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Masquerade
Circa 1960s
©2013 Karen Szczuka Teich & TakingTheWorldOnWithASmile.com
People wear masks all the time, covering up all kinds of situations and emotions.
Halloween is one of my favorite celebrations. In disguise, you get to openly be whatever you want to be and get a bag full of free candy to boot! My memories of Halloween as a child are filled with endless hours of trick-or-treating (mostly treating) first through the 5-stories of our apartment building and then, all over town until our legs could take us no further. After that, my Dad would put us in the back of his shiny, red, Volkswagen bus and drive us to friends’ houses until our bags were stuffed and our eyes were bleary.
I don’t cut my Dad a lot of slack when it comes to my childhood. I can’t sugar-coat fear or disappointment. No one ever wanted to be on the receiving end of his wrath. You never knew what kind of mood he would come home in, if, or when he came home. Every day was unpredictable. He enjoyed holidays and parties though and could really get into the “spirit” of things– when he wanted to. Despite his ominous nature, he was big on costuming and we could pretty much count on his help for a clever idea and creative way of making it happen. He had an impressive repertoire of costumes himself. I remember him spending weeks working on them before the annual masquerade ball he and my mom attended every February at the German Club they belonged to. (I’ve mentioned in previous posts that my Dad is from Germany.) Every winter, the German Club celebrated Fasching which is a German holiday that resembles our Mardi Gras and is similar to Halloween in that parades are held and “clubs” host costume balls.
My Dad’s costumes always won awards, if not First Place.
These are a few of my favorites.
Circa 1960s
©2013 Karen Szczuka Teich & TakingTheWorldOnWithASmile.com
My Dad, the mummy.
Circa 1960s
©2013 Karen Szczuka Teich & TakingTheWorldOnWithASmile.com
This “old man” was only in his late 20s.
Circa 1960s
©2013 Karen Szczuka Teich & TakingTheWorldOnWithASmile.com
A group shot of my “old man” and his date who, of course, is my mom.
Circa 1970s
©2013 Karen Szczuka Teich & TakingTheWorldOnWithASmile.com
The Godfather (4th man in)– is my father.
One year my Dad went as the Statue of Liberty. Another year he was a Prize Fighter who lost to a midget. He even dressed in Blackface as a Minstrel which now-a-days of course, would be considered offensive.
Circa 1960s
©2013 Karen Szczuka Teich & TakingTheWorldOnWithASmile.com
The Minstrel and my mom.
Another questionable but winning costume; large, blond lady wearing a dress made from potato sacks.
Circa 1970s
©2013 Karen Szczuka Teich & TakingTheWorldOnWithASmile.com
My Dad loved masquerades and wore many masks.
As an adult, I realize he was a resourceful, creative man and I often wonder how different his life might have been if he had been raised and educated in this country. Like many people, he had to contend with his demons while they competed with his redeeming qualities. He loved to cook and I have happy memories of him lifting me up and setting me on top of the refrigerator so I could watch him roll out the dough on the kitchen counter to make donuts or melt sugar and butter in a pan on the stove-top to make candy. He’d dribble the hot mixture into ice-cold water to form droplets of yummy home-made caramel. He took our family camping and taught us how to play Yahtzee and Monopoly and passed along his love for puzzling. I love my Dad.
He did the best he could.
Children are resilient. Thankfully, despite the imperfections of our childhoods or the tumultuous relations we have with our parents, most of us also have unconditional love for them or at least forgiveness. I don’t deny the turmoil of my youth but I do try to have compassion for the fact that no matter how tough I believe some parts of my childhood were, my Dad’s was unimaginable; growing up in Germany during WWII. As a parent myself now, I realize we all just do the best we can and I hope that when my kids reflect on some of the mistakes I’m making, they will have compassion too.
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Full Plumage
I’ll leave an envelope in your mailbox with a letter explaining what this is all about, he said.
It’s hard to believe school starts again in just a few weeks! Where did the summer go?
Where did the years go?
