My Adventures

Healing Kisses, Grateful Heart

2012-01-23T00:07:00.000-05:00

Today was the 1 year anniversary of my parents car accident that sent my mother to the ICU for several days and my life in a tailspin for many more. Hours in the hospital and on the phone was definitely disruptive to our family, yet, I have to say, I thankfully can't remember much of those early days of foggy disbelief.

I somehow managed... to a point. Yes, the spleen surgery, the fluid on the lungs, the broken back and cracked ribs, the back and neck brace and the gray tone that washed over her face was nearly more than I could bear. And yes, losing my mother was unimaginable and scary as hell; she was my mom after all; one I thought was as close to perfect as a mom could get.

The part that made me numb and cold inside, feeling nothing and walking unconsciously through those dark days, was the prospect of my boys losing their Nanny.

This wasn't an option.

Their hearts would break and I couldn't survive that.

She had been at all of their births. Every one. Read them a thousand books and kissed them a thousand times. She listened to them wail, wiped their bottoms, endured their unreasonable tantrums and managed their fevered bodies. She sat with them at the doctors office, in the emergency room and at their school plays. She taught them about poisonous snakes, how to catch frogs, and the proper way to hold a baby chick.

They know shoo fly pies, sardines and beef stroganoff because of her.

True, she gasps when they fall and screeches when they climb. She sometimes let's them watch too much TV and eat far too much sugar, saturated fats and hydrogenated oils. She doesn't think I'm attentive enough when they're sick and scolds me when I leave items out they could choke on or swallow.

If she had her druthers, they'd be on antibiotics year round and in a padded room, sedated with pharmaceuticals so they could never, ever get hurt.

It's annoying at times. And I'm not proud to say, I sometimes let her know this. It's just that she loves them so much, and the boys know this; they think she walks on water. They, like me, can't imagine a day without her. She's been in their lives, as long as their lives. Like the sun. Unfaltering, so dependable and predictable.

Can you imagine, just one day you awake and the sun is gone? Not there anymore?

Inconceivable.

I never told them losing her was ever an option. She was just hurt and their kisses would help her heal. And they did.

Today, a year later, she is as good as new. Actually, maybe better. She healed without so much a sore neck. Miraculous, some say, and I think I know why.

Four little boys couldn't bear to see her hurt. So they kissed and kissed her and made her right again so they could eat shoo fly pie, make her fret and and go frog hunting with her a while longer. They knew she'd insist on watching them play their sports, accept their diplomas and kiss their brides. And so they kissed her.

It's now that I can see how brightly she has shown on my life, in every crack and crevice. So thankful I am for her light and her love. So grateful I am that my boys could know such love, could feel it and experience it like I have for all these years.

And, because of this love, my boys knew the power of their kisses, and because of those kisses, my mom could heal and I could keep her, a while longer ... and finally, truly, appreciate the screeches and saturated fat.

I love you, mom. SO grateful.... xo

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Why You May Need Poison Control on Speed Dial

2012-01-17T12:54:00.000-05:00

I was reflecting last night, as I fell into bed, how all of my children are so unique...especially when it comes to their medical history.

There is Luke who broke, not one, but both of his collar bones. Two different incidences, only months apart. Logan has sprained and broken a number of fingers. Nothing ever major. But always, and only, the fingers. Nic used to put everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, in his mouth. Dirt, dog food, paper, batteries, sand, cinnamon, even his own poop (when he was a baby, while I was changing him- I promise). But never did we have to go to the emergency room and never did I call poison control.

And then there is Asher. Asher on the other hand has put a whole three things in his mouth his entire life, and all three: Poisonous.

The first was lawn fertilizer, the second, worming medicine for the cat, and today, a Dieffenbachia.

I know.

What the hell is that?

I'm so glad you asked. A Dieffenbachia is that houseplant you've had in some random apartment, in some tiny cubical, on a nightstand or in a windowsill at one time or another in your life. It's the one they sell at CVS, dollar stores and Home Depot. It's the one that would never die, didn't need light and you've seen, I'm certain, a thousand times.

It's so common, it's name should be ' @%*$ plain-old-houseplant'!

Today, I learned it's called Dieffenbachia and when you eat it, it's excruciatingly painful. I believe my friends at poison control said, and I quote: "it feels like shards of glass in your mouth".

So let's just say, for many minutes, there was a LOT of screaming, spitting, gagging, and Googling going on in my house tonight (poor Dave was given the research honors at work "Don't ask! Just look up D. I. E. F. F......", "....I don't CARE that they're a tropical plant noted for their patterned leaves! Get to the life-threatening, poisonous part!!!")

All the while, thankfully, Logan and Luke played quietly upstairs and Nic, sat at the kitchen table, only a few feet away. Engrossed in a book.

Like nothing was going on in the whole. wide. world.

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Parents:
If you haven't done so already, put your doctor's phone number and poison control on speed dial in your phone. Poison Control: 1-800-222-1222

If you're incredibly over-protective and fearful of your children getting hurt, I can assure you that many and most incidences that occur could never have been predicted. Be careful about letting your fear overwhelm you. When it does, you may unknowingly project it unto your children and cause them an enormous amount of anxiety.

Avoid Dieffenbachia and mouthfuls of cinnamon. always.

Mouse Ears and Meltdowns

2011-12-11T22:53:00.003-05:00

We are en-route home after a week at Disney. My children sprawled at my feet on the airport floor, coloring a ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ activity set. I’m trying to decide if I had fun or if I’m just happy to be alive. After a week of corralling 4 children and many bags onto planes, boats, busses, elevators, monorails, rollercoasters, and escalators and through countless restaurants, bathrooms, turn-stiles, lines and crowds, I’m left wondering why in the world so many people do this to themselves.

I studied the whole scene all week. I witnessed meltdowns, I watched kids fighting, I heard parents yelling - at the end of their rope, losing their cool, saying ‘I’ve had enough!’.

And then there were all the other families.

In Epcot, I’m pretty sure Dave said, and I quote: “I’m seriously going to throw him in the river.”

The lake looks nothing like a river. He was just that mad.

My kids got into their first ‘not-ah’, ‘yeah-hah’, ‘not-ah’, ‘yeah-HAH’ argument this week. It was absolutely asinine and for a moment, I thought we all may be permanently ruined; destined for a life of constant short-tempered retorts and unpredictable emotional outbursts.

“Who are these children… and why are there mouse ears everywhere.”

Seriously. Everywhere.

But back to the kids. The ones peacefully coloring at my feet. The ones that squealed at the sight of Goofy, the ones that danced the Macarena pool-side, the ones that held my hand on Space Mountain and ate Bratwurst and sauerkraut in Epcot-Germany with me. They really are just so darn cute. And all those meltdowns and moments, were just that. Moments.

So I’m off to board our plane. Thankful to be heading home, thankful for a fun, sun-filled week in FL and so thankful I didn’t get that Mickey Mouse tattoo on my ankle.

Seriously.

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Parents:

Going on a vacation or doing anything out of your routine - Expect meltdowns and moments - from your kids and yourself! Expect them and get past them, as quickly as possible. Hopefully while laughing a little.

