This moment: giggles

From Soulemama: A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

Choosing chores over children

Sometimes I Choose Chores

“Will you sit and knit with me, Mama?” my seven-year-old asks.  A request to melt any mama’s heart.  Yet I reply with a list of morning chores I have to do, trying to keep my tone neutral so as not to also say, “See how much work I have? See how hard my life is?”  The dirty cloth diaper needs to be rinsed out – the sooner the better.  The breakfast dishes are piled on the counter, soggy cereal drying to the sides of the bowls.  It will be annoying to have to scrape it off later when I can just rinse them out now.  Crumbs are everywhere on the floor – if I don’t sweep, the mice will come.  I have a small window to get it all done after one meal and before the next, especially since a large percentage of that time will be spent changing (more) diapers, wiping butts, helping with sips of water, tying on capes, and kissing bumps and scrapes.

“Help me sweep the floor,” I say to Katherine, “then I’ll be finished sooner and we’ll have time to knit.”  She frowns, “I don’t want to sweep.”  Not wanting to engage in a battle over sweeping by holding her to my request, I let it go, shrugging.  She hovers around me as I go about cleaning up, like a puppy underfoot.  My mind drifts to Ma in the Laura Ingalls Wilder books.  We’re reading On the Banks of Plum Creek at bedtime and the story is fresh in my mind.  I am intrigued by the strong rhythm of their daily chores, children who help without being asked, the simplicity of survival on the harsh prairie.

I don’t long to milk a cow at dawn, or polish the stove, or do the laundry by hand, day after day after day.  The combination of obligation and monotony would not outweigh the benefits of its simplicity, at least not for me.  But there is something to be said for a routine that never waivers, and upon which survival depends.  If I don’t clean the poopy diaper or rinse out the dishes first thing in the morning, scalding hot water and anti-bacterial soap will kill whatever grows in the meantime. Therefore, it is easy to feel the guilt of pushing my children aside.  I don’t really need to do the dishes right now, but I sort of wish I did.

All the slogans about choosing laughter over squeaky-clean floors and messy kitchens being happy kitchens let us off the hook.  Choose your children over household duties.  There will always be laundry, but your toddler will grow up.  I don’t disagree - but what if I want to do the dishes and put things away?  Piles of stuff distract me and I function better all around when my surroundings are sparse.  So I’m torn between wanting to do household chores and cherishing every moment of my daughters’ one-, four-, and seven-year-oldness.

But just the other day, I had a rare morning alone with Katherine thanks to a dual play date for her two sisters.  “Knit with me,” she implored as soon as they were out the door.  I surveyed the mess and sighed. “Let me clean up, then we’ll knit. We’ll have time,” I promised.  She scampered off to her room and I powered through the chores, in total, uninterrupted, quiet.  Twenty minutes later she reappeared. “I neatened my room, Mom.  Are you ready to knit?”  I was.

It dawned on me, as I snuggled down on the couch with her, as promised, that I am still in the throes of early childhood, when needs run high, interruptions are constant, and just underneath the surface of all their cuteness, my kids can be exasperating.  But my morning alone with Katherine was a reality check, a glimpse of what the future will be with children who can wipe their own butts, get their own drink of water, and tie on their own dress-up clothes.

Maybe I’ll make it through without Ma’s strict cleaning schedule.  Or maybe that wouldn’t help anyway.  After all, Ma only had one small room to keep clean and could fit all of the family’s possessions in a covered wagon.  Besides, for all we know, she may have been just as exasperated as I am, and that sentiment simply isn’t captured in the books because it was written by her child.

Regardless, I’m hanging onto hope that one day my three daughters and I will happily knit together by the fire. In the meantime, to give myself permission to do chores, I may paint across my kitchen wall: Clear counters keep me calm. 

