Sillybandz...

Originally posted at the former Chicago Moms Blog on June 16 2010

Sillybands taught me a lesson on when to step in and when to step back...

Anyone with a child from the ages of 3-12 knows EXACTLY what Sillybandz are. On the off chance that you haven't been sucked into the latest fad of the year; briefly explained, they are little rubber bands that kids wear on their wrists. When removed, these colorful bracelets snap into an assortment of cool shapes. It's uncommon to see a group of children without bands covering their forearms in my town. Really, they're an adorable fad and I was happy to buy a couple of packets for my children to share. They divided up 2 packs of 20 between all 3 and each had several to wear and trade with their friends. My sons were mildly interested in them, but it was my 4 year old daughter who gleefully raced into our yard as soon as we got home to flaunt her precious bracelets. Each time she dashed back inside, she sported a different assortment from her many trades with the neighborhood girls.

"Remember," I cautioned, "only trade 1 for 1. Don't be taken advantage of!"

"Ok, Mommy! I'll be careful!" and off she went...

By day two, the 9 bracelets she had started off with were down to 7.

"Where'd they go?" I asked. "Did you give some to the kids who didn't have any?"

"No, I traded them with Missy*. She said I had to give her 2 for this one because it's RARE!"

I sighed and reminded her that she now had only 7. "If you keep trading 2 for 1, you'll end up with only one!" She swore up and down that she would take better care of this uncommon privilege I had allotted her. (My family is one that has suffered the joys of the wonderful economic status that is all too common. The $4 I spent on the bands was definitely a well-thought-out decision).

Another day passed. As she was getting ready for bed, I saw her wrist with only 2 bracelets on it. I am not proud of the way that I reacted. I actually YELLED at my 4 year old for trading away all of her precious rubber bands. My initial response was (and still is) anger at the fact that my child was taken advantage of. Her desire to be included in the trading and bartering of the older kids resulted in a nearly empty wrist that I refuse to purchase more bracelets for. I vented my anger to my husband and he voiced what my first plan of action had been, "Why not just call her mom and ask for them back?"

Sigh... I could. I could easily call my neighbor and explain how her daughter's collection (which is already well over 200 bracelets!) had recently grown. It would be simple and my own anger would be assuaged.

BUT. But this is a life lesson that I believe is extremely important. While it is admirable to be generous with your belongings and to share with your friends, you can become an easy target for those who covet your goodies. There is a difference between giving a precious bracelet to a child who doesn't have any and having an older friend that you trust convincing you that the piece of rubber SHE has is more valuable than the piece of rubber YOU have. I know that learning this lesson at 4 may just save her some grief in her teen or adult years. And, if she has to get ripped off by a loved one, I'd rather she get gypped out of $.60 of rubber bands.

*Not her real name

A post about a post...

Did you hear me? DID YOU HEAR ME?!?

All of you mothers know what I'm talking about...

Dis you hear me? Did you HEAR me?

Originally posted at the former Chicago Moms Blog on April 19, 2010

Did you hear me? Did you HEAR me?

Ever feel like you're repeating yourself? As in, ALL the time?

Well, naturally, if you're a parent, you ARE repeating yourself. You Are repeating yourself. (heh. heh.) It's part of the job description. You'll find "Must have the ability to repeat oneself a minimum of 3 times per request with the potential to increase that repetition to 24 times per request" listed just underneath the qualifications of "Ability to use the restroom with an infant in your right hand, and a foot against the door to prevent a toddler from opening the public restroom door" and "Must Have Sense of Humor that rivals Steve Martin." So, I've said it 3 times now; We're repeating ourselves, yes?

I used to think it was me. That I was the problem. That maybe, just maybe, if I were a better mom, I could get my children to respond to gentle reminders and kind requests. Just like Michelle Duggar! (I want to know the real scoop behind those scenes. Do they EVER raise their voices? What if one of their 19 kids is dangling a baby sibling from the railings that run their second story? What if Little J has taken a permanent marker to all of the computer screens that the kids use for schoolwork? Do they just use their sweet and peaceful reminders to be good people and to please not drop their sibling over the railing? What then?!?)

