The teenage years can prove to be some of the most challenging and the most rewarding. Mayhem is simply a way of life as pre-teens enter your home. With hormones coursing through their veins, they are beginning to come into their own beings. The lessons and foundations that have been laid for them are hopefully in place…now they begin building their lives through decisions and consequences.
With two teenagers and one pre-teen in my house, to say my home was filled with mayhem would be an understatement. On the flip side of that, to balance out the mayhem was the knowledge that my children could discuss anything with me. There was one simple rule…”You may talk with me; You may not talk at me…leave the attitude at the door”
My daughter, being the oldest and only girl, and as boys and girls speak totally different languages…found this easy to follow until she was about 15 years old. Once she turned 15 and for the next year and a half, we were at each others throat day and night. If I said up, she said down. If I said red, she said blue. Finally, one day we sat down in the living room and I asked her, “What is going on with you!!!!” With eyes wide and a clenched jaw she replied, “I can’t wait to get out of here!”
I looked at her and burst out with laughter. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing!
“Good,” I said, “then I have done my job. I have raised you to be an independent young woman. You aren’t suppose to want to stay here with me forever. What you are feeling is perfectly normal.”
We sat there for about an hour and talked about how I felt when I was her age and she told me more of the way she had been feeling.
Things began to improve…oh there were still bumps! This was a young girl…my young girl…becoming a young woman…her own young woman. She had to maneuver through life’s up and downs to find her way.
Mayhem is nothing more than growing pains. Without it we would be stagnant in our own lives. It teaches us to be better than we were and prepares us for what we are yet to become.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Motherhood- Potty Patrol
Potty training of boys and girls is a unique and sometimes entertaining experience. When you stop to think about it, this normal bodily function becomes something we are ooohing and awing over in order to get our children to “go potty” in the big girl or big boy potty. When they master this extraordinary event, we, as proud parents, clap and whoop and holler and give high fives and gold stars!
Why wouldn’t we?…it is the passage of another stage in our children’s small lives.
Of course, we are also giving ourselves silent pats on the back for figuring out ways to get our little angels to go when they sit, or hit the target when they aim. And of course, let us not forget that many little boys, once mastering the skill of “potty training” find a tree is just as good as a toilet for certain endeavors. The training here needs to be to stand on the back side of a tree so as not to moon the audience at your father’s adult soccer game!
All too often it is the parent who is ready to train the child before the child is ready to be trained. In the end, let’s face it…you can lead a child to the potty, but you cannot make them pee or poop. Relax moms! They will learn all in good time…sit back, have a Coke and prepare for the whooping and hollering to begin. Potty patrol is all on your child’s schedule!
Why wouldn’t we?…it is the passage of another stage in our children’s small lives.
Of course, we are also giving ourselves silent pats on the back for figuring out ways to get our little angels to go when they sit, or hit the target when they aim. And of course, let us not forget that many little boys, once mastering the skill of “potty training” find a tree is just as good as a toilet for certain endeavors. The training here needs to be to stand on the back side of a tree so as not to moon the audience at your father’s adult soccer game!
All too often it is the parent who is ready to train the child before the child is ready to be trained. In the end, let’s face it…you can lead a child to the potty, but you cannot make them pee or poop. Relax moms! They will learn all in good time…sit back, have a Coke and prepare for the whooping and hollering to begin. Potty patrol is all on your child’s schedule!
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Me- Not Just Any Napkin
When my children were young, they loved to be read to. At times, we would find ourselves in places where I had simply forgotten to bring along a book. On one such occasion we found ourselves waiting for food to arrive in a very busy restaurant. In order to keep the children entertained, I took a napkin from the table and jotted a little “ditty” down, then began to tell the story to my children.
A year later, my daughter’s first grade glass used the story to study the term “illustrator”. Each child received a copy of the story and they illustrated how they envisioned the drawings might look. I still have some of those books today.
I hope as you read the story of “The Tickle Bee”, you find within yourself, the spot that holds the tickle dot….and smile!
The Tickle Bee
By: Kerri Dansby
High up in the gumshoe tree there lives a little tickle bee.
He likes to fly around at night above the city’s bright white lights.
He looks for people who are sad and sometimes finds they’re even mad.
He buzzes high above their heads and waits for them to go to bed.
When all is hushed and all is still, he lands outside the windowsill.
The tickle bee then sneaks right in and lands upon the person’s chin.
He walks around to find the place that holds the smile upon the face.
And when he finds that certain spot, he plants a little tickle dot.
As if by magic in the night, the tickle bee then takes to flight.
In the morning’s bright sun light, the tickle bee finds all is right.
Smiles are seen instead of frowns because the frowns are upside down.
I know this story to be true, the tickle bee made me smile too.
So if you’re feeling really down don’t despair he’ll be around.
Just find a little gumshoe tree and there you’ll find a tickle bee.
A year later, my daughter’s first grade glass used the story to study the term “illustrator”. Each child received a copy of the story and they illustrated how they envisioned the drawings might look. I still have some of those books today.
I hope as you read the story of “The Tickle Bee”, you find within yourself, the spot that holds the tickle dot….and smile!
The Tickle Bee
By: Kerri Dansby
High up in the gumshoe tree there lives a little tickle bee.
He likes to fly around at night above the city’s bright white lights.
He looks for people who are sad and sometimes finds they’re even mad.
He buzzes high above their heads and waits for them to go to bed.
When all is hushed and all is still, he lands outside the windowsill.
The tickle bee then sneaks right in and lands upon the person’s chin.
He walks around to find the place that holds the smile upon the face.
And when he finds that certain spot, he plants a little tickle dot.
As if by magic in the night, the tickle bee then takes to flight.
In the morning’s bright sun light, the tickle bee finds all is right.
Smiles are seen instead of frowns because the frowns are upside down.
I know this story to be true, the tickle bee made me smile too.
So if you’re feeling really down don’t despair he’ll be around.
Just find a little gumshoe tree and there you’ll find a tickle bee.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Mayhem- Frogs
Having a child equates to someday having a pet. More than one child? Pets…plural.
At any given moment our home was filled with fish, birds, dogs, hamsters, guinea pigs, rabbits, or FROGS?
