Classroom of Life

This morning I held a Ticonderoga tri-write pencil in my hand for the first time.  It was true to its claim.  It really was naturally easy to hold due to its triangular contouring.  When I first saw the packaging during back-to-school shopping three weeks ago, I thought it was just the latest gimmick.

"Why would you need a different shaped pencil?" I asked my 5th grade daughter.

"Because, Mom, your hands get tired from writing and they hurt after a while."

I thought about the fact that I never use pencils anymore as an adult.  The last time I used pencils was in a college fine arts class that I took as an elective.  I enjoyed learning what grade graphite pencils to use for shading and creating depth in sketch drawings.  Several hours passed while I happily focused on my artwork.  How liberating it was developing new skills.  These days I prefer to use gel pens which glide weightlessly across the page.  My hand tires easily when attempting to write more than one page which is why I now prefer to type as I write on the computer keyboard.  The only writing I physically do now is the daily task or shopping list.    

We rounded the aisle and then my daughter made another request.

"Mom, can we buy me a special binder?"

"Why do you need a binder?  It's not even on your school supplies list."

My guess was that her brother, who is in high school and had a much longer shopping list, was in the market for a new binder, so she wanted one too.

"Because, Mom, I want to file my papers in there.  You know, so I can be organized."

It was unnecessary but she had a good argument.  Her school papers always piled up on the kitchen desk and they became my problem.

"Let's make a deal then.  If I buy you the binder, you will hole punch your papers as they come in the house and file them in your binder."

"Okay."

She spent the next ten minutes looking for just the right binder.  A blue sparkly one with green borders caught her eye.  It was four dollars more than the average binder but I figured anything that would help inspire her to keep order was a good thing, so I obliged.

"Mom?  Can we buy those plastic page protectors that you used for your writing portfolio?  I want to start my own art portfolio."

Ever since that day, whenever she has had free time, she has sketched and colored drawings and inserted them into her special binder.

I found her desire to be comfortable when writing and her need to organize her work inspiring.  She took pride in her work and wanted to feel good about it.  I thought for a moment about what I might want to do differently so I can also look forward to my tasks with more energy.

Last night I zipped through the halls of our beautiful, new, state-of-the-art Waterford High School.  I stopped in at each of my son's classrooms to meet his teachers and hear about their expectations for the year.  I felt a great sense of pride knowing that our tax dollars were well spent.  Everything about the evening, from the confident and encouraging words of our new Principal Mr. Hauser, to the design and layout of the building, to the newness of the furniture, to the impressiveness of the technology and resources available to our kids, inspired me.  I felt the sense of promise that our kids must also be experiencing as they go from class to class.  Even the teachers reflected an appreciation for their new tools and a positive outlook on the year.

It made me think back to my school years, when life was a fresh piece of sketching paper, waiting for me to draft some lines and fill in sections.  I used an eraser every now and then when I found myself veering in the wrong direction, but I forged on.

We are here to help guide our children as they become who they will discover they want to be.  But they are also here to remind us that we can keep using pencils and erasers too, even if we don't have to.  I guess that's why we buy ourselves the latest electronic gadgets.  There is still much to learn and new skills to develop.

I've been working on my first book for three years now.  I'm not done yet.  Once I finish the manuscript there will be even more work to do that I have never done before; editing, publishing and then finding a market for it.  The unknowns are scary but exciting too.  Maybe we are all works of art in progress and it's time to just draw some more lines.

Acquainted with the Squash

Two varieties of spaghetti squash, acorn, buttercup and delicata.

I have been one acquainted with the squash. My long-standing familiarity has been with the summer variety, zucchini and yellow squash and more recently, those cute pattypan ones. My family just met yet another interesting type of winter squash. Hello, delicata.
    What draws me to winter squash are their unique shape, color and texture. They are round, pear-shaped, oval or long-necked. Some have stripes, indentations and ridges while others have a smooth surface and even color tone. The flesh ranges from gold to orange. Whether they feature an exterior shade or combination of green, yellow, orange, beige and tan, they have one thing in common. Unlike summer squash, which tend to have thinner, edible skin, winter squash have denser flesh and much thicker skin, making them a challenge to prepare.
     Winter squash are a pleasure to display as a Fall portrait. Stacked or leaning against a bale of hay or filling a harvest basket beautifully, they are hard to imagine as being more than decoration given their hard exterior and solid interior. Only the squash-experienced are aware of their complex richness, variety of flavors and nutritional benefits. Some are stringy; others are more starchy like a potato; and then there are creamy ones which are ideal mashed or pureed for soup.
     In the past, I prepared the occasional butternut squash soup or roasted acorn squash as a starter course, but ever since a member of my family experienced serious food sensitivities to grain, starch and sugar, we turned to winter squash as potato and sweet potato substitutes. We discovered a world of delicious recipes and even began concocting our own. Some experienced winter squash handlers are able to forcefully halve them prior to baking or roasting, as most recipes suggest. I learned that this is not an easy task. Even with a very sharp knife, I lack the confidence, burly strength, height and leverage to drive the edge into its center. Recipes assured me that the sturdy vegetable would eventually give, but I never seemed to have a firm grip of the sharpest knife I could fine. The squash often had my kitchen implement in a headlock and it would win!
     So I do the most logical thing. After scrubbing and rinsing the squash first, I roast it whole. I bake an average size squash into a baking pan in the oven at 375 degrees for about 45 minutes. I test its readiness by poking it with a skewer. If the skin has a golden glow, easily punctures and its juices ooze, it is ready to be sliced in a civil manner. Once cooked, I can easily scoop out the seeds and peel the skin, either slice them into chunks or scoop and mash the flesh, then season and serve or puree and combine with soup broth.
     What I love about squash is that they can be prepared either sweet or savory. Many recipes for butternut, acorn and buttercup encourage a simple seasoning of butter or margarine with brown sugar or maple syrup. Heartier preparations for spaghetti squash may consist of olive oil, garlic, hard cheeses like parmesan or romano and marinara type sauces.

