I decided to read the boys’ interim reports just before running out to our 13-year old’s basketball game. My focus was on the comments about the youngest, our sixth-grader. “Distracted.” “Distracting.” “Distracts.” Do you sense a theme?

Dear friends of ours were kind enough to listen to my fury both during and after
the game. I recognize that my reaction was a tad severe but here is my defense.
The other three kids saved any impulsive behavior for home, choosing to behave
like angels in class. OK, that might be a stretch. The girls were angelic in class
and the 13-year old sits in the back and stays off the radar. Either approach
delivers the same result.

Our youngest seems to be a man of many words in class, a trait he inherits
honestly from me. He is also the largest sixth grader in our district, so the
chance of him ever going unnoticed in the classroom is extremely slim. Last
week he somehow got his shoelace stuck under one of the legs of his desk.
Instead of inconspicuously moving his foot, he decided to lift the entire desk off
of the floor. Did I mention that he sits in the front of the room? At least Brian
thought it was funny.

To be fair, the teachers also notice that he has a heart of gold and he will never
utter a mean word about anyone.  Good for him. While those traits are
lovely, I still have no idea how I will survive reading his report cards for the
next six years. You see, all of our children have been raised knowing that their
reputation, until they leave for college, has as much to do with them as with ME.

After almost twenty years of carrying on about such topics, you would think the
youngest would have my mantras tattooed on his brain. “The only time I expect
you to go to the principal’s office is if you are getting an award” is one of my
favorites. There is also the soon to be famous, “You may be equal to me in the
eyes of God but never in this house.” For medical emergencies, the nurses have
been told over the years to call me if one of my darlings has “vomited twice or is
bleeding to death.” I once told a wonderful teacher that if the youngest were to
misbehave in class please do not call me until he sits in the principal’s office long enough to be terrified that I am entering the building. The poor man retired the next year.

Is our youngest bored in some of his classes? Maybe. Do I care? No. Is it
a matter of allowing maturity and some semblance of common sense kick in?
Probably. I still don’t care. I gently broached the subject of his attention span in
class to him two weeks ago by announcing that all electronic devices were banned
until further notice. After a full week of this he now gets the point. Or, at least
until the next report card comes home.

We moved to Northern Westchester nine years ago when Danielle was ten years old.   At the time, she shared my childhood penchant for all things purple.  As the eldest, she got the biggest bedroom in the corner.  Her sister, two years younger, got the bedroom next door that is half the size.

Danielle’s room was beautiful.  Deep purple walls complemented the lighter violet carpeting.   Her furniture is antique white and I made sure that the hand painted jewelry box and dainty lighting matched perfectly.   The curtains were sheer white with lovely flowers. In fact, it looked quite similar to my room growing up.

After a few years, Danielle’s carpet became ragged and she begged us to change the color to orange and I obliged.  (Brian, bless him, has always been happy to stay out of any decorating discussion.  He likes to be surprised.)  Next came the bright yellow walls.   There is only one word that may be used to describe that room.  Hideous.  Simply hideous.  I kept the door closed and pretended the room didn’t exist.

The final blow came this past summer when Danielle announced that she would like to give her room to her 11-year old brother since she was now at college.   At this point, he occupied the much smaller room next door. What!?  This was entirely my fault.  I allowed her to break the code of all of us parents with last names that end in a vowel.  That bedroom should have stayed purple until we sold the house or died.  It would have become a shrine to the eldest child, just as mine was!   I had failed.

Never one to let the disasters of life keep me down, I flew into action.  Within a few weeks, both rooms were completely redecorated. The youngest now has a gorgeous room in hues of blue with all new dark wood furniture.  Danielle picked a very pretty, very bright, green for her walls and I decorated around it.  The finishing touches were two bright floral pink and green area rugs.  So lovey! So Lilly!

Danielle arrived home for Christmas break and I could tell immediately that she did not share my ardor for the new room.  Along the way I forgot that she wasn’t ten any more.     She teased me a bit about the room, but she never complained.  In fact, I heard Danielle tell her aunts that she recognizes that she is now a guest when she comes home and that she was happy that I loved the room, especially the rugs.

Last week I asked Danielle to sit with me at the computer.   I found a black and white area rug, duvet cover, pillow shams and window treatment that I thought she might like.  We cleaned out her closet and rearranged her dresser.  She will go back to Scotland tomorrow secure in the knowledge that a room she loves awaits her arrival back home at the end of May.

