“Would you be more comfortable if I left, or would you like me to stay here with you?” I asked.

A seemingly simple question, yet her pause and her nervous lip-biting betrayed her uncertainty. Her eyes scanned the room, searching for the correct answer, and settled back on me.

“Please stay. But don’t say anything. Just let me do the talking.”

I smiled at my daughter, put a casual arm across her shoulder, and gave her a gentle squeeze. I watched as she approached the man. He was the epitome of a book store manager: gray hair disheveled, a pencil perched precariously atop one ear,  the lines on his face a perfect match for the wrinkles in his clothes. Perfectly attuned to his task of shelving books, he failed to notice the skinny girl in glasses who had approached him.

She turned to look at me. I gave a gentle nod of my head. She turned back and cleared her throat. “Excuse me?” she squeaked.

She waited for his full attention. I twirled a curl between the fingers of my left hand, my right hand tugging repetitively on my purse strap. What if he’s not a very nice man? What if he brushes her aside, ignoring her request, failing to find the time for a timid adolescent? Worse, what if he laughs at her? I loosened my grip on the purse and released the tendril of hair. I gripped both hands firmly together, determined to hide my worries.

“Hello. My name is Gabi and I love to read.” She held out one small, smooth hand, which disappeared into a grasp adorned with dark veins and prominent liver spots. “I know I am not old enough for a job yet, but I was wondering if you might need a volunteer to help out around your store?”

I exhaled. Her voice was confident and clear, just like she had practiced. Now I waited, eager for his response. He glanced over her shoulder and looked directly at me. He flashed me an understanding smile, and then turned back to the young go-getter.

“Well, Gabi, how old ARE you?” he asked.

“I’ll be 12 in about two months.”

I watched as he continued to conduct an impromptu, on-the-spot interview. I observed as she responded to each question:

“Where do you go to school? What are your favorite subjects? What’s your favorite book and why? Other than reading, what are your hobbies? ”

Satisfied with her answers, he requested her name and phone number for a possible upcoming project that would be a perfect fit for someone of her skills. She smiled, and her glasses slid to the tip of her nose as she orchestrated an almost-imperceptible bounce of joy. She pushed them back into place, handed him her information, and thanked him for his time.

His smile rivaled my own.

Dear Mr. Book Store Man,

Thank you for recognizing a teaching moment, and for making it a positive experience. Thank you for acknowledging a child’s passion, and for the care and appreciation with which you handled the situation. Thank you for treating my child with respect . 

Sincerely, 

A Grateful Mother

Update: A few weeks after her foray into the book store, the tween received an email from the book store manager. Still a kind and supportive gentleman, he expressed his interest in rewarding her courage and professionalism by offering her a few hours of volunteer work in his store. She was thrilled that her efforts paid off! So, next week she will be sorting books, creating book displays, and  making a go of it at her very first “job”! Wish her luck!

image credit: EvilJes

My least favorite part of the week? Grocery shopping. I despise the bright, flickering overhead lights, the too-cold dairy aisle, and the too-crowded cereal aisle. It is a gauntlet of slow moving little old ladies, obnoxiously large display stands, happy twirling children, and angry flailing children.

I do my best to go to a happy place in my mind, seeking solace from the chaos. Sometimes, I imagine that I’m shopping in a market on a Caribbean isle, stocking our condo with fresh fruit and fish for our month-long beach vacation. Other times, I’m choosing fresh baguettes from a French bakery to serve to mes amis back at the chalet. However, my favorite distraction is to imagine that I am a contestant on Supermarket Sweep. Remember that? In this scenario, I have 10 minutes to throw as much as I can into my cart, before racing back to the entrance to leave victoriously with my mountain of free food. I plot my route through the store and imagine which items would be the most valuable to acquire. I’ve thought through every possible consideration: how to stack the items to maximize cart space, how much freezer space I have at home, the shelf life of various items, etc.

When I find my happy place, life is good. Squirt can ask for candy and I’ll say yes. The tot can point and laugh inexplicably at an artichoke, and I’ll laugh right along with her. I may even stop to help the slow moving little old lady reach an item from the top shelf.

But then…

… we reach the check out lines.

My happy place dissipates, as 99.23% of the time I find myself in one of these situations:

• Eager to escape, I choose the shortest line. Alas, I now have the slowest moving cashier and the bagger who goes on break right before my turn!

