Dinks no more, I pray

Several years back, my brother used to bust his neighbors'
chops by calling them "The Dinks." Newly married, they were
Double Income, No Kids. It was amusing then. But not anymore ---
they'll be parents soon, I'm sure of it. And they'll be
fantastic. But the calendar is out of their hands.

I've been thinking about them this week while I'm on vacation
from work. That in itself is a little bit of heaven and a
little bit of, um, purgatory. We spent the first few days mostly
catching up on house cleaning, laundry, getting all our broken
appliances repaired, having my oil changed in the "Clare-don't-
ever-let-it-go-this-long-again-or-your-car-will-explode" (nearly
a direct quote from my mechanic) stages and ... finally ... some
Quality Time with the kids.

That meant: Watching movies with my oldest after the others
went to bed, during the time I'm normally making next day
lunches and doing laundry. Shopping and getting Webkinz for my 3
others. Catching up on the summer school stuff we were supposed
to start in July. Fun stuff: arcades, petting zoo, swimming
pool, beach, splurging on "lunchables" for no reason, and
whatever else happens over the next few days. Snuggling for an
extra hour in bed in the morning, rotating between The Weather
Channel and "Curious George." (Oddly, my 4-year-old's two
favorite morning programs.)

A major midweek meltdown at miniature golf (wow, what great
unintended alliteration!) reminded me of what a tough time stay
at home moms have. And as I carried my screaming 4-year-old
away, I was also reminded of how hard the opposite must be. How
others would love to be able to be in my place, that after my 4-
year-old had a sit-down (and a potty break, probably part of the
problem), he went around telling people he was a good boy now.
It's priceless. Ok, there's a little bit of a price, but it's
worth the cost.

My friends Janet and Rich, now both in their early 40s, are
so eager to start a family. They've tried the conventional ways.
They've tried the beyond conventional ways. One extremely St.
Patrickish March 17th we discussed me being a surrogate. A
serious March 18th had us realizing what bad ideas are discussed
on March 17th.

A final in vitro attempt was successful ... but didn't last
long. Since then, no luck.
They're now trying to adopt. They've got their profiles out,
hoping some expectant mother who did not want to be where she
is, or who realized too late she can't handle the
responsibility, will take to them and make a call to the
agency they've registered with.

I've got them in my prayers. They've seen the up and the
downside of parenting through their friends' kids and their
nieces and nephews. They've witnessed the meltdowns like the one
I dealt with at mini gold, and they can't wait to get right in there
and join into the adventure we call parenthood. I pray it's not
long before they get to hear the words "Mommy" and "Daddy."

A "good" cry, again

I'm still mourning the loss of my beloved uncle, who died in June after a long, on-and-off battle with different cancers. I miss him so much, and one of the last things he said to my husband was that the one thing he was sad about -- knowing he was dying soon -- was that he wouldn't get to see my cousins and my brother and my kids grow up.
My daughters will remember him; my 4-year-old won't. But my teenager took it pretty hard -- they were close. He did a whole dedication to Uncle Bob on myspace. I showed it to a colleague who remarked, "If they use that as his eulogy there won't be a dry eye in the place."
When I need a "good" cry, I read it again. The other day, I got another "good" cry, thanks to some crazy, but sensitive and endearing, teens. Two good friends of my son are musicians. They've formed bands, joined other bands and played in different venues. They wrote a song when my uncle died, but I think they misplaced it or something. Last week, one of the guys said he was cleaning out his computer and found the lyrics and sent them to my teen. He posted it as "the best thing anyone has done for me" on his Web page. The lyrics, in part, read:
"the time has come...
You are gone
no room for goodbyes.
too sad to go on
may god rest your soul.
Youll be with the angels
Standing at heavens gates
all the joy that awaits
this joy came from the suffering
the suffering you endured
i wish the sickness you had
could have been cured.


i know its tiiiiiiiiiimmmmmmmeee
to move oooooooooooooooooooooonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
its just a shame youre gooooooooonnnnnnnneeeeeeee."

Pass the tissues, I'm watering up again. Those kids are great.

Found it! In the couch!

OK, my 4-year-old son lost his glasses nearly 3 weeks ago. Our best guess was that they were lost in the TV room. My mother-in-law searched. My nephew searched. I searched. My husband searched.
The couch was the first place I looked. Everything winds up in there somehow. But I found nothing. Then, the other day, my 8-year-old decided to reach down into it and pulled them out. A little dirty, but still in good shape.
We already ordered a new pair, but they're only $88, complete with frames, at BJ's, so I'd rather have the back-up.
"Wook, (he still has problems with his L's), I can see Mommy!" he said happily, as he glanced about. His teachers were the first ones who noticed he had problems last year in preschool. He didn't seem to have any problems at home, but every now and then, he'd say, "My eyes are weird," at school.
The pediatriac opthalmologist, Dr. Turtel, was wonderful. And he said my son probably won't need glasses as an adult.
Big boys who wear glasses may not get passes, but 4-year-olds really look adorable in them.

