode and helps me to focus on the things I have control over rather than the things I do not.

5.  Okay, I simply must put in one about my husband.  Even though it's a given that I'm thankful for him, because he's so perfect... (are you reading this, babe?).  Anyway, I am grateful for a husband who knows me better than I know myself.  He believes in me.  He grounds me.  He encourages me to shoot for the stars, but only if I decide to first.

6.  I'm grateful for the little worker minions that we have bred.  Sure, it took a few years for them to mature enough, but they are really useful these days.  This past summer they worked very hard in the backyard pulling weeds, they have been raking leaves all fall, and just yesterday they helped me clean the house top to bottom in preparation for the Thanksgiving group we were hosting.  They aren't always happy about helping, but when push comes to shove, they buckle down and get it done.  (Although I do have to admit that sometimes money is involved.  Like with the fall leaves.  But yesterday they worked to pay me back for the privilege of living in our home rent-free these many years.)

7.  They remind me that I'm not alone.  If I were, my house certainly wouldn't be this messy!  But, as annoying as the messes usually are, they remind me that my house is full of life and I wouldn't have it any other way.  There are six people here who will love me forever (even if on some days they would argue otherwise).


Happy Thanksgiving!

Lamenting My Lost Brain Cells

I have long felt that my brain cells are slowly dying, rushed prematurely to their deaths by each of my pregnancies.  This evening I had a rude awakening, and I saw just how far gone I really am.  My son Energy, who is in 6th grade, came to me with a question.  He was really just making conversation and the words he was spouting sounded vaguely familiar, but I really had no idea what he was talking about after the first sentence or two. 

The question was this:  "Mom, what is the atomic number of an oxygen atom?"  He then proceeded to discuss protons, neutrons, electrons and isotopes; and atomic mass vs. atomic number of a hydrogen atom.  He was wondering if I could tell him the same information for an oxygen atom and explain how they were different.

Ummm, no.  I couldn't.  I did take chemistry, both in high school and in college and I'm pretty sure I used to know the answer to that question, but today after the first sentence I felt my eyes glazing over and my ears going on vacation until I heard nothing but gibberish a la Charlie Brown listening to his parents.  Also, I'm pretty sure I did not know the answer to that question in sixth grade!

I knew this day would come eventually, when my kids would be smarter than me and sigh in exasperation when I told them to wait 'till daddy came home to get help with their homework.  But I honestly didn't think it would happen this soon.  The math questions Energy comes home with are similarly perplexing, and even Mellow, my fourth grader, had one the other day that Energy had to help him with because I had no idea how to do it. 

So today I am lamenting the loss of my gray matter.  We had a fun ride and I hope it has not all turned to mush yet, but the day's events are leading me to believe otherwise.

After my children were all in bed, however, I got to thinking and realized that, although I can't tell my son what the atomic number of an oxygen atom is, I have still learned a great many things since my days of sitting in a classroom.

For example, did you know that spit up, even the clear kind, can leave a horrid stain that will never come out unless you immediately remove the clothing and soak it in Biz or OxiClean before washing it?  I certainly didn't learn that from school.  I have also learned, since my classroom days, how to make really awesome homemade rolls.  In fact, I made approximately 120 of them just today and put them in the freezer in preparation for the Thanksgiving dinner I will make for 9 adults and 10 children in a few days. 

I now know that it is possible for me to run more than one mile without dying.  I know how to shovel snow effectively from my driveway.  I know how to make a hermit crab Halloween costume.  I know how to restore and repaint an ugly old piece of furniture to give it new life and spice up the decor in my home.  I know how to snake a toilet after one of my children has been using their imagination with the toilet paper.  I have mastered the art of changing a child's sheets in the middle of the night with only one eye partially open so I don't have to fully wake up.  I've learned that pasta roni is a side dish (and not a very good one at that), NOT a full meal.  I have learned how to artfully arrange a bookshelf so it's contents are aesthetically pleasing.  I know that I can do well on a standardized test for graduate school.  I know how to play Bach's piano invention number 8 by memory and kick it's booty.  I've learned how to kill a spider without screaming (though when the kids aren't around to watch, I usually do anyway--old habits die hard).