Be flexible - always and especially on vacation. When we get too rigid in how we want the day to go, we end up making matters worse.

So maybe don't get Mickey Mouse tattoos but do have fun, live it up and show your kids that spending time with them is the most important thing to you.

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China. Where I was ready to ship them.

I can't decide who is cuter.

My Pirates.

I feel your pain, Donald.

Why Our Children Embarrass Us

2011-09-14T06:38:00.013-04:00

My mom likes to remind me, and remind me often that, "God has a sense of humor" when it comes to raising children. Just when you think you have it all figured out and you start with your 'I am the best parent ever'-swagger....

They go and screw it all up.

They put their brother in the emergency room with stitches, they pee on the floor in Macy's, they bring home a 'D', get arrested or have a complete meltdown at the park...

In front of everyone.

Apparently, from what I can tell, there's really not a thing you can do to escape this phenomenon.

I can remember a day last spring, as we were walking to the car after school my oldest two started fighting over my new iPhone (I had just given it to one of them to look at. I know, what was I thinking?). There was not just shouting and screaming, but a punch was thrown and a full-on kick to the stomach took one of my sons to the ground.

In front of, yes, everyone.

Meanwhile, my youngest (Asher-3), feeling the excitement and tension in the air, hauled off and punched a second grader in the gut.

"My Gosh. Can this get any worse?"

Oh. yes. It can.

Now I could have tried to minimize this whole event and assured, what felt like, hundreds of witnesses that my boys rarely, rarely fight and that this was one of the most bizarre scenes I'd ever witnessed between the two of them. But remember, God has a sense of humor, and on this day, this parenting instructor (who had just finished a parenting series at that very same school not a week before) was just supposed to be the poster child for His 'lighten up people, you're raising kids' campaign.

My children have knocked over shopping carts and entire product displays in Wegmans - once a stand-alone display of potato peelers in the produce section went flying - peelers everywhere. Another time, a pyramid of paper towels.

If fact, we have made such 'impressions' in the grocery store apparently that I've had strangers approach me and say they actually recognize me from Wegmans. I smile and resist the urge to ask the clarifying question 'Sooo....what is it about me exactly that you recognize...?'

When Asher was two I couldn't keep his clothes on at Nic's baseball games; he'd run off and come back buck-naked. This continued the entire season.

My oldest was the first child to have the honors of sitting in the 'bad seat' on the bus his first year of school and my third son has had complete meltdowns while trying to leave McDonald's playgrounds.

Just recently a trip to a hair salon was more like a roving circus with one child wiggling and making funny facing through the entire hair cut, another spinning on a chair, and yet another playing with shampoo bottles.

Do I feel embarrassed. Knocked down a few pegs. Mortified. Highly annoyed and irritated. Like crawling under a rock with a glass of wine and emerging years later.

Of course!

Do I try to assure myself 'these are the exceptions; this too shall pass'.

I try. I wish they'd always sit still and be perfect. I would like to make it through Wegmans every time without incident. I would like to say my kids never fight.

But they do. And they will.

They're not perfect. And neither am I.

So I smile, shake my head....

And look forward to passing on my mother's words of wisdom to them someday.

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Parents:

I'm often so busy reminding myself that it's OK that I'm not perfect, that I forget to apply the same rule to my children. Your kids are just figuring life out. They're supposed to make mistakes along the way. We, as adults, have our moments. Don't forget, so will your kids.

Be careful not to attach your self-worth to your children's behavior. When we do and our children mess-up, their mistake become a reflexion of ourselves and we over-react.

When you find yourself in an embarrassing situation, control your behavior. Don't make matters worse. And for goodness sake - don't make a scene. That will most definitely escalate the situation and your embarrassment.

Most importantly - remind yourself that everyone's thinking 'thank God that's not my child' and watching to see how you are going to respond. So keep your cool, smile and show the world - 'Big deal. I have kids'.

Boredom's Not So Bad

2011-07-20T09:03:00.006-04:00

This summer I’m experimenting and trying something new. I’m practicing doing nothing. And encouraging my children to do the same.

Nothing. Nodda. Zip.

We have a mountain house in northern PA that sits on 100 acres of absolute nothing and I’ve been dragging my kids here all summer. (I’m sitting at a coffee shop in town at 7am right now while the kiddos sleep to prove that there is nothing there, not even internet service). Packing and unpacking has been exhausting but getting here and watching an unfamiliar calm wash over my four wild monkeys (and myself) is fascinating.

There is no TV, no video games, no radio or telephone service and only a handful of toys. There are just trees, a few swings and a fire pit. We fish occasionally, take drives to look for deer and wildlife, work on the mountain house here and there and in between, do a lot of, (have I mentioned?), nothing.

I work with a lot of parents who complain that their children say they’re bored all the time and need to be entertained. They are frustrated because their children have a house full of toys to play with yet they’re still bored.

And does this sound familiar? Entire days are organized around how to entertain our little ones. We play with them; take them to the park, the playground, and playdates; enroll them in sports and classes, and allow them to watch TV and play video games in between to fill the space. And still. Bored.

Research shows that children’s free play or discretionary time in a typical week declined a total of 9 hours over a 25 year period. Not too long ago, children didn’t have as much mind-numbing activity to keep them occupied. Few had video games and cartoons were for Saturday morning. If kids felt bored, it forced them to get creative.

Today, our children are conditioned and addicted to the stimuli-fix. According to an article in Newsweek by a pediatrician in Pittsburgh, this syndrome leads to more doctors prescribing Ritalin and other ‘stimulants to deal with the inattentiveness at school or antidepressants to help with the loss of interest and joy in their lives’.

The truth is, we are all inundated by stimulation today. Most people rarely take the opportunity to just sit and do nothing. Perhaps it’s because it’s uncomfortable to do nothing and be alone with ourselves. Our minds race and we fight the urge to tap into our inner-selves. But in that stillness and quiet is peace and our true-selves. It is our inner guidance system. When we drowned it out with noise and stimuli, we deprive ourselves and our children of that inner peace that’s required to cope with the day-to-day stresses and challenges.

Yes, boredom may be a cry for the need of more attention from a parent but more often it is likely a sign that it’s time to turn off the TVs, computers, and video games and let our children’s natural creativity kick in. It may happen slowly at first and there may be a lot of whining and complaining but stay calm and detached and allow them to discover their own joy without guiding them to an activity and telling them what to do.

Ok. I’m done here and heading back to the mountain house. I’m looking forward to another day with the kids. In the woods. Doing a lot of...

Nothing.

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Parents:
Boredom can be constructive – this summer allow for lots of unstructured time in your child’s day to allow them to connect with their creativity.

The next time your child says they’re bored, consider seeing this as the doorway to them discovering something peaceful to do with themselves, not as the warning bell that it’s time to stop what you’re doing and entertain them. Resist the temptation to tell them what to do or what to play. Don’t make this TV or video game time. Curiously ask ‘so what are you going to do?’.

While it is true that your child is quiet watching TV or video games, don’t mistake this as ‘quiet time’. It’s numbing-out time. Your child is still being stimulated.

Encourage quiet, creative, nothing-time by modeling this to your children. Let them see you sitting under your backyard tree with a cup of tea, reading a book or laying on the grass watching the clouds go by.

