DotMoms

Everyday pearls

By Cooper

One of the things that struck me when I entered the secret society of motherhood was how quickly and easily mundane, everyday conversations with other mothers can, every so often, turn -- like from 0 to 60 -- into deep discussions about hopes and dreams and philosophies.

Recently, for instance, as I was getting my teeth cleaned, the dental hygienist was talking about teeth whitening, and in the next breath confided in me her wish for her two young children. 

"I say a prayer every night that my kids go through life with an imaginary hedge around them. The little bad things can get through -- so they can learn from them -- and the big bad things stay out."

Isn't that beautiful?

She also shared another wish: that the partners her children will choose to share their lives with someday are having happy childhoods too.

Wow.

And then there was the conversation I had in the grocery checkout line with the mom of three 20somethings. She said, shortly after complimenting the potted plant I was buying, "It can be a tough struggle with kids sometimes, but the best thing to do is stick to what you know is best for your child. They won't like it, and it may cause some fights, but it all works out for the better."

Or the mother of teenagers who said during a passing chat in a hallway, "If I had it all to do over again, I would cherish family time more and not let my kids do so many sports. We are never together because there is always a practice or game or something else scheduled." 

I also remember the remark one mom made during a phone conversation, "Parents need to let their kids make mistakes."

For all the valuable, pearls of wisdom I have heard in my time as a mom, I am also struck by the occasional "drive-by" remarks moms can make to one another.

At school recently a group of moms got to talking about nighttime routines. One of the mothers said her family all crawled in bed together every night to read a book. After she left, another mother said, "That is the worst idea I have ever heard."

Huh?

I read recently that parents desperately need, but don't often get, support and reassurance. Although the "one size fits all" theory of life never applies to parenting (nor should it), I would take the comfort and knowledge from other parents willing to share their well-earned wisdom, philosophical thoughts and "big picture" observations over the pettiness of competitive mommy-ing any day. How about you?

The Big Apple with the apple of my eye

By Cooper

Last week, for her eighth birthday, my daughter and I spent three days in New York City. My husband and I lived there for 10 years but moved out of the city when I was 8 months pregnant with her, so, our daughter feels as though she is a New Yorker. For years she has wanted to "go back."

And go back we did.

We rode the Ferris wheel in the giant Toys 'R Us in Times Square, we "adopted" a baby doll from the newborn hospital at FAO Schwarz, and, for the first time in my life, took a carriage ride in Central Park.

We walked everywhere, but the streets of New York never looked like this before.

We gazed up at the tall buildings and gaped at the pink hair on passersby, we enjoyed every bite of the "authentic" New York pizza we had for lunch and were awestruck by "Wicked" and "Stomp."

Seeing New York through the eyes of my daughter made me fully realize what an amazing city it is.    

It also made me realize how important it is for her to see that the world is big and there are all kinds of people who do all kinds of things. There is no limit to what she can do, and no boundaries on who she is or who she can be.

Our daughter is a kid who, from a young age, doesn't think in a box. She sees the world differently, with more of an "artist" eye than anything else. It has gotten her in trouble this year with some of the kids at school and with her teacher. When she saw the performers in "Stomp" making "music" with newspaper and garbage cans, her mouth dropped open. "I get this," I imagined her thinking to herself.

My birthday wish for my daughter is that she internalizes what she saw in New York and it helps her when the world opens the lid to that box and tries to pull her inside it.

We got off the plane from New York and went straight home to my daughter's family birthday party. The first thing she did was open the card I had tucked (I thought on the sly) under her gifts. In the card, which she read out loud, I listed all the things we did in New York and how much I enjoyed having that experience with her. She closed the card and said, "I loved it, Mom. Didn't you?"

I could not answer, I was crying too hard. 

Reconnecting over Spring Break

By Cooper

Sometimes I feel like I am living life at the equivalent of "level 10" on the volume control of a stereo sound system.

That is to say, there's a lot of noise around here, both literally and figuratively.

My children have powerful lungs, which they exercise with abandon, usually when I am on the phone or, like right now, when I am trying to write a DotMoms post.

But mainly the "noise," for me, is the chaos of daily life.

It is mind numbing to think about the layers upon layers of emotional and physical needs, tasks, chores and commitments that come with raising a family.

In the five minutes I was trying to figure out what to write in this post:

• One child fell
• The baby filled his diaper
• The phone rang
• The doorbell rang
• A fight broke out over a small, stuffed tiger
• One child wanted a snack
• A homework problem needed to be explained
• A cup of milk spilled across the kitchen table
• The dog had to be let out and let back in again
• My son yelled from the bathroom, while standing in a puddle, "I have powerful pee!"
• The baby tried to unplug my computer
• One child got gum in his hair

Add in the other things that seem to always be hanging above us: my husband and I are trying to figure out where to put our daughters in school next year; a close relative is sick; jobs; money; sleep deprivation...

