The Circle of Trust

The twins, who will be 10 years old this summer, seem to teeter back and forth between responsible young ladies, capable of added responsibility and privilege -- and a couple of immature goof balls who can't be trusted any farther than I can throw them.

They want to be treated like big kids, but still revert to little-kid behavior where basic self-control is a daily struggle.

My parenting style, if you haven't been able to tell, is somewhat, shall we say, creative. From Behavior Boot Camp to my go-ahead-and-just-try-me tactics, I'm willing to try nearly anything to raise responsible, law-abiding taxpayers.

This latest gem came to me when Mark told me the girls tried to sneak stuffed animals to school in their backpacks. (Daily frisking at the door is now a requirement, apparently.)

So last night I introduced the kids to The Circle of Trust. Yes, I stole it from Meet the Fockers, but I think it fits.

I wanted to illustrate that trust is something to be earned. And it's something that comes and goes, depending on the kids' behavior.

I cleared the artwork on the fridge and posted this:



I announced,

This is the Circle of Trust. If you show me I can trust you, you're in. If you act like a bonehead, you're out. And believe me, it's better to be in than out.

I didn't quite deliver it like DeNiro, but the girls got the point. They understood that their choices alone determine if they've earned my trust -- and with it, the perks of being trustworthy.

Crowbar on the other hand, raised his hand and asked,

Who's Chuck? The Circle of Chuck?

Lucky for him he's already in.

For now.

Practical Parenting Tip #46: A little apathy goes a long way.

Scene: The 3 and 4 year-old room at Crowbar's daycare. Crowbar is playing house with several little kids when a girl accidentally bumps into him, knocking him off balance. He falls.

Girl: Sorry. (Goes to help him up.)

Crowbar: 'Sorry' doesn't pay the bills.

Girl cries.

End scene.

- - -

I feel somewhat responsible for the scene described above.

Yes, Mark and I have been known to say, "Sorry doesn't pay the bills," to the kids now and again, but in our defense, we've got an epidemic of empty sorries getting littered around our house.

C'mon, you know what I'm talking about: Saying sorry without actually being sorry.

It happens a lot. And in my parenting guide, "The Apathetic Parent's Guide to Raising Resilient Kids," dismissing the insincere sorry from time to time is a wholly acceptable practice.

But it's only effective if your daycare provider has a sense of humor.

Karma.

I was a kid who grew up in the 80's. I was also a kid who watched a lot of TV. As a result, my life, my sense of humor and often my vocabulary were shaped by the likes of Welcome Back Kotter reruns, The A Team and other stellar programing of the day.

My brothers and I would drive our mom nuts with our impressions of what we watched. And she especially hated it when our nice family dinners would be punctuated with outbursts like,

"Pass me the beans, FOOL!"

Eventually our shenanigans drove her to impose the No TV-Talk at the Table Rule. Whenever one of us would launch into some dumb Mork & Mindy monologue, she'd throw an angry look and scold, "No TV-talk."

I know, we were typical kids. We took funny things and drove them into the ground, inciting the adults around us to impose all kinds of crazy rules. It was our own inability to understand that there's a time and place for everything that got us in trouble. And in our house, dinnertime was not the time or the place to do your best Fonzi impression.

So of course, I've been blessed with kids who are equally influenced by what they watch. And unfortunately for me, they're watching this shit.

So, like my mom, I've now imposed the No TV-Talk at the Table. However, these little goof balls just don't stop -- not during a car ride, not on the bus stop, not in the bathtub.

It's just getting to be a little much.

So, this week, as I heard The Campfire Song for the 9,oooth time on the way home from the DMV, I snapped.

I told them they had to stop. Stop all of the goofiness. The verbal diarrhea. I lectured them on the necessity for proper communication. I tried to explain how mimicking what they see on TV is not a conversation. It's not sharing their thoughts or feelings. Spewing sound bytes from TV shows -- often at inappropriate times -- is simply not allowed anymore. And so help me, I am not raising mindless parrots -- I'm raising intelligent, well-spoken people.

I know. I'm a hypocrite. But I'm also a parent and I owe it to their teachers, grandparents and anyone else who comes into contact with them to try to get these kids to stop doing the There are Squirrels in My Pants Dance for like, two minutes.

So, allow me to formally, and in front of the whole world wide web, apologize to my mom for making her nuts -- and to acknowledge that her curse, hoping that someday I'd have kids who acted just like I did, worked.

Sorry, Mom. You were right.

Now... what can you do about reversing that curse?

MarketingMom vs. Eggplant

My experience working in marketing has served me well as a parent. I've written about how to successfully market healthy, unusual or otherwise suspicious foods to kids and consider myself an expert at creative wordplay to avoid altercations:

Example:

"Mom, can we paint my room tonight?"

"Yes, but only if we have time after dinner, homework, a quick trip to the store and showers."

"All right!"

(Notice how I never said, "no.")

Well I may have soon outdone myself.