Roasted Delicata Squash

     I cooked the delicata squash that a local farmer introduced to me yesterday. He was right. Although it felt as dense as its other winter counterparts, its skin was thin enough to slice and eat. The skin is not as soft as a zucchini but not as hard as the butternut. There was no need to peel the skin. Their flavor is indeed richer and texture creamier than the butternut too. My kids loved it! Give it a try. If you aren't already acquainted with squash, maybe this will open new culinary doors for you and your family too.

Give delicata squash a try:

The Farmer's Recipe for Roasted Delicata Squash

1. Simply slice the delicata squash down the middle length-wise and scoop out the seeds.
2. Cut off the ends and slice it width-wise so you end up with half-inch thick half-circles.
3. Place cut-up squash in a large bowl and coat with olive oil using your hands to toss them inside the bowl.
4. Lay squash pieces on foil tray and sprinkle lightly with salt and pepper.
5. Bake for 12-15 minutes at 350 degrees. Flip squash with metal spatula half-way through baking.
6. Roasted delicata squash are done when the carmelized edges are brown.
To learn more about the many winter squash varieties, click on: http://whatscookingamerica.net/squash.htm

Is Your Phone Smarter Than You?

Like so many people I used to chastise, I too have fallen from grace.  I admit that I have allowed my cell phone to completely possess me.

     This morning, after I hit the button to close my garage door remote button, I pressed another button at the top of my phone.  Dark screen.  No response.
     I gasped.
     I had failed the evening prior, to follow my daily regimen of charging my cell phone, setting its phone alarm and leaving it within reach on my night stand.  As a result, my entire morning was a half hour behind.
     There were no persistent, high pitched beeps from my phone.  Instead my eyes were forced open by natural daylight streaming through my bedroom window and my ears detected my neighbor's dog's bark alarm at 6:30am.  That half hour cost me.  I missed my yoga stretches and instead of a leisurely morning, lunches were haphazardly packed, breakfasts were flashed on the run.  Because both buses were missed, the kids needed rides to school.  Could I still get to my 9:00 a.m. breakfast meeting on time?
     At the stop sign on Rope Ferry Road, you could hear the clinking of my son's spoon to his ceramic bowl of steaming strawberry oatmeal -- an unusual sound paired with the pop music in the front seat of my car.
     No smart phone meant no way to quickly check my contact info for the location of the meeting.  There was no time to go back into the house and rifle through computer files.  I took for granted I could look at the last minute in the morning, so I only had a vague idea where I was going.  I had been there a handful of times before.  I had a strong visual on the street, the mailbox and the walkway to the front door.  I remember making a left at a restaurant on Route 1, passing two stop signs and then parking at the third stop sign.  But I could not recall the actual street name or building number.  I had no way to call if I got lost or was running late due to traffic.
     I looked at the car clock after dropping off my second child.  I could make it if all went smoothly, but there certainly was not enough time to go back home to look for a car phone charger cord.
     "What did I do before the cell phone was invented?" I thought to myself.
     I would have asked several days ahead, not only for the address and phone number of the destination, but also for the directions.  Otherwise, I would have flipped open a street map and highlighted the route.  If I got lost or was running late, I would have been able to stop at a street phone booth to call.
     "What did I do before the smart phone?" I again asked myself.
     I would have done a map search on the home computer and printed the directions to bring along.
     But the smart phone had made my brain lazy.  I relied on it any random second of the day.  I made dog grooming appointments while walking the dog.  I confirmed hair and doctor appointments while waiting on the grocery line or at the gas station.  I never bothered doing any research the day before having to drive two hours to my daughter's gymnastics meets.
     My smart phone knew everything.
     It told me when to wake up, who to call, when to do a task, where to go and answered virtually any question that came up during debates with friends.
     Ironically, despite the fact that I programmed my phone to nag me to prepare to leave 15 minutes early to my appointments, I seemed to always arrive 15 minutes late.  I kept fooling myself.  I no longer had a natural sense of time.  I allowed my phone to become smarter than me.
     Fortunately, this morning I had the good sense to have faith in myself.  I had no choice but to rely on my visualization skills.  I used to call it my photographic memory in high school.  I could see where I had to go in my head.
     I was encouraged by the fact that I got both kids to school on time, so I proceeded to the highway and just drove, trusting that the universe would help me get to my destination within the remaining time.  I made all the turns and stops that my body remembered.  And when I finally walked through the front door, I smiled as I saw the wall clock.
     I was on time.  On the dot, in fact.  I had outsmarted my phone.

The After-School Shuffle

Are you exhausted, juggling your children's after school activities, you need a carpool and are going mad?  There are options.  

