New Blog

Hello, all!  I have decided, since I am no longer homeschooling, to start a new blog.  Please visit me at http://www.free-range-parenting.blogspot.com/.

Good Times In Indiana

Just a few pics of the fun we had in the heartland! It's nice to be back, but I really miss the old stomping grounds. I am dying to move to Indiana and homeschool again - it's my newest wish!

Anna, high on the climbing wall at the 4th of July celebration in Lion's Park.

Decorating our American Flag cake.

My mom, demonstrating how to properly use a Snuggie.

The boys and cousin Reagan, enjoying the fireworks spectacular!

Latest Column

This is a similar, but expanded, post from my last one. More anecdotes from the wholesome midwest to come!

I recently embarked on a pilgrimage to my homeland of Indiana, not by Conestoga wagon like my ancestors (who include the great explorer Daniel Boone), but by Dodge Grand Caravan across the wilds of upstate New York and through Ohio, the most unremarkable state in the union.

Unlike days of yore when families and friends traveled in packs, I brought my children alone and somehow survived 20 hours of road travel and an overnight stay in a well-appointed Courtyard by Marriott the primitive way, without DVD player or hand-held electronic devices. But it is important to teach children of their roots, and what better way than a couple of weeks with relatives in another culture to help them learn.

“It’s so green here. And so much open space,” remarked my daughter, age 8. “It’s kind of creepy. Anything could just jump out of that cornfield at you.”

Now, I have never thought of Indiana as a creepy place. I grew up on a farm, complete with a 200-acre cornfield, where we would play Children of the Corn for hours, and hide from adult intervention. When I come back, I feel like my lungs can expand and I morph into a completely different person – the kids noticed this as well. “You’re so nice here, Mommy,” they say. “Can we have Indiana Mommy back home?”

I told them I will try, but it’s unlikely. While I love life in New England, with its sweet hamlets, rich history and the ocean, it’s a wholly different lifestyle – fast-paced and get-ahead quick – that I have to accustom myself to every time I leave and come back.

Yes, Indiana is mostly known for a car race (the Indy 500); farms; obese people in Spandex; and Michael Jackson. But the people are lovely. No one there cares if you were born there – they’re just glad you came by. The cashiers are friendly, and are genuine in their concern about your well-being. I am always surprised to find myself exchanging pleasantries with a check-out lady instead of hearing way too much information as she complains to the bag boy about her boyfriend, which seems to be the norm at the Stop and Shop.

People slow down and wave you in during rush hour on the highway. Roads are well-maintained; beautifully manicured parks and pools abound. There is sunshine galore and smiles wherever you look. It’s no wonder I always want to move back while we’re there. I am nicer, slower and more pleasant to be around in the Midwest, in part because people in Indiana do not cringe when I start to talk – there is a healthy respect for differing opinion decidedly not present in New England.

This is not to knock the life I have led in Amesbury for the last 10 years. I love the winding old roads, and the proximity to tax-free New Hampshire. The beaches are the best, and I cannot imagine going through life without a Newburyport just across a tiny bridge. But it’s hard sometimes to reconcile my upbringing as a Hoosier with the more rigid ways of the Northeast. I am glad my children get to see places where free-range behavior is encouraged and green expanses still exist. And here’s hoping, one day, I will figure out how to bring Nice Mommy back home.

Going Home and Other Musings

So, I just traveled for 20 hours with three children to the wilds of Indiana, my homeland and place I both dread and love. The week I left to come home was a big one, with the loss of Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett in the same day. One of my friends put it best when she said that the death of MJ was pretty much the signal of the death of the childhoods of my generation. Since my childhood is kind of what I like to recapture when I visit here, that made me a little sad.

Being me, I have been overthinking all the things that have changed about the place I grew up. My first night here, I spent a couple of hours laughing until I nearly wet my pants with my dearest friend Amy (you can look for an entire post about her here, if you wish). On my way back to get the kids from my mom's house, I passed my grandparent's old house. They lived there from the mid-1940s until their deaths, in 2001 and 2008. A strange car was parked there and it really hit hard that I would never attend one of their famous Wassail parties at Christmas, when they entertained more than 100 friends. I'd never sit by my Nana's bedside and listen to her wise words - she had polio and was bedridden her final years, but never had one negative word to say. I'd never make mischief with Pop, who made it clear I was the favorite grandchild and didn't care that the fact of it upset people. I had to pull over because the tears made it hard for me to see.

My childhood is indeed over, and my children's childhoods are going far too quickly. I look at them and wish I could start over - be kinder, let more things go. I often wonder if visiting their own ancestral home will be a happy trip. I certainly hope so!

I am going to enjoy my time here as much as I can. I tend to be a different person in Indiana. I think it's the logical way the cities are laid out, the expanse of cornfields, the friendliness of clerk and driver alike, the slower pace. My mood is different, more calm. I am a person people want to talk to, and don't cringe when I speak like some do in Massachusetts. I tend not to dwell on the horrors of my real life, and I make my plan to escape back here someday.

Sorry for the maudlin tone. I hope to regale my very few readers with some funny stories. There is a person I would love to see, but want him to mostly remember me as a cute 22-year-old and not the fat girl I have become. I don't know if he will read this, but he knows who he is, and I hope he will intitiate a meeting because I am too scared. I guess you can't really ever go back!

Anyway, off to bed after a long night swimming and enjoying time here in the Hoosier state.

My Recent Affliction

This is my most recent Free-Range Parenting column. Enjoy!

It seems that my household, for now at least, has escaped the scourge of the swine flu. Recently, however, I have realized that I may suffer from something even more sinister and hard to shake – the Whine Flu. It’s contagious as well, and I fear my children are catching it from me, given the state of their discontent lately.

I have never been a glass-half-full, rose-colored glasses kind of girl, and have always chalked it up to being a divergent thinker. But a remark from my daughter’s dance teacher made me sit up and do a little self-reflection. During a grueling 2-hour marathon of dance photos recently, I told the teacher we’d all be happier if the pictures were cancelled, because it takes up a whole Saturday when we could certainly be doing something more interesting. The teacher looked me in the eye and asked if I ever stop complaining.

I had a mental flashback to all the conversations I’ve had with her recently, and had to concede she was right! The shame. I have complained about dress rehearsals, the schedule and the cost of summer classes.

So I, being a former science fair champion, embarked on a scientific study of my behavior. Over the course of 2 days, I deliberately made notes of every time I whined about something. It was quite shocking! Some of the things included being cut off in traffic by an octogenarian who proceeded to go 15 miles an hour down Water Street, even though no one was behind me and if they had just waited 5 seconds for me to pass I could have gotten to Starbucks more quickly and avoided the long line there; the weather; a splinter in my foot that is stuck under the skin and still making me perverse when I walk; mowing the lawn; my dirty, near-biohazardlike home; the terror-ific way my twins sometimes behave; and the short lunch period at my daughter’s school.

Not one of these things is particularly noteworthy, and most are the product of my own poor choices. Why do I think anyone wants to hear me discuss these things in minutae? I bet my poor, patient friends are rolling their eyes on the inside.

