Foreign Correspondents

Go ahead, admit it: Barbie is probably the last character you'd expect to find on my blog. I mean, come on. I have nothing but boys in this house (if you doubt me, listen closely and take a deep breath. No matter where you are, I'm pretty sure you'll be able to hear and smell them). I considered changing my dog's name to LEGO. I'm a great shot with a Nerf gun. I've written essays about how happy I am not to be raising girls, mainly because (personal gender aside) I feel completely ill-equipped to do so. I think girls have a hard enough time in this world, thanks to our messed up society's values and messages, without me getting involved with my loud opinions and anti-pink attitude.

So imagine my surprise when I discovered today that:

1) I have an active Netflix account;

2) It is being used on multiple devices, all Apple-based (the closest I've gotten to Apple is boycotting iTunes because it's so user-hostile. We are a Windows/Android household);

3) It is being charged in Euros (apparently whoever is using the account is in the Netherlands) and

4) For the last month, it has primarily been used to watch all varieties of Barbie movies.

Ummm... yeah, now I'm definitely thinking 'fraud'

Like most people, I've had to deal with compromised credit accounts in the past, so I knew what to do about it. But I think the thing that upsets me most about this whole thing is not even the Barbie tarnish on my good name. It's the fact that, obviously, whoever hacked my account is a parent.

I tell myself that my disappointment is my own fault; I've long held people in higher esteem than most of them deserve. I'm a cheek-turning, benefit-of-the-doubt-giving, do-unto-others type recovering Catholic. Personally, I think parents should be held to even higher standards that non-parents, mostly because they have little trainees in their charge. If parents aren't doing the right thing, what the heck kind of world are we going to have in the next generation, especially if the kids outnumber the parents now? An even worse society than we've already got.

While I'm sorry for these girls in the Netherlands being raised by unscrupulous parents, ones who are willing to indulge these Barbie binge viewings at someone else's expense, I feel worse that their little habit is about to come to an end. But I have to admit that a teeny part of me--the tomboy, Barbie-is-an-unrealistic-and-evil model-for-girls-and-part-of-what-feeds-the-mentality-that-still-prevents-women-from-being-paid-the-same-as-men part of me--is thrilled to be pulling the international plug on the Barbie flicks. Especially since I won't have to be the one to deal with their screamy little tantrums when it happens. Maybe the parents will learn a lesson from that, if nothing else.

Looking Forward, Looking Back

I remember when my kids were babies. We'd visit the pediatrician every month for the first six months of their lives, then every three months until they were a year old.

"He grew an inch. He gained a pound and a half. His head circumference grew. Here are four more shots he'll need today."

It took me a long time to stop shaking my head in awe at such exponential growth every few months, but after a while, I got used to it.

When the kids got older, their exams dwindled down to once a year. This seemed like an awfully long time to go before checking on things. And when we did go, the growth for a year was about the same as it had been each month when they were infants.

But after a while, I got used to that too.

"Grew an inch, gained three pounds." This became our new way of measuring. "Eats well, sleeps well, likes school, no scoliosis. Flu shot, booster shot, see you next year."

Well now, it seems, the annual physical exams will hearken back to those of their infancy. I imagine this is a pre-teen/teen thing, as this year's was the first glimpse I've had.

"Your 11-year-old will need to see the eye doctor; his vision is 20/70. He'll probably need glasses."

"Your 14-year-old is doing well. You can expect him to grow about four inches this year."

I'm sorry, what? He's going to be as tall as me in less than a year? Yes, that visible, fervent morphing from boy to man is beginning.

How did I deal with this news? Like any rational mother when she's told her firstborn is leaving his childhood behind and there's not a damned thing she can do about it. I told my husband to brush up on his shaving lesson skills, and stocked the refrigerator with lots of meat. Then I pulled out all the baby pictures and videos I could fit in my lap, sat down on the couch and cried at how fast it's all going.

OK, not really, but I felt  like doing that. Because for all the trials and tribulations of sleepless baby nights, tantrum-y toddlerhood and social navigation maneuvers that the last 14 years have wrought, I could not give you a single detail about any of it that I'm happy to leave behind. I only remember the good, none of the bad (though I'm sure there had to be some bad, right?) and what I do remember all feels like a dream.

Last week, I had the opportunity to spend time with my neighbor and her 22-month-old son. Little M is at that stage of development where everything is fun: reading Elmo books, playing with trains and having stuffed animal tea parties. For me, participating in these activities with him was like a gift. The memories of my own boys' early years came flooding back, and I could not stop smiling.

I know the next several years will be full of new experiences: dating, shaving, driving, college. After that, the boys will be gone--on to their own lives and worlds, and no longer part of my immediate orbit. And I know that those years are going to be challenging, probably even more so than the toddler years were. But I also know that they are going to fly, leaving me to replay them over and over in the rear view mirror of my mind.

So I'm hugging my man-boy a little tighter these days, even as he makes his way forward toward independence. I try to plan experiences with him that will create fond memories for both of us to recall once he's gone. And maybe when he does, he'll pick up the phone and give me a call to say hi, and tell me what kind of big changes he's looking forward to that week, that month, that year.

Love, Loss and Learning

There are a lot of things I say these days that make me sound like a mother:
"I don't care who started it."
"Homework first."
"Because I said so."

But the one that's echoing the most these past couple of weeks is, "Life isn't fair." I often say it when someone who didn't get their way and feels he should have cries "that's not fair!" in the hopes of some change. I want my kids to learn that just because something isn't fair doesn't mean it isn't right. We might not always understand why events have to happen the way they do, but we still have to accept life as it comes.

At the end of the year, my kids proved that they understand this a bit better than I.

Almost three years ago, we lost our dear friend and neighbor Augie, who left behind a goofy little Beagle name Flash. Augie's wife Mary had passed away just a couple of years before, and now Flash was completely alone. So we took him in and our pack grew. Bailey was both excited and dismayed to suddenly have a brother, but we had known Flash for years, so the two just had to get used to living together, which they quickly did.

Learning how different our two dogs were from each other was a lot like being a parent and learning the differences between your children. You raise and care for them equally, they share the same experiences, but how they approach life reveals much about their personalities, outlook and interpretation of the world.

