In 2011--Thou Shall Not Compare

It was a drizzly, dank day in early October, 1987 when we returned from our 2-week honeymoon to Acapulco and Disney World learning what true intimacy really meant after succumbing to a colorful stomach virus on stop one in Mexico—close quarters and newlywed dysentery are not a pretty sight! Wanting to get our new homestead up and running, I sauntered into the grocery store to grab a few pantry essentials and left with two carriages full of everything from Cornish game hens (no clue what they even were) to SOS pads (does anyone even use those today?).

As a 23-year old newlywed, I quickly learned that grocery shopping for two did not entitle me to spend nearly $300 a week for extra lean hamburger and other incidentals. After a few months of fresh veggies rotting faster than I could dice them, I swiftly mastered the brave art of consumer comparison shopping, which served us well because we were able to upgrade from our sweet, cottage starter home to a full-blown 6-bed Mediterranean Contemporary in a few short years. Oh, how I would give my monthly root touch-ups for all that closet space now!

That was one of my first vivid experiences with making comparisons. While noting the savings between one and two-ply toilet paper certainly paid off during the past 20 years, I found that some things just cannot and should not be compared—starting with spouses.

I’ve made it no secret that my handsome husband brought many things to the table when we become a couple, but being handy sure wasn’t one of them. On any given weekend, I’d see the other husbands in the neighborhood, tool belts armed and ready, tackling rickety gutters, securing loose shingles or even changing the oil in their own lawnmowers. Not my guy—bless his heart though, he would spend our days off accompanying me on shopping excursions, staying out of my way while I tackled home projects, or even visiting my family! Just because he will probably never own a ratchet wrench, so what, he’s a keeper!

Also keepers were the two cocker spaniels we got during the first month of our marriage. Never in a million years did we think we’d own a dog, never mind two, that would cost as much as one mortgage payment. But my heart couldn’t stop beating when I first laid eyes on them. Brian knew he was in trouble and didn’t even bother trying to talk me out of them. We were soon the proud parents of two yippy, nippy dogs that wet the floor the second anyone walked in the house. Although all the other pups in the hood seemed to actually obey commands and never stole food from the table, Chloe and Ashley were my special slices of comfort during six long years of infertility—so you know what—I wouldn’t have traded them for the best-behaved pooches in the world.

Now then, about that infertility bout I battled for years. Isn’t it always the way that when you want something so badly, everyone else around you seems to get what you want—effortlessly? While all my friends, family and every stranger I encountered at Wal-Mart was eagerly awaiting a visit from the stork, I was home making deals with the man above that if I were to get just one chance to become a mother, I’d never complain about anything, ever again. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I had the world by the tail. We both had great jobs, a dream home (including a pool boy!) and vacationed anywhere we wanted to for all those years that I spent crying beside an empty crib.

Ask and you shall receive. After the blessed adoption of our beautiful oldest daughter, and then seven babies later, my mission to become a mother was finally accomplished. Now what? Well, downsizing our living arrangements for starters. Losing one hefty income yet super-sizing our family in ten short years meant that designer dream home had to go. We moved to a simple raised ranch, and though we did lots of renovations and such, it wasn’t the mansion we had owned years earlier. Somehow it didn’t seem fair that families with one or two children had their own walk-in closets while we were wondering where to stack the next bunk bed, but what a great problem to have, more family members vs. available square footage.

And last, but not least, the children that I cried to have for all those years—they now have friends, cousins, and teammates that are superstar athletes, stellar students, gifted musicians, don’t have learning disabilities, and sport the latest electronic gadgets all while wearing the latest designer labels. You know where this is going, right? It’s hard to avoid noticing how everyone else’s kids don’t have the same struggles my kids do. Or do they? What a bummer to fall into the trap of wanting to make a child be something other than his own unique self.

Thankfully, a brand new year has arrived offering us yet another opportunity to mold and shape it with our dreams and goals but above all our actions. I know that I will have more ideas and desires than time will permit, but hopefully, in 2011, I will save my need to compare for when I am carousing the aisles of the grocery store, not when I’m thinking about my own or my family’s past or present accomplishments.

Have Yourself a Merry Little Chapstick!

Typically, I don’t get overwhelmed very easily, I mean the fact that I forgot one of my sons at church last year and didn’t realize it until we were seated at home eating lunch only jangled my nerves for a few seconds and nearly a year later, he’s finally speaking to me and doesn’t feel the need to leave a poster-sized photo of himself on the dashboard. But during this time of year, when the pressure to pull off the most dazzling holiday your friends and mother n law will ever see, is thrust upon us even before The Statue of Liberty can put away her red, white, and blue—it’s nearly enough to bring me to my breaking point.

Each November I sit myself down for my annual self-to-self pep talk. With only three items on this morning’s to-do list--unclogging the blades of the dishwasher, making sock monkeys to give as gifts during these hard times (kidding, just kidding) and heading down to the drugstore to pick up some Chapstick for my son—non-flavored would be preferable he scribbled on a reminder note across my Centrum coupon, it seemed like I could get myself back on track by lunchtime.

Depending on what kind of a hair year I’m having or whether my extra chin can be disguised in a gently stretched out turtleneck, determines if this conversation will take place in front of a mirror or in the corner of my darkened laundry room. But wait, the laundry room is out this year because I’m holding a grudge against mine at the moment. Nothing big mind you, just a small inconvenience with our top-of-the-line front loading washer machine, the flapper on the pump, I believe went kaput. In my experience with this luxury contraption we’ve owned for a couple of long years, when something malfunctions it requires that the part be ordered from some remote warehouse in the farthest corner of the country, never someplace local. So this was the first test in the “Is she losing it yet?” department for the 2010 Holiday Season.

Surely it’s ok to start feeling a few little pangs of losing control when you have ten family members that need to be kept in clean underwear and other incidentals like sports uniforms, white socks, and fine jeans and you become so exhausted from farming out six loads a day that you turn your dream Jacuzzi into a makeshift Laundromat!

Back to that annual pep talk of mine. The bad hair year and the resentment I am still carrying towards my washer machine lead me to the next best place for this important conversation—my car. Here I could lock myself in, turn on some peppy rendition of jingle bells and start feeling the holiday love once again. Oops—I Forgot! I now have two teenagers who drive. Suddenly, mom’s minivan is a super cool set of wheels, especially when it has a full tank of gas and can be driven with me left far behind. Sigh.

Not one to give up, I decided to give my bathroom a try—a tranquil place I could spend a few therapeutic moments alone. It’s the last place anyone would look for me because in 23 years, I’ve probably only spent a grand total of an hour in there for whatever reason. Drat—that’s no good either. The master bath is where I hide many of the Christmas gifts. Why do you think we paid good money for an oversized Jacuzzi? If it weren’t for the use it has gotten as a washer machine or a stellar hiding place for a solid six weeks every year, then I think my husband would still be crying over that installation. With stocking stuffers and a gazillion rolls of wrapping paper peeking at me, I couldn’t possibly have a heart-to-heart with myself about how to sit back and relax during this holiday season in there.

After the dinner dishes were done, compliments of the newly, unclogged dishwasher blades, I sat down to look at our family holiday greeting cards that I picked up when I forgot to buy the non-flavored Chapstick earlier that day. Eerily, there wasn’t a single child, husband or pet trying to get my attention while I admired my painstaking handy work of getting 8 children to smile at the same time during this year’s obligatory family pose.

Despite the craziness this time of year brings, I have always enjoyed handwriting nearly 100 Christmas cards to friends and family for the sheer reason of wanting to stay connected during the holidays, not to brag about my Ivy League ability to jerry rig the Jacuzzi into our second washing machine. For me, taking that time to reach out to people I really care about (ok, well, most of them) defines the true meaning of the season.