What part of "Wait" don't you understand?

Does everyone have these moments with kids? ----"Mommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!!!!!" ... "Wait a minute, I'm on the phone." "But MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM ... " ... "WAIT A MINUTE, I'M ON THE PHONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" The poor person you're talking to then holds the phone away from their ear, until you calmly get back on and say, "Sorry!"
At what age do kids get it, that you can't drop everything you're doing the second they call your name? At 16, my oldest still doesn't. Actually, he's the worst. He called me while I was paying for my lunch today. I answered quickly and said "I can't talk, I'll call you back in one minute" and hung up. Ten seconds later, he called again. I didn't answer that time. Another 30 seconds, and I called him back. "Never mind, I found what I was looking for." ????????????????????????? This was one of the moments I sooooo wanted to bang my head on the wall.
The other is every Friday at 4 p.m. when he gets off work from his summer job. I've told him, time and time again, that Friday afternoon is my busiest work time all week, as we're working to get not only the next day's paper out, but the pages we're responsible for in the Sunday and Monday editions too. So from about 4 to 6 p.m., we're busy. If he wants to talk to me, do it before or after. But the following conversation is inevitable:
Him: "What time are you getting off?"
Me: "Probably after 6. I'm really busy right now."
Him: "Can you take me to the mall at 5?"
Me: "No. I won't be home."
Him: "Can you pick up Friend A, Friend B and Friend C and take us all to the mall/movies/Six Flags as soon as you're home?"
Me: Probably, but I can't give you a guarantee until I know if your dad gets off work on time.
Him: "What time will he be home?"
Me: "I don't know. It depends, again, on whether he gets off work on time."
Him: "What time is that?"
Me: "Anytime after 5. Could be as late as 9."
Him: "Can you drive me and Friend A and Friend B to Red Bank so we can see our friend's band at the Internet Cafe tomorrow?"
Me: "Let's get through tonight before we start thinking about tomorrow."
Him: "If Friend A's mother drives us, will you pick us up?"
Me: "C'mon. I'm trying to work. Tomorrow's social calendar is not up for discussion."
Him: "What time are you going to be home."
Me: (sound of head banging on desk). "Probably after 6. I have to get back to work."
Him: "But everyone's meeting at the movies and I need a ride to the mall and have to let everyone know RIGHT THIS MINUTE what time I can be there so we can decide which movie we're going to and everyone's waiting for me and .... " on and on about how his life will be ruined if he doesn't get to the movies at a certain time.
In the meantime, I just added 10 minutes to my day. One minute of conversation with him, four minutes to get up and pace out of frustration, then 5 minutes to get back to where I was.
Don't recommend that I tell him to make plans Thursday. I have. The few times he actually did, I still got a phone call Friday ....
Him: "Hi, we changed our plans and I need to go to the Firemen's Fair and everyone's meeting at 5:30, so can you give me and Friend A a ride at 5?"
It's an exercise in futility. I'm slowly putting matching dents in my forehead and my desk top.

Trying to be careful what I wish for

Anyone know of a good teen-driving program in the area? I'm sure I asked this before, but my sister told me about one in Georgia that I'd love to see copied up here.
Last night, my oldest was at the mall with a group of kids and one young lady he was particularly interested in. "I'll pick you up at 9," I said. "No .... Pleeeeeeeaaaaase, I want to go to a movie then." It was a movie he's already seen, and I was tired, wanted to be home in my PJs by 11. My husband's already asleep by then on work nights. We went back and forth, back and forth, back and forth until he admitted he wanted to stay because of this new girl.
Augh. How can I get in the way of this week's true love? Fortunately, at that point, he called and said he could get a ride home with a friend. I made sure it was a parent, not another teen, and I was able to relax.
At one point I entertained the "It'll be nice when he drives" thought. Then I realized it won't, exactly. Sometimes it'll be nice. Other times, I'll be watching out the window until he gets home.
He's driving as often as possible. And he's getting pretty good. He needs to take his right turns a little better (I hope the poor guy in the truck in Lake Como has forgiven us for this morning's scare). When he's close to getting his license I'm signing him up for a defensive driving class. My sister told me abou the set-up near her home down south. A local racetrack has a program for teens -- $500 for a full day -- where they put the teen driver into the situations that are the causes of most accidents. They teach them how to handle a slippery surface, prepare them for if they ever go off the road at 65, how to get back on, things like that. I'd say it's well worth it.