     Fear not, for you are not alone.  There are many struggling parents churning the gas pedal and wearing out their brakes due to  frequent stop and go drop-offs.  It is even more taxing when one child has an activity and the other does not, but you have to drive a distance to get there.       Some parents hide their frustration.  They paste an enthusiastic smile on their face and blow their kids kisses from the driver's seat.  Everything is fine.  They don't mind being the family chauffeur.  The other sibling is an angel, quietly awaiting the next stop, which may include being dragged on errands to several stores.  These parents wave their hands in slow motion as they pull away from the curb.  
     "See you later!  Have fun!" they sing out the window.  
     Some parents are more transparent, but at least they are honest about the situation.  They jerk the car into an awkward halt, expressing disgust with each gear shift.  No words are exchanged.  There is no eye contact.  The door slams shut.  The car screeches away in a blur.  
     And then there are many who are just plain old stuck.  With gas prices as high as they are, it does not make sense to drive 20 miles to go home only to come back a couple of hours later.  So they park the car and force the sibling to accompany them in the waiting area for the duration of the older sibling's activity.    
     Some children are equipped with a backpack full of distractions, but they complain the entire time.  
     "Why can't we come back later?" the kid says.  "I want to go home.  This stinks."
     "Do your homework," the parent replies.  "Where's your book?"
     "Hhmmph," the kid blurts, slumping in the chair.
     In some cases, the parent comes equipped with a good book, paperwork or a laptop and gets busy while the child plays games on a phone for two hours.  
     After observing all of these situations and even experiencing all three at some point myself, it dawned on me that there were options I had not yet considered.  

Option 1: The Homework Cafe    
Find a nice cafe in the area where you and the sibling can look forward to a relaxing and fun atmosphere in which to work/study and maybe enjoy some snacks later as a reward.  Come prepared with productive and enjoyable work for you and the sibling.   The child should do homework first, then read or play educational puzzles and games afterwards.  If the crowd or music at the cafe is too loud or distracting, bring along a laptop, iPod, tablet or e-reader and earphones to tune into conducive instrumental music on Pandora Radio using the cafe's free Wi-Fi internet access.  If this is not an option, try finding the local library, get some work done, read a good book (yes, the kind with a spine and actual pages to flip) and then go out for a coffee/smoothie afterward.    

Option 2: Shopping Marathon    
Plan all your grocery and errand shopping around your commuting calendar.  Try to involve the sibling in the shopping strategy.  Maybe he or she will help cook that evening and you can pick up ingredients for the menu together.  Maybe he or she needs extra supplies for a project or needs a new pair of jeans.  This is a good time to do personal shopping with him or her.  Or maybe there are events coming up in the near future and you need to buy greeting cards, gifts or special outfits to wear to the party.  This might be the opportune time to just window shop together.  

Option 3: Find or Start a Carpool    
Chances are, there are other parents at your gym, studio or sports team looking to pair up with other families juggling their kids schedule, but how do you find them?  Just start talking to people.  Find out where they commute from and ask how they manage.  Keep your eyes and ears wide open for the opportunity.  A new parent joined my daughter's gym and desperately needed to find a carpool for her 11-year-old because the 40 mile commute was not going to work three times a week without one.  So she did the most efficient thing; she asked the coach to e-mail all the team parents inquiring whether other parents might be interested.  We quickly became acquainted with another family and have since worked out a three-way carpool that is flexible and offers each of us a one-way drop-off or pick-up option.  When one can't make it, usually there is a back-up.  We stay in touch through phone texts before and during the carpool.  It isn't perfect, but more often than not, the sibling can comfortably do their work and then unwind at home at least half of the time.  

Have any other after school commuting ideas?  Please share them with us.

First Day, Great Beginnings

There is something universally motivating about the first day of school.  New sneakers, new notebooks, a new season and new agendas.  As Waterford students donned their backpacks and boarded school buses this morning, many parents breathed a little easier.  We look forward to renewed structure and boundaries in our family's work, play and sleep schedules.
     "Are you enjoying your summer?" I said to people I encountered in recent weeks.
It was a great way to quickly exchange stories about our respective family's fun in the sun.  We discussed exciting destinations, unique camps, beach and park days.  We talked about how much our children have grown.  We also commiserated about the physical hazards of excessive sitting during road and air travel, overexposure to electronic screens and chronically abused bedtimes.  When the time came, how were the kids going to wake up at the sound of their alarm at the crack of dawn?
     And yet, as my own kids attested this morning, their inner clocks were far superior to the ones sitting on their bedroom desks.  Apparently, they woke up a couple of times before enough daylight even seeped through their curtains.  One eye opened slightly to peek at the clock, only to realize it wasn't time yet.  They anxiously awaited the official time to rise.  They welcomed school, if not for new academic challenges, perhaps for the chance to simply see their friends and classmates regularly again.
     Both my fourth grader and eighth grader agreed it was a good idea to prepare their school bags and lay out their clothes before bed.  This alleviated morning stress and facilitated their movement from bedroom to bathroom to kitchen.  Alarms were set.  My alarm sounded at 6 a.m. and I joined my eighth grader in a warm-up jog around the neighborhood.  It got our blood flowing.  We were energized for the day.  It helped him start training for his cross country season.  Little did he know that it was me who needed the company out there.  I needed to jump start my own new fitness regimen.  The cool, crisp air and golden daybreak greeted our every stride.
     While he enjoyed breakfast, I packed the kids' school lunches.  A few minutes later, thirty minutes ahead of her alarm clock's setting, his sister joined us in the kitchen, dressed for school.  It was the first time she had ever sat at the breakfast table before her brother boarded his earlier middle school bus.  She surprised us and herself too.
     Once he was off to school and she was finished with her meal, the dog realized he was in for a big treat.  He immediately sat by the front door to listen for the rumbling and roar of the bus.  He paced in anticipation as I grabbed some plastic bags and his leash.
     "Ah, the familiar sounds of a good morning," his canine brain must have recalled.   
     My dog must have revelled in the sound of neighborhood kids approaching the edge of their driveways and barked at the screech of the halting big yellow monster.  Once she boarded and the noise of the bus faded down the road, he pulled me into the street and pranced up the hill.  It was his time now.  It had not been as predictable all summer as the family schedule became uber flexible.
     Now he could look forward to his one mile a day walk with me.  And after a summer sabbatical from writing, I can once again count on the flow of story ideas that our morning walks will bring.