• There is only one line open and slow moving little old lady is ahead of me. She waits until hearing the total before she finally begins to rummage through her bag in search of her check book. She rummages again in search of a pen, clearly believing the one attached to a chain on the counter to be inferior. She then writes a check slowly, in her neatest possible cursive. She is adamant about filling in the memo line with every possible detail of the transaction.

• Oh no, the mom in front of me forgot the butter! Time to send Little Johnny off in search of the correct brand, most likely at the furthest corner of the store. She’ll look at me and smile apologetically, making a joke about how she just can’t keep things straight.

• I find myself stuck behind The Extreme Couponer: Do I really need to explain this one?

• Having only 9 items, I opt for the 10-item express line and am behind the person with 14 items (yes, I count). That extra 37 seconds added on to my wait verges on intolerable!

I turn to the man impatiently tapping his foot behind me, flash him my best smile, and apologize for my adorable little rascals. As he glares back at me, I imagine him with a little handlebar mustache obscuring his mouth and a beret perched atop his head. I grin and let my mind wander back to my chalet…

First, you experience denial: “No, you don’t have to go. You just went before we left the house, remember?”

Second, you experience confusion: “I just don’t understand why you have to go again already…”

Third, you experience desperation: “Please just hold it. Please. A little longer. Please, please, please, please…”

Finally, acceptance: “We need to find a bathroom. I wonder if there is an app for that…”

There is, and it directs you to the nearest public restroom based on your current location. I haven’t tried this app, but I love the idea of it. As the tot grows, perhaps this will become one of my “go-to” apps, elevating to the exalted status currently held by Words with Friends and Angry Birds.

Apps are fun. Apps are cheap. Apps are numerous. Google Sky Map for star and planet gazing sounds like one my pre-teen would love. VolunteerMatch for finding local service opportunities might bring out the more altruistic nature of our family. And truly, how can you go wrong with the Girl Scout Cookie Finder app?  These apps, and others, I’ve found through appSmitten, a free newsletter and website that shares information on the best apps available. They search through the millions of apps on the markets, identify some of the best, and alert their subscribers.

And yes, I do get paid to say that. In full disclosure, I am participating in an affiliate program with appSmitten and will receive a small payment for newsletter subscribers. However, I do use appSmitten to learn about available apps. If you enjoy apps as much as I do, this may be a service you would appreciate. If you do choose to subscribe, please help me out by doing so through my affiliate link here.

Thank you, and happy app hunting!

Christi

I mostly find new apps by word of mouth and from appSmitten. How do you find new apps?

Is it possible for a child to be TOO well-behaved?

YES! And I have the story to prove it:

It all began with a vacation. We were boarding a return flight from a brief getaway, just myself, the two kids, and my mom.  The tot has always traveled well and I often count myself lucky to have such an easy going child. Yet, no matter how mild mannered the child, every parent experiences nervousness and anxiety prior to a plane ride with a baby or a toddler. Besides temper tantrums, there is so much potential for misery: exploding diapers, puking, spilled milk, and so on.

So, as my older daughter claimed the prime window spot, I settled into the center seat. My mom, unable to reserve a seat next to us, made her way toward the back of the plane. As she walked away, I silently prayed that our seat mate would be willing to trade spots with her, and I would have another adult to assist me in wrangling a writhing toddler. I was optimistic. After all, who would turn down an opportunity to get further away from the baby on the plane?

I watched people approach, trying to mentally coax the kind-looking passengers our way. And then, there she was, in all her Texas bling. Big hair, big sun glasses, big carry-on. The 20-something smiled at me and sat down in the aisle seat. I took a big breath and made the request: please switch seats with my mother.

“No, I’d rather sit next to my friend,” she said, as she acknowledged a similarly blinged out young lady in the neighboring aisle seat. I was disappointed.

That’s when I noticed the friend’s seatmates: a mom and a young girl. I listened in as the mom made a similar request of the friend: Please switch seats with my 7-year-old son so he isn’t sitting in the back with strangers.

She, too, was denied.

I get it. I know they had their assigned seats and preferred to sit next to each other. But to leave a little boy in the back of the plane, away from his family, was appalling. I would be fine without my mom’s help, but that poor little boy might be scared and lonely. My disappointment turned to anger.

Throughout the flight, that anger grew. I seethed as the two friends, previously so desperate for each other’s company, proceeded to ignore each other. One read a Vogue magazine, the other slept.

