Sacramento Parent Magazine

I’ve had many proud mommy moments in the nearly ten years I’ve been a mom.  Usually these moments occur when my kids do something to really impress me (such as the time my daughter asked for more broccoli at a family dinner), but every once in a while I impress myself as a mother.  I’m usually the mom who lays in bed at night wondering why I did or said this or that, vowing to do it better tomorrow, but last night was different.  I went to bed with a great sense of pride and peace.

Yesterday was quite a long day, and as you probably know, it was HOT.  I finally went out to the front porch after the sun went down to eat my dinner.  Must have been 9 o’clock.  There I was, eating my Chinese broccoli in the dark, when my son came to inform me that he had broken a glass jar in the pantry.

“I was just trying to get some peanuts, and the jar slipped out of my hands!” he said, clearly upset that the peanuts were now covered in little shards of glass and therefore inedible.

“That’s OK.  Put some shoes on if you go near the kitchen.  I’ll clean it up,” I said.

“Are you mad at me?”, he asked.

“Nope,” I answered.  “I’m a little bummed that I have to clean up another mess, but it’s no big deal.  It was an accident.”

To be quite honest, I’m surprised I wasn’t upset.  I think an earlier version of myself would have been put out, and might have made my son feel sorry for the accident.  I would have sighed audibly and huffed as I set about sweeping up the mess. 

But not this mommy.  This mommy has learned over the years that accidents happen, that children have tender emotions, that the small stuff is not worth sweating, that it’s better to sleep with a sense of pride and peace than angst and regret.  And hey, it was just peanuts.

The morning sun woke me around 6:40am. I remembered we were at a hotel near the beach and it was father’s day.  If only we didn’t have to be at my daughter’s soccer game across the beach by 8:30am. (sigh) 

“You go for coffee, while I shower,” she said.

“Hey! It’s father’s day!” I barked.

With a brief hug she replied, “Oh yeah, happy Father’s Day…make sure to find some muffins the kids will eat.”  Winked at me and headed off to start the day.

I trudged off to the coffee place by the pier, but it wasn’t open for a few more minutes. I sat down on a bench looking at the ocean in the morning sunshine and pouted selfishly as this is not the Father’s Day I would have chose.  Then the sunshine and ocean breeze seemed to fill my being and I closed my eyes for a few minutes of solitude.  I imagined doing Tai Chi down on the sand and felt better. With a new look on the day I grabbed the coffee and pastries and headed back to begin the menagerie. 

We were checked out of the hotel, loaded in the urban assault vehicle by 8:10 and were eliminated from the soccer tourney by 1pm. The team didn’t fare much better on Saturday but I love to watch my girl play soccer; it fills my heart with happiness.

Between games, the boy and I threw a ball until our arms hurt. After the final soccer game he reminded me that I promised him a trip to the boardwalk arcade. He had ICEE, a roll of quarters and I got a parking ticket…On our way out of town his sister was mad that she didn’t get an ICEE so she got to pick lunch. (Later I found the remains of a five dollar footlong under the seat…payback?)

Traffic was light on the ride home and being Father’s Day I got to choose the music on the ipod. I played their favorite songs and we sang until they fell asleep.

As we turned onto our street RosevilleMom says with a smile, “You do know you get next Sunday as a make-up Father’s Day, don’t you?”

Talk about good karma!

Even plastic moms

Have a hard time balancing

Their busy schedules

MomLogic.com is featuring a blog post by an outraged L.A. momma I could not agree with more! Apparently the cool $2 mill for a Lakers’ parade (half of which the city, or, rather - the BANKRUPT city- is footing) could buy a lot of outstanding education for our kids.  (You can read it here: http://www.momlogic.com/)

It reminded me of something our “Dad Next Door,” Matt Fisher said in the June issue. In response to our “When I’m crowned King of America…” prompt, he said, “I’ll make pro athletes sponsor a teacher!” YES! Brilliant! I think we’ve almost got this whole education issue solved! Seriously, though, why not? Kings players, are you listening? How about we route NBA fines for unsportsmanlike conduct directly into schools?
This topic is especially close to my heart as a former teacher with friends and family still in the classroom trenches. If you’re following it, too, be sure to check out our July issue. Lisa Thibodeau, one of our best freelance contributors wrote a great story on the looming increase in class sizes coming this fall, and how we can reduce its impact on kids. And Molly Dunham (aka our very own “Mom-Made” blogger) wrote about her own solution - unschooling. It’s a pretty fascinating philosophy.

