peskypippi.comBecause I have a lot to say…

My daughter learned three life lessons this week.

And I was reminded that I often blurt things out without consulting The Proper Parenting Handbook.

Here’s what happened.

My daughter came home upset that she wasn’t invited to her friend’s upcoming birthday party.

• “What?!” I shrieked. “But you guys play all the time!”
• “Yeah,” she said sadly. “She just didn’t want to invite ME.”
• “What a little bitch!” I said.

Lesson one: Ten-year-old girls can be bitches too.

Another day after school, my daughter came home even more upset that her puka shell necklace–her prized $3 purchase from our trip to Hawaii–broke into 200 puka shell pieces. She was planning to wear it all year, to remember our wonderful family vacation. A boy had grabbed her necklace from her neck (!), sending puka shells scattering.

• “What an asshole!” I exclaimed. “Let’s get him to apologize.” That seemed to make her feel better.

Lesson two: Calling someone an asshole for asshole behavior automatically makes you feel better.

• And I offered, “Oh, Sweetie, I know that was special to you. I could buy you another one but it wouldn’t be the same, would it?”
• “No,” she lamented. “That was my special necklace.”

Lesson three: Some valuable things can’t be replaced, because the value is in the memories.

I may not say all the right things. I may say some very wrong things. But I always try to talk things out with my daughter. Even if an obscenity pops out from time to time.

Pete and Repeat were on a boat

Pete fell off

Who was left?

Repeat.

And so goes the old joke my Dad used to tell me. When he asked “Who was left?” I answered “Repeat” every time. At age nine, I was dense as a rock.

I’m less dense now and finally get it. Ahhh, it’s a total metaphor, isn’t it?

You row your boat in life. You balance. And you try not to fall in the water.

But sometimes you do. And that sucks.

Then you climb back aboard. And you repeat.

Good joke, Daddy.

Looks can be deceiving. And eye opening.

The last time I took my kids swimming, it was: Splash! Slide! Marco Polo!

“You be the dolphin, I’ll be the shark!”

It was non-stop fun!

Another Mom caught my eye. She was a total hottie and was rocking her bikini. I stared. I couldn’t help it. She had a perfect body. I was instantly jealous.

Me? I was wearing my tankini. And, yeah, appropriately named. I kinda looked like a tank. But whatever.

The other Mom? She was gripping the pool’s edge. Not splashing. Or sliding. Or Marco Polo’ing. Or playing shark-eats-dolphin.

Why not??

I continued to glance over. What was her deal? Were her eyes sad? Wistful? I could feel her eyes on me. Was she watching me splash and play?

And then.

After the kids and I changed and piled into the car, I saw the bikini woman in the parking lot. Her face had a pained look; she was hurting. I now saw that she had M.S. and walked with a cane.

Wow.

It was truly eye opening. My jealousy instantly vanished. And like the Grinch, my compassion grew three sizes that day.

I used to know a thing or two about a thing or two. And now I know a thing or three about a thing or three.

See, I’m trying out a few new things in 2013. So far:

1. I got a new hairdo. I added bangs. Old is new again; I had this hairstyle in the 5th grade!
2. I learned how to make balloon animals with my young son. We watched clowns on YouTube. If clowns can do it, I can do it. I can now make dogs and flowers. Booyah!
3. I made my first berry cobbler. It was delicious. Then I made another. You can see where this diet is going…
4. I went through my closet and grabbed, assessed, and dumped; thus getting rid of 1/5 of my clothes. Read here for that.
5. I tried my first sweet potato fries. Yum!
6. I’m running 4x a week with my large puppy in tow (or the other way around…whatever). This is a must given all the dang cobbler and sweet potato fries I’ve eaten this year.

See? You CAN teach an old dog new tricks.

As if it’s not enough to raise our children to be kind and confident, smart and self-sufficient, and resilient and resourceful, we also need to teach them to cook.

Yikes!

A panic washed over me last Summer when I realized that my (newly teen) son did not know how to make anything. Other. Than. A. Sandwich.

I felt that he was well on the road to being kind, confident, smart, resilient, and resourceful…but might be lacking in the self-sufficient department.

Resourceful in the kitchen? Yeah, kinda. My son was a pro at microwaving soup, frozen burritos and instant oatmeal. He also used the can opener like a whiz! Opening fruit cocktail like nobody’s business.

Frozen burritos and instant oatmeal will only get you so far.

But could he create something from scratch? Not so much.

I knew what I had to do. Teach that young man to cook!

Cooking 101: creating self-sufficient young adults. (Also known as: creating patient parents who lack proper cooking skills themselves.)

Yikes again!

We began with simple items. Grilled-cheese sandwiches. Scrambled eggs. Quesadillas with refried beans.

We also learned:

• How to cut up vegetables and serve with Ranch dip.
• How to cut an orange into slices.
• How to hardboil an egg. And then proceed to peel and slice it.

This progressed into:

• How to make a smoothie in the blender out of yogurt, juice, frozen fruit, and protein powder.

Ta da! He now knows how to make a few well-rounded meals.

Slowly but surely, my son is expanding his food-making repertoire. I am convinced that he will be self-sufficient in the kitchen someday, and be happy as a result.

And this makes me happy.

2013 brings another fresh start. This year, I decided to make four more or less resolutions.