My son walked in just as I tucked the photo cards away and I realized that I had just managed to pull off my annual pep talk without even trying. I may have forgotten to buy his Chapstick but I was relieved that I hadn’t completely forgotten why this time of year is so special. Before I know it, the holiday tunes will be gone, my sacred hiding places will be empty, the last of the decorations will be stowed up in the attic, and sooner than I care to think about, my family will be grown and gone and these harried holiday rushes will be just a memory.

On that note, I headed straight to the drugstore to buy a few tubes of Chapstick. One non-flavored for my son, and some extras to keep around as a reminder that the holidays aren’t about rushing around and putting on a good show, they are about spending time with those that you care about.

No Kids Allowed!

I can remember it like it was yesterday. There I sat on my front steps—a picture perfect, golden autumn day was unfolding all around us as my then 5-year old daughter stepped off the Kindergarten bus for the very first time. Another milestone had just taken place. My oldest child had temporarily left the nest for 4.5 hours so she could get a better handle on learning the alphabet, her primary colors and other worldly matters such as how to maneuver her very first backpack!

After just one short week of this incredible thing called school, I soon discovered two very important things—4.5 hours really isn’t that much time at all, and if I wanted to be in the know about all the goings on that take place in that blink of time the answers could always be found in that oversized pouch—the backpack. Because she was our first to venture off to school via the big yellow bus, the only communication I had with her new world was stashed in that sack. The first few weeks I unpacked it lovingly—oohing and aahing over each juice spattered Tempera painting she created on the school easel (exactly where all painting projects should take place), gently checked her lunch box to make sure she had eaten her snack (a decade ago it was ok to send Twinkies or chips), and always, always sat down to quietly read all the paperwork that was sent home from the teacher (my heart skipping a beat when I eagerly signed up to be the coveted room mother).

Seven kids later that ritual went right out the window, along with the Twinkies and chips, and as soon as they hit middle school the chances of getting anyplace near their sacred backpacks was about as likely as getting them to take a hardboiled egg to school to accommodate today’s healthy snack policy.

Most communication between school and family comes to a crashing halt during these and the high school years, so to this day I am so grateful that I didn’t take for granted the sheer ecstasy I received those many years ago when I received our oldest daughter’s very first and all important field trip permission slip! I knew immediately it was something special and not just the everyday ditto that came down the pike. You see, it was copied on orange paper and it was glowing with adorable pumpkins and a few festive bales of hay. You guessed it! The Kindergarten kids were going on their very first field trip—to the pumpkin patch!

I could barely catch my breath before I caught glimpse of the bold text glaring at me from the bottom of the page—“No Parents Allowed”. Chaperones would not be necessary this time, but the teacher assured us that plenty of other opportunities would be there for the parental taking. (Be careful what you wish for—12 years later I’ve ridden that big yellow bus loaded with boisterous cherubs to more museums and outings than I ever could’ve hoped for!)

As families across America surround themselves with freshly sharpened # 2 pencils, overpriced new sneakers and a rainbow of canvas backpacks I, too, have purchased a few back-to-school supplies of my own, starting with an un creased, blank 5-subject notebook and a shiny blue sharpie. Nope, I don’t plan on taking any classes this fall, but after reminiscing back to my oldest daughter’s first year in Kindergarten I realized I’ve been missing out on an unbelievable opportunity each September—field trips—not for the school youngsters—for me, the parent, as in “No Kids Allowed”!

I sat and daydreamed about all the places I, a fun-loving fresh off a 10-week summer vacation parent, would like to spend some “me” time (other than the loony bin) and within moments, my new blue sharpie was practically dry! I’ve got dozens of places I’d like to go visit during this upcoming school year as well as some new things I’d love to try. Destinations as simple as taking a picnic lunch, a good book and one of those contraptions people actually sit in on the sand, a chair I believe, to the beach to catching the train to Boston and meeting my husband for lunch where catsup isn’t the main course. And as crazy as this may sound, I’m going to try and make one new recipe a week from scratch for the entire school year starting with homemade apple dumplings, using apples I pick from the orchard, of course!

We look at New Year’s Eve as a magical marker for making resolutions that will improve our individual lifestyles—why not back-to-school as well? A brand new school year is an incredible opportunity for everyone who wishes to take stock in their current lives—including people who don’t have children. There is an eagerness to learn in the air as well as excitement in getting to know new friends and teachers.

What a great time for young and old alike to go within and decide if our life grades are up to snuff. I know there are several areas in my life where I’d like to strive for a few more A+’s especially where the subject matter is trying new things and exploring new places. I’m just so glad I don’t need an official permission slip to get started—or have to rely on a school bus laden with children to get me there.

The ABC's of Back To School--Best Advice from Teachers and Parents for an A+ School Year

New lunchboxes—check. Crayons and markers—check. Notebooks, binders, glue sticks—check. You’ve gone to all the back-to-school sales and loaded your pupils up with the right tools to get their new year of learning off to a great start. If only it were that easy—sharpening a dozen # 2 pencils and sending them off to a carefree, fun-filled new year of school.

Parents and teachers that are embarking on yet another new school year know better. It’s an exciting time for sure, but it’s also one of the most stressful seasons that families face each year as well. If you’re looking for some great advice on a smoother transition from the lazy days of summer to the schedule oriented months ahead, here is a report card full of A+ tips from some local teachers and parents that can help.

Students of All Ages

· Establish a school-year sleep routine. This may sound quite elementary, but the consensus amongst teachers at all grade levels is in reference to getting enough sleep. Approximately two weeks before those school bells ring, parents should begin to wean their children off of their summer bedtime routines and ease into an earlier regimen where TV and electronics are off at a reasonable time, personal hygiene care such as showering and brushing teeth are taken care of and then they can have some quiet time before heading off to dreamland.
· Plan a fun family day before school starts to make the most of the summer and prevent back-to-school blues.
· Read! Our Class-A teachers couldn’t stress enough--read, read, read! Although students receive a summer reading list, parents can be instrumental in keeping their kids on task by encouraging them to read not only throughout the course of the summer but during the rest of the year too. If this means trading computer or iPod time for 45 minutes of page turning per day—by all means, do it! For younger children, you’ve heard it before—snuggle in and read to your child often—it is that important!
· Do not take too much stock in "hear say" about certain teachers. Every child is different and while personalities meshing are certainly important both our teachers and parents highly recommend not listening to your neighbor’s opinion of why one teacher is better than another. If there is a particular concern you have about your child’s learning style, a personality quirk, an anxiety issue etc, communication is key. Start the new year off with a note (or e-mail if appropriate) to your child’s teacher addressing any of these issues so he/she can help your child have a pleasant and confident start to the new year.
· Get it ready the night before. Taking a few minutes the night before school to organize backpacks, homework, lunches, gym clothes, musical instruments, field trip slips etc. can add years to your life! This small investment can prevent that stressful chaos of wondering if Tommy’s left sneaker is actually buried in his closet or is hidden in the toy box. Get your kids involved so they too can breathe easier when the morning rush hits.
· Attend Open Houses. Most schools hold an Open House at the beginning of the school year for parents to meet their child’s teacher(s) and visit the classroom. This is an excellent opportunity to introduce yourself and say hello but our teachers have all noted that the Open House visit is not the time to conference with them about your child’s progress or other such matters.
· Get to know the principals and the office staff. This little gem was something many parents have found invaluable. Whether you have one child or several attending the school, it’s always helpful to introduce yourself to the principals and the school office staff. These people will be interacting with your children also, so help them put a parental face to your child’s name. Remember—it takes a village to raise a child!


