Still Around, Just Doggin' It

As you can see, the lag between my blog posts grows. I'm still here. I hope in 2011 to get back to a more semi-regular schedule of posts.

The latest and greatest thing in our household has been the addition of a dog, Alex the Schnoodle. I had been the holdout in our family and finally gave in to the longstanding pleas to "just look" at a dog. I had my reasons: the humane society in our fair city was running a special in October of half off the adoption fee. You know what a sucker I am for bargains. I also had seen on their website that they had a dog that sounded like he might fit my exacting standards (oh, I had quite a list, let me tell you). So on the 30th of October we went to "look".

The girls ooh and aahed over all the cute (noisy) puppies. And one adorable shitzu really got their attention. But well, I didn't want a puppy and it had to be a breed that wouldn't shed for all of our allergies. And the dog I'd read about wasn't in his cage. He was apparently visiting with another family. Still, I asked if we could see him next.

The furry creature that we met was nothing like I expected. He was quiet, but friendly and pretty mellow. I'm not sure what about him appealed to my girls, other than that he was a dog. And his name was Alex. Alex??? Who names a dog Alex?

Well, we adopted him the next day and he's been the perfect addition to our family. Mellow, like our family. Cuddly (which is important around three girls). And an absolute gentleman of a dog. The adjustment as been nearly seamless. Okay, there were the first few days when I got a little fed up with being constantly followed. Literally, his nose would touch the back of my legs as I walked. But now we're buddies. I have to go hunt for him if he's not nearby, although he's never up to any kind of trouble. And when I get out of his sight, he trots frantically around the house until he finds me.

Best of all? Timid daughter loves him and he loves her back. In the evenings he sneaks away from me to go sleep on her bed. It's precious. Frankly, I think Christmas this year will be a bit of a letdown after getting Alex. After all, with him, every one of her our wishes came true.

Bad Feeling in Her (& My) Stomach

You know the feeling you get when someone in your family is recovering from the stomach flu and is feeling just better enough to be hungry? That feeling you have when everyone else is well and sits down to eat a normal meal while the formerly ill person is stuck with jello and applesauce. The feeling you get when the sick one is a little person who gives you sad eyes when you tell her (again), that no, she may not have cheese pizza tonight like everyone else. It's the feeling you get as you look in those sad eyes. You know, that pit-in-your-stomach stuck kind of feeling? Yeah, that one.

I've got that feeling today. Except no one in my family is recovering from the stomach flu. Instead, I'm having to look in the sad eyes of my child who has chronic "stomach issues" and tell her that she can't have cheese pizza for the next few weeks. And we don't know how much of an option cheese pizza will be in the future.

I'm having to talk with my chocoholic Timid Daughter about how chocolate is on the list of foods that could contribute to her stomach problems. A week before Halloween.

I'm having to sort through what our doctor has told us to avoid or limit and match it up with what we usually eat. Except that the list to avoid looks strangely like my entire menu plan.

Yeah, I've got that feeling and it's not going away. At least not any time soon. And I know there are plenty of parents out there these days who have experienced that feeling in deeper and darker ways than I am. Parents who are thinking to themselves right now - yep, welcome to my world.

Trash or Treasure?

Over the summer I worked on clearing out the clutter and organizing our house. In the midst of it I went on a binge and bought a dozen storage containers for our crawlspace. My girls' outgrown clothes filled up most of those. But two remaining containers seemed perfect for storing the keepsakes DH and I each had stashed away in old cardboard boxes.

This week, as my daughters worked to shift some of their treasured things into storage, I finally transferred my keepsakes to the container. It was fun looking through the odd assortment of toys, awards, and other momentos as I worked. I found my cloth frontier doll, Mary, with her faded dress and redrawn face. And the "My Friend, Mandy" doll that I didn't get until high school (after wanting her for years), looking barely worse for the wear after several decades in a box. There were old journals and class photos. Florist cards and address books. Letters and programs. My Romper Stompers, now too small for my own children, joined the collection.

At the bottom though, I discovered a softball trophy. The placard read "Hinsdale-Clarendon Hills Juniors Softball 1979 - 2nd Place". I remember that team. Our color was orange. I played right field. Apparently I'd joined a decent team. After all, they did take second place.

