These all look like harmless pictures, right?  But these are all examples of parenting choices that have led to incessant whining, begging, pleading and crying.  Because once you open the lid on that box there is no going back.

Exhibit 1: let Margo sit in front seat while waiting for Isaac.  Every day now she asks, pleads, begs, and cries to sit in the promised land.

Exhibit 2:  Took a walk and went to Ben and Jerry’s.  Now every time I say, “Let’s go for a walk.”  She heads in the direction of the ice cream and then whines, begs and pleads when we don’t.

Exhibit 3: Bought a hot chocolate when I went to Starbucks, because I thought it was cute that she asked for a Mocha.  You guessed it.  Hot chocolate it is every time.  Or I listen to pleading, begging and whining.

Exhibit 4: I put toothpicks in her sandwich to hold it together.  Now she thinks she gets free reign with the pointy sticks.  And unfortunately she isn’t just using them for sandwiches.  Cue ER trip with a toothpick in her ear and whining, begging and crying when I say no.(to be fair my sister saved us from that trip.  But it is coming)

Exhibit 5:  Laughing one time when she put a box on her head.  Now she puts all sorts of things on her head and expects immediate laughter.

What one thing have you done that the kids won’t let you forget?

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My heart grieves for a husband and 2 children who lost a wife and mother  this morning after a grueling battle with cancer.   She leaves behind a legacy of strength and grace that has blessed every person she came in contact with.  Although I did not know her well, I am grateful that our paths crossed.

We all wanted a different ending to this story.  A miracle to occur so she wouldn’t have to leave her family.  Anytime tragedy happens it is easy to let the flood of grief overwhelm us.  What this family has shown me, is that a life of beauty can be lived despite tragedy.

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I was reminded of that, this weekend, when Isaac pulled Rebecca along on her 1 mile race at school. She dislikes running but tries her best. And when she came up short, Isaac was there to help her out. She crossed the finish line with a big smile on her face.

It was a proud moment for me as a parent, but it also made me think about all those times when I haven’t had enough left in the tank and how people have gotten me through the long days of parenting.  This spring a friend watched the kids for me so I could write, while my babysitter was on spring break.    In February when I was stuck at home with 3 sick kids, a friend brought me by a cappucino.  Last week  the babysitter told me how awesome my kids are and she loves watching them.  And this was on a day I couldn’t stand to be around them (can I say that out loud?)

Life can get us down if we let it. The kids keep getting sick, everything in the house breaks at the same time, and sometimes life just sucks. Instead of getting stuck in the muck, those are the moments we need to reach out our hand and hold on to someone else’s.

And I am really thankful for that reminder.

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For the most part it is an age thing, I get that developmentally kids go through this. Although I have been spoiled by Rebecca, who is almost too honest and Margo is too young to lie, and loves to tell me the truth even when I am not asking for it. So it has shocked me that lying comes so easily to Isaac.

The other reason it bothers me is because I know how he feels.  When I was that age I didn’t want to face the consequences of my actions, so I would stretch the truth in my favor.  Trying to keep it as close to reality as possible, but a reality that doesn’t involve me being the bad guy.

So Isaac lies.  And he is really good at it.  The other day he cut his sister’s hair, while I was downstairs folding laundry.  In the ten minutes I was not present they went from putting on shoes to Isaac practicing cosmetology without a license.  When I came upstairs and discovered what happened, Isaac said Margo did it.  Since she typically gets frustrated with scissors and ends up ripping the paper for ease of speed, I knew his story wasn’t true.

After about 20 minutes of talking with him about it h,e finally confessed.  But only after I promised we would figure out the right consequence together and I wouldn’t get angry.  And I am left to wonder, did I handle that right?  I want to understand his fear in telling the truth.  I consider Michael and I fairly reasonable parents and  my standard line has always been the truth matters more than what actually happened.  Lying will be punished every time but the truth can mitigate the consequences. Unfortunately Isaac’s fear of being yelled at or punished causes his distrust and that hurts a little bit.

The funny thing is, I didn’t yell once when I discovered what happened.  It was one of those times as a parent that I try not to laugh at the hilarity of the moment.  Kids are inquisitive and it is natural that they would explore a career in cosmetology with blunt tipped scissors.  Until he lied they were both going to be let off with a warning.

But I cannot tolerate lying, it is not how I want my kids to get through life.

So I am putting it to you readers, parents of kids young and parents of kids grown. How do you gently teach your kids the harm in lying? How do you show them that the truth, will always set you free.