Yes, I said frogs. When the aquarium was not holding fish or hamsters or guinea pigs, my boys felt it was their personal responsibility to fill it with something.
In passing this “glass” house one day, I couldn’t help but notice it housed two new creatures…the boys simply giggled as they ran in to feed their new little pets. I watched in horror as they dropped crickets and grass into the enclosed area.
Several days later, while vacuuming the house, I noticed the aquarium sat empty. I made a mental note to ask the boys if they had put the frogs outside when suction of the hose changed from a steady sounding hum to a thwarp!
I quickly pulled the vacuum’s hose from beneath the sofa and shrieked when I saw the splayed remains of a dried out frog suctioned to the end of the vacuum.
In questioning the boys, the story was told they were playing “leap frog” with their pets when they got away! THEY?
The other frog never was recovered…
At any given moment our home was filled with fish, birds, dogs, hamsters, guinea pigs, rabbits, or FROGS?
Yes, I said frogs. When the aquarium was not holding fish or hamsters or guinea pigs, my boys felt it was their personal responsibility to fill it with something.
In passing this “glass” house one day, I couldn’t help but notice it housed two new creatures…the boys simply giggled as they ran in to feed their new little pets. I watched in horror as they dropped crickets and grass into the enclosed area.
Several days later, while vacuuming the house, I noticed the aquarium sat empty. I made a mental note to ask the boys if they had put the frogs outside when suction of the hose changed from a steady sounding hum to a thwarp!
I quickly pulled the vacuum’s hose from beneath the sofa and shrieked when I saw the splayed remains of a dried out frog suctioned to the end of the vacuum.
In questioning the boys, the story was told they were playing “leap frog” with their pets when they got away! THEY?
The other frog never was recovered…
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Motherhood-A Day At the Beach
Little did I know just how much “going to the beach” would change once I became a mother.
Let me break it into the before and after Motherhood scenario.
Before: I would go to the beach with a chair, a towel, a small cooler, and a tote with my day’s supplies.
After: I would go to the beach with a chair, four towels, a cooler on wheels, a large tote with our day’s supplies, a tote with the dry food, a tote with the sand toys, and of course the various floating apparatuses.
It wasn’t only what I took to the beach that becoming a mother changed. Oh no, it was the way I experienced the beach that changed!
Before: I would set up the chair, lay out the towel, put on the sunscreen and settle in to soak in the sun’s rays. I would enjoy reading a good book, or closing my eyes and listening to the sound of the waves as they crashed upon the shore. I would smell the salty air as the sea gulls cried their sing song language and the sound of children, (other people’s children), wafted softly in the distance.
After: I would set up the chair, try to keep the other towels from getting sand on them as they would be needed later to dry off with, re-applied sunscreen to faces (we had already spent 30 minutes at home putting sunscreen on wiggling little bodies), reviewed the boundary lines determined by my chair and some other colorful beach umbrella a few feet down the beach, dispersed the sand toys or floating devices and watched as the children scattered within the “safe zone”.
There was no reading, no closing of the eyes. I was on guard, on watch.
Though I did not read a book, I watched my children laugh, and build castles in the sand. If I heard the sea gulls cry, it was in the background to my children’s voices as they called out, “Momma, look at me,” as they rode the cresting waves. And once we were all back in the car safe and sound, with sandy little bodies tired and spent. I would close my eyes; smell the salty air and say, “thank you Lord for the blessing of this day.”
Let me break it into the before and after Motherhood scenario.
Before: I would go to the beach with a chair, a towel, a small cooler, and a tote with my day’s supplies.
After: I would go to the beach with a chair, four towels, a cooler on wheels, a large tote with our day’s supplies, a tote with the dry food, a tote with the sand toys, and of course the various floating apparatuses.
It wasn’t only what I took to the beach that becoming a mother changed. Oh no, it was the way I experienced the beach that changed!
Before: I would set up the chair, lay out the towel, put on the sunscreen and settle in to soak in the sun’s rays. I would enjoy reading a good book, or closing my eyes and listening to the sound of the waves as they crashed upon the shore. I would smell the salty air as the sea gulls cried their sing song language and the sound of children, (other people’s children), wafted softly in the distance.
After: I would set up the chair, try to keep the other towels from getting sand on them as they would be needed later to dry off with, re-applied sunscreen to faces (we had already spent 30 minutes at home putting sunscreen on wiggling little bodies), reviewed the boundary lines determined by my chair and some other colorful beach umbrella a few feet down the beach, dispersed the sand toys or floating devices and watched as the children scattered within the “safe zone”.
There was no reading, no closing of the eyes. I was on guard, on watch.
Though I did not read a book, I watched my children laugh, and build castles in the sand. If I heard the sea gulls cry, it was in the background to my children’s voices as they called out, “Momma, look at me,” as they rode the cresting waves. And once we were all back in the car safe and sound, with sandy little bodies tired and spent. I would close my eyes; smell the salty air and say, “thank you Lord for the blessing of this day.”
Friday, February 18, 2011
Me- Life's Stage
If “all the world’s a stage and all the men and women, merely players” as Shakespeare so aptly quotes, then what part have I played, do I play, will I play?
Ahhhh, that is not a difficult answer, for my life has felt as though it has played out on stage. Even as a child, there were the living room plays where I would direct my siblings on what to say as I stood atop the organ bench and sang my heart out to my parents as they watched the performance. There were the various dance routines year in and year out as costume after costume was purchased so that I might twirl across the stage in my ballerina tutu or tap my way into the chorus line.
There were the neighborhood shows where I and several other children would practice songs and dance routines for hours then sell tickets to “the Big Show” to raise money for a charitable organization.
As the years passed life’s stage began to transform. It took the shape of faces, and places. It carried me to foreign lands. It taught me that although I had struggles in my life, they could not compare with the plight of those in other parts of the world.
Life’s stage and the challenges that were and are scattered along the way have reminded me that my part may not always be glamorous, may not always be dressed in pretty little costumes, set to twirl through each day effortlessly. But with grace I can walk through my part, deliver my lines, and await the sunrise of each new tomorrow.