The next day I threw that trophy out. I don't know why I had kept it, other than that it was a trophy. I don't like playing softball now. And I don't recall liking it then. I didn't play very well, so the trophy said nothing about me and my abilities. Nor about my interests in childhood. Just that I'd played on the second place juniors softball team. Not the first place team even, but second. Runners up. Did it really ever matter, even back then?

I explained this to my daughters when they asked why I would throw it out. They nodded in understanding.

"It's like our participation medals we get in soccer," Timid Daughter said. "It doesn't mean we did anything, just that we played soccer." She scrunched past me into the crawlspace to put her participation medals into her own keepsake container.

I wonder if she'll wait until she is my age before she throws them away.

A New Drink Poured

It's here! That day is here that I have been looking toward for... okay, I'm not going to embarrass myself by saying how long, let's just say a long time. Today my baby started first grade, which in our school district is the beginning of full-day school. I'm home alone!

What's that you say? You already knew this because you could hear the whoops & hollers for miles around? No, no, couldn't be. That wasn't me you were hearing at all. So did I sob when I watched my baby walk into the school instead? Well, not exactly.

It's a tumbler-full of emotions kind of day. The Uber-princess, who had been counting down the days and then hours until school started, turned at the last moment and clutched my hand. She pulled me down to her for another kiss before joining the line marching into school. Excitement and hesitation stirred into one for her in that moment. Later, as I wiped the kitchen counter, I sorrowed over how it would be empty come lunchtime. But I also felt nearly lightheaded over the freedom afforded to me by the absence of children for six-and-a-half hours. Exuberance and nostalgia swirled together in another emotional cocktail.

I'm guessing it will continue to be so for our family until we settle into our new routines. LMH started junior high today, with a similar mixture of apprehension and enthusiasm. I think it's a very human response to newness. We revel in the thought of possibilities, the future a brimming pitcher of unsampled potential. Yet we also shrink back toward the familiar, the comfortable. Thankfully, the newness can become comfortable without losing potential. And so we all plunge forward into a new school year, hopeful, excited and yet equally sentimental.

How about you? Are you one for whom Fall and a new school year represents possibility with it's sloshed-together mixture of feelings? Or has it all become a blur, one month pouring into the next, the same drink day after day?

Camp Week!

Last week was "Camp Week" in our family. I haven't been big on sending my kids to summer camps (I know - I'm a weird Naperville mom. Everybody in Naperville seems to send their kids to summer campS). But this year a few opportunities came up that seemed to fit my kids. Rather than spread them out and lock up multiple weeks of our summer, I chose to stack them all in one week. Can you say, "insanity"? It was worth all the driving though.

Here's a quick summary of our camp week:
LMH went to volleyball camp coached by the vball coaches from her future high school. Way cool for her! And great skill building. She had gone to vball camp last summer with the coaches from the other high school. It was good too. But this time seemed to ignite her interest even more. Maybe it was the fact that a handful of girls from her school were there. Maybe it was the fact that she could actually do the drills with some skill. And maybe it was the fact that she got some extra coaching at home from resident vball player - Dad. Probably it was all three. Who knows how far she'll get in playing volleyball. It's a competitive field in our fair city. We've heard of club players with lots of dedication (and skill?) not get on the high school team. For now, it's her sport and she loved the camp. Hurray!

Timid Daughter, get this, went to Christian Youth Theater camp. Yep, theater! Believe it or not, both her Dad and I think that she's the most likely of our three to be a performer. She's a natural ham, once she lets down her guard. So it was interesting to watch her progess over the course of the week. She loved the camp, but wasn't so big on their special dress themes. She worked hard every evening to practice the numbers she had learned. It was a tough camp - they had classes on singing, dancing and drama every day and then rehearsal for an hour and a half every afternoon. All that hard work showed once it came to the final performance on Friday. She did great! She sang, she danced and she spoke her line perfectly. Again, who knows if she'll ever go into drama or anything. But she got to try it out. And she tells me she was only a tiny bit nervous going on stage, if that means anything.

The Uber-Princess went to Safety Town to learn about, well, safety. I happen to find it very ironic that somebody ran into my car in the parking lot of Safety Town (and then fled - LMH was in the car waiting for me and witnessed it). Anyway, she learned a lot about safety. I had refused to put my older two in Safety Town when they were her age just out of principal. A friend had been adament that I should do it. I was stubborn and didn't. And after this week I don't regret that choice at all one bit (and no, it's not because of my car). U-P had lots of fun. But every day when she reported what she had done, her sisters chimed in with a "oh yeah, I did that in second grade (or first grade or...)". There were certainly some unique experiences she got - like being able to ride bikes in Safety Town and go inside an ambulance. But most of the material is being taught by the Safety Town folks in the public schools. And now U-P is sleeping with her bedroom door closed all the way, walking her bike across the street instead of riding and pointing out other safety concerns. As long as she doesn't get hyper about it, I'm fine.

