Raising Daughters

Wanted: Parent Portal Support Group

2012-02-02T09:05:00.002-06:00

To some degree, I guess I've always been a helicopter parent. However, when my daughter entered 7th grade, I made a conscious decision to step back and let her spread her wings. I promised to no longer micromanage her education, but rather, I would simply remain Bette-Midler-esque as "the wind beneath her wings."

It was a good plan, but I was set up for failure by the school. They enabled me and my obsessive personality by placing the "drug" right into my eager smothering hands. They gave me a password and access to information about my daughter's school life with just a click of a button.

It's name? Infinite Campus Parent Portal, aka the latest in designer street drugs. It should be called "Portal to Hell," and contain the warning, "Enter at risk of annihilating your relationship with your child."

It started innocently enough. I logged in and looked around the site to see what information was available. A few days after school started, I logged in again. Oh my gosh! I discovered I had access to my daughter's grades. In real-time, people.

And, that's when my obsession began...and grew...and became a major part of my life.

Sure, the name sounds somewhat innocuous, until you break the words apart. "Infinite?" Yes, the knowledge I can glean from this data (crack) base includes grades, tardiness occurrences, lunch reports, test results, and more. Here, "infinite" means "Mom knows all." The term "portal," when used in Harry Potter's world, implies a secret entrance to all things good and mysterious. However, when the word "parent" is added to the word "portal," let me tell you, nothing good can come from this access. Parents shouldn't have this kind of power because we don't know how to use it for good.

I fell hard; first victim of the most addictive and dangerous narcotic ever invented.

Hook, link, and sinker.

Experts say that the first step in healing is to admit you have a problem.
Here goes: I. Have. A. Problem.

This portal into my daughter's world gives me too much power. When I was a kid, my grades were a secret, a revelation on report card day. My parents had absolutely no idea what I ate for lunch or how well I did on my English test. They had to actually ask, "How was your day?" Sometimes I answered, but I still had the luxury of either editing or complete omission. Because today's parents have this online portal, children no longer have secret school lives.

If you don't think that this is nearly as awful as having a nanny cam on my daughter throughout the school day, listen up.

I know my daughter's grades, usually the same day they're given, even before she does. Within seconds, I am unhappily aware she ate french fries for lunch three days last week. Instantaneously, I am appalled to see that she not only has a library fine, but she also has three missing assignments.

Big Brother? Oh yeah. When she gets into the car after school, my verbal assault awaits, readied with extra clips of ammo. "Why were you late to Math today?" "Please don't tell me you got a 70% on your science assignment because you (again) forgot to write your name on the paper." It wasn't pretty, and it was destroying our mother-daughter relationship.

I am not alone. Several friends also admit to the same portal obsession. I've been told, "I can't stop looking." I know people (ok, it's me) who have graphed their child's grades...daily...with a graph that started not at 0%, but rather 90%. (It may seem if the start point is 90%, there's really no need for this graph.) *ahem*

I'm told that there are applications to block time-sucking websites like Facebook and Pinterest. These apps will only allow a predesignated amount of access to the offending website. I've thought about getting an app, but I don't need one that limits my time to the Portal. The portal is actually quick to use...so quick that I can log in and view it nearly 327 times a day in only a few minutes time.

What I truly need is a website blocker. I have proven that I cannot use this "tool" wisely, so I should be banned. At the least, I'm thinking of entering my password incorrectly three times, which would serve to block my access...or it would, until I beg to have my access restored by the school administrators.

Recently, I noticed that my daughter would greet me with a deer-in-the-headlights-what's-

coming-from-her-now look when I retrieved her from school. It dawned on me that perhaps we (I) had a problem. I staged an intervention for me. I enrolled in a self-help group of one for me.

After discussing our options, we mutually decided that she would take responsibility for monitoring the portal for missing or late assignments. For my part, I agreed to remain silent about the offending grades unless a full week has passed.

I can still look. I just cannot use the power for bad. That seems fair.
(This essay is (mostly) written as a tongue-in-cheek satire, grounded in some reality.)

There's Always time to "be nice"

2012-01-20T09:24:00.001-06:00

There's a well-known book, or is it an embroidered pillow case, that famously states, "I want to be the person my dog thinks I am." Well, if I look at *me* from his perspective, I don't really think I should aspire to be "that" person. From where he sits and judges, I know he believes I can be much better. I ignore his accusatory look as I eat yet another snack. His face has that unspoken question, "Hey, why do I only get food morning and night?" I am the person who scolds him when he awakens me with his continual OCD licking fetish. I am the ogress who shoves medicine down his gullet, and the one who recently delivered him to the vet for surgery. My standing in Darby's eyes is not too high these days.

And, after this morning, I think I've tumbled from the Mom pedestal, too, as my darling daughter thrust yet another humbling, life lesson upon my unwilling soul early this morning.

(Before we go any further, I must clear up this misconception that Hannah is thoroughly "good." She is definitely NOT perfect, just like the rest of us. For goodness sake, I just told you that after eight years of formal education, she is still nearly incapable of writing her name on the top of school papers. We argue, or rather "heatedly discuss," many topics. But just as humans are prone to apple-polishing and bragging, I usually only tell you the good things.)

Hannah used to say to me, "I want to be just like you when I grow up." Sure, I have a few good qualities. I think there are ...three. Yeah, that's right. After this morning's life lesson, I'm going to embroider a pillowcase that says, "I want to be like my daughter when I grow up."

Cue: this morning. As usual, we were running late for one of her numerous oh-dark-thirty extracurricular activities, because I seem to lack the be-on-time gene.

It was a frigidly cold morning, so Hannah waited in the warm car with me until I could deliver her to the front door of the school. We inched along behind other parents who were dropping off their kids. I grumbled under my breath, as a boy in the car in front of us searched for something in the trunk. He was holding us up! Eventually, the boy stepped away and his dad drove ahead.

As I pulled forward, Hannah said, "Stop," but I didn't pay any attention because I was still trying to save her five steps and frostbite. I thought she just wanted to get out of the car sooner. As she leaped from the car, she threw me a mild look of disdain over her shoulder, and turned to walk in the opposite direction from the school entrance.

I stopped her to ask, "What are you doing???" I pointed to the school.

She replied, "That boy dropped one of his shoes on the sidewalk and he didn't realize it. I'm walking back to grab it, and then I'll run into school and give it to him."

I looked at the dropsy boy who had just put his hand on the door. "Why don't you yell to him that he dropped it and he can run back and pick it up?"

And, then, I uttered those words reminiscent of the scariest Tiger Mom, "You don't have time to "be nice!"

Wow, did I say that? "You don't have time to be nice??"

Yeah, I sure did, and I am filled with shame. But, she was going to be late for...Comedy Academy. (not school)

Hannah, to her credit, just looked at me and shook her head in disappointment. She couldn't believe I'd failed to engage my filter, either.

She jogged back, retrieved the boy's shoe, and then ran ahead and gave it to him. He smiled with gratitude at my loving, KIND, and sweet daughter, and I felt exactly like hot excrement.

When I say that Hannah is still teaching me to be a better person, I am not kidding, and I'm certainly not embellishing.

Today's life lesson for those of you who may have missed it..."There's always time to be nice."

I might just go get a treat for Darby.

How Can She Be 12?

2011-05-22T14:02:00.000-05:00

At Hannah's birthday celebration last night, I thought to myself, "How can she be 12?"

I look at my daughter and really see her. As I gaze at her and try to see her as the world sees her, I nearly gasp aloud at the young woman that she is becoming. Beyond the new physical curves of her maturing body, I see the strong, courageous and assertive spirit that will take her into a successful future. But, in my mind's eye, she is still that little peanut who lay on my chest so long ago. As I rocked her and she drifted into sleep, I would repeat the whispered mantra, "Stay little...stay little...stay little." Now that she's surpassed me in height, I must confess that I don't think that my pleas worked.

Last night, as I watched her goof around with her two dining companions, I couldn't help but wonder how we got to this place - this place that is 12 years old - so very fast. Inside, I choke on the knowledge that two-thirds of her layover with us has passed. As activities and friends consume more and more of her waking hours, I know that these last six years will zoom by in a blink of an eye. And, before I know it, we'll be celebrating her 18th birthday, and shortly after that, she'll be off to college. The thought of this future "missing her" brings me to my knees, and a sense of foreboding makes my heart constrict with the impending loss...and I almost forget to be in this moment, here. Right now.

I know in my head that looming separation and her pursuit of autonomy is a natural part of growing up - and away - from me. It doesn't mean that I have to like it.

For now, I still revel in the glimpses of a younger Hannah, such as her request for a Play-Doh set this birthday, and I am secretly delighted and grateful when she still needs me. Within the walls of our home, I am still called "Mommy," but I've noticed recently that I've "graduated" to either "Mom" or "Mother" when she's among her friends. When we're alone, my daughter is still the outwardly demonstrative child I've always known; quick with a hug or a casual "I love you" thrown back over her shoulder as she leaves for school. But out in the world, I sense the slightest bitter taste of her pulling away from me.

Friends have begun to warn me that this is "just the beginning." I am told frightening things like,"Oh, just you wait for the teen years!" To date, my response has been, "Every age so far has been my favorite." Just because she'll enter teen-dom next year, I don't have reason (yet) to believe that Hannah is suddenly going to morph into the anti-Christ. Through the years, she has only become more interesting, kinder, smarter, and funnier.

I can only foresee this trend continuing.

Happy Birthday, my 12-year old.
I (continue to) beseech you - "stay little."

~Mommy

Listen To Your Mother - The episode in which I am tired, but proud

2011-05-09T10:59:00.000-05:00

Listen To Your Mother 2011 Necklace by Ellie of Shining Stones**

The episode in which I am tired, but proud.