“In nature, a child finds freedom, fantasy and privacy; a place distant from the adult world, a separate peace.” – Richard Louv – Last Child in the Woods

I Confess... Again

2011-06-02T13:59:00.034-04:00

I fantasize about owning a Mercedes convertible. A little shiny, black and fast convertible.

No. That's not my confession.

My confession is that I don't own a convertible. Nor do I come close to even living like I should own a little, fancy, shiny anything.

This morning, I had the lovely fortune of having, yes, the same dad who sniffed out my leaf blower habits (blog: I Confess), come to my house to jump my car. I had left the keys on overnight and when I tried to take the boys to school. Dead battery. again.

Bad habit.

When my battery wouldn't 'turn over' the dad questioned how old the battery was and I explained the car was only two years old.

The pause that hung in the air was painful and oh-so awkward. So was watching his eyes scroll over my car.

'Kids sure can take a toll on cars, huh?'

I tried to smile.

geeezze... this guy's observant.

Yes. They do take a toll. My brand new minivan, the one I said they'd NEVER eat in, is filthy. dented. smelly. sticky and broken.

To name a few:
The back windshield wiper - ripped off (culprit unknown).
The back hatch - two enormous dents and a bent license plate (how I identify my car in a parking lot a mile away).
Back brake light - smashed to smithereens (I backed into a tree).
Center console - over-flowing with a roll of toilet paper (I have no idea why), pens, receipts, popsicle sticks, combs, pokemon cards, half-eaten sandwiches, coins (hundreds of them) and empty water bottles.
Trunk - full of rocks, sticks, shoes, baseball bats, and potting soil (bones and dead animals have even graced the space).
Windows - smeared with ice cream, crayons and bodily fluid.
Grey carpet - brown.
Ceiling - written on.
Dog hair - everywhere.

I don't even venture to the back seat. Wrappers, crumbs, apple cores and broken toys litter the place. It's an absolute hell hole.

I avoid removing car seats. Or turning them upside down.

I cringe when the kids exit the car at school in the morning and papers, bottles and socks spill out behind them.

I absolutely DIE when someone wants a quick ride in the front seat and I have to clear a place for them to sit amongst the seat full of God-knows-what and trash on the floor.

Ironically, one of the things that sold me on this car were the secret floor compartments in the back. A brilliant idea for all the wet and muddy clothes and shoes I thought.

I've never used them once.

So after my battery was charged and I took the kids to school (a half hour late), I headed for the car wash. You know, the one where 26 teenagers swarm your vehicle and in 1o minutes its sparkling again. I would LOVE this place except that every time I go there the manager has a complete conniption at all the dirt and dog hair and scolds me that the next time it will cost 'extra'.

I pulled in line hoping Hitler was off duty today and got all the way to the wash bay when he appeared from no where, yelled at the teenager who 'let me through' and said I'd have to go to the self-serve bay first to spray off all the caked on dirt in the wheel-wells.

In my defense we had been in the mountains all weekend and my minivan was a bit weathered from the trip, but the humiliation from the day was almost more than I could bear.

I survived and my car is sparkling clean.

for now.

but I'm off to pick up the boys and take an evening hike. Sierra (my dog) and the boys love the stream where we go.

which will mean mud. and dog hair. in my car.

again.

But I wouldn't change a thing.

Someday I will have the shiny new convertible..

but for now I'll take the mess...

and the memories.
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Parents:
You have kids. Things are going to get broken... and dirty. Get over it. When you freak out it teaches your kids that things are most important.

It's great to have dreams and desires... it's also great to accept that there's a time and place for everything. As a parent, skydiving or traveling the world may not be in the cards. But I promise, soon enough you'll have all the time in the world... and all you'll want is to go back in time.

A perfect house, a perfect car and perfect children are all a facade. period.

Don't let your car get so dirty they yell at you at the car wash. Break out a hose and the vacuum on occasion and invite your kids to partake in some good old fashion water fights.

Have fun!
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The back seat...I don't make this stuff up...

The trunk... here we have baseball bats, sneakers, frog nets, sticks, deer antlers, and dirtBent license plate

If you can relate you have to watch this video!

Traveling to the Middle East

2011-05-20T06:32:00.018-04:00

Tonight we traveled to the Middle East with the boys...

OK. It was really just our local Aladdin Restaurant but nontheless, it was an adventure. We had the the restaurant all to ourselves (thank goodness) and had a lovely Syrian waitress who happened to be the owners' daughter.

The boys loved the decor; ooohing and ahhhing at the camels, mystical lanterns; star-lit, fabric ceilings; beaded drapery and pillowed couches.

We ordered the appetizer sampler which offered the perfect assortment! The boys tasted, sampled and, yes, spit-out an array of middle-eastern fare including hommos, falafels, dolma (stuffed grape leaves), baba ghanouj, tabouleh and lamb and chicken kabobs. (I had to google every single one of those words.)

It would be an understatement to say they also sampled the pita bread.

pita-poisoning. pita-over-dosing. (I googled these, as well).

I had intentionally starved them since lunch hoping their famished selves would be more enticed by the 'new food'. Nic (8 and oldest) tried the most and the others we had to cajole a bit more, admittedly bribing them with 'dessert' and casually mentioning more than once 'this is dinner- 'there will be no more food tonight...'

At the end of the meal the waitress helped me find middle eastern music on my iphone, the boys ate a moroccan sugar cookie and Asher (3) whispered relentlessly in my ear 'I want to go to your house, mommy'.

He's not ready to move to Syria.

Luckily, we had the opportunity to just visit, tonight.

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Thank you Aladdin Restaurant - The Dougherty crew highly recommends!

651 Union Blvd, Allentown, PA 18109 · Get Directions

Belly dancing every Saturday night!

Parents~

You know how I love you shaking things up and getting out of your hamster-wheel rut. With a little planning you, too, can take your whole family on an adventure right in your own backyard.

My Mother's Day Exam

2011-05-13T14:52:00.017-04:00

A fun exercise I challenge parents to do on occasion is to ask their children ‘How am I doing as your mom/dad? What is one thing I am doing well and one thing I could work on?’ It takes a lot of courage to ask this question and sometimes even more self control to contain your reaction to the answers. Not only is it very powerful to hear your child's perception of you, but it also models a healthy willingness to grow. It teaches children that it’s OK to make mistakes and not be perfect but to always strive for improvement. This simple question builds trust, communication and your child’s self-esteem – they feel important and valued when you ask for their input.

So for Mother’s Day this year, Logan brought home from school a ‘Portrait of Mom’ and a card that read “Things I Know About my Mom” dictated by his teacher.

Oh boy.

This should be interesting.

I was about to ingest a healthy dose of my own medicine and I wasn’t sure I was ready. Logan is my most particular child. He critiques his food, family outings, and his (and my) outfits, daily. He’s clear, and vocal, about what he likes. And doesn’t like.

Let’s just say he’s a tad hard to please and impress.

With a gulp and my best ‘oh my gosh, I love it!’ smile pasted on my face, you can imagine my dread as I read aloud my personal bio as seen through my 6 year old’s eyes.