Of course we are raising Danielle and her siblings to grow into strong, independent adults.    Yet, no matter where life takes them, they will never be considered guests when they visit. They are our children, and this will always be their home.

Happily, the green and pink rugs are now in our bedroom.  As for Brian, though he probably noticed, he hasn’t said a word.

Was I the only one surprised by the phone call at 5:18 am telling me that the boys would be home today due to inclement weather?  I watched the news last night but neither Anderson nor Greta had the courtesy to fill me in on the bad weather coming our way.  My first reaction was disbelief, followed by despair.  I wanted to call the local authorities and offer to drive every school bus myself to get them to school.   It was quite dramatic.

Look, I am not against having the occasional snow day nor am I averse to surprise changes in my schedule.   It is just that snow days and teen-agers are not a good mix.    When they are stuck in the house all day with me it is unpleasant for everyone involved.

Gone are the days when a nice mug of hot chocolate made you the best mom in the world. This afternoon I made the boys homemade strawberry sorbet.  I was told it was a bit tart.  Really?   Next time I will be sure to add some kale.

I’m bored! I’m hungry! He hit me! I’m hungry! He is such a baby!  I’m hungry!  Now he’s crying! I’m hungry! I don’t want to play that game – why can’t we have two Xboxes? When’s dinner? We’re hungry!   The boys were so busy complaining that they did not notice me lying on the floor, gasping for breath as they sucked all of the good air out of the room.

Adding to this nonsense was our second daughter’s refusal to go to school late and my husband’s uncanny ability to always be away when there is a snow day. We cleaned off her car and I had her do a test drive to make sure that she could handle the snow covered road.  She was fine but I was a mess.

Sigh.  Do those of you with big kids remember snow days past when you bundled up the little guys and threw them outside until every single inch of them was frozen?  Then they would take a nice hot bath to thaw out and they would look so cute with their ruddy faces?  I don’t either, but I know they happened because I have pictures.

There is some light at the end of the snow day tunnel for the parent of teen-agers.   Since all activities were cancelled, we were able to enjoy a lovely homemade dinner without rushing, followed by a spirited game of Trivial Pursuit.   It was one of those nights where the kids and I laughed until we cried.

It just goes to show that one can enjoy her children at any age if she is willing to meet them where you are.

Here’s hoping your snow day ended on a high note, too.

Photo by By 53 mm photogRaphy

Our 13-year old still believes that the main reason for Friday’s tragedy is that a man was mad at his mom and went looking for her. We now know that the two had little or no connection to the school, and I pray our son never finds out. He is a black and white guy so once he processed his version of the story he locked it up in a box and stuck it in the back of his head. I could almost hear the key turning. Our youngest stayed quiet and I watched a wisp of innocence float away into the distance.

The TV stayed off all weekend, except for the Giants game. I, on the other hand, watched the news live on my iPad all weekend. I just need to know the names of these babies and their brave, fallen protectors. When President Obama got tearful on Friday, I wept. His words last night were eloquent whilst at the same time laced with the frustration we all feel.

The second amendment was written at a time when individual states had their own militias. Many scholars have interpreted the amendment to mean that the right to bear arms was for the militia, as individuals carry arms and our protectors bear them. This kid’s mom was a hunter but I will never be able to fathom why she owned a gun that could shoot six bullets a second. A rifle isn’t sufficient? If you know me, you know I am pretty conservative. But enough is enough.

God himself played on every news outlet along with the pundits. A survivor of Columbine who lost his brother that day was on the airwaves pleading with parents to not allow spirituality to be taken out of their children’s lives. Others spoke of a society where we are pushing God away and thus, we can’t blame him when things go wrong. The President spoke of a loving God last night as he spoke of Jesus beckoning that all little children come to him for they are welcome in his Kingdom.

Our sadness will linger this season as many of us open presents on Christmas morning and all of us ring in the New Year. It is still far fetched to say, though, that our misery could even be a spark on the flame of those who lost their loved ones.

Those of us who rely on faith have only our beliefs to comfort us. I imagine 27 people in heaven today, rejoicing in their arrival, the horror of Friday a forgotten memory. I also imagine one man banging on the gates, being told that he can’t come inside. I know God is not capable of vengeance, but I am not that perfect.