The list just goes on and on.  But mostly, as an adult, I have learned that I can do hard things.  I can be brave.  I can look at a challenge and, knowing that failure is a possibility, agree to attempt it anyway.  I never would have done that as a youth.  In fact, whenever I heard adults telling me as a teenager to dream big and I could do anything, I always felt deep down that they were lying.  I stuck to dreams that were safe.  Not easy, mind you, but ones I was guaranteed to succeed at if I put in enough work and didn't need any luck.

Now as an adult, I am finally starting to accept that the world is full of possibilities.  If I am willing to put forth the effort and not be afraid of failure, I can accomplish great things.  Knowing that I have made it through five pregnancies gives me courage, since those were five of the hardest things I have ever done.  I have earned my battle scars.  And though my textbook smarts have faded over the years, I am grateful for the lessons life has taught me and wouldn't trade them for anything.  For now, it's okay that my kids tease me for not being as smart as them.  They will understand someday.

Are you crazy, too? Take this quiz to find out!

To celebrate the awesome day I have had, I've come up with a little quiz.  Take it to see if you too, like me, are slowly (or not so slowly) losing your mind.

1.  How many children does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
     a.  two
     b. three
     c.  who knows?
     d.  only one, but it takes exactly five to push their mother over the edge

2.  If a mom says something but nobody hears her, did she really say it at all?
    a.  yes, but only if she said it at least five times
    b.  no, the "if a tree falls in the woods" logic applies here, so if no one heard it, she didn't say it.
    c.  yes, but only if she did a song and dance to go with it
    d.  no.  It's her word against theirs and they always win the fights that mom if too tired to fight.

3.  How many conversations can a mother have at the same time before all she hears is "wah, wah, la, la, mmmmmm, la la"?
     a.  The limit is two.  Any more and they all fade into just noise.
     b.  It depends on her age.  It seems that the older she gets, the fewer threads she can follow at one time.
     c.  She should be able to listen to and respond intelligently to any number of conversations at one time, as needed by her children.  Obviously.
     d.  What was the question again?

4.  On average, for how many days can a mom own a new shirt before it becomes a child's napkin and forever sports a flashy stain right on the front?
     a.  two days max
     b.  one week
     c.  ten days
     d.  Eww, you let your children wipe their dirty hands/faces/whatevers on your new clothes?

5.   How cold does it have to get outside before a mother's home is officially turned into a jungle gym?
     a.  50 degrees
     b.  43 degrees
     c.  27 degrees
     d.  I would never let my children climb on the furniture or jump off of it.  Gasp.

6.  How many cheerios does a mother have to step on before she will feel compelled to finally pull out that broom and clean up already?
     a.  one
     b.  three
     c.  ten
     d.  I do not give my children cheerios.  Didn't you know that Cheerios contain Tripotassium Phosphate, an additive that is also used as a fertilizer?

7.  After how many glasses of spilled milk at dinner does a mother toss the popular adage and bawl her eyes out?
     a. two
     b. three
     c. Oh silly, spilled milk is never worth crying over.
     d. Just one--that adage was written by someone who has never had to clean up spilled milk after spending at least an hour in the kitchen dodging a crying baby, with a "helpful" preschooler stirring dinner, and three other children firing off homework questions in rapid-fire succession.  One glass of spilled milk once we all sit down for dinner (sans daddy, who is still at work of course) is all it takes to induce tears.   

8.  How many bowls of chocolate ice cream will this mom need to recover from today?
   a.  one
   b.  two
   c.  ice cream won't solve anything
   d.  Oh yes it will!  I'll take the whole carton, please!



I think by now those of you who belong on the crazy train with me probably know who you are.  Welcome aboard!  Here's to bedtime!

It's One of the Perks!

