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Tag Archives: Childhood
Summer Escapes and Summer Memories
So I really did walk away from my computer. I spent two wonderful days with my friend, drinking Pina Coladas by a pool and watching romantic comedies that my husband would never take me to see. I celebrated this important non-Mommy time with some serious Mommy time, taking my kiddos to the beach, playing mini-golf, and swimming until we were officially water-logged.
I may not be ready to conquer the world but after all that rest and relaxation, I have begun to feel like I can begin my marathon. I have cleaned out my closet and begun a giant purge of those things that are holding me back (or at least that’s the theory!) School is days away and I am intent on starting the year far more organized. Wish me luck!
And as the summer days are dwindling, I looked at my kids’ summer experiences and compared them to mine as a child of the ’70s. I wrote about it over at the Dr. Smith’s blog, check it out here.
I hope your last days of summer are as happy (and not as hot) as mine. Cheers!
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Friday Fragments #5 — Summer with the Kids
Okay, it is summer and it is hot, Hot, HOT! Austin has had 31 days in a row of at least 100 degrees. We have had no measurable rain. And with the kids home, it is essential to keep my cool.
Sometimes that is not so easy. These kids can go from the most loving brother and sister duo you have ever seen to the Hatfields and McCoys in a millisecond. Keeping busy helps. These kids have a social calendar that a Hilton would envy. In a two week period, we have four birthday parties, three play dates, a swim party, and a sleepover! It keeps them happy but Mama is tired. Very tired. Oh, and we just added a day trip to an ice cream factory. That’s over an hour away! I am glad that my kids have friends. Really I am. But it can be exhausting!
But it can also be fun. We have been to the beach, the aquarium, and to see movies. We have read books and played Monopoly. And then they say things that just crack me up. Like…
When I asked my daughter why she and her brother hadn’t cleaned up her room, she looked at me and in complete sincerity, said “I didn’t know where to start. You’re the Mommy. You’re supposed to know. We’re just kids.” (BTW, room is still not clean — they’re just kids, you know.)
My son wanted a cup of milk at bedtime. I told him that it was too late and he had already brushed his teeth. He then puts his hands together (prayer-style), leans his cheek on them, and gives me his best toothless grin. When this seems to have no effect, he looks at me and says, “this isn’t working for you, is it?” Stifling laughter, I shake my head. He then smiles bigger and says, “but this is my cute face”. Yes, yes it is.
So these are a few of the fragments of my life. If you have fragments that you would like to share, check out Mrs. 4444 at Half Past Kissing Time.
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Posted in Childhood, Friday Fragments, Mommyhood
Tagged Childhood, Friday Fragments, Mommyhood
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The Girl With the Dot on Her Nose
When I was born 25 days short of 40 years ago, I was born with a dime-sized burgundy birthmark on the bridge of my nose. Slightly off-center but dead-on in the sites of anyone looking at me, it was the color of red wine. Its contrast with my super pale skin made it impossible to miss.
If you saw my Christening portrait, however, you wouldn’t know. The photographer convinced my mother that it would fade so they painted it out. Unfortunately, however, there was no photographer following me through life painting over the offending red circle.
It did not fade. It stayed frustratingly prominent in the center of my face. The first thing that you saw was not my flaxen hair. You did not see my big smile. You did not even see my hazel eyes that change color. The first thing anyone saw was the red dot on my nose.
People never quite knew what to say about it. Concerned adults would ask “What happened?” as if it was an injury. “Is she hurt?” Kids could be less subtle. “What happened to your nose?” “Did something hit your face?”
And so it stayed. I was the girl with the red dot on her nose. As I got older, the harder it became. Children went from a lack of subtly to a lack of civility. Bullies are always looking for things that makes one different and having a large red circle made me an easy target — pun intended. At one point an especially troublesome boy (surprisingly I cannot remember his name considering how many tears I shed over him) came up with the term “hickey nose”.
That’s right. Hickey nose. I was 9 years old and I had no idea what a hickey was. So I went home and asked my mother. If you think having a 10 year old bully calling you a name is painful, try learning what a hickey is from your mother! Once he came upon this moniker, he never let it go. For three years, he and anyone he could convince called me “Hickey Nose” incessantly. On the bus. In the halls. Across the cafeteria.