Puzzles and Pie

On this last Sunday before it all starts up again, I decided it was a pie-for-breakfast kind of day. So as soon as the kids excused themselves from the table and settled in with a bunch of puzzles by the fire, I served myself a piece of spicy pumpkin pie. We didn’t end up having pumpkin pie on Christmas because someone forgot to tell someone else to buy evaporated milk, so I’ve been waiting for the right moment to make it. Of course any old day is a good day for pie, but the end of winter break – a lovely two weeks of lazy mornings, no school drop-offs or pick-ups, and pjs all day – seemed like just right time. So pumpkin pie for breakfast it was.

One by one the girls noticed the pie and migrated back to the table for a sliver of their own, and Dave and I gave in to “second coffee”, which we try to limit to special occasions. Like pie-for-breakfast day.

It was a lovely, peaceful morning with perfect children and a perfect breakfast.

But in the interest of keeping it real, I should report that our lovely, peaceful morning of perfect children and perfect breakfast dissolved by about 9:30am, before we had even finished second-coffee. Little sister stealing big sister’s puzzle pieces, big sister excluding middle sister, middle sister taking over big sister’s space, flying puzzle pieces and tears…  I guess it was just what we parents needed to ramp up our energy and face the end of break. I would even say we are now looking forward to the school routine tomorrow.

On the plus side, their bickering gave me the long-awaited opportunity to implement the “We get along” shirt (thanks for the idea, Jenn!). The punishment is that they have to wear the shirt for as long as it takes for them to figure out how to have fun together. I wouldn’t say it was a huge success, but it did stop puzzle pieces from flying.

Happy back to school!

This moment: Topple

From Soulemama: A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

Christmas Moments

My sister IMed me today, "How come there isn't a "This moment" this week?" Uh… because I totally forgot. I sort of shut off the days of the week as soon as the kids' school was out on winter break. I'm usually so tied to time, it's been great to just let it go, knowing that I don't have to tune back in until Christmas, house guests, and a visit to family have gone by.  

But here are a few moments from this last week: baking cookies for Santa, Christmas morning, our annual after-Christmas-before-New-Years ginger bread house making, and a wintery view of our house.

I'll be back next Friday… whenever that is.

Happy New Years!

Cookies!

I know I say every holiday tradition is my favorite, but yesterday my favorite holiday tradition arrived in the mail: my aunt and uncle's box of homemade Christmas cookies.

Every year, my aunt and uncle send cookies to relatives and friends. Judging by the number of nieces, nephews, and siblings alone, they must fill at least two dozen boxes. They also make ten different kinds of cookies - and not your plain old sugar cookies, but gourmet cookies like hazelnut biscotti, pfeffermusse, and my all-time favorites, springerele and pecan tassies.  And then, they mail them out, which always impresses me since I never go to the post office, preferring to let packages and letters sit for months until the recipient ends up visiting us or the letter becomes moot and I write a new one.  So I have great respect for people who actually go to the post office.

We have decided to share the cookies with our children this year. We haven't always, as we think it is best for a child to show a certain appreciation for fine cookies before allowing them to partake in this holiday tradition. But Katherine and Clara, who got to taste a few last year showed the appropriate anticipation and respect when the box arrived this year, so they may now join in. We'll see about Alexandra. 

This moment: Skiing

From Soulemama: A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

These two

Last week, I had a day at home with Clara and Alexandra. With Katherine off at school and no plans on the calendar, we had the morning to ourselves. A nice break from our usual school-day chaos, I envisioned a leisurely breakfast and then a nice walk through the woods. A little sunshine, some very cold fresh air, and the joy of hauling two kids through the woods on a sled because in all likelihood they wouldn't be able to walk through the deep snow… I couldn't wait. I'd been longing to get into the woods all week. 

But Clara and Alexandra had other plans… it is their one morning at home together, the one morning they don't have to get dressed or all bundled to go outside, and they just wanted to stay inside and play. After all, there is so much to do…

like snuggling in Alexandra's bed with books, 

then turning it into a crib fort,

and bopping balloons that Dave hung from the ceiling, 

then building a couch fort, 

and of course, sitting by the fire to keep warm.

I didn't get my walk in the woods, but these two clearly enjoyed their indoor morning at home. 

Remembering.

