Mom in the Mirror

My husband is a traveling sleeper

Gary first fell asleep last night while reading to Colter. Then, he woke up and moved from Colter's bed to the living room couch, where he fell asleep while watching TV. Next, he came into our bedroom, where he fell asleep curled up next to me. This morning, when I got up, he was asleep on the couch again, while Colter played his GameCube nearby. For he has promises to keep, and miles to go before he wakes.

I'm the Little Engine

I've always been small -- short, thin, with tiny bones. And from the time I was very young, I felt like my favorite children's book character: the little engine that could. That's me, chugging along, "I think I can, I think I can," climbing every mountain in my way, crossing every bridge, and delivering every package to make the good people of the village happy.

Some days, I'd rawther stay at the Plaza than the roundhouse, and be Eloise instead.

Which children's book character are you most like?

Chaos at Chuck E. Cheese

Colter has picked up some good habits at Chuck E. Cheese, including how to wait his turn, deal politely with kids who hog the games or take his tickets, and especially, he's learned the advantage of saving up for something larger than a microscopic plastic helicopter that won't fly.

Plus, it's a safe place to explore his competitive side. And there's no denying that as a family, we love winning. It was thrilling yesterday to see Gary get 480 points on Skee-ball. We watched, mesmerized, as the tickets poured out hundred after hundred, with flashing lights and everything.

But yesterday's outing introduced me to a new danger (I was already familiar with the loud noise causing a headache and a hoarse voice, the cholera potential of the salad bar, and the bottomless nature of my son's appetite for tokens).

Yesterday, it was the unattended toddlers that really scared me.

Maybe I suddenly flashed back to the "CSI: Miami" episode that investigated a little girl being kidnapped -- then accidentally killed -- in a similar place, but I don't think so.

What scared me more than potential abductors were the actual parents, many of them, who leave their very young children to run around alone in a place filled with flailing arms, stomping feet, and flying balls.

What are they thinking?!

I actually found an employee yesterday to help this one wandering boy, who was climbing on equipment and putting parts of his body inside places they could easily have become stuck. While she was looking for an associate to watch him, a little girl who was not much older started asking adults in our vicinity if they'd seen a little boy. I directed her to him, and she took him back to a birthday party in another room.

Next time we go, I'm trying the beer.

Wanna cuddle?

For me, cuddling is cozy, warm, luxurious -- its own unique pleasure, like taking a long hot bath. For every man I've ever known, cuddling is a prelude to sex or sleep or both. In their defense, men may have some noticeable involuntary reactions to spooning. And once they feel the itch, they want to be scratched. So, what do you think -- is cuddling foreplay or fun in itself or both?

What I learned in 2nd grade

I spent yesterday morning in Colter's classroom teaching the kids about Hanukkah. I think I learned more than they did, though, including:

A lot goes on in a classroom and most of it has nothing to do with formal instruction.

My son really is the smartest and sweetest student in his class and all the other kids think so too.

Kids lie. Sometimes on purpose, sometimes unwittingly. It's that whole unconscious "wishing will make it so" strategy. Knowing this finally puts to rest my guilt about the year I was in 2nd grade and told my class that David Cassidy was coming to perform for us. I now understand why we were all -- especially me -- so surprised and disappointed when he didn't.

Some kids really need more help than others.

Teachers are part psychologist, math & reading expert, stand-up comic, drill sergeant and saint.

The most exciting part of Hanukkah is spinning the dreidl.

There's never enough time, attention or paper towels.

The cafeteria is really, really loud.

It's best that I'm not an elementary school teacher.

Just because Colter introduced me as "my mom who works too much" doesn't mean I should quit my job. A few years ago he would have introduced me as "my mom who reads too much" and I would never have considered giving up books, even for him.

What will he remember?

Do you ever worry about what your son(s) or daughter(s) will remember when they think of their childhood(s)? Will it be the birthday party you planned so carefully? The holiday gift they really, really, really wanted and you finally found? The trip to Disney? Or will it be the small moments -- finishing a puzzle, walking down the street to the ice cream shop, reading "Goodnight Moon" together?

I wonder a lot. If I died tomorrow (a gruesome obsession, but that's for another post), how will Colter remember me? Will he remember all the times he tried to pull me away from the computer? The time I yelled at him (OK, the times I've yelled at him)? Or will he remember the many, many, many times we played trains and Connect 4 and Pokemon?

It scares me to think that even though his young years have been far happier than mine his memories might not reflect the peace and joy he has felt.

If I won the lottery...

I was driving to work when I heard the disc jockey say, "Now is the time to buy lottery tickets. The jackpot is $18 million."

I've never played the lottery, and so I've never entertained fantasies of winning. Until that moment.

I thought, "Wow, what would I do with $18 million?"

Here's what I came up with:

• I'd buy one of those turn-of-the-century houses I've been eyeing in a quaint nearby town.


• I'd pay off our debt.


• I'd count the pennies that remain.


• I'd introduce Colter to New York City.