Elementary School Students

· Be reassuring. One of the best pieces of advice that our group of teachers have offered is to simply tell your children that they will be fine! Talk with your kids a couple of weeks in advance about what to expect as they head back to school and seek their input as to what they are looking forward to as well as what they might be concerned with. The end of summer is a great time to encourage them to reconnect with school buddies they may not have seen during vacation. Several parents recommend letting your children make a scrapbook or journal of favorite summertime events to share with friends and teachers when the kids return to school as a bit of an ice breaker.
· Visit your child’s classroom before school starts. This tip was high on the list from all our elementary and middle school teachers when asked what parents can do to help anxiety ridden youngsters that are nervous about beginning a new school year. During the end of summer vacation teachers are setting up their classrooms by organizing the different centers, decorating bulletin boards, arranging desks and furniture. If it is okay with your individual school, arrange to drop in and introduce your child to his/her new teacher. They will have some quiet time to interact with the teacher as well as a chance to roam the classroom and become familiar with their new learning environment.
· Set the stage. Spend time thinking together about quiet time and reading and work space in the house. Choose special places, like corners of rooms, or certain tables or chairs, to show your kids that you'll help them find space where they can do the things that matter, like reading and homework.
· Resist the urge to involve your child (or yourself) in everything. Parents get bombarded with beginning-of-the-year paperwork including many pamphlets advising of all the after school clubs, sports and programs available. Give both your child and yourself several weeks to settle into the new school routine before signing up for everything that comes down the pike. Know your child’s limits and better yet, know your own before committing to too many activities!
· Volunteer in the classroom. If your child’s classroom is looking for parent volunteers and you have the time and desire, sign up. It means a lot to your child and it can be very rewarding to work with his/her new friends as well as helps you form a closer relationship with the teacher.
· Freeze the juice boxes. Our savvy parents freeze their children’s juice boxes the night before and then place one in the lunch each morning, and it keeps the whole lunch cold until cafeteria time.
· Keepsake photos. Whether you are a scrapbooker or not, several parents love the idea of taking a photo of their cherubs on the first day of school holding a sign stating the date of the first day of school and the grade. This is fun to do on the last day of school as well, that way you can really see how much your child has changed and grown. Keep a box of Kleenex handy!

Middle School and High School Students

· Label everything clearly. Color-code for different subjects--green folder, book cover, and notebook for science, yellow for English etc.
· Make an instant hit with the teacher by sending in a note to ask if there are any needed supplies in the classroom that they could use. Science teachers, for example can always use donations of things like paper towels and Windex or Fantastic!
· Make your teenager smile (or blush!) by packing her/his sandwich in a Hello Kitty or Spiderman baggie. And yes, a few notes of encouragement packed in their lunches throughout the school year never hurts either.
· Never fall for the “I don’t have any homework” line. It’s not always easy for the parents of middle and high school aged students to know exactly what’s going on in each of their child’s individual classes. If you continue to hear from your child that he/she doesn’t have any homework, be pro-active and check in via e-mail with the teacher to make sure your child is exactly where he/she should be. Don’t wait for progress reports to come out—by then it might be too late.
· Cell phones and texting. The majority of students in middle and high school have cell phones that they bring to school each day. While communicating with parents during the school day is sometimes necessary, texting throughout the day back and forth is a big distraction to your student, those around him and the teacher. There is a time and a place for texting, parents need to be respectful of this and encourage their children to be respectful as well.
· Think in terms of rectangles. One of our middle school teachers likes to refer to rectangles in the context of school readiness. Books and soccer fields are powerful rectangles as well as dinner tables and basketball courts, but video games, Xbox, iPhones and other unsupervised computer access are less healthy choices that do not promote academic success for most children. Suggestions: Set time limits for screens. Look over the phone bills and note the times texts are sent...more than five texts during school hours is too many. Texting late into the night has also been observed as an explanation often for sleep deprived, cranky students. Monitor rectangles and praise your child for the books read and time spent doing social things.
· Parental support. Many teachers are parents as well. They realize the many balls that parents are juggling on the home front and are committed to helping your child be the best student he/she can be and are most appreciative of the support families extend to them throughout the school year.

Back to School Shopping

Let’s face it, each year the back-to-school sales start earlier and earlier. This year, ads were being run on the 4th of July! New supplies are necessary, and it’s always fun to have some new items in our children’s school wardrobes, but our smart and frugal bunch of teachers and parents hope you’ll pay attention to their advice on this highly overrated subject below:

· Don’t shop the sales until you know exactly what your child’s teacher wants. Some schools will post the needed supplies on the school website prior to the first day of school, but most teachers will send a list of necessary items home within the first few days of school. Here are a few key items to keep in mind:
· Backpacks: practical and simple. Always consider the size of your child. The pack should not ride on your child’s bottom. It should sit on the back.
· Writing instruments: Good old fashion #2 yellow pencils, these are a pencil sharpener’s best love. (These also make an excellent teacher gift!) Mechanical pencils are great for the older kids as long as you keep them amply supplied with refills.
· Crayons, Markers, Colored pencils: The deluxe sets are not needed in the classroom. Start with a basic supply. Chances are high that by the winter holidays they have lost them all and will need replacing.
· Folders and Binders: Although school supply stores provide a suggestion list, here you are better off waiting to hear from your child’s teacher.

While back-to-school does present its share of harried and stressful moments, it’s also an exciting time of year to celebrate your child’s individual growth and learning. New skills will be learned, new friendships made and milestones both small and large will be met throughout the new school year. Local Physical Education teacher and author of Mother Daze, Christine Carr, shares a passage from her book that will surely make you smile—In a letter sent home to parents from a school's principal: "If you promise not to believe everything your child says happens at this school, we will promise not to believe everything he says happens at home.". “A good education takes time to unfold but teachers can't do it alone -- it takes a team effort: child, parent, and teacher. With everyone on board, our children will certainly be ready to take flight and experience the valued benefits of a quality education.”

You've Got Text

Well, now I’ve gone and done it, not that I really had much of a choice. After adamantly holding steadfast that pigs would fly before Cheryl L. Butler learned to text, I caved during baseball season and let my fingers do the talking. This isn’t something I’m necessarily proud of, but if I wanted to be at the right baseball field to see the right kid play at the right time on any given day for the past four months, my only shot was to pull out my cell phone, my magnifying glass and learn to do what most adolescents, and savvy adults can do blindfolded—send a text message.

How hard could it be, I thought? I can type nearly 100 words per minute, so texting couldn’t possibly be any different. Maybe not if your Tinker Bell, but if you own a cell phone that is as old as George Washington’s wooden teeth like I did, finding the letters on each tiny key and then figuring out how many times to press that silly little key to get the correct letter to pop up was near maddening. If I was going to be successful at this, I needed to call in the Big Dogs, one of my teens.

First, you need to know that my cell phone was at least 8 or so years old. This boggles most people’s minds, but you must remember that as a mother of 8, talking on the telephone is quite foreign to me. If I am to have any type of a lucid discussion with anyone—be it the folks from that fabulous new resort in the West Indies calling to tell me I had won a free vacation for four, or my own husband needing a reminder of what he was suppose to be bringing home in a brown paper bag en route from work, the chances of actually exchanging intelligent conversation without chaos in the background is zilch.

That said, I could’ve cared less if I ever made a call from my closet, never mind from my car on a cell phone. Then something unbelievable happened—my kids started growing up! They were no longer just playing in the backyard or over at the neighbor’s house. They had the gall to decide they wanted to join things! Sporting teams, after-school programs, summer jobs—all these wonderful opportunities that I could no longer offer them from home so with that came their next step of independence—getting their own cell phones.

I fought this off as long as I could but soon realized that I was only hurting myself. Communication is key with our kids today, so my husband and I painfully came on board to the world of cell phones and family plans. Better late than never! Though texting seems to come naturally to many, I found it to be as frustrating as standing up on a greased surf board. (No, I don’t surf!) It took a bit of work, but I finally did it. Sent my very first text to my son which I believe was the following: Hi, Love Mom. Short and sweet and it only took me 10 minutes.

