peskypippi.comBecause I have a lot to say…

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!

While sitting on my six-hour flight from New York back home, I am reminded that I don’t have much idle time in my busy life. Do you?

You know. The time you take to read, or play Tap the Frog on your iPhone, or sit and stare out the window and think, or take a nap. And maybe while napping, you drool a teensy bit.

On an airplane, you’re forced to relax and just be.

The flight attendant recommends that adults first use oxygen on themselves THEN help their children. Isn’t that a metaphor for a busy family?

We parents need to take time for ourselves. Whether it’s reading or staring out the window or napping-and-drooling.

Take the time. Aren’t you worth some breaths?

I took my kids to the indoor community pool yesterday. It was eye opening. I saw:

• More crack than a DEA agent
• Bodies more doughy than a doughnut shop
• Sizes resembling Fat Bastard in Austin Powers

I also saw:

• Hairy men proudly holding bald, laughing babies
• Old women in swim skirts doing power laps
• Parents testing out their newly-acquired waterproof cameras on their newly-aquatic infants

What did people think when they took a peek at me–with my unshaven legs (whoopsidaisy) and chipped toenail polish–acting loony as ever? There I was, playing dolphins with my daughter: squeaking and begging for fish. And bolting down the water slide with my youngest son on my fleshy lap. Woohoo!

Whatever.

We were all just people. All sizes and shapes. All ages. All styles. All behaviors. And we were going for it! Exercising. Splashing. Laughing.

Better than the losers simply watching from the viewing deck. Pools are for getting wet. Boo on merely spectating.

Yikes. Since when did I start sounding like my parents?

Parents of all generations know a thing or two about a thing or two. Here is a sampling:

• Don’t lean back in your chair.
• Drink your milk. (but also ) Don’t drink out of the jug.
• Close the door; you’re letting all the heat out.
• Did you put your deodorant on today?
• I’ll buy two kinds of cereal: Grape Nuts or Raisin Bran.
• Can’t you guys just get along?
• Don’t eat too many cookies or you’ll spoil your appetite.
• Time to get up. You can’t sleep your day away.

Eye roll, I know. Yet, aren’t these words to encourage safety, good hygiene, and healthy habits? Again with the eye roll!

Reality bites.

So it seems to me, that if a parent of a child who plays on a recreational soccer team really wants her child to receive a trophy–regardless of how well (or not so well) the child played during the season–she needs to pay for it. The whole thing. I’ll explain in a bit.

First off, I’m fine with giving out fake trophies. You know, not fake gold, but fake as in “these trophies don’t have meaning but are a symbol of completion.” Back in the day, we didn’t get trophies unless we won championships or tournaments. Or if we were singled out in high school as playing above-and-beyond. Shout out for me: I received Most Inspirational in tennis in high school. (Are you laughing at me?) I do realize that “Inspirational” has nothing to do with skill.

As a coach of youth soccer–six-year-old boys–I try to do the right thing. And if the parents want trophies, I will order them and collect money from the parents and then hand them out at the end of the season. I really do hate ponying up money ahead of time and then asking for reimbursement. It is belittling and makes me look desperate. But, oh well, it’s all part of being a volunteer coach. So, I find a good deal, supporting a local trophy shop, and place the order. The trophies are a great deal, at $6.43 each. I send the email to the parents explaining that I ordered them and to please pay me at practice.

Then I have to remind them at several practices and several games to please pay me. Now, I’m a nag (see post on being a nag). A nag pestering for a measly $6.43.

Finally, the parents pay. But one parent paid only $12 for two trophies, as if buying multiples gives her a discount. Shortchanged. Chumped again. I don’t really need the money (but some of these parents drive Range Rovers). I don’t really need the extra $.86 either. It’s the principle.

I should have broken off the trophy player’s arm or something and handed that out at our end-of-season celebration. Because, really, if you don’t pay the full amount, you shouldn’t get a total trophy. Hence the saying: “You get what you pay for.”