Just Eat It

Early on, my husband and I made an important parenting decision that continues to pay us back tenfold. We did our best to offer our children a wide variety of food experiences. In doing so, they have each developed a broad spectrum of likes with few dislikes. At the age of 7, O discovered she no longer liked cottage cheese. Later, at age 9, she discovered that green beans leave her with an unpleasant feeling in her stomach. Her favorite foods include steak and mushrooms. She won't be one of those salad and water prom dates, so save up, boys. M has always had a love affair with popcorn. However, the relationship came to a sudden halt in the summer of 2009 when we finally attributed a rather horrendous odor continually emitted from our lovely 8 year old to the tasty treat. The combination of popcorn and milk has become lethal. She has learned to limit both and never co-mingle. She prefers vanilla to chocolate and would rather skip the pat of butter on her bread. B has a disturbing love of chocolate that began in infancy when her child care teacher shared a small bowl of M&Ms with her. She soon learned which cupboard held the special candy and would tap on it until one of the two teachers gave her a small bowl. This continued with her daily visits to her favorite teachers until she moved on to kindergarten. The kid can now sniff out a morsel of chocolate in 2.5 seconds. Do keep your fingers out of harms way. B is also a corndog, hotdog, grilled cheese, and hippopotamus loving fiend. (Hippopotamus is actually chicken cordon bleu...that's another story for another time!) Thankfully, the girls learned early on to try a little bit of everything. We've also stressed with them to try things a second time, because our pallets are ever-changing and because not all recipes are equal. At the end of a meal, if their plate hasn't been cleared, we simply ask they eat four more bites of something. This can lead to grumbles, but more often than not, they simply do as they're told. As guinea pigs, my family must endure new recipes often. Some are met with great enthusiasm, while others are picked apart relentlessly. Nevertheless, many of our meals are trial and error. Tonight's dinner was a chicken and penne dish with an easy four cheese sauce, mixed veggies, and sour dough bread. Simple and quick. I was disappointed in the pasta, but everyone ate heartily...well, almost every one. As I watched B pick another piece of chicken out of her pasta, I reminded her to at least try the pasta. She pointed her fork at me and said, "Mom, are you up to something?" Confused, I said, "No, sweetheart, I don't think I'm up to something." She pushed another piece of her penne aside and said, "Well, I think you're up to something." She reached for the bowl of mixed vegetables and heaped another spoonful on her plate. She looked at me thoughtfully and said, "I think you made that stuff (pointing to the pasta) so that I would eat more vegetables." It was all I could do to keep from showering the table with a mouthful of my dinner. I swallowed hard and asked, "Did it work?" She said, "Yup." I didn't even bother with making her eat the usual "four bites" before being excused from the table.

Tell Me More, Mama

"Tell me about when I was a baby, Mama" M lay her head gently on my shoulder and wrapped her little arm around my own. B overheard her older sister's request, and lay her head on my other shoulder, taking my arm, and batting her long, lovely eyelashes at me. Such cheeky girls! How could I resist? I told M the story of how pink she was when she was born, like a sweet little piglet. And how tiny she was. I told her how she ate for three days straight, even making snorting and grunting sounds like the hungry piglet. And that she became a plump, round little thing that I loved to call, "My little sausage" because her chubby little legs looked like sausage links stuffed into knit leggings. I told B how her older sisters stuffed her into a cardboard box and put the over flaps over her. I'm sure they were trying to send her back from wherever she came from. I told M and O the story of the bathtub. I was fat and round with baby M tucked safely in my belly. O and I were taking a mom'n daughter bath, making bubble beards and laughing. She kept saying, "Helloooo, baby" and would get on all fours and put her little eyeball right against my belly button. But she couldn't see her baby...so she'd call out again, "Hellllloooo, baby!" We talked about their first words, foods they loved to eat, and silly things they said and did not so many years ago. They laughed and asked for more...I said, "We'll always have more, won't we?" And as I fell asleep with those thoughts, I thanked God for giving me "more" each day and said, "If it's not too selfish...I'd like more, too."