We're all in this together ....

Sooooooooo, I'm guessing that pretty much every mom with a daughter between the ages of 4 and teenage years spent at least some part of this weekend watching the trials and tribulations of Troy, Gabriella, Sharpay, Ryan and crew. I know a few got a sneak peek at High School Musical 2 on Verizon Fios, but my girls joined up with the gang at Erika's house for a High School Musical 2 pizza party Friday night. It was a popular idea ... we heard about other HSM2 parties taking place, and with 17.24 million viewers, it made the sequel's debut the most watched cable telecast of all time. I wonder if they took into account that there were at least half a dozen kids gathered around the TV at many of those homes?
My girls watched it a few more times over the weekend. Another gazillion times and they'll be caught up with the number of times they watched the original.
OK, it's Disney, it's clean, and I have to admit, I really liked the first one, at least the first dozen or so times we had it playing. Erika and I even took our girls to see it onstage at the Count Basie, a great production, we theater critics thought.
The show's huge with the kids ... they've got a show tour, a concert tour, now an ice-show tour and a sequel. Think we're going to follow them into college?

Lullabye ... and g'nite

How long have your kids wanted you to sing them lullabies? And what do, or did, you sing? My 8-year-old still asks me to come up and sing to her, especially on nights where she's overtired. Believe me, it's not my voice. I think they just like that last little bit of time with mommy before they fall asleep. After I'm done, I turn on either a CD of lullabies or classical music and head on out. I started with my now teenager, and the song's always been the same: "Dream a Little Dream of Me," a la Mama Cass. He'll deny it, but he had me singing it longer than he'd like to admit now.
My little guy likes me to sing, but his favorite thing is to come downstairs after he's already gone to bed and ask me to carry him back up. I will. Once, with a stern warning that if he gets out of bed again he's in trouble.
But both my daughters like "Dream a Little Dream." My 9 1/2-year-old even has it in her MP3 Player, and sings along with me.
I'll never be an American Idol, but at least I have my fan base.

Monkey see, Monkey do, Monkey bars, Puppy love

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" was the first scream. While his older sisters were at the basketball clinic in town, my 4-year-old joined other younger kids on the little playground nearby. My younger daughter finished up and went over to play with him
when he fell off the monkey bars trying to leap to a spot he couldn't quite reach. I carried him off the playground, tears pouring from his eyes as he held his wrist. He started to calm down as one of the dads there and I assessed the situation, there were no visible breaks and he was able to move his arm and wrist about, make a fist, grip our hands. Then ....
"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" came the second scream, a little louder, and about 30 seconds after the first. There was my 8-year-old, in the same spot, after doing the same thing.
Soon after, both of their tears stopped, but while her brother said nothing hurt anymore, my daughter still complained of wrist pain. Fortunately this morning's X-ray showed it's a sprain, not a break, and she's a little sore, but time and ibuprofen will help.
Her arrival at camp after the X-ray was funny. I told her counselor that she didn't need it wrapped, but she should be careful. But I'm sure she used her hospital wrist ID to her advantage. She immediately went up to a boy who one of her friends recently told me in confidence that my daughter is "a little in love with" and nursed her arm, pointing out her wrist ID, looking so sensitive. And I thought I had a few more years.

From fame to lame

My teen went with my dad and me to Summer Hill Day Camp's annual end-of-camp show, where each different age group does a song and dance with a theme tying them all together. I attended my first camp show nine years ago, when he was 7. At age 12, he was the emcee of the show, something I wasn't aware of until I got there. They normally have several emcees, but that year, he was pretty prominent, introducing all the acts. He was good, too, I was impressed and thought a career on the stage would ensue. Too early to tell, but it's not happening at his high school. Drama's not his thing.
So after my cheering through seven years of his camp shows, I was glad to see he wanted to see his sisters' show. As they did their skits, I grinned from ear to ear. So did the girls when they spotted me waving in the crowd, and waved back.
I was slightly wrong about my teen's intentions. He and a few other former campers he hasn't seen in a couple of years decided to go there and meet for an hour-and-a-half reunion. Last time, they were all going into 8th grade. Now they're headed into 11th.
On our way home -- he drove, and I only had to use my imaginary brake pedal twice -- he observed, "Camp shows are pretty lame."
Oh, no they're not. And some day, I'll replay the tape of the year he was the emcee, and tell him how I grinned ear to ear, boasting to the people around me, "I never knew he was so talented!"