I ALWAYS ask nicely. Always! The first time, I might say "Hey Kiddos, please bring this laundry upstairs and put it in your drawers." This request is met with the backs of their heads gently swaying in time to the theme song of iCarly. Ok, ok. My bad! Make sure the boob tube is off before trying to get their attention! I pause the show and begin to repeat the above sentence but before the word "kiddo" escapes my mouth, I am met with the indignant shouts of 3 children whose spidey senses are tingling; they KNOW they are about to be told to do something unpleasant.

"AHEM! Please bring this laundry upstairs and put it away." I then hold out the piles. And wait. And stare into their blue and brown eyes. And wait.

"Guys. GUUUyyyysss!! Please bring this upstairs. NOW." Slightly stern voice and a shorter sentence, but still using a courteous "please". Several situations will erupt at once. One child will dissolve into a mass of molten lava, loudly claiming he/she is Tooooo Tiiiiiired to climb the stairs and put the underwear away. Another child will insist that he needs to finish watching this show because it's New! and I Just Don't Understand How Important It Is! Meanwhile, the 3rd child will either begin feigning sleep or join in the cacophony with a whine that would rival Fran Drescher.

"NOW! I said NOW! Everyone march upstairs and put this away or privileges are getting taken away! I don't CARE if that is the NEWEST and BEST show EVER. It is PAUSED. It will be there when you get down but it WILL NOT BE ON if you have one more complaint about putting away a tiny bit of laundry!!! GET! GET! GET!"

Shrieking, banshee Mommy. That's what you need to envision. A horrid, scary-faced, mother you would see on Supernanny. A mom who is SO fed up that her kids won't just DO a simple chore without absolute resistance. Especially since THIS mom DOES follow through! I DO take away their privileges when they voice another complaint! And, even knowing that I mean business, they STILL voice those complaints!!

Where did I go wrong? In asking for help in a small chore that is putting away their OWN clothing, I am met with such resistance? And EVERY time?!? Like I said, I used to think it was me. Until I would witness other women saying the exact same things as I do. Women in stores; women at parks. Women by schools; women in their homes. All of us mothers, and all of us saying the same things, over and over and over.

Which brings me back to my original point. Again.(heh) I KNOW that I am repeating myself. All. The. Time. But what wasn't clear to me was that sometimes I repeat myself and there isn't a child around to blame. (I think that this constant repetition within Motherhood is rotting my brain...) See that picture up above? With the dirty kid feet? Yeah. That picture "inspired" me to write a post about dirty feet equaling a happy child. A carefree child that spends ample time running through fields and climbing trees... It was really quite an endearing post, actually! Only problem is that I ALREADY WROTE THAT POST. 2 years ago. You can find it here, as I am NOT repeating myself anymore. I'm not.

I'm not.

It's that time of the year again...

Originally posted at the former Chicago Moms Blog on April 2, 2010

It's that time of the year again...

Men have no clue. They really, truly don't. I mean, when the season arrives for them, they simply pick "long or short" and move on with their day. Dealing with this wardrobe need doesn't create a rising panic within their chests. Men have no cause to stress about the details! They honestly haven't ANY IDEA of the level of anxiety that Swim Suit Season can bring about. Only a fellow woman can understand the grief I underwent during my 2 hours of child-free shopping in which I was DETERMINED to find a suit for the 2010 summer..

My family is a water-loving group. We have access to our neighborhood pool every day of the summer in addition to the pool that my parents installed at their house last year. Basically, I needed a suit that was strong enough to withstand a whole lot of chlorine and sun. I also needed a suit that wouldn't cause anyone to pass out from overexposure to cellulite. It was not a task or responsibility I took lightly...

Is there any greater cause of body image stress than a 3-way mirror in a dressing room? Especially when that image reflected back at you is of some 34-year-old stranger and not the 20 year old hottie that you keep thinking you still are? For me, this was the year of accepting my age in the swimsuit department. Because I have crossed the line, my friends. I have crossed over into the realm of Swim Suit Skirts. And there is no turning back, now...