• I'd plan a trip to Yellowstone for my 40th birthday so Colter (and Gary and I) could see the place his namesake discovered.


• I'd save for Colter's college.

I happily daydreamed as I drove the rest of the way to work.

Work -- now there's a question: Would I quit my job? At first I thought not. I love my job. Then I realized, I could still do what I love -- writing and helping others write -- but instead of publishing work online, I could start a book company. And my first author would be my husband.

Maybe I could open a bookstore, too. Within walking distance of our home. I'd make it the kind of place people could hang out, meet a friend, learn something new.

Just before arriving at work, it hit me: I could do all of these things without winning the lottery. Which made me wonder, are my dreams too small?

A short time later, it occurred to me that there was nothing on my list to help others. So I took a quick inventory of who in my life needed the most assistance and I added to the list:

• Move my in-laws to an assisted-living facility that they'd like, or get them a live-in or (at least) a cleaning lady ... whatever it would take to make them comfortable.

I had lunch with a friend and posed the question to her: What would you do if you won the lottery? She immediately answered, "I'd take all of my friends to Paris for dinner."

"Have you ever been to Paris?" I asked.
"No," she said.
"Why there?" I asked.
"Because the food's good."

Then she said she'd encourage her husband to retire, which would make him happy (he's in his 40s and actually loves his job, including the part where he gets to complain about it).

"Are you sure that's what would make him happy?" I asked. "Why don't you ask him what he'd do if he won the lottery, then you'll know."

Taking my own advice, I called Gary from work and asked what he'd do if he won the lottery. He said, "Move back to North Carolina."

WHAT?! All these months I've been expressing guilt about moving to Florida, away from his family and friends, and he's been reassuring me that he's happy here. And now this?! I was stunned. Stunned. And sad. And so glad I asked.

Several hours later, when I got home from work, we talked about it. He said he had decided he wouldn't move back to North Carolina, he'd just visit frequently. I said, "You can visit frequently now, without winning the lottery."

He said, "Nah, that's OK."

Sometimes the things we think we want are not the things we want at all.

It wasn't until we were in bed later that night that I realized how true this was. I had left something very important off the list: another child.

For years, we said we just wanted just one. Then, after my dad died, I started to think a second child would be good for us. Gary persuaded me that we really couldn't afford one, financially or emotionally. But still, I felt this nagging longing. Or at least, I thought I did.

Except that having another child didn't make the list of things I'd do if I won the lottery. It didn't even make the revised versions I mentally drew up over the course of the day. And once I thought about it, I realized I really didn't want another child. I'm happy with our family just the way it is, and so is Gary.

And that's OK, because if this experience has taught me anything, it's that my life is pretty much the way I want it. And knowing that, I feel like I've won the lottery already.

Which is a good thing, because I forgot to buy a ticket.

What would you do if you won the lottery?

This LifeFiles column originally appeared on about 70 TV station websites managed by Internet Broadcasting Systems.

How to be a better parent in 2004

It's a tad too early for resolutions, so I'll just call this "Three easy steps toward feeling less guilty":

1. Spend more time with family and less time at work.
   But: I love my job, it makes me happy, and a happy parent is a good parent. Also, my family needs me to pay the bills, so isn't it in their best interest that I remain employed and employable?


2. Spend more time listening and less time talking.
   But: I have things to say, too! And isn't it in my family's best interest that I express myself?


3. Spend more time with books and computers when the world is asleep, and less time with them when the world is awake.
   But: I love reading and writing, they make me happy, and a happy parent is a good parent (see number 1 above). Besides, I need sleep too (at least theoretically), and isn't it in my family's best interest that I'm well-rested?

Hmmm. Maybe this isn't as easy as I thought.

When did I become an insomniac?

For the last year or two, I have gone through month-long periods when I fall asleep with Colter around 9:30 p.m. and wake up, fully rested, sometime between 2:30 and 3 a.m.

I think it started around the time my dad died, but I'm not sure, and I don't want to wake Gary up to ask him. (Consider it an early Hanukkah present, honey.)

I can't tell if this is a sign of stress or a sign that I'm getting old and need less sleep. Either way, it's made me a more productive person and I can't complain about that.

TV IV

Colter watches way too much television. I know he does, I know it's my fault, and yet I feel powerless to change it. I had a father who watched way too much television, I married a man who watches way too much television, and now my son may as well have an IV hooked up to him that mainlines media.

And yet... there are worse drugs he could be taking, even at the age of 7. And exactly what part of his viewing time should I eliminate -- the time he watches in the morning and lets Gary and I sleep? the afterschool time when he and Gary finish homework and Colter's ready to vegatate? the time when I get home from work around 6:30 or 7 and we eat dinner, then head to the set because I'm too exhausted to play a board game or have a Transformers battle?

I have to believe that this viewing time is balanced by all of the books we read, all of the piano we practice, by karate and swimming and synagogue and the many other ways we spend our time as a family.

Besides, he'll be a Trivial Pursuit champion when he's older and that's got to count for something... doesn't it?