We've had Movie Night every Friday for the past several weeks. Generally we get pizza and hunker down in the family room for a flick, but this week, I've got something special up my sleeve.

I'm planning to prepare a special meal for a special movie, Disney's Ratatouille. I'm going to make ratatouille nicoise -- a recipe straight out of the New York Times Cook Book. The kids are totally psyched, but then again, they have no idea what's actually in ratatouille.

Here's the recipe:

Ratatouille Nicoise

• 1/3 cup olive oil
• 2 or more cloves of garlic, peeled and chopped
• 1 large onion, sliced
• 2 zucchini, well scrubbed
• 1 small eggplant
• 3 tablespoons flour
• 2 green peppers, seeded and cut into strips
• 5 ripe tomatoes, peeled and sliced
• salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
• 1 tablespoon capers

You basically cook all these ingredients down until they're a thick, bubbly concoction. Sounds awesome, right? My mouth is watering already for the garlic and capers.

We'll see how the kids react when I hand them a steaming bowl of vegetable goo instead of a slice of pepperoni pizza. (I'm totally hoping the veggies are unrecognizable -- and if they aren't, we're dimming the lights.)

If I can pull this off, I may just start myself a little consulting biz on the side. I can see it now:

Quit pandering to your picky eaters. MarketingMom is here to help. Let her turn your least kid-friendly recipe into your family's new favorite meal.

It's probably safest if I wait until after Friday night to print up my business cards.

Behavior Boot Camp

If you've spent more than 2.5 minutes with my kids, you know they can be, uh, rambunctious. They're often loud, boisterous and, well, loud. When we come by, we don't just visit, we invade.

There have been many drives home when I tell the kids how embarrassing their behavior had been. They don't watch where they're walking, they interrupt grownups when talking and they are prone to bouts of rough housing just about anywhere the mood strikes.

I've been struggling with this behavior ever since the twins were three. I have tried timeouts, taking away privileges and spanking. While their behavior, like any kids, will peak and valley, I have felt lately that their peaks come fewer and farther between.

Don't get me wrong, they can be lovely sometimes. They can be polite, helpful and downright sweet. But I'm not blind. I know there's room for improvement.

One morning, on the commute to work, Mark and I took stock of the situation. Together, we'd implemented Operation Mommie Dearest with great success. Dinnertime complaints and poky eating had dropped significantly.

If we can lick those dinnertime tantrums, we can lick this.

So we analyzed the situation and developed a strategic plan:


BEHAVIOR BOOT CAMP

Goals:

1. The kids will learn to play nicely, either together or alone, quietly.
2. The kids will learn and display self-control, which will end their rambunctious behavior.

Tactics:

1. Reduce the amount of screen time in the house.
   We realized that once we turn off the TV, the kids typically spring up and off the couch with loads of pent-up energy. Within minutes, they're either wrestling, arguing, or acting wild. By reducing couch time, we hope they'll expend their energy evenly and not in wild bursts.
   
2. Develop chores for which each child is responsible.
   By giving the kids new responsibilities, we hope to foster maturity and create more opportunities to praise and reward positive behavior. Daily chores include alternating table duty (setting/clearing the dinner table) and keeping shoes tidy and clear from the front doorway.
   
3. Enforce a "Hands Off" rule.
   The kids are always touching each other. Sometimes it's sweet, like holding hands, and other times it's, well... not. A hug can escalate into a headlock in seconds. So that's why we're now simply saying, "hand's off."
   
4. Alter our discipline approach. No more warnings.
   This sounds harsh, but it's really not. I used to count to three or give a few chances to redeem oneself before doling out discipline, but what's happened is the kids now wait until the last second or just before they lose a privilege before obeying my request. Now, they need to act the first time asked in order to avoid the consequence.

It's been a week since implementing Behavior Boot Camp and we've already had remarkable results. The kids' behavior is much more civilized. They have begun playing nicely and have adopted the chores without complaint. I think they like the idea of having responsibility. It makes them feel valuable and important.

I think every parent loses control of their kids every once in a while. Even the sweetest kid has moments when they turn into a screaming banshee. Admitting your kids need work is hard and recognizing that some of your parenting tactics to date have been unsuccessful is even harder. For a while I felt like a failure. I failed myself and I failed my kids.

But now, after seeing the initial results, let me tell you, regaining control and imparting peace and relative tranquility makes it worthwhile.

I guess I'm just mean then.

While the poll results indicate I’m not an overprotective mom – that my intentions are to save my babies from untold dangers are well within reason – I have been dubbed The Meanest Mom in the World by my kids more than once this week.

Was I mean for not letting them risk life and limb to get to Chicago’s Shedd Aquarium with their scatter-brained troop leader? No. But my new stance on Scholastic Book orders opens the door for debate.

Remember Scholastic Books?

The colorful, comic-book-like brochures of books and trinkets they sell to grade school kids? I ordered them as a kid. I remember the thrill and excitement of browsing through the little catalog of books, trying to decide what to order. But the best part was delivery day. It felt like Christmas when my teacher would hand out our orders.

