peskypippi.comBecause I have a lot to say…

Once upon a time, there was a young girl who wore pigtails and overalls. She was a nature lover, this girl, who loved climbing trees, blowing dandelions, observing worms, and oohing over butterflies. One day, she discovered a lizard and picked it up. She examined its scaly, grey back, little beady eyes, and long tail.

When it was time to go home and leave the lizard where she found it, she actually didn’t.

She snuck that lizard into her overalls pocket, making sure that lizard was safe and warm and protected.

She proceeded to cuddle that lizard and build it a little home. In a shoebox, with grass, plenty of love, and ta washcloth to keep it warm. What else could a little lizard need?

With the over abundance of love and nurturing, the lizard’s tail broke off. The young girl quickly taped it back on.

The lizard soon perished. The young girl had smothered her lizard pet, with her over nurturing, and was in tears.

She learned a few life lessons on that hot Summer day. Not only did she learn that many species of lizards release their tail when they want to escape from a predator, but:

• How to care for a creature, but also to give it space.
• How to love a creature, but not over smother it.
• How you can’t fix a problem with a simple patch.
• And how, at some point, you need to set the creature free.

As I recount my daughter’s story from several years ago, I now see that her lessons learned are also parenting lessons that I am learning.

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.

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.

Sometimes as a parent, you need to truly parent. And use your best judgement and foresight.

Even if it means that you will piss off your daughter.

One day, on a family hike in a scenic area near Mount St. Helen’s my nine-year-old daughter wanted to lead the way down the dangerous trail, as my family proceeded in single file.

The “danger” signs did not lie.

In fact, they made me second-guess myself. Was this hike indeed a good choice? Or would we have been better off taking pictures of wildflowers in the open field? Where it was flat and safe.

We proceeded. As a family unit.

We carefully stepped and navigated, while I barked out orders like I had Tourette’s syndrome: “Step carefully!” “Hold my hand!” “Slow down!” “Stay BEHIND me!”

My daughter started off the hike in a foul mood, because she didn’t get her way.

The rapids were below us. Way below. Crashing against volcanic rock. The path was skinny, with gravel causing your foot to slip. The path made sharp descents, forcing us to side step and grip onto the person’s hand behind you.

At the halfway mark, we paused and took in the views. My daughter was grinning. Happy again. We all were. The views were amazing. We were a unit, embarking on this adventure together.  The experience was full of lessons. Seven, in fact:

1. Parents know things.
2. Kids don’t always know everything, even if they think they do.
3. Nature is beautiful.
4. Families work best when they work as a team.
5. Parents need to parent.
6. Parents make mistakes.
7. Hard things are worth doing.

Enjoy the pictures in the safety of your own chair! And while you’re at it, check out other cool bloggers at YeahWrite!

This is a little story about a boy and the piano recital that wasn’t. But then it was.

My youngest son has been taking piano lessons for six months. Every Wednesday after school, we trekked to the piano teacher’s house, where the piano is nestled in the dank-smelling basement. The teacher? She is vibrant, calm, smiling, talented, and a wearer of scarves and hats. The kind of hats you would buy at a street fair. With a faux flower tucked in the brim.

She encouraged my son that he could learn a song. And he did.

The Charlie Brown theme song aka “Linus and Lucy” has been practiced multiple times a day. For days. Weeks. Months.

Over time, my son got pretty good. Plinking away. Wrists up! Read the notes! Don’t memorize!

The piano teacher held a Summer Recital in a fancy auditorium, where children and their parents were requested to wear fancy clothes.

It was a big deal.

My son was ready. And then a few days before the recital, he came down with an eye infection, causing his left eye to swell shut. His left side of his throat and left ear were swollen too. A few doctor visits. Specialists. Bottom line: no recital.

No recital?! No video of my baby playing the piano, dressed in his finest? No bow at the end?

The reality was, I was just overjoyed the antibiotics kicked in. And his eye was slowly starting to open again.

So several weeks later, we had our own recital. At home. We all gathered around the keyboard. I wore a dress. My son played his song. There was a standing ovation. We popped the apple cider. It was indeed a celebration.

There was lots to celebrate.

As parents, we all learn this. That things change. In the blink of an eye.

This is not my son playing. Give him 15 years and he just may…

Life is like a conveyor belt of chocolates…it’s moving fast and you can only wrap so many chocolates before you can’t keep up and you start stuffing them in your mouth and in your hat.

For a refresher, check out this I Love Lucy episode…

Besides being totally hilarious, this scene is a great metaphor for a busy family life.

Life moves fast and a lot of everything has to be done at once: working, meal prepping, exercising, connecting, schooling, playing, listening, cleaning, shuttling, grooming, relaxing.

I need to constantly prioritize and re-prioritize. Don’t you? Because we can’t do it all. Maybe, like Lucy and Ethel, we need to pick and choose some of the chocolates to wrap… Every other one? Every two?

And if some chocolates fall onto the floor or get stuffed into our blouse, that’s just the conveyor belt life in motion.

Happy to link up with some other fun bloggers at YeahWrite. You can too!

I bought an elephant bank awhile back. Not a piggy bank, because I’m more into elephants these days.

This elephant is now part of the family. And it has become quite the hit around the house. Not only is it pretty to look at, but it sits front-and-center in our family room. I’ve been using it to drop in coins here and there. When my wallet is getting heavy. When I am doing laundry and find coins in the pockets.

And the cool thing is, my children are participating too. They have been dropping in their extra coins. Clink. Plink. Plunk.