With that, word spread like wildfire that Cheryl L. Butler had learned to text and before I could get my phone back in my purse, I began receiving so many messages I thought sure my new nickname would soon be Alexander Graham Bell. There was only one problem however, I couldn’t understand them!

For you regular texters out there, you already know that texting has its very own language. For newbies like me, however, it is much like learning French or Spanish. I “no speaka the text” so reading the following was quite frustrating:

Hwru? DdUheAd PTA mtg wz movDagn? Let’s gt2gtha wen skool gets ot. Ive so mch 2 telu. U won’t bleeve w@ hapned @d clb yesterday. I cUd Jst di! Don’t wrk 2 hrd. Ive 2 run. Bbacinabit. ?4U, so cll me. MsU! Is it Chardonnay or Mrlo 4U deez days? LOL

Translation:

How are you? Did you hear the PTA meeting was moved again? Let’s get together when school gets out. I have so much to tell you. You won’t believe what happened at the club yesterday—I could just die! Don’t work too hard. I have to run. Be back in a bit. I have a question for you, so call me! Miss you! Is it Chardonnay or Merlot for you these days? Laugh out loud!

2.5 billion text messages are sent in the USA each day so obviously texting is much more than a trend. While I’m slowly learning the lingo and my way around my new and highly sophisticated cell phone , and am grateful to have an instant way to keep in touch with my kids when they are out and about, I doubt I’ll ever rely on texting as my major means of communication. Texting may be hands on and convenient but it has its time and place besides, it can never replace the adrenaline rush I get while making a dental appointment from our landline with a dog and a gaggle of kids going bonkers in the background, LOL!

Summer For Dummies

On June 22, I witnessed it all over again. I gripped the banister as tightly as I could, though my cold and clammy hands made it difficult to hang on. Sounds of excited children screeching and yelping engulfed my quivering eardrums as I swallowed hard and glanced one last time at one of my guardian angels—our school bus driver, honking and waving “Have a great summer—see you in September!” The ten weeks of summer vacation had arrived yet again—“bring it on” I bravely shuddered!

Spoil sport you say? Heavens no—a realist is more like it. I mean, how many years have families been doing this summer vacation thing? Seems like since dinosaurs roamed the earth for some, but I suppose it only feels that way because so many of us have this inbred gene that tells us our children simply must be entertained the moment they step foot off that bus until Labor Day graces our calendars.

Now, I certainly don’t want to speak for the rest of you because believe me, I have plenty of friends who start counting down the last days of school somewhere around Christmas. “Can’t wait until my babies are home with me every day. We always have so much fun together,” chime my friends with nannies! Please don’t misunderstand me, I have oodles of fun with my eight kids too, but let me be honest, sometimes it takes a little work.

So, in order to stave off any unnecessary moments of angst when one of my darlings realizes they are not part of a three-ring circus for the summer I did the only logical thing—joined the wine of the month club and then headed to my favorite place to think and get creative—the bookstore. Don’t worry, I didn’t bring a bottle of merlot along with me, the smell of crisp new pages just waiting to be discovered is always enough to relax me in an instant. No sooner did I find a quiet little nook to sit and think, there it was in glorious yellow and black—the answer to this year’s vacation entertainment—Summer for Dummies, written by One Smart Parent.

In case you’ve never laid eyes on the Dummy series, you’ll be happy to know that the publisher does not ever intend to make the reader feel like a stupid head! For Dummies is an extensive series of instructional books which are intended to present non-intimidating guides for readers new to the various topics covered. Everything from cooking to learning a foreign language are covered--literally dozens of books on virtually everything are in their series, so why not one on navigating the waters of a family-filled summer?

After briefly skimming the table of contents, I knew I had a winner. This author had done her homework and was now passing along her words of wisdom to the rest of us. Here are a few brief passages:

Chapter One: Summer Forecast—Bright and Sunny—Lighten Up! Where is it written in seashells that we have to schedule our kids’ entire summer vacation? Only in our minds, that’s where. Summer days were meant to be easy, breezy and lazy, not loaded from dawn to dusk with lessons, play dates and other kid-centered entertainment. Of course that doesn’t mean we won’t plan some special events while they’re out of school, but there is nothing wrong with allowing children to create their own adventures as well. (See what I mean, great stuff!)

Chapter Two: Vacations are like sandcastles—when your plans come crumbling down, grab your pail and shovel and build something better! Easier said than done perhaps, but let’s face it, not all our summer days are going to be peachy keen, beach days. Rainy and non-eventful days present awesome opportunities for baking yummy cookies, building forts out of boxes, hanging out in PJs and watching funny movies, or dare it be suggested—organizing their bedrooms after a full year of school clutter creeps in. These can be some of our kid’s favorite summer memories, so never be disappointed when a given day suggests you start digging a new hole. (Love it!)

Chapter Three: If something has to melt, let it be your popsicle! Ah, yes—those sticky moments during vacation—usually the second week of August when we’ve all had enough of summer’s carefree days and we really don’t care to spend another moment together. This is the perfect time to grab a frozen delight (or that wine of the month) and remember that these times are completely normal and only temporary. Believe it or not, there will come a time (when we are retired and aching to have them driving us crazy again) that it will seem like no big deal little Freddy used sidewalk chalk to draw on the dining room walls instead of the driveway. Stay cool! (I couldn’t agree more!)

OK, so there really is no such thing as Summer for Dummies but just because the school bus would not be back in our neighborhood for two more months was no reason to panic. Families have the power to set their own expectations for the flavor they wish their summer to have. This year, I’m hoping to taste a vacation that is a lot less loaded and a lot more laid back—to me, there’s nothing dumb about that!

Parents as Fans--A Winning Combination!

An oldie but a goodie----my column in the NK Villager--May 2010

As the mother of eight, five of them boys, I know I’ve only just begun doing my time as a loyal, supportive parent who gives so freely of one’s self when it comes to sitting on the sidelines, or in the case of this brand new season of baseball--the bleachers, cheering on my children as they flub fly balls, miss grounders or strike out looking. It’s just part of the territory. I’m already well trained by my two oldest sons that I’m not to hoot and holler, no matter what the circumstance, until they’ve actually made a play or gotten a hit. If I should so much sneeze or breathe too loudly causing the hairs in my nostrils to move, I am to quickly leave the area and come back when I can behave. Got it boys! Thank goodness for my younger boys, who also call me Mom, and love it when I clap and cheer even if they’ve just been taken out of the game so another kid on the team can play. I’m showing them my love and support—and boy are they proud!Well, here we are just weeks after opening day, and between the school teams, Little League and Babe Ruth the only socializing I will be doing in the near future is with the clerks in the local Dollar Sore where I stock up on fan essentials like Swedish Fish and large salty bags of imitation buttered popcorn. Baseball season is indeed my busiest time of year, but don’t get me wrong, despite my desperate pleas about how it rules my entire life for nearly four very long months, I’m still the biggest fan my kids will ever know!

I can’t help myself, though, for being transported back to the jarring end of last year’s fall ball season, where I learned a very important lesson about being a P.A.F. (Parent as Fans).