As for me, I spent a bunch of Camp Week driving around town. But I did get some time for writing in between stops. And I did get myself signed up for an online writing course this Fall. That's as good as camp for me.

Will we try doing Camp Week next summer? Probably. I really, really enjoyed the evenings when we'd sit around the dinner table and everyone would report on what they had done and learned that day. I loved seeing my girls try something new or learn a new skill. That's a lot of what summer is about. But to me the other thing summer is about is just being free to play and ride bikes and go to the pool and BE. A. KID. So I don't see our family doing more than one camp in a summer.

How about your family? Anyone send their kids away for camp (I've always wondered what this would be like, both for parents and kid)? Anyone sign their kids up for multiple weeks of camp and can tell me the benefits of that ('cuz I'm open to understanding the thoughts behind it - I know there's got to be some good reasons for it)?

Your Laugh for Today

If you are the mom of a preschooler or have ever been the mom of a preschooler or even just know a preschooler, you might want to check out an essay of mine that MOPS.org is running on their website about some things I've noticed about the perils of public restrooms. You can find it here.

No Time For School

Three day weekend! My kids are off school today and I find myself wondering just when it is that they are at school any more. In the month of February (granted it's a short month), my kids only had one full week of school. Looks like it will be five days of school next week, but then only three the following, followed by another five day week. Then it's a four day week before Spring Break starts and we're off for a bunch of days.

It's really messing with my writing mojo. I can't get back into the rhythm of things with all these days off. My productivity is waaaay down for the month of February. I know, poor me. But here's the thing - if I'm not getting much done with all these days off, what about the kids? Well, they aren't getting as much done either. How do I know? My third grader came home last night bringing homework to do over the long weekend. And it's not the first time. The teacher openly admits that there is not enough time in these shortened weeks to get it all done. So she's had to resort to sending work home in order to keep pace with the district's expectations.

Here's the funny thing: just this morning I was surmising that I'd found the reason for all the homeschoolers getting ahead of our public school kids in their class work. They have the opportunity to spend more time on their schoolwork than my kids do. And my guess was confirmed. Some homeschool friends just arrived, so I asked them, did they do school today? And their answer? Yes, they've been particularly working on the days the public school is off, because they're planning to head south for a couple of weeks and need to get nine days ahead of public school (I should clarify that they're doing a bit of hybrid schooling where some subjects they do at the public school, but most at home). Aha! I was right!

If the excess of days off frustrates me, I can't imagine how working parents must feel. What do they do when the kids aren't in school on work days? Aye yi yi!

Here we are. Another three day weekend. My kids are playing. I'm not getting much done. How about you?

Sets My Teeth on Edge

It's only a small thing - the fact that every toothbrush we've gotten over the past 5 years hasn't fit into the toothbrush holder in my children's bathroom. But it's enough to set my teeth on edge. Why, oh why, can't the manufacturers cooperate on this? If the toothbrush makers are going to insist on making only wide, ergonomic handles for their brushes, then why can't the people producing the holders work on widening the openings?

Like I say, it's a small thing. But it makes a difference in our home. Now the kids' bathroom counter is constantly littered with toothbrushes, and consequently, sticky globs of toothpaste residue. Not to mention the extra sharing of germs that occurs due to the scattering of brushes.

In our bathroom we resolved the issue by jamming the handles into the holder. Our toothbrushes stand up extra tall and not so straight. In fact, they sorta lean. But they're off the counter.

Let this be a warning, dear shopper. If you're the in market for a new toothbrush holder, make sure it has extra wide openings for the new-fangled toothbrush handles out there. You might even want to take a whopper toothbrush with you, if you have one on hand. It's not always easy to tell if they'll fit just by looking.

Or maybe we should all just talk to our dentist and ask if he could (pretty please) go back to simple toothbrushes with slim handles.

Oh wait, what's this? My children went to the dentist this past week and they came back with...could it be?!...straight handled toothbrushes?!! Oh, happy day! (But I'm still getting the bigger slotted holder next time I have to buy one. You never know when the dentist is going to go all fancy on the toothbrushes again.)

