Southern Snow

Last Tuesday, we got up and began getting ready for school and work. I had to drag the kids out of bed by their heels, and they were still complaining and grumbling as they got dressed.

My phone began ringing, and I saw from the caller ID it was my brother's home. My sister-in-law and I carpool the kids to school, so I imagined she was calling about that.

When I picked up the phone, it was my brother, who works at the High School. I knew immediately we were out of school for the day.

He said, "Hey- Good Morning!"

I said, "You're kidding me! We're out of school?"

He chuckled and said, "Why, yes. And good morning to you, too."

"I'm sorry," I replied, "that was rude. Good Morning! Now, are we really out of school?"

"Yep."

"Why?"

"Snow."

"Huh?" I asked, peering out my window at... nothing.

"I guess the northern part of the county got really iced over last night."

"Hmmm. Okay, well, thanks for calling."

"Sure. Have a good day!" he said, way too chipper at this hour of the morning.

I found the kids in balled up lumps on the floor, still complaining about how tired they were.

"Fine. Put your pajamas back on and go back to bed," I said, hands on my hips.

"What?" Keith asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

"Just go on back to bed if you're so tired," I threw up my hands.

"Mommy, are kidding us?" Amy asked, eyebrows scrunched together.

"Nope," I said. "School's out today."

"Really?" Keith asked, wide-eyed. "What for?"

"Snow."

Three little pairs of eyes bolted to the window and anxiously looked for snow. They turned around and looked at me quizzically. I shrugged.

"Yeah, I know. Guess the northern part of the county got it all. Sorry. I guess you can go back to bed..."

"Are you kidding? This is the best day EVER!" Keith exclaimed.

Amy and Emma started jumping up and down like Mexican jumping beans.

"I thought you were tired," I reminded them.

"Well, now we're not!" Amy exclaimed.

We spent the rest of the day doing odds and ends that had been on our "to do" list for quite some time. And we played a couple of games and watched a little television. It was like a mini-vacation, which both the kids and I enjoyed immensely.

The next morning, Keith plodded down to our room before my alarm ever went off.

"Do we have school?" he asked sleepily.

"Yes."

"How do you know? Did you watch the news?" he challenged.

"No. But it is going up to sixty-five degrees today. You have school."

"Can you check?" he asked, ever the optimist.

We flipped on the television and watched for a moment. Not only were we not closed, no county in the state was closed for snow.

Keith was dejected. He slumped down a little more and grouched back down the hall.

This morning we had a repeat of yesterday, with the exception that it was cold enough this morning to have an ice patch or two in the northern part of the county. Still, it wasn't enough to call off school, so we were off and running.

My northern-raised friends shake their heads at our southern inability to function in cold weather. They swear that this fact alone made us lose the Civil War.

I try to explain that southern snow is different than northern snow: we have a sheet of ice under our snow. They retort that snow plows and ice can cure all. I remind them that the closest thing we have to a snow plow around here is a garbage truck, and that the salt is used primarily for the interstates and main roads for the northern transplants who refuse to comply with our southern "We don't do snow" rule.

Our northern friends contend that we really don't have "snow" compared to the northern portion of the country. I remind them that this was why they moved here.

On the other side of the fence, my grandmother had a friend come up to visit her from Florida. She was here when the sky was spitting the frozen stuff all over the place. Most of it melted, but not enough to have the kids go to school, apparently.

I was giddy at the thought of a little winter weather. It always makes it feel a little more like Christmas to me.

She glared at me and declared, "This is why I don't like the north."

"The north?"

"Yes. Any place that has the ability to produce snow is north."

"That kind of redefines the regional settings, doesn't it?"

She stared me down for a moment. "Whatever. I hate snow and cold weather!"

I suspect that tomorrow morning my kids will continue their snow vigil, ever-hopeful that there is just enough slick, wet, cold ice to close down the schools. I, on the other hand, wouldn't mind if it held off until the weekend.

And if it's going to snow, I wish it would really snow. I want enough to play in. The stuff we got recently didn't leave enough of a mark to even make a single snow ball.

