Breakfast With Olivia Newton John

At least that’s what I thought when I looked across from my eggs the other morning and saw my four year old as you see her. Was she singing “Let’s Get Physical?”, no, but at least I got your attention.
Are you a bad listener? I hate to bruise your ego, but probably! Hopefully you aren't a terrible reader. Think about it, how often are you formulating your next sentence in your head? And when you do hear someone, are you really listening? I mean, do you really understand what the person is conveying? Probably not, if for no other reason than the English language is riddled with ambiguities, and we tend not to say exactly what we mean. Maybe we are all good listeners but terrible speakers. Well, anyone who knows me knows I like to talk. I was talking to a friend I hadn't seen in a while the other day, and she misheard something I said during our conversation, and she ran with it. There was no stopping her. I tried. But apparently she has been training in hyperbaric chambers for competitive breath-holding. I mulled it over quietly in my mind; the conundrum that I must appear like a moron to her, for her to have misunderstood me in such a way, and that to try to backtrack ten minutes into the conversation would make me look well, more moronic. All the while she carried on and I nodded sympathetically, inserting the proper remarks "of course", "sure" and then, what was she saying? What was I saying? So my goal is to be a better listener this month. You can be a better listener too. Start by practicing with me here. First, have someone nearby read this quote to you:

"Listen to the mustn'ts, child. Listen to the don'ts. Listen to the shouldn'ts, the impossibles, the won'ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me... Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.” Shel Silverstein

Next, go to some outing, make a new friend, and try really hard not to obsess over what you should say next.
For those of you wondering what happened last month with Harry Potter, it was well after 5 pm on the night of the premier and my husband was waving frantically at me to get the kids out of our bedroom as he rapidly turned the pages of Deathly Hollows. He was at Harry's dream of King's Cross Station with Dumbledore. We left for the movie around 9pm (it was a midnight showing). He finished the whole series, though he may have missed a few salient points here or there (How many horcruxes were there? Just kidding). He was determined not to be reading Deathly Hollows in the theatre though we did have two hours to kill. The definition of true love: your spouse takes you to see a movie, and the only other adults present in the theatre are chaperoning teenagers and preteens. I immediately confessed to the boy taking my ticket that "Yes, I am a grown woman going to see the premier of Harry Potter". He laughed, hard enough to confirm my embarrassment was warranted. Then I explained that the disinterested white dude ten feet behind me staring at a poster for Cowboys v. Aliens was in fact my husband who I "forced" to join me. Well, I was the only one in the theatre with the brains to bring an Ipad and watch Harry Potter Deathly Hollows Part 1 in my lap while waiting for Part 2 to start. Who's laughing now! The good news is that my husband no longer teases me about Harry Potter, but morosely complains about the lack of screenplay loyalty to the books whenever the topic comes up. So, I suppose I have had a victory in my little experiment.
Lastly, I want to remind you all that September marks the fall equinox, the beginning of my favorite season. I love this time of year so much, we even named my third daughter Autumn (no, my first two aren't named Summer and Winter, Smarty Pants). The first cool air, the crunch of dried leaves underfoot, the first frost on the window pane, football season, cocoa and more. It's all around the corner, and a reminder that nothing ends. God's promises are new every morning, just listen for them.

One, Two, Velcro My Shoe....

