Keep a Hand on the Light Switch

When my oldest was about four her grandfather told her not to step on cracks because it would break her mothers back. A few days later we were walking and I noticed her stepping on a crack in the sidewalk and then looking at me. A few feet later she stepped on another one.

“Is your back OK mommy?” she asked.

“Are you trying to break my back?” I asked just a little peeved that my sweet baby was trying to break my back.

“No! I think granddad was kidding. Does your back hurt?”

I assured her I was fine and we walked on. “My little scientist,” I thought proudly even though I was a little concerned that she was willing to sacrifice my back for the sake of science. But that’s my oldest. I wouldn’t want her any other way.

I guess some things never change. She had a sleepover and I heard one of her friends say “Don’t do it you might die!” I went running in to see what the hell was going on. Apparently the legend of Bloody Mary was the topic of the night. She was planning to lock herself in the bathroom and try to summons Mary’s ghost.

“Why would you try something if you thought you could die?” I asked just a little bit peeved that my hormonal pre-teen was attempting something that she thought could end in death.

“Mom! I don’t think I’ll die. I’m proving it isn’t true.”

I choked back my laughter and gave them all a poorly prepared lecture about not doing stupid things. They finally decided that they would try to see the ghost but they would go in pairs, holding hands, with the hand of the safety person on the light switch. If they saw even a flicker of red light in the mirror they would turn on the light rendering Bloody Mary unable to harm them. I left them to their own and went back up front.

I know they’re going to do stupid things. Probably their fair share of dangerous things. Didn’t we all? But after they had finally gone to sleep I peeked in the door at the faces of little girls trying so hard to grow up and I couldn’t help but worry about them. I stood there a long time and one thought kept coming to mind. Please, please, little girls, look after each other and always keep a hand on that light switch.

I’m Getting Freakin Old!

I have now officially celebrated my most recent 29th birthday. I must have gotten the mourning over with beforehand because I had a nice day. I made a mix titled ‘I’m getting freakin’ old’ so I could play it over and over on my iPod and commiserate but it didn’t make me sad. It made me thankful that I’ve had so many good memories. I think that is proof that I am getting freakin’ old. There’s no other way to explain it. So here it is. My life in a small selection of song.

This is the first song I ever remember hearing. ‘Looking Out My Back Door’ My mom would play it, (on 8 track through speakers big enough to use as an end table) and we would sing it and dance around the kitchen. It’s the only song I have listened to in every stage of my life and one of the first songs I put on my iPod. This video makes me laugh. The couch, the hair, the posters. So many memories. I wonder if our parents realize how much they warped our minds in the 70’S.

My first record was ‘Snoopy Vs. The Red Baron’. My dad got it from a yard sale and gave it to me. I would play it over and over and shout out the lyrics while my dad pretended he was the Red Baron and I was Snoopy.

Those memories are delicate and come to me in small bits and pieces. Other songs come to mind but they don’t have any substance. Just flashes here and there. That holds true until ‘The Boss’ came on the scene. Born in the USA was released just before my Birthday in 1984 and I bought the cassette with my birthday money. I wore that tape out. I’m not completely sure why that album spoke to me back then, but it still speaks to me know. Except now I know ‘I’m on Fire’ isn’t a sex song. My mix wouldn’t be complete without one of his songs. For this ‘getting old’ mix I chose ‘Dancing in the Dark’

I was listening to ‘Groove Me’ when I got arrested. There were no charges filed against me because it isn’t illegal to drive around without a car full of drunk teenagers unless you’re not a teenager. I had listened to those MADD people. I was the designated driver! Good thing both the police and my parents had a sense of humor.

There were a bunch of songs from high school and college that remind me of new experiences and crazy carefree nights but none of those belong on this mix. They’re all about being young.

Getting married makes you old and the first time I heard this song ‘If I Had a Million Dollars’ it reminded me of my husband and all the silly things we discuss pretending they are the most important things in the world.

The first time I felt my oldest move, and I was sure it wasn’t gas, was when I was listening to ‘Mars, The Bringer of War’. She would squirm and kick when it got loud. Then I played it over and over because feeling her alive inside me was the most wonderful feeling I had ever had in my life. Afterwards I worried that I had scared her for life, pre-natally. What kind of mom plays her unborn child songs about war? For this mix I selected ‘Saturn, The Bringer of Old Age’.