Ahhhh, that is not a difficult answer, for my life has felt as though it has played out on stage. Even as a child, there were the living room plays where I would direct my siblings on what to say as I stood atop the organ bench and sang my heart out to my parents as they watched the performance. There were the various dance routines year in and year out as costume after costume was purchased so that I might twirl across the stage in my ballerina tutu or tap my way into the chorus line.
There were the neighborhood shows where I and several other children would practice songs and dance routines for hours then sell tickets to “the Big Show” to raise money for a charitable organization.
As the years passed life’s stage began to transform. It took the shape of faces, and places. It carried me to foreign lands. It taught me that although I had struggles in my life, they could not compare with the plight of those in other parts of the world.
Life’s stage and the challenges that were and are scattered along the way have reminded me that my part may not always be glamorous, may not always be dressed in pretty little costumes, set to twirl through each day effortlessly. But with grace I can walk through my part, deliver my lines, and await the sunrise of each new tomorrow.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Mayhem- Wisdom Under the Bridge
Have you ever tied a six passenger boat to a girder under a bridge at night? Well, I haven’t actually done the knot-tying, but I apparently was in the way while my father tried to tie one!
When I was younger, we used to go to Clarks Hill (now apparently they call it Strom Thurmond Lake).
It was a delightful family vacation spot. It offered fishing, picnicking, boating, camping, and other outdoor activities. It was not uncommon for us to take the boat and our pop-up camper to the lake for a week-end get away.
On this particular evening, my dad decided it would be fun to do some night fishing. We headed out of our quiet little cove into the massive lake. Heading towards the long bridge connecting South Carolina to Georgia, my father maneuvered the boat into position. Taking one rope, tying it to the front of the boat and then lassoing the girder, he secured our position. He then attempted to do the same with the back.
During this process, anyone sitting in a seat near the “casting-off” position was asked to move. I moved from the left rear to the right rear. When he missed the rear girder for the third time, his frustration grew, so he told me to get to the front! Time and again he tried. Finally, the connection was made and the boat sat cradled between two taught lines.
I returned to my seat when he pulled out yet another cord! To this, he tied a light. Like a wild cowboy, he swung the loose end over his head and upward toward the ledge. Splat!
It hit the water with a dull thud. Again he tried. The wind began to blow softly swaying the boat like a baby’s cradle. His frustration shown with each additional missed toss. I, along with all other members in the fishing-party, were told to move.
In my teen-age wisdom, I asked “Should we just jump off the boat?”
Swoosh, clink, he did it!
Hmmmm…was it my wit or his wisdom of not responding immediately to my mouth that caused the rope to catch? I may never know, but I learned a lesson that night.
Teenagers are developing wisdom; parents are practicing it!
When I was younger, we used to go to Clarks Hill (now apparently they call it Strom Thurmond Lake).
It was a delightful family vacation spot. It offered fishing, picnicking, boating, camping, and other outdoor activities. It was not uncommon for us to take the boat and our pop-up camper to the lake for a week-end get away.
On this particular evening, my dad decided it would be fun to do some night fishing. We headed out of our quiet little cove into the massive lake. Heading towards the long bridge connecting South Carolina to Georgia, my father maneuvered the boat into position. Taking one rope, tying it to the front of the boat and then lassoing the girder, he secured our position. He then attempted to do the same with the back.
During this process, anyone sitting in a seat near the “casting-off” position was asked to move. I moved from the left rear to the right rear. When he missed the rear girder for the third time, his frustration grew, so he told me to get to the front! Time and again he tried. Finally, the connection was made and the boat sat cradled between two taught lines.
I returned to my seat when he pulled out yet another cord! To this, he tied a light. Like a wild cowboy, he swung the loose end over his head and upward toward the ledge. Splat!
It hit the water with a dull thud. Again he tried. The wind began to blow softly swaying the boat like a baby’s cradle. His frustration shown with each additional missed toss. I, along with all other members in the fishing-party, were told to move.
In my teen-age wisdom, I asked “Should we just jump off the boat?”
Swoosh, clink, he did it!
Hmmmm…was it my wit or his wisdom of not responding immediately to my mouth that caused the rope to catch? I may never know, but I learned a lesson that night.
Teenagers are developing wisdom; parents are practicing it!
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Motherhood-Wiggles to Giggles
How many times have we seen on television one end of a string tied to a door knob and the other end of the string tied to a loose tooth that was ready to be pulled? Or how about that dentist that was ready to take the pliers to the patient who sat pasty white in the chair sweating bullets at the prospect of what was about to transpire?
With every comedic presentation of the infamous removal of a loose tooth, there was a little child smiling with that snaggled-tooth grin and holding what they knew was “cash in hand”.
Yes, every child knows about the Tooth Fairy. And what I have found over time is the Tooth Fairy is very excited and in tune with the first tooth lost by each child.
However as the years pass……
The number of teeth lost multiplied by the number of children who lose them; well let’s just say there were mornings where those final baby teeth would still be under the pillow. Somehow, the tooth fairy got behind in her pickup and delivery system and would sometimes not arrive until the children were eating breakfast.
So what, you may ask, do motherhood, television tooth pulling comedy, and the tooth fairy have in common? The answer is: TIMING
Timing is everything when it comes to keeping what was once a tiny white wiggle a precious little giggle. Let's face it: Loosing teeth in our prime doesn't have the same effect!
With every comedic presentation of the infamous removal of a loose tooth, there was a little child smiling with that snaggled-tooth grin and holding what they knew was “cash in hand”.
Yes, every child knows about the Tooth Fairy. And what I have found over time is the Tooth Fairy is very excited and in tune with the first tooth lost by each child.
However as the years pass……
The number of teeth lost multiplied by the number of children who lose them; well let’s just say there were mornings where those final baby teeth would still be under the pillow. Somehow, the tooth fairy got behind in her pickup and delivery system and would sometimes not arrive until the children were eating breakfast.
So what, you may ask, do motherhood, television tooth pulling comedy, and the tooth fairy have in common? The answer is: TIMING
Timing is everything when it comes to keeping what was once a tiny white wiggle a precious little giggle. Let's face it: Loosing teeth in our prime doesn't have the same effect!
