Why Keep Dogs and Bark Myself?

Getting an education from the ground up

2010-07-22T22:16:00.001-04:00

Helicopter Seed

It was the occasion of a grasshopper clinging to the windshield on a recent road trip that made me understand just how much children miss these days. Not all children, perhaps, but those whose mothers work and those who are enrolled in after school programs and weekend sports and never know the pleasure of spending an entire, sunny day sitting in the grass and learning about the world that thrives beneath everyone's feet - even those who hurry through it day after working day.

I realized that my son had never seen a real grasshopper before. I learned he didn't know how to make a whistle out of a blade of grass. He'd never watched the diligence at the business end of an anthill. He'd never had time to sit and watch.

I realized then how much knowledge we gain from just being children at large. The experiences of children without a schedule to keep. Sitting in the grass or under a tree reveals the secrets of this lowly world. There are treasures to be found at the base of an old oak tree or in the damp soil beneath a rock. Crawly and slimy treasures at times, but also the rare sighting of a walking stick bug, glimpsing a chipmunk happily scurrying away with an acorn, the odd garter snake or toad.

I have advised The Boy that if he wants to learn anything useful about the world, he must start from the ground up. The luxury of a nice back yard is helping us with this and has provided us with views of chipmunks, squirrels, skunks (from a distance), the dissection and identification of mysterious green globes in the grass (they would have been black walnuts apparently, if they'd managed to hang on the tree another month or so) and lessons in how to make a funny decoration for your nose out of those helicopter seeds that fall from the maple trees.

Today, as I watched a group of sparrows gather on a telephone wire and chirp their daily news to one another, I thought "this is a sign that I am getting old, I am watching birds sitting on telephone lines". Then I realized that it is very much what I did as a child on those long, summer days when everything was interesting and not just the news or work deadlines counted as important. Then I realized that age is not what makes us old. The harried, hassled, workaday me was old. She didn't care about sunsets or raindrops or anything that really mattered. As I stuck a helicopter seed on my nose and listened to boy laughter, I thought to myself how good it is to be young again.

Who Turned Out the Light?

2010-07-20T15:18:00.006-04:00

Remember when you were a kid and the greatest mystery in the world was whether or not the light stayed on in the refrigerator when the door was shut? Of course, once you'd found the button that depressed when the door shuts, the mystery was gone.

I haven't had to worry about the light going on or off for about a year now - the bulb burned out. I know it's the simplest thing in the world to replace it, but for some reason I just never get around to it. I also have some very good reasons for keeping the food in the dark.

Aside from the fact that the dark keeps most things fresher longer, especially milk, there's also the hope that the fridge is a less inviting place to visit. The children treat every visit to the fridge as if they were on a window-shopping expedition. Even the day before grocery shopping, when it's fairly empty, they can stand and stare at the nothingness for ten minutes.

Children must be hopeful creatures because they will return to a refrigerator several times just to ascertain that it still contains nothing they are interested in eating. In fact, the less it contains, the longer they stand there staring. The day after I've done the shopping, they can lay hands on something tasty within seconds of opening the door. But the day before is a day of bleak lack and snack hunger. With wide-eyed, unblinking gazes they survey the barren land before them and sigh.

According to my calculations, a 40 watt light bulb that runs an hour a day could cost me nearly $2.00 over the course of a year. I know it doesn't sound like much, and it won't make us rich. But it will annoy everyone to have to explore a dark fridge and I will make $2.00 at the same time. What a deal!

Keep the Negatives

2010-07-05T17:38:00.000-04:00

One thing I have noticed from being on Facebook is that people like to take photographs. They take thousands of photographs. What they don't seem to do is edit. They need to edit the content, edit for quality and basically, edit out all those boring photos that no one wants to see.

As an example, there was recently a wedding in the extended family. Several family members who attended the wedding posted pictures online. I have viewed several dozen photos of people that either I do not know or who are close relatives made unrecognizable by the cellphone camera they were caught in the lens of.

One set of photos had me wondering whether the guests were wearing glow-sticks or if the reception had been invaded by luminescent worms from outer space. I know your cell phone takes lousy pictures, but still, a definite lack of talent is needed to get photos this bad.

Facebook is crowded with photos - photos of the kids, the grandkids, the kids holding the grandkids, the grandkids holding toys, the garden, the new car, the old car, the grass on the lawn - anything and everything people can go "click" at. Honestly, most of these photos are very, very boring. Some of them are potentially embarrassing to the subjects. I am most surprised by people who post hundreds of photos of their kids on the internet for anyone to see.

I haven't ever put photos of my kids online. I wouldn't put them on Facebook either. If I want to send a photo to a particular person, I can email it. One day my children may thank me for this - the day that their friends are looking at photos posted online from when they were potty-training or eating their first bowl of spaghetti or appearing in their first school play. None of this is going to be online to haunt my children into adulthood. No bearskin rug photos with bare behinds to be found by potential employers. And let's face it, if the picture is online, there goes the potential for blackmail.

Summer Games

2010-06-21T18:03:00.000-04:00

It's officially summer. Summer was the greatest time of the year when we were kids. We were free to play the whole day long. I remember playing tag, baseball, kickball and even sitting out in the shade of an old tree playing board games.

You Are Rock-Paper-Scissors

You are very smart and mentally inclined person. You like games that test your brainpower.

You are good at noticing patterns and making predictions. You can size other people up well.

It may not seem like there's a lot to what you do, but you have a strategy for everything.

You tend to think through every decision you make carefully, but you're also sure not to over think anything.

What Childhood Game Are You?

Blogthings: Quizzes and Tests and Memes, Oh My!

Putting old age to good use

2010-05-25T20:21:00.000-04:00

I am entering that time of life where anything can happen. I could wake up feeling energetic and hopeful. I could feel old and worn-out. I could feel young and delightfuly hip. I could feel out-of-touch and out-dated. I might watch Nickolodeon with my son or spend the day complaining about the screechy voices on all kids' cartoons these days. I might consider dyeing my hair some vibrant new color or I might spend the morning examining the sudden growth of grey at my roots.

I read articles about middle age and peri-menopause and some days I feel grateful that so much is known and understood about the workings of the female body. At other times I wonder if women aren't being conditioned to expect symptoms they might never have noticed otherwise. Or maybe it's all just a great way to explain the everyday things that happen as we age and deal with the stresses of everyday life with bodies that are no longer firm, tough and energetic.

The one symptom that I can take comfort in laying at the door of hormonal fluctuation is forgetfulness. According to the article I read today, never remembering the word you are looking for is not necessarily an indicator of senile dementia, it could just be hormone fluctuation. They recommend that if you can't remember the exact word for things (around here, I just say "refrigerator" if I don't remember the right name for something) then you should really stop multi-tasking. No reading your email while talking on the phone. That might be a good suggestion but I think I can come up with some other ways to cut down on the multi-tasking.

No cooking dinner while trying to answer the teen's questions about school subjects that you thought you never needed to remember. Yes, you will need to use algebra again, although it won't be until you have children in school taking algebra. You shouldn't try to put up curtains while holding two pet rats whose cage is being cleaned. And you definitely shouldn't be saying "yes" to anything the teen asks you while you are on the phone with the bank trying to clear up some discrepancies in your balance sheet.

This is why I say "refrigerator". It means "mom's brain is out to lunch and she's not going to give you any useful answers". I don't know if I am having actual symptoms of peri-menopause or if I am just tired of being a reliable resource. They are just going to have to learn that if "refrigerator" isn't the answer, then maybe the question isn't worth asking.

Homeschooling - Is it better?

2010-01-20T20:09:00.000-05:00

If the truth be told, I ~~was~~ am an anxious mother. When The Girl began to approach school age, I began to worry about this tiny, delicate child being subjected to schoolbus rides and playground injuries and every other conceivable risk of leaving the home. After all, she had been cared for by my mother for four tender years, how could she cope?

But for me, homeschooling was not an option. I had to work and so the child had to be sent to the public schools. In the beginning, once my fears wore off a bit, it seemed a good thing. But now that she is older and facing more difficult tasks, I see that homeschooling might well have been more successful for her and the trade-off in socializing experience was not enough to make up for the deficiencies of a public school education.

The statistics bear this out. Homeschooled children fare at least as well as children in public school on standardized tests and in some cases far exceed their scores. According to an article in the Wall Street Journal in February 2000, homeschooled kids scored better than average on both SAT and ACT college entrance tests.

For those who can manage to be home and are interested in homeschooling their children, there are now some really excellent resources that can help. For parents who want to homeschool, there are programs that can be a great asset.

Homeschooled kids do not become socially inept flops, but confident and well-educated adults whose success has been proved over and over.

I remember...

2010-01-10T18:10:00.001-05:00

There are times when I feel that I remember very little of my childhood and other times when strange images and experiences of my senses come flooding back. If I close my eyes just now, I can see the old Stride Rite shoe store. It's long gone now and there's a small shopping center occupying the space.

In those days, children's shoes were a serious business. They weren't just adult styles made tinier with the appropriate cartoon character emblazoned on the upper as they are today. Children never wore sneakers or even shoes that appeared comfortable. They were well-structured boots that were designed to support those unstable toddler ankles. It was supposed we would never learn to walk properly unless our feet were trained to do so.

I don't really remember being fitted for shoes, or what kind I wore. I remember the store. I remember it being very bright with white walls, inside and out. Mostly, I remember the carousel.

There was a carousel in the store. While mothers shopped, children rode the carousel. Perhaps we got a ride once we'd behaved and quietly had our feet custom-shod. Perhaps our mothers simply needed a few moments of peace while we were being entertained. I don't remember.

I remember the carousel and inside this memory, the feeling of being a child and more importantly, being my mother's child. Each memory of her is precious, so I search through the hazy fog of time to find them and fine-tune them, to experience them once again and keep them safely tucked away in some region of my brain that won't discard them. Memories are spotty things, and sometimes I don't have enough of them to fill the void my mother left in my life when she died.

Words and Music and Memory

2009-12-22T09:21:00.000-05:00

It's been many years since I lived with a piano. I have not had daily access to one since I moved away from home. So it's wonderful and strange to once again share my space with one of these imposing pieces of musical furniture.

The piano that now sits in my front hallway beckoned me yesterday when I came upon some old Gilbert and Sullivan sheet music. I sat to play, but it wasn't the plaintive strains of Tit Willow that sent me into reverie, it was what fell out of the book of sheet music.

Hidden away between the pages were some photographs of my mother and father, taken perhaps a year or so before my mother became ill and only a couple of years before their deaths. I felt startled, but I cannot say why. They are familiar faces of loved ones, faces one has known for a lifetime yet strangely missing for some time from my view. I thought briefly about what to do with them, then slid them back into the book of music and continued playing.

This morning, the images of the photos came back into my mind and I wondered if I oughtn't to frame a picture to put atop the piano. But something stopped me, a fear of something I cannot name.

Perhaps it is only that there are not daily reminders that makes it possible to live in a world that is forever changed by their absences. I don't know why I should feel unnerved by photographs of my parents, it may be that they are so alive and themselves in these pictures, and I am overwhelmed.

On Christmas Eve, it will have been 6 years since my mother succumbed to the cancer that took her life. I wonder how long it will be before I can look at a photo and not feel the emptiness that her passing left in my world.

I love Snow - a little bit

2009-12-05T16:41:00.000-05:00

This winter promises to be a lot like last winter. Snow, some more snow and then snow again. I must admit that I love the way the world looks when it's covered in a newly-fallen blanket of white. But, do I really love the snow? I took the ultimate snow quiz and found out that I don't love snow as much as I used to. I know that when I was a kid, I would have definitely been an all-out snow bunny. Perhaps age brings us all to the point where the joy of snow is blunted by a cold slap of reality.

You Are a Snow Kitten

You like snow in small doses. You find snow to be comforting, and you love to snuggle up under a blanket of snow.

You're not a big fan of the hassles of snow. You're happy to see it come, but you're also happy to see it go.

Go ahead and venture out in the snow from time to time! Throw a snowball or make a snow angel.

You have an inner snow bunny inside you, and it's time to let that bunny play.

Are You a Snow Bunny?

Blogthings: 100's of Fun, Free Quizzes and 3 Stupid Ones

Living Today

2009-11-09T17:42:00.000-05:00

I have a favorite Bible verse, one that encourages us not to worry about tomorrow as today holds enough worry to keep us busy. And I agree with the principle, even if I don't always put it into practice. But as much we should strive to put aside worrying about the future, we should also consider our relationship to the past.

We all have had experiences in our pasts that shape how we view the world today. We live in a world filled with humans, all of them flawed, including ourselves. Certainly there were past relationships with friends and others that took wrong turns, there were times of hurt, betrayal and disappointment. This is common to all of us. It's an imperfect world filled with imperfect people who make mistakes. A problem arises however, when we dwell in the past just as it does when we try to visit the future... it keeps us from enjoying today.

Yet God tells us how to deal with all of it, past and future.

The LORD is merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and plenteous in mercy.
He will not always chide: neither will he keep his anger for ever.
He hath not dealt with us after our sins; nor rewarded us according to our iniquities.

He doesn't reward us according to our iniquities. In human terms, He doesn't try to get even and because of His mercy, He let's go of our past so we can. We are to do the same, that's why we are encouraged to forgive 70 x 7. I think where we get stuck is our need for justice - we demand satisfaction. How can we forgive anyone when we feel they have hurt us on purpose? Well, how does God look at it?

For He knoweth our frame; He remembereth that we are dust

God is more merciful to us than we are to ourselves or others. He remembers how weak we are, that we are only human, that we are "dust" and He does not expect perfection from us. God forgives us the past transgressions and remembers them no more. Can we do that too?

It doesn't seem possible that humans can truly forgive and forget, maybe the forget part is more than we can manage. But the forgiving is absolutely necessary. The funny thing is, the forgiveness we give another isn't really for their benefit, it is for ours.

Holding grudges and the memories of wrongs committed against us close to our hearts, does nothing but poison us. Continuing to nurse that grudge against another does nothing to them, but it binds us and chains us to that person forever. They are free and we are bound. It is only by forgiving and letting go of that wrong that we are freed.

When are bound to the past, we allow those dark clouds of yesterday to block today's sunshine. Today's bright aspect can also be marred by worries about tomorrow that predict yet another storm. It is enough that the sun is shining on us today.

Being a Blog Addict

2009-10-19T17:52:00.000-04:00

I think I am becoming a blogaholic. I don't mean I am addicted to blogging, I am addicted to reading them. I love to read the blogs I have collected in my favorites menu and when people don't post it is just as disappointing as an empty Inbox on my email. Every time I turn on the computer, I scan each and every one of them, hoping to find some new entry. When none is forthcoming I am deflated and sigh inwardly. I sometimes even blog myself just to make up for the void. But most often, I just hit the "next blog" button and sail around Blogger.com reading the blogs of total strangers. And it can be annoying and it can be gripping.

I still ask myself, why? Why do we blog? I am not sure I know the answer.

For some it is a matter of strongly held opinions that they hope to spread the worth of and persuade others to be of like opinion. The most annoying ones are the blogs that are commercial endeavors or the ones that cause little boxes to pop up on your screen and cause internet explorer to experience an error and close. But the majority of blogs are simply online diaries, journals of the lives and thoughts of everyday people.

And why here? Why on the net? Why pour out your hopes and dreams, why spread out all this pain and anguish for the world to see? Is the world seeing it? So many blogs with so much personal pain laid out for potential millions to read and no one is seeing it, no one is commenting, no one is offering comfort. Sometimes the author proclaims his assumption that no one is reading his blog, and yet, it is out there for someone to stumble across. A sort of accidental and yet planned exposure. So much that is a universal human experience, so much that deserves to be recognized and also to be respected as private at the same time. It leaves me with an urge to comment, to say "hey, that is okay to feel like that".

And yet, I read them and "walk on" as it were. I sometimes come across the same blog a few days later, it is is a very haphazard way of navigating. Strangely I feel that I now "know" this blogger, another person on the net with a need for introspection and exposition. Sometimes it strikes fear into my heart to read the blogs of teens and college students, and to realize that soon English will be a language I cannot read.

Is blogging good for us? I don't know. Is it an attempt to bond with other humans on a level that is very basic? Do we just need to tell someone, anyone, that we are here? Or do we need to tell them "i feel weird today... but i can't pinpoint what is wrong. i think it may just be life in general.. what i'm saying is, just the life i lead, and no particular event is on my mind".

Perhaps too much introspection is just as bad as none at al

Child's Play

2009-10-04T13:28:00.000-04:00

I think that we have become more nervous as a society. Parents watch over their child's every move, thinking of how to cushion the fall they are sure is coming at any moment. Schools are more nervous, too. Play areas on school grounds are made of the highest quality, strongest, ~~plastic-type stuff~~ material that I assume takes great impacts without breaking small bones. It looks like something originally designed by NASA, and of course, it's all very brightly colored. The area under the play gyms and swings and slides is always padded in some way. Sand seems to out of favor these days, replacing it is a layer or two of wood chips. Wood chips look more dangerous to me, but I am of the nervous generation who can imagine things like splinters and wood chips impaled in an eyeball.

When I was in elementary school, we had a playground. It had no swings, no slides, no jungle gyms. It was paved in good old-fashioned asphalt and promised a properly scraped knee or worse to anyone who failed to keep upright while running over its surface. In fact, running and hopscotch were pretty much the only things you could do on this playground. Perhaps you could get a game of "tag" going (running) or dodge ball (running, getting hit by balls, falling down). When I think back on it, I am amazed we weren't all injured daily.

I have thought about it and decided it isn't really possible that today's children are more fragile than those of yesteryear. The only real difference is our level of concern for their safety, which now extends to trying to make sure they never fall down, never trip while running, never get a scrape or need all those bandages we fill medicine chests with. The reason is simple: it's the adults who have become more fragile. We can't stand the thought of seeing our children in even the slightest pain.

On some level I know my children will survive the usual bumps and thumps of childhood play, but I wonder at times if I will.

A Colorful Look at Education

2009-09-12T13:10:00.000-04:00

The town where my children used to go to school had, over time, renovated and updated all the elementary schools so that each school had walls festooned in bright, primary colors and floor tiles that not only gleamed but also gave directional prompts through differently colored tiles that indicated the possible directions you could take. The entire effect was hectic but pleasing to a young eye. I supposed they believed that children would feel energized and stimulated by this environment and be eager to learn.

