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.

The Unbreakable Rule

I recently had a birthday. To celebrate I decided to allow myself a day off from my diet, and I planned my splurging as follows: We would order Chinese food from my favorite place, eat chocolate cake for dessert, and it would be absolutely fabulous. However, since my birthday was on a weekday when my kids have an assortment of extra activities preventing us from doing anything truly fun, I decided to extend my self-sanctioned diet destruction to the weekend before my birthday as well. So on Thursday night, in preparation for my "free weekend" I purchased one gallon of chocolate ice cream, a container of candy mix-ins to go with it, and a bag of chocolate chips so we could make my favorite chocolate chip cookies. What better way to celebrate than with an overabundance of chocolate, right?

The problem was, once I had the treats in my house, I couldn't wait to consume them. So I began my eating cheating on Friday morning. By Monday, my treats were all gone (including the entire batch of chocolate chip cookies, though my kids did help me eat those). Since it still wasn't my birthday yet, I decided I needed to buy more treats. I went back to the store and purchased a bag of nacho cheese Doritos, a package of chocolate Double-Stuf Oreos, and (since I knew my kids would want some too) a package of regular Double-Stuf Oreos.

Plus the previously agreed upon chocolate cake.

And some ice cream to go with it since you can't have cake without ice cream.

Obviously.

Okay, so you get the point. I went all out, making sure I had all the forbidden items I secretly crave but usually resist buying because I know how bad they are and I know I can't stop eating them at a reasonable point. I justified my splurges by telling myself I deserved it for my special day. I was really hoping that, just for one day (plus several more on either end of said day), I could break the rules and get away with it; that the rules governing overeating would somehow not apply since I deserved it. After all, I should be allowed to eat myself silly without getting sick or gaining weight afterwards if I have a good reason. That should be permitted on your birthday, right??

Unfortunately, the universe didn't agree. By the time my birthday actually rolled around I was so sick that I didn't even feel like eating birthday cake after dinner (which, if you'll remember--was the single treat I had originally agreed to allow myself). I ended my fabulously anticipated birthday by falling into a sugar-induced coma sleep, complete with a massive tummy-ache, at 9:00 pm. If you know me at all, you know that I NEVER go to bed that early, since I see it as a shameless waste of quiet time.

This past week has taught me that the universe does not bend the rules, even on my birthday or when I feel I really deserve it. It's laws are absolute, no matter what.

So why am I sharing this embarrassing story with you? Because it was a good reminder for me that, as co-law-giver in our family, I should take a lesson from the universe when it comes to enforcing the rules in our home. First, I need to be careful about which rules I set to begin with. If I'm not fully committed, they won't last. Then I need to be ready to defend them when my minions put up a fight. Kids need to know what to expect, and that there are consequences for breaking the rules. What better place to learn this than in the home when the stakes are relatively low?

I learned the sticking-up-for-your-own-rules lesson the hard way one winter, when I agreed to let the kids bend the rules on screen time after school one day. I was engrossed in a book (okay, I'll admit it--it was probably Twilight). I didn't want to put it down when the bus pulled up, so I agreed to let the kids watch a movie (even though we had a strict "no screens after school" policy), saying we could maybe "bend the rules" for the day. Just for the record, this was a BAD IDEA! Never, ever tell your kids that bending the rules is an option. Suffice it to say, I never lived it down. I spent the entire rest of the year explaining over and over and over and over and over and over (you get the idea) why we couldn't bend the rules again.

So, though I still think we should all be allowed to eat whatever we want to on our birthdays without consequence, I also believe that the universe was created in a way that would teach us certain valuable lessons. If I'm still fighting, even as an adult, against the idea that some rules are un-bendable, then it must be a hard lesson to learn.

I'd better get started on teaching it to my kids.