When there are no words...

I don't even know how to start this one. It's been a jarring and difficult day here. The morning started off nice enough. I got to sleep past 8, which hasn't happened in several weeks with having house guests and our little hurricane fun.

We'd gone outside to work in the yard when a neighbor ran across the street to tell me the news. Our neighbor's son and his wife were in a very serious car accident and the son, who is friends with my son, was life lighted to the medical center.

As the story unfolded, it was even more frightening. The mom had been late for soccer practice and was at an intersection that has no light and it is on a two-laned country road. Apparently, she made a mistake in judgment and pulled out with an oncoming truck right upon them. They were hit in their minivan hard on the son's side by an F-250 pickup truck, which plowed them into the roadside ditch. Her son had head injuries, no word on how serious. The mom was bruised, certainly shaken, but fine.

And, I felt just sick inside. Sick because these are really wonderful new friends who are truly good people--salt of the earth kind of folks. Sick because we know this boy and he's pretty good friends with my son. Sick because he's very small for his age and I worried about internal injuries to his head.

The story has a somewhat happy ending. Our neighbor's son is going to be OK, pending a follow-up catscan in the morning. He has massive cuts and injuries to his face, but all are superficial and there was no internal damage to his brain. The injuries are serious, but he may be able to come home in a few days. The kids on our street have made posters to welcome him home and the moms have signed up to make the family meals. His sister spent the day with all of us, as neighborhood kids tried to take her mind off of the trauma and her fears by holding a popcorn/lemonade stand to raise money to get her brother something. The kids marvelled that no one was taking the popcorn or lemonade and they'd almost made $50--a real record.

After saying prayers of thankfulness and giving the mom a big hug the first chance I had to give her one, I was left still reeling from it all, as was everyone on our street. I can't even fathom what she must feel right now.

I'm left realizing how fleeting life is and how lucky we all are. I have sat at that very intersection, cursing under my breath because we were so late for a game before and wondering if I had time to turn. Elsewhere, I have made the mistake before of pulling out when I thought I had time, only to barely make it. And, then I took a deep breath and never gave it a second thought. Now I have the understanding of what might have happened if I did NOT make it and the anger with myself for dismissing it at the time.

I have a new friend on my street who will now have a very difficult time coping with this. Motherhood guilt is vicious even with everyday missteps--we blame ourselves for every character flaw, every failing in our kids. We tell ourselves it must have been something we did, something we forgot to do, something our children learned from us. This is a mom who loves her kids and who has a warm and caring heart and would probably give her own life for her kids in a heartbeat. And one quick mistaken decision almost took the life of her sweet son.

I am struck by how very easily something like this can happen. To anyone. Anywhere. And, aren't we all just lucky with each day that we tuck our kids in and say our goodnights?

I'm still feeling sick to my stomach tonight because I know that could have just as easily been my son in my car in the ditch...

A love letter, of sorts...

My sweet girl,

Next Wednesday, you will start attending preschool all week long. That's five days a week of 9 to 2 p.m. And, that also means that, in just a year, you will be getting on the big kid school bus you talk so much about and riding away from me every day off to Kindergarten. So, because I like to get a jump on emotional breakdowns whenever possible, I'm writing you this letter tonight. It is a love letter of sorts and also a declaration of a mother who is realizing time is flying by entirely too fast for her now.

When we made the decision to put you in five-day-a-week preschool, something that had never occurred to me actually, it seemed so logical. You are so very ready. For the past two years, you have asked me on your non-school days if you are going to school that day. You want to go. You thrive there. For some moms, this might make them feel slighted or less important in the eyes of their child. But, it has never bothered me. I bask in your enthusiasm and marvel at your quick little brain and can't wait to see what you do with it as you grow up.

So, it made sense, given what all has been going on around here and also the amount of work that looms waiting for me if only I had the time to commit to it. And, while you would not understand this now, I hope one day you will know that it really was the best time for this to happen for your mom, mentally speaking. Being a work-a-holic turned stay-at-home mom has been a battle for me for the past eight years.

It is not that I don't thank God every day for this time I am blessed at home with you and your brother. It is time that I know so many others do not have the fortune to enjoy. It's just that a big piece of me disappeared when I left my career behind. A piece that I have battled to get back through part-time work, crazy career shifts, and strange spurts of domestication that don't seem quite natural for me.

Being your Mom feels easy. Giving you a hug and a kiss every night and coloring in your books with you, that suits me well. But, giving up a part of myself that gave me security and self-worth was very hard. I never quite fully adjusted as I should have. And in my uncomfortable new skin, a new person came out of me that I didn't know existed. Moody and unpredictable, angry at something that I can't quite define, it is not someone I look in the mirror and embrace.

I am a good mother. There are times I question that, as every mother does, but in my heart I know it to be true. I could not love another two children more than I do you and your brother. And, while I make mistakes, I pray most nights that the things that I do well with you all will make a positive impact in your life and the mistakes won't make a difference.

So, this sudden choice, to put you in school looks good on paper all the way around for us. It's what I need. It is what you need. It is a win-win.

There is just one problem. My heart is breaking with every click of the clock towards that day. You see, my sweet girl, the four years that I have had with you have been such a delight to me. There are so many reasons why that I have trouble even explaining it, but I will try.

I love how every night you tell me exactly what you want for breakfast in the morning and you remember that first thing when you wake up and instruct me again.

I love how you randomly will tell me how much you love me, for no reason at all.

I love how if I get frustrated or say a cross word to you, you crumble into a million pieces of drama.

I love how seconds later when I hug you and tell you I love you, you bounce up and run around as if there was never a tear shed, and all is forgotten to you.

I love to listen to you play with your princesses in the dollhouse and how you can make up stories and entertain yourself forever.

I also love how you are always wanting me to play with you, color with you, dance with you, any time I am willing to do so.

I love that you like to go grocery shopping and you are my little grocery list, spouting off what we need as we go down the aisles.

I could go on and on my little cha-cha, and that's the truth.