Oreos, that is.  I maintain (and have for many years) that it’s my right as a stay-at-home mom to buy a special package of the delectable brown and white cookies (or two, when the events of the day call for extreme measures) and hide them in a place where no-one but myself will ever find them.  I also reserve the right to pull them out after everyone else (my husband included) is sleeping, and munch to my little heart’s content.  Guilt is not invited to my evening forays—as I said before, it’s one of the perks of my job.  And it’s a perk I will take over mandatory monthly employee training any day. 
 

The perks of being a stay-at-home mom may seem few and far between to the amateur observer.  Hardly enough to entice a gal to give up the luxury of a blissfully self-satisfied life in exchange for a job where you may be spit upon, spilled upon, and (how to put it delicately?) defecated upon at any given moment.  

I don't receive health benefits (unless you count building up my immune system one elementary-school-bug at a time as preventative care), sick days, or paid vacations (or any vacation at all, for that matter.... or pay either, while we're on the subject).  I don’t get overtime for services rendered after midnight and before sunrise, and I don’t have the luxury of handing in my two-weeks notice when I decide I have finally had enough.

So why, then, do I choose to do it?  Though the perks of my job may not seem like much from the outside looking in, those of us down in the trenches together understand that the perks of being a stay-at-home mom are beautiful and priceless nonetheless.  I would like to share with you some of the reasons why I have the best job in the world.  Additionally, a well-timed package of Double-Stuf Oreo’s never hurts.

Flexibility 

For starters, I get to be my own boss, without the inherent demands of a risky business venture.  I am lucky to have a supportive husband to stand in  as my partner-in-crime.  However, his domain is largely at work, and during the day when he is not at home, I am the one calling the shots (of course I am also in charge when he is at home, but don't tell him I said that).

I have never been one who responds well to others telling me what to do.  My motivation and drive come from within, and left to my own devices, I have always performed quite well.  (The contrary is also true, which may explain why I hate workout videos so much—they are so bossy!).   

As a stay-at-home mom, I have the freedom to plan our days’ activities and be accountable to no one but myself for them.  At the beginning of each day, it is up to me to decide if we are going to the park, the mall or the store.  Whether we will have a play date or stay home.  And ultimately, whether we make good use of our time or not.  And if our plans veer off the intended course for any number of reasons, I can choose to go with the flow, or throw a world-class tantrum (unfortunately I tend to choose the latter—I am working on that).  But, the choice is entirely mine.

I enjoy having the freedom to craft our schedule to suit my tastes and the temperaments of my children.  Being the night owl that I am, for example, I love the fact that I don’t have to appear at an office promptly at 8:00 am, in a stuffy, pressed lady-suit, with my hair expertly blown dry and my makeup impeccable.  That’s not to say that I won’t receive a wake-up call the moment the sun rises (or, yes, often before), but the perks of my job allow me to remain barely functional until a more decent hour.  And who else can say that they are allowed to show up for work in their pajamas?

Reality Check

Secondly, since becoming a stay-at-home mom, I have unlocked the secret of youth.  What better way is there to spend your day than by traveling back in time to revisit your youthful innocence?  Now, I will be the first to admit that I can only take so much of a game of Barbie or Polly Pocket.  But on those occasions when I can sit back and observe my children’s imaginations at work, I am effortlessly transported back to my past.  To a time when my greatest concern was whether Barbie would have time to marry Ken before my mom called me for lunch. 

I have come to understand that the best way to escape the stark realities we face as adults is to spend an hour sitting on the floor, playing with a child.  (Occasionally this scenario also leads to an unintended nap, but most children have radar for picking up on the early signs of this would-be tragedy and ensuring it never comes to fruition.)

The art of playing gets lost as we grow older.  We focus more on to-do lists, fret about perceived injustices and feel slighted when our friends succeed where we have failed.  Sometimes I long for a return to the days when I was free to ride bikes with my friends from dawn till dusk, coming in only when compelled by an empty stomach.  Taking the time each day to play with my children, or at the very least, stop and watch them playing together, helps me recapture some of the magic of youth.