The Conspiracy Game

“To inspire a new generation with the thrill of space travel, a young adult novel that adults can also enjoy. The first in a trilogy.”

Today I have the honor of posting an interview with Adam Holt, author of The Conspiracy Game.

I know Adam from another lifetime, from what I now call the “under-just-grad” days, when we had just graduated from college and were setting our path towards adulthood. We worked in the same educational center, and even though we only worked together for a few months, I remember many of our conversations quite clearly. Adam is one of those inherently wise people who really listens to what other people have to say, making it possible to have meaningful discussions despite fundamental differences in belief or opinion - a rare treasure in life. He is also the kind of person who inspires thought and self-reflection through the way he leads his life, the questions he asks, and now, the book he has written. It has been great to reconnect with Adam and get a chance to hear what he has to say about The Conspiracy Game!

Your book, The Conspiracy Game, came out December 4. Can you tell us a little about it?

Yes. First, The Conspiracy Game and I share a birthday (December 4), so that was a great present this year. In The Conspiracy Game, 14-year-old Tully Harper recounts his first adventure in space. Tired of his dad's near-death experiences on Mars and inspired by a strange vision, Tully sneaks on board his dad's spaceship and begins the adventure of a lifetime. His best friends, Tabitha and Sunjay, accompany him on this trip, which will change the fate of the solar system. It's the first in a science fiction trilogy. 

The style is accessible enough for young adults, but the story seems to appeal to adults.  My readers tell me it's funny and meaningful. They'd better be telling us the truth.

Tully sneaks aboard the space shuttle without his dad father's knowing. What kind of challenges does Tully face in his relationship with his dad?

First of all, he's fourteen years old. It's a natural challenge for adolescence--they're subjected to so much change, and so are their relationships with their parents. For Tully, that's compounded by the fact that he is withholding some enormous secrets from his father, his only parent. He loves and respects his dad but finds himself caught in the midst of secrets and lies. I remember some of those episodes in my own adolescence. 

I know that faith is a, or perhaps, the driving force in your life. How has your faith influenced your story? 

My faith in Jesus Christ underpins the things I do, whether writing, reading, or teaching. Faith has a powerful thematic impact on the story, though it's not always intentional. Many of The Conspiracy Game's themes are drawn from my life experiences with my faith: learning to love someone in difficult situations; forgiving yourself, your friends, even your enemies; trusting your parents' wisdom; trusting your childrens' insights; sacrificing for those you love. 

Also, Jesus was an amazing storyteller. He told wonderful parables, such as the prodigal son or the dishonest steward, and then gave his listeners some room to debate over their meanings. We're still debating thousands of years later, and the better for it. I love that about him, and I wanted to tell a story that captivated my readers with some important, deep truths, but left open some big questions. If you read the novel, you will see this happen between Tully and the Harper Device. 

Your protagonist is a 14-year-old boy. What inspired you to tell a story about this often difficult time of life from the perspective of the child?

Adolescence is just built for storytelling because there's such daily upheaval. For a writer, the protagonist can have the best and worst day of his/her life in a six hour period, and that's good for moving a story along fluidly. That certainly happens to Tully, and those experiences shape him noticeably by the end. His motivations shift from a fear of losing his father to a desire to help his father succeed at any cost. I love that shift in responsibility that comes at this age, particularly when circumstances make teenagers take on a larger role in their families. 

Some of my students made that transition when their families went through tough times, and I always admired them for it. At the same time, many of them were getting braces, falling in love, and watching ridiculous Youtube videos for fun. It's such an interesting slice of life.

Tell us a little about the setting of the novel - outer space. What does the landscape of outer space add to the story? 

Great question. I want my readers to appreciate and understand that magnificent landscape. Space is a beautiful place where you can float weightlessly and stare into a field of a billion, breathtaking stars.  It's also a place where a paint chip flying through space at 15,000 miles per hour could crack that window and end your life in a split second. It's a beautiful, rugged, surprising landscape. 

