Tooth Fairy Failure

Clearly I am a bad mom.  This is the second time I have known my child has lost a tooth, and failed to remember to exchange the tooth for money.

The first time, Madeleine woke up to use the bathroom at the same time I was heading in to make the magic happen.  I went to bed with the intention of resting for a few minutes then getting back to her pillow, but I was too enamored with my own pillow and woke up the next morning to cries of "My tooth is still here!"  By some miracle I was able to run downstairs, write a note and put it at her place at the breakfast table with the money, and while she was revelling in that, I ran upstairs and grabbed the tooth before she could check.

The second time I just forgot.  She came home from school with the tooth in the special tooth necklace that the school nurse has for such momentous occasions.  But this being the 5th one she has lost, she made no big fuss at bed time.  In the morning, I was again jarred awake by lamentations of why the Tooth Fairy failed.  I turned to my husband with wide eyes...she isn't 5, she is 7...surely a note will not suffice.  But with no other choice, I told her perhaps the necklace was too hard to open, and perhaps she could open it and see if she comes.  Then while she was using the bathroom I dashed off a quick note, tip-toed into her room and grabbed the tooth from the necklace, dropped the note and money, and ran down to breakfast.  Hoping and hoping that this would not be the day she realizes I am the Tooth Fairy, the grace of God blinded her to my handwriting, and she believed.

In three weeks Madeleine will be eight.  And I know that the second she realizes that the Tooth Fairy is less a flying magical creature and more a tired family member she will mull it over with Sophie, as she does with all the important information she learns (Nazis, tornadoes, Bruins stats...)  Both children will go from my babies to big kids in a heartbeat, and the Easter Bunny and Santa will be next. 

It would happen eventually, but the "Mommy guilt" won't let me stop wondering if I had not forgotten those teeth, could we have held on to the little kid stage for just a bit longer?

artwork

I love my children, and I especially love that they are creative and imaginative beings.  We are also fortunate to live in an area that has high regard for arts education in school, and in the community at large as well.  However, I am often at a loss of what to do with all of this creative expression.

The girls are fine with me looking at their homework, praising them for whatever it happens to be, and then recycling it.  Art, on the other hand, is expected to remain on open exhibit indefinitely.  To recycle a toilet paper tube with a string attached ( aka "my favorite mouse") is a tragic sin.  And I thought someone had cut off a finger the other day, but, no, the commotion was over a lima bean with tape around it (aka "my hamster") found in the trash.  My bad.

The playroom has two rows of rope with clothespins to hang art work, frames filled with art and there is at least one project on display in every room of the house.  The cellar has totes of "special" crafts, and the girls are only 6 and 7.  I push the boundaries of good mothering by waiting until after bedtime to throw away things I think they will not notice are gone, but only when they go out to the outside trash bin immediately so as not to be detected. I also strongly suggest that grandma (aunties, friends, etc.) are looking for art just like whatever has been recently completed...paintings, wood sculptures, origami, beaded jewelry, clay masterpieces, weaving, etc.

Do not even get me started on fuse beads...you know, those small cylindrical beads that dig into your foot every 2 inches and have to be ironed by an adult to make a toy that breaks within seconds and needs to be re-ironed or worse, remade.   The only thing worse than this is pixos, even smaller round beads that fuse together with water, but only when fusing to things you would like preserved, like your clothes. If you are doing the project correctly, these beads will only stay together until touched, then break apart, or scatter every where and fuse to the cat's tongue.  We have zillions of these creations.  Correction, we have zillions of pieces of what once were creations.  All are very special.

What to do with all this "specialness"?  My bedroom has all the painted wood sculptures and beaded jewelry it can handle.  The dining room has paper Sophie made in school framed on the wall, the living room has clay candle holders with beautiful gold beads glued on, the kitchen has the fridge, the playroom has masks and paintings and a recycled art gallery.  No one would ever wonder if we had children upon walking into every room of our house.  But that is enough.

After I got married my mother handed me a large box filled with things from my childhood that she had kept.  Reports, report cards, pictures, paintings, poems etc.  I looked through, reminisced a bit, but ultimately threw most of it away.  It was sweet of her to keep it all I told her, and she laughed out loud.  "You should have seen all the crap you wanted me to keep."   Hmmmm....sounds familiar. 

21st century girl

As I write this I am wearing a tattered gray shirt that reads "21st Century Girl" across the front.  It has paint from each of the houses we have owned, deck stain drops and now holes and yet I still wear it.  Relegated to pajamas since it is not fit for...well anything, I just can't throw it away.  Why?

Why indeed.  I love to clean house.  Getting rid of things, making piles for Salvation Army or trash, re- purposing old cloth for rags, it makes me feel productive.  But this shirt has escaped every time.

Is it because I bought it when I was teaching right after college (1997), or because when I bought it I was staying with my grandmother who has since passed away? Maybe it is because it was what I would throw on for house cleaning Sunday when I lived with friends on the beach or because I wore it the first time Frank brought me to Lake Buell?  Perhaps it is because I wore it to keep the mosquitos off while Kayla and I jumped on the trampoline endlessly or because I stretched it during both pregnancies. 

I know that even though there is "cappuccino" paint and deck stain from the house in Mashpee, or all three paints from the girls' bedrooms here in Deerfield, those are not the reasons.  The Easter egg dye on the left sleeve is not the reason either.

It is the tears that the shirt has soaked up that make it hard to part with.  Tears of a Grandmother, father in law and nephew passing, tears of 9/11 and miscarriages, tears of exhaustion with two children under 2 and tears of happiness at birthdays, baptisms, Christmas and weddings.  Tears of selling the home where your children were born, of a friend struggling through chemo and radiation, of Alzheimer's, of earthquakes and tsunamis and children growing up.

