Fairly Odd Mother

Chocolate Wine: Nectar of the smart gods

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Sun, 12 Feb 2012 00:33:00 +0000

This:

. . is incredible.

It was my mother who introduced me to this numminess that is known as chocolate wine.

It happened on Christmas Eve, at her house. She was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "C'mon. . .you have to try this," she whispered to me while the kids were occupied with their gifts.

I saw the bottle of chocolate wine and thought, "ewwwwwwww. . ."

Doesn't it sound disgusting? Chocolate and red wine? They might be ok separately, but together?

Let's just say I was hooked from the first sip. And a little worried about my mom who had four unopened bottles on the top of her cupboard.

I went to my local liquor store and practically whispered apologetically, "Where is the chocolate wine?" because I figured it must be the least-cool product in the entire shop, given that my mother----the Beringers-Pink-Zinfandel drinker---had turned me on to it.

Mais non. . .turns out even the young guy in the liquor store was excited about this and talked enthusiastically about the trio of flavors (Chocolate, Chocolate Espresso and Chocolate Raspbery) and the "whipped cream vodka" (wah?) I must try with it. My favorite turns out to be Chocolate Espresso which is rich and lick-the-bottom-of-the-wine-glass yummy. Yes, I know I must look ridiculous.

This is not a drink that makes you drink the bottle by yourself in one sitting (thank goodness)---it's a one-little-glass-to-unwind type of drink. And based on the number of people who have said, "OH! I love that!", it is, indeed, hot.

Thanks Mom! Now, about that Beringers. . .

Just another day at the office

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Fri, 10 Feb 2012 13:36:00 +0000

This struck me as all kinds of funny when we were in San Francisco for the sneak-peak of Star Wars: Episode I The Phantom Menace 3D:

If you're curious what I thought of the movie (and some other tidbits about our trip), read what I had to say over at Cool Mom Picks.

How to grow lollipops for Valentine's Day

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 11:30:00 +0000

It's that time of year again:

Time for the annual planting (or thinking about planting) of the Lollipop Plants. And since I think this is just about the best idea ever (many thanks to Robin and Marc for this one), I am going to republish this until my kids are too old to do it anymore.

And, this year, I am ALL ABOUT WIN. Yes, I will not need the procrastinator version. But, you? I'm not so sure about you. . .

--------------

When Belly was a toddler, an online friend posted a Valentine's tradition that was so easy and flexible that I knew I had to try it out. We are now in our eighth year, and now the kids expect it. You'd think I'd be better prepared for it each year.

It does involve a bit of deceit, so if you are someone who thinks Santa and his ilk are terrible lies for children to believe, you may want to stop reading now.

OK, here is what you do to make your very own Valentine's Day Lollipop Plant:

1. A few days before Valentine's Day, give you child a small empty flower pot.

Procrastinator version*: the night before, take your saddest looking house plant and, without letting the kids see, pull it out of the soil and throw it out into the backyard to serve as compost. Or just use a cup.

2. Let the kids decorate the outside of the pot with stickers, markers, glitter glue.

Procrastinator version*: skip this step; it is almost bedtime!

3. Once the decorations have dried, carefully fill the pot with several inches of fresh potting soil.

Procrastinator version*: search garage, basement and shed for potting soil, to no avail. Either reuse the soil that was once the life force of the dead plant now lying in your backyard, OR, go into the yard with a spoon and chip off a half-inch of hard dry dirt from the frozen ground.

4. Give your child some tiny cinnamon hearts and have him push some into the dirt. Blow a kiss and water them a little bit.

Procrastinator version*: Oops! No cinnamon hearts? Use anything sprinkly or red and hope your kid is too young to notice the difference.

5. If you have started your plant a few days before Valentine's Day, you can make the plant start to grow over several days. The first night, cut up a few lollipop sticks into various heights. The first night, put the smallest sticks in the dirt so that the plant seems to be 'sprouting'. The next night, replace those sticks with slightly longer sticks. . .keep this up for a few days.

Procrastinator version*: You did not start your plant a few days before Valentine's Day.