Finally, we changed schools. And while I left behind Hickey Nose, I could not leave behind the stares and the feeling that I was scarred; marked for life. Attempts were made with makeup but I was so young and the makeup so heavy that it never really worked. Finally, at the age of 13, I began a series of procedures culminating in a surgery that would remove my Scarlet blemish.
It was successful. All these years later, I have a very faint scar across the bridge of my nose. Most people never see it unless I point it out. But in so many ways, I will forever be the girl with the red dot on her nose.
Small scar on the outside, big scar on the inside. What scars do you carry?
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Why the Long Face?
I hate clowns.
There I said it. To those who are clowns, are in love with a clown, or participate in various clown-support groups, you have my apologies. But I really, Really, REALLY hate clowns.
It is the one bigotry that I allow myself because you see, I don’t discriminate amongst clowns. I lump them in one group. Well, that isn’t 100% true. I am speaking of painted clowns. If you are just a clumsy guy prat-falling in too big pants, I don’t hate you. But if you are smearing white grease paint all over and placing a big red nose on — well, then I hate you. It matters not whether you are a sad clown or a happy clown. I really, Really, REALLY hate you. (Did I already say that? Well, it bears saying again!)
So why the animosity, Traci? Can’t a grown man wear exaggerated make-up in peace? We’re only trying to make you smile after all.
Because you scare the s@*t out of me! I have been scared of clowns for as long as I can remember. It started with a Jack-in-the Box. Why do we give those evil toys to children? I would wind it and wind it hearing that “prickling of thumbs” music get faster and faster waiting in fear and in anticipation for that God-forsaken blue polka-dot adorned clown to pop right out at me. I screamed every time.
Now that doesn’t seem worthy of such depth of animosity, Traci.
Well, blame “Fantasy Island”. When I was about seven, my parents went out on a Saturday night — crazy, I know! — and they left us with our wonderful long-term babysitter. Being Saturday night, we had an evening of Easy-Bake cakes and ABC television in the plan.
Now for those of you who are too young to remember, Saturday nights use to represent “Must-See” tv, not the stopping place before cancellation. And ABC was the place. “The Love Boat” at 8:00 and “Fantasy Island” at 9:00. My brothers had to go to bed at 8:00 but I was allowed to stay up and watch “The Love Boat” and occasionally, I could convince the babysitter to let me stay up just a little longer for Mr. Roarke and his famous plane.
Well, this night’s episode centered around a young woman who had a recurring nightmare of a fire in her childhood home. In the dream, she would come downstairs to find herself encircled in flames and her toys alive and screaming in the flames. (Or at least this is how I remember it!) At the center of these toys, was the very Jack-in-the-Box from my home laughing maniacally. I can still remember it. It was like the spawn of Satan.
Well, I lost it. I became hysterical and as this was 1978, there were no cell phones, my babysitter could simply wait and do her best to calm me until my parents came home. I was still wide awake rocking myself like someone suffering from PTSD when they finally arrived. I woke up screaming night after night with the same nightmare for which the young woman had sought the magical Montalban touch. But there was no Island for me to seek refuge, After that, there was no “Fantasy Island”, period. There was a complete ban.
But that was not the end of the evil clowns. Several years later, a little film named “Poltergeist” came to town. And if “Fantasy Island” wasn’t enough to put me off the Bozo set, that film proved that clowns were surely minions from Hell itself. I saw that film at age 11 and trust me, the move from small to large screen was not an improvement.
This clown had long arms that could reach out from under a bed (another sore spot) and pull a child down into the world of ghosts, chattering skeletons, and swirling pink oblivion. It’s perpetual painted smile and pull-string laugh only made it worse. And the nightmares returned as bad as as age seven’s red-nosed laced screamers.
Add to this the unnatural desire to stuff as many clowns possible into a Volkswagen (an affront to this claustrophobic), John Wayne Gacey, and Stephen King’s unnatural vision into my fears (e.g. “It”) and I really, Really, REALLY hate clowns!
Do you have something that sets you off, makes your skin crawl, or basically scares the s@*t out of you?
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Trying to Say “Yes”
Those of you who have read my blog are aware that I have control issues. And perfectionist issues. And… well, let’s just say that I have issues.