The strange thing is that my son's new school is anything but new, but academically he is achieving far more. His reading skills were considered non-existent in his bright, shiny, school but have exploded in his current educational environment. This school looks a lot like the dilapidated schools I attended when I was young. Lots of ceramic tile on the walls, in muted non-colors that match everything and nothing while blending into sameness. Every wall, every room looks the same. There's nothing colorful at all, especially in winter when even the world beyond the windows fails to produce anything but greys and browns. Perhaps the key to learning is teaching, then, and not an attractive classroom?

Good Manners Month

2009-09-03T15:18:00.000-04:00

September, it seems, is National Children's Good Manners Month. I didn't even realize that there was a month so designated, let alone that it had already arrived. I wonder why that is?

I certainly haven't been inundated with requests utilizing the word "please" nor have I become short of breath uttering "you're welcome" after every "thank you" directed my way.

In fact, aside from having slightly grumpier children every morning that they have to rise slightly earlier to get ready for school, I have seen little change in their manners.

Wait, suddenly this all makes sense. September is the month that the school year begins in most of the country. To the delight of teachers everywhere, Good Manners Month neatly coincides with this mass return to the hallowed halls of academic institutions.

I can honestly tell my children to listen to their teachers, they're pretty smart cookies.

The Wonders of the Junk Drawer

2009-08-27T11:42:00.000-04:00

There is one essential in every house, and the necessity of it can be clearly shown by the fact that every house has one. You are probably thinking "bathroom" but as important as that room is, it has limitations. The one space in a house that has no limitations and nearly no rules and yet is absolutely essential is the junk drawer.

"Junk drawer" is actually a misnomer, for anyone who keeps one knows that every item in that drawer is necessary for something or, at least, it will be someday.

The junk drawer is the repository for all things that don't have an immediate use but are bound to come in handy one day and you'll be very sorry if you throw it away now and want it later. These are items that don't have a set place that they belong. They would be clutter anywhere else, but here, in the junk drawer, they are treasures waiting to be discovered and dug up when the need for them arises.

I went looking through my junk drawer the other day, thinking that I should clean it out and how much more efficiently I could use that storage space. I was sure there were things that could be tossed out, after all, things seem to just get tossed in.

To my surprise, absolutely everything in that drawer is absolutely necessary - or will be one day.

For instance, there are two decorative candles whose decorations don't really fit with any known decor - but what happens if the lights go out one dark night in the middle of the winter? They will come in pretty handy then. If I throw them out, I will sit in the dark, cursing my decision. And we all know it is better to light one candle than to curse the darkness.

There is also a half of a taper candle. Obviously this broken candle can't be placed in the decorative sconce, but I may need it to light the other candles so as not to waste precious matches. Remind me to put some matches in the junk drawer.

There are several wall plates for switches and electrical outlets. None of these match any room's colors, and none of them match each other. But you never know, I could paint and find one of these is the perfect match. In any case, they are perfectly good and too expensive to throw away. They must be expensive, they are in such awful taste.

The assorted eraserless pencils and nearly-dry pens could very well be my only source for a writing instrument when an unexpected package arrives or I have to quickly sign The Boy's homework so he can run off to school.

There's a doorknob. It seems to have all the working parts. I don't have any knobless doors at the moment. Still, you can see how foolish it would be to throw out a doorknob.

There's a flashlight with no batteries. Obviously, the next time we trip a circuit breaker and need a flashlight to go down to the cellar, this flashlight will remind us that we need to buy batteries.

There are lots of dead AA batteries in here. These are the most popular size, running everything from clocks to TV remotes and video game controllers. They end up in this drawer because although they seem to be out of juice, they still look too shiny and new to throw away. Plus, as everyone knows, these batteries are "resting". It's a scientific fact that a well-rested battery often will gather the strength to power that remote control just long enough to change the channel without having to get up and actually touch any of the buttons on the television.

There's a pamphlet that warns us not to stand on the open door of the oven to avoid tipping accidents. I have never seen anyone attempt to stand on the open door of an oven, but it's a good reminder and something to file away in my "worst case scenario" collection of possible disasters.

There are various bags of hardware and screws left over from things like blinds and curtain rods. It's very thoughtful of the manufacturers to include these extra supplies, even though they must know that people will install these items using the fewest screws necessary due to impatience and the discomfort of standing on a chair trying to install a screw far over their heads while swearing. I think they know we will drop approximately 50% of the screws before we have a good, solid two or three in place. If you find and retrieve the ones that fell, you can put them in the junk drawer.

There are the registration cards for appliances like the coffee maker and the toaster. These cards activate warrantees that we will never use since the cost of a new toaster is much less than the cost to ship the broken one back to the manufacturer. Still, too important to throw away - just in case.

There are other, equally important items that are too numerous to catalogue. And that's just the kitchen junk drawer. Oh yeah, I have a few of these throughout the house. If one is a good thing...

Junk drawers go with you when you move. After all your other belongings are carefully packed away, the junk drawer will be emptied into a box at the last minute. But they are rarely unpacked at the new location. For by the time you've moved in and set up housekeeping, your new junk drawer is probably already full.

Language - Beyond Communication

2009-08-16T16:16:00.000-04:00

Language was more than a means of communicating in my family. It was used to be unique, mysterious, superior, eccentric and sometimes as a weapon. Words were selected for impact, sound and occasionally meaning got lost somewhere along the way.

I have a sister who uses words for their sounds. That is, she chooses a word that she imagines to be the most shocking or the funniest or the most outrageous. The true meaning of the word is of only secondary importance if it is even considered at all. So a plush rug with an attractive design might be redundant, even if it isn't. There's no use in telling her what redundant actually means. She has decided that it's perfect to describe the rug. Ah well, we know what she means... I think.

My mother would actually change the sounds of words. She would purposely search to find a way to pronounce a standard word in a new way. She also used some very large words when she talked to very small children. I know people who would object to that, believing the children would not understand. Having experienced it, I realize that children can learn large words as easily as small ones, and even children are more impressed by being called dilatory than they are in being told they are being slow or causing their mother a delay. It sounds so much worse yet somehow, so much more powerful and important. I was dilatory a lot.

My brother learned to use language as a weapon. There were few who could verbally spar with him and survive. Soon, the only aim in conversation was to avoid being the target of his barbed wit.

Everyone's first experience of language is utilitarian. We learn to express our needs and the names of those who supply them. Therefore, there is a time in life where saying "mama" "dada" and "baba" is perfectly sufficient. It's what we learn next that makes the difference and makes life interesting. If we are not dilatory or redundant, language can make life a lot more fun.

In Remembrance

2009-08-11T12:05:00.000-04:00

Today is my mother's birthday. She's been gone for 5 and a half years. In some ways that seems incredible. In some ways the time and distance is the only reason I can even speak about the loss of a woman who was such a powerful influence in my life. I wish I could ask her all the things I didn't think I needed to know then, but do now. Cherish people while you have them.

When Good Hobbies Turn Bad

2009-08-05T15:18:00.000-04:00

There was a time when I was the queen of hobbies. I must have taken up dozens of hobbies which having experimented with, I quickly put back down. I suppose I had a need to feel accomplished, and goodness knows I reveled more in the accomplished tasks than in the actual practice of whatever hobby I had chosen to pursue.

I learned to knit from instructions in the Book of Knowledge, a vast encyclopedia of facts, geography, fairy tales and lessons in everyday life that was my constant reference when I was young. But knitting was tedious work, I soon found, and having begun with the intentions of knitting fabulous sweaters, I ended up making several pairs of mittens and one or two hats once I had discovered the joy of circular knitting needles.

I am afraid the same held true for crochet. Plans for large, warm afghans to cuddle up in on chilly winter nights ended up being pillows or afghans done in a large, open woven design that did little to keep in warmth but reduced the time it took to finish a project to a couple of days at most. I found crochet to be even more tension-causing than knitting and I am still not sure if several loose fillings were a result of the teeth-grinding that usually accompanied each row of crochet.

I turned to the arts, with an eye to "learning" to draw and paint. Much work went into learning how to produce a few things - a square-rigged ship, an apple blossom - despite my frustrating lack of ability to realistically render three-dimensional objects into two dimensions. I have two or three pieces of artwork that were produced during this period. They are sufficiently well done to elicit the approval of friends who can't draw at all but I would never show them to anyone who actually possesses any artistic talent.

It may be that writing is simply another one of these hobbies, except that I never studied writing, never planned any writing, don't bother working hard enough at it to cause my teeth to shatter and can't say if I ever produced anything worth the reading. I think of all my hobbies, it may be the one I do just because I like to do it. Perhaps that's more important than whether or not I do it very well.

His Eye is on the Sparrow - The Sparrow is on the Windowsill

2009-06-06T09:26:00.002-04:00

I don't have any great affinity for birds, but neither do I gave any great dislike of them. I know one person who is deathly afraid of birds, but I consider them to be mostly harmless - tiny dinosaurs with feathers. They haven't the brain power to plot evil deeds, so what is there to worry about? Birds basically do what instinct tells them to do in order to survive, and sometimes they don't even do that very well. For instance, they can't tell a reflection on a window from open sky, leading to costly mistakes in their flight plans.

Some years back I wrote about bird omens on another blog. I got lots of interesting feedback on birds and omens and what they all mean. I found myself wondering why birds play so many roles in superstition.

I have now experienced the odd sight of sparrows sitting on my windowsill twice in a matter of days. The first time, one perched on the sill just outside the window near my computer. He looked around but not at me, and then flew off. I thought it was interesting, but not very notable.

This morning two sparrows alighted just outside my kitchen window. One was on the sill and the other landed in the rather overgrown bramble bush that is threatening to swallow that side of the house. I think the first sparrow on the sill had something in his mouth, something the second one seemed to want to claim as his own. The second one made an attempt to connect with the first, who lunged at him (I can't explain how a bird lunges, try to imagine it). The second bird took that as a "no" I guess and flew off. Seconds later the first sparrow left as well.

There are many omens about birds and windows and houses, but a search on the net yielded no information about birds being omens if they just sit on the sill and have a bird conversation. Still, just the overwhelming number of bird superstitions made me a little anxious.

I found that the most commonly believed omen is that if a bird flies into your house or into your window that it is an omen of death. No problem, the bird wasn't in the house, nor did it hit a window.

But it was the sheer number of bird omens that amazed me. For instance, if a bird taps at your window, the number of taps is the number of days till death. A little bird sitting on top of your house means death too. That one seems a bit suspicious, as birds often sit on top of things, they are up there most of the time after all. Yet, I haven't seen a sudden rise in the neighborhood death rate due to birds landing on rooftops.

An owl screeching signals death. A raven on the roof signals death. A swift down the chimney signals death. There's not a lot of variety or imagination when it comes to bird omens.

A rooster seems a particularly dangerous bird to own. Whether it looks at the yard, crows outside the door, crows inside the door or refuses to crow at all, it probably signals death. Better to just get an alarm clock, I think.

Here's my favorite one of all: If a Whippoorwill sings in a graveyard, it is a sign of death... Umm...okay.

Now I am not a superstitious person. The main reason for birds landing on my window sills is probably that there is an unusually high bird population in this neighborhood and a sill is a convenient place upon which to land.

Sparrows should be a good omen. The Bible mentions them specifically, and states that God has His eye on them. It doesn't say He sends them out to be tiny, feathered, grim reapers.

Still, I am glad that I didn't have the kitchen window open on this particular morning, for then I might have had a bird in the house. According to my research, that could still turn out alright, provided that you don't allow the bird to leave the house still alive.

Then you have to wonder, which is worse? Letting a sparrow out alive and tempting the omens? Or killing a sparrow that God has been watching over?

When you really need chutney...

2009-05-29T13:41:00.003-04:00

Over the last two years I have become a vocal fan of shopping online. After a particularly successful foray into internet shopping, I can be heard telling all my friends how they must give up the brick and mortar stores and head for their laptops if they want to find exactly what they are looking for.

This is becoming even more true of grocery and food items when you are looking for anything a little out of the ordinary. Sure, the supermarkets have some sections devoted to ethnic foods, but many times they are just your standard label food manufacturers trying their hand at some exotic item and not really knowing how to get it right.

If you are looking for authentic ethnic foods however, and you like to shop online, then you have to go with an online grocery store like eFoodDepot.com. Finding the right food item online is a lot more convenient than trudging up and down the aisles at your local store, only to find out that no one has ever even heard of the product you want, let alone stocked it.

We have some special tastes in my own family, and finding some items on grocery store shelves is just impossible. Finding authentic curry, chutney and water crackers in a regular store just isn't possible. For some items you might find a bland imitation but they are always disappointing.

EfoodDepot has an amazing array of specialty ethnic food items from countries all over the world, including huge selection of foods from Japan, China, India, Middle Eastern countries, and African Countries.

Usually, one of the major drawbacks about ordering anything online is the shipping cost. But you really can't beat eFoodDepot's flat rate shipping - only $4.99 anywhere in the USA.

For some things, finding a local version is just fine but there are some cravings that can only be satisfied by the real thing. I found a few products that I haven't found elsewhere and I like the fact that eFoodDepot let's you suggest new products.

A 1/4 Milestone

2009-05-29T12:42:00.003-04:00

Today, I took that giant leap of faith. The one I have been avoiding for several months. The one that was so traumatic, I am actually writing about it. Today, I let The Boy walk to school without anyone walking with him, crossing him over the street, or watching him walk to make sure he gets there.

The school is about six houses away, down the street. It's a quiet neighborhood, with many other children being walked to school each day. But, as close as the school is, I can't see it from here. This makes me crazy.

Every child needs to find a new level of independence at each age. Crawling was an act of independence, walking even more so. But what mother doesn't try to cushion the possible side-effects of learning these new skills?

The learning curve seems to be the child's, but in fact, it may be a shared experience. The child learns new skills, gains confidence, and with each independent move sharpens the line of separation. They become persons, individuals in their own rights. The parent learns that to allow that independence, to let those apron strings get erased and of course, the worst lesson - letting go.

There are gains for the parent, to be sure. There is a freeing-up of the time that used to be spent on things like diapering and spoon-feeding. I can have a coffee table without worrying that some child with an unsteady gait will crash head-long into it (The Boy may still do this, but he's a boy). We don't have to buy only melamine plates and plastic cups, we can have real china.

But even with all those gains, I still wonder if I wasn't better off with the 2 month old who couldn't go anywhere without me and would always be right where I put him. It saves a lot of worrying when he doesn't have to cross the street.

That's Entertainment

2009-05-26T22:38:00.002-04:00

Many people think their television entertainment choices are limited to the local cable company. While it's true that you probably only have one choice if you want cable, it's not true that cable is the only choice.

At my last address I canceled the cable and lived without television for a couple of years until I saw an ad for directtv. In no time they came to my house, hooked me up and we had great reception and service the whole time I lived there. It's no wonder that they have a higher rate of customer satisfaction than cable.

If you're less than satisfied with the entertainment value of your cable company, or if you've just decided it's time to try satellite, you probably won't find a better time to check out Direct tv. They have great deals on packages, some of which give you movie channels free for three months.

Television becomes a better entertainment value when you add Direct TV service. Movies and specials on demand, sports, and all the best channels and programs can be found at the touch of a remote. Now that's progress.

Boo Hoo, Boo Boo

2009-05-26T21:55:00.004-04:00

Children, with their bouncy gaits and inattention to safety concerns are just accidents waiting to happen, and they happen frequently. Every mother will apply numerous kisses to heal the inevitable boo-boos during their children's younger years. Well, every mother but me.

The Girl was my first baby. Having read that coffee tables are a top source of injuries to babies learning to walk, I removed the coffee table from the livingroom as soon as she started to crawl. When she was two years old, I put the coffee table back, assuming she had gained some balance and coordination. Within a few days she had managed to topple off the sofa onto the table where she received her first bump on the head. I tossed the coffee table into the trash the very next day. This was her only major accident in her toddlerhood. The Girl was naturally careful and concerned for her own safety and rarely suffered any serious boo-boos needing attention. I am not sure that to this day she has ever truly experienced pain. She has made it her life's ambition to avoid pain at all costs.

The Boy, on the other hand, was born already programmed to self-destruct. He found new and interesting ways to hurt himself, or at least to try to hurt himself - a good portion of the time I was able to thwart his plans. So this should have afforded me ample opportunities to try out my boo-boo kissing and other make-it-all-better techniques. But it was not to be.

The Boy had a different approach to getting hurt. Getting his finger caught in the door jamb didn't make him cry, it made him hide his finger from me so I wouldn't see that he was hurt. He would react angrily to my solicitous questions about his general well-being. I quickly learned that the question "are you alright?" and outstretched arms never resulted in his running to me for comfort. Instead,he would pace about and mutter; returning to me only after the pain had ceased at which time he would relate the somewhat horrifying details of the incident.

In some ways The Girl's caution and The Boy's stoicism saved me from a lot of unnecessary panic over minor cuts and scrapes. But you have to admit, I have missed out on practicing the healing arts of motherhood. Therefore, I am unskilled in this particular area of nurturing. It's one reason I can't risk having any more children, the next one might be normal.

Woodland Dreams

2009-05-26T14:53:00.001-04:00

One of my dreams for the future is to live somewhere in a wooded area, a place where I can hear the whisper of the pine trees in the wind and where nature surrounds. Of course, my dream house is functional but with a simple look and lots of natural wood for that rustic atmosphere. My father was a carpenter, so I have a great love of wood. It's warmer and homier than plastic or other more modern materials. To complete the look, I found this perfect Rustic Furniture available on the web. Made by real craftsmen, it's well-designed and attractive without losing that rough-hewn look. The rustic log bed would be so perfect with a thick homemade quilt, wouldn't it? I feel cozy just thinking about it.

Memorial Day - in remembrance

2009-05-25T08:16:00.004-04:00

Memorial Day is just another holiday to most of us who have never had to say goodbye to a father, son or brother as he was deployed in his nation's service. Those of us who never had a gravesite to visit, or lay flowers upon, have a vague sense of the meaning of the day, but ultimately its importance is that of every three-day weekend. The day means cookouts and family fun, or an extra day to relax or do chores. I confess that, over the years, this attitude has crept in upon me as well. Strangely, I was more aware of the day when I was young.

Every Memorial Day was parade day in my little hometown. My friends and I would walk or ride our bikes downtown to watch the mix of veterans, policemen, firemen, boy and girl scouts and nearly anyone in uniform march to the often painful insistence of the high school marching band. There were baton twirlers and flag bearers, all of whom practiced throughout the school year for this, their shining moment in the sun.