I began to wish the tot would scream. I was secretly, passive-aggressively, hoping for a full-blown temper tantrum. I’m ashamed to admit that I even considered stealing her binky just to elicit a tormented cry.

I did what I could. I took over the arm rest. I restrained the tot only enough to prevent the kicking of a lap tray. And, when the well-behaved tot slept, I allowed her little legs to stretch to their full length.

When the beverage cart came slowly down the aisle and the flight attendant took our orders, the young, selfish seat mate ordered a bloody mary. I noticed the too-big sunglasses, unnecessarily still on her face, and my wicked mind began to spin it’s wheels. Perhaps she’s hungover!

Oh please, let the tot have a temper tantrum! Oh please, let her chuck Cheerios at the self-absorbed duo! Oh please, let her grab a handful of that well-coiffed, Aquanet scrunched hair! Oh please, let a perfectly-aimed, full-bodied flail knock that bloody mary over right onto that Vogue magazine!

No such luck. For the most part, she was a perfect angel. Her one minor burst of unhappiness occurred, of course, while our hungover friend was in the bathroom.

My evil thoughts entertained me for the duration of the flight. As we pulled into the gate and prepared to leave the plane, the young lady turned and smiled at the tot. She then looked at me and said, in a sweet voice, “She sure was good. Is she always such a sweet baby?”.

Yes, damn it. She is.

I do and I don’t. I can remember the emotions more than the specific events. How can it be that, a quarter of a century later, I still cringe when I think of the awkwardness and unhappiness of that period of my life?

So, I am wary as my own child approaches those precarious years. With a twelfth birthday right around the corner, I am anticipating a not-so-distant future featuring an abundance of eye rolls and slammed bedroom doors. I foresee damaged friendships and broken hearts, always accompanied by floods of tears and woeful yearning.

Here is what I hope NOT to experience: a wall. Although she won’t always want to talk to me or share with me, I hope my daughter feels comfortable confiding in me, asking me questions, and sharing her life with me. I’ve never had a tween before, so perhaps this is unrealistic. I must say though: so far, so good. She still tells me secrets, she sometimes asks me embarrassing questions, and I know all about the boy who held her hand on the hayride. Granted, we’ve only dipped our toes in the murky waters of adolescence. The shocking reality of the full body plunge is still to come. I hope I’m ready for it.

As parents of Tweens, what tips can we all share for navigating those murky waters? As I come across techniques and strategies that work for our family and our tween, I will share them on My Tempered Tantrum. Below is the first (and hopefully not the only) Tween Tip:

Tween Tip#1: The Travel Journal

My tween and I have a secret travel journal. No, it’s not about the vacations and adventures we take. Instead, it’s a journal that travels back and forth between us, a log of our journey together as mother and daughter. It permits us to communicate discreetly, to ask the embarrassing questions, to share things without judgment, and to maintain our strong, close bond. Here is how it works:

1. Use any blank journal, spiral notebook, etc.

2. Agree on the rules of the journal. For example, you may agree that it should remain secret, that you both should be respectful of the other, etc. Then, follow the rules! In fact, this blog post was approved and revised by the Tween herself in order to best protect the secrecy of our own journal!

3. Agree upon a secret hiding place for making the exchange. For example, perhaps she returns it to you by hiding it under your pillow, or slipping it into a specific shoe box in your closet. And perhaps you return it to her by sliding it under the bottom bunk bed, or stuffing it behind the bean bag in her reading nook.

3. Start the journal by writing a question in it and leaving it in the hiding place. A verbal prompt to check the hiding place is recommended, lest the journal disappear for months in a seldom used nook or cranny.

4. Take turns answering each other’s questions, asking new questions, sharing confidences, telling embarrassing stories, drawing pictures, and whatever else inspires you both.

Here are a few good prompts to get you started:

• If you could visit any country in the world, where would you go and why?
• What do you think about late at night when you’re lying in bed trying to sleep?
• What has been your favorite grade in school so far and why?
• Draw  a picture of your ideal bedroom.
• What are the top 10 qualities you look for in a friend?
• If you were to choose one friend or family member to do The Amazing Race with, who would it be and why?
• Please read through the following list. Then put “1″ by the one you would be most interested in learning, a “2″ by the you’re second most interested in, and so on. (Make a list down the page with things like cooking, painting, dancing, Spanish, martial arts, drawing, etc)
• Being a parent is the most important job I’ve ever had. So, in the spirit of treating it like a job, I created a “Parental Performance Review” in our travel journal. I had her rate me on a scale of 1 to 10 in different areas, plus I added some open ended questions to gather even more feedback. (By the way, I’m almost always kind and loving, but I don’t always listen so well, and apparently I don’t allow enough sleepovers.)

