Cookie Cutter Parenting

 When I first started out as a mother, my journals bear out my worries, that having a second or a third, would lead to not paying attention to the individual needs of these new people, that numbers would preclude treating each child's interests and taste and talents and gifts as unique. 

Now, that I have ten children, four dietary menus, six different musical instruments being played or not,an artist, a teacher, a government major, a bio major and track star, a K-pop loving archiologist major and a budding singer, editorial cartoonist, and we won't even start on the discussion of clothing, I think this early fear of mine can safely be laid to rest forever.   Really.  

I mean, I'm not a tiger mom and I'm not an assembly line parent, but I have to wonder, to those tiger moms out there, and those capable of having all their children embrace similar clothing styles, astetics, dietary preferences and haircuts...how did you do it?  Mass hypnosis?  Biofeedback?  Drugs in the dinner plate?  Absent draconian threats of Wandavision type becoming unglued, I can't get them to move as a collective voting block to agree upon dinner...not even pizza, because two don't eat pizza and they like three different places from which to get said pie.   

Even something as simple as milk...I've got oat milk, almond milk, whole and skim...and one who doesn't like any.   

Ice cream...chocolate, mint chocolate chip, only ice cream sandwiches, cashew icecream, mochi (apple pie only), and ben and jerry's cherry garcia, and the rest will eat any of them...that last flavor of B&J is for me though, as a coping mechanism for what I endure when fixing dinner.   (But I'm easy, I'll eat just about any sweet).    

I'm glad I raised ten individual unique people, but there are moments when I'd like to say, "Hey you...deliberately round peg, get in the square hole now because it's hammer time!   And I'd swing down like nobody's business.   I'd like to not feel like every meal, every holiday, and every event is not merely reminicent of a GRE Analysis question, but the inspiration for a whole slew of new ones.  ETS should have me on payroll.   

Still, there are moments when I see the sublime wonder of having so many different unique personalities under one roof.  Today, the tire blew out on my mini-van.  One made dinner.  One practice yoga with three others. One helped organize cleaning the living room.  Another did pick up of those who needed rides and two did the dishes.  It was a beautiful thing, all these individuals coming together despite their many differences.  

In gratittude, I made cookies and everyone was happy. It was then that it hit me, the joy I'd created with the thank you treat...everyone loved them.  Everyone ate them. They were universal. 

And it occurred to me, the cookies...they were slice and bake.

Hold Please...

 Today, we learned, we're not alone.  Oh, we know that Covid keeps all of us six feet apart, but there is one universal thing that knits all hearts together, a thing universally loathed...telemarketers.  They've managed to evade the do not call lists, such that the home phone rings almost exclusively with apologies from a non existent electric company, notifications about our car warranty and notes from Linda that there is nothing wrong with our credit card...however...  

As such, my children view such disruptions to the normal chaos and peace of the home crimes worthy of all the creativty they can muster.  One answers in German.  Not to be outdone, another says, "Dominos Pizza? I'd like to order a pepperoni and a large with extra cheese. Hold please."   The third is more wiley.  She hands the phone to Paul, who not knowing who it is, proceeds to talk and walk about the house, happy to share his thougths with the robot on the other side of the line. No unusual credit offers or certificates for extended warranty of our automobiles have shown up yet, so we deem it a fair use of the phone.  The practical child just hangs up. She doesn't want to be bothered with such things.  

However, there is one...one who truly excells at using these opportunities to practice wit.   Answering the person selling solar panels, "I don't want to exploit the sun..." or "I don't believe in that great white hot orb in the sky." she leaves them stunned into silence. It's brilliant and burning and devastating to behold.  The phone rang...and perhaps the karma for however many spambots and call centers burned over the years needed to happen, because the person on the other side of the receive paused too long for anyone to think it was a human being.  

"If you're selling, I'm going to come out swinging..." the tiger prepared to pounce...
The person on the phone stammered out their name and asked for me.   The recognition, this was an actual person dawned on everyone.   Scratching a note...if that's work, I'm really sorry, but if it's just a friend...the mom on the line was cracking up, telling me her daughter uses pots and pans as  drumset when the telemarkers call.   "I thought it was just me."  

No. It's not you. It's not me either, it's all of us, united against them.   We laughed and wondered how many are out there with silent running gags they use to get these pests off the phones we don't want to answer...the phone rang.  It was about a hotel trip somewhere..."Hola?" She began, and proceeded to say the lyrics to "Despesito" as if having a conversation.  