A punctuating moment in each parade was when the members of the Historical Society, dressed in colonial garb, fired a 21-gun salute with their muskets in the town center by the American flag. A fife and drum accompanied their solemn marching, and though they were a rag-tag bunch, the effect was profound.

The final destination for the parade was the Town Hall, where the marchers joined the spectators and one audience was formed as the names of hometown heroes who had fallen was read. The brave men who were lost in battle, and the old men who, having returned from war, used to march in the parade. Men who, just the year before, stood here among us, silently honoring their comrades and brothers, men whose names were now on that same list.

Our hometown parade was a small and amateurish affair, but its purpose shone through as brilliantly as the sun striking the gleam of those brass band instruments. It taught me how to value life and freedom. It taught me how to mourn those I did not know, simply because their lives were worthy and their absence worthy of note.

Gearing up for your Maxpedition

2009-05-22T12:45:00.000-04:00

When I was a kid, there was nothing that could compare to summer. We were always outdoors - exploring and learning even when we didn't know we were learning. Nature has a way of teaching you things, sometimes the hard way. I remember learning that shiny leaf is poison ivy only because I touched it and ended up with an itchy rash later.

My friend and I used to "camp out" quite a lot. Whether it was in some nearby woods or just out in the yard, being out of doors was all we wanted. Of course, it was a little more involved when I was invited by her family on a real camping trip.

If your family enjoys the great outdoors and you want to take a successful camping trip, you need to plan ahead and get the right gear. To enjoy your sojourn in the world of nature to the max, you need Maxpedition Gear. I love that word - maxpedition. When you are young and full of wonder about the world, a maxpedition is just what you are yearning for.

Whether you are an amateur outdoorsman or a seasoned camper, you want the best gear available. That's Maxpedition Gear, the best way to equip for maximum enjoyment.

Of Lilacs and Memories

2009-05-22T12:38:00.002-04:00

Although my childhood is far behind me, although my childhood home has long been passed on to the hands of new owners and although my parents have been gone for several years, now and again I will see or experience something that takes me right back there. I suddenly become the child I was, and the flood of memories overwhelms me.

Yesterday, while looking out of the window, searching for The Boy who was visiting a friend, I just happened to notice a lilac tree peeking out from behind the corner of a house across the street. Suddenly my senses yearned for the delicate scent of lilacs and apple blossoms on a warm, spring breeze.

Immediately upon sighting that lilac tree, I was transported back to my childhood home. All that I was and all that I had came to me and wrapped itself around me like a soft, worn blanket. But these moments bring a second wave of emotion that is without comfort. A moment of longing, nostalgia and loss.

This morning when I opened the window, a familiar fragrance wafted through on the morning air. A faint scent of lilac entered and assured me that all that I was, is all that I am; and though out of reach, my parents and my childhood are not forever lost to me. As long as I exist, they exist still in some way. As long as the lilacs bloom in spring, their lovely perfume will bring me home.

How to Buy Printer Ink without Going into the Red

2009-05-18T10:38:00.005-04:00

My children treat printers like toys. They draw pictures and print them out, they copy pictures from magazines, they type tiny little sentences and print it out 20 times. They are ink hogs. There's usually no ink left for me when I go to print something.

One thing I have noticed about printers for your computer. It's possible to find printers with great features for very reasonable prices. However, after the initial flurry of printing and the ink is gone, the real reason for that low price becomes clear. They intend to make the real money through replacement ink.

I have had printers that cost less than the ink cartridge they use. I was lured once or twice into the cheap re-inking of cartridges at the local drugstore because I needed something printed right away, but these last only about as long as it takes to complete that emergency job and not much longer.

Luckily, there are ways to get quality printer ink cartridges for a lot less than buying them at local retail stores or from the manufacturer's website. This site in particular has every brand name and model printer you can think of so you are sure to find the right one for your printer. The prices are much lower than purchasing them retail, and they are guaranteed to be quality. They sell both remanufactured cartridges and compatible ink cartridges using at least 90% new parts. So much better than the drugstore versions and they will last longer than refilling old cartridges. A new cartridge for just one of my printers cost nearly $40 retail, but I can get a remanufactured cartridge for just $19.99. That's almost a 50% savings.

If you have kids, you know how fast they can work their way through printer ink, leaving you none for important letters and forms. Do yourself a favor and check out the low prices and technical support available at PrinterInkCartridges.net. Save yourself the time and hassle of shopping elsewhere and save money too.

Ice Cream Truck Memories

2009-05-09T15:45:00.001-04:00

One of the nicest things about where we live is that there is a park just down the street. The Girl, who is now a teen, uses the park only as a central point where she and her friends can meet up before setting off on their teen destination. But The Boy has been enjoying the park to its fullest extent.

The first thing that attracted him to the park, and which still remains one of its most important features, is the daily visit by The Ice Cream Truck. It doesn't matter that the ice cream truck also drives right by his house and will stop if he is out there waiting for it. There's something very special about being at the park, money in your pocket and conducting the important business of purchasing a frozen delight all by yourself.

I haven't lived where there was a neighborhood ice cream truck since I was a kid. I remember how all the kids came running out from yards and forts and dropped bicycles in the street when the first to spot the carrier of creamy confections yelled "Ice Cream Truck"!

Of course, in those days the cost of the cheapest frozen product was a lot less than it is today. A quarter would get you something cold and sweet and delicious. Summer days were made that much more special by that brief ingestion of cold on a hot, sunny day.

And although I sometimes catch myself singing "Do Your Ears Hang Low?" for days at a time, and although it's costing me no small amount of pocket change, I am happy that The Boy can experience the simple joy that fills the heart of a child when that white truck with the circus music appears.

A Boy and His Dog

2009-04-15T16:46:00.000-04:00

There is a reason that there are so many stories about "a boy and his dog". Boys and dogs seem to be made for one another. We don't have a dog right now, and I am not sure if we're in the market for one, but I do know that The Boy would find the dog an unending source of amusement and a tireless friend.

I witnessed this special magic between boys and dogs recently when a friend came to visit and brought his dog. Now the thing you have to understand about a small terrier, is that it has the same personality traits as an 8 year old boy. Always energetic, willing to play the same game for hours and always eager for more play, resting only when reaching the point of collapse.

After a few days, when my visitor had departed and taken his dog with him, a subdued, sad-faced boy came tearfully to me with one plea.

"Mom, can we get a dog"?

I am not new to this game, so I know a few things for certain. I know that the promises to always walk the dog will soon be broken. I know that the nutritional needs of the dog will soon be my responsibility alone. I know that when the house starts to smell like dog, I am the one who will have to bathe the dog in fragranced preparations. I will be the one who cleans up all the failed attempts at housetraining.

Yet, it's undeniable. There's just something about a boy and his dog. If the good weather holds out, it's possible that playing ball, riding his bike and climbing the odd tree will fill enough of his time that he will forget about the dog. I hope so, anyway, because if the truth be told, I am weakening.

Parents Connect

2009-04-06T22:43:00.002-04:00

Everything about your world changes when you become pregnant. If it's your first pregnancy, you will be full of questions about your changing body and curiosity about your growing baby. It's a time of concerns, too, always wondering if your particular symptoms are normal.

When will I first feel the baby move? How long does morning sickness last? How much weight gain is healthy? Knowing what to expect and when to expect it can alleviate a lot of first pregnancy fears and help you understand the way your baby is developing.

Whether you're concerned about your pregnancy or what you should name the new addition to your family, Parents Connect is a great resource. Register for Week-by-Week updates on how your baby is growing and changing or connect with other parents to discuss everything from what colors to paint the nursery to opinions on baby names.

Parents Connect is a place for parents to meet and make new friends on the internet while sharing the joys and trials of pregnancy and parenthood. Whether you're expecting your first child or dealing with the temper tantrums of your toddler, you'll find other parents with experience, advice and a friendly ear.

Register today at Parents Connect to connect to other parents just like you.

Color My World

2009-04-06T21:14:00.004-04:00

This video is an absolutely hilarious scene from the film "Mr. Blandings Builds his Dream House". Myrna Loy goes to great lengths to describe to the workmen the exact hues and shades she envisions for each room.

I want it to be a soft green. Not as blue-green as a robin's egg. But not as yellow-green as daffodil buds. Now, the only sample I could get is a little too yellow. But don't let whoever does it get it too blue.

I love the guy's remark to his fellow worker - "You got that, Charlie? Red, green, blue, yellow, white".

Oh, if only it were that simple. I can attest that choosing paint is one of the most difficult tasks you will ever face. No paint chip is ever labeled "blue", for instance. It will be named "Cloudy Morning" or "Icy Stream" or "Montana Sky" but never, ever will the paint manufacturer admit that this color is quite simply, blue. In fact, if you were left with only the names of the colors, you might not be able to determine what color they are meant to be.

After much deliberation, we had decided on Marzipan, but ended up with Dusted Bronze which actually looks quite green. I didn't think Marzipan was supposed to be green and Dusted Bronze is only one shade darker. When bronze turns green, doesn't that mean it's old and dirty? I certainly didn't think we needed any more dust.

Actually, the name Dusted Bronze is a wonderful stroke of luck. The very mention of the possibility of any color even hinting at green was decried by all and sundry. I was not allowed to even think about anything green. But Dusted Bronze is acceptable, it doesn't sound green so no one seems to see green.

So, as long as I don't tell them that the walls are actually a light celery, they like it just fine.

They've Made Your Bed

2009-03-27T15:45:00.003-04:00

Several years ago, I decided I wanted a nice bed. I had never had a real headboard or footboard, just the metal frame that comes with the mattress. I got tired of the pillows falling down behind the bed. So, I searched the internet and although I came across dozens of beautiful beds, to my mind, each posed dangers. The poster beds were so elegant but seemed just right for the children to impale themselves on when jumping on the bed. This one was too square, that one too sharp... my list went on and on. I finally ended up buying a metal bed with rounded corners but it wasn't what I wanted.

If I had only known then what I know now, I would have looked at Leather Beds a lot sooner. They are soft and padded and look great in any decor. Not only won't the children injure themselves on it, I won't either. I admit to being something of a klutz and I have been known to stumble directly onto the sharpest corner of any piece of furniture. A bed really shouldn't leave bruises.

As it happens, I did just get a bed. The one I got looks a lot like one on the Time4Sleep site that I posted the link for. It's the Savoy. But because I didn't go to the right place in the first place, mine is only faux leather (meaning vinyl) and it's going to cost me about twice that much and look only half as nice.

If you are looking for a new bed, I highly recommend a leather upholstered bed. They are so inviting and comfortable and give the room that designer look. But do it right, get a real leather bed for a good price at Time4Sleep.com.

Let's Sleep On It

2009-03-23T10:28:00.002-04:00

According to a television commercial I saw recently, there are 70 million Americans with insomnia. I can neither prove nor disprove this accounting, but since the commercial is for a mattress retailer, I have to assume they know about sleep, or the lack of it, and would have done their research.

This led down twisted paths of thoughts, this number 70 million. Imagine, on any given night, there are 70 million Americans who, instead of slumbering peacefully in their beds, are wandering about dark houses in search of a cure.

That's 70 million more light bulbs burning for illumination, 70 million more refrigerator doors open and 70 million more televisions running. It seems to me that curing sleep disorders might go a long way towards solving the energy crisis.

That's 70 million more sleep-deprived people with impairments to rational thinking who are watching infomercials. It's no wonder that infomercials are nearly the only fare on late-night television. This is their core audience. Keep someone from sleeping for several nights in a row and it's much easier to convince them that spray-painting their bald spots is just as good as a hair transplant or that they actually want onions diced into perfect squares of equal size, while making thousands of Julien fries.

Perhaps if we cured insomnia, these companies would go out of business and we would be spared the convenience of these inventions, spared the sight of one more aging celebrity who can't get any other job than declaring the efficacy of snake venom as a wrinkle reducer.

I gave up staying up late when Johnny Carson was no longer on the Tonight Show and Ted Turner bought all the great old movies that independent stations used to show all night. In the place of worthy reruns are infomercials. This is what 70 million Americans are forced to watch. We can't bring Johnny back, so we have to cure insomnia, folks. It's our only hope.

Boots That Work

2009-03-22T17:06:00.001-04:00

My father spent his early years on a farm. He learned how to work hard and the value of having a sturdy pair of boots when one's duties include taking care of the livestock, plowing the fields and bringing in the harvest.

Whether you work outdoors or in construction or whether you just have a need for sturdy work boots, this site is a great place to get the lowest prices on famous-name boots and other footwear.

My father knew that you had to take care of your feet if you expect them to carry you through a busy day. If you need quality footwear, then try Work Boots USA.com for great prices and free shipping on orders over $50 if you live in the US.

Dance of the Temper Tantrum

2009-03-18T15:04:00.000-04:00

I noticed an article today on how to deal with children's tempers and tantrums. There was all sorts of advice on how to weather the storm, how to patiently give them time to work through their feelings, how to understand their frustrations which are the underlying reason for the need to flail their arms and scream at the top of their lungs.

I have to admit that I never employed any of the approved psychological techniques to coping with a temper tantrum. I figured that if they were going to throw a tantrum, I was going to make sure they did it right. I became their tantrum choreographer.

When one of the children decided to fling themselves on the floor and start to wail, I encouraged them in the only way I knew how. First of all, I would insist they also wave their arms, and in fact, took their hands in mine to show them the correct angle and speed. Sometimes, they would stop crying at this point and start to giggle. I immediately reminded them to cry "wah wah" at this point and added leg movements to the arm movements for maximum flow.

About this time, the kids would be trying to get up, but I told them "No, you were really upset. You need to stay down there a little longer, that's not long enough to express how really upset you were". It didn't take long before they were laughing and begging to get up and they rarely had any idea of what the tantrum was supposed to be about in the first place.

Now, I don't know if I was supposed to find out what the tantrum was about. It's always possible that these unresolved issues will stay in the childrens' psyches well into adulthood and resurface at some later time, like middle age. The important thing to remember, is that whenever these problems resurface to cause problems in the future, it's a good bet that the children won't live at home anymore at the time.

A Room With a View

2009-03-10T15:54:00.001-04:00

My mother taught me the value of blinds and drapes. These are the means by which you shut out the prying eyes of the world. When the lights go on, the blinds close and the drapes are pulled tightly. This is the way to lead a private life.

Privacy was of ultimate importance to my mother. She was always convinced that everyone from the neighbors to complete strangers were in the grips of a powerful desire to see inside our home.

So I find it interesting that I am learning the value of windows that let in light and provide a view, rather than being regarded as huge holes in the walls that must be plugged.

Sunlight becomes an addiction. Suddenly, I am overcome with a desire to look out of the window and to let the outside in. But there are dangers to this behavior.

There's not a lot of automobile traffic on my street, but there is an abundance of foot traffic. People walking to the train station, walking back from town, people walking dogs and dogs walking people, the sidewalks are never empty for long. It becomes difficult to stare at the monitor screen in front of my face when brightly-clad pedestrians keep appearing in my peripheral vision.

Another threat to my limited attention span are the squirrels. Two rather scrawny and bedraggled squirrels scamper and frolic in and on the tree directly in front of my window on a daily basis. Squirrels are not exotic animals and hardly rare. I have seen thousands of squirrels in my lifetime and never felt the least interest in watching their social activities. Yet, there's something fascinating about these rascally rodents.

Okay, this is the real reason that I am now enjoying the view from my recently unveiled windows: the view is distracting. I can stare out the window and still appear to be doing something useful on my computer. I seem to be entirely focused on the screen ahead of me when in fact my eyes are trained just beyond it and on the interesting man rushing down the street with something blue wrapped up in his coat.

Candy and other sweet memories

2009-02-23T15:56:00.001-05:00

There are certain childhood memories that stay with us for life. Maybe some of the most potent are sensory memories - the enticing aroma of your mother's cooking, the sweet taste of your favorite Candy. Remember the sweet, creamy goodness of a piece of chocolate, melting in your mouth? We may not have been connoisseurs, but we knew good when we tasted it.

When you're a kid, even a piece of Gum is a taste delight. I remember those special days when my mom would give me some change and we would walk downtown to buy an assortment of candy.

Well, I am all grown now and I still have my favorites, although candy isn't a staple of my diet these days. In some ways that makes it even more special. Is it any wonder that candy is one of the top gifts people give for Valentine's? No matter what your age, you still feel a smile creeping over your face when you tuck into some soft and chewy gummy bears from Haribo. It's a universal guilty pleasure.

So when you come upon an occasion - birthday, anniversary - anytime you want to give something special, consider the gift of candy. It's like giving someone a little piece of childhood.

What I Did on My Vacation

2009-02-23T11:07:00.005-05:00

The long school vacation has ended and strangely, I have mixed feelings about the return of Monday mornings.

At the beginning of a full week's vacation from school, the children count up all the free days ahead, lost in dreamy contemplation of nine consecutive days of sleeping in. At the beginning of a full week's vacation from school, I try to think of interesting and fun things we can do to break up the monotony, and to make the week memorable. OF course, I intend to include educational experiences that will open their minds to new academic frontiers.

Needless to say, we don't often actually do any of those things. When it comes right down to it, inactivity is what they are looking forward to. Truthfully, it's what I am looking forward to as well. Slothful is an ugly word, but let's be honest.

School vacation means nine consecutive mornings where I don't have to set three separate alarms set to make sure I get the kids up on time. Nine mornings where I don't have to trick a groggy Boy into the bathroom and then shove him under a shower while he proclaims that he's clean enough already. Nine mornings without the Girl's questionable taste in music being loudly shared from the bathroom as she straightens her hair. Nine mornings where I don't have to worry about tardiness, imagined illnesses that would prevent their going to school or explaining to The Boy that it IS important that his socks match. No hurried search for the shoes that mysteriously walked away during the night and hid themselves under the couch. No shouting "it's February" to The Girl as she attempts to leave the house without the unfashionably warm winter jacket.

Of course, it goes without saying that it's also nine consecutive days of siblings bickering, televisions blaring, loud music, loud voices, increased clutter and a heavy cash outlay for snacks and pizza.

But come Monday morning, when that first alarm sounds its warning bell, the trade-off seems so worth it.

