So since I found out that the Baby Einstein thing was all a big scam, I’ve been thinking about what I would tell new parents (if asked, that is.  I try really hard – not always successfully – not to give unsolicited advice.)

So here are my “rules” for parenting, for if anyone is interested:

1. Relax. Take a deep breath.

2. Hug your kids a lot and tell them you love them at least once a day. Preferably more.

3. Act delighted to see them when you greet them, and ask them how their day was. (And try to pay attention to the answer for 5 minutes. Which I manage to do about 80% of the time.)

4. Talk to them a lot and use big words.  They may not understand all the big words right away, but they’ll figure them out. That’s how they learn language.

5. Explain why when it makes sense to do so, but don’t be afraid to say, “Because I’m the parent and I said so.”  Because it’s important that they learn to negotiate and persuade, but too much of it gets exhausting. And they need to learn that, in life, sometimes the answer is just no, and they need to accept it.

6. Relatedly, tell them frequently that life isn’t fair.  Better that they understand it than go through life with unrealistic expectations that everything is always fair and just.

7. Be as consistent as you can, but recognize that no one is consistent 100% of the time.  Consistent bedtime routines, regular schedules, plenty of sleep, it’s all good. But breaking the rules sometimes is okay. It helps them be flexible and adaptable. And too much routine can make an adult freaking crazy.

8. Don’t get stressed out if your kid seems to like the caregiver more than you. Kids can never have too many people who love them. And kids know who their mothers are. I know this from personal experience, because growing up, we had a very, very close family friend named Marian, whom I adored. She was like a second mother to me.  There were many days when I wanted to be with her instead of my own mother. To her credit, my mother never felt threatened (or if she did, she never let on.) Despite my attachment to Marian, I always knew who my real mother was.

9. Work full-time, work part-time or don’t work. Do what makes you happy (or whatever makes financial sense.) Happy mother, happy kids. (But if you work, find a caregiver who is delighted to see your child every day.  Thank you, Joanie.)

10. Laugh with your kids a lot. But try not to laugh at them. (At least when they’re around.)

11. Relax. Take a deep breath. (I know I said this already, but it bears repeating.)

Any other advice that you sage parents want to add to the list?

Oh, crap. All those Baby Einstein videos I bought aren’t going to guarantee David’s admission to Harvard? Oops – guess I’ve been duped.

(David who rarely wears a shirt unless he’s leaving the house)

I think Emma was about five when I realized that there’s a reason why most kids don’t get into Harvard, and it’s not that they didn’t watch enough PBS, or they watched too much Barney (thank God those days are over), or they weren’t read to for 20 full minutes a day, or they didn’t play enough Candyland (blech. I hate Candyland.) In many ways, they are who they are from the day they’re born, and the best we can do as parents is stay out of the way and let them be who they’re going to be. (I think Anna Quindlen once said something like that. I know I didn’t make it up.)

It’s nice to be an experienced parent. To not have to get stressed out about how many sight words David knows. Or whether Margaret knows all her colors. Or whether Emma passed her most recent Algebra test. (Ok, let’s not go there.)  There are so many times that I want to say to young parents, “Lighten up. It’s all going to be ok.” (Actually, I do say it sometimes. Not in so many words, though.)

I know, I know. I’ve had my moments.  I didn’t exactly learn all of the lessons the first time around (or maybe I learned them and forgot them in the 10-year gap between David and Emma.) Some of you remember my stress over David not knowing his colors. (In one of my weaker moments, I actually bought colored plastic blocks and drilled him every day for a week before I gave up and figured he’d learn them at some point.)  And my stress over whether he would actually be fully potty-trained by the time he went to pre-school (when he was ALMOST FOUR.) (But guess what? He’s six now, and he goes in the potty every time! And all my stress about it didn’t make any difference!)

I’m not saying that it doesn’t make any difference what we do as parents.  It’s possible to royally screw them up.  But I think that most of us overestimate the long-term effects of the mostly minor daily decisions we make as parents.  Most of it just doesn’t matter.

Now if I could only find those Baby Einstein videos. Where did I put them?

1. Margaret untethered the hot air balloon in the garage and it took me 12 hours to find her.

2. Had to get ready to host bunco.

3. Spending hours and hours making home-made Halloween costumes. No one will believe that one.

4. Catching up on episodes of Glee. (Good show)

5. Catching up on episodes of Modern Family.  (Great show)

6. Catching up on episodes of Dexter, Season 2. (Great show)

7. Trying to practice my art skills so I can stay ahead of David. Futile. He’s already surpassed me. (Not saying much. I can’t even draw a cat that’s recognizable as a cat.)

8. Can’t keep up with news stories about rich, powerful men getting themselves into trouble because they aren’t thinking with their brains. (Not judging, just saying.)