It was a balmy late October day that I endured that six-hour torture session, I mean Babe Ruth game. Did I mention it was a Sunday afternoon--the day of rest that the Lord intended all of us to take each week. I don’t think the individual who scheduled this game got that memo, but no problem, I’m a loyal, supportive mother who will be there for those very long and poorly scheduled games no matter what day of the week they are held.Now please keep in mind that we are playing on our home field, and are short one player for this afternoon delight called a “Double Session”. Not only do we now have to forfeit the game and borrow a player from the other team, the manager on the other team can’t see any harm in playing two games rather than one long one—after all—that means they technically win both games, am I right?Also, we’d hate to disappoint the visiting P.A.F’s that have arrived all the way from the city (in droves I might add) to cheer on their undefeated team! Did I mention yet that our team Taste Right (Something to do with meatballs) hasn’t won a single game? I think it’s us, quite frankly—the Butler’s have yet to be on a winning team unless selling the most magazines in the local fundraiser counts as a win. Otherwise, when cleats, clubs or bats are involved—we haven’t felt the thrill of victory too often.Now back to those P.A.F’s. Here’s where I struggle with my good Catholic upbringing—when you are the parent of the losing team (and I do have a lot of experience with this) it is very difficult to digest all the rambunctious ranting and raving going on one bleacher over—particularly when they feel it necessary to do the wave every time one of our kids strikes out or drops a ball! Not fair I tell ya! Still, I always remember that motto “Turn the Other Cheek” and try to behave like the 40-something woman of finesse that I am rather than sticking my fingers in the corners of my mouth and whistling like I’m calling in the dog every time the other team makes a mistake. So tacky!P.A.F’s need to come to an understanding that cheering and being enthusiastic when your own team is doing well is completely understandable and most of us applaud you for it.However, when the winning team is up 30 to 1 and it’s quite obvious well into the 6th inning that there’s a better chance of finding Brad Pitt working the concession stand than the losing team making a comeback, layoff the nasty remarks to the boys that are not doing so well. Yes, they do have feelings believe it or not and listening to 25 grown men and women screeching “C’mon Bucko…….show him who’s boss” at the very last out of the 6 hour game when they already feel defeated, tired and cranky is really not necessary, is it?

So yes, I heartily embrace this new ball season and intend to follow all the rules at each and every game. I will abide by my older son’s requests to lay low no matter how much I want to let the town know my boy throws the fastest curve ball. I will rejoice as loud as I can when my younger guys make a good cut even though they strike out, but most importantly I will try to be the best darn P.A.F. I can be, because good sportsmanship starts at home and if my children learn this early on, then “Parents as Fans” can truly be a winning combination.

Pregnant Women Don't Eat Cabbage, Kate Phillips

NK VILLAGER COVER STORY (April 2010) THAT KATE PHILLIPS FROM NK VILLAGER WROTE ABOUT MY BOOK!

Write what you know is a well-known adage for authors. Following that advice led Cheryl L. Butler, proud mother of eight, to pen her first book, Pregnant Women Don’t Eat Cabbage and Other Words of Wisdom for Expecting Mothers. Who would know better?
“I always loved to write,” says Cheryl, familiar to many residents as the NK Villager’s Family Zone columnist. “I kept journals and made up stories, but the idea of being an author really interested me when my husband, Brian, and I had six children with the seventh on the way.”
Cheryl pulled off this amazing feat after her eighth child was born thanks to Brian spending every Saturday for 18 months with the children while she went to the library or her mom’s house to work on her book. “Brian has been my biggest cheerleader,” states Cheryl. “He gave me the time to do this.”
Before her book, Cheryl started out her career as a published writer with an essay in the Providence Journal entitled “Yes, We Have Seven Children and We Are Proud of It.” Butler wrote this piece in response to the numerous times she has been asked if all the children are hers or from a blended family.
“I wanted to make the point that families come in all sizes,” notes Butler. “Before the children, Brian and I were a family.”
Before the children, Brian and Cheryl had quite a journey to become a family of 10. They met on Cheryl’s 21st birthday at the dentist’s office where she worked. They were married two years later. Cheryl, the oldest of five, and Brian, the youngest of four, together decided to have three children.
“That was the plan, but it wasn’t that easy,” says Cheryl. “After nothing happened for a year, I went to see Dr. Jaffe to find out what was wrong. After six years and three miscarriages, Brian and I decided to adopt.
“It was supposed to take about two years for us to welcome a child into our family, but our scrapbook for birth mothers was sent out early by mistake and we were chosen to receive a baby due in only a week,” explains Cheryl. “We made plans to fly out to Colorado to be there for the birth, but our daughter, Brittany, was born an hour before we got on the plane. The airline bumped us up to first class. It was a nice celebration. When we arrived, Brittany was a beautiful baby waiting for us at the hospital.”
Cheryl had been undergoing fertility treatments before the adoption. After the adoption, she was informed that she was eligible for one more treatment. One year to the day that she brought Brittany home, Cheryl gave birth to a son, Connor. When he was three months old, she became pregnant with daughter Casey. About a year later, Austin made his appearance and the Butlers decided their family was complete.
“When Austin was four, we decided to have one more though Brian thought it was a bit crazy,” says Cheryl. “So our son, Cameron, was born; and a year after that we had Brendan for a playmate. The last two, Brady and Annie, were very pleasant surprises. Annie was born when Brittany was 12.”
After seven deliveries, Cheryl certainly knows a lot about being pregnant. However, she wished she had been given additional information to help with the more humorous and embarrassing moments of pregnancy. This is the information she includes in Pregnant Women Don’t Eat Cabbage.
“While pregnant with Annie, I started thinking about this book—to relate how scary a first pregnancy was and all the things you really are not prepared for,” says Cheryl. “I just wanted to share this information with other women. This is not a medical book. It’s a whimsical look at pregnancy.”
With chapters like “Try, Try Again—Trying to Conceive;” “When You Lose Sight of the Floor, Do Not Lose Sight of Your Humor;” “Are We Having Fundus Yet? The Joy of Afterbirth;” and “Will I Ever Walk Again? Getting Up and Around After the Stork Arrives” the humor shines through. The title chapter, “Pregnant Women Don’t Eat Cabbage! A Few Things to Keep in Mind Shortly Before Your Due Date,” will both educate and shock readers, but it is important information.
“I was a modest prude,” explains Cheryl. “I never thought I would write about any of the things I went through, but newly pregnant women need to know there is a funny side to it—and to be open-minded about the embarrassment. Pregnancy and birth are not like a fairytale, not a Disney moment.
“The book is a light, carefree, but honest look at pregnancy, nothing horrible. There is a lot of humor,” continues Cheryl. “I learned a lot along the way. For instance, even when you think you know about something, like delivery, you can be surprised. Every one of my deliveries was different including labor which was long—from 12-20 hours.”
Cheryl labored long and hard on her book, too. “After I finished writing on Saturdays for 18 months, I sent the book to six places. I picked small publishers as I thought I would have better odds getting published there. Within three months, I heard back from three of them, and two said yes!”
Once the book was accepted, the next step was signing a contract and getting assigned an editor and a graphic arts person that would design the cover. “My editor, Loretta, was wonderful,” says Cheryl. “The publisher wanted to keep my ‘voice’ just as it was so Loretta made a few minor suggestions for some of the chapters, but otherwise, it was basically as I had written it.
“I had chosen the title over four years ago because when I got pregnant with Annie, I knew I didn't want to repeat what had happened with a Ruben Sandwich before I had my sixth child, Brendan,” shares Cheryl. “I joked one day with Amy, one of my girlfriends, and said something silly like ‘Having done this six times already, I know what I won't be eating within a month of delivery...cabbage!’ And there it was: I said ‘Pregnant Women Don't Eat Cabbage’ and a book was born.”
Writing a book is one thing, promoting it is another thing entirely. “It is nearly a full time job to market a book, unless you're a New York Times bestselling author,” says Cheryl. “I was realistic from day one, but am enjoying reaching out to places that are not only baby-related, but to women in general--even if they have never had a baby.
“I hope to reach out to women everywhere that have an appreciation of their bodies and what those bodies do to carry a pregnancy and then deliver a baby! Remember, I adopted my first baby. I had such a sense of appreciation and awe for our birth mother for what she went through to have our daughter. Even when I was struggling with infertility, I couldn't help myself and would read books on pregnancy just to see what it might be like,” notes Cheryl.
“My book is a fun, easy-breezy read. I hope it will find its way into many women's libraries and will be shared amongst girlfriends and family members experiencing the awesome journey of pregnancy,” says Cheryl. “And there is plenty in the book to keep the fathers-to-be chuckling as well. Pregnancy is life changing for men, too!
“Brian and I never dreamed we'd be the parents of eight children ranging in age from five to seventeen,” states Cheryl. “My family is my first passion. Writing is my second. And as crazy as things get, I cannot imagine surviving without a good sense of humor. It's truly my most prized asset, and has helped me through infertility, adoption, changing thousands of dirty diapers, and is now nudging me through the teenage years. I hope to never leave home without it!”
Combining her love of family and writing along with her sense of humor all led to Pregnant Women Don’t Eat Cabbage and Other Words of Wisdom for Expecting Mothers which was officially released on February 25th, and is available at the NK Free Library and other libraries in the state, amazon.com, publishamerica.com as well as What’s Kicking, a place where the whole family can enjoy seeing a 3D sonogram, on Post Road. By late spring, it should be available in local bookstores and gift stores that carry baby items.