I think I need some time to slow down and turn it all off.

Good thing spring break is coming up.

This year, on purpose, we are not going anywhere, we are staying home. My husband is going to take the week off from work, and I want to take that time to "reconnect" with him and our kids.

But I need some ideas.

One mom told me her family spent a memorable vacation at home one year, hanging out, doing silly things around their house, like putt-putt golf through every room and theme dinners like "backwards" night.

Help! I know I am going to need lots of ideas to keep the week together at home fun and sane!

How do you use vacation time to reconnect with your families in interesting, fun ways?

Messes and marks

By Cooper

There is no peace in my universe until all the beds are made.

Once upon a time it took a lot more in the category of domestic orderliness to bring me a sense of harmony, but nowadays, with a ton of kids and a hyper little dog, made beds is about as close to household perfection as it gets.

That is saying something about how far I have come (I hope my husband is reading this), but I am especially proud of the fact that I don't break out in hives anymore when a bag of pretzel rods is upended in the playroom.

Going through the process of lowering my somewhat compulsive standards has also made me appreciate the difference between making a mess and leaving a mark.

My definition of a mess can be summed up in the time the kids developed a goo in the pantry using cherry Kool-Aid, flour and water with which they painted the dog. He's still pink.

Or maybe it is their clothes. I don't know about you but my kids have more clothes than could possibly be good for them. I know their clothes sure aren't good for me. Every single time I open one of their drawers or look in one of their closets, my heart starts to palpitate.

Of course there's the stinky garbage bags full of dirty diapers and the pile of laundry hissing at me from the back room. The worst, though, was our old highchair. My son, unbeknownst to me, was shoving food into a crack in the highchair's pad. One day, when I was wiping the chair off, I noticed something, um, crawling. I am gagging as I type, so I won't continue, but I am sure you get the picture.

I'll keep it to the house and not even go to describing the minivan, although I will say that if we were ever stranded in a snow storm, we could live off the detritus on the floor of our vehicle for weeks.

Despite the seemingly endless clutter, piles and stuff, there are a couple things in our house that might be considered by some to be "messy" but I think of them more like "marks." And that, as they say, is a good thing.

Across the top of the wooden kitchen table are tiny indentations which were made over the years by my kids when they were toddlers pounding their little forks and spoons as they learned how to feed themselves. I imagine the day when my kids bring home dates and I can point out the marks. But mainly I treasure how those dents bring back memories of their soft baby hair and chubby hands.

I always chuckle when I see the mini scratch marks (made by our absurdly short dog) at the foot of the back door. And I can't bear to think of the day -- if we ever move -- when someone would actually paint over the wall covered with our jumbled, handwritten height chart. 

My favorite mark, however, is on the stone patio off the back of our house. Last summer the kids got out what I thought was washable paint and made green, red and purple hand and foot prints all over the stone. When it rained the next day and the prints were still there, I took a look at the paint jars and read the word "permanent." Yep, our once-grown up, elegant looking patio is now covered with a rainbow of hands and feet.      

The best part is, although my children's hands and feet grow bigger every day, the marks on the stone outside and on the table (or on my heart, for that matter) just stay where they are and never go away.

My Valentine's Day Top 10

By Cooper

I have many reasons to celebrate Valentine's Day this year, but these are the most important:

1. The Angel Baby. When I saw the two "positive" lines on the EPT stick a year and a half ago, I fainted. Not really, but almost. People sometimes call it an "oops" baby, and for most of my pregnancy I did too, as the idea of having four kids was not even close to being on my radar screen. I am here to say, ten months after he was born, that my beautiful baby boy could not be farther from an oops.

2. His Dreamy Ways. When I pick the baby up, he leans his forehead against mine and bats his eyes.

3. An Unexpected Moment.  On Christmas Eve, just as my husband and I got everyone to bed, our 3-year-old son threw up. I said to my husband, "This is definitely a worst-case scenario." After cleaning what I could, I turned to leave my little boy's room and he whispered, "Mommy, thank you for helping me." 

4. Wacky Sweetness. If the baby is crying, our 5-year-old daughter leaves whatever she is doing, comes running and strokes the baby's head, telling him, "It's OK." Without fail, the baby starts to giggle. As kind as she is, she's equally wacky. Last week she asked if we could go to the cemetery and dig up my grandmother to see how she was doing.

