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Archives for September 2012

Things I Never Thought I’d Say to My Kids

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I can remember crying in the back of my mom’s maroon and cream Dodge Ram van, “When I have kids I’m NEVER going to say, ‘Because I said so!'” Oh the injustices I suffered in that van. Being forced to sit in the back seat, being forced to sit beside my brother, being forced to get out of the car at school. When I was a kid I knew there were a few phrases I swore I would never say to my kids:

“Finish that. There are starving children in Africa.”

“I don’t care who made that mess I”m telling YOU to clean it up.”

“If I have to pull this car over!!”

Oh I had a plan. I would reason with my children. I would explain to them that they needed to eat their dinner to be healthy and strong. They were part of a family and must contribute to housework because we were all members of the same team and I would never ever have to threaten them. No, we would be so close. I would be so understanding.

In one of those curveballs that life likes to throw, I’ve heard some of the things that have come out of my mouth lately and I’ve realized I’m saying things I never expected to have to say to my children. Here are a few of my favorites:

“If you hadn’t licked my armpit you wouldn’t have deodorant in your mouth.”

“No panties, no dinner.”

“No hissing at the table.”

“Don’t lick the TV screen.”

“Why are there 12 toothbrushes in y’all’s bathroom? There are only three of you.”

“I wonder how much I could get for you on Craigslist.”

“I don’t care if your sister begged you to draw a butterfly on her face. You know better.”

“You can’t jump on the trampoline topless, just go ahead and write that down somewhere, it’s going to apply for the rest of your life.”

“Just because it says the marker is ‘Washable’ does NOT mean you were supposed to color the entire bottom of the tub blue.”

“Because I said so.”

And my parents score another point.

WHAT HAVE YOU SAID TO YOUR KIDS THAT YOU NEVER IMAGINED YOU’D HAVE TO SAY? 

The Anti-Soccer Mom

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It happens to me on a regular basis. I push my cart into the grocery store, bribing my three-year-old with my iPhone to sit in the seat. I chat with her as I wander through the produce trying to find a banana that’s not the same color as the limes and I’ll bump into a Mommy acquaintance. We are both a mess wearing faded out yoga pants with our dirtyish hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail. My youngest daughter Sadie has dressed herself: kitten rain boots (90 degrees and sunny), hot pink leotard with rhinestones bedazzled around the neck and one of her sister’s miniskirts hanging off her hips.

“Hey Robin!” Tired Mommy says.

“Hey! How are you? Where are the rest of your kids?” I’ll ask.

“Oh soccer practice, gotta be back at the field in a few minutes. Then pick Princess up from dance. Then we have art tomorrow, and karate. And Boy Scouts. And piano lessons…” and on and on and on it goes.

I usually walk away from these conversations feeling guilty.

Thoughts race through my head. My kids don’t do enough. They aren’t going to know how to do any of that. if they decide they want to play soccer when they are 10-years-old they are already going to be six years behind everyone else. 

Last year my five-year-old and my seven-year-old took dance. They seemed to enjoy it through out the year but when it came recital time Emma, my five-year-old, balked. More literally? She lost her mind. She threw a fit worthy of Toddlers & Tiaras and refused to put on her clothes to go to the dress rehearsal. My husband was out of town on business and so I called upon the Fount of All Wisdom– my mother.

I explained that Emma had lost her mind and was refusing to put on the most elaborate and sparkly costume I had ever seen. I had paid for her to take dance all year and now she was refusing to dance.

“I feel like I should make her do it. I’m the adult, right? Doesn’t she need to learn to finish what she started?” I asked.

“But she didn’t start it. You did. You signed her up to see if she liked and guess what? She doesn’t. Move on. Nobody cares,” my mother said.

I let Emma off the hook. She held my hand and smiled when we dropped her older sister off at the rehearsal. She practically beamed from her seat as her friends danced on stage and she watched.

I feel guilty because my kids don’t do enough, then feel guilty when I make them participate.

I came to the point where I had to make a decision for our family. By the time I pick my kids up from school I have already gone grocery shopping, cooked dinner, put the baby down for a nap, worked at least a few hours from home, done laundry, and picked up around the house. After school we barely have time to eat dinner and do homework before it’s time to bathe and get in the bed.

I’ve had to decide what my kids will remember of their childhoods.