Home Security

2009-02-19T15:53:00.002-05:00

I was raised in a relatively small town for this area, one that definitely wasn't known for crime. A typical entry in the local police log section in the newspaper would say something like "man questioned trying to enter a basement window turned out to be the homeowner who had left his keys locked inside".

So when I first moved to a larger city close by, I wasn't really prepared for what might happen. I had been told that they had security guards who patrolled the parking lot at night, but I guess that wasn't much of a deterrent, because I had parts of my car stolen over a succession of nights.

Too late, I installed an alarm system in my car, but the theft had already occurred. I wished I had been able to catch the thieves at it. At that time, something like one of these cameras from Security Cameras Direct hadn't even occurred to me. But it's a far easier solution than sitting up nights, watching the car from the window.

No matter where you live, security is harder to come by these days, and anything you can do to make your home, your car and your family safer is worth looking into. Security cameras are used in stores to prevent theft, but they are also a good idea for anyone who wants to safeguard themselves and their possessions.

How Reality Works

2009-02-19T15:05:00.002-05:00

The Girl called me today with an astounding announcement.

"Mom, I need to get a job."

She then launched into a list of reasons why she needed one and where she could get one and valiantly defended her position against any objections. There was only one problem.

I hadn't made any objections. How could I? The Girl wants to work! It's like a dream come true. I honestly thought this day would never come, the day when she did work on purpose. I think hard work is exactly what she needs, but that's why I don't hold out hope that she'll like it.

Of course, there are details to work out before she gets permission to get a job. She will have to keep good grades, which means doing homework on time and not a week late. She will have to save some portion of it. She will have to learn that money can only be spent once. And the real shock will be when she gets that first check, after having mentally spent the money a thousand ways, only to find out that the government has already taken its legal big bite of her hard-earned wages. Reality can be like an ice cold slap in the face.

Comforting Your Feet

2009-02-17T11:09:00.001-05:00

There are three things to know about tile floors in the winter: they are cold, they are hard, and they are cold. Okay that's only two things, but cold needed to be emphasized. My problem is I hate regular slippers and I haven't got any nice, soft moccasins or casual shoes that will be comfy, warm and still easy on the feet for wearing about the house on a daily basis. So I set out upon a search for the perfect shoe.

There's quite a nice selection of all sorts of Women's Shoes at this site. I found everything from Sperry Top-Siders to Birkenstocks in one place. Of course, when I buy my yacht, I am going to need some Sperry Top-Siders, that goes without saying. But for now, I just want something soft and warm, like the suede booties from Foamtreads. Comfort and warmth, just the right thing for cold winter floors. They are also in the value priced section, which makes my budget happy.

Winter is time that everyone seems to need new shoes. The kids need extra shoes and boots. I spent some time perusing the vast array of Kids Shoes. I can safely pick out shoes and boots for The Boy, but when it comes to the teen Girl, it's best to let her shop for herself.

You can also find a great seletion of Men's Shoes. If he doesn't want to shop for himself, you can do it for him. Once he gets his feet inside a pair of sturdy, yet comfortable shoes or boots, he'll thank you for it. And if he's got to wear dress shoes, you can shop on the same site for some classy Bostonians that will impress the boss and pretty much everyone he meets.

I really liked the selection and the wide array of brands to choose from. If you're shopping for quality shoes that your feet will love, you should have a look.

Fire The Tooth Fairy!

2009-02-16T23:36:00.003-05:00

The problem with those mystical, mythical figures of childhood is that their reliability depends so much on the ability of parents to remember that a visit from them is due.

Although Santa was very meticulous this year in fulfilling all of The Boy's requests, I cannot speak very highly of the performance of the Tooth Fairy.

The Boy informed me one evening that he had a loose tooth. He was rather anxious to dispense with this wiggling remnant of babyhood but despite his best efforts to wrest it free, the tooth stubbornly hung on. He went to sleep with visions of monetary gain slipping from his grasp.

Much to his delight, the tooth picked its moment the next day and neatly fell out into his hand. He quickly transferred the tiny bit of enamel to a zip-loc baggie for safekeeping and to keep it safe under the pillow. Sleep came bringing dreams of piles of cash, but the morning brought only disappointment. The Tooth Fairy had not been to collect her prize.

Well, it was the weekend, I explained, perhaps she takes the weekends off. This seemed reasonable to him, after all, he takes weekends off from school.

Two nights went by and still the Tooth Fairy had not arrived. By this time The Boy had become rather suspicious and weighing several alternate stories as to why the Tooth Fairy was so unreliable, decided that he had probably stayed up too late over the weekend, rather than that she had been out partying and forgot him. So he determined to go to bed early and give the Tooth Fairy a wider envelope of time in which to do her work.

This apparently did the trick, because the Tooth Fairy did indeed show up and manage to deposit a nice sum in exchange for the tooth. He was very happy and proud of himself for having determined the cause of her seeming dereliction of duty.

However, there was still one oversight. The baggie containing the tooth had never made it under the pillow and the forgetful Tooth Fairy had gone off without it. I had also forgotten to go find it and hide it, but I wasn't sure The Boy had noticed that it was still there, until The Boy appeared and asked this question:

"Mom, if the Tooth Fairy left me money but forgot to take my tooth and I put it back under my pillow, would she come and leave money again"?

"She didn't take the tooth?" I exclaimed in mock horror. "That Tooth Fairy ought to be fired and a replacement hired. First she forgets to come for two nights running and then she forgets to take your tooth?"

"I didn't say she didn't take it", The Boy quickly backtracked. "I was asking hypothetically, IF she didn't take it".

Hypothetically. While my mother's heart swelled with pride over each and every syllable of this new vocabulary word, used with such comprehension, one thing became clear. This kid is just what these mystical mythical characters need to keep them in line.

My Bathroom Vanity

2009-02-12T18:48:00.002-05:00

For the first time in my life, I have two bathrooms. With two kids, this seems like an essential amenity, so I can't understand how my mother survived living in a small house with one bathroom and five kids.

But the bathroom could use some spicing up. I remember when my father made my mother a new vanity for her bathroom and how it transformed the whole room. The key is to find the right place to find quality and stylish bathroom vanities. If I had the space, I would love a vanity with two sinks and twin mirrors. Check out the link for some examples, they're gorgeous

Truthfully, this is an older house and although I love the roominess, I know that I am going to need some new things to make it seem warm and homey. Currently, I am shopping for a new bed, and have found some gorgeous bedroom furniture here. I am torn between something modern and sleek, or a more traditional, classic sleigh bed. There's something about wood that always draws me, no matter how elegant more modern styles are.

I definitely love shopping online, and although there are lots of choices, whether you are looking for bathroom vanity sets or any other type of furniture for your home, finding the right place to shop is key.

Chacun A Son Gout

2009-02-11T07:00:00.000-05:00

One of my favorite phrases is the French "chacun à son goût" or basically, "each to his own taste". However, the good old American "there's no accounting for taste" better fits my current decor.

Each and every room is wallpapered except the bathrooms and the kitchen. I have nothing against any of these wallpapers, most are of excellent quality and the designs are tasteful and quiet. Very quiet. Inaudible. That's really the problem. They are all variations on a theme of white background with nearly invisible shades of blush, pink or more white with a hint of silver. Any and all of them would be lovely in a little girl's bedroom, or Barbie's bedroom. The wallpaper that graces the front hallway and stairway looks like Barbie's bridal shower wrapping paper.

All this quiet elegance has a sameness and understatement that is coma-inducing. These great walls leading to impossibly high ceilings are covered in bridal gift wrap.

So, when The Girl decided her room should be painted a garishly bright pink and the doors should have zebra striping, I agreed much more readily than I might normally. And I am glad I did.

The Girl's room is like an ice-cold energy drink after an exhausting workout. It's like jumping into the cold Atlantic on a hot summer day. It's refreshingly not shades of white and silver.

There's color. Lots of it. Teen girl color, admittedly, but color.

I now look forward with heightened anticipation to all the new coats of paint of whatever color that we manage to slap on any walls in whatever part of the house. My eyes, which were slipping into a state of ennui, will be grateful for the stimulation.

And as for the garish pink, well, chacun à son goût, I always say.

Save the Pilot Cracker!

2009-02-07T12:54:00.001-05:00

There are some New England traditions that carry on from generation to generation. In the case of one tradition, I didn't even realize its importance until I researched the reason for its disappearance.

One thing that my mother always stocked in her cupboards was Pilot Crackers. These were plain but hearty crackers in a rectangular shape. Nearly as large as a piece of bread but not so wide. Although they were widely used in chowder, my mother often ate them with butter and jam with her tea. As kids, we often used them as a substitute for bread in making a sandwich and they are the perfect complement for some cheeses.

Back in 1995, the manufacturer of these crackers decided to stop making them. To our delight, there was a hue and cry went up from the many lovers of the crackers that we considered a staple. Nabisco, who made the crackers, relented and put them back on the shelves. Why don't companies ever do market research surveys before making these decisions?

Sadly, I bought my last box of Pilot Crackers some time last year. Yes, the company has again downsized their product line and decided to take them off the market. I hope that fans of this favorite are able to convince them to change their minds once again. I know there is still a large contingent of New Englanders for whom chowder is not chowder without a Pilot Cracker. And you know how seriously we take our chowder...

Baked Bean Philosophy

2009-02-07T10:01:00.002-05:00

You don't realize it until you are grown and on your own with the full responsibility of cooking for yourself, or maybe until you are in a strange place with unfamiliar cuisine, but there's something you yearn for and cannot obtain. The further we get from our home and childhood, the stronger this need becomes. We want what Mom used to make. Mom's food was more than good, more than tasty. There's a comfort, a warmth and a feeling of strong bonds and love in a mother's cooking.

I experienced this not long after my mother passed away, when my father was ill and it seemed sure the house would be sold. My childhood was being disassembled. Suddenly, I wanted my mother's baked beans. I set about finding out her recipe and buying the ingredients and although they were not as good as hers, I felt slightly more at ease. Something about my mother still existed, some part of my childhood could stay with me, in some small way all those memories could live.

I made Baked Beans several times over the course of a year, but haven't made them since. They are not a favorite of my family, and so this memory must remain all mine. Still, I know that I can revisit Saturday night Franks and Beans anytime I like, and as long as I know that, my mom and my childhood will never die within me.

Finding Unique Baby Gifts

2009-02-06T18:07:00.002-05:00

Little girls seem to be wired for fashion-consciousness from the time they are old enough to check their look in the mirror. I know my daughter was, and still is. I used to think I knew what was hip and cool, at least in Baby Clothing, but she keeps informing me that I am woefully behind the times. But, I do know one thing, if she had had his little dress in her closet when she was a baby, her assessment of my fashion sense would go way up.

Nowadays, when it's time for the baby shower for a sister, niece or dear friend, I find I am more conscious of style and in finding a Unique Baby Gift. Sure, it's always helpful to the new mom to get lots of the standard gifts - blankets, towels, diapers - but when you want to really give a special gift, you need a little something more.

Trust me, the expectant mother will be inundated with bottle liners and diaper stackers. She will probably receive a lot of baby book's and helpful advice. But the gift that will stand out will be from the guest who found the most stylish and Unique Baby Clothes for the new arrival. She may be little, but still, Baby's got to go in style!

Snow, Snow, Snow

2009-02-06T16:00:00.001-05:00

The winter started off magically, with a lovely, fresh, layer of snow just in time for Christmas. Having a white Christmas seems to make it all that much more special.

It snowed again the next week, several inches of fluffy flakes that sparkled in the sunshine and twinkled in the moonlight.

It snowed again the week after that, enough snow this time to make travel difficult and close the schools. The children were ecstatic. The driveway was full of ruts and ice. The car got stuck. The motor club was called to tow it out as it would neither go forward nor backward, but sat stubbornly wedged between snowbanks with its tail end halfway into the street.

It snowed every day the week after that, and then it snowed as soon as that was cleared off the street.

Admittedly, we have wonderful and picturesque views of the winter wonderland that surrounds us, but a few storms ago the snow stopped being quite so picturesque.

I think I could handle it if we had already gotten our quota of magic for this season.

My Filing System

2009-02-03T18:20:00.000-05:00

Everyone has their own filing system for important documents and tax forms and bills that are due. My system has always been to stuff anything important into my handbag so it will be, well, handy.

As you can imagine, this system only works until the handbag is full to the brim and the zippers won't zip and the snaps won't snap. When that happens, it's time to buy a new handbag. The essential things like my wallet, makeup, checkbook and keys are transferred into my new purse, and the rest is left in the bag which is then stored in the closet as a permanent part of my filing system.

The only way I can think to break myself of this habit, is to buy two essential items: a filing cabinet and a handbag that is too beautiful to stuff full of envelopes and assorted receipts. I haven't found the filing cabinet yet, but I have a lead on the handbag.

My first choice is an authentic Italian style bag, one with that trendy and stylish crocodile look. Like this one:

You have to admit that this bag is too beautiful to become a filing cabinet.

On the other hand, it used to look like this:

Maybe I should just buckle down and become organized. Maybe I should go through the closet and see why I really don't need a new handbag. Maybe.

Or maybe, I should just get a new bag and keep the junk in the old bags already in the closet.

I think that last option is a go.

Giving the Gift They Want

2009-01-12T13:41:00.002-05:00

Have you caught your breath yet now that Christmas is over? The rush of the hectic shopping season means that we all probably forget at least one important person on our list, or couldn't find the right gift. If you were smart, you gave at least some of the people on your list a gift card.

You might think of that as an impersonal gift, but it doesn't have to be viewed that way. With the wide array of available gift cards from a variety of specialty stores, you can hone in on the interests of the recipient and then let them choose the gift that they really want.

Best of all, they can get even more by waiting and shopping after Christmas to take advantage of the January sales. Your gift goes a lot further and you haven't wasted money on a gift that had to be returned. Did you know that 40% of Americans return at least one Christmas gift?

And for anyone who still deserves a special remembrance this season, whether it's the babysitter or Aunt Rose, it's not too late to give gift cards. They will still be in time for the recipient to get great deals and after-season markdowns and you will have the satisfaction of knowing your gift is well-received. Gift cards are also a great choice for birthdays, graduations and nearly any other celebration you can think of as well as saving you time and hassle.

Stirring Memory and Desire

2009-01-12T12:00:00.000-05:00

Years ago there was a television series called "The Wonder Years". It chronicled the life experiences of a middle-school age boy whose main goal was to win the heart of his first love. The show was often charming, but after a time it wore on my nerves, mainly because there was nearly constant voice-over narrative that was highly detailed. The truth is, no one could remember that much about each individual day of his life. If we could, it would probably drive us crazy.

Memory is a strange thing. I don't have such moment to moment memories as the kid in The Wonder Years, but what memories I do have, I like to believe are my own. Yet recently, I have twice been present to hear stories of my life told by other family members as if these events happened to them. In each case, I am sure these are my memories and not theirs, so when did they appropriate them?

I have heard it said that if one hears a story enough times, they may incorporate it so that after a while, it seems like a memory rather than just a story of their childhood told to them by others. Perhaps this is what has happened. Or perhaps there were only so many stories to go around and my mother told us all the same ones, so that we all think these things happened to us.

I didn't bother to stop the stories or question the storytellers about these memories. I simply sat in a confused state and pondered. Would I upset some delicate balance in their lives by challenging what they believe was an event that shaped their futures?

This blog is often filled with memories, it is its very purpose. To consider that I may have only imagined some life-changing occurrence might cause the very foundation of my life to crumble. So I will continue to believe that my memory is intact and accurate and feel compassion for the other members of my family who are clearly starting to grow old and forgetful.

Salute to the T-Shirt

2009-01-08T19:14:00.002-05:00

Okay, it's been a long time since I was a teenager, but still... I don't remember that being 14 as being so fraught with drama. The Girl, however, finds drama in nearly every situation of daily life.

Christmas has passed, and only now do I realize that I completely missed on the perfect Christmas present for her.

Not only does it perfectly describe her teen personality, she would definitely wear it as all teens love those really cool t shirts.

Now, I am not completely out of the loop. I remember being young and shopping those specialty stores for those fresh t shirts with popular logos or captions that said it all. T-shirts are a staple of any wardrobe and have been since the sixties. T shirts are a part of the culture, a way of expressing individuality and proclaiming everything from political beliefs to personal philosophies.

There are funny t shirts, thought-provoking t shirts, even green t-shirts for the environmentally conscious. T shirts can be worn to amuse, show support or persuade others to consider a fresh viewpoint. In so many ways and for so many reasons, t-shirts are the most popular form of self-expression found in America today.

So, let's salute the purest form of American fashion - the t-shirt.

A Cluttered Lesson

2009-01-08T18:22:00.002-05:00

I read a story today about a man who died of dehydration in his own home. Seems he kept ten years of garbage inside his house, stacked ten feet to the ceiling and had an elaborate system of tunnels going through the stacks but had become disoriented and lost.

My mother was a packrat. She not only kept old things for years, she even bought new things, wrapped them in plastic and kept them without using them for years. Although she put off having gall bladder surgery for nearly 30 years, she still purchased silk pajamas and exquisite, quilted bedjackets "for when I go to the hospital". In the end, she had laparoscopy which entailed only one night's stay rather than the extended stay that the old-fashioned procedure required. When she passed on, there were still elegant nightwear items, pressed and neatly folded in plastic bags tucked into her bureau.

I confess to having my own pack rat tendencies, especially when it comes to clothing. I realize that this may be just one trait of my mother's that I share, although I can't say if it's heredity or learned behavior. Like my mother, I usually fill twice as many closets and drawers with clothing than the rest of the family put together. But it's not just clothing, I keep knick knacks, books, unopened mail, and stacks of useless items - some of which I don't even like.

However, the story of the man who expired in his home because he couldn't navigate his way through the ten years of garbage and clutter he had collected, has decided me. I don't want to become the crazy old lady who lives amongst garbage bags who is found several weeks after her death only because neighbors noticed a strange smell. There would be the inevitable interviews with policemen who would describe a scene of horror and filth. I might even show up on the Drudge Report or one of those Offbeat News sites.

I am embarking on my new life, striving to free myself of years of useless items, unattractive knick-knacks, yard sale bargains that sit unused in closets and clothes I not only never wear, but have never worn. It's a weeding-out process, and not everything goes with the first review. I mean, I might need some of this stuff... one day...

Sharing Photos Just Got Easier

2008-12-31T20:59:00.001-05:00

I have just gotten my first camera phone and I love having the ability to take photos on the spot. Of course, then I have to send the photo to my email so I can then download it to my computer and only then can I send it to others or post it on the web. What a hassle!