6. The night before Valentine's Day (Valentine's Eve?), replace the sticks with several beautiful lollipops. Go to bed and know that you will be woken to the delighted shrieks of "it grew! it grew!"

Procrastinator version*: The night before, sneak out to the local CVS after the kids have fallen to sleep and buy the last sad bag of lollipops (which are not red, heart shaped or have anything to do with Valentine's Day but beggars can't be choosers). Fall asleep but wake with a jolt at 6am and realize you forgot all about the damn plant. Tiptoe down the stairs, and carefully jam some pops into the dirt. If necessary, shield the plant from view with your body as you do this so your child does not see his mother's lame attempt at creating "magic".

7. Let your beloved eat lollipops before 8am. They will love you for it.

* taken from personal experience.

(and no cracks about that bottle of wine sitting there--that's mama's gift from Cupid).

Never forgotten

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Tue, 07 Feb 2012 12:15:00 +0000

I only met Susan IRL (in real life) once. It was at BlogHer 2010 when she was a keynote speaker, reading this powerful post about living with breast cancer. Before she had left for the conference, she tweeted that she'd be wearing sparkly shoes during her speech so people would know it was her.

After she spoke, I walked into the lobby and saw her walking arm-in-arm with a friend. Though her voice was strong and her smile bright, it was clear that the day had worn her out as she leaned on her companion a bit, her arms covered in the compression sleeves she had to wear after losing lymph nodes to cancer.

I almost didn't say anything. But it was the shoes.

I stepped out, introduced myself and told her how much I loved her reading, and her shoes. Her smile never dimmed---she had one of those 1000-watt smiles---and we talked for a moment.

And then we hugged.

Susan's battle with cancer ended yesterday, leaving behind a husband and two little boys. Though it's the "mom" part of her life that brings the quick tears to my eyes, I know the women's scientific community is also mourning the loss of one of their own.

Last night, the moon was huge and full and bright. I'm not a terribly spiritual person, but I couldn't help but think it might be Susan and her megawatt smile, and those sparkly shoes.

I saw an excerpt of this posted on Susan's Facebook page and had to borrow it.

The Ship

I am standing upon the foreshore,
A ship at my side spreads her white sails in the morning breeze
And starts for the open sea.
She is an object of great beauty and strength,

And I stand watching her sail,
Till at last she fades on the horizon and someone at my side says:
"She is gone."
Gone! Where?

Gone from my sight- that is all.
She is just as large in the masts, hull and spars as she was when she left my side,
And just as able to bear her load of living freight to its fullest,
Her diminished size and total loss of sight is in me, not in her.

And just at the moment when someone at my side says:
"There! She is gone",
There are other eyes watching for her coming,
And other voices ready to take up the glad shout:
"There she comes!"

-and this is dying.

-------------------------------

Please see this post if you are moved to make a donation in Susan's name. And read her words about Inflammatory Breast Cancer---her message is an important one.

If the shoe fits. . .

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 02:02:00 +0000

A little while back, I was in an exceptionally snarky mood and posted the following statement on Facebook and Twitter:

No one over the age of ten should be caught dead wearing Crocs or Uggs.

Look, I realize they are comfortable, but so are Pajama Jeans--at least that is what the infomercial says--and I'd never be caught dead in those either.

So, it was interesting to me that I looked down at my feet as I returned from walking the dog and saw this:

Why, hello there! You look suspiciously like Uggs. On my feet.

Well, a clarification: Fake Uggs (F'Uggs, if you will).

And, yes, they are on my feet. Pot, meet kettle.

How these homely, shapeless boots ended up on my feet is an easy story: My mom gave them to me. And instead of putting them in the back of my closet, I put them on my feet.

Oh my cushiony goodness. Oh warm toes. Oh toasty ankles.

I get it now.

Sort of.

But I still couldn't bring myself to spend $100 on boots that make me walk like a linebacker.

And don't try to get me into Crocs. I have to draw the line somewhere.