Cheryl L. Butler has two more books in the works—both family/humor oriented which are expected to be released in 2011 and 2012.

Living In The Motherhood Moment

(My Column in April's NK Villager and EG Magazine)

“Mom! Mom, you’re not listening to me” my daughter prattled on while I stood in the dressing room holding two armloads of bikinis and springy ensembles that in total held less fabric weight than the single outfit I was wearing that moment. Oh, the agony of fashion shopping with a teen girl! Nope, I didn’t hear a single vowel she uttered, but it wasn’t because I wasn’t interested in learning more about why pre-calculus was ruining her life or how learning to drive in my minivan might leave her with permanent emotional scars. I was too busy contemplating if I should dare to give artichokes a whirl again this Easter, wondering when the mealy moths in our pantry would ever disappear, and daydreaming about which decade it was that I actually enjoyed trying on a bathing suit that didn’t have built in support or a skirt attached.

What a shame that I had just robbed myself of 15 carefree moments to kibitz with my daughter and simply enjoy the experience of watching her try on napkins, I mean two-piece bathing suits, all while she opened up about her complicated 17-year old lifestyle. Worse, she called me on it! Clearly it was time for me to get on board with today’s self-help gurus and stop being so distracted by life but instead try living in the moment!

I did a little research and found that living in the moment means you are totally immersed in an experience and therefore should reap far more happiness from your everyday life. I once read--the past is history, the future is a mystery, and the only time we really have is now - just this moment. So as not to ever miss out on important bonding moments like I did when my daughter asked me if I preferred tassels or fringe on those cute shorts she was trying on, I decided I would try to live in the second, never mind the moment, as often as I could.

I turned in early the night before so that I would be well rested and full of vim and vigor for my first full-fledged day of “Living in the Moment”. The alarm went off at precisely 5:45 AM, and
I searched the nightstand for my glasses but instead knocked over my glass of water. That was so not the plan, so I allowed myself a little groan and then scurried to the bathroom to grab a towel before the spill ruined one of my only guilty pleasures, my latest edition of Soap Opera Digest—hey, if anyone knows how to live in the moment, it’s my friends from Days of Our Lives. They never work or seem to have any trouble finding invisible caregivers to watch their children so they can relax, putter around their beautifully decorated penthouses, or dine out 7 day’s a week, not once fretting over a negative balance in their checkbooks—these are my kind of people!

Breakfast is served and instead of shuffling through six boxes of cereal, I decide I will stop, look lovingly into all my children’s half-opened eyes and ask them how they slept and if they would like to have cereal or something hot and delicious instead. The confused looks on their faces told me all I needed to know—Mom must be really ill, hot and delicious on a school morning means rinsing off the hardened food particles leftover from last evening’s silverware with boiling water.

Bus departures begin at 6:40 AM in our homestead, so instead of cackling half-minded “the bus just went down the street” to my high schoolers, I gently tapped on their bedroom doors and quietly made the announcement and just relished the harried moments I observed as they snatched backpacks, iPods and hoodies, while treasuring those snarky comments they made under their breath—something I usually do from three rooms away. Ah, soaking in the moment—what a beautiful thing!

The rest of the day unfolded with much of the same. I tried to be alert in nearly every waking moment. From consciously noting the involuntary twitching of my upper body as the dog barked nonstop at the UPS man to the gentle creaking of my bones as I sat perched in the family room scrubbing the freshly ground backyard mud out of the carpet, I was temporarily able to push my to do lists and often intense thoughts about what was waiting for me around future’s corner right out of my mind. And when my son’s 6-year old play date commented that our home smelled like his grandfather’s car, I stopped what I was doing and savored his innocence rather than panic that our house smelled like a cigar joint.

I probably went overboard at my first attempt to immerse myself in life’s everyday moments—when I began naming the dust bunnies in our kitchen I realized I had gone too far. Most days my mindset will still be crazed and usually one step ahead of where I am presently standing, but if I can try to be more present during those “dressing room” instances with my daughter and the rest of my family then I will certainly be living more in the motherhood moment—and I think every child deserves at least that.

Mama and Her Panties

Ahh! Spring is in the air and what better way to celebrate this fresh new season than to spiffy up my wardrobe of undergarments? I realized how necessary this was this morning when I opened my underwear drawer and couldn’t tell if I the contents held my undies or our dishrags. “That’s it!” I shuddered. Every woman deserves to know that the apparel covering up her crack isn’t going to be confused for a housekeeping item—it’s time to go shopping!

As an active mom of eight, I sheepishly debate between sliding into Wal-mart where I can casually tuck a few packages of Hanes Her Way into my cart or really throw caution to the wind and rush to the Mall where a real lingerie department carrying more than a one-crotch- fits- all line, in colors other than puce and taupe, awaits me! Is there really any question? The mall it is!

I arrived without incident where the smell of heavenly grease quickly wafted by—ummm, must be fried dough I quivered as I headed past the food court to the escalator (can’t ride one of those in Wal-Mart).

“Excuse me Madame,” said this very sultry giraffe (I’m sorry, but she was tall!) in the intimidating cosmetic department. “You look like you could use a makeover!” Wonder what tipped her off first, the fact that I was using concealer to cover up my roots or the red Sharpie I used as my lip liner?

“Sorry, but I’m on my way upstairs to shop,” I nodded towards the escalator. “Oh, new panties for you today?” Panties? Who the heck with eight kids wears panties? If I walk out of here with those today I could end up with nine kids!

I’m left with no choice--think I’ll go have that dough -boy and then head over to Wal-mart!