I want to make snow angels, go sledding and have snow ball fights. Then I want to go in and sit as close to the fireplace as possible with a mug of steaming cocoa (with miniature marshmallows, of course).

My grandmother's friend will be home by then, so she will be able to avoid the "unpleasantness" of the cold. And my northern-raised friends will be able to play in a little bit of "home."

And, school will be "out," regardless.

"Parent Guilt" vs. "Enough"

I don't know about you, but I could really use the "redistribution of wealth" a particular political candidate used as a platform for his election campaign. Especially with Christmas just around the corner.
We seem to find ourselves in this situation every year: right before Thanksgiving we shift into panic mode, as we realize that Santa is a little lean on cash, and three little pairs of eyes will be bouncing down the stairs with no awareness of this fact. You would think we would learn...
This year we have decided at the outset of the mayhem to "celebrate lean." But the stupid toy and electronic advertisements are merciless. Every commercial sends my kids into a frenzy. Every trip to the store, we step haphazardly into an advertisement mine field, taunting me with all of the toys we can't buy.
Why did no one ever tell me about the "Parent Guilt" thing? It was most certainly not in the Parenting Brochure!
As a parent, nothing you ever do is "enough." Even spending billions of dollars on your child, is not "enough." Because, then you have not spent enough "time" with them. And was that "time" truly "quality" time? It goes on and on.
Christmas is the epicenter of the "Parent Guilt" storm. We compare gifts with our neighbors and friends. No matter how many, or how much, we don't feel we did "enough" for our kids.
I usually spend Christmas Eve stuffing stockings to over-flowing, and still think of several things that are "missing." As I help Santa arrange his offerings by the fireplace, I wonder if perhaps he has shorted them a little, too. At the end of the Christmas morning present-opening-bonanza, we look around at the wads of ripped paper and mounds of new, shiny things, and tally in our head all of the things we did NOT get/give.
Of course, my kids have always been a bigger fan of playing with the box that the toy came in, than actually playing with the toy. So, I really shouldn't assume the "Parent Guilt," since I know that they're pretty much happy with a coupon for the ice cream store and a new Webkins. But that doesn't stop me.
With the economy reeking havoc on all of our finances, this would be the perfect opportunity to adopt the "live lean" philosophy- not just for Christmas, but for all the time. But, that "Parent Guilt" won't let us allow our children to miss the new movie at the movie theater, eat home-cooked, simple meals instead of going out to a restaurant, or wear the same shirt more than once in a two-week period.
The "Parent Guilt" has made us gluttonous and gross. It has made our houses full of "stuff," our waistlines too big and our pockets empty. This year for Christmas, I want "enough." And I want my kids to have "enough." And I want us to continue to have "enough" throughout the year.
I want "enough" to mean "satsified with what we have" and "appreciative and thankful," instead of "making do," or "sacrificing." And I want the stupid "Parent Guilt" to attack my lazy butt that refuses to exercise- make that part feel guilty so I'll get out of bed earlier to use the Bo-Flex in our "exercise room." Or maybe my "Parent Guilt" could rear its ugly head at the housework, so that I get a little miffed and work on that for a while.
Either way, our lives are going to have to be "leaner" and more "simple." It would just be nice if "Parent Guilt" would give it a rest over Christmas so that I can enjoy being together instead of inventorying the gifts...
Here's hoping your Black Friday (the sale day after Thanksgiving) is lucrative for you and full of things that you need and will use-- instead of more junk thrown into your basket by "Parent Guilt."

Hamster Heaven

Please extend prayers and sympathy to the family of Duchess the Hamster.

Duchess entered the Church Triumphant early in the morning hours, after having struggled with an undiagnosed debilitating illness for over a week.

She is survived by Keith, Emma, Amy, Dixie, Hubby and Mommy Barbie.

A private memorial service will be held by immediate family this evening in their home. There will be no visitation or grave-side service.

In leiu of flowers, donations to Keith's, Emma's and Amy's College Funds are requested by the family.

May Duchess' light shine eternal and her family know peace.

Fighters, To Your Corners...

We are sliding head-long into Christmas season with a mighty hope that there's something soft when we land. We, as are the rest of the world it seems, running seventy different directions with the time and capability of only running sixty. But, hey, what's ten more things to do?