I have work to do this morning, but I’m ignoring it. Rather, I have chosen to bask in the after glow of yesterday’s Listen to Your Mother show. I find that I don’t want to leave that place just yet, but rather I am content to revel in the memories made before, during and after the show.

As a bit of background, I stumbled upon the LTYM website surfing the web, and I watched the video of the 2010 LTYM show. I was captivated by the woman that everyone calls, “Ding Dong;” a mom of chronic door-ringing children.

“Ding Dong” completely cracked me up, and I thought, “I bet I could do that.” I then discovered that auditions for the 2011 show were but a month away. I got down to business. I reread all of the pieces I’d ever written about motherhood. Should I submit a funny one or a serious one? I decided that I was more comfortable with the funny route, so I collected a bunch of snippets of conversations between my daughter and me about puberty. I smushed them around, sliced and diced, and made them into an essay that I felt rolled right along.

Despite a public speaking phobia, I auditioned and I was chosen to be one of the 13 Madison Mamas to read at the 2011 Listen to Your Mother show! I am so grateful to have shared this amazing experience with 13 beautiful, wonderful, generous, giving and loving women: Elizabeth Katt Reinders; Darcy Dederich; Suzy Grindrod; Jessie Loeb; Amy Miles; Stacie Rieder; Alexandra Rosas Schultze; Jennifer Rosen Heinz; Sara Santiago; Laura McNeill; Erika Wagner-Martin; Sara Ward-Cassidy and Ann Imig.

They have made me a better Mom and a better person. Because of this briefly shared time in our lives, they are my friends for life.

THE SHOW

I was blessed to have my daughter, partner, her mom and my best friend sitting in the front row on show day. I could feel their smiles and their good wishes being sent my way, even though it was impossible to see them after the lights went down. But I knew they were there, and that’s all that mattered.

As I listened to the three amazing women speak before me, I concentrated on breathing and calmness. I could hear my heart racing and pounding within my chest, and kept chanting to myself, “It will be fine. It will be great. It will be……….over……..soon.” I mildly cursed my daughter for “making me” do this thing. I berated the directors for picking my piece. Yeah, it was a busy place in my head.

As I walked to the podium, I repeated the word “pre-pubescence, pre-pubescence” over and over again. It was the word that would make me stumble, and dang it, I did later misspeak it. But you know what? I nailed every other damn word in that essay, and I was so proud of myself. When the first laugh from the audience came, I was so grateful. I actually wanted to pause and say, “thank you.”

They laughed…and I laughed…and I thought, “I am actually doing this, and I am going to survive it.” Hey, I’m sitting down now, and they’re clapping. Holy crap! It’s over. Yea for MEEEEEEE!

Hannah told me later that she was laughing so hard that she cried during my entire reading. I was confused. “But honey, you’ve read it and heard it 100+ times?” She said, “But Mommy, you are so funny when you read it out loud!”

The best part of the day to me was listening to and observing the audience members as they filtered out of the Barrymore Theatre. The lobby was ALIVE with the energy of smiling women, crying women, women hugging women. The women, young and old, of all shapes and sizes, they shared their stories with friends, and family, and yes, with strangers. Many took our hands and said, “Thank you.” They thanked us for being brave and for telling our stories.

For a few minutes, I felt like a Rock Star.

And in an ironic twist of karma coming around to slap my face, I hear from across the room, “Hey, there’s the “Puberty Woman.” Oh dear, “Ding Dong” sounded so much cuter.

I had a cape on my back…one that unfortunately said, “Puberty Woman,” but it’s a cape nonetheless. And, damn it, that’s all that matters.

P.S. Deb Nies’ make-up yesterday – Elizabeth Katt Reinders. (Thank you for making my eyes “pop,” in a good way!)

Listen to Your Mother in Madison, Barrymore Theatre 5/8 3pm

2011-04-29T08:35:00.003-05:00

Listen to Your Mother - Barrymore Theatre 3pm May 8th, 2011

The Episode in Which I am BRAVE!

"The important and only vital question is, how much greater, finer, am I than I was yesterday? Have I fulfilled my possibilities, made the most of my potentialities?" — Edward Weston

I can truly say that I am indeed "greater, finer" than I was yesterday. I have fulfilled my possibilities and made the most of my potentialities.

You see, I am a writer/reader for Listen to Your Mother. Sounds simple, but not really. This exercise is an incredible leap of bravery for me, as I am deathly afraid of public speaking.

Last night was the second read-through for the Listen to Your Mother show. I enjoyed hearing the other 12 women's stories even more than I had at the first listening session.

Perhaps the first time, I was so nervous about reading my own piece that I found it hard to concentrate closely on what others were saying. While I am humbled by the other writers/readers in this amazing group of women, I have also finally realized that I belong there, too. I didn’t always believe it.

When I first thought about writing something and auditioning for LTYM, I felt a bit inadequate and pessimistic about attempting something that was foreign to me.

It took my 11-year old daughter – a budding actress who is comfortable speaking to 500 people from the stage – to convince me to try out for LTYM. Believe me, she pushed and pulled me kicking and screaming to sign up for an audition. She told me that it would be “good for me,” and that I would “grow.” I could tell that she relished being able to turn my own pithy words of encouragement back on me like a knife of the sharpest blade.

Upon initially meet someone, you don’t know their history or their own personal story. Sure, we freely hand out labels like parade candy, but they are usually wrong or at best, incomplete. My little background story is that I have a major phobia of reading anything in public. I have hated it since Middle School, when I would spend entire class periods dreading being called upon to read anything aloud from a textbook.

When I did have to read aloud, my face would flush, my voice would quaver, and I would stumble over words…words that I knew, but my anxiety caused me to trip over my tongue. It. Was. Horrible.

Since then, I have avoided public speaking like the plague. Until now. You see, I had to audition. I had to back up those words of encouragement that I so freely dispense to my child. I had to put my money where my mouth is, which is constantly open, divvying out unsolicited advice. If I didn’t audition, she would see me as a fraud; someone who didn’t take her own damn advice. So I told her my concerns, and she said, “Mommy, you can do it. Really. You can. Pretend like you’re talking to me.”

Ok, right. So, I auditioned. Wow, I was so nervous. During the audition, I felt the old face flushing, and then the voice quiver reared its ugly head, and I thought, “Oh boy, this is so over.” And, then, as I began to read my piece on puberty, Ann and Darcy (LTYM head honchos) laughed. (Not at me, as I suspected might happen.) And, as I read some more, they laughed some more, and I thought, “Hannah’s right. I can get through this,” and I did.

After I walked out, I thought I’d seriously blown it. Why would you want someone who fumbled over her words and was obviously mentally tormented about public speaking. I returned home, and told Hannah, “I did terrible. I know that I didn’t get in.” She gave me a hug and said, “It’s okay, Mommy. You tried, and that’s all that matters.” (Who is the parent now?)

Time passed. I’d already written the entire thing off in my mind. And, then I received Ann's email inviting me to perform. I was SHOCKED. My darling daughter, not so much. I think she said, “I knew it!”

The first read-through was hard for me, especially that damn word “prepubescent,” which kills me every time. Actually, it was hard because these other people were strangers, and I had to read in front of them. Then, I felt the love and acceptance and understanding in that group of beautiful women, and I started to relax. Last night, the 2nd read-through was even easier for me. Everyone was so supportive and I feel like they have become my extended family.

Lest you think this is the end of my rant, it’s not. Last week, my daughter asked to show me a bulletin board in the hallway outside of her classroom. I joined her in front of these pictures of a lot of famous people. It was a wall of heroes created by she and her classmates. There on that wall, next to a picture of President Obama and Lance Armstrong, was a picture of ME!

After I was able to speak again and I’d wiped my tears, I asked her, “Why am I up there on this wall?” She looked at me like I was a bit touched in the head (you know how teens can do that), and she said, “Because I knew you were afraid to speak in public, but you overcame your fear, and you just did it.”

Please come see "Listen to Your Mother." You'll laugh. You'll cry. And most importantly, you will be changed forever.

And, if I don’t pass out, and my voice doesn’t quaver and I nail “prepubescent,” please give me a high five!

Dear Daughter: A letter of thanks-giving at Thanksgiving

2009-11-24T12:02:00.001-06:00

Dear Daughter:

At Thanksgiving dinner, it is a tradition to go around the family table, and each person expresses what they are thankful for. Often times the answers sound something like this: "I am thankful for my family, house, job, health, etc." Those are all terrific answers and certainly, "things" for which to be grateful.

I am indeed incredibly blessed with my family and friends. But today, I want to tell you specifically why I am grateful and thankful to you, daughter.

I am first and foremost incredibly grateful to be your Mom. There is nothing that will fulfill me as much as watching you grow into the strong, intelligent, loving, young woman that you are becoming. If I have ever done anything right in this lifetime, it was bringing you into this world, and doing my best to raise you.

I am grateful for the early morning, wake-up kisses and the warm snuggly smell that is only you. I treasure every hug, every kiss and every "I love you." I cherish every loving note and card that you've ever written to me, and every picture that the two of us are in together.

I am thankful that every day you teach me something. For example, when my natural inclination might be to say "no" to a request, you have taught how to say "yes."

I am grateful that you have taught me not to be so serious. You have given me joy and laughter. You have made me lighter, freer, more loving. Thank you for teaching me that play is just as important as work.

I am thankful to you for teaching and showing me every day how to be a better Mom. Thank you for being the fabulous daughter and person that you are...

Happy Thanksgiving.