But in my attempt to stay on the Sunny Side of the Street, I am trying to let go and have some fun. And in that spirit, I am trying to say “yes” more than “no”. Because “no” is a word that I have found myself saying MUCH too much lately.
Saturday morning, my daughter found a bag of streamers. (How I got an entire bag of streamers is a whole other story and one which I will spare you.) She comes to me and asks if we can have a party. A streamer party!Now I am sitting on the couch surrounded by a Spring Break’s worth of laundry. Soccer starts the next day and back to school the day after. The logical side of me screams, “NOOOOOOOOOO!” but miraculously I hear myself say, “yes”.
And this is what came from that “yes”.
And this…
But most of all, this…
And those smiles made saying “yes” (and the accompanying mess) worth it! But there was more. I danced in the streamers. I played. I had fun. Ifelt like a kid which definitely helped me stay on the Suuny Side.
What have you said “yes” to lately?
Full disclosure: I did make the bed before taking the picture. I wasn’t willing to let go that much — LOL!
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Posted in Beautiful, Childhood, Choices, Letting Go, Mommyhood
Tagged Childhood, Mommyhood, My Life, Sonny-Bunny, The Diva
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Friday Fragments #3 — I May Not Be Amusing But I Am In For The Ride
Hi! I have not participated in Friday Fragments for a while (and by a while, I mean forever) so I thought this would be a perfect opportunity to catch up with the lovely Mrs. 4444 over at Half Past Kissin’ Time.
So I had a few rough weeks. Things happened and I let them “happen” to me. I chose to allow the worries of my world beat me down. But as I spoke about here, I snapped out of it. Or at least I snapped into working on it. Thanks to everyone who offered their support.
So in honor of that I thought that I would write of some celebrations from the last few weeks.
My daughter, Little Diva, is four years old. It is unbelievable to me even as I write this. Too soon I will not be able to refer to her as the “little” diva anymore (and based upon her attitude as of late, she will have earned the title “big” diva). She had a wonderful “Princesses and Pirates” party with her friends and she went as Rapunzel.
We played “Old School” games including hopscotch and ”Pin the Tail on the Donkey”. Though in 2011, nothing is simple — everything is themed, so we had a stick the Treasure Chest on the Map’s X.
Donkey. Pirate’s Booty. Whatever. The kids had fun. And my girl was happy.
So, my daughter gained and my son lost. Lost his training wheels. Yep! My Sonny-Bunny rides a two-wheeler now. And he taught himself!
Flashback to Christmas 2010– Santa might have gotten a little ambitious when he brought my son his bike. He might have gotten a very tall bike for Sonny-Bunny. Might have done, just saying…Therefore, my son might be having difficulty learning said tall bike. Well, when we were visiting my parents, my son found his old Elmo bike and learned to ride it without training wheels.
And there was one more loss to celebrate…
The Tooth Fairy visited our home last night and took away a long anticipated wiggly tooth. It was a loss but it was a big win.
Finally, I wanted to take a moment to update everyone on my trouble with my husband’s smoking in my post “Up in Smoke”. I wish I could say that I found the magic words to save him from this dangerous habit or that I had found some new Zen that made me the perfectly balanced, supportive wife that I need to save me. I can’t say that. I can say, however, that I was heartened by many of the comments and the hope that quitting is possible and that he can return to health. I also heard all of you who told me that a step back would be wise as nagging and anger were only aggravating the situation. I am doing my best!
So I am trying to get back on the Sunny Side of the Street. I will be returning to the neighborhood — please forgive my absence. And in honor of my return, I thought that I would return to one of my favorite things: sharing lyrics from favorite songs.
Grab your coat and get your hat
Leave your worry on the doorstep
Just direct your feet
To the sunny side of the street
Can’t you hear a pitter-pat
And that happy tune is your step
Life can be so sweet
On the sunny side of the street
I used to walk in the shade
With those blues on parade
But now I’m not afraid
This rover crossed over
If I’d never have a cent
I’d be rich as Rockefeller
Going to set my feet
On the sunny side of the street
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Posted in Blogging, Childhood, Friday Fragments, Gratitude
Tagged Celebrations, Childhood, My Life, Sonny-Bunny, The Diva
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Play With Me Mommy
I don’t talk about my health much here. I have, however, talked about my Control Issues. Unfortunately, I have some health issues that affect my energy and stress levels.