My biggest fans  

            Finally, how many people are able to say they have witnessed a miracle?  In my job, I see them every single day.  It’s a miracle, for example, that my children are even here at all.  Somehow, I survived five pregnancies, births, and subsequent “first years”, and chose to do it all over again each time until our family felt complete.  It’s also a miracle that my rambunctious four-year old has yet to land my baby in the ER with her overly enthusiastic big-sister hugs. 

            However, the biggest miracle of all, and perhaps the one that keeps me going day after day is the fact that my kids love me even though I’m not perfect.  They love me when my hair’s not done, my face is bare and my middle is frumpy.  I am just mom and they love me, no matter how I come.  How great is it to know that one little person (or five, in my case) thinks you are the best thing on the planet (even better than ice cream, though they may not always admit it)?

            When my daughter Plucky was born, she introduced me to a whole new level of love.  I am one who enjoys solitude, so having a daughter who insisted on being glued to me every waking moment (and, as an infant, every sleeping moment as well), took a toll on me.  My instincts were to push her away, and sometimes I catch myself doing it still as I clamor for my bubble of free space.  But it struck me a few years ago that it really is great being the light of someone’s life.  I know her adoration will only last so long and soon I will be the one clamoring for her attention before she saunters out the door with her friends.

            My favorite part of the day is walking into my baby's room in the morning (despite the fact, as you may remember, that I am most definitely not a morning person) and watching the ecstatic and immediate grin light up his precious face.  He is grinning because of me.  He is sublimely happy to see me and as a mom, it melts my heart to see it every single time.

Babies and children are very forgiving and even if I denied my kids a treat after dinner, wouldn’t let my baby play in the toilet before bed, and took away screen time from my older kids because they were fighting, by the time they wake up the next morning, all is forgiven.  Forgotten too, and they will not be reminding me of my shortcomings or throwing my failures back in my face at a later date.  Possessing the elusive ability to forgive is part of the magic of being a child.  

In the end, I am the sun that lights up my children’s days and they love nothing more than seeing me first thing in the morning (though they like me even better on the rare occasion that I have bought them a box of fruit loops cereal for breakfast).  Of course they do sometimes get antsy and decide that their sun needs to rise before it’s fully ready.  But even a grumpy sun can’t resist the delightful smiles of the ones who love them best.  Not for long, anyway.

So here’s to the perks!  And here’s to repeating the mantra ‘It’s One of the Perks’ in your head every time you discover a new one.  The hidden stash of Oreos is just the beginning!

The Smell of Winter

Winter is officially here, and my poor Japanese Maple did not get a chance to say a proper good-bye before the snow arrived yesterday.

And though I'm sad, as I always am at this time of year, I was surprised when the undeniable smell of winter assaulted me as I carted groceries in from my pre-storm Costco stock-up trip and I felt a little thrill.

I was surprised because I have never enjoyed winter.  A California girl to the core, I cringe every time the temperature drops below 50 degrees.  The first winter we lived here I was certain I would never be warm again.  By the time the next one rolled around, I was so miserable that, since we couldn't just pack up and head back to the west coast, I decided I needed to do something big.

Thus my "Reasons Why Winter is Great" list was born.  (Have you caught on yet that I just love to make lists?)  The list began merely as a way of convincing myself that winter was great, even though I knew deep down that it really wasn't.  But somewhere along the way I won myself over and, while I still hate being cold, there is a certain charm to winter that I miss during the other three seasons. 

In C.S. Lewis' fascinating book, "The Screwtape Letters", he writes of the seasons and how humans love them because every time a season begins, we are given just enough change to keep things from getting boring.  Yet each season is familiar in that it comes around every year.  We know what to expect each time, even though the season itself is starting afresh.  We are therefore left with the impression that we are experiencing something new, without the fear of the unfamiliar. 

For me, after living through eleven of these crazy New England winters, I feel as if I know what to expect, and this winter I am looking forward to the change.  Strange, right?