Each suit I tried on was almost good enough. There was always a little something that made me shudder a bit and switch to the next one. But when I casually tried on a skirt and realized that no one could see my worst assets*?!? Miraculously, the suit looked great!

I know that no one is fooled by the skirt. I know that they know that my bootie isn't quite so "licious" anymore. But because of the skirt, this pool season may just be the first season that I don't do the mad dash for the towel as I leap from the pool, holding a small child in front of my thighs for camouflage. This season MAY JUST include ME being moderately HAPPY about the way I look in a swimsuit.

Will wonders never cease?

* Heh. Pun fully intended...

Stop! Can't we just slow it down?

Originally posted at the former Chicago Moms Blog on March 1, 2010

Stop! Can't we just slow it down?

I am caught, yet again, in the desire to press the pause button. Why isn't there a pause button on life?!? I don't want to halt ALL progress, but the moments fly at me faster than I can absorb and I am left gasping for breath, unable to retain the precious gift that the present moments in time are giving me...

How many years do we have where my 4 year old daughter will get giddy for a date with her father? How many years before the catch in her breath is no longer for her adoring Daddy, but for some gangly teenaged boy whose intentions may or may not be honorable?

How many years can I count on my middle son to call me "Mama"? When will his love for his raggedy old panda bear become something to hide from his buddies? How will I handle it when he no longer reaches for my hand in the store or hugs and kisses me without a care for who sees?

And my eldest... My 11 year old baby. My awkward, confused son full of questions and concerns... When will he push me away in embarrassment? Will I even notice which day is the last time he asks me to cuddle with him before bed? Will I be careful to take note of the last day he is a boy before he becomes a teenager? Is it even possible to know such a thing?

I am floating in a puddle of emotions on this cold Chicago day in late winter. On the cusp of another spring, I feel the changes that are not only in the air but also within our home. So, goodbye winter. Hello spring and all of your changes... Take it easy on this momma, though. Nice and slow, please...

You say tomato, I say...

Originally posted at the former Chicago Moms Blog on Feb 15, 2010

You say tomato, I say...

Recently my children sat around the kitchen table, building skyscrapers with new blocks we won on a giveaway. Towering above her head, my 4 year old stared up at her creation and proclaimed,

"I made the Serious Tower!"

Giggling over her obviously childish description, her older brother (aged 7) indulgently said,

"Silly goose! It's the Series Tower!"

I barely controlled my snorting laughter as I corrected them both with,

"No, no, no. It's the SEARS Tower."

Sighing over his family's inability to get with the times, my eldest son (age 10.11 years) shook his head at all of us,

"You GUYS. It's the WILLIS TOWER. Geesh."

I despise the changing of the guard and the altering of the names of landmarks. Especially when my children can stay on top of things better than I...

The Power of a Pair of Socks...

The afternoon started off innocently enough. I had finally gotten my rear into action by literally scraping the piles of socks, hangers and miscellaneous clothing articles from the floor of my closet to the middle of my bedroom. "Ta-Da! Instantly clean closet!" Sadly, the clean closet was next to a (now) disastrous bedroom...

Sigh...

Finish reading here...

The Power of a Pair of Socks

Originally posted at the former Chicago Moms Blog on Jan 4, 2010

The Power of a Pair of Socks

The afternoon started off innocently enough. I had finally gotten my rear into action by literally scraping the piles of socks, hangers and miscellaneous clothing articles from the floor of my closet to the middle of my bedroom. "Ta-Da! Instantly clean closet!" Sadly, the clean closet was next to a (now) disastrous bedroom...

Sigh...

And so the shuffling of crap from The Pile to their appropriate drawers, hangers, garbage and donation bags commenced. About 2 hours into it (no joke) and 1 and a half LifeTime movies later (husbands were murdered! Best friends were betrayed!), I stumbled upon My Kryptonite and all plans to destroy The Pile came to a screeching halt...