I am the anti-soccer mom. I believe in building forts and jumping into creeks. I believe in eating popsicles and letting them drip down your elbows and ruining your good shirt. I believe in spraying the trampoline with a water hose and digging in the dirt for worms. I believe in playing hide and go seek until the street lights come on and your Momma has to call you inside more than once. I believe in making my kids take a bath before dinner because they are so dirty from simply being kids that they can’t possibly sit at my table. And I believe in sitting at the table and looking them in the eyes every night instead of chauffeuring them all over town to events they show no interest in.

Aubrey and Emma chose not to take dance again this year. Aubrey asked if she could take piano lessons and I agreed. I asked Emma if there was anything new she would like to try. She tucked herself beside me on the couch and slipped her tiny arm around my neck and whispered, “I just wanna be wif you Momma.”

That is time worth investing.

The #1 Thing I Don’t Want to Write About Ever

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Depression.

See? Just looking at the word IS depressing. Nobody wants to read about it. It’s certainly not why people come to my blog. I’ve created this space to remember the good stuff, to laugh with and to be laughed at and hopefully to record some of the most precious moments of my children’s lives for them to read about later.

But for me, there’s been an elephant in the room for a while. I wrote about it some in “Ketchup.” I wrote about my struggle with post-partum depression and hoped it would encourage women and moved on. Then, during the fall of last year, right when I thought I was doing fine, it snuck up on me and wrapped its arms around my neck and pulled me under again.

Darkness, discouragement. Being constantly overwhelmed. Anxious. Afraid. Terrified. Over nothing and everything.

Much like my experiences with post-partum, this new wave of depression confused me. I had hit a milestone in my career. I was a published author, a syndicated humor columnist. My children were healthy and my husband still thinks I’m smart and beautiful but something in me was broken.

It’s so easy to think it’s your fault. It’s so easy to think, “If  only…”

If only I was a better mother…

If only I was more organized…

If only I went to work and wasn’t home with my kids all day…

If only I could be satisfied staying at home…

If only I wasn’t so driven…

If only I wasn’t so lazy…

If only I was more spiritual…

If only I prayed harder…

Today is Suicide Prevention day and even though, thankfully, I never got that low, I got low enough that I could see how someone could get dragged into that blackness. There were a few things that saved me: my husband, my children, my faith, my mother, my sister, my best friend and most importantly: medication and therapy.

There is a stigma associated with these things… with mental illness and antidepressants. And y’all know I try to keep it clean on my blog but EFF that. Three weeks after I started taking meds I felt the darkness lifting. Aubrey, only seven-years-old, having no idea what I had been struggling with internally, grabbed my hand while we were walking outside one day and said, “Momma I’m so glad you feel better. I didn’t think you’d come with us today!”

There is no shame in getting help and feeling better. Today the World Health Organization is asking people to “light a candle near a window that this day might be a sign of hope and understanding for those feeling despair and lack of hope.”

This is my window and I’m telling you– there IS hope.

Call 1-800-273-TALK if you or someone you know needs help. And PLEASE talk to your doctor if you need help!

Gluten Free Turkey Pesto Sandwich

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All you need to make this recipe gluten-free is good gluten-free bread and Udi’s is my absolute favorite. Udi’s had a booth set up at BlogHer12 in NYC and I was so glad they were there. I took the opportunity to tell Udi’s PR folks that I live in 1937 and that whenever I gas up the old Delorian and head to civilization, I take a cooler so I can stock up on all my favorite gluten-free products. And people of the internet– I don’t promote anything on my blog that I am not completely in love with (they are not paying me to say this. I would LET them. But they are not.) and Udi’s hands down has the best gluten-free products on the market. The pizza crusts, muffins, bread, cookies, granola– good lord, I’m hungry. My diet would not be very fun without Udi’s. Fo realz.

You can make this recipe with any bread. If you aren’t gluten-free, a crusty piece of French bread would rock this sammie’s world. At any rate, after I professed my undying love and devotion to Udi’s, they sent me a box full of treats for Back to School lunches– (my kid’s love the Glutino pretzels and the Udi’s Cookies if they can find them after I hide them) and just asked that I share the love. And that I can do.

Here is what you need for the best sandwich of your life:

Goat cheese

Bell peppers – red, orange, yellow. Any color will do and I just discovered the mini-peppers. HOLY COW. So good.