The momentary shock of encountering an actual person we know in real life obviously had worn off...

Ten Things To Do if Halloween is Forbidden

 My county has banned trick-or-treating owing to Covid-19.  My house has always loved tripping out the home for Halloween and we've decided that we have our own plans to make it fun despite the absence of a walk around the neighborhood.  My teens immediately thought of ways to enliven the world with non-defiant but resistant joy.   I share their ideas here. 

10) Know those T-Rex Costumes?  They're funny no matter what.  Two of mine are considering donning them and skateboarding/scootering and throwing out zip log bags of candy to each home.  They'd bag the candy wearing gloves and so it would be sealed for all points of delivery.   

It's the great T-Rex Charlie Brown!  

9) They've also suggested all of us dressing as the characters from the Peanuts, including Charlie Brown and delivering rocks.   

8) Zombie tag outside on Halloween --basically, if you're touched, you're part of it.  Those who are touched have to carry a light stick everyone can see.  Last one not touched is winner. No talking during the game except Zombies can say Brains and when you're touched, you must yell touched and remain there until the ref (and you need a ref) hands you a light stick.  (Consider it the transformation stage).   

7) Cake Wars Halloween Style --this requires some work --only do the mini mixes so you don't have 1000 cakes afterwards --the cake in a cup, the big issue is decor and altering the cake in a cup to follow the theme.   (Pick three themes in advance, and have the fondant, frosting, sprinkles and extras ready). Set a timer, use spooky music and one of the adults should mc it a'la Alton Brown in Iron Chef.  Judge with three --taste, theme and presentation. 

6) Make old fashioned treats like stainglassed windows, popcorn balls and homemade candies.   It will take time, it will be fun, it will be a mess, but again, it will be fun. 

5) Pumpkin wars --yes, give everyone their own pumpkin and let them create a masterpiece. Give them a theme, let them do.   Paint is a good idea, as are sharpie markers.  

4) Live Still display.    This takes work and a desire to scare, but if everyone's on board, dress everyone up so they look like a display.  Set up with lighting on a night before Halloween, complete with music.  Every once in a while, move when a car drives by.   (Works great for teens and tweens).   

3) Classic Monster Movie Binge Night --Frankenstein, Dracula and Werewolf.   Serve popcorn and icecream floats.    Or alternatively, The Twilight Zone or Alfred Hitchcock.   

2) Decorate the house with as much Halloween as you can...and put on an old fashioned carnival for your kiddos --with costumes, grab bags, bobbing for apples, clothespin drops, ring toss to win a soda, and spinny art, press on nails, tatoos and face paint.   Make sure each activity comes with the equivalent of a chucky-cheese type tickets or tokens.   Have them trade in the tokens for various candies and plastic goodies that are fun.  

1) Zoom with your relatives.  Ask them to dress up.  Read scary stories.   Order Pizza.   Wish them Happy Halloween and don't be surprised if your teens skateboard down the driveway wearing dinosaur costumes.   

Refer to the Refs

Why does the sports industry do this to us?  After February 3rd and the Superbowl, we will enter what is known in our home as the Sports Void. There is no Splenda alternative, no understudy competition capable of covering the time span from February 4th to March Madness.  It's not that I'm a sports junkie, it's that I love the strategies and banter of my family as we debate calls, plays and coaching decisions.  It gives all my kids a way to use their desire to micro-manage someone other than themselves in an appropriate manner.   Absent sporting events, they turn to the easiest source of arm-chair quarterbacking in any household, their siblings, which leaves me in the unfortunate role of game official.

In the interest of helping to maintain a spirit of sportsmanship throughout the off season, I'm listing here the predesignated consequences for any and all infractions.

7) Off Sides:  the space within the car is limited. Failure to respect the personal space of each individual passenger shall be punishable by allowing the affected individual unrestricted access the music and atmospheric controls for the duration of the errand. 

6) Offsetting penalties:  In the event there are multiple flags, all entertainment shall be cancelled, all personal errands rescheduled, and offending members given the additional community service of folding fifteen pairs of socks each. 

5) Unintentional grounding:  I've learned, people don't get that they're not in charge even when I say, "You're not in charge."  Ergo, if someone declares themselves to be in charge, I'm handing over all the dishes for the evening, and I'm going to use extra pots and pans.