It didn't take us long to fall in love with Flash. Silly and unpredictable, with big soulful eyes, and ears that felt like mink, he soon grew comfortable with us. He went from a one-on-one family with his dad to a boisterous, busy family of five, but he didn't seem to mind it a bit. So many hands for belly rubs! So many people to beg for snacks! And of course a big brother to tussle with. We had to teach him the rules of the house, no easy feat with an 11-year-old dog, but by gosh, he got it.

As kids, we worry that our parents love one of us more than the other, especially when it's a big family. And parents always explain that they love their children equally, that love is not a finite thing to be divvied up between family members. More members of the pack means more love grows. I hope Flash was able to feel that in his new home.

Right around Christmas, Flash slowed way down. He tolerated all the comings and goings of holiday revelers but stayed in the background. Then all at once, he stopped eating and drinking. He wouldn't get out of bed, and his breathing became very shallow. We carried him up to the vet who ran tests and told us of multiple problems throughout his body.

We knew what we had to do. Flash was weeks away from his 14th birthday. We had talked about this in the past, and agreed we wouldn't put either of our dogs through excessive testing, medications and treatments just to avoid saying goodbye. Yet somehow, now that it had become real, it all seemed terribly unfair. And I was angry. Angry that I had to make such a decision, angry that he could get so sick so fast, robbing us of the chance to give him time to heal, angry that I felt so helpless.

What helped me get through it was the strength and stoicism of my kids, so full of love and hugs for Flash and for each other and me. I reminded myself that Flash would be joining Mary and Augie again, that he wouldn't be suffering anymore, and that we'd had great fun with him for the short time he was with us.

We stayed with him until the end, which was peaceful and painless. He closed his big brown eyes as we caressed and cooed to him, telling him how very much we loved him, what a good dog he was and that Bailey loved him too. Now we are all giving Bailey extra hugs and petting, since he seems sad and a bit lost. I wish we could explain to him that Flash is in a better place now, but of course, we can't.

Life isn't fair, but there's nothing we can do about it. We just have to love each other as much as we can for as long as we can.

Throwback Thursday

This morning was like most mornings until about fifteen minutes before we had to leave to get the school bus. That's when several things happened that ended up making me feel like I was 25 years old again.

First, my high schooler texted me. "Mom, I left my tablet home today--I don't need it. But can you go on it and email me my Italian document? I need it today."

I picked up the tablet and, after a minute, figured out how to turn it on. Then I remembered it has Windows 8, an operating system I've only seen a few times (and haven't really used at all). No problem, use the keyboard password option instead of the Swype one, since I know it. Find the email program, start looking for a document with a title that sounds like it's in Italian. As I was doing this and instructing my younger son to go brush his teeth, the phone rang.

It was a girlfriend, and she had a request: her son needed a document printed for class today, but their printer is broken. He had shared the document in Google Docs with my son. Would we please log on and print it, and have my son deliver it on the bus?

No problem. I booted up my PC while my son was brushing his teeth, then instructed him on what to do while I continued looking for the Italian document to email my older boy.

We were such a buzz of activity, I felt like I was back on the Help Desk, doing tech support for colleagues and clients just as I did in my twenties. And just like then, even though it was chaotic and hurried (we did have a bus to catch, after all), I got such a rush from it all that I felt young again.

I see now where my sons get their enthusiasm to help out, whether it be around the house or volunteering for every community service opportunity that comes along. There's a great feeling that comes from helping others, from being a part of something bigger than yourself. For some, this type of work may make them feel like nothing more than cogs in a machine. But for others, being the gears that help keep things humming reminds us that we are all part of something bigger. And when we can help others out in some way, no matter how small, we are removing stress and spreading happiness. Ultimately, it can all add up to a better world. Didn't we all feel we could change the world when we were in our twenties? It's gratifying to realize we always possess that power, no matter how old, or young, we are.

The Hungry Games

When I was a kid, my mom used to make us eat something before going visiting, even if we were going to someone's house for dinner. This made no sense to me. Why eat when we're going there to eat?

"Because when you don't eat, you get evil."

It sounds like a terrible thing to say to a child, but the fact is, she was right. We'd be cranky, surly and more obnoxious than usual at the first sign of hunger. Best to make a preemptive strike.

The torch has been passed in my house (or, rather shared: I still have to keep from getting too hungry if I want to remain civil). But it's not only my children who share the trait, apparently. It's also my dog.

When the kids get home from school, they are hungry. I know it because they eat lunch at noon or before, and don't get home until three or later. It would make sense that the first thing they do after dropping their backpacks is open the fridge and rummage, but no, that's not how it works. Their brains are still back at school. They take off their coats, pet the dogs, start their homework, read the mail. Usually, I'm still writing or doing some other work, so I let them do their thing and I do mine. Until the fighting starts.

"Mom, Jacob won't let me have the comic book that was in my spot before he took it."

"No, Mom, he's had it there for two days. The only reason he wants to read it now is because I want to read it."

"Gimme it!"

"It's my turn!"

"MOM!"

That's when it dawns on me that no one has eaten yet.

"Who wants a snack?" I offer.

Suddenly, the book is no longer important. A pop tart and a glass of milk later, everyone is happily sitting and reading, the fight forgotten.

One of my dogs, it seems, has also picked up this habit of becoming obnoxious when he wants to eat. The problem is, he's a dog. So he *always* wants to eat. In fact, my beagle will often go out and eat random who-knows-what from under the leaves when we walk right after breakfast. I know his stomach is full, so it must be a dog thing. Rather than try to decide when they are truly hungry, it's easier to just put them on a schedule and stick to it. I mean, come on. If they could talk, they'd say they were hungry all the time.

The dogs' dinner time is five pm. Lately, though, this has not been early enough for Flash. We go for a walk at three, and when we come back, each dog gets a biscuit. This has been our routine for over a year. Suddenly it's not enough of a snack. It seems it just gets the juices flowing, because for the last week or so, the biscuit has flipped some switch in Flash's brain. From 3:30 until 5:00, he just barks non-stop.

