peskypippi.comBecause I have a lot to say…

My grandmothers and great-grandmothers were quilters. I’m a fan. The colors. The craftsmanship. The history. The metaphor: the quilt representing life. Especially the crazy quilt. I read that while many quilts have a repeating pattern, the beauty of a crazy quilt lies in its differences. Remember the movie How to Make an American Quilt?

My youngest son had eye surgery two weeks ago. He had a lump on his eyelid that needed to be removed. Worried parents. Anesthesia. Hospital gown. IV. He was wheeled away down the long hospital hallway. Brave boy. I couldn’t hold back the tears.

An hour later, he  emerged from surgery, that brave boy of mine. With a patch on his eye, he looked small, but relieved. Three new stitches in his eyelid.

Two days of recovery at home. Then, back to school. Back to tumbling class. Back to normal life. Two weeks later, the stitches came out.

And we now have another block to sew into our quilt of life. Just with three less stitches.

I spotted this beauty of a quilt here: http://www.nebraskahistory.org/sites/mnh/crazy_quilts/

Think polka music is only for Oktoberfest? Or for The Lawrence Welk show? Or Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania?

Think again.

You know those mornings when your kids are sluggish at breakfast, barely able to scoop their eggs in their mouths?

Turn on Beer Barrel Polka radio on Pandora.

It will instantly change the morning mood. Your kids will laugh and scoop their eggs faster. And if you dance along, pretending you’re wearing lederhosen, your kids will think Mom is crazy. What’s new?

Parenting children. It makes you do silly things. Especially if you’re kinda silly to begin with.

My seven-year-old son and I were playing in the snow. I pulled some moss off a tree and shoved it up my nose.

“Look, Hon! I’m The Lorax!”

He laughed heartily.

Exactly what I was hoping for.

I’m kinda sick of my negative body image issues.

“But, Pippi! You’ve had three children! Each baby stretched out your belly, like three feet!”

Truth. Reality.

It seems that I am running high on negative body issues and low on self-confidence. It concerns me that my less-than-robust self-confidence will mess with my ability to be a strong role model for my children. How can they grow to be self-confident if I don’t exude self-confidence?

“But, Pippi! You’re always so positive and so happy and so loving! You are a great Mom! Your kids adore you! Your husband loves you! You are surrounded by family and friends who think you’re awesome! You have a great job! And, man, what curly hair!”

Truth. Reality. I am so blessed. What am I even complaining about?

“But, Pippi, happiness is about inner beauty and needs to come from within! And not something you seek outside yourself! You know this!”

I do know this. I am my own hurdle. This. Has. Got. To. Change. I need to change this.

I read an article that brought clarity to my jumbled thoughts. It’s about finding happiness within. Gilbert Ross, the author of the How to Find Happiness, is trying to encourage people to break the negative pattern “I will be happy if…” If I lose 20 lbs…If I get a raise…Whatever the if is, it’s always something. This leaves us feeling empty and sad because we are never gonna be happy until we surpass the next hurdle. And there are always more hurdles. (I know this. I ran track and hurdles back in high school.)

As a first step, I am connecting with these negative feelings and am working to transform them. It is high time that I make peace with myself.

After all, I’m clever. I have a winning smile and personality. Golly, people like me! I have so much to be positive about and thankful for in my life.

So that I can continue to be a glass half-full person, I need to also fill my glass with self-love and self-confidence. One drip at a time.

This is something we all deserve. Fill ‘er up.

Chocolate-chip cookies…again?

No way!

Do you want to be the coolest Mom ever? How about making one giant cookie…with giant impact. What ’til your kids see this! They will be stunned and awed, just like in Uncle Buck. Remember the giant pancake?

Click here for my best chocolate-chip-cookies-on-Earth recipe.

So, instead of plopping the dough as you would for individual cookies, make one giant plop onto a parchment paper-lined cookie sheet and smash down and smooth out with a spatula. Bake at 350 degrees about 12 minutes and keep an eye on it. Take it out just before you think it’s done (the one in the pic is a little overcooked…my bad…I was on Twitter).