Photo by mcmamauri

Last night I spent a joyous evening with a group of girlfriends from the neighborhood.   It was the culmination of a week in which I was back to my very social self.  It seems like a long time ago, but honestly, it really has only been in the past year that I have found myself behaving more like a recluse.

As one friend put it, it was as if “I had gone dark.”

It started when Danielle left for college fourteen months ago.  A chunk of my heart was now living an ocean away.  Soon after a very close friend passed into eternity and a month later my grandmother chose to do the same.  Random accidents took the lives of those we knew and I am weary of asking some who are very close if their prognosis has a timeline attached to it.  Through it all I have put thousands of miles on my car.

Then the storm hit, and for me, it turned out to be a gift in disguise.  On the surface, my family watched as I cleaned and purged rooms that had been left for dead.  Pictures that had been sitting around for months got hung and every little thing on Brian’s workbench got repaired.  The children never complained about the work or the loss of power.  They knew that our situation was still far better than that of many others.

What the children could not see was the cleansing of my heart.  Despite all that has gone on around me I have worked hard to remain in a state of gratitude.  Yet the constant motion of my life served to simply push other emotions to the back of the closet, so to speak.  The quiet of the storm’s aftermath allowed the dust and cobwebs of mourning to be swept away as the floodgate holding back tears was released.

As we say thanks on Thursday, I will be amongst those whose list of thanks is a mile long.    There is as much chance that mourning and loss will show up instead of joy and laughter on any given day.  Thus, I will be especially thankful for the lesson learned this year that rose above all others.  Embracing all that life has to offer – the good and the bad – ensures that we live life in the fullest.  By doing so we embrace the light, making the path much easier to find when the shadows appear.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours!

I’m sitting in the kitchen watching the tree limbs let go of their leaves. Each leaf will end up on the ground, yet each one has a slightly different journey. Some flutter down quickly while others sway back and forth, looking for a gentler landing. I wonder if the trees feel anything at all as each leaf is stripped away.

During these past six weeks many things in my life have been stripped almost bare. Danielle left for her second year at St. Andrews. She shares a lovely flat with three other girls in a choice location. The girls take turns cooking gourmet meal after gourmet meal, pay their rent and share the upkeep duties In fact; neither Brian nor I took her back in September. Danielle’s things were already in storage and whatever was needed for the flat, the girls would buy themselves. A year ago she was a confident teenager going off to school. She is now a very competent adult who just happens to be a student.

In between trips to and from New Jersey, I’ve tried to help our second daughter with her college application process. She really doesn’t need my help, but I am happy that she still feels I am worthy enough to read her essays. I’ve known since she was little that when she leaves next year, she will lunge headfirst into the rest of her life without turning back. That’s why when she turned to me last week and said, “I’ve missed you,” it was all the more poignant.

I’ve had to miss some of the boys’ games, something I really don’t like to do. Hearing about the games afterwards, though, in their own words, has been a gift of a different sort. They see the games with a purity that we can’t grasp on the outside.

There are still pictures from the summer that need to be hung and Halloween decorations that won’t go out this year. Truthfully, I’m enjoying the simplicity of the bare walls and the lack of clutter. The laundry doesn’t get put away like clockwork anymore and the meals have been a bit simpler, but that’s OK, too.

The children know that my absences will ebb and flow over the next few months, even a year. They know that they are my first priority. Yet, they also understand that I have been one of my parents’ top priorities for 47 years and it is now my turn to give back. My mom tells everyone that she has seven children – four by birth and three by marriage. Together, the seven of us will make sure
they have what they need.

Thus. If the trees could feel anything, I imagine it would be a sense of yearning for the leaves that are lost, coupled with an eager anticipation of the beauty that lies ahead in the spring. We are no different, as long we remember to remain with grateful hearts for all we have and all that will be. Worse days may be yet to come, but the better ones always lie just ahead.

I am sitting outside typing while three of my children spend this beautiful morning rotting their brains with video games.  This is the only week of the summer when there is no camp, work, baseball or piano lessons.  This is also the last week that “Nice Mom” will live here.  “Mean Mom” arrives on Tuesday and hangs around until mid-October most years, though she did linger until Christmas two years ago.