Less Than Awesome Health + Problems Letting Go = Trouble Stopping Whatever the H-E-Hockey Sticks I Am Doing and Just Be
When it comes to taking time to play with kids: Take the above equation and multiply by 2.
Did I lose you yet? Yeah, I thought so. Let me step back. I love my kids. I am very involved in many aspects of their lives. I “do” a lot with them. I help with my son’s homework. I sing the ABC’s with my daughter while she washes her hands. I teach them the 50 States while riding in the car.
I am really good at “doing” things.
And as I have mentioned before, I have really high standards and a great difficulty letting others help me. So with limited energy, ridiculous expectations, and two kids, it is very hard for me to sit down and “play” with my children.
That is hard for me to say.
When my daughter sits down with her Barbies or Strawberry Shortcake, she says, “Mommy, will you play with me?” Sometimes, I sit down with her but truthfully, my heart has not always been in it. My body is there but my mind is often running my “To Do” list.
Earlier this week, I wrote about how tightly I have been holding on and how I haven’t been truly enjoying my children being children. And so this week, I have tried to be more conscious with my children. I have tried to just “play”.
Why is it so hard? I’m not sure but it makes me sad that it isn’t easy to just sit with a Barbie in hand and enjoy. If I have an agenda, if I have a goal, I can rock the casbah. But ask me to sit aimlessly, even with either of my two favorite munchkins, and I am as fidgety as Julia Roberts in her first meditation in “Eat, Pray, Love”.
I realize how quickly these precious days will be gone. The days of my kiddos asking me to play will be gone before I know it. And I don’t want regrets. So I am trying. To “do” less. To “be” more.
Because when it is all said and “done”, “being” the best Mommy I can be should be number one on the To-Do List.
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Posted in Childhood, Letting Go, Mommyhood, Perfectionism
Tagged Childhood, Mommyhood, Sonny-Bunny, The Diva
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From the Mouths of Baby Cupids
In honor of Valentine’s Day, I thought that I would share some of the commentary on love that I have overheard from my children.
Conversation between Mommy and son, “Sonny-Bunny”.
Mommy: Do you have a special Valentine?
Sonny Bunny: What do you mean?
Mommy (breath held): You know, a girlfriend?
Sonny-Bunny: NO! I don’t have a girlfriend.
(Sigh of relief from Mommy)
Sonny-Bunny: (continues) I’m looking for one.
Conversation between Sonny-Bunny and little sister, “Little Diva”.
Little Diva: (Sonny-Bunny), if you find a pretty girl, marry her.
(I’m not quite sure why my daughter has such low standards for her brother but she was in earnest).
Little Diva: Mommy, I’m getting married and moving to New York City.
Mommy: Not until you’re bigger.
Little Diva: I know. I won’t get married until I’m a big girl. You know, when I’m four.
(Yeah, that’s a lot better. She is absolutely obsessed with marriage as you can see. I blame Disney. Mostly, because it’s easier.)
So happy Valentine’s all. I joined in with Tribal Blogs and the Valentine’s Day Blog Carnival. Check them out for more Valentine’s Stories. 
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Songs For My Daughter
I have spoken before about how my daughter loves me to sing for her. But her love has grown to singing herself. She sings along with me, sings along with the radio, and she sings on her own. A lot. In fact, her pre-school teacher has tactfully suggested that I sign her up for singing classes because she sings all the time during class.
Now that she is more involved with the music, she has begun to listen deeply to the words and make up stories behind these words. What is so precious about this is how deeply these stories reflect her more than the songwriter.
The other night, I was singing “You’ve Got a Friend” and she starts crying. I am flabbergasted.
“What’s wrong, baby?”
“That girl misses her Mommy.”
“What girl, baby?”
“The girl in the song.”
She had created an entire story where a little girl had gotten lost and her Mommy was telling her that she would find her wherever she was. Broke my heart.
She has also begun to like the Kidz Bop music (I know, Lord help me now!). At the library, we found an older one that includes the Avril Lavigne song, “Complicated”. She has decided that this is a song of a Mom admonishing her daughter for not being herself. Can’t argue much with that.