The next 2 days, I decided to be a veritable ray of sunshine sort of girl. You know the type, who take things in stride and seem to always be skipping, with a halo around their shiny-haired heads. I made eye contact with strangers and smiled; thanked a service worker for wiping my table in the mall food court; did not honk at idiot drivers who cut me off; refused to complain about the things niggling my mind; and cleaned up my house my very own self. I played with my children and took them places, causing my daughter to ask what was wrong with me and why was I being so smiley and fun. Hmmmm.

I am pleased to report that I felt a little better on the sunny side of the street. However, the Herculean effort it took to bite my tongue and lay off the car horn nearly wiped me out and caused me to have to lie down with a cool cloth across my forehead. It takes a lot of concentration to find things to talk about that do not involve complaining, at least for a curmudgeon like myself.

Psychologists say it takes 21 days to change a habit. Nineteen more to go, I suppose. Most likely, the Whine Flu will always be in my system. Now that I am aware of it, though, I am making what I hope is a valiant effort to at least push it into remission. And since kids learn by example, perhaps my darlings will never acquire a full-blown case.

In the meantime, my goal is to get through each day doing a little less whining and being a little more grateful for what I do have, which is everything I need plus a little bit more.

Impending Visit of Doom

Yes, my mother-in-law is descending upon us this weekend, not unlike a hurricane on the Gulf coast. I have been scurrying about in a vain attempt to make my house a showplace to appease her OCD, lest I have to listen to her muttering under her breath about how lazy I am for 4 straight days.

She once told me that when her children were small, she was given the option of hiring a housekeeper or a nanny. She chose the housekeeper, because she didn't trust anyone to clean her house properly. So much became crystal clear when I learned of that choice.

During our last visit, we were discussing homeschooling and she said she finally understood my positions on working outside the home and school. Direct quote: "I think you feel about your kids like how I feel about my house. You don't trust nobody to do it right." (She speaks with a heavy Vietnamese accent, she is not a hillbilly). I guess she is correct. Her kids are a mess, but her house is clean. I suppose I am the opposite.

We have a busy weekend ahead, with Anna's end of the year dance recital and school closing for the year. I am hoping her visit will be but a blur in my memory.

Crazy Headlines

One of my vices is compulsively reading pop culture tabloids in the grocery store checkout line and on the internet. Some things that have happened to celebrities by their own doing have caused me no end of entertainment and caused many questions, some inappropriate, to pop into my head.

The first is the untimely death of the star of Kung Fu David Carradine. Is it sad, pathetic or just downright hilarious that one of the first thoughts upon finding out the exact cause of death is that it would not be surprising if a certain member of my household met a similar fate? And how awful it must have been for Carradine's family...and at 72 years old. Oy vey.

And Chastity Bono is becoming a man. Named Chaz. Why anyone would do this is beyond my comprehension. Being a girl is so much fun! We can change our hair at whim, we are not hairy, we can wear skirts or pants and still be socially acceptable, we can giggle, read chick books, have babies and are generally enjoyable to be around.

Now, Chastity/Chaz is a lesbian. My question is this: once she is a man, will she just be a boring straight guy?

Then, there is the whole Jon and Kate thing. Jon is a weenie and Kate is a shrew. It's those kids I worry the most about. The most disturbing thing by far, though, is Kate's hair. Who in the name of all that is holy would deliberately cut someone's hair like that? It's like a reverse mullett, porcupine-butt, Flock of Seagulls look gone all wrong. If only her hair was cute, she'd be able to be happy. And then maybe she'd like her kids, even the icky boys.

Things I don't care about include who Kate Hudson is dating, who is pregnant and the goings on of holier-than-thou Brangelina with their spawn.

Why I am I celebrity obsessed? Aren't we all? I think it's because I can envision myself as a celebrity for the few moments I read the mags. Then I catch a glimpse of myself in the door glass as I depart, and reality sets back in. It also makes my own life seem so normal. In the last week, my children have:

1. Adopted a clan of slugs after a rainstorm. They are living in a bowl of mud on the porch.
2. Learned to make their own quesedillas.
3. Built an obstacle course for Lizzie the Lizard.
4. Drew more than 100 pictures of superheroes with which to decorate an entire bedroom.
5. Built an entire army barracks out of sticks at Sawyer Park with friends.

So normal. And so fine. I cannot wait for summer to commence!

This is My 100th Post

Wow! I have slowed down on writing some, as the weather has been nicer and we've been outdoors more - not so much material from the kids lately. Normal play at the beach or playgrounds is not so interesting to read about.

I have in my travels lately, however, run into some really crazy mommies. I just attract them somehow.

For instance, while minding my own business at a pot luck recently, a mom I've never met before came over to chat. Straight out of the barn, she mentioned her career, how she would never, ever be a stay-at-home mom and asking my opinion about if she should have another - she's worried because her first is so easy and maybe the second one won't be. Because, of course, a maternity leave longer than 6 weeks would be sheer hell. Oh, and after finding out that I have 3 children and don't work full-time, she asked what I might have to talk about that is remotely interesting.

Being a mostly SAHM myself and craving more children than I already have, I was a little taken aback. I don't even know this woman's name and she has already bashed my choice to be home and acts like children are on this earth to bend to our whims (which they certainly do not). Being me, I went into joke mode and said that you never can predict what your little ones will be like. I also pointed out that, like me, she could end up with twins the second time around.

She then (remember, I still don't know her name) contorted her face and said twins would never be an option for her and that she would terminate the pregnancy if there were twins. Because twins might cause her to have to work less.

So, how does one respond? Especially since I know that twins, while difficult, have brought me so much joy and laughter. Especially since I am pro-life. I wanted to ask her why she would kill her babies and why she had any to begin with, but didn't want to cause a scene (this is a new goal after I accused someone of snubbing me in public in a FB status update and got caught), so I mumbled that twins aren't so bad.

This lady told me that yes, they are, and people should only have 2 children anyway to keep 0 population growth. I sighed and ambled away and immediately latched onto a rational friend to relay the story to see if the "f" word playing around in my head was unfounded.

I still don't know what I should have said. I am sad for this woman and her daughter and wonder what she will feel in a few years when the early years are gone and she has spent them in an office instead of savoring every minute possible of the time when kids actually want to be with you. Please don't think I am being a sanctimommy here, but I really don't get it. I am not a perfect mom, but I believe my children take comfort in knowing that I am here even when I am not directly interacting with them.

Anyway, the sun is finally shining again and we're off to a frog pond. Here's hoping the nice, normal moms are out in force today!

Vices

Vices. All moms have them. For my grandmother, who reared her children in the 1950s, it was cocktails and "pep pills." For my mother, whose children were young in the 1970s, it was Marlboro Reds and Oreo cookies scarfed down with her head hiding between open kitchen cabinets while she pretended to put away dishes. For Gen X moms, it's arguably Facebook (and possibly the Twilight book series).

Like an obsessive stalker boyfriend who starts out friendly enough and later becomes impossible to avoid, and at the same time is attractive and addictive, Facebook draws you in. "What are you doing right now?" it asks. "What are your favorite books?" "What five people deserve a punch in the face?" I want to answer all the questions and placate the Facebook demon but know that there are better ways to spend my time.

For me, the low point came a couple of weeks ago when my children were bouncing around my feet like little jumping beans, clutching their empty bellies and begging for dinner — and I put off cooking for them to complete a quiz called, "Will You Survive the Zombie Apocalypse." In case you are wondering, I will be one of the first to die, but not before realizing the horror of the situation.