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Me- Time to Tan
The desire for that sun-kissed glow is ingrained in most women. Today, there are tanning beds in every city, large or small. Whether you choose to lie there in your bathing suit or birthday suit, you are ensured of receiving a golden glow within several visits.
That “glow” came in the form of various concoctions during my teen years. There were sunlamps of course, but they required you to toast your body in sections little by little. It was like watching toast burn in the privacy of your own home. Toast here, flip over, and burn a little more.
If you selected to lie in the sun, a radio announcer was sure to come on and say “time to turn so you won’t burn!”
The secret to outdoor tanning was experimentation. Some tried the drugstore creams and tanning lotions, while many of us chose to create our own concoctions. The number one homemade “burning” rubdown was a combination of baby oil and a drop or two of mercurochrome. It drew the sun to our skin like a moth to a flame. Of course our bodies felt like they were on fire shortly thereafter and our hands turned a bright reddish orange. (Q-T: Quick Tan had nothing on us)
Yes, that beautiful summertime glow…the one that gives us a lifelong kiss!
We all long for it in our youth, and pay for it in our prime.
Today, I don’t have to tan. I have a year round supply of color in the form of freckles. At any time, I can connect the freckles on my back and laugh at the variety of pictures that I can create by playing dot to dot...my favorite... the smiley face that smiles back at me!
Ahhhh yes, all because I tanned!
That “glow” came in the form of various concoctions during my teen years. There were sunlamps of course, but they required you to toast your body in sections little by little. It was like watching toast burn in the privacy of your own home. Toast here, flip over, and burn a little more.
If you selected to lie in the sun, a radio announcer was sure to come on and say “time to turn so you won’t burn!”
The secret to outdoor tanning was experimentation. Some tried the drugstore creams and tanning lotions, while many of us chose to create our own concoctions. The number one homemade “burning” rubdown was a combination of baby oil and a drop or two of mercurochrome. It drew the sun to our skin like a moth to a flame. Of course our bodies felt like they were on fire shortly thereafter and our hands turned a bright reddish orange. (Q-T: Quick Tan had nothing on us)
Yes, that beautiful summertime glow…the one that gives us a lifelong kiss!
We all long for it in our youth, and pay for it in our prime.
Today, I don’t have to tan. I have a year round supply of color in the form of freckles. At any time, I can connect the freckles on my back and laugh at the variety of pictures that I can create by playing dot to dot...my favorite... the smiley face that smiles back at me!
Ahhhh yes, all because I tanned!
Monday, February 7, 2011
Mayhem-If It Quacks Like A Duck
It was a sunny morning in Wilmington, North Carolina. (There is a reason they call the skies, Carolina blue!) On this particular Saturday morning in July the temperature had soared to 85 degrees and it was only 9:30 a.m.
The children’s “kiddie” pool needed to be filled with clean water. What was currently in it from the previous day’s play session, looked more like the sea weed lagoon from some hidden cove in the North Pacific. I went outside to empty the green grassy grunge when a slithering sneaky snake caught my attention. I screamed a blood-curdling scream that could have raised the hackles on any dog in the next five counties!
I ran inside to get my husband. He told me to get the hoe and kill it. “Get the hoe and kill it?” “Are you crazy? It’s a S-N-A-K-E….not a snail!”
Our next door neighbor had heard my tormented cry of anguish and came to see about the problem. When I described the creature to him he said it sounded like a legless lizard; not a snake.
Hold the phone…a what? A legless lizard?
He explained they were also known by the name of “glass snakes” but they were really part of the lizard family.
We checked around the pool area and to my relief this lizard with no legs had “walked” off.
As my children played that day in their little wading pool, I kept a watchful eye for this reptile with no legs. In my book, if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s a duck; or in this case, a snake with an apparent leg disability.
The children’s “kiddie” pool needed to be filled with clean water. What was currently in it from the previous day’s play session, looked more like the sea weed lagoon from some hidden cove in the North Pacific. I went outside to empty the green grassy grunge when a slithering sneaky snake caught my attention. I screamed a blood-curdling scream that could have raised the hackles on any dog in the next five counties!
I ran inside to get my husband. He told me to get the hoe and kill it. “Get the hoe and kill it?” “Are you crazy? It’s a S-N-A-K-E….not a snail!”
Our next door neighbor had heard my tormented cry of anguish and came to see about the problem. When I described the creature to him he said it sounded like a legless lizard; not a snake.
Hold the phone…a what? A legless lizard?
He explained they were also known by the name of “glass snakes” but they were really part of the lizard family.
We checked around the pool area and to my relief this lizard with no legs had “walked” off.
As my children played that day in their little wading pool, I kept a watchful eye for this reptile with no legs. In my book, if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s a duck; or in this case, a snake with an apparent leg disability.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Motherhood-Two Bad Words
After having sung the boys their bedtime song and kissed them goodnight, I headed down the hall toward my daughter's room. As I entered I could hear the soft sound of her muffled cry.
That is when my 10 year old daughter told me that she had said "two bad words" that day. I smiled at this petite little broken angel and asked what she had said.
"Bitch...."
"Well, do you know what that means?" I asked trying to keep a straight face.
"No," she replied.
I explained that it was a female dog and people used that word in an ugly way. I asked her what else she said. In a meek little voice she looked at me and innocently said, "f@&k".
"Oh!" Well, that is an ugly term for something very beautiful between a married man and his wife I answered...totally shocked and taken aback by the look on her face."
"It is probably better that we don't use those words."
Then it happened...."but I am proud of you" Her eyes glistened as they filled with tears. "I am proud of you because you knew in your heart that you had done something that wasn't right and you told me the truth. Your spirit was speaking to you"
I think we both learned something that night.
Children grow and the challenges they face become grander then saying "bad" words. As a mother, our tests are learning when to listen so we can hear the pain behind the challenges our children are facing and help them learn the lessons of their trials. We cannot always protect them from the hurts, but we can help guide them if our words do not add to the pain.
That is when my 10 year old daughter told me that she had said "two bad words" that day. I smiled at this petite little broken angel and asked what she had said.
"Bitch...."