Ugg. I have been repeating this Mother Goose rhyme for nearly five years and I'm never quite sure if I should say velcro, buckle or tie.  Diversity in footwear seems to be a phenomenon that has gotten little attention in the world of preschooler development.  All those little soft activity books and dolls are still insisting we teach our children to tie shoe laces. I know, having been a triathlete in my pre-mom decades of adult life, shoe laces have not gone entirely by the wayside. I have taught my children to use the potty by 18 months, to make their own beds by 2.5, to put their own laundry away by 3, but this aspect of self-sufficiency I just cannot will myself to tackle.  Will my daughters end up like the fictional Crane Brothers who reached 40 and still couldn't ride bicycles?  Will they have a secret stigma that they never learned to tie laces? This of course has come to the forefront of my mind as a few weeks ago we buckled (pun intended) and bought the "Twinkle Toes" light up sneakers from Sketchers. Yes, I succumbed to the latest rage in little children fashion market, but I will leave the downward pit of materialism for another blog. (For the record, I was scientifically minded in admiring the technological aspect of these shoes when I made the purchase, heh heh...).  These shoes even come with a choice of laces: pink or silver. Now they sit in the shoe bins unused as we all ignore the elephant in the room. My girls have no idea how to tie the laces, and they are already programmed to put on one of the dozen other non-lacing pairs and strap themselves into their carseats when it's time to leave the house. Not to mention that sneakers require socks or they start to stink and make really poor hand-me-downs. And did you know stinky feet encourage more mosquito bites? Anyone else encounter the lace dilemma? What age do you teach shoe-lace tying?

Pottermania Showdown

Dear Reader,
Happy Independence Day! I hope you are getting a well deserved break over this holiday.    I am looking forward myself to seeing the last installment of Harry Potter in theatres on July 15th at 12:01 AM at the IMAX in 3D.
I have read the Harry Potter books twice, and I have endured relentless ribbing from my husband. He has not read them, but enjoys making frequent immature retorts whenever he sees me with a Harry Potter book regarding his opinion of what a teenage boy would do if he really possessed a magic wand. When he found out I had bought tickets for the premier, he had more derisive comments and snickers about the “Dumbledorks” and other nerds that would be surrounding me in line to see the movie. Then he was apoplectic that I had not considered he would go with me. I told him it was imperative that he read all the books first, for he had not seen all the movies and I did not want the Harry Potter literary experience to be spoiled for him. My thinking was that perhaps if he read the books I wouldn’t have to endure any more lude wand jokes. My husband agreed! The date was June 25th. That left 20 days to read all seven books, which doesn’t sound too hard, but my husband does have to work for a living, watch sports, and sleep at some point. I sweetened the pot immediately by changing the cat litter boxes and offering to do many other household chores. Umm, did I mention that I have the slight complication that every babysitter we know so far also has tickets for the premier?
Will my husband get through all the books? If he does, will he continue his relentless teasing? Will I find a babysitter without a felony conviction? Stay tuned for the outcome... Meanwhile, remember as you don your Professor McGonagall costume and venture out at midnight to join the multitudes, we are blessed to live in a free country where we are free to do this!

Subject Matter Expert (SME)

My husband and I attended a funeral last month.   Funerals can be, as this one was for us, a time for quiet reflection and an assessment of our time here on earth so far.  If your relationship with your significant other is perhaps languishing, I highly recommend a good funeral.  This is an opportunity for thought-provoking and philosophical discussion, appreciation for one another, etc.  Thinking about death got us into a lively and riveting debate about faith.  Many physicians we know in my husband's profession are atheists.  As a "renaissance" woman myself, and fairly well studied in areas such as astrophysics and engineering, I still find our universe an amazing place that does not preclude the existence of God. Our four year old has been asking a lot of questions about death and what happens to people, so I have been in the hot seat on the subject.  Parents are suppose to have all the answers, right?  I take this parental role to heart and strive to dole out wisdom worthy of the finest fortune cookies.  This is a tall order (probably more for some than others).  I grew up with a mother who amused herself to no-end by educating me with tall tales and made-up words, and you can imagine my distress when I came home from school at the tender age of 5 after having been ridiculed relentlessly and discovering that no one on God's green earth refers to our tushes as "tooleys" or our excrement as "dupers".   Nor had there ever really existed a little girl named Suzanne who had her head lopped off by a utility pole while leaning out a school bus window. The rich array of completely fabricated stories that made up a good portion of my home education as a primary schooler would fill an encyclopedia and it was pure, unadulterated fiction. 
Fast forward to present day.  Being my mother's child, I have a strong predilection to occasionally tell a tall tale for my own personal amusement and satisfaction, yet I've learned to refrain. The real challenge has been my own high bar to come off as Albus Dumbledore in my own home.  I am no Subject Matter Expert (SME as the military lingo goes) in life and death.  The funeral had me wondering about silly things, like if we have souls that make up the essence of what we are, I suspect they do not exist in the realm of physics as particles we would recognize.  Why wouldn't people who lost hundreds of pounds on a diet be in jeopardy of losing part of their soul?  And if we ever invent transporters like in Star Trek, where would your soul go? The transporter can reassemble every atom of you, but how could it recognize your soul if it is not made of atoms as we know it?  A skeptic would scoff and reply that there is no such thing as a soul, but I am certain this is untrue. I believe the essence of who we are is more than our brain, our heart, and our miscellaneous body parts.
Well, our time here is limited and that is a fact. Comradery, friendship, service to others, these are all ways to experience quality personal growth in the here and now, and perhaps investing in your role in eternity.  What a bargain deal! And just maybe, when you reach out to others, you are enriching your own role as "SME" in your own home for where love grows best, in our souls.