My Dad: Screwdriver, Typewriter and Road Map

At this time of year, the word Dad typically conjures up portraits of fathers grilling, doing rugged work in the yard or power tooling in the garage.  But I can define my Dad's character and my bond with him, by more meaningful imagery; a screwdriver, a typewriter and a map.
     When I was a young girl growing up in a borough of New York, I was afraid of many things.  I often had nightmares about subway muggers, home burglars and potential predators lurking the city streets.  Perhaps it was because I watched too many network television news programs.  But it was something I did with Dad before dinner.  We sat on the couch, watched the city headlines and discussed how to practice safety.  I was taking the train to junior high school at twelve years old, so I listened intently.
     "Don't make eye contact with strangers.  Always look as if you know exactly where you are going.  Travel in groups," said Dad.
     At night, I watched him close and lock all the windows and doors of our apartment.  He further secured my bedroom window with a screwdriver.  He placed a door jammer under the front and back doors.  It was not so unusual given the break-in our next door neighbors experienced and the fact that our family car had been stolen right in front of our place.  I have carried Dad's safety warnings with me throughout my college years on and off campus, into my twenties as a single working female commuting back and forth over the East River and throughout my thirties as a Mom with little ones to protect.
     Dad inspired me during my elementary school years to learn how to type, to do it well and to use this skill as a way to make a steady income.  He worked in government positions using data entry skills and ultimately honed a career in accounting.  I remember typing my poems, stories and college entrance essay on an IBM PC Junior computer.  We could barely afford it, but I remember him insisting that it was a good investment in our future.  Typing ensured a non-stop flow of college summer temp jobs and eventually paved a way for me in the fields of advertising, marketing and communications.  To this day I appreciate having the ability to type as fast as my thoughts flow.  I am encouraged by Dad's support of my writing and the occasional comment he bravely posts on my blogs.
     Ironically, it was my Mom, not my Dad, who encouraged me to learn how to drive in my teens.  Of course my father worried about my safety behind the wheel so he wanted no part in my driving education.  But I knew I would not always have access to public transportation so I felt it was my American right to pursue a driver's license.  I surprised him.
     "Guess what, Dad.  I have my driver's license," I said.
     "You what?  That's not possible," he said.
     Although my Mom had a driver's license, he was the designated family driver.  It was his role.  He was not accustomed to seeing women drive (well).
     "Sorry, but it's a done deal," I replied.
     I felt bad that I betrayed his wishes at the time, but knew in my heart it was the right thing for my future.  Although he must have been very upset that I did this at the time, he did not fight it.  Instead, he began to research the best makes of vehicles; their safety record, efficiency and performance ratings.  He believed in Honda as a reliable car brand.  After two years of dragging luggage through bus and subway terminals and perusing carpool ride on-campus boards, I was thrilled that Dad had helped me get a car loan for a new Honda Accord hatchback.  It served me well for the next ten years.
     I remember Dad ordering road maps from AAA for me.  He marked the routes with a bright yellow highlighter.  I had spent many years as the family road trip navigator on long car rides.  He taught me how to read a road map and how to visualize the north, south, east or west bound exit off ramps.
     "As long as you have and can find your location on a map, you will never be lost," Dad said.
     To this day, I prefer reading and marking up road maps rather than relying on an electronic navigator.  As a result, I never feel anxiety when driving someplace new.  If I miss an exit, I pull over, refer to my map and happily turn around.
     Happy Father's Day, Dad.  Thanks for all your guidance to date.  I still hear your safety warnings and advice, every step I take.
     What about you -- what imagery does the word Dad evoke for you?  Share a comment...

Make Mom Happy

What is the best way to celebrate a truly Happy Mother's Day? The trick is knowing Mom well enough to see what is the most meaningful way to say thank you to HER.

A butterfly visiting my petunias one Mother's Day.

      I'm a Mom who has a Mom and Mom-in-law. Whenever Mother's Day approaches, I experience stress, not relaxation. Why? Because every year I worry about whether both Moms will be disappointed once again, because they will not receive the visit they wish they were having from my family. No matter what my family has planned for me on Mother's Day, I find myself feeling guilty that I didn't plan something that included our Moms.

     "They're grandmothers. You're the mother now," my husband says sympathetically.

     "But they don't stop being mothers to us," I hear myself say.

     Both Moms appreciate being recognized on or around Mother's Day, which has been impossible for us to do in person for many years now, since we moved 2.5 hours away. It was easier before we had children, when we lived less than a half hour away from both of them. We popped in for brunch with one and did an early dinner with the other one later in the day. Both Moms were happy to get a visit from daughter/son-in-law and daughter-in-law/son. But ever since I became a Mom, I realized that I want to be available for my kids to celebrate within our own little family unit. I secretly hope I can be completely useless to them during the entire day, free of chores and anxiety of any kind.