4) Holding: Everyone knows when someone extends their hand above their head clutching an item, it isn't because they're doing it to preserve peace.  They're proving they have the power to keep someone else from getting said item.   I'm of two minds on this issue.  If instant replay indicates the item was in fact involved in creating a problem for others, I will take the item. I will also put those helpful hands to use, thinking that person must volunteering for something.  Since I've already delegated laundry and dishes, I'm going to make this one an outside task, landscaping 101. 
They'll get to trim all the branches overhead.

3) False Start:  Every parent knows this tactic.  The younger kid baits the older one into attacking, the older one gets called for bad behavior, and the younger one enjoys schadenfreude.  This works until you learn the younger kid tell.   The best consequence for such behavior is servitude.  Making the younger kid bring ice cream to the older at the dinner table, acting as a waiter is oddly satisfying for all involved. (Particularly if you afterwards have everyone share the ice cream). 

2) Throwing the ball away: The opposite of baiting, is the death before dishonor tactic of destroying an item or a good to prevent another child from sharing or acquiring the good.  Replacement and remorse are the only acceptable consequences.  The nice reality is, you usually only have to enforce this penalty once. 

1) 12 Men on the field: My son sits in a chair. His older brother wants the chair as well.  A third sibling walks by and thinks, you know what this seat war needs? More people.  There are two couches and three other chairs.  This is the only one that matters.   Everyone is benched, I get the chair. 

If you're curious, when we get to March Madness, the kids resort to winner-take-all mentalities when it comes to turf battles.  Baseball season is much easier...it's a fight when I say it's a fight. 

You Know It's Cold if...

10) When your kids hold a contest between the outside and the inside with ice trays and the outside wins. 

9) The outside temperature is lower than the mean age of your children.

8) There isn't a place to fly to in the 48 that won't require a coat and possibly gloves and a hat.

7) The pump on your fish pond freezes in mid spray. 

6) People are considering whether they could make ice cream outside.

5) My diet cokes are now stashed in the back yard. 

4) Kids are volunteering to do the laundry so they can sit next to the dryer.

3) Children who don't like soup and tea are hoping I'll have it for lunch so they can hold the bowl and the cup as they bring it to me at the table. 

2) When your child asks for a shake at the drive-thru, the response is, "Are you kidding me?" 

and
1) The asking price for every task indoors is a cup of hot chocolate.
The asking price for every task outdoors is every task indoors instead. 

A fun piece over at the Register Today

Today, I gave some of my family's favorite Christmas stories a little shout out over at the Register...

Here's the link: Six Christmas Books for your Family.

Over at the Register today...

This was a nice surprise.  Think I'm averaging about 50-50 at the moment.   Parenting is Not About Winning, but Winning them over.

Culinary Free Radical

If consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, my brain is officially gremlin free. At least, it is with respect to all things in the kitchen when Thanksgiving rolls around. 

Sometime back in my formative years, it got stuck in my psyche that making a dish the same way twice was some sort of cheat on the cooking experience, both for the eater and the chef. Like tracing a picture or violating copyright laws, repeating a meal was a less worthy, less creative endeavor than inventing a new one. I’d make a cake from scratch. People would say, “Hey, that’s delicious.” And I’d never make it again. Even if someone requested a specific recipe, I’d have to add a little something, so it would never be exactly the same. For example, after the first time of making pumpkin pie and getting rave reviews, the next time I added a touch of apple slices, just to make it different. That didn’t work very well. 

Thus, as an adult, it has been a source of vexation to have to serve the same meal day in and day out to meet the demands of multiple palates with a minimum of refusal. My children would be happy with bagels with butter for breakfast, peanut butter for lunch, and pasta and carrot sticks for dinner six days out of seven. So when the fall High Eating Holiday season begins, (Thanksgiving to January 1st), I set my cooking muse free. She starts with the basics: turkey, cranberries, potatoes, green beans. Then, the tweaking gets serious. Unfortunately, with only two months to express herself, my inner artistic chef does not handle her newfound freedom responsibly. 