Once cooled, you can frost it to make a smiley face, as in my birthday “cake” last year. Click here to see that beauty. Or you can cut into a heart. Brilliant…just in time for Valentine’s Day!

C is for Cookie. Or for “Crap, I just ate too much damn cookie.”

“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!

Running late (as always).

Trying to get my daughter to her basketball game on time. The kids shoved down sandwiches and milk.

Quick! Grab the water bottle!

“Did you remember your jersey?” I yelled to her in the backseat…being that we were already halfway there. I was hopeful.

“Yes.”

Whew.

It was Friday night, after a hard week of all of us getting back “into the swing of things” post-holidays. I was feeling. Very. Grumpy.

Then on the radio blasts K.C. and The Sunshine Band….That’s The Way I like It. Uh huh. Uh huh.

And then. My seven-year-old starts to sing along. Word for word. Booyah!

It was exactly what I needed to get me out of my grumpies. Uh huh. Uh huh. I laughed out loud.

And we got to the game. With. Three minutes to spare.

It seems like yesterday that I was listening to DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince’s Parents Just Don’t Understand.

I just googled the song to reminisce. Dude! That song was released in 1988 when I was a teenager and could relate.

Fast-forward 25 years.

Now I can relate to the parents in The Parent Rap. Yikes.

Funny how two and a half decades can transform a gal.

Would your child handle being home alone, like Kevin McCallister?

Kevin in Home Alone was amazing. Sure, he fought off bad guys. And did so with such cleverness: using a hot iron, broken Christmas tree ornaments, tar, a BB gun, a tarantula, pulleys. You name it.

But, as a mother, I was most impressed with his other life skills.

• He took a shower and washed his hair.
• He made himself breakfast. And lunch. And dinner.
• He called for pizza delivery.
• He did the laundry.
• He bought himself a toothbrush. And probably even used it.

Would my child–who is Kevin’s age–handle being home alone? Two words: Uh, yikes.

I found out that my seven-year-old son has been washing his hair with only conditioner. He has the softest–but dirtiest–hair in town. But would he run a Spiderman bubble bath and drop in the Sesame Street color tablets that make the water turn turquoise? To quote Kevin, “I don’t think so.”

He knows how to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Oh and yogurt. That’s about it. The milk jug is too heavy for him to pour without spilling.

Doing laundry? I’m not sure if he even knows where the laundry room is. He wads up his dirty socks and leaves dirty sock balls throughout his room. Kinda like a treasure hunt.

He does brush his teeth. He recently lost his two front teeth, so two less teeth to brush.

And he know how to turn on the TV and put it in video game mode. Whew. He’ll be fine.

So the next time I banish my son to the attic and leave him home alone as I fly off to Paris, I will be reassured that he will fill his belly with peanut butter and jelly and play Xbox 360, with his dirty hair and toothless grin.

Sometimes I think I know my kids so well. What they are thinking. What they will choose.

I sometimes think they’ll follow a certain path that I have “envisioned” for them. Then when they choose something different, I think to myself, wow. I’m not really in charge anymore.

My children are becoming independent.

And then I’m sorta proud.

Take my son for example. He’s 6 feet tall and he’s 13 years old. Yeah, he’s a natural fit for basketball. I assumed he would play it all through high school. And get a scholarship. I was envisioning Hoosiers.

Yet, this son of mine has no interest in basketball. Just because he’s tall, doesn’t mean he wants to play. And just because I thought he should try basketball, doesn’t mean he wants to.

He told me the other day he wants to try wrestling.

Wrestling??! My first thought was Nacho Libre.

The Mexican wrestling masks. The unitards.

My second thought was this is SO not Hoosiers.

But my son’s football coach encouraged him.

After I thought about it and rewatched Vision Quest, I’m totally supportive of my son’s choices.

Even if the unitards are dorky.