Rest in Peace

My blood boiled when I heard about two of the suspects in the execution-style killings of the college kids in Newark. Why was Jose Carranza, already an illegal immigrant, allowed to be out on the street? He was indicted twice already this year, once on 31 counts relating to the sexual assault of a child and nine more counts stemming from a barroom fight, but he was let out on $5,000 bail. Another suspect is a lawful permanent resident, but that status was granted after he too had been arrested several times. Why?
We have so many people who want to be here, who want to be productive members of U.S. society. It makes me sick that a sociopath like Carranza was out on the streets.
Hearing of the awful killings in Newark, I could only think how horrifying this must be for the families of these kids. All getting ready to go back to school, hanging out listening to music before heading back for the fall term, to be killed by this creep who has no respect for life, much less the law.
God bless those families, and the girl who survived.

My baby's growing up

We all have those brief moments where you get a little ache at realizing your kids are growing so fast. My little guy is only 4 -- but watching him at this morning's swimming lesson, I had one of those aches. Only a month ago, he had the "death grip" around his instructor. This morning, he was kicking with the kickboard when the instructor let go. My son went several yards on his own, then the instructor held up his hands to show he wasn't holding on and my son let go of the kickboard and grabbed at the instructor.
The next time it happened, my little guy went another foot or two before grabbing for the instructor. I'm overjoyed that he's picking it up -- anytime we're near water I'm a nervous wreck -- but it also hits me that my baby's a big boy now. Boy oh boy.

Can anyone tell me where my son's glasses are?

My 4-year-old was lax on wearing his glasses over the summer ... with mostly outdoor, non-educational activities, we didn't bother trying. But he started playing a computer game, so we got them out and he was thrilled with how they helped him see. Now, finally, he really wants to wear them. All the time. We had to tell him he can't wear them in the swimming pool, and he was OK with that.
Sometime yesterday, he took them off. He was home with my mother-in-law and my visiting nephew. Sometime in the middle of the day, he took off his glasses.
We can't find them anywhere. They even have a bright headband that sticks out like a sore thumb, but we're having no luck.
We did a lot of cleaning and looking into nooks and crannies last night. Today I'm trying St. Anthony. I just hope they turn up before school.
If you were a 4-year-old, where would you hide your glasses? Augh.

From sibling rivalry to sibling support

My two daughters entered a Shoebox Float contest for our town fair last week. It's really cute: They're given a theme and they have to decorate a shoebox like a mini parade float. Last year, my older daughter entered and took first prize for her age group. This year's theme was "Patriotism." I went to the dollar store last weekend, loaded up on red, white and blue stuff, then told them I'd help them Sunday. The two girls took the bag up to their room Saturday to get ideas. Then they both did them pretty much on their own. Good thing. Their stuff was much better than anything I could think of. I helped tape things down and finish them off, then dropped them off at Town Hall.
My older daughter took first place and my younger took second place in their separate divisions. I was so proud of them -- but my younger one got "the look" on her face when her older sister kept saying, "Isn't my trophy cool?" and such.
Eventually, the older one caught on to the younger one's green-eyed gaze. But the first place shoebox in my younger daughter's division was pretty spectacular. I heard my older daughter tell her sister, "If that one was in my age group, it would definitely have beaten my float too!" She then put the trophy she had been gleefully displaying for awhile into a bag (all her friends had seen it by then!) and asked my husband to take it to the car, then pulled her sister to go look at Webkinz.
Sometimes they fight, sometimes they play wonderfully. Sometimes they tease and pick at each other. And sometimes they do the nice thing by their sister.

Day at the Races

I try to remember to have some occasional one-on-one time with the kids, but with the hustle and bustle of our lives, it's tough. Yesterday, I got a chance to do a little one-on-one time with my older daughter.
OK, she came to the track with me. Not as wholesome as apple-picking, but I was going after hats. My original plan was to run up to Monmouth Park to get a couple Haskell hats and leave the kids home with my husband, but then remembered my older daughter needed new sneakers, so I told her to come along, that she could help me get a few hats while we were at it, then we'd stop and get her sneakers. Just before we left, I said what the heck, we'd stay and watch a race or two, so I packed some snacks and off we went. We had fun, stayed there for a little over an hour. She helped me with my scientific method of selecting horses (whichever names we liked). By the way ... my daughter picked Any Given Saturday -- the eventual winner, also the horse shown in the photo above -- for our Haskell Trifecta, to go along with my pick of Curlin, and we both liked the name Cable Boy. Not yesterday. Curlin came in third, Cable Boy came in 5th. We left hours before the race.
That's OK. We won nothing but a good time.
Four Haskell hats: $8
Lousy bets: $20
Alone-time with my daughter: Priceless

Earplugs, anyone?