First, the stuffing needed mushrooms, sautéed in butter and maybe a touch of wine. She added all the other ingredients, onions, peppers, celery and thought, you know, we could chop a bit of other vegetables and emptied my veggie drawer in the process. What about a little garlic or ooh, chicken broth in those potatoes? Yeah! Now we’re talking. You know, we could boil those green beans but what about braising them with a touch of balsamic vinegar? Then they’d be special! No dish can go untouched and multiple trips to the gourmet grocery store ensue. 

The problem with trying to out Martha Stewart the Food Network is two-fold. 1) No one can afford my foodie cooking habit, and 2) No one eats it. One time, I found a cranberry dish I thought was cool and made it, but everyone looked at it and an emergency run was made to the grocery store for those round shivery red discs instead. Over the years, I’ve submitted cooked pumpkin slices with onions, cornbread stuffing and all manner of pie to make each Thanksgiving “just a little different.” I even flirted with ordering a fried turkey. 

Each year, the response has been about the same, the kids take their slices of turkey plain, their boiled potatoes mashed, their green beans with a dash of butter, pop-n-fresh rolls and disc of cranberry Jell-O. I’ve pointed out we could get the exact same meal at the local hospital. I saw hopeful eyes glancing towards the car. 

To cope with my need to experiment, each of the children plus my husband have taken ownership of a different dish at Thanksgiving to ensure that nothing remotely resembling the caramelized carrots with parboiled brussel sprouts in a reduced vinaigrette ever makes its way to the table ever again. They’ve put me in charge of dessert, where I’m allowed to make one outlandish item provided real pumpkin and real apple (not merged) pie remains on the menu. 

This arrangement worked last year. 

“This pumpkin chocolate chip bread is awesome Mom.” 
They love it. There’s not a crumb left. 
“Wow!” 

Don’t ever expect to see it on my table again. Maybe if we add cranberries, chopped dates, toasted pecans…then it would be special.

It's Election Day and...

My children are discussing how soon it's legitimate to put on the all Christmas carols radio station. While the 24-7 Christmas cheese please music enjoys almost unhealthy popularity in my home, there are some who feel (quite strongly), it must wait until the day after Thanksgiving at the very least.  Normally, I side with the people with Christmas in their hearts, but Christmas creep has begun to weary even my spirit. Commercialism being the devouring beast that it is, determined this year's kick off on the local radio is November 17th. 

Some of my kids have access to Spotify, and thus the Whos start singing whenever the muse of Mariah Carey inspires. We've already had several impromptu concerts.  It's okay for a small shot, like an occasional ginger snap or hot cocoa before it's really cold, but the steady diet channels my inner curmudgeon and you know, if you complain or protest, it's almost seen as  a challenge...a dare...can I do this seemingly innocent/innocuous thing to the point of driving older siblings and my parents insane?

Answer...yes.  You can. You have. 

However, I promise you, if it is to be war between us, I shall win.  I have years of Christmas tradition to draw upon...to that end, I'm thinking...

1) matching Christmas sweaters with a mandatory photo, which I'll share on social media on their pages, twitter accounts...etc.

2) Technology is my friend...so I'm going to close out all but Christmas movies, paging Hallmark for an extra serving of sap and heart fluff from the cable package.   All their avatars shall be icons from classic films.  I'm doing it by pure randomness...so someone will get the Grinch, another Kris Kringle, another Herbie, and another Rudolph and Frosty. I'll also fix the ring tones. 

3) Christmas cleaning...because we have to make room in the inn, so everybody needs to clear things out... and I'll blast out the classical versions, the stuff that doesn't make it on the radio/hand selected play list...we shall out cheese them by singing along.   

4) Creating Christmas projects.  Yes, I'll ask the musical ones in my family to practice songs for performance purposes, to give to relatives.  They'll love it.  I'll ask the bakers to make cookies.  I'll make them peppermint and pumpkin everything until they beg for springtime fare like hot dogs and sugar cookies. 

5) Eggnog and fruitcake...and Christmas movies...I'm going to Thomas Kinkade the daylights out of these premature Christmas carolers in my home...until they cry uncle,

or at the very least,  want to go cold turkey. 

Happy Holidays! from the Christmas hearted not entirely evil genius parent they constantly underestimate.   Love, Mom. 

The Worth of It

How do you do it? 
Anywhere someone discovers we have ten kids, the question comes up.  I understand.  It's unusual. 

My flippant answer is "Some days, I don't." and that can mean house work, reading, exercise or getting a shower.   