When I found out I was having a little girl, I have to admit to you that I was scared. I really didn't know if I could handle little girl issues. I was broken into being a mom of a son and I was getting quite comfortable with that. What would I do with little hair bows and baby dolls? How would I handle the big things later on like crushes, periods, and dating?

You see, I have never thought of myself as a girly girl. And, for some reason, from the minute you were born I knew that you were one. And, how on earth was I going to be able to work with that, I wondered?

But, something happened along the way. You just completely melted my heart and dazzled me with your brilliance and beauty, the way you do most people when they meet you. It is not unusual for me to be approached by your teachers, your friend's mothers, and other people who cross your path and hear so many complements about your happy nature that I blush and beam with pride.

So, next Wednesday when I walk you to preschool, please don't misunderstand if you see my tears. I am so very happy for you and proud of how you are growing up. And you know I'm not one of "those moms" who gets all dramatic and freaks out at every milestone. I usually celebrate them with a lot of joy. But, this one, my dear, is tearing at my heart a little. You're growing up too fast for me and I just don't know quite how to handle that.

But, what I do know for certain is that I feel so very blessed to be your Mommy and I know that God must be looking out for me because I am. How on earth did I ever get so lucky?

I love you,

Mommy

Putting the "P" in Precociousness

Here's what you get at my house when you tell the 4-year-old princess if she does not clean up her floor, she cannot go to the swimming pool.





If you can't tell, this is under her bed, completely invisible unless you happen to pull up the quilt and look under as I did. Of course, I found this AFTER we went to the pool. Sigh...

Ball in your hand, and a bird on your shoulder

Dear Wildcat,

There are so many things I wish I could tell you about now. This is your first season playing basketball--a sport that gave me more frustration, self-doubt, and stress than any other in my days of playing sports. It was also a sport that I lived and breathed by high school, and that I could not get enough of at the very same time. One that I miss to this day and wish I was still playing, actually.

This first season of basketball has been a roller coaster ride for you, and for your Dad and I as well. After your first game, where you did pretty well, you froze in your second game. You came back in the next practice and played harder than I have ever seen you play. You got knocked to the ground and popped right back up again with a tenacity that made me proud. You put up a million shots, 98 percent of which didn't go in, and you did not stop trying.

And, then we came to tonight's game. The first quarter went fine. You didn't score, but made some great defensive moves that even helped your team to score. You put your hands up to ask for the ball, instead of almost hiding from it on offense. And, then you twisted your knee...

And, then you sat out. And, it was obvious to your Dad and me that the knee was fine. But, you still sat out. And, you moaned and you told the coach you just couldn't run. For. The. Rest. Of. The. Game.

And, I know you saw the disappointment on your Dad and my face. I know you didn't know how to handle that. And, the longer you sat out, the more frustrated you saw us become. When the coach pointed out at the end of the game in front of your teammates and the parents that he wanted to put you in and you said you couldn't run, I know that crushed you because it crushed us the same. And, then you came home and melted down completely.

Wildcat, we love you and always will. We know that these are lessons you have to learn on your own. I wish so much that I could be there to whisper in your ear the right way to handle things, but then it wouldn't be called growing up for a reason.

I wish I could hug away your insecurities. I wish that I could somehow prevent you from walking in such a similar path from my own years of growing up. It is painful for me, as your mother, to watch you making the same mistakes that I did. I wish I could give you a mirror that would show you what a gifted and wonderful person you already are to all of those who know you.

All I can do is tell you it is OK. That we love you and that the next practice you will give it your all and you will show your coach that you care. I will try to push away my own frustrations with you and build you back up again. I will show you that it is not the end of the world, when you choose the wrong action in a 9-year-old basketball league, because it really is not.

Wildcat, there will be so many more games you play, be it in basketball or in life. There will be times that you feel like you can't get in the game. Times that you play in the game and you wish you did not. Times that you score the winning goal and are so glad that you did. There will be times that you talk yourself out of things that you could have overcome. Successes that you will miss because you didn't believe you deserved them.

I know. I have done the same.

But, I also know that it is these small lessons that will make you grow into the fine young man that I know you are going to be. Your big heart will stay intact and you will learn these lessons each day until one day you can look back and realize that childhood was not so bad. You will have the wisdom to see that sitting out and faking an injury made you realize that your team does need you. That you deserve to be a part of that exciting come-back win. That you ARE good enough to play and you are only cheating yourself when you choose to sit out.

Most of all, Wildcat, I want you to know that nothing will change our love for you. And, I hope that your love for yourself only grows and grows. If I could have been a little bird sitting on your shoulder tonight during that long game from the bench, well, that's what I would have whispered to you. That and I love you more than anything, my beautiful boy.

Love,
MomCat

The Pushy Playdate

For those parents out there, tell me if you've ever faced this dilemma and if you have a solution. My son (Wildcat) is friends with a neighbor boy that he's played with for years. The two actually have a ton in common, like all the same things and we're friends with their parents. We know our values are pretty much the same as theirs and it's an easy playdate to set up.

The neighbor boy has a little sister too. She's a little younger than Miss Kitty (my daughter), but getting old enough now to also join in the fun. Miss Kitty likes to play with her when we see them at the gym and they seem to mutually enjoy one another's company.

Neighbor boy has been raised with good manners, probably better than my own kids. His mom calls ahead to make sure he picks up what he's played with before she picks him up. In short, it has all the makings of a dream playdate scenario for both my kids.

There's just one problem--and it has to do with pushiness. You see, while my son has everything in common with neighbor boy, we run into a problem when they've had one too many playdates together. And, that's the pushy factor. And, today I'm getting to witness some of what makes my son complain and eventually not want to play with neighbor boy after a few times.

In the car last week on the way home from neighbor boy's house, Wildcat shared with me,

"Mom, you know how when we have friends over we let them play our games first, because they are our guest?""

Yes," I answered. "Well, neighbor boy always reminds me of that when he comes over to play. But, the problem is, when I go to his house and I'm the guest, he STILL plays the whole time and I just stand and watch him."