So here it is, verbatim with comments from me…

THINGS I KNOW ABOUT MY MOM

1. My Mom’s favorite food is …. Sushi.

Hmp. Alright. not bad. The kid is pretty spot on so far…

2. My mom’s favorite drink is…water.

This one got a audible, ‘pheww!’. Apparently he really DOESN’T notice the recycling bin full of empty beer and wine bottles that have gotten me through the 4-5pm witching-hour for the last 9 years. He must have been too busy swinging from the chandeliers to notice.

3. My mom is… 36.

By damn. I’m loving this kid. A friend said her son put ‘50’ for her.

4. My mom’s favorite color is… rainbow.

Beautiful. Obviously my complete hysteria when we’ve seen a rainbow has made an impression.

5. When I am at school my mom is… hangin’ out with my brothers.

Ok. So this one left me a little miffed at first. ‘Really. Is that ALL you think I do around here’? But after some careful consideration, and a glass of water, I realized that his answer was so much better than ‘at home screaming at my brothers’, ‘drinking herself into a unconscious state’, or ‘buried under a pile of laundry’.

6. My mom wakes up at… 4:00 in the morning.

Um. ‘…only when you crawl in my bed in the middle of the night and kick and stab me with your elbows until the break of dawn.’

7. After I go to bed, my mom… works on her computer.

Shoot. This one hit me like a ton of bricks. He’s right. Is this really how I want him to remember me using my spare time? Wouldn’t I rather have him write ‘reads a good book, practices yoga… or makes mad, passionate love to my dad’?

Right. no.

The computer is fine.

8. My mom goes to bed at… 10:00 at night.

Pfff. Really kid. Only in my dreams.. or when I’ve drunk myself into that unconscious state thanks to you and your brothers… (kidding here. Please don’t write me nasty letters).

9. My mom is really good at… eating.

Eating. Huh. ‘I must be eating while hangin’ out with your brothers.'

Yep. Just a lot of eating and hangin’ out going on around here.

Throw me a bone kid.

10. My mom’s favorite restaurant is…the sushi place.

Ok. Bone thrown.

11. My mom likes to watch… the news.

Well, thank goodness he didn't say soap operas, Jershey Shore or the Real Housewives. The news makes me sound sophisticated and worldly. I’ll take it.

12. My mom likes to…play a game with us for fun.

Heart sufficiently melted. ‘Yes. I love to play a game with you and suddenly realize it’s what I need to do more of.’

13. My mom like to go to…Perkins.

‘Um. No. That’s you, my dear. Remember? I like sushi. (you must be very hungry…do they feed you there?)'

14. My mom’s favorite animal is… a toucan.

It is now. Logan said ‘it was the ONLY question he wasn’t sure about…’ and he thought a toucan was rainbow color.

AND THE LAST ONE…..DRUM ROLL PLEASE.

15. My mom loves… Me!

Dancing and jubilation commence!

Who cares if he doesn't know where I like to go, what time I wake up or what I really like to imbibe.

He knows I love him.

and in the end, if I’ve made that clear.

if I’ve done that one thing.

that’s all that matters.

I passed.

Phew!

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Parents: As a fun family exercise make up questions similar to the above for everyone in the family to fill out about each other. You'll be surprised and perhaps comforted by how your family often knows you better than you know yourself. It's also a great way for everyone in the family to connect...and laugh!

Have fun!

Look For Your Love Notes

2011-05-03T10:41:00.022-04:00

My children are so sweet.

Mother's day is approaching and I can't wait. It's my favorite day of the year. I get breakfast in bed and oodles of hugs, kisses and homemade cards. For now, I am their favorite woman in the whole-wide-world, and believe me, I appreciate every second of it, knowing just around the corner, my light will dim and some other girl is going to take my place.

During the school year, I slip little 'love notes' in the boys' lunch boxes reminding them that I'm thinking about them and I love them. Something small and simple, yet big on heart. Many years ago, I realized that my boys were leaving me love notes, too. Quietly, secretly. As if they knew I would appreciate them more if they were a surprise.

I would discover them all over the house, often when they were in bed and the house was still. For some reason, it was easier to find them then. Some were in plain sight, some I had to look hard to find, some I mistook for something else. But they were there, each with their own personal touch.

Some made me laugh, some made me cry. But always they were creative and unique.

I honestly wish I could say that only my kids were sneaking me love notes, that only my guys thought I walked on water. But I know.

I'm not the only one.

Sadly many parents I talk to don't even realize their children, are too, leaving them love notes. They don't think to look for these priceless keepsakes that someday they'll wish they would have put in a pretty box and slipped under the bed. Keepsakes they would surely look through later with nostalgia, and reminisce about all of the years that had passed and how they wished their children were still home to leave them love notes....

No. They'll miss them. overlook them.

They'll be too busy cleaning, correcting, and 'doing' to ever see them.

Love notes gone to waste.

Thrown, washed and wiped away.

I'm keeping mine. cherishing every one. taking pictures and preserving memories. I'm looking for every single one, every single day.

Happy Mother's day, to me.
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Love note from Asher... half of my computer keys popped off..with love, no doubt.

Love note from Nic, left on the hallway wall after a bloody nose...
red is the color of love, after all.

A collective love note... on the garage door (that's muddy hand prints).

An anonymous love note (the best kind)... an emptied toilet paper roll left in the powder room...

Another collective - at the light switch (in every room of my house).

On the door frame of the kitchen.. the boys reminding me how tall they'll grow. Luke apparently confident he'll be taller than Logan..

An actual 'love note' from Luke, taped to my office wall.

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How do your children leave you love notes? Leave a comment or shoot me a picture to add to the collection.

Happy Mother's Day beautiful moms!

How To Scar an 8 Year Old

2011-04-27T06:23:00.013-04:00

Consider yourself forewarned. This post is personal and bordering on inappropriate.

One of the most important tenets I teach parents is the importance of self-care. We need to take care of ourselves as parents and be our best 'selves' so that we can give our best to our kids. This is what our children want most and need most from us.

I try to 'practice what I preach' and feed my mind, body and soul on a daily basis. I try to exercise daily, wear makeup, do my hair, have an occasional girls'-night-out, read a good book, listen to my favorite music, dance a little and laugh a lot each day.

A few months ago, I found myself in the beauty section of a drug store, deep in that 'shopping-trance' only a mom could understand when given the opportunity to shop alone.

I was going to buy something that made me feel beautiful...

I slowly made my way through aisle after aisle of makeup, hair products and skin products. I sampled, studied and smelled everything and eventually stumbled upon the 'hair removal' section.

'My God. There's a hair removal something for nearly every part of your body!'.

Brows, chin, legs, face, lip, arms, back??... shelf after shelf. 'So this is the beauty regimen my mother never told me about!' I decided 40 years of cluelessness was going to cease right then and there.... and tucked a box of bikini wax under my arm.

Summer is coming, after all.

I came home and studied the directions in the box and realized this may require a few hours... and a team effort. According to the directions this was going to be a full-on procedure with a lot of warming, prepping and ripping.

So the box went under the sink.

Until one recent Saturday morning when my eyes popped open and I announced to my husband 'the plan'. The kids were at a sleep over, the house was empty and we had nothing but time on our hands. He was going to help me beautify!