I'm fairly certain the "it" they wonder about, is the work. It's true.  There's always more to do, and as far as I know, I've never been finished.    To do "it" would imply it got done.  My understanding of this life is, "it's never done, until we are," and so I'm not done with "it."  I don't spend a lot of time with angst over how to do it.  Angst doesn't help.

Some days I don't exercise. Some days I don't read. Some days I don't write. Some days, I don't get it all done, and some days, that doesn't bother me.  It isn't a celebration of sloth, it's a recognition, this won't all happen, it won't all be perfect, and it won't all get done no matter what I do.  So just do what you can, and tomorrow, do it again. 

 Instead, I spend a lot of time asking, "What's next?' 

Summer today ended without prior notice, as one child has practice every day at seven o'clock in the morning.   I shouldn't have asked.   Still, the how do you do it question isn't an expression of awe, but a question of where do you get the will? Because I get, parenting is an act of the will every day.

Today, in the kitchen, I discovered the remains of someone's cooking project, recycling which needed to be taken out, and that I forgot to start the dishwasher last night.  Upstairs in the hallway, is apparently the nesting grounds for all towels in the household, and a quick survey indicated I needed to bus the rooms for evening drink of water cups. 

The real question, "How do you do it?" was "How do you do it without losing your mind?" 
My joke felt a little sharper to me.  Maybe I wouldn't use that one anymore. 

Which is why the answer remains, some days, I don't because of whatever the what's next turns out to be.  I also spend time in my head telling myself, "Never ask that." 

Yesterday, I'd been at the park with the youngest four, listening to two different women.  Each spoke wistfully about only having two, and feeling trapped by economics, by decisions they'd made earlier, by life itself, into staying stuck with less than their hearts longed for.  They both drifted off from me in the park, but watched the interplay of theirs and my children with hungry eyes.  They each told me, they feared even as they wanted, "Just one more."

Having just met, I couldn't whisper to them, "It's worth it."  even with the towel marshaling grounds and filled trash bags, endless errands and paperwork and dishes though I did say, "You couldn't imagine how much you'd love your first, and then you thought your heart would burst with the second.  That same thing happens with every one of them." to one of the women.  I would have said more, but she ran off with her phone, though she told me, she was going to tell her husband that. 

I wanted explain somehow, that desire to love more, that's God talking to your soul, inviting you into the infinite unknown.  The "It" I don't do, but live with every day, is beyond my capacity to "do," because love is never finished.   It's just my will that doesn't always want to do much beyond bark at those I love, "Clean this mess up!"  Most of learning how to do "it" is learning to say yes when you are asked, to ignore your own desire to say, "No!" or bark.   It is climbing the stairs, fixing the lunch, taking the trip to the park, and making sure the meal has vegetables.   It is tying the shoes and finding matched socks.  It is never done because there's always need, there's always more.   Fortunately, love is infinite, so love also is always a reward if you let yourself surrender.  I also know, it isn't numbers, it's how you love, and one can be an infinite lover with one, like Mary, or a flawed lover of the infinite, like me. 

My twelve year old came into my room.  She asked me yesterday to climb the stairs to look at her room. I'd not found the time.  She came in, "Mom...I'm bored."  I reminded her I'd yet to see her room.  She lit up like a Christmas tree. "Hurry, come see it!" and I told her, she helped me finish this story.   The "it" involves a lot of sacrifice, sometimes just stopping what you want to do and climbing the stairs, but if you surrender, you discover a lot of joy you'd otherwise miss. 

We played a game of Extreme Twister afterwards, with five of my kids.  I won twice before retiring, with both a slight head rush from the blood and bragging rights.  I wanted to whisper to those two women's hearts, "It's worth it." 

At the Register Today

This week, practice asking God, "What do you want me to do?" and stand back to hear Him speak.  Every once in a while I remember, this relationship is a two way thing, and not all about me and my wants, and it is in that rare moment when I stop talking, that God answers. 

As such, I have a piece over at the National Catholic Register, "We Have Been Given Freedom in Order to Really Love God." Memo to the children, thanks for the inspiration.  Back to writing...

At the Register

After a long hiatus, (a week), I'm hitting the hey, I'm a writer who sometimes gets published trail again.   My latest is inspired by real life. Your teens will always be your babies.  It's true.

At the Register Today...

A little slice of humor for your day...and yes, the Talking Heads solo at Christmas really happened.

