How To Turn Your Mother Into Mush
18 Dec 2011 Leave a Comment
STEP 1: After being sent to your room to contemplate why a Frisbee is indeed considered an “outdoor toy,” and the importance of “turning on your listening ears” (because mothers are psychic and know that Frisbees do not get along well with table lamps,) simply hand her this note with an apologetic face. Then, chances are good, she will probably make you brownies.
“One Last Word…”
16 Dec 2011 Leave a Comment
in "Stuff"
I have a good friend who teaches third grade. Today, she invited me to visit her school. They are learning all about authors and she asked if I would read, “Rosie Graduates from Kindergarten,” and “The Dog Who Loved Halloween” (two informal little books where I outfitted my dog in silly costumes, set to rhyme) to her class.
The kids were a great audience and asked some very intelligent and thought-provoking questions like, “How do you prepare to write a book?” and “How did you learn to write poems?” – One even invoking a very kind (and humbling) comparison to my favorite children’s author – Dr. Seuss!
As I prepared to leave, a boy named “Caleb” sweetly offered to escort me back to the school entrance. I remembered that he was one of the kids who asked some insightful questions during the class.
Walking together down the hall we chatted easily. Then he became quiet for a moment and said, “Is it okay if I ask you one last question?” With anticipation, I straightened myself up and gave him my full attention.
Then he said, “Do you dye your hair?”
“Hey Mister, Can You Spare a Quarter?”
14 Dec 2011 2 Comments
If you Google “12-Step Groups for 4 Year-Olds,” you’re plum out of luck. It’s a shame, because I certainly could use one right about now.
As a mother, I only want the best for my children. Which is why I am seeking treatment or perhaps just a support system for my youngest daughter. Sure, this isn’t easy to talk about. But I’m hoping that if I give voice to her affliction, maybe we will find others out there who are walking in our shoes. Perhaps there is a “silent majority” who is also living under this veil of shame.
You see, my sweet little angel-faced 4 year-old (to protect her privacy, I’ll call her, “M,”) is becoming, well…a serial gambler. I’m not talking about Vegas roulette tables or stealing away into smoke-filled hotel rooms playing poker, bleary-eyed, until dawn. No, her poison is far more dangerous and destructive. Bear with me, as I try to get this out. Okay. Deep breath.
“M” is battling a rampant addiction to the kid ”trinket” machines at the grocery store.
There I said it. I feel better. Hey, that wasn’t so bad.
Her addiction started innocently enough. My husband was growing frustrated that whenever he wanted to take her out of the house to accompany him on an errand, she would ”dawdle” and drag her feet. He’d be all set to jump in the car, but she would take her own sweet time. She is the kind of kid who when you say, “Okay, we gotta GO!” she’ll begin to move in slow motion. You’ll ask her to put her coat on, and she’ll look at you like you’re speaking in tongues. Suddenly she forgets how to slip on her shoes. It is an endless exercise in waiting.
My husband, on the other hand, is the exact opposite. He will move at lightening speed and want to get cracking on his errands RIGHT NOW. When he is showered and dressed and all fed and watered, he’s ready to go! “Everyone, time to jump in the car!” And though we are entering into our seventh year as parents, he still hasn’t embraced the fact that when you have children who are part of your entourage, sometimes you have to add on a solid hour to that timetable.
One Saturday morning, in utter frustration as he tried to get ”M” to join him on a grocery store excursion, he blurted out something to the effect of, “If you come with me RIGHT NOW, I’ll let you get a toy from one of those slot machines. I’ll even give you TWO QUARTERS you can use!” Well, I’ll be darned if her little hazel eyes didn’t fly open wide and she high-tailed it to the door. On went her shoes. ZIP went her coat. Before he knew it, that little ponytailed girl had buckled herself expertly in the car, anxiously awaiting her Daddy to join her.
My husband stared blankly in disbelief. He had struck gold!
As he approached the car, a chubby little arm poked out of the window. “Give my my quarters!” she demanded. And he was more than happy to oblige.
The next step in her addictive behavior was fairly textbook. She began to hoard quarters. LOTS of them. Instead of being motivated to earn a sticker for her sticker chart each time she did one of her assigned jobs around the house, she’d say brightly, “I cleaned my room. Can I get a quarter instead?” Fair enough, we thought. After all, our child was now behaving beautifully and did everything we asked. A quarter here. A quarter there. What’s the harm?
Yes, we had become enablers.
Her hoarding soon took the form of stockpiling. She was saving up for her next “fix.” Then the thievery. My coin purse in my pocketbook seemed to lose its characteristic bulge. And finally, the manipulation began. She’d randomly open the door to the refrigerator and exclaim in a worried voice, “Hey Mom, I think we’re getting a little low on milk!” Yes, she had learned to play my emotions like a violin as she knew any mention of dwindling food supply in the house generated great anxiety in me, her Mother. ”We’d better go to the grocery store,” she’d warn.