I love you. - Mom

Being Olympian

2009-07-10T10:44:00.001-05:00

My daughter has been a member of a swim team for 15 months . She is a good swimmer, but at her current rate, she will never be Dara Torres. But even though she will (probably) not be an Olympic swimmer, I care deeply about the life lessons that she is learning from being on a swim team.

While swimming is mostly an individual sport, she is also learning what it means to be on a team. At a swim meet held recently, I watched her pump up the members of her 200 Freestyle Relay team, and it made me smile. At 10 years old, she was the oldest in the foursome. One girl was swimming in her first meet and was very nervous. Hannah offered her advice, and said, "It'll be fine...You'll be great." My daughter may not be the fastest swimmer, but she is a kind-hearted, nurturer to her teammates. She may not always contribute points to the team's cumulative total points, but she definitely adds to the group's bottom line.

Her coach, Matt Wunderlin, recently told his swimmers the following about swimming: "It's not about being an Olympian. It's about being Olympian. Learning to be a hero. And, it is not comfortable to be a hero. If it were, being one wouldn't be so great."

Trying things that you haven't attempted before, losing the safety net, and stretching yourself beyond your self-imposed limits, now that is heroic. I explain to my daughter when she laments that she doesn't swim faster or that she DQs sometimes, she does heroic things everyday. Going to swim practice three or more times a week, when you'd rather be vegging with a good book, is heroic. Cheering on your teammates in a race is heroic. Giving kind words to struggling swimmers is heroic.

As parents, and as coaches, we need to teach our children how to be heroes in their daily lives. The following story now embarrasses me, but I tell it with the hopes that another parent might learn a valuable lesson from it.

When my daughter was a 2nd grader, she joined a competitive soccer team. This was her (our) first venture into the sports world. Many of her teammates were also new to soccer, so we weren't expecting to win the Waunakee World Cup or anything. At this age-level, the soccer players don't understand the concept of "playing a position" on the field. Constantly, it looked like a group of swarming bumblebees with all ten players hovering around the soccer ball. The background music provided by the parents sounded something like this, "SPREAD OUT! MIDDLE! GET TO THE MIDDLE! SPREAD OUT!"

Soccer just wasn't serious at this stage. For the kids, I should say, it wasn't serious. For the parents, well...It wasn't unusual when play was at the other end of the field, to see the goalie turning cartwheels, sitting down in the goal, daydreaming, or picking flower weeds.

After their 8th straight loss without scoring a goal, I (this is the mortification part of the story) actually went up to the coach and asked (pleaded) with him to set it up so that they could score a goal in the next game. "Can you put in a few extra players on their side or something? Just so that they can know what it FEELS like to score?? They are demoralized and it's hurting their self-esteem." I am now certain that he was internally rolling his eyes at my pathetic, dramatic tirade. My request came from a good parental place, but I know now that it wasn't the right answer. He managed to soothe and placate me, but didn't agree to my suggestion. (thank you...and I'm sorry, Steve)

The team ended up finishing their season with a record of 2-14. Yes, they did manage to score some goals as their play improved...on their own and using their skills...without parental intervention. The players self-esteem wasn't scarred for life and they learned, in a safe environment, that sometimes you just don't win. The coach, by not rigging the system in their favor, taught them perseverance, strength, and sportsmanship. (My daughter even scored a goal, though she was supposed to be playing defense at the time.) The bottom line is that the coach allowed them to become heroes. They turned into kids who overcame a miserable string of losses, with their improved skills, teamwork and determination.

It's easy to make similar over-protective parental mistakes. As parents, we want to keep our children safe, and it seems intuitive that we should protect our children when we can. We want everyone to get a ribbon. We pad the walls. We hover like helicopters, never letting them be alone to explore the world. We don't let them fail. We lessen life's blows to the ego. We offer excuses for them. Basically, at times we carry them and keep them sheltered from life's storms in plastic bubbles. And, then we have the audacity to pat ourselves on the back, because we are "good parents."

Is it wrong to want our children to always be happy and successful? Actually, it is. If our child is sad and disappointed, we tend to attempt to talk them out of the mood. We spin strands of golden sunshine of happy words to cheer them. This is wrong. By dismissing and belittling their feelings, we disparage our children. We need to let them feel their emotions, and learn to express them appropriately.

When a child cries because they failed, they are expressing their disappointment. They are not asking you to fix the issue. Parents are fixers. From the moment we gave birth, we want to make it all better. Falling down and getting a boo-boo requires a band-aid and a kiss, yes. Your child getting a bad grade on a report card does not require you to phone the teacher and petition for a better grade. As parents, the answer needs to be more cuddling and far less coddling.

By cushioning every bump in life's roadway, we cheat our children of the opportunity to fail. Yes, you read that correctly. The act of failing is an opportunity. You know the old adage, "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again?"Failing is a chance to find a way to do something better, or perhaps in a different way. Children who are allowed to fail learn self-coping skills. These life lessons are better learned now as children, when the stakes are small.

The reality is that sometimes you don't win. Sometimes, you lose and fail miserably. Sometimes your feelings get hurt. At times, you will have to play hurt. And, sometimes, you will even have to ride the bench, while others play. Real life has many competitive moments, and there aren't many consolation prizes for 2nd place, much less 16th place.

Hannah Swim Meet 7-8-09

2009-07-09T15:33:00.002-05:00

Hannah swims backstroke at Swim Meet. She's near bottom of screen.

Clippin' Coupons

2009-07-05T16:11:00.001-05:00

I am the MASTER when it comes to saving money, and that includes my coupon clipping pastime!

My friends know that if they need to find a deal, I'm their girl Friday. If there's a money-saving deal to be had, I know where it's at.

Doing some online shopping, are ya? I don't believe in paying full price...ever. It's downright un-American, I say. My favorite website to find out promotional coupon codes to enter at checkout is www.retailmenot.com.

Do you love eating out, but hate paying full price for dinner? I do! Here are my favorite sites to find CHEAP gift certificates for Madison area dining spots:

http://mad-cc.dine-madison.com/
http://www.isthmussaves.com/intro.php
http://www.77squaredeals.madison.com/

To shop for restaurant deals nation-wide, I like this site, Restaurant.com.
http://www.restaurant.com/

*******************************************************************************
Priceless Coupons Discovered!

Ok, but now to the real point of my blog today. While I was searching through my treasure trove of sentimental papers, (I'm a hoarder, you may recall), I stumbled upon a PRICELESS "coupon book." Each coupon was intact, and entirely forgotten.

The coupon book was a Christmas gift from my daughter, a class project made in secret. The words "Coupon Book" and her picture grace the cover of the book.
Here are the coupons that are included in this one-of-a-kind coupon insert, which notes on the inside cover, "The coupons in this book never expire."

This coupon is good for ONE uncomplaining shower.
(Note the emphasis on the word "one." She is not willing to commit to more than one "uncomplaining shower." Bath/shower time is a battleground at our house. I'm not sure why, because she ultimately ends of languishing in the enjoyment of the activity after it transpires?? I will look back fondly on these days, when she's a teenager and I'm attempting to get her OUT of the 5th shower of the day.)
This coupon is good for one hour of shoveling.
(Note: I have never, ever witnessed seriously-moving-snow-for-real type of shoveling by this girl...ever. Not five minutes worth, much less an entire HOUR of shoveling. Wait, wait. She didn't mention snow shoveling...perhaps she meant "shoveling dinner" into her mouth??
This coupon is good for fifteen snuggles.
(Note: I have not torn this coupon from the book, and I have been the beneficiary of hundreds of snuggles since Christmas. I am glad that I wasn't limited to the maximum noted on said coupon.)
This coupon is good for five chores.
(Note: Wow, I don't even know what to say about this one. Do I need a coupon to get her to do 5 measly chores??)
This coupon is good for one bear hug. - Never Expires.
Okay, this is my favorite. I've had it laminated and have placed it into my wallet. I'll be holding onto this one and pulling it out for use when she's a teenager and acting cool with her girlfriends.

I have to say, I feel rich beyond measure.

Surgery at 35,000 feet in the Friendly Skies

2009-06-24T07:53:00.000-05:00

Last week we took our annual summer vacation. Our destination spot this trip was San Diego. Our flight at o'dark thirty from Madison to Chicago was uneventful, which is just how I prefer flights in the metal death tube to be.

We boarded the plane in Chicago for our four hour flight to San Diego. One hour into the flight, my 10-year old daughter, when I grabbed her hand to hold it, and she recoiled in pain and said, "OUCH! Mommy that hurt!" Now, I do not have the loving grip of David Banner turned Lou Ferrigno. (For you youngsters, that means Incredible Hulk.) Not understanding the source of this pain, I studied her finger. The tip of her left index finger was cherry red, swollen, inflamed, and filled with creamy pus. (Note: You weren't eating, right? Another Note: Is it just me, or does the word "pus," sound just like how gross it really IS?) With this sympathetic maternal empathy outpouring, she began to cry.

Of course, I was still confused. This was obviously not a new injury and had been festering quite some time, completely unbeknownst to me. "Honey, what happened to your finger??"

She explained to me that three weeks prior, she had squashed this finger accidently with a skee ball, while bowling at Chuck e Cheese's. (She swore that she mentioned it to me at the time. Huh?) The pressure from the plane's cabin had made it swell up and start to thump like Edgar Allen Poe's Telltale Heart.

She began to cry harder. Action was required...surgery action by Dr. Mom! I searched frantically through the scary depths of my purse for something to prick the festering infected region. Safety pin? Needle? Nail clippers? Ice pick? Nothing...not one dang sharp item in my purse.

I flagged down the flight attendant and told her the problem. "Listen I understand the irony of the request that I am about to make, so bear with me. Yes, we are on an airplane. But here's the thing, I am in desperate need of a sharp, piercing object. I do not care WHAT it is. I just need to poke a little hole into my daughter's finger."