In a few weeks, though, I'm sure I'll need to pull out my trusty old list again, to remind myself just why winter is so great.  So here it is:

Reasons why Winter is Great

1. The bugs die--no more mosquito bites 'till spring!
2. All the weeds die--I have never seen weeds grow at such an alarming rate as they do here in New England, but in the winter they shrivel up and return to dust, where they belong.
3. Cute boots, scarves and coats--need I say more?
4. No more yard-work (unless you count shoveling snow).
5. No more lawn mowing!  Instead, the lawn is covered in a beautiful blanket of white and I can ignore it for the next six months.
6. I love the whirring sound of the heater as it kicks on.  Even though it should sound like the sound of my money (or rather, the money my husband earns that I abscond from him) going up in flames, it still just reminds me of my childhood in California, when the only time the heater ever had to kick on was at Christmas time.
7. I can slack off in the leg-shaving department.
8. The kids go to bed earlier, and think they are being allowed to stay up late because of how dark it is by 6:00pm when we are eating dinner.
9. My baby sleeps in longer in the morning when it's dark.
10. Warm, cozy jammies are the best!
11. Hot cocoa warms my hands and my heart.
12. Christmas time!!!!
13. I very much enjoy watching my kids make snowmen while I stay inside the house with the baby.  (Don't know what I'll do when I no longer have a baby who wants to stay in--I'll have to find another excuse then.)
14. I love blow drying my hair in the winter thanks to the morning chill, so my hair always looks cuter in the winter than it does in the summer.
15. Uggs.  They are so wonderful!
16. My favorite Yankee Candle scent--Pomegranate Cider--wafts through my kitchen all winter long.  For some reason, it doesn't feel right lighting it in the summer time.
17. Christmas baking--fudge, caramels, sugar cookies, toffee, turtles, the list just goes on and on.
18. The crisp, fresh smell in the air is amazing. 
19. I'm a homebody at heart, so I really love snow days (in groups of three or less in a row) when we get to stay inside in our pajamas all day.
20. I don't even notice my roll of belly fat as it hibernates under layers of cozy warm clothes until spring.
21. I LOVE late start days.  It's the best of both worlds--we get to sleep in a little, but the kids still go to school so they don't get stir-crazy.
22. My drinking water from the tap never needs ice.
23. I would much rather exercise when the air is cold than when it's hot outside, and though I don't get skinnier in the winter, it does help me counteract the holiday baking.
24. My uber-soft bathrobe greets me every morning.
25. I have always loved a good, long, hot shower, but I just can't enjoy one in the summer when my house is sweltering and I am sweating as soon as I get out.  Hot showers were meant to go with cold winter mornings!

 Here's to a happy winter!

When the Last Leaf Falls

Ever since we moved to the east coast, I have been enamored by the fall colors that appear overnight in stunningly vibrant shades of red, orange, yellow and purple.  I have often been known to pull over to the side of the road whenever I catch sight of a great view and ooh and ahh at it for five minutes or more before continuing on my way.

It is for this reason, that my kids dread getting in the car with me between the months of September and November.  They never know when a quick car ride will turn into a painfully slow sightseeing tour, a la Disney's "Its a Small World" ride.  (To be fair, I do enjoy that ride, but only since I became a mother).

The reason I always stop to gaze at the leaves is really very simple:  I know that it's only going to be there for a few short weeks, if even that.  Once the last leaf falls, I will have to face six months of cold and ugly before spring arrives to save me from the gloom.  As I sit there in my car, sometimes with complaining kids in the back, enjoying the beauty of whatever fall scene I happen to be taking in, I can feel it filling me up as I drink in the gorgeous views.

This scenario plays itself out every single fall and once it is over for the season, I can't wait to do it again next year.  I was met with a shock today, however, when I left my house for the first time in over a week (thank-you, hurricane Sandy) and found that fall is almost completely over and that I missed the best part of it this year.

Of course I've been stopping at my favorite spots for several weeks now, waiting for them to be just right, but they never quite got there.  Now they are gone and I have missed it.

Indeed, I am grateful for all the times I did stop over the past few weeks, even though I knew the colors weren't at peak yet.  I thought I would have plenty of time later to look at them, but still I stopped anyway and now I'm so glad that I did.