The first day it happened, I went downstairs to investigate. I knew he didn't need to go out again, so I checked to make sure Bailey wasn't in Flash's bed. Nope.

Maybe he wanted water. Check the water bowl. Empty? Nope.

Is someone outside the door? Nope.

I let him in to the playroom and gave him fresh water, then called him over to it. He walked right by and started sniffing the dog food bin.

"Uh, Flash?" I say, checking my watch. "Nope. You have an hour and a half to go."

Maybe it's because it's winter and he wants to fill out so he'll be warmer. Or maybe he's just overheard my conversations with the kids after school. Whatever it is, he has been wanting more of a snack after his walk, and has no problem complaining about it. But until they make beef flavored pop tarts, I'm just going to have to deal with his getting evil. The barking is just his little game to see how much I can take before feeding him ahead of schedule.

So far, I'm winning. But I make no guarantees: when the weather gets cold and dark and I can't retreat to the porch to get away from the noise, I may just have to start looking for those doggie pop tarts. Until then, let the games continue.

Love, Outsourced

I think I'm a bad mom. I know, I know, don't we all? But it's true. This week, I saw a pattern of behavior in myself that made me think, "Whoa. You are one selfish mother." I realized that, when my kids want to do something that I have no interest in doing, I will outsource the task.

This may not sound so terrible on the surface. I've been finding a way out of these situations since my kids were little.

"Mom, can I have a piece of candy?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's too close to dinner time."

"BUT I REEEEALLY WANT ONE!!!"

"Hey, listen! It's your favorite song on the radio!" (starts doing geeky mom dance)

"Yay, I love this song!" also begins dancing and forgets about candy.

Ah, the power of distraction. It served me well for so many years. The problem is, schools like kids to stay focused. So they teach them all these tricks to keep them from losing their train of thought, even when something interrupts them. This is great for school work, but it stinks for parenting. They could have at least sent a memo warning me. One day, the power of distraction stopped working in my house.

I needed a new tool. My kids were still going to ask for things and I was still going to be unwilling to provide them. The problem was compounded by the fact that, as they got older, they wanted experiences instead of just things.

"Mom, can we go to some-ridiculously-overpriced-teeny-bopper-event-in-which-you-will-have-no-interest-but-that-I-can't-attend-by-myself?" The details are meaningless. We've all been there. I have several supermom and superdad friends who say yes. Some even go whole hog, buying the VIP tickets, driving two hours to the venue and bringing along a friend for their child. I bow to them.

But as I said, that's not me. When my son wanted to take up camping, I pawned him off on his dad and, later, the Boy Scouts. When he wanted to go to Comic Con, I sidestepped the request until one of his friends invited him along as part of her birthday celebration--all I had to do was buy the ticket. Her mom was going to drive them to NYC, park, attend the event and even take them to dinner afterward. Bless her, I would have paid triple what I did. In the end, my son got to go and I was spared eight hours of milling with thousands of adult, costume-clad comic-geeks and their attending tribes. Whew.

The pattern emerged last night, however, when I got an email that my son could go to Disneyworld in Florida, march in a parade through the Magic Kingdom and spend the rest of spring break going to all attractions Disney. He'd be chaperoned, transported and insured. All he had to do was start coming in to rehearse again with the Fife and Drum Corps before then.

Next to winter weather, Disney is my hell. I did a happy dance when my second son was born because I knew no daughters meant I would never become a slave to the Disney Princess dynasty. I went to Disneyworld when I was eleven, on a school trip. It was fantastic and magical and I loved it.

But I was eleven.

Disney today is rides with hours-long lines, tchotchke kiosks, super-sized big gulps and millions of screaming, sticky children. Yes, it's something every child should experience at least once. Yes, we've talked about going as a family. But this is one of the very few instances in my history as a parent where I have dug in my heels and resisted with every fiber of my being. As Elizabeth Bennet said of her marriage proposal from Mr. Collins, "every feeling revolts." I. Just. Can't.

So when this invitation came for Jacob, I was all over it. They'd be bused down, stay the week, perform and play and experience Disney, all for less than a thousand dollars. My first thought was, can I send his little brother too?

But Jacob, ever the mature child, decided he has "too much on his plate" to fit in the required rehearsals.

Me: "But it's Disneyworld!"

Jacob: "I know, but it would just be too much."

Me: "Well, yes, there'd be a couple of rehearsals a week starting in December. But drama club will be over, and your Italian tutoring job will be off that week since school is closed, and you won't have Boy Scouts that week either, and... and... it's Disneyworld!"

Jacob: "I know, Mom, but I just think it would be too much."

Me: "But.... it's Disneyworld!" (And it's hands-free for me!)

Jacob. "Sorry."

Yes, I was practically begging him to juggle and find a way to work it into his schedule. That way, I would not have to feel the guilt of depriving my child of the Disney experience. And he wouldn't have to know that he will otherwise never see Disney during his childhood, that's right, because of my selfishness.

I didn't admit this last fact to him. My hope is that he'll give it a try in the next couple of years. Failing that, maybe by the time the opportunity to travel there with school is no longer an option, he will be too old to care that he missed Disney as a child. And he'll never have to know what a bad mom he really has.

Foreboding of Winter

I'm cold. If you ask any of my friends, they'll tell you wryly that I'm cold any time the temperature drops below sixty-five degrees. But no matter how much everyone laughs at me, the fact is that the temps are now in the fifties during the day and the thirties at night. According to my body, it's winter.

For the last three days, I've had a chill I can't shake, so today I decided to wear long johns underneath my jeans when walking the dogs. It helped, and I'm both chagrined that it's about two months earlier than I usually have to do this, and relieved that I thought of it. This year, though, I have a bigger problem. It seems Ben has the same system that I do. This has made mornings downright painful.

Thankfully, my high-schooler is very self-sufficient. He gets up at six a.m. (bless his heart), makes his breakfast, packs his lunch and gets himself out to his bus before seven. That's about the time I drag myself out of bed, go wake Ben and proceed to put my coffee on and prep his food for the day. But even though Ben's bus doesn't come for almost another hour, I know I will have to go back and try to rouse him at least three more times.

