Hair Clippers Mishap

I simply cannot explain what happened without crying.

Needless to say, the Little Man needs a professional barber,
who apparently is NOT ME!!!

Pay It Forward - Dance Bag

This week my bestest bud and next door neighbor found a dance bag sitting in the road, near my car parked outside our home.  The Fab Neighbor comes into my house and says, "Do you know who Samantha is?" I'm totally confused.

Me: "No. What are you talking about?"

Fab Neighbor: "Well, I found this dance bag -- Irish Step Dance (!), and it belongs to Samantha and apparently she is 10 years old [same age as Big E], so I figured she was a friend of E's."

Me: "Huh. I have no idea who that is."


Fab Neighbor and I are trying to decide how to return the dance bag to the proper owner.  Known facts: 1) first and last name of a ten-year old girl -- which we only knew because of a piece of paper that appeared to list dances that Ms. Samantha must have been in for a recent dance competition, 2) the dance studio's name that was embroidered on the bag, and 3) not a freaking thing.

Tactic One: DexOnline the child's last name to see if anyone in our zip code shares her last name.  Hmmm... NOPE.  There are 30 folks with the same last name in the Twin Cities -- with an estimated population of approximately 3 MILLION people in the entire metro area.  FAIL.  I am not cold calling a minimum of 30 families. Not a fan of cold calls.

Tactic Two: Google the dance studio name and see if we can contact the studio for information about the family.  Found the dance studio website easily enough but there were no phone numbers listed so we were stuck with sending an email to a webmaster email black hole.

Fast forward a few days. I receive an email from Ms. Samantha's mom.  SCORE!  The studio contacted the mom and the mom contacted us.  After several emails, with both Other Mom and I being overly cautious since neither of us wanted to exchange too much personal information, we decide to meet at a park where Big E is playing soccer to pass off the dance bag.

YAY!  We meet in person and return the dance bag to super grateful and over the top sweet family.  Turns out they had been in our neighborhood for a "fossil hunt-thingy" through a park and rec nearby and when they got back to their car, unfortunately, their back window was smashed out (as well as a few other vehicles) and their dance bag was gone.

The sweetest, ten-year-old girl gave me the biggest hug and handed me the most gracious and affectionate thank you letter ever.  Then her mom gives me a massive bouquet of gorgeous flowers.  I was all but moved to tears by the thank you letter, which I am sharing below.

It is so awe-inspiring to be a part of something so genuine that put such joy and happiness on the face of such a beautiful girl (who I might add, at 10-years old, was several inches taller than me. Hee, hee!)  It is so easy to look the other way and not put the tiny bit of extra work into doing good.

So, again I need to say, YAY!!!

Just in case it's too hard to read the letter via my awful picture.

"Dear Ann,

I can't thank you enough for finding my bag and going through all of that trouble to finding me to return it to me. It was so hard to get back from such a fun day to see our car window broken and my bag gone! I cried for such a long time! Now that you found my bag I am back to being happy because you found my bag and that there are nice people out there to outnumber all the bad people out there. Thank you so, so, so, so, so much!

Love, Sam"


BONUS! Sam had been at a dance competition over the weekend and had won her first TWO gold medals ever, but they were in her dance bag, so she was afraid that she would never see them. My heart swelled with such pride that we could make such a phenomenal girl so happy, just by doing what was right and good.

Hallelujah

The most appropriate tune I could think of for this Tuesday, in light of all of the excitement of the last few weeks, is Amy Grant's "Better Than a Hallelujah". I used this song not so long ago, but it speaks to my soul and in these trying times, I cling to these comforts.



Better Than A Hallelujah
~ Amy Grant

God loves a lullaby
In a mothers tears in the dead of night
Better than a Hallelujah sometimes.
God loves the drunkards cry,
The soldiers plea not to let him die
Better than a Hallelujah sometimes.

We pour out our miseries
God just hears a melody
Beautiful the mess we are
The honest cries of breaking hearts
Are better than a Hallelujah.

The woman holding on for life,
The dying man giving up the fight
Are better than a Hallelujah sometimes
The tears of shame for what's been done,
The silence when the words won't come
Are better than a Hallelujah sometimes.

Better than a church bell ringing,
Better than a choir singing out, singing out.

