I mentioned this to a neighbor, and she asked a simple logical question: “Do you take a multivitamin?” Well no, I admitted. This was my first step toward a life of beyond Rip Van Winkle.

But wait, there’s more… The people in Siberia have coped for thousands of years with their bitter cold, dark life by taking a tincture of Rhodiola. Even the Vikings used to take it. So, I began adding some drops to my morning cup of tea.

Research says that rhodiola rosea, also known as golden root, and arctic root, improves mood and improves depression and mental performance …. and, here’s the bell-ringer… reduces fatigue. It tastes awful. But, I don’t care… I’ve been through much worse. Yet, it does comes in pill form, but I like the idea of taking it like a shot.

It’s seems to be working nicely. I actually sat down to play a game of Monopoly with them after school… and I got so wrapped in the game that I forgot to loose, and ended up winning. Then, my kindergartner got mad at me. Geesh. I was just trying to have some fun.

If you want to try Rhodiola, remember to buy one that says Rhodiola Rosea only. Avoid Rhodiola Sacara, as it doesn’t work. Take it in the morning, so it doesn’t interfere with the rest you need at night.

Bookmark to:

Hide Sites

But I couldn’t help myself.

The assignment, adding to my son’s already overloaded homework burden, was to illustrate, write and bind a children’s book.

He was not content to do the minimum of 12 pages, my son decided to create 18.

Worse, rather than use easy illustrations for a concept book, like “How Many Soccer balls,” my illustrious artist choose to illustrate 18 different animals. 18 different animals. “So, how long do you think this will take you?”

“About 6 minutes per animal,” he said.

“OK, I’ll time you.” Twenty-two minutes passed, and he was still working on the first. So, I said, let’s multiply that by 18… “396 minutes just to do the book.” Plus, he added, that this was just the first draft… he would then re-do the entire book, so there are two books to make.

Undaunted by my pleas to “stop, re-think this,” and “let’s not make this so hard on yourself,” and of course, “I told you so,” he continued to work. It was Saturday night. I finally stopped him at 12:30 to go to bed. So far, he had managed to find a how-to draw video on the Internet for each animal. He still had six animals to go.

The next morning, I asked him if he was tired, and picked up my campaign where I left off last night to save my child. I got nowhere fast. If anything, I was making this far worse than the actual book production. Then I heard him say these words. “I just like doing this.” Finally, I left him alone and dropped it.

I did the only thing I could do. I started unwrapping the twisty ends on my Smarties, and started eating.

It didn’t take long… in just a couple of days, he said, “I wish I hadn’t made this book so long.” And no, I didn’t say it. I acted as if I didn’t even hear him. Parenting is oh, so tough.

He did finish the book, ahead of schedule.

But I did tell him how awesome his book was… at least 100 times. The books, by the way, made by each student, were given to children in a day-care facility the students visited.

Bookmark to:

Hide Sites

• Pick a nice high-ceiling Italian Bistro, with low-light, that you and your husband love. Make sure it has one with a wine list.
• The high ceilings in the bistro cause noise to echo around the restaurant, so if you’re kids are fussy and whinny, no one will even notice. The roar of the restaurant while drown out the noise to even your ears.
• Plan to arrive around 5 or 5:30, before the kids are too tired, and the restaurant is not yet flooded with diners.
• On your way to your table, ask the hostess to drop some of the bar’s bread-sticks on the table to keep the kids busy while you wait for the waitress.
• The table is usually covered in white paper, which is a perfect canvass for the crayons your hostess will give each of your children.
• Keep the flow moving. Know exactly what you want to order when the waitress stops by the first time to get the drink orders. This allows her to get your ticket up to the chef right away so that you can be served quickly. A key to keeping the whole evening low-stress.
• You and your husband can pick whatever you like, so enjoy yourselves.
• Order milk for the kids.
• Toss the kid’s menu. You don’t need it and it’s much more expensive. Instead, order an adult sized pizza with the toppings your kids love. An alternative is to split an adult-sized pasta order — plain, or with their favorite sauce.
• Ask the waitress to bring the kid’s food along with yours. I have never understood the rationale behind a waitress offering to bring the kid’s meal out first. Does this mean that as soon as the kids are done eating, the kitchen crew is coming over to entertain your children while you eat? What will the kids do, if they’ve already eaten, and then they have to sit around and wait for you to eat? That’s a recipe for disaster.
• Instead, ask the waitress to ask the baker for a ball of fresh, raw dough for each child to knead while they wait.
• Soon after the bread dough arrives, a basket of fresh bread, with dipping olive oil, will arrive. The kids will probably fill up on this, while they continue to doodle with their crayons and sip their drinks.
• Before you know it, your entrees are served, the pizza arrives, and you’re thoroughly enjoying your meal.
• Ask the waitress for a box to take home your pizza, which will probably end up being tomorrow’s lunch.