During the school year, my kids are super spoiled fortunate to be driven to school every day. Not like the early years when they actually wanted to get up early and take the bus; at least Noah did. Gone too, are the days when I’d follow the bus, every day, ensuring that my son didn’t get abducted along the way OR so I could be there, just in case he needed me in some way along the route OR God forbid, there was an accident and I needed to jump into rescue mode for my little boy on the big bus. Nope, those hovering masterful parenting skills vital to ensuring my son’s safe transport to school, are no longer needed. Indeed, it is no longer required of me — by me — to make a mad dash to my car as soon as the big double-wide doors are pulled shut. Trailing, oh-so-not-discreetly, behind the big yellow boat carrying my its precious cargo is something I just don’t have to do anymore.
September 2003 ©Karen Szczuka Teich & TakingTheWorldOnWithASmile
Back in the day and during his entire first year on the bus, I’d follow and then veer off at the corner of Dunkin’ Donuts and Route 9 while the bus would head into Princess Circle where a cluster of apartment buildings were. The apartment-pick-up allowed me just enough time to run in for a cup-of-Joe and be back outside standing on the corner, ready to catch a glimpse of my then 5-year old who’d be peering out of the window directly behind the bus driver. The bus driver would make him sit in the seat right behind her every day.
I make all the little ones sit behind me, so I can keep an eye on them, she told me one day.
September 2003 ©Karen Szczuka Teich & TakingTheWorldOnWithASmile
Thank you, Jan.
An older woman with a big heart, there was no pulling-the-wool over Jan’s eyes. And instead of balking at my stalker-ish behavior, she’d honk the bus horn two or three times and I’d over-hear her through her cracked window telling Noah,
Look, there’s your mom. Wave to her!
He and she, would, as they rounded the corner from Princess Circle to route 9, every time.
It made my day. Every-day.
And, to-this-day, if Jan sees me around town she honks her big yellow bus horn and waves to me with a big heartwarming smile on her face.
Thank you, Jan.
But, I digress.
My 5-year old is now going on 15 and he can sit where he wants to on the bus. Plus, these days, he has a companion. Well, sort of. He and his sister take the bus home almost every day together. Although I somehow doubt they actually sit together. And they don’t always get off at the same STOP. But people know they’re siblings, including their current bus driver, who Hannah has had now for the past two years in a row.
It was the end of June, school was over when the man on the other end of my cell identified himself as “Vinny”, my kids’ bus driver. He told me he would leave an envelope in my mailbox explaining what the call was all about.
According to the letter, each year the Federation of Workers representing nine units (including bus drivers) in the school district we live in, take part in a program that allows for 40 out of the well over 65,000 children served, to be recognized for exhibiting outstanding behavior.
Accompanied with the letter were 4-tickets to a Renegades game; our local minor league baseball team.
If our name comes up, Vinny said, we choose a student that we’ve come in contact with during the year that has shown exemplary behavior. We’re only supposed to pick one but I chose both your kids because they’re both great kids and really deserving. They never give me a hard time. They say hi and thank-you, are polite and Hannah helps me out with the little kids all the time.
Like a peacock fanning her feathers in full plumage, I could feel the pride swell inside.
Since my last post boasted the sibling rivalry that exists between my pair, I thought it fitting, to highlight their cooperation; even if they don’t always realize or recognize it; sometimes, other people do. Way to go Hannah and Noah!
Thank you, Vinny!
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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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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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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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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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Relax, Recharge, Repost #2: Sticks And Stones May Break My Bones But Names Can Break My Heart!
Week #2 of taking a blogging break in August. For a few weeks, I’ll be Relaxing, Recharging and Re-posting some of what my stats say are YOUR favorite reads.
Here’s one from January 2011….
Sticks And Stones May Break My Bones But Names…. Can Break My Heart!
“You know Mom, he’s lucky I didn’t SQUASH him like a bug!”
That’s what my 9-year-old daughter came home saying the other day after spending an afternoon at a birthday party. The “he” who is lucky “she”, didn’t, squash him like a bug, is a 10-year old classmate who was also at the party. “He” is her pal, her chum, her friend. He is her partner at school when pairing needs to be done. He is also the boy who tried to hold her hand when the lights went out in a Star Lab dome, but that’s not why she wants to pummel him.
There are some things you never forget: getting an award, your first sleep-over, punching a fella in the mouth for asking you to marry him (in first grade!), the soft, warm lips of a shy boy’s sweet and gentle kiss during a game of spin-the-bottle and of course, the first time someone embarrasses you in front of a group of friends by calling you a name. For me, it was buoy. And in 4th grade, I didn’t have a clue. So in a naive and unsuspecting way, I asked the boy who had just referred to me as a “buoy”, what that was.