Today, it was about thirty nine degrees outside. Ben looked like he was encased in a cocoon in his bed, blanket wrapped like a hood around his head. Part of me wanted to crawl in next to him. It's not a fatigue thing when bears like us don't want to get up in the morning. I actually send Ben to bed earlier than most kids his age, and I go to bed earlier in winter. This is to help keep me from being tired the next day because, let's face it, being cold *and* tired is a pretty good way to insure I will not want to get up unless the house is on fire. No, on these days, I've come to realize, it's about warmth. We don't want to get up because we are so very, comfortably, toastily, cozily warm. And I hate that he has to get up, because I completely understand how he feels.

I'm doing what I can to make it easier for both of us: I have the heat come up well before we have to rise so the rooms are warm. I have Ben lay out his clothes the night before so he can stumble into them drowsily and not have to get his brain going too (I'd be happy with just the body at that hour). And I have stocked the freezer with pancakes and waffles, and the cabinet with hot chocolate and oatmeal, so as soon as he makes it to the table, I can start warming his insides.

Time will tell if these tactics will work, and I'm trying to remain optimistic, but this morning was not a positive indicator. I asked Ben what he wanted for breakfast and lunch. He barked, "Waffles. Bologna. Now get out." Strangely, it didn't hurt as much as you might think.

The Haunting

Boy Sundae

If you're here because this title sounded like a fun Halloweeny, crafting post, I'm going to level with you: Halloween is not involved, although there is some reference to crafting and definitely some haunting to be discussed.

Still here? OK, you've been warned. 

A few years ago when I was young and ambitious, I decided that, despite having no real crafting skill or history, I would try to make a Halloween costume for Ben. It turned out great, and inflated me with a sense that, with enough determination, Internet access and hot glue gun sticks, I could create anything. 

Today, my novel is stuck at 47,000 words. Why is my novel stuck? Because this is Ben's birthday month. Normally not a big deal. But when I asked him where he's like to have his party this year--the bowling alley, the driving range, the gym--he said "at home". I admit I had become one of those parents who throws money at a venue and bakes a cake, letting the birthday decorations, entertainment, food and cleanup be taken care of by someone else. Let's face it: it's easy, it's painless and the kids still have a great time.

But for the last two years, Ben has watched me go a bit over the top for his older brother's birthday parties (at home, where the teenagers could be supervised), planning James Bond- and ComicCon-themed parties, games, invitations, decorations, prizes and even food. And yes, it was lots of fun and the kids all loved it. But it was so much work that one per year was enough. In fact, this year I sent Jacob to the *real* ComicCon in NYC, swept the dust off my hands and called it a birthday. I figured I was off the hook for good. 

So when Ben decided he wanted a Minecraft-themed party at home for the first time in...ever, after what I had done for his brother, I couldn't very well say no. Thus, for the last week, and for the next several days, my schedule looks something like this:

print Minecraft Creeper faces onto t-shirt iron-on paper 

iron them onto green t-shirts

hot glue 12 glitter, shiny "item" boxes to hide for an item hunt

create a Minecraft-themed punch box where kids can punch through a hole in the box and get a prize

print Minecraft food labels

blow up "Enderman" balloons for a "Kill the Endermen" game

make a Ghast pinata

wrap up licorice "TNT"

burn CDs with Minecraft song parodies for goody bags

create Creeper faces to hang for a "shoot the Creeper" contest

bake meringue "bone" cookies
print Minecraft pig faces and attach to pink goody bags

bake square "dirt blocks" with green frosting "grass"

and the list goes on. 

In a way, this is all happening because I am now haunted by that first decision to make a Halloween costume, and the subsequent swell of pride that something worthwhile came out of it. But in truth, I know these parties mean a lot more to my kids than the ones at the bowling alleys and driving ranges. The boys will remember them forever because they feel extra special. Yes, they require a boatload of time, effort and planning. But my legacy as a mom will be one of making super birthday parties for my kids while they were young. I know because I'll be reminding them of it for the rest of their lives.

Back (In Time) To School

Every year, I can count on certain things: the impatience for routines to begin again in the week before Labor Day; the craziness of birthdays and holidays from October through December, and the regression of my youngest child in the two weeks after school actually begins.

I admit I was a little slow on the uptake with the last one. It took me a couple of years to see the change in Ben's behavior for what it was, then remember and recognize it again every following year.

At first I thought it was a stage, likely prior to a growth spurt, with no connection to the calendar year. After all, at the end of summer, the kids are usually as excited as I am for the start of school. Why, then, would its actual arrival cause distress?

Starting school with a new teacher can be exciting, but it can also be stressful. And for a kid who often feels deeply and articulates minimally (i.e. "How was your day?" "Great!"), burying that stress will bring out negative behaviors. Ben has been asking to play video games more often than usual, likely in an attempt to escape the new world of uncertainty and dive into a universe he can control. He's also been requesting a nightly bedtime story and having trouble falling asleep before 10:30, despite being in bed by 9. Last night I attended the middle school open house. When I got home at 9:45, I was exhausted, but he was still awake and asked me to lay down with him. I really just wanted to crawl into my own bed but, thankfully, I remembered how this went last year, so I said yes. He was asleep in less than 10 minutes.

As the boys get older and more independent, needing me less and less for the physical things, it's easy to let the little, emotional hugs from their childhood slip away. Except for September, bedtime stories together have become a thing of the past. But reading stories by William Steig, Rosemary Wells and H.A. Rey before tucking him in is something I always enjoyed as much as Ben. In fact, we've kept many of these books on his shelves because we love them so much, we couldn't bear to give them away. And curling up beside my baby and looking at his long eyelashes and porcelain skin while he sleeps reminds me of his first year, when those twilight cries came every night. I would take him from his crib, we'd sit in the rocking chair by the window and I'd sing to him to try to get him back to sleep. It was a part of our lives that feels like yesterday and a lifetime ago at once.

