Category Archives: Humor

Who’s the Aufore?

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Flashback to when my youngest child was in preschool.   The teacher had a routine when she would read a book to the class.  The children would gather around the teacher in the “reading corner”… a book shelf filled with books, soft carpet squares, pillows, bean bags and a few real chairs (but they were real small chairs).  The teacher would hold the book up in the air and show the cover to the children.  They she would point to and read the Title of the book.  And then she would point to and read the name of the Author of the book.  And they she would point to and read the name of the Illustrator of the book.

My daughter insisted on the same routine at home.  It took me a while to catch on to the process.  My daughter would select a book and we would snuggle up together on her bed to read a book before bedtime.  I would open the book to the first page and she would grab the book and flip bag to the cover and ask “Who’s the Aufore?”

Last week I was attending a company meeting. We had an outside guest speaker from a social media consultancy.  Naturally he and a colleague had written a book which was given to all of us attending the meeting.   I was listening mostly intently to his presentation when I casually picked up my copy of the book.  I flipped it over to the front cover and looked at his name at the bottom and thought “Who’s the Aufore?”

Cheated by Summer — But Not by Fall

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Getting ready for work this morning, I was gazing out our bedroom window.  (Yes, I literally caught myself gazing.)  Our bedroom is on the second story and there are three trees planted right outside so that the leaves are at window level.  And while I was fiddling with my jewelry and gazing into the leafy canopy, I noticed that some of the leaves were turning bright red around the edges.

As hot and dry and miserable as it has been for us and much of the country this summer, you would think that I would embrace the first signs of the welcoming cool and crisp mornings that make autumn my favorite season.

But I felt a bit of remorse and a little bit cheated.  Our summer had been so busy with sports camps and weekend tournaments and storm damage clean up and weeding in a vegetable garden that was not cooperating, that I felt we hadn’t had a real summer break.  We hadn’t just hung out on the back deck, swatting at mosquitos until we couldn’t take it anymore.  We hadn’t grilled out and roasted marshmallows.  We hadn’t caught fireflies.  We hadn’t eaten ice cream from the Good Humor truck.  We hadn’t ridden our bikes all through the neighborhood until it was almost too dark to see.  We hadn’t played flashlight tag.  We hadn’t eaten watermelon with the juice dripping and staining our T-shirts.

And I won’t make that mistake again.

And with autumn on the cusp, here are our plans:  picking apples, going to the Renaissance Festival, making hot cider, buying a new sweater, going to Friday night football, tailgating, corn mazes, using the heat lamp on the deck and wrapping in a blanket so that we can stay up late talking, bon fires, picking pumpkins, roasting pumpkin seeds, making granola, loving orange.

Matching Towels

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Over the years, I have bought bath towels, hand towels and dish towels in different colors and patterns each intended for a different room.  When we updated the  powder room with a granite countertop and chocolate-brown walls, I bought the white hand towels with a bit of brown piping.  When we remodeled the kitchen, I found gold dish towels and some with a Parisian street scene that complemented the window treatments.  Our daughters’ bathroom is like a beach cottage with white cabinetry and pale green walls, so naturally the bath towels with pale green, blue and cream squares were just perfect.

To my eye, there is absolutely no question as to which room each towel belongs.  And yet, today when I opened the towel drawer in the kitchen, there freshly laundered and neatly folded, was a brown checked hand towel.  We don’t even have brown in the kitchen.  Not to mention the size…this towel was only for salad plates.

Now some of you are reading this and thinking “What has she got to complain about?  Obviously someone brought up the clean laundry and put it in the towel drawer?  Isn’t that a good thing?”  And you are absolutely right.  I am delighted that clean towels made their way to drawers and linen closets and towel bars.  I guess I’m just overly optimistic that someone might actually look at my carefully selected towel that so perfectly matches the decor and put it in the right spot.

And don’t get me started about the “Happy Halloween” towels that live on well into winter or the “Snowmen” towels that finally hibernate around Memorial Day.

Mothers, Men and The First Day of School

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Last week, my kids went back to school.  I know…very early this year!  August 15th!  Something about getting the first semester wrapped up before winter break.  Or maybe wanting an extra week of teaching before state mandated achievement tests.  In any event, they went back.

And I was traveling on business.  Bummer.

As posted previously, we had already enjoyed the traditions of new clothes shopping and school supply shopping.  And it’s not like it was the first day of school as in first day of kindergarten.  But I still missed it.  I missed the super extra bath the night before.  I missed checking the backpack fifteen times.  I missed debating whether or not they should buy lunch or pack lunch.  I missed scrounging around in my purse for enough money to buy lunch.  Thanks to technology, I didn’t miss helping to pick the perfect first day outfit.  My older daughter texted me options and I voted from my hotel room.

I kept asking my husband if he needed me to make him lists and he kept reassuring me “I’ve got it”.  I knew he did but didn’t want to hear that.  I wanted to be there and I wanted to be needed.  Perhaps that’s why he texted late that night to confirm what time each needed child needed to get up and when each of their schools started.  Thank you for needing me.