CEIVA has a better idea. I know you've seen digital photo frames before, but you've never seen one that can do what the CEIVA Digital Photo Frame can do. This remarkable digital frame lets you send photos directly to it, from your digital camera or your camera phone. Just hook it up to the phone line and easily send photos from your camera phone right to the CEIVA frame for viewing.

Imagine what a great gift this makes for grandparents. They can receive and view new photos of the grandkids daily, or anytime there's an adorable moment that begs to be shared.

The CEIVA also takes a memory card, so you can instantly load pictures from your digital camera. In addition, with your Picture Plan you get unlimited photo storage on the web. All you need is a phone line or wi-fi connection to send photos to the CEIVA frame. No computer required, so this frame is great for friends and relatives who aren't computer savvy.

Keep in touch with photos and share the moments of your life with family and friends using the CEIVA Digital Photo Frame.

Christmas Miracles

2008-12-31T19:42:00.002-05:00

The Boy, having turned 9 about a month before Christmas, is probably on his last year of belief in Santa. In fact, it is surprising to me that he still believes, given that his teen sister taunts him often with cries of "there is no Santa Claus". But The Boy holds fast to the magical wonders of Christmas and probably with good reason - Santa is very attentive.

When the various aunts and uncles called to ask me what The Boy wanted for Christmas, I was at a loss. I had asked him myself, only to be told "Don't worry Mom, you don't have to buy me anything. Santa will bring me everything I need". Very sweet, but also very unhelpful.

Two days before Christmas, The Boy decided to write his list for Santa. Luckily for me, I hadn't done the shopping yet and neither had a couple of the relatives.
The list soon appeared, a full page in length. But what was on it was a moving surprise.

He had written only two items for himself. The rest of the letter was a listing of what he wanted Santa to bring the other members of his family.

Of course, now I had the task of fulfilling his gift list for all the people listed. The only one missing was his sister. He felt that Santa would not bring her anything, since she told such untruths about him.

So his step-dad got a shiny new coffee cup, his Uncle got a shinier gold edition comic book, and The Boy got his Lego sets. He even got a set of Legos with cars in it, something he didn't add to the list until after the shopping was done. It was another Christmas miracle.

Of all Christmases, past, present and future, this is one I will remember. I didn't try to make it magical, we were late with everything from the tree to the shopping, coming in just under the wire on Christmas Eve. There weren't nearly as many presents under the tree as in past years. Still it was a Christmas made wonderfully special by the kindness in a little boy's heart and the joy of watching his wishes come true.

Well, all his wishes except the present he asked Santa to bring me... a maid. I did explain that Santa can't deliver people and the hairbrush set was very nice.

And when he asked why Santa brought his sister gifts even though she doesn't believe in him, I explained that Santa is very forgiving and wants everyone to be happy, even if they are teenagers.

Beaded Gifts for Everyone on your list

2008-12-23T15:39:00.000-05:00

For many years, I worked in an office that used key-cards to open office doors. Security these days means that many companies use such a system. Keeping these cards in your purse works well until you just pop out to the restroom or for a cup of coffee and realize you can't get back in. That's why I always devised a way to wear my card around my neck.

Here's a nifty and stylish idea for anyone who has to use a security card or a name tag. These are Beaded Lanyards availabe at Moonbabies.com. These lanyards would make a great gift for co-workers, too. I really like the fact that something so practical can be made to be so fashionable too.

For those who need just a little extra magnification for fine print but don't wear glasses full time, check out these handy Eyeglass Holders. Again, they're stylish and elegant as well as practical. What more could you want?

And if those items don't cover everyone on your office gift list, you should take a look at these adorable Beaded Bracelets. For unique jewelry that will please any woman or teen on your list, this is a great site to check out.

A Real Christmas Post

2008-12-23T15:25:00.000-05:00

I admit it. I have become lazy over the past few years. I admit that I have, for perhaps the last ten years, gone over to the dark side and put up an artificial Christmas tree.

I know what you will say. How could I rob my children of the heart of the Christmas home? How could I deny them the excitement of going from lot to lot in pursuit of the perfect tree? How could I deny them the aroma of pine needles and the feel of sap sticking to their fingertips?

I admit it, I did it to save myself. I don't know when exactly I became a fan of the boxed tree, but after my first year with a very unconvincing replica of a Scotch Pine, I was hooked.

I remember when I was a kid, being so anxious to get a tree and put it up. My parents wouldn't allow it more than a week before Christmas, or two at most. But I yearned for more time to admire the wonder of the tree, more evenings spent hypnotized by the flashing lights and the sparkling globes.

With the tree-in-a-box, my kids never had to wait. I could put the tree up the day after Thanksgiving, and even better, I didn't have to take it down until March if I didn't want to. No chance of it drying out, no sharp needles to prick my arms, no worrying about making sure I had it by the curb on the right day for tree pick up. When I wanted the tree, it was at the ready. When I didn't want it anymore, it could be easily relegated to its box to wait in the darkness of storage until the season returned.

They never waited, and they never seemed to be as fascinated with the tree as I remember being as a child. Perhaps it is because it is so easily obtained, set up and discarded that they do no sit for hours just admiring it. In fact, they almost never want the lights turned on. I realized after a few years that I had, in fact, never given them a tree that inspired or amazed. It came from a box, just like everything else does.

This year we have a real tree. It's not up even yet, we only brought it indoors last night. It may not get decorated until Christmas Eve. The children will be impatient while we cut it to fit the stand and take special care to be sure it is in straight and secure. It will probably be dry in a week and have to be taken down again. I will probably be vacuuming up pine needles until Spring.

That's the true Christmas tree experience and every kid should have it at least once. When they are grown and living in college dorms or tiny apartments, they may decide to get table-sized fiber optic pine-impersonators that play carols as they rotate.

But this year, there will be a tree.

Timely Gifts for Christmas

2008-12-22T09:49:00.002-05:00

My mother was a great collector of beautiful watches. She enjoyed jewelry and had a particular fondness for elegant and stylish watches. Many of these watches were gifts from my father, gifts she ordered for herself but let him pay for.

A watch makes a perfect gift for anyone on your Christmas list. We are all governed by time, when it comes down to it. There isn't anyone who doesn't need a watch, and a watch that adds flair and style is especially appreciated.

I found a stunning collection of famous name watches at The Watchery.com. If you're looking for those perfect gifts for anyone on your list, check out The Watchery's holiday gift guide. A watch is a gift that can be both beautiful and practical, and one you know they will be able to use. A watch is a great gift for either a man or a woman, a student or a teen.

A quality watch is more than something that just tells time. It's functionality is only part of its beauty. Watches have personality and are expressions of personal style and taste. This blue Ebel Voyager is a great choice for the man-on-the-go, with it's global themed face and elegant styling.

Holiday sales are in effect and the purchase of selected watches qualify you for a second watch free. When you are discussing luxury watches, that's a deal you won't get just anywhere.

Remember everyone on your list with a gift that will stand the test of time.

Fingering Memories

2008-12-02T20:50:00.000-05:00

I spent part of the day going through the drawers in The Boy's dresser. One of those clean-outs that are necessary more often than they are performed. The hard part is actually making the decision to get rid of too-small clothes. It's strange how items of clothing make memories.

I found a couple of Spiderman shirts. These are several sizes too small, but they survived previous clean-outs by virtue of having Spidey on them. The Boy has turned 9 now, and he is much too mature for superhero T-shirts.
But these hold memories of another time, a whole other childhood. A childhood that had a little more wonder, when he was a little boy, and not a "kid".

It's hard to put the memories aside, harder still to let go of them as they grow.

I did fairly well, considering. I managed to turn up a lost video game and one of my books that I haven't seen in enough years that it's worth reading again.

I also managed to weed out the ill-fitting clothes and made room for the ones he actually wears. It was a brief, shining moment of useful behavior. I hope I can avoid doing it again for a long time.

Playstation Addiction - Why Not?

2008-11-20T12:30:00.004-05:00

Two items in the news recently have caught my eye, both about the addictive qualities of video games. There was the one young fellow who collapsed and went into convulsions after playing a 24-hour World of Warcraft marathon, and more recently, an unresponsive boy of 13 was rushed to the hospital by his worried father. After some examination of the boy, doctors told the father that his son had “Playstation Addiction”.

Yet just a few moments ago, I was informed by The Boy that the Playstation was boring, because there were no video games to play. Of course, this statement can be likened to the oft-heard cry of children, who standing in front of a refrigerator packed to overflowing, moan that “there's no food in this house”. What it really means is “there's nothing here that I want”. Nothing new, nothing exciting, nothing expensive, nothing to play, nothing to eat...

I suppose I should be pleased that The Boy is not suffering Playstation Addiction. However, it is clear that he would like to, if only we would supply him a new game that is sufficiently entrancing. The good news of course, is that there isn't one. He's a boy of 8, and his attention span is about as long as his pinky finger. New is good, new is exciting. He's anxious to conquer a game, and enjoys the rush and fame of having scored well, but he's also easily discouraged by a game that is too complicated or difficult.

I should be pleased when he does get hooked on a game that costs good money, and when he plays it long enough to justify its purchase price. But the lack of days spent running pell mell outdoors and practicing trick riding on his scooter is starting to show in a certain hint of pudginess.

I should be pleased that he's not hooked on video games to the point of seizures and collapse, but there might be a certain peacefulness about a boy playing a game intensely enough that he doesn't want a peanut butter sandwich or have time to make out his birthday party list or plan the number of new toys that Santa ought to bring with him that the contents of my wallet cannot cover.

I think that video games are like every other activity and pleasure, from entertainment to eating to exercise. All can be taken to extremes, which can turn out to be a very dangerous situation. But often, in moderation, all these activities can yield benefits. If the children slept with the game controllers in hand (I swear, The Boy did that only once) or refused to eat or go to school, refused the company of friends or the lure of Disney television, then I would worry a lot more than I do.

I really wouldn't mind though, if he got addicted for an hour or two once a day so I could get a nap.

To Tuck or Not To Tuck

2008-11-08T11:52:00.002-05:00

When Angelina Jolie showed up in public looking svelte, trim and back in her beautiful shape just three months after giving birth to twins, the rumors flew.
It was widely reported that she had undergone a tummy tuck or a "mummy tuck", she was said to have called it.

The rumors, of course, are just that. Rumors of plastic surgery abound whenever a celebrity emerges from pregnancy looking fit and firm. I suppose it's a certain jealousy, a feeling of inadequacy. Women can find lots of reasons to beat themselves up, even about things beyond their control.

The truth is that some women will easily regain their figures after childbirth, but others, whose genetics gave them less elastic skin than others might need a little help. Women who have undergone C-sections often find more flaccidity in the muscles of the abdomen and no matter how many crunches they do, the area will never tighten to its former flat and fit look.

It doesn't matter to me if Angelina Jolie had a tummy tuck or is just genetically superior to most women. In her career, she has to look good. There's no reason for any woman to have to feel guilty about wanting to look her best, and if surgery is right for her, then she should have it. The reasons for the surgery and the right attitude should guide every woman in whether she wants to undergo a tummy tuck or any other type of reconstructive surgery. I wish that women supported one another more in the areas of life that are common to us all.

The Joy of Yard Sales

2008-11-06T10:48:00.003-05:00

My mother shared many things with me as I was growing up, and amongst them was her love of yard sales. Shopping was a vocation for her, a natural talent. I don't think she could have prevented instinct from turning the car in at every sign that proclaimed a yard sale event.

Yard sales fit perfectly with my mother's idea of interior decorating, the first rule of which seemed to be to cram as many items of furniture and objet d'arts into every available space as was logistically possible. But more than that, yard sales provided the excitement of discovery, the thrill of negotiation and the satisfaction of acquisition.

Those pieces of milk glass, the tiled wall plaques fashioned by some avid craftsman, and even the blue vase that I filled each spring with apple blossoms, all became part of our family's home – none more so than a kitchen table with a bench that she snapped up when I a teen. The bench was covered in a vinyl material in what once may have been a colonial pattern but was now faded, tattered and worn. Together we bought several yards of vinyl in a sunny orange and yellow pattern and reupholstered the bench ourselves. Over the years the bench and chairs broke and were discarded but the table continued to stand in our kitchen. When a niece set up housekeeping on her own, the table was ceded to her. When she replaced it with a new and modern dinette set, the table came to me. When I moved, I gave the table to another family member and so it continued to serve for many years. That yard sale table had become as much a family heirloom as any antique passed down for generations. It became more - it became a memory of days spent with my mother, poring over the discarded items of another family, looking for treasure.

My mother's love of yard sales taught me many things. I learned to look for the value in something that didn't arrive new in the box, to look beyond the worn exterior to find the shine from within. I learned the excitement of the hunt and the pleasure of the find. With a few dollars in our pockets, we were on an exciting adventure, an expedition that would uncover hidden treasures - furniture, books, toys - whose former owners had outgrown their delights.

That is the essence of a yard sale. It holds not just dusty junk brought out of the attic into the bright sunlight once again, it holds memories and stories, that having once been stored away, come out to live anew. Each item will be forever part of those who loved it or who loved a child that played with it. A table that has seen a thousand meals and heard the conversations of a thousand family dinners can also be that which carries the memories of days spent in joyful pursuit of the perfect purchase and a loving memory of one who understood the joy of life.

Halloween Makeup Safety Tips

2008-10-31T08:28:00.001-04:00

Tonight is Halloween and everyone from kids to adults will be donning costumes, masks and makeup to achieve their most ghoulish appearance for the event. For kids, face makeup is much safer than wearing masks. A mask can obscure peripheral vision and make it more difficult to see cars and other dangers. But is your face make-up safe?

Fortunately, the answer is usually yes. Color additives in make-up are regulated by the FDA. Some make-up can cause eye irritation, so if the directions say not to use on or near the eyes, believe them.

Here are some Halloween make-up safety tips:

* Be sure to follow the directions on the product.
* Don't use things not intended for your skin to decorate your face.
* If the label on face paint or other makeup may says that it is not for use near the eyes, do not apply near the eyes. Be careful to keep makeup from getting into your eyes.
* Some products can irritate your skin if you use too much. Apply only the amount needed.
* If you have sensitive skin or allergic reactions to certain types of products, check the ingredient label carefully and do a test on another part of your body, like your arm, to check for reactions.

Most of all, be safe and have fun. Happy Halloween!

Blue is for Boys

2008-10-25T14:11:00.000-04:00

My daughter was nearly five when I told her that we were expecting an addition to our family. All little girls are thrilled at the prospect of a new baby in the family, before they evaluate the consequences of another small voice clamoring for her mother's attention, that is.

The baby was welcomed as a somewhat cute oddity in her little world. Getting to hold him, laughing when he peed on Mom while she changed his diaper, listening to his strange baby gurgles; all of these things were appealing to her while he was in his baby stage. She wasn't very pleased that she got a baby brother instead of a baby sister, but at this stage it didn't make a lot of difference.

As The Boy grew into a toddler, The Girl wanted to play games with him but the age difference and the gender difference made it all a bit difficult. The Boy couldn't play more grown-up games with her, she didn't want to play trucks. She daily chastised me for bringing home a brother and not a sister.

And then one day The Girl devised a scheme so brilliant, so sinister in its objectives, that she just had to try it out. She had somehow convinced The Boy to play house with her. However, rather than being the daddy or some other male figure in the family, she had decided on a surprise role for him.

When The Girl called to me to come see their play - barely managing to get out the words between giggles - I had no idea what I would find. When I saw The Boy, my reaction was a mixture of amusement and horror.

She paraded him like a contestant at a beauty pageant. He was dressed in her best sparkly skirt and frilly top. She had put her pink plastic sandals on him and some strings of beads. She christended him anew with a femininized form of his name as she proudly displayed her "little sister".

Something about my less than enthusiastic reaction made it all the more fun for her, and for a year or so, she kept trying to dress The Boy in girl's clothing - no matter how much I tried to convince her that confusing him wouldn't be a good idea.
Sibling rivalry is one thing, but practicing sibling gender reassignment is quite another.

As The Boy grew it became more apparent every day that he was all boy, through and through. His daily routine was to find new and interesting ways to nearly kill himself and age his mother beyond her years. The Girl not only failed to make him into her little sister, she didn't even dampen his enthusiasm for boyish terror and danger.

I often wondered if things would have worked out better with a second child of the same gender. Certainly it would have been more economical. The younger could wear hand-me-downs from the elder, they could share a bedroom and Christmas could be the season of buying two of everything.

But The Girl probably never considered the ramifications of relinquishing her status as the "only girl" and I am sure would have tired quickly of the competition. She's lucky she didn't succeed in creating her own little sister, but I must acknowledge her efforts. She really gave it a good try.

Report Phone Numbers

2008-10-20T20:11:00.001-04:00

The phone rang this morning and feeling rather disinclined to get up and make my way to the phone, I decided not to answer it. Often the calls at that time of day are telemarketers. I was going to let it ring and then find out the number later. When it rang a very long time, and then immediately started again, I knew it was the Girl.

But that doesn't solve the problem of the usual phone calls at that time of day. Often when I try to research the number, I can't get any information. The same number may call for days in a row and I still won't know where the call originated. I don't know if it is a telemarketer, a scam or something worse.

I found this nifty little service called Report Phone Numbers. It's a site where people who have annoying phone calls can report any information they have about the caller. If you are receiving calls from the same number, you might find the answer to your nagging questions.

Take some time to look over the site and if you have had annoying phone calls, report the phone number. You might find that you aren't the only one dealing with the party calling.

A New Discovery

2008-10-20T19:58:00.000-04:00

I had never planned on being an amateur genealogist, but I have found so much information on the internet lately that I think I may have a knack for it.

Many were the times that my mother told me of her Uncle Philip (or was it her great-uncle, obviously I need to research more). In any case it was told of Uncle Philip that he did exploring for the government of Canada and was quite the woodsman. The most fantastical tale involved Uncle Philip and a moose and a raft going down the St. Lawrence River.

Once again, this all appears to be true. I had heard of a book written by a family member about Uncle Philip and I assumed it was a vanity publishing. Research today proves that not only is this book in print and available for purchase, but that this particular cousin has written many books.

Now my only problem is funding my new-found desire to read his collected works. I do want to get the one on Uncle Philip first, of course, but the list of published works is quite extensive.