But part of traveling away from the Earth is looking back. I love this thought from Neil DeGrasse-Tyson: "We went to the Moon and discovered the Earth." Tully experiences such a moment as well, where he appreciates the lovely blue gem that we call home. The perspective of space travel often gives astronauts that sense of just how connected we are to one another, and how valuable and delicate our entire civilization is.

How has Tully evolved as a character from your conception of him to his adventures in this novel? 

I developed the idea of a teen space explorer first, and then envisioned what kind of person he might be. If he wanted to sneak into space, he would need to be clever and curious like Harry Potter or Odysseus. 

However, he also needed deep motivation to travel into space. After all, Tully puts his life and his friends' lives on the line to go into space. Why would someone do that? Once I began to develop Tully's backstory, it became clear. Tully is from a single-parent home, and the minute I discovered that, his motivation to stay near his dad, who he deeply reveres and fears losing, told me how he would react in most every situation.  

Will we get to read more about Tully in the future?

I couldn't give up on him or his friends now! Things just got interesting. He'll be returning in book two, The Rathmore Chaos, though I can't disclose his location. The Conspiracy Game introduces characters that will play central roles in the coming series, which covers more ground in our near solar system. 

Is there anything else you would like us to know about either your novel or your experience writing it? 

I gave up a great teaching job to write this series, and it felt terribly risky at the time; however, it has been so rewarding. If I find myself teaching ten years from now, I can imagine sitting in my classroom and saying, "Boy, I'm glad I took that risk. Tully Harper was worth it." But I could not imagine it the other way around--sitting in that classroom and saying, "Well, I'm glad that I stuck with this job and never tried to write those Tully Harper novels." Life is too short to leave opportunities on the table. 

The world is a better place when we make the most of our skills and opportunities. When they have a sense of purpose, humans do amazing things, like feed the hungry and send people to the Moon...or at least dream up ways to inspire others to do those great things.

The Conspiracy Game is available at createspace, and you can contact Adam on twitter @adamholtwrites with any questions about the novel. Adam is available for speaking engagements--in person or virtual--to discuss the writing/publishing process, human space exploration, and run writing workshops. You can also follow his writing and travel adventures at adamholtwrites.blogspot.com and on Facebook at facebook.com/theconspiracygame.

Give-away winners & a few gift ideas

Congratulations to Erica, Kim, and Elaine, the winners of one of Natasha's beautiful placemats.

Last year I posted about a few books and toys that make wonderful holiday gifts. I haven't thought much about gifts this year since we are going practical, with things like long underwear, mittens, and lunch boxes. But Santa will bring a few small "fun" treasures... 

Advent spiral & ornaments
Everyone has a favorite advent tradition - glittery paper calendars with windows to open, pockets with little surprises for each day leading up to Christmas, advent candles... We always have a glittery calendar (I love glitter) and it is great motivation for kids to get ready in the morning ("Girls who are dressed with teeth brushed can open their window!"), but we also love our advent spiral. It is a simple tradition of moving a candle around the spiral. If we are feeling extravagant, we'll put in 25 candles on Christmas Day and the entire spiral will glow. The kids spend a lot of time moving their ornaments around and counting the days until Christmas. Each year, Santa brings a new advent ornament.

Books
Alexandra's book of choice these days is I Want My Hat Back, by Jon Klassen, who also illustrated one of our all time favorites, Extra Yarn. I Want My Hat Back is a story of a bear looking for his missing hat - with a twist at the end that adults will appreciate. Excellent artwork, of course.

For those of you with kids in the young adult bracket, check out The Conspiracy Game. It was just released last week and the author, Adam Holt, is a phenomenal writer. I had the opportunity to interview him about his book and will be posting that on Wednesday!

Crafts
I'm not really one for crafts since I have no crafting ability and no patience to help kids with any form of organized project. So my strategy is to put out a few supplies and walk away. A few weeks ago we bought a box of 1000 craft sticks to boost another order up into the "free shipping" category. Huge success. All three kids have spent hours and hours creating little log houses, towers, piles glued together or to paper, dream catchers, and Christmas tree ornaments. A few sticks, some glue and paper and they are off - and they can do it without my help.