9. Writer’s block. Oh, the pressure.

10. Trying to find the rake. (If you look at my front lawn, you’ll see that I still haven’t found it.)

11. Birthday parties, parent-teacher conferences, weekend get-aways, soccer, work, doctor’s appointments/H1N1 vaccines, Halloween parties, meetings, 10k’s, piano recitals, book club.

But it’s all good…

I adapted this recipe from one I saw in Woman’s Day a few years ago. It’s delicious.  I serve it with a side of boiled red potatoes or boiled noodles with a bit of parmesan and olive oil.

Ingredients:

4 cod fillets

1 cup panko bread crumbs, Italian-flavored

2 Tbsp. olive oil

2 Tbsp. freshly grated Parmesan cheese

1 lb. spinach

2 garlic cloves, peeled and minced

1 Tbsp. olive oil

2 Tbsp. pine nuts, toasted

Toss  spinach, olive oil, garlic and pine nuts in a large rectangular glass baking dish.

Combine bread crumbs, 2 Tbsp. olive oil and grated parmesan in a bowl.  Roll cod pieces in mixture and place over spinach mixture. (I find it hard to get the bread crumb mixture to stick, so I end up pressing it onto the fish.)

Bake, covered with aluminum foil, in a 450 degree oven for 10 minutes.  Remove foil and bake for 5 more minutes.  Serve immediately.

Dear David,

Please accept my sincere apologies for the fact that I did not collect your tooth and leave money last night.  I can only imagine your heart-rending sobs this morning when you looked under you pillow and discovered that your tooth was still there.  There’s so little in life you can really count on, and you’d think that getting money for teeth would be one of them, I know.

What can I say? I had every intention of making my usual rounds last night.  I had my wings polished and my fairy dust replenished in the morning, same as usual.  I was ready to go.  But then the Easter Bunny and I got into this really long conversation about whether Obama should have won the Nobel Peace Prize, and that segued into the state of higher education in America, and the next thing you know, it was 3:00 in the morning, and I had totally missed my flying window.

I realize that my only job in life is delivering money to the children who have lost teeth. I mean, how hard is it to do one thing well, right? And I assure you that this has never happened before and will never happen again. I will write notes to remind myself to stay away from the Easter Bunny an hour before flying time, so I don’t get sucked into conversations and get distracted. (Santa Claus too.)

I’ll make it up to you, David. I’ll bring you a little extra tonight for “interest.” (As I will have to for all the other children of the world. Man, do the math…can you say “cost over-runs?” Maybe I can get a small budget transfer from Santa. Or the Easter Bunny, but he’s so worried about the rising cost of chocolate that it’s unlikely.)

I look forward to inspecting that tooth. I’m sure it’s a fine specimen that will bring me a lot of money on the open market.

Gotta run. Can you imagine how many of these notes I have to write? Luckily, it’s a lot of cut and paste.

Again, please accept my apology and my assurance that this will never happen again, to you or any other child.

Love,

The Tooth Fairy

P.S. Whatever you do, do not blame this in any way on your mother.  She has a lot on her plate.

1. Like me, the Ad Contrarian has had a case of writer’s block. Or blog fatigue.  He’s now back after a month off, with this example of marketing at its finest. And I wonder why marketers get a bad name (especially from engineers, for some reason).

2.This spot-on animated parody about a social media guru, also found on the Ad Contrarian’s blog, should be required viewing for anyone thinking about hiring such a “guru”.

3. I must admit that I am really happy that Chicago did not get the 2016 Olympics.  I thought I’d be disappointed. But I was wrong.  I’ve had 46 happy years without living in an Olympic host city, and I expect I’ll have many more.  It would have been a huge hassle, it would have created a huge amount of debt, bad traffic, and attracted a bajillion (or should I say a brazilion) tourists. Meh.

4. Things I don’t care about: David Letterman’s sex life. Jon Gosselin. Kate Gosselin. Whether the Gosselin family TV show continues. Or Tom DeLay quitting Dancing With the Stars.

5. Overall, I’m disappointed in this seasons’ Mad Men.  There. I said it.

6. Readers of a Web site called Ship of Fools voted this the funniest religion joke ever told:

was walking across a bridge one day, and I saw a man standing on the edge, about to jump. I ran over and said: “Stop. Don’t do it.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” he asked.

“Well, there’s so much to live for!”

“Like what?”

“Are you religious?”

He said: “Yes.”

I said: “Me too. Are you Christian or Buddhist?”

“Christian.”

“Me too. Are you Catholic or Protestant?”

“Protestant.”

“Me too. Are you Episcopalian or Baptist?”

“Baptist.”

“Wow. Me too. Are you Baptist Church of God or Baptist Church of the Lord?”

“Baptist Church of God.”

“Me too. Are you original Baptist Church of God, or are you Reformed Baptist Church of God?”

