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True Story
In just about every family that has more than one child, I’ll venture to say, you’ll find some type of sibling rivalry. It’s a natural, normal part of growing up. Sometimes it even extends into adulthood, but that’s another post for another day. Maybe.
This post is about the sibling love between my kids. I’ve written about the dynamic between my son and daughter before. They’ve been playing and bickering together, loving and fighting each other since the day I brought my baby girl home.
August 2001 ©TakingTheWorldOnWithASmile.com
Sometimes, I think my son was so sweet to his sister the day she was born because he thought she was going to stay there — in the hospital that is, in Poughkeepsie. He cradled her and sang “Rock-A-Bye-Baby” to her the first time he met her. Precious. Truly. Actually, even the first few days after she was brought home were filled with curiosity and a few tender moments. It wasn’t until a few weeks later, when he realized, this baby-doll was here to stay, that the two-year-old-tantrums began. Hey, it’s good to be the king! He had a good gig being numero uno for a while there before she came along. Can you blame him?
©TakingTheWorldOnWithASmile.com
Twelve years later, it’s still sometimes difficult for him to accept that she’s not going away and the fact that she’s two inches taller than he is right now doesn’t help much either. Poor guy. He truly finds himself irritated by almost everything she does.
Just last week he came to me with this:
Mom!
She’s doing it again!
Who? What?
Hannah!
Good grief. What now? What is she doing? What is the problem?
Reading!
What??
Reading!
She’s reading again!
That’s when the dumbfounded, quizzical look appeared on my face to which he retorted:
I’m serious!
That’s all she ever does now and she’s wasting her life away reading!
And so she was,
is
and continues to do so — read — that is.
Yes, she is “wasting her life away with it”.
Nine books in five weeks.
I’m just a mom striving to live life on life’ terms while taking my kids the world on with a smile
True Story.
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She’s Baaccckkk!
And better than ever.
Click on the blue letters below and check it out….
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Strawberry Fields…
“Let me take you down
‘Cause I’m going to
Strawberry Fields
Nothing is real
And nothing to get hung about
Strawberry Fields forever”
~ The Beatles
I love strawberries with fresh cream. I love my kids too. They do not necessarily love the same things I do.
It was the first weekend in June, last summer.
Even though I met with a fair amount of objections, I managed to persuade my kids that this outing would be fun. As we approached the annual Strawberry Festival at the waterfront by the train station in a neighboring town, we came upon a young police officer diverting traffic away from the train station parking area which was full. Ten minutes later we finally found a spot. This diversion along with a blazing, hot sun, hastened the regression of both of my kids to those early toddler-tantrum days. The sweltering heat which hovered in the mid-nineties that day didn’t help. It caused my kids to moan, groan, rebel and resist as we embarked on the half-mile decent from the very tippy-top of a winding hill. By the time we reached the entrance-way to the festival, my kids were toast; hot, sweaty and agitated to a point-of- no-return. That happens with teenagers sometimes and it was clear, no one was going to have a good time. I all but gave up trying to convince them they would. We decided to abort this mission and just leave.
Before making the steamy ascent back up to the car however, I needed to use one of the several port-a-potties lined up at the start of the festival.
Ugh! Gross! And Yuck!
I’ll be right out. I explained.
Three times in two minutes, someone attempted to enter the stall I was in, even though I’d made it clear that someone was inside. I left flummoxed and aggravated. When we were all finally back in the car my motherly instincts to try and salvage the afternoon kicked in and I declared that we would stop for ice-cream before heading home.
I can’t think of too many things that would be more embarrassing for an 11-year old girl and a 13-year old boy than for their mom to force bring them into a sit-down ice-cream parlor, chat-it-up with the new owner and then discover she had no money or credit card with her to pay for the three sundaes they just enjoyed when presented with the bill. That’s right, nothing. Not-one-penny did I have, despite the fact that I distinctly remembered putting cash, a credit card and my license into the back pocket of my jean shorts. ‘Gone’ I thought in a panic and Oh. My. God. there was only one place they could be.
We left with an I-OWE-YOU and headed back to the port-a-potty at the Strawberry Festival from hell.
This time when meeting up with the young officer directing traffic to the tippy-top of the hill half-a-mile away from the festival, I gave him that get-out-of-my-way-and-let-me-pass look that only a mother in distress, who means business can give. If you’
re a mom, you know the one. You know exactly what I am talking about. It’s the same kind of aura you emit when your child is in danger and the strength to lift a vehicle or move mountains automatically fills you.
With my son in the passenger seat and my daughter in the back, I rolled down my window smiling that no-nonsense-smile and before he could get a word in, I said,
I’m going down there with my car to get my wallet, drivers license and credit cards.
Without hesitation, he stepped aside and waved me through.