Valentine Blessings

Last night at 4:55pm my frantic plea for help:

Hello Dear Friends and Neighbors,

While I was out of town last night, it appears our cat, Olee, escaped from his beloved perch on our porch.  Our family is absolutely heart sick with worry and miss him horribly.  We haven’t seen him since early yesterday evening, at about 6pm on Saturday, February 12^th.  Attached is a picture of our sweet boy.  He is a black and white, tuxedo cat.  He is super sweet, but weary of new people.  He has front and back claws and thankfully is micro-chipped if he is picked up.  He isn’t used to be outside and he doesn’t have a collar.  If you see him, please call or email me immediately.  If you know any neighbors, who I have missed sending this message to, please forward it to them.

My thankful second message at 8:39pm, a few hours later:

Crisis adverted.  Carol Ann came to the rescue and found our soaking wet and sorrowful Olee this evening.  Thank you, friends. 

Ugh!  I don't ever want to feel that sinking feeling in my stomach again when my wee ones are upset and missing their precious fur ball.  Who frequently sleeps with me and I am utterly addicted to...  UGH!!!

Exit Interview

Recently I've been sharing posts from other bloggers quite a bit.  I just can't help myself.  Sometimes I find something so outrageous, or hilarious, or in this case... a post that absolutely speaks to my core, and it's mandatory to share it.  Sigh!

As Sherri from Old Tweener writes: "This career is what you make of it. There are no right and no wrong answers. What you do with it is your choice. Once you are promoted to the next level, there is no going back. The hours can be pretty crappy, the pay is lousy, and your insubordinates can be, well, insubordinate. But don't get me wrong; this is a lifetime career. The positions may change along the way, but you will always be employed."

Exit Interview

I sit waiting in the small room, my portfolio lying on the desk in front of me. It seems decent enough, filled with pictures and art work, certificates and ribbons. I wonder if there was anything else I should have included that would make a difference. I guess it's too late now. Maybe some sort of bribe would help. I wonder if there's an ATM nearby.

I feel awkward in my fancy skirt, blouse, and pumps; they look like a Catholic school uniform all grown up. I should have worn the same clothes I've worn on the job site all these years. There was never a complaint, unless you count that unfortunate clogs-with-skinny jeans incident. At least nobody took pictures.

The door swings open and the interviewer glides into the room, taking the seat across from me. She wears beautiful clothes, flashy jewelry, and not a hair is out of place. Her nails are impeccably manicured without a chip in sight. Her shoes match, she looks rested, and she has no spit/mud/coffee/rice cereal/zit cream stains on her clothes. Why did I have to get the one interviewer who can't possibly relate to my job?

"Good morning, my name is Miss Dopportunity, and I will be interviewing you today." She looks down at the stack of papers she has taken out of my file.

"So, I see here that you are nearing the end of your current position as Mother to a High Schooler. My paperwork states that you were on the fast-track, climbing rather quickly through the ranks of Mother of an Infant to Preschool Mother and PTA Mom."

"Well...," I stammer, "if you can correct that in the paperwork please, I never requested to be on the fast-track. I really wanted to master each position before being promoted to the next."

She chuckles quietly, glancing up at me for a moment before regaining her perfect composure.

"There really is no "other" track for this career. True, some of those early days may have actually seemed longer than 24 hours, but in reality the whole career path moves at lightning speed."

She rifles through the papers a bit more and makes a few notes on them, then fixes her gaze on my portfolio.

"Let's have a look at what you've brought here today."

I quickly open the large folder, anxious to show her the fruits of my labor (and delivery).

There are baby footprints inked at the hospital, a lock of newborn hair too fragile to handle. Lost teeth, certificates for library summer programs, report cards, and class pictures. Paintings, crayon drawings, necklaces made of dried pasta. Letters from grandparents loved and lost, newspaper clippings, baseball team pictures, autographs of famous people, and movie ticket stubs. Random reminders of a childhood that slipped through my fingers.

Junk, really. To any other human being who isn't a mother.

I wonder what she'll think of the job I did as she sifts through the things with efficiency and tact. I want her to be careful with them, but I hesitate to say anything for fear of sounding rude. Then again, with those fancy fingernails, she might damage something.

Or break a nail.

She stops thumbing through my things and pulls out her notes.

"Now then, I have a few questions to ask you. These are standard questions at this point in your career, but your answers might determine your exit strategy so please think carefully before you answer."

A tiny sound somewhere between a gasp and a squeak leaves my lips. I hope she didn't hear it.

"Did you let him play in the rain? Catch tadpoles at the creek? Did he see museums and movies, plays and magic shows? Was he allowed to get dirty, taste the snow, wade into the freezing cold surf, bury his sister in the sand?"