She looked at me dubiously, "Uh huh." She looked around as if to flag down some help in case I needed to be restrained and then hauled down the plane's aisle. I showed her the offending finger and explained the situation further. She noted the crazed look in my eyes and scurried away to rummage through her supplies. (I'm sure the flight attendant's training manual indicates, "Do not ever attempt to stand in the path of a Mama Grizzly Bear.")

Within a few moments, she brought me a...wait for it...serrated plastic butter knife to slice and dice my daughter's finger. And then she added importantly, "I sterilized it with warm water in the bathroom." I'm pretty sure I didn't hold back the eye roll. First of all, have you heard of anything EVER being "sterilized" in WARM water? Secondly, do you think that the mouse-sized cubby hole on an AIRPLANE is the best location for performing said sterilization process?? Ewwww.

I had no choice. My daughter looked at me with deer-in-the-headlights-Bambi-eyed-betrayal. "You're going to cut me with THAT?" I told her to bite down as hard as she could onto her fleece jacket. This was a little for her benefit, but mostly so as not to alarm her fellow passengers. I don't think that it's ever a good thing to hear a blood-curdling scream on an airplane. In spite of the mouthful of fuzz, she howled when I attempt to saw into her finger. It didn't do a darn thing except press down very hard onto an already ultra-sensitive throbbing area.

Fortunately, my partner has honed, razor-sharp Edward Scissorhands talons. She reached over and while daughter was still in the initial waves of crying from the first attempt, she pierced the offending finger with her nails and achieved immediate pus-draining success! Nearly immediately, Hannah stopped crying.

Our friendly flight attendant, who had conveniently disappeared after the first failed surgery, reappeared after the successful second one. She then brought us - her newly christened "VIP section" - bandaids, ice, alcohol swabs, Valium (kidding), etc. She then offered my nearly-legal daughter (she's 10) a glass of vodka to soak her finger in. She lamented that it was the only thing that she had on hand to "sterilize" the wound. I told her that it would probably be more "medicinal" if she brought me some orange juice to mix into it.

Unfortunately, I did not get the name of our Flying Florence Nightingale, in order to send a complimentary letter to her United superiors. But then, maybe that's a good thing. Maybe not so good to thank her for providing the sharp object and liquor to the 10 year old flier. :) But, I do thank you, Heroine of the Skies!

My love is like a Mother Wood Duck's

2009-05-29T14:24:00.000-05:00

Mama Wood Duck & Ducklings

The first clue should have been when we spotted two ducks IN A TREE (??) several weeks ago. We chalked the weirdness of that sighting up to an extended happy hour, and dismissed it from our minds. However, doing a little research later, I discovered that the visitors were wood ducks, which nest in trees, usually within one mile of a water source. After hatching, the baby ducklings FALL from the tree's nest, and can survive falls to the ground up to 250+ feet. Which makes me think, "Watch that first step...it's a doozy!"

I've decided that my love is like a Mother Wood Duck's.

No, it'll never be the title of a hit country song, but bear with me, and you'll understand the sentiment after reading this entry.

So, really, the performance could have received an Oscar for Best Actress in a dramatic role. The Wood Duck was THAT good. As I walked out into my yard, I heard a flapping noise in the yard next door. It was a duck, and it appeared to be incredibly hurt and agitated. "Pain" and stress were emanating from this poor creature. It flailed, it hopped, it dragged it's wing. And me? I fell for the biggest distraction ever, even though every kid in elementary science learns that this is a a mother bird's ploy to distract a human or other predator from either its nest or its young.

I stopped in my tracks and surveyed the scene. "Aha! I'm onto you, Mama," I said. Sure enough, out from beneath some Hosta plants, screaming, "Cheep, cheep," were ELEVEN little wood ducklings. Fluffy little marvels hollering, "Wait for me!"

The mother duck, you can imagine that internally, she was shaking her head, "These kids. They never listen...I tell them to wait in the bushes. Do they? Of course not. *SIGH*" Resigned to her protective role, she returned to them, and placed her body between me and her brood.

As a fellow mother, I understand the responsibility and the burden of providing physical protection. I moved to a safer distance to watch them, which lessened the mother's terror. She turned back to them, and gave them what I can imagine to be a tongue lashing about following orders. I'm sure there would be repercussions for the disobeying ducklings later.

They turned to go. Eleven little fluffballs, following in a straight line like new kindergartners, and I was left to ponder the bravery and love of the Mother Wood Duck.

Daughter, I love you like a Wood Duck loves its ducklings. As a Mom, it is my job to protect you from harm. I would use any means of distraction to lure a predator away from you, even at my own peril. I would take on any animal or human threat, even if it was 100 times my size. I would place my body between you and any danger. Now, if it were only as easy to protect you from emotional hurts!

So again, I love you like a Wood Duck. Listen for it on your local radio station.

Random Acts of Humanity...with a hint of Kindness

2009-05-25T06:50:00.003-05:00

My daughter was released from school early last Friday to begin the long Memorial Day weekend. We decided to take a road-trip to the Amish community located north of Pardeeville. Because it was her first visit, I spoke of the people's dress and manner. I told her that she could expect to see buggies pulled by horses, and an overall simpler way of life.

When we left town, we passed a man on the highway who was holding a sign that said, "Will Work for Food." He was a young, African American man, who looked uncomfortable holding up the sign for all to see. He leaned against a highway speed limit sign, his backpack near him on the ground. My daughter, who hadn't noticed him, continued to chat happily about our upcoming adventure.

I drove for nearly one-half mile and then I did a spontaneous, quick u-turn into a McDonald's. "Why are we stopping here, Mommy?" I explained about the man who I had spotted on the road. I told my daughter that we were going to buy him some cheeseburgers.

While we waited in the drive-thru lane for our order, we talked about how truly blessed we are. We may need a new $10,000 roof on the house, but we are warm and dry. We may have more bills than money, but we are so fortunate. We are loved, we are healthy, and we have a little money to go on adventures like the one we were on that day.

With cheeseburgers in hand, we perpetrated yet another u-turn and returned to where the young traveler was standing with his cardboard sign. As we pulled up, I rolled down my daughter's backseat window. She smiled kindly at the man, as she handed over the food to him. The young, weary-looking traveler, looked from my daughter to me, and then back at my daughter. "Thank you very kindly," he said with a smile. Daughter and I replied, "You're welcome," in unison. As we started to drive away, he called out, "You have a great day."

You, too, young man. We hope YOU had a great day. We wish for your luck to change. We hope that the day comes soon that you have a warm bed to sleep in, a roof over your head, and food in your belly. We hope that someone picked you up and provided you with employment, lodging, and more food.

As we drove on to our destination, I looked in the rear-view mirror and saw my daughter smiling serenely and gazing out her window. I asked her what she was pondering, and she replied, "I was just thinking how nice that was, and how lucky we are."

I hope this lesson in random acts of kindness will stick with her beyond this day. I wish that one day far off in the future, she will relate this story to her children and grandkids. I pray that she will grow to be a kind steward to people and animals on this big ole spinning blue ball called Earth.

I find that when I'm in parental teaching mode with my child, I often times learn more than my daughter did from the experience. Here's what I learned.

First of all, after I made the decision in my head to do this deed, I immediately started second guessing the plan. Inside, I was scared, and I questioned, "WHAT am I DOING?!" I am ashamed to say that I locked the car doors. In full anxiety mode, I pictured him pulling out a weapon when the car window was rolled down. Cripes, who can blame me? The media deluges us daily with frightening stories of murder, mayhem and tragedies. Truly, it's amazing that we can even leave our homes each day for fear of falling victim to a violent crime. The first lesson I learned is that there are so MANY MORE good people in this world, than bad people who wish to do us harm.

Secondly, I learned that I do not have a big, lovely heart that embraces all people. I had to confront my stereotypes head on. I immediately assumed the worst about this young man on the highway. What was his racket? Why doesn't he have a job? I squashed down those nagging thoughts, and reminded myself that being homeless and poor is not a crime. Sometimes bad things happen to good people. People lose their jobs and can end up homeless. We are here to love one another, not to judge.

Most importantly, I learned that to be a good parent, I cannot just tell my daughter to be nice to others. I must model kindness and generosity through my own behavior and my actions. The best part of this teaching moment, for both of us, is that it wasn't planned. It wasn't a premeditated, contrived experience that I'd set up in advance. It was right then and there - spontaneous and unanalyzed.

And, knowing my daughter, and her incredible memory, she will comment on this act of kindness in the future when we drive past that spot on the highway. I can picture it now, "Hey Mommy, remember when we gave some cheeseburgers to that man?" As her Mom, it is up to me to make this story the rule, and not the exception.

Wrinkles - A road map of my life

2009-05-06T14:43:00.001-05:00

I forgot to set my daughter’s alarm clock for the school day, so I had to wake her up. I sat down on the edge of her bed and looked down at her sweet, unlined face. I whispered, “Good morning,” and within a few moments, she awakened and looked deeply into my eyes.

I patiently waited for her sweet morning greeting. Instead she studied my face closely, frowned, and then said, “Mommy, your eyes look old this morning. Underneath your eyes, it looks puffy and wrinkled. You look about, hmmm, 49 years old.” (Children are full of truth serum, at this age.)

Uh hem. I recently turned 42 years old. Ouch! What a rough way to start a day. I went into internal and external justification mode. “I’m tired. I didn’t sleep well. I haven’t put on make-up.”

Later, after she’d gone to school, I studied those facial lines (I refuse to call them “wrinkles) in the bathroom mirror. I decided that I am comfortable with the aging process, and I don’t feel that I’ll be tempted to go under the plastic surgery scalpel anytime soon.