You know, he said, it’s that round thing that bounces up and down, bobbing in the water. A buoy!
That was followed by what seemed to me, to be a roar of group laughter.
Painful. I forced a smile and walked away. I’m sure I could have flattened him but my heart had sunk to my knees and I was too hurt to react. I never forgot that feeling.
Like her mom, my girl is made of hardy stock. She is strong, confident and independent. She’s out-going and adventurous. She loves to laugh. Also like her mom however, she happens to be very sensitive.
He called me fat in front of all my friends at the party, she said. He embarrassed me. We were laughing about who would make the best Pińata and he said, ‘Hannah would, cause she’s fat!’
My heart immediately sank to that familiar place by my knees only this time, it broke.
He’s lucky I didn’t squash him like a bug! And you know I could, were the next words out of her mouth.
She’s right. She could.
Well then, I said, maybe next time, you should.
Okay, maybe that was wrong.
Sticks and stones may break my bones but names…..
Honestly, I would have preferred if he threw the stone. That wound heals faster.
We spent a long time that evening discussing potential reasons why her friend might have said that about her. Insecurity. Bravado. Maybe he was trying to look cool in front of the other boys. Perhaps he didn’t mean it and it was just a poor choice of words. Most likely, he like, likes her. No matter how much we dissected it though, the result was always the same. She could get past the word. She knows she’s bigger and taller than the other kids in her class. She accepts that her body is changing and maturing faster than theirs.
It was the betrayal she had a hard time reconciling with. He’s her friend.
It was after midnight when she came into my bedroom and crawled into bed with me that night. She snuggled up close and whispered,
Mommy, why did he do that? I thought he was my friend?
Cue the breaking heart again. She slept with me for the first time in years. And it was a big wake-up call to me as a parent and an adult, just how omnipotent words can be. Life is hard enough without us hurting each other with the things we say. And I’m reminded of how critical it is for me to set the example, practice kindness, show compassion and be forgiving.
Words may not be able to break a bone but they sure can break a heart.
The flip-side of that however, is to know that words also have the great power to fill a heart! So in the end, my advice to Hannah was to have, an open heart.
We are after all, only human. We all make mistakes and good friendships are worth keeping. So, when the boy came to school the next day and said,
Hey, I was only kidding. I didn’t mean it that way. I can’t believe you thought I was serious!
That was all she needed to hear to buddy-up again and put it behind her.
Besides, she told him that if he EVER does that to her again, she is going to “SQUASH him– like a bug!”
Photo credit: Squashed Bug, Broken Heart
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A Thousand Miles
The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. — Chinese Proverb
Last week’s post sent me into my own kind of time and space continuum, reflecting on all that has occurred and changed in the span of one year; my job to a certain degree, my car, where I live and so much more, including how I approach things and what I find important to me now. Feeling like I’ve traveled a thousand miles since then, I’ve realized it’s true, it all began with a single step; literally putting one foot in front of the other and often they were baby-steps.
After taking so many steps, it became apparent that the road isn’t always a straight course. Sometimes, even a path with heart gets side-tracked by unexpected twists and turns. At times, it’s necessary to take drastic measures to get to where you need to be. But in doing so, you increase the possibility of opening the doors to where the power of your soul exits. There are no limits to what can be achieved when you tap into the power of your soul. You discover that with a little perseverance, that which once seemed insurmountable, is not. I’ve learned to Let Go, a lot.
I’ve also learned that anything is possible when you are true to yourself and your beliefs.
People have tremendous power to change their conditions.
~ Anonymous
Life truly is an adventure and every adventure begins with one single step, forward.
Photo Credit #1: Footsteps
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It Smells Like Updog!
It smells like updog in here!
Updog?
Yes. Updog.
What’s-Up-Dog?
Oh, not much!
Come on, you know you’re laughing. Let’s face it, that’s funny!
That’s also the kind of humor you get subjected treated to when you spend a long weekend with two teenage boys, a 10-year old girl and her 9-year old comrade. Oh, and there’s the girlfriend of the thirteen-year-old (yes, I said, girlfriend) who makes her presence known with the constant text-ing that is revealed through his ringtone which loudly and annoyingly announces:
“Excuse me boss, you have a text message.”