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Which would be fine if they were indeed tests and papers, but unfortunately my responsibilities need fed every once in a while.  Days like this I try to take the pressure off.  Who cares if it is pb&j for lunch and dinner.  Or if I only do laundry.  It is too freaking nice outside to stay in and clean up a kitchen that will be dirty again before I even finish.

I have a book that I can’t seem to put down and a bag of gummy bears with my name on it.   Every once in a while I take a break to throw a ball at a kid.  Er, I mean we play baseball.  Who am I kidding, my aim is terrible and I end up hitting them more than the bat.  Or we find a less damaging activity like reading a picture book.  But then they go back to making grass mounds from our hay field and I can read my book in peace.

The kids like these kind of days because we are more apt to go to the park so I can keep reading and they can play instead of picking up their rooms.   We all need a little vitamin d time after the long winter.

I just hope my husband feels the same way when I hand him the box of cereal and say, “Here’s dinner.”

How do you handle low motivation days?

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And then Margo gets performance anxiety and no amount of singing, dancing, reading, pleading, or bribes will work.  If the girl doesn’t have to go, she won’t go.  I should know this after our trip to the emergency room.

So the nurse brings me water.  A lot of water.  And Margo drinks it all.  She drinks so much, just watching I suddenly have to pee.

Margo then asks me to help her.  Confused I say, “How can I possibly help you.”  With watery eyes, “Squeeze my pee out please.”  If she weren’t so frustrating, my heart would have broken.  Because then with dry eyes she says, “I tinkled.”  Looking into the completely dry hat under the toilet seat I say, “No you didn’t.  Telling me you tinkled and actually tinkling are 2 different things.  ”Oh, ” she says dejectedly.

I try reading her a book.  Giving her the book to read.  We try singing a song about the book.   She asks for privacy.  When I dare to leave the bathroom in the manner she asked me to, she starts screeching and bawling.

“I go pee now,” she says in her thin toddler voice.

Nada, zip, zilch.  The nurse knocks on the door.  Looking out in the hall I see a poor little boy hopping from foot to foot.  Sighing heavily I pick the sobbing Margo off the toilet.  The two of us sit in the waiting room  me hoping that the urge will suddenly hit her and her trying to figure out how she can get the sucker she was promised with out actually peeing.

Finally the doctor takes pity on her and he motions us back to the exam room.  She is a surly 2 year old who has performance anxiety.  He takes one look at her angry face and he says, “She isn’t going to cooperate, is she?”  Deep breath out, he gets it.  Although it would be easier to know what she has, so he can indeed treat it, but he gives us several options to try before we assume it is an infection.

At that point I wanted to smack him.  Couldn’t he have just led with that?

Margo apparently traumatized from the experience, falls asleep on the short car ride  to pick up Isaac.  And she even transfers into the house and now lies angelically sleeping on the couch.

Of course all I can think about is all the water she drank this morning when we tried to get her to pee.

*SIGH*

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Have you ever felt that way?

Some days I take being at home in stride.  I plan playdates or trips to the park.  We bake cookies or make homemade playdough together.  I don’t turn on the TV to babysit them, but I actively engage the kids.  I listen to them and have patience.  Those are days that I feel I am being the mom that is expected of me.

How I felt when the phone hit the floor

Then there are the other days.  The ones that unfortunately make up a good majority of my year.   They are the days that I just want to be alone.  I turn on the TV so I don’t have to interact with them.  We don’t go to the park because I don’t want to.   I sleep in way too late and yell way too much.  Those days are seriously long and it seems like my husband will never come home.  Those are the days I question myself as a mother, am I really cut out to be a SAHM?  Wouldn’t we all be better off if I was working.

Then there are the moments that surprise me.  It doesn’t matter if I am having a good or bad mommy day, but I am hit with how special my kids are.  These are brief moments that happen not because of anything I have done, but because my kids are being their authentic selves.  And I get a brief glimpse of who they are becoming.  And pride overwhelms me.   Those are the moments that carry me through the long days of parenting.  Because they can’t be planned, they can’t be created, and they can’t be forced.  They just happen.  And those rare moments  remind me during the short and the long days, I am a good mom no matter what I do.

I believe when the kids are grown up and gone, those are the times I will remember.  I won’t think of all those days that I did it right or all those times I failed.  What I will remember are those deep belly laughs, the proud looks as the kids learned something new, and their intense concentration when they are absorbed doing something they love.

Those are the memories I will hold with me whenever I recall the Long Days and Short Years of parenting.

What are your best times as a mother?

