My Snowflakes

Each of my children have their own distinct personalities. They're like snowflakes. No two are alike. Sure, they all have similarities. They all have brown hair and brown eyes. But Timothy is musical mathematical.  Rebecca is artistic and poetic. Diana is my athletic writer. Along with their strengths, come their weaknesses. And as much as I love their strengths and encourage them to pursue their interests, I have to help them work through their weaknesses so that they don't hinder them when they leave the safety of my nest.

Timothy is very logical and ordered. Science, math and music make a lot of sense to him. Writing, not so much. In writing there are too many rules that can be fudged. I can write this sentence without any commas and it would still make sense. But, in this sentence, I need multiple commas in order for it to make sense because, should I leave them out, it would be incorrect. He made good enough grades last year to get into the highest level classes available. He is doing really well in all of them except language arts. The concepts that he is not grasping deal with the rules of the English language. I can't say that I blame him. You try explaining to a child how to form compound and complex sentences without Googling it. I dare you. But if you ask him to solve a math problem in his head, he can do it. And he made the top band right out of Beginner's Band. He loves playing his trumpet and recently expressed an interest in learning to play multiple instruments. 

Rebecca's kryptonite is math. Always has been. I swear she has arithmaphobia. As soon as you ask her a math question, no matter how simple, she balks. And I am out of solutions as to how to help her. I have screamed, yelled, drawn diagrams, played charades, done it for her, bought workbooks, sat her down with computer programs, sent her to tutoring, taught her different ways, cried, prayed, gotten extra work from her teachers, ignored the problem, and gotten a drink. And, no, she does not have ADD, ADHD, dyslexia or anything else. She's just plain bad at math. That magic moment of comprehension just hasn't happened for her yet. Her teachers have all been really great about letting her sit up front so she can whisper the problems out loud (which seems to work for her) and give her some extra time on her tests. But if you ask her to write a story or a poem, she's your girl. And she is developing a really good singing voice. She gets that from Daddy.

Diana is my little spitfire. I'm not surprised that she wanted to get involved in student council. If anyone can convince anyone to do anything, it's Diana. She loves to write in her spare time. She makes up stories and keeps them in a little notebook. She is my outdoors girl. I think she would live in the backyard if I would let her. What I need her to do is work on her reading. As good a writer as she is, you'd think she'd be a really good reader. It's not the reading we have to work on, per se, it's the comprehension. She loves to read. In fact, she reads on a level a few grades higher than she is, but her comprehension is lagging. I am pretty familiar with the books that she is reading so I am able to make up some good questions to test her comprehension. If I lead her the right way, she can get to the right answer but she should be able to answer my questions without me having to lead her. I think she understands what she is reading, but she either isn't paying attention to the details or to she is too busy making up her own stories that are inspired by what she is reading to care.

My three little snowflakes. I love that they all have their own unique interests, even if it means more work for me in the run long. I think it's fascinating watching them grow and turn into these real little people. They're no longer these helpless little babies. They are tiny little people with their own personalities and now it's up to me to help guide them into adulthood. This is so exciting. I hope I don't screw it up.

School Ties

I have a confession to make. I haven't been the best example for my children. I quit high school at the end of my junior year and home schooled my senior year. I never felt that I fit in anywhere in school. But I also never made the effort to fit in. I had a handful of friends in all of the high school cliques but I never made any long lasting friendships the way my husband did. That is something I have always been jealous of.

I could have breakfast with the Misfits, lunch with the Thespians, hang out after school with the Musicians and the Stoners, get on the bus with the Nerds and then spend my weekends with kids that didn't even go to my school. It only took one bad relationship to teach me to never date boys that went to the same school I did. The reasons I left school are much too complicated to explain in black and white, and I don't regret the decision, but it has led to some lonely times as an adult.

I don't have any high school reunions to look forward to. In fact, I look forward to my husband's high school reunions. What can I say? I live vicariously through his time tested friendships. I did recently get invited to my Thespian Troupe's reunion. We were the first Thespian Troupe in our school because we went to a new high school. We set a lot of the ground rules. I guess it was kind of a big deal now that I think of it. But I was actually surprised to get the invite.