I have spent some time while driving recently contemplating the appeal of Facebook. It started as a social networking program for teens and college students, but now hordes of older people (like myself) have joined in.

Because of our fast-paced, child-centered parenting these days, it's hard to find time to be with friends without the kids. I think we love Facebook because it's possible to check in a few times a day and see what everyone is up to without having to rearrange schedules for face-to-face meetings. It also breaks up the monotony of housework and child rearing for a snippet of adult time. And those quizzes and games are just too much fun. Who cares that my mouse hand is starting to resemble a shriveled claw from all that clicking?

What is a parent to do? I am forever lecturing my children of the importance of self-control and limiting screen time. I fear that I often limit their screen time so I can have more of it myself. Is the lesson they're receiving a positive one? That it's acceptable to eschew human contact for superficial status updates? Do as I say, not as I do?

I have been considering detoxing from Facebook, or just becoming a lurker for a while. I ask myself if I really believe anyone cares what songs make me cry, or what I am thinking. Probably not. But it's cathartic in a way to put it all out there, just in case. To have contact with people who are taller than 4 feet and can use multisyllabic words. Who will comment back to me that they understand my plight, that some people have children who do weirder things than mine do.
Yes, Facebook is my vice and dirty little secret (not so secret anymore). At least I haven't signed up for Twitter ....

Things

Yesterday, someone asked me how things are at home, someone who knows a few details from the tip of the iceberg about the state of my marriage. I am never sure if people really want to know, or if they are just being polite. I just said that things were "per usual" and carried on to be polite and not make anyone uncomfortable. No one likes a whiny girl.

What I really wanted to say is that I am often stricken by bouts of lonliness and feel an undercurrent of sadness much of the time. That I often want a hug or an alcoholic beverage (or both simultaneously) but neither is forthcoming. How did this happen, I ask myself. I am a reasonably attractive girl, or so I am told; carrying a few extra pounds but still able to move comfortably. My age is often guessed 8-10 years younger (I am 38, but was just last week accused of being "about 27" by someone who had no reason to suck up or to make me feel better). I can be fun and witty, when the stars align correctly. Why am I looked through at home, like I am just a wisp of air, inconsequential on its way to somewhere else?

So I guess things are for me how they are for many: a little confusing and somewhat terrifying.

The bright spot(s) are my wonderful children, who don't really mind the few extra pounds and beg me to read to them. I haven't written about them for awhile, so here is an update:

Anna is doing great in school, though she says she misses me all day and wishes I were there. I want to videotape her saying that to play back when she is 16 and doesn't even want me in the same county.

Poor Jake has been battling a strange virus that has landed him on the couch for a few days, with high fever. I have been holding vigil at night with him in my bed, my hand in his hot little one as he sleeps. I figure I can sleep later.

Ryan is turning out to be my comedian. He has made up his own language using clicking sounds from his fingernails and weird noises. Occasionally he will translate for us, and always makes me laugh.

So, in all, I would say things are maudlin. Some happiness shining through the heavy thoughts. Can that be said in polite company? Maybe next time I'll try.

Changes, Not Necessarily for the Better

As an insomniac, I have loads of time to contemplate my past and every once in awhile I will realize something that may or may not be profound, but seems so when I am barely lucid. Last night, I was thinking of all the ways I changed to make my now husband happy 15 years ago, but that have ultimately caused the total loss of the person I was then. It took my mother of all people to point out that my personality all but died when I got married. It's sad, but if I make this list maybe it will help me come back! I think I'd come out of my funk if I stopped trying to make him happy, which clearly isn't going to work, and went for making myself happy again. To that end, I am pursuing a real job with a salary so I can take back control of the things I love. I think in the end I will be a better person/mother. Anyone know of a part-time Reading Specialist job anywhere????

Things I changed:
1. My clothes. I used to be a hipster in vintage clothes, with dresses/combat boots. He hated the way I looked and convinced me to start shopping at The Limited. Now I just look plain boring.

2. My music. I used to derive great joy from singing and playing the piano. We had to leave the piano behind in Indiana because he wouldn't pay shipping costs and he views singing as a waste of my time, and won't agree to watch the kids if I join the choral society.

3. Going to live theater. Love it, all of it! Getting dressed up, the play, everything. Of course, to him, plays are boring and not a good way to spend money, so no go.

4. Spending time riding my bike or hiking with friends.

5. Talking for hours with friends and ending up rolling on the floor laughing about the ridiculous. This naturally takes a break when one has little kids, but I hope to do this again soon.

6. Kissing.

That's about all I can tackle now. If there are any volunteers to help in my journey (or go with me to the theater), let me know.

Newest Family Member

Darling Anna turned 8 this weekend, and her heart's desire was Lizzie the leopard gecko, pictured above crawling up Anna's arm (it's Ryan's hand reaching out to hold Lizzie next). So far, she is an easy pet. She is quiet and doesn't make a mess of the toys, so I love her already. Since her diet is mainly live crickets, I also now have a box of them in the house, hopping around pointlessly waiting to be eaten by Lizzie.

In truth, I was relieved she chose such a cool pet for her birthday gift after she had come home from school just days before asking to see the Hannah Montana movie. My worst public school fear realized! The lizard request cancelled out the Hannah Montana request...not that I am sheltering Anna. I just find the whole Hannah Montana thing annoying!

It's hard to believe that 8 years have already gone by since the day I was writhing in pain and wanting to die while giving birth to the kid. She's grown into such a great little person, just a little too fast for my liking.

My Logo

I've had several queries lately about the header on the blog, the cool Educate with the anarchy symbol. I am sad to report that I didn't think of it, and want to give props to the person who did - his name is Matt Vincent, and he's clearly a genius. I know Matt from my work with the newspaper; he's a Selectman and also a patent attorney with a flair for graphics (and an unparalleled sense of humor). Just wanted to give credit where credit is due! Thanks, Matt!

How One Really Gets the Swine Flu

OK, I shamelessly stole this picture from my friend Lauren F., who posted it on Facebook earlier today. This is something one should not do in order to remain hygenic and clean.

Contraband

This is certainly not the most attractive picture of my beautiful daughter - and she has lost her 2 front teeth naturally, they are not black or rotten as they appear here.

She is consuming what is fast becoming a controlled substance around here. A peanut butter sandwich. Yes, I had the nerve to sneak contraband peanut butter to the beach this weekend and allow my children to eat it. In public. I kept looking around nervously for moms on high alert for the smell who would come over and yell at me (which has happened).

I realize that some children cannot have peanut products, but mine can. I need to vent about these moms who accost my children with wipes at the playground (this has also happened), who lecture me on how some kids can't eat it, why it is not fair to let their child see peanut butter if he/she cannot have it, etc.

Well, let me tell you that I had to cash in our change jar this week in order to feed my kids. It came out to about $30 for a week of groceries for three growing children and one adult (the despot is away). The most nutritious bang for my buck was a huge bag of apples, bananas, grapes at 99 cents a pound, some loaves of bread and peanut butter. So please don't judge. I am not trying to kill your child with peanut fumes; I am trying to keep my kids healthy on a shoestring budget.

Please look the other way when I open our pathetic lunch sack and out come the PB & J on honey wheat sandwiches. It's the best I can do.