"Well, do you know what that means?" I asked trying to keep a straight face.
"No," she replied.
I explained that it was a female dog and people used that word in an ugly way. I asked her what else she said. In a meek little voice she looked at me and innocently said, "f@&k".
"Oh!" Well, that is an ugly term for something very beautiful between a married man and his wife I answered...totally shocked and taken aback by the look on her face."
"It is probably better that we don't use those words."
Then it happened...."but I am proud of you" Her eyes glistened as they filled with tears. "I am proud of you because you knew in your heart that you had done something that wasn't right and you told me the truth. Your spirit was speaking to you"
I think we both learned something that night.
Children grow and the challenges they face become grander then saying "bad" words. As a mother, our tests are learning when to listen so we can hear the pain behind the challenges our children are facing and help them learn the lessons of their trials. We cannot always protect them from the hurts, but we can help guide them if our words do not add to the pain.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Me- Dancing In the Azaleas
I am product of a different time. A time when there were no video games to hold our interests…our own imagination had to capture us and transport us to places unknown.
I am a product of a time when kids came home from school, completed their homework, participated in sports, took dance, OR played with the neighborhood kids…WHAT? Yes, we played! There was no pre-planned scheduled, rule following, adult planned activities.
Azalea bushes became hideouts for the cowboys and Indians. The following day, those same azaleas were a dream- land where pixies danced and played.
Elvis Presley would play on the stereo while we, the neighborhood gaggle of kids, would line up in the living room to dance to Viva Las Vegas. We were the definition of line dancing.
My life today is a direct result of the days spent dancing and playing in the azaleas. It is forever linked to the lines formed in the living room as Elvis sang and we played. It is forged in clarity because it was developed in creativity.
I am a product of a time when kids came home from school, completed their homework, participated in sports, took dance, OR played with the neighborhood kids…WHAT? Yes, we played! There was no pre-planned scheduled, rule following, adult planned activities.
Azalea bushes became hideouts for the cowboys and Indians. The following day, those same azaleas were a dream- land where pixies danced and played.
Elvis Presley would play on the stereo while we, the neighborhood gaggle of kids, would line up in the living room to dance to Viva Las Vegas. We were the definition of line dancing.
My life today is a direct result of the days spent dancing and playing in the azaleas. It is forever linked to the lines formed in the living room as Elvis sang and we played. It is forged in clarity because it was developed in creativity.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Mayhem-Smile When You Can See The Carpet
When my children were small, we used to sing a song to the tune of “High Ho, High Ho it’s off to work we go.” WE would sing, “Pick up our toys and put them all away. It’s time for them to go to sleep and play another day!” As my children got older they would sing the song and pick up the toys themselves.
Time passed, the song disappeared, the toys changed to clothes, electronics, make-up, shoes, musical instruments…and things didn’t seem to get “picked up” anymore.
Before long, there was a distinction in how picked-up a room was. There was “kid” clean and “mama” clean. Kid clean meant there was at least a walk way from the door to the closet and the bed had enough space for one person to curl up and find a nesting position. This was the kind of clean that required me to keep the doors closed in order to maintain my sanity.
Once a month, the children were required to mama-clean their rooms. Of course this always came with rolled eyes and groans and moans. The translation for mama-clean meant throwing away trash, picking up clothes, vacuuming, and putting all miscellaneous items in some type of order. For that one day, I was able to walk down the hall and enjoy the sunshine as it poured in through the windows and into my home.
To weary moms everywhere…let me offer these simple words…don’t look under the beds or open the closest doors. Enjoy the illusion that mama clean DOES exist. Allow yourself the momentary glance at your children’s floors and remember the saying “out of site, out of mind” or “pick your battles”. The truth of the matter is…it’s just stuff. The day will come when their stuff will be gone and your house will be as clean as you like. The day will come when they will keep their house the way they want and they too, will close their children’s doors and have mama-clean days. The truth is…teach them to respect your space…you in turn respect theirs…and if they try and give you that one clean day a month, smile when you can see the carpet.
Time passed, the song disappeared, the toys changed to clothes, electronics, make-up, shoes, musical instruments…and things didn’t seem to get “picked up” anymore.
Before long, there was a distinction in how picked-up a room was. There was “kid” clean and “mama” clean. Kid clean meant there was at least a walk way from the door to the closet and the bed had enough space for one person to curl up and find a nesting position. This was the kind of clean that required me to keep the doors closed in order to maintain my sanity.
Once a month, the children were required to mama-clean their rooms. Of course this always came with rolled eyes and groans and moans. The translation for mama-clean meant throwing away trash, picking up clothes, vacuuming, and putting all miscellaneous items in some type of order. For that one day, I was able to walk down the hall and enjoy the sunshine as it poured in through the windows and into my home.
To weary moms everywhere…let me offer these simple words…don’t look under the beds or open the closest doors. Enjoy the illusion that mama clean DOES exist. Allow yourself the momentary glance at your children’s floors and remember the saying “out of site, out of mind” or “pick your battles”. The truth of the matter is…it’s just stuff. The day will come when their stuff will be gone and your house will be as clean as you like. The day will come when they will keep their house the way they want and they too, will close their children’s doors and have mama-clean days. The truth is…teach them to respect your space…you in turn respect theirs…and if they try and give you that one clean day a month, smile when you can see the carpet.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Motherhood- "Mom, Please Walk Behind Me"
My son, Foster, was in middle school (that all knowing age…where the kids know everything, and mothers suddenly become stupid in the eyes of their children).
Such was the case on this particular morning. As a stay-at-home mom, I drove my children to school each morning, waving at them and wishing them a “good day” as they departed into the world of teenage melodrama. This day, however, instead of pulling up to the curb and watching Foster hop out of the car and disappear into the world of which I was not invited, I parked the car to help him carry in his science fair project. As I pulled the tailgate open to assist in removing his monstrosity of a project, he looked at me and said, “Mom, when we get inside, please walk behind me.”
“Walk behind him” I thought to myself….oh I think not! I brought this boy into the world, and it was my belief he was getting a little too “proud” for his britches. I simply smiled a sweet motherly smile and said nothing. Once inside, I allowed him to get about two classrooms ahead before I called out, “Foster, sweetie, where is it we are going with this? By the way, you look really cute today!”