“Reformed Baptist Church of God.”

“Me too. Are you Reformed Baptist Church of God, Reformation of 1879, or Reformed Baptist Church of God, Reformation of 1915?”

He said: “Reformed Baptist Church of God, Reformation of 1915.”

I said: “Die, heretic scum,” and pushed him off.

Personally, I think this one is funnier.

7. 4 words that make me unlikely to read further: “Keith Olbermann’s plea for…”

One thing I’ve come to realize over the past few months is that people worry about me when I’m not blogging regularly. If a week goes by with no new posts, I start to get emails from friends and family asking if I’m okay.  Which is nice. It makes me feel cared for. And like my posts matter to some people.  So thank you for that.

So I want to let everyone know that I am fine. I have not gone off the deep end.

But I’ve gotten my ass kicked by Fall.

(I’m probably going to say “ass” a lot in this post, so if you don’t like that word, you might want to stop reading.)

In the Summer, I had myself convinced that I had everything under control. That I could continue to do everything that I wanted to do and still keep all the plates spinning (for those of you old enough to have watched Ed Sullivan.)  Yes, in the lazy days of summer, I was convinced that I could continue to blog regularly, and take piano lessons, sing in the church choir, take care of the kids, and cook healthy dinners. And oh yeah, work full time.

And then September kicked me in the ass.

The arrival of school (including moves from pre-school to kindergarten and from day care to pre-school) brought a cyclone of activities, with curriculum nights (funny, I don’t remember my mother ever going to kindergarten curriculum night. Or any curriculum night. But I digress…) Cross country (for Emma) and soccer (for David.) And let’s not forget the Kindergarten Homework.

Then there are the activities created by the “back at it” nature of Fall.  Hey-we-haven’t-had-book-club-all-summer-let’s-get-together.  That-planning-meeting-at-church-that-we-put-off-yeah-we-should-probably-do-that.

Then there are the Fall birthday parties. I don’t know whether there are more kids with Fall birthdays, or it’s just that every kid with a Fall birthday has a party, but there are a lot of birthday parties (including David’s.)

Then there’s the increased activity (doctor’s appointments, physical therapy) caused by Emma’s back injury, which isn’t Fall-related but happened at a REALLY BUSY TIME. (Note to Emma: no more water-skiing.)

Many days I feel like I’m doing a pretty half-assed job at keeping all the plates spinning.

I have simplified.  I am taking a break from the non-essentials. I’m taking a break from piano lessons. I’m not going to choir rehearsal on a regular basis. And I’m not even running as much as I was. And we know I’m not blogging much.

But we are managing. Actually, we are thriving. We are all healthy (except for Emma’s continued back problems.) Somehow we get to school and work every day. David loves kindergarten and is doing great. Margaret loves pre-school and is also doing great.  Emma is loving her junior year. I’m very happy at work.

Things should get easier when Emma gets her driver’s license next week. (Did I just say that?) And things should calm down after October.  When we’re used to the schedule. And the back-to-school activities cease. And all we have to do is get ready for the holi…

Never mind.

Now that Fall is here, I’ve been cooking again.  I found this basic recipe in Good Housekeeping magazine, and doctored it up a bit.  Everyone liked it – Emma even took leftovers of it to school for her lunch. (And her friends asked for copies of the recipe.)

1 lb. spaghetti or linguine

1 clove garlic, thinly sliced ( I use garlic from a jar. Saves time.)

4 med. skinless, boneless chicken breast halves

1/4 c. rice vinegar

1/4 c. soy sauce

1/3 c. smooth peanut butter

3 Tbsp. water

2 tsp. grated fresh ginger

1/2 cucumber, peeled and thinly sliced

1 bag shredded carrots

1 medium red pepper, thinly sliced

lots of cilantro

1. Boil water. Cook pasta according to directions. Rinse and drain pasta.

2. Meanwhile, in a 12-inch skillet, heat garlic and 1 inch of a water to boiling on high. Add chicken, reduce heat to medium-low and cook chicken for 13-14 minutes (until it’s not pink. Pink is bad for chicken.) Remove chicken from skillet and place in a bowl of ice water for 5 minutes. Throw out the icky water.  With hands, shred chicken.

3. While chicken and pasta are cooking, in a large bowl whisk vinegar, soy sauce, peanut butter, water and ginger until smooth.

4. To bowl with peanut sauce, add pasta, shredded chicken, cucumber, carrots and pepper; toss to coat.  To serve, garnish with lots of cilantro.

The last time I made this, I added some steamed broccoli to it as well, as both David and Margaret are eating broccoli these days, and request it early every day. I do not know why – it totally came out of the blue.

Our cat, Mick, wasn’t doing well.  He was old. Somewhere between 15 and 20 years old.  (We don’t know for sure because he had several owners before Tim.)  He was blind, he was down to skin and bones (maybe 4 pounds soaking wet), and this weekend, he could no longer jump on the couch.