Of course, there was no available parking in the lot by the entrance to the festival where the port-a-potties were, so I did what any other good, mortified mom in this desperate situation would do: I drove to the end of the lot and parked head-on at the wall, blocking in at least four parked cars, two on either side of me. Then of course, I did what I’m sure every other mother in my sad and sorry situation would do: I left my car running with my two kids in it. The temperature after all was in the nineties.
Don’t move. I’ll be right back! I bellowed to the blank stares looking back at me.
Of course, I was not, right back.
How many embarrassing moments can happen in the span of one hour?
There was nothing to be found in the port-a-potty that three people walked in on me, in the span of 2-minutes nearly an hour earlier, so I did some inquiring and sprinted over to the “Lost & Found” booth at the far end of the park. In the middle of the park a stage had been setup for bands. One was getting ready to play. The pleasant woman at the Lost & Found table said nothing was brought over but,
We can make an announcement, she said. Come with me.
Unwittingly, I followed, passing all the luscious booths selling the strawberries and cream and shortcake in a variety of mouth-watering versions that I had come for but would not have that day. Instead, I found myself standing in the center of the stage where the band was setting up. The woman I followed stepped over to the microphone and in a very matter-of-fact motion removed it from its resting place and handed it to me. I stood bewildered until she snapped her head toward me in a, “go ahead” nod of affirmation. Startled and stunned, I stumbled over my words as feedback from the microphone penetrated the park and the hustle and bustle of the festival’s activities came to a screeching halt. All eyes curiously gazed upon me. I have no idea what I said. All I remember is that my mouth moved and words came out. When I was done, I bolted toward the parking lot where my kids were waiting in the running car.
Could there be any more embarrassment?
Of course there could. Indeed, there was a not-so-happy man trapped in his car as a result of where mine was.
Oh, my God, Mom! I heard as I jumped into the driver seat and proceeded to back my way out. That man is so frustrated. He kept coming up and asking us when you were coming back!
Uh-huh. That’s right. I left my kids in a running car where they were approached by a strange (aggravated) man more than once.
They were mortified. So was I.
The ride home was a quiet one. I kept trying to tell myself it could be worse, it was only money and a credit card and my license, all things that could be replaced. Once inside I retreated to my bedroom. Now, I was toast and needed to change into something more comfortable. When I opened up my closet door there was a pair of jean shorts laying on the floor, ‘right,’ I thought, the ones I had on first this morning and Oh. My. God.
…. the ones with the cash, credit card and license in the back pocket.
Life has a way of throwing a wrench in even the simplest of plans. As parents we try our best without a lot of training. For me, finding the humor is key. Thankfully, hindsight is a wonderful gift and today my kids and I laugh a lot and out loud about the calamities of that day.
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My Rose
Just remember in the Winter
Far beneath the bitter snow
Lies the seed that with the sun’s love
In the Spring becomes the rose.
~ “The Rose”/Lyrics Amanda McBroom
The season has changed and Spring has finally found us. The promise of renewal, rebirth and hopeful thoughts surro
und us. The sun is shining warm again. Seedlings that were planted falls-ago have taken root over the winter’s long days and new life is emerging. Vibrant bursts of color are popping up daily. The unexpected is happening. Everywhere. Be alert with eyes wide open or be jarred, as I was the other day; halted by beauty; startled in an unanticipated moment, forced to pause and see the sweet rose that shot up before me.
How did this happen right before my eyes without me seeing it?
Parenting is busy, worrisome work. It’s constant, at times, all-consuming. It’s a life-long learning adventure. Like most things I become immersed in, the deeper I’m in it, often times, the harder it is for me to step out and back and linger in the minutes of the milestones and accomplishments of our ever-changing, day-to-day lives. Hours become days. Days extend into weeks which turn into months that become years. Even though I’ve been there all the while, the details are clouded and what seems like, in the blink of an eye, the bud becames a blossom and I’ve been caught completely off guard.
That sweet seedling that was just laughing-it-up in the park yesterday...
…has grown into a flower, more beautiful than I could ever have imagined…
… and is laughing-it-up on her way into the Spring Dance today, in concert with these other lovelies who are flourishing in their own beautiful gardens.
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George
In the new storefront a man stood in front of the huge glass window watching people, including us, walk by his establishment. My eyes met his as we passed and then I couldn’t help but notice the two, large, empty chairs that sat in front of mirrors behind him. There was a quiet look of discontent on his face. I felt bad for him. This poor man I thought, wondering how he could have chosen this location.
Doesn’t he know?
We had an appointment two doors down from the empty store where there was a bustle of activity. It was busy here and even though we had called in advance, there were three people ahead of us, waiting patiently, for his time. He glanced up stopping what he was doing, only for a moment as we entered and offered a substitute, as he usually does.