About a month later, he had another project due for a reading class. As we got out of the car to go inside, he looked at me….I looked at him….and we proceeded to walk in together.
Sometimes, a lesson learned is orchestrated not by shouts or threats but found in diminutive smiles or gestures. Sometimes, not saying something says more than any words ever could. Never again was I asked to “walk behind” my son. Never again did he act as though I was less than his mom. Never again did this lesson have to be taught. Oh, my job wasn’t over, this was but one lesson with one child in one moment of a lifetime of moments and a lifetime of lessons….but then again, that’s what motherhood is all about.
Such was the case on this particular morning. As a stay-at-home mom, I drove my children to school each morning, waving at them and wishing them a “good day” as they departed into the world of teenage melodrama. This day, however, instead of pulling up to the curb and watching Foster hop out of the car and disappear into the world of which I was not invited, I parked the car to help him carry in his science fair project. As I pulled the tailgate open to assist in removing his monstrosity of a project, he looked at me and said, “Mom, when we get inside, please walk behind me.”
“Walk behind him” I thought to myself….oh I think not! I brought this boy into the world, and it was my belief he was getting a little too “proud” for his britches. I simply smiled a sweet motherly smile and said nothing. Once inside, I allowed him to get about two classrooms ahead before I called out, “Foster, sweetie, where is it we are going with this? By the way, you look really cute today!”
About a month later, he had another project due for a reading class. As we got out of the car to go inside, he looked at me….I looked at him….and we proceeded to walk in together.
Sometimes, a lesson learned is orchestrated not by shouts or threats but found in diminutive smiles or gestures. Sometimes, not saying something says more than any words ever could. Never again was I asked to “walk behind” my son. Never again did he act as though I was less than his mom. Never again did this lesson have to be taught. Oh, my job wasn’t over, this was but one lesson with one child in one moment of a lifetime of moments and a lifetime of lessons….but then again, that’s what motherhood is all about.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Me- Times May Change...
It has been said that times may change, but people don't. I believe this to be a true statement.
Curiosity for example. Children throughout history have tried to discover where their parents have hidden Christmas presents prior to Christmas morning! Kids throughout history long for that "one" special gift...the HOT item of the season. They are drawn to it like a moth to a flame.
Such was the Christmas of 1973. North Augusta, South Carolina was like any other medium sized southern town. The churches had been filled on Christmas Eve for candle-light services; carolers could be heard singing in various neighborhoods; streets were aglow with the annual decorations, and kids were anxiously awaiting the gift feeding frenzy which would happen the following morning
White Christmas's were not something the folks of North Augusta were used to. My father however, having grown up in Pennsylvania, was accustomed to the white powder that would show up every year during the winter months. On this particular Christmas morning, he found himself looking out the window at a street filled with children wrapped in scarves, mittens and warm winter coats. He told me it reminded him of his days as a child when they would take their new Christmas sleds and race down the hills.
For here we were, 9 kids strong (me, my sister, and our neighbors the McDonald's and the Duane's), racing down and around the asphalt covered street on our new Christmas skateboards!
Yes, times may change....but the essence of human nature...curiousity, excitement, adventure, friendships, fear, laughter, love...these are the things that ground us; connect us. Be it sleds or skateboards.
Curiosity for example. Children throughout history have tried to discover where their parents have hidden Christmas presents prior to Christmas morning! Kids throughout history long for that "one" special gift...the HOT item of the season. They are drawn to it like a moth to a flame.
Such was the Christmas of 1973. North Augusta, South Carolina was like any other medium sized southern town. The churches had been filled on Christmas Eve for candle-light services; carolers could be heard singing in various neighborhoods; streets were aglow with the annual decorations, and kids were anxiously awaiting the gift feeding frenzy which would happen the following morning
White Christmas's were not something the folks of North Augusta were used to. My father however, having grown up in Pennsylvania, was accustomed to the white powder that would show up every year during the winter months. On this particular Christmas morning, he found himself looking out the window at a street filled with children wrapped in scarves, mittens and warm winter coats. He told me it reminded him of his days as a child when they would take their new Christmas sleds and race down the hills.
For here we were, 9 kids strong (me, my sister, and our neighbors the McDonald's and the Duane's), racing down and around the asphalt covered street on our new Christmas skateboards!
Yes, times may change....but the essence of human nature...curiousity, excitement, adventure, friendships, fear, laughter, love...these are the things that ground us; connect us. Be it sleds or skateboards.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Mayhem- Have you noticed....laundry?
Have you ever noticed that just when you thought all the laundry was finished...it wasn't?
Have you ever noticed that dirty clothes will lie on the floor, just inches from the hamper...not in it, just near it , or on it? When you ask your children why they didn't put their clothes "in" the hamper they look at you like you are from a another planet?
Have you ever noticed when you take the time to wash, fold, and iron your children's clothes, they find the time to stack them in the corner or stuff them so tightly in the draw even the wrinkles have wrinkles?
Have you ever noticed that no one ever notices when you have everything clean, but always notice when that "one" item they want to wear isn't?
Have you ever noticed that the dryer always seems to eat at least one sock leaving one to stay unmatched forever?
Because I have noticed many things after many years of many loads of laundry.... allow me to suggest:
Baskets not hampers...there are no lids,
Hangers for everything but undergarments...just makes life easier,
and
White socks...keeps the matches to a minimum.
Have you ever noticed that dirty clothes will lie on the floor, just inches from the hamper...not in it, just near it , or on it? When you ask your children why they didn't put their clothes "in" the hamper they look at you like you are from a another planet?
Have you ever noticed when you take the time to wash, fold, and iron your children's clothes, they find the time to stack them in the corner or stuff them so tightly in the draw even the wrinkles have wrinkles?
Have you ever noticed that no one ever notices when you have everything clean, but always notice when that "one" item they want to wear isn't?
Have you ever noticed that the dryer always seems to eat at least one sock leaving one to stay unmatched forever?