For in the pile of Socks to Sort (we all have THAT pile, but mine seems to be bigger than necessary for the 5 human beings that reside in this home) I pulled out the teeniest, tiniest pair of sky blue socks ever known to man. But not just ANY baby socks, though. No, these socks were the first pair of socks that I ever purchased for my first child. THE socks. The ones that matched the teeny, tiny little blue outfit with baby Cookie Monster on the lapel. The teensy, tiny, itty, bitty, precious socks that once covered the teensy, tiny, itty, bitty, precious feet of my eldest son (whose 10 year old feet are no longer teeny-tiny, itty-bitty or precious in any way, shape or form!). I folded their cuffs. I laid them beside my own socks. I fitted them upon my fingertips and marveled at how something so insiginifcantly small could undam such a flood of memories.

Tears? Yes.

Nostalgic trip down memory lane? Absolutely.

Enough wistful longing for another baby in my arms to force me to trip down the stairs and write this post (in between hoarsely yelling at said firstborn for arguing with his sister and brother over the television and Oh My God can't you all just BE QUIET because Mommy is trying to write SOMETHING SWEET AND TENDER WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU CHILDREN?!?)

Surprisingly? Yes.

Baby socks: They've got some serious power to 'em.

A Never-ending December

Originally posted at the former Chicago Moms Blog on Dec 4, 2010

A Never-ending December

I had an interesting conversation the other day. A fellow mother and I were talking about the impending holiday season and all that it included. Presents! Shopping! Carols! Parties! The good and the bad. The sweet and the tedious.

"I'm just so furious that they won't allow the manger scene in the White House!" * she proclaimed.

I hadn't heard that they had decided upon this, but wasn't really surprised. I mean, you can't get any more religious than the manger scene. And to incorporate it in the capital which represents EVERYone, and in a country which has a "separation of church and state" may not be a good representation of the whole of the USA. I said as much to which she huffed,

"Christmas is about the BIRTH of CHRIST. That's all! There isn't anything else to it. If you don't believe in the birth of Christ, then you shouldn't be celebrating Christmas!!"

Not wanting to offend her, I acknowledged that I had been raised a Catholic but am now someone who follows her own beliefs, none of which are written down by any man or religious affiliation. I told her that I still celebrate Christmas, but in the knowledge that for me, it isn't just about a virgin birthing a baby in a barn. Not for me. Not for many people. For many people (even many Christians) Christmas has morphed into a holiday focused on the idea that an entire population can be centered on peace and goodwill. The holiday season isn't just about the religious aspects anymore than it is just about the purchasing of many gifts. December is, (for most Americans) a season of goodwill, generosity, and attempting to be a better person. Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa and the New Year are all to blame for that. These holidays encourage us all to center our energy and hopes on the idea that we CAN be kinder and gentler people.

There is definitely something magical about this time of year, no matter what your religious or spiritual beliefs. The magic (for me) exists not in the words I have read in a book, but in the joy and hope I see upon the faces of those I love.

I hope that we can all remember to focus upon the similarities that mankind possesses this holiday season. If we can just acknowledge how monumentally SIMILAR we all are, instead of our small differences of opinion and culture, perhaps every month could be like December...

* FYI, according to SNOPES, the rumor my friend had heard is false. There are still religious decorations and ornaments in the White House this holiday season. I wonder which religions are represented...

Stages of childhood...

Every child goes through at least 8,645 stages before they reach age 18. It's a scientifically proven fact.

Cross my heart.

I know this because I have been doing this parenting gig for 10 years, 8 months, and 6 days for 3 different children and my children are well on their way to achieving that number. The good stages of "I love to wash dishes with Mommy" or "Diaper Thrower-Awayer" don't seem to last very long. This is rotten not only for the loss of the genuine help but also for the fact that the BAD stages of "biting my brother when he touches my favorite bear" or "melting into a pile of screaming goo when Mommy says 'No' " seem to last that much longer in comparison.