Some Good Words I Need to Work into Everyday Conversation

As my mental faculties are declining, due to childbirth and a couple of years of breastfeeding (see Momnesia post for explanation of this disorder), I am making a list of excellent words that should be used with regularity. It's up to you to figure out the meanings.

muliebritous
histrionics
festooned
perverse (the peevish, cranky meaning)
anathema
ennui
bellicose
nonplussed


If you are so inclined, please add some more. It's my goal to single-handedly bring back some civility to the English language...only second to my goal of being so thin people worry about me.

Snarky Amy

OK, Amy the Snarky Commenter is back - this time to criticize my spelling skills (I didn't see the error - I had spelled the word the same way as she put in her correction). She also said that she should know how the word was spelled, as she was "Spelling Bowl captin." Hmmmmm.

Since I have ultimate power to accept/reject comments, let me make it clear that only nice people who state their points clearly and without a hint of bitchiness will be allowed to post. This does not mean you have to agree with me, just leave the mean spirit out of it. Either that, or identify yourself so I know exactly who you are. You are clearly not any of my friends named Amy, who are all nothing but goodness and light.

Snarky Amy clearly doesn't know me at all, or she would be aware that much of what I write is...ready now? A joke. I am a fan of sarcasm and have been known to be cynical, and all mean-ish posts come down after a few days, once I am over it. So, Snarky Amy, please try again.

6 Things I Hope to Accomplish

It's school vacation week, but I still have many things to do. I am mainly focusing on finding ways to combat my undiagnosed but undeniably present ADD and possible schizoid tendencies, along with the following:

1. To really and truly live by my new credo, which was on someone's signature line but I am stealing: Be Kinder than necessary because everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle.

2. I need to detox from the internet. It sucks me in like a vortex of terror, especially a certain social networking site. I am addicted to the quizzes and reached a new low yesterday when I took one called, "How Will You Handle the Zombie Apocolypse" instead of starting dinner for my starving kids.

3. Plan fun and nearly free things to keep the children busy. Sadly, it's supposed to rain for a couple of days, thwarting a planned trip to Wolf Hollow. My grand plan is to have them help me clean by putting large piles of our copious art supplies in the middle of the floor with the instructions to "make something." This will help my organization skills by getting rid of stuff, and keep the kids busy so I can put away laundry.

4. Finish reading "The Shack." I keep picking it up at 10:30 pm and fall asleep after just a couple of minutes.

5. Find out what will be on Kindergarten screening so I can drill my boys on what to expect so the screeners don't secretly think that they are retarded from not going to preschool this year.

6. To make the most of the Despot's absence and enjoy the relaxing atmosphere in our house.

Should We Move to the Country?

I think my children are trying to tell me something. Last night, they built a beaver dam on our sidewalk and made a makeshift vine on our large tree. The boys want to live in one of the trees in the back yard, and spend countless hours trying to reach the top of it. Mind you, we live in the middle of a small city - our lot is large at 1/5 of an acre. Here is photographic evidence of my poor wanna-be country kids who clearly want to escape. I can't say I blame them. My fantasies lately include at least 5 acres and a pond....

Latest Column

I write a monthly parenting column, called Free-Range Parenting, for our illustrious local paper, the Newburyport Daily News. Here is the one that ran today:




After nearly four months of daily battles to get my formerly nearly-perfect daughter to complete her math lessons and to agree to go anywhere with a sunny disposition, I have made the heart-wrenching decision to put her into (gasp) Public School.

This goes so against my parenting philosophy that I spend much time questioning if I am a hypocrite, or a smart mom who has learned when to give up when something clearly isn’t working any more. My dear girl had decided that, in line of several families we know, that she should not have to do anything she didn’t want to do.

For a couple of weeks, I tried to be a pagan earth-goddess unschooler (which seems to be the prevailing “thing” here in the northeast), trying out the philosophy I was being drilled on that adults should not put any boundaries on children or force them to do anything but their heart’s desire. It did not go well. In our house, it just made the chaos even more pronounced. This is the right path for some, but I kept thinking about how life is not about doing only what one wants to do. It’s about personal responsibility, learning and respecting social and moral boundaries.

I began my quest for the “right” school around February vacation, when an hour of schoolwork was taking 5 hours, complete with whining, wailing and gnashing of teeth. After several fainting spells over the cost of a decent private education, I gritted my teeth and, with one eye closed just in case, started researching the public schools around here.

Newbury Elementary kept coming back to me as an option, especially since another homeschooling family we are friendly with has 2 children there and are happy, so I called for more information. It particularly appealed to me because my daughter is working at least 2 years above grade level in math, and her reading is off the charts. Newbury has a special program just for gifted kids that just doesn’t exist in any other schools in the area.

The wonderful principal, Mrs. Sylvia Jordan, called me at home one evening during her off hours and spent a good deal of time listening to my plight and explaining everything from curriculum to after school enrichment in detail. We were on the phone for over an hour, and I was invited to visit the school after deciding to go ahead and “choice” my daughter into the second grade there.

Wow! This school not only has an auditorium and a science lab, but the woman who is now my daughter’s teacher, Miss Grace Ruhp, welcomed my baby into her class with a smile and open arms. She did not roll her eyes, like other people in other schools, when I explained to her about my girl’s academic needs. Instead, she understood and assured me that her needs would be met. I saw in her eyes that I could trust her, that she was everything like her name.

The first day I left my daughter was horrible – for me. She got into the car at pick-up time nearly exploding with all the great things she had done that day. With two new best friends, an invitation to join the Ghost Club, a science experiment and pizza lunch, it seemed like she would fit in just fine.

But can one still be a free-range parent and send her children to school? This is something I am still trying to reconcile. I have my boys at home, since they just turned 5. But their school choice applications are in to Newbury Elementary as well. If all goes as planned, they will be there half days in the fall. I have 5 months with them, to get them dirty and allow them to be little boys. My daughter remains free to be herself and her passions for dance, violin and horseback riding will be accommodated. But for now, having someone else step in as her teacher for awhile is making our time together so much more pleasant.

I will always wonder if formal schooling was the right decision. So far, after one 3 ½ day week, it seems workable. My daughter misses playing with her brothers, but enjoys the variety of school and the new friends. I tell myself that we can always go back if it doesn’t end up being the best option. Can you go back, though? It’s the eternal question.

Old Hobbies

Before I had children, I loved quilting. I made Anna a fun quilt with a dinosaur theme (she never was a princess girl), and I started these two when pregnant with the boys. I worked until I was so huge I could barely reach my machine. Since I was put on strict hospitalized bedrest with them from weeks 32-25 of pregnancy, and they came at 36 weeks, I was unable to finish the binding. I have pulled them out, and plan to finish them up. The dragon/wizard one is my favorite! You can vote below, if you like, on yours. I set up the pictures so you can see the backing as well.

I am hopeful that since the kids are getting older, I can return to some of the hobbies I enjoyed in days of yore. Perhaps a quilt of their baby clothes or something is in the works! It's quite a soothing activity.

Fun Run for Pan Mass Challenge

Lovely Anna smiling after running her race!

Last weekend, we (meaning the kids) did a 1/4 mile fun run to raise money in support of a friend who is doing the Pan Mass Challenge this year. She is my hero - with 2 small children, she is able to train for this event and plan exciting fundraisers!

