peskypippi.comBecause I have a lot to say…

My 8th grade son was to participate in a debate at school. This was the culmination of a six-week project. Researching, reading, gathering talking points and facts. He was prepared. Except.

The final part was to dress the part.

Uh oh.

This is a young man who wears jeans, t-shirts, athletic shoes, and a hoodie. Daily.

So, we went shopping. What to wear. It was the great debate.

• Blue shirt or white shirt?
• Silky tie or cloth tie?
• Blue pants or black pants?
• Silver buckle or gold buckle?
• Oxfords or lace-ups?

Ultimately, I encouraged him to pick out what he would feel most confident in.

I think he won the confidence debate, don’t you?

“It takes a village to raise a child…”

So true. But in this case, it took a tribe.

My daughter had a little not-so-little school project. She was to write her own Pacific Northwest Native American-style myth, with symbolism. Her symbol was the raven. Her myth was How the Raven Stole Straw.

In Pacific Northwest Native American culture, the raven is a creature of metamorphosis, and symbolizes change and transformation. Often honored among holy men of tribes for its shape-shifting qualities, the raven was often called upon in ritual so that visions could be clarified. Foremost, the raven is the Native American bearer of magic.

So far so good. Her myth was written. Part two of her project was to create a visual to accompany her myth. It was about 9:00 p.m. on a school night and this project was due. The. Next. Day.

We needed a little raven magic.

My daughter had visions of creating a Native American blanket. A blanket?? Dude. It’s 9:00 p.m.

“How about drawing a raven, sweetie?” When faced with a challenge, I sometimes try to find a quick solution. It was now 9:18 p.m.

But my daughter was determined to make a blanket. My husband jumped in, ready to help his daughter clarify and realize her vision. He’s great like that.

The three of us formed our own sewing pow wow. Cutting. Sewing. Gluing. Laughing.

I’m not sure what time it was when the final button was attached, but the raven spirit came through that night to transform a piece of felt into…an A.

I have heard people say parents shouldn’t help their children with homework. Whatever. Sometimes, I think, it requires teamwork and relying on the elders in the community. Sometimes, it takes a tribe.

I’m linking up with the Yeah Write “moonshine” folks. Check them out!

I had the opportunity to write a letter to my teenage self for www.semidomesticatedmama.com.

At first, it felt a little like, well, like homework. Blah.

But as the remembering kicked in–the good and the not-so-good–it was a great exercise in self-reflection and self-assessment. Check it out here:

http://www.semidomesticatedmama.com/2012/06/letter-to-my-teenage-self-pesky-pippi.html

Or below:

Dear Pimpled Pippi,

1. Don’t sweat the pimples. They will go away in time for your wedding.
2. Participate more in class. You are a smart cookie, Pippi. Raise your hand and answer the damn questions. You KNOW the answers.
3. Stick with kissing. You’ll be happy you did.
4. High school grades aren’t THAT important. I mean, do you list your high school GPA on your resume? Uh, no.
5. Peer pressure is stupid.
6. Don’t take things so seriously. High school is a mere four years in a big, long life. (Unless you’re a little slow, then it might be five years. Just saying.)
7. Tanning with SPF 4 is stupid. That sun damage will catch up to you. When you’re a blogger.
8. Don’t worry so much about what people think. What’s most important is what you think of yourself. Chances are, you may never see the majority of these people again. Except later on in life. On Facebook.
9. Avoid rum and Coke. It’s a horrific combination that makes you vomit. At the dance. Yeah that.
10. Think of boyfriends as disposable (like your prom dress), not marriage material. You’ll have more fun.
11. You’re not fat. In fact, you’re probably the skinniest you’ll ever be.
12. Try out cheerleading. Or volleyball. Trial and error is a good thing. Don’t regret missed opportunities.
13. Self-tanners turn you orange. Enough said.
14. Racing to get signatures in your yearbook is kinda dumb. Because later on, when the yearbook gets water damaged, you end up throwing it out.
15. Don’t buy a senior ring.
16. Increase your self-confidence. Enough said.
17. Go on. Eat all the Doritos and pizza you want. Your metabolism rocks.
18. Hold your head up high and walk proudly. Don’t hide behind big hair and a nervous laugh.
19. There will always be mean girls. Their meanness will bite them in the ass. Karma.
20. Be yourself. Everyone likes you the way you are. Duh.

Love,
Wiser-and-more-confident Pippi

How would YOU grade your high school experience? What would YOU say to your high school self? C’mon, give it a try. You might be glad you did.

The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round…  And after a field trip on the big, yellow school bus, Pippi’s head was spinning round and round.