Finally, another favorite of hers is when I sing “Just the Way You Are”. She calls it the song where I love her just the way she is. Which of course is true.
In all the songs, any romantic complications or other innuendos have been lost. She has made herself the star but I am a chief player. And I love this role. I am a protector or an encourager, most of all I am a lover of all things her.
In the days to come, we will probably fight over the music she chooses and she will be bored by both the sappy ballads I sang her and the Pearl Jam songs with which I chose to rock out. The innuendo will be found and she will understand more than I wish. But for now music is not a divider but a uniter and I am loving every minute of it.
So now when I hear a song I have heard WAY too many times, I listen anew. I am eager to hear it through my daughter’s ears and learn the story that she hears. It is almost as if the songs are written just for her. Maybe in some way they are.
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And So Happy Christmas…
Those of you who have been with me a while know that I often see my life through the lens of the silver screen. That is never more true than around Christmas time. I am a sucker for holiday films. Whether it is the great Alistair Sim in the 1951 “A Christmas Carol” or Natalie Wood in the original “Miracle on 34th Street”, the sense of redemption and hope of a better life gets me every time.
But the holidays also bring out my perfectionist streak. I try desperately to create the perfect holiday. And no, I have never experienced it and maybe wouldn’t recognize it if I did, but I suspect it would have Andy Williams on the radio with a tree worthy of a Bing Crosby musical. There would be no closets stuffed with the items that I didn’t have time to put away, and money would never be s source of stress as I look to demonstrate care for my loved ones. And there would be no fighting. Really, no scrapping, squabbling, bickering. NOTHING. Unless it was in song.
But whatever film that is, it is not my life. My Christmas is messy. I think if my Christmas did come out of a film, it would be “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation”. Clark Griswold always sets up unrealistic expectations for the perfect memory-creating event with his children and fails mightily. He gets electrocuted, banged up and locked in an attic. He worries that his bonus check won’t come in time to pay for his children’s big gift. And as I sit here with a case of laryngitis (I guess my husband got his Christmas wish — LOL), Mr. Hero on crutches, and a new puppy pooping all over my house, perfection feels very far away. But somehow in the end, the Griswold kids know that they are loved and certainly I hope that is true of mine.
Speaking of kids. the best of Christmas really is for them, isn’t it? The magic. The unfettered joy. The belief. I have been enjoying listening to my kids learning about Christmas as they try to understand the complexities of God as baby concept. As they rode in the back seat, this is what I heard.
Little Diva (LD): Mommy, did you know that Joseph is God?
Me: No, baby. Jesus is the Son of God but Joseph is not God. Joseph was in love with Mary and helped raise Jesus like his own son.
LD: Oh… (Voice drifting off in confusion)
Sonny-Bunny (SB): Yeah, baby. God picked Joseph because he was the best babysitter ever.
And there you have it — the Nativity through the eyes of innocence. Mary had God’s baby and gave it to Joseph, the babysitter. (I guess he did carpentry on the side!)
That reminds me another favorite Christmas film, “A Christmas Story” with its unique view of a child’s perspective on Christmas and the single minded focus a child can have when it comes to getting the “big” present. Who can forget Ralphie’s face when he finally gets his Red Rider Bee-bee Gun? Now that’s magic.
But of all the Christmas movies, I think this is our Polar Express Christmas. My Sonny-Bunny is seven this year and while Santa continues to reign supreme, I see hints that this may not be true 365 days from now. He asks more questions and seems to have become savvy to the breaks in logic. He wonders how Santa can eat cookies at every house. How he can know exactly what each child wants even when they forget to write it in the letter? So far, I have answers but what happens when I don’t? I want him to always hear that special bell that only believers can hear. Forever. But if I can’t have forever, I hope that I’ll get at least one more year.
So as I lie in bed, waiting for the magic and mania to begin, I wish you all a Merry Christmas and to all a good night.
And for those, for whom Christmas bells do not ring, I say, “Shalom”, “Namaste”, and “Peace”.
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Posted in Dreams, Gratitude, Mommyhood, Perfectionism
Tagged Beautiful, Celebrations, Childhood, Mommyhood, Mr. Hero, Sonny-Bunny, The Diva
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