Life Can Be Rough

His eyes were rimmed red and he barely looked up as he spoke. I listened as another hot lunch mom asked the distressed fourth-grader to repeat what lunch he had ordered. The other students at the lunch table chatted and ate, moving clumsily in their bulky winter coats and snowpants. Beside them, the teary-eyed boy looked thin in his striped shirt and jeans. He burst into a fresh flow of tears as the other mom hurried off to find his missing lunch order.

"We'll get your lunch real quick," I said, stooping down to reassure the boy.

"It's not about my lunch!" he retorted. "I'm not crying about that. It's...it's everything!" And then he launched into a litany of missteps and injustices that had seemed to follow him that day, among them that he'd been sentenced to staying inside for recess. This explained his clothes, and more importantly, his tears.

I listened until he was done pouring out his story. "The day is already halfway through. It will get better," I promised.

He began crying again. "But it won't get better! After lunch I have math, and I hate math!"

He sat with his back to the table, his shoulders hunched in defeat. I gave him a small pat on the back and a few more words of reassurance, before moving on to continue helping to serve lunch.

A short while later I went to stand against the wall by the cafeteria door to eat my own lunch while chatting with another mom. I glanced over at the boy. He still sat with his back to the table. He wasn't smiling. But his pizza bagel and tears were gone. A few moments later the lunch monitors began directing the children to clean up. I threw out my napkin and went over to the boy.

"I hope your day does get better," I said to him, giving him another quick pat on the back.

He gave me a glance and a half smile and stood to join the line of children leaving the cafeteria.

Life can be rough, even when you're in fourth grade. I sure hope he goes home to a mom who gives him a big hug and a listening ear.

And when my kids get home, I'll be waiting to do the same.

Taking Matters Into Her Own Hands

Poor Uber-Princess. Seems her social life isn't what she's been hoping for. At school she enjoys hanging out with her friends and will often talk about plans to play later. Her homebody mom tries to accommodate this as best she can and generally arranges at least one playdate each week. But that's too slow for the Uber-Princess. Recently she's begun taking matters into her own hands.

Over Christmas break we called one school friend to invite her to play. There was no answer, so we left a message. We never heard back. I reassured her that the friend was probably away on vacation (she was) and we could set something up after school started again. The Uber-Princess, knowing the slowpoke her mom can be about these things, took care of things straight away on Monday morning. She wrote her phone number on the back of her friend's paper and urged the friend to have her mother call to set up that playdate.

A few days later the phone rang. The number had been passed on. We moms conferred and set up a playdate for next week. The Uber-Princess's actions set things in motion far faster than if she'd waited on the grownups to get their acts together.

She has also recently been talking about one boy in her class with whom she plays a lot in school. They have hit it off well and both agree that this warrants some after school play time as well. Each day she comes home and talks about this little boy and what they could play if he came over (to our mega-girly home). I've been thinking I'd chat with the boy's mom about it the next time I saw her. Which was today. Apparently the Uber-Princess beat me to it. The boy's mom volunteered with their class in the library yesterday and the Uber-Princess took the opportunity to approach the mom about the possibility of a playdate.

*Sigh.* I can barely imagine what the teen years will be like with this one. If she has her way it will probably be a string of endless social activity. The Uber-Princess is one that likes to keep her dance card full. Question is: can her mother keep up?

Nobody Everyone Is Special

The other day I had a conversation that was very telling of a phenomenon in our culture that has backfired on itself. Here's the conversation, see if you can catch what's wrong with the picture:

Grandma: I found a really cute matching t-shirt set the other day at Bass Pro Shops that would be great for the Uber-Princess and her Grandpa. They say "My Fishing Buddy".

Me: Cool! That does sound perfect. She loves to fish with him.

Grandma: Yeah, but then I thought maybe all the other grandkids would feel left out.

Me: Oh? Well, certainly my kids would think it's cool since they don't care as much about fishing as she does.

Grandma: Well, I didn't get them. I didn't want anyone to feel bad.