I called home that morning, timing my call such that they should be up and mostly finished with breakfast but not quite in the chaotic 5 minutes before they are out the door, to wish everyone well and then went off to my meeting.

As we settled around the conference table, opening laptops and stirring coffee, I mentioned that it was my children’s first day of school.  My female colleague made a sad face and said sympathetic things like “you poor darling” and generally gave words of encouragement.  The men across the table smiled and said something along the lines of “bet you’re happy not to be there”.  And such is the difference between mothers and men.

A New Pencil Case

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What is it about shopping for new school supplies?

It seems that ever since school ended, my youngest child has been asking “when are we shopping for school supplies?” every single day  For the older kids, shopping for school supplies has definitely taken a slight back seat to shopping for cool new clothes but remains a much-anticipated activity even for them.

Yesterday evening my husband texted me at work…”When r u coming home?  Girls said u taking them shopping?”  I, of course, had forgotten the promise but promptly wrapped up work and heading home to fetch my darlings and that most important item — the list!  I know it seems a bit early to shop for supplies but I could not take the nightly questions and if I’m honest, some years there were pretty slim pickings when I finally broke down and took them to the local office supply store.  We spent a good hour combing through the aisles of folders and other supplies to find the absolute coolest ones.  Our final selections included BMX, hang-gliding and a backpack with skulls!

This year, my older daughter decided to be “super organized” by color coordinating binders and spiral notebooks and folders for specific classes.  She has been making decorations and doing craft projects like woven basket pencil holders and framing a small mirror for her locker all summer.  I wish I could express some “really?” but that behavior actually reminds me of, well, me.  And I love it!

And while it was tiresome and tedious to open every  single spiral bound notebook on the shelves in search of the one without perforated pages (as listed on the school supply list) I really shouldn’t complain.  I remember being just as impatient and excited and focused on finding the perfect binder when I was in school.  And the alternative is far too painful to contemplate.

Screaming Me Me

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What happened to the gold old days when “time out” or the mere mention of “time out” was enough to stop all squabbling, whining, temper tantruming, disobedience, and back talking?  Time out even worked on most dinner table disagreements excepting lima beans and Brussel sprouts — for my kids’ young palates, being sequestered for hours on end was worth it if it meant they didn’t have to finish those particular vegetables.

When our children were younger, I noticed a marked difference between my husband and I regarding how we approached discipline.  On the one hand, I thought my husband had the right idea.  At the first sign of disobedience he would intervene, making it clear to our children that were they to continue on their current chosen and obviously flawed course of action there would be consequences.  Very often dire consequences.  So, while I admired that he clearly made the kids masters of their own destiny; for example, “if you continue talking back, we won’t be going to the pool,” I often felt the punishment did not fit the crime.  Usually a loss of pool privileges was not what was at stake, rather we were not going to go on vacation if they didn’t pick up their room when told.  Not exactly a reasonable or realistic punishment.  But at least it was their choice, they were in control.  They were making a conscious decision to continue doing the bad wrong aggravating thing they were doing.  Another issue with my husband’s style was lack of follow through.  Let’s just say we never stayed home from vacation.

I, on the other hand, prided myself in being the enlightened parent.  My punishments were commensurate with the misdeed.  I was fair and balanced.  I gave the kids a chance to weigh in with what they thought was a reasonable punishment.  I was the poster child for every child rearing guru who ever had a best-selling book.  Or so I thought.

But the reality is that I wasn’t any of those things.  I was, and occasionally still am, a screaming me me (or is it screaming mi mi?).  And as far as helping the children learn when they had overstepped the boundaries between good and bad behavior, well, I didn’t actually help them that much.  See I thought I was even-keeled.  And I was up to a point.  And then, Boom!  Off the cliff!  They never saw it coming.  Out of nowhere from the depths of my being would erupt a ferocious “SSSTTTTOOOOOPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Lovely.  I’m so proud.

But they say self-awareness is the first step in recovery.  That and the kids growing older and wiser.

And with age, “time out” has turned into “time without”…when necessary (which is extremely rare) the threat of a loss of an electronic gadget privilege works wonders.

But as I said, the need to voice a warning has become increasingly infrequent.  At least someone in the family is maturing.

 

 

 

New Fun Family Road Trip Game…Guaranteed to Provide Hours of Fun!

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My husband recently replaced the GPS in his car, apparently the power cord snapped off the old one.  And apparently power is important.

Last weekend we were returning from a lacrosse tournament and used the voice activation option to find a restaurant.   And the fun began.

Now he’s originally from Chicago and I guess he’s got a bit of an accent but somehow “Find a restaurant” became “Do you want to go to the library?”  Okay, there are three syllables in both “restaurant” and “library” but that’s the only connection I could find.  While we gave up on Gidget’s assistance (we have named our GPS Gidget) fret not, we found sustenance using good old-fashioned road signs.

But as the hours wore on, when the kids would get a little feisty in the back seat, we’d turn to Gidget for more good clean fun.