As he's told me before, the playdate always goes as this boy wants it to go, regardless of where they play. They play what the boy wants, and when it comes time for my son's turn, well they're out of time

Now, before this, I've sort of put the blame on my Wildcat.

"If you want him to take turns, you need to tell him that. Tell him you don't want to play anymore unless he plays fair. Stand up for yourself."

Wildcat does have a problem with passivity and avoiding conflict sometimes, so I assumed that was the main issue.

But, today I'm seeing the problem up close and I can tell Wildcat has had enough. For example, we set up our pool and slip-n-slide for the kids to play. Only 5 minutes into it, neighbor boy was done.

"Let's go make an obstacle course on your fort!" he boldly orders.

Wildcat pauses and says, "But, I'm having FUN playing in the water.
Can't we do this a little longer?"

"No. Let's do this instead," neighbor boy says enthusiastically.
(You can't fault his enthusiasm at least.)

Wildcat shrugs and walks away from the slip-n-slide. I whispered to him that we'd get back on there after neighbor boy and his sister left.

After only a couple of minutes on the fort, with renewed vim, neighbor boy announces, "Hey, let's go get your cars and make them race on the slide!"

Wildcat sighs, and goes with neighbor boy to get the cars. They put the water on the fort with the cars.

The next thing I know, I see Wildcat at the bottom of the slide, watching neighbor boy send the cars down. As he laughs and bends down to pick up the cars at the bottom, neighbor boy barks,

"Don't TOUCH that. Just STAND AND WATCH. I will come and get them."

Wildcat looks at me defeated and sighs again and I decide I need to intervene some.

OK, neighbor boy, once you are done, Wildcat gets a turn doing the same, OK?"

"Sure!" He says happily.

Once he finishes sending the cars down, seems to take him quite awhile, my son goes to take his turn when we see neighbor boy wrapping up in a towel.

"I'm done playing out here. Let's go in now," he says.

Wildcat gives me the see-mom-I-told-you-so look again.

"Hey, Mrs, Momcat?"

Neighbor boy begins and I already know where this is going.

"What about us having a spend-the-night tonight, now that it is summer?"

"Uh, well...I'm not sure...maybe this weekend...uh, we have a garage sale and we don't know what you all are doing either."

"I'll ask my Mom," he says confidently.

"We'll see..." I say hesitantly, "are you talking at YOUR house or at ours?"

"Yours!" He answers happily.

Hmm...." I say wearlily...

Now, I have to come up with excuses to put this off even longer because I know while his family would even love to have Wildcat over, Wildcat has had enough for awhile. And, his mom is a good a friend of mine, so that makes it all the more awkward.

As I walk upstairs to check on the girls playing inside now because their older brothers came in, I see little neighbor girl with my daughter's Leapster game playing happily while Miss Kitty sits to the side waiting patiently. Suddenly, Miss Kitty looks up with a tired look about her.

Oh no, here we go again...

Hypocrisy, coming from the Queen of Maternal Guilt

This article has me rethinking what it means to be a good mother. Perhaps I've been wrong to lay all that maternal guilt on myself every time I see a problem or my child suffers in anyway.

What do you think?

Cute "Kid-ism" of the Day

While walking into the grocery store, my 3-year-old put her hands in the pockets of her pink sweatsuit jacket and happily announced:

"Mommy, I like this jacket. It has these really nice cup-holders on it."

Knowing when to be different...

I had some disappointment this morning over something silly really. It was my son's last year at his elementary school to participate in the Book Character Parade. For the past month, he's been checking out various years of The Guinness Book of World Records. He is obsessed with it, actually.

So, we'd thought of some pretty funny ideas for him to go as a Guinness "attemptee" in various forms. Binder Clip man came instantly to mind for me (you know my office supply fetish), but we decided that would be kind of pricey to buy all of those clips and it might annoy the teacher if he was losing clips around the classroom all day. In the end, we'd settled on "Most Stickers on a Human Being."

I was thrilled with this. First off, it gets rid of the massive sticker collection that clutters up my craft cabinets. But, most of all, it is funny and original. A lot of kids just wear their Halloween costumes for this, so there's always a lot of Darth Vaders, Spidermen, and Disney Princesses. This would be an unique and memorable way to finish out his last year participating in the parade.

And, then he woke up this morning and said he wasn't doing it. Sigh.

I have to admit, I got very frustrated about it. Instead he chose to wear his football jersey and helmet and take some generic Superbowl book. Where's the originality in that?

I can't explain why this bugged me so much, actually. But, as a Mom, I try really hard to encourage my kids, especially my son who is easily swayed by peers, to be themselves. Be individuals. Don't be afraid to be different, because going with the flow is not always interesting or what makes you the most happy.

In the end, we went to the parade and my daughter and I were both still just as thrilled to see him parading around with his friends. Turns out, a lot of the boys wore their football jerseys and even his teacher had one on. He definitely was not a stand-out, but he was definitely happy with his choice and beamed a smile at me that gave the proof of that.

As parents, sometimes we have to let go of these little battles. And, maybe my son's learned something that I didn't realize--sometimes it is great to stand out and be different, but sometimes it is okay to just go with the flow if that makes you happy too. And, that's something I should remember.

Oh, and if you were worried about my boy being too much of a follower, have no fear. I haven't shown you his Halloween costume yet, have I?

Rock, ON!!!!

A bad case of Lipnicki...

8-years-old is a magical time, as we're learning. A young boy's mind goes from Legos to...girls...well, no, not quite. Let's try that again...

A young boy's mind goes from Legos to...

obscure trivia.

Yeah, that's right. Trivia. This condition, brought on by 2nd grade public schools classroom discussions, is affectionately referred by parents everywhere as the"Lipnicki."

You remember, Jonathan Lipnicki, don't you? He's the precocious little boy from Jerry McGuire fame who won the hearts of America with his one-lined trivia nuggets throughout an otherwise forgettable movie? Yeah, he sure was cute, wasn't he? And, didn't we all know that his 15 seconds of fame would begin and end with that movie?