Because I have noticed many things after many years of many loads of laundry.... allow me to suggest:
Baskets not hampers...there are no lids,
Hangers for everything but undergarments...just makes life easier,
and
White socks...keeps the matches to a minimum.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Motherhood-Mine No More
Me- The Baloon Dance
Mayhem-Taxi Anyone?
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Motherhood- Traditions
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Me- Birthday Competition
Friday, January 14, 2011
Mayhem- Go to Sleep Little Gator
Mayhem doesn't only occur when there are numerous children under one roof. Life has a way of creating mayhem on its own.
While living in Georgetown, SC (and with only one infant in the house), a chorus of chaos broke out from our backyard. At that time, we had two dogs, Ranger and Sasha, who had been relegated to spending more time outdoors now that a baby had arrived. I had heard them bark before, but this was something different, something gutteral.
Sasha, the female dog was standing near the fence, jumping around barking toward the direction of the shed. Ranger, the male dog, was both growling and snarling, hackles raised followed by an occasional bark.
Whatever it was that had them upset was in the shed. Slowly I inched my way towards the open door. A loud hissing sound came from the back corner. You guessed it, an alligator!
I grabbed both dogs to put them inside. Amanda was in her bed crying because it was time for a bottle and me...with a 6 foot gator in my backyard!
I called my neighbor and said, "I need something to catch an alligator with" "Yes, it's in my shed"
She came running over with a small bathroom trash can. I stared at her in disbelief...."I said an ALLIGATOR, not a mouse" She asked how big the thing was and when I told her she broke out laughing. Before long we were both laughing hysterically.
Seriously, what did I think I was going to do, become Steve Irwin in a flash of an eye? We called for some help, and to our suprise her husband's friend new a little something about gators. If (and that is a big if in my book) you can get them rolled on their back, you can rub there belly and it puts them in a type of trance...albeit temporarliy.
Once subdued, the alligator was removed and carried back to the marshes from which he had probably come. I had calmed and fed my daughter, quieted the dogs, thanked all who helped...then went inside and had a coke and some aspirin.
Later that week my husband and I went out to dinner. There on the menu, alligator! Hmmm, I wonder???
While living in Georgetown, SC (and with only one infant in the house), a chorus of chaos broke out from our backyard. At that time, we had two dogs, Ranger and Sasha, who had been relegated to spending more time outdoors now that a baby had arrived. I had heard them bark before, but this was something different, something gutteral.
Sasha, the female dog was standing near the fence, jumping around barking toward the direction of the shed. Ranger, the male dog, was both growling and snarling, hackles raised followed by an occasional bark.
Whatever it was that had them upset was in the shed. Slowly I inched my way towards the open door. A loud hissing sound came from the back corner. You guessed it, an alligator!
I grabbed both dogs to put them inside. Amanda was in her bed crying because it was time for a bottle and me...with a 6 foot gator in my backyard!
I called my neighbor and said, "I need something to catch an alligator with" "Yes, it's in my shed"
She came running over with a small bathroom trash can. I stared at her in disbelief...."I said an ALLIGATOR, not a mouse" She asked how big the thing was and when I told her she broke out laughing. Before long we were both laughing hysterically.
Seriously, what did I think I was going to do, become Steve Irwin in a flash of an eye? We called for some help, and to our suprise her husband's friend new a little something about gators. If (and that is a big if in my book) you can get them rolled on their back, you can rub there belly and it puts them in a type of trance...albeit temporarliy.
Once subdued, the alligator was removed and carried back to the marshes from which he had probably come. I had calmed and fed my daughter, quieted the dogs, thanked all who helped...then went inside and had a coke and some aspirin.
Later that week my husband and I went out to dinner. There on the menu, alligator! Hmmm, I wonder???
Motherhood-Cookies and Kids
The kiddie size table with it's matching chairs sat ready in the kitchen. I had placed the baking pan in the center and wax paper over the table.
Now...time to bring in the children. We were going to make cookies!!!!
Because my hands were full with three small children, Pillsbury slice and back chocolate chip cookies were a huge help in this endeavor. Obviously I couldn't give them knives, but I did want to give them freedom to "make" their own cookies.
Each child had their own technique. With the dough cut in half and placed before them, I gave each a spoon and showed them how to scoop the dough and place it on the pan.
Amanda's eyes lit up. "I can do that," she said in her 4 1/2 year old voice. The look of concentration and determination to do it "like Mama" set in.
Foster, known to Amanda as Tossa, was 3 years old at the time. He took the spoon, stared at it a moment then plunged into the dough. For every one cookie that made it onto the baking sheet, two wound up in his mouth.
"Mama, Tossa's eating the cookie dough!"
I just laughed and reminded Foster that we wouldn't have any cookies for the oven if he kept eating them before he put them on the sheet. With his blonde curly hair, and wide eyes he simply replied...."but dis is good Mama."
When making cookies with kids, it is not the quantity or even the quality of the final product that is important. It is the memory created by the moment.
Now...time to bring in the children. We were going to make cookies!!!!
Because my hands were full with three small children, Pillsbury slice and back chocolate chip cookies were a huge help in this endeavor. Obviously I couldn't give them knives, but I did want to give them freedom to "make" their own cookies.
Each child had their own technique. With the dough cut in half and placed before them, I gave each a spoon and showed them how to scoop the dough and place it on the pan.
Amanda's eyes lit up. "I can do that," she said in her 4 1/2 year old voice. The look of concentration and determination to do it "like Mama" set in.
Foster, known to Amanda as Tossa, was 3 years old at the time. He took the spoon, stared at it a moment then plunged into the dough. For every one cookie that made it onto the baking sheet, two wound up in his mouth.
"Mama, Tossa's eating the cookie dough!"
I just laughed and reminded Foster that we wouldn't have any cookies for the oven if he kept eating them before he put them on the sheet. With his blonde curly hair, and wide eyes he simply replied...."but dis is good Mama."
When making cookies with kids, it is not the quantity or even the quality of the final product that is important. It is the memory created by the moment.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Me- Go Ahead...Laugh
"She's touching me!"
"Am not,"
"Are too..."
How many times have I heard this????? Wait, I seem to remember saying that growing up. My sister Jodi and I were like oil and water in our younger years. Both from the same gene pool, but as different as night and day.