An azalea flower in my garden.

      One year, I just wanted the entire day to plant petunias, impatiens and marigolds in containers on my deck. I remember enjoying a visit from a slinky red fox who wandered into my backyard that afternoon. Another year, we enjoyed a walk and picnic as a family at the Connecticut College Arboretum. We picked up sandwiches and drinks from Subway and brought along our cameras. I still admire the photographs we took of the various trees, flowering bushes and water lilies on the pond that day. My favorite photos are the off-center pictures the children took of me with the blue sky in the background, shot from their vantage point below. Another time we decided to see the new flick Iron Man followed by a sushi dinner, my favorite. It didn't matter what we did. All I cared about was that I was with my family and that I didn't have to cook, clean, drive or nag anyone to do anything.

      So where does that leave Moms of adult children? Someday that will be me, when my children have become responsible for themselves and their husbands and their own children. Hey, wait a minute. That's the key. They will be responsible for themselves, their husbands and their own children! That means as a grandparent someday I will not have the same need to receive a physical break from incessant family rearing, shuttling and household chores. I would still want the acknowledgement though. I would want to know that they care about me and recognize all of my efforts through the years, to help them become the best that they could be. I would want to know that they still needed me in their life in some way, whether it be for advice or just someone willing to listen.

My lilac bush in full bloom.

      So make your Mom happy on Mother's Day. Show her that you thought of her and appreciate having her in your life even if you live far away. You don't need to pack the kids' suitcases and drive 200 miles just to have brunch with her for the day. Maybe it is a beautiful arrangement of flowers because she never buys fresh flowers. Maybe it's a video chat so she can see how big the children have grown. Maybe it's a comfortable new fleece throw emblazoned with her favorite family photo. Maybe it's a membership to fruit of the month club because she's trying to cut back on chocolate and sweets. Maybe it's a book of Cross Sound ferry tickets so she'll be encouraged to visit you and her grandchildren often. Maybe it's a home-made card signed by every member of the family, even the dog.

      If you live close enough to set aside a part of the day for a personal visit, you will surely surpass all of her expectations. Take her to brunch, lunch or dinner. Take her to the movies, to a show or to a ballgame. Take her to the salon, to the park or to the museum. Have her over for a slice of pie and a cup of tea and pick her brain about her past. She would love to tell you stories. If you are inclined to include her in your family's plans, by all means invite her to tag along!

      In my town, the local Patch.com site is accepting favorite photo submissions of "Mom and Me." The simplest and most legendary gesture we can make to our Moms is to tell the world why we think she is the best Mom!  To all my readers who are Moms...may you have a truly Happy Mother's Day!

Welcome Back, Rested?

Family shadow portrait at Rocky Neck Beach

Family footprints in the sand...

Whether you visited the French Riviera or enjoyed your own backyard all week, the point is, are your body's batteries recharged?
     Some delight in planning the ultimate family vacation months in advance.  That's what Spring Break is for, isn't it?  Flying to some far away resort where someone cooks for you all week and all you have to do is show up, ready to climb aboard the thrill ride of the day. 
     "It's our first trip to Disney World," said one parent I spoke to before break.  "We're going to do it all.  Breakfast with the Princesses, the all-you-can-eat buffet, the shows, the roller coasters."
     There's something magical about experiencing things that we may or may not have enjoyed as a child with our own children.  It certainly gives us an excuse to enjoy the cotton candy and ice cream sundaes that come with the package too!  So we pack our bags and the children's bags and willingly stand on all the lines.  Lines at the airport, at the hotel check-out counter, at the rides (despite the LCD displays warning a 45-minute wait), at the gift shop and sometimes even the bathrooms (oh, the horror)! 
     Oh I've been there.  We waited until my youngest could appreciate the experience and remember it well.  Otherwise, a day trip to Six Flags or the Big E would suffice.  I must say that it was worth every penny to see my daughter's mouth-opened gaze at the "Wishes" extravaganza fireworks display at the Magic Kingdom.  It was equally satisfying to watch my son bouncing like Tigger after each ride; the faster and higher, the better. 
     "Again, again, again!  Please, can we ride it again?" he begged. 
     We did not regret the lines or the literal price we paid for the memories.  It was an ideal family escape from the mundane. 
     More recently, during Winter Break, our family traveled across the country to visit with extended family on the West Coast.  Minus the hotel experience, it was a similar type of vacation.  We ate a lot, stood on lines at Sea World and Hollywood Universal, went swimming, and more importantly, had a chance to catch up.  We only see each other for short visits a couple of times per year, so it was wonderful getting to know my nephews, who now towered over me as teenagers.
     After each of these types of family getaways, as fun-filled as they are, there were always lingering side effects.  It was now time to reckon with the unpacked piles of laundry, a backlog of mail and e-mail, officework and housework and to make up with the family dog who needed extra TLC after being kenneled for so long.  It was soon going to be time for another vacation due to the vacation!
     So during this Spring Break we opted for a more low-key and restful week.  I cooked so much during the holiday weekend that there were enough meals to heat up for the family.  When the food ran out, we enjoyed steak and fish at local restaurants and went out for Italian ices and frozen custard.  We hit baseballs and softballs at the cages and golf balls at the driving range. 
     "What fun stuff are we going to do today?" said the kids with anticipation.  I was flattered that they looked forward to spending time with us.
     With no agenda for the earlier part of the day, we all slept in late.  We dillydallied every morning away, eating only two meals, brunch and early dinner every day.  We said yes to TV and X-Box.  I learned that playing Just Dance 3 with my daughter could be fun and calorie burning.  Surprisingly, the kids didn't want screen time for too long.