Be funny, be serious, be goofy, or be sentimental. Ask questions, draw pictures, create surveys, and give ratings. You will quickly discover how much fun it can be to read your child’s answers, and you will be startled by some of the questions she asks you!

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe it’s my turn to check the secret hiding place. It’s time for a bit of writing to my daughter.

Dear Mommy

I ♥U and U♥me

you’re my favoit

Grownup in The world

you’re my momy I♥U

I Never wont to be apart from You

I♥U to much Never leav me

never.

This is my happy note; the one that has been taped to my file cabinet, by the computer desk, for the past six or so years. It’s scrawled on a piece of paper from a space camp, a cartoon astronaut smiling and waving at me from inside his spacesuit.

This is what I need to read when I’m tired, when I’m frustrated, and when I’m overwhelmed. Perhaps I’m complaining about the messy house, or cringing at the sound of the toddler winding up for an epic temper tantrum. Perhaps my shoulders slump as I consider the tedium of yet another diaper change. Perhaps I’m nervously anticipating a not-so-distant future with a teenager, as I watch her disappear to her room to chat on the phone, away from my prying ears.

No matter what bad mood may plague me, this happy note never fails to put a smile on my face.  Not just for the memory of that little girl, now growing up so quickly, but also for the promise and anticipation of more happy notes to come. As she grows into a kind, loving, young woman, the notes I get have become better written, with excellent grammar and spelling, but the sentiment is always the same. My daughter loves me. All too soon, the toddler will be sharing similar happy notes with me. She loves me too.

My wish for all of you is that your days be filled with happy notes, kisses, hugs, or other such expressions of love. For when we feel we’re at the end of our rope, it is our children who possess a remarkable ability to extend us a lifeline.

image credit: tv on Flickr

The results are in. The decision is final. The cats of the clan have been left gutted on the floor of the arena, The Mockingjay the clear victor. Yep, move over Firestar. Surrender, Graystripe. Be gone, Leafpool. Make way for Katniss Everdeen.

Finally, after years of obsession with everything Warrior related, Squirt is moving on to more “mature” literary passions. Erin Hunter and her Warrior book series will soon be relegated to the far, dusty reaches of the bookshelf, as Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games trilogy takes her place in the creative nooks and crannies of Squirt’s pre-teen brain.

How did this change come about so suddenly? Well, it all began with a Warrior Clan Gathering, sponsored by our local library. Squirt, accompanied by her fellow Warrior devotees, enthusiastically attended this gathering, decked out in her finest Warrior attire (Her Scourge Halloween costume). As the gathering concluded, and I wandered into the library in search of my little feline, I was prepared for days, perhaps even weeks, of animated discussion about the gathering. Instead, as I asked about the event, I was met with a solemn face and a dejected shrug of her shoulders.

“It was okay,” she replied.

Hardly the response I had anticipated. As it turns out, most of the Warrior fans were several years her junior, and the featured activities seemed equally childish to my maturing adolescent. As some girls gradually lose interest in their dolls and dress-up clothes, my child was suddenly feeling too old for Warriors.  Hundreds of doodles of Warriors Cats, countless fan created stories, years of imaginative play with her friends, cat costumes, cat calendars, cat dishes, cat stickers, cat… everything. She was mourning all of it.

In her lonely, Warrior-less, state of mind, she was susceptible to a new obsession, and it soon presented itself.  I read The Hunger Games. Her step-dad read The Hunger Games. Some of her classmates were reading The Hunger Games. She couldn’t resist. After a healthy mother-daughter discussion about the subject matter and violence of the book, I loaned her my copy. I haven’t seen it since.

Less than a month later, she has read all three books, and re-read the first two. She is trying to decide on her own character from The Hunger Games, which district she is from, what her special talent is, and so on. She designs arenas with her friends and they even play The Hunger Games at recess.  It’s not just her, either. Almost every day, I hear about one classmate or another whose copy of the book was confiscated, or who got in trouble for trying to sneak read it during math class.