Ryan ended up not running because the wind was causing him to have trouble breathing due to his cold/asthma, and Anna and Jake were at the end of the pack. They are their mother's children! The persevered and made the whole 1/4 mile lap. I was exceedingly proud of them.

The kids had a blast! There was face painting, as evidenced above, and the kids wore themselves out running around the track. And they learned a little about giving money to help people who are sick. In all, a wonderful experience for us all.

Things I Have Learned from Other Great Moms

My friends are useful founts of information. I thought I'd share some of the very important things they have shared with me:

1. If you fill plastic Easter eggs with liquid soap, they leak. (from Beth)
2. It is possible for a child to become emotionally attached to a can of sardines. (from Amy)
3. Everybody is putting up with something. (from my own mom)
4. Your child will only decide to affect the "no bangs" look by cutting off her bangs on the day before school pictures. (from Lauren)
5. It's wise to save the Percocet they give you after your c-section to take before breastfeeding, as that can hurt way worse than the incision. (from Margaret)
6. Sometimes, the autistic child is easier to deal with - the other one is too unpredictable. (from Jean)
7. It's probable that you have spent the whole day cleaning, doing laundry, cooking and running errands, yet your house is filthy, the hamper's full, everyone's hungry and the to-do list is a mile long. (from my own self)


That's about it for now. Please feel free to add your own gems! And have a relaxing night....

Goals for the Week

Aside from the obvious swimming out of the depths of despair from sending my eldest to the wolves, I have several goals this week. They are as follows:

1. To survive the Georgetown State of the Town meeting without a) dozing off, b) obvious eye-rolling or c) indulging in inappropriate fantasies.

2. To provoke the new person of legend in Newburyport, the Starbucks Witch, into yelling at me and/or my children so I can get some good material for my next column. She apparently feels it's appropriate to shout the "f" word at mothers who dare to bring their tots into Starbucks to purchase caffeinated beverages and calls all Newburyport-area children entitled brats. Doesn't she know that without the caffeine, we'd not have the energy to discipline the kids at all? The show should be a good one!

3. To also survive a school committee meeting without any of the above (see #1).

4. To finally let go of the money the lady owes me and throw away my rose colored glasses. Also to stop obsessively checking PayPal to see if she had a change of heart.....

5. To attempt a detox from Facebook and clean my house instead.

I'll let you know if I succeed!

Am I Still an Educational Anarchist?

I have admitted defeat and enrolled my daughter in Evil Public School, to start Monday. I do believe I have chosen the best school in the area and went through all the choice paperwork to get her in. I am still suspect of what goes on in public schools, especially after working in them for several years. But I met Anna's teacher and the children were so lovely to her when we visited - I can't help but think that, even if we return to homeschooling in the future, it will be a decent experience for her. The teacher she has been assigned has a master's in working with gifted children, and is very open to allowing her to be her veryownself. So we'll see.

My boys will still be home with me, having just turned 5 and not eligible for K until the fall. So I guess for now I am still homeschooling them, as much as one can with crazy boys intent on mass destruction.

I have a feeling I will still be an anarchist deep down and continue to question everything she is required to do. And Monday will be the hardest day as I drop that precious girl off in the morning. I anticipate many tears (me, not her) and a melancholy that I don't expect will dissipate any time soon.

Rock Stars

My children have formed a band called Poison Snakes - all on their own. Anna plays violin, Jake the keyboard and Ryan the heating vent. Today, they treated me to a concert of music only a mother could love. Anna played Minuet 1 by Bach quite well and in tune. Jake played an original song called Poisoned Leopard (perhaps poisoned by a snake?) and Ryan, who refused to face the camera, dragged a stick back and forth over the heating vent as percussion. In all, a quite enjoyable concert. See program below. Anna made it in about 30 seconds, so forgive the sloppy handwriting. Can't wait for the future concert May 2!

Security Breach

I think my mom may have found this blog! When she asked the address, I told her politely that I did not want her to read it, because she just doesn't need to see thing I write here - she tends toward the melodramatic and it can be exhausting. While I hope she would respect my wishes, I don't know if she has. So I am going to take a break from posting for awhile and possibly change the blog address. Mom, if you are reading this, please stop. I need a place to vent without worrying about if you are lurking.

I Can't Believe What They Come Up With

My son Ryan is selectively mute. He talks up a storm at home, is very creative and has a huge vocabulary. He's extremely artistic and comes up with all sorts of massive art projects that decorate our walls and fabricates elaborate games that go on for hours.

However, he will not speak to anyone outside our family. He just looks at them with a gleam in his eye and his little mouth clamped shut. It's become a bit of a game with my friends to see if they can get him to say anything to them. Yesterday, a mom at kung fu tried to rile him up by accusing him of being just one year old. He shook his head, sending his feathery hair flying, but would not speak.

At bedtime, I asked him why he wouldn't talk to any adults except me and on rare occasions his father. Ryan's answer was that everyone is talking in Spanish and he can't understand them. Should this be cause for alarm? I am fairly certain we mostly associate with English speakers. Do I force him to talk, or just let the phase pass...it's kind of embarrassing, but funny at the same time. Where do they get this stuff? I'd love to live inside his head for a day and see what the heck goes on in there.

Squirrels Need Homes, Too

Since it's the Ides of March, I am being extra careful, but have let my guard down a bit since today it was nearly 60 degrees. I banished the children from the house so I could have a few moments of peace. I was having one of those days in which I love my children, but hate being a mother. Those of you who are mothers will know exactly what I mean. Those of you who aren't will think I am a sociopath, but that is certainly not the case.

When I went outside to check on them (and to ride my bike around with them again in practice for a trip I have planned in my mind to go riding at the Plum Island reservation soon), they were huddled near the back of the yard building something. I went close to see, and they had found an old plastic collander, a horde of acorns, fresh moss and many twigs which they fashioned into a squirrel shelter with an adjoining pool for worms. Suddenly, I loved being a mom again! Note the use of the blue pipette to carefully water the moss to keep it fresh. I took several pictures (see above) and then made a bike obstacle course for us all to navigate. Good times.

And here is a picture of Stella, the durable and trusty bike I wrote about last weekend. She is propped next to my equally stylish minivan.

Karaoke

First, I'd like to wish everyone Happy Pi Day...now, to the point.

My friends back in my homeland of Indiana are having an ABBA karaoke party tonight, and I can't go. I found out about the soiree on Facebook, where I get to read about all the people having more fun than I am. If not for the low balance in my checkbook, I would have boarded a plane immediately to hang with Kevin et al for nice round of Dancing Queen.

My plan tonight (Saturday, by the way) includes folding laundry, convincing children to go to bed and reading another chapter or two of Brideshead Revisited. I will also lament the fact that The Husband's business trip has been put out two weeks, thwarting my plans for a peaceful weekend. If I am lucky, I might happen across a marathon of Snapped on the Oxygen network. I want somewhere kooky to go, especially since I am sporting a new haircut - 8 inches gone and funky layers everywhere!

I admit without shame that I love karaoke. My first flirtation with it was singing the great Prince song Kiss with my BFF Amy at the Bombay Bicycle Club in Indy. We did a fine falsetto, and to my horror after we were done I saw that my future stepfather was at the bar....