Last night, when I got home from a church meeting, Emma told me Mick was worse. He wasn’t moving much, wasn’t eating, he had a pretty serious eye infection, and to be honest, he didn’t really look like the same cat as before…it was like he had already started to cross over.  So I planned to take him to the vet first thing in the morning.

Except that when I woke up, I couldn’t find him. We looked everywhere (actually, I looked everywhere. Emma refused to look under the beds.) I finally saw his big fluffy tail sticking out from under the shelving in the utility closet in the basement. Not moving. Not responding to his name.

This presented me with a dilemma. I didn’t want to leave him there to die if he wasn’t already dead.  I owed him more than that. If he wasn’t already dead, I wanted to hold him while he died. But I really, really, really didn’t want to pick him up if he was already dead.  Eeewww. So I started pacing. And making phone calls for moral support, hoping that someone would say something that would give me the nerve to pick him up.  And that helped, but I still couldn’t pick up the cat. Then I went to get Stephanie for moral support, but she was as scared and skeeved out as I was.

So then I did what any strong, independent woman would do.  I went around the neighborhood to see if I could find a man who was willing to pick up a potentially dead cat to see if it was actually dead.  Unfortunately, no one was home. Not Tom or Matt or Joe.  But luckily, one of my neighbor’s lawn service guys overheard me talking and offered to help me. (Thank you, lawn service guy whose name I don’t even know. He didn’t actually have to pick up the cat, because as we were walking down to the basement, Mick moved, so I knew he was alive.)

It turns out he wasn’t dead. But he was close. He was barely breathing.  He wasn’t moving much.

So I drove to the closest animal hospital that was open. (Not our regular vet.) The receptionist was so kind.  I told her that it was Mick’s time and she explained to me what would happen.

Then the vet came in and this is where the experience took a bad turn. She cheerily asked me when the last time was that he had blood work. I’m sorry…was this a date I was supposed to remember? And she said, you know, maybe he has something treatable. We could do blood work to find out.  To which I said, no thanks, I know that this is the right thing to do. It’s time.

And then. And then she rolled her eyes and sighed a loud sigh. Yes, she did. And then she thrust a piece of paper at me and said in an exasperated tone of voice, “Okay, then, sign this.” And I wanted to yell at her….please tell me you didn’t just do the eye roll thing.  As if. As if I woke up this morning, and said, you know, this cat is really a nuisance. I think I’ll kill it today.

To be f air, she was much more compassionate and kind when she came back in the room to give him the shot. I don’t know why. Maybe she hadn’t actually seen him and the condition he was in before she suggested the blood work. Maybe she got over herself. I don’t really know. I was ready to give her a piece of my mind if she still had the attitude, but it wasn’t necessary.

So here’s my question….at what point did the expectation become that we’re supposed to go to extreme measures to prolong the life of a dying pet? And at what point did someone decide that any pet owner not willing to do this is cruel and heartless?  I don’t think it makes me a bad person because I wasn’t willing to do blood work on a cat that was clearly dying, and had, in fact, gone off to die in a place where I had trouble finding him. I know that I did the right thing. But did I really need a guilt trip from a young, holier-than-thou vet at that very moment?

My lasting memory of Mick will be of him sprawled across my abdomen as I was lying on the couch, when I was very pregnant with David. Mick was incubating me.  (I have no memory of him doing this when I was pregnant with Margaret. I think I was too busy to lie down.)

He loved soft, comfy blankets, and human companionship.  His favorite place to hang out was next to a warm radiator.  He loved us and we loved him.

And we will miss him very much.

1. Fix a balloon animal when it starts to fall apart, or unwind, or whatever it is that balloon animals do when they stop being the shape that the balloon animal man created. 

2. Go back in time and make things be different. (As in, BUT I DIDN’T WANT YOU TO CUT MY SANDWICH!!!!!) (But won’t in be a happy day for everyone when I develop the capability to do this?)

3. Throw a baseball. (Kick a soccer ball…this list could go on and on.)

4. Make Teletubbies appear on the TiVo (it’s not on TV anymore. There are some things that I’m happy I can’t do. This is one of them.)

5. Make Apple Jacks miraculously appear in the cupboard without actually going to the store. (BUT I WANT APPLE JACKS!!!!!)

6. Remember to check David’s backpack every day. (Yes, I’m still flunking kindergarten.)

7. Make the damn weeds stop growing the backyard. (I keep KILLING THEM and they keep reappearing.)

8. Fix trains. (But thank goodness for Joe, our next-door neighbor, who is a train fixer.)

9. Get the Sharpie stains out of the carpet (but we’ve already been through that. Still trying.)

10. Make my kids eat peas. (Or any vegetable, for that matter. But I keep trying.)