But what to do with this shirt?  It is beyond repair.  Saving it is pointless, I am the only one for whom this shirt brings back these memories.  Perhaps if it survives one more wash, an answer will come to me.

Get the babies from the bear's den

I have written before about the many things you never thought you would say until you have children.  While that list is extensive, it is not nearly as long as the things one says when they are a preschool teacher.  However, for every thing a preschool teacher could conceivably say or do or even think of, there are even more questions.

Why isn't there donut pizza?  Where is my pizza without crust? Can you make more shrimp?  How do you know water is healthy? Does "train" start with "L"?  Is that a Spiderman spider? Where do boys buy make-up? What am I eating?

The latter was a simple one for me.  One of the boys was showing me a plastic baggie with two graham cracker/peanut butter sandwiches.  He was astounded that I knew what was in the bag before he took it out. I explained that the bag was clear.  His response was "Next time I will duct tape the bag and see if you can guess."  I can't wait to hear how that goes over with his mom.

What is the most amusing part of these situations for me is that the children, and sometimes the adults, do not find the conversations to be out-of-the-ordinary.  This is the life they live, and it is all good.  For instance, when the Lead Teacher asked the children to grab the props for their play, she said "Please get the babies from the bear's den."  Amusing enough itself, but there is more.  Immediately the child scoots over to an overturned box and pulls out 3 naked dolls.  Did I mention this is "The Three Little Pigs" story?  Both the teacher and children think I am nuts when I inquire about the situation.  " The pigs have babies."  One child says to me as if I am one step away from the loony bin.  Of course they do.

As my children grow older, the questions change. We have gone from "What makes it thunder?" to "What does 'sexy' mean?"  I have always been honest, and that in itself has led to a lot of strange looks from people around us.  Mostly because the questions never end.  They just get more intricate, and the voices get louder, and more in public.  And while I might think it strange that the bear in the Three Little Pigs story steals baby pigs, anyone around our house at bed time might wonder when they hear "Grab your rock and purse so I can tuck you in." Doesn't everyone sleep with a rock?

I wonder what common occurance at your house/work would make an passerby laugh?

Back to School

One would think that after 9 days with your sisters and parents a child would want to get back to school to see her friends.  We are talking Kindergarten here. Recess, Spanish, Music, Art, Choice time. The teachers are great and the kids are learning, but truthfully there is a lot of play and fun with 19 of your best friends.  Sophie loves school once she is there, but getting there is the challenge.

The same child who awoke at 6:30 every morning of vacation to give me a minute by minute countdown until 7:00 (when the children may come to our room and get us up), now has to be roused at 7:30 to get ready for school.  And aparently asking what she would like for breakfast is "rushing" her.  The suggestion that she put on some clothes and run a toothbrush over her teeth is "being mean" and brushing her hair hurts before I even touch her.  And almost every morning  comes the announcement, "I am not going to school, I am staying in my pajamas all day."  I would say at least 4 days out of the week.  No lie.

One might think that I make her wear frilly, scratchy clothes, but no, Sophie's drawers are overflowing with cute comfy clothing she picked.  I started the school year picking out her clothes the night before, adorable little outfits that color coordinated. Then she started picking them out the night before with my guidance as to what matched, now she picks out whatever she likes that is weather appropriate. Today she is wearing purple and green yoga pants, a lavender and blue Cinderella sweatshirt and a tye dye T-shirt of her creation.  And judging by the other girls in her class, I am not the only one to give up that battle.

There was one day when she was screeching about not getting ready and I reminded her every 5 minutes when we would be leaving and what needed to be done.  She stood her ground, so at 8:29 ( we need to be to school at 8:30) I grabbed her, her clothes, a brush, her backpack and shoes and put them in the car.  We dropped off Maddy and parked outside the school.  I told her that in 5 minutes I was bringing her into school however she was.    The screamed and cried bloody murder but got her clothes on and we went into school.

To many of you this will come as a surprise since Sophie tends to be low key, sometimes shy. Her tiny frame and quick smile are adorable.  But those of you who really know her will not be surprised in the least since she is a force of nature, and as kind and loving as she is, she can be trouble with a capitol "T".

Now I am sure you all are thinking that something must be going on at school.  I did.  But no.  Maybe she wasn't sleeping?  Nope.  Perhaps an underlying psychological issue?  Sorry.  Sophie just knows what she wants, which in this case is to stay in her pajamas as long as possible, and is willing to do whatever it takes to get that.  At six years old. 

High school is going to be a blast.

A Keeper

Last night my husband surprised me with a renewal of our vows.  It was beautiful, and sweet and I had no idea.

The plan was to go to dinner for our anniversary, then head to the church for our shift at the all-night prayer vigil.  Many weird things happened yesterday, but after the crazy vacation we had I didn't even notice.  For instance, Frank lives in jeans.  I was wearing jeans and Frank suggested that I change as he was ironing a dress shirt and pants...I know the iron hasn't been used since Christmas. 

We did go to dinner then walked up to church.  I made myself some tea, then went into the parlor not noticing that Frank was all jittery.  As I sat down to meditate with the labyrinth, Frank and Cat finally let me in on the secret.  We were alone, surrounded by flowers,  Cat had made up programs and performed a lovely ceremony including the Eucharist to celebrate our ten years together. 

What a thoughtful and sweet thing for my amazing husband to do.  I do not want jewelry or trinkets, I am practical to a fault and prefer plants for the garden or home improvement items.  Luckily my Frank is a romantic, and always makes me feel like the most beautiful and fantastic woman in the world.  With all the ups and downs over the past 12 years since we met, there is no doubt in my mind I would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

Lesson Learned

Each April vacation we go to Maine with another family for a few days.  This year we should have seen the warning signs...Chuck couldn't come because of a new work schedule, the web site for the resort was not the best and it was Holy Week.  But NO, we pressed on.