Respect Your Elders

I have never been embarrassed, nor felt any kind of regret for my children's behavior when it comes to older folks. The girls are simply too loving and compassionate for words! Last night, as our family joined my husbands' parents and his father's family around the table for dinner at a quiet restaurant, we laughed at old stories, ate hearty, and enjoyed one another's company. Sitting across from my husband and O, was Aunt Jean, who suffers now from Alzheimer's Disease. She looked excitedly around the table at the unfamiliar faces and asked of Olivia, "Now who are you, dear?" O answered sweetly, "I'm O." Aunt Jean smiled and told her what a beautiful girl she is and proceeded to ask her if she enjoyed singing. O giggled and nodded her head. Aunt Jean sang a quick verse of 76 Trombones. The table overheard the conversation and all smiled, continuing on with their side-conversations. A moment later, Aunt Jean looked at my husband and said, "I know I should know you, do you know who I am?" He nodded his head and said, "Yes, Aunt Jean, my dad is George...your brother." She looked about the table then. George waved his hand at her. He said, "Jean, yes, your handsome baby brother!" Aunt Jean laughed. Then became teary. O whispered to me, "Mom, is Aunt Jean crying?" I patted her knee under the table and smiled. A moment later, Aunt Jean looked at O and said, "Do you know who I am?" O smiled at her and said, "Yes, you're Aunt Jean." Aunt Jean said, "That's right! You are such a beautiful girl. I hope that we can be friends. Do you like to sing?" She began her verse of 76 Trombones, clapping along. The table took note again, some joining her in song. M and B looked around wondering what was happening. When she finished, Aunt Jean looked at O and asked her what her name was. O answered her again...and later answered her again...and again. The meal was a round of 76 Trombones and O's first name to be repeated over and over. But O never showed sign of wear. And Aunt Jean's daughter, Mary, looked at O with such adoration for her genuine kindness. O already knew of Aunt Jean's progressing disease over the last two years. But she'd had no idea how taxing it could be for someone on a daily basis, and got a heavy dose of it that night. She commented later that night after we'd all parted ways that she didn't know that Aunt Jean would "be like that". Yet, during the dinner, O never let on that she was confused by her aunt's behavior. She simply carried on with the grace of someone who loves so greatly outside of herself. It was truly inspirational.

Big Trouble, Little E

When my phone rang at 1:25 p.m. this afternoon announcing a call from my children's elementary school, my heart sank. I wondered if one of the girls became sick at school (they're only on the second day back from break!) or worse that one of them was hurt. I crossed my fingers for the first versus the latter and answered the call. The voice on the other end was friendly and upbeat, our favorite second grade teacher. She assured me right away that it wasn't "a big deal" and was actually laughing as she began her story. Yesterday afternoon, she returned from lunch to find a small group of children in her classroom. She asked them what they were doing there and questioned why they weren't out at recess with the rest of the school. They collectively replied that they'd "just missed" recess, so they waited in the room since the others were due in any minute. The teacher explained to the children that if that ever happened again, they'd need to wait in the hallway where they could be seen because they were unsupervised in the classroom. Today, following lunch, the teacher noted that four children hadn't returned yet from recess and requested aid to locate them. Another staff person overheard loud noises coming from the girls' bathroom and investigated. There, she found the missing group, including our beloved 7 year old, B. The girls had packed themselves into a single stall and were sitting on a heat register (perhaps to keep their feet from being seen). And they were taking turns listening to their voices echo. They were escorted back to their classroom, half-giggling, half-scared witless. B's teachers said she pretended to be very upset and explained to the girls that hiding in the bathroom was not safe and scared her, and most importantly could have landed each of them in the principal's office. She told them that she'd need to contact their parents to let them know what happened. And since B's teacher is so tender-loving and compassionate, she saw the worry in their eyes and reassured them that it would be okay. She was still laughing as she finished her story and told me that she simply wanted us to know what happened and didn't expect any further incidents. I aplogized profusely, still in shock (B?), and told her that I'd be speaking with B this afternoon. The teacher laughed again and said that she was honestly very surprised at this group because they are "without a doubt the least likely to cause trouble...EVER". I agreed and couldn't wait to hear B's side of the story. Later that afternoon, B was waiting apprehensively on her bed. She looked up with her giant blue eyes pooled with tears as I approached her. I sat on the floor in the bedroom with my back propped up against her dresser. She slowly walked towards me and sat a few inches away, hands wringing her shirt in her lap. Her dad followed me in and plopped himself on the floor beside me. I asked if she had anything to share with me. She began her story, fighting back tears. Her daddy and I listened intently, trying unsuccessfully to appear extremely upset. Finally, after B wrapped up her story about wanting to get away from a friend that was "bugging" them, so she and a friend tried to hide but were followed by two other friends. I asked her if she made a good decision. She smiled shyly and said, "no". I asked her why and she responded quickly, "Cuz, I coulda had to go to the principals' office." And just like that we let her off the hook. Lesson learned (hopefully), point made (hopefully). I am still in slight disbelief, as B isn't often the leader and I'm always hoping she'll take the reins and make her own path. Today, she did.