The girls being babies brings to mind so many conflicting emotions. There were so many changes. Physical, emotional, social, you name it, it changed. Sleepless nights, no money, funerals, hurt feelings, and arguments come to mind. First smiles, birthday cakes, kissing little tiny toes, and Raffi also comes to mind. I’m not sure how I survived. I’m not sure how MyHusband’s and my relationship survived either. But it did. There are probably hundreds of songs that could work for this period of my life but I picked ‘She’s Becoming Gold’.

No one can spend a decade as a stay at home parent and not relate to these two songs at some point. ‘Fifth Wheel’ and ‘What About Everything’. To the best of knowledge neither songwriter is a stay-at home parent but I think that says something about the human heart.

And just as a reminder to not take myself too seriously I have to include this. ‘‘As Good as I Once Was’”

So, tell me about some of the songs that mean something to you!

Her Heart Hurts

My sister-in-law called this morning to ask if I could watch my niece this evening. I told her sure. I love having my niece over. Then she told me why.

Their dog, Copper, was having problems walking and they took him to the vet. He has an aggressive form of bone cancer and there is no treatment for it. It broke my heart. They’ve had him for less than two years. He’s barely past being a puppy. It’s just doesn’t seem right.

The girls heard me talking to her on the phone and wanted to know what was wrong. I would have preferred to take a few minutes and think of the right thing to say, whatever that is, but they looked frightened so I told them. I didn’t want their imaginations going wild. They were very upset. They loved Copper and they were worried about my niece. They remembered Hotrod and that made them more upset.

They were worried that that my brothers other dog, his chickens, our dogs, or any of us might catch it. I explained it wasn’t contagious. They wanted to know what to do to make my niece feel better. They asked questions about life and death that left me feeling bruised and broken. I think I did OK.

My youngest decided she didn’t want to think about it anymore. She went down to play with our dogs and after a little while she came back up. She got an ice pack from the freezer and laid down on the couch.

“Did you get hurt?” I asked. She put the ice pack over her heart.

“No. My heart hurts for Copper. I thought this might make it feel better.”

Damn, I can deal with a lot of things but that was just too much. It’s a good thing I stocked up on tissues the last time they were on sale.

Half My Life

We were just about to fall asleep that night. It was the night before our anniversary and we were talking about our plans for the next few days. It wasn’t very different than any other night. Then the weirdest thought came into my head. I sat up just a little and looked at my husband.

“I have been with you for almost half my life”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” he said.

Nothing else was said as we listened to the sounds of the night and he slowly fell asleep. I moved over to my side of the bed and tucked myself under my blanket. For a long time I thought about half my life. I had a lot of strange and conflicting emotions. Some what-ifs both for the past and the future. I was in a very lonely and doubtful place for awhile.

Then I rolled over and whispered into his sleeping ear.

“It’s been the best half.”

I went to sleep looking forward to the night I’d realize that I’d spent 2/3 of my life with him. I bet we’ll be really cool grandparents.

Frozen Waffles and The Dominator

We celebrated our Frozen Waffle anniversary this week. We spent the day of our anniversary in Richmond and the day after we took the kids to Kings Dominion. We had fun both days but riding the new roller coaster ‘The Dominator’ was a lot of fun. I’d rank it on the top of list, the first time I rode it. The second time my youngest wanted to ride too. Thanks to the recent growth spurt that left me in tearful pools of nostalgia she was just big enough to ride. I wasn’t prepared for the fear I would feel just as the ride started. That’s when I realized my baby, who was just (like ¼ an inch just) big enough to ride, was going to

“fly through five inversions at speeds reaching 65 mph, including the world’s largest vertical loop”.

In my mind the shoulder harnesses and seatbelts were nowhere near adequate. The world is a totally different place when you’re a parent.

Just as the ride started moving I turned to MyHusband with a look of absolute panic. He has the amazing ability to read my mind and we both grabbed the handles on her shoulder harness and made sure she didn’t fall out. There was no way she was going to fall out but you don’t question a mother when she’s protecting her kids. You don’t tease her about it later either. Even if she can see it your eyes.

Deli Sliced Chicken Salad + Fistballs = Parent of the Year!