"Was he taught to be kind, to think of others?  Does he have a pet? Did you make his home a soft place for him to land when he falls? To read? To relax? Chase a dream, develop a passion?"

"Were there scraped knees, bloody noses, toothless grins in Christmas card pictures? Did you tell him about the Great Turkey, the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus, and the Easter Bunny, only to have to come clean later? Did you help him dig to China in the sandbox? Make a dinosaur skeleton out of chicken bones? Finger-paint in the house?"

"Did you ever just sit and watch a field of cows graze, hang out in the backyard hoping to see a shooting star, look for owls, go fishing at dusk, or hike an incredible hike? Was he ever allowed to spend the day in his jammies, eat ice cream for dinner, or just sleep until noon?"

"Did you enforce the rules, dole out punishments, make him apologize, send him to his room? Did he have to make amends, write thank-you notes, remember to say "please", and be nice to teachers?"

"Can he tie his own shoes, pack a suitcase, use a payphone, schedule an appointment, brush his teeth, make his bed, keep track of his own money, build a campfire, open a small carton of milk, mow the lawn, pump himself on the swing, ride a bike?"

She pauses here, giving me a chance to take it all in. I am so nervous, feeling that there must have been something that I overlooked, one or two major steps along the way that I neglected to take. I nod my head, maybe a bit too tentatively, and wait for her to pepper me with more questions.

"Well then, it seems that everything is in order. You still have some time remaining in your current position, but I am recommending that you be considered a candidate for the next level, Mother to a Young Adult. I will forward the paperwork sometime in the next few months."

I am stunned. Shouldn't there be more questions to ask? Maybe a lie-detector test?

"That's it, that's all you need from me? Are you sure? How can you really know that I've done my job well enough to move on? How will I really ever know? Is there a salary increase with this new level? What about vacation pay? Does this skirt make my butt look big? How do we really know that Humpty Dumpty was an egg?"

She stands up and smoothes out her skirt, pushing her chair back in as she heads for the door. As she reaches the door she stops, turns, and looks me in the eye.

"This career is what you make of it. There are no right and no wrong answers. What you do with it is your choice. Once you are promoted to the next level, there is no going back. The hours can be pretty crappy, the pay is lousy, and your insubordinates can be, well, insubordinate. But don't get me wrong; this is a lifetime career. The positions may change along the way, but you will always be employed."

She walks out the door, shutting it quietly behind her.

I slowly gather my treasures and put them back into the file folders, ready to return them to the drawer at home. No ribbons or certificates for me here today, not even a candy bar or a pat on the back.

But I do a little happy-dance, just because I can.

The rewards of motherhood are immeasurable, and can't be compensated with cash, prizes, or chocolate.

I will never know for sure if I did a good job, but I do know that I did my best.

And I'm pretty sure I've earned that promotion.

Source: Old Tweener

Life in a Jar - Irena Sendler

I am always amazed at awesome stories of ordinary people accomplishing extraordinary things.  Within the last week I learned about Irena Sendler.  An enduring, brave, tender-hearted hero who helped to save 2,500 babies and children during the Holocaust.  It's mind blowing that her bravery and heroic actions went basically completely unnoticed and out-right denied until 1999.  This is sad and important reminder of the dangers of allowing politicians or extremists attempt to re-write history, or out right lie about the actual event...

Source: http://www.irenasendler.com/facts.asp

Irena Sendler, born in 1910, was raised by her Catholic parents to respect and love people regardless of their ethnicity or social status. Her father, a physician, died from typhus that he contracted during an epidemic in 1917. He was the only doctor in his town near Warsaw who would treat the poor, mostly Jewish victims of this tragic disease. As he was dying, he told 7-year-old Irena, “If you see someone drowning you must try to rescue them, even if you cannot swim.” 

In 1939 the Nazis swept through Poland and imprisoned the Jews in ghettos where they were first starved to death and then systematically murdered in killing camps. Irena, by than a social worker in Warsaw, saw the Jewish people drowning and resolved to do what she could to rescue as many as possible, especially the children. The Warsaw Ghetto was an area the size of New York's Central Park and 450,000 Jewish people were forced into this area. Working with a network of other social workers and brave Poles, mostly women, she smuggled 2,500 children out of the Warsaw ghetto and hid them safely until the end of the war. Sendler took great risks – obtaining forged papers for the children, disguising herself as an infection control nurse, diverting German occupation funds for the support of children in hiding. She entered the Warsaw ghetto, sometimes two and three times a day, and talked Jewish parents into giving up their children. Sendler drugged the babies with sedatives and smuggled them past Nazi guards in gunny sacks, boxes and coffins. She helped the older ones escape through the sewers, through secret openings in the wall, through the courthouse, through churches, any clever way she and her network could evade the Nazis. Once outside the ghetto walls, Sendler gave the children false names and documents and placed them in convents, orphanages and with Polish families. 