You are entirely pampered by the staff all evening, and the relaxed atmosphere makes it much easier to play that game of tic tack toe with your child. The thought of going to a fast-food kid-friendly restaurant with greasy fried animal parts is a world away. And, I think you might be surprised to see that not only will the fast-food meal be more calories, but is probably more expensive than this elegant evening out, when you factor in the the amount of food you’re really getting for $30.

Awesome.

This is my advice to any “Rookie Mom.” But if I were heading to a baby shower, I’d include Whitney and Heather’s new book, The Rookie Mom’s Handbook: 250 Activities to Do with (and Without!) Your Baby, along with the new layette. Want more Mom advice? Head over to the Parent Blogger’s Network, to see what other Moms are saying. What great tip have I missed? What’s your prime advice to a Rookie Mom?

Bookmark to:

Hide Sites

“Mom. I’m thinking of 12 kinds of candy to get you for Mother’s Day. See if you can guess them.”
“Smarties are my favorite, so I know you’ll get me that.”
“Yessss, and what else.”
“Chocolate kisses?”
“Yes, and don’t forget Starbursts.”
“But I don’t like those.”
“Well, that’s why I’ll eat them for you.”

Isn’t this street gorgeous. I’m happy I grabbed a shot this year.

See more love shots at Shutter Sisters.

Bookmark to:

Hide Sites

Some of us pinched ourselves when we got the letter. First, the event signaled that the first year of Middle School is finally nearing its blissful end. Second, we learned from this letter, that that our children, in spite of all of the late-night homework struggles, long hours pouring over math puzzles, and relinquishing Saturday nights for special school projects, had earned 3-quarter honors. The school was inviting us to attend a ceremony to honor them.

Wow. This was not an accomplishment I could attribute to my own middle school years. Did they even have honors ceremonies in middle school when I was a kid? If they did, they didn’t invite me.

As we sat in the auditorium, I smiled at familiar faces of parents that I’ve only briefly seen since that day we sent them out of Elementary school, right after they made their fortunes, and when they promised us that , “Life is Good.”

“Get used to this place, ” I told myself. “You’ll be spending lots of nights here, God willing, as each of your kids file through the grades here for concerts, award ceremonies and plays.” I refused to let myself think of her, and how much I wished she was here. This kind of “wishful” thinking, I’ve learned, takes me away from the present; she is here. Something I just know now without even questioning. Oh, but please don’t make me analyze that, because under scrutiny, under close scrutiny my theory just falls apart, and I’ll feel alone as ever. Maybe I’m right.

While I waited for the ceremony to start, I remembered what I felt when I appeared in concerts and award ceremonies when Mom was in the audience, and how grateful I was to give her a reason to show off her daughter. I wondered how my son will remember these nights.

As the school administrators handed out their praise for such a hard work, they filled these these kids with accolades about their character, (pleasure to have in class, eager to help other students, and knows the difference between intramurals and math finals), and my wish is that they hold these truths within their souls until high school and beyond. I think a few of them gulped when the details of what they’ve achieved tonight were spelled out.