All too soon, the house will be filled with deep-voiced boys stomping in and out for snacks on their way from one thing to another. "Hi Mom, bye Mom" will be a common refrain, and they will no longer need me for even the emotional hugs anymore. I need to remind myself of this when it's way past bedtime and Ben is asking for one more story, when I'm tired and ready for bed myself and he is asking me to lay down with him.

I won't remember how many times I said 'no' to my children once they're gone, or feel the benefits of an extra 20 minutes sleep here or there. But they will have the security of having gotten the things they needed when they needed them, and I will have the memories of all the times I said 'yes'.

Old Man Beagle

We still refer to our dogs as "puppies" when we play and talk to them, but the fact is, at 13 and 12, they're old.

Flash, the beagle, is truly showing his age. He's slowing down in walking, he sleeps a lot more, and he's not as playful as he used to be. Perhaps the thing that keeps me from getting too depressed about it the fact that he still makes me laugh.

Granted, now he makes me laugh because he acts and sounds like an old man. He snores. He occasionally coughs and wheezes like a 2-pack-a-day smoker. Perhaps the funniest thing is his recent congestion. His nose seems to be always stuffy, and when he sneezes... well, suffice it to say that hope you are no where near his nose. My hope is always that he's outside, or at least near the tissue box so I can clean him up.

The other day, my husband took Flash outside and after calling to him a couple of times, burst out laughing. When I asked him what was so funny, he explained: Flash had come outside but rather than walk with him, he stood on the deck, very still. My husband called him, but he just stood there looking confused. Suddenly, he looked up briefly and then sneezed the biggest sneeze ever--so hard that he banged his jaw on the deck.

As silly as it sounds, it's kind of sad to think that our beloved pets won't be with us forever. Perhaps laughing makes it easier to deal with and gives us a way to continue to enjoy their company even when they're becoming old, leaky and crotchety. Flash doesn't seem to mind our giggles; he's still always open to belly rubs. And we're always happy to provide them, just as we always have.

Making Frienemies

Our neighbors have a new dog. To be more specific, they are caring for a cousin's dog for a few months. The dog is just four months old, fluffy and playful, drooly and energetic, and full of puppy exuberance for, well, everything. His misnomer is "Mellow", for he is anything but. He is a Saint Bernard.

Mellow has been introduced to most of the neighborhood, been cooed over and played with, laughed at and enjoyed by kids and adults alike. Everyone is happy to have him on the block.

Everyone, that is, except Bailey.

One of the things we've always loved about Bailey is how much he loves to play. He will dig through his basket of balls, ropes and bones to find just the right squeaky toy and drop it in your lap to let you know he wants to tangle with you. He was even open to wrestling with Flash when Flash moved in a few years ago, even though Flash is half Bailey's size, and neither dog seemed to know what he was doing.

Whenever Mellow sees Bailey, his head goes down to the ground, his butt goes up in the air and his tail starts wagging. They are just about the same size, and Mellow seems excited to have found a 'peer'; he makes it very clear to Bailey that he wants to play. But Bailey growls, backs off, and seems only to want to sniff, to get the lowdown on the new guy, and then be left alone.

We suspect it may be Bailey's age. He is 12 now; his muzzle is lightening and his movements are slowing. Perhaps Mellow's exuberance makes him jealous (he barks at us when we pet Mellow), or perhaps, like the rest of us old folks, he's just afraid this kid is going to make him throw his back out.

There is one other explanation I can imagine, but it would require Bailey's intelligence to be far higher than we already know it to be. Perhaps Bailey sees a new dog living in Flash's old house, sees us being friendly to the dog and spending time with him, and in his mind, that can only mean one thing: that the dog will ultimately come and live with us as Flash did, forcing Bailey to share his family with yet another dog.

Some might think this a bit of a stretch, but it is only now, five years after we got Bailey, that he has come to semi-accept my friend who brought us together.

Bailey had been raised from a pup by a young woman in her 20s. When she became sick with cancer, she had friends--a family of kids, cats and dogs--who took Bailey in while she underwent treatment. It was expected to be a temporary situation, but the woman did not recover.

The family had watched Bailey for a year, but couldn't keep him long term. They mentioned to my friend, who is a physical therapist and had been making weekly trips to the house, that they were looking for new owners for Bailey. She thought of us. We met them, loved Bailey, and took him home.

The first time my friend came to our house once Bailey had moved in, and for many months after, Bailey would growl, back away from her, put his tail between his legs and tremble. He had never done this at the other family's house when she came to visit. My theory is that he made a connection between being forced to leave his other family and coming to live with us, and the common denominator was my friend. As a result, any time she showed up, he was afraid he'd be taken away again. In this light, the idea of Mellow coming to live with us as Flash had done is not a great stretch.

Growing old is hard. Insecurity can be paralyzing. Bailey seems to be fighting both as best he can. All any of us can hope for as we age is a loving circle of family and friends to stick by us through the hard parts, and our pets deserve no less.

Flower Girls

As a Leader-In-Training this year at camp, Jacob has become very popular among the younger campers. And as a leader-in-training-in-training, Ben has been along for the ride, gaining popularity in his own right.

Sometime during the first week of camp, Jacob was given the nickname "Blue Flowers" by a clutch of little girls, mostly 6- and 7-year-olds. Jacob wouldn't tell me the story behind the nickname, but ever since then, he has been greeted enthusiastically each morning as "Blue Flowers!" by this group of girls.

One day not long after this, Ben got off the bus to shouts of "Bye, Green Flowers!" by this same group of girls. It's adorable and makes me smile, even though it reminds me every day how much older my kids are than the campers and, subsequently, how old I am.

The last few days, however, I have felt more like a chauffer to a rock band. As we pulled into the parking lot one morning, I could see the group of girls near our usual spot, as if staking it out, waiting for my boys to arrive. To test my theory, I pulled past the spot and into another one and, sure enough, they all came running in a group shouting, "Blue Flowers! Green Flowers!". I was half waiting for them to start rocking the car. And the day when I drove my husband's car, they didn't recognize it at all, and practically came screaming when they saw the boys in the back seat.

Today was the best though: as I parked the car, they were shouting for the boys. As I put it in park and they gathered their things in the back seat, the shouts became a chant: "Blue Flowers! Blue Flowers! Green Flowers! Green Flowers!" I offered Jacob a pen so he could sign autographs when he got out, and for a split second, it felt like they were climbing out of a limo into a throng of adoring fans.