My Job is Not What You Think it Is

Last year, my youngest went to school. For the first time in twenty-three years, I beheld an empty house; no toddlers, no babies, no babies being expected. I lasted two days before taking a job at a high school, less time than Jesus spent in the tomb

Swearing, pompous pontificating, sloth, whatever they dish out, it's not personal, they'd do that to anyone sitting behind the desk even if the person offered daily meals, unlimited cell phone usage and free taxi service. It's cold comfort to know while my own teens who receive regular food, access to wi-fi and transporation as needed don't curse, I may have set the bar too low.

However it's easy to deal with these other teens, I haven't gained weight or gray hairs for these people. They don't require four o'clock AM vomit vigils, and unlike my own offspring, these folks don't cost me money. So it's much easier to be sympathetic, prepared, educated and understanding, authoritative but nurturing for them than for those who consider all of that gratis. It also helps that I'm only four hours a day, and rotate through several classes, and that I don't pick up after them. It leaves all the energy for the eye rolls.

Still, what I find works best at home, works best at school too. Not allowing any of that stuff to be shown to bother, and giving more attention, not less to whatever it is that matters. At home, when I say, "Clean your room." I get arguments like, "What difference will it make? The room will just get dirty again and no one will see it but me." to which saying, "Because I said so," will result in nothing happening.

At school I say, "Get on with the assignment." and hear, "What difference will it make? I'm already behind on all the work and my grade won't go up." I said, "It will make a difference to you, and it will make a difference in you." and remembered why I am a mom, and why I teach, because she cleaned the room and he did the assignment. I've been told, the job of teaching is to inform, not convince. My thought is the opposite. My role is to cajole, encourage, beg, and remind, whether Mom or teacher, about one thing: What you do affects who you are. Who you are is revealed to the world, by what you do. It's always a miracle when it happens, except I have to pretend in both circumstances, I'm not surprised.  I also do come away from those situations always thinking, "I can't believe that worked!"  

Next year, I hope to return to the classroom full time. I worry about the subdivision of my life even more. The idea of having to plan all my schedule fills me with dread and makes me wonder if I could lay claim to that third day at the very least.

Sleep Regulations of Mom and Dad

We your parents love you always.  Having said this, we've also discovered in the course of years of experimentation, we need this thing called sleep more than any of you knew possible.  Since none of you seem interested in fostering this physical need of ours, the time has come to lay down the law. 

We have operational hours...6 AM to 11:00 PM, Monday through Friday.  Saturday and Sunday, the hours alter to 8 AM to 11 PM. 

Emergencies may happen, you have needs which exceed these hours, and you are welcome in such circumstances.  However, it seems few know the difference between an emergency and ordinary inquiries.  Please refer to the following handy dandy chart to avoid confusion, faux pas and interrupting much needed Mom and Dad REM sleep. 

Before you knock...

Does this situation involve someone having a problem with a bodily fluid? 
If so, KNOCK. 

Does this situation involve someone raiding the refridgerator of the last sleeve of thin mints?
If so, don't knock.  Tell the person to leave a baggie of four for Mom for the trouble and to share the rest of them.   

Does the situation involve someone arguing over a toy?
Go to bed.  Leave the toy outside our bedroom door. 

Does the situation involve anyone being sick in some fashion? 
Knock.  Knock until you get an answer.

Does the situation involve a nightmare? 
Knock.  We will awake and help make it better.  That's what Moms and Dads do. 

Does the situation involve a dispute over technology?   Turn all of it off.  It should have been off hours ago. 

Does the situation involve needing water?
You are stalling.  If you can come knock on the door, you can get water from your sink.  Do not knock.

Does your situation involve signing papers...forgotten homework?  We'll talk about this in the morning.  We'll sign the papers.  Leave a note for me to wake you up early. 

Hope this clears everything up.  Sweet dreams.   Love you all.   Good Night. 

Survival Tips for Parents of Teens...

The world has skads of magazines and blogs and tips on how to manage toddlers and babies, but teenagers...all you get is to learn all you should have done and all you didn't.  I know why there isn't a book or magazine devoted to parenting teenagers.  Too much knowledge not born of personal experience might doom the human race as we know it.

However, for those intrepid souls who must either face this pending reality, or who already know the doom I speak of, read on and learn Seven Survival Tips for dealing with people aged 11-19.  You've been warned.   