But, Lipnicki can go to his grave knowing he made his mark on our society now. Yes, his name lives on in 2nd and 3rd grade classrooms throughout our fair country. Parents everywhere are becoming educated about the "Lipnicki," a condition that strikes children suddenly, leaving their families dumbfounded and speechless. Sadly, there is no cure for Lipnicki currently.

Case in point--my son's ability lately to spout out random facts at even more random moments. Here are just a few of his little "gems" he's shared with us:

Hey, guys, did you know that Queen Elizabeth, you know the Queen of England? Well, she only bathes ONCE a month!

Mom, did you know that Elvis died on the toilet? He had a heart attack ON THE TOILET!

There are 53 muscles in the face! Can you believe that?

#1 son's favorite book right now? The Guiness Book, of course. He's dressing as some crazy Guiness record holder for his book character parade this Friday even.

This is all quite amusing to us right now, but a case of Lipnicki left untreated can become a dangerous thing. My 17-year-old nephew, now in the advanced stages of Lipnicki, will argue strange facts adamantly without faltering from his viewpoint, even when proven wrong. The teen apparently has learned everything from car mechanics, to politics, to the inner workings of the human body in his short 17 years, and don't even think of questioning him on it. And no one, I said NO ONE can make him change his mind!

So, one day while we were driving in the car and my son was sharing some other tidbits, I decided to throw one back out at him,

"Hey, did you know the human head weighs 8 pounds?"

My son paused from his banter, as my husband and I giggled from the front seat. Then, he knowingly nodded, missing the joke entirely, and said,

"Yes, I actually did know that. I learned it in Ms. Griffin's class."

Darn that Lipnicki!!!

Kid"isms"

I'm slammed with work for a magazine deadline, so I'm having to hold off on some posts I'd planned. For now, I will share with you this amusing peek into the mind of an 8-year-old boy, my son Wildcat:

"Mom? I been thinking...when I grow up, I think I would like to be just like Abraham Lincoln."

"Oh, really? He's my favorite President. Why do you want to be like him?"

"Well, he stood up for other people who needed it. And, I stand up for my
friends when they need it."

(thinking pause)

"Uh, Mom? On second thought, I still DO want to be just like Abraham Lincoln...but...well, except for the part where he gets shot."

Those Darn Kids!

It's been awhile since I've shared any cute kid moments from my brood. But, there have been a couple of ones that really got me to howling in laughter lately.

First off, the karaoke machine has got to be the greatest invention for parents since, oh I don't know the Playstation? My sister-in-law left hers here for the kids a month or more ago and I'm afraid I will have a real fight on my hands when I have to return the thing. The performances by our kids have kept us in stitches and made for many adoring moments.

One afternoon, while performing to one of my son's favorite Guitar Hero songs, we noticed that my daughter, in between her shrill screams that sound like dolphins in agony, was singing the wrong words to the main verse. We like her version better immediately:

"I love Rock-n-Roll! Put a dime in the JUICEBOX, buhbeeeeee!!!!"

Joan Jett would be so proud!

Today, was a classic dialog with my son. I was ordering at Sonic (breaking my good diet thanks to a roaring case of PMS and a late soccer practice--grr!). I commented that I didn't like that much on the menu, except for the Breakfast Bistro sandwiches.

My eight-year-old personal advisor says, "Well, get the Bevo one then, Mom. Just get it."

"What?" I said, holding back a chuckle. When he repeated it, I said, "It's
Bistro. Bee-strough."

I paused and added, "Do you know what Bevo is?"

"Sure, I do," he confidently responded.

"It's in that song, 'Bevooooo, Las Vegas! Bevooooo, Las Vegas!!!' You know, the one by Elvis?" (The child absolutely loves Elvis.)

Trying to contain my laughter so that I did not wet my pants right there in the drive-through line, I said, "VIVA! It's Viva, Las Vegas."

"Oh," he said and quickly retorted, "Well, there's 'Bevo and BUTTHEAD' isn't there?"

Then he triumphantly cackled as only an 8-year-old boy would do at the
fact that he managed to work the word "butt" into conversation. And, his sister giggled right along with him.

OMG! I just love my kids!

Bulleted brain bouncing...

I've got nothing substantial that I can stop and blog about, so instead enjoy where my brain bounces when I use bullets.

• Don't you just love stumbling across a new voice that you can't get enough of? No, I'm not talking about my karaoke exploits again. I'm talking about Sara Bareilles. She's like a softer more easy-going Fiona Apple in her early days. I downloaded her newest CD and I keep listening to it over and over, loving it more by the minute. And I have a trip coming up this next weekend so I can completely "OD" on it there and back on the flight. Music makes MomCat so happy! Yay!
  
• Explain to me how an 8-year-old boy can still have extreme night terrors/nightmares, and yet will take his new skateboard down a driveway at high speeds without elbow or knee pads and brag about his latest stunts thus causing his mother twice the stress in one day? Me thinks I really need this weekend getaway to see an old friend...
  
• On the subject of nightmares...any tips for helping with this? Last night was the second night that my son has let out an long blood-curdling scream about 2:30 a.m. and sprinted down the stairs to our room completely terrified. My heart was racing for a good 30 minutes after this, but worse was that I was so wired and worried afterward that I stayed awake for the next 3 hours. Ugh!
  
• I apologize for my lack of blogging about things that matter--such as my weekend marriage retreat, which was amazing. Aside from the difficulty of not knowing where to begin with how it went, or how much to share, we have also had hiccups since then that quickly discouraged me. Thankfully, we worked through them using the tools we've learned, so I'm still very happy with taking the time and spending the money on the workshop. One of these days, I'll sit down and tell you all about it, I promise!
  
• Why do I find myself hating the work in the old field that I used to actually like so much? The pay is incredible, the hours so flexible, my boss is more a friend and peer than a boss. It is perfect. But, I can't get motivated or into it. I find myself thinking more about my latest fluffy magazine story, getting assignments out for the next issue, and so forth. Have the long hours of a magazine editor completely ruined me for a future in an actually lucrative paying job when both the kids are in school? I really didn't expect this!
  