Still, when they called the name of the boy who’s Father died so quickly and unexpectedly this year, I felt such a pang of sorrow for him. His name was followed by sniffles from other Moms who sat around me. So young for this boy, and to know he will have to work so hard to fill in the spaces where his Father could have stood, for so many years ahead.

The stage swelled with after kid after kid, boys in ties, and the one ballerina in the white skirt with red tulips and black tights who I half expected, and hoped, would Fouetté jeté on the stage. These kids stood looking back at us, beaming, holding their certificates and medals. I remembered them as little girls and boys when I volunteered in the first grade classroom when they were cautiously learning how to fill in the number line. And look at them now. Blink. Where did five years go?

And then, they called the name of the boy who had such a hard time in elementary school, and believed he was a nothing but a loser. “This is the year,” his Mom said, “That I’m trying to build his confidence up.” And there he was… walking on stage to collect his honor. Hat’s off to that Mom.

I looked over and happened to catch a glimpse of a man weeping. Joy for his son, and sorrow, I’m sure. He recently lost both parents. I knew what he was thinking. I looked around more and relished the unique human experience in this room, as it boiled down many years of life into this one microcosm of time.

As we left the school together, Mother and son, I was aware of how close I felt to him. The words flowed easily between us, and he listened to everything I said, the first time, when we got home. People can scare you into thinking that closeness will go away once they start to grow up; the same rumor that causes so many tears on the first day of kindergarten. Closeness deepens as our children grow; and we have more events to share between us.

No more pinching myself; the presence of these kids on stage exudes power and confidence. This is just the first of many award ceremonies, for various interests, they’ll have over the years. I’m honored to know them. Oh, yeah, and so PROUD that my son is one of them.

Three Word Wednesday: Cautious. Human. Maybe. I LOVE these challenges!

Bookmark to:

Hide Sites

• The next six month cleaning is scheduled at the end of the last visit, so that we don’t forget.
• Scheduling in advance like this allows us to get the prime AM appointments, when there is no 20-40 minute wait.
• I enter it on our universal google calendar — that combined with the dentist’s reminder phone calls, and we never miss a date.
• We go all on the same day.

This means, there are two hygienists at the dentist, each one working on three family members. The hygienists, these two wonderful, chatty, loving ladies just smile and talk all the way through it, and don’t even blink an eye when I arrive with four boys in tow. They’re so happy to see my boys, and through experience with a lot of kids, know that it’s best to show everything to curious little minds so they don’t become afraid.

My boys are pretty talkative, and ask lots of questions, so the hygienists are always carefully pulling down the false teeth model, to show them how they count teeth. They squirt the water in their mouth so they can see what it feels like. The show them the little sink and where and how it drains.

Until they’re too big to stay in the car-seat carrier on the floor, the little guys sit on my lap while my teeth are cleaned. She turns them around to face me, and she explains every little step, along the way, so that they’ll know exactly what will happen when it’s their turn.

The benefit? I’m not stuck with metal implements in my mouth trying to keep up a conversation — I can just sit and and enjoy not having to do a thing, while the hygienist entertains my sons. Ahhh, I know, what you’re thinking. The luxurious life I lead.

So yesterday at 8 a.m. was the date of 6 month appointment. I had it all planned. Husband and oldest son would go first at 8. That way, he could get off to work, and I wouldn’t have to wait the entire time trying to occupy all the boys in the waiting room. I would show up around 8:20 or so, just when they were finishing up, so that we could get right in, and no wait.

However, I arrived a little early, 8:10, to a new hygienist, someone I will now call Miss Hissy. I gave our name, and she goes off on some kind of tirade about how they’ve been frantically trying to contact me (no messages?!) because there are 3 hygienists today, and they were tag-teaming us, 3 on 3. And where, have I been all morning?

Ummm hummm… are you new? Miss Hissy has been with the office for ten years, but only works on Mondays, and I begin to explain, while she interrupts with this “We’ll see if what we can do to work you in… I’m not making any promises.” Good grief. Ten minutes.

I’m a tired woman, I’m learning that it’s just best to not argue with people like this, keep my mouth shut and save my energy for more important things. So, I give her my look that says simply, “So, are you going to take us now, or turn it into a 20 minute delay… because I don’t have time for this lecture.”