So there you have it. See what's wrong there? Nobody gets to be special in case it makes somebody else feel bad. Amusing Dad pointed out that it's a lot like our park district soccer games. The teams aren't allowed to keep score. That way there aren't any "losers". But then again there also aren't any winners. In an effort to protect children's "fragile" psyche's, we rob them of the opportunity to be applauded for anything. And all the sheltering we do is foolishness. The kids get it. They know which team won and which team lost. Even if we're not keeping score - they are. And in doing so they reflect something about human nature. They reflect the natural desire we all have to know where we rank in just about every area of life...because we hope that somewhere in there we'll come out on top.

It's unfortunate that society has ruled that the adults aren't allowed to call it like it is and actually make kids feel special. So the Uber-Princess's cousins aren't Grandpa's fishing buddies. They might be his bird watching buddies or workshop buddies or something else instead. Or maybe they're special to Grandpa for some other reason entirely. Too bad their grandparents (on one side of the family, at least) will never actually let them know it - or if they do, certainly not where anyone else can hear. And too bad that kids everywhere are being offered fewer and fewer opportunities to be recognized publicly for the gifts and abilities God has given them. No wonder kids have "self esteem issues" these days. All of our coddling has had the exact opposite effect.

This mom thinks it's time to stop saying that nobody is special and start finding the things that make each child special. For Christmas this year, maybe we should give our kids a hearty pat on the back for every thing they've done well at or tried hard at or failed graciously at. And we should do it in the presence of their siblings. They just might learn not to make the same mistake we've been making in recent years. They might learn that it's okay for somebody else to be Grandpa's fishing buddy. And in this age, that in itself would make them special.

Quick follow up to the Christmas Miracles post: Llama Momma was the winner of the gift basket drawing. Congrats to her!

Puts a Smile on My Face

There are certain things from childhood that stick with you, for better or ill. Like the time a boy (the only person in my childhood to share my birthday) gave me a black eye during kindergarten recess. Or playing Breyer horses in my best friend's basement. Or in first grade when my eighth-grade buddy insisted on carrying me around during our school Halloween parade because he thought I was so adorable. He was dressed as a doctor. I don't remember my costume.

And then there were the smiley-face cookies. Back in the age when children could bring in treats for their birthday (before food allergies posed such a threat), some kids would bring the yellow-frosted smiley face cookies from the local bakery. These were my absolute favorite birthday treat. Only the rich kids would bring them in. Thankfully enough, there were plenty of rich kids at my school. The rest of us brought homemade treats. I always wished I could be one of the ones to bring smiley-face cookies. But they were too pricey and besides, I think my mother enjoyed making birthday treats.

I relived that memory the other day when picking my daughter up from a friend's house. This family owns a bakery and they had given the Uber-Princess a cool pumpkin-face cookie to take home. It reminded me of those smiley-face cookies, so I recounted my story to the friend's mom. Several days later she showed up at school with a little green gift bag. Inside were two smiley-face cookies from their bakery. "My husband sent these for you," she said.

I grinned like those cookie faces the rest of the day. Too bad my kids can't bring treats to school. I would definitely be sending smiley-face cookies from my friend's bakery. I may just have to find another occasion to get some again.

Inbox is at 22.

A Season of "Finally!" and "At Last!"

This Fall has been filled with a series of much-anticipated firsts for the Uber-Princess. It began with the start of kindergarten in August, which came at last for this little girl whose birthday misses the age requirement cutoff for our school district by NINE DAYS. Last year when a bunch of her neighborhood friends started kindergarten, Uber-Princess watched them go--without her. With her good-natured disposition, she seemed to let it go easily. But inside she was cataloguing that and all the other events that had to be put off for the year.

Now this year she has welcomed those things with gusto: her first day at our elementary school, the first day of soccer, the first day of Awana, her first field trip. At long last she gets to do all these things that she has been watching her sisters do for years. And she is loving every minute of it.

On our way home from her last soccer game this weekend (played in cold temps, drizzle and even some hail), she proudly wore her soccer medal. "I got my very first medal," she proclaimed to her sister, who had taken shelter in our minivan during the final minutes of the game. Blessedly her sister (Timid Daughter) congratulated her on it. I think TD gets it - this whole waiting thing. After all, she watches Little Miss History going before her and continues to wait for her turn to come for things like Outdoor Ed (fifth grade) and Safety Patrol (4th/5th grade).