The annual visit of “Mean Mom” began years ago, around the same time that technology started creeping into our lives.  The level of torture is geared to each individual child.  Our senior is allowed to keep her iPhone until we receive her interim report because she has her entire catalog of classical music on there and all of her Chinese flash cards.  The only thing I can threaten her with is lack of access to the piano for days at a time.  Now that Danielle is gone, we don’t even have the nightly ritual of 40 minutes of a DVR recording.  It is really quite boring.  Luckily, there are others.

The boys don’t have it as easy.  All of their electronics and gaming systems will be packed away the day before school begins and they will be returned when I see their respective interim reports in October.  Two years ago I was not pleased with one of the reports so my 6^th grader did not get anything back until Christmas.   He learned his lesson and 7^th grade started much more smoothly.  When the electronics are returned, they may be used only on the weekend.

As an eighth grader, he will not be allowed to have any play dates (aka hanging out sessions) during the school week and he must attend prep sessions with a tutor for high school entrance exams.   He may very well stay in the public school system, but there is no sin in learning some extra vocabulary, especially in one’s native tongue.  The sessions started this week and when he told me he didn’t want to do any extra work, I used my most nurturing tone and replied, “I don’t care.”  That was the end of that.

Both boys will have lights out by 9:30 pm since they get up at 6:15 am.  I’ve even raised the bar this year by inviting a post-grad student from Mexico to stay here for seven weeks.  I’ve asked her to help me speak Spanish with the boys.  My cup overflows!

On the flip side, the children know that I will never pester them about homework or piano practice as I simply expect it to be done.  Each child has a grade above which he or she never has to show me a test or homework.  The expectations are different for each child and plays to his or her potential.  If an assignment falls below that grade, I must see it, sign it, question it and when appropriate, yell a bit.  They’ve learned it is much more worthwhile to study than deal with me.

On my part, I will stay on full alert as this fall brings us the advent of 6^th grade, high school applications and college applications on top of everything else in our lives.   It is my job to keep things calm and help each of them navigate the travails that the start of a new school year brings.  I will be a study partner; a go-between when needed and I will still tuck them into bed, even when I am not asked.    I’m sure many have called me a “tiger mom” and who knows what my kids might call me if allowed. I prefer to think of myself as a “lioness,” sheltering my cubs until they are ready to roar on their own.

I wish all of you a Happy Labor Day and a wonderful end to the lazy days of summer.

For someone who always has so much to say, I surprise even myself when I have writer’s block.   One page a week should be easy enough to write.   Last week the writer’s block was so debilitating that I simply gave up.  This week I asked my daughters for a topic to write about and I was pretty surprised at the response.

Boyfriends are a pretty constant theme in this house of late, as in our girls don’t date.  Most parents would be absolutely thrilled that a 17-year old and a 19-year old had better things to do with their time than chase boys.  Unfortunately for my daughters, I do not fall in that category.

One daughter skypes from college on a regular basis to tell me about her studies and about her travels.  I start and finish each cyber-visit with “Do you have a boyfriend?”    She came home for the summer and as soon as she started working, I asked, “Any chance of meeting a boy at work?”  The other daughter is spending her summer writing a children’s book in Chinese and studying brain scans.   After each day’s review of her academic pursuits, I always ask, “So, any boyfriends?”.

First of all, the window of opportunity for embarrassing a suitor is closing quickly.

By the time a child gets to college it is probably not a good idea to purposely do anything to embarrass your daughter’s boyfriend.   Brian and I started dating at the beginning of sophomore year and I would have been crushed if my parents had tried to humiliate me.  There is only one more year before the second one heads for college so I am a tad panicked.

Will I never get the opportunity to ground a daughter for the rest of her life for sneaking out to meet a boy?  Do they realize that it is very hard to have late night chocolate chip cookie sessions after a breakup if there is no startup? What about commiserating with one of the girls about how much we don’t like her sister’s taste in boys?  What about their poor father?  Do the girls think he grew to 6’5” for any other reason than to intimidate their dates?

In fact, the more I think about their selfish ways the more I realize how many people are being affected.   Our sons are in their prime for idiotic behavior and their talents are being wasted.   A boyfriend or two would provide my sons with a brand new audience to entertain.  How selfish can two sisters be?

At the end of the day it really is OK that the girls aren’t dating but it is sure fun to give them a hard time.  They are good sports about it and they know my one wish is for each of them to meet a man who makes her heart sing.  That, and a few grandchildren.