One day as I gathered my grocery list and grabbed my purse to leave, I noticed she ran to her bedroom right before we left. Intrigued, I followed her to see what she was doing. I observed her, bent down on the floor, fiddling with something under her bed. I crept closer. She grabbed a little plastic bag and I saw it had some quarters in it. I had caught her red-handed with her “stash.” But instead of feeling threatened or agitated that I had confronted her, she turned and looked at me with a huge smile. “NOW, I’m ready to go to the grocery store!” she beamed.
Now ordinarily, when I observe negative behavior in my children, I am perfectly comfortable in attributing it to my husband’s contribution to the gene pool. But I suppose if I’m being honest, I have to own this one. You see, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I fear this may be MY contribution to my daughter’s DNA.
Many moons ago on our honeymoon, my husband and I stayed at a swanky hotel. When he casually mentioned one day that one of the attractions of this hotel was an in-house casino, I simply nodded matter-of-factly. After all, I had never gambled in my life. It simply wasn’t part of my life experience. I had no interest.
One night, about a half-hour before our dinner reservation, we decided to walk through the casino on the way to the restaurant. It was alive with bright lights, and bells and whistles, and people laughing with a twinkle in their eyes as they cranked machine handles and sipped fancy drinks.
My husband brought me a little cup of quarters. I was quite surprised. “I really don’t want to waste money on THIS!” I said, adamantly. “Oh, relax,” he said. “We’re on our honeymoon! Live a little. It’s just a couple of dollars.”
So we walked over and sat down at some slot machines. I took a coin and put it in the machine. I listened as it happily jingled its way down to the bottom. Then I pulled the handle and watched, transfixed, as three little fruit sections spun rapidly. The first slot stopped; then the second; finally, the third. “Well, that’s kinda cool,” I said to myself.
He took a seat in the chair next to me and tried his luck. I put in another quarter. This time I found myself talking to the machine. “STOP!” I commanded. 3 lemons lined up in a row! I HAD WON! I heard the happy jangle of coins twirl downward in the receptacle cup. I felt my face flush with happiness.
I was in love.
About a half-hour went by and my husband looked at his watch and said, “We gotta fly. It’s almost time for dinner.” I didn’t look away from my machine. “Cancel it.” I said, matter-of-factly. He laughed at my obvious joke. “No really, ” I said, “Cancel it.” You see, at that moment, nothing else mattered. I was having a ball! I didn’t need to eat! He looked at me and his expression changed slowly as he realized I wasn’t joking. I looked at my cup and only had one quarter left. “I need more quarters,” I said, turning to him pleadingly. “Give me your quarters.”
Though we were newlyweds and in the stage of our relationship where we still danced carefully around new conflict, my husband bravely whispered in my ear in a tone I hadn’t heard often, “We’re done. Let’s GO.” Like a spell had been broken, I snapped-to. I then realized that I had been swept up in the intoxicating romance of the quarter. It was like a lover. A lover that I had no choice but to leave.
I quit cold-turkey that day. And I’m proud to say that I have not entered a casino since!
So back to “M.” I suppose that being aware of the problem is half the battle. I understand how she feels. I’ve walked in her shoes. I have empathy. And I do know that there is a road to recovery that I will be happy to walk along with her, at her side.
But I still really wish they had a 12-step group for 4 year-olds. I can envision it perfectly. As everyone gathers together, and nervously awaits their turn at self-introduction, she’ll say, “Hi. I’m “M.” Hey, does anyone have a quarter?”
Great Timing
11 Dec 2011 Leave a Comment
in "Stuff"
(August 22, 2010)
My vacuum decided to go to that “appliance showroom in the sky” (may it rest in peace.) Coincidentally, my husband’s birthday is in a few days. Are you thinking what I’m thinking? What modern man wouldn’t desire a new appliance? After all, it’s machinery. It makes a lot of noise. It comes with gadgets. And there’s even an element of danger (if he’s operating it.) And, bottom line, who can resist the gift of a happy wife?
Work of Art
11 Dec 2011 Leave a Comment
And Then the Ball Drops
11 Dec 2011 4 Comments
in "Stuff"
Last night we had back-to-back Christmas parties to attend. Our first began at 4 pm; the second, at 6 pm. Since the second one was adults-only, we had to take our leave from shindig #1 early to race home and meet the babysitter, get the kids situated, and then fly out the door for shindig #2. I glanced at my watch and it read 6:15. “Good,” I thought to myself. “We’ll get there a little after it starts, and be “fashionably late.”