      We rode our bikes for miles and miles around the neighborhood and at Harkness and Rocky Neck State Parks for a change of scenery.  We walked the vacant beach, enjoying the breath-taking views of the windsurfed aqua waves, making family sneaker prints in the sand and picking up crab shells along the way.  The kids enjoyed staying up late to watch "special" movies with us; movies we parents enjoyed watching as kids over 20 years ago like Princess Bride and Twins.  It was like traveling with them to our past.  We had to explain some societal and technological differences.  We gathered with families who also opted for a stay-cation to have dinner together and play games.  The kids visited friends' homes while we adults sneaked in a round of nine-hole golf at the par three course.  As a novice golfer, I appreciated the deserted fairways which made for stress free tee offs.  We hosted the kids' friends, giving us a chance to catch up on some home and yard work.  The garden is now cleared and mulched, ready to soon bear new annual blooms and vegetable seeds.
     "I have anxiety about tomorrow," said my oldest before bed on Sunday night.
     "I know vacation's over.  But I'm ready to work again.  Aren't you?" I said.  "It beats getting bored of doing nothing after a while." 
     "I guess," he said, shrugging and shifting on his side to go to sleep.
     It was just the right amount of rest to be re-energized once again.  The best part?  No bags to unpack.

Family Mosh with Our PEEPs

Master of PEEPpets!

I saw the call for submissions on the Waterford Patch site two weeks ago. Someone submitted a very simple composition of three PEEPs. A momma, a poppa and a newborn peep peering out of a cracked egg. That sparked in me a desire to mention the fun contest to my kids and the wheels started turning in our heads. What clever scene could we design? What humorous take on a title of a movie, a song or situation could we weave the word PEEP in? This became a fun family topic at dinner at first. Five days went by and every now and then I peeked at the latest submissions. People were delighting in having the opportunity to let their craft work and creativity shine in the limelight.
      The truth is that I was never interested in winning necessarily. The prize was a $100 gift card to Michaels. I am not a hobbyist or crafter. I really don't frequent the store. The lure was just in the opportunity to express our family's sense of humor and fun. We talked again for a few days as the submission deadline drew near. Now the pressure was on. First, we had to acquire some PEEPS, in a variety of colors. Then we had to find time to set up the diorama and upload it, name it and officially submit it. The day finally arrived the night before the deadline.
      "Mommy, you promised we would buy some PEEPs for the contest," said my daughter after her dentist appointment. She also reminded me that the night before during her gymnastics team's egg hunt at the gym, she had received some unmarked tart candies which I had not allowed her to ingest. For years she had been responsible and cautious, automatically asking how she could substitute them for something we were certain were food allergy safe.
     "You know better than to even consider eating that, Sweetheart," I said.
     "I've had them before."
     "Oh yeah? How do you know? What are they?"
     "I think they're Gobstoppers."
     "You think?" She looked down in disappointment and tears started to well up.
     "Remember what you get to do at Halloween? I'll let you trade them for something better."
     This was a fair offer. So after her dentist appointment, we set out to pick up four packages of PEEPs. She was pleased to remember that they contained safe ingredients and they would also be fun to work with for the PEEP contest, which we had never done before. We settled on blue, green and yellow bunnies. They only had chicks in pink. I must admit that when I looked at the submissions that were already posted earlier in the day, I thought about whether the designer had put much thought or effort into them. Then there was the artistry of the photograph execution itself. I decided once we all agreed to stick with our first impulse to do something that had to do with rock bands that we would keep it simple and just get it in before the deadline.
     "What are some hit songs that Metallica produced?" I said to my husband after dinner. He started naming them.
     "In what song name could we fit in the word PEEP?"
     "Master of Puppets!"
     "Yes, perfect! Master of PEEPpets it is!"
     At this point it was beyond the kids' bedtimes so they were upstairs brushing their teeth and getting their pajamas on. I assured them I would beat the deadline and execute one of the ideas we had discussed. I went into action, digging up the Metallica rock band figure collectible set from the basement that I had given him two jobs ago for his office. I set up all the music equipment pieces. It was so adorable. There was the snare drum, the base drum, high hat cymbals, all the other cymbals and other drums. There was a mic stand and the four band members, whose limbs resembled lego pieces but the heads of long crazy hair and faces intricately mimicked the real band members. They even wore the black T-shirts and jeans and headbands they were known to wear in concert. I set aside the band member figures as the PEEPS would have to represent them. The drummer was the easiest to work with. I simply stuck the drumsticks through the pink chick's gut and positioned the sticks such that they seemed to be about to strike a set of cymbals and one of the drums. The pink chick also made the most sense to serve as drummer since it was already in a seated position, so I set it on top of an overturned martini shaker cap. Cool, it worked. Next were the bass, rhythm and solo guitarists. I broke off the front tips of toothpicks and balanced the guitars at the right angle. I then positioned the stand alone mic in front of the lead singer.
     For those Christians familiar with Metallica's Master of Puppets lyrics, it probably was not the best choice of songs to portray during Holy Week, but we were not trying to send any propaganda or other cryptic messages to the public. We simply wanted to place our PEEPs in a cool rock scene, particularly because we are a musical family. So, I used the rock song's bold Metallica artwork behind the black stage, making sure I covered the lower half of the rendering, which contained symbols which might be misconstrued as irreverent. We truly apologize to those who might have wrongly reached that conclusion.