And now today the Uber-Princess hovered around Amusing Dad and I as we sat chatting on our couch after dinner. She couldn't wait to get started on making her car for the Awana pinecar derby. Once Amusing Dad was free, she proudly marched down the stairs behind him to his workshop. Pretty soon the sound of power tools buzzing and humming issued from our basement. About a half hour later the Uber-Princess emerged, a satisfied grin on her face, muttering about having all the 60's and 150's and 200's lined up for tomorrow. Huh? A moment later Amusing Dad showed up to explain that he had things all set for her to start sanding the next day and she knew just what to do to go through the grits. Yep, she'd been waiting for years to have a car to work on with Dad. She knew plenty already from watching her sisters. She was ready. Finally. At last. It was her turn.

It's Heeerrrree

H1N1 has arrived in our little city. Who knows when exactly, maybe the county health department. They have been active in keeping the community informed, and the school community in particular, due to the unusual threat the disease poses to younger people. So we know it's "here"-- meaning out there in the far reaches of our city. It's "here" in terms of being the subject of reports in the local newspaper. It's "here", but not where I live. My family is safe from the threat, I think to myself.

Monday a missive arrived by email telling us that the regular updates on the disease's progress would cease. It explained that cases had been reported from every school in our district and at every grade level. I guess we were to consider ourselves notified and were to take every precaution against acquiring/spreading the disease. That means H1N1 is at our school. It is "here", as in sharing the same building with my children.

The arrival of this disease has mostly done little to effect our neighborhood. Sure the topic of playground conversation has switched to the flu vaccine and whether or not it's a good idea to get the live vaccine or not or whether to even get a vaccine at all. Even in the conversation the tone is one of guarded optimism. H1N1 is "here" in a still sort of "out there" kind of way. We go about our business, keep to our usual routines. Nothing changes.

Until this afternoon. Another email arrives, this time from our grade school. 24 children were absent today, 18 with flu symptoms, 10 of them from one classroom. In fact, that particular classroom had a total of 14 absent children - half of the class. A fifth grade class. The fifth graders just took an overnight trip together earlier this week. My daughter is in fifth grade. The flu is "here", as in affecting her classmates and friends. The flu is no longer a report in the newspaper or a statistic from the health department.

I'm worried. Yes, more than likely most, if not all, of these children (and any others who catch it) will weather the flu unharmed. But...the threat is now here, not out "there". I find it chilling. It's chilling to hear my daughter report that they are required to wash their hands every time they leave their classroom*. It's chilling to think of so many children sick at the same time. It's chilling to think of even the remotest possiblity that our school might have to close for a brief time like one area high school has.

Forget the skeletons and ghouls and spiders. This Halloween season, the scariest thing here in our city is the dreaded flu virus. People just might start wearing masks a little bit early this year.

*This is not at all a commentary on our school's efforts to keep the kids healthy. That they are making the kids wash so frequently isn't chilling. That they have to do so is.

It Goes So Fast

Several weeks ago my children found newly hatched caterpillars on the underside of a milkweed leaf at a friend's house. They were tiny mites, one barely visible. The friend kindly tucked the leaves with the caterpillar nibs into a Panera cup for the girls to bring home.

Over the next few days and weeks we would watch them grow as they nibbled their way through those leaves. They and their Panera cup home took up residence on our kitchen counter where we could watch their progress. The tiny specks became little wormy caterpillars, became big striped caterpillars. We laughed to see them double in size in a day as they munched heartily on the milkweek leaves we fed them. And we gagged as the bottom of the cup filled with their droppings and had to be carefully dumped. Always, always, the younger one was just a bit smaller, just a day behind the other. And so as one went, we knew the other would also.

A week and a half ago, I came down in the morning to find a chrysalis where there once had been a caterpillar. And a few hours later his brother took up the hanging "J" form in the Panera cup. Pretty soon, he too had become a small greenish blob with a band of golden beads draped along the top like a necklace. We've held our breaths since then, carefully trying not to jostle the cup, as if doing so could break the hold of the chrysalis on the lid of the cup. Bah! How we doubted the tenacity of this things. They appeared so fragile. We'd watched one chrysalis die before in this stage. We wondered what would happen this time.

By Sunday evening one of them had become clear, so clear that we could see the orangish wings of the monarch butterfly inside. And then, yesterday morning, it became black. Certainly this is the end, I thought. And it was an end of sorts. By lunchtime it had become dried looking. I took the Uber-Princess to get groceries.

When we returned home, I carefully set the groceries on the counter so as not to disturb the Panera cup. What I saw made me gasp, first in horror. Then...in delight! That tiny dried black chrysalis had been replaced by a large, beautiful orange and black butterfly!! I watched as the splindly black legs curled and uncurled, grasping to hold onto the lid so that the butterfly could suspend itself to let its wings dry.