On the way there wild turkeys almost caused an accident by landing on our car travelling 65 miles an hour down Route 2 and I said to Frank "I hope this isn't an omen."  But, hey, how bad can a suite on the ocean be?  As we arrived in Old Orchard Beach our concern level increased watching the run down hotels out the window and all the boarded up buildings that are filled with tacky souvenirs in the summer.  But still our optimism shone through. A few restaurants and shops have to be both open and appropriate for people under 21 to enter, right? Wrong. 

Our "resort" could have been used on a scary movie set.  A recent nor'easter had brought the beach into the parking lot, and water into our "living room" through the slider.  The back bedroom and bathroom didn't have heat, the toilet ran constantly and needed to be plunged frequently, eight of us slept on two double and two twin beds, the pool smelled so chemically it was hard to breathe and the dresser in front of the window had the name SUSAN painted on the back with drippy paint...super creepy.  The owners were no help and we had already paid. We were stuck. Luckily the kids were happy to have the beach and a pool, and had no idea how crazy it all was.

 After the children were asleep, and the adults had had a glass of wine, we could see the light.  Millions of people the world over are barely able to keep a roof over their heads and feed their children.  We were lucky enough to be able to vacation anywhere, even if it was this tiny, creepy hotel, it was still on the ocean. And so we laughed.  The adults could not stop laughing.  Every time we discovered another defect we burst into hysterics.  Each morning that we woke up sore from being smooshed all night with springs poking into our backs, we laughed.

 It is Holy Week, the final week of Lent.  A scary, ill equipped hotel is hardly a sacrifice when compared to what Mary and Jesus had been through during this same time.  We had each other and as it turns out, that is all that we needed for a memory filled vacation.

I take my Lenten sacrifice very seriously.  I live a blessed life and constantly remind myself and my children that we have more than most people in the world.  This year, the first for many years, I could not fast for the 40 days.  Instead, I gave up sugar (all sugar in all foods), and every time I had a sip of black coffee or tea it reminded me that I will not have to choose between feeding my children or feeding myself, I will not have to put my life on the line to protect my beliefs, family or country and I will not have to bury my child after a public execution.

I do not think God 'sent' us on this crazy vacation to teach us a lesson, mostly because I do not believe that God has human characteristics.    I do think that God is everywhere and within every living thing, and the same  Spirit that was within Mary and Jesus, is also within you and I.  Jesus was publicly executed for living the best way he knew how, and His mother had to witness it, then bury Him.  As millions of people around the world suffer as Jesus and Mary suffered, denying myself treats and laughing with friends about a vacation gone awry is not suffering at all.  Even if my family had to live in that tiny hotel room for the rest of our lives, our faith and friends bless us more than we can ever measure. Lesson learned.

When I was your age...

To be 16 again... 

I was in my junior year of high school, and everything was so dramatic.  Who likes who went where with who when?  Parties, dances, sleepovers, homework, actual work, my life was exhausting.  Then I got older and there were more parties, homework and tons more actual work, and finally the homework was over, but so were most of the parties. That left actual work and housework.  Then children and housework and actual work. 

I had it soooo good.  A Mom who loved me enough to make rules, a great town with a good school system and the Five Colleges close enough  to get into some trouble, but not too much.  I was sheltered from the reality of the world.  All the attitude and grief I gave my mother was because I was so sheltered in my little community and had no idea what it was like to wonder if I would be attacked on my way to school, sold as a slave or scrounge for food; clean water was a given, not a novelty; a police officer might deliver me to my mother if it was after curfew, but I never was afraid he would beat, rape and kill me for being a girl, and therefore property.  Those are real tragedies, not missing a party or being grounded for skipping school.

As I get older and begin to tell the "When I was a teenager" stories, the teens and preteens in my life roll their eyes.  Their lives are so terribly tragic...parents who love and want to spend time with them, homework from top quality schools, ipods and nooks and texting like crazy.  They have it soooo good.  And someday after parties and sleepovers turn to work and motherhood, they will realize just how good they had it.  Especially when their children are deep into the drama of it all.  It is clear to me now that payback for behaving the way that I did to my mother, is having children who are just like me.  Drama queens.

I wouldn't want to be 16 again.  I had a good time, but I am glad I can now appreciate how great my life is.

Sharp grass

When we lived on Cape Cod we were lucky to have green grass.  I don't know how it happened, perhaps the grass thrived on dropped crackers and bare baby feet, but whatever it was, it was just short of a miracle.  Our lawn had a lot of shade, the kids were always running under the sprinkler so our grass grew relatively well considering sand was a few inches under the soil. I often made fun of our friends who lived across town and had brown grass that hurt when you stepped on it. And it stood out because most of the lawns on the Cape are lush, green and full of toxic chemicals...how else do you get grass to grow in sand?

As I watch the Trugreen truck rolling down our street I think of the irony.  We now live amid farms in the fertile Connecticut River Valley and our lawn is brown...and sharp.  And we do stick out because half of our neighbors are retired and spend hours each day creating gorgeous gardens and manicuring their lawns and the other half hire landscapers to create thick, deep, green lawns that beg you to take off your shoes and sink in.  This is an urge one must deny because everyone on our street uses chemical fertilizer and pesticides to create fancy yards I won't allow my children to play in.  We look across and admire the grass that truly is greener on the other side, but stick to our belief that healthy children win over a beautiful yard every time.