• What do you do when you're asked to review something by the actual creator of the product and you agree, later to find that you have no interest at all in spending the time researching so you can give an objective opinion? Ahh...finally the negative to getting all of this free stuff! Argh!
  
• And, speaking of, I was giving the opportunity to try out a new running shoe in exchange for a write-up. It's the first review that I've been so anxious and happy to do because, dang, I really need new treads in a big way. And, now it keeps getting delayed. I don't want to buy new shoes, but my feet are killing me. Double ARGH!

OK, enough "arghing" for tonight. I'm turning in! Share your latest favorite CD in comments, will ya? I need more new tunes for my girls' weekend trip to see my dear friend and kimosabe!

Forever Changed...

I don't even know how to start this post. So, I guess I'll just start from the beginning.

Two weeks ago, a dear friend of ours only sibling committed suicide. An act that left her whole family shocked and questioning why. At the funeral, we made plans to meet up with our friend and his wife and kids, who were coming back in town again for Memorial Day. Emailed plans were made for us all to meet at Galveston Beach with our kids for a day of fun and catching up. Our friend's two children would be there along with his mother, who needed a happy day at the beach to get her mind away from grief--if only for a few hours.

And, so we arrived, noticing the gray clouds looming and the strong winds that made the choppy waves crash to shore. But, it was not raining or thundering, and so we decided to stay for awhile. After we unloaded, we watched the kids playing in the sand, and then our friend's wife and I took my kids down the beach to gather shells. Neither of my kids was that interested in the water, as I'm learning they aren't much for beaches. The weather was windy enough that my son had complained of being too cold and he really didn't want to swim at all.

After we returned from the shell hunt, I noticed my husband sitting down and talking to our friend's mother, obviously about the loss of a daughter and how she was doing. So, I continued to chat with my girlfriend and watch my 3-year-old who was right by me with her shells. My seven-year-old had walked just a few feet ahead looking for more shells but then I saw him run back away from the water out of the corner of my eye. I assumed he'd run back to talk to his father, who was sitting about 10 feet behind us further from the water.

A few minutes later, my husband shouts to me and asks where our son is.

Puzzled, I looked down the beach both ways.

He was gone.

After we simultaneously realized that I had thought he was with his father, and his father had thought he was with me, we tried to contain panic and just started looking down the beach either way. Surely he was a few feet down gathering more shells, although it was very unlike him to stray like that.

After a short time of each of us searching down either side of the beach, I could say I was officially terrified. I left my daughter with our friends and began sprinting towards the parking lot, the bathrooms, and later down the same stretch of beach that my husband had just looked.

After we'd been searching for what seemed like an eternity, but had to have been about 30 minutes or so, it struck me. My son could be gone forever. Just like that. I might never see him, ever again.

My mind raced with all the horrible possibilities, and then cursed itself for thinking of them.

What if he'd decided to go into the water and a strong undertow had pulled him under somewhere and he was lost to us? What if he'd walked a little ways and had been snatched by someone, right beneath our noses? Every possibility brought me more and more terror and panic.

I began running down the beach, barefoot and hysterically screaming his name. Every few hundred yards, I'd stop to tell the concerned other families what he was wearing. I came across a beach/park ranger and described my son. "Do you think he'd go out into the water alone?" She questioned. In my gut, I didn't feel he had and I said so, but then my head questioned that as I ran the other way from her. My husband had gone in the opposite direction, and looked down the short end of the beach that I'd already combed, apparently going through the same thing.

After I'd run so far that I couldn't even see where we'd been camped and playing, my legs started to tremble beneath me. There was no sight of him at all.

I let myself crumble into the sand and threw my hands together saying frantic prayers. "Please, God. Do anything you want with me. Do not let my son be gone. Please don't take him from us. Oh, please God. I'll do anything. Anything."

I jumped back up because I knew time was of the essence and I began sprinting further down the beach. After a few more minutes of my running and screaming his name, I saw the khaki shorts and shirt of another male park ranger standing in the distance with a boy in red shorts, much too far for me to distinguish. I said another quick prayer that it wasn't just some kid who also had on red swim trunks and kept running.

As they came in to better view, I saw it was, indeed, my son. He had a few shells in his hand and a bewildered and slightly frightened look to his face. I ran quickly to him and threw my arms around him crying and saying his name over and over again, telling him how much we loved him and how scared we were. I couldn't let him go.

My son started crying. He told me that he'd thought his Dad had gone that direction down the beach and he'd though he'd run and catch up with him. We guess now that he kept running that way thinking he'd find him and then he probably realized he was lost and turned back, just before the ranger approached him, which also probably scared him because of our warnings about strangers.

The ride in another ranger's truck back to our family and friends was filled with so many prayers of thankfulness, and a lot of apologies from my son who obviously felt terrible that we'd worried. We'd stop every few feet to let the wonderful families who were searching for our boy know that he'd been found safe and sound, to hear the relieved responses of "Oh, thank God" over and over again. When we reached my husband, I could see that his face mirrored my own--traumatized and yet so grateful that we had a happy ending--but forever changed by the horrific experience.

When I think what might have happened to my child today, I still feel sick in the pit of my stomach. My son refused to play his new handheld game in the car, as we were trying to get his mind off of the incident. Finally he told us he didn't deserve to have it anymore. He cried as much as we did, and I'm not sure if it was because he had been so scared himself or it is that he realized how upset we were that he was gone.

Tonight he picked his favorite restaurant for dinner, a previously planned reward for a good report card and an attempt to help end the night on a better note. But, before he went to bed, he got hugs from all of us and extra kisses goodnight.

It only takes a few seconds for a child to be taken from your presence. And, that is a lesson that my husband and me, who are already a little over-protective, will never forget.

As we were leaving the beach, I hugged our friend's mother goodbye and thanked her for watching our youngest while we searched. It struck me how very traumatic this must have even been for her, having just lost her only daughter so suddenly. She stopped and hugged our boy for a long time, whom she hadn't seen really since he was a baby. Then, she looked and me and said, "It doesn't matter how old they are. You never stop worrying that something might happen to them."