My most favorite stage is presently in full swing in my household! Which one? It's not the "I love homework" stage or even the "I like to vacuum" stage. No, no... It's EVEN. BETTER...

Finish reading...

Stage #1672 in full swing!

Originally posted at the former Chicago Moms Blog on October 25, 2009

Stage #1672 in full swing!

Every child goes through at least 8,645 stages before they reach age 18. It's a scientifically proven fact.

Cross my heart.

I know this because I have been doing this parenting gig for 10 years, 8 months, and 6 days for 3 different children and my children are well on their way to achieving that number. The good stages of "I love to wash dishes with Mommy" or "Diaper Thrower-Awayer" don't seem to last very long. This is rotten not only for the loss of the genuine help but also for the fact that the BAD stages of "biting my brother when he touches my favorite bear" or "melting into a pile of screaming goo when Mommy says 'No' " seem to last that much longer in comparison.

My most favorite stage is presently in full swing in my household! Which one? It's not the "I love homework" stage or even the "I like to vacuum" stage. No, no... It's EVEN. BETTER...

"I love my brother/sister but I want to literally strangle him/her so I shall wrap my hands around their neck and kick and scream and try to murder him/her whenever something doesn't go my way."

THAT STAGE.

I can just hear the jealous exclamations through my computer's monitors...

The BEST part of this stage is yet to be said. For the absolute frosting on top of this stage is that when said siblings (who honestly love each other so much they actually hold hands when they fall asleep. I kid you not.) engage in bloody warfare, I get to kill 2 birds with one punishment. For we? Are a homeschooling family. And my kids? Have never had so much penmanship practice as this week has allowed.

I told you it was a great stage, right?

My Door's Alway's Open

Originally posted at the former Chicago Moms Blog on September 10, 2009

My Door's Always Open

The conversation was going well. I was connecting with a woman I hadn't seen in months and remembering why I had liked her before.

"How are things?" she asks.

I hem and haw around the financial issues we're going through. It's not something everyone wants to hear about and it's not something I want to talk in great detail about. (Writing it for the world? That's ok. Talking with a real person in front of me? Too personal. We bloggers are a strange breed, aren't we?)

"But how are you and your husband holding up through it all? It's generally a tough time for couples..."

I reassure her that we are doing well. I know that things could be better, but one constant in my life is the love that we have for each other and our commitment to making it through anything. I return the question to her and am surprised by the answer...

"I'm thinking of leaving him. Things aren't good. Not good at all..."

The specifics aren't mine to spill. Her story is unique to her and yet similar to so many women's lives. Tied to a man that may not be good for her anymore; she has 2 children and their future to consider.

Tears in our eyes, I listen. I hold her hand, this woman I was hoping to befriend. Now I am hoping that she believes me when I said, as I passed her my phone number,

"Call me. Any time you need me. Any time you need somewhere to go. Call me."

I have no judgment. I'll offer no advice. All I can provide are open arms and a genuinely concerned ear to listen. I pray that all women with secrets they cannot tell have someone to call. Somewhere to go...

Hope and Plan and Pray

Originally posted at the former Chicago Moms Blog on August 22, 2009

Hope and Plan and Pray

It's more than just a date on the calendar. It's a feeling and rhythm in the air. Tensions change, the clock is ticking and the hourglass is nearly empty. Every activity is done with a frantic need to have a Really! Fun! Time! before the opportunity slips away.

Each year, the scramble to secure the proper supplies and paraphernalia associated with the Back To School Season stresses the heck out of me. The fact that we are homeschooling this fall instead of "going to school" doesn't eliminate that stress. It's just taken on a new face!

Last year, I was worried about the teachers my boys would get. Would they understand one son's special (but not available for an IEP) needs? Would they help the other son to excel where he had been struggling before? Would there be a continuance of the social issues one had dealt with? Would the year go down as one to remember or one to forget?