I would never wish that kind of fame on anyone--watching the royal couple this week and all the attention the new prince garnered before he'd even arrived was a perfect example of a life that will never be "normal". Ben smiles at the girls' escapades, but is essentially shy and a bit sheepish about all the attention, as I would be.

Jacob, on the other hand, blooms in the spotlight. He was singing on stage when he was five, and has loved having an audience ever since. It's easy to see he welcomes these displays, a daily chance to be admired and revered, even if he's unwilling to reveal the backstory of his fame to me.

While I would never want my kids to be hounded by fans or paparazzi, if it were a side effect of Jacob's dream job, I wouldn't begrudge him. Who knows? Such a thing might make him nostalgic for his early days of fame, the days when everyone knew and loved him by his stage name, "Blue Flowers".

Weighing In

It started with the pasta.

Once upon a time, one pound of pasta, a side salad and some garlic bread was enough to feed my family of four. As the kids' palates expanded, so did my recipe box. I could make a pound of ground beef into enough tacos for all of us; a two-pound bag of mussels would feed us all (half was shells, after all), and a pound of ground turkey made my much-loved chile, garlic and basil turkey dish.

Then one day, after seconds of pasta had been taken, the pot was empty. No leftovers? OK, we can deal with that. Next time, I'll just make a pound and a half. That was the beginning.

I have recently come to learn that, with two growing boys and their growing appetites, I must start doubling all my recipes. Otherwise, by the time my husband gets home from work, he will be eating yogurt for dinner, with a side of mustard.

I'd been warned, of course. Teenage boys are voracious, always with their heads stuck in the fridge looking for something to eat. No matter that they just ate lunch (or breakfast or dinner or snack) an hour ago. The old rules no longer apply. And while Ben is not yet a teen, he is well on his way. At least his stomach is. As with everything else, the appetite thing seems to be a competition between the brothers.

So I am thankful that I had my kitchen updated, my pantries expanded and that we are shopping for a new refrigerator. Fortunately, doubling my recipes doesn't take any extra time, so maybe I can go find a part-time job to help pay for all the extra groceries. In the meantime, I'll just make it a point not to let my fingers get too close to their mouths.

Sun So Blue

This past winter, Ben got braces. This was important and necessary and demands a great deal of responsibility. Braces require care and food restrictions and thorough cleaning and regular visits to the orthodontist. And Ben has been great about it all.

But that doesn't mean it's been easy.

Sometimes we have to remind ourselves, as adults, that when you're a kid, little things are everything. Summer is about fishing and fireflies, swimming and cookouts. So when you are denied the little things, it's a big deal. This weekend, we went to a barbecue to visit some old friends of mine who I hadn't seen in almost 20 years. While we parents talked and ate and caught up, the kids played hide and seek, went searching for lightning bugs and stopped briefly to refuel on dinner.

After dinner, we went outside to check out the fire pit, something we don't have at home. Fire pit! Burning stuff! Ashes floating up in the night sky! Totally cool! And the best was yet to come: s'mores! The best, that is, unless you have braces.

Marshmallows are a no-no with braces, so that dessert-that-says-summer was off limits to Ben. Needless to say, he felt it was unfair and was not at all happy about it. To compromise, we let him have extra chocolate and graham crackers, and then he roasted marshmallows for all the adults. It broke my heart to disappoint him, but he recovered pretty quickly.

Like most parents, I hate to deny my kids things that bring them pleasure. S'mores are as much a part of childhood summers as beaches and fireworks, and I would have loved to bend the rules. But childhood doesn't last forever, and adulthood brings even bigger disappointments. I would rather my kids learn how to handle them now, when they have my help. My hope is that when they are older, they'll be able to make the right choices, no matter how hard it is or how much easier it would be to bend the rules.

Ben may not remember this as the summer of no s'mores, but he will always carry with him the pride he felt when I praised him for his maturity. And as much as it hurt me to tell him 'no', I take some comfort that, as hard as that night was, his road ahead will be easier for it because of what he learned.

Movin' on Up

Just last week, I held my newborn son Jacob in my arms. I was sitting on the couch in the morning, and my husband had just left for work after a two-week leave to be with us. It was a rainy day, that slow, steady rain that runs down the windowpanes and makes you happy to be at home with no where special to go. Jacob and I were listening to the radio, and I was whispering to him that it was our first day alone together, that I hoped we'd be OK. I knew we were both new at this and nervous, but promised I'd do my best to give him whatever he needed, despite my sleep-deprived haze because, really, nothing was more important to me than him. Nothing. Just then, a song came on the radio by Edwin McCain that I'd never heard before. It was called "Could Not Ask For More" and the lyrics went like this:

Lying here with you, listening to the rain
Smiling just to see the smile upon your face
These are the moments I thank God that I'm alive;
These are the moments I'll remember all my life
I've found all I've waited for, and I could not ask for more.

Of course, I started bawling all over the poor, unknowing kid. It felt like the song had been written just for us, and was being played at the moment of my deepest insecurity to remind me that *this* is what life is all about, and that I was right where I was meant to be.

And just the other day, I held my youngest newborn son, Ben, in the hospital. I was in complete awe over his long eyelashes, tiny fingernails, enormous brown eyes and perfect skin. When my husband and three-year-old Jacob came in to meet him, I could see the love and excitement in their eyes, feel the joy of our expanding family and the impatience to get all of us home to begin our lives together.

I remember learning all about Ben, how completely different he was from his brother; a terrific eater and a terrible sleeper. I loved watching him watch his brother, his eyes following him around the room with longing, his constant wiggling and squirming as he tried in vain to get up off the changing table and run after his brother. It was pure adoration.

This week, Jacob will be graduating from 8th grade and moving up to high school. Ben will graduate from 5th grade and be moving up to middle school. They are kind, compassionate, responsible, loving and sharp-witted boys (and I say that purely objectively). They make me proud every day, and I shudder to think about next week, when I will be attending their college graduation ceremonies, and the week after that when they will be getting married, and next month when I will become a grandmother.