Every 5 to 10 minutes.
I truly feel like she came with us.
It started with a simple statement. Me, telling my kids I was taking them up to our place in the woods for this President’s Day long weekend. Before I could be consulted, a cousin was quickly added to the mix and then a friend.
It became the perfect blend of a very unlikely pairing of people.
It takes two-hours by car to go through the Catskills to get to our destination, a place I usually go to for serenity. The car-load spent their time partly singing Katy Perry’s Fireworks (over and over again) and partly playing Truth or Dare.
I love kids. They’re so honest, especially when they’re playing a game like Truth or Dare. They feel completely obligated to tell the truth.
It was basketball on the driveway. Tacos for dinner. A game of Striker on the ancient but still functional game-cube. Ice-cream at the Penguin. Man-hunt in the dark with flashlights, in the middle of winter, while it was snowing. Hot cocoa with whipped cream. Playing monopoly while watching Jeremy Lin magically maneuver the ball on the court against the Hornets and tea and cookies before bed.
These are the things kids’ dreams are made of.
It’s good to take a break from life, if you can. I’m extremely fortunate to have the place to escape to and these fabulous children to escape away with. I’ve been laughing-out-loud now for nearly three days straight. It’s a privilege to be the fly-on-the-wall, allowed to listen in to the lively conversations that span the wit and humor of the seven-year-age-difference between the youngest and oldest in this motley but most-loveable crew, thrown together by chance and circumstance. They’re truly making the best of it.
Sometimes, the best times are had with the least amount of planning.
It’s been an incredibly difficult time for my kids, in particular these past two years. There’s been lots of upheaval and turmoil and change and it has been a very long time since they’ve been in a relaxed enough environment where they can just have fun. It’s a joy to witness.
But it’s the never-ending laughter that I am so grateful to hear.
Seeing your kids laughing and happy is what parents’ dreams are made of.
It’s the middle of a strangely warm winter but nothing warms a mother’s heart more than to hear the echoing of her child’s laughter.
Photo Credit #1: What’s Up Dog Hat
Photo Credit #3, 4 & 5: Karen Szczuka Teich & http://www.takingtheworldonwithasmile.com
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Just Another Once-In-A-Lifetime Experience!
What constitutes a once-in-a-lifetime experience?
I’ve been going back and forth on this for a while now, with my mom.….
…….and debated on whether or not to bring my kids.
But realized, this would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience for them and me.
And my rather stubborn, 74-year old mother was not going to change her position anyway.
With or without me………………….
…………she was getting a tattoo!
Great job, Pepper -Thanks!
She – we, LOVE her first tat!
Not only did Pepper do a fantastic job on my mom’s tattoo. Everyone at Graceland was really nice to all of us. They let my kids sit on a couch close enough to be able to watch the process and they played Irish music in the shop while Pepper was inking Nana’s shamrock.
A little “shell-shocked”, they had no idea they were going to watch their Nana get a tattoo! Life is full of surprises!
When I asked my kids what was going through their minds while Nana was getting her tattoo, my daughter said:
I was thinking, ‘Oh great, now mom is going to want one, too!’
So maybe that will make for two “once-in-a-lifetime” experiences. We’ll see.
Have you ever taken somebody to get a tattoo?
Photo Credits: ©Karen Szczuka Teich & http://www.takingtheworldonwithasmile.com
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Message in the Attic
Somehow I let myself slip into the delusion that life would get easier as I got older. Maybe older, is meant for the over 60 crowd, in which case, I still have a little while to go. As for this mid-forties mom and for reasons I can’t begin to fathom, life just seems to be extraordinarily difficult right now and I find myself in the position of having to “let go”… of a lot.
Coincidentally, while recently rummaging around in my attic again (looking for more things to sell) I stumbled upon an old, yellowed-out piece of paper at the bottom of a box labeled “Childhood”. I’ve no idea where it came from or how I got it but of this I am certain, it’s mine and it feels like an appropriate time to share it.
