peskypippi.comBecause I have a lot to say…

I enrolled my daughter in horse riding lessons. Horses are her passion. She’s ten. How could I say no?

She gallops along the sidewalk (with no horse). Posters of Appaloosas and Pintos adorn her walls. My daughter wants to be a vet. So, really, this is like career training!

Plus, there’s this: the horse instructor answers her phone with, “Have a galloping great day!” How can you resist such good-natured enthusiasm?!

From what I’ve seen, horse girls are wholesome, kind, sweet, and grounded. Exactly the qualities I like to see in a ten-year-old girl. Or 13. Better sign her up through her teenager years.

My eight-year-old son wrote three reasons why he loves me:

1. She hugs me.
2. Cooks delecius spaggeti. [sic]
3. Signs me up for stuff like gymnastics.

Aw! I’m touched that he singled out three things I think mothering is all about:

1. Love.
2. Nourishment.
3. Support.

Happy Mother’s Day, y’all!

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.

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.

I often wonder if I have enough friends. Enough of a support network. Enough pals to pal around with. Enough people to share stories with. Enough friends to connect with.

Yeah, I’ve got friends. Friends I knew since I was in school. Soccer friends. Family friends. Parents of my kids’ friends. Family. Facebook friends. Twitter friends. Neighbor friends.

But there are few friends that I can really talk to. About real stuff. When you need someone to listen. To be supportive. To share.

The other day, one of my friends and I hung out while our kids played, giving us lots of time to talk. Really talk. About raising our kids. About our spouses. About weight. About juggling and balance. About problems and challenges. About life.

It made me think, how many friends do you need?

Sometimes you just need one.

Here is one of my all-time favorite songs (I know this is not the original, but it’s the one I know):

I read an article called 10 Things You Should Never Tell Your Kids. After clicking through the 10 things (while holding my breath), I was relieved to learn that I am off the hook on this one. This time. Whew. Except for one.

The article says that you should never tell your kids “you’re the best at [blank].” For example:

• “You’re so smart!”
• “You’re the best at soccer!”
• “You’re an excellent swimmer!”

If you say those things, you’ve thus labeled your child. And your child may only feel worse for not living up to the label you’ve given her. The article cautions to “focus instead on her hard work.”

And so, at a recent swim race (which was to win a pizza), I tried to put this advice into practice.

• “What strokes!”
• “Great effort!”

I was trying to focus on the hard work my daughter has done after a whole summer of swim lessons. And after woohooing and cheering my butt off–I couldn’t help it–she won.

Afterward, I told her that she’s the best pizza winner in the world!

Oops. According to this article, I’m wrong again.

Sometimes as a parent, you need to “let go,” and let your kids go!

We were at a carnival and my sweet-and-pensive nine-year-old daughter wanted to ride only two things. The carousel? No. The jumping house? No.

The mechanical bull. And the Zipline.

Hmmm.

This is when you transform yourself into supportive cheerleader.

• You support their dreams.
• You cheer them on with zest.

Even if, on the inside, you are worried and cringing. Watch my daughter as she adventures down the Zipline. Go!

When your child says to you, “Mom, when I grow up, I want to be a fairy and have magic fairy dust and live under a toadstool and wear a skirt made out of a tulip and drink Koolaid out of a thimble.”

Do you say:

• Don’t be silly. There’s no such thing as fairies.

or

• You’ll be a beautiful fairy and you can visit the clovers in my backyard any day.

I try to support my childrens’ imaginations and dreams. Even if Fairy University might not be my very first choice of schools.

Knock knock. Who’s there? Nice knockers.

Have you been bra shopping in awhile? No? Maybe you should.

Whether you wear t-shirts (my uniform.) or sweaters or blouses, a new, good-fitting bra makes a huge, ahem, or medium difference.

I went bra shopping today. They have bras to lift (OK, who doesn’t want lift??), support, enhance, minimize, smooth, push up…you name it.

What a difference! “Apollo 13, we have lift-off!”

Awhile back, I went to the Nordstrom lingerie department and got properly fitted for a bra. It was an embarrassing experience: the clerk tugged, poked, adjusted, squeezed. Nah, she didn’t squeeze. But she did tell me, “You have really nice breast tissue.”

Whoa! Excellent! Now THAT’S something you don’t hear every day. Especially after birthing and breast feeding three children. (TMI.)

So, here’s what I bought today. Hey babe, nice breast tissue.

My high school Spanish teacher told our pimply faces a saying many years ago that has stuck with me ever since:

“Reach for the stars and you may land in the trees. But if you reach for the trees, you may land in the mud.”

The pimples are now gone. But the powerful words are still there. About believing in yourself, trying your best, pushing yourself, and having goals. Words of an over-achiever. Hello. I am an over-achiever. And you are likely one too. As a mother, I try to instill these values into my children. Here is how I have put this saying into practice just this month:

• I co-coached a six-year-old boys’ youth soccer team this Fall (my son was on this team). I reinforced to them, “You can’t score, unless you take a shot.” That sounds obvious. But this has deeper meaning: take a chance and go for it.
• There’s an art contest at school. My daughter won a blue ribbon for her drawing last year. (Yeah, I already bragged about this on Facebook.) She thought she might not win again. I tell her, “You cannot win if you don’t enter.” We must enter into the challenges of life.
• My oldest has a huge history project. One that is done in pieces over the course of six weeks, with a grand finale culmination event. He has to make a tri-fold presentation board with all the facts about Alexander the Great. The teacher did not give specific guidelines about how this should look, but only what core information it has to contain. I tell my son, “You need to go all out on this and make this look kick-ass.” In other words, you’d better not show up with a plain white tri-fold presentation. This sucker had better pop!
• And take me. I have been wanting to start up a blog for awhile now. I have been annoying enough on Facebook. And wanted to expand. I questioned myself: “What will the blog be about?” and “Is it OK I just write one blog a week?” and “What if I don’t have enough to say?” Well ya know what? I launched my blog. I did it. I did it for me. And it turns out that I have more than enough to say. Enough that I just may develop carpal tunnel syndrome soon.

I ran across another great quote along these lines from @YourAuntLola on Twitter:

“You Can Dooooooooo It!”