Hug your kids a little tighter tonight and give thanks for every single day that they bless your life. I know that I will be...

Mother-Talk Blog Book Tour: The Dangerous Book for Boys

A few years ago, I let out a huge rant on this blog about how hard it is these days to be a little boy. With girls, it’s all about princesses, girl power and all sorts of positive messages. My beef was seeing the lack of similar positive messages for boys. When my son was 4 and 5 there were there was nothing really out there that celebrated boyhood in all its glory.

In fact, as the mother of a son, I noticed that the world seemed to really come back with the attitude that boys are just a nuisance. In school, most of the work and school structure seems geared toward little girls’ temperament and working styles, not boys. I've seen many a parent roll their eyes when a pack of little six-year-olds comes biking down their street with Star Wars light sabers in tow. For many years now, there has been nothing that jumped up and shouted, “Hey, it is great to be a tree-climbing, skin-your-knees, collector-of-all-things, rambunctious little boy!”

Fortunately, now there is.

When I took the challenge to write a review of The Dangerous Book for Boys by brothers Conn and Hal Iggulden, I got the last spot in Mother-Talk’s 20-blog book tour, I really was not sure what I was in for in reading this unique book. What I learned was that The Dangerous Book for Boys not only embraces all things boy, but it holds these things up and waves them about, celebrating the very essence of male youth.

Have you ever wondered why your little boy is fixated on paper airplanes, pocket knives, and go carts? Maybe sometimes you find yourself baffled as to why your husband can’t turn off the World Series of Poker late at night? If these questions run through your head often, The Dangerous Book for Boys might just hit you over the head with the answer: boys (and men) are an entirely different species from girls.

When the package arrived, I opened it to find a sizable book cloaked in a gorgeous red cloth cover that was reminiscent of an old storybook opening up at the beginning of one of my favorite fairy tales. I’ll admit the book seemed intimidating at first—288 pages of dangerous things for boys to do? Were there really that many?

What I discovered in going through the book was that The Dangerous Book for Boys was really not so dangerous at all. But, it was amazingly interesting…even for a grown-up girl!

Each section of the book features an activity (building the best paper boat, how to play marbles, etc), an interesting story from history (The Wright Brothers, Robert the Bruce), or fun answers to the questions all kids have (Why is the sky blue? How far away are the stars?) Peppered in the diverse collection of information are little gems such as the section simply titled, “Girls,” with advice to the boys on how best to make nice with the opposite sex. There are even basic grammar lessons throughout, which of course delighted the writer in me!

But, if a review from a crazy old MomCat is not enough for you, perhaps you’d like to know how the book went over with the two males in my household? First, I asked my husband, a programmer type who only enjoys reading computer manuals or anything sports related, to give the book a gander and tell me what things interested him. I soon got back a huge list of sections from the book with stars next to several lines as must-read sections. The man who rolls his eyes at even John Grisham, actually said he’d like read this book!

My 7-year-old son then took his turn, as I asked him to make his list. Almost instantly he'd listed off 26 sections of interest to him and wanted to start making secret codes and writing in invisible ink immediately.

The thing I love most about this book is that I don’t see it gathering dust on our bookshelves for many years to come. The various experiments in the book all range in complexity. The stories are well-written enough to read aloud to your child, but later they can enjoy reading them on their own. This book will GROW with my son and I even plan to buy it for my 13-year-old nephew who loves the history of war and will eat up the chapters on that in this book.

Whether you have a wild and woolly boy, a giggling girl or two, or only grown ups in your house, The Dangerous Book for Boys reminds us all how very important it is to take a walk on the wild side of fun every now and then, and not be afraid to ask the whys of life. Now that’s something that even this MomCat can appreciate!

With a little bit of pixie dust....

There's another big red mark against me on my permanent parenting record this week. And, I fear that I'm dangerously close to being in trouble with the parenting police. Tonight, is my last chance to make it right.

Let me back-track a bit...

My son is losing his teeth faster than we can keep count right now. In the past month, he has now lost three and is trying to loosen a fourth. The third tooth, I swear he pulled on purpose at school all so he could get the little plastic green tooth treasure chest that his teacher gives if you lose a tooth while at school.

But, I digress. This is not his first "round" of teeth. He has already lost the four front teeth--the grand poobah teeth in the world of elementary tooth shedders. Those are the really big-deal teeth, because they are the first time you get the visit from the infamous Tooth Fairy.

Now, in my house, we do not make a big deal about the Easter bunny. My parents never did, and so we've always just done an Easter basket from us and not really talked much about the Easter bunny. Sure, Aunts and Uncles have planted that seed, but my son has never really bought into it very much, I don't think. I have friends who have woven entire novels about the Easter Bunny and how he delivers the eggs and goodies.

Between you and me, I thank my lucky stars every day that Santa is still real and I cross my fingers that the Tooth Fairy continues on at least for a few more incisors. Because the world is a cruel place, my friends. And, all it takes is one little whisper from that same obnoxious little classmate who teaches your kid things like "the finger" and which cuss words are the best, and both of those dear childhood heroes are vaporized into a cloud of smoke right before your eyes. And, my son is finishing up the first grade with a huge batch of friends in the second grade. We are really just counting the days until "poof" and it is all over. (sigh)

So, for those who haven't had to do it, this Tooth Fairy business is tricky stuff, especially on the weary mind of two parents late at night. But, it doesn't help when you're on tooth number seven and you forget to leave the fairy treat or pick up the tooth! Wait, let me add to that...

YOU FORGET TO LEAVE THE FAIRY TREAT OR PICK UP THE TOOTH FOR TWO NIGHTS IN A ROW!!!

Yes, I can see you all shaking your heads in disbelief and shame at me right now. Tsk, tsk... No, MomCat! Say it isn't so!!!