It is only the beginning of the season, and today's showers will bring forth grass less like razorblades and more welcoming to the bare feet that pummel it all summer.  I toy with the idea of using a chemical fertilizer and then I think of all the other places the toxins seep into my children's little bodies, and the friends who have survived cancer, and those who have not.  I know the neighbors wish we would do something more, but we rake, we plant flowers and try to keep up with the weeds. Even though my chemical avoidance is merely a drop of water compared to the  massive river of chemicals my neighbors, and many others across the nation, use, I try to console myself with the thought that the person who gets the last drop of clean water will be glad that we cared less about lush, green grass, and more about playing in the grass. 

Let's get ready to RUMBLE!

As a parent there are many things your find yourself saying, that previous to that moment in time seemed ridiculous.  "Take the goggles off the cat."  "Stop eating your boogies."  "No eating things off the sidewalk." And the list goes on.  As a human there are also things that I never thought I would say.  "Sometimes violence is necessary to keep people safe."  "Perhaps I overuse bleach."  "I bet if the cat had opposable thumbs she would make us brownies."

 However, the most ridiculous truth happened today in the car on the way to Wal Mart.  Listening to NPR, I realized that I agree with Jesse Ventura on a lot of issues.  Jesse Ventura.  The former wrestler. A guy who used to get dressed up in a spandex outfit to pretend to fight with other profane guys.  A guy who I never heard utter an intelligent thought, but then became the governor of Minnesota.

As it turns out he and I have a lot of common views.  The misuse of our National Guard by the Government, how the Patriot Act removes all that the Constitution afforded the citizens  of the US, that both Democrats and Republicans are bought and no contender for public office can claim to be part of either party and still look out for the good of the American people. Mr. Ventura did not run for a second term because it took too much of a toll on his family, a position I respect and admire.

The man lost me when  he was talking about 9/11.  This conspiracy theory is too far fetched, or too terrifying for me to contemplate.  Clearly he has been researching this, but our government being involved is not something I choose to focus on. Otherwise, his interview on WAMC (Northeast Public Radio) was intelligent and straight forward.  
www.publicbroadcasting.net/wamc/news.newsmainaction=article&ARTICLE_ID=1788092

I still think some of his ideas are crazy, but anyone who has met me knows that is the pot calling the kettle black.  I judged a person by his past, and now realize that Mr. Ventura has more to offer than just being a bad guy in an over-the top wrestling scenario. After all, if someone heard me asking the cat to make me brownies, they might not think I am qualified to be Queen of the World...and boy would they be wrong.   ;-)

Longing for food, many are hungry.
Longing for truth, many still thirst.
Make us Your bread, broken for others,
Shared until all are fed.

Longing for shelter, many are homeless.
Longing for warmth, many are cold.
Make us Your home, sheltering others,
walls made of living stone.

Christ be our light,
Shine in our hearts, shine in the darkness.
Christ be our light,
Shine in Your church gathered today.

Something about this song really struck me this morning at SING!  Watching Maddy and Sophie belt it out with the other children on the drums and tambourines, (and the guitars and flute that accompany all our songs) was quite touching.  So many people need for things and many others need for peace.  It is hard to know where to begin.

Sometimes I wonder why I always volunteer to do millions of things.  If I am going to spend time away from my family, shouldn't I at  least get paid?   "Make us Your bread, broken for others, shared until all are fed."  Time and an able body I have, so that is what I must share. I have such a blessed life. Who said payment must be money?

Testing , testing, 1,2,3

I am so glad I am not a high school junior.  Today I proctored the ACT tests and tensions were high.  One boy twirled his hair when he was stressing, and by the end of the 3.5 hour test his previously straight hair was curly.  A few chewed their fingers to bits.  Nice way to spend a sunny Saturday morning.

For me, it is a fine way to spend a few hours once in a while.  It is calm, and cool.  If I had been at home I would have broken up 5 fights, negotiated major costume changes and done a few loads of laundry between 8 and 12.  Reading instructions and walking around a gym for 3 hours seems like a vacation, and I make a little spending money as well.

For these kids, it is hard to tell.  Some show up with 7 extra pencils, two calculators and a huge eraser, others skid in 2 minutes before we begin and have to borrow a pencil.  Some look as if they rolled out of bed and into their seat, some as if they never went to bed last night.  All are anxious.  A few even cancel their scores after taking all that time to take the test.

I remember taking the SAT.  I looked over some vocabulary, reviewed a little math, but for the most part is was not a huge deal.  I was a naive teen from the middle of nowhere who thought I would be fine, regardless of the outcome.  Truthfully, I was.  My first choice, Hampshire College, didn't require the SAT, when I transferred to UMass it was never an issue.  Grad school at Harvard, and no one cared about my SAT score.  Now, it rarely comes up on a playdate ;-)

Today, it is so different.  Pressure from everywhere on these teens make them think that one wrong answer and they are doomed for life.  While it is true that going to a good prep school, getting high SAT and ACT scores and excellent grades will get you into a good college, leading to a high paying job, when is enough enough?  I am a strong proponent of higher education.  I think students should expect great things from themselves if they put in their best effort.  I even think that standardized testing is a good idea (GASP!) but it is not the only idea.

I really hope the kids who took the test today are now doing something fun outside in the beautiful sunshine.

Playdates

For the most part my children are happy to go out and play.  We are blessed to live on a cul-de-sac and our acre of land is half covered with woods and bordered by neighbors we trust on either side and a cemetery in back.  I can allow the children to play out back, and peek out at them from time to time.  Outside of the occasional "That is high enough" about tree climbing, or "Don't pick the flowers" the girls play for hours either with each other or in their own little worlds.  They create fairy houses, stick forts, magic potions from the plants in the woods but most importantly they create elaborate stories and scenarios in their minds.  They love the independence of being "alone" in the woods with the story of the day, and I love that they are creative.