I wanted my daughter to know that I am comfortable in my skin, in the hopes that she will grow up being comfortable in hers. I jotted down these thoughts to share with her.

Dear Darling Daughter of mine:

You commented recently that I have lots of wrinkles on my face and that they make me look older than my actual age. At first, I was saddened by your observation, but after thinking about it, I have found peace and acceptance, and perhaps a bit of pride in the lines that show on my face. The pride part has a little bit to do with you.

I decided that I have earned each and every one of these age lines, and I am not going to make any excuses or apologies for them. You are responsible for several of them. Some of these wrinkles are reflections of the life that I have lived with you.

Sometimes, my eyes are puffy with dark circles because I haven’t slept well. As your Mommy, at times I worry, and that causes me to lose sleep. When you become a Mom, you will find out that as a parent, you worry about your child all of the time. You stay awake at night pondering crime, global warming, swine flu, and billions of other crazy notions. Actually, I don’t think I have had a truly carefree night of sleep since May 21, 1999.

Did you notice those crow’s feet around my eyes? A great many of those lines were obtained from watching your sporting events held in the blinding sun, or playing with you in the backyard. Any time that I can spend with you, I will always choose a little sun-damage over missing out on an experience.

Yes, I have lines around the corners of my mouth, too. I’ve noticed that they become more pronounced every time you make me smile or laugh. I’m happily keeping them.

Those deep furrows between my eyebrows, show all of the worries that I have had for, and about you, throughout the past ten years of your life. As you grow older, and the challenges grow tougher, the lines have progressively deepened. Those particular wrinkles began when you were in the womb and I cried because you might have been born with a birth defect. They deepened during those 2nd grade days when you came home from school, and said that you didn’t have any friends to play with. And today? I have devoted today to worrying about your entry into puberty, and all of the “stuff” that comes along with it.

So, my daughter, I won’t be seeing a plastic surgeon for a face lift or an eye lift. Each of those lines is a roadmap of what makes me - ME. And, if I removed some of my wrinkles, I would be erasing a part of the life that I have already lived…with you.

Your loving, pruney Mother.

Barth's Waunakee 4th graders achieve FAME on SmithMag.net

2009-03-30T11:31:00.000-05:00

Update to the 4th grade Memoirs blog.

http://www.smithmag.net/sixwordbook/2009/03/30/guest-post-on-six-in-schools/

Safety's Overrated aka Being "safe" in my Old Age

2009-03-27T17:48:00.002-05:00

Eleanor Roosevelt once challenged, "Do something every day that scares you."

If you read newspapers or watch the television news reports, you probably think that the world is a pretty scary place. If you're a parent, you live in perpetual fear of child abductions, food tampering, and bone-breaking injuries. (etc, etc - topics are endless) If you're like me, sometimes the mere act of leaving your house probably qualifies as doing something scary each day!

But, I cannot recall the last time that I've truly chosen to be "scared." Each day seems to safely flow from one to the next, without much change. And, as I grow steadily older, I have found comfort in the relative safety of each day.

Ack! I'm an Aries...the RAM...We laugh in the face of fear! HA! (I am pounding my chest here.) I should never be happy with safety!!! Well, I'm not happy nor content with this state of homeostasis. After a friend casually mentioned that she was relieved that her grandkids lived in a "peaceful, lovely, and most importantly, safe" new city, I have been contemplating the word "safe" and "safety," as they pertain to my own life.

I think that as we age, we start to weigh our life choices in terms of "how safe is a potential activity?" As I grow older, I measure how likely it is that I might obtain an injury from a possible activity. In my advancing years, I have to minimize the potential for harm. Listen, I can hurt myself just in the act of sleeping. I often awaken with a stiff neck and back, hobbling about like I've been in a street fight - with my bed. My loved ones inquire, "What's wrong?" and I have to sheepishly state, "I slept wrong." HOW is THAT even possible?? Do I need to stretch before climbing into bed for the night? What is going on during my REM snooze? Seems dangerous.

Since I can hurt myself in the mere act of sleeping, perhaps you can see why I must ignore my natural tendency to worry about safety. When I was younger, I felt immortal and immune to potential harm. I took chances, and didn't worry about the consequences.

As we grow older, we cling more to life and the continuation of the act of living. Life becomes more precious, and we hold on tighter. As a rule, we make safer choices. For example, older people tend to do their errands in midday on weekdays in order to avoid traffic scares from younger, more agressive drivers. I'm beginning to understand the logic.

So, I am reminded of that Spanish proverb that warns, "A life lived in fear is a life half-lived."
I don't want to be too "safe." I don't want to half-live. If I live safely or in fear, I will miss out on opportunities. But, it is not natural to participate in activities that make us feel uncomfortably out of our comfort zones.

With all this in mind, I recently made the unsafe decision to confront head-on a major fear of mine. I love children and I love to letterbox. (see www.letterboxing.org for explanation) I was recently offered the opportunity to combine these two loves. Several local Parks Departments asked me to teach several letterboxing classes this summer. The only issue is that there will be people there. Staring at me. Listening to my every word. Public speaking is my Achilles heel. I get sweaty, my voice quavers, and my face reddens. In general, it makes me feel extremely unsafe. However, I know that once I confront my frightened demons, I am going to have the time of my life, teaching children about an incredibly fun pastime.

So, you think you're fearless, huh? If you want to experience the ultimate scenario of flying without a net, being unsafe, or living in perpetual fear, I DARE you to have a child. First of all, from the day that they are conceived, you are fearful FOR them. "Are they breathing, did they change their underwear today, do they have friends at school, will they get into Harvard, etc." Oh my God, the things to worry about, and be fearful of, are endless. You could truly worry yourself into a raving lunatic in the first trimester alone!

And, then these little people, when they inevitably attain the power of speech, they will challenge you to do the most ridiculous and scary things you can ever imagine. (P.S. They are NOT worried about YOUR mental or physical safety at all.) They think you are a superhero and can do anything! I wish that I would have told my daughter earlier in life that my cape was being dry-cleaned.

SHE: "Mommy, let's go dance out on the dance floor."
ME inside: "No one else is dancing."

SHE: "Let's go jump in puddles, Mommy!"
ME inside: "My hair will get frizzy in the humidity, my feet will get wet."

SHE: "Let's roll down that hu-normous hill!"(our new word on par with gi-normous.)
ME inside: "I might break a hip, collar bone, femur, etc."

SHE: "Kiss me Mommy." (Oh, I can handle that one a thousand times over. No fear!)

Through the years, I have learned that it's best to find ways to say "yes" when my daughter challenges me and my fears. If I discover that I'm going to answer "no" to her request because of potential public humiliation, I try to fight through my fears and participate. (See dance scenario above.) If I am inclined to deny her request because of possible physical injury to my body, I have to ask myself more questions. (Ice skating, for example.) Do I currently have health insurance? How maimed could I end up if things don't go smoothly? Is the risk worth the reward? The reward is always my daughter's smile, and man, I have risked a lot through the years to attain as many of these love tokens as I can! If you're a parent, you know what I mean.

And, now I find that sometimes our roles are reversed. My daughter is now a great teacher, and even a role model for me. Currently starring in her class' musical next week, she has NO fear of public speaking. Subsequently, she is now helping me to overcome my own fears.

So, I'm going to vow to try and live life a little more fully, and less fearfully. Sure, I'll still wear my seat belt every day, have my annual physical exams, and eat my monthly vegetables, but I'm going to try new things and live more bravely, too.

***************************************************************************

It's hell to get old, but it sure beats the alternative.

I'll leave you with this awesome quote:

"Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in one pretty and well preserved piece, but to skid across the line broadside, thoroughly used up, worn out, leaking oil, shouting 'GERONIMO!' " --Bill McKenna, professional motorcycle racer (Cycle magazine 02.1982)

Six Word Memoirs by Mrs. Barth's 4th graders

2009-03-27T17:47:00.002-05:00

I am completely enthralled by a book that I read recently. It is entitled, "Not Quite What I was Planning: 6-word Memoirs by Writers Famous and Obscure." The memoirs were compiled by Larry Smith and Rachel Fershleiser.

The concept of the 6-word memoir was inspired by a legend that Hemingway was once challenged to write a complete memoir using only six words. His work: "For sale. Baby Shoes. Never Worn."

In 2006, Smith Magazine challenged its readers to submit their own 6-word memoirs. Thousands of entries poured in. Several hundred of those were published in the book noted above.

Intrigued by the book, I recently explored the Smith Magazine/6 word memoir website.
Click here:
http://www.smithmag.net/sixwords/

Many, many people have submitted their own 6 word stories to this website. I have discovered that once a person starts thinking in 6 words, it's difficult to stop. Here are some of my own submissions:

Thank God. I'm not my mother.
Man's Best Friend ate my stir-fry! (Hannah's)
Lost dental insurance...inspired to floss
They lied to me about Santa.
Fat pants far outnumber skinny pants.
Motherhood...best thing I've ever done.

I polled some friends and they come up with these:

Love life and those so dear.
Live fully, live forward, live purposeful.
Been there. Done that. Didn't work.

There is an electronic booklet on the website that contains the 6-word memoirs of a 3rd grade class. I so enjoyed reading the children's thoughts. My favorite submission was, "Eight years old. Combed hair twice."

Perusing the children's memoirs online, inspired me to take the project into my daughter's 4th grade class to have them attempt to pen their own stories. Oh, what fun we had!