Another song I can do very well is Tainted Love by Soft Cell. I perfected that one the summer of my 20th year after being dared to do it by Bill the Lawyer (one of only two lawyers I can abide, and whom I always referred to as Bill the Lawyer, which caused him no end of eye-rolling) who was 7 years my senior, which was our ultimate downfall. He made me sing it every time we went out anywhere, so accurate was my rendition. I was very popular in the boring-lawyer-party circuit of the early 1990s.

There really is nothing more goofy and life-affirming than singing pop songs to bad, tinny back-up music. The fading away of karaoke into obscurity is one of the saddest outcomes of the new millenium - I really think it should come back into vogue.

In the meantime, the mountains of laundry await me in my current and mundane life. I keep checking my phone for messages calling me away to somewhere else, but alas, none are there. I will never end my quest to find a karaoke bar somewhere and convince some innocent bystander to come along with me (could be tricky, but I did birth twins, so anything is possible). Any takers? Just let me know....

Miscellaneous Thoughts

I have been up late thinking again, always a bad thing to do. I bought a vat of Advil PM on my way home tonight to aid and abet a good night's sleep, hopefully with the dream I have sometimes involving Adrian Grenier and a motorcyle. Yummy!

1. I imagine what it would be like to carry on an entire conversation with an adult (preferably a well-spoken man with a nice voice) without being interrupted by my kids or worrying about the time.

2. What would I do with a whole day all to myownself? How weird would it be? I believe it would be a small form of Shangri-la.

3. How is it possible to feel lonely when I am never, ever alone?

4. Should I cut my hair myself, since it's all mangy and I have no money? The only scissors we have in our house are the dull, round-edged kid ones, but then maybe I'd just look "interesting".

5. Why is it that I have lost about 15 pounds since Christmas, but the only part of my body that looks smaller is my chest, which was my last flattering feature? How can this be reversed?

6. Why are some women so damn mean to each other? And would my idea of a book called Bitch-Be-Gone be a bestseller?

7. I consider who would be the best candidate for my friend with benefits. No boys I know seem interested....but how does one really know?

8. Why is Jane Austen so goldarn appealing? But is she better than the Bronte sisters or Edith Wharton? It's a tough call.

9. My problems sometimes seem very small when I look at the big picture. Thank goodness I do not suffer from the "tree man" affliction that seems to be the scourge of people in Indonesia.

A glimpse into the mind of an insomniac. Interesting, or scary?

Finally, the Boys!

Jake recently asked me what an engineer is. I explained that engineers understand how materials work together in order to build things, like bridges and buildings and houses. To demonstrate, I had the kids experiment with Kapla blocks (in my opinion the best toy around). After much trial and error, and a few tears over fallen structures, this is what they came up with. The very tall one is meant to be an animal hospital/safari home base - aren't they so creative? If you look closely, you can see animals in the little cubbies, recovering from various injuries and illnesses. The smaller one, built by Ryan, is a home for his knights and super hero figurines. The best part? This kept them busy and not fighting for about 2 days!

Cornhusk Dolls

In our pursuit of understanding American culture and history, we made cornhusk dolls. Pictured below is Anna with her doll in the various stages of construction. She has been playing with the thing all morning, and has asked to cook a Colonial meal for us to have for lunch tomorrow. Love it! My next post will be devoted to my wonderful boys, who have been sorely neglected here lately. I do love them just as much as their sister - they just never stand still long enough to be photographed!

My Tiny Dancer

These are the official photos from Anna's dance competition. The red costume was danced to "Christmas Shoes," hence the sad faces. The festive costume is "Ole, Ole, Ole" by Ricky Martin, hence the smiles! So fun to watch, I am such a proud mommy.

You Really Don't Forget How!

Today, I rode my bike for the first time in 8 years - since before my dear daughter was conceived. I hauled it out of the attic, filled the limp tires (they crackled a bit, which is worrisome). In its day, my bike was very stylish. It's a maroon Trek mountain bike that was purchased in 1992 from hard-earned savings from babysitting and cleaning bathrooms at a bed and breakfast. The poor girl (whose name is Stella) was covered in cobwebs and dust and in need of some TLC. After spraying W-D 40 on all metal parts and sniffing the satisfying fragrance of the spray and metal rubbing smoothly against metal, I mounted the old bike and took off down the street. Much to my joy, I did not forget how to ride. My hair streamed behind me - I had forgotten how fun it was to speed along on a bike.

I am sure that the comedy in my first try on two wheels in nearly a decade made my neighbors double over with laughter, but I don't care. My children cheered me on from the yard, then followed suit on their bikes, trying to catch me. We rode for over an hour. I taught them how to coast with their legs out over puddles, how to stand up and pedal for more speed. It's the most enjoyable time I've had with the kids in a long time. I am sure that my hamstrings will not be happy tomorrow, but I will remember how the kids thought I was supermom for that hour. Who knows? Maybe I'll take up riding again for recreation. It was just great to know I could still do it.

Time to Update my Bumper

Now that we have a new president, it's time to get rid of those "W" bumper stickers. The Bush years are over, and it's time to move on. Here is the one I recommend:

Biohazard

I admit it. I am not a good housekeeper. It takes every ounce of intestinal fortitude I have to clean things up and keep them orderly. It's a glitch in my brain, I think, because any halfwit is capable of cleaning a house. For me, it is an arduous undertaking and I become very overwhelmed and don't know where to begin. Heart palpitations ensue.

This is a lifelong problem. As a child, I was forever being kept in at recess to clean out my desk. I believe I have some form of ADD (or possibly schizophrenia) that keeps me from being able to keep up with the clutter. I would not consider myself to be a lazy person - but you'd never know it if you saw the state of things. There's no dirt, mind you, as I cannot abide a dirty bathroom or sticky floor. But the clutter may overtake us all, and it does not help that we live in an 1885 Victorian devoid of closet space. Our house was built at a time when people had 2 outfits and one wooden toy, so there was no need for them.

Homeschooling does not help, either. Not only does it require copious books and art supplies, but my children aren't away all day - they are home messing things up! Today I reached the breaking point. I sent the kids outside and furtively cleaned up their art corner, throwing away certain masterpieces with abandon before they re-entered the house and claimed them all as favorites.

I tossed out broken crayons, dried markers, approximately 7500 pieces of paper that were drawn upon, superhero masks, a cardboard castle and some unidentifiable thing that I believe may have been alive at some point before it got caught in a glob of glue. It is disgraceful.

Below is photographic evidence of the kids helping, in their rubber biohazard gloves (yes, I have these on hand for dangerous science experiments). Note the helter-skelter way the books are arranged on the shelf. I wonder what a psychotherapist would say about that? The lone glove on the floor is further evidence that their task was abandoned along with my hope of an ordered home. Is there any chance that the messy gene will skip a generation? Lordy, I hope so...

Dance Competition...or Glorified Toddlers in Tiaras?

My daughter, the inimitable Anna (pictured above with 2 friends of her 6-member dance team), had her first dance competition over the weekend. She looked resplendent in her costumes and make-up, and danced brilliantly - her whole team did. But I did wonder, as I watched the spectacle, if it's not just beauty pageantry disguised as sport. After all, there is no dancing in the Olympics. Is it really sporty, or just for show?

Anna can do backflips, lift her leg higher than I thought gravity would allow, splits are easy and she's lifted up high by her comrades. It looks athletic, but the make-up, hair and glitter make me wonder if there is a point to it all.