Many times when children come over after school to play they want to watch the TV or play some structured game that  includes me as an equal player.  I don't mind playing, in fact I play games everyday and my children have playdates over so they do not have to play with old Mom.  A few times my child and her playdate have come to me saying the are "bored", something I never hear out of my children's mouths.  They know better.  I strongly believe that only boring people get bored, and as long as you have an imagination you can make fun out of almost anything.  Plus "bored" children can help with the chores until they think of something better to do!  Perhaps one of the nine zillion toys we have? Books?  Coloring?   

This is often a conversation between myself and various playdates who are stunned that I won't turn on the TV.
     "Why don't you go play outside"
     "Play what?"
     "Whatever you want as long as you can see the house."
Blank stare from the playdate.

I was thrilled yesterday (the first of 3 half days of school in a row) when Sophie's playdate and both my children went from one activity to the next.  First they were Mom's with babies, then they were Katy Perry (yes, all three of them) and when they were horse from screaming "Firework",  they became dancers, and when I asked them make the 30th time the last time for "Dynamite",  they went outside to make mud soup and build a neighborhood in the woods.  I even had to bring snack outside as they were so wrapped up in their imaginative play.

Yeah for kids who know how to PLAY.  They will never be bored.

Polka dot undies

Back in the day my friends and I would head out to a club, or bar, around 1130pm.  We'd have a few drinks, dance our hearts out, wind down at an after-party and be home around 4am to get in a few hours before work, or school, or both the next morning.  Back in the day our bodies functioned appropriately on 3 hours of sleep. Back in the day we had money to burn, we could take naps most evenings and being packed into a club with 200 other dancing twenty-somethings indicated that we were in the right place. 

Now, things are a smidge different. 

It amused me last night when I called a friend to ask where I should meet her, that she suggested a martini bar @ 930.  Not because it was a martini bar, I really like this particular place because when you can get a seat, it is a fun and relaxed atmosphere with delicious drinks.  I was amused because 930 pm seemed much too late to go anywhere.  I am often out past 930, but that is usually on the tail end of my evening.

As a mom living in a rural town surrounded by only slightly less rural towns, I am not up on the "scene".  In fact I am not usually up and out at all.  Every few weeks we go out to dinner with friends, maybe drinks with the girls, a charity event every so often, but that is about it.  I am not complaining in the least.  I love my life, but cutting edge it is not.

So last night, (celebrating a friend's 41st birthday), after the martini bar was too crowded, we headed to a larger bar, had a drink or two and danced to a few songs.  Around 1130 this bar also started getting crowded with twenty-somethings.  They were scantily clad, with high heels and not a care in the world.  We knew we were truly too old to be there when one girl on the dance floor moved in a way that her polka dot undergarment was visible.  The twenty-somethings could have cared less.  All us old ladies took a deep breath, prayed for her and her mother, and mutually agreed that the positive to the incident was that she was actually wearing an undergarment.  A drink spilled of the dance floor, the birthday girl slipped, we were annoyed that 200 people were packing in and we all knew our children would be up early in the morning.  Clear signs we should be home in our fuzzy slippers.

As I dropped the birthday girl off, I glanced at the clock.  1am.  I was deeply thankful that in two minutes I would be home, able to throw on my flannel jammies and hop into bed.  I thanked God for the husband waiting up for me, the children who would wake me with snuggles at 7am and that I am no longer 21.  Don't get me wrong, I had a blast as a twenty-something, but nothing can beat the gig I have right now. 

I'll take my dance party in the living room, packed with families, wearing dress up clothes and twirling a 6 year old, thank you very much. 

Shopping Day

Thursday means shopping day in our house.  Everyother Thursday is a "big shop" where I go to Target, Whole Foods, Trader Joe's, Aldi and Big Y with my list of things that are on sale at each store.  On the other Thursdays I just go to Big Y.  Today is Thursday, and it is a good thing too. 

Usually by Wednesday we are down to slim pickings.  These are the days when I pack my children lunches that must have the teachers laughing.  Couscous and peas, pretzels, 3 slices of Havarti cheese and a banana that has seen better days went to Madeleine. Sophie was thrilled to find a rye and cream cheese sandwich, a sliced half of apple (because the other half was mush), a whole carrot and pretzels.  Sometimes the girls question my sanity, but to their credit, neither one has ever complained.

I only shop on one day to keep within a budget.  It is much easier to spend more if I am running out for things here and there, so whatever we are out of (except milk) will not be replaced until Thursday.  This accounts for the odd food pairings for lunch and dinner, another  example being last night's meatballs and spanikopita. Or last week's quinoa, bacon, broccoli salad.

It is worth it.  I spend 40 dollars a week for groceries on the off weeks, and 80 dollars on the "big shop" weeks for a family of 4.  Coupons don't really help because I rarely buy brand name stuff and with Madeleine's allergies I need to make most everything from scratch.

Fast forward a few years, and I wonder when it will occur to my children that this is not the "Normal" way in America.  That most people buy what they want, when they want it. That it is usually spaghetti and meatballs, not spanikopita and meatballs.   I wonder on the SAT'S when you have to compare the words (Hat is to head as mitten is to glove) if the question is: Apple is to pie as _____ is to salad, will my children raise their hands and ask what day it is? 

BBQ Sauce

I love BBQ sauce.  Not in the "I'll have some on the side" way or even the "I'll have the BBQ sandwich with extra BBQ sauce on the side." way.  Nope.  I love BBQ sauce in the "I could eat it with a spoon like soup" way.  Pretty much anything can be made better with BBQ sauce. Even vanilla ice cream?  Absolutely.