In 1942 the Polish underground organization ZEGOTA recruited her to lead their Children’s Division, providing her with money and support. Her hope was that after the war she could reunite the children with surviving relatives, or at least return their Jewish identities. To that end she kept thin tissue paper lists of each child’s Jewish name, their Polish name and address. She hid the precious lists in glass jars buried under an apple tree in the back yard of one of her co-conspirators. 

There was a church next to the ghetto, but the entrance leading to it was "sealed" by the Germans. If a child could speak good Polish and rattle off some Christian prayers it could be smuggled in through the "sealed" entrance and later taken to the Aryan side. This was very dangerous since Germans often used a rouse to trick the Poles and then arrest Jolanta/Irena documented on the strips of paper she had buried, as well as where the child was taken in the first phase of its escape.

Irena (code name Jolanta) was arrested on October 20, 1943. When arrested she felt almost liberated. She was placed in the notorious Piawiak prison, where she was constantly questioned and tortured. During the questioning she had her legs and feet fractured.

The German who interrogated her was young, very stylish and spoke perfect Polish. He wanted the names of the Zegota leaders, their addresses and the names of others involved. Irena fed him the version that she and her collaborators had prepared in the event they were captured. The German held up a folder with information of places, times and persons who had informed on her. She received a death sentence. She was to be shot. Unbeknown to her, Zegota had bribed the German executioner who helped her escape. On the following day the Germans loudly proclaimed her execution. Posters were put up all over the city with the news that she was shot. Irena read the posters herself. She still bears the scars and disability of her torture. 

Almost all the parents of the children Irena saved, died at the Treblinka death camp.

During the remaining years of the war, she lived hidden, just like the children she rescued. Irena was the only one who knew where the children were to be found. When the war was finally over, she dug up the bottles and began the job of finding the children and trying to find a living parent.

After the war, the Communist government suppressed any recognition of the courageous anti-fascist partisans, most of whom were also anti-Communists. Irena’s story and those of other courageous Poles, were buried and forgotten. Her courage and resourcefulness were recognized by Israel in 1965 when she was awarded the Yad Vashem medal given to Righteous Gentiles who risked their own lives to save Jews during the Holocaust. In 1983 a tree was planted in her honor in Israel. But in general, the world was silent about Irena Sendler. 

Silence until 1999, when three Kansas teens uncovered Irena’s story. Liz Cambers, Megan Stewart, and Sabrina Coons (a fourth, Jessica Shelton, joined later), students at rural Uniontown High School were looking for a National History Day project. Their teacher, Norm Conard gave them a short paragraph about Irena Sendler from a 1994 U.S. News and World Report story entitled “The Other Schindlers” and they decided to research her life. According to the article, Irena Sendler smuggled 2,500 Jewish children out of the Warsaw ghetto just prior to its liquidation in 1943. (An internet search turned up only one web site that mentioned Irena Sendler. Now there are over 300,000.) With the help and inspiration of their teacher, they began to reconstruct the remarkable achievements of this forgotten hero of the Holocaust. 

The three Kansas girls assumed Irena Sendler must be dead and searched for her burial site. To their surprise and delight, they discovered that she was still alive, 90-years-old, living with relatives in a small apartment in Warsaw. They created a play about her rescue efforts called Life in a Jar, which has since been performed more than 200 times in the U.S., Canada and Poland. 

When Irena first heard about the project in Kansas, "I was stunned and fascinated; very, very suprised; interested." In one of Irena's first letters to the girls, she wrote, "My emotion is being shadowed by the fact that no one from the circle of my faithful coworkers, who constantly risked their lives, could live long enough to enjoy all the honors that now are falling upon me.... I can't find the words to thank you, my dear girls.... Before the day you have written the play "Life in a Jar" -- nobody in my own country and in the whole world cared about my person and my work during the war ..."