After school my children and I took the cup outside. I carefully held the lid aloft, now aware that the still-green chrysalis could handle some shifting and movement. The butterfly began to flutter in the cup. Carefully, I shook it out onto the ground. Immediately it felt the wind under its wings and began to fly. First slowly, near the ground, with a few shakey dips. And then quickly, oh too quickly, it soared up, up, up. My heart rose and then sank as our butterfly took off up over the roof of our house. So soon it was gone.

It's like that for us moms, isn't it? We hold these tiny things in our arms and watch them grow and change. We feed them and dispose of their waste. We marvel at how much they eat. And then one day while we're out for groceries, they emerge, beautiful and stunning. And we set them free to fly, thrilled and devastated at the same time.

Stomping & Romping

Do you remember Romper Room? It was a children’s television show when I was a kid. I watched it often and what I remember most about it was the sweet-voiced hostess who closed (and/or opened, I can’t exactly recall) the show by looking through a small open “mirror” to “see” the children who were watching. “I see Joey and Amber and Mikey. Oh look! There’s Tracy and Robert and Millie,” she’d exclaim.

And we believed her, her young viewers. We believed that she did see us watching. Except that she never saw me. Not once did she call out that she saw Lara. I listened carefully every time to hear my name, sure that this would be the time that she finally saw past all the other children and managed to see me. But it never happened. I was un-seeable, unnoticeable. I’m sure it scarred me for life. In fact, I blame all my insecurities on the Romper Room lady’s broken mirror thing.

I don’t know what ever became of that program – how many years it ran or how successful it was. But it did have one marketing success: Romper Stompers. These were a pair of plastic yellow “cups” with long flexible green tubes attached so that you could hold on and walk around on them. They were the commercialized version of tin cans with strings that my mom’s generation would have played with.

Romper Stompers were cool. They lifted you up a few inchers taller and made a clomping sound when you walked around on the linoleum floor or the sidewalk. But they never worked well on carpet. I know. I have a pair.

My children and their friends had a blast clomping down the road of our campground this weekend on those same Romper Stompers. They’re even cooler toys now because nobody else has them. They wouldn’t pass current safety tests (too much chance for slipping and falling or choking on the tube ties). But they still make you taller and allow you to make loud stomping noises.

And you know what? I’m sure if the Romper Room lady were still around, she’d find a way to see Little Miss History, Timid Daughter and the Uber-Princess. I’d make sure of it.

Butterflies and Growing Girls

I'm beat! I sit here in my big chair with my feet up, longing for a neck message and maybe a hot cup of tea to go with it. I've worked hard today on one of my favorite kind of projects: a transformation. We are painting the bedroom that two of our girls share (on a rotating basis - the Uber-Princess is on her way out and Timid Daughter is joining Little Miss History). The older two had decided it was time to do away with the sweet pink walls dotted with purple butterflies and fushia flowers. They are ready for a "bigger girl room". They're ready. Me? Not so much.

Amusing Dad & I painted the first coat this afternoon. It's a deep teal color "Tropical Tide". The girls decided on that for the base color and we'll add "Victorian Purple" dots later. Each stroke of the brush brought us further from little girl room and more committed to "big girldom". Each butterfly I covered in teal sent tingles down my spine. When I reached the final few feet of pink, Timid Daughter & the Uber-Princess helped roll a bit and then stood back and watched me finish.

"There goes the last butterfly," remarked Timid Daughter.

The last one indeed. Like butterflies that flit in ever-widening circles away from my garden are my daughters. This summer we've given little bits of freedom to LMH, like riding her bike to the pool with a friend (and without us). I sigh as she goes, say a brief prayer and return to my housework. Timid Daughter wants to follow as soon as she can.

The transformation from little girl pink to big girl teal" Tropical Tide" just confirms what is already at work. They are growing quickly.

Which makes me anxious to move on to decorating the room the Uber-Princess will occupy next. She's asking for - get this - princesses on her walls. Who'da thunk?!

And so we'll still have one "little girl" room. For now.

Works for Me: Summer Chore Jar

Right now as I type, my children are happily setting about getting their morning chores done. Did you get that? They're happily doing their chores. In fact, breakfast is rarely over before they start asking about the special chore for the day.