7)  When you had babies and toddlers, you used a baby monitor.  You supervised your kiddo's every moment, waking and otherwise.  The kid didn't object.  The kid didn't know. Truthfully, it's not a bad plan now either.  Twitter stalking and lurking at istagram, and eliminating the internet when you want to sleep, seems to me a wise strategy.   The kid would object.  The kid doesn't know. 

6) When your kids became kids, your life revolved around meal time.  What you didn't know was, when your kids became teens, meal time became all of life.   Whatever you make, it's not enough, except when you cook everything.  Then the kids tell you, "I'm not hungry."  (Note: do not take this personally. The food will disappear in seventeen seconds instead of four, but they'll still tell you, you made too much and they weren't hungry the whole time).  When they finish, they'll say, "Is there anything left to eat?" 

5) As Mom of toddlers, you'd have paid good money to guarantee nap time.  As a Mom of teens, you'd pay good money to see your offspring awake during daylight hours. 

4) Toilet training is hard.  You cannot convince them, you can only wait them out. It's a dicy thing the first time you take them out in the world without a diaper bag. Driving lessons are hard.  Convincing yourself to steel up and let them take the wheel?  That's nerve wracking. 

3) When they were little, you planned play dates.  You knew their moms, their dads, their siblings, their dogs, everything.  Now...since a lot of teens play it close to the vest, get ready to be the go to chaperone.  You can look responsible, respectible and drive them crazy at the same time.  Bonus points if Mom and Dad go as a couple to the dance...double bonus if you dance.  Mortification city...

2) Nothing you experienced as a teenager or college student or as a young adult counts and teens don't actually want to know you were ever anything but Mom and Dad.   Your job is to listen, provide a shoulder and a milk shake when necessary.  Some day they'll want to know you had a past.  Just not now. 

1) They make your heart melt when they say, "I love you." when they're toddlers.  they make your heart swoon when you get it and they're older. 

Good luck. 

Darth Mutter or Mom Shot First

Somewhere between the ages of 3 and 18, children attempt to use Jedi mind tricks on their parents, certain those who birthed them want to sell them death sticks. What children do not know, is those mind tricks don't work on parents.

I told my six year old, "You can't go out dressed like that; it's cold outside."

She shook her head, "Check the weather app." Since when do first graders adopt the policy of "Trust but verify?" Promising her the outside would very much resemble the planet Hoth, she ignored my warnings and held her ground. Negotiations were shorter than her outfit.  "I'll wear a coat." she explained.

Her high school sister proved an unexpected member of the rebel alliance, coming down in shorts (with leggings), and explaining, "I have P.E. today." I informed both of them, there'd be no leaving this house until both dressed appropriately. One turned on the radio, searching for traffic and weather on the 8's, while the other asked her brother to use his phone to go on NOAA's website. I told them all, "I find your lack of faith disturbing."

The high schooler thought she'd get a pass by claiming she didn't have time to change and still catch the bus. I grabbed my keys. "I'll drive you." My offer of a mercy mission failed to move. The rebellion needed to be crushed. Using force wouldn't work, but using the force might.

I turned off the thermostat and opened the windows a crack. "You win. Wear what you want." I served breakfast. I put out bowls, spoons, milk and dry cereal. As a bonus, I put ice cubes in their orange juice.

Before the corn flakes grew soggy, I found them ready for school. Victory assured, we evacuated them in our moment of triumph.  (I saw them off to the bus). Meanwhile, my husband adjusted the thermostat and shut the windows.    He told me, "They underestimate the power of the dark side." I was thinking, "Let the Wookie win." but that worked. 

 I gave him a kiss as he left for work. I said, "I love you." He said, "I know."

On Point

Today I took my kids to see the Nutcracker.  I remember seeing it almost yearly and almost yearly making a silent promise to myself that next year, I'd somehow try out.  I didn't because 1) I'd forget,  and 2) The studio which put on the production was the competitor to the dance school I attended and 3) I wasn't so much a ballerina as someone in love with performing. 

Watching the performance, I wondered what my kids thought and looked admist the perfect dancers for the ones who persisted on sheer determination.  The kid just slightly off, but giving it everything, that's the dancer for me. 