As usual, we thanked him and respectfully declined.
It will be a while, he said.
It’s Okay. We’ll wait.
You can’t be in a rush when you come to see this man. You don’t want to be in a rush.
Finally, he beckoned us over. I took my place, off to the side. Shortly after, the discussions began. I listened intently, chiming in occasionally as they spoke of worldly things like the flu epidemic and how dangerous it can be for sick people to be in the hospital. Margaret Thatcher’s passing was brought up and he talked about her great personal achievements and the contributions she made to the advancement of women and our political world.
Then his thoughts turned to North Korea.
What do you think of this guy, Kim Jong Un? Do you think he’s being influenced by the men that used to rule with his father? How do you think the US will respond if he fires a nuclear missile?
He was genuinely interested in my son’s response and in the 30-minutes that the job took, there was a lively exchange of meaningful topics. Solutions to some of the world’s biggest problems were flirted. It’s always interesting to hear his views but fascinating to watch this man’s skill, as all the while, he continues laboring, never missing a beat, meticulously working his craft like the artist that he is, coming back several times to the same spot until it looks or feels just right. He’s consistent and a constant. He’s reliable; a friend and the only person we’ve ever trusted with this task. And despite the seriousness of his work and the broadness of the topics he covers, it always begins with the same question, prompting the same response.
April 2013
What number will it be today, Noah?…
…is the question.
Number two….
…is the answer.
April 2013
At least it has been, for the last 14 years.
Noah’s first haircut with George ~ December 1999
Photo Credit #1 Google Images
Photo Credit #2 -#3 Karen Szczuka Teich & Takingtheworldonwithasmile.com
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The Best-Laid Plans Are Tentative at Best
I had really good intentions this week. Maybe that’s why we ended up in hell for a while.
The saying is right up there with Steinbeck’s….
“The best-laid schemes plans of mice and men often go awry.”
And so it was this week. There were good intentions and best-laid plans. Heck, the table was practically set!
Heading into the week thoughts were on the baking and making of good food, the joining of good friends, a long weekend in the good woods, some good puzzling, and a good, old-fashioned, awesome egg hunt around a great pond!
Who needs the White House lawn when you have this?
Instead, our intentions and plans were ransacked by reality. Spring Break was anything but a break and I had to remind myself (more than once) why I named this blog what I did, when we ended up with this…..
…..a trip to the ER Thursday night that lasted well into the wee-hours of Friday morning.
De-hy-dration. Not eating a full meal for nearly a week, having fever and losing body fluids from every possible body-crevice will put your girl on a fast-track to needing nutrients from an IV bag for sure but it was the nosebleed that just-would-not-stop that sealed the deal and sent us to the hospital.
Damn you this year’s flu!
Both A & B strains have descended upon our house for the third time this season even though we’ve all been inoculated.
“Go back to the science lab!” I say to the medical team that concocted this most ineffectual vaccine!
“You missed the mark — completely!”
The second time we visited our doctor this week, she advised us that this year’s flu shot was approximately, only, 10% effective.
Taking the world on with a smile. I needed to remind myself. Did I mention in-between doctor visits, the diagnosis of flu and bronchitis and just before our jaunt to the hospital that it was my girl’s birthday this week also?
“Roll with it.” I kept telling myself. Take it all, on with a smile.”
When you have kids, some days just get like this and sometimes those days turn into weeks. Patience and flexibility are key. Plan B is always helpful. Life after all, is full of surprises, the good and the not so good.
As a parent you accept that the best-laid plans are well, tentative at best.
So, I’m taking the world– my world — on with a smile. And even though it’s mostly just on the outside for now, I know, as sure as the sun will rise tomorrow, this too shall pass.
Happy Easter!~ Happy Passover!~ Happy Birthday!~ Happy Holidays!
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Coming To A Rainbow Near You….
Beannachtaí na Féile Pádraig!
An Irish Blessing
May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
and rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.
Happy St. Patrick’s Day!
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100 Days!
This week elementary children all over the country celebrated 100 days of school. Teachers asked students to show them what 100 looks like by bringing in 100 of something. 100 is a big number and it’s a big task for a 5, 6 or 7-year old. They spend a lot of time preparing; thinking, plotting and reminding their parents to help them find, make or buy 100 of something to show off to their teachers and classmates. In some cases like the school I work at (and the one my kids went to up until the 5th grade) exhibits are set up showcasing the creative way students bring 100 to the classroom. Always excited to see what they come up with, this year’s exhibit met the bar with such items as 100 colorful ribbons hanging from a branch, 100 Cheerios strung together on a necklace string, 100 pieces of macaroni spelling out a child’s name, 100 different Hot Wheels cars, beautiful buttons and gorgeous gems to name a few. It brought back memories for me from when my kids were at this school. That evening when I was telling my now 6th grader about the exhibits, it brought back memories for her too.