This year, I am worried about the teacher my boys will have (ME!). Will I understand one son's special needs? Will I be able to help one son excel where he had been struggling before? Will this change in our lifestyles continue to aid the social issues we were seeing improvement on after homeschooling for a few months last spring? Will this year go down as not only the First Full Year of Homeschooling but also the BEST?

I can only hope and plan and pray.

I hope for patience.

I plan the lessons.

I pray that I am not committed before year's end...

A book to read before you jump...

If I were looking for a book on skydiving, I would search for one written by someone who had actually, well, jumped out of a plane. Literature written by those who observe on the ground or even by the pilot would definitely have some interesting perspectives, but really? Can I REALLY understand what it is to ride up in that plane, stomach turning over in knots and wondering:

"Will I survive? Will I get injured? Is this REALLY a smart idea? Maybe someone else should jump!!"

Can a pilot who has never taken the leap into air honestly comprehend the emotions of someone free-falling for hundreds and hundreds of feet? Would his interpretations of that experience ever come close to first-hand knowledge?

That is the attitude I had when I began reading the book, Birth Day by Dr. Mark Sloan...

Continue reading...

Playground Hierarchy

Originally posted at the former Chicago Moms Blog on July 24, 2009

Playground Hierarchy

Be nice. Share. Be friends. Say you're sorry.

Our children have these phrases repeated to them DAILY. If we must work so hard to pound an idea into their minds, might there be some validity in the thought that this natural "pecking order" is not only natural, but a healthy part of the maturing process? Without having the chance to "be nice" or mean on our own, or share or hog, how does a child develop the backbone that is required to survive as an adult?

I distinctly recall my first chance to be a hero. My sister, only 2 years younger than I but always substantially shorter than her peers, was at the playground in the church yard behind our home. Only 5 or 6 years old at the time, she was also one of the youngest children in the gang of kids that ruled our block. Her choices for friends were usually those that were not only older than she was, but also physically bigger, as well. I watched from my yard as she was repeatedly pushed down by our "friends" over what was surely a typical childhood fight. The emotions that swirled through my 8 year old body can easily resurface in my 33 year old one at just the thought of that scene from long ago.

Furious and indignant that ANYone (other than myself) would push my little sister down and make her cry, I stomped across the field, shouting that they leave her alone. Not even phased at my shouts and threats, they finally said,

"Who's gonna make us?"

"ME!"

And, with that, I pulled back and threw my very first (and last) punch.

I knocked that little twerp right to the ground where she landed on the sand beside my crying sister.

"Hit her back, Suzie!" yelled her father from their yard where he had apparently witnessed part of the situation.

Thankfully, the stunned Suzie backed off and ran home, leaving me to face down the other girl, one of my "best" friends. She simply shrugged and walked away, leaving me to take my sister's hand and walk her back home. The adrenaline still rushing through my scrawny body, I was petrified to tell my mom what had happened, but knew I had to before Suzie's dad came over with his own version. Instead of the punishment I thought I would receive, my mom proudly hugged me for defending my sister. For standing up for what was right. She clued me in to my first real life lesson: standing up for yourself and for those who can't help themselves feels good.

If we had been fully supervised, as children generally are today, the situation would have gone a totally different direction. Not only would my sister not have been pushed more than once, I also wouldn't have had a chance to prove my devotion to her. If the moms had been monitoring all of our activities, then the children would have been forced to "be friends" with each other.

I don't believe that monitoring our kids is a bad idea. If anything, having parents nearby helps kids remember that they DO need to be nice to each other. And if they can't "be nice" then to go home and do something else until they CAN be nice. However, I also believe that too much interference is doing a huge disservice to our children. Without the opportunity to choose to be mean or nice, to defend someone or to stand aside and watch, our kids are deprived of the character building skills that all of us from different generations take for granted. Most kids that come to my yard are actually shocked when another child is unkind to them! Running up to my back door, they indignantly spout off all of the injustices that they perceive happened to them. Expecting me to march out and solve the problem, these children are generally open-mouthed when I tell them (after making sure that no one was truly physically HURT) to figure it out themselves.