How do I do it? A "chore jar". Each week I make a bunch of slips of paper containing the chores that I want my children to get done for the week. I usually use flylady's zone for the week as a starting place and often follow her suggested zone chores (if you haven't checked flylady out, she has a great method for simplifying the job of housekeeping). I put in enough chores for each child to do one a day, minus one day off (so with 3 children times 4 days, I usually come up with 12 tasks). Every week I also put in a slip that says "bye" - meaning no chores for the day. If one child draws that slip, all the rest of the slips go back (except for the "bye") and we take the morning off.

So here's how it works: each child draws a chore. I keep them simple like "wipe the baseboards and door frame", "dust the fan blades", "clean the bathroom sink". And with using one zone/room for the week, a lot of those putzy spring-cleaning type chores get done. They're allowed to trade if they want (rarely) and they get one "do-over" for the week if they really, really don't like the task they drew.

And that's all it takes to get some happy workers. I think it's a combination of the element of surprise and the simple tasks that make it work. They know once they've done their regular morning routine (get dressed, make bed, collect laundry, etc.) and completed the chore for the day that they are pretty much free from work. And me? I make myself available to assist on the daily chores, but usually I also manage to get in one or two cleaning tasks too before calling it a day on house cleaning.

It works for me and it might work for you too. For more Works for Me Wednesday tips check out the list over here.

Solitude

I'm on my own for the next three days. The kids are off for some fun with their second cousins out at Grandma & Grandpa's Lake House. Amusing Dad is mostly at work. So it's just me. Solo. Alone.

This fact was not lost on the Uber-Princess. As we were driving to their grandparents' local residence to drop them off for their trip, she suggested a puppy.

"You know, Mom," she explained. "Once I go to first grade you're going to be alone every day. You might get lonely. You need a puppy to keep you company."

No matter that first grade for her is still a year away. She was thinking ahead. And she was thinking of how I'll feel with her gone all day. It worried her. Need I say that this speaks volumes about the Uber-Princess herself? She is a social butterfly. The concept of being alone all day would be torturous to her. And of course, she wouldn't wish that on anyone.

I'm not getting a puppy any time soon. Being alone does not bother me. In fact, I sometimes rather like it. Like today. I did wake up early enough to see Amusing Dad and wish him a good day. But since then I haven't seen or spoken to another soul. And it's been grand!

There is more room for my thoughts in this empty house of mine. And space to relax. I've done some straightening in different rooms with the glad thought that they'll still be that way tonight...and tomorrow... and even for a while the next day. And I'm disciplining myself to hack away on some writing and speaking projects that would otherwise progress in only fits and starts with the children around.

Here's another odd thing, I'm listening a little more to my own voice. Not my spoken voice - I haven't heard it since I talked to Amusing Dad this morning (and I couldn't hear it when I was singing while out on an early morning bike ride because my headphones blocked it out). I'm listening to my internal voice, the voice of my thoughts. In writing, the big hairy objective that most new writers fail to achieve is finding their "voice", that is, getting the voice in their brain down onto paper. I'm wondering if I've found it. But it means getting time and space to listen. So that's what I'm doing today.

And my inbox is down to 20!

Party At the Dentist's Office

Can I tell you something? I like the dentist's office. Oh, not my dentist's office. Not at all! No, I'm talking about my kid's dentist. Ever since they started going there it's been an appointment I look forward to. Do you know why? It is an hour of uninterrupted Mom Time.

It's not such a big deal to me now. With my three kids in school at least part of the time, I get Mom Time often enough. But back when they were smaller, I felt like the only time I ever got a break from mommy duty was when the little darlings were asleep, and frankly by then I was too tired to notice. But then they got old enough for the dentist -- all three of them. And what a day that was! I actually counted down the months until that appointment arrived. Yes, during their younger years Mommy time was often so sorely lacking that any trip to the pediatric dentist truly made me want to celebrate. Really and truly.

If that concept rubs you wrong and you want to call me a bad mom, go ahead. I actually hear those kind of comments (indirectly) often enough. I'm also the mom who sends her kids to public school and cheers when Summer (or Winter or Spring) break is over. I love my girls. A lot. And I enjoy being with them. But I also really, really need time to myself. And I guess if that is what it takes to make a bad mom, then I am one.

For the record: as bad a mom as I am, I still make them brush every morning and every night. It's way cheaper to pay a babysitter than the dentist.