Savor the moments. Take pictures, and look at them often. Write them down, then read them over and over. Share them with your children. Tell them why these moments are important to you, why your *children* are important to you, and how they make you feel. Live and re-live your life with them, as often as possible. It will keep you going on the bad days and help remind you of everything you're doing right. It will inspire you to create more good days and to continue to treasure every interaction.

A wise person once said that when it comes to parenthood, the days are long but the years are short. It was the biggest understatement ever spoken.

Shock and Awe

Last week, Jacob went on his first date, something I think is wonderful. But for some reason, each time I mentioned it to one of my mom friends (who have children the same age as Jacob), I got the same reaction: "Oh my god!"

The first time it happened, I laughed. Wow, can you believe that we're old enough to have children who date? Our babies, who brought us together at the new mothers' group at the local library, are no longer babies. How time flies, I figured she was thinking.

But then it happened again. And again. And suddenly, I was wondering, what the heck? Why do these mothers sound so afraid, aghast, shocked? I didn't say Jacob got arrested. I didn't say I'd found a crack pipe in his backpack. So why all the horror?

Could it be that, since they don't know the kids involved as well as I do, their minds go down the stereotypical "teen dating" track? Dating leads to kissing leads to petting leads to--agh!--sex. It's understandable.  As parents, none of us want to think about our kids being old enough for that. 

But just because I (and the kids) called it a date, we must not forget that the interested parties are kids. So they are starting off with baby steps, as they would with any new endeavor. Dinner at a restaurant, dessert at the ice cream stand, then hanging out and drawing at the house afterwards. Sweet. By the book. Like when I was a kid.

They worked out the details of restaurant, finances and timing. I just did the driving. They have been good friends for a few years because they have a lot in common. And they are both new to the whole "dating" thing, likely influenced by hearing all of their peers talk about it. But the reality? It's just a play date by another name.

There are a lot of scary things in the world, and I need to prepare my boys to face them. And maybe it's just my own naivete, but I don't see dating as one of them.

To me, dating is the beginning of a years-long journey in emotional maturity and self-discovery. Jacob's going to have to go through it eventually; we all do. It's part of growing up. Now I'm seeing him start the journey with someone he cares about, someone with whom he's shared a strong friendship, lots of laughter and mutual respect for years already. Aren't those the very things that all lasting relationships are based on?

Like any parent, I want my kids to be happy. It's my hope that one day Jacob will begin his married life the same way--with a good and trusted friend by his side. So although that's still many years down the road, shock and awe aside, I'm pretty confident he's off to a great start.

Dynamic Shift

Last week was a confusing one for Flash. For three days, my oldest son was on a trip with his class to Washington D.C. One less kid isn't terribly strange, at least to the dogs, because it happens temporarily all the time. But during one of those days, Bailey also went to the vet for a full day for some minor surgery. As the pack continued to shrink and not re-grow at the end of the day, Flash started to look worried.

Ben and I gave him lots of lovin', took him for extra walks and reminded him he was a good boy. But he spent a lot of time in his bed, only raising his head to look at me forlornly every time I came downstairs, as if asking, "what did I do wrong? How can I get him back?"

It's strange how you don't really consider the dynamic of a family until it experiences a distinct shift. Kids, of course, are the first to feel the difference. Ben didn't seem to know how to behave without Jacob in the house. Who is he when not considered in relation to his brother, the guy who's been there just like Mom and Dad ever since the day Ben was born? I couldn't figure out if he was more outgoing than usual, or if I was just more tuned-in to him. But he definitely seemed to be feeling his way, clinging a little more and acting a little differently.

Ironically, Flash seemed to be feeling the same effects in Bailey's absence. Without 'big brother' by his side, he was hesitant to walk far from me when we went out, and was particularly happy to be petted indefinitely, getting closer and closer as I scratched his ears. He'd likely have crawled into my lap if I'd let him.

More than love, I think the little guys were feeling an indefinable loss of themselves with the big guys gone. As much as they squabble, jump claim on each others' toys and beds, they look to their elders for guidance in their behavior. Sometimes it's annoying when they're around, because they're around ALL THE TIME. But when they're suddenly NOT around, things just aren't right. There is comfort in knowing they always come back, so when they don't, there's doesn't seem to be proper closure to the day.

Happily, the entire pack was reunited by Friday night, along with the addition of my writers' group. To say it was crowded and chaotic is an understatement; to describe the noise level would be difficult. Everyone stayed up far too late. But one thing is certain: everyone was happy to have everyone home, to get back to our regularly scheduled, messy life.

Night At The Library

When I was a kid, my library was walking distance from my house. A three-story building with thousands of books and lots of nooks and crannies for curling up far away from my noisy brother, it was my second home.

Fast forward, er, a bunch of years. As soon as I had kids of my own, I sought out the library in our town for books, story time, sing-a-longs and every other bit of magic libraries offer. To this day, my kids love the library, for various reasons, including the after school clubs. My middle-schooler has been part of an Anime/Gaming club this year, and it's a great way for him to socialize with friends who have already moved up to the high school. Once a year, the library holds a lock-in: an overnight event open only to members of the club. This year, Jacob got to participate.

With Jacob's permission I offered to chaperon if necessary, and the staff took me up on it. I'm not sure who was more excited: me or Jacob. This past Friday, we showed up as the library was closing, sleeping bags, pillows and toothbrushes in hand, for our first ever library sleepover.

First off, it should be noted that, in this particular instance, the very definitions of 'library' and 'sleepover' go right out the window. This is because:

1)  I am fairly confident the library walls have never contained the volumes it did that night (I'm talking audio, not literary or crowds). There were 15 of us: two adults, four teenage boys and nine teenage girls. If my calculations are correct, 9TeenG + 4TeenB (pizza + Doritos + Pepsi) = energy + volume levels²⁰⁰. When glow sticks are factored in, the exponent doubles.

2) Very little sleeping occurred. Apparently, teenage brains closely resemble those of bats in that they are most active at night and in the wee morning hours. As a result, things didn't really get rolling until about 10pm (note: this is my usual bedtime).