I was discussing this with another mom, who understood exactly what I meant. Her son competes in gymnastics, and it all does seem much more legitimate, even though they also pay to compete and travel on Sundays to do it, commiting the heathen act of skipping church for gold medals.

We concluded that dance is giving our girls confidence, team skills, and individual growth. Is it enough? I hope so for now.

Back in the Saddle

After a long winter break (from approximately the time of my surgery in October which removed a mass roughly the size of a small child from my abdomen) until this week in which we've accomplished little "book larnin' ", we are back at our daily routine and it feels fine.

Today, we got back into our Biology text from the Real Science 4 Kids series, which I believe is the best out there for kids anywhere. Rebecca Keller is a genius!

In our chapter today, we read about cells. It was hilarious to try to make my kids say "golgi apparatus" and "deoxyribononucleaic acid". But they were still, with rapt attention!

It got me thinking about DNA and why we are the way we are. For instance, do I have a messy gene that makes it nearly impossible to keep an orderly home without extreme effort, while others just click? Is it really my fault that I suffer from verbal diarrhea?

I recently had a lively debate via facebook messaging about inner circles of gal pals, and what makes an inner circle, how one qualifies, etc. I think it's all in the DNA. I am not an inner circle girl. I seem to be wired to attract very interesting, but not mainstream, people. I do not drive the "right" car and I do not care. My clothes are from Kohl's, and I only get my hair cut twice a year when I can work up the nerve to spend $40 (plus products) on myself.

The inner circle girls are the ones with the "it" factor. They are lovely, secure, fashionable people who do have the "right" car and the "right" address. Their husbands adore them (another check in the "not" column for me), they are put together. Not one of them would ever think to invite me anywhere, except maybe to be the fat, not cute girl who deflects potential suitors. Is it in our DNA to be inner circle types or not?

My friend asked why people complain to her (she is an inner circle type) about being left out. Are our egos still so fragile, even in middle age, that we are not happy with our social station in life? Are we not happy with our own friends?

For me the answer is decidedly no. From childhood, I have had a yearning to be in the "in" group; on the "A" list. I have accepted the fact that I am too quirky and opinionated, not to mention too short and with ungainly features, to be in the group. I am also afflicted with the people pleasing gene, and will go to great lengths to be part of "it" even if just for a moment. In fact, my BFF Amy and I referred to our desperation for acceptance as the "never-ending quest for popularity."

Most importantly, am I homeschooling because I don't want my own social failings in horrid school to happen to my sweet babies?

I do fear that somewhere in the nuclei of my children this gene is being replicated. My daughter is universally loved, so I think it may have skipped her. The boys are still too young to see, only time will tell.

The whole of who we are is endlessly fascinating to me, and I consider it a privilege to be teaching and re-learning with my children.

Miscellaneous Monday Musings (and a bad joke)

It's Monday again, and after a night of howling winds and snow I awoke to yet another dreary, wintry morning. Gotta love Mass, where it's winter for 10 months and too expensive to live in!

Anyway, I watched the Oscars for about 10 insufferable minutes. Why, in the name of all that is holy, was Hugh Jackman picked as the host? Though I love celebs, read People.com voraciously, and covet Jennifer Aniston's hair, I cannot stand award shows. I didn't even see any of the films represented this year, as they were all maudlin, obvious and self-important. How come "Twilight" wasn't recognized by the Academy? Robert Pattison in a tux would have made the show worth watching!

As promised, here is the bad joke of the day:

With all the sadness and trauma going on in the world at the moment, it is worth reflecting on the death of a very important person, which almost went unnoticed last week.

Larry LaPrise, the man who wrote 'The Hokey Pokey' died peacefully at the age of 93. The most traumatic part for his family was getting him into the coffin. They put his left leg in. And then the trouble started.

Shut up. You know it's funny.

I am a Hypocrite, Aren't I?

OK, so the winter has closed in around me and the thought of getting out of bed, let alone taking care of and teaching three children, is quite overwhelming. So on a whim I have sent (gasp) school choice applications (public school, no less. I KNOW!) to a local school, because they have a great program for gifted children (yes, my daughter and probably my sons are gifted. It's not PC to say so, but it is what it is.). I am just tired. I have lost the will to do all the work involved in homeschooling. I selfishly want time to 1) exercise 2) eat an entire lunch sitting down 3)clean my house 4) have coffee with a friend.

I am fighting my inner voice that reminds me that I homeschool because there are so many things I cannot abide about public school such as 1) making kids sit still so much 2) the long hours 3) the bad influences 4) the one-size-fits all teaching methods.

I cannot see myself as a shiny PTA mom. I can definitely see myself as a huge pain in the ass, pushing for what my kids need and simultaneously hating myself for not keeping them home.

I chose this particular school because they still have a half-day K program and for their differentiated instruction and shameless "label" of gifted for children who need it. My daughter, 7, is reading on a 10th grade level and learning to solve for x in algebraic equations. She understands molecular combination. She plays Bach effortlessly on her violin. She needs challenge to be happy. My sons, 4, add and subtract to 12s, are starting to read early readers and also need extra. So what's a mom who has lost the will to do it herownself to do?

I am looking into private schools, but will only be able to afford it if they hire me. So I have cobbled together a workable resume and sent it out all over the North Shore. I am leaving it to fate what will happen.

Am I a hypocrite, for all my ranting about the evils of public school? Or just a worn out mom who wants to give something else a try for her own sanity, and so she can enjoy the fun stuff with her kids and leave the nagging to someone else. These are the questions troubling me these days...

Break-ups are Hard On You

Lately, I have had much pressure, stress and anxiety, the likes of which I've never had converge all at once. I spent most of the weekend huddled on my bed watching reruns of America's Next Top Model, emerging only to feed my children and feeling grateful that they entertain themselves. One recent event weighs on my mind most days, and I'm sure we've all been there.

It starts off so well, usually. You meet someone and it clicks. The conversation is exciting as you interrupt each other, telling stories that link experiences. Daily phone calls start. The thrill of it all makes you overlook potential problems that down the road will ultimately doom the relationship. Then it becomes necessary to break up.

I am, of course, talking about the mom friendship. After having a baby, life changes so radically you become fast friends with anyone else who understands. Most of the time, this is great. Your children play together, you bond over talk of sleepless nights, preschool choices and the subtle nuances of The Wonderpets and High School Musical.

Sometimes, lives just diverge and the friendships come to a natural stall, and you connect mostly on Facebook or through Christmas cards. No hard feelings – you are happy to bump into each other and laugh over trivial events of the past. Sort of like a nice boy you went on a few dates with but there was no lasting chemistry.

But we all have a mom friend who drives us nuts. The sound of her voice makes your fingernails tingle and eyebrows twitch. Her phone number on caller ID causes heart palpitations not unlike seeing your mother-in-law’s number.

I had such a friend until recently. Even though she clearly could not tolerate anything about me and was constantly trying to change my religious views (Christian), political leanings (conservative) and parenting style (according to her, draconian and rigid), I gamely stuck by with a fake smile on my face because our daughters were friends.

This worked for awhile, until I realized that the poor behavior of this wild child, who has very little self-control or sense of other people, was rubbing off on my own. After a playdate, I had to deprogram my daughter who would come home wondering why she had to have a bedtime and talking back, two things acceptable in a home where the parents believe adults have no business putting limits on children – but clearly not acceptable in my home, where I strive to teach my children how the world works and believe children thrive on a schedule.