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This morning the kids rushed through their morning routine.  Which is surprising, because when Isaac woke up at 5 am I was beginning to carefully hone my crazy Wednesday morning parenting techniques.

Back in the pocket were the phrases:

“Stop running around the house with your underwear on your head!”

or

“Find your hairbrush, or I will find it for you!”

or

“The toothbrush actually has to touch your teeth”

You know, a normal morning.

Today, however, the kids excitedly ate breakfast and got dressed without incident.  Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth I head upstairs to shower and get ready myself.

Finishing my hair I open my bathroom door to 3 expectant stares.  They must want something.  I knew this change of attitude was too good to be true.

I set down the hair dryer and Rebecca moans, “Are you done yet, I want go outside and see if the fairies ate our food last night?”

Of course you do.  If she hadn’t had this carrot dangling in front of her all morning, I would still be trying to shove shoes on someones foot while reaching for the hairbrush that Rebecca cannot magically see.  Stifling a  laugh, I say, “Do you think it is easy being this beautiful.  It takes time.”

Blank stare from Rebecca, “You are so weird Mom.”

Heavy sigh, “You can go outside.”  The kids cheer and thunder down the hall and stairs and I hear the beep of the back door open.

Looking out the bathroom window I spy the kids at the picnic table grinding up “fairy food”

And I am the weird one?

What gets your kids moving in the morning?

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It took a long time to get here, but it happened.  I finally unlocked whatever had been keeping my ideas from spilling out on to the page.  It took six months to write the first three chapters and in the following six months I wrote almost 200 pages.  Talk about a floodgate opening.

Despite having small kids and household responsibilities I have persisted.  I write during naptimes, TV times, or the glorious 3 hours every week that I have a babysitter.  My favorite place to write is outside, but with the winter I had to settle with a large picture window overlooking the street in front of our house.

I am now in the revision stage.  Last week I got enough courage to actually ask for readers and I had a great group of women respond.  My husband has seen a lot of iterations of the story and I think he might be a little sensitive to the characterization of the husband.

“So when you say Derek does this, are you thinking of the time. . . ”  I remind him that it is a story through and through.  But it will be good to have outside readers not looking for themselves in my characters.

It is hard to hit send though to this group of willing readers.  As I have discovered the revision process is constant and more intense than the actual writing ever was.  I will sit up in bed at 2 am triumphantly shouting, “I finally know how Cat should resolve her conflict!” Michael will mumble something supportive like, “That’s great”  or “What time is it?”  as he rolls over to go back to sleep.  But my mind is still editing chapters instead of counting sheep.

I swear today I will hit send and see what people think.  That way I can get into the thick of editing once I know what a reader is looking for in my story.

When I was in fifth grade I decided I wanted to be a writer.  I had just read the Outsiders by SE Hinton and the way that story was crafted mesmerized me.  In high school I told myself writing wasn’t a real career so I chose to study politics and history in college reveling in my research papers that allowed me to write.  When I graduated and got bored writing another constituent letter, I went to library school so I could at least surround myself with the words of others.

Now it is my turn.  After 25 years and a few careers I am following my childhood dream.  This book I am writing may not be the next Great American novel.  It is not a work of literary genius.  But it is mine, a story I crafted by starting with an empty room that I slowly populated word by word into life.  And now I have a story.

This book may never get published, it may circulate the hands of my friends and be rejected.  And that is okay, because today I relish in the thought that I am a writer and I have finally found my voice.

What childhood dream did you have?  How are you pursuing it?

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He often sings Pumped up kicks while he catches the waves.  It involves a lot of tsunamis that knock him off.  This morning, Margo being Margo, wanted to join Isaac in his game.  I was blow drying my hair when Margo comes running into the bathroom crying.

Me being my normal concerned mommy self,  yell over the hair dryer, ” What’s wrong Margo?”

“The spray is getting me.  Tell Isaac to stop the waves.”  She says indignantly.

Turning off the hair dryer, I peek my head in the bedroom just in case he is spraying a bottle of Windex or something on her.  He is very innocently catching the big big waves on my pillow.

I look back at Margo, realizing she has just told on her brother for getting her wet during an imaginary game.

I pat her on the bottom and say, “Catch the waves by my closet, they aren’t as high and you won’t get as wet.”  What else do you say to a girl who is upset about imaginary water?

Satisfied with my answer she toddles over and resumes her game of surfing in the non wet waters of my closet.

Oy, it is going to be one of those days.

What imaginary slights have your kids tattled on their siblings for?

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