Do you remember what you gave me to bring in for my 100th day in Kindergarten? She asked.
Um, y-e-a-h. I said, like a peacock fanning it’s plume. “In fact”, I went on, “I think I still have that Tupperware lid that says 100 Kisses on it. I couldn’t help by pause to give myself a little mental pat on the mother-of-the-year-award back for the clever pun of sending 100 Kisses into her class. Hershey Kisses of course!
Those were the days when all I ever thought about was how to be the best-est mother ev-ah! Lost in my moment of motherhood glory I almost missed the scowl on her face.
What? Was that not the best 100 Days ever? Come on, I said. 100 Hershey Kisses! How clever?
Um, Mom, I don’t mean to ruffle your (peacock pluming) feathers but that was not my 100 days. That was Noah’s.
Don’t you remember what you did for mine?
I thought I had. Confusion set in. She was right though, that was for Noah and I was drawing a blank. I’m lucky if I can remember where I set my car keys down when I come home from work these days. Surely it must’ve been great, if not greater than the Hershey Kisses I quickly convinced myself and then a vague, blurred memory began to clear in my head.
Yes, I remember. “Cupcakes! I made 100 cupcakes for the whole school!” I said, beaming.
Mom! I was 5, so excited and that morning you must have forgotten. When I asked you about it, you went to the cupboard and took out cupcake holders. You gave me cupcake holders! You told me ‘No other kid will have these.’
Now it was all coming back to me — like a bad dream.
“That wasn’t even the worst part”, she went on. “I brought them into class and when Susan (the teacher) saw them, she told me to count them.”
There was only 54!
Okay, cupcake holders for the 100th day of school are lame and math was never my forte. I guess I wasn’t the super-clever-mom my mind’s eye seemed to remember me to be either — that time.
What can I say? Parents try their best – always. Sometimes, we come up short.
Like, 46 cupcake holders short.
Sorry, Han.
Do you have a coming-up-short parenting moment you can share?
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Fish Out of Water!
Caution: Some of the images contained in this post may be considered disturbing.
Ever find yourself in a situation where you feel like a “fish out of water?”
Ever wake up in the morning to find your fish – out – of- water?
As a mother, my nature is to nurture. Once you have a child and start taking care of it, something happens within you and you start taking care of EVERYTHING that comes into your life or crosses your path; extended family members, friends, other people’s kids, pets and plants included. You can’t help it. Unfortunately for me, while taking care of my children and other human beings has always come easily & naturally, the taking care of plants and animals, not-so-much. Last winter however, when we moved into our new place, a neighbor welcomed us with a beautiful poinsettia plant that regardless of any amount of neglect I seamlessly bestowed upon it, it not only thrived but has managed to survive, to this very day. It’s even budding new red leaves.
Astonishing!
So, when my daughter won two gold-fish at the County Fair last August, thrilled with both her achievement and the notion of finally having a pet, I had hope and thought, why not? Maybe like the rest of my life, I’m headed in a different direction here. We’ll give it a try and see what happens I told her. Being reasonably skeptical however, we hesitated to name them, referring to them only as “Fish 1” and “Fish 2” (just-in-case ) and never quite knowing exactly which fish was which. Not surprisingly, about a month later we woke up to find a pair of floaters in the fishbowl. As I set about the business of transferring Fish 1 and Fish 2 to their final flushing resting bowl, I caught a faint fin-wiggle out of the corner of my eye. Upon closer examination I could see Fish 1 was actually still alive! Sure enough, after being put into a small holding tank and fed, he began to perk up and swim again.
Interesting. I thought.
Sometime in December however, again, I woke to find a barely breathing “Fish” (which is what we were now lovingly referring to him as), struggling to stay alive. Oddly, again, I put him in our small holding tank, fed him and voila! He was back to his perky self in no time and carefully transferred back into his fishbowl.
If cats have nine lives, how many lives do fish have?
Strange. I thought.
Alas, a few weeks ago, I woke to find an empty fish bowl. Gone, he was. Indeed, Fish, it turned out was out of water! Seriously, sometime during the night, Fish had somehow jumped out of his fishbowl and landed in the kitchen sink! (I know, EW!)
True story. And dead he was. Truly.
Or so I thought.
I left Fish in the sink. This was something I thought Hannah had to see for herself. A few hours later, when she got up and after delivering the sad news, in ceremonious fashion, I awkwardly scooped up Fish in his little net and quickly tossed him into the big bowl that would ultimately carry him to fish-heaven, if you will.
Is there anything you want to say before we flush him Hannah? I asked.
She is after all, such a dramatic sensitive child.