We pulled our car up to my friend’s house, and parked it on the street. As I noticed we were the lone car near her house, I remarked to my husband, “That’s odd. We’re the first ones here!” We grabbed the bottle of wine from the car to give to our hosts, and headed across the lawn to the front door. We rang the doorbell, and after a minute or two, our friends greeted us at the door. They graciously welcomed us and took our coats. My friend seemed a bit rushed as she excused herself to take care of some last-minute details. Her husband chatted with us good-naturedly. We walked around the house and took note of all the pretty Christmas decorations. My friend came into our room, opened up her entertainment armoire and began to put on some music. She fiddled with the volume and asked our opinion – “Does this sound too loud?” We told her it was fine.
About 15-20 minutes goes by. Still no guests. I walked up to my friend and said to her, “I’m surprised we are the first ones here. I thought we were late!” She smiled nervously, and said, “Well, actually the party isn’t until 7.” I stared at her blankly, feeling my face get warm. My eyes flashed open wide and in slow-motion, I glanced at my watch. As I looked at the time, I let the reality sink in. We had arrived 45 minutes early. Panic-stricken, I looked at my husband across the room. When I caught his eye, he must have sensed from the forlorn expression on my face that something was terribly wrong. I looked back at my friend and heard my voice say, “I am completely mortified.” I went on to explain that the day had been filled with rushing around and darting here and there, and endless errands and Christmas preparations. She smiled reassuringly and said, “It’s OKAY! Please don’t worry. We were all ready. It’s not a problem!” My husband walked over to see why I looked as if I were about to burst into tears. I blurted out robotically, “The party doesn’t start until 7.” I saw his face morph into a red-flash of embarrassment as he shot me his “I-can’t-believe-you-didn’t-check-the-time/you-are-SO-losing-your-grip-on-reality,” look. No worries. I felt bad enough for the both of us. A few minutes later when we were alone, he whispered, “Don’t worry about it. It could happen to anyone.”
Soon the guests started to arrive. An hour later the house was bustling with laughter and holiday chatter. I felt relieved to blend in once the spotlight had turned off over our heads. I sat down and felt myself exhale. Reflecting on the night, I finally came to terms with the fact that maybe now I could stop beating myself up. After all, it’s a busy time of year. Trying to juggle so many things can inevitably lead to a ball dropping once in a while.‘Tis the Season, after all.
“Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree…”
06 Dec 2011 2 Comments
in "Stuff", Little Monkeys (Kids)
We decided to let the girls decorate the tree this year.
“Eyes on ME.”
05 Dec 2011 Leave a Comment
in "Stuff"
I was pleasantly surprised that the attention-getting tactic that I normally reserve for my children, “Please look me in the eyes so I know that you heard me,” also works quite nicely on my husband.
Where is Your Mother?!?
05 Dec 2011 Leave a Comment
(January 31, 2010)
After my kids’ swim class we went to get changed in the locker room. Out of nowhere we see this 3 year-old girl have a major meltdown. A total scene. She was red-faced with fists clenched and had a set of lungs on her that made you cringe. I joined in with complete strangers shooting their disapproving looks, as I wondered why her mother couldn’t get her under control. Then I realized she was with me.
Letter 3 from The Tooth Fairy
05 Dec 2011 Leave a Comment
Hello, girlfriend!
I owe you a BIG apology! This note is a day late and a dollar short! I am so proud that you lost your EIGHTH tooth yesterday! And how cool that the school nurse gave you a little treasure box to put it in! (Since 1973, we have enjoyed a great partnership with elementary school nurses who work closely with us Tooth Fairies to keep those little sparkly teeth safe and sound when they decide to pop out at school!)
But back to ME – and the reason why I was late visiting you! You see, we had a bit of a crisis in Tooth Fairy-land yesterday. Hildegard, a Tooth Fairy who hails from the fine land of Nova Scotia, was roughhousing while playing a spirited game of “Toothball,” and she accidentally KNOCKED OUT HER FRONT TOOTH! Oh, the DRAMA! You see, we have never had to deal with the problem of a TOOTH FAIRY LOSING HER OWN TOOTH before! Let’s just say, that there was practically an all-out BRAWL, as everyone scrambled over who got to do the honors! Finally, we had to call our supervisor, the always-fair, “Tootherella” who was NONE TOO PLEASED at the conduct of her underlings. Long story short, it was I who was selected to be her Tooth Fairy! Talk about a thrill (and it is being documented in my personnel file, to boot!) So anyway, that’s why I was late. I hope you understand! Seriously, can my life get ANY crazier?!
Well, I gotta fly! By the way, only 4 baby teeth left in your mouth! (That’s the tooth, the whole tooth, and nothing but the tooth!) ‘Til we meet again…
The Tooth Fairy