Wordless Wednesday: Buddies

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Wed, 01 Feb 2012 14:42:00 +0000

(yes, R2D2 was wheeling around the room and ridiculously adorable)

Our weekend trip to another galaxy (or maybe just San Francisco)

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 15:45:00 +0000

I will post details when I have a moment, but I'm bursting with all the memories my little guy, D, and I has this weekend and wanted to share a few photos:

Sometimes, I have to pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming.

Wordless Wednesday - Whoa, Pinterest!

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 12:54:00 +0000

(my blog traffic after this post was shared on Pinterest, as of Wednesday at 7:41am):

Ironically, I do not even have a Pinterest account.

How to fall in love with winter. . .

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 22:03:00 +0000

I have a foolproof way to fall in love with winter.

Just grab three tween girls who aren't embarrassed to be seen with you.

Dress warmly! Winter is cold.

Find a hill, a tube, and someone who will give you a good push.

Zoom!

Repeat, over and over again, until you cannot feel your cheeks from cold, wind burn and smiling.

----------------
Video taken at Amesbury Sports Park in Amesbury, MA. And, yes, this 44-year-old mama was the one with the camera. And the screech.

Musical Beds

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 15:42:00 +0000

--round and round she goes/where she stops/nobody knows--

This is a picture of my comfy, king-size bed:

I share this with my husband, John. Most nights. Often, nestled against me is my son, D, who sneaks in around 3am.

This is D's bed, in his newly painted bedroom.

However, he doesn't sleep in this bed. My daughter Jilly has decided she likes this bed. She now sleeps here, often with our dog Star stretched out along the bottom.

Where does D sleep now?

He's here, with his sister Belly, in her crowded bed.

And here is Jilly's bed.

It used to be a loft but she didn't like being up high so John cut the legs down for her. Of course, no one sleeps there right now.

Though I ended up in it with Belly last night. Until D woke me up, and I ended up in Belly's bed with him.

Confused???? Yes. So am I.

Destination Imagination: A journey to the unknown

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 13:23:00 +0000

Have you ever heard of D.I., or Destination Imagination?

I had only heard the words in passing from an extended-family member whose kids were involved, and I didn't understand what the heck it was.

Now, here it is January, and I find myself in charge of a team. And I'm still not exactly sure what the heck it is.

What I can gather from what I've read, the videos I've watched, and the day-long information seminar I attended in December, D.I. is a team competition where the adult managers are constantly warned of the dangers of "interference".

Ahhhh, interference. This is how I found myself managing a D.I. team. This idea that the kids have to do all the work themselves, with only my guidance---to keep them from cutting off a finger or punching a fellow team member--- was appealing to me. In other words, I am discouraged from doing any of the work for them, and even giving them suggestions on how to approach their challenge is a big, fat no-no.

Little did I know that my team of four kids, ages 7-9, would pick one of the hardest, most complicated challenges to do for the big competition this spring. I'd explain it if I could do it justice, but let's just say it involves creating a skit that involves golf balls, while also building a weight-bearing structure out of wood, glue and hope. The addition of golf balls to this year's "structure challenge" is new and I think it was added just to shake things up and insure each manager goes a little grayer before the year is up.

My own daughter Jilly is on my team and is the biggest goofball, something I am slightly proud of at times. The other times, I want to wrap her up with duct tape, sit her in the corner and let her teammates work.

Our debut of this idea that exists only in their imagination is the 17th of March, a mere two months away. If the kids advance from regionals, we move on to states on the 31st. I refuse to even consider that they will go to the national championship.

Especially since there has not yet been any consensus on their overall idea and no development of a structure yet. I am half expecting them to enter the competition with a few handwritten notes, a structure of popsicle sticks and Elmer's glue, and costumes made out of the remnants of our dress-up box.

Wish me luck. Actually, wish them luck. I don't want to interfere.

On the 19th day of Christmas. . .

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 03:28:00 +0000

Oh, ok, I guess this needs to come down soon. (please tell me I'm not the only one who still has their Christmas tree up)

Eleven

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 14:10:00 +0000

Eleven years ago today, at 4:18 am, I became a mom.

My "natural childbirth" baby quickly turned into an emergency c-section after the nurses discovered she was breech. . .when I was 10cm dilated and ready to push. Doh!