My biggest regret is that my mother never knew where to get a copy of this book, because I know she would have loved to read it. But when I do get it, I will gladly tell the tales she would have told if she could.

Theatre Church Conference

2008-10-20T10:10:00.002-04:00

Growing up in a church setting leaves you with little nuggets of wisdom from which to draw on during rough times. One of my favorite Bible verses is just that - a succinct bit of sage advice, one I should take more often. The verse is Matthew 6:34.

Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.

Basically, it means that we don't need to borrow trouble from the future, and we shouldn't waste time worrying or being anxious. We need to concentrate on overcoming the challenges that today sets before us and leave tomorrow to worry about itself.

Church today is a totally different experience for my kids than it was for me as a child. No longer is church boring and plodding, a thing to be endured. Many churches employ today's technologies to present a vibrant message with impact. You can Find out more because CineMeetings & Events is hosting the first-ever Theatre Church Conference in Silver Spring, MD on October 22 & 23.

If you're involved in a church that uses technology and performance to bring the good message to your members, you will want to Find out more about integrating technologies into your church experience.

The message is an important one and it's so sad to find people turning away when there are great avenues for capturing their attention and hearts. If you're interested in the Theatre Church Conference, Find out more at the related link.

The Sad Tale of Mr. Lion

2008-10-20T08:55:00.002-04:00

Sometimes we are told that children don't develop long term memory until they are about 4 years of age. This may or may not be true. Although I think I have some spotty memories from before that age, I don't have a really good day-to-day recollection of life as a baby.

However, The Boy, probably because he spent much of his pre-school days as a superhero, has an unfailing memory. It may be one of his powers.

When we moved into our present abode, The Boy was still in a crib. One room was already decorated with boyish things - brown walls and a wallpaper border depicting leopards frolicking (if leopards can be said to frolic). It was quite fitting that someone gifted him a large, stuffed lion for Christmas. The lion was well-loved and had to accompany him to bed each night. I don't remember if he was christened with a name, he was probably called Mr. Lion, or something equally brilliant.

However, as time went on The Boy became dissatisfied with the lion and suddenly concerned about being surrounded by big jungle cats. Although the lion had a friendly face, a certain distrust of the lion's intentions crept into his thinking. He had obviously noticed that the lion was a bit taller than he, and had friends in the room. Honestly, I myself might have been concerned about falling asleep with a giant lion lying in the bed next to me, caged in by crib bars and rails.

The lion fell into disfavor and The Boy started to reject him at bedtime. As the months and years went by the lion was shifted from corner to corner in his room but never accepted into close friendship again. I don't know what eventually became of the lion. I believe he ceased to reside at this address years ago.

I was left without a response then, when suddenly, the other day, the Boy inquired as to the whereabouts of the lion. I thought of lots of ways to explain the animal's absence, some of which left me blameless (who wants to take the rap for animal abduction?). Perhaps I could say he ran away back to the jungle? I knew those stories wouldn't wash, The Boy is older now and he's not going to buy any such flimsy excuse.

In the end, I decided to face it. Steely-eyed and set in my purpose, I briefly explained to him that he had one day decided the lion was untrustworthy, and after a time it was decided that the lion must go. Therefore, the lion no longer lived at our house.

I waited for the accusations, the tears, the anguished cry of "how could you?" and braced myself to take on the full responsibility and guilt for my actions.

The Boy looked at me and said "Oh", then went about his business, unconcerned.

I had prepared for the worst and gotten no reaction whatsoever. All that guilt I was feeling was completely unnecessary.

Children are hardly ever emotionally scarred for life by the little things we think we have done wrong, or the small mistakes we have made. In the end, it's much simpler to just lay the truth out before them and let them deal with it.

I had to laugh though when later, after some reflection, I realized that the truth was even more exculpatory than I had thought. For it occurred to me that it was The Boy himself, engaged in the hated task of cleaning his room, who had carried that lion out to the trash one day.

Another Monday's Voyage

2008-10-13T20:59:00.003-04:00

Today was Columbus Day. Every now and again they blindsided me with one of these Monday holidays I had completely forgotten about and gave the kids a day off from school.

Columbus Day is when we celebrate the fact that Columbus sailed east, hoping to circumnavigate the globe and hit the East Indies. As luck would have it, there were other bodies of land in the way, something he hadn't counted on at all. Columbus managed to find some Caribbean islands which he thought were off the coast of Asia.

I think the most intriguing part of the story is that they just didn't know how big the Earth was. They were all pretty sure it was round, but Columbus really had no clue that there was an entire continent between Spain and China. Maybe if he had known how impossible it would be for him to reach his destination, he never would have started out on such a journey.

I think that's always the way. Life is a long and hard voyage. We have to believe we can make it or we are doomed. It may be that our journey doesn't always take us to where we thought we were going, but we discover some wonderful things where we do end up. The most important thing is to make a start. You just have to load up the ship and sail.

Finding Your Family Tree

2008-10-10T11:23:00.002-04:00

My mother loved to tell stories of her family and our ancestors (all of whom she claimed were illustrious and note-worthy). I have many times used the internet to discover that much of what she had told us was absolutely correct. The internet can be a great tool when one is researching genealogy.

The best way to get started researching your family tree, is to find sites and resources that contain information, names and documents relating to your family name.

One such resource is Find Family Tree.com, where you can research your family name and find numerous types of documents in their archives - everything from birth and death certificates to old newspapers. Just choose your search name, such as kennedy family tree, and you will begin an exciting journey of discovery into your genealogical past.

A Sad Morning

2008-10-06T15:54:00.003-04:00

Today was one of those days when as a mother, you both sigh with relief and revisit fear. Mondays are always a bit hectic as you start the school week again, and there's a kind of calm that should overtake you once the children are safely on their way to their respective educational facilities.

But this morning I couldn't get over a feeling of restlessness and anxiety. It was one of those "impending doom of unknown origin" days. Perhaps drinking several cups of coffee within an hour or two on an empty stomach contributed to those fluttery feelings that rippled through my middle. It may have started when the Boy's bus was late, and came from a different direction. I always worry when the bus driver seems new, having found that new drivers often make mistakes and children aren't deposited when and where they are expected.

The morning was hardly underway though, when the phone rang. It was one of those recorded messages from the school. But instead of telling parents all about the upcoming open house or the next early dismissal, it was a sobering and heartbreaking message. A young girl had been struck by a car on her way to school. She was crossing a busy street to her bus stop.

I quickly digested what small detail was provided. I noted the street names and could breathe again as I confirmed it could not be one of my children. I listened to the description of injuries known and the fact that she was in the hospital. I was grateful for many things: one, that the girl was alive and two, that my children were safe.

I can only imagine the horror of her friends who witnessed this accident, and the terrible realization of her mother when upon hearing the brakes, screams and sirens, found that it was her little girl who had been struck.

I don't have anything to offer in the way of advice or comfort. As parents, we all do our best to watch over our kids and provide for their health and safety. Every day we take for granted that they will travel securely to and from school, that they will return to us with complaints about homework and a healthy afternoon appetite.

I pray that the little girl will recover quickly and will have no lasting injury or scars from this ordeal. I pray also that vehicles traveling that stretch of road now realize the importance of obeying speed limits and watching for children walking to school or crossing to bus stops. I pray for mothers everywhere who have watched and worried and for those who have had to endure the worst of news.

To my shame, I can remember driving very fast on that very same road early in the mornings on my way to work. We always believe that we are perfectly in control and that the worst can never happen. When you drive to work tomorrow, remember that school-age children are everywhere and they aren't always paying attention - children often don't. And remember that it is better to be a little late for work, than to endanger the life of a child.

Grief Revisited

2008-10-01T10:41:00.004-04:00

A friend of mine recently sent me some writings by her late sister-in-law, a woman who journaled her thoughts about life, and then about her own impending death from cancer. I was moved by her words in ways that are hard to describe, my soul touched in places I that had not dared to explore for so long now, shining a harsh and exposing light on dark places I had not wanted to see.

I remember when I was informed that my mother hadn't been well, and was enlisted in the campaign to convince her to see a doctor. She had been losing weight without dieting, suffering night sweats and it was clear to all of us that she had lost much confidence in her physical abilities. She no longer wanted to drive, she seemed less balanced overall. When she had agreed, I made arrangements for her to see a new doctor.

The diagnosis was frightening, but as with all problems, the focus on the solution takes over. My mother had a large tumor in her abdomen. It explained why she was losing weight without actually appearing smaller except that her arms and legs were shrinking, leaving flaccid skin to hang listlessly.

The doctors removed a tumor - the size of a basketball, they told us. My mother recovered from surgery more quickly than I would have believed a woman of 77 could do. But the bleak news came after the biopsy. The tumor was cancerous, a form of sarcoma, not treatable with radiation or chemotherapy, and likely to return.

My mother had a few good months between that surgery and an ultrasound done as follow-up. She was lighter on her feet, thinner than she had been in years and seeming so much younger. But all the while, the cancer was spreading and growing in the background, launching a more aggressive attack.

She had already ruled out more surgery, and I don't believe she would have gone for other treatments had they been available. My mother had always believed in natural medicine, vitamins, minerals, and nearly anything but doctors.

They gave us no hope and short time by their calculations. The growing tumor would squeeze out other internal organs, she wouldn't be able to eat by September, she would not see Thanksgiving.

My mother didn't do as the doctors predicted, she never did what doctors told her. She lived on past Thanksgiving, and she never lost the ability to eat. Although the tumor was now enormous, bloating her body and making it nearly impossible for her to even move its frightening weight to roll over, on the eve of her death, she sat up on the side of the bed and ate her dinner from a bedside table. I can't think of anything that makes me more proud of her than that.

I meant to write here about loss, about grief, about courage and about the world and how it changes when someone important has left it. I can't right now.

One day, I will tell of those things, but for now I find I am crying over the death of someone I never met, but now know through her writing. Cancer is a powerful force that levels all its victims and their loved ones to a common ground. Grief is often unspeakable, it only escapes us through tears and deep groanings in our spirit. But through a few words today, I experienced more than my own grief over my mother, I experienced the utter callousness with which cancer steals from its victims and the futures that it claims.

A Hogeous Post

2008-09-19T16:23:00.000-04:00

Tolstoy wrote " Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way". What he didn't mention is that every family, happy or unhappy, speaks its own language. A lexicon peculiar to that family and its members, trickling down through generations, enhanced by new additions to the family through marriage and passed on. An oral tradition, if you will.

My mother's family had a rich tradition of words. I don't think so many words have ever been spoken in all of New England as were uttered by her family. By volume alone they are staggering. I did not know, however, nor suspected as a child, that the language I was learning from my mother was not quite English but some strange concoction resembling English and complementing English, yet wholly their own invention.

My mother's version of family history includes a huge migratory period of her ancestors from the Ukraine, traveling ever westward across Europe, settling in England for a time and then ending up in the American colonies and Canada. I am not sure what they were running from, this was never made clear to me, but apparently it was greatly appreciated that England had provided asylum for them in their flight from whatever it was. It may have had something to do with their brief stint in France.

In any case they were so indebted to England for something, not sure what ( not throwing them out perhaps) that they refused to fight against the English in the Revolutionary War and became outcasts once more, being forced to flee to Canada due to their unpopularity. By this time, I should think they would have gotten used to being chased out of countries.

I mention this as it may hold the keys to some of the words and sayings that I heard as a child, and still use today despite the occasional odd stare. "Hogeous" is a perfect example. I am not sure of the spelling, this is how my mind's eye always saw it spelled. It may well be spelled "hojus" but I doubt it, that would be spelling it as it sounds. I am sure that is too sensible an idea to be true.

Hogeous has many uses, usually meaning something vile or distasteful, often related to pungent smells. However it can also be used to describe a rather unpleasant dish being served to you, as in "I dont know what they had to run down on the road to make that stew, but it was hogeous"!

Anything cunnin' was cute. A soulcase was a person, most often a child. If you were called a cunnin' soulcase, you could be sure that meant they liked you. You did not want to be called a poohcat, though I confess to not knowing what that was. It was just bad. Something hogeous.

My mother had a gift for delegation and if you were so insubordinate as to ask why you were elected to any unpleasant chore, she would simply shrug and say "Why keep dogs and bark myself"? We were advised to "scud to school or you'll rue it". Education was important, and we had to scud to get it.

And then there was the mysterious medical condition known as a "split straddle". A girl always had to be careful of certain types of physical activities such as riding a boy's bike with the bar across, as there was a possibility that she might "split her straddle". She usually followed this up with the story of a girl she had known personally who had this happen to her, and it was horrible and irreparable. That touch of realism usually did it for me. My mother was good at supplying horrifying graphic images to make sure you were sufficiently emotionally scarred.

And more than anyone I ever met, my mother knew how to use words to her advantage. I remember her telling my father "Jack, I am your wife. Your money is my money and no one is going to tell me how to spend my money". Her logic was impeccable.

Now I must go and do my daily readings. Reading the blogs of others is a great way to avoid writing your own. I mean, why keep blogs and write myself?

Christian Lifestyle

2008-09-19T16:13:00.003-04:00

I have a friend who is single, but with her job and busy lifestyle, she just doesn't have time to go out and meet new people. As a Christian, she doesn't want to do the bar scene or sign up for dating services where the members won't share her beliefs and principles. I am going to put her onto this new site I found, and hope she enjoys success. It's a place for Christian Singles to meet and chat, and hopefully find that special someone who can be a life partner.

This site is specifically for Christian singles. It's free to join and browse through thousands of profiles. If you're looking for that special someone who shares your faith, ChristanLifeStyle.com is great resource.

What Every Kid Knows - but will never tell

2008-09-19T09:51:00.003-04:00

Every mother faces that day - the first day of kindergarten when they leave their child to the unknown world of school. I remember when it was The Boy's first day.

Timid and shy, he stood with his back against the brick wall of the school, only watching as the other children ran about to greet schoolmates they had left behind when classes ended in June. On his first day of school, The Boy stood as close as he could get to me, with all the clingy need of a kindergartener , eliciting promises from me to stay with him. I was calm, reassuring and comforting. I told him all about his day and how much fun he would have. He looked up with the eyes of a dog that had been beaten as if to say "How could you do this to me"?

But that was the first day of school. By the third morning, when his older sister was not going to be able to watch over him, and I was torn between staying or being on time for work, I was told in a confident voice "Just go ahead, Mom, I can handle this myself".

A strange thing happens to your beautiful, loving and needy children when they start school. They become kids. They speak the language of kids, their ideas and opinions come from other kids and the only people who are acknowledged to know anything are other kids. I remember all too well the innocent five year old girl with the silken curls, the frilly pink dream of every mother that I took for her first day of kindergarten 9 years ago. That little angel went into the school that day, but she never returned. Instead, they sent home a kid. I still have not recovered from the first time those soft, cherry lips uttered her first kid phrase: "Duh, Mom, I already know that".

I assume that whatever strange and mysterious things go on at school, they are too secretive to share with parents for it seems the children are debriefed at the end of the day with strict instructions to never admit to knowing anything or remembering anything that occurred during school hours. The Boy has only been in school for two weeks before he knew the routine well. I could see his resolve in our conversation while driving home one day that first year.

"What did you have for lunch at school today?" I already knew the items on the menu, I was just being interested in his choices. I thought mothers do that, so I was trying it.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? I gave you lunch money, didn't you order lunch?"

"I don't know."

"You gave them your lunch money, what did you order?"

"I don't know."

This line of questioning obviously wasn't going to work so I took another tack.

"When your teacher takes you and your class to the cafeteria, what do you do there?"

"I don't know."

"Do you get a tray with food on it? Do you sit with your class and eat?"

"I don't know."

"Okay, let me get this straight. When you went into the cafeteria you blacked out and entered some kind of vortex and when you emerged you had no memory of it?"

"I ordered a hamburger and they gave me pizza."

Finally a confession, apparently brought about only because they had made a mistake. His loyalty to the secret school society was weakened when they disappointed him.

"And white milk."

That must have been the last straw, he spat the words "white milk" as if they left a bad taste in his mouth. Even I would not have been so foolish as to forget the chocolate milk and I am only a mother.

But that was the last revelation. I tried to find out what they learned, what games they played or how he liked his teacher. But he had recognized his slip and all I got was: "I don't know".

When I went for my first parent/teacher conference, I heard what a polite child he was, how friendly and outgoing with other children. The teacher explained what letters they were practicing and how they had learned to count by tens. She showed me his artwork and praised his efforts.

But for all I know, it could all be a lie. It may be that they do none of these things. All I have to go by is this stranger's word and a few scraps of paper with some scribbles on them. I have no way of knowing what really goes on in the secret school society.

The Boy knows, but he's not talkin'.

A is for Apple, B is for Bored

2008-09-19T07:47:00.007-04:00

One of The Boy's daily homework assignments is to read for 20 minutes. This has been a struggle in previous years, but this year The Boy has vowed to put all his effort into schoolwork. Therefore, it was with great sense of purpose that he pulled out his reading book - a peppy sounding little tale called "Pig can Jig" - and took his place on the sofa next to me, ready to regale me with stories of prancing porcine pals.

I have a faint memory of the Dick and Jane series of books that were used to teach us basic words and reading skills. I can't remember them being very exciting, so I was delighted that modern teaching methods involve such wonderfully entertaining concepts as pigs doing jigs. A few pages into the book soon dispelled this notion.

I can't say this book is any improvement over the tried and true adventures of Dick and Jane. There are cats who are fat and there's dad who had ham and jam and the pig that does jig. All the three letter words you can think of with all their rhymes. But there's no story, there's no plot. There are words strung together in accepted grammatical patterns; but aside from the sense of satisfaction he gets from being able to read the sentence, there's little joy to be had from them.

I started to understand a bit better why Johnnie can't read. It's self-defense against death by boredom.

Perhaps it is nostalgia that makes me think that Dick and Jane and their little dog (what was his name?) were more interesting and fun. But, even if they weren't, they were at least kids like us, doing the sorts of things that adults think that kids do. Sure they were written for a world of Beaver Cleavers, but for some reason we incorporated that ideal into our world and didn't notice that there were no real families like that.

I could be totally off base here, but would it be so difficult to write books that made more sense, told a story that engaged the imagination and could be mastered by those new to literacy?

If there is one good thing about these "starter" books, it is that it creates a drive to help this child master the English language, so that when it is time for the evening's reading, I can have something interesting to listen to.

Who's Calling?