She nodded negatively, peered into the big bowl, put her hand on the lever and SCREAMED…
Mom! Quick! Get the food I think he’s still alive!
Disturbing Image #1 ~ Fish & food in the big bowl.
Instead of full-on-mouth-to-mouth, I did what she recommended and sprinkled some food into the bowl. Why? I have no idea but she was right and there was movement. You could see the ever-so-slightly wiggle (again) of our Fish’s fin and his teeny, tiny black eyes peering up from the big bowl.
Indeed, Fish was alive! Again.
Disturbing Image #2 ~ Indeed, Fish is alive.
For a third time, Fish had been snatched from the jaws of death, quite possibly even the jaws of JAWS, not to mention a fatal flush. And once again, we placed him into the now, “magical holding tank of LIFE”…..
Disturbing Image #3 ~ Putting the net in the toilet to retrieve Fish. Ugh!
….where amazingly, Fish instantly, began to swim! Again.
Good God! I thought, I couldn’t kill this fish if I tried!
Somewhat Disturbing Image #4 ~ Fish alive again!
I consider myself to be more of a spiritual rather than a religious person. Clearly, there is a greater power at work here.
Early on in motherhood, you quickly learn not to question certain things. Count your blessings and be grateful. You take the inexplicable and otherwise bizarre happenings in stride and simply say,
Yep, that seems about right.
Bizarre & Disturbing Image #5 ~ Fish, alive, yet-again and back in his fishbowl.
Good night, Fish.
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Do Over Again
Life is a series of starting over.
Do overs.
From the time we’re kids to the time we have kids, we reevaluate our situations and begin again.
When my kids were little and any situation would elevate emotions to a height of no return, I’d reach back into my own childhood and do what me and my friends did when we couldn’t agree on whose turn it was or who won. Admittedly, it was one of the last hopes I’d pull from my parenting bag of tricks but thankfully, it always seemed to work. I’d raise my hands up between them and say,
“Okay, let’s just stop and start over.”
A new beginning.
Every January the opportunity presents itself, again. It’s the month of reflection, a time when most adults, start over. Millions of people ponder the previous year’s failings and contemplate what they want from the next year. We promise ourselves to do. Do this. Do that. Do more. Do better. Come next January, we’ll chide ourselves for what we didn’t do and once again the cycle and promise to do will repeat.
This year I’ve decided to throw caution to the wind, go against the grain, mix things up a little and concentrate on things I don’t want to do. I’m taking a cue from a good friend of mine and a recent post she made over at SWM where her RES-O-LU-TION really resonated with me. Instead of bemoaning what I failed to accomplish last year or belaboring over what I want to do this year, I’m saving myself some grief, keeping it simple and picking three things to focus on that I don’t want to do:
- I don’t want… to fall into the same old traps. It’s a vicious, hurtful cycle, thinking maybe this time he or she or things will be different. No one is perfect we all deserve a second chance but chances are, after giving someone or something three or four, they’re not going to change. If you’re honest, true to your word and don’t treat people badly, you deserve the same. Life after all, is hard for everyone.
- I don’t want… to say “no” to opportunity because I’m afraid of what lies ahead. Yes. Okay. I’ll try it! Whatever it is. We are, to a large degree the creators of our own destiny and need to be responsible for the actions we take or don’t take to get us there. If you hide behind fear of the unknown, you will never know. I don’t want to not know.
- I don’t want… to be unkind. Brazen is wonderful but to be kind is key. In keeping with my promise to commit acts of kindness and because life as I said is hard for everyone and everyone could use a little more kindness in their life, I don’t want to be unkind.
It’s do over time again. Only this year I’m not going to concentrate on what I want to do.
Happy New Year to all!
What are your New Year resolutions?
Photo Credit #1 & 2: Google Images
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Kids These Days!
Mama’s Crystal Ball
Every parent strives to do better than the previous generation, providing for their children that which they lacked or missed out on in their own childhood.
Nowadays, the reviews are mixed.
Kids these days have it too easy! They’re spoiled with less required physical activity and way too much couch-potato-encouraging technology that keeps them inside exercising their thumbs rather than outside, exercising their whole bodies and minds.
~ Any Random Adult
It’s an on-going challenge for parents trying to strike the balance for their children; keeping abreast of what’s current, necessary and useful and making sure they don’t lose sight of what’s important for them to know how to do.
Despite the difficulties, I LOVE being a mom. Always have. For many years I enjoyed being a stay-at-home-mom, eagerly performing what others might consider mundane tasks for my kids, like painstakingly working out ketchup stains from their favorite dress or shirt, making sure the same favorite dress or shirt (or batman costume) was constantly clean so it could be worn several days in a row or making extra portions of a home-made dinner so I could freeze them for my son who refused to eat a cold lunch at school up until the 5th grade. I didn’t mind the endless task of picking up their toys and returning them to places they could easily be found the next day during their pre-arranged play-dates and I’d spend many hours searching and experimenting with new recipes I thought they might like to try. Even though my daughter is in 6th grade now, I still enjoy making her lunch for school every day.