Unfortunately, my daughter is allergic to tomatoes.  Sadly for her, a seven year old, this means no pizza, a staple at children's events and birthday parties.  It also means she cannot eat out because most restaurants use the same cutting board and knives for numerous veggies, and even cutting her food with the same knife that chopped a tomato results in crazy itchy hives.  Of course her favorite foods were BLT's, American chop suey and BBQ pork previous to her allergy onset (1.5 yrs ago), and they are no longer...or so I thought.

I know I can't make a BLT with something besides a tomato, and BLC (bacon, lettuce and shredded carrot) was a failure, we have developed a BLA (bacon, lettuce and apple) that is quite tasty.  But not as good as a BLT.

I don't even know what to substitute for tomato sauce in American chop suey.  I tried just the other ingredients, but it was sad.  No one would touch it when I used Alfredo sauce, so I still have to work on that one.

My love of BBQ sauce would not let me give up on a tomato-less sauce.  There are recipes out there, but they are too different tasting, not what Maddy or I were looking for.  Finally fed up, I just began.  Originally I would saute onions in butter.  Done.  Next I would normally add brown sugar, Worcestershire sauce, mustard, ketchup salt and pepper...OK, so I added the sugar and mustard and instead of the rest, added some balsamic vinegar and a few drops of Frank's Original Hot Sauce.  It tasted similar, but the texture was too thin.  It wasn't thickened by the ketchup so I grabbed the blender, poured it in and pureed the sauce, onions and all. 

TA_DA!  I liked it, but would it pass the 6 and 7 year old judges?  Maddy took a big bite and gushed about how yummy it was, then quickly panicked.  Almost in tears she said "Mommy, I can't have BBQ sauce it has tomatoes in it, I'll get itchy!"  Not this kind.  It was the biggest hug all day.  And she ate three servings.

Yeah! for Maddy and Yeah! for me.
Maybe for dessert I will grab a spoon and the rest of the sauce!

Thank you for calling, have a nice day.

A friend emailed me an article today about how phone calls are becoming obsolete.

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/20/fashion/20Cultural.html?pagewanted=1&_r=2&ref=homepage&src=me&adxnnlx=1300795291-lC9jb/6 pbKtxBCJrozixw

I thought she was nuts.  Everyone and their brother has a cell phone.  Then I read the article and started thinking...

While it is hard to find anyone above age 12 who is not holding a "phone", it is rare anyone is actually talking on them.  Texts and email, tweets and status updates.  I could not remember the last time I actually saw someone speak into their mobile device.

I do not use my cell phone.  On the rare occasion that I am away from my children I will look for it, charge it and half the time remember to turn it on.  I am fine with being unreachable sometimes.  Truth be told, I like it.  I have a pay as you go plan, so if there is an emergency I am covered (providing the phone is charged and I know where it is)  And did I mention that it does not take pictures and I am so annoyed that I have to press the number three times to get the letter I want, that I do not bother to text.  Do you even need to ask if the phone gets the internet???

If phone calls are a way of the past, than consider me ancient.  Newcomers to our home also marvel at the ancient tradition of having one...yes ONE, television in the entire house, the absence of a microwave and not one single electronic gaming system (even hand held ).  Although I do joke about it, I do not vacuum in pearls and heels, but calling me June Cleaver is not an insult, it is a compliment.

Maybe underneath that perfectly pressed outfit June had tattoos and taught Zumba? Maybe she was a women's rights activist who believed that the feminist movement really was about women being able to choose their own path, even if that path was to stay home and raise a family?  Maybe June knew that TVs, gaming systems and everyone with their own computer allowed families to exist without interacting, so she chose to bake cookies and sit with her children after school and talk about their day?  I bet June knew that a phone call can brighten someone's day. 

Actually hearing another human voice speak words of happiness or sorrow, really, that is becoming obsolete?  Give me a call and let me know what you think.

Living in a Fragile World

Many, many moons ago (maybe even a "supermoon" or two) Maria Montessori began teaching children in a way that honored their relationship with God, each other and the world around them.  Jerome Berryman incorporated these ideals into a method of exploring the sacred  Christian stories, called Godly Play, used around the world. Godly Play strives to give  people the language to relate the sacred stories of God's people to their present lives and relationship to God and each other.  Peter Privett then used the tradition of Godly Play to create five lessons on the conservation of the land and stewardship of the earth.   He called it Living in a Fragile World

Today  in the 4-6th grade classroom, we explored the first lesson.  All of us had heard it before.  Still it moved one participant to near tears, and there was more than one heavy sigh of disgust as we looked down on the beautiful black felt universe, sprinkled with hundreds of shiny stars and a blue silk Earth with a patchwork quilt of continents littered with cities, pesticides, people, money, disease and war.  We wondered together...I wonder if  it is really like this?  I wonder how does the Earth feel? I wonder what can be done? I wonder what part of this story do you like best? Least?

Sometimes I live my life like I am Queen of the World (tiara and all, those of you who know me well  will not be surprised in the least) in control of it all.  Most of the time I remember to say a prayer of thanks for my life and all the blessings in it, which reminds me that I am not in charge. Every once in a while, the world as I know it comes crashing down...cancer, death, natural disasters...and it is clear not only am I not in charge, none of us are.  Or all of us are.

God is a part of every thing.  Each soul, each blade of grass, every fish, dinosaur, gnat and lion pulses with life, pulses with God.  God is a part of the evolutionary chain, as much orangutan as neanderthal as modern person; at each evolutionary milestone, God continued.  But while we are the children of God, WE created cars, pesticides, guns and pavement.  US, WE, the children of God, to whom the stewardship of the Earth is entrusted, we created these things we deem necessary. Are they bad? I know I "need" my car, the roads and enjoy out of season veggies.  Or have we just gone too far?