Maybe I'm out of my mind. But my soon-to-be-8-year-old daughter is getting an electric guitar for her birthday. Maybe I should take the word "maybe" out of the previous sentence.
Since she was in kindergarten, she's had a career goal of being a rock star. She was the only 5 year old to show up in faux-leather pants (thanks to a bag of hand-me-down clothes and costumes from a friend!) on Career Day. Actually, I think she was probably the only one in her K-8 school to wear leather pants to school. Ever.
Her principal couldn't help hiding a laugh as she crossed the street, wearing hairglasses and her hair all wild. He said, "What are you going to be, a movie star?" "No, a ROCK star," she corrected him.
I didn't think it would last, but she's hanging in there. She will tell you flat out that's what she's going to be, and she's recruiting some of her friends to be in her band. At least it's a possibility; her preschool goal was to be a butterfly.
She started asking for a guitar early this summer. At my friend Marj's annual bash, my daughter and I spoke with one of the musicians, and when he heard she wanted an electric guitar, he told her she'd have to perform at next year's bash. She said sure!
So the candy apple red, kid-sized electric guitar with 5-watt amp I bought on E-bay arrived in the mail. It's stashed in our closet, waiting for her birthday.
The neighbors are going to be thrilled.

Loose, footloose, kick off yer Sunday shoes

My teen wanted to meet friends in Point Pleasant Beach for Jenkinson's Teen Night on Tuesday. We had said it was OK, but then he changed his mind and went to a local firemen's fair instead. The next day, I heard people at work talking about a news update they were filing regarding arrests related to the Tuesday Teen Night.
My first reaction was, thank goodness he didn't go. But reading today's story, it's really a small percentage of kids who could ruin a good thing for the rest of them.
I'm reminded of the movie "Footloose." There's really no place for kids 16 to 20 to go out dancing. And if you have several hundred teens coming to an event, there are going to be some who will sneak booze beforehand, or try to sneak it in. But from the looks of things, between Jenkinsons' staff and the cops, sounds like they've got everybody pretty well scrutinized at the door.
Teens sometimes get a bad rap. Sometimes it's deserved, but sometimes they're being who they are ... goofy, a little obnoxious, trying to find their way into adulthood. They think they know so much more than us, and that we don't understand them, just like we thought we knew so much more than our folks, and that they didn't understand us, like they thought our grandparents didn't understand them ... it's part of being a teen, and while there are many ages I'd like to relive if I had the chance, 15 and 16 wouldn't be in my top 10. Such angst! And no license!
And I'd much prefer a well-supervised Teen Night -- where the liquor is locked up -- than the "all ages" shows now offered at nightclubs. I let my teen go see a band at one of these events last year, and I stayed. Watching the crowd, I thought it wouldn't be too difficult for an unsupervised teen to get someone of age to sneak a spiked drink into a cup. Security was everywhere, and they WERE watching, but I'd much rather know that the audience is just about all under 21, and no booze is being sold inside.

Power of prayer

Prayer is something I try to get my kids to understand, but I think I've been doing it wrong. Just having them repeat prayers isn't enough. I want them to understand why they pray, whether to ask for help or to give thanks.
I was talking to my friend Patty about prayer this morning. I told her about some mini-miracles that happened around the time my uncle was dying. On the last day he could talk, he became alert, broke out into a huge smile and told my sister, "She's here, she's here!" My sister asked who, and he said, "St. Therese, she's here!" and he was absolutely beaming.
He was devoted to St. Therese, the "Little Flower," (that's her photo) whose signature is a flower. She is believed to send you a rose when she's heard your prayer. She was the saint my uncle started every day praying to.
That particular morning, a beautiful bouquet of yellow roses had arrived.
You've gotta love us Catholics and our saints.
Patty had a great story. She's a fan of praying to St. Anthony, patron saint of lost things. Shortly after 9/11, Patty went to put up an American flag she had recently purchased. It was nowhere to be found. She prayed to St. Anthony, asking for a little help. A little while later, she happened to glance up and saw a tiny piece of something sticking from a storage shelf. She reached up and pulled, and it was the brand new flag. As she said her thanks to St. Anthony, her phone rang. As she picked it up, she glanced at Caller ID. It read: St. Anthony's Messenger. Seems the magazine chose that time to call her about a subscription.
Coincidence? Nah.