It has become the communal bank.

I promised the children that when the elephant is full, we can empty it out and buy something together, as a family. A trip to Hawaii? I wish. A new tent for camping? Maybe.

It may just be enough to treat the family to ice cream.

But whatever. Coins add up.

And, whether or not our bounty is $50 when full, or $200. Or simply $14. We are teaching the children a few valuable life lessons:

1. Saving money to buy something cool is a good thing
2. Pooling our individual resources can add up to more
3. Elephants are pretty

Go get yourself a piggy bank or an elephant bank. Or turn that glass jar you have sitting around the house into your new family bank. Watch (and hear) the coins add up. And enjoy some well-earned chocolate mint chip ice cream.

Yes, Virigina, there is such thing as too much oat bran.

Here’s a little story about how I nearly changed my name from Pesky Pippi to Poopy Pippi. If you can’t handle poop talk, better not read on.

It all started out with an innocent batch of cookies. I made Oatmeal-Coconut Chocolate Chip Cookies. And I swapped out all of the flour with oat bran.

Note: Raw coconut and oat bran both are packed with fiber and increase metabolism. A powerful combination.

It was a gorgeous batch of cookies. Chewy. Tasty. Hot out of the oven.

I ate four. I ate seven. OK, I ate nine.

Then it was time to take my daughter to soccer practice. While she practiced, my seven-year-old son and I played on the play structure at the park. Everything was going just swimmingly. We were climbing, jumping, swinging. Just another day at the park.

Then it hit. The oat bran fiber bomb was about to explode.

You know that feeling when you have to poop and there is no toilet nearby? Yeah that. And you start to sweat. And clench. And take baby steps. Fast baby steps to the car.

You call to your son with panic in your voice, “Honey. We have to go NOW. Mommy has to go poop. And it’s an emergency.”

He says, “I know that feeling.” Yeah, he knows. And you know he knows.

You share a brief moment of understanding. I mean, haven’t we all been there?

By this time, you’re halfway to the car and you think you just can’t make it. Things are percolating.

And you are regretting the multitude of cookies you shoveled into your mouth, one hour before.

But your young son takes your hand and you hold it. And you know you HAVE to hold it in to show that you can do it.

You continue to sweat. You swear you’ll never eat another cookie in your life.

You make it to your car and drive frantically. Squeezing your buns all the way to the nearest grocery store, which is 4 minutes away if you make all the green lights. The grocery store becomes a beacon of light, welcoming you. Because you know from experience that the restrooms are clean and at the front of the store.

And you get there and the women’s restroom door is open because a guy is in there cleaning it. “Sorry, Ma’am, this restroom is closed.”

You give him the most helpless look. You feel like the one in Bridesmaids, the one who takes a dump in the sink.

So you stand there. Squeezing. Praying. One minute later he leaves and says, “It’s all yours.” And you want to high-five him, but you’re worried that too much movement will jiggle something loose.

Whew. You make it. And you breath a sigh of relief.

Your son peeks in, curious and eager, “Is everything OK Mom?”

“Yes, everything is OK,” you smile. A big, toothy smile, “Even Mommies nearly poop their pants.”

And he smiles. And understands.

Who knew that a poop emergency could be a life lesson in empathy?

I am in awe of nature. But I don’t always have the patience for it.

I love to watch nature shows on TV. You know, where the brown bear catches a salmon. Or the cheetahs attack the weak wildebeest. Or the dung beetle rolls on, well, a big ball of dung. Or the birds of the Amazon puff up their feathers and perform their mating rituals.

Knowing my luck, I’d travel to Kenya on a wildlife tour to see cheetahs…and this is what I would probably see. Uh, yeah. I would need a T-shirt that says, “I went to Africa and all I got was a photo of grass.”

That further proves my awe of the photographers and camera crews that have the patience to capture all of this wonderfulness to enlighten those of us who will never get the chance to experience–and film–spiders hatching, elephants trekking for new water holes, tiny tree frogs up so close you can see his pupils.

I mean, imagine how long you would have to camp out, with your tripod and camera and open shutter to capture lightning. Especially because, like, we don’t even have lightning where I live. Talk about patience.

I had a teensy little experience the other day to photograph wildlife: a robin feeding her young. I know, nothing jaw-dropping or exotic.

But it touched me, just the same.

My next door neighbor’s waterspout is a perfect place for a nest. The same robin parents come back every year to build a nest. It’s part of our family’s Spring ritual to check out the craftsmanship of nest-building. And then to hear the babies chirping. The parents use our back yard as their grocery store. Where, apparently, worms are on sale.

Oh and did you know that both parents are involved in food shopping, meal preparation, and feeding?

So the other day, I saw the baby birds peeking out with their eyes wide and beaks even wider. Methinks, “Grab the camera with the telephoto lens and transform yourself into wildlife photographer.” Yeah, I actually said that to myself. #dork

I placed my body up against the fence, about 10 feet away from the nest. Close enough to get a good shot. But not close enough to freak out the parents.

I waited. And waited. (I had to pee.) And waited. (Kids were arguing in the cul-de-sac. SHUT UP!) I waited some more.

I waited 18 minutes…which felt like an eternity.

The babies sat there, in their nest, with their beaks open. They, too, were waiting. “Where is my dinner??!!” (I was starting to wonder the same thing as my belly started to grumble.)

Here is what I saw.

Besides learning about bird behavior, methinks I also learned a little more about being patient. And being appreciative. And just being.