It was the only society I ever joined, until college anyway. At that time, theater was all I ever wanted to do. It was all any of us ever wanted to do. It was the common bond that joined us all together. Actors, costumers, stage managers, directors, lighting technicians, sound artists... But I didn't participate very much on my high school stage. When I was younger, before high school, I had gotten involved in local community theaters and had formed deep bonds with the people there. That was where my friends were. That was where my heart was. That was where my passion was. That was where I wanted to be. And that was where I stayed for nearly 20 years. I'd still be there today had it not been for my stroke in 2010.

Now I am invited to this reunion. I feel a little hypocritical going because I didn't contribute anything to my Thespian Troupe. I thought about not going at all. I don't have anything to show to anyone. I don't feel that I made anything of myself. I didn't form any long lasting friendships with anyone. But I want to see these people. They still mean something to me. The best part about theater is that they welcome everyone and for the most part, they welcomed me.

Who cares if we didn't all become famous? Who cares if we all gained some weight (well I did)? I'm sure none of us are where we thought we would be when we left high school. It'll be fun to see what happened to everyone. Where we all went and how we all got there. Who knows? Maybe I'll get some ideas for a new script. After all these years, I still can't stay away from theater, even though now I'm a struggling (very struggling) playwright.

Maybe I am capable of committing to something. Script writing may be slow going, but I have been making progress. So maybe I'm not such a bad example after all. All I know is, I made the right decision at the right time. But I will do everything I can to keep my kids in school. There were things that made life unbearable at 17, but I often wonder how life would have been different if I had stuck it out just one more year. I'm going to go to that reunion. And I am going to have a great time. And I'm going to come home and tell my kids all about it. (Well, the PG parts of it, anyway.) Because it's the only part of high school I can still be proud to be a part of.

My Education Soap Box

One of the reasons we settled where we did, in the school district where we live, was because the district's success rates and statistics matched up with what we wanted for our young family's future. At that time. But times change. Statistics change. Success rates change. And now we are faced with living in an area that is less promising than what we want for our kids.

Granted we are making preparations to move to a better area, which sadly is only a few miles down the road, but what do we, as parents, in the mean time to help our kids be successful? What if we are unable to make the move? What if the other school district fails us as well? How do we teach our children? How do we prepare them for the future?

I come from a long line of teachers. My Grandma was a teacher, my mom is a teacher and I worked in the school district as a substitute teacher for years, so I have a soft spot when it comes to teachers. But they can't do everything. They are not your babysitter. They are not there to teach your kid manners. They are not a punching bag. They are not a substitute parent. They are there to teach. To mentor. To guide.

Your kids are a reflection of you. I understand that not everyone can be home to help with homework and study guides. I understand that you can't take your kids to museums, parks, or to the zoo every weekend. Neither can we. Times are tough. But we have to be a good influence on our children.

Do chores together. Walk the dog together. Read together. Play a game together. Eat dinner together. Kids have a better chance at success when families eat dinner together. Cook together. Cooking teaches math and science skills. Go grocery shopping together. Shopping teaches your children about budgets and making good decisions. There are real life experiences that parents have the opportunity to teach their kids that a teacher doesn't have time to.

There are many free educational websites. There are documentaries on television. There are volunteer opportunities. There are libraries. Supplemental resources abound. You yourself are a supplemental resource. I want my kids to work hard so they can play hard. I want them to learn how to work smarter, not harder. I will not fail them. Their teachers will not fail them. Their schools will not fail them. They will not fail themselves. They will take what they are given and they will work with it to be whatever they want to be.

And I am so proud of my kids already.

My Wonderful Kids

Bad Backpack

My daughters begged us for new backpacks this year. It didn't matter that their old backpacks were in perfectly good condition. It didn't matter that backpacks cost money and we had already spent about $35,081 on school supplies and clothes already. They wanted new backpacks. My youngest daughter received a new backpack for her birthday. She loved it. And my oldest daughter was finally content to use last year's bag. Then a generous neighbor went and ruined it all. She gave my oldest daughter a new backpack. Not just any backpack. A really cool, one-strapped style backpack. The kind I don't approve of, just so you know. Now my youngest daughter was insanely jealous. Nothing was good enough for her. Everyday was a struggle. Every shopping trip was a fight. I finally gave in, like any other terrible mother would, and bought her a new backpack. The one-strap kind.