Pumpkin Eats Some Prunes

Little Pumpkin, just under six months old, enjoys train sounds with her first taste of prunes. Everyone loves a "chew chew choo choo"...

April Showers Bring May Flowers

When I was a child, I would join my mom on an annual hunt for the much sought-after May flower.  The May flower in New Hampshire would bloom for a very short period of time, and you had to be saavy to nab it because winter in New England can sure drag out to about nine months of the year or more. Then we have a brief period known as "black fly season", and then it's, yes, you got it, time to put your winter coat and snow suit back on.  If you aren't familiar with these flowers, they are precious little blossoms with an amazingly strong sweet scent.  The time seemed extra special to me as it coincided with my birthday.  We would drive around country roads with our eyes peeled until it became almost a primeval, instinctive reflex to detect May flowers in the banks of country roads out of the farthest reaches of our peripheral vision without a second thought.  Somehow, there are recesses in the human brain designed just so, to commit certain things such as riding a bicycle, breathing and May flower detection with a permanent nature that surpasses all other attempts to file away knowledge. So, I cannot remember what I had for breakfast yesterday, but I was flying around a country bend late that afternoon, and hit the brakes.  I had not truly thought about a May flower in nearly thirty years, but I had to back the car up and put the hazard lights on. I got out quickly, praying no other car came along and saw a crazy woman on this narrow road hunched over the shrubs inviting a tick bite (not to mention leaving her three small babes in the car!). Yes, I had spotted a banking full of the less than 1" blossom, and it had the irresistible smell of May flower. I could not believe it; for I had not been looking at the banking at all, but actually watching the road (imagine that!). 
Small but powerful, precious, and sweet.  These words remind me not just of May flowers but of my three little lambs. I am so excited to share my traditions with them, and to have every day home with them. What a blessing from God.

Sweet Signs of Spring!

The Beta Fish Lesson

Enthusiasm for your child's "firsts" in life can lead many a parent into some foolhardy situations. Case in point: purchasing two beta fish on sale for $1.50 each for two eldest daughters, two tanks (since beta fish cannot be together due to fighting), colored plastic plants in just-right fuchsia, ceramic mini- submarine, Dora mermaid, Eiffel tower, and " cave" so said-fish have an abode and learn Spanish while pretending to be Jacques Cousteau in Paris, pretty colored rocks, beta food, beta water conditioner, grand total $82.50. Oldest daughter's fish dies in 24 hrs, we explain it was a very old fish... And daughter cries periodically for months. Now mom has one remaining fish to feed daily and change water in tank every two weeks, because a mom with three children four and under has so much free time. Yes, when it is typed out like this, there seems to be so many obvious opportunities in this heinous decision matrix to have avoided the outcome, but hindsight is 20/20 and somehow I am certain we will experience deja vu, hopefully not with a dog, turtle, lizard or gerbil.