The lesson I learned? Things may not be as easy as I expect, but the end result is pretty amazing.

To know Belly is to love her. I don't say that to brag or because I'm her mom, it's just the truth. She makes so many people happy and has such a kind soul---I know that isn't all there is to life, but it's a pretty great start.

-----------------------------
this is the beginning of one of my favorites---to read the entire short story, go here.

“Eleven” by Sandra Cisneros

What they don't understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you're eleven, you're also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don't. You open your eyes and everything's just like yesterday, only it's today. And you don't feel eleven at all. You feel like you're still ten. And you are—underneath the year that makes you eleven.

Like some days you might say something stupid, and that's the part of you that's still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mama's lap because you're scared, and that's the part of you that's five. And maybe one day when you're all grown up maybe you will need to cry like if you're three, and that's okay. That's what I tell Mama when she's sad and needs to cry. Maybe she's feeling three.

Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one. That's how being eleven years old is.

Wordless Wednesday: Happy

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 02:20:00 +0000

Star: Almost three months with us and right at home

It's all about the Lincolns

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 12:00:00 +0000

Last December, I read about the five-dollar savings plan. It goes like this: Every time you find yourself with a five-dollar bill in your possession, you set it aside instead of spending it. At the end of the year, you use the money you've saved for either a big purchase or to do something you wouldn't normally spend the money to do.

I was skeptical as to whether or not this would work for me, mainly because I hardly ever use cash. I pay with credit or debit cards for everything from groceries to gasoline. I go to the ATM for pocket money only once or twice a month. And yet. . .I was curious.

So, starting at the beginning of January, I started putting aside (almost) every five-dollar bill I acquired. And my pile started to grow.

In one year, with no help from my husband or my kids, I saved 70 five-dollar bills.

Yup, that is $350 right there. Not bad, eh?

I love that this didn't feel like a "savings plan" at all (and, don't get me wrong, this is NOT a financially sound way to really save money as there is no interest earned when the money is just kept in an envelope!).

To make this an even bigger deal, I could get the whole family involved and put any Lincolns saved each week into an interest-earning savings account. If we had a big goal that was worth saving for a few years, we might end up with a good chunk of it paid for without really trying.

So, yeah, I was skeptical at the start of 2011. But when we surprise our kids with a special weekend excursion this winter, I think we'll all feel like this was a worthwhile experiment.

A Fairly Odd Review of 2011

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 14:40:00 +0000

I just read a meme from Nan called The Year That Was and since I'd rather write about 2011 than talk about how Jilly was throwing up last night, I'm going with her meme.

First though. . .some perspective: In 2011, I blogged only 63 times which is about half the number of posts I wrote in '08 and '09, and about 40% of the total in '10. My focus was instead on my job and in trying to save our homeschooling life. I think this was the right thing to do, but I miss this space and am going to try to work a little harder at it in 2012.

But before looking forward to 2012? A review.

In 2011, what was the. . .

. . .most beautiful post (on your blog)?
When the Storm Passes
A very hard post to write, but one of those imperfect moments in parenting that will stick with me forever.

. . .most popular post (on your blog)?
Waiting Is The Hardest Part
This post about waiting for the results of my ten-year-old's milk allergy test was by far the most popular post in 2011. And though she still hates milk, she gives two thumbs up to any baked good she's met so far. (that's my girl!)

. . .most controversial post (on your blog)?
Breaking Up Is Hard To Do
I should have known that a post about why we may quit homeschooling would generate strong feelings. And while this wasn't "controversial" in the sense that I was fighting with commenters (I don't really "do" that kind of controversy), it was filled with strong emotion which I so very appreciated hearing at that very difficult crossroads.

. . .most helpful post (on your blog)?
Wordless Wednesday: Through the Looking Glass

Though not instructional per se, I love looking at the photos of Jilly's Alice in Wonderland party. The included links will hopefully help others create a similar party themselves. Way more affordable than renting out that smelly gymnastics studio!

. . .post whose success surprised you?
Facebook Ate My Blog
With only one measly comment, this post about why I haven't been blogging generated way more traffic than I expected (#2 in traffic this year!).