This is a minor tragedy, of course, and I know I will get to see it all again next year.  Even though I didn't get to fully experience the joy of the fall season this year, I know there will be plenty of chances to do so later.  But what my kids don't know, and what I haven't told them, is that I feel the same way about them as I do about the fall leaves. 

Venturing out today only to discover that I missed my favorite part of the year while I had my head down during the storm we faced last week, was a poignant reminder that I don't want to do the same thing with my children.  If I don't stop to look at them and drink in their innocence every chance I get, then I might just miss it and winter will set in all too soon.

Unlike the seasons, there will be no second chances this time.  This is it.  Now is the time to bask in the beauty of the season that is childhood.

And just so you don't feel too bad for me, I will let you in on a little secret.  Though it is true that my favorite neighborhood leaf-gazing spots have slipped into hibernation and I will have to wait until next year to fully experience them, the last leaf of the season has yet to fall.  There is a Japanese Maple tree in my backyard that is always the last to turn.  Every year, after all the other leaves have fallen, it changes slowly, allowing me to savor the last little bits of the beauty that is a New England fall before silently bidding me farewell.  It's my final reminder to enjoy what I've got, while I've got it and for that, I am grateful.

Thank-you, Japanese Maple for reminding me to savor the important things in life.

The Halloween Candy Conundrum

Halloween has come and gone and now we have four bowls full to the brim of coma-inducing sugary goodness sitting on top of our fridge.  There are items in these bowls I haven't seen in years.  Sixlets, Lemon Heads and Razzles only seem to come out on Halloween, and they come out every year only to fall back into extinction for 11 months until they are called up again. 

There are others like 100 Grand, Heath and Almond Joy that I completely forget about every year until they show up in those wonderful bags.  They greet me like long-lost friends, reminding me exactly what I have been missing out on when, upon finding myself in the candy aisle, I force my eyes to glaze over the many temptations vying for my attention and hurry on to the more practical grocery items.

Surely you can understand why I find it necessary to swipe these tiny morsels one-by-one from my children's bags when they come in for the night.  I consider it to be one of the perks of having young children.  Yet, however entitled I may feel in my pilfering practices, there is always a certain amount of guilt involved, and if one of the kids catches me with my hand in the proverbial cookie jar, there is always a price to pay.

So, to help me work through the candy conundrum that is Halloween, I have made two lists.  One contains the reasons why I should not eat my kids Halloween candy, and the other lists reasons why I should.  Hopefully we will all find it instructive.


Reasons why I should NOT eat my kids Halloween candy, even if they aren't looking:

I'll get fat

I always end up with a tummy ache

I can never stop at just one

I like to munch them while I'm cooking dinner and then I'm not hungry when the food's ready

The kids will get mad at me if they find out

The more pieces I eat, the fewer I will have to barter with, and I have learned that throwing their candy in the trash one piece at a time is quite effective motivation for inducing model behavior.

The first bite always tastes the best and the experience just goes downhill from there

Cheap chocolate always leaves a bad aftertaste

The candy bars are so tiny that I often don't even register I am eating one before it is gone, especially when I get distracted right after I open it and eat it while doing something else.

They did all the work--I just stayed on the street watching them beg for handouts from a distance.



Several compelling reasons why I SHOULD eat my kids Halloween candy:

I would rather get fat myself than allow them to get fat, therefore I am doing them a big favor

Eating it makes me feel so happy

If I rotate between the kids bowls just so, they will never notice the missing pieces

If I eat it all, then I am saving my husband from facing the same dilemma--oh, the sacrifices we make for love!

The whole "Free candy on Halloween" thing won't last forever, so I better enjoy it while I can.  Or get a dog to dress up and take out when the kids get too old.

Because I can

I work for free and it's about time someone started paying me.  Since the kids don't have any money, other than what we give them, I think it's only fair that I allow them to pay me in chocolate.

The poor candy bags feel neglected while the kids are at school or sleeping, so I am really doing everyone a favor by giving them some attention when the kids aren't there to do it themselves.