Sometimes we get sliced honey roasted chicken breast from the deli. Some days, like most people, the girls make sandwiches out of it for lunch. Today would have been one of those days except for a small problem. There wasn’t enough sliced meat to make two sandwiches. There was only enough to make 1.5 sandwiches. (Maybe only 1.25 sandwiches) Neither one wanted to be the one with half and they loudly an obnoxiously made their point very clear. Being a sane parent I suggested that they divide the meat in half and make ¾ of a sandwich. That wasn’t going to work. The negotiations became heated and turned into an argument. The argument turned into a screaming match. Before I realized I needed to intervene and made it all the way down the hall, the youngest had the bag of chicken tucked under her shirt. She was on the floor and the oldest was on top of her trying to get it. Chaos erupted. A glimpse of an arm or leg, half-formed fists, hair, and pink bunny socks was all I could make out in the confusion. From this jumbled pile came screams of, “MOM! It’s mine! Ouch! You have to share! MOM!”

“Enough. Stop it. Stop shouting. God Damn it, stop fighting!” I told them. They weren’t listening. I was trying to stay calm but it didn’t work out for me. I wondered if I should get the garden hose and spray them.

The pile eventually began to mutate and formed itself into two separate beings. They stood there face to face glaring at each other.

It was then my turn to make sense of the situation. I grabbed the pack of chicken, tore open the bag, and ripped the meat in half. I was in no mood for that crap. Squeezing it in my hands and holding it up above my head I shook my fists and yelled, “You each get half! Is that so hard to understand?”

“HALF!” I shouted as I stomped my foot on the floor.

Then I plopped the battered meat into their bare hands.

They stood there for a second looking at what was to become their lunch.

“What are we supposed to do with this?”

“Do with it as you wish.” I told them and I went to wash my hands of both the situation and the meat juice.

The oldest shoved hers into her mouth and the youngest got a piece of bread and made a sandwich. They both seemed happy.

A little later they were best friends again. Sitting together discussing life. I overheard the youngest tell her sister that the chicken was pretty good. All mushed up it tasted like chicken salad. The oldest didn’t have any complaints either. Hers was like a big meatball. Except it was shape like a fist. A fistball. Kinda like a knuckle sandwich, but different. It was good to hear them laughing together. I hope it lasts.

And now I’m left thinking, “I am so gonna get the Parent of the Year award this year.” I just know it!

Home Again, Home Again

Home was tucked between fields planted with corn or sometimes soybeans. Go-carts, dirt bikes, and BB guns. Cows mooing in the distance and naked feet run through fields and managing to miss most all of the cow piles. There were apple trees along the drive and rotten apples to pelt both the unsuspecting and the deserving. There was always the smell of gasoline and engine oil from a newly repaired engine and dust from a freshly driven road. We never did slow down. What would have been the fun?

Home was also tucked between two rivers. One tasted like salt and seaweed. The other like dirt. I swam both long before my memory can remember. I learned about love and war on their shores. Oyster shells make good bombs, unless you hurt someone. Crab pots make good forts, unless you fall on them. The sand is cold, damp and uncomfortable, unless you’re in love.

At home, big trees grew smaller as I grew taller. Grannies kitchen always had treats. A bottle of Coke tasted good even if I had to share. Green garden snakes became monstrous demons and spiders wove deadly webs between the corn. We weren’t scared. Or so we said. We had the dog and a stick to protect us. He always led us home to dinner. At the end of a long day it was the only place we wanted to go.

There were grownups that wanted to hear our stories, warm bath before bed and full round of goodnight hugs. I would fall asleep to the sound of crickets and frogs. I didn’t know they were supposed to be annoying until the trees grew too small to climb and bare feet started wearing shoes. Crab pots became work tools and Coke gave way to wine. The boys became lovely demons and girls spun their webs. But we weren’t scared. Or so we said. We had arrogance and pride to protect us. We knew how to get home for dinner. Even if it was the last place we wanted to go. We never once considered we’d miss it.

More people write about a sound, smell, or taste they find comforting or that reminds them of home at the Thinking Homeschooler Project.

Basket Case

Every year for my birthday I try to learn something new. Except for a couple years when the stresses of life got in the way it’s gone well. One year I learned to knit. It took a long time for that to take hold but I very much enjoy it now. Another year I bought a beginner cheesemaking kit and learned to make cheese. Ummm, homemade mozzarella is delicious. I got a bunch of bread making books from the library one year and taught myself to make bread. I now have an entire shelf in my pantry devoted to flours, grains, and seeds. I love to make bread. It’s good for my soul. There have been other experiments throughout the years. Some I’ve enjoyed and others I haven’t but I was glad I tried them all. It feels good to learn something new even if you never want to try it again.