I found the new bag at Walgreens for $10. I'll be damned if I'm going to spend more than $20 on a backpack that my kids are going to hate the next year. And apparently, you get what you pay for. This particular bag is made by Urban Sport. It was barely big enough to fit her 2" three ring binder. In fact, in the first week of school, she broke one of the zippers off because she was forcing it closed. I gave her a lesson on cramming everything into a tiny space more effectively. It worked. For two more weeks.

Photo of the ill-fated bag I bought my daughter

Last night, she broke the other zipper off. Seriously? I know I only paid $10 for this backpack that my daughter begged me for that I didn't want to buy her in the first place, but to only last for three weeks seems a bit ridiculous to me. Especially considering that the $15 backpacks I bought last year are in great condition and still sitting in their closet. (Those are made by Jansport, by the way.) Lesson learned, I suppose.

The zipper didn't just break, it came off completely. 

My daughter went to school this morning with her birthday bag and the knowledge that mommy is always right. She never needed that one-strapped tiny backpack. And she's perfectly happy using the one she had to begin with. Now she owes me $10.

Bra Envy Leads to Breast Envy

When I was ten, I had the worst case of Bra Envy. That's the precursor to Breast Envy. It ate me up. I don't know if all little girls go through Bra Envy or just us late bloomers, but I remember it very clearly.

When I was in fifth grade I thought all of my friends were starting to develop and it drove me crazy. There they all were. All wearing bras. Messing with their bra straps. Having to adjust themselves. I was going mad with jealously! I begged my mom to buy me a bra. But for what? What would a bra possibly be holding in? I was lucky I had fat enough on my body to keep me warm, let alone try form boobies. So I thought I was real smart. I thought that if I just stood up real straight and stuck my little chest out, it would look like I was getting bigger on top. It didn't stop there. I would wear an undershirt or something under my clothes. You know, to give the appearance of bra straps. I didn't care if they were big and bulky. And I would fiddle with an imaginary strap in the middle of my back, just like all my real bra wearing friends did. It worked until a boy in class went to snap my bra and discovered there was nothing there. I was mortified. So I did the next best thing. I hiked my underwear up as high as it could go. Until it almost reached the middle of my back if I arched my spine. This was a long time time ago. All we kids had back then were Granny Panties. Then I would fiddle with my undies as if they were my bra strap. I was desperate.

Don't judge me.

I don't think I got my first training bra until the end of fifth grade. And I never actually needed a bra until maybe seventh grade. I'll even let you in on a little secret. I wore the Wonder Bra when I got married because I wanted a little something on top. Do you remember those? Of course you do. Now I have the best in Victoria's Secret bras, but I want better boobs. I had kids. Enough said. Bra Envy leads to Breast Envy.

So, what do I tell my ten year old daughter? In her mind's eye, all her little friends are starting to wear bras and little undershirts because, let's face it, they need them. My daughter, my precious little girl, does not. She is built like I was at ten years old. Scrawny. But lucky for her, she has me to help guide her through this sensitive time. I went out and bought her the damn bra.

20 Reasons I've Decided NOT to Workout

1. I don't want to make the other moms jealous.

2. I don't like getting hot and sweaty.

3. I don't have any cute workout clothes.

4. If I were a major babe, it would just embarrass my kids.

5. I just used the word 'babe'. Clearly I don't need to be one.

6. I think I may allergic to exercise. It makes my face turn red and I start breathing heavily.

7. Working out makes me hungry. Doesn't that defeat the purpose?

8. Great. Now I want a Snickers.

9. Hold on, I'm chewing...

10. Exercising makes me count. I have to count calories, steps, candy bars... And I hate math.

11. Exercising makes me thirsty.

12. And it's too early for margaritas. Dammit.

13. Gyms smell funny.

14. Sweaty people smell funny.

15. B.O. is the pits! HAHA Get it?

16. I like smelling good.

17. I also dislike pain; i.e. muscle soreness and cramps.

18. Ugh! And it's so boring! You have to do it everyday! Who wants to do that?

19. You can't see changes right away. No instant gratification here!

20. I'm a mom. I do enough already.