Despite the look of exhaustion and his obvious need for coffee.. he seemed game and, not surprising, a little eager to be my helper. I heated the wax in the microwave, gave him strict orders and together we proceeded to torture my body. I won't go into all the gory details, but lets just say there was a lot of screaming, yelling, expletives, and punching of the bed.. and my husband.

About the time the last drop of blood left my face, we realized it was time to pick up the kids for Nic's basketball game. We'd done enough damage. Wax was still everywhere (and I mean everywhere), but I was confident a quick shower would melt it away and, given enough time, I would eventually shake the feeling that I had just been seriously violated.

Quick beauty tip here: hot water does NOT melt away 'Super Strength, Professional Quality Beauty Wax'.

It softens it.... and smears it, everywhere.

I made it through the basketball game with my mom only asking me three times if I was OK or feeling sick. And I tried to concentrate on my son's game but my mind kept wandering to what was in my pants and how I intended to google for a solution as soon as I got home.

I had kept myself really calm considering the situation, but when I got home, tried to use the bathroom, and my pants wouldn't budge - terrorizing panic set it.

The wax had glued my pants to my parts.

I was bent over, tugging and pulling, the mantra "This is not happening, this is NOT happening..." cycling over and over in my mind (along with images of scalpels, emergency rooms and searing acid...), when I realized the door to the bathroom was open.

I looked up to find my 8 year old son standing in the doorway. frozen. mouth agape.

This is not happening, this is NOT happening...

We locked eyes only for a second and then the door went shut.

I bit the bullet and screamed for Dave to rip my pants off my body which luckily took the wax, and some skin, with it. But I didn't care, I was FREE!

I was so relieved the wax was gone, but I knew this horrific experience wasn't quite over.

I eventually found my son, sitting at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal. staring forward. scooping slowly.

"So Nic, you know how you found mommy in the bathroom pulling at her pants?"

pause.

"yeahhh..."

"Well, you know how I shave my legs and under my arms? and sometimes we have hair that we don't want and you can buy this stuff called wax and you can use the wax to like take the hair off...

(no response, not even a glance my way...)

....do you want me to stop talking?"

A slight head nod.

I'll take that as a yes, and explain it to the therapist later.

_________________________________________________

Parenting Tips

Take care of yourself! Don't let 'becoming a parent' be your excuse to let yourself go. Do things that make you feel good, feel beautiful and feel sexy. You, your kids, and your partner will thank you!

Schedule 'alone time' with your partner.

Never make your partner help you beautify. The end result should be something they enjoy, not something they had to work for.

Hire a professional on occasion! Hire someone to give you a massage, a haircut, a manicure...and a waxing (for God's sake!) You'll feel amazing and rejuvenated.

Don't get stuck in a rut. Try new things. Always wanted to try tennis? Take lessons! You're kids (and your spouse) will be inspired.

Talk to your kids about difficult subjects. Be matter of fact. If you don't talk to them about the uncomfortable stuff they'll learn about it from their peers when it's too late and very inaccurate!

Laugh at yourself always and often. Take parenting seriously but don't be so serious!

If Regrets Could Write

2011-04-19T06:58:00.011-04:00

Every year for my children's birthdays, I write them a love letter, seal it in an envelope and save it for...well I'm not sure what. Maybe for when they're teenagers and need love and encouragement the most, maybe for when they're fully grown or perhaps when they have children of their own.

I try to recall what they love, what they did and what they look like for that year. I admittedly downplay the negatives and emphasize the positives. I want them to remember the good times and connect someday with who they inherently are, in case they've forgotten.

This week is Luke's 5th birthday and I thought I would share my letter to him with you. But as I wrote the letter I noticed I was flooded with feelings of quiet guilt and deep regrets. And if I'm honest, I know these same feelings come up each time I write these letters to all my sons.

Each letter makes me confront the painful truth; that X number of years have gone by.

Poof.

Like 'that'.

And as much as I'd like to live without regrets, they are there, sitting still and heavy in a dark corner of my heart. And if I allowed them, they would write:

Dear Luke,

I hope you can forgive me.

I'm sorry for every time I doubted you, thought you were hopelessly selfish or was irked by your need to play alone.

I'm sorry for sitting you in your highchair when you were a baby and leaving you there while I made dinner. You never cried or complained but I'm so sorry if you felt ignored and abandoned.

I'm sorry for every time I batted your hand away when you tried to hold my hair or my ear. I know it was comforting to you but it sometimes drove me crazy.

I'm sorry for not playing more with you. I know you love to play games but sometimes I just didn't feel like it and pushed you away.

I wish I would have laid with you more at bedtime and read more books. I wish I would have carried you more, walked with you more and played 'go fish' with you more.

I regret every time I growled, every time I yelled and every time I shut the door in your face. I just couldn't handle the screaming.

I wish I had been kinder and more loving at times. I wish I had spent less time 'being busy' and more time 'being with you'.

I hope you can forgive me for not being perfect.

I hope I didn't 'mess you up'. I hope I did something right, buddy... I hope you know how much I love you...

Love, Your Mom

_______________________________________________________
WHAT I WROTE INSTEAD:

My Dearest Lukey, April 21, 2011

You’re about to turn 5 and, I know I say this every year, but where did the years go? I just haven’t come to terms with this my sweet child. I’m trying not to think about it too much and am keeping myself busy getting ready for your dinosaur birthday party. It will be filled with all of your favorites: piñatas, crafts, friends, food and cake! Are you ready for all of the chaos and attention? Your big birthday surprise was a black kitty you named ‘Jonathan Panther (J.P.) Dougherty’. We gave it to you a few days early because we didn’t know where we’d hide him! You take great care of your kitten and shower it with love.

You still have your blonde, curly hair but this year you seem to have grown to like it. I think it’s the ‘Beach Boys’ influence. You love to listen to them in the car and always get excited by the lyrics ‘..bushy blonde hairdo…’. Your body is tall and solid; your features are still soft and child like with adorable round cheeks and long blonde eyelashes.

You love quiet craft time and have this unique passion for cutting intricate designs in a plain piece of paper. Remember last year you loved making ‘gifts’ by stuffing envelopes with your creations and wrapping them with ribbons or putting them in gift bags. I love to see your passions and creativity.

Your favorite shows are Diego, Dinosaur Train and Jake and the Neverland Pirates. Your best friend is your Barney. He plays Uno and checkers with you for hours and is now teaching you the card game ‘Oh Hell’. We try to remind him you’re only 4 but he believes in you and knows you can get it! And, of course, he’s right… and you do!

You prefer to play quietly by yourself but love a raucousy good time with your brothers. You started school this year at a place called “Little Roots”. The school was in our house for a few months and now it’s somewhere that has goats, geese and rabbits. Do you remember you were the first one to see the baby goats be ‘hatched’?

We had your tonsils out soon after your 4^th birthday. It was a long 10 days of recovery but it helped your sleep and speech so much. You recently learned to ride your bike. I don’t think I’ll ever forget your perseverance and courage. You never gave up! You still suck your thumb and hold my hair. I love when you lean forward in your car seat and quietly hang onto my hair. It feels sweet.