We go back, and I head into my normal routine, but she pulls out a little chair for my boys to sit on. No lap cleaning today. She explains it’s “dangerous” as I could get poked by a sharp instrument. I look at her and realize how unhappy she is with me, and choose not to argue with her on that one. My guy can’t sit still. He knows that dental office like his own bedroom, and he wanders over to the treasure box, stops in the adjoining rooms to say Hi to his brothers, and say Hi to the other hygienists that he knows so well…. Miss Hissy has a fit.

There is a strange phenomenon, that Miss Hissy’s daughter has yet to successfully teach her mother, that happens whenever you tell a kid to stop doing something. They become more persistent. Almost as if they have a “calling” to do the opposite of what you just said. They have heard this: “Please keep wandering around the office and get on my nerves.” Because that’s exactly what the little guys did. She stops, several times, scraping my teeth to unsuccessfully rein my boys back in… and I’m thinking about her need to rush. I’m remembering how calm and well-behaved my boys were when they sat on my lap during these visits, and how much I miss their warm little bodies on top of my legs.

I notice that the two nice hygienists are just smiling like nothing’s going on, and completely ignore Miss Hissy’s frantic shenanigans. Thanks, a lot, I breathe to them. Without my son in my lap, I’m forced to endure her life story. How she manages to feed me all this information while chasing my boys, is bewildering, but she did it. She has a daughter, and they’ve been kicked out of four different daycare centers because “they just can’t make it to the pick-up times.” Traffic, she explains. Hmmmm. I start to become a little bit judgemental, as I remember the reprimand she gave me earlier this morning. But, I refrain myself again.

It’s now 9:25, and her 9:20, Matt, has yet to arrive. Miss Hissy calls up to the front desk, “Will you please call to find out where my 9:20 is? At 9:40, we are all done, no cavaties, thanks to this, and I’m scheduling my next appointment, quietly saying that “Monday’s are no good for us,” when Matt, the 9:20 walks in.

OMG. Is all I can think. Matt is cute in a boyish way, with his auburn deshelved hair from what looks like a “good night’s sleep.” He’s wearing army fatigue shorts, flip flops, and yesterday’s t-shirt, which he undoubtedly slept in, and is two sizes too small. The shirt says simply, “Got Ups?”As a mother of boys, I can’t help but think that one day my boys will be heading to the dentist all by themselves, making appointments in advance. Yet, Matt has a distinct odor. He smells exactly like “reefer madness.”

Miss Hissy… you’re next appointment has arrived.

Bookmark to:

Hide Sites

Addicted, like I am, to the taste of a good wild mushroom, we headed out to the woods again to look. Nothing. Too cold. But, as I’m reading, Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children From Nature-Deficit Disorder, (inspired by MountainMama) I figure that even if I don’t taste a mushroom today, the experience of the woods is very good for the boys. In the beginning of the book, Louv says that he runs through the woods of his childhood in his dreams. I do that too… special places were I used to play are so vivid and real in my mind, and are the settings for dreams. I never really considered how fortunate this gift was, until I realized that my boys may not have such “rooms” in their memories to use.

So, as we walked we found this house, tucked under a tree root in the woods. It looks so very much like a house straight out of The Wind in the Willows that I caught myself checking around for the camera crews that probably set this scene, with the lush moss growing on top of the roof, so perfectly arranged. But here it is, all natural. Such a simple exquisite little house. Undoubtedly, perfectly, clutter-free.

We got home late, and tired, while the boys irritated every last nerve we had on the way home, and then I realized how much housekeeping I need to do. I’m very good about getting rid of clutter as soon as it comes into my house. Junk mail, irrelevant fliers from school, and empty cereal boxes are whisked out daily. Clutter is bad for you. Sometimes, we can’t see what clutter is. That’s the trick. Clutter becomes a habit.