These and so much more were—are, to me still, labors of love.
The eyes in the back of my head are blue. What color are yours?
As my kids enter their tween and teenage years however, the tasks are changing and I’m starting to focus more seriously on the notion that it’s my duty to prepare them the best I can, for (real) LIFE.
Parenting is unique to each unique child.
Babies don’t leave the womb with a ‘here’s how I specifically operate and what I’ll need to know, mom’ guide and even though the long-held myths about moms having eyes in the back-of-their-heads and a-future-seeing-crystal-ball hidden in their bedroom closets are absolutely TRUE, our eyes and crystal balls are often clouded and not exactly all-seeing. I’m not always quite sure, how to make sure, my kids have the life-skills and tools they’ll need to become high-functioning, productive, kind and considerate citizens of our future communities.
In short, much of what we put forth is a bit of a crap shoot, flung from instinct.
For example, myself and four other mothers of my 14-year old son’s basketball-playing school mates recently hired a culinary chef who has a school in New York City to give our teenage boys some professional training in the kitchen. Sure, they know how to boil water for Ramen Noodles but what do they know about using a knife or picking fresh produce, making their own salad dressing, gravy or apple-crisp? Not much and my crystal ball predicts the women they’ll eventually end up with 10-years or so from now will not be as interested in devoting the same amount of kitchen and laundry time me or my mom did while raising a family.
It’s a new era and they’ll be out forging new paths and making lives of their own.
Easy access to information.
Our boys need to know how to cook and keep house.
Now that he’s been schooled, will he happily whip up a roasted chicken dinner complete with a fresh vegetable side and dessert when his future significant other informs him she’ll be coming home late from the office? I have no idea. BUT I continue to have faith and blindly put forth my efforts and babble, babble, babble on, hoping that somewhere in their premature brains my kids are processing what I say or make them do and will be able to pull out what they need, when they need it, like a magician pulls a rabbit from his hat.
Still, I can’t help but wonder how my kids will act or react when they get caught in a jam or circumstance that really requires them to step-up and take responsibility.
Thankfully, every once in a while however, the gods are good and toss out a bone, giving us insight as to whether or not we’re on the right track and we get a glimpse of what kind of an adult our child is going to be.
A few weeks before Christmas, I very suddenly and unexpectedly came down with pneumonia. I’ve never had pneumonia before. In fact, I rarely get sick. For the most part, I’m a Type A personality, leaving little time and patience for illness that would keep me from doing, let alone out of work. It’s not in my make up but this was out of my control. I had no choice but to succumb and was completely laid out for nearly two full weeks. With the help of a few family members and friends however, I was checked-in on, and my kids managed to get fed and brought to where they needed to be, including school each morning while I lay incapacitated in my third floor bedroom.
For days, I was completely unawares of the goings-on below and could barely hear my daughter moving about in the evenings.
What’s this? A note?
I finally passed through the fever-delirium period and made it to the tolerating side of a hacking cough that cut like a knife in my chest. As much as I love my secluded bedroom, I desperately needed to make my way downstairs, if for nothing else but to reassure myself that I could still walk. It was sometime mid-morning on a weekday, when I took the last step down and rounded myself toward the kitchen for the first time in several days.
I saw a small piece of white paper taped face-down to the counter.
Reaching out, I flipped it over and this is what it said….
The gods are good.
Yes, the first word in the fourth item on my 11-year old daughter’s List after ‘work on gifts’ (because she hand-makes Christmas gifts for each member of our extended family every year) is sew and even though I don’t, apparently she does.
It’s the second to last item however, that stopped me cold in my slipper-laden tracks.
Take care of mom
Thank you, good gods.
And as if that wasn’t enough to bring an already weepy mom to tears, on my way back up to Never-Never-Land, I glanced down the short flight of stairs to the front door. One of the last statements and only instructions I recall making from my sick-bed to my daughter before literally entering the Twilight Zone in the first 24-hours of being laid out was …
You’ll have to buy lunch at school.
BUT like many other kids these days, she had her own ideas about lunch and apparently, made it herself.
Every day.
Even reminded herself, not to forget it from the fridge before leaving in the morning.
Kids these days.
They’re pretty awesome!
Photo Credit #1-3 Google Images
Photo Credit #4-6 KarenSzczukaTeich&www.takingtheworldonwithasmile.com
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A Stranger’s Grief
One of the things that had a profound effect on me upon giving birth and becoming a mother, was the almost instantaneous and overwhelming feeling of love I felt within my heart, for not only my child but for all children. Within the first few weeks of my son’s life, I will always remember how it struck me that what seemed like all-of-a-sudden, children were my concern, all children. It’s a gift I think we receive innately when we become parents, so I don’t think I am unique in feeling this deep sense of caring for the well-being of children in general.