5. Daughter Courage. Because she is usually confident -- if not brazen -- I was blindsided one morning a couple months ago when my 7-year-old daughter stood at the foot of my bed and said she hated school. Sobbing, she told me about bullies, mean teachers, confusing school work and how badly she wanted a friend. It has been a rough winter, no doubt, but she has been brave. A few days ago she brought home a math test with "100 percent" written at the top and then she asked me to set up a play date with one of the bullies. 

6. The Little Things. After my 7-year-old told me about her troubles at school, I started to put notes that said things like "I am glad you are home!" in the mailbox for her to retrieve when she got off the school bus. I suspected she liked the notes primarily because of the candy, pencils and other doodads I usually left with them, but then I found an envelope tucked in the back of her drawer and in it, carefully folded, were the notes.

7. Mother's Devotion. For a variety of reasons, a few months ago, my mother ended up driving my husband to his vasectomy. When my husband got home from what we euphemistically called "The Spa Day," I asked, "How was it with Mom?" and he replied, "When I got out of the car she told me, 'Have fun!'"      

8. The Best Medicine. I love my husband for being my partner in this chaos, but I adore him because, most of the time, we can laugh about it all.

9. Who I Am. On the days each of my children were born, I became more and more me. Not that being a mother gave me an identity, quite the opposite. Somehow, with time, it freed me to find out who I am.

10. No Matter What. I hope and pray that every day, no matter how overwhelming or nutty life gets, I remember to thank my lucky stars for my sweet, loving, crazy zoo.

Better than you found it

By Cooper

Above my desk hangs an antique, needlepoint sampler that I found in a thrift shop. It reads:

Leave Everything A Little Better Than You Found It

I love this philosophy, and try my best to live by it, although I have to admit there are moments when I take the mantra, you know, too seriously.

Kind of like Martha Stewart announcing that she has some helpful hints for remaking the country's prison system. 

For some reason, ideas about how to make things, well, better (at least according to me) just come flying into my brain, often uninvited. My husband has a word for it: compulsive.

I like to think I can make positive contributions, but I admit there are times I should mind my own damn business.

Take, for instance, a recent family wedding.

As my husband and I walked into the church for the ceremony I was immediately bothered by the large, crisp, white bows on each pew. They looked kind of... wrong. When we sat down I realized the bows were not stuck to the pews with the usual, unassuming florist adhesive or hook device -- they were wrapped, around and around, with extremely wide, dirty and frayed black duct tape.

I was seated on the aisle and therefore had an alarming, up close and personal view of the unfortunate decor. Glancing about to make sure no one was watching, I started to pick at the tape and rearrange the ribbon over it.

Then I noticed someone in the row behind me doing the same thing.

It was my mother.

"It must be genetic," I whispered.

She looked at my neatly arranged pew bow, and then at hers, and then at the peculiar, duct tape covered bows adorning the other pews and she giggled. My mom has a contagious laugh, so I began to giggle, too.

Extended family members started to send hairy eyeballs and make hrumph noises in our direction. It wasn't until the bride began to walk down the aisle that we were able to control ourselves.

But, wouldn't you know, I could not stop fiddling with that duct tape. 

Welcome to my 1950s moment

By Cooper

There was a time -- the BEFORE WE HAD KIDS era that seems more like a dream than anything else -- when my husband bedecked me in sparkly jewelry and pretty clothes at Christmas.

Naturally, I'm more than a little perturbed that 10 years of marriage and four kids later the presents have become considerably less sparkly and less pretty. This year took the cake, as my big Christmas present from my husband was a crockpot.

Things change, right? It is better to give than receive. Christmas isn't about gifts. After four kids, who needs to get all fancy? Dry cleaning is expensive! What we need is comfort food!

Try as I might, I just couldn't make friends with my new appliance, so I shoved it into a corner and tried to forget about it.

I will say, in my husband's defense, it is a top-of-the-line, chrome, gourmet-ish "Slow Cooker" but that didn't help me one bit. Where was my little, tiny box with the bauble inside? The only small box in my pile this year contained a pen.

One of my New Year's resolutions, like most of the world, is to exercise more and eat better. I joined a gym and my first day there one of the gym's employees said to me, "The best thing you can do if you are trying to eat better is to buy a crockpot."

"Really? Well, I already have one!" I said brightly.         

I went home, ripped open the "Slow Cooker" box and put a chicken, carrots, celery and onions in the pot. It cooked all day and boy was it good.

Would you believe that for the last two weeks I have made just about every, single dinner in that thing?

I must admit, I do find it more than a little bizarre that I get excited when I find low-fat crockpot recipes. (Do you have any?)

Darned if that crockpot didn't teach me a lesson. Like my grandmother always said: don't knock something until you give it a chance, you may end up really liking it. Come to think of it, my grandmother had a crockpot, too.