I tried to remember the great things this mom did, like helping out in a pinch when I needed someone to watch my kids and her way of being so laid back and untroubled by many things.

Over about two years, incidents added up to the breaking point and it became necessary to make a clean break. Being a nonconfrontational doormat type who wants everyone to like me, it was very difficult to make the split. I tried to just turn down playdate invitations and cut conversations short, but my passive agression didn’t work.

So in the end, I turned to e-mail. I agonized over the best way to do it, and carefully worded my reasons for why I thought we didn’t need to see each other any more. I should have known it wouldn’t be so easy – much to my surprise and dismay, just like in seventh grade, my e-mail and a brutal rebuttal made the rounds to some friends, many of whom did not know the whole history of our stormy relationship. All it took was two weeks of deep breathing exercises, a trip to Florida and some damage control to finally get over the anxiety of it all.

It’s painful to end things, even more painful to explain to a child why a loved friend is not healthy to be around. But it’s part of helping them make good choices about the people they allow to influence them, and how to stand up for themselves. Breaking up is hard to do, but is certainly necessary sometimes.

Perhaps I can be bolstered enough to end another troublesome relationship...we'll see.

Things I Ponder Late At Night

I often have insomnia, and end up taking Advil PM to get some zzzzz's. On occasion, though, I amuse myself by wondering about things. If anyone knows the answer to these burning questions, please let me know.

1. After 7 years, a couple shacking up is considered to have a common-law marriage and they get to avoid all the legal rigamorale. If I don't sleep with my husband for 7 years, can I have a common law divorce?

2. Is it true that boys really don't mature past age 6, they just get bigger?

3. Why do people drive on parkways and park on driveways?

4. Why do I always think of the perfect comeback or pithy comment hours or days after the opportunity to say it has passed, and I can't take back the stupid, rambling thing I said instead?

5. Am I frittering away my prime years?

6. What if one of my kids, in adulthood, does something really, really horrible? Or something really, really wonderful? How will I handle it?

7. Is all the stuff in the Freakonomics book true?

8. I often wonder what people are doing, and if it's way more fun than what I am doing. In my mind, no one else has any problems.

9. What would I do if I suddenly had unlimited money? That's a fun one....

10. What does God think of everything?

11. Why don't some certain people "friend" me on Facebook?

OK, so I have just proved that I am indeed crazy. Please tell me that I am not the only one....

Yes, of course I LOATHE Valentine's Day

It is the one day of the year I dread, the most evil and contrived day of them all. What kind of person can handle the pressure? It is always a disappointment, especially when you can't stand your significant other, but still must, for show, purchase a card. Do you lie and purchase the cheesy, romantic one with the couple in silhouette on the beach? The "dirty" card? The joke card, the receipt of which is clearly the death knell of any relationship?

Years ago, I did like VD (which is my pet name for it, since I am sure many unwanted "transmissions" will happen that night). When I was dating my favorite boyfriend Steve in college, we would celebrate VD by drinking a bottle of Boone's Farm and changing the letters on the entrance sign of the student union to say things like "Welcome Fascists" instead of something more dignified. He really got me in a way no one else ever had or has yet to date! One year, he broke into the art building and made me a picnic on the roof; another he surprised me with breakfast cooked by hisveryownself and brought to my dorm room in the freezing cold. No horrid flowers, overpriced dinners or dicey cards - just fun surprises only the two of us understood.

I do, of course, have VD fantasies (or just fantasies in general). My most recent one involves an unknown crush showing up after my Zumba class to whisk me off for libations and great conversation, and not on VD itself. I know it won't happen, but hey, a girl never stops dreaming.

I keep hoping that VD will become passe. I think the worst thing that can happen is getting engaged or married on VD - how cliche and boring! Anyway, feel free to comment and prove me wrong. Perhaps I really am just a jaded, silly girl....

Sanibel

Well, I did force myself onto the plane in high dudgeon over the fact that the one week we were there was the coldest in 40 years. Still, it was a far cry better than the horritrocious winter here in the frozen tundra of Massachusetts. I want to live on Sanibel someday, and spend my days in denial walking the beach and lolling about in the sun. The kids loved it, too. I am indoctrinating them young to love the warm and eschew the cold so they will support me in my old age in a sunny place. It's just fabulous. The pic above is my fantastic kids, playing on the fishing pier. Aren't they just freakin' precious?

Batman Cooks My Dinner!

In an effort to teach my children usable life skills, I have started allowing them to help cook dinner. The other night, Batman made us tacos! Who knew superheroes were so versatile? Am I a lucky girl, or what?

I think he's looking to the sky for the Bat Signal from Commissioner Gordon or something...

Staple Head

It's not a vacation for us without a trip to the ER. Two summers ago, it was Anna's broken arm in North Carolina. This time, it was poor Ryan who is now sporting a stylish, shiny staple on the top of his head.

While I was dutifully folding laundry and washing dishes (is there ever REALLY a vacation for a mom?), I heard a thud, beat of silence, then the wail of a boy with a head wound. Once I got over the sight of the dear child crumpled on the floor wearing his goggles, I noticed blood gushing forth from the top of his head not unlike Old Faithful.

I nearly fainted as I carried him to the kitchen and used Bounty to staunch the flow. It really is absorbent! It became clear that it was going to bleed for awhile, so I found out the location of the nearest hospital and rushed him over. While we waited for 3 hours, I got the story out of my little genius.

Turns out he was wearing the goggles because he was pretending to scuba dive, so he was looking down of course to see the imaginary coral reef. He unfortunately walked right into the sharp corner of some decorative crown molding on the TV armoire.

Ryan was a champ during the long wait and the stapling, which closed the laceration with a satisfying kerchunk sound. I still can't bring myself to look at it.

All that's left to do is wonder what strange accident awaits us next!

Live From Sanibel

No, I am never coming back. I don't know if I can physically force myself onto the plane! I haven't figured out where we would stay or pay for things, but those are just details to be dealt with.... The sun is shining, and I've spent hours doing nothing but wandering the beach listening to my children chatter and play. We are all content, which is a rarity at home!

I used to come here in the winters with my grandparents, to this very condo. They are gone now, and I have gotten a little choked up more than once remembering their very selves walking the same beach (or riding, in the case of my paraplegic grandmother), sifting through shells and feeling the same warm sun on their faces. They were two of the best people who ever lived, kind and generous and loving. I was lucky to know them, and miss them every day.

There has been way too much drama in my life lately, from having to ask someone to leave my co-op for bad behaviour (both mom and child), antics of my husband and looking for a real job. Sanibel is a great place to forget it all. Sun on one's cheek and a breeze in one's hair do seem to cure everything and put the bad stuff to rest.

The best parts of the trip so far?
1. Jake learned he could swim without a floatie! He is such a superstar swimmer now.
2. Finding a cool crab with a shell that looks like giraffe fur.
3. Teaching the kids to play Monopoly on the rainy day.
4. Not wearing shoes.
5. Reading 2 books so far!
6. Watching Anna dance free on the beach.
7. Watching Ryan swing from tree branches with a look of glee on his little face.

More updates coming - and pics when I return.