A quiet moment, a memory retrieved

In tidying up some old notes I had made a while back, I found something scribbled in my journal. After reading it, I wondered why I hadn’t posted it on my blog. I guess life took over or something and I just never got around to it.

Reading it now, I’m reminded of that night, just before Christmas and how my son and I sat by the Christmas tree. It was such a peaceful moment. I felt so close to him.

Kids’ Chores

My daughter makes her bed every morning. I mean every morning. If she doesn’t get to make it, she freaks out. If her brother tries to help her make it, she freaks out. If I do it before she gets to it, she freaks out.

I taught her how to make her bed. I asked her to do it every morning and gave her a star for about the first dozen times that she did it. But then we forgot about the chart and every other chore that went along with it and things returned to chaotic life.

Except the bed making.

Sleepin’ in and morning quiet

Ever have a hard time waking your kids up in the morning? I don’t mean the kind of hard time where you try to wake them up and they roll over and ignore you (although that does happen to me on the mornings when we HAVE to get up and go).

I mean the kind of hard time where your children are sleeping peacefully and you’re busy working away or catching up on your blog reading or doing some other quiet activity that the kids always interrupt when they are awake.

Tone of voice

And I don’t mean a nice one or a mean one.

I mean the tone that mother’s use when talking to their kids. Or anyone else’s kids for that matter. It’s an authority thing.

A former co-worker of mine told me a story once about how his wife noticed a couple of guys moving a barbecue from the back to the front yard of a house across the street from theirs.

She didn’t recognize them and she thought they were up to no good, so she marched across the street and, in her most authoritative mother voice, called out, “Where do you think you’re going with that barbecue, young man? Both men stopped and put the barbecue down. They looked like two naughty children who had been caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

The First Five Years

A profound sense of sadness wafts over me. I’m driving my daughter to school. It’s just before 1:00 pm. We are driving in silence.

She will be five tomorrow. I’m thinking back on the first five years of her life. The hope and excitement I felt as a new mom when we first brought her home. The overprotective, I-will-do-anything-to-keep-her-safe feeling that I felt as I lay curled around her in the dark each night. The fear I felt for my own safety as I crossed a busy, rainy street a short distance from our home on my first outing out of the house without her since her birth. What if I got hit by a car and lay dying on the wet road? Who would feed her? Who would love her like I do? Who would help her grow up into the beautiful woman I knew she would someday become? She would have her father, yes. But her mother would be gone. I kept my eyes peeled on the traffic coming toward me for the slightest indication that any driver in their cars on that rainy night might be unable to stop as they approached the cross walk.

Smiling kids

I’m sure you’ve asked a child to smile for a camera in the never-ending quest to capture your little sweetheart’s transformation from adorable little bundle of baby to beautiful or handsome young child.

Ever notice how the elicited smile ends up looking more like a portrayal of the Joker by Jack Nicholson in the Batman movies than it does your sweet child’s face?

RIP Childhood Enthusiasm

Do you remember that unbridled excitement you felt as a child whenever something new happened? Probably not because the human brain is not wired that way. We don’t really remember the joy, the freedom, the excitement, the heart pounding pleasure of a childhood experience.

The Dyson – a working mother’s best friend

I work from home in the mornings because my daughter only goes to school in the afternoon. (I’m lucky that way. I have a great employer who understands the demands of a young family.)

So, while I work, I need to keep my daughter entertained/occupied.

For the most part, this is not hard to do. My little girl is crafty, artistic and imaginative. So, all I need to do on most days is provide the supplies and be around to clean up (this is where my Dyson comes in).

Garbarge Disposal vs. Picky Eater

“OK, dinner’s ready,” calls my husband from the kitchen.

Big Sister remains glued to the couch like a statue, determined not to be the first at the dinner table.

Little Brother’s reaction? The other end of the spectrum.

A child’s hug

There are so many kinds of hugs.

The polite, pat-on-the-back type that closer acquaintances on their way to becoming friends exchange.

The warm hug of a mother and daughter.

The protective hug of a father and daughter.

The strong I-love-you-so-much-but-I-can’t-put-it-into-words hug of a father and son.