The girls knew some of the vocabulary from a movie about dancing they've taken to recently, Leap!   One asked, "Is that a grand jette?"  "Nope. Just Jette." "Is that a piroette?"  "Yes."  "How many did she do?" "Seven."  "Is that a lot?"  "Yes."  Whispered discussion about theatre ettiquitte earned me another five minutes of asking "Why?" 

I'd love for one of my girls to love dancing like I'd loved it, to want to do it even when it isn't for a performance, to love recitals.  So far, six girls, no ballerinas. 

At intermission, we perused the gift tables. Anna wanted a rhinestone tiara.  Regina wanted a sword with a scabbard or a snowglobe. (We got the snowglobe), and Rita wanted a souvenier coffee cup (though I suspect for the chocolate inside).   I looked wistfully at the toe shoe ornaments.  No one in my crew would want such a thing.

After the show, the dancers took questions and introduced themselves.  Most began dancing at four.  None danced fewer than seven years by the time they reached twelve.  The girls loved the show for the most part, they liked the costumes and the experience. 

When we got back in the car, I overheard the girls saying how grateful they were, they didn't have to do something every day.   "Yeah, like the villian's daughter in Leap! where her mom makes her dance all the time." They can't ballance on point, but they have ballanced lives I thought.   "Thanks for taking us Mom!"  "This was awesome!" "Thanks for going out with us." They enjoyed it for enjoying it, and for no other reason, and that was sufficient. 

In truth, it was the reason I got the tickets, to give them a memory.  In dance, to do a turn, you must fix your eyes and return to the spot, and not forget in mid spin where you want to go.  In parenting, the issue remains the same, stay focused, and you'll stay on point.

Today's piece over at the Register

Hello everyone.  I'd love to tell you things are slowing down but they seem to be speeding up.  This week included filling out the FAFSA, two teacher parent conferences, a meeting at the school, teaching CCD, preparing a son for state championships (running), and laundry.  I also dealt with cleaning out one closet, (finding the infamous 42 shoes without mates), and learning that Anna-Maria knows describing words.  She told me all she knew for ten minutes straight while I drove to pick up in afternoon traffic.  I love her so, but my heart sank when she announced she also knew numbers had no end, and did I want to know how she could prove it.   Parenting is often an endurance test, but more than that, it's a constant lesson on how to love more, even when we don't think we have anything to give, which brings me to my latest at the Register, dealing the Presentation at the Temple.

There's a Hole in My Wallet

I love giving gift cards as presents.It's the slacker Mom in me, but as a slacker mom, it's better to give than to receive.When my kids get them, it's a constant reminder to go shopping until said child slaps that plastic down at the store. Whether they want it or not is mostly irrelevant, what matters is spending the money.
...

Something about birthday money triggers the gotta-spend-it-or-I'll-die gene in my children. They'll stare at their purses or banks and sigh. They drop hints about the store hours, potential sales, and even wash dishes in an attempt to butter me up. I let them. After the direct bribe attempt fails, they position themselves in front of the door to the house with my wallet and keys. They'll mention once, twice, in every conversation, via text message and even create a twitter hashtag though they don't have a twitter account, #mymomnevertakesmeshoppingandothercruelties to ensure I get the message. Before I become viral or trending, I concede to their request, but not without some soul wrestling of my own.

I know one of three things will happen: 

1) they will spend over their limit but find something they love love love such I either bankroll the difference or seem like a world class miserly curmudgeon or... 

2) Binge shopping until the card drops. 

The problem with binge shopping of this nature, is the desire to spend outweighs the actual need to acquire, but the young shoppers won't rest until the amount left on those pieces of plastic is less than a nickel. So what if we have to purchase a pack of gum they don't chew, it's worth it to have that credit card balance read .03.

Offering my own two cents, like maybe for saving the money or spending some, not all, is met with a stare that translates to "Mom, are you nuts? We did the dishes for you, of course we're going to spend it all."

 And so it comes to pass, we own a Pickachu dressed in a Pirate costume, some silly putty, pens each color of the rainbow, three t-shirts with Halloween themed designs, an umbrella festooned with ice cream cones and some Shopkins, (which are plastic foods with cute faces). The balance reads 1.39 and my daughter runs to get a tube of mini-M&M's.

 Walking out the door, carrying her bounty, my daughter remembers, "I lost my water bottle at the party." "I remember." I said.

 "Can we go back into the store so you can buy me a new one?" she asks. "I'd buy it myself but I'm all out of money."

And that's #3 of what happens.