Despite appearances, teenagers are really just little kids in adult bodies. Even though I expected everyone to play video games, watch movies and text all night, none of that happened.

When the energy got high, there was a library-wide scavenger hunt, a multi-round game of hide-and-seek and a 100+ glow stick fight. And when it slowed down, there were lanyards and friendship bracelets, cookies and books, card games and nail polish, music and lots of conversation. One student even pulled out his favorite kiddie books from the Children's Room: Goodnight Moon, One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish and a stack of others. He read them all, out loud, and had an attentive audience.

I was able to stay awake until about 2:15, then dozed for another hour until it was finally 'lights out'. With the girls in one section of the library, the boys in another and the librarian and me in the middle, I slept like a cat, rousing whenever I heard the slightest sound. By 6:15am, kids were headed back and forth to the bathrooms, and it was time for breakfast.

Despite having too much junk food and not enough sleep, it was a great night, even for me. I got some reading done, some writing, and learned a few things from each kid I spoke with. Jacob loved it too. He had hours of play time with his closest friends, with no little brother or bedtime to interrupt the fun. Mom was there but somehow managed to not embarrass him. And best of all, a girl he's liked for a while asked him out, and everyone applauded.

(PS: he said 'yes'.)

On the way home, I asked Jacob if he would do it again next year. Through his yawns, he said his only complaint is that he has to wait a whole year. Would I do it again? Yes, especially if the kids are as terrific as the ones from this year. Next time, I may even get in on the glow stick fight.

The Groupie

My eldest son, now 13, has always loved to sing. He graduated from chorus to All-County Chorus in school a few years ago, took some private voice lessons for a while and is also a part of the drama club at school (think: musicals). So most people would assume it was only a matter of time until I would hear him utter those fateful words: "Mom, I joined a band."

I was not one of those people.

When I hear the word "band", I think of horns and clarinets and off-key productions in the school auditorium. No, Jacob explained, a rock band. He saw a flyer in school, he went to the audition and passed the test. I was looking at the new lead singer for Black Magma.

Oh, ha ha, OK, great! Sounds like fun, I encouraged. The next day, he asked if he could host band practice at our house on Saturday. As far as I knew, they were still looking for a drummer, so I said he could. Five teenage boys and no drummer. How bad could it be?

Further investigation revealed that practice would include a keyboardist, a bass player, two guitar players, multiple amps and microphones and lots and lots of volume. We quickly deduced we did not have the space, relegated them to the outside deck and prayed for good weather.

Saturday came. We rounded up power strips and extension cords, warned the neighbors and locked up the dogs. Four vans full of gear arrived and emptied out. My husband was the roadie. Snacks and drinks were distributed. Plugs were plugged in. Instruments were tuned up. Lyrics were printed out. Our neighbors had guests over, and just as practice was beginning, we noticed them all filing out onto their deck. Had they forgotten our warning? Apparently not, because although it was chilly, they remained outside and the music began.

I went inside to try to do some work. I figured since the boys were outside on the lower deck and I was inside on the upper level, I might just get some writing done. Clearly, this was my first band practice. I got nothing done. But I did enjoy watching them from the window, listening to them laugh as they talked and worked together. When I heard them belt out songs by KISS and Iron Maiden in their sweet, on-the-verge-of-changing voices, and saw their smiles and pink cheeks in the cool air, I had to resist the urge to tell them how cute they all were. (I double-checked with my mom on this one: 'cute' is a definite no-no word when talking to rock bands.) But when they finished rehearsal and the neighbors all stood up and applauded, my heart swelled more than it would have if they had been at Madison Square Garden.

Yes, the dogs were out of their minds. Yes, it took 1/4 of the practice to set up and break down all the equipment and they only practiced three songs. But they had a great time, are planning their next rehearsal, and the whole experience made me realize my little boy isn't a little boy anymore. As I stood around chatting with the other moms about it, this sad realization was tempered when a few of the band members, after packing up, made their parents stay a few minutes longer so they could go play on the swing set in the corner of the yard.

The Connoisseur

Recently, Flash (our Beagle) has been on antibiotics. It's a three-week, twice-a-day regimen of big, chalky pills that must be taken with food. Never a fan of regular ol' dog food, Flash is already a tough customer when it comes to selling him on finishing his meals. So in order to be sure he'd take the pill and then finish his food, we have developed a complex choreography of song-and-dance most often reserved for picky toddlers. 

At first, we would wrap the pill in a small piece of bread and feed it to him. To get him to eat the dog food in his dish right after that, we'd pour warm water over his kibble to form a gravy. That worked for a day or two, but then he started eating the bread and spitting out the now-mushy pill. So I started melting a little chicken fat and dipping the bread in the resulting liquid to give it a bit of flavor and enticing aroma. Then I would mix the remaining fat with warm water and pour it over the kibble to warm it up and give it some flavor. That worked for a couple more days. Then Flash figured out how to get the pill out of the wet bread and starting spitting it out again.

So then I decided to try wrapping a thinly sliced piece of roast beef around the pill. I figured if he didn't take my fingers off with it, he'd snarf the whole thing down so fast, he wouldn't even realize there was a pill inside. I was right. To get him to eat his kibble afterward, I would pour warm water over it, and bury a few little pieces of the roast beef in the pile so he'd eat his way down to it.

Not to be outsmarted, Flash used his infamous nose to sniff out the pieces of beef, digging through the kibble and dropping it on the tray around his dish. Why fill up on that garbage when you can have real beef? Eventually he would find all the beef and then go back and eat the kibble because he was still hungry. But today, he decided he only wanted the meat. When he finished eating, his food tray looked like the underside of a toddler's high chair. I'm running out of options.

I laugh because when we first got Flash, Ben commented on how he would just wolf down his food, unlike Bailey, who would 'savor it.' Clearly, raising the bar of what goes in his dish has gone to Flash's head. The worst part is that he is going to be sorely disappointed when he finishes his medicine this week and goes back to being served dry kibble. But he's obviously a smart dog; eventually he'll realize there's nothing else coming. Maybe then he'll go back to clearing his plate.