Gidget’s best suggestions of the day were when we asked her to drive to our town’s Pizza place (we actually didn’t need her help to find it).  “Did you say the nearest 76?”  Really, is that gas station even still around?  Her second attempt to find the pizza parlor was to suggest directions to the Home Depot.

We were in a classic Saturday Night Live skit and loving every minute of it.  Of course, if we’d really needed her help it would have been a completely different story.

Nature vs. Nurture and the Lesson of the BMX Helmet

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So, before I begin this post — about my youngest daughter — it is important to note that I took the required science courses in High School and College but was Liberal Arts all the way, that is until B-School.

I recall the nature vs. nurture debates but never really gave it too much thought.  That is, until our youngest child started to grow into her unique personality.   The phrase “marches to a different drummer” must have been coined for this child.

From a very young age she has demonstrated her eclectic taste.  She likes Legos and puzzles and “army men” and science and magic and music and writes poetry.  Spelling and math facts are optional but she can build and assemble anything (she is less than 10 and has built benches and patio heat lamps and end tables).  And when she truly wants something, she is single-mindedly focused and annoyingly persistent in obtaining her heart’s desires.

When she was three years old, she was obsessed with guitars.  We got her the toy guitar for her birthday.  That worked for a while.  But the desire for a real guitar persisted.  At 7, we finally relented.  We got the guitar and signed her up for lessons.  She took three lessons and decided she had mastered the guitar and didn’t need to go back.  Yes, of course she was too young for guitar lessons.  But we still have the guitar and from time to time she jams…see above reference to her own drummer (or I guess her own guitarist).

Her current obsession is BMX.  She has wanted a BMX helmet for her bicycle for well, EVER.  She has worked all summer to earn money to purchase the helmet.  We looked at every website and every helmet available, looking for just the right combination of helmet design, size and price.  It took weeks and then we found it.  The Holy Grail of helmets.  Black with “sweet” red and white graffiti designs.  And with an extra benny…silver fins!  And, if we bought $10 more, shipping was free!  So, naturally I chipped in for the clear goggles that were $12 just so we could save on the shipping.

I’ve never actually tracked a package through the FedEx shipping option.    It hasn’t mattered too much whether a new pair of shoes or swimsuit or sweater or dishes arrived on Tuesday or Wednesday (unless of course it was a birthday present that I forgot to shop for/order until the day before).  It’s not hard.  It just never seemed necessary.  But believe me, over the last week, I have become a package tracking expert!  Every day has been a constant barrage of “Do you think helmet will arrive today?”  “I wonder if they will deliver the box today.”  “Maybe they shipped it early and it will arrive today.”  And I, with pin-point accuracy could tell her exactly where her package was.  I was POWERFUL!

Unfortunately, we were out-of-town when the package was to be delivered (sounds a bit like a Bourne Identity movie plot).  And we agonized about whether or not we should change the delivery date.  Or arrange to pick it up.  Oh, what should we do?  If it was delivered and left on the front porch, would someone steal it?  What was the risk that someone would steal it versus the excitement and enjoyment of having it waiting for her when we returned from our trip.

At the end of the day, we opted for near instant gratification.  Meaning we let them deliver the package so it would be waiting there for her when we got home from our trip.  We pulled into the driveway and as the car lights swung past the front porch, caught in the sweep of lights were not one but two packages.   Oh, the joy.  A big box with the helmet.  And a smaller package with the goggles.  We paused at the crest of the driveway and she jumped out of the car racing to the porch.  She came straight to the kitchen proudly carrying her well-earned bounty.

End of the story.  She loves this helmet.  And I must admit…it is pretty darn cool,  way better in real life.  But let me be clear…at present, she is not a BMXer.  We watch it sometimes on TV.  She does have a bike.  She’s been on a BMX track…once.  But 99.99% of the time, her bike riding is limited to our cul-de-sac.  Nevertheless, she loves this helmet.  She wore it all evening when it first arrived…unpacking, dishes, watching TV.  Not during dinner but every other minute until teeth brushing and bed time.  She has slept with it every nite.  She proudly made lunch the other morning wearing her helmet.   She takes it with her in the car.

Witnessing her enjoy this helmet has been nothing short of pure joy.

Which brings me back to my nature/nurture debate.  We have another daughter.  And when she was little it was all about princesses, and tutus, and Barbies, and pierced earrings.

And so, you might think like I did that it must be “nurture”…maybe with our first daughter I reinforced more of the female stereotypes.  But as I think about it and think about my girls, I’m actually landing on the “nature” side of the debate.

Why?  Because while their objects of desire are very different, in other more fundamental ways, they are very alike.  The single-minded dedication to a target goal is definitely the same for our two girls.  There was a time, when our older daughter kept her room in military precision-readiness every day all day for 6 weeks in order to earn pierced earrings.  And you can bet that on the exact day that ended the 6th week, we were on our way to the mall to get her ears pierced.  And if it had been possible to track the waiting line at the ear-piercing place, you can bet I would have been doing that up to the minute she sat in the chair and squeezed her eyes shut.