This fall you will go to Kindergarten, and while I struggled trying to decide if you should wait until next year, I can see you’re so ready. I will miss you though. I will miss you so much.

You are so clear about what you like and don’t like; who you are and who you’re not. You’re an independent thinker. I hope this never changes. Be true to you no matter what. You’re magnificent just the way you are. I’m so proud I’m your mom!

All my love, forever and ever;

Mom

_____________________________

Parents, let your guilt write a letter to your child... and then let it go. Burn it up if you have to. But know you're not alone. Every parent carries this around in them. Acknowledge it. Feel it. Let it go. And allow something brighter to live there, instead.

Happy Birthday, My Dear Sweet Luke!!! xoxo

I Confess

2011-04-11T11:00:00.008-04:00

I've always been a little unconventional. When people are zigging. I like to zag. I question authority... and my sanity daily.

Recently a friend stopped by to pick up his kids from a play date. I was startled to find him standing in my family room with a curious look on his face, sniffing the air. He looked puzzled and said 'it smells... like a camp fire or something in here... what. is. that. smell?'

A million answers shot into my brain.. not one of them the truth. And when it was time to talk, I burst into chortles and laughter instead; amused and mortified that I had finally been caught and certain this dad was going to think I was nuts!

I proceeded to tell him it was the smell of a gasoline powered.... leaf blower.

'In your HOUSE?'.

Yes my friend. In my house.

So this is where I'll defend my housekeeping skills and perhaps even inspire you with some new ideas.

I have a dog that sheds, 4 boys, no time... and not a whole lot of interest in housekeeping.

Enough said.

My entire downstairs in hardwood floors and the dirt that accumulates is breath taking. I sweep the floors daily with a broom but some days, especially warm ones when I can open the doors, I break out the leaf blower and go to town. The dog hides and the children shriek... and YES, dust blows everywhere. BUT. I get those places a broom would never reach AND I do it in half the time. NOT perfect but pretty darn brilliant if you ask me.

I use it in my car, as well. I open all the doors and power that puppy up. And I have a thing for power-washers and chainsaws too, but that's for another time.

Nonetheless, I'm on to something.

So how does this relate to parenting?

Do what you gotta do and don't feel guilty about it. If your house isn't perfect or you don't make your kids homemade birthday cakes. It's fine. Your fine.
Be open to other options - think outside of the box! Consider that the same (parenting) tools your parents used may be worn out and need updating!
Sometimes your parenting (and life) need an overhaul; break out the 'leaf blower' on occasion and blow out the old spider webs that are cluttering your life; shake things up!
Dare to be different - Just because everyone you know screams, yells and sends their kids to time-out, doesn't mean there's not another way (that's a lot more fun and effective!).

So go on now.

And have fun!

...if you're not already half way to your garage....

About Life... and a Bike

2011-04-01T07:09:00.007-04:00

There should be a word for that feeling when your heart swells with love so much you think it may come out of your chest...and another for that 'ah ha' moment when you realize you're learning way more about life from your kids than they could ever learn from you.

Luke will be turning 5 this month. He's our third and a delicate mix of angel, loner, artist, patience, stubbornness, and complexity. He's surfer material with a mop of the most gorgeous blonde, curly hair on is head. He's the one I can't quite figure out or 'peg'...but I'm pretty sure I said that about the first two at this age.

Dave (super dad and my sweet husband) took Luke's training wheels off last weekend. Luke had been requesting it and spring is in the air; perfect bike riding weather. So it was Luke's big week.

I should also mention that Logan, our almost 7 year old, was also eager for Luke's wheels to come off. And this time I actually mean his bike wheels! Logan and Luke tend to butt heads the most and often seem to tolerate each other more than really embrace each other. Logan and Nic, my oldest, are big buddies so I was a bit surprised by Logan's enthusiasm... ok, and a little suspicious.. 'does he hope this will mean Luke will move up to his bike and Logan will get a new bike?'.

This is where I'll insert some sage parenting advice.

Don't ever label your children...

or underestimate them.

And certainly don't think you know everything.

So Luke on his bike, I thought, will be a disaster with crying and falling, wailing and screaming. He'll be too scared and won't like going too fast. I'll be encouraging.. but prepared for the inevitable. Good grief... here we go...

Luke, instead, was a picture of courage and determination. When he fell over and over again and didn't whimper once, I nearly fell over myself. When he fumbled and stumbled to push off and peddle, his foot hitting the ground over and over and over again, my heart ached and my body lurched expecting to 'come help' or console a frustrated child any second now.

But he never asked for help once. Nor did he lose his cool. He worked at it relentlessly and never gave up. When he fell. He moaned for a second. And got back up.

And before long - he got it! and I don't mean he weaved and wobbled up the driveway eventually; I mean he was all-terraining it and kicking up mud, all over my yard, with his older brothers.

And that's not the end of the story. Logan was his biggest fan and supporter. He was the one that dragged Luke out at 7:30am, before school, in 30 degree weather to 'practice'. He was the one screaming through my kitchen window "MOOOMMMMM!!!!! GET THE CAMERA!!!!!" and hooping and hollering to Luke "You can do it!!!!", "You're doing it LUKE!!" while circling Luke on his own bike. His enthusiasm was genuine and full of heart. There wasn't one ounce of ulterior motive.

Shame on me.

Luke grew up last week. He's a different child- confident and mature.

And Logan and Luke are best buddies now.

And my heart. It feels like it may burst.

Right open...

spilling all over onto this big world.

Alpha Phi Om-I-Gosh That Smells

2011-03-26T08:30:00.009-04:00

I really get the fascination. After all, it serves so many functions (I know you know them), can do tricks like write in the snow, can inflate and deflate; and makes for the easiest peeing (one zip and wa la). And we won't mention the endless hours of entertainment for all 4 year old boys. I even (sort of) get the pee-pee jokes and the inevitable 'goosing' that ensues at bath time.

I just can't deal with the smell of urine that seeps from the 3 bathrooms in my house.

On any given day, in any given bathroom, odds are that either my toilets are clogged with a half a roll of toilet paper or the place smells like a New York City subway station in July.

Ok, Ok. let's not mince words.

It smells like a fraternity. And not the academic, scholarly kind with the pillars and lions adorning the entrance... I mean the divey one, way off campus, with the tall grass and stripper pole inside.

I bleach, soak, spray and scrub those yellow tinged crevices but am convinced the smell is in my wall paper. Incense and floral candles can't even mask the ammonia smell.

And I know exactly what the problem is. It's in the aiming. Or lack their of. and quite honestly, the attitude. I've seen the 'Oh well. Close enough.' look on their groggy morning faces as their urine arches toward the ceiling. I know they're thinking, 'Why bother. Pee happens.'

For my four year old there's not even an attempt to hold the hose. It's simply hands on hips, pelvis forward.

I don't really feel like it should be my place to offer proper pee etiquette. After all, I wasn't graced with the parts. Any efforts I've made to guide or direct their peeing has been awkward and fumbled, with me usually hyper and shrieking 'AIM for the water. The WATER!'; my index finger quivering like it may touch a venomous snake. I wish their Dad would give them their 'man talk' but I've seen his aiming too, and it's nothing to brag about.