It doesn't take long. They either figure it out or find someone else to play with. But they always come back. And with a greater understanding of what it takes to get along in a group. Hopefully, an ability that will grow with them throughout the rest of their lives...

What happened, indeed....

"What Happened To the Girl I Married?" is the choice for July's SVM book club. I was truly excited about this book as the basic outline was said to chronicle one man's journey into becoming the stay at home parent for a year and finding out exactly where his wife had "disappeared" to. The description definitely fits, as the book is about the author's own discoveries regarding the impact that being an at-home parent can have on one's psyche.

Sadly, I was very disappointed with the overall presentation and body of the book. I could appreciate and feel the love he has for his wife, and could understand why she would adore such a piece of work. But while reading the book, I was forever comparing it to a high school English paper. A paper where the teacher said Michael had to use "X" amount of words and pages before he passed it in, so the same 3 topics were rephrased over and over again... There was never any true "guts" to this piece! Mr. Miller definitely told us, repeatedly, that he now understood what a completely selfish boor he used to be. He described all of his previous faults and how those faults caused his wife's identity to "fragment". But the WAYS he came to these miraculous break throughs and "a-ha" moments? The stories (I'm sure there are DOZENS!) that resulted from his attempts to keep the house running? Those were absent. Non-existent. NEVER mentioned! Another missing element to giving this book life? Explaining what his wife was doing that entire year that he was home!! Where was she? Was she rediscovering herself at a job or college course? At the mall? The SPA?!? (Seriously! I want to know. I NEED to know. I kept searching for this tidbit in the book, and if I missed it? I'll retract this section of the paragraph because IT DROVE ME CRAZY!)

I am actually quite surprised to see this book published in the form that it is in. With some decluttering of the repeats and some additions of personal experiences, this book would have made me smile and suggest it to others. Instead, I am left feeling cheated that the editors allowed this obviously heartfelt story (and I felt the love. I FELT how much he adored his wife and how lucky he feels to have changed before he lost her!) to go to print in what I consider to be a first draft stage. (I won't even go on about the conniptions I had regarding improper grammar, punctuation and the incorrect use of words such as "their" and "shear" instead of "sheer"...)

I am not a book author. I write on blogs. I write quickly and can make mistakes, on occasion. However, if I were to write a book, you can be damn sure that I would have had 20 people review the book for not only small errors but for the honest truth about turning a long but sweet love letter into a book you cannot put down. At only 129 pages, I had to pick it up continuously for I was always putting it down.

Ahhh.... Summer....

Originally posted at the former Chicago Moms Blog on July 4, 2009

Ahhhh. Summer....

With Independence Day just around the corner, the shock of the speed of summer hits me once again.

Really? Are we really this far into the season? But, I've only just begun to get used to the green leaves on the trees! I am finally not surprised to see green grass instead of brown!

The seasons in Illinois are fast and furious. You have to pay attention or you just might miss the beauty of each moment. Before we know it, the air will be cooler (even though it IS cool right now! Weird, freaky global climate change!) and these heady, infinite days of summer will become a packaged memory: "The Summer of 2009". We'll remember the events in a cut and dried time frame, something I believe can't be completely comprehended by folks who live in 1-2 season climates.

In Illinois? You swim when it's hot. Because tomorrow, who knows what the weather will be?

In illinois? You chase those lightning bugs on the perfect summer nights. You grab the sparklers and cameras and document all of this sun-kissed perfection. You'll be pulling the pictures out again in the dark hours of February and March, when it feels as though winter will never break.

It's hard to not look forward to BlogHer, field trips and weddings that are peppered on my calendar for the rest of the summer. But I try! For though those events are exciting, nothing thrills me more than these lazy, LAZY unplanned days. These days of Absolutely Nothing Planned. No camp, no school, no vacations, no PLANS. Just kicking the kids out the front door and only seeing them when a roller skate needs tightening or a lunch is waaaaay past due. Just living and being and breathing the freedom that comes with summertime...