Bread, toasted- Obvs, I used Udi’s.

Good deli meat. Chicken or turkey works but make sure you get it shaved really thin!

Pesto sauce– if you make your own you are on the wrong website.

We are making a SANDWICH here, so don’t be all, “But HOW MUCH do I need??” You need however much you are going to eat. Come on, people.

Slice the peppers thin and in a teensy bit of olive oil, cook them on the stove until they start to get a little tender. Put on a plate and set aside.

Slice your turkey or chicken meat so that it’s almost shredded, if you got it sliced thin at the deli this should be EZPZ. Add the meat to the pan and toss in a couple of spoonfuls of pesto. Like pesto? Add more!

Toast the bread and while it is still warm spread both slices with goat cheese. Pour turkey pesto mixture onto the bread and top with peppers.

You might want to go ahead and make two. While you’re at it, you can also read a great book about family relationships and motherhood :)

 

 

The Good Stuff

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Something weird is happening in my house. It’s a phenomenon I don’t know quite how to deal with and it’s a bit unsettling. I believe it’s called “peace and quiet.” There have been a lot of changes in my house in the last few months. In addition to getting my two oldest daughters back into school, I’ve gone on a cleaning rampage in my house. I made seven trips to The Salvation Army last week, giving away everything from books to clothes and old bedding. If we aren’t using it or wearing it— I want it out of my house.

I crave simplicity, a place for everything and everything in it’s place. I’ve organized baskets for homework supplies and my kids shoes. I’ve rearranged furniture in my house making the rooms more user friendly and two of my daughters switched bedrooms. Now my oldest daughter, Aubrey, has her own room and the two younger girls are sharing. It’s a match made in heaven. Aubrey has outgrown the need for a light to be left on and craves quiet. Emma and Sadie like to listen to music while they drift off.
More than the furniture has shifted. I see my daughters’ relationships with each other changing. I see more of their own personalities emerging every day. Aubrey and Emma have been learning to cook with me over the summer, simple things: scrambled eggs, toast, a grilled cheese. And now when I wake up to start our school day, I’m no longer trying to do fifteen things at once.
“Momma?” Aubrey asks, “I’m making eggs, do you want some?”
“Sure,” I nod.
“HURRY and get dressed! We are running late, I’ve got to get dressed and still got to pack your lunches!”
“I can make lunches,” Emma, my six-year-old offers. She grabs her step-stool to reach the deli meat and cheese from the fridge and goes to work. I put the sandwich bags and all of her supplies within reach and as I walk to the back of the house to get dressed I hear her yell, “AUBREY! DO YOU WANT TURKEY OR SALAMI?”
“SALAMI!” Aubrey yells back.
Dressed, I rush back to the kitchen to see Emma picking peppercorns out of a slice of salami.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Aubrey doesn’t like the peppers.” She states.
“I know, but I don’t usually pick them out.”
“That’s how she likes it,” Emma shrugs.
Aubrey helps Sadie, my three-year-old, find clothes to wear. It may be rain boots and an old dance costume but my standards are low so I don’t say a word.
As we walk out the door Emma stops in her tracks, “Oh no!! I forgot to put a note in Aubrey’s lunch box!”
“You can see her from your lunch table, just wave at her.”
Sunday we missed church, again. If I’m not traveling then somebody is sick and with three kids it can take a month before everyone is well. Aubrey sat in the sunroom with me, quietly reading while I worked on my laptop. Emma laid sprawled across a chair in a nearby room playing a game on my borrowed cell phone. I opened the door so we could hear the wind in the trees outside. The rustle was so constant it sounded like the ocean. I leaned my head against the sofa and marveled at the peace in my house. I thought about the baby and toddler stages of my children’s lives and realized that part of their lives is over.
But I don’t miss it. I enjoyed those years. I loved them, I savored them. I survived them and I endured them.
But this? This is the good stuff.

*Emma reading to Sadie at bedtime. Magic. 

*It should be noted that in the 37 minutes it took me to post this column WHICH I WROTE ONE WEEK AGO, I had to separate them three times and threaten Sadie’s life twice. But ya know… it’s getting easier.

Vote for Me. Please.

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Do it because you care. Or because I make you laugh for free. Or because you’re bored. I don’t care… just do it.

Please.