The Committee

By Cooper

If ever there was a time I wish I could spin my head fully around, make my eyes bulge out and force guttural moans to spew from my mouth, it would be in a committee meeting.

Take, for instance, a recent gathering of a local organization's fund-raising committee.

It was all starting off nicely enough, I had coffee and I found out I wasn't expected to say anything. Then I saw the new committee chair, Betty.

She was coiffed, wearing a suit accessorized with very big earrings and she was holding A MICROPHONE.

Now, if the meeting was assembled in, say, an auditorium the microphone would not be of note, but, in this particular instance, there were 12 of us, total, and we were huddled together on tiny chairs in a tiny classroom in a preschool.

Betty: THE MEETING WILL NOW COME TO ORDER.

What I wish I had said: Excuse me, Betty, I'm sorry, could you repeat that? I can't hear you. (Then I would have glanced quickly around to see if anyone appreciated my wit.)

Betty: THE BAKE SALE WAS A GREAT SUCCESS. WE MADE $57.23. A BIG THANK YOU TO DOTTIE FOR ALL HER HARD WORK. AND JOAN, THOSE PEANUT BUTTER BALLS WERE EXCELLENT, BUT I AM NOT GOING TO THANK YOU BECAUSE I HAD TO GO TO THE GYM EVERY DAY LAST WEEK TO WORK THEM OFF!

What I wish I had said: Um, Betty, we still can't hear you here in the front row. Can you speak up? (I would wonder, does anybody get this?)

Betty: I NEED VOLUNTEERS FOR THE HOLIDAY SPLENDOR GALA. LOIS, YOU DID SUCH A GOOD JOB LAST YEAR, DON'T YOU WANT TO DO IT AGAIN?

What I wish I had said (note: I would have completely made this up): Betty, I thought I would share with the committee an interesting article I just read in National Geographic about the behavior patterns of female Australian prairie dogs. The dogs vie for the alpha female position by competing to howl the loudest.

But no one understands the lame attempt at irony, so I spin my head around and make my eyes pop out.

How do you handle alpha dogs?

Crazy for you

By Cooper

If our house was ever burning down, and my family was safe outside, I would seriously consider running back into the house, through the flames, for my 7-year-old daughter's most cherished possessions: "Doggie" and "Blankie," a tattered and gray security object duo.

It may seem odd to say I would risk my life for these things, but it is not without precedent. A few years ago, I ran into oncoming traffic to save the pair after they flew out the car window.

This type of behavior can only be explained by the simple reason that, to me, Doggie and Blankie are, well, sacred.

They became that way because of the amount of love and need that was poured into them over the last seven years. When she is sad or tired or sick, our daughter gets the twosome from her bed and carries them around the house, even though she has grown tall and does homework and can tie her own shoes and make her own chocolate milk.

The other night, after everyone was in bed, I found Doggie and Blankie tucked into a doll carriage. It was the first night they had not gone to bed with our daughter and it took my breath away.

What was in store for these friends of hers?

I heard once about a bride who sewed her childhood security blanket into the lining of her wedding dress so it would be with her as she walked down the aisle into a life of her own. I have to admit I like that idea.

If I was granted three wishes, one of them would be, no doubt, that my children were always safe. When I took Doggie and Blankie upstairs that night and tucked them into bed beside my little girl, I realized giving her safety and security won't always be so easy.

What if HE is a SHE?

By Cooper

My husband and I are not much for organized religion. We attend church for baptisms, funerals and the odd holiday, but other than that we have remained somewhat detached from the general area of "worship."

That is not to say we aren't spiritual. I think I speak for both of us when I say my husband and I find God in a peaceful lake or a blue sky or a baby's cheek.

Still, it came as a bit of a surprise to us when, about a month ago, our 5-year-old daughter FOUND THE LORD.

It started with a lot of questions we were hard pressed to answer like: Who is God? Where is God? Does God get mad at bad guys? Does God hear us talking?

I really thought about buying a book on this, since I'm pretty sure our responses weren't terribly informative. She kept asking the same questions.

And then she started singing -- nonstop -- "We gather together to ask the Lord's blessing."

When I ask her to clean up her toys or hang up her coat she says things like, "No, I can't do that. God is my boss." Or if I tell her I think she is wonderful she responds, "I am glad you said that because you just made God so happy."

The other night, as we were having dinner, God came up again.

"If God is everywhere and can do anything, then He can eat," our daughter said as she placed one grain of white rice in the middle of the table.
 
We stared at the rice for about a minute. God did not eat it.

Try explaining that one.

Editor's Note: Cooper is a new DotMom. You can read her bio here.