My kids are at that age of discovering music on the radio. They either listen to the crap on the top 40 station or the local country station. This is an odd combination, and I think our care-giver, Britt the Wonderful, is to blame. She loves country music.

I like country music more than top 40, but just between you and me, some of it makes me cry. I wonder if it has to do with kids, family, getting older and thinking about things more. Regardless, I look real silly when it happens!

For example, I love love love the Zac Brown band. ‘Chicken Fried’ is my Friday anthem: “…cold beer on a Friday night…See the love in my woman’s eyes…Feel the touch of a precious child…”

Also, Darius Rucker’s ‘Alright’ is the song that comes to me as do the late night house walk checking tucked-in kids, turning off lights, picking up crap, etc: “…But as far as I can see, I’ve got everything I want…Cause I’ve got a roof over my head…the (kids) I love laying in (their) bed…And it’s alright, alright…” Yeah sure, I modify it, but I’m sure Darius would be ok with it.

Finally there is Richie McDonald’s ‘Six Ft Teddy Bear’. I think this guy was at my house when he wrote this:”…six foot teddy bear, youngins runnin’ every where…Barbie doll, bubble bath, wearing Mickey Mouse’s hat, saying prayers, (writtin’ blogs)…oh anyone could see, standin’ there, is a six foot teddy bear…”

Dang it Britt, where are those tissues?

That today is National Doughnut Day?

I took my son to get a doughnut for breakfast this morning (because we’re that healthy).  It was a reward for time served waiting with me at the auto shop this morning while our car was fixed. 

I said to the lady at the bakery jokingly, “It’s doughnut day!”  She said, “You heard that too?”

“Oh, I was just kidding.  Is it really doughnut day?”, I asked.

Apparently every first Friday in June is National Doughnut Day.  From holidayinsights.com:

National Doughnut Day honors the Salvation Army “Lassies” of WWI. It is also used as a fund raiser for needy causes of the Salvation Army.

The original Salvation Army Doughnut was first served by Salvation Army in 1917. During WWI, Salvation Army “lassies” were sent to the front lines of Europe. These brave volunteers made home cooked foods, and provided a morale boost to the troops. Often, the doughnuts were cooked in oil inside the of the metal helmet of an American soldier. The American infantrymen were commonly called doughboys. Salvation Army lassies were the only women outside of military personnel allowed to visit the front lines. Lt. Colonel Helen Purviance is considered the Salvation Army’s “first doughnut girl”.

On National Doughnut Day, look to see if your local doughnut shop, or other organizations, are offering free donuts to solicit donations for the Salvation Army or for another needy cause. If you find them, please be generous.

So what will it be?  Cake doughnut with sprinkles, maple bar, apple fritter, old fashioned or French crueller?  Save a buttermilk bar for me, please.

My nine year old daughter Syd has a meltdown every once and a while. This usually happens when she is fatigued or had a bad day at school.  We can tell when it’s a meltdown as there is storming off to the bedroom followed by a slam of the door

In the past we would follow her and try to discuss the issue, but this never changed her mood.  So upon the next occurrence I decided to change the handling of the meltdown:

I knocked on the door, announced that it was dad, and entered.  I found a heap of a comforter on her bed with no sign of a head or feet.  I decided to lie down on her bed, to which the comforter said, “GET OUT.”  I replied that mom and I pay the mortgage. Furthermore, we have paid for all the stuff in this room and that she was welcome to be grouchy and hide from the world, but there was no way she was going to tell me where I could park my fanny. (I’m such a toughie!) The comforter heap went quiet.  I lay down on the bed, folded my arms and said nothing further, nor did the puffy pile beside me. 