• More love, less hate.
• More spinach, less Oreos.
• More laughs, less stress.
• More thanks, less complaints.

May your 2013 bring you more love, spinach, laughs, and thanks.

Happy New Year!

XO,

Pippi

No one ever prepared me that mothering would be so tough. That there would be many unexpected bumps in the road.

Christmas Day nine years ago was exactly this.

On Christmas morning, we were opening presents, with my 13-month-old daughter on my lap. Joyous? Giddy?

Not so much. She felt hot and lethargic. A fever was brewing. I started worrying. I readjusted her on my lap and felt something odd under her armpit. She squirmed. I excused myself from the family to check out what was up.

I took off her jammies only to reveal a lump in her armpit–the size of an egg–inflamed and hard as freaking rock.

WTH??

I quickly put her outfit back on, went downstairs, and quickly motioned for my husband to come with me for a second opinion. I didn’t want to alarm my son and mother who were enjoying the festivities.

Calls to the advice nurse. Calls to urgent care. Nothing open. It was Christmas Day, so the emergency room it was.

We decided that we would divvy up for the day. I would take my daughter to the hospital while my husband, mother, and son would head over to my in-laws to meet up with the rest of the family. And I would meet up with them in a bit. “A bit” turned into 10 hours later.

Waiting, waiting, waiting. Prodding. Testing. Perplexing.Worrying.

Turned out that it was an infection. Medicine was given. A follow-up appointment was scheduled. Then later, a surgery.

We spent 10 hours in the hospital on Christmas Day. A mother cradling her sick baby. I nervously ate an entire Tupperware container full of chocolate chip cookies that I hastily grabbed at the last minute.

But she would be OK. That was all I needed to hear.

Bumps. Lumps. Sickness. Injuries. Disappointments. Failures. Sadness. They happen. You get through it.

As a parent, you deal with your own “bumps” but also your children’s “bumps.”

May you handle the bumps in the road ahead, whatever they may be. And may they smooth out.

My daughter is ten years old. She is thriving.

Isn’t that an awesome word to describe children?

Healthy. Smart. Friendly. Kind. Pretty. Thriving.

She used to be on the shy side. She was quietly happy and happily quiet. At my encouraging, she had play dates. At my pushing, she got friends’ phone numbers at recess. Now she schedules her own play dates.

On her report cards, her teachers write “she is a pleasure to have in class”…”all of the kids like her”…”she makes others feel calm.”

Wow. To me, those words are more important than As. It just took her a few years to build confidence. And to thrive.

Today when I was jogging with my dog, Otis. We passed her elementary school while they were at recess.

Otis stood statue-like, nose in the air, tail in the air, watching the kids. (And to pee.) I squinted through the crowds of children and spotted my daughter playing kick ball against the wall with her friends. They were laughing. Squealing. Dancing. High-fiving. Thriving.

I yelled her name. She didn’t hear. I yelled again and waved like a maniac. She didn’t hear. And she certainly didn’t need Mom checking in on her.

Fast forward 10 years? I know, now, that she will be just fine.

‘Tis the season to be thankful. Thankful for dirty dishes? Thankful for eye wrinkles?

Dude! It’s all in the way you look at things. I am thankful for:

1. Dirty dishes. We always have plenty of food.
2. Sand in my car. My car reliably transports us to the beach.
3. Dog fur on my clothes. My puppy loves to cuddle.
4. Expensive grocery store bills. My kids have good appetites.
5. Long work hours. I have a good job.
6. An errand to Home Depot. It’s a date with my husband.
7. Being a chauffeur. My kids have interests.
8. A noisy house. My family is thriving.
9. Dirty soccer cleats. My kids are active.
10. Gloomy, rainy days. The grass is always green.
11. Piles of dirty laundry. I am needed.
12. Stepping on Legos with bare feet. My kids are creative.
13. My mortgage. My house is my home.
14. My children yelling. They are normal.
15. My slow-ass jogging skills. I am trying.
16. Eye wrinkles. Lots of smiling and laughing going on.
17. Exhaustion. My life is full.

Life. Health. Family. Love. Abundance. To be needed. I am thankful for it all.

Life is complicated.

Marriage. Children. Jobs. Activities. Household. Appointments.

Dog peeing on the carpet. Algebra homework. Always dieting. Sibling rivalry. Dishwasher clogged. Shuttling children to sports. Grocery shopping.

Everyone needs to be fed. Everything needs to be cleaned. Someone always needs something. Something is always breaking.

But that’s life. That’s my life.

Yet, in our loud and crazy family life, I am adding in a few simple things to help me slow down and enjoy and keep my sanity.

1. Sharing a pomegranate. Time intensive, these fruits force you to slow down and enjoy.
2. A board game with the family. This weekend, it was Sorry.
3. Painting my toenails sparkly red. Even though my toes are hidden under socks and tights for the next eight months.
4. A bowl of walnuts in their shells and a nutcracker. Again, cracking open nuts is time intensive, forcing you to slow down.
5. Braiding Barbie’s hair with my daughter.
6. Walking through the leaves on a Fall afternoon.

I am learning that simple (memorable) things need to be prioritized into a family’s busy day. Because children and mates need to be cared for and fed and loved. Clothes will always need washing. Groceries always run out. There will always be homework to do and bills to pay. Dogs sometimes pee on the carpet.

It’s always something. How about making it something simple?