In May 2001 they visited Irena in Warsaw and began a friendship that has inspired other Polish Righteous Gentiles to break their silence. The visit also made Irena's story known to the world, through the international press. They have visited Irena and Warsaw on four different occasions. Irena is now a Polish national hero and Poland is coming to terms with the painful legacy of the war and the Holocaust. Irena last visited with the Life in a Jar students on May 3, 2008. She passed away on May 12, 2008, at the age of 98.

According to the official Life in a Jar website: Be careful about Internet facts concerning Irena. snopes.com has much incorrect information. The Life in a Jar cast has done over 4,000 pages and thousands of hours of primary research and interviews. 

MLK 25 Challenge

To mark the 25th anniversary of the King Holiday, and to encourage ongoing service throughout the year, we are launching the MLK 25 Challenge – a call to all Americans to honor Dr. King by pledging to take at least 25 actions during 2011 to make a difference for others and strengthen our communities. Watch the MLK 25 Challenge video.

From something as simple as cleaning a neighborhood park to a more intensive commitment such as becoming a mentor, the key is to give of yourself in some way to help others. You may want to volunteer in a range of efforts, or make a sustained commitment to a single cause. There is no shortage of work to be done, or lack of ways to get involved. Follow your passion, and find something that’s right for you. You can find volunteer opportunities and get ideas for your own projects by visiting Serve.gov.

Source: MLKDay.gov

Raffle for A Great Cause

Even more awesome Chemo Angel news... 

They are having their annual Valentine's Day Raffle!!!

Check it out!  For every $1 donation you make, you can purchase a chance to win one of fifteen great prizes, as well as support an awesome organziation!  SCORE!

You can purchase raffle tickets through Chemo Angels until February 1, 2011.  The drawings will be held on February 2.  To buy chances, please click on this link. (http://www.chemoangels.net/E-mail%20Campaigns/fundraiser.htm)

Pay It Forward

My very favoritest organization to volunteer with, Chemo Angels, is struggling to find enough "Angels" to meet the demand of their program. Chemo Angels is a fabulous, heart-felt program dedicated to supporting people with cancer. In addition to providing helpful information and cancer related resources to patients, Chemo Angels matches patients who are going through the difficult time of chemotherapy with "Angels". The function of these Angels is - through little notes, cards and occasional small gifts - to bring a bit of cheer and encouragement to their patient (who are called an Angels "buddy").

Over the past few years, I have volunteered with Chemo Angels on and off and been assigned to a few buddies (patients). Sending notes to my buddy has been an extremely gratifying, inspiring, encouraging, rewarding and humbling experience. I cannot express how deeply the involvement with such a worthy organization has affected me in a positive way.

I strongly encourage you to learn more about Chemo Angels and see if it would be a good volunteering match for you. It truly takes very little bit of your time and money, but it has a MASSIVE impact on the life some important, deserving people. I would love to answer any questions you may have about my experiences as an Angel.

To learn more about how you can help Chemo Angels, or if you are able to make any type of financial donation, please visit their website at http://www.chemoangels.net/.

Boulder Holder

I was fairly sure that I wouldn't blog about this episode, but I just decided I couldn't resist.  For those of you who are easily embarrassed, just click away RIGHT NOW!

You have been warned...

You know those bras you have that just don't fit right but you have no choice but to wear them because it's the only one that isn't in the bottom of the dirty clothes basket because Husband promised he would do all the laundry while you were busy at a million meetings on behalf of your children's PTA or Girl Scout Troop or anyway... and apparently, he neglected to do any of your laundry -- or any laundry at all... ?

*ahem*

Well, I had one of those on several weeks ago.  All morning it was rubbing me the wrong way and in all the wrong places.

I adjusted.

I pulled.

I shifted.

I itched!

Finally I left the office to go pick up my Little Man from preschool.  While waiting for the light to change at the intersection, I decided I had had enough.  I was ditching this boulder holder...

We've all done it... the amazing bra removal trick that doesn't require you to taking off your shirt. You know the one -- UNHOOK clasps in back, pull strap down through one arm sleeve, REACH THROUGH THE OTHER ARM HOLE and pull the bra out. VOILA!

SIGH!  Aaahhhhhhh! Instant relief.

Then, I look to the left to find an entire van full of construction workers watching me with big bright handy-man smiles... SWEET!

I rolled down the window and called out:

"That will be $10, you freaks!"

Last time I did the amazing bra trick and was caught, it was a car full of voyeuristic teenagers, male and female, in Mommy or Daddy's convertible Corvette. I simply looked at them said, "Yeah, your tits will sag this bad one day too. Good luck with that" and drove off.