What favorite toys, books, crafts do you recommend for holiday gifts? Please share! 

This moment: Drawin'

Enter the give-away to win one of Natasha's beautiful gnome placemats by leaving a comment here!

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From Soulemama: A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

Lights in Winter

Growing up, my family celebrated both Christmas and Hanukkah, and I loved being half Catholic - half Jewish. But over the years, I became more "neither" than "both".

Lights of Winter

My childhood memories of the holiday season are warm and bright, filled with the excitement of presents and celebration. I was extra lucky because my family celebrated both Christmas and Hanukkah. Being half-Catholic and half-Jewish set me apart and earned me the admiration of my slightly envious peers. The Santa crowd marveled at the eight days of gifts (not realizing my Hanukkah gifts typically comprised dental floss, pencils, and Scotch tape), and the Menorah crowd was curious about the logistics of Santa. I had gingerbread house-making play dates and could hold my own in dreidel games. For a few weeks out of the year, I took great pride in being “both.”

As I grew older, I began to understand that Christmas and Hanukkah were about far more than presents. The stories of both religions held my family history, and I felt connected to both sides, revering the traditions of all my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. My pride shifted away from the quantity of presents, and towards the quality of my parents’ marriage as a testament of how the two religions could come together.

But in junior high, personal commitments to one’s religion began. My Jewish peers were Bar Mitzvah-ed, my Christian peers were confirmed. Now it was no longer just about family tradition and history but also about belief and faith.

Furthermore, my parents, who had been happy to indulge in the winter holiday celebrations, were not all that interested in joining either of the religious organizations that had, as I later discovered, refused to acknowledge their marriage years earlier. My pride wavered and, unable to choose one over the other, I lost my status of being "both." I became "neither." Still, we continued to celebrate Christmas and Hanukkah in our home, and I grew to love the celebrations for the light and warmth they brought to the dark months.

Over the years, I let the Jewish traditions go without thinking much about them. By the time I had children, I found it felt more natural to implement my Christian traditions than my Jewish ones. But last year when my sister and I were reminiscing about our family menorah, she was surprised that we don’t celebrate Hanukkah at all: “Don’t you want to share our family’s history with your children?”

This simple question triggered something: a longing, a sadness, something, though I’m not quite sure what. Perhaps I had a little too carelessly forgone an important component of my childhood.  Judaism, just as much as Christianity, is a part of my past, my parents’ relationship, and the long history of both sides of my family. I suddenly wanted it back.

But how do I bring back my family tradition when I no longer feel Jewish? Do I even have the right to observe the Jewish holidays at this point? Is it ok to hold onto the tradition when I was not raised with the religious belief? These are questions I ask myself, and I am not sure of the answers. But I am beginning to feel a desire, a responsibility, to share this history with my children.

Perhaps I will start slowly. We will read books that tell the story of Hanukkah. I will share the traditions of my childhood. We will light the candles of our family menorah and say the blessing. And my children will receive dental floss, pencils and Scotch tape as gifts, just as my sister and I did when we were little. 

Give-away!

Welcome to the second annual placemat giveaway!

Natasha has created a beautiful and fun world of gnomes and painted it onto placemats. Everyone who passes by our table admires them, and my kids never tire of examining the details of the underground scenes, complete with trains, swings, slides, poles and ladders. I love the placemats because they are easy to clean and, three years later, they are still as good as new.  

This year, we are offering a placemat to three winners. To enter, leave a comment by Sunday, December 8th. We'll randomly select and announce the winners on Monday, December 9th. 

Happy December!

If you would like to place your own order, you can email Natasha at: tashebe79 at yahoo dot com.

Pogo sticks and strings

Happy Birthday to my seven-year-old!

A few weeks ago I posted about Katherine’s request for a pogo stick, and finding that balance between keeping things practical and giving in to a birthday wish. Well, we gave in (Jill, it was your comment that convinced us) and Katherine is now a proud pogo-owner. She loves it, and it turns out you can pogo in the snow and in the dark, which will come in very handy over the next few months. If I had known that, it would have fallen into the practical category and there wouldn't have been any discussion about whether or not to get it for her!

