Farts are funny, especially in a family with children.
Farts come up regularly in our everyday conversations, in jokes, and in pranks. And they come out (also regularly) in the bathtub, in a car with the windows closed. Ew…who farted?!
But you don’t. Ever. Fart. On. My. Newish. Sofa. I bought it at Macy’s.
A book about fart sounds? Right up our alley. In fact, Farts Around the World is quite educational. You learn about farts in Switzerland that resemble goat herding in the Alps. About farts in Jamaica that sound like Reggae music.
So, what’s for dinner? A big ol’ pot of beans. They are good source of fiber and protein. They are cheap. They are delicious. And they provide oh-so-much fun.
We have imposed a new-and-improved no swear rule around our house. The swear jar wasn’t very effective, so it morphed into: if you swear, do an extra chore. Here’s a broom. Here’s the toilet scrubbing brush. Here’s a pile of laundry to fold.
Who needs Snow White’s forest friends to clean when you have children with mouths like sailors? :-)
This rule has been so effective that once everyone caught on, the swearing was minimized and the mess returned.
On Tuesday, I spotted dirty dishes mounting in the sink, overflowing onto the counter. And I heard the kids arguing about whose job it was to load the dishwasher. I could not help but yell:
“WHO IS GOING TO DO THESE F’ING DISHES??!!”
Because I had had enough. But no sooner had the words left my mouth, I regretted both my word choices and how extremely loud my voice had transformed in those few seconds.
Yet, the dishes were promtly loaded. And everything–including the language–was clean again. Until day two…
When I was in sixth grade, everyone had to memorize a poem in front of the class. Mine was The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost.
I had practiced. I had recited it to my stuffed animals several nights prior. I was ready.
The day I was to present, I wore a matching blouse and skirt, with parrots-and-tropical-flowers print, and white sandals. A perfect outfit for a confident young lady. My grandmother had bought it for me and I wore it proudly.
Except. When I stood in front of the classroom, I lost all confidence and nerves took over. I wiped my sweaty palms on my parrots skirt and took a deep breath.
My poem is The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost, I began.
And then. Blank. No words. I had forgotten every line.
I looked at my teacher with tears welling up in my eyes. She let me sit down.
Fast forward several years later.
My daughter, who is in the sixth grade, presented her project on Egyptian Gods to her class. Dressed in a plaid hoodie and headband, she was ever-so-confident as she stood in front of her class. She took a deep breath and bam.
We re-watched Groundhog Day last week. A movie that I could watch over and over. And over. (Get it?)
It got me thinking. Imagine the ability to have a do over. If your day is crappy, you can go back to fix it. To adjust. To make things right. To start fresh. To do the things you always wanted to do.
But, remember Phil in the movie? Every morning, he woke up only to find that it was February 2. Again. And again. He was doomed to spend that day over and over, reliving the same day for the rest of his life.
I admit, sometimes I resist change. But I also have learned that, especially when it comes to parenting, I have to embrace change and keep moving forward.
What can you buy for a dime these days? And who carries around dimes anyway?
A long time ago, I bought my first record album for a dime. (A record album is a round, vinyl disc the size of a large plate, with songs on it. It requires a record player and uses a needle placed in the groove on the surface in order to play.)
Teaser and the Firecat. At a garage sale.
This was before Yusuf Islam. Before MP3s. This was when I earned dimes as allowance.
I didn’t know who Cat Stevens was. I didn’t own a record player yet. But the colorful and fanciful album cover caught my eye. And with dimes jingling in my pocket, I couldn’t resist.
I never appreciated the song Morning Has Broken until years later. And then I treasured my first music purchase all the more. Bought for a dime.
I have always heard that parenting is tough. Especially the letting go part.
Framed in a positive way, it’s about loving, encouraging, and supporting your children to grow and become young adults. You want them to learn, find happiness, be independent, and move forward. Try new things! Be your own person! Learn responsibilities! Do what you love! Become independent!
Leave the nest! (Yeah, no. I am not ready.)
The day I spotted these geese flying was the same day I dropped off my fifteen-year-old son in the school parking lot, as he headed off on a three-day wrestling tournament far away. As I watched him board the bus with his teammates–his bags and gear packed–he was happy, excited, eager.
Hug. I love you. I’m proud of you.
My son was doing what he should be doing. Growing, being challenged, taking chances, becoming independent, and moving forward.
But what was I doing? I was staring at the lake, with tears in my eyes. Watching the geese fly away.
To me, nothing is more comforting when you’re sick than a grilled cheese sandwich. Especially one that’s made with love. And butter. Golden, crusted bread with melted cheese overflowing. When you make one for the patient, you kinda have to make one for yourself.
Our family has been sick a lot this winter. Which means, there has been a whole lot of nurturing going on. And a whole lot of bread, cheese, and butter.
When my youngest son and I visited my aunt and uncle, my uncle asked if we wanted grilled cheese for lunch. Yes! And I could tell it was made with so much love (and American cheese) because it was quite possibly one of the best grilled cheese I have ever eaten. My son and I still reminisce…remember that sandwich?!
It was probably all the love that made it taste so good.
I wish I could just get rid of THIS. And she grabbed the flab at her belly, to emphasize the extra bulk and her dissatisfaction with herself. This woman is tall, amazing, and beautiful. Nearly six feet tall. Slender and active. Pretty eyes and cute pony tail. Mother of two. And yet, she’s so hard on herself. Pointing out flaws, instead of embracing all the good that she is and does.
Why are we so hard on ourselves?
The January covers of health magazines feature “Here’s to a brand new you!” And offer tips how we can change and transform ourselves. How to be healthier, slimmer, better.
But I think what we need to transform first is our self love.
We need to start loving ourselves more.
When the negative self-deprecating thoughts take over, it’s time to reframe. Maybe go for a hike to breathe in some fresh air, admire some big trees and the beauty that is everywhere, and get a fresh perspective on the bigger picture.