Life is fragile, our Earth is fragile, and no matter how many retaining walls we erect, or vaccines we produce, or weapons we build, or food we genetically engineer, the only thing we are really in charge of is keeping this planet alive.  I wonder how we are doing?

http://www.stjohnsnorthampton.org/
http://www.godlyplayfoundation.org/

Death and Taxes

Sometimes I love living in a small town, actually, the majority of the time.  But sometimes a town where the town offices are actually staffed by people who have held their position for less than 35 years might be nice.  It might allow for some progress.

At the present time every tax bill (sewer, water, excise, fire, property) is sent to the same person at town hall who issues each bill on a separate piece of paper, sometimes in the same envelope, others in all separate envelopes.  And you HAVE TO SEND SEPARATE CHECKS!  What a waste of paper. 

If your bill is 285.04 and you pay 285.00, you are charged 15 dollars "demand" on the 4 cents.  However, if you pay over, not a word is said and it does not appear as a credit on your next bill.  My suggestion of putting this all on the computer to save paper and human error from entering it in a ledger...yes, a ledger...was met with sarcasm and rudeness.

I am adding the South Deerfield Town Hall to my prayer list in the hopes that someday soon there will be a computer and a consolidation of bills.

Open Windows

YEAH!!!!  It is 59 degrees today and the window are open!  Finally after a long, cold winter the fresh air can replace the closed in, winter heat air.  There are still piles of snow to melt, but I can see grass in the front yard, and the garden is coming into view.  I love winter, but enough is enough.  Everything in moderation, which is why I choose to live in New England and experience 4 distinct seasons. 

Nothing profound, no crazy kids, food crisis or lament about a long day.  Just opening the rest of the windows and heading outside.

Nothing without joy

Preschool.  After teaching at the preschool this morning I got to thinking...we have really had a range of experiences in this family!

Madeleine began preschool at 3 in the basement of the Cotuit Congregational Church.  Cotuit Nursery School was, as I heard from the moms at playgroups and library events, the place to send your child.  Led by  Mrs. Barth, the children were hugged and snuggled and encouraged to choose activities that interested them.  As a mom with an 11 year old  a 3 yr old and a 1.5 year old, that 3 hours twice a week was priceless.  She was happy, Sophie was happy not to be bossed around, I was happy to only chase after one and Kayla was in school.  Then we moved.

Our next preschool was a no-brainer.  When we moved to Western MA I knew I wanted Maddy to go the Gorse Child Study Center @ Mt. Holyoke College.  I had done many observations there in my training to be a teacher, and I loved the philosophy, the use as a lab school for the psych and ed departments of the college and the curriculum.  The drive to South Hadley was too long to drop off, go back home and return, so Sophie and I joined playgroups in South Hadley, went shopping, and took long beautiful walks on the historic campus.  To this day Mount Holyoke in the fall is one of my all time favorite places.

Unfortunately, Mount Holyoke sold the preschool to a national company, and the qualities I had loved were no longer.  And just as Sophie was to enter.

Sophie went to Old Deerfield Nursery School,in the basement of the Old Meetinghouse, and was happy.  I was happy, but reserved.  In her second year there, a need for an immediate long term substitute came about, and I  filled in.  What a treasure to be a part of Sophie's education in that way.  The excitement and ease Sophie felt in this school was clear, and the compassion and love of her teachers shone through every day. It felt like we had come full circle.

I still teach at ODNS when needed, and I love it.

Someone once told me "All the best preschools begin in church basements."  I have to agree.

http://www.olddeerfieldnurseryschool.org/
http://www.mtholyoke.edu/

Busy, Busy

Thanks to God for such a beautiful day today.  The sun was shining, the snow was melting, spring is coming. 

Today was a busy day, which was a blessing because I did not have time to stew on the annoyances that came up, I had to let them go and move on.  I am not normally someone to hold a grudge, but I am a "fixer" and a perfectionist, and when you are busy with 4 of  your 5 jobs, you just have to do the best you can and move on.

Normally in my Mommy job, I would want the girls to wear clothing that somewhat goes together to school.  Today I was happy that everyone got dressed in clothes appropriate for the weather, brushed their hair and teeth and had shoes on before we left for school.  The outfits were colorful and crazy, but the kids were happy.

Also, I usually do not teach preschool on the days that I have a full schedule at the dance studio so that I can get the housework done...today a quick pick up and vacuum had to do, and everyone survived.  Someone (my fabulous husband) even did the laundry since I didn't get to it.  I might "not get to it" more often.

As I head to job number 4 (only a few mouse clicks away) which is a volunteer position, I realize that I have been working since 730 this morning.  What a blessing to have work that I love.  As tired as I am right now, I would only change two things about today.  I dislike missing dinner with my family, and wish I had the common sense to just explain the back walkover instead of demonstrating it...I am too old for that!

My children are always asking to go to the after school program at the school. I explain time and time again that they have a parent who is home and there is no need.  That we are lucky that my jobs allow me to be with my children when they are not in school.  They do not see themselves as lucky, and have asked me to stay at work so they can go.  Today when I kissed Maddy good-bye after her dance class, and I still had 2 hours left to teach, having not seen her since I dropped her at school this morning, she whispered " You'll be home after school tomorrow, right?" 

Nothing like a busy day to remind us of what is important. 

3.14159 or pie...it all comes back to bacon.

Pie...or Pi?  Sadly, I have no use for either today.  Giving up sugar for Lent,  pie is not an option, and I can not tell you the last time I used 3.14 for any other reason than homework.

Today, March 14th is Pi day.