Katherine is also deeply absorbed in cat’s cradle, and was hoping for (and received) a string game book. Last night she happily got into her bed on her own while Dave and I finished bath and books with her sisters. That has never happened before. Thank you, string games (and Grandma!). Then this morning, I found her awake in her bed before her sisters woke up (which has never, ever, ever happened before) working on… string games. She has mastered the tortoise shell.

And then there was cake. An extra big cake. This year we tried out paper decorations on top instead of frosting and candy decorations. We had fun with paper doll snowmen, and Dave and I were pleased to have all the extra sugary crap that we had tucked away (just in case) for ourselves. Win win.

Katherine agreed it was a good day and is happy to finally be seven. Happy birthday sweet girl!

This moment: Winter window

From Soulemama: A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

Curative Story: I don't care for cabbage

We've been having trouble with ungrateful children at dinnertime. I'm hoping this story helps... 

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Once upon a time there was a bunny and her name was Molly bunny. She lived in the forest with her mama bunny and daddy bunny. Molly bunny loved to scamper through the woods, hopping over logs and ducking under branches. Now that she was seven years old, she could hop just as high as her neighbor, Jack rabbit, and run just as fast as her chipmunk friend, Agoo, who was very quick and very agile, being as little as he was. Molly spent all day hopping and running with her friends, and was always very hungry by dinnertime. Carrot cakes were her favorite food. She wished she could eat them every night.

But carrot cakes were a special treat. Most nights, Mama bunny prepared meals like beet stew, or cabbage crunch, or bean pudding. Molly didn’t like any of these meals and wrinkled her nose when she saw them on the table. “Yuuuuck”, she whined one night as she pushed her cabbage around her plate. Mama bunny frowned and reminded Molly that she was being unkind. “Eeewwwww”, she protested as she took a spoonful of beet stew and let it drip unappetizingly back in to the bowl. Daddy bunny furrowed his brow and asked Molly bunny to stop playing with her dinner.

“I hate beans!” Molly bunny cried another night as she thumped the table, almost knocking over the candle. Mama bunny raised her eyebrows and Daddy bunny looked very stern. “You may eat your dinner or you may leave the table and go to bed,” Mama told her. Molly scowled back, “I won’t eat this yucky meal. You never make me anything good.” Mama bunny sighed and Daddy bunny declared dinner to be over. Everyone went to bed early that night.

The next day, Molly bunny played hard with her friends all day, and by dinnertime, she was ravenous. But when she got home, the kitchen was dark and the table was empty. Mama bunny and Daddy bunny were sitting in the living room reading. “Aren’t we having dinner?” Molly asked. “I’m hungry!” “There are lettuce and carrots in the fridge, you may help yourself,” answered Mama bunny without looking up from her book. Molly bunny liked lettuce and carrots, so she helped herself and had a nice dinner alone.

The next night was the same: the kitchen was dark and the table was empty at dinnertime. So Molly helped herself, again, to lettuce and carrots. She sat by herself munching her cold meal. The next night, and the night after that, and the night after that, the kitchen was dark and the table was empty at dinnertime. Molly bunny sat by herself eating cold lettuce and carrots while her parents read in the living room.

Molly was starting to feel lonely. She wanted to tell Mama bunny about how she had jumped higher than Jack. She wanted to tell Daddy bunny about the races she had run with Agoo. But she couldn’t because she now ate dinner all alone. Molly was also getting tired of cold lettuce and carrots every night. She missed the warm glow of the candle and hearing about her parents’ day.