So I'll just keep shrieking and scrubbing and shutting the doors. And try to look on the bright side. At least they're out of diapers... and I don't have a stripper pole in my living room.

Don't Even Try to Tame Them

2011-03-18T07:29:00.006-04:00

Don't even bother. Like wild horses, they're not meant to be tamed. Their spirits are wild and deeply rooted in something far away and much earlier than we can ever imagine.

I try to contain and harness it a bit. I channel and redirect. I distract and re-route. But ultimately, a stick is a sword, dirt is a tonic, bodies are vehicles for motion and noise is a lullaby to them.

I can remember when I first became aware of the power of 'boys'. It started in Kindergarten with Robbie Treat peeing on the baseball diamond during recess. I remember my fascination, disgust, envy and awe with the boys in my class. They were so confident. Brazen. Untethered. And FAST. I wanted to be like them. I was timid. Uncertain. Quiet.

And not nearly as fast.

Early-on my pride twisted and fought with this realization that boys possessed something unique that I just didn't. In second grade, my favorite shirt was a blue t-shirt with Smurfette on the front that read 'Whatever boys can do, girls can do better'. I was insecure and jealous, but wasn't about to admit it. I was just as good as them, wasn't I?

I won't go into the details of Eddy Wapenowski tatooing (with a pen) my name on his scrawny upper arm, (like he owned me. the nerve...) But it was the very first time I remember a strong emotional reaction to a boy's audacity and spunk.

I can remember, vividly, the day in 5th grade, when Kip Lapoint brought to school a boombox and cassette tape recording of Van Halan's 'Jump'. And he turned it up, REALLY loud. "Who does this?" I thought. "Rock and roll... in class!" I would never have thought to bring in music, let alone Eddy VanHalen. How provocative and daring!

They always were the first to raise their hands in class, they chased us on the playground and made up the rules for kick ball. They brought the cool toys to school like the remote control cars and they got paddled by the principal. (No, I didn't want to be paddled by the principal but I did find their spunk and sheer nerve to pull down someone's pants, or punch someone in the lip, kind of gutsy and admirable.)

As the years passed into upper elementary school, middle school and high school, I secretly wished it was easier to have boy friends. I appreciated their no nonsense, unemotional view. I loved their cutting sense of humor. I preferred their company.

I was a girl and was supposed to think boys sucked, that strawberry shortcake and barbie reigned, and that New Kids on the Block were heaven.

In fact. I thought girls kind of sucked. We were petty, cliquey and emotional. We giggled too much and worried about what everyone thought of us. We wanted to be liked, to be pretty and to have someone 'want' us. We were complicated and annoying.

I liked boys.

So today, raising four of them, I feel terribly lucky and I realize that my experience and the opinion I shaped in grade school and beyond is still spot on. Their spirits are wild, untamed, bold, and gutsy. Their 'go for something, and ask questions later' attitude inspires me. They don't walk around a mud puddle, they take pleasure in it. They don't live at 60%, they live at full tilt, and beyond.

And when my boys' girl friends come to play and I see 'that look' on their face when they watch one of my boys leap from the top of a tree or tackle one another to the ground, I'm tempted to lean in and assure them 'I know what you're thinking... pretty cool, huh?'.

Our boys need us, as parents, to re-route and redirect at times but we should be careful about doing much more. Yes, they NEED limits but equally important, they need acceptance and LOVE for who they are, deep inside. Their power is immense; it's rich with character and pizazz.

To change them would mean to make them more like girls, and trust me, there's enough of us as it is.

(Yes. That's underwear on their heads)

Toothpaste Wars

2009-09-09T21:41:00.009-04:00

Someone please explain to me how squirting toothpaste at each other sounds like a good idea.

The boys recently went to the dentist and came home with several toothpaste samples. I didn't help matters. I, too, grabbed 3 extra tubes from a bowl at the check-out counter. And then, to make matters worse, just dumped all the tubes into the top drawer in their bathroom.

Yes. What WAS I thinking?

I don't know how it started or who started it. All I know is that I walked into a bathroom of 3 giggling boys wielding miniature tubes of toothpaste like swords and blue goo smeared on the counter, pj's and white bathroom rug.

What goes on in those little heads!? Really?

I handed them a plastic bag, roll of paper towels and made sure every last speck of goo was gone. The bathroom sparkled when they were done.

The final task was taking the bathroom rug down to the laundry room. Logan (5), eagerly jumped to the end of the rug and began rolling. As he rolled he looked up at me with a smile and said 'I practiced this at school today!'. (Logan's first day of school was today and apparently he learned how to roll up his 'circle time' mat.) He actually looked proud to be able to show me his new skill.

I thought (sarcastically), I'm so glad to be able to offer you an opportunity to practice.

These times always make me scratch my head. What makes them cover my entire car with mud, gouge their bangs with craft scissors and drop an entire toilet paper roll into the toilet.... and then walk away?

Why do I have a feeling I'll never know. These are the stories that humble me and, yes, secretly tickle me.

I suppose that someday, I hope that when one of them comes to me with a really big mistake and says to me 'mom, what WAS I thinking?....', I'll be able to answer, 'honey, THAT'S nothing! Don't you remember the time you peed in your sock drawer... or gave your brother stitches with the vacuum hose extension.... or, stabbed dozens of tiny holes into our new kitchen cabinets with a pearing knife.... or hid in the closet to eat dog food.... or put quarters in the car's cd player... or locked the doors to the empty car while it was running...'

I teach parents that mistakes are great and an opportunity for kids to learn. But I've grown to realize that loving my boys AND their mistakes - no matter how bewildering - is the ultimate gift I can give them. Ultimately, they're not really mistakes, they're my treasure trove of memories and stories. The spice and sizzle of my days. They are the moments I get tested and get to grow as a parent and a person.

Yes, toothpaste all over the bathroom, is really, just an opportunity for me love them more.

Ok, ok! I confess. It's also a perfect opportunity to get the bathroom cleaned. Is that really so bad?

I hate that job.....

keeping track of 4 boys, a dog and a bag of crickets

2009-08-24T22:00:00.006-04:00

Sometimes the most challenging thing about my day is keeping track of where everyone is. In one single moment, 4 different boys can easily be in 4 different places doing 4 different things. Our backyard is fenced in so summertime can be the trickiest with kids in and out of the house, up in trees, in the garden, raiding the kitchen, going to the bathroom. Rarely are they ALL in the same place at the same time. Include in this a mischievous dog famous for slipping through unlatched gates and decimating neighbor's downspouts in search of critters and you've got one frustrated mom.

I've considered bells, whistles, shock collars (for the dog and kids) and tying them together with a thick rope.

I am easily calling, screaming, searching and at least a little curious where SOMEone is every 5 minutes. NIC!!!, LOOOOGAN?!!!, LUKE-ER-BEE??!!!!, AAASHER??, SIEEERRRAAAAA!!!!! My neighbors must think I am the most irresponsible, inattentive parent.

Especially the ones with the decimated downspouts.

So this weekend we bought a bag of crickets for our lizard, 'Lizzy' (I didn't name him). And our darling Luke (3), against our better judgment, insisted on carrying the bag of hopping critters into the house. We gave him strict orders not to shake the bag and to be gentle..... and then, as usual, lost track of him and the bag of hoppers.