School is at the fevered pitch it hits right before an extended break. The atmosphere is electric and the restlessness is palpable.

Teachers are trying to teach. But this is when it becomes necessary to rope the children back in a thousand times per class period; Projects are being assigned just to give the kids a different way to take in information.

We are all tired.

Cheerleading is still something Emma and Amy enjoy immensely. But we are all weary of the time away from home and any other activities we would like to enjoy in its place.

Dark comes sooner. Light comes later. Cold air makes beds cocoons from which we dare not emerge until the very last second necessary.

Last night all of this culminated into the biggest fight I have ever seen my daughters have with each other. It started as something as small as an accidental bump from one to the other. The fight gathered steam like a slow rolling wave. Until finally, it erupted into something along the lines of a category five storm.

Both were crying, hitting, kicking, clawing, pulling hair, screaming and generally looking like the stereotypical "cat fight." I was a little frightened to get involved for fear of my own safety.

However, Keith does not deter that easily, unfortunately for him. He tried to referee a little and found very quickly that it was in his best interest to stay completely clear of the area.

Amy is a very outwardly emotional person. She is completely transparent and doesn't even ever try to hide her feelings or what she is thinking. It is not uncommon for her to tell adults they are wrong (and they usually are, indeed, when she tells them), stomp her feet in anger, or shriek (literally) with laughter. She lives in the moment, and is able to get angry/sad and then simmer down quickly.

Emma is thoughtful, quiet and generally happy and optimistic. If you tell her what's wrong, she'll tell you what's right. She may get irritated at times, but she has one of the longest fuses I have ever seen a person have. She is polite and incredibly sensitive to the other person's feelings. She is usually the "peace keeper" between Keith and Amy, ensuring they don't kill each other during their famous fights.

Last night, Amy found the end of Emma's fuse. Emma was seething at her sister. Rage rolled off of her like hot rays from the sun.

Amy had pushed and pushed and pushed until Emma finally snapped. And, unbelievably, Amy never saw it coming.

When Emma came at Amy, Amy's first reaction was a light laughter. She thought it was a game. Then Amy registered shock. Emma was playing no game. Emma was mad.

Amy's a scrappy little thing. So after shaking off the initial shock, her fight or flight response was: fight!

Keith and I barely could register the chaos, noise and body parts in the fight that ensued. After a moment of stunned paralysis, I moved.

"Girls!" I shouted above their voices, "Stop right now! Emma over there. Amy over here."

The girls moved away from each other, never taking their eyes off one another. They moved over to the spots I had pointed out and glared at each other like boxers in the ring between the bells.

I herded them to the car, making sure not to allow them to get within reaching distance of each other. And got them settled in far away from each other.

The verbal bickering started as soon as I turned the engine over.

"Stop!" I demanded. "No talking."

The car ride to cheer was quiet, but you could still feel the anger in the air. All I kept thinking is, I am glad they are not on the same squad!

Finally, I heard Amy in the back say quietly, "I'm sorry, Emma."

Emma didn't even acknowledge Amy.

Amy tried again, "Emma, I said I'm sorry."

Still nothing from Emma.

"Emma!" Amy whined.

"Girls!" I said, while trying to watch the road. "Emma, I know you are very angry right now. It is okay to be angry. But you need to tell Amy you hear what she's saying. It doesn't mean you have to not be angry with her. But you need to tell her, 'Amy, thank you for your apology. I'm really mad right now. Please give me some time to cool down, then we'll talk.' Okay?"

"Okay," Emma replied.

"Amy, I understand you are sorry, but you need to give Emma a little space. You really hurt her feelings and made her mad. She still loves you, but she needs to cool off a little before she talks with you. Okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," Amy said.

We went back to being silent for the few minutes we had before we got to the gym. When we pulled up, the girls jumped out and picked up a chatty conversation that gave no hint that there had ever even been a disagreement just moments before.

I have never had a sister, so this dynamic is a little new for me. I'm grateful they have each other, and I know they will share that special bond that close sisters share.