In my defense, my child forgot to put his tooth under his pillow for two days in a row too. But, then when he finally remembered, my husband and I completely forgot to complete the tooth transaction. And, imagine how our hearts sank when he came downstairs disappointed and announced, "I think the tooth fairy doesn't work on the weekends, Mom." Why, if you could have taken a meat cleaver and clubbed me over the head right then and there, I would have told you it wasn't hard enough and to do it all over again. And, while you were at it, why not grate my fingers with that cheese grater over there at the same time.

Then, the next night it was a repeat. We'd had a late night out of seafood on our favorite touristy pier over an hour away, and got home an hour past bedtime for the kids. I didn't even realize he'd remembered to grab his tooth and put it under his pillow. It wasn't until the next morning when I saw it on our end table, that I knew I had failed again. Sigh.

"I'm pretty sure the Tooth Fairy is on vacation," I said, confidently. "I mean, don't you think she needs a rest every now and then? Imagine how many teeth she has to pick up each night all around the world!" And, the lies continued on until I just about had him convinced...I think.

So, tonight it is time for serious damage control. Especially when my husband shared with me that our son had quite frankly informed him as he tucked himself into bed, "Dad, if the Tooth Fairy doesn't come tonight, I THINK I'm going to have to leave her a letter."

So, a fairy letter was typed and formatted in the fanciest scrawl that I could find. The fairy explained that she was so very sorry she'd not picked up his tooth the past two nights. Why, she'd had the worst case of the "fairy flu!" And, special glitter glue from my scrapbooking supplies tipped the edges of the torn paper just to make it look more authentic. Finally, in a fine moment of forgery (how's the for alliteration?), my right hand took on the role of her majesty, Role Highness of Choppers, as I scribbled her signature, wishing to great goodness that it didn't look anything like my own. I dropped in our coins and motherly guilt saw me adding one dollar greenback, just to make up for it all.

Now, I am off to keep the fantasy alive. And, I'm hoping like hell that he doesn't wake up as I'm in there as I trying to make the swap. And, trust me, that's not so easy when your son sleeps 6-foot up on a platform bed. But, I must succeed tonight. After all, Tooth Fairies don't last forever and I've got serious parenting points to make up now!

I was going to finally get on here and update y'all about an interesting development/opportunity that came my way this week. I will have to do that another time.

Instead, I have questions and sadness today. We received a surprising email that a dear friend of ours with whom my husband grew up had a tragedy in his family. His younger sister committed suicide, leaving only a brief note that she was tired of it all for her boyfriend to find. She leaves behind two small children who thankfully I guess were not there but were told after school that day.

Aside from just being so shocked and sad that this happened, it is very hard to comprehend how some who was still fairly young (early 30s at the most) with two children, would take such a drastic turn as to take her own life. We do not know a lot of details. We do know that this girl had a lifetime of problems. She was a pessimistic kind of person who had several chronic health problems from childhood. But, in addition to that, she was the type of person who always had some sort of complaint to file. She was always depressed and unhappy in her life for as long as I knew her, but in the last several years she had given up custody of her kids and was with a lot of the wrong kind of people. But, her negativity and tendency to make bad choices were just something that her family had grown accustomed to over the years. That was just her. Right? Or was it a lifelong cry out for help?

And, so, to some the ending of her life may not seem that surprising. But, to me it was. And, it has me thinking now. I have several close people in my life who have lived a life looking at things very pessimistically and negatively. My own mother is probably the worst case, and I get to where I don't want to be around her when she gets like that. Someone is always out to get her or one of her kids, the worst is guaranteed to happen, and people are disappointing most often to her. And, it drives me crazy at times, even though I recognize that I, myself, take turns of that in my own life.

But, I have never once thought that I'd have to worry about her ending her life because of it. I wrote it off as just her being a negative person and looked the other way. My sister who was always an optimistic like our father is now repeating in these behaviors and called me very depressed today about her life.

Why this all strikes even more close to home for me is because I am watching my son follow in those footsteps. I realize now that I must stop his fatalistic attitude. I know that some of it is his age, but some is obviously either something I have taught him, or something inherent in his genes that gives him this tendency.

We're currently trying our first round with him with flag football. It is not going well. He is learning and practicing with his Dad and loves the sport. And he is actually pretty good. But, for the first time in our experience with the YMCA, we have a coach that is not following their rules of fair play. He is playing only the kids he knows and the kids he thinks will win (including his own son). And, while my son is lucky enough to be getting playing time (4 kids are barely setting foot in the games), not one play has been run that would give him the opportunity to throw, catch or run with the ball. This is the first sport we have played where that is possible really. Even in baseball, you get to bat.

Instead of seeing the unfairness in this, and being mad at the coach, my son walked off the field and announced today that he played bad. He had not played badly at all, making sure he was in the right place to receive passes and being open for that and waving his arms to get noticed, but the boys did not throw it to him. He is not in the inner circle. And the coach also was always there to scream at the quarterback to throw it to one of the inner circle players too.

At almost 8 years old, he cannot see what is going on. So, he blames himself. He is bad at football now. And, this reaction is not unlike him. All year long, he has brought home report cards with either good to great marks, and then thought he was doing badly in school. He expects perfection, much as I have always done to myself. And, he is often unhappy because of it. He gets off the school bus sad many days out of the week, because someone didn't talk to him or someone said something rude. He sees the worst thing that happens during his day instead of the 10 other great things that did. And, it is really hard for me to watch.

How do you change a child from this behavior? I have tried not being negative myself around him, but that doesn't help. Now that I have seen that this way of thinking can completely destroy a person's life, as well as possibly their children's futures, I am determined to get him on a more positive path. I will not let him grow up feeling like his life is so hopeless that he can't go on. No matter what it takes, I must change his negative thinking and help him get on the road to more healthy thinking now.

Another quickie...

Get your mind out of the gutter when you read this post's title! Shame on you!

Well, it is official. Not only did my last post establish that I'm about as wishy-washy as they come, but in the next few days I will become a magazine editor! After talking it through and discussing the job with another editor at a similar magazine, I decided that I could handle the workload with my current part-time work and not sacrifice my "mommy time." It is hard to believe that I've had two great opportunities fall in my lap over the past few months, and I'm glad I'm going to try to do both of them. Yes, I have said my prayers of thankfulness a lot lately.