I'm sure I was off looking for Asher (1) who had probably found his way into the pantry and was pulling out every paper plate, paper cup and napkin he could get his grubby paws on.... when I heard Dave sadly exclaim:

"ooooohhh noooooo"

I ran to see "what now?" when I found him holding the bag of crickets. (Luke, of course, no where to be found)

"There must have been WATER in the bag and they all drowned!!"

"Water in the bag? Let me see that?"

I examined the bag and saw nothing but a few unidentifiable body parts - Legs, tentacles, more legs.... and a LOT of moosh.

"What the @%$#?"

After I found Luke, balancing on a wobbly chair, peering deep into his closet about to pull down his 5th shirt for the day (another Blog, I'm sure)... I sat him down and stayed as curious as humanly possible.

He explained that Nic (7) and Logan (5) popped them. one-by-one. Like grapes.

I even got a demonstration.

Of course, I knew all along that it wasn't Nic and Logan. They were busy doing something else, somewhere else. What and where, I don't know.

All I knew was that we had a bag full of moosh and a 3 year old cricket-killer.

From now on, I'm going to need to keep an EYE on THAT one....

boys are like clouds

2009-08-14T15:47:00.005-04:00

Today was a lazy day.

The boys played 'hunter' and 'camping' in the yard. Camping tents were set up and a giant stuffed bear was their 'target' for dinner. After Asher (1) woke up from his nap, I convinced the boys to take a break and lay with me on an open sleeping bag, the bear as our pillow, and read some books. We read for a while and then all 5 of us just laid there basking in the sun, everyone half sleeping, snuggled close.

I was in heaven.

The sky was clear except from a few, sparse, puffy clouds. It was easy to talk them into a game of 'what does that cloud look like'... ships, dinosaurs, elephants, elephants eating dinosaurs. We giggled, pointed, harassed each other and snuggled even closer. Logan (5) noticed how quickly the clouds changed so we shifted our game to 'close your eyes and then open them on the count of 20 to see what's changed'. Some wispy clouds disappeared into thin air, some merged with other clouds, some changed into completely different shapes. Always different, never the same.

I couldn't remember the last time I just laid still and did nothing but look at clouds!

Before I knew it, one by one, the boys peeled away from the nest we made there on the grass. Asher (1) toddled into the yard, Logan (5) and Nic (7) began to wrestle. Luke (3) stood on my hips as I lay on my side and pretended he was surfing. Asher returned and threw himself over my head. Logan and Nic found a deflated bike tire (don't ask me where) and started yanking, giggling, and pulling each other around the yard. Luke and Asher soon joined in. It was bedlam all around. Crashing, laughing, jumping, pulling, body-slamming, twirling, screaming, spinning...... joy, going on around me. I laid there for a good 10 minutes, head on the big bear, basking in the sun, watching the clouds shift, change, and move all around me. Except this time, the clouds weren't up in the heavens, they were down on earth with me.

I thought about how each child and each moment of my day are like clouds. Sometimes still and beautiful, sometimes dark and stormy. But always changing. One moment, always replaced by another. Sometimes I 'close my eyes', only to open them and regret that I've had them closed for too long.

Maybe I'll learn to lay still, do nothing and look at 'clouds' more often. After all, this is my heaven.

dinner time at the dougherty's is never dull

2009-08-06T18:24:00.002-04:00

I haven't mentioned that I have 4 boys. Ages 7, 5, 3, and 1. I also have a 10 year old dog named Sierra - no particular breed, and 3 worthless chickens which produce 1 egg a day - clearly they don't do math...they barely do eggs.

Dinner-time is my least favorite time of day. I admit. 4 tired, hungry, squawking boys wandering through the kitchen, moaning, screaming, 7 year olds begging "can I help mom", babies tugging at my leg, little hands reaching up onto the cupboard for the bag of veggie-booty, fingers skimming a stick of butter, refrigerator doors opening and closing, 3 year olds repeating over and over and OVER "milk please". I do my best to keep my cool and keep it all together but eventually the 'crazy cat lady' comes out and I resort to 3 loud, fast claps followed by 'SHOO, SHOO SHOO'!!!!! Everyone skitters and disappears for a whole 2 minutes until, one by one, slowly but surely, they all sift back in like flour and the whole scene starts again.

Tonight we were having hamburgers, green bean, and left over mac and cheese.

After overturning a plate of mac and cheese onto the floor, Asher (1) was parked in his usual place this time of day- on my right hip, as I buzzed around the kitchen getting beans on the stove, forming hamburger patties and shooing the cats. I was keeping it all together until I was ready to walk the hamburger patties out to the grill. 'Where is that plate?'... .'I left it right....here.... on the.....island'....... Dave was going to be home any minute, hungry kids were swarming, I needed to get dressed for a coaching session tonight.... 'where did I put that damn plate?!' I looked high, I looked low; in the oven, refrigerator, warmer, microwave, on the patio. I walked around the house aimlessly for 10 minutes, dumbfounded that I lost an entire plate of raw hamburger patties.

'Did the dog eat them? She couldn't have. The plate would be shattered on the floor. Could she walk off with the dinner plate in her TEETH? No.... that's crazy. There she is, sleeping on the patio. She doesn't LOOK guilty.'

The grill was hot, the inmates were taking over the asylum, Asher was shrieking at the sight of food. 'Where the HELL is Dave!?'.

Suddenly. It hit me. I had cleared off the island at some point in all of the chaos, an empty, bloody plate. There is sat, in the sink.

A POUND of raw hamburger. Sucked down by one opportunistic dog.

Dave came home. I thawed another pound, grilled it, got dressed, stopped by the mall and got a pedicure and met my client.

I'm finally home and exhausted. Sierra is sleeping hard at the bottom of the bed.

Damn Dog.

confessions of a "parenting expert"

2009-08-05T22:40:00.000-04:00

Exhausting. These boys.

I'm a parent educator. I teach parents how to have more fun as parents. How to get their kids to cooperate, be responsible and self-motivated. I'm the expert, the parenting guru. How many times have I heard... "I'd love to be a fly on the wall in your house". shoot. You probably would. You probably think you'd be inspired by the peaceful interactions and joyful, easy flow of my day. My soft, loving tone as I kneel down to each of my 4 children and ask them to stop throwing their popcorn at the fan and take their underwear off their heads.

In reality, my days are lively, chaotic, unpredictable and harried. For example, like most moms, I don't sit to enjoy my meals but instead catch the cereal bowls mid-air before they hit the sink to suck down the soggy left-overs. Lunch is cut-off sandwich crust. My mom has a fit that I've ruined my kids but little does she know that I cut the crust off their bread for ME... not them. Sometimes cutting wide to get my protein for the day.

So as I plan my Fall schedule of parenting classes and press my suits and polish my nails to give the impression that I have it all together, I decided a blog was in order to set the record straight; to confess the inevitable truth and to hopefully, truly inspire parents with the realization that there's no such thing as a perfect parent, a perfect family or perfect kids. THAT would be boring!

Welcome to my adventure!