She wandered into the living room. “When will you make dinner again?” she asked Mama and Daddy bunny. “Oh, Molly bunny. You are so unkind about the meals we prepare for you that we’ve decided not to make dinner anymore,” explained Mama bunny. “Ever?” asked Molly. “Well, maybe if you show you are grateful for the meals, then we might be willing to make dinner for you again,” replied Daddy bunny. “But what if I really don’t like something?” asked Molly, who really didn’t like cabbage, beets, or beans.  “It’s our job to prepare meals that help you grow strong and be healthy, not to just prepare food that you like,” said Mama bunny. “Yes,” agreed Daddy bunny, “and it’s hard work to prepare dinner. We would like you to be grateful for the meals we prepare.” “Oh,” said Molly. She didn’t know how to be grateful for something she really, really didn’t like.

Then Daddy bunny made a suggestion. “Molly, what if, when we prepare a meal you don’t like, you can say to us ‘I don’t care for cabbage, but thank you for preparing this meal for me’. Then you can chose to eat it all of it, or just one trying bite.” “And,” added Mama, “you stop stomping your feet and whining at the table.”

Molly bunny thought about it. She really hated cabbage and did not want to eat beet stew or bean pudding. But she also missed dinnertime with her parents. “Ok,” she agreed. “I will try.” Mama and Daddy smiled. “Good. Tomorrow night we’ll have a nice family dinner,” Mama declared.

The very next night Molly bunny arrived home to a bright, warm kitchen and a candle on the table. As Molly sat down at her spot, her mama served her cabbage crunch. Molly frowned, but then remembered what she was allowed to say. “I don’t care for cabbage, but thank you for preparing this meal,” she said. Mama replied, “You’re welcome.” Daddy smiled. Molly sat straight and tall at her spot and told her parents all about her day. She didn’t stomp once as she listened to Daddy’s stories. She even ate four trying bites of cabbage, and then quickly drank a whole glass of water to help make it taste better.

Molly bunny was happy, and so were Mama and Daddy. They had all missed their family dinners. Molly bunny knew she would never like cabbage, beets, and beans – at least not while she was a kid, but she did like eating diner with her parents. So she tried very hard to behave and be kind about the meals they prepared for her. Even when she really didn’t like it.

This moment: Kid on the Fence

From Soulemama: A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

Fall Back

In the past, the “Fall Back” time change has been welcomed in our home. Not just because of the extra hour we gain, but because it magically resets the kids’ bedtime, which has a tendency to creep later and later every night. I don't want to place blame, but one parent allows bath time go on and on, gets suckered into one more story, one more sip of water, and one more song ("a really long song!"), and before we know it, seven o’clock is eight o’clock and The Ants Go Marching (all ten of them) is stuck in everyone's head for a week. Unfortunately, the other parent’s brisk and heartless one-story-one-kiss-one-pat-lights-out-not-another-word-or-else routine isn’t enough to hold it at seven o’clock. Probably because the kids request the sucker parent most of the time.

Then daylight savings comes and we’re back on track. While other parents dread the disruption to the daily schedule and complain of kids waking up at the new 5am, we enjoy longer evenings to ourselves with pleasant mornings of kids waking up on their own instead of our having to drag them out of bed at 7:10.

But this year has been different. Bedtime and wake-up have never been better, as expected, but daylight savings has destroyed our afternoons.

Late afternoon is already the trickiest part of the day for us. Alexandra wakes up from her nap and is ready to go outside. Clara is excited to play with her sisters after having endured quiet time all alone in her room, and is especially happy to see that Katherine is home from school. Katherine, who has held herself together in her usual, radiant and well-behaved fashion all day at school, is exhausted and needs down time to, let’s just say, “recharge her kindness”. She doesn’t want to be with anyone, least of all, eager Clara.

After struggling with this dynamic for the first two months of the school year, we finally figured out a carefully coordinated rotation of inside-outside time that met everyone’s needs and got us through from after school to dinner. I’d even say it was enjoyable. Then the time changed, it’s dark by 4:30, and the afternoon is grim again.

We’ve come up with some strategies to help adjust to the change: dinner is now at 5:15 instead of 6, jump roping is allowed in the kitchen, kids are granted access to the art supplies willy nilly (including the glitter on really rough days), before dinner lantern walks around the yard are a special treat for well-behaved children, and one parent gently encourages the other parent to stay on a tighter – and earlier – bedtime schedule (read: takes over at the first sign of delay). There’s no way we (I) would make it from 4:30-8pm every day, but 4:30-6:30 is manageable. 