Under the category of "cute things that your kids say"...

My son found a new pencil in the grocery store parking lot next to our car. There was nothing special about this standard yellow number 2. However, he quickly picked it up and got in the car.

After analyzing it meticulously, he then informed me that he was actully collecting pencils so this was quite a lucky day for him. He then qualified that, saying it was not just any pencils.
No, he was only interested in the pencils that were "made in China." When I asked him why, he said, "Because I LIKE China, Mom" as if it was the most stupid question I could have ever asked him. Then, he quickly added, "And, next week I'm going to collect some from New England."

How You Know You've Entered the Gates of Mommy Hell...

I despise kids haircutting chains. And, yet, I find myself there regularly with my children gritting my teeth and just hoping to get it over with quickly.

Until this past year, when my husband discovered a tiny little shop near our home where two Asian sisters cut hair for ultra-cheap (under $10, people!) They are sweet ladies trying to make their business a success and so I often bring the kids there. I have never had to wait more than 10 minutes and there is only two of them with no receptionist.

Today, if I could have telepathically transported myself and my children to their small salon, I most certainly would have done it. Because, today, I was stuck in pure Mommy hell.

When we walked in the "chain," it seemed a little crowded, but not ridiculously so. There were three ladies doing hair, and it seemed things were moving. I added my kids names to the list and made mental plans of the errands we would run afterwards, since my husband was called into to work all day. It looked like there were just 3 names ahead of us so I planned for a 15-20 minute wait, tops.

An hour-and-a-half later, we finally left. My blood sugar was near my ankles and I had a daze to my stare that only comes from spending too much time listening to little girls cry about getting their hair cut, overly-particular mothers pointing out each hair the stylist missed, and kids arguing over the Thomas the train set.

My advice for anyone who sets foot in one of these establishments is this--don't trust the list. As I learned, people who called in to make an appointment, even if they had called in 45 minutes AFTER I signed the list, were put ahead of us because they had an appointment. I deduced after the fact that I could have walked outside, called from my cell phone and we probably would have gotten in for our haircut 30 minutes earlier. Ridiculous!

At one point, I began mentally willing a small boy who was ahead of us in line to wet his pants. His mother kept asking him to go, and the child obviously had little-boy-bathroom-syndrome. He was not willing to leave the Legos for even a second to pee-pee, no matter what. And, I thought....hmmm...if he pees all over this floor, his mother will be mortified and ticked-off. Chances are, she wouldn't stick around with him in urine-soaked pants. And, hmm...then we'd move up a place in line.

That's when I knew I'd been there too long, my friends. My other clue was when my son actually grew tired of playing Tony Hawk's Pro Skate and started watching Dora with his sister.

The kids finally got in after about an hour and 15 minutes and got their cuts. We all left in bad moods that were not made better by a trip to a funky new car wash on the way home. Damn those haircutting chains!

No $6 off coupon will lure me in again, I tell you! It is just SO NOT WORTH IT.

We want O-U-T!

My husband uttered words I thought I'd never hear him say, the other night. He actually suggested that we might consider private school for our son if things get much worse. Private school? Really?

We are both the product of public schools and we felt strongly that was the place for our kids. We watched as our nephew attended a private school until middle school and developed a negative attitude about it from his experiences. He was never even required to learn how to spell correctly or even run the spell checker on his computer-typed papers. And, socially-speaking, he didn't know any of the kids who lived by him in his neighborhood because they all went to public school. Not that all private schools match my nephews experience, but it just didn't sound like our cup of tea.

But, after 2 years now at our "proud to tout that we're 'Exemplary' rated every year" elementary school, we want out of the pressure cooker. The adjustment has been harder for us, as parents, than it probably has for him. Last year, I wrote of how militaristically the school was run. Because of their numbers (last year he had 11 sections of kindergarten, at 23 kids per class), things have to work that way. I get that. But, there's a coldness to it that bothers me.

This year has not been any better. Academically, the heat on the cooker has been turned up. 1st graders are required to go up 10 reading levels in the course of this year, when they just went up 4 last year. They are required to write at a level that shocks me and the other day he brought home homework that asked them to read a passage, find the present tense verbs and then write the past tense version of those verbs. This all wouldn't be that bad, but 80 percent of the verbs were irregular verbs. So, they were expected to know "go" should be "went" AND be able to write and spell that correctly.

Now, if all of that sounds par for the course to you, take a gander at the message I got back from my son's teacher today, explaining their journaling that is required that he is not completing each day:

As far as their journal, I tell them that they should be able to come in and
practice their writing using an opening sentence, time sequencing words such as
first, then, etc, have details, wow words, and a closing. At this point, they
should be able to write about 10 sentences.

That is, 10 sentences in a very short amount of time. My son has been teased by girls in the class for his messy writing and he's trying to write neatly now. But, he goes VERY slow. To expect him to get all of this done in such a short amount of time seems amazing to me.

Am I off of track here? Being too defensive of a parent? Maybe so, but I just don't understand when our schools turned from the fun place of learning that I remember from growing up to the intense and stressful place it is now. Because of all the requirements testing, most of the teachers have to teach to the test and do not have time to add creativity into their jobs. And, it shows with things like this.

When I was in kindergarten, we learned our ABCs using the Alphabet People. We sang songs, did crafts, had a long recess and P.E., AND a rest time. Last year, I was told that my son didn't have to know how to read, but fortunately he did because really they expected that right away. Now, he's supposed to be devouring chapter books along with adding and subtracting two-digit numbers.

With all the other stress that is on our kids, is this really necessary? Yes, I know that the U.S. falls behind in education, but is this the answer? To raise kids who are cracking and crying from the pressure and learning to be so tightly wound that they're are bound to have trouble as adults. There has to be some better answer to all of this.

Until then, I have to figure out how to motivate my son, a typical 8-year-old boy who would much rather play monster trucks and football than write an essay in a journal any old day. Something tells me, I have my work cut out for me.