On the day of our Writer's Workshop, I explained the concept of the 6 word memoir. I started by providing them with a definition of the word "memoir," as an account of one's life. I told them that they had six words to tell their entire life story. Having always written stories in their academic life that didn't have a number limit, they seemed a bit concerned. I reminded them that their teacher has perpetually emphasized the use of "juicy words," in their writing. Therefore, writing a six word memoir was a way to utilize juicy words and to make every word count. (literally)

I then provided them with some examples from the book, as well as sample memoirs that I'd written. I shared two about their classmate and my daughter, Hannah. To describe her, I had written, "So many books, too little time," and "Math was invented to torture me." Hannah is known as a book lover who loathes Math, so many students nodded their heads in agreement. I also shared a mushy one about her, "My daughter: the sun and moon."

Armed with an explanation and the examples, we kicked off the project.

Some kids struggled to start.

"Can it be 7 words?" No.

"Is this "right?" There is no "right."

"I don't know what to write." (which happens to be one of my own 6-word memoirs!)

Others jumped right in. Normally verbose children entered contemplative modes. After a bit of writing, they wandered amongst each other, comparing life stories. There was much laughter and loads of excited energy.

The kids described writing 6-word memoirs with words like, "challenging," "hard," and "frustrating. My daughter, Hannah, reflected on the experience. "It's hard to put your whole life into six words." Colin Duffy echoed that sentiment, as well. Ally DeSpirito added, "It's hard but somehow the most important words pop out very strongly in your mind and in your heart."

But the word used most often to describe the experience was "fun." Connor Reefe explained, "It is a fun way to exercise your brain!"

Owen Frazier said, "I learned that a memoir can be funny, personal, and so much more."

And, what did I learn? As usual, I found that some of the greatest life lessons have been taught to me by children. This 6-word memoir experience was no exception. I learned that everyone has a story, and that you don't have to be old to have a life story. Children surprised me with their depth and their whimsy. Some memoirs made me smile with their wit. Still others made me pause to ponder their truth. Quiet, reserved kids often have heavy things to say.

While one can say a lot with 6 words, I also learned that sometimes six words just aren't enough. Some memoirs left me longing to know more of a child's story. The six words offered glimpses, but not complete insights into the authors. And, sometimes memoirs, like personalized vanity plates, are esoteric...only understood by the author.

Despite what we read in the newspapers, this generation is not a bunch of egotistical, loud-music-listening troublemakers. This generation of children deeply loves their family, even their annoying siblings. They care about Mother Earth and all of her animal inhabitants. Most importantly, their memoirs show that they are, above all other things, optimistic. In spite of the chaos near and far in our world, they are positive and hopeful for the future. One young lady summed up this prevailing optimism in one of her memoirs, "My glass is always half full."

As adults, we should be inclined to incorporate that half-fullness into our own lives.

The complete list of memoirs:

Aleaha Martinez

One life… it’s like a rollercoaster.

Math does not work with me.

Dogs: they’re more than great, awesome

My mom rocks, just like dad.

Math is like my brother, annoying.

There are brothers then there’s Caleb.

Alyssa DeSpirito

Take care of the world ,EVERYONE!

Why can’t vegetables taste like dessert ?

I love almost every single animal.

Can’t live without them ,my family.

Friends are the best, keep them.

Still waiting for a dog, “please?”

Austin Zellner

I love and hate yellow bugs

I love the Bucky Buckaroo hamster

I love animals from outer mars

Inventing to get my sister extinct

Can not live without b-ball games

My cousin wants to be a tiger

Blake Smithback

I don’t know why night comes?

My fish was very, very awesome.

Can’t live without them, my sisters.

Math was invented to KILL me!

Expert hornet killers: Blake and Jack.

Brayden Johnson

I really, really, really hate math.

My family is very, very cool.

I like vegetables; no not really.

Colin Duffy

Good athlete, good student, GO COLTS!

Got jabbed, in nose, didn’t bleed

Harrison: OLD FOR POSITION, MY FAV

ORITE

Connor Reefe

I like my dad’s potato soup.

I wish I were a monkey.

We adopted my sister Valentine’s Day.

Dylan Wischhoff

Can not live without my sports.

My brother’s dream job: A dog.

Can’t live without them: My dogs.

I love my mom and dad.

Haley Werlein

Live, laugh, love… all day long

Can’t live without them: mom & Dad

Can’t live without MY pepperoni pizza

Hanna Thomas

I love polar bear a lot!

Daddy, I love you so much!

I wish boney was here today!

I love my mommy so much!

Hannah Nies

Wish I could go to Aunt’s.

Why is math an hour long?

Allergic to cats, but love them.

My baking mom is my sunshine.

Dog broke in to my take-out!

Man’s best friend ate my stir-fry!

Jack Kratcha

I really, really, really like sports.

MATH was invented to be fun.

My favorite pet is a dog.

Professional hornet hunters: Jack and Blake.

My favorite athlete is Peyton Manning.

I have two Colts football jerseys.

Jessica Bymers

I am my brother’s punching bag

I love all of the animals

Natalia lives in Sao Paolo Brazil

I like dogs better than cats

Lexa Buechner

My family, dogs…important to me

I clean my brother’s diapers…gross!

I like horses, dogs and cats

I love my brother very much

I will always protect my brother.

Love every color in the world.

Otto Clifcorn

I am nice to my friends.

I wish I were a monkey.

My Brother: really funny, a lot.

Owen Frazier

I love to climb huge trees.

I act just like a chimp.

Chimps are the best animals ever.

He is the best, my brother.

Rachel Tuschl

Family, friends, candy… life is good

Why can’t candy be really healthy?

I love puppies, yes I do

Helpful, happy, that’s what dads are

Obsessed with Deb’s yummy chocolate cake.

Colorful rainbows make me so happy

Tesa Benisch

Everywhere my daughter and I go, people exclaim, “Wow, she is your mini-me!” While I see physical similarities between us, I know that she is so much more than a smaller version of me. She is so much more than I was at 9 years old, and she is already more than I am at the age of 41.

My daughter awakens joy-filled, smile-ridden and eager for a new day that is rife with blank-page possibilities and fabulous new adventures. I, on the other hand, tend to view the dawn of each day, as another 24 hours to survive. At times, I sullenly wallow in the mountains that have to be climbed, and the battles that need to be fought.

Where I am prone to self-involvement and narcissism, my daughter is a rescuer of wounded mourning doves and playground damsels with skinned knees. She donates money to charities that serve underprivileged children and animals. She is an immaterialistic, non-consuming, rabid recycler.

My daughter is adept at finding the goodness in people and situations, but is equally concerned with fairness and justice for all. She was incredulous and slightly disgusted this election year when I had to explain that some people might not vote for a man with black skin. She sees things the way that they should be, and asks how can we change it. While I tend to be the one to ask “why,” and she counters with “why not?’

While I question the existence of the Loch Ness Monster and George W. Bush, she believes in all things magical…and not just the usual suspects like Santa and the Easter Bunny, either. She not only believes in them; she knows that leprechauns, fairies and pixies, are all around us. This belief system subsequently enables her to embrace and accept people of all different shapes, sizes and color, in the real world.

I was shy and awkward as a child, and still find mingling at parties today to be a form of excruciating torture. She, however, is comfortable in her skin, and socially brave in various circles of people. She performs in plays and piano recitals, in front of audiences of hundreds, with nary a hint of stage fright. My daughter is strong and brave, but she is also the first one in a room to cry happy tears.

More than I, she knows the important things in life aren’t things at all. Her daily bucket list would include, smell (and pick) the flowers, read everything, love hard, laugh often, have fun, and snuggle at least once everyday.

My daughter, who is so much more than my mini-me, is well on her way to becoming “maximum her.”

Kids say the darndest things

2008-11-20T12:43:00.002-06:00

Today's Gems

I explained PMS to daughter the other day – crabbiness, cramps, etc.

Yesterday morning, following a tirade by me, she asked, “Uh Mommy, did your period come yet?” :)

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I truly know what it's like to have my heart out there in the world now.

Daughter started walking home from school by herself this school year. Yes, she's in 4th grade and yes, I've finally allowed it to happen. Yeah, yeah, I secretly stalked her initial first walk home "alone." I admit it...Yes, I AM A HOVERCRAFT OR HELICOPTER PARENT, as my friends call me.

Whatever.

That first walk home, I smiled as two vehicles - at an uncontrolled intersection - a policeman and a postal carrier - both stopped (heading in different directions) to wave her across the street in front of both of them. My faith in people was elevated immensely.

Her beaming, proud face and pronouncement to me, "I did it!" was priceless. She was ready to do this and it was my own fears that had kept her from taking on the task earlier. She continues to try and grow up...and I continue to try and keep her little. It's not working, and I am trying to learn how to let her spread her wings and fly. To date, I am still on edge until I see her appear in the driveway. My heart skips a "whew beat" that - again - she's arrived home safely to me.

Help! For the LOVE of Books! Voracious Reader won't (can't?) listen!

2008-11-20T10:49:00.003-06:00

I am soliciting advice from fellow cyber parents today.

I have a problem with my 9-year old daughter, and if this is the most difficult challenge that I ever face in raising her, I will call myself a lucky woman.

Last week she received her 4th grade report card, and it was filled with amazing grades and complimentary comments from her teacher, except for one area. My daughter needs to work on her listening skills. She often needs to ask her teacher to repeat instructions. This is due to the fact that she is a voracious reader and she often has difficulty in pulling herself out of the story that she is deep (deep, deep, deep!) down into.

Let me back up and insert some history regarding past report cards and listening skills.

First grade: Daughter didn't listen to directions given by her teacher, because she was reading, and was asked to put her head down on the desk as a punishment.

Second grade: Concerns were expressed by her teacher that it was often difficult to bring daughter back to reality after reading time had ended.