If I'm not basing "success" on traffic numbers alone, I'd say this photo of my son with his broken LEGO contraption got a lot more attention than I expected.

. . .post that you feel didn't get the attention it deserved?
Oh Meme, Oh My
Last year's meme took forever to write, but just wasn't all that popular. One would think I'd learn from this. . .

. . .post that made you most proud?
Do You Untag Ugly Photos?

I couldn't have written this post twenty years ago---I would've untagged the ugly photo and pretended it never happened. I suppose being able to accept who I am in my skin, right now, is growth. And that does feel good.

Here's to more growth in 2012! Happy New Year!

Mommy and her laptop, sitting in a tree. . .

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 12:15:00 +0000

If there is one ugly truth about myself, it's that I'm on this laptop far too much.

I use this computer for work, and to shop for everything but groceries (though I have done that before). I use it to research what we're having for dinner and to get materials for the class I'm teaching in our next homeschool coop session. I have three email accounts to check, and Facebook and Twitter feeds that I try to pop on at least once a day (okay, 50).

But it is way too easy to get sucked into a vortex. Just one more post to read. Shoot, work needs this tomorrow, I'll do it now. Oh. . .Big Store X is having a huuuuge sale, and I really should pick up some of their {insert product here}.

Here's the thing though: My house is not falling apart from filth. The laundry is done (and put away). I cook three meals a day, and they are (almost) always nutritionally sound. My dog is walked (and tired) (which counts as my exercise, right?) My marriage isn't falling apart (right honey???). My legs are shaved. I read stories to the kids at bedtime and don't check my iPhone as I do it. My kids aren't running wild, beating small animals and setting fires. In fact, they are great kids.

The only thing that bugs me about the time I spend online is how it looks to the kids. Will they remember mom as the lady with the laptop in the kitchen clicking away? Or will they remember her as the one who took them to their million activities? Who kicked their butt dancing to The Chemical Brothers on Just Dance 3? Who helped them put away their 1,001 American Girl accessories? (oy) Who sat with them as they tried to remember the difference between an adjective and an adverb and somehow didn't scream?

I'm debating setting a timer. Working only when they are asleep (a tricky proposition as they stay up later and later). Maybe only going online between certain hours.

Or cutting myself some slack and stop worrying about this. 2012 as the year of less self-imposed guilt? Sounds pretty nice to me.

Merry Christmas!

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Sun, 25 Dec 2011 12:40:00 +0000

Have a fun, loud, wrapping-paper festooned Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, or ----if you don't celebrate any special holiday---have a nice Sunday!

I'll be busy trying to keep one big black lab from eating the gift bows and any chocolates hidden in stockings. Wish me luck!

Seven years gone

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Fri, 23 Dec 2011 03:20:00 +0000

I took the kids to LaSalette Shrine a few towns from me---we go almost every year to see the gorgeous lights. I also use this as my crash course in Religion 101, since my son will always ask---loudly---"Who is THAT GUY?" when he sees any statue of Jesus Christ. This year, after my hasty explanation of the nativity scene, the crucifixion scene and a general explanation of Christianity in general, he pronounced, "I don't think I believe in evolution anymore. I believe in God." Wow, I've got the touch.

Normally, we head to LaSalette at the end of November, before the crowds of people descend on the place, but we were late this year. Fortunately, we arrived by 6pm which was still crowded but not the madhouse it was an hour later.

I remembered as we parked the car that we were here on the anniversary of my father's death, seven years ago. So, we walked up to the little sales window and bought a couple of candles to light in the flickering room of memorial lights. I lit the one above for my dad. The kids lit the other one for Cally, my sweet cat who died last year on this same day. I heard D whispering, "I pray that Cally comes back to life."

I think if that happens? He's giving up evolution for good.

---------------------------------

Miss you Daddy! You'd love these little munchkins so much, and I hope you are somewhere watching us all from above, cheering us on.