Without credit of an author and in an old, bold, script type face, this is what was written on it:
Let go……..
to “let go” does not mean to stop caring, it means I can’t do it for someone else.
to “let go” is not to cut myself off, it’s the realization I can’t control another.
to “let go” is not to enable, but to allow learning from natural consequences.
to “let go” is to admit powerlessness, which means the outcome is not in my hands.
to “let go” is not to try to change or blame another, it’s to make the most of myself.
to “let go” is not to care for, but to care about.
to “let go” is not to fix but to be supportive.
to “let go” is not to judge, but to allow another to be a human being.
to “let go” is not to be in the middle arranging all the outcomes but to allow others to affect their destinies.
to “let go” is not to be protective, it’s to permit another to face reality.
to “let go” is not to deny, but to accept.
to “let go” is not to nag, scold or argue, but instead to search out my own shortcomings and correct them.
to “let go” is not to adjust everything to my desires but to take each day as it comes, and cherish myself in it.
to “let go” is not to criticize and regulate anybody but to try to become what I dream I can be.
to “let go” is not to regret the past, but to grow and live for the future.
to “let go” is to fear less, and love more.
Sometimes I can get so bogged down by the details of “the issue at hand” that I just can’t see the obvious. Lucky for me, I believe in receiving signs, messages and answers from the universe (or whatever higher power has it’s hand in our fates) and I believe they can come in many forms and places. This time, it was in the quiet of a warm, stuffy attic and it was clear; certain circumstances are just out of my control and I need to let go.
Photo Credits #1 & #2: Google Images
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The Mother of All Ironies
There’s no doubt life is hard and riddled with uncertainty and while I really do try to “take the world on with a smile”, sometimes it takes everything I’ve got.
I live at the beginning of a cul-de-sac, the first of nine homes that make a horseshoe. A few weeks ago my neighbor who lives two houses down on the left came to our door and asked me to step outside for a private conversation. She recently discovered that someone had been trying to break into her house — again. She also informed me that the alarm went off in the home of the family that lives directly across from her the same week. The police responded but found nothing.
Honestly, I can’t say I was surprised. I’ve had a feeling for a while now that something was weird in the neighborhood–again.
My neighbor was visibly upset when delivering this news. Who wouldn’t be? It’s unsettling to say the least, especially, if it’s happened before. If you’ve read my posts: My Edward, Life’s Terms – Not Mine or Everything Must Go, Including Me!, you know that my home was burglarized a year ago this past winter at least eight times that we know of.
She too was repeatedly burglarized during that time and sandwiched in-between our two homes, lives the 21-year old perpetrator.
Similar to the over $10,500 worth of items taken from my house, nearly $13,000 worth of jewelry and cash went missing from her house. Unfortunately, the two detectives assigned to her case were unable to connect the dots to my case and closed hers. Interestingly enough, these are the same two detectives that were convinced my then newly turned 11-year old son was the culprit.
I at least, receive monthly restitution checks from this bad boy living next door. And, in addition to the 6-month house arrest sentence he served (silly really) there is also an order of protection against him for each member of my family, for 5 years. Not that this is remotely comforting, the boy violates this order every day, simply by living next door. Indeed, we share grass.
The story of our burglaries from start to capture and arrest is undoubtedly a fascinating one that I hope to put on paper one day but for now, I’m simply mind–boggled by the twisted sense of humor the universe seems to have and its reluctance to let me, let this craziness go!
Tell me, what do you think the universe is trying to say when I come home with my children after a late dinner out, only to find that my house key, when inserted into the front door lock, goes round and round in an endless loop, prohibiting our entry? This being the new lock we had installed just over a year ago, after break-in number five and the first sign of a violent act in our home.
Seriously, how many times has your dead-bolt failed and what are the chances of something like this, happening to us?
Unfortunately, it was 10:00 pm on a Saturday night and although the locksmith has a 24-hour emergency number, that “mailbox” was full.
The good news is that for the most part, our house is now like Fort Knox. The bad news is that after an hour of brainstorming, trying a variety of things including the unsuccessful removal of a window air-conditioner and a desperate plea from my 10-year old daughter……
“Mom, please, it’s cold out, can’t we knock on their door and ask BBQ to help us?”
…we were literally forced to use one of the same methods my neighbor used, to break into our house.
BBQ is the pet name my kids and I have affectionately given the convicted felon living next door. The first B stands for BAD the second B is the first letter of his first name and the Q is the first letter of his last name, hence, B-B-Q. It’s an attempt to interject levity into an otherwise somber situation. It’s similar to our use of the endearing term we have for the police, which is “po- po“, as in,
“Hannah, the “po-po” are here to see you again.”