State of the Union--Family Style

(March 2010 Villager / EG Mag Column)

Well, that’s always fun—listening to the President’s State of the Union address. Given one’s current mood, political preference or if we’re presently getting along with our spouse can many times determine if we like what we just heard or are shaking our heads and grumbling… “Haven’t we already heard that before?” I’m not touching politics with a ten-foot pole so rather than discuss the actual speech most of us just listened to on January 27th, I have become inspired to write my own.
This State of the Union, however has nothing to do with Wall Street, Homeland Security or International Policies—it is specifically geared to the people who I serve three meals a day to (no, make that about ten!) and who’s laundry I sort, wash and fold 7 days a week—my loving family.
As I proudly stood in front of my Presidential Seal--a makeshift poster board I had decorated with Betty Crocker boxes, empty toilet roll spools, a pair of dirty socks, a photo of my pre-mommy self, our upcoming Little League Schedule (that took up ½ the board!), and a few other incidentals that represented a “day in the life of” this family, I looked them each in the eye and humbly began speaking from my teleprompter—the magnifying mirror I use to help me apply my mid-life lipstick color—coral raisin—in a matte finish.
Mr. Husband, Madame Black Lab, and esteemed members who make up the eight Butler children--our Constitution does not declare that from time to time, the little woman—also known as your wife, lab’s best friend, and doting mother report in about the state of our family, but if it’s good enough for Congress, well—then it’s good enough for me.
While I realize you will all find it hard to believe, although things in your world seem to be near perfect, there are a few issues in “our family” world that need a bit of attention.
Domestic Issues
· Our Furniture—It is a pleasure to have a sectional sofa that is made in the United States, not China, but let’s all try to remember one thing—the stuffing that is gently dangling from the arms and the back of the recliner should be treated with the utmost respect. This fine piece of chenille needs to last your mother another 14 years---when our little Annie heads off to college. (And…it may need to accompany your father and I to a retirement community such as Shady Pines, so please, no more using it for art projects and the like.
· Going Green—Remember how excited you kids were to come home from school and announce all the earth-saving measures being taken at school to reuse, renew, and restore? I wasn’t allowed to throw out a single item that still had life in it. Well, I am pleased as punch to announce this family’s new recycling and conservation efforts, and I know I’ll have your full support and enthusiasm—just like you showed for school. The heels of all loafs of bread are now as important as the middles—please get used to it. I will happily unplug my blinking neon “The Kitchen is Closed” sign if you are willing to take 7- minute showers as opposed to 40- minute ones and will do so in the dark. Hand me downs in a large family are just part of the deal if we want to continue with the luxuries of electricity and grocery shopping—hey, I do my part, who do you think gets your father’s old leisure knits?
The Economy & International Affairs
· I’ll be brief. It’s not looking too good for our vacation to Europe this spring.
Health Care Reform
· Paid family member sick days continue to be a sore subject, specifically for a certain mother who tries desperately never to become ill, especially if it should interfere with her children’s lives—attending sporting events, helping with homework, providing taxi services at a moment’s notice, preparing hot, tasty meals 7 nights a week (stop rolling your eyes—they might not always be tasty but they do have a temperature), and of course, being available to be your private nurse when any of you take ill. Congress may not have come up with a way to give me a paycheck yet, but the speaker of this house has unanimously decided that my sick days can now be taken in a horizontal position and in the comfort of my Winnie the Pooh bathrobe.
In closing I would like to leave you with a few thoughts. We have just finished another jam-packed year in the Butler household—some of it difficult, some of it outrageous, (we only left one child accidentally behind at Sunday school and he’s no longer having nightmares, so for that I am grateful) but most of it was filled with joy. With the continuing challenges that lie ahead of us during this brand new year (a new driver in the family, six kids on eight different baseball teams, weaning me off the hot glue gun that I bought myself for Christmas) let's seize this moment – to start anew, to help with household chores, to never forget Mother’s Day and above all, cherish the fact that you belong to a family who loves, supports and appreciates you for the individuals you are, even though you’ve all decided those frozen meatballs in a bag are much more delicious than the ones I spend hours making from scratch. We’re all in this together, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Thank you. God Bless You. And God Bless every family in these United States of America.

What's Your Status

(My February Column for EG Magazine and The NK Villager)

Shortly after the last note of “Jingle Bells” had faintly drifted away from my favorite 24/7 holiday radio station, it dawned on me that the number of holiday greetings we received this year were down considerably and worse yet, most of the cards we opened did not include those highly anticipated “Holiday Letters”.
You know the ones—always written on festive computer stationery laced with poinsettias or jolly old snowmen wearing cozy wool scarves—sets the tone beautifully for what’s to come next—a lot of hot air touting how fabulous the individual or family had just sailed through the past year. (Ok, most of them.)
A typical one reads “Morton received his third MBA from Harvard as well as his pilot’s license while I received the broker of the year award from my real estate firm for the fifth year in a row, despite this challenging economy. It was a struggle, but our teenaged twins, Bart and Bella were able to graduate with high honors from high school a year early. Sven, our Major Domo for the past 15 years had to really kick it up a notch by serving extra high-protein hot breakfasts for them every morning so they could excel in both their studies and polo team duties. How we lived through it, I’ll never know!” You’ve seen versions similar, I’m sure.
But that’s ok—once a year I think we all deserve to blow our family’s horn a little bit. As long as we don’t blow out anyone’s ear drums in the process, what’s the harm? With the written holiday cheer way down, it leads me to believe that either our soft economy is to blame or………or is our infatuation with the internet these days the real culprit?
It all started quite innocently when the computer world was rocked with one of the savviest means of communication ever—e-mail. What a high it was to log on to your computer and hear those three zippy words “You’ve Got Mail”. (Remember the movie?) After we were hooked, there was no turning back and the journey into the cyber world continued to grow faster than dandelions on a dank summer’s day.
But it didn’t end there. Socializing on the internet was turned into a multi-million dollar industry with companies like My Space, Twitter and the most popular network worldwide—Facebook. Facebook is a social networking website that is operated and privately owned. Users can add friends and send them messages, and update their personal profiles to notify friends about themselves. For those who are privacy conscious, this type of social hoopla is probably not for you. I admit, at first, I was skeptical myself, but my how that has changed.
Little by little I started to reconnect with friends from high school, college, my dental days, and with family members that live all across the country, and in the process I’ve met new friends that I absolutely adore. For those unfamiliar with how it all works, there is a place on your profile page that allows you to post photos and your status (what’s on your mind)—as frequently or as little as you like. Let me give you some examples:
There is your “random” status facebooker that will post things as simple as “Tired”, “Indigestion”, “More snow!”, “In laws!”, “Mocha Cappuccino” and anything else that sums up in one or two words what is on their mind at that particular moment.
Moving right along we also have the “Play By Play” status facebooker that will log on the moment he awakens and will list everything he’s done, in specific order, from brushing his teeth, to finding a hair in his oatmeal to what time he will be leaving the house to buy anti-fungal cream (and where the itch is), shop for yesterday’s bake and then back home again to drain the puss out of his three-legged cat’s infected ear. As my kids love to say “TMI”—too much information!
Next up is the “Woe is Me” facebooker, who will post just how dreadful her life is going to which anyone with a conscience and a beating heart will comment back that things aren’t really that bad and the world really is a better place because she is in it.
One of my favorite status types are the “inspiring” ones. They will usually post an upbeat or thought provoking quote such as “Don’t ask what your mother can do for you, ask what you can do for your mother!” (Or something on those lines) Those types of status remarks leave me wanting to be a better individual.
And lastly, there are the “life’s a bowl of cherries” facebookers, which I believe yours truly would fall under. It took me a few months to get the hang of regularly posting my status, but I soon realized it was pretty neat to share what was going on in my world, as long as I could make it fun. Though I’m private by nature, there is something very refreshing about sharing the comical trials and tribulations of real family life—no one lives in a perfect world, but why not live in one where we can laugh a little each day.
Greeting cards may be down but that doesn’t mean our friends and family aren’t thinking about us and wondering how we are doing. Whether you facebook or not, why not be prepared. The next time someone asks “What’s your status?” what will you say but more importantly how will you say it?