We're working our way back to enjoyable and I think we'll get there soon. Hopefully before we Spring Forward.

How does the time change affect your routine? How do you deal with the early darkness?

Mood Resolution

A few weeks ago I attended a workshop on conflict resolution. The goal of the session was to introduce parents to a structured format of working through conflict in a non-judgmental, non-punitive way. I admit I didn’t really want to attend, having been through several of these types of trainings over the years and not really feeling like I had the energy to tape mock identities to my forehead for role-plays about bullies and nerds.  But I felt pressure to attend from the mass of flyer and email announcements, and the buzz about it from other parents sparked a sliver of hope that this workshop would offer something fresh and new. Plus, with free childcare, I really didn’t have any excuse. But as I sat down in the circle of other parents, I couldn’t help but regret having given up what could have been an afternoon to myself.

I participated in the workshop nonetheless. There were no bully-nerd role-plays; instead we provided examples of conflicts we’d recently experienced to work through in small groups. The time our neighbors wouldn’t turn down their music. Then we identified our emotions with “feeling cards”, angry, frustrated, disappointed, and linked them to our needs that weren’t met, support, shared reality, understanding. We provided feedback to each other on how to word an offense in a neutral, non-accusatory way. When the music is loud, I feel frustrated because my children can’t sleep. I played along half-heartedly while the parents around me appeared enlightened by the concept of identifying the true source of the conflict.

After the workshop, a friend asked if I had enjoyed it. I shrugged and mentioned it wasn’t really new information, and made some vague comment about having heard all of this before. She nodded and said, “Well, it’s always good to hear it again”. This friend obviously had a good attitude. I, obviously, did not, and at home, I complained to my husband that I didn’t get anything out of the workshop.

But of course that wasn’t actually true. Over the past few weeks, snippets from the workshop have snuck into my mind, not in moments of conflict, but in moments of general dissatisfaction. Like on those days when my late afternoon plan unravels in the face of tantrums and bickering, and my cup of tea, already twice reheated, sits un-sipped on the counter. The snippet hints, as if mocking me, Hmm, it looks like you are frustrated that you don’t even get ten minutes of uninterrupted time for a cup of tea... Or when my irritation suddenly spikes for no good reason, say, at the sight of the pile of crap that’s been sitting on the table for a week. The snippet taunts, Gee, I wonder what need isn’t being met; longing for a tidy and organized space, are you? At first I ignored the snippets, grumpily giving up on my tea and cursing the pile of crap on the table. But in the background, I’ve started to realize this annoying little voice in my head might actually carry some wisdom. Maybe the workshop wasn’t just about identifying emotions and needs during my children’s conflicts. Maybe I could use the information to work on bettering my mood. Mood resolution.

It’s pretty easy to identify frustration and impatience as the core “bad mood” mom emotions, and I can easily rattle off a whole list of unmet needs, as could any other mom, with lack of sleep at the top. But when I push past the superficial needs (I mean, everyone - kids or no kids - could probably claim sleep as an unmet need), the one thing I cherish but never, ever get anymore is time alone at home. I can add up an hour’s worth of time to myself if I count the six-mile drive to school for drop-off and pick-up and the occasional twenty-minute walk at lunch. But those moments borrowed against the usual routine are nothing compared to the liberation of being alone in an empty house for a good, long stretch of time. Time to wander through the rooms in their quiet stillness. Time to put things where they belong without little hands taking out other things à la Sisyphus. Time to not be needed by anyone.

Hey, look at that, the snippet applauds, you’ve identified the unmet need that is the source of your poor mood! Enlightening.

Of course I don’t see any way to meet this need for at least the next two years, and the workshop, unfortunately, didn’t cover how to deal with unmeet-able needs. But maybe simple awareness is a good start. It’s already easier to curb my frustration when I admit the mess itself isn’t really the issue, and that in a few years I will get to sip my tea while it’s still hot.