Taking a new path

Originally posted at the former Chicago Moms Blog on June 12, 2009

Taking a new path

Sometimes life is funny. I'm not referring to those life situations where you lock yourself out of your own house and have to send your 3 year old through a window, all the while yelling directions from the ground without scaring him, hoping that he'll get to the front door on time before the security system starts to wail (true story). I'm not even talking about the slapstick moments of slipping on ice in front of a school bus of teenagers; arms flailing, whooping like one of the Stooges and, naturally, cracking the ice with a triumphant SPLAT when your graceful ways prove non-existent.

I refer to the situations where you are presented with what appears to be a tragedy. Your life halts, and the path you are on completely alters. What was once paved and gently curving through a park is now covered in loose gravel and seems to be curving down towards a gulch at an alarming angle. Life becomes unstable and managing the basics of your life is almost foreign.

When our family's lives were rocked by my husband's unexpected job loss (thank you, economy!), we were already in the midst of an ongoing conversation regarding another new path for our household (homeschooling our eldest child). With so many free radicals at once, I would have expected for someone to find me curled in corner, unable to focus. I was tempted, trust me. But strangely, enough, I surprised myself. My husband and I joined together. We stayed optimistic that something would come from this upheaval that was better. We were able to see through the unsettled dust to envision a new way of living. One with a closer family unit. One with more time together. One with new adventures and relationships.

Life can be funny like that...

Though our new path isn't completely solid yet, the angle is no longer as scarily steep.

Sunday

Today is Corinne's dance recital. While we are watching her smile and twirl, this boy's parents are worrying over their son's life and also religious rights. What is your opinion? Where do you think the line is that cannot be crossed?

Where does their power end?

Originally posted at the former Chicago Moms Blog on May 17, 2009

Where does their power end? Daniel Hauser FORCED treatment for Hodgkin's Disease

How does this sound constitutional? How does this sound like free will and religious freedom?

If you haven't heard already, if Daniel Hauser, age 13 who has Hodgkin's Disease, is found to have what the doctors consider "treatable cancer," he will be forced to undergo treatments deemed necessary by the hospital. If the parents refuse to subject him to their medical treatments, Daniel will be taken from their custody and placed in temporary custody.

Really? REALLY?

If I were to refuse medical treatment for myself, would I be forced to undergo medical procedures? What if I said I understood the details and percentages, but the doctors thought I wasn't competent enough? As adults, we have the "freedom" to decide what we want done to our bodies. So if a 13 year old boy decides he wants to refuse chemotherapy due to religious convictions, who are we to say that he is wrong? Which religions are "real religions" and which are "cults?" Who are the government officials to say that it's okay to worship the idea of a man dying and coming back to life in 3 days, but that the "natural healing" of the Nemenhah band are ludicrous and unworthy of their respect?

Those who practice medicine are not infallible. In fact, you need only to read the words, "PRACTICING medicine" to realize that they do NOT know all of the answers. They are playing a guessing game of levels and treatments. Doctors hold the knowledge that is equivalent to a thimbleful of an ocean. It IS some knowledge, but only a miniscule portion of what is available!

I am not saying that the chemotherapy and radiation won't cure this particular boy of his Hodgkin's lymphoma. If you're have to have cancer, Hodgkin's is one of the ones you would prefer as its cure rate is much higher than that of other more aggressive cancers. Chances are, he would survive the chemo and radiation treatments.

But where does our government's ability to make our medical choices FOR US end? Where does it stop? IF a treatment WERE found to have a 100% cure ratio, would we all be forced to accept that treatment? Could the government extend this ability to have a say in our children's medical treatments eventually grow so much as to one day force us to immunize, sterilize, and euthanize?

For me, this isn't about neglect. This is a basic human rights and religious freedom issue. My heart goes out to Daniel and his family, that they have to undergo this legal circus at a time such as this. My family, as well as many others, has not remained untouched by the devastation that is cancer. May Daniel's family's rights not be overlooked by those who deem themselves more worthy of an opinion than anyone else.