Poop

Wow! Did today royally suck. There was NO grace in today. Let me share a few kernals of today's journey...

* Monday’s are usually incredibly hectic. True to form, today was no exception.

* It rained. Which in and of itself is not suck-worthy, we need the rain. However, I am sick of the cold and rain. Why was it gloriously beautiful in March and April in MN but so far May has been hideous?!

* Rainy days seem to bring out the worst in the wee ones. If I had a dime for each time I heard, “You’re so MEAN!!!”, I’d be a flippin’ millionaire.

* My nine-year old daughter had a stomach bug. She didn't quite make it to the bathroom and therefore had an accident in her pants. It was quite a poopy mess. And yes, it was disgusting. I had to suppress the gag reflex. I was NOT successful.

* I had to listen to no less than 3 sets of parents, separately, rip me a new one while they "shared their opinions" about how our Girl Scout troop is being run.

So please, I beg you, HELP ME find the GRACE in today. Because I’m really trying, and it’s just not showing itself. I need guidance.

Show me the way out of the poop and I’d be eternally grateful.

Pay It Forward Again

My very favoritest organization to volunteer with, Chemo Angels, is struggling to find enough "Angels" to meet the demand of their program. Chemo Angels is a fabulous, heart-felt program dedicated to supporting people with cancer. In addition to providing helpful information and cancer related resources to patients, Chemo Angels matches patients who are going through the difficult time of chemotherapy with "Angels". The function of these Angels is - through little notes, cards and occasional small gifts - to bring a bit of cheer and encouragement to their patient (called an Angels "buddy").

Over the past few years, I have volunteered with Chemo Angels on and off and been assigned to two separate buddies (patients). Sending notes to my buddy has been an extremely gratifying, inspiring, encouraging, rewarding and humbling experience. I cannot express how deeply the involvement with such a worthy organization has affected me in a positive way.

I strongly encourage you to learn more about Chemo Angels and see if it would be a good volunteering match for you. It truly takes very little bit of your time and money, but it has a MASSIVE impact on the life some important, deserving people. I would love to answer any questions you may have about my experiences as an Angel.

To learn more about how you can help Chemo Angels, or if you are able to make any type of financial donation, please visit their website at http://www.chemoangels.net/.

My New Mantra

Peace.

It doesn't mean to be in
a place where there is
no noise,
trouble, or
hard work.

It means to be in the midst
of those things and
still be calm in your heart.

~ Author Unknown

Parenting 101

Yesterday was one of those days that started out with a broken glass shattered across my kitchen floor and ended with kids antagonizing one another and generally acting like brats.

Yeah. Fun.

Finally, at 7:15, I’d had enough and declared it bedtime. I might have lost my temper just a little bit.

It was like I’d suggested we cancel a Disney vacation with the weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth that followed my proclamation. All of the munchkins collapsed into bawling heaps on the floor, just further evidence of the necessity of the early bedtime.

I calmly (ahem!) herded them upstairs and started the PJ/teeth/potty routine.

I got E into bed and then lay down with her as is our habit. We chatted briefly and then I kissed her and got up to leave. As I turned away, I heard a plaintive, "Mommy?"

"What, angel pie?"

"Why are you so crabby?"

I stopped in my tracks and did a mental head slap. The child didn’t even know what she’d done wrong. No wonder she was so upset.

As I went back and explained gently that it was her attitude and tone of voice and the way she was speaking to her sister, I wondered how many times I get upset with her and she doesn’t even know why. Isn’t that like Parenting 101?

When she was first born, I read the parenting books and very intentionally laid out my expectations and the consequences of good and bad behavior and did my best to follow through with firmness and love. With each successive child, I fear that I have regressed into knee-jerk parenting — reacting rather than responding. It’s so much easier to give into my short tempter and impatience when what the kids need is a loving, caring, thoughtful parent. (And unfortunately, I have a legendary, short temper.)

Last night was a wake-up call. I only have one chance. I don’t want to mess it up. It was a humbling experience.

Challenging

When you are really having a "challenging" day with your children, do you ever just give in to their senseless demands? No? Never? Come on! Not even once in a blue moon?! I don't believe you...

I think that is what makes me an awful parent. I do give in -- for my own sanity and peace of mind. I just gave Daniel PUFF CORN for breakfast... It has the word corn in it, so according to Junie B. Jones it has to be somewhat healthy! Hello?!