As I lay in silence desperately trying to think of something really really important to say, I found that nothing came.  After what seemed like an hour, but what was only a few minutes, it came to me.  I stood up, announced that I was hungry and I was thinking of riding over to Starbucks.  I asked the comforter heap if it felt like joining me, and the heap responded, “No.”  “Ok, but a hot chocolate and a pastry sure would hit the spot and I’m not inviting anyone else.” As I walked to the door, I heard the heap say, “Wait for me.”   Hey, I might just know what I’m doing here! 

With two hot chocolates and pastries in front of us I say, “Long day, eh?” 

“Yeah.”

“Anything happen, or just tired and grouchy?”

“Just tired.”

“I hear ya, good hot chocolate?”

“Very good!”

We sat for a while, devouring sugary caffeinated products; the bond between us growing large in her eyes.  I regaled my biggest fan with stories of my childhood meltdowns and how there were no Starbucks back in the olden days. (The stories tend to be like my blogs; entertaining because they are slightly and overtly exaggerated.)

The rest of the day went fine and I’m thinking this parenting thing isn’t that tough. Nothing seems to put a smile on my baby girl’s face like a little one on one time at Starbucks with her genius dad.

We live in an older, established neighborhood, walking distance from coffee shops, bars, salons, antique stores and banks.  But sometimes I feel like we live on the very edge of wilderness.  I guess we do.  The American River Canyon is just a block away. 

A few years ago, walking back from viewing fireworks on the Fourth of July, we were warned by neighbors along the way that a bear had just been spotted walking down the very same street.  Just last year, we were riding our bikes along the railroad tracks when a State Parks vehicle stopped to warn us that there was a bear just down the tracks, and perhaps we wanted to consider a different bike route. 

Just this afternoon, my husband saw a State Park truck driving up and down our street.  We didn’t receive any official warnings, but all the same, we alerted our children that they should probably stay in the backyard, just in case.  You never know what kind of predators are lurking around the neighborhood, and I’d prefer stearing clear of them.  Though it would be exciting to actually see a bear, wouldn’t it? 

I had to laugh when I read Roseville Dad’s last post, High-Tech Mondays.  He lives in Roseville, I live in Auburn, but we are worlds apart.  We live a rather low-tech life.  Neither me nor my husband telecommute.  In fact, most days, my husband commutes by bike.  We have no gaming devices, no satellite dish, no cell phones.  Our cordless phones are almost always on the fritz.  We do have two computers and wireless internet access, but at least once a month we debate whether or not to keep wi-fi. 

Our low tech life is intentional.  We used to have cell phones and satellite dishes.  Now we have a garden and chickens.  Instead of playing Wii, we play board games.  My daughter probably wishes we were more like Roseville Mom and Roseville Dad, but alas, she’s stuck in Auburn with Mom-Made and Dad-Made.

My parents, however, live a little closer to Roseville.  I called my dad on his cell phone the other day, and while we were talking another call came in.  I answered the other line (always amazed when my ancient phone lets me do this), and it was my mom calling from her cell phone.  There I was, talking to both my parents from the same house, on different lines.  I told them, “This would never happen at my house!”

They had a good laugh with their low-tech daughter. 

Riley’s May Bio

Favorite Pastime of the Month: Pretending to be a superhero and indignantly demanding to only be referred to as such.

Annoying Habit of the Month: Leaving the seat up and aiming off target.

Exasperating Moment of the Month: Screaming like a girl at all bugs big or small.

Raised Eyebrow Moment of the Month: Asked to be brought a toy and when it wasn’t delivered in a timely fashion stating, “Well do you think you could get up and get it?”