2008-09-16T19:46:00.003-04:00

There are days when I curse Alexander Graham Bell. There is nothing more annoying than to be kneading dough or scrubbing the toilet and hear the phone ringing in the next room. And of course, by the time you wash your hands and get to answer it, the caller has hung up.

Not such a tragedy in the days of Caller ID, you say, but what about those calls that don't register? Of course this includes telemarketers and the like, but it also includes cell phones. And you can't do a reverse search in your regular phone directory pages for a cell phone number.

But I now have a little secret up my sleeve. Did you know there is a website where you can do Mobile Phone Reverse Lookup? It's just as simple as using reverse lookup on your regular phone pages, but you can get much more than just name and address. You can even access a background check. It's quick and easy, so why waste time wondering who called ever again?

The Winds of Change

2008-09-15T12:23:00.002-04:00

Summer seemed rather incomplete this year, and not because it came late or left early. Some part of it must have to do with the maturing of the children in their interests and attitudes. And yet, the summer seemed hectic even without planning day trips to the beach or afternoons at the park. I am not sure where it went, and part of me is sad to see it go unfulfilled.

But an answer was heard this morning, a promise spoken on the wind. The glorious wind, that whipped through the trees and blustered through my open window, carelessly knocking over several items on my dresser in its rush to tell me. It came whistling a melody I hadn't heard in many long months, but know well.

The wind came to tell me that despite the fact that the trees are a tired, dull green instead of blazing into color and despite the persistently warm days following one after another, autumn is about to arrive.

Autumn is my favorite season. I love the crisp, cool days and the invigorating air. I love the smell of autumn and the colors. I love the winds of autumn, even though they strip the brilliance from the trees just a wee bit too soon.

I missed the chasing of the waves this year, and my heart yearns for the ocean. Perhaps that is why summer didn't satisfy. These misgivings and disappointments would hang heavily in the humid August air, but September has sent a cleansing wind to sweep out those remnants of unfulfilled dreams and lifted my soul up to where the treetops catch fire.

New Free Christian Chat Site

2008-09-12T19:10:00.001-04:00

I started chatting online when my son was born, and over the years I have used many different chat venues. Each has some good points and bad points, but all too often they get stale with the same people and the same points of view. I have been keeping my eye out for some newer chat sites to open and here is one I think I may check out. Christian Chat City provides Free Christian Chat with video chatting. It's completely free to join or you can try it out with free guest access. It looks like a great place to gather with friends for free chat services. Check it out!

Feeling Disconnected

2008-09-12T18:48:00.004-04:00

This morning my world fell apart. I had no internet connection.

My connection was painfully slow last night and apparently gave up the ghost completely somewhere in the early hours before dawn. I had only a steaming cup of coffee to brace me for the devastating news - "the internet is down".

I made the call I have made many times before to technical support. The most interesting part of these calls is listening to the robo-operator as she promises to check your line for trouble and while doing so, encourages you to try checking their website for online help. The most frustrating part is that it does you no good to scream at the robo-operator about how ridiculous it is to tell someone with no connection to try getting help at the website. The robo-operator will just reply "I'm sorry, I didn't understand you".

Two hours into the call with technical support I still had no internet, but had assured the human operator that I hadn't got up in the middle of the night and made any adjustments or changes to my telephone jacks or satellite installation.

When I got off the line, it still wasn't working and they had to open a ticket - the resolution of which I would be informed. Soon after that, things started working again and I have yet to hear that they have resolved the problem.

I don't think technical support actually does anything, to tell you the truth. I think they tell you to go to plug in numbers and passwords, unplug this, reboot that, until the thing starts working again on its own anyway.

But there's something comforting about taking action and calling technical support. For one thing, it's someone at the company I can whine at while I am waiting for it all to start working again. I get to be slightly disdainful of their constant questions about whether or not the computer is plugged in, and explain to them that they shouldn't treat all customers as if they are idiots.

On second thought, it might be more fun to work it the other way. Maybe one day, just for fun, I will unplug everything and call technical support. Let's see how long it takes them to teach me how to turn the thing on.

Is There a Child Molester in Your Neighborhood?

2008-09-09T19:35:00.002-04:00

As mothers, we all look out for our children's health and safety. As they learn to walk and reach, we childproof our environments to prevent injuries. As they learn to run, we are there to cuddle and comfort when they fall. We caution them about "stranger danger" and take every step possible to ensure their safety. One way to protect our children against the danger of pedophiles and predators is to know if there are registered sex offenders in our neighborhoods.

Did you know that you can search for and locate child molesters living in your local area? There is a site that helps you access that information, regardless of where you live. At RegisteredChildMolesterList.org, information is available for your local area.

Get the information you need to keep your child safe from predators. Check for registered sex offenders living in your area today.

Bus Spotting as a Hobby

2008-09-09T16:37:00.003-04:00

School began in earnest this week, with full days and homework assigned. So far it's going well. The Boy's bus has a rather unpredictable schedule thus far, but it's only the fifth day of school. I am sure it will start to be more regular, at least I hope so because right now the window of time of its possible arrival extends for about an hour.

I get a little anxious when it comes to the school bus. Okay, I really just drive everyone crazy while I am waiting for the school bus. I watch for its arrival in a near panic. It isn't the Boy's fault - he's always come straight home from the bus, it's not as if he's ever missed it and tried to cross highways to get home while sustaining himself on the pretzel crumbs in the bottom of his backpack. He's never done anything that would indicate that he's not capable of getting home on a school bus. The problem is really just a holdover from my first experience with a school bus when the Girl began school.

The Girl had been cared for by her grandmother until that first day of Kindergarten. I had watched the school bus come by every morning the year before to pick up the two boys that lived upstairs. Although they were not going to the same school anymore, I assumed the bus would make its regular stop for my daughter. That first day we stood expectantly outside the house until well after the time that school was beginning. The school apparently hadn't told the bus company that they still had to stop for children at that location.

The next day the bus did stop to pick her up. Not taking any chances, I hopped in the car and drove to the school to be sure that they had delivered her to the right place.

The third day of school, the bus picked her up, but never dropped her off. When the bus driver finished his route he noticed that he still had a small child on board. He drove her back to the school (with which I had been in feverish contact) and I had to pick her up there.

Things then went rather well for a while. I followed the bus to school for several days and all continued to go as planned. I began to relax. Then they did it again. Another bus driver who had my child on board at the end of her run, and didn't know where she belonged.

As you can imagine, my faith in the reliability of the school bus has been somewhat shaken. I drove both children to different schools for many years rather than face the uncertainty of bus stops and drop off points.

So now when I sit by the window looking for a patch of yellow to show through between the houses on the next street over, or nervously watch the clock from ten minutes before it's supposed to arrive and call the school immediately if the bus is a moment late, it seems to others that my anxiety is far greater than is warranted.

Perhaps when the Boy is 16 or so, I will be able to go about my day without looking out the window for the bus, or anxiously count the minutes till it arrives. Perhaps, but I doubt it.

Hair Don'ts

2008-08-31T17:29:00.002-04:00

We're on the countdown to the first day of school, and even after all these weeks of wishing it would come quickly, it still seems to take us unawares.

I shopped for school clothes online, making sure they all had plenty of time to arrive. Everything was a big hit, but some of it was just too tempting and now and again special permission was granted to wear this or that item. There goes that nice, crisp, brand-new feeling and look.

The Boy has got a suitably horrid new haircut. He wants his hair long like his cousin and I have no objections to slightly longish hair. When I was growing up, all the boys had long hair - it was these convict-style bald heads I found scary. But I knew that to have him show up at school with his long bangs hanging over his eyes would only lead to an emergency parent-teacher conference.

One of the things we feel is impeding your child's progress is his inability to see his work through that wall of hair over his face

No, I wasn't going to have that, so I sent him off to the hair salon, with instructions to leave it long but sort of clear away the hair over the eyes. I envisaged a rather nice modern layered style.

What I have is either Little Lord Fauntleroy or a lead singer from a 60s rock n roll group. The bangs are far too short, the sides are far too long. It took long enough to convince him to go in the first place, now I have to convince him to let me fix it.

I suppose it will look its absolute worst on picture day, which is usually scheduled early on, as it is one of the most important days in the school year as we all know. Field trips, school parties and picture day - these are the major events. Schoolwork is what they do to pass the time until the next big day.

So, I am off with trusty scissors to try to salvage some of his cool and save both of us a little embarrassment. I knew I should have had his hair cut last month - it would have grown out by now.

The Secret Lives of Parents

2008-08-26T20:46:00.001-04:00

Children have a sixth sense. It tells them when you are having fun, so they can make sure they put an end to it. They are particularly attuned to video games.

For instance, The Boy and his cousin went to the park, leaving the Playstation unattended. Seeing this, I whispered conspiratorially to the husband "Wanna play some Sonic"? We both grinned in glee.

I found the game, loaded it and our hearts beat wildly at the trilling of "Se-ga!". The music began and we were off on an exciting hedgehog adventure.

Then the phone rang. The boys explaining that they were coming straight home from the park as they both needed to use the bathroom facilities.

We didn't relinquish the game right away. But despite our assurances that we had been playing Sonic the Hedgehog before they were even born, they insisted on giving us tips on how to play. All kids know that parents can't play video games - what a silly thought!

Although the children quickly gather around the TV as soon as their spidey sense tells them that the old people are at the PS2 again, we have one secret weapon up our sleeves.

School starts next week.

The Story of a Salting

2008-07-22T15:59:00.003-04:00

My mother was very proud of her ancestry, although at times her stories of her relatives that went before got somewhat muddled. Many of her stories were simply dismissed by most of us children, especially when they told of close familial connections to Hollywood directors and royalty.

With a little amateur research on the internet, I came upon some startling information that supports my mother's contention that she was related to a Hollywood director. But more interesting and somewhat disturbing was the one line sentence I found next to the name of one of her uncles, a man who married late in life. It said simply that he was "salted to death" by his wife.

I found it strange that I had never heard this before from my mother, for mysteries and conspiracies were among her favorite pastimes. In her family it seemed that wives were always somewhat suspect, since they weren't part of the family but rather married into it. Second wives were even more suspect - even if the fellow was dirt poor, it was always assumed that second wives were gold diggers.

And yes, this was poor Great-Uncle M's second wife, the first having died and left him a widower. So it is inevitable that the family whispers would be breathed in quiet corners and behind backs. But I am left with one great question: how was this salting accomplished?

There aren't many instances of "death by salt" to be found upon a Google search, although there seems to be a rock band by that name. There's a biblical death by salt, as Lot's wife became a pillar of it, but I doubt that even a second wife had the power to call down fire and brimstone. Finally, we are left with salt poisoning, which by the estimates I found would require the average man to ingest about 12 ounces of salt at one time. Surely, this would be a crime of some magnitude and the tale of it would not have been so easily forgotten.

The most likely explanation is that others in the family cared little for her cooking and found it salty, or that Great Uncle M had some medical condition that was sensitive to salt intake. In any case, it was likely felt that Wife B fed him too much salt, therefore hastening his demise. Since the dates indicate he married her shortly after his first wife's death and lived on for another 16 years, Wife B must have been a very patient woman.

Unfortunately, my mother passed on before I ever thought to look up genealogy online and I can never confirm for her that some of her information was spot-on, nor can I glean more of what she knew of her Uncle M's life, marriages and death.

But I do know one thing, even if a death certificate for Uncle M were produced and it was found that he died of natural causes, it would not quell any rumors nor sway any family opinions. Worse, the family stories would lose their mystery and element of dark conspiracy. And if they were about anything at all, my mother's family were about entertainment.

Although I find the facts fascinating and engrossing, I think I would prefer to hear my mother's stories. There was never anything better than a family gathering, to sit amongst the siblings as they exchanged knowing looks and spoke in hushed tones about this one who was done wrong by that one, and about the wife who worked her husband to his death. It's the only way to find the nuts scattered amongst the branches of a family tree. Genealogy is a fine thing, but that - well, that's family history!

Those Lazy Summer Days

2008-07-19T11:20:00.003-04:00

Every summer, school vacation presents problems for parents: how to keep the kids busy and entertained for two months. When I was a kid, this was never a problem. As soon as we woke up in the morning, we were outside, knocking on the doors of friends' houses, running under summer skies throughout the days. I can't remember anyone planning a single activity for us, our imaginations filled the days that seem to last forever and yet were so brief.

Bur for kids today, it's very different. Summers must be planned, activities found, rides sorted out and of course, money plunked down to pay for it all. Being able to stay home and experience summer freedom isn't what it used to be. Since most kids aren't home in the summer, there's little to do in an empty neighborhood.

This year I discovered what seemed to be a perfect solution - the Parks Program. All of the town's parks are staffed with counselors who will guide your young ones through a summer of fun and activities and it's all free. This sounded ideal as the neighborhood park is a mere two or three streets away and the ages served are 6-14, a range inclusive of both the children. Moreover, the elder can keep an eye on the younger.

During their April vacation I was persuaded to allow The Girl and her friend take the The Boy to the park. They had a raucous good time - playing, swinging, sunning and buying junk food from the ice cream truck. They went every day and vowed to spend all Saturdays in this manner. Although they never actually went to the park again, I still thought itsounded like the perfect plan.

As with any perfect plan, it went wrong before it began. The elder, being a 14 year old girl, had no interest whatsoever in going to the park, let alone watching a younger brother. She was bribed into participation with promises of payment, but soon even the prospect of spending money was not enough to rouse her from her bed to walk the three blocks.

Soon, the younger realized that the counselors don't insist on participation in games and that they have an "open door" policy, which meant he could leave at any time. The first time he decided to exercise this right was a day when clouds lowered heavily and there was an imminent threat of rain and thunder. Having kept a close eye on the weather, I set out to pick him up only to find him already making his way home, having left upon feeling the first tiny droplet of rain.

Soon his reasons to leave were such things as boredom, he forgot his favorite Pokemon card, he hit his thumb on a tree, etc. He began to find reasons not to go before he even got there and turned back halfway.

But never fear, The Boy has found the perfect activity to keep him busy all summer. At the top of the street (the hill, as he calls it), he has found a depression in the ground under a tree. He likes to sit in "the hole" and... well, I don't know what else he does. But when I call to him and ask what he's doing, he simply yells back "I am up the hill". Further inquiry reveals that he is "sitting in the hole".

Sure he will spend time riding his scooter, catching bugs, and just running for the sake of running, but it's nice to know that he will spend some time as I remember spending time on those long summer days. Sitting in quiet contemplation from a shady spot, perfectly situated to observe the world and its wonders - a walking stick on the tree bark, a dragon in the clouds flying through the sky - the wonders that we once saw on a summer afternoon. They are still there, though we no longer see them through the busy-ness of life. But sometimes, through the eyes of a child, we experience them once again.

A Balancing Act

2008-07-16T21:24:00.004-04:00

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights...

These stirring words from the Declaration of Independence express the desire for all citizens of this glorious land to have equal rights and equal protection under the law. Unfortunately, it is not so.

This was pointed out to me accidentally today by The Girl, who spent some time complaining to me that the rights in the household were unbalanced - she felt she didn't have enough rights. A quick tally of rights and responsibilities soon made me see the inequity.

The rights are out of balance, and tilted heavily in her favor. She doesn't pay rent, and yet she has a comfortable place to live. She doesn't pay utilities and yet she has lights, heat, electricity to run her PC, her radio, her blowdryer, her flat iron...the list goes on and on.

She doesn't work or earn money yet she has food, clothing, medical and dental care. Without performing any tasks of hard labor she gets spending money to go out with friends - sometimes it's offered just to get her to go out with friends instead of fighting with her brother.

I certainly had to agree with her that there don't seem to be enough rights to go around, and it appears that there aren't any left over for me.

Okay, this is normal. Parents provide and care for children because it is right and normal to do so, because it is what parents are for. Children don't realize what real life is like because childhood is supposed to be a time infused with a certain amount of light-heartedness and it is the time to be care-free, before adulthood brings responsibility to rest heavy on their shoulders.

And because I was once a child and am now a mother, I know that there will come a day when she will understand and appreciate what I have done. I know it will be the day that one of her children complains to her about how unfair she is being. So it has always been, and so it always will be, from generation to generation. I don't think it's wrong that I am going to giggle just a bit when it happens... do you?

A Juggling Act

2008-07-13T23:43:00.006-04:00

I have some bad news.

I can't juggle.

Some years ago I was given a set of soft juggling balls and instructions. I did try (in vain) to master the art of tossing three objects into the air and preventing gravity from exerting its power over them, but inevitably I failed to save even one of the brightly colored orbs from its groundward fate.

Why worry about it? I am sure there are millions of people who can't juggle. But according to a new study, when older people learned to juggle, they grew new grey matter in their brains at a rate equal to younger students of the art. The skills mastered in learning to juggle made new connections and caused a growth of grey matter in the older participants so that even those that conducted the study were astonished.

Of course, I don't believe they were that astonished since it was their idea to teach all these people to juggle in the first place. They must have hoped to prove something. The thought occurs to me to wonder who stepped forward to fund this study when presented with the idea of holding clown school, but I have seen sillier studies than this one.

I can't juggle. I can't learn to juggle. My brain is doomed to become an ever-shrinking remnant of what it was - mostly due to having children - but apparently also due to my lack of hand-eye coordination.

I can't whistle, either. I can't wait to find out what that means.

Of Soap and Scandal

2008-06-21T17:04:00.002-04:00

I may have told you this before, but housekeeping was not my mother's idea of a good time. She was very careful about germs and keeping things disinfected, and gave me some of my most prominent phobias about such things, but straightforward straightening up was not something that held her interest for long.

When it was announced that company was due, the clutter on the floor and stacked in corners didn't cause her any great consternation. If I expect sudden company, I am likely to rush through the house, picking up stray toys and clothes and hiding dirty dishes in the oven or dishwasher, making the surfaces appear uncluttered and giving the impression that our "stuff" is neatly stuffed away somewhere. My last thought would be to wash the windows or the paint.

But when faced with imminent social obligation, my mother instinctively cried out for just one cleaning product, just one magic formula that would render her home suitable for guests. I will remember the scent of it my entire life. I knew automatically that I would be sent to the apothecary to fetch home a bottle. This master of all cleansers was Tincture of Green Soap.

Tincture of Green Soap was added to buckets of warm water and rags dipped into it were used to wash down the wood-paneled walls and stairways. It cleared the dust, cleaned the wood and left a fresh scent throughout.