I’ve been having problems this year. My birthday is coming up next month and I couldn’t think of anything I wanted to try. There were a few options but none seemed quite right. I was thinking I could take a class in something I already knew and get better at it but that didn’t seem right. I am supposed to learn something new for my birthday. My birthday is only once a year; I can take classes anytime I want. It was really starting to bug me. Then last week, we went to Jamestown.

They have a re-created Native American village and we were having fun learning to prepare hides, grinding cornmeal, watching the chickens, and learning how to cook corn soup in clay pots over coals. It was interesting but I was more interested in the grass baskets. I liked the way they felt and the way they smelled. The woven patterns seemed so complicated but unassuming. In a way, they reminded me of every person I’ve ever loved. I couldn’t stop myself from picking them up and seeing how they were made. I was still thinking about them when we went to the fort and also when we boarded the boats. I stopped thinking about them when we got to the gift shop. Good grief, there must have been a hundred screaming kids in there. But they came back to mind when I saw a basket making kit. It was for children ages 10 and up but I figured I was definitely in the up category so I bought it. They weren’t the same types of basket. The kit was for the wide reed type baskets and I really like the grass baskets. It’ll be a good start.

I’ve looked through the directions and I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to figure it out. I think it’s one of those things you just have to do. So I’ll be doing it before long. When I get a free day and feel adventurous. Wish me luck!

When and Where?

I looked over at the couch and saw my oldest daughter working on her math paper. Then I realized I was looking at my youngest.

When did her legs get that long? When did her pudgy baby hands stop being pudgy? When did she stop moving like a little kid? When did she start looking like a big kid?

Where is my baby? Where did all that time go? Where did the tears in my eyes come from? Where did I put that box of tissues?

Spank My Kids? Why Should I?

When I first became a parent the biggest question I asked myself about spanking my children was, why should I? Perhaps you have an answer but it better not be because Jesus said so. I’m not buying that load of crap. The bible says you shouldn’t eat shellfish but I’ve seen you at the Red Lobster praying over your dinner. You’re not fooling me.

When my oldest was about two someone asked me if I spanked her. I was hurt and offended by the question. Why would anyone think I’d do that?

“I’m intelligent enough to manage a two-year-old without beating her into submission” I snapped back. Looking around I saw the faces of other parents. Some with children older than mine, some with grown children and I saw guilt and regret in their eyes. It reinforced my views even more.

The more I thought about it, the less sense it made. Children do not stay children forever. How do you explain to your twenty-year-old that they were so bad you had no choice other than hurting them to make them behave? How can you justify teaching your children that they deserve to be hurt when they make a mistake? If you should never hit your kids when you’re angry, what kind of person hits their kids when they have a clear calm mind? How will you feel when your kids are hitting your grandchildren because that’s the only thing they know to do?

The fact of the matter is you do not have to hit your children. Some parents say you should spank young children if they try to run into the street or are doing something dangerous. I found that my panicked scream and firmly explaining the danger worked just fine. It was my job to watch them anyway. They were too young for that responsibility.

Some parents say spanking children makes them more responsible. I disagree strongly. Spanking removes any personal responsibility. You were wrong, you’ve been punished, go play. Instead try, you were wrong, go make it better, go play. Having them fix their mistakes builds responsibility. Spanking gives them an easy out.

But what about when kids are out of control and won’t behave at all? The few times that happened to me have been when I’ve expected too much from my children. If you mess with their naps, food, or comfort levels they go ballistic. They’re not adults. If it’s obvious they are tired, hungry, and over-stimulated don’t drag them to another store so you can get those new shoes on sale. Call it a day and take them home. Next time be more considerate of their needs and plan your day better. Yes, it will probably piss you off but you’ll get over it. You’re an adult. In a few years you’ll be the one whining to go home while your pre-teen tries on just one more shirt.

So far, I’ve managed to get through every single problem some parents say justify a spanking without spanking my children. It wasn’t easy and there were times I seriously questioned my decision. There were times I was so frustrated and angry that I almost hit them when I didn’t want to. But, I didn’t and I won’t. I don’t think I could say that now if I hadn’t made a firm decision from the start about not spanking.

I hope that one day all parents will take the time make that decision. I hope that all parents make that decision with a newborn in their arms, when the choice is obvious and not wait until their two-year-old spits peas in their face. It makes it a lot easier to make the right choice.

You can add your opinion or read other opinions on Spank Out Day and/or The National Day of Prayer at the Thinking Homeschoolers Project.