Third grade: Daughter was reading in class when she wasn't supposed to be and the teacher told her to erase a "star" in her notebook. (This is a "bad thing" for those of you not familiar with this punishment method.)

Which leads us to 4th grade and the note on her report card. She has a lot of history in this non-listening arena, and I can attest to the fact that the same thing happens at home. If she is reading, I often have to say her name three times before receiving a response from her. Each time, when she looks up at me, her eyes are vacant, and I can see her trying to pull herself back into real life, while she is still digesting what she just read.

I have no ideas on how to remedy this situation. Any ideas? anyone?

Inner child vs Outer Adult

2008-11-17T10:38:00.002-06:00

My daughter and I recently attended a local "Got Milk" event in Madison.

We arrived early for the festivities, which is a rare occurrence for us. The milk folks gave us each a carton of chocolate milk, a canvas bag of goodies and a chocolate milk mustache sticker to wear. Of course, I donned a mustache, too, as I am completely in touch with my inner child. (It's just the "outer adult" that I have issues with!)

We plopped ourselves on a couch that was decorated with orange and black balloons. Daughter was having a blast bopping the balloons about and asked if I wanted to join in her game.

"No, I don't think that I should."

"Why," she asked.

Why not indeed. "Well, I guess that I should be the responsible adult," I replied.

She raised her eyebrows and her eyes went directly to the chocolate milk mustache sticker on my upper lip. And, she asked, "Since WHEN?"
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Baking - Burnt to Perfection

2008-11-14T15:01:00.002-06:00

I love to bake. With this love of baking comes a certain amount of pyrotechnics.

Sometimes in my more-is-always-better-exuberance, I tend to overfill pie pans, muffin tins, and other bakeware. This tends to result in batter drips burning onto the bottom of the oven. After completion of the baking cycle, I usually flip on the self-clean oven feature to take care of this smelly side-effect.

Due to the high oven temperature to perform the oven's self-cleaning, sometimes, (okay, often) a small fire starts on the bottom crusty portion of the oven. The first time this occurred, I flipped out. My daughter then wigged out because of my own screaming. Fortunately, the oven door locks automatically, or I probably would have opened the oven and given the fire more oxygen.

A few days ago, I made monkey bread. I let it rise too high before baking and sure enough, the juices creeped over the pan's edge and super-glued to the bottom of the oven. Apparently, fires in my kitchen have become very commonplace, because my daughter walked by, and her only comment was, "Just like in the olden days...cooking over an open fire." I'm not sure where she gets this sarcastic wit. :)
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Charity begins at Home - Kiva

2008-11-13T10:05:00.003-06:00

'Tis the season.

My favorite story about charitable giving at Christmas is called, "The Small White Envelope." Click here to read the story:
http://www.new-life.net/favrt049.htm

I have discovered a new charity called Kiva, and our little white envelope this year will hold a contribution to this organization. Kiva consists of "loans that change lives" and they let you lend to specific entrepreneurs in the developing world which empowers them to lift themselves out of poverty. I am going to let my daughter choose the entrepreneur that she would like to help.

Click here for more info on Kiva:
http://www.kiva.org/

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I am convinced that my daughter is going to choose some sort of humanitarian career when she attains adulthood. I feel that her heart beats to help children and animals.

My daughter recently inherited a windfall of $300. I told her that she could spend some of the money and save some of it. After pondering it for a bit, she said, "I think that I'll just save it all."

"Why?" I ask, completely confused why a 9-year old wouldn't want to spend at least part of the cash on something fun.

"Well, I thought I'd save it for you when you need to pay taxes."

Silence from me. I do not ever talk about paying taxes in her prescence. I think that she is fairly insulated from adult financial concerns, as a child should be.

After I explaining that I wouldn't need a loan from her in the near future, I said, "There's nothing that you would like to buy just for fun??"

"No. There's nothing that I really want, so I think that I'll just save it."

I later told a friend of mine this story. She was amazed at Hannah's generosity AND her fiscalness, especially at the age of 9. She has a daughter the same age, and she said that she was going to ask her daughter the same questions. She knew that her answers were not going to be similar in charitableness to my daughter's. She phoned me later to relate the conversation.

Mom: "I have a hypothetical question for you. (insert time here for definition of 'hypothetical.") Let's say that you received $300 out of the blue. What would you spend it on?"

Daughter: "AM I GETTING $300, MOM?"

Mom: "No." (and review definition of "hypothetical" again.)

Daughter: "Well, I think that I would buy a Nintendo for myself. Why are you asking me this, Mom?"

Mom explained to her daughter, how my daughter offered up her money to me to pay taxes. And, then when the offer was declined, my daughter decided to save the funds.

Daughter: "Wow. That's really sweet. Hey, Mom, I changed my mind.

Mom: Thinking that her daughter had considered this story of selfless generosity, and had changed her answer accordingly, asked, "What did you change your answer to, Honey?"

Daughter: "I decided that I'd much rather have a cell phone."
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Armpit hair and other changes in girls...

2008-11-12T17:23:00.006-06:00

"Wow, I REEK!" she exclaimed.

And thus, my daughter discovered that she needs to start wearing deodorant everyday. She's nine years old and is starting to experience changes in her body. (see: bra story below)

Every so often, she will come over to me, raise an arm and inquire, "Do you see any armpit hair yet?" For some reason unfathomable to me, she seems to be looking forward to this development. Each time, I check her little armpit, and I report, "Nope. No hair yet."

And every time, I smile a little smile and I remember back to when she was two years old, and our first conversation about "hair."

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She was two years old and we still played in the bathtub together. We would splash and play silly games. It was routine for me to exit the tub before her, get dressed and then retrieve her from the tub. One time, I stepped out of the tub and her eyes followed me curiously.

"Mommy, what's THAT?" she asked pointing at my lower body, as I dried myself with a towel.

I asked her, "What's 'what,' honey?"

"THAT!" she replied, pointing at the lower feminine bikini region of my body. (Not that it's had a bikini on it in 20+ years!)

Calmly and matter of factly, I stated, "It's hair."

She pondered this briefly and then with a sudden look of horror exclaimed, "WHAT is YOUR HAIR doing down THERE???!!!"
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Monkey Bread - Favorite of 4th graders!

2008-11-12T17:05:00.004-06:00

My daughter's FAVE baked treat...and voted #1 in her 4th grade class, too!

MONKEY BREAD

2 loaves frozen bread dough, semi-thawed
Cinnamon & Sugar
1/2 c. white sugar
1/2 c. packed brown sugar
1 stick butter
3/4 c. vanilla ice cream

walnut or pecan pieces, if desired

Cut 1 loaf bread into large bite-size pieces (with pizza cutter)and put into a greased round cake pan. Repeat with 2nd loaf of bread and place into another round cake pan. Sprinkle with sugar and cinnamon and nuts. Bring brown sugar, white sugar, butter and ice cream to a boil. Pour 1/2 of mixture over each pan of cut up bread. Let rise 30 minutes to 1 hour. Bake at 350 degrees for 25 - 30 minutes. (put a sheet underneath to catch drips!)

This can also be made in a bundt or angel food pan.

Children and Charity - CHILDREN, INC

2008-11-07T13:40:00.003-06:00

My daughter and I were reviewing her homework recently, and I noticed that there was a 1-800 telephone number written on the side of the page. I asked where she'd gotten this phone number.

She answered, "I saw it on TV one time."

Umm, yikes.

Gently prodding now, "What's the telephone number for?" (and yes, I was happy that it wasn't a 1-900 number!)

She paused and seemed reluctant to answer, which made me a bit nervous.

Timidly she answered, "It was a number to call to help feed hungry children."

I can picture it now...the infomercial announcer imploring, "Please write down this number and call now! Only you can help prevent this child from going hungry." And, I can see my darling, generous daughter with her huge and caring heart, jotting down that number, and trying to figure out how she's going to raise some money to feed all of these hungry children.

First thing I said was, "How incredibly sweet and giving you are, honey." And then, we discussed how our family has sponsored a Costa Rican child named Linda since the year 2000. Our favorite children's charitable organization is called "Children Inc." Our sponsored child and my daughter are the same age, and we take great joy in helping her and her family. We love to get letters and pictures, and I hope one day that we will have the opportunity to meet her.

So, if my credit card suddenly disappears into my daughter's hands, I am relieved to know that it will be used for a donation to a charitable cause, and not for the newest toy or electronic device. And, that's a warm feeling.

Sponsoring a child through Children Inc. is $28.00/month. Here's a link to their website:
http://www.children-inc.org/

An Old Mom Fails New Math

2008-11-07T07:53:00.003-06:00

It was bound to happen, I just didn't think that it would happen so soon! I can no longer help my daughter with her math homework, and she's only in 4th grade. I have long considered myself to be of reasonable intelligence, so this is quite a blow to my self-esteem.

So, to lay the background, yesterday, my daughter had a timed math test on division facts. Two answers were marked as being incorrect. Both were problems in which a number was being divided by zero.

8/0 = She answered "0." 5/0 = She answered "0." Both were wrong answers.

I asked her, "What IS the correct answer?" She said that she didn't know. Hmm, I swear that when I was a kid we were taught that any number divided by zero results in an answer of 0. It turns out that little "rule" only applies to multiplying by zero. Any number multiplied by zero results in a product of 0.

According to Wikipedia, it's not a "and vice versa" situation. Apparently, numbers cannot "really" be divided by zero, and the answer should be "undefined." So, my question is, "Was she supposed to write "undefined" on her TIMED division quiz?" Writing out the word would take up a good deal of the 3-minutes of time, wouldn't it? Is there some sort of symbol that is used to denote that the answer is "undefined?" To my math-challenged brain, this seems like a trick question.

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Part two of my math failure.