Articles linger in my house. Relevant and so-pertinent-articles-to-my-life-headlines fill the breakfast table, and the kitchen counter waiting for a moment when the kid’s aren’t talking so I can read them. Again, it happens tomorrow, and I just pile that one on top of yesterday’s article (because the kids are always chatting.) And then the Pottery Barn Catalog arrives, and then I see this one picture, unlike any other Pottery Barn picture that I’ve seen before (Ha!), the perfect solution that will solve all of my organizational and decorating problems in one fell swoop. Gotta keep that. With the advent of the Internet, I gave up saving recipe clippings. I either blog about it right away so I can have a record of it, or it’s gone. And then, there are the scrapbooks — and more accurately, the bits and pieces of life’s daily merry-go-round that I believe are so pertinent to preservation. Sometimes I feel as if I’m drowning under the heap.

Ahhh, yes, and the books I read. In addition to Woods, I’m also reading a book, for the first time, I’ve always wanted to inhale, Expecting Adam. So, what I’m saying is that I have lots of stuff; because I use lots of stuff.

I’m constantly looking for ways to purge. I’m proud to report that on Friday, I worked with my littlest son, and purged out all the jewelry I acquired from my Mom’s jewelry box. Stuff I will never wear. But, I had felt it was my duty to keep “intact.” I put them in a box, along with her collection of hankies, and said good-bye for now. Certainly not getting rid of them; but putting them aside for now. Still, I have more demons to conquer.

I have an telephone answering machine that we no longer use. There are still messages on the tape, and I know there are messages from my Mom on there, talking as if there’s nothing wrong. I can’t bear to listen. Yet, part of my knows how nice it would be to hear her voice, sounding so normal, without the slightest hint of the future. This is something I cannot bear to de-clutter. The question is, what is it costing me to keep it?

So, what I’d like to know about you, is this: is there something in your house that you know you should get rid of, but haven’t because you’re too afraid to let it go?

See more, beautiful, awesome best shot Monday’s at Tracey’s blog.

Bookmark to:

Hide Sites

Lately, five o-clock has been popping up everyday and I stand in bewilderment that it’s actually showed up, as if I didn’t expect it. I haven’t pulled a thing out of the freezer to cook for dinner, and nor do I plan to run to the store to get anything at the last minute. This reaction is called Mom’s Spring Fever. So, for the past two weeks, I’ve been scrambling to find something to put on the table in fifteen minutes.(Wendy, I promise, I will post about my life-saving gadget, the pressure cooker and why you should have one, but not today. I have spring fever.) But this meal doesn’t require a pressure cooker at all.

Here is one of my fifteen-minute meals:

1. Open, drain and rinse a can of garbanzo beans. (Truly, any bean you have an hand will work. So don’t feel limited.)
2. Squirt fresh lemon juice, salt and extra virgin olive oil all over the beans.
3. Look around the spice cabinet, or my own garden to see if there are any appropriate herbs. Luckily I have some basil and chives growing in my garden, and fresh parsley in the refrigerator.
4. Wash and cut herbs and throw on top of garbanzo beans.
5. Yippee. I found some sun-dried tomato pesto in a jar, so I add that.
6. Stir bean mixture.
7. Pesto reminds me of Parmesan cheese, so I use a vegetable peeler to throw in cheese shavings on top of the beans.
8. The kids probably won’t like this, so I start to boil some water to cook some pasta.
9. Boil some soybeans as insurance. Soybeans are a full protein, so I figure if all the kids eat is soybeans and pasta, I’m covered.
10. Drain pasta and reserve some for the kids. Pour the rest over the bean mixture and stir.
11. Cover cooked, reserved, plain pasta with extra virgin olive oil and more Parmesan cheese. Extra Virgin Olive Oil has vitamin E, and I’m sure my kids need some of that.
12. The kids devour the pasta and soybeans, and reluctantly try the bean.
13. This is great… leaves more garbanzos for us.