I was trying to think of a pie to make for dinner.  We often have sweet potato pie with dinner as it is easy and I have a recipe that is yummy, but healthy.  Shepherd's pie I make every once in a while, but I like to make it the real way, rendering bacon to sautee the lamb in (yes, real shepherd's pie is lamb...if it were supposed to be beef, it would be called cowboy pie) and that is time consuming and unhealthy. The lamb is healthy-ish enough as far a red meat goes, but the bacon...mmmmmm.  Delicious and decadent.  Everyone is happier when the house smells like bacon. Alas, bacon is terrible for you.

 I have made shepherd's pie with beef or ground turkey, and it is OK,  but if I am going to use beef or turkey, I would much rather make pasty.

Pasty is pie crust filled with ground beef, onion, chopped potatoes and sometimes peas.  Another crust on top to seal in the goodness, and a pile of cole slaw on the side....yum.  Just like Mom used to make.  They used to be made into little pockets for laborers or children to take for lunch, but for dinner it is a steaming mounded pie plate filled with the meat and potatoes that my Irish/English ancesters existed on.  The cole slaw adds a nice creamy, crunchy aspect to this yummy comfort food.

Cole slaw makes me think of broccoli slaw.  I love broccoli slaw more than traditional cole slaw (which in our house is cabbage, carrots, mayo and balsamic vinegar), because of the different textures and tastes.  Broccoli slaw is chopped raw broccoli, shredded carrots, mayo, sometimes chopped raisins, but always finely chopped bacon.

And we're back to the bacon.

There is no bacon in the fridge or freezer, so I will have to plan another dinner option.  My rule to only shop on Thursday is helping to quell this bacon urge.  If I ran to the store whenever I wanted something, I would end up spending the mortgage at the grocery store! We'll see what the circular says this Thursday.  If bacon is on sale, I might buy it.   Of course by then bacon will be replaced with thoughts of chocolate.

...hmmmm, chocolate pie anyone?





Recipe for sweet potato dinner pie:  Peel, chop and boil 3-4 sweet potatoes.  Drain most of the liquid.  Add 1/4 cup brown sugar, 1 tsp cinnamon, nutmeg, 1/2 cup milk and 2 eggs to food processor. Pulse to combine.  Add potato chunks one at a time while processing, adding pan liquid as necessary to make smooth.  When smooth pour into pie crust and cook @350 until center is firm.  If you don't have pie crust, pour into small baking dishes to cook.

Day of Rest?

So the plan of starting Daylight Savings early worked in that the girls did not question the time on Saturday and went to bed early (630 real time, but they thought it was the normal bed time of 730).  Sunday, however, no one wanted to get out of bed.  For the first time in a long time the girls had to be woken up at 8am, and Sophie was none too pleased to have to get dressed and eat her toast in the car on the way to church. http://www.stjohnsnorthampton.org/

Speaking of a day of rest...what has happened to that idea?  First we have SING! (a Christian music sing-a-long) to get us ready, then church school, we rejoin the congregation for the last half of the service, then home for lunch, chores and homework, dinner and bed.  I am not complaining.  I am truly blessed to have these options and opportunities, but each week I wonder about a "Day of Rest".  Am I doing something wrong?  Where is this "rest"? Floors, laundry, dishes, sewing...

I have no one to blame but myself.  God does not care if I washed my floors today, if the laundry is done, God does not care if the girls are not dressed up for church, or if there is peanut butter in the corner of Sophie's mouth.  Perhaps the "rest" for me is the peace in my soul as I see the girls bound toward the church never wanting to miss SING! even though it requires us to leave home 1/2 an hour earlier each Sunday.  Maybe "rest" is the elation I feel when all the children gasp with the "Ah-ha" moment during a lesson (today it was the use of a shamrock to explain the Father, Son and Holy Spirit in the tradition of St. Patrick).  Or maybe "rest" is having 5 minutes to type on the computer, with a hot cup of coffee, watching the girls ride their bikes and saying a brief, but deep prayer of thanks to God for health, happiness and faith.  Life is good.

Now on to the dishes.

What to do?

We are blessed to live near, not just one college, but five.  Thankfully this provides many opportunities for fun and adventure that is free or at a very low cost.  Smith College is where we are headed today.  It is the Annual Flower Show in the gorgeous greenhouses that the girls have been asking to attend for days, and we finally have the time. 

For a two dollar donation (not required, but totally worth it) we spend an hour or two wandering through rooms of different climates, looking, smelling and lightly touching all the amazing vegetation.  Many colleges offer their greenhouses to the community enjoyment, and it is a perfect way for us to do something just a bit different that our regular wekend events.  The flower show is a bit crowded, but that helps to keep the girls from flying through the dessert room and into the tropics, hurdling the low growing cacti in the race to be the first to do everything.  The crowd forces us to go slower, listen to those around us and work on our severely lacking patience...and that is just my husband and I! 

Since we are living life in the future today (we changed our clocks back already <see previous entry>), we can mosey on over anytime before 4.  The flowers are outstanding this time of year, but the staff keep the greenhouses fun and beautiful year round.  If you are in the Amherst/Northampton, MA area check out the Smith College Greenhouse...if you are in another part of the world, check your local college or university.http://www.smith.edu/

Time Change

My girls have always had a hard time dealing with Daylight Savings Time.  The few days following have been filled with cranky, confused questions about why 7pm is the new 8pm. This year I have a plan.  To minimize the effects on the first morning (Church) and hopefully be done by the second morning (School), I am changing the clocks for our house a day early.  This Saturday is a rare one with no social engagements, so no one will notice that we are already living an hour into the future.  Hopefully by Sunday morning it will be less of a tragedy to get up for church, and by the time school comes around on Monday morning, we should be right on track.

We'll see.