Daughter did a math assignment in which she was asked to measure the distance between several cities in a country. She used an old wooden inch ruler that I have had for years! She measured and recorded the inches, and then she calculated with the map's scale how many miles the measurement equated to. (1 inch = 200 miles)

She completed her homework and I checked her work. Her inch measurements looked kosher to my own measurements. Her calculations from inches to miles looked correct, too.

Yesterday, the homework was returned. She scored 12 out of 16 on the assignment. We remeasured. We recalculated miles. Measuring with inches seems to have changed since I went to school, or my ruler is way out of whack. We sent back the homework sheet, with our antiquated ruler, to school today.

Just so you know, if you try to reach me today, I may be attending 4th grade math to relearn measuring skills. Perhaps I should just learn that this is her father's area of expertise and not set myself up for feeling inadequate!

After reviewing her the Math portion of her WKCE practice booklet last night, I can only be glad that I'm not being tested in that arena. Which leads me to believe that my math skills are not among the attributes that inspire my daughter! (see previous post)

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What Jackie Robinson and I have in Common according to my Daughter

2008-11-06T13:47:00.002-06:00

Last night, as I was looking over one of my daughter's homework assignments, I discovered a remarkable silent gift that she'd given to me.

Her reading group is currently studying a book about Jackie Robinson, the black baseball player who broke the "baseball color line" and ended segregation in professional baseball.

Her teacher had given her the following assignment.

"Connector: Your job is to find connections between the book your group is reading and the world outside. This means connecting the reading to your own life, to happenings at school or in the community, to similar events at other times and places, to other people or problems that you are reminded of. You might also see connections between this book and other writings on the same topic, or by the same author. There are not right answers here - whatever the reading connects you with is worth sharing!"

My daughter had written the following responses:

"The U.S. was at war with Japan and now we're at war with Iraq."

"Jackie got insulted just like another Jackie who was a woman."

There were other answers, but the one that made tears leap to my eyes was this one...

"Jackie Robinson inspired Hank Aaron...like my Mom inspires me."

Wow.

I have to say that I've been flying high on this thought all rainy day long. I've never been anyone's "inspiration" before, and how incredibly wonderful to hear that I inspire my DAUGHTER! Oh, of course I know that she loves me, as we have a great mother-daughter relationship. But to hear that I INSPIRE her???

Amazing.

Like many pre-teens, my daughter has many heroes...famous authors, pioneers, presidents, musicians, etc...so it is amazing to me that I still fill the #1 position in her eyes.

People who know me know that I did not have an inspirational-type mother. I have often feared that I wouldn't be very good at this parenting gig, based on my own childhood. On some dark days, when I'm being particularly hard on myself about past mistakes or my incredible procrastination, being "inspirational" seems like a heavy load to bear. That one little sentence made my heart soar.

May your day be full of tiny little presents, just waiting to be unwrapped.

Favorite StoryPeople print for Daughters - Christmas Gift

2008-10-31T10:12:00.004-05:00

There has never been a day when I have not been proud of you, I said to my daughter, though some days I'm louder about other stuff so it's easy to miss that.

This is my favorite print from the StoryPeople - Brian Andreas - folks. I bought it for my daughter and the sentiment never fails to make my heart flip-flop.

Purchase yours today for your own daughter here:
http://www.storypeople.com/storypeople/WebStory.do?action=Show&storyID=1703&pageIndex=4&minRow=242&storyInSearch=200&productCategoryID=1000

(used with permission from StoryPeople)

Daughters and Bras Bralettes (aka training bras)

2008-10-17T14:19:00.005-05:00

When the Booby Fairy comes to your House...See the bra poll to your left and vote.

I vividly recall Robin Williams' stand-up routine in which he discussed his wife's pregnancy. During her pregnancy, her usual AA-sized ta-tas grew to ginormous DD's. Much to his great delight, of course. He exclaimed that "The Booby Fairy came! The Booby Fairy came!" (I cleaned up that sentence, a bit. It's Robin Williams, you know.)

Immediately, his wife covered her chest, and turned away saying, "These are for the baby." Ah, poor Robin.

I am reminded of this snippet of comedy, because the booby fairy is coming to our house. No! Not for ME!!! No enhancements for me. God was way too generous with me. Personally, I'd take a reduction if it was offered!

So, yes, my 8-year old is beginning to enter womanhood. Conversation following the first day of school.

“Mommy, guess what?”

“What?”

“My booby area is starting to get round!!!”

Of course, she is more delighted about this development (ha, pun intended) than I. And, yes, it is true. My little girl is marching straight towards womanhood. I have read that after breast development starts, menstruation usually follows within 2 years. YIKES, and double yikes, I say. We are not prepared for PMS X 3!

We have already discussed "periods," so she knows about that rite of passage. The highlight of said discussion being that I ended up with a maxi pad stuck to my forehead! (and screaming, "Is it on straight?!?") We discussed that when it happens, it will be a special time and we will celebrate accordingly. The three of us will go to a spa and pamper ourselves and celebrate being women.

Shortly afterwards, I found her reading the book "Period" at the breakfast table - she does her own research, you know - and she says, "Hey Mommy. Look at the name of this chapter." It is entitled, "What happens when I get my period?" She looked at me and said, "I know what happens! WE GO TO THE SPA!" I caressed her hair and said back to her, "Yep, Honey. It's just like going to the spa."

"...each and every freakin' month. Just like going to the spa...just like that," I muttered as I walked away.

So, time marches on. Before my eyes, she has grown from my little peanut into my little woman.

May the booby fairy stay away from your house until you invite her inside.

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Update to the blog above. A few months ago, we did go shopping for Hannah's first "training bra". (train them to do WHAT?) Since my day, they have a new name. These articles for the younger set (ha) are now referred to as "bralettes." We purchased several (unpadded) bralettes at Old Navy. She left the store, happily swinging the bag back and forth, her face positively beaming with joy. And time marches on.

Comments? Stories of your own? Make us laugh by using the comments section.

A Village of Good Moms

2008-10-17T09:31:00.003-05:00

I am the proud Mom of a 9-year old daughter. I have longed to write a blog about my experiences with parenting. I want to share my observations and challenges about daughters with fellow parents, and open up a dialogue to share ideas with each other. This first blog is a little about me and my Momness. I want this blog to be a Village of Good Moms (and dads!).
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"You are a good mom."

A few weeks after my StepMom told me the above statement, I still find myself contemplating it.

I do believe that I am a good Mom...I just wonder HOW I got to be one. I certainly did not learn it at my own birth mother's hands. For that is how I think of her - the woman who gave birth to me. She was too young and selfish to know how to "mother."

I was lucky enough to live on my Grandparent's farm and be raised with my aunts and uncle until the age of 10. My Grandma, Lillian, who I referred to as "Mom" just like her children did, loved me completely and unconditionally...and she still does.

After we moved off of the farm, I started my own search for loving mother figures. I was fortunate to find three different adopted moms, who nurtured me and loved me through the difficult teen years. I found them at the church that I belonged to, and they gave me what I was longing for at home. They spent time with me and made me feel special. They fit my image of what I thought a mother should be. When I remember this time and these special giving women, I think of the following quote:

"One hundred years from now, it will not matter what my bank account was, how big my house was, or what kind of car I drove. But the world may be a little better, because I was important in the life of a child."

Each of these women, were so important to me as a child. Research has shown that every child needs and should have a caring adult in their lives. It doesn't have to be a biological parent or relative...just someone who treats them as if they are the most important person in the world. Really, these women probably saved my life...or at the very least, made it so much better. Their influence continues on in my life today.

When I look at my daughter, I know that I would be crushed if she had to seek out other caring adults for love. I would question myself to find out how was I failing her. I would examine why she felt the need to look for mothering from someone else. With my birth mother, I think that she probably experienced a sense of relief that I was off her hands during those times away with my adopted "moms." As an adult, I try to take the high road and say, "She did the best that she could." My child's heart still whispers, "That's not good enough."

When I was pregnant with Hannah, I knew what kind of Mom that I wanted to be to her. I just wondered if I would be able to give her the love, affection and attention that I had wanted to receive as a child from my birth mother. My experience with my Grandma and my adopted Moms gave me the internal tools to be able to give these things to my own daughter.

And, my Hannah. She is so so loved. I love her so completely and so deeply that my heart breaks sometimes. But even aside from that, she has so many caring adults who love her and support her and make her feel special. We have a village of family and friends in which she thrives. In addition, Hannah has been fortunate at school to get not only the most academically talented teachers each year, but also the ones that I would also call the best Mom figures, too. Thank you, Kelli, Cindy, Sari and Laurie - for being kind and special to her and to our family.

As for my own "village," I have surrounded myself with an abundance of GREAT MOM friends. As a "motherless daughter" - how I refer to myself these days - I am so blessed to have a network of friends who I can call on for any child advice that I might need. Diane, Ellie, Peggy, Sari, LeAnn, Tammy - some relatives and some friends - are my support group, my touchstones, my rocks.

For example, when my 2 year old was burning up with a fever and no medicine seemed to be lowering it, I frantically called my friend, Diane. She was my calm voice of reason and my empathetic ear. She is everything that I would like to be as a Mom and most importantly, she loves my daughter.

And, my sis-in-law, Peggy, a counselor for people with eating disorders, is helping me to help Hannah through her present worries about her "big stomach." While she offers advice, most importantly, she also just listens to me. That's what great friends do...we're in this mothering thing together.

I could go on and on about these great friends of mine, but I won't. Suffice it to say as a group, they are amazing women and incredible mothers. I love them with all my heart and am fortunate to have them in my life...and Hannah is fortunate that I have them, too. They complete me as a Mom...not just a Mom...but a "good mom."