There is actually a picture of us when I was 10 and she was 8. We were standing on the front porch of our home. Jodi was wearing a baseball cap, shorts, t-shirt, and holding a fishing pole. I, on the other hand, wore a blue and white checked ballet tutu, a white hat with red ribbon, tights, and ballet slippers.
In order to help Jodi "mature", I took it as my responsibilty never to laugh at ANY of her jokes. I would tell people, "don't encourage her." The truth is...she was and is hilarious. When you are young however, and the oldest sibling, having your younger sister walking lopsided on sidewalks or singing out loud in the store "I Love A Parade" just to get a reaction from you...well, let's just say, I pretended not to know her on several occassions.
Today, she keeps me in stitches. I look forward to our visits and conversations on the phone. Age has a way of "maturing" all of us to be a little more childlike. Enjoy life...for we are never promised a tomorrow. There is something to be said about the quote, "Live, Laugh, and Love."
"Am not,"
"Are too..."
How many times have I heard this????? Wait, I seem to remember saying that growing up. My sister Jodi and I were like oil and water in our younger years. Both from the same gene pool, but as different as night and day.
There is actually a picture of us when I was 10 and she was 8. We were standing on the front porch of our home. Jodi was wearing a baseball cap, shorts, t-shirt, and holding a fishing pole. I, on the other hand, wore a blue and white checked ballet tutu, a white hat with red ribbon, tights, and ballet slippers.
In order to help Jodi "mature", I took it as my responsibilty never to laugh at ANY of her jokes. I would tell people, "don't encourage her." The truth is...she was and is hilarious. When you are young however, and the oldest sibling, having your younger sister walking lopsided on sidewalks or singing out loud in the store "I Love A Parade" just to get a reaction from you...well, let's just say, I pretended not to know her on several occassions.
Today, she keeps me in stitches. I look forward to our visits and conversations on the phone. Age has a way of "maturing" all of us to be a little more childlike. Enjoy life...for we are never promised a tomorrow. There is something to be said about the quote, "Live, Laugh, and Love."
Mayhem- Timing is Everything
Motherhood- Boys and Birds
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Me- Dinner Anyone?
Ahhhh, the excitement of being a newlywed. I wanted so much for our first dinner in our new home to be perfect.
My mother-in-law had shown me how she fried her chicken and then made gravey from scratch. She also taught me how to make rice. A staple in their house. I can do this...or so I thought.
First the chicken...fried quickly to a crispy golden brown. With a touch of the grease and drippings still left in the skillet, I began to slowly add the flour (this was suppose to absorb the grease). Finally, the water was added. Oh my gosh, what transpired was a globual the size of a baseball. I would add more water and more flour until at last....gravey! Never mind it had made enough to feed a football team! Meanwhile, the rice was bubbling away.
With the table set and all the fixings placed just so, my husband came down for dinner. I was so pleased until the moment he bit into the chicken and it was still raw inside...ok...we'll just zap that in the microwave to finish cooking it. The rice and gravey looked perfect....until....I placed the spoon in the gravey and it stood up straight -on its own. Imagine setting a piling in cement...please...let the rice be ok!
I never have mastered frying chicken. Though I have learned to cook rice and gravey...let's just say if a chicken winds up fried on my table it is due to the KFC.
My mother-in-law had shown me how she fried her chicken and then made gravey from scratch. She also taught me how to make rice. A staple in their house. I can do this...or so I thought.
First the chicken...fried quickly to a crispy golden brown. With a touch of the grease and drippings still left in the skillet, I began to slowly add the flour (this was suppose to absorb the grease). Finally, the water was added. Oh my gosh, what transpired was a globual the size of a baseball. I would add more water and more flour until at last....gravey! Never mind it had made enough to feed a football team! Meanwhile, the rice was bubbling away.
With the table set and all the fixings placed just so, my husband came down for dinner. I was so pleased until the moment he bit into the chicken and it was still raw inside...ok...we'll just zap that in the microwave to finish cooking it. The rice and gravey looked perfect....until....I placed the spoon in the gravey and it stood up straight -on its own. Imagine setting a piling in cement...please...let the rice be ok!
I never have mastered frying chicken. Though I have learned to cook rice and gravey...let's just say if a chicken winds up fried on my table it is due to the KFC.
Motherhood...dressing down.
How many books are there on parenting? Add to that magazines, the internet, and let us not forget the advice of others, to the ever growing knowledge pool of what I should do, will do, may do, and wouldn't do if I were you scenerios.
Ahhhh, but to hold my first little bundle in my arms. My first little angel. Her grandmother worked in a clothing store and Amanda's welcome home was a closet full of adorable dresses and little matching outfits. Of course the fact that they were all 0-3mos. in size didn't phase me until I realized that an 8 pound baby doesn't wear that size very long!
In order to have her wear EVERYTHING...I changed her clothes 2-3 times a day snapping pictures as I went. For her first Christmas photo I went out and bought a beautiful dress with layers and layers of ruffles, white stockings, and black dress shoes. All of this for my 2 month old daughter! Live and learn...that is when it dawned on me...she didn't care about the fluff...she just wanted me to care for her. We went home, hung the dress in the closet, and put on a cotton onesy!
She never looked more beautiful and never felt more cuddly. Simplicity in its purest form.
She continued to grow and I continued to learn.
Ahhhh, but to hold my first little bundle in my arms. My first little angel. Her grandmother worked in a clothing store and Amanda's welcome home was a closet full of adorable dresses and little matching outfits. Of course the fact that they were all 0-3mos. in size didn't phase me until I realized that an 8 pound baby doesn't wear that size very long!
In order to have her wear EVERYTHING...I changed her clothes 2-3 times a day snapping pictures as I went. For her first Christmas photo I went out and bought a beautiful dress with layers and layers of ruffles, white stockings, and black dress shoes. All of this for my 2 month old daughter! Live and learn...that is when it dawned on me...she didn't care about the fluff...she just wanted me to care for her. We went home, hung the dress in the closet, and put on a cotton onesy!
She never looked more beautiful and never felt more cuddly. Simplicity in its purest form.
She continued to grow and I continued to learn.
And so it begins...
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