Mean Girls

As a mother of daughters, I am well aware of the "hurts to come", and I would give anything to take them away, anything to ensure that my children never have to feel even one ounce of that pain, anything to bypass the tortures of girl friendships. But life is as it is, and I can only stand on the sidelines cheering them on. The last week of school before break was particularily difficult for our "tween". She came home from school a few days in a row distraught over what "she said I said that I never said". A tiff with a few of girls in her social group had O in near tears, but the "abandonment of her BFF" had sent our oldest daughter in a downward spiral of tween torment. My first reaction was to have her call her BFF and get to the truth of the matter. But I let her ride the wave of emotions until she was in a calmer state of mind. We looked at old pictures, updated my address book, and decided to check emails. O was dismayed to find an email from yet another friend that read: "O, I'm mad at you because you are mean to me." The flood of tears let loose, and the only consolation I could offer was my tattered sweatshirt sleeve. We talked about options. She could call this friend, tell her how her email made her feel, talk about the problem, and move on based on that conversation. She could ignore the email and go on with our weekend. Or she could email the friend back letting her know that she was sorry for whatever she may have said or done to hurt her friend's feelings and that she would never want to hurt that friend. O selected option 3 and gracefully typed an email. She felt great after that. O and her BFF made up that afternoon (which was inevitable as they are two peas in a pod). Then came the text message, from yet another girl friend to O's BFF: "The only reason I didn't come over and talk to you today was because you were with O." It was a stab deep in her heart, and she held nothing back. I held O later that night until she couldn't cry anymore. And we talked Girl Talk, about how ugly girls are to one another and how it's going to hurt like this many more times in her life. And then I did the best that I could do...I reminded O of all of the wonderful support she has around her from family to friends. Her daddy and I hugged her until she was tired of hugs and could smile again. It will still hurt tomorrow, and I'm hurting alongside of her. But she knows there is more sunshine to come.

Wii Surprise

The girls were so excited to open gifts this year. I think that this was due in part to a few pre-Xmas family conversations about the Spirit of Giving, and "those less fortunate", and "tight budget this year". They were surprised at the number of gifts laying beneath the tree and shook each one firmly wondering what it might hold. My aunt surprised us all with a huge mailed package containing several wrapped gifts for each of them. After opening a few boxes of clothing and a neat light-up aquarium, O opened a smaller box and squealed in delight, "A Wii Remote!!!! Mom we have a Wii????" K and I were taken aback, but both said simultaneously, "Probably not, sweetheart. Remember, some times gifts are wrapped in recycled boxes, so go ahead and open the box." The words barely left our lips when Thing 1 and Thing 2 screeched "OMG!!! It is a Wii!!!" And there among the shreds of wrapping paper, they had discovered the gaming system of their dreams. (Something their father and I had tossed back and forth as we scrambled for this years gifts, deciding in the end that they'd prefer Rock Band). But to all of our surprise, there was the Wii. We quickly finished our gift-opening and then set-up the system for the girls. Over the next day or so, the girls played the sports games and Super Mario Bros, trying to stay fair and take turns (2 remotes/3 children). Having spent the last 3 days trying to monitor how much time they're each spending playing the video game, I began to wonder what exactly my children are getting out of it. Is is educational? It probably depends on your definition of the word. Is it turning them into "couch potatoes"? They're on their feet and jumping around, so clearly not. Is it turning them into zombies? Today the youngest and oldest were playing Mario Bros. They played simultaneously. When O's character "died" and was about to be resurrected for the umteenth time, B said, "Here, L, I'll just die, too, so we'll have the same amount of lives and can keep going together." Hmm.

School Project: The Long Home

Oand I spent a good part of the day working dillegently on her 3-D construction of a replica Iroquois Long Home. What began as a fun, creative mom-and-daughter morning quickly turned into a teeth-grinding, patience-testing fiasco. The first lesson: Gingerbread works better on Food Network than my kitchen. The second lesson: Hot glue guns are lifesavers...until you burn the pads of your fingers.

Plan A quickly dissolved into Plan B...In the end, she was ecstatic with the results, adding two small campfires (candy corn) and two slabs of "deer meat" (beef jerky), all the while thanking me for taking the time to help her. What a great kid.