Someone paid for it, so we can't let it go to waste

The candy needs to be tested out to make sure it is safe for the kids to eat.  Since it's impractical to take a bite out of every single piece of candy, the most effective way to test the candy is by conducting a simple random sample.  I will selflessly perform said sample over time, choosing a new subject every time I walk through the kitchen. 



Reasons why I should throw all the candy away and not let anyone eat it:

???



To all parents everywhere, Happy Halloween Candy Snatching!  Don't get caught!

Fifteen Minutes to My Unravelling

I should have known we were headed for trouble that day.  Silly me for not foreseeing that fifteen minutes of quiet time was too much to ask for nursing my newborn baby (who did not nurse well with distractions), when said baby had three older siblings ages two, four and six.  But fifteen minutes was what I had decided to ask for that day and I was determined to get it.  Have you ever noticed how the harder you try to make something happen, the more elusive that thing becomes?

And so it was for me that day.  Over four years have passed since, and yet it still lives on in my mind as the day I knew for sure that I was in over my head.  It was the day I came to accept the possibility that having four kids just might be the end of me.

It was that same day, however, that I learned an important lesson about the chaos that is having four kids (and yes, we have added another one since then and I can tell you it holds true for five as well).

Now, let me set the scene for you.  My three month old nursing baby Plucky, had recently started to become aware of the world around her.  She became easily distracted by noises, refusing to nurse if there was anything even mildly entertaining happening within earshot, so I had taken to retreating from the vicinity of my three older children and hiding in her bedroom whenever she needed to nurse. 

I had just started potty training my two year old, Bright, which is a nightmare in its own right and she was sitting at the kitchen table coloring.  Mellow, my four year old, was playing with Legos on the living room floor, and Energy was bouncing around the house, hopping from one activity to another in his unique way.  Oh, and my husband was out of town.

I asked Bright if she needed to go potty and she answered with an emphatic no.  Plucky was getting hungry so I stole off to her bedroom to nurse her in peace.  I settled down into the soft armchair, sighing as I did so, as it was the first time I had stopped moving all morning.  I got Plucky all situated and she began to nurse eagerly.

Anyone who has ever nursed a baby knows that once the milk starts flowing, it doesn't stop, and mine had just begun to let down when Energy bounded in the room, exclaiming, "Mom, I'm hungry.  Can I have some popcorn?" 

Plucky opened her mouth and turned her head to size up the distraction, milk spraying her in the face as she did so.  I struggled to get her back to the task at hand while milk spurted everywhere.  I told Energy that he could have some, if he could make it himself.  I was pretty sure he knew how, since he had done it just a few days ago and had become, as of late, an expert microwaver.

Only once he had left and slammed the door shut behind him did Plucky re-focus and return to her job.  I heard Energy rustling around in the kitchen and soon he piped up with, "Mom, how do you do this again?"  I debated not answering, knowing that my voice would cause Plucky to lose focus again, but also knowing that if I remained silent then Energy would be back in the room in no time, so I shouted out some directions to him, Plucky glancing up at me in surprise as I did so.

Once again, she re-focused and I thought I was in the clear when, only moments later, I heard the words every mother of a potty-training child dreads to hear.  Bright shrieked from her perch at the kitchen table, "Mom!  I'm peeing!"

My reflexes took over and my focus on the breastfeeding baby was trumped by my focus on the potty training toddler.  "Run to the potty!" I screeched at her, jumping up from the armchair.  I cradled Plucky in one arm and hoped she would continue nursing while I rushed to the kitchen to assess the damage.  Of course she couldn't, but she was hungry by this point and voiced her outrage at my sudden movement.

As I ran down the hall to the peeing toddler, I passed Energy in the kitchen.  He was staring at the package of microwave popcorn in his hands and queried as I rushed by, "How do you do this again?"  I might have answered with a mystified, "Ummm", or I may have remained silent.  I don't really remember.  But I do know that I wasn't able to form a coherent answer to the question in that moment.

I arrived in the kitchen to find Bright, standing on her chair in a puddle of pee, trying unsuccessfully to hold it in.  Mellow glanced up and, seeing me entering the room asked nicely, "Mom, will you play Legos with me?" 