Incomprehensible.
The tragedy that took place at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut last Friday is simply incomprehensible.
Heartbroken.
Like so many other people, parents; moms, I am heartbroken. The magnitude of this loss fills me with pure, raw sadness. My heart is overflowing with deep sorrow and intense grief for the families and their suffering.
Guilty.
I am guilty of avoiding the internet and television in an attempt to circumvent reports and updates on this massacre. I desperately want to hide from the truth. I am too weak to find the strength required to stop, watch and listen to the details of what happened. I end up crying each time I try. I am afraid to hear the names; the children’s names. They have released the names of the victims and even though I am a complete stranger to all of them, I can not bear to hear their names.
Consolation.
I have no consolation for anyone. I feel foolish looking for something positive in this. I see no positive side, no possible reason for this happening. No matter how deep I reach, I can not find anything soothing to say. I have no consoling words that might help anyone and I don’t believe that in hindsight we will glean any kind of lesson or understanding from this event. There is no amount of human kindness that could come from this, that I could possibly use to make sense of this senselessness.
Each and every parent who sent their child off to school at the end of last week had every expectation that they would meet again at the end of the day.
This is not how I want to be reminded that every day we have with our children is a gift or that life is short — although like every other parent I imagine, I took a moment this weekend to hug my children a little harder and a little longer than usual.
When I drop my children off at school this coming Monday, it will be with a heavy heart and a slight sense of trepidation but at least they will return to school. I will think of them often throughout the day as I will undoubtedly be thinking of those children who will not be returning to school:
Charlotte 6, Daniel 7, Olivia 6, Josephine 7, Ana 6, Dylan 6, Madeleine 6, Catherine 6, Chase 7, Jesse 6, James 6, Grace 7, Emilie 6, Jack 6, Noah 6, Caroline 6, Jessica 6, Avielle 6, Benjamin 6, Allison 6.
And the educators who served them:
Rachel 29, Dawn 47, Anne Marie 52, Lauren 30, Mary 56, Victoria 27.
Photo Credit #1 ~ Google Images
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It Takes A Village And A Can
It takes a village.
~ original origins unknown
I love this phrase because it’s true.
Indeed, when raising children, it takes a village. Or a neighborhood. Or a s
chool. Or a group of amazing teachers. Or in this case, a can. Well, maybe a few hundred cans. Okay, in this case, it took 900 cans.
Goya cans that is and I’m not talking about raising children exactly, although the concept behind the phrase made famous by Hilary Clinton in 1996, is the same and the idea that when people come together to help each other to do good things, good things get done, is the implication.
In this case however, I’m talking about it taking amazing teachers and awesome, eager teams of Kindergarten through 12th grade students creatively coming together to feed hungry people in our community. (And 900 cans of course.)
They’re doing this by building incredible sculptures entirely from canned food.
The program they are participating in is called Canstruction® and, it is brilliant.
This is the first Canstruction® Jr Hudson Valley event in our region and it’s being presented by my daughter’s school. Several other schools in the area are also participating. The academic, social and humanitarian components of this project will no doubt serve to enable these outstanding students to absolutely make a difference in someone else’s life this Holiday Season.
That is what it’s all about. Isn’t it?
It’s Christmas time, there’s no need to be afraid
At Christmas time, we let in light and we banish shadeBut in our world of plenty, we should spread a smile of joy!
Throw your arms around the world at Christmas time~ Do They Know It’s Christmas
For several weeks my daughter’s 6th grade class has been working with their math, science and humanities teachers along with an artist to come up with a diagram of a structure they could build using canned food. This is progressive, project-based learning at it’s best.
Their efforts culminated in 5-hours of precisely stacking nearly 900 cans to create this melting masterpiece:
Melting Snowman
For the next week or so, this and other wonderful creations will remain on display at our local Galleria. Red bins in front of each structure will collect more cans for donation to a local soup kitchen and food bank from visitors and onlookers. The bin with the greatest number of cans at the end of the week will receive the coveted “People’s Choice” award but the real winners in this competition are each and every student who participated. Through awareness, guidance, teaching and love these students will take with them the pride and joy of knowing their efforts helped collect thousands of cans of food that will feed hungry people in our community at Christmas time.
They are making a difference.
It takes a village. Or a neighborhood. Or a school.
Or in this case, a group of amazing teachers and awesome students.
Oh, and 900 cans.
Or — all of the above — because when people come together to do good things,
good things get done.
