dirt don't hurt

 Like most families, we counted down the days until school was finally over.  We celebrated with snow cones and stayed up late on what used to be a school night.  As a mom, I reflected on how nice it would be to have the freedom of a sunny day, with no strict schedules to stick to and just the time to play and be kids before it’s too late. But then the reality of never being alone set in.   In fact I have sat down to write this column about forty three times, each time interrupted by one of my lovely children who I was so excited about spending the summer with. “Mom, our fish died.” “Mom, can I make a craft?” “Mom, where are the pruning shears?” “Mom, I’m hungry.” “Mom, why are you on your computer again?” “Mom, why are you so grouchy?” “Mom, I’m still hungry.” It’s like they have secret meetings late at night after I’ve collapsed from exhaustion of answering their questions all day, finding things hidden in plain sight, and revisiting my career as...

When you’re married for a few years, life has a way of just starting to flow in an unspoken smoothness.  Some may call it a well-oiled machine. In our house, there are certain signs that alert each of us to something going on in the other’s life.   If my husband heard me tossing and turning or handling children during the night, he will have the coffee made before my eyelids finally push their way open.   Likewise, if I know he’s had a rough day at work, I try to gather the troops and welcome him home with love, hot food, and if at all possible, keep the kids from fighting with each other.   Sometimes, though, the simple situations are more practical and less emotional.   Not being a milk drinker myself, if we’re out of milk there will be an empty jug placed on the counter and I’ll know immediately to add it to the shopping list.   If we’re out of shampoo, there will be a bottle out of place on the bathroom counter. Same goes for the kids when they sta...

A few words about aging, because as much as we’d like to not do it, it happens.  You could eat every health food in the book, spend your paycheck on vitamins, slather yourself in creams, and exercise like a fiend and still, at the end of the day, you’re still another day older. Gray hairs and wrinkles don’t lie. The good thing about aging is the part that we can control, and I’m not talking about coloring your hair.  I’m talking about the theory that you are only as old as you feel.  Or even, you’re only as old as you want to be.  (Today I packed a piece of plastic doggie doo in my son’s lunch.  By this rational, I am approximately eight years old.) So when faced with the ticking clock, I think it’s important to take time out of our busy adult lives and actually attempt to be youthful now and then, because if for no other reason, youthfulness feels wonderful. And there is nothing makes me feel more young than the prospect of a day of serious sledding....

I once read an article that perfectly explained the woman’s brain.  (I’m guessing now that I’ve got the attention of plenty of men.)  So often in my life, while harboring so many tasks and duties in my head that I feel like it is near explosion, I go back to that tidbit of psychological knowledge and feel just a tiny bit better.  There’s just something so comforting about knowing that you’re not alone and understanding why you are the way you are. Because personally I know that sometimes I feel like a cartoon character with my tongue hanging out and dripping, running so fast that the artist only has to draw my image once when I start, then a giant blur bouncing off all four walls, and then finally again when I crash into one of them and collapse in a heap with little stars and birdies flying in circles above my head. This particular article clearly depicted a man’s and a woman’s brain by using the analogy of a room with doors around the walls.  Each door was ...

In all my years of parenting, Since those babes came out of my gut, I never have been so exhausted. Yes, summer is kicking my butt. From the day they stepped of the school bus, They instantly started to run. How can they go all day without rest? Summer is kicking my bum. I go outside and they follow me I come back in and they’re standing right here. The air conditioning bill is enormous, Summer is kicking my rear. It seems each day is so beautiful With blue skies and the sun so shiny, Surely we have to go out and play. Summer is kicking my hiney. Off to the library, the zoo and the park, “No, you can’t bring a friend!” Sure, I’ll set up the sprinkler. Summer is kicking my end. Sunscreen all day, passing out snacks The dirty dishes pile is uncanny. How do three kids go through forty-five cups? Summer is kicking my fanny. Bug spray at night while we run around, “You’ve got to let those fireflies loose!” How many jars of dead bugs have I dumped? Summer is kicking my caboose. But summer ...