Moshing in the PEEP pit!

     Daddy is most familiar with Metallica and their genre of music. He introduced the kids and I to some of their more popular hits and ballads and while we don't listen to the band frequently, we know he likes it and we appreciate the head banging rhythm in the car.  Otherwise, we're more of a classic rock, jazz, pop and alternative rock kind of family in general.  I personally prefer nouveau flamenco and new age music when I write, but I digress.  My point is that we borrowed Dad's Metallica set for the PEEPs contest and our only motivation was family fun!
     I took several shots from many angles.  After I was satisfied with the perspective of the shot, I posted our Master of PEEPpets submission.
     "It's done!" I declared and the kids couldn't help running back downstairs to have a look.
     "Ooooh, it looks really good Mommy!  They look so cute!" said my daughter.  We were all satisfied and went to sleep.  The next morning, my husband had a wonderful suggestion.
     "You know, if you really want to get crazy, you could use the rest of the PEEPs and put them in the audience so the band is playing for PEEPle."
     "You're right.  But I just wanted to get it in.  It's done."
     I decided to leave the display on the kitchen island for the kids to enjoy during breakfast.  But once they left for school and I walked the dog, there was the PEEP metal band, just posing with their instruments, ever so sweetly on the black stage.  Something was definitely missing.  There was no movement.  I could not hear the screeching guitars or feel rhythm, so I got back to work.  I did as my husband suggested.  I emptied the rest of the PEEPs packages and set them up as a crowd of fans.  And then, the Metallica band members called.
     "Come on!  Throw us in the PEEP pit!  We wanna mosh, Baby!"

Little Hands Make Fun Work

Do you remember how old you were when you first physically felt the effects of real work?  I couldn't wait to get my working papers when I turned fourteen.  I woke up that morning, excited to open my presents from Mom and Dad.  I blew my candles.  Later that day, I was on a train to Brooklyn to fill out an application from the Department of Labor.  I was finally old enough to earn my own income.  Even if I knew that part time hours at minimum wage would only amount to enough money for the movies, I felt enormous pride that day.

I was following in the footsteps of my older brother, who had at that point already worked as a restaurant busboy, pizza delivery boy and McDonald's cashier.  Money was tight for our immigrant family, so it was important for us to develop our own streams of pocket money.

I also remember talking at length with my father about the value of having strong typewriting skills.  This is how he paved a career for himself in government accounting in the Philippines.  He typed and entered data at tremendous speed, with pinpoint accuracy.  He inspired me to start learning how to type on my own at nine-years-old.  I set a newspaper article beside my typewriter and typed what I read, fumbling around the keyboard.  As a result, my semester in junior high school typing class went very smoothly.  I was quickly placed on many short-term clerical assignments during my college summers.  And that helped me to fill in my resume and gather recommendations.

My oldest is now twelve years old; my youngest is eight.  I worry about their generation not having the same kind of impetus and appreciation for work.  It is important to me that they understand where all their stuff comes from; that everything is paid for through hard work, whether the work is done through a complex corporate job or through the physical and emotional labor required in running a household and nurturing a family.

One day, I found myself asking my kids a rhetorical question.

"Everyone in this family has a job," I said.  "Do you know what your job is?"

"Going to school and doing my homework?" said my oldest.

"Putting away my toys?" said my youngest.

I was very happy to see that they were able to discern on their own that they had responsibilities as members of our household.  Over time, they understood the important role they played in the family each time they set or cleared a table or took the dog out for a little play in the yard.  But they could contribute more.

On New Year's Day, we made it a family mission to organize the garage.  It seems that every six months we need to purge family clutter as our busy lives sometimes prevent us from putting things where they belong.  Enough was enough.  We wanted to start the new year with clear minds and unblocked paths.  It worked wonders for all of us.  Every time we opened the garage door, it was so satisfying to see everything in its place.  What I found even more moving about this simple family activity was that we were together all day, evaluating whether or not we still needed something, whether it could be recycled or donated and more importantly, that their little hands made a difference.

Today my youngest accompanied me to work a pancake fundraiser at her school.  Weeks ago, when I read on a school flyer that they were still in need of volunteers, I thought this might be a good opportunity for me to teach her about volunteer work.  When I reminded her last night that we needed to be up early to report at 7:30 a.m., she responded with groans and moans.

"But remember, you committed to this.  Your school is counting on our help," I said.  "There's a lot to do to run a pancake fundraiser and if you don't go, they'll be short one person."

"But I didn't know it was going to be so early!" she whined.

She was dressed and on time, ready to work, but not thrilled about it.  In the car we had a chat.

"Do you know what the word volunteer means?" I said to her.

"Yeah, it means you work for free."

"You're right.  But it also means other things.  You are giving your time and energy."

"To help people!" She finished my sentenced, beginning to perk up.

"Yes, today's pancake fundraiser will raise money to pay for after-school programs and enrichment activities at your school."

"Like basketball, Spanish club and Spirit Days?"

"Yes.  Exactly!"