(See 1-9-1-4 for clarification of that reference.)
Anyway, I’ve purposefully tried to defuse the fear my kids have had of BBQ with humor and emphasize instead, just how pathetic he was to steal such things as tooth-fairy, birthday and Halloween money from children. It’s a coping skill. My kids get it. I’m sorry that they have to.
Clearly by the way, BBQ had to have heard us (through his open windows) last Saturday night, walking around our house in the dark, trying to break-in.
Is this not bizarre? Truly, for me, this was the mother of all ironies.
We broke in, by cutting the screen door to the porch with the house key that was no longer of use to us. We slipped a few fingers through the tear and unhinged the latch. Once inside the porch, we removed a screen to an unlocked window. I was elected and with the help of my two kids, climbed through.
It’s befitting that on Mother’s Day I would express how proud I am of the way my kids handled themselves; without panicking and working together to come up with a solution. They’re thinkers and have learned how to appreciate the power of humor in a tight spot. My daughter giggled her way through taking pictures, while my son took great delight in pushing my leg through the window.
For us, the situation was surreal. We laughed our hearts out.
Don’t get me wrong, even though we laughed, smiling about this really is difficult and it’s taking everything I’ve got, NOT to rationalize why I’d like to see the boy next door receive a good old fashioned “butt-kick’n”.
But I won’t go there, here.
Back to the universe. Within a three-week time period, we received news of new robbery attempts, our new dead-bolt went, non-functional and we were forced to break-into our own home.
For me, the message is clear: It’s time to leave.
And to that end, the wheels (and there are many of them) are all in motion. Slow motion perhaps but in motion none the less. In the meantime, I am grateful for how resilient my children continue to be while the universe continues to play with uncertainty.
To all the other grateful and proud moms out there, Happy Mother’s Day!
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Hello, Mother Ship? Please, Come Back! Pick Up Your Alien Child And Return My Son!
I have a boy. He’s twelve. I don’t write about him much or post too many pics of him because a) he does not want me to and b) I suspect the boy living in my house right now, is not really my son. My angel boy I believe, was abducted by the Mother Ship and an alien child has been left here in his place.
It became apparent about a year ago when I began to notice this strange being emerge from my little boy’s body. Not quite the butterfly blossoming from the cocoon process, more like it’s reversal. The first real hint I had that something was amiss was when I started to detect a rather foul odor coming from my son’s room.
What in God’s name could that be? I thought.
Not even dirty, sweaty socks could smell that bad and that smell, certainly couldn’t be coming from a human child! The next thing I knew, I was buying Axe’s Phoenix scent deodorant for an 11-year old! Who knew they put cologne in deodorant these days? OUT, is your basic Speed Stick. Then came the request for “boxers”. Boxers!? What was wrong with the super-hero briefs he’d been wearing all these years? Shortly after that, came the hair and I’m not talking about the hair on his head either. Honestly! I don’t think there is a single part of this alien child’s body that doesn’t have hair on it!
Excuse me, but I would like my baby’s smooth, silky, velvet-like skin back! Clearly, this hair ball sleeping in my boy’s bed is an impostor!
The alien child also comes with an attitude and has a frog stuck in his throat! He barely speaks English and when he does, it’s the same two words mumbled over and over again, “I dunno – I dunno”, regardless of the question being asked. Otherwise, I’m lucky if I get a grunt or a nod.
And another thing, I liked it quite better when my boy looked up to me. Literally. Not vice-versa. In the past 12-months this imposter has shot up nearly eight inches and grew a hearty set of abs! In clothing, he went from a size 14 boys to a men’s small! How is that possible? He’s twelve! Perhaps it has something to do with the amount of food he consumes. Six tacos in one sitting! Enough said.
“Hello, Mother Ship? Please, come back!
Pick up your alien child and return my angel boy!”
Sigh. Nothing has prepared me for this shocking occurrence. I thought that when it happened, it would be a gradual, peaceful thing. I thought I’d have more time to adjust and accept. I don’t even think there is a course I could take that could teach me what I need to know right now. I suppose there are books but quite frankly, after reading Alfie Kohen’s Unconditional Parenting, a few years ago, I was left rather traumatized. EVERYTHING he said NOT to do, I had been doing for 10 years. Let’s face it, there’s no undoing that kind of damage!