Bookmark to:

Hide Sites

Perhaps this was what gave me the confidence needed to not only read for the script for the lead in the Spring of my Junior Year, but also to sing. Alone. Sing. All by myself in front of peers and classmates — and soon — their parents and families. Leads were to go to the seniors, as a courtesy. But, by gosh, they couldn’t let me slip away, so they gave it to me as a Junior. I had talent.

As the Junior year left, my senior year brought the opportunity for the senior class play. Auditions took place in the fall. Of course, with the confidence I had built up by this point, my role, was in the bag. Except, that I didn’t make it. I didn’t even make the choir. As I scanned the list, posted in the hallway bulletin board, I looked for clues… did everyone who starred in the musical last year get rejected? No, not everyone. I tried to make some kind of logical connection to understand why they didn’t choose me. I must have preformed horribly last year. I did something terribly wrong. Shame and embarrassment descended my shoulders, and every inch of breathing space around me. Luckily, the final school bell had already rang for the day, and I was alone in the hallway. I took off, before anyone had a chance to see me. I needed to get to my own room, with the door locked, fast.

Except, my pesky younger brother had already seen me, and he was high-tailing it behind me. Couldn’t wait, I figured, to tease me on this one. Because I had a head start, I made it home before he had the chance to pelt me with taunts about not making it in the play. When I got home, he worked his way around to look me in the eye. Here it comes, I thought.

“Susie,” he said. “I’ve been looking all over for you. I saw you didn’t make it and I was trying to find you in the halls at school to see if you were OK.”

The ache in my heart to reach the privacy and safety of my own room soon opened and gave way as I considered that maybe I could wallow in self-pity out in the open, in every room of the house. I forgot about the play. Our parents were recently divorced, and while I zoned in denial, my brother realized, before me, that we needed a new set of operating rules. One that didn’t include our favorite pastime, fighting like cats and dogs. We may only have each other, as uncertainty about the future loomed. This was the olive branch. Like mine, his eyes had tears; hurt that I didn’t get a part. More than ever did I want that part in the play; just give me that part because I can’t bear to see him suffer. I don’t remember feeling so much hopeless sadness since Mom gave our new kitty away one day while we were at school.

My senior year wasn’t much fun. The sense of confidence I built in my Junior year got knocked down in a series of doubts centralized by one single question that was never answered, “Why not me.” Maybe I should have asked, and learned. Looking back, I know, as a parent, I would have found out. Harmless miscommunication can do great damage, and someone should step in and help clear the air.

But, I did have a renewed sense of family. From that point on, I walked through the hallways at school knowing I had an ally I never new existed before. My brother. We’re still close like that.

I think its only appropriate that I write about this today, as Brook on American Idol, I learned has been voted off the show. I have never watched American Idol, but friends, neighbors, and complete strangers have been stopping me on the street to say, “You remind me of Brook.” I hear she has long hair, I say. “Still, you look like her,” they say. Sunday Scribbling Prompt: Family

Bookmark to:

Hide Sites

• Gone will be the long hours of play on the floor with his younger brother as they build their wooden train set.
• Gone will be the mindless conversations between brothers over lunch about which cereal bowl holds the most grains.
• Gone will be the friendly ballad, “You’ve Got A Friend in Me,” while both transform into either Buzz Lightyear or Woody.
• Gone will be cape crusaders quest as they fly up and down the stairs with their utility belt to capture the villainous Joker, Penguin, or Cat Woman, as they speed through the house in their imaginary Bat Mobile.

With Mother’s Day approaching, the boys already have a plan in action. They have the perfect gift in mind for Mom, as she assumes her new role as the primary play mate of the youngest brother. We’ll get her this:

Because, around here, everyday is Mother’s Day.

As part of their responsibility to the global community, Johnson’s has hand-selected dozens of charities around the world that mirror their deep commitment to caring for the health and well-being of mothers and children through Johnson’s Baby Cause - not just on Mother’s Day, but every day of the year. To learn more about this global charity work, check out PBN. Be sure to check out their celebrity e-Bay auction — a chance to win Matt Damon’s diaper bag.

Also, check out my post at Midwest Parents, on how to spot a fake smile.

Bookmark to:

Hide Sites