Now, Mellow seldom requires my attention, preferring to play by himself most of the time, so when he asks to be played with I usually try to accommodate him.  Of course, now was not the time and I answered him with a terse "No".  His little face fell and he burst into innocent tears.  I immediately felt awful, despite the undeniable fact that I couldn't play with him at the moment. 

Pee was dripping down Bright's legs and, still holding Plucky in my left elbow, I grabbed her under the arms with my right and helped her hurry down the hallway to the bathroom, leaving a trail of pee in our wake. 

By this time, baby Plucky was not a happy camper and was wailing enthusiastically, trying to locate the source of her meal while I bustled down the hallway.  Mellow was sobbing brokenheartedly in the living room, and Energy was getting increasingly more frantic and frustrated by my lack of assistance in his microwave popcorn endeavor.  Bright, my fashionista who did not deal well with failure, was also crying; weather from the fact that she hadn't made it to the potty in time or as a result of her outfit being ruined, I will never know.

It was at this moment that I wondered if we had done something horribly wrong when we decided to  have four kids.  I recalled the 'no return policy' that came with each one of them and I wondered if I could really do this.  Of course, that was just the crazy talking and I soon came to my senses.  I love each one of my children and each one is an incredible blessing.  But there is no denying that being a mom is hard work.

So, the lesson of the day?  Crises happen.  They do, it's just part of life.  And having them on a daily basis is par for the course when you have as many kids as I do.  Though you may not agree that my debacle deserves the classification of 'crisis', it certainly felt like one to me in that moment.  And perception is everything.

But, no matter how bad the crisis gets, there is always an end.  For me, that day, the crisis lasted a mere fifteen minutes when all was said and done, though I have to say that it felt a lot longer than that at the time.  I got the pee cleaned up, helped Energy with the popcorn, nursed Plucky and put her down for a nap, then apologized to Mellow while I sat and played Legos with him.  Order was restored and peace returned to our home, if only temporarily.

Having lots of kids is hard.  And there are moments when I wish someone would fire me so I could just go home and sulk before looking for a new job.  But the hard is mostly short-lived, and knowing that gives me the strength to get through the hard bits of each day.  It also helps me appreciate the peaceful times and enjoy the many moments of non-urgent chaos.

So, though I learned that day that it only takes fifteen minutes to unravel me, I also learned that there will be plenty of time to stitch myself up again before heading back for more.

A Baby's Laugh

I realized after composing my top ten lists yesterday, that I left out one very important thing that is quite possibly the best part of parenting: laughter.  Especially when it's coming out of your kids.  There is just no better sound on earth than a child's laughter.  

Several years ago, on one of Mellow's birthdays, he had several rowdy boys over for a party and they were sitting around the table eating cake and telling jokes.  These were little boys and the jokes were pretty lame, mostly revolving around bodily functions and food.  But they were hyper, and happy to be together and so every joke each one of them made was met with maniacal peals of laughter from everyone around the table.  Just watching them and listening to the cacophony brought a smile to my face and my husband and I couldn't resist joining in on the laugh fest.

Additionally, I remember with each one of my babies, the first time they laughed it was like music to my ears.  With Energy, the first time we heard him laughing was when my husband and I were playing tennis.  Energy was about three months old and we had him sitting in a stroller off to the side of the court, while we hit the ball back and forth.  Every time the ball hit one of our rackets, Energy let loose with the cutest, most amazing baby laugh I had ever heard.  For some reason, he thought the sound was absolutely hilarious and his giggles escalated until we were all rolling.

Laughter is infectious, and it has the power to chase the blues away.  Baby laughter especially, is like sunshine to the soul and for that reason, it deserves something special.  In honor of this amazing gift our babies give to us every time they let loose with a great laugh, and to atone for my oversight in leaving it off of my top ten lists completely, I wrote a special poem about it.   

Here is my tribute to the role laughter plays in my life:

A Baby's Laugh

The best sound on earth

Is a baby's light mirth

It warms up the heart and the soul.

And a smile so rare

Is the standard fare

Paid by witnesses, both young and old.