Let's hear it for the (geeky) girls

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Wed, 07 Dec 2011 02:52:00 +0000

If I had to pick one catalog that sums up my kids' wish lists for this holiday, it'd be the LEGO catalog for my son, the American Girl catalog for Jilly, and Think Geek for my oldest daughter, Belly.

Yes, Think Geek.

Today, she was musing about her favorite items as we drove around town.

First, there is this tee, from one of her favorite movies (you know which one this is, right?). And, yes, her accent is perfect.

Then bacon + chemistry = funny! Also, funny---she mentioned two t-shirts as her "favorites" in one breath and then reminded me that she won't wear a t-shirt. She's quirky like that.

Finally a giant gummy bear that lights up? Is this geeky or just awesome? I'm going with awesome. Can't wait until she opens this one (thanks Auntie Nancy!).

Let's hope this love of geeky things translates into a love for math before we hit Algebra.

The end of history

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 19:16:00 +0000

It's a big day. We finished history today.

Four years and three months ago, my friend Kristen and I gathered our kids together to start a homeschool history program called The Story of the World.

(our very first class back in '07--The Excavation)

We know many people who have started this four-volume series, but very few who have finished in close to four years. That is partly because each of the four volumes has about 42 chapters in it, meaning we often had to keep going into the summer to finish up a volume.

Who wants to tell them we'll be doing history in July?

Last year, when our family joined the virtual public school in Massachusetts, we thought our days doing history together were over. But, that was just an interruption: As soon as I quit the virtual school, we went back to meeting weekly.

We have been so fortunate to have this relationship since it has kept us both accountable. It was hard to say, "let's take this week off", when I knew our friends would be reading the chapter in anticipation of our weekly meeting.

Yes, this is history.

Now you may wonder, what do the kids remember from four years ago? If you are paying attention, you'll notice that my son D isn't even in these early photos because he was so young when we started. Even now, as we finish, he is just in his first months of first grade. But, I believe that for the older kids, we've laid down a strong foundation and an interest in history.

No, they may not remember every detail, but they will recall the big events. And when they encounter it again, I hope it'll jog their memory, much like it did mine as I read about the journeys of Marco Polo, the history of the Korean War, and even the Fall of Rome.

Except for this---no one will remember this.

In a couple of weeks, we'll start history again, but this time, we're spending two years studying U.S. History in depth so that we can delve into the big events.

I don't know what it'll be like to only focus on a single country instead of traveling the globe every week, but I do know one thing:

I'll have these five along for the ride.

When the storm passes

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 13:37:00 +0000

My seven-year-old son had one of his epic meltdowns yesterday. Loads of tears, anger, frustration. The pulling off of bedsheets. The throwing of stuffed animals. The shouting of many "s-" words (no, not THAT one, thank goodness).

Looking back, I didn't react all that well to any of this. I got angry and made lots of threats of Halloween candy going away, video game privileges being revoked, future play dates cancelled. . .and then I calmed down and came downstairs to continue schoolwork with the girls.

It was too quiet upstairs, so I turned to head up the stairs to see what was going on, but instead saw his still-little-boy body crumpled in a heap on the living room chair. I felt a bit of anger bubble up at the idea that he had left his bedroom without my permission, but his form was so small and sad, the feeling went out like a snuffed candle.

I tentatively sat down on the same chair, hands ready to contain another explosion but there was only a sob-filled body. He clutched at me, and we cried and cried together, both apologizing for the words spoken in anger.

I had one thought that would not leave me as I sat there holding him in my arms: Will he remember this? I remember being yelled at by my parents. Spanked, even. I remember those hiccuping sobs in my bedroom, but I think I was always alone. I don't remember reconciliation.

Will he remember the aftermath of his (our) raging? Will there be any memory of us hugging, and then going upstairs together to put back together his broken room? Will he ever recall us going outside for a dog walk/bike ride side-by-side in the rain as he chattered happily? Or will he remember my quick anger and empty threats and his hiccuping sobs?

Time will tell, I suppose. I also hope writing this down may someday spark a little memory in his brain of the time his mama held him, and we both whispered I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. . . into each other's ears.