When we arrived at the school, she was pleasantly surprised to see one of her classmates and recognized other fellow students and their siblings who were also there to work.  These were children of parents who were regular volunteers at school functions.  It was a natural extension of what they do as involved families.  While I poured batter and flipped pancakes and chatted with other volunteer parents, I caught a glimpse of her having fun while she worked.  I heard her busily shuffling around the cafeteria and hallways with her young co-workers, wiping down tables as families finished their pancake breakfasts to prep for new families.  I watched her laugh and smile as she inspected the little red buckets of candies that served as treat bowls and table centerpieces, ready to refill them.  At the end, she helped put away decorations that were hanging on the wall and on the tables.

"Mom, when are we going home?" she finally said to me, dragging her feet and looking utterly exhausted.  Her smiles and energy had been depleted.  Her body now understood the true meaning of work.

"Welcome to volunteer work!" I said to her, embracing her as a matriculated member of our volunteer team.

This brought back some warmth to her face.  As other parents helping with clean-up also commended her on a job well done, her spark came back.  She, too, beamed with pride in the spirit of hard work.

In Praise of Small Victories

On this first Monday of a new month, I forgive myself for failing to address many of my intentions.  I started this blog one month ago with the goal of writing a few times per week at some point and this is only my second post.  "So what?" I say to the critic on my shoulder.  "This doesn't mean I didn't write or that I'm less committed."  In fact, I made many journal entries but I saved them in my Daily Blog folder, because I felt they needed more polish.  I started writing a chapter which I have yet to finish.  There's a growing pile of non-critical papers which I hesitate to trash on my kitchen desk.  The kids' things have once again creeped into the crevices of each room in the house.  The now thawed garden is in need of Spring clean up; I started raking and deadheading but left piles of leaves and dried straw that need to be whisked to the far end of the backyard.  The community volunteer work is in full swing but there is still so much to be done.  Like a drum roll, a number of incomplete tasks await my final blast of energy so I can check them off my to do list.

I didn't follow through for the usual reasons; mainly, adult onset ADHD.  I have a tendency to overcommit, which challenges me to constantly re-prioritize.  I realize now after years of struggle that constant juggling leads to firefighting, which I am capable of, but this is not my essence.  My gift to others is my ability to maintain control, to share my energy, and how can I do that if I am constantly depleted?

No, I didn't follow through for the usual reasons; it was because my very ill husband and family desperately needed my focused energy these past two weeks.  Therefore, I put many, less crucial activities on hold.

When my husband landed in the hospital for 8 days, a huge storm of conflict flabbergasted my family.  We needed to situate ourselves in the eye of that storm with him, surround him with our protective tranquility and just let everything else naturally spin around us.  I was okay with this.  In the past I worried about every little thing.  But today it is very clear to me where my attention needs to be.

During those 8 days, I made it my daily goal to keep my chin up and my spirit strong so that my husband and my kids might draw what light they needed from me to get through the day.  I also reached out to family, friends and our community, to harness positive thoughts and prayers that they might be able to radiate toward us.  And boy did they generously do so.  I felt the warmth and the strength.  I let it fill me.

It took 6 days for him to eek out one smile (a Will Ferrell movie).  I missed his confidence, wit and charm.  All that faded into the gloom of his debilitating chronic GI disease.  The kids missed his anchor of strength in the house.  They craved an hour of his awareness; even for just 30 minutes they wanted to infuse him with their lightness of being.

As he heals in the comfort of our home, the kids and I are relieved to be able to help him rebuild his fortress of hope.  We continue to surround him with our love and attention.  We ease back into our familial rhythms.  

This morning my husband gave me a hug.  I was the receiver!  I revel in this small victory :)

Embracing What Matters

Five plus years ago, a very good acupuncturist asked me to fill out a very unique batch of patient application forms.  I had found her practice because I was looking for acupressure massage services close to my home.  I had persistent pain in the back of my neck and upper back and I had no reason to believe that I was seriously ill.  I simply wanted an alternative and drug-free means to address the pain.  I seemed to also be under frequent virus attacks at the time.

I was used to those check-off boxes that listed all sorts of past ailments and symptoms in my health history.  But instead, I was asked to answer revealing questions in narrative form, like I was taking a personality test!  The first box asked me to list the five things I would like to do before I die.  Before I DIE!  Can you imagine bringing up that three letter word to someone obviously interested in maintaining health and wellness?  On the list, I wrote things like author and publish my own books someday and see my grandchildren grow up.  I found out that I was a wood element, which meant that I had a constant need to grow and that I had a tendency to be rigid like wood.  I tended to take safety in roots and shy away from risk.

To make a long story fit into this concise blog format, let me tell you what I finally realized after two years of interviews and needle sessions with my acupuncturist.  The secret to good health was my happiness.  This meant ensuring the alignment of my mind, body and spirit.  Only until I closed the door on a successful yet unfulfilling career in marketing and corporate communications and opened the door to designing a very satisfying "day job" that allowed me to be flexible enough to focus on raising my children, did I have a chance at being happy and healthy.  I honestly don't mind all those after-school minivan shuttles; those precious moments during which I could hear how my son and daughter's day went.  I love that each day now I am one step closer to finishing a manuscript.  I have faith that I'll get paid again someday when the product is done.  It's just that I'm still in the creative production mode.  And I love that I have time to volunteer in the community.

It's been a long, anxiety-ridden road to today.  But I appreciate this crystal clear perspective that I now have and I am grateful for the many life experiences I have gained along the way.  We all have the power to be happy as long as we are willing to take a hard look at how we spend our days and have the courage to make changes.