The best part of gardening, for me, is the element of surprise. I only started
gardening a few years ago and despite the time I put into it, I am still a novice.
One can check acid levels in the soil and study the movement of the sun but I would rather take my chances to admire what nature does all by herself. The science behind how a flower grows is easy enough to understand, but the brilliance of the colors and the variations in shape remains a blissful mystery.

One year I planted sunflower seeds and the sunflowers grew to about nine feet
tall. This year there are orchids growing all over the place, despite the fact that
orchid season is supposed to end in late May. Since I can’t remember what I
did last week, I certainly don’t remember where I planted bulbs last fall and this
element of surprise brings me pure joy. The hydrangeas change color every
year, dependent on how the soil survived the winter. This year they are bright
pink and pale blue.

Four years ago, a beloved religious education class gave me an apple tree.
The tree is thriving and it is certain to bear fruit next year as they graduate high
school and grow anew at college. Danielle could not be home for Mother’s Day
this year, so she asked her father to buy me a rose bush from her. What she
didn’t know was that we planted a rose bush in her honor when she was born.
Whenever I drive by our first house in NJ, I make sure that it is still there.

Gardening serves many purposes, not the least of which is solitude. I
don’t bring a phone outside and I don’t listen to music. It is just my tools, my
wellington boots and I. It is the only time I welcome dirty hands. The bugs and
I have negotiated an agreement whereas I will leave them alone if they do the
same for me. The bees don’t always read the annual memo, but we are working
on it.

Patience is something that I do not own in buckets, yet I am always patient with
my flowers. Planting a butterfly bush one year and seeing it grow three feet
the next never becomes boring. Then, of course, there are the questionable
flowers, the ones that bloom but are considered weeds. A little girl once told
me that just because we humans have decided something is a weed doesn’t
make it so. Her expression was so earnest, as if she knew how fallible we are
compared to nature. My rule is that a flowering weed with a soft leaf gets to stay.

My grandmother told us for years and years that when she died, she wanted a
blanket of daisies on her casket. This was a woman who started out with the
simplest of roots and grew to have life experiences that one could only dream
about. She could have asked for roses or lilies or some exotic flower but she
identified the most with the daisy, humble and elegant at the same time. Nanny
got her daisies this past February. This year was too soon, but they will
certainly make a debut in my garden next year.

Late last week I held a pity party.   We were two weeks into summer vacation and I was more exhausted than during the school year.  This did not seem possible.  It is unfortunate for my family that they all misplaced the invitations to the pity party and decided not to show up.  This led to a hissy fit of which I am extremely proud.  I announced that it was my summer, too, and I was going to enjoy it!

Now, there are certainly no expectations of summer days spent lazily at the beach with not a care in the world.  This summer idyll only exists if you have full-time staff.  All I wanted was a few hours a week when I could work on my tan and get caught up on some reading.  Here’s how I am tackling my goal:

–  The first Peapod delivery from Stop&Shop arrives tonight between 6:59 pm and 8:59 pm.  I purposely planned the delivery for when I would be at a baseball game so that someone else can unpack the groceries.

–   Full laundry service will resume in September, but until then I will launder clothes for only four of us, as my husband wears a suit every day and the boys don’t seem to be changing their clothes too often lately. The girls are on their own.

– Everyone, though, is responsible for getting their laundry to the laundry room.   Anyone who allows mold to build up on the their bedroom floor from wet bathing suits and towels will be expected to pay for the removal of aforementioned mold.

– There are now two teenage drivers in the house and I will not help with car negotiations.  They have the old car that they now must share.  On days they can’t work it out, we are only a mile’s walk from the train.

– Dinner will be on my terms.  The new kitchen was designed for me. Cooking by others must occur when I am not standing in front of the stove.  People who don’t like what I serve are free to have a peanut butter sandwich.  Add a piece of cheese and an apple and all of the food groups are covered. Just ask Dr. Oz.

– I work very hard at staying focused on all of you in the late afternoon and evenings.   So, when I am in front of the computer or on the phone during the day, DO NOT TALK TO ME.  The only exception is if you can’t stop the blood yourself.

– Finally, please stop grumbling about how I treat the youngest. Instead, you should be taking notes.  He is always nice to me and pays me compliments on a regular basis.  Flattery will get you everywhere.

Just writing all of this down has made me feel more relaxed.  As the summer progresses I will let you know how this plan is going.   Please send me a note if you have other suggestions that work for you.   I’m sure my family will thank you!