Dear Fast Food Restaurants, French Fry season is just about full swing, when busy families like ours simply have no other choice than to buzz through your drive through.  Not that we don’t enjoy it, because we do.  You have done an amazing job making your food mouth-watering and delicious, and I stand by my sentiment that anyone who says they don’t like french fries is just a just a downright, two-faced liar.  We are Americans and have been raised to crave salt, fat, and sugar.  There is no one better than you to give it to us. As I said, we’re just about in that time of year when our family dines more frequently than we should at your establishments.  It seems we’re always running from this game or to that event, often times changing clothes in parking lots.  The back of my vehicle has been filled with the necessities of the season, from baseball gloves to concert attire. My point is that I personally struggle to keep my family going to where they ...

I have a rather hokey nightgown that sports a bear with half-open eyes holding a mug.  “Bearly awake before coffee” is what it reads, and it’s been a needling point for my husband, a genuinely morning person.  And by morning person, I mean he can wake up and not stomp around and it doesn’t take him 20 minutes just to be able to function enough to make coffee to be able to drink it without spilling it all over his pajamas. But I am not so lucky.  I don’t want to be talked to, touched, looked at, or even near anyone except the droning sound of the local news station. And then, maybe then, I’ll make you breakfast. Before I was blessed with motherhood, this sort of anti-morning-person phenomenon didn’t bother many people.  My husband knew to keep his distance until the caffeine set in, and things were fine.  Then, having babies in the house throws off the schedule so much that while you may be a morning person, your morning had just been dedicated at 4:30 AM...

Years ago when our first daughter started in her princess phase, I put my glass-slippered foot down, right then and there.  I told my husband and anyone else who would listen, “I refuse to take our children to Disneyworld until they can walk the whole park because strollers irritate me up to here and I’m not parking it out in the middle of nowhere when we all have to go to the bathroom at the same time.” And pretty much I started training them all since day one, forcing them to take long walks through the woods or around the block.  It wasn’t so much because I was yearning to take them to Disneyworld, but more because I knew that there would at some point be a window of magic and fantasy for all of them at the same time.  Before the oldest got too old, and when the youngest was not too young, we had to be ready and raring to go. Not only that, but having talked to friends, I was just downright scared to try to book a Disney vacation.  “People write entire books...

With the weather starting to change for the worse and this being the season of giving and caring about our fellow man, woman, and child, I feel it may finally be time to discuss something that plagues so many of us on a daily basis.  And by “plague,” I really mean irritate, annoy, and drive us to frustration so much that our preschool aged passengers are picking up less-than-pleasant phrases for other drivers.  And it’s not just me.  I know for a fact that this problem is one that happens around the county, as well as the state, the country and probably all over the world.  I’m speaking of the car lane at school. If you have ever met me for longer than thirty seconds, you’re probably laughing now because the drop-off lane has been my nemesis for years.  I have been known to purposely park my car a block away and walk to pick them up because that’s how long it took me to cool myself down.  Even after years of trudging through snow and rain, I still p...

(Because of space issues, this column didn't appear in its entirety in the newspaper.  If you were looking for a missing ending, find it below...) They say everything’s bigger in Texas, but I think everything is bigger in Parenthood.   I came to this realization when I recently downsized the girth of my vehicle.   I did this purely out of selfishness, because I really got tired of my kids calling it a “spaceship” and having to park in Timbuktu so that no one would smash into my doors. Bigger cars are convenient for children.   You need seats to put them in, cargo room to haul their things around, and compartments galore to hold emergency snacks, books, deodorant, homework pencils, etc.   If I had a semi-trailer, I could certainly fill it with the things we tend to need while on the road running from this to that.   In fact, I would be lying if I said I never dreamed of just buying an RV so I could take an honest nap during piano lessons. But with m...

In a moment of weakness and semi-insanity, I agreed to help take on an entire Girl Scout troop.   And while anyone who truly knows me knows that there is probably no better job for me, I have to admit that it’s harder than I thought it would ever be. Growing up, I was a Girl Scout for many years.   The girls in my troop were without a doubt my best friends, and my leaders were positive and permanent role models in the way I live my life even today.   It was, all in all, an outstanding experience that I wouldn’t trade for anything – not even all the badges in the world.   As it was, for all of the years I was an actual scout, the number of badges we actually earned were very few.   It was almost as if one night around a campfire the leaders looked at each other and said, “we don’t need no steenking badges!” and they erupted into hearty belly laughs. But here I am, faced with having to plan meetings and read books and organize beyond my wildest dreams, so t...