The World
There’s A Place In
Your Heart
And I Know That It Is Love
And This Place Could
Be Much
Brighter Than Tomorrow
And If You Really Try
You’ll Find There’s No Need
To Cry
In This Place You’ll Feel
There’s No Hurt Or Sorrow
Heal The World
Make It A Better Place
For You And For Me
And The Entire Human Race
There Are People Dying
If You Care Enough
For The Living
Make A Better Place
For You And For Me
~ Heal the World
One Proud 6th-Grader
Photo Credits 1 – 2: Google Images
Photo Credits 3 – 6: KarenSzczukaTeich&www.Takingtheworldonwithasmile.com
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One Second
A four hour drive north brought us to Camden, New York last weekend and only three games away from playing in Pop Warner’s Super Bowl at Disney’s ESPN Sports Arena during the first week of December. The Hudson Valley Knights Midgets’ team had won their division and up until this game, were undefeated.
Excited would be an understatement.
Ready. Down. Set. Hut!
Sometime not long into the first half of the game, the ball was snapped and handed off from the quarterback to my 14-year old halfback.
Three seconds later my heart was lodged in my throat.
Two seconds before the throat lodging, a massive tank wearing the other team’s jersey lunged toward my son. The crowd literally gasped. My jaw dropped and the pupils in my eyes dilated as I watched in horror and failed to breathe. It was in that second, that one second at the point of contact, that I thought to myself:
Oh, God, this is why so many parents don’t let their kids play football.
In moments such as this, for one split second, all of the decisions you’ve made as a parent become clouded in doubt. Fear rears its manipulative head and begins to churn in yours immediately eating away at your confidence. And it was in that particular moment I prayed without realizing I was praying that the equipment my precious boy was wearing was all that it was supposed to be: SAFE. 
In that one second I remembered that I never checked his helmet to make sure it had the sticker showing that it meets the standards of the National Operating Committee on Standards for Athletic Equipment.
I meant to.
For it was in the moment that my heart lodged itself in my throat, that the giant from the other team had swooped down, seized my son’s thighs and in one-continuous-effortless-gliding-motion did his due diligence. Nearly as graceful as a male ballet dancer lifts a ballerina above his head, the opposing ogre raised 165 lbs. of my boy, gear and all, and seamlessly flipped him over his head causing him to land CRACK—SMACK, down on his back!
Only when he popped up like a spring from a board a few seconds later, did I begin to breathe again. Oh, I could tell my boy was a little shaken but he survived the throw-back and bounced back into the game almost as seamlessly as he was flipped over the other boy’s head. Luckily, Pop Warner’s equipment safety meets the highest standards.
Even though Pop Warner has clearly defined weight and age guidelines, before the second half of the game began, it was clear the other team had a physical advantage over our boys. Even the coach remarked that although it’s not unusual to come across one or two opposing players who are physically dominant on the field, our boys faced twenty and we lost to Chili (pronounced cheyeleye) which took us out of the championship. Naturally our boys walked away disappointed.
Me, I kept thinking about that moment, that one second in the game that caused my heart to lodge itself in my throat and I, walked away grateful.
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My Boy is a Midget
In 1929, the owner of a new factory in Northeast Philadelphia enlisted the help of a young friend, Joseph J. Tomlin with a recurring problem. Over 100 of the factories’ ground-to-floor windows were shattered in one month’s time by teenagers hurling stones from a nearby vacant lot. Since other factories in the area were also being affected by the same type of vandalism, Tomlin, a sports enthusiast, recommended the building owners join together to fund an athletics program for the city’s youth. Although it wouldn’t be officially titled Pop Warner until the 1934 football season, that was indeed the beginnings of this long-standing organization.
Today Pop Warner is the largest and oldest non-profit, youth football organization in the world with over 400,000 participants ranging in age from 5 to 15. It is also the only youth organization with an academic requirement. The program is divided into four separate age/weight categories referred to as Jr. Pee Wee, Pee Wee, Jr. Midget and Midget.
My boy is a Midget.
His team, The HudsonValley Knights just won the Eastern Region Mid Hudson Conference. They are the League Champions and are now in the Regional Championship. They are undefeated and three games away from playing in the Pop Warner Super Bowl in Walt Disney World this December at the ESPN Wide World of Sports Complex.
For 83-years Pop Warner Football has been keeping its participants out of vacant lots, off the streets, off the couch, off the internet and on the playing fields. Over the years its basic philosophy that athletics and academics go hand-in-hand has remained the same, propelling its success. Kids are taught the value of dedication, hard work, practice and teamwork. They are given countless, hands-on opportunities to learn what it means to be responsible, have respect, integrity and loyalty.
These are the character traits of champions.
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Striving to live life on life's terms while taking the world on with a smile.
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Taking The World On With A Smile! 