Recently, she inquired about a Katniss Everdeen Halloween costume, and then asked if she could have a Hunger Games birthday party, one that would greatly surpass the success of last year’s Warrior’s party.  I cringed as I imagined myself trying to explain it to the other parents: a specially designed arena filled with gruesome and violent methods of death and destruction, a simulated battle to the death in the backyard.

Dare I say that I may actually come to miss the Warrior days?

image credit: churl

Just write.

Write something.

Anything…

Sit down, stare at the computer screen, hands poised over the keyboard, and type. Ignore Facebook, neglect email, and stop the incessant pinning on Pinterest. Damn distractions. If necessary, walk away from the computer, pick up pen and paper, and write.

Of course I should write about my children. My oldest: her straight A’s at a challenging school; her joy and pride at earning a part in the school play; her discovery of The Hunger Games and subsequent abandonment of Warriors. My youngest: her newly acquired ability to run, spin, dance, and (sort of) jump; her love of kisses, hugs, stuffed animals, and books; her slowly developing verbal language, soon to rapidly improve as we add speech therapy to our weekly schedule.

Should I write about how my two week holiday break from blogging turned into a 2-month-long loss of momentum? Should I write about all the happenings of those two months: Hanukkah, Christmas, New Years, vacation planning?

Perhaps I should write about my tendency to completely obsess over a hobby, devoting it too much time and energy, until I fizzle, burn out, and move on to something else.  Will blogging become just one more to add to the list?

1. Tae Kwon Do: burnout after 9 years and 1 black belt.

2. Roller Derby: burnout after 4 months, 17 massive bruises, and a cracked rib.

3. My job: burnout after 7 years, 3 job titles, and countless clients.

4. Blogging: Not burned out, just returning from a lengthy break.

How do I avoid burnout? Perhaps the secret lies in finding balance. So, in an effort to maintain my sanity, save time for family, and avoid blogging burnout, I must practice moderation. I do not have to post several times a week. I do not have to post excessive amounts of photos and videos. I do not have to tweet, comment all over the blogosphere, or stress about how many readers I have or do not have.

My goal is simple:  Just write.

This year, my Thanksgiving pumpkin roll challenged me. My first two flopped, but the third one turned out perfectly. I blame the oven in my new house, as I had to adjust the baking time slightly in order to get it just right.

The recipe is below, but first let me offer a few tips to improve your odds of success on this fickle dish:

• Be sure to turn it out onto a lint free towel covered with powdered sugar. Then sprinkle the top generously with more powdered sugar. These are important details to prevent the roll from sticking to the towel or to itself.
• Don’t be stingy with the Pam on the cookie sheet. If it doesn’t fall effortlessly out of the pan, then it’s likely to fall apart.
• Use fresh ingredients. I have made the mistake of using VERY old baking powder.
• Most importantly, don’t forget to lick the spoon when you’re done with the cream cheese frosting!

• 3 eggs
• 1 C. sugar
• 2/3 C. pumpkin
• 1 tsp lemon juice
• 3/4 C. flour
• 2 tsp cinnamon
• 1 tsp ginger
• 1/2 tsp nutmeg
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1 tsp baking powder

Beat eggs for three minutes. Gradually add sugar and mix well. Stir in all remaining ingredients. Spread on a cookie sheet sprayed with Pam. Bake for 15 minutes at 375 degrees. Immediately turn out onto a lint free towel sprinkled well with powdered sugar. Starting at one end, roll it up in the towel and let it cool.

While it is cooling, mix the filling:

• 8 oz cream cheese
• 2 C. powdered sugar
• 4 tbsp margarine
• 1/2 tsp vanilla

Unroll cooled dough and spread filling mixture over the top. Sprinkle with chopped pecans if desired.

Roll, chill, and slice!

It’s important to mention that the water bottle on the very bottom is completely empty! Yet, she somehow managed to balance two candles and a vase on top of it.

Linking up for Wordless Wednesday with Live and Love Out Loud, Project Alicia,Parenting by Dummies and Seven Clown Circus.

Do you enjoy reading my blog? Well, I enjoy having you read my blog! In fact, I enjoy it so much that I hope you’ll decide to follow me on Twitter, Facebook, RSS, or email. Find a way to follow by clicking one of those buttons near the top of the page!

Sincerely,

Christi