The next time you volunteer on your child’s field trip and ride the bus, here are seven tips to make things go a little smoother:

1. Don’t sit at the back of the bus. Even if all the cool kids do it.
2. Pack a snack and eat it illegally. Even if the boys in front of you smell your banana and then your protein bar and yell, “I’m telling!” Yeah, who are you going to tell? I’m, like, a chaperone and a grown up.
3. Don’t look down at your phone and text or Tweet about how you’re getting carsick. It will only get you carsicker.
4. Wear a sports bra. The shocks on the bus are missing. And the kid sitting behind you will be kicking the back of your seat. The whole entire trip there. And back again.
5. Bring an ice pack. Bring an ice pack for your forehead. The bus is filled with sweaty kids. They steam up the windows. And it’s raining outside so you can’t open them for fresh air or else the little girls will freak that they are getting rained on.
6. Wear comfy clothes. They cram three bodies per bench seat, when two bodies would be more than sufficient.
7. Shut the Front (bus) Door! As in, the noise is deafening.

Despite these tips, my belly was churning and my head was dizzy. It took me 24 hours to recover from my school bus hangover. Check out this video for a teensy preview of your next chaperoning experience.

A woman, with a severely deformed face, works at my kids’ elementary school. She is the recess teacher.

When you first look at her, she catches you off guard. Her eyes aren’t quite right. Her face droops. And you kinda stare. This woman looks like a Picasso painting.

But then your humanity and manners kick in. Perhaps she has a severe deformity from a horrible accident? Or she has elephantitis?

Why did the school hire THIS person? Actually, I think it’s great.

What a way to teach kids that everyone is different. And that looks can be deceiving.

My daughter told me the other day, “Mom, she is really nice. You can’t judge someone by their looks. Looks can be deceiving.”

Wow. My nine-year-old is wiser than her years.

Today marks the first day I will volunteer in my six-year-old’s classroom this year. I am excited to see him in his element and to help with the last-day-until-Winter-vacation festivities where we will play board games and partake in hot cocoa.

I only seem to volunteer on special occasions and field trips. Why? Because I’m a party girl. There’s that, and:

1. I work.
2. I play soccer two mornings a week; my “me time.”
3. I trust that the teachers are doing their jobs.
4. I am confident that my children are independent and can handle their classroom time without me overseeing.

I asked my two youngest kids the other day if it was OK if I don’t volunteer in their classrooms much. They both shrugged and said, “It’s OK. Other Moms are there.”

Do I feel guilty? Well, yeah, don’t we all? I volunteered in my oldest son’s classroom A LOT when he was young. He is now 12 and I asked him the other day if he liked when I volunteered so much. He said, “It was kind of embarrassing.”

Enough said. Do we mothers volunteer because the teachers really need us or because we think our kids really need us or because we feel guilty if we aren’t ever-present every second?

Do children really want us ever-present every second? I’m thinking no. Yeah, my kids really need me…at home. During homework time. During reading time. During hang-out time. During just-talking time.

And why is it that mothers need to judge other mothers?

So when this new-faced Mom walks into the first grade classroom with a heartfelt smile, maybe the other mothers can pass the judgment, and simply pass the cocoa.

This is not about “should I give my baby a bottle or switch to a sippy cup?” This is much stupider than that.

My two youngest kids are 9 and 6. I usually send them to school with a bag lunch that I scramble to make in the last two minutes before it’s time to “Get your butts moving or we are gonna be LATE!” Oh and please don’t tell me to simply make their lunches the night before so I am not stressing in the morning. I know this. Already. And people have told me this. Already. Man, do righteous people bug me. But that’s a whole other topic for later…

Anyway, I read that when children drink milk (or soy milk…I don’t discriminate) as opposed to juice, they get more protein and have more energy longer. Plus, it’s less sugar for their growing bodies. This is perfect because I think my kids study math in the afternoon. And given the weak math genes I have passed along, they need all the brain power they can get.

I purchased two very cute Crayola thermoses for the kids at the beginning of school. So cute, they looked like crayons. Filled them with milk and sent them on their way. Well, those thermoses suck. Poor little guy came home, got off the bus carrying a big Ziploc bag full of thermos + milk. The teacher sent home the dripping, warm milk too!

Well, don’t bother crying over spilled milk. Check out these bad boy aluminum water bottles that are supposed to insulate and not drip. Oh, and if you buy thermoses that are MADE for transporting non-water, they cost like $19.99 each. These suckers were two for $10.

This morning, my daughter comes down to breakfast. I give her first choice of colors: blue or green. Because the early bird gets the…first pick of color. She picks blue.

Five minutes later, sleepy youngest son comes down to breakfast. Sees the new, shiny, glowing bottles. He picks blue. Wrong.

“You get green, honey.” “But I want blue.”

I look to my daughter, “Can he have blue and you have green?” “OK,” she says, sounding pissed.

Then I go, “No, actually, I change my mind. You were down first and you picked blue, so you get blue and your brother gets green.” He pouts.

OK, this is getting ridiculous. Scrambling to make breakfast and lunches and arguing over colors. Why didn’t I get two of the same color bottles? Argh. Stupid me, stupid me.

This is how the conversation progressed.

“C’mon,” I say to my son. “Green is for Green Lantern, frogs, wreath cookies we make at Christmas, green poop.”

I have to say. The last point sealed the deal.

And I am hoping the lids of these flashy aluminum bottles seal the milk. Or I will be sending them juice boxes for lunch.