We adopted Houdini

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Sat, 22 Oct 2011 12:15:00 +0000

I just read this online:

The most highly ranked dog crate, regardless of breed, is the Midwest Life Stages Dog Crate. Dog forums and dog owners alike love this crate because it is safe, functional, grows with the dog and is almost impossible to escape.

Yes! This is the one we have!

Guess who got a paw onto the latch, pushed it over, and squeezed out of her crate in the middle of the night to sleep on our couch?

I am soooooo busted

The best thing is that now she is trying to get back INTO her crate to get her peanut-butter stuffed Kong.

Tonight we will instead wrap her in a straightjacket and hang her from her back paws. I expect she'll escape in less than three hours.

-------------------------
note: we will not really be hanging her from her back paws. . .but we're considering the straightjacket.

Why I'll be wearing black every day from now on. . .

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Sun, 09 Oct 2011 02:18:00 +0000

I am a dog owner for the first time in my life. My girls and I drove to Connecticut to meet the van that held our new family member, all the way from Indiana.

We were at the end of the pick up line, and so we watched dog after dog come out of the van to meet his new owners.

Finally, Star came out to meet us. I wasn't sure what to expect having seen only a couple of photos of her, but my first thought was, "Oh, she is so cute and so much smaller than I thought!" And then I thought, "ZOMG, she is STRONG! And can PULL!" as she dragged me across the parking lot.

The hour-and-a-half ride home was long, but, all things considered, awesome. No barking, no whining, no eating my minivan's back seat despite all the food that is ground into it.

And now that she's home, she seems so eager to please and to be a part of our family. On Twitter tonight, I joked "This dog already looks at me with way more devotion than any of my kids. She's going to do wonders for my ego."

I can't tell you how many times I've thought of Jesse today, the dog I met years ago when I volunteered in an animal shelter. There is something in the goofiness of Star's mannerisms, in the way she tries to jump up to kiss you---not a great behavior, mind you---and in her wish to be with a person all the time, that reminds me of the little shelter dog I loved so many years ago but couldn't adopt.

Welcome home my silly, eager, slobbery* baby.

*have you ever seen a lab drink out of a water bowl? oy! good thing she's cute!

Nightmares

noreply@blogger.com (Fairly Odd Mother) — Wed, 05 Oct 2011 01:59:00 +0000

It's 9:39 and quiet, for the first night in a while.

For some reason, my girls have been fighting sleep. It started with my oldest, a shift I felt right after we returned from our July vacation when our family had slept in the same room for a week. She started getting anxious when I left her at bedtime, sometimes working herself up into a state of panic over the prospect of going to sleep.

After ten years, you'd think this would be easy by now, wouldn't you?

Things would ebb and flow from week to week, from "normal" to "not", but it wasn't until this past week when my middle daughter started to exhibit anxiety at bedtime that my ability to handle this cracked. Every night: Up and down to the bathroom, 6, 7, 8 times each. Stomachaches. Tears. Crying. Sometimes by me.

I fluctuated from Understanding Mother to Samuel L. Jackson reading this book. I took away TV privileges and allowance. I tried reasoning with them during daylight hours, assuring them that their bladders could not fill up in ten minutes without them chugging a gallon of water. I sat on the floor outside their room for so long, my butt grew numb.

Then I found an article online this morning on a godawful-looking website that really helped. I had hesitated to even search for articles because, seriously, who the hell has 8 & 10 year old kids who can't fall to sleep on their own?

Oh, Google, I should not have doubted you. I was amazed at how many people I found online with older children who were literally shaking at the prospect of going to sleep. Maybe it has to do with kids reaching an age when they realize how helpless they are while asleep, or maybe they worry about death or fire or theft, but I don't think we are the only family going through this.

Tonight, I took a different tact---calmer, with rules for when they could visit the bathroom "one last time". I stopped in to check on them a few times, to reassure them that they were okay, and there were hardly any tears.

The sound of three sleeping children is a beautiful one.

And now I will knock on wood because, heaven help me, I have never been able to say a good thing about my kids and sleeping without it coming back to bite me the next day. In other words: Tomorrow night? Send cupcakes and wine. I think I'll need it.