Living with PPS--Post Purging Syndrome

(My column from the NK Villager/EG Magazine)

So, here we are, the end of the holiday season is still lingering in the air and 2010 is officially on our calendars. No matter how we managed to either celebrate or just barely survive the past few weeks, ready or not a brand new year awaits!
I’m not going to kid you, by the time I’ve hauled the last box of shiny ornaments back up those attic stairs, I’m more than ready to change gears and get back to basics like figuring out what kind of hair accessories I can still carry off as a 40-something mother so as not to embarrass my teenage daughters (or myself) when we’re out in public. Good news, though, that shouldn’t be a problem this year because now that I’ve been diagnosed with PPS—Post Purging Syndrome, if in fact I do choose to grab a cheesy pony tail holder for my tresses, I will know exactly where to locate it.
PPS is a real shock to the system. While PMS is a much laughed at (or feared!) topic of many, PPS is fairly new on the radar screen in the medical community. In fact, it’s so rare that those inflicted with it are facing an uncertain future for themselves and their families. I mean I know we can’t be the only household in town that has way too many broken pencils, expired coupons, empty gum packages and useless C and D batteries stuffed into several gadget drawers in the kitchen. And that’s only one room in the house! Go ahead, you can admit it, your secret is safe with me.
I’ll try to make this brief so I don’t scare you away too quickly. This past November, I started showing peculiar symptoms that I just couldn’t put my finger on. When my children left for school each morning I would scurry about the house scavenging coins for milk money from so many drawers, purses and black holes in the house that I asked for a metal detector for Christmas to turn it into a sport. When the bus rolled out of our neighborhood and I had actually beat the clock by getting them on it each day I would then go inside and take care of my daily business and I’m not referring to a few moments in the bathroom. I’m talking about cramming our freshly folded laundry into drawers that were already bulging with clothing that either no longer fit, was no longer decent enough to be wearing or in my own case was severely outdated—like all my jeans embedded with jewels and such from my best Ronco purchase ever, the BeDazzler.
As if feeling harried after scrounging for loose milk change or nearly spraining my wrists by wrestling with the laundry each day wasn’t enough to get my heart pounding, I knew my symptoms were becoming worse when I’d reach for something in my spice cabinet and find my trusty hot glue gun with a dust bunny attached or my 4-year old’s headless Barbies rather than the nutmeg or garlic powder. Little by little, I saw what was happening to me—I had gone from a super-organized (and dare I admit stylish) 25-year old bride whose biggest challenge each day was deciding which step aerobics class to take at the gym to a 40-plus married (and sadly a bit frumpy) “Little old Lady Who Lived in A Shoe and had so many kids she didn’t have a place to put anything” matron without even realizing it. Clutter had conquered my life and was now leaving me physically drained. If I recall, my doctor called it “Clutterbugitus” and the prognosis wasn’t good. The treatment plan called for either getting rid of all the extra stuff in each and every room, or prepare for many more years ahead of drowning in it. Side effects for years to come may include shortness of breath, uncontrollable perspiration and full blown panic attacks when the simple search for my wonder girdle or brass hair clips is challenged by a condition I have the power to control—without medication (unless wine counts!).
Once I was diagnosed, I set right to work sorting, chucking, straightening and de-cluttering every inch of the house. Room by room, drawer by drawer, closet by closet, hole by hole and yes that would include all my purses and every last tote bag innocently hanging in the mud room were tackled and reorganized.
Warning “Do” try this at home! A painful process, yes, but after I removed that first hunk of year-old Swiss cheese from behind the steak knives, got rid of all the mismatched Tupperware, put the Band Aids in the medicine chest instead of in my daughter’s dollhouse I started seeing that there is indeed something to that phrase—a place for everything and everything in its place—and my symptoms began to slowly disappear. I’m even starting to feel like that 25-year old carefree bride again (Ok, that’s going a bit far, I know!).
Though I’ve temporarily managed to skillfully kick my clutter habit, professionals have placed me in a high-risk category for slipping back into my harmful old ways—having eight kids could do that to a person. But if I take each day in 2010 with a “less is more” stride and don’t go through severe withdrawal symptoms the next time I reach for a pair of those gem-studded jeans I used to own, chances are I’ll be able to enjoy PPS for many years to come.

Happy New Year Stranger!

(My Column from the NK Villager/EG Magazine)

Her visit during the holidays took me completely by surprise. My husband, trying to help preserve the last remnants of my sanity, took the kids to visit his parents where the eight of them would carefully and patiently (ha ha) help to decorate their Christmas tree. Not able to recognize the sound of peaceful stillness, my body started to twitch a bit each time I tried to snuggle up on the empty couch with my book. That’s when my unexpected guest arrived, precisely as I was flipping pages and nodding off simultaneously.

I invited her into my home and she smiled as her cashmere sweater gently brushed against the fresh pine wreath that hung on my front door. “Ahhh, smells great in here…………did you just bake a pie,” she asks? “Be careful on that terrazzo tile, I’ve just washed and waxed,” I caution. “Tell me, how do you keep your entry way so pristine looking and so darn organized--I mean, I could just live right here in this room?” she gushed.

Before I can answer, she’s wandered straight into my living room and is stroking my extra plump chenille pillows. Her eyes dart straight to my mantle where I’ve artfully displayed several paintings--the soft glow of candlelight framing them perfectly. Next, she looks me over from head to toe and gleefully gives me a tight squeeze. We used to be inseparable, but haven’t seen one another in nearly 15 years right about the time I became a mother.

With so much to catch up on we head straight to the kitchen where I debate between offering her a mug of hot steaming tea or pouring us each a large glass of Merlot. The Merlot wins hands down, so we pull up a stool to my sleek, clean island that has nothing but a delightfully decorated miniature Christmas tree on it and we then toast our reunion.

“You still look the same,” she smiled. “Oh stop! We both know I’ve put on a few pounds during the past decade and surely you’ve noticed a few more laugh lines on this here face of mine,” I replied. “But you on the other hand are timeless. Your smile is still as carefree as ever and it’s obvious that you’ve kept up with your exercise routine all these years,” I sing back. With our pleasantries now exchanged, she slowly enjoys the fine wine we are sharing and asks, “Remember how we would sit on the beach and plan our futures—our careers, who we would marry, how many kids we would have, what our dream homes would look like,” she asked? I sigh and nod. “However did we become such strangers so quickly? “ asks my long-lost friend.

I sit and just stare at her. Her presence is very calming and I wonder, too, where she has disappeared to for all these years and what has prompted her return right before the New Year?

I begin to look back on the past 15 years and smile and say nothing--instead I direct her to the family portrait we have hanging outside our Living Room taken nearly three year’s ago before our eighth child was born. Even though I’ve kept a long-distance relationship with her over time, I thought she’d like to see with her lovely brown eyes what I spend most of my time doing—raising a family. The handsome guy in that portrait is my husband of 20 years, and no, not the guy I thought I’d marry when we would sit on the beach and throw Cheetos to the seagulls and discuss such dreamy matters. I met him on my 21st birthday when he had his teeth cleaned in the dental practice I worked in for 15 years, another change in course from the career I had planned for myself in the hot summer sun—that of a school teacher. Funny enough, with eight kids (my plans called for three!) I guess I got my own classroom after all.

She gives me a swift elbow to the ribs and begins to laugh. As she does I look over at my kitchen island and realize I can barely see the top of it because it’s piled high with family stuff and the box of that fine vino we were drinking is right in the center. I sense she wants to ask me something else but she’s now poking around by the mantle and straightening my collection of broken nutcrackers that are hiding the crookedly framed school photos that desperately need to be updated. And why are those plump chenille pillows now looking a bit frayed and tired? The prodding continues until my neck jerks upright and I see my 5-year old staring at me and yelling, “Mom, we’re home!”

I search the room for my friend but she’s gone again. Instead, my husband has returned with our brood and they are all anxious to tell me about their visit to Grandma’s. My book has since dropped to the floor and somehow made it’s way down the stairs into that stunning entryway of mine that is laden with shoes, mismatched socks and even somebody’s toothbrush. I am now completely awake in my dream house—the home I share with my family, and realize that I will never see that girl again, the person I was before I had kids, but I am not sad. A part of me will still always be her no matter where I’m at in life, and I can think of no better time than the start of a new year to reminisce on my leisurely past but to stay focused on the here and now with great anticipation of all the new experiences my friend and I will reflect on in another 15 years.