But they are six and nine years old. I hope we can find a way for them to fight (as I know they will) that involves a little less blood, sweat and tears. I know we will have PLENTY of opportunities to "work on it-" particularly with those teenaged years looming largely ahead.

But my hope and prayer would be that, in spite of and because of, all that they will go through, that ultimately, they will be friends. And I do believe that will happen. I just hope we all live through it...

Give Me a "HUH"???

Last weekend my dear little girls glammed up in sparkles and spandex to compete in a cheer competition. It was quite fun. The girls did well. However, I don't think that up until that point I realized how horrific a southern accent can sound when screamed at the top of little girls' lungs. (The letter "I" is pronounced "A," totally ruining the word they are trying to spell.)

After each group competed, they were given a complimentary "goody" bag from some of the competition sponsors. My girls were thrilled to get the pink, draw-string bag, and tore it open with untempered enthusiasm.

My youngest, Amy, looked up at me with complete shock and dismay. "Mommy, they gave me a shaver!" She reported, holding up a packaged razor.

"And foamy shaver stuff, too!" my older , Emma, reported, waiving it madly in front of my face.

"Oh my. Well, I guess that is really meant for some of the older girls competing," I said while I calmly stuffed the offending merchandise far down into the recesses of our gym bag.

If only it had stopped there...

That night when we got home, the girls were putting away all of their "stuff" from the competition. Suddenly two little girls came to my room with very confused looks holding two boxes of tampons.

"What are these?" the elder asked.

"Where did you get them?" I asked, standing like a deer caught in headlights.

"They were in our pink bags," Emma replied.

"What are they for?" the younger asked.

"They're just something for mommies," I hedged while I snagged the boxes and looked helplessly for someplace to make them disappear.

"What do you do with them?" Amy pressed.

"Well, they're just something that grown up ladies use sometimes in the bathroom," I was dancing like mad.

"Like what?" Emma pushed.

"Oh, just... big girl... stuff..." I said, running out of steam.

"Will we have to use them someday?" Amy asked.

"Maybe..."

"How do you use them?" Emma looked up at me with her big brown eyes.

I was mentally socking the snot out of the marketing genius that put these handy cheer bags together to promote their products. I'm sure they had no idea that girls as young as three were receiving these "complimentary samples." But at that moment I wanted nothing more than to tar and feather them anyway.

"Well, maybe we should talk about this later," I tried.

"Why?" Amy asked.

Never have my children been so inquisitive about broccoli or how to clean a toilet or how the stock market works. But at that moment, they were completely obsessive/compulsive about the

"All New Comfort Plastic Glide Applicators" and the promise of "Super Absorbency- No Leaks Guaranteed." My only saving grace was that my son was nowhere around.

"Well..."

"When she says that, it means she thinks we're too young," Emma offered to her sister.

"I'm not a baby, mom!" Amy was offended.

"I know. Uhm, it's just that, well..."

I have always kept a strict policy that I tell my kids the truth in a way that is most age appropriate. I had been able to stay off this subject for years with a simple, nondescript explanation, and then a super-quick change of subject.

It was painfully obvious that my luck had run out.

So I began a very watered-down version of an explanation, which, of course, led to more questions. Until, finally, we had a mini "birds and bees" talk, which left me in knots and the girls with their faces scrunched up into an expression that plainly said, "GROSS!"
Hubby came in about that time and, naturally, asked what was going on. I could only reply with,

"Oh, you know. Cheer stuff."

He seemed satisfied to go with that answer and continued his trip through the room.
Finally, Amy broke the deafening silence by holding the box between her finger and thumb, as though she were holding a live spider by the leg, and saying, "Here. I don't think I'll need these for a while."

That made Emma laugh, and me choke, then laugh.

"So, do you have any other questions?" I asked hesitantly.

"Yeah," Amy said, hands on hips.

I held my breath.

"Why did they give those to us?" she demanded.

"I don't know," I said, feeling defeated.

"Well, they're stupid," Amy proclaimed.

"Yes. Yes, they are," I agreed.

Amy and Emma left the room and I plopped down on my bed. I can only imagine what the next competition will bring...