It occurred to me only yesterday that I had no idea what Tincture of Green Soap is or why it should be available at the apothecary only. So I had a quick google on it and discovered that it's a soap meant for human skin and has nothing to do with cleaning walls.

Interestingly, I found this quote about the properties of Tincture of Green Soap. One site selling it touted it as being "effective for removal of dried blood and proteins from skin and scalp".

Okay, we weren't the most well-behaved children and it's possible we put grimy hands on the walls or occasionally used a crayon to scribble out some insult or threat against a sibling, but come on... dried blood?

It's at times like these that I miss my mother, because I realize now how many questions I have that will always be left unanswered. I am sure there is some reason she used Tincture of Green Soap on the woodwork. Maybe someone told her that it was effective at removing grease or that it was kind to wood. But I still would like to ask her, with just a hint of a wink, what crime scene she was attempting to cover up?

Of New and Old

2008-06-10T08:40:00.005-04:00

I am very proud of my new car, although it is new only to me, having been what is now termed "pre-owned". Car dealers believe that the word "used" carries negative connotations as does the term "used car salesman" so they tend to have only "program vehicles" (used rental cars) and "quality pre-owned vehicles" (used cars) on their lots.

The car is a little hungrier for gas than my last vehicle and quite a lot larger than any other car I have owned - which means my days of zipping into tight parking spaces is over. However, it was time to accept the fact that I had two children in the back seat who, for the sake of undistracted driving, should sit as far away from each other as possible.

I would be inclined, however, to believe anyone who told me that my car was driven only on Sundays by a little old lady who used it to go to church.

You see, yesterday was the first day it was hot enough to turn on the air conditioning in the car. Until now, we have used the heat, the defroster, and played endlessly with the electric windows until the perfect air flow and temperature were achieved in the car's interior.

We pushed the little button with frosty snowflake on it, eagerlyawaiting the first blast of cool air. Next we chose the button that limits air circulation to inside the vehicle, excluding the stiff, hot air from outside. With the fan setting at medium, a wonderful thing then occurred.

Emanating from the vents in the dash was air that was not only cooled and conditioned, but air which filled the vehicle with something that the car had lacked up until that moment.

This is why I believe the former owner must have been a little old lady who rarely drove it. Little old ladies are rarely too warm, and so the AC was likely rarely, if ever, employed.

Hidden deep within my car's ventilation system were the last remaining whiffs new car scent. As it wafted past my nostrils, I inhaled hard and long, sucking in its delicious fragrance. I realized also, that for my generation, that new car smell symbolizes so much more than the age of the vehicle. It brings up memories of prosperous family times, sibling squabbles, the excitement of accompanying dad to the dealership to pick out the new family car and stirs up nostalgia in an unsettling blend of warmth and sadness.

It also reminded me, as I endured the kids in the back seat having ridiculous arguments, giggling for no reason or making noise for the sheer pleasure of making noise, that I was once sitting exactly where they were. And in the natural course of time, they will one day be sitting where I am now. Then it will be that these days which now seem so ordinary and unremarkable will have become part of them, sealed into memory, only to be suddenly awakened by a chance sensory experience.

The ants crawl in and the ants crawl out...

2008-05-27T19:35:00.002-04:00

Every year as the golden branches of forsythia burst forth and the lilacs offer their fragrant bunches of tiny, perfect blooms, another sure sign of spring can be found creeping in from cracks and crevices... the ant invasion.

I live in a very old house, and with every old house come numerous channels and avenues for creepy crawlies to make their way into the human living quarters. As the house settles down and then down further, more cracks appear and more access is given.

So every spring, the ants find their way to my kitchen. A few may show up in the bathroom, but the kitchen is their main point of entry. I have never wanted to use poisons or even ant hotels because of the kids. Consequently, I have spent many spring days watching ants march about my counter to see where they come from and where they go. Armed with a roll of duct tape, I am prepared to seal off any avenue they use. Sadly, I have met with only limited success. In an old house, there is always another way if you are small enough to find it.

The new invasion began three days ago, but this year I plan to try out some new techniques I found on natural pest control. I still don't want chemicals and poisons in my kitchen and I have run out of duct tape. I am also getting to old to spot the cracks the ants use to gain entry.

Armed with new knowledge of ant dislikes (flour) and common household items that are poisonous to them (baking soda), I plan to launch a full-out attack. I know that if I do nothing, they will be gone in a couple of weeks time. I know that if I spend hours a day trying to squash them all, they will be here for a couple of weeks anyway. But maybe, just maybe, if I counter-attack in a new way, I can shorten their stay.

Now, if I can only do something about the winter spider convention.

A Fishy Story

2008-05-21T08:07:00.003-04:00

Today may be the day I finally put the aquarium to rest, although I will miss it as a fixture in my livingroom. I rather like the soothing babbling noises of the filter and watching the air bubbles rise. I like the colorful gravel and the large rock formation that rises from it. It's a focal point for guests who stare at it in rapt amazement until they finally ask "where are the fish"?

It's another fish tale, the ones that didn't get away so much as simply expired. I expect goldfish to die with some regularity, but some were the victims of exceptional circumstances.

I believe it began when The Boy's teacher decided to put a little goldfish bowl in the center of every group of desks (nowadays, second graders are allowed to look at each other during school - the desks are pushed together in groups of four). The fish were a grand biology experiment for the children. They would learn how to be responsible for living things that they fed and cared for. Needless to say, all the fish died.

I saw one of the early corpses firsthand. When I arrived to pick my son up at his afterschool program, a counselor took me aside and handed me a plastic baggie with a small, mushy, somewhat shiny, indistinguishable mound of something that looked like it might have been a sardine that had slid out of a sandwich to the floor and had been stepped upon. I didn't make him a sardine sandwich that day.

The counselor explained that The Boy had shown up there with a fish in his pants pocket, a very dead fish. No autopsy had been performed, but a type of dissection by erosion had taken place while the body was transported inside the pocket of a small boy's jeans. The question then became, did the fish die before or after he reached the pocket?

The Boy upon questioning admitted to removing the fish from the trash after its natural demise. So when the children requested a couple of goldfish as pets, I didn't think it would be a problem.

The first fish that got sick received prompt attention from The Boy who decided to pick him up and comfort him, hastening his passing. Later fish died on their own as they will do, but also due to overfeeding, underfeeding, general attention and general neglect.

The most abused fish were the deceased ones. Although I firmly advised a flush funeral, The Girl insisted on burial. The Boy would then insist on exhuming the carcass for further examination. When the last fish finally went to Davy Jone's locker, I said "enough".

The tank is very clean now. If you glance at it quickly, the play of light and shadow makes you think you can see fish swimming about. Watching fish swim in an aquarium is rated highly as a relaxation technique. But watching an empty tank only gives one a desire to fill it and I have already seen where that leads.

So to avoid the many hours of relaxation followed by even more hours of high frustration, I think I will empty the fish tank today.

I Am Not a Supermom

2008-05-04T21:28:00.003-04:00

Have you ever woken up one day and wondered what your kids ever did to deserve you? Or rather, do they deserve better?

Recently I have had the experience of meeting "accomplished" mothers. These are the mothers who have such a list of credits to their names, it's nearly impossible to imagine how they managed to squeeze in time for pregnancy and birth. I do know one thing, they were probably multi-tasking during labor.

These mothers have immaculate houses. They make elaborate meals out of vegetables and grains they have grown themselves - organically. They sew, they churn butter, they knit the kids new bicycles out of steel wool.

I start to feel inadequate. I begin to pity my kids. I start to wonder why I had them, why did I want to bring children into the world when I wasn't prepared to make cookies for the bake sale, volunteer to sew costumes for the school play, head up the local fund-raising efforts and do spot welding on fighter jets in my spare time?

Then reality hits me. My mother never did any of those things either, and I don't remember ever resenting it. In fact as I face homework sent with my child that requires that I participate and then sign that I have participated, I can only imagine my mother's reaction should any of my teachers ever tried to send her homework.

I don't want to be without influence in my children's lives but I am not sure that constant accomplishment equals influence. I want them to know what I believe, know what I think is important, understand how to have compassion and how to forgive failings and foibles.

I don't live up to the perfect suburban mom standard. I am disorganized and scatterbrained and rushed and forgetful. Some days I get tired and order pizza. I let them eat it on the fly instead of forcing the family to sit down and talk about our days. But if they have something to tell me, I can listen instead of needing to wash the dishes, finish my needlepoint or paint a mural on the side of the garage.

Motherhood is hard enough without having to try to live up to impossible standards. I believe more mothers are like me and my mother than are like the supermoms. At least I hope so. And my children are lucky I am not a supermom, because truthfully, they're not perfect either. For now, we will each just have to make do with what we got.

I am an Espresso

2008-03-03T09:48:00.003-05:00

I don't usually think that these online personality quizzes are the path to self-enlightenment or deep revelation - in fact, most of the time they get it completely wrong. Maybe that's because on about half the multiple choice questions, I can't find an answer that sounds anything like me. How can they measure my personality when it isn't even on file? I spend a lot of time shaking my head and thinking "I wouldn't do any of those things, are those the only things that normal people would do in that situation"?

Yet I found a quiz that nailed me completely. Of course, it's about coffee, so I knew all the answers - that is, I know what I would do about coffee. And, I am happy to say that the quiz recognized my special relationship to coffee. Et Voila, my results:

You Are an Espresso

At your best, you are: straight shooting, ambitious, and energetic

At your worst, you are: anxious and high strung

You drink coffee when: anytime you're not sleeping

Your caffeine addiction level: high

What Kind of Coffee Are You?

Flashcard Friends - Myspace for Homework?

2008-02-28T08:19:00.004-05:00

As I sat with The Boy, ostensibly to help him with his homework, I realized what he struggled with more than his reading - the medium of his homework. He fiddled and dawdled over each task I asked him to complete, looking at everything but the homework sheet. Finally, as I prodded him he let it all out in one frustrated exclamation of truth.

"I hate papers", he cried.

I actually think that's one of his big problems. He flies by in math, doing it in his head, but struggles with reading and writing. The Boy who can play complex computer games without being able to read all the complicated instructions, simply isn't engaged by paperwork. I began to wonder if I should look for computer games that taught reading.

When I saw Flashcard Friends, I immediately saw possibilities. Flashcard Friends is like a social network, but it can include your child's teacher as well as friends. I am still investigating ways to incorporate it into my son's computer time, but when my daughter saw me watching the introduction video, she immediately asked me to send her the link. I see a lot of promise for her, as well. There are already Flash Cards on the site on so many of the subjects she is now studying and there are even practice tests. If she got her friends to join up, they could share their notes and information by uploading their own flash cards. It's a very interesting concept, and bound to appeal to kids. This is a computer generation, what could be more appealing to them than a site that lets them connect with friends and study at the same time? The site was inspired by kids who wanted a fun way to study using the computer.

There's too much for me to explain, but if you have children of school age from Kindergarten to college, you should watch the video and see how Flashcard Friends can work for them. You can find them at http://www.flashcardfriends.com Here's the press release for the website, it explains it all much better than I could.

Flashcard Friends Combines Social Networking and Online Learning

Second generation Web 2.0 entrepreneurs create a FREE “social learning” website for students, homeschoolers and teachers

Belmont, CA. – February 21, 2008 – Flashcard Friends combines social networking—a la Facebook and MySpace—with online learning. The inspiration for Flashcard Friends came when the founders of the company, Kendall and Ryan Hogan (now ages 15 and 12) were being forced to create flashcards by their whip-cracking father. They complained that “flashcards are lame…why can’t we do them on the Internet…and why can’t they be fun like MySpace.” Their father, Mike, a web 2.0 entrepreneur, started asking questions about how it might work. Kendall and Ryan described a social network where students could create flashcards and share them with their classmates; or teachers could create flashcards and share them with their students.

With the help of their father, Ryan and Kendall defined what they wanted their website to do. Then their father recruited a top-notch team of developers and got it built. You can now see their website at www.Flashcardfriends.com. Following in their father’s footsteps, Kendall and Ryan are second generation web 2.0 entrepreneurs.

Old school (printed) flashcards are a powerful and proven memorization tool. By using them, Kendall and Ryan were able to substantially improve their test scores. But online flashcards enable a lot of very powerful capabilities. For example, spelling, pronunciation of foreign words, automated testing and correction, images, all of this and more is a snap with Flashcard Friends.

Once the flashcards are in the system, you can share them with friends. The Hogan kids are now looking forward to the day when they return from summer break, only to inherit online flashcards from the class ahead of them. In addition to finding flashcards through friends, you can navigate through flashcard decks by category (e.g. math > algebra), or search by tags, keywords, and more.

Some of the website’s functionality:
• Create flashcards with text, pictures and sounds (ideal for foreign languages)
• Four different learning modes: find one that fits you, or use them all
• Auto-magically creates tests from the flashcards and then corrects them
• Uses social networking to manage sharing card decks
• Find existing flashcards by subject, school, teacher, book and more
• Speak into your computer and add the recording to the cards instantly
• Turns a spelling list into spelling flashcards with a spoken version of each word
• Includes web 2.0 technologies like user ratings, bookmarking and tagging
• …and much more

Flashcard Friends enables students to create flashcards, share them, memorize them and then test themselves. Flashcards can be used at every level, from Kindergarten to post-graduate, and for every topic, from learning colors to preparing for the legal bar exam, learning a language, or studying for the SAT.

Nancy Ferraro 5th Grade Teacher, Granite Bay, CA: “I was very excited to discover Flashcard Friends. I introduced it to my 5th grade students, and we have been using it ever since. The students like how easy the site is to navigate, but they are so jazzed to see their friends’ flashcards. My students have already exchanged flashcards on multiplication, fractions, the 13 colonies, and space. All this in one week! I will definitely use this site for all of my classroom flashcard needs.”

About Flashcard Friends
Flashcard Friends, the social learning website, is pioneering the powerful combination of social networking and online learning. The company was founded by students, for students. The entire website is free to all; students, teachers, homeschoolers, everyone. You can register for free at www.Flashcardfriends.com. For more information call (650) 595-2400, or email mike (at) Flashcardfriends.com.

See web demos of Flashcardfriends.com here: http://Flashcardfriends.com/videos.php

Cleaning Up With TV

2008-02-28T07:00:00.000-05:00

I wrote about my favorite TV show over at one of my other blogs. The show is from the BBC and it is, I am ashamed to say, a reality show. But instead of cramming a bunch of strangers into a house and watching sparks fly, this show takes two women who are cleaning experts to some of the dirtiest homes in the UK and let's us watch as they perform their cleaning magic.

I must confess, cleaning is not my life. In fact, my life is a bit untidy, which I like to believe is a result of my creativity. I have gone so far as to bookmark and refer people to a NY Times article that basically concluded that creative people are disorganized by nature. It's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

Mostly, I like this show because it makes me feel better about the state of my own house and allows me to say "well, at least my house doesn't look as bad as THAT". But the strangest thing is that the chidren now watch it with me, The Boy opining that we should call in Kim and Aggie to show us (and him) how to be tidier and The Girl wanting to try out all the cleaning tips.

After viewing two episodes yesterday, The Girl decided to vacuum and dust the ceiling fans, while The Boy busily began cleaning drawers and organizing them. I sat and watched in amazement until I finally had to call a halt to the cleaning fest after The Girl ran the vacuum so long she overheated the motor.

Who says TV isn't educational?

The Great Deconstruction

2008-02-20T18:11:00.002-05:00

With a week home from school, children find new ways to be bored or new ways to make you think they are languishing in a bored state when really they are doing something dastardly. Such a one is The Boy.

The Boy has shown a great interest in tools. In order to foster his interest in a safe and constructive way, I have bought him numerous kits from the crafts store. The thing is that he hardly ever shows a great interest in putting these thing together, not even the toolbox. He's very happy once it has been constructed and he loves the smaller-sized but real wrenches and screwdrivers that come with the kits. In fact, he prizes them above all and will immediately set about using them to do what he does best - deconstruction.

The Boy's great interest in life is not in putting things together, but in taking them apart. He has disassembled a robot, an artist's easel and a gumball machine - all Christmas presents. Disassembly yields even greater prizes, for he then has a pocket full of screws and nuts and bolts that jingle-jangle and he proudly makes his deconstructed music everywhere he goes.

I suppose you could say he has a curious mind - takes things apart because he wants to know how they work. That would be very comforting, but I am afraid he takes things apart just to get the parts. Perhaps he is planning some large and secret construction of his own. That is an unsettling and yet amusing thought.

I wonder what he will make with a robot head, some wing nuts, a plastic bubble and a dry-erase board?

Lessons My Children Have Taught Me

2008-02-18T19:49:00.001-05:00

The children have a week off from school, which they face with great joy and I face with great trepidation. Keeping two children happy and occupied with something constructive for 9 days in a row is not an easy task. Especially since, in the time-honored tradition of siblings, their preferred occupation is bickering with each other.

A little fighting and arguing between siblings is to be expected, even more so because their age difference has always been a part of it. Teen girls basically view 8 year old boys as a disease. I expected this 9 days to seem like 9 years.

But so far they have surprised me. The Girl decided to play school with The Boy. I even heard her reading a book to him - and he was actually listening! The Boy never allowed me to read to him until he found a Goosebumps book about garden gnomes that come alive and do mischievous things. That sounded scary enough to interest him, and scary enough to require my presence while it was read.

After the reading, it went quiet for a while, then for a while more. Finally, the silence was too much - I burst into the room to check on them. Appears it was nap time at school and I interrupted.

That's a key lesson, however. I have decided that children make bloodcurdling noises and scream over nothing in order to reassure mothers that they are still alive and well. It's when it all goes quiet that you wonder what could possibly be wrong. You can't really ignore it, because they might be doing something dangerous. If they are not, then it becomes obvious to them that you have noticed how quiet they are and feel that they aren't living up to their potential.

Equally inadvisable is to notice how good they are behaving and compliment them on it. It sounds like the right thing to do - reinforcing good behavior and rewarding it with praise - but again, children realize they have been lax in their duties and will redouble their efforts to make noise and fight.

I am trying to re-educate myself and work on changing my instinctive reactions. Even now, as The Boy decides to clean the refrigerator, I am smiling and being totally non-reactive to his assurances that "only three eggs broke" even though I desperately want to know how they got broken.

It's going to be a long 9 days.

Lessons My Children Have Taught Me

2008-02-18T17:00:00.000-05:00