My Angel Boy
Thankfully, the eternal optimist in me has hope that one day I will see my angel boy again or at least an older variation of the one I miss so much. I have faith that the foundation he was reared upon will help him find his way back, when he’s ready, in-tact and unharmed from this awkward growth period. In the meantime, I realize that even the alien child sleeping in my son’s bed now, needs a mom to care for him, too. So, I will do my best to be patient with his sometimes odd and infuriating ways. And I will try to love him even when I feel like, well, strangling him, in the hopes that somewhere out there, there’s an alien mom on a Mother Ship doing the same for my angel boy.
Tell me, has your angel boy also been abducted by the Mother Ship?
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Sticks And Stones May Break My Bones But Names…Can Break My Heart!
“You know Mom, he’s lucky I didn’t squish him like a bug!”
That’s what my 9-year-old daughter came home saying the other day after spending an afternoon at a birthday party. The “he” who is lucky “she”, didn’t, squish him like a bug, is a 10-year old classmate who was also at the party. “He” is her pal, her chum, her friend. He is her partner at school when pairing needs to be done. He is also the boy who tried to hold her hand when the lights went out in a Star Lab dome, but that’s not why she wants to pummel him.
There are some things you just never forget: getting an award, your first sleep-over, punching a fella in the mouth for asking you to marry him (in first grade!), the soft, warm lips of a shy boy’s sweet and gentle kiss during a game of spin-the-bottle and of course, the first time someone embarrasses you in front of a group of friends by calling you a “name“. For me, it was buoy. And in 4th grade, I didn’t have a clue. So in a naive and unsuspecting way, I asked the boy who had just referred to me as a “buoy”, what that was. “You know,” he said, “it’s that round thing that bounces up and down, bobbing in the water, a buoy!” That was followed by what seemed to me, to be a roar of group laughter. Painful. I forced a smile and walked away. I’m sure I could have flattened him but my heart had sunk to my knees and I was too hurt to react. Sadly, I never forgot that feeling.
Like her mom, my girl is made of hardy stock. She is strong, confident and independent. She’s out-going and adventurous. She loves to laugh. Also like her mom however, she happens to be very sensitive.
“He called me fat in front of all my friends at the party” she said. “He embarrassed me. We were laughing about who would make the best Pińata and he said, ‘Hannah would, cause she’s fat!’
My heart immediately sank and broke, for her.
“He’s lucky I didn’t squish him like a bug! And you know I could.” were the next words out of her mouth.
She’s right. She could.
“Well then,” I said, “maybe next time, you should.”
Okay, maybe that was wrong.
Sticks and stones may break my bones but names…..
Honestly, I would have preferred he threw the stone. That wound heals faster.
We spent a long time that evening discussing potential reasons why her friend might have said that about her. Insecurity. Bravado. Maybe he was trying to look “cool” in front of the other boys. Perhaps he didn’t mean it and it was just a poor choice of words. Most likely, he like, likes her. No matter how much we dissected it though, the result was always the same. She could get past the word. She knows she’s bigger and taller than the other kids in her class. She accepts that her body is changing, maturing. It’s the betrayal she is having a hard time reconciling with. He’s her friend.
It was after midnight when she came into my bedroom and crawled into bed with me that night. She snuggled up close and whispered, “Mommy, why did he do that? I thought he was my friend?” Cue the breaking heart again. She slept with me for the first time in years. And it was a big wake-up call to me as a parent and an adult, just how omnipotent words can be. Life is hard enough without us hurting each other with the things we say. And I’m reminded of how critical it is for me to set the example, practice kindness, show compassion and be forgiving.
Words may not be able to break a bone but they sure can break a heart. The flip-side of that is to know that words also have the great power to fill a heart! So in the end, my advice to Hannah was to have, an open heart.
We are after all, only human. We all make mistakes and good friendships are worth keeping. So, when the boy came to school the next day and said, “Hey, I was only kidding. I didn’t mean it that way. I can’t believe you thought I was serious!” That was all she needed to hear to buddy-up again and put it behind her.
Besides, she told him that if he EVER does that to her again, she is going to “SQUISH him– like a bug!”
Photo credit: Squashed Bug, Broken Heart
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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! 