I remember ordering and reading Shoeshine Girl by Clyde Robert Bulla when I was in the third grade. It's the first book I can remember that had me riveted. And, it was the first book I ever read that did not have a predictable, cookie-cutter happy ending. It was so dramatic, so different. I got it from Scholastic Books... I remember it exactly.

Well, friends. Times have changed.

While they still make Scholastic Books available to kids, the products offered have greatly expanded.

They now sell toys.

For most of them, you can easily spot the educational value, but some offered are more of a stretch. But even if they were all 100% guaranteed to help my kids jump three grade levels in a week, I simply don't think toys belong in a book order. It's bad enough there are toys at the grocery store. It feels like I can't go anywhere without being solicited.

And now, standing in my own kitchen, Mad Dog and The Deuce are in tears, begging me to buy each of them $30 Nintendo DS games via Scholastic Books. (Yeah, $60 total.) It doesn't matter that we don't even own a Nintendo DS system, all of their friends have them and all of their friends are ordering games.

This leads me to a new series of house rules surrounding Scholastic Book orders:

1. Book orders are for books. This means no teddy bears, necklaces or video games - unless they have pages and a cover.
2. If we order a book - and I mean IF... there’s a $10 limit per kid.
3. Book orders are a privilege, not a right. Kids that misbehave don’t get to place orders.

The last rule is a tag-on to mitigate the whining and complaining associated with rules 1 & 2.

I know this probably does sound mean, but they distribute book orders at least every two months. And these things aren't exactly cheap anymore. Sure, they've still got paperbacks for $3.95, but they also sell sets of books that cost upwards of $20. The most expensive thing I've seen in a catalog was nearly $50.

Sorry, darling. We all have library cards. And, when you're bored with all the books we've checked out, we'll return them and get another batch for free.

So, all this has reinforced my standing as The Meanest Mom in the World. I dunno. It doesn't really bother me. I've decided to embrace it. So, every other month at my house, expect to hear a conversation like this:

"Mom, can I get the texting pen set?"

"What is it?"

"They are pens that have little keyboards on them. I can text my friends."

"How much does it cost?"

"$19.95."

"Is it a book?"

"Uh...no. But all my friends are getting them - so we can text each other in class."

"No deal. It's got to be a book and it's got to cost $10 or less."

"You're so mean!" (Storms off to flop on her bed and sob.)

** Sigh. ** Remind me to write a thank you note to the principal.

Poll: Am I being overprotective?

Okay, dear friends. I need your opinion here.

About a week ago, the girls brought home a note saying their Brownie troop would be taking a field trip to Chicago's Shedd Aquarium.

Now, a little background first:

Their troop leader is not the most organized person in the world. She's shown up late to outings and has forgotten to send out permission slips. She's also notorious for giving zero notice to hold or cancel impromptu meetings and field trips.

My favorite is when she gives less than 1 day notice to bring supplies for troop craft projects. One time, she asked us to send along an empty gallon-sized milk jug for a project they'd be constructing the next afternoon. And no, she wouldn't have extras. (Yes, I only had one, full gallon in the fridge at the time. And yes, I have two girls in the troop.)

So, when I heard this woman was planning on taking my babies to downtown Chicago -- and read how she planned to do it, I just couldn't let them go.

Here's a snippet from her email, explaining how she planned to take 20 third graders to Chicago:

Yes, our field trip is this Saturday and we are going to the Shedd. I feel that it would be in everyone's best interest if we did not drive to Kenosha to catch the Metra. The Metra ride from Kenosha to Chicago is almost 90 minutes due to the amount of stops the train is scheduled to make. We could drive directly to the Shedd but it costs about $18 per car just to park.

I also know that most of the girls are looking forward to riding the Metra. Therefore, I feel we should drive a bit further into Ill. to catch the train. There are 3 possible stations we could stop at. They are:

• Highland Park leave at 9:34 and arrive in Chicago at 10:30= 56 minute ride (beautiful station)
• Glencoe leave at 9:43 and arrive at 10:30= 47 minute ride, nice station
• Kenilworth leave at 9:53 and arrive at 10:30=37 minute ride, also a very nice station

You can view any of these stations if you google "Kenosha Metra", go to the site, pull up the schedule and scroll down to each stop. Click on the name of the station.

When we leave to come home the times are:

• Chicago to Highland park are leave at 4:35 and arrive at 5:24= 49 min ride
• Chicago to Glencoe are leave at 4:35 and arrive at 5:16= 41 min ride
• Chicago to Kenilworth are leave at 4:35 and arrive at 5:06= 31 min ride

Based on the above information I feel it would be best for all involved if we left school and drove to the Kenilworth Metra station. That would allow the girls to have the experience of the train but with the least amount of travel time. It would allow us to arrive back there just after 5 p.m. and home shortly after 6 p.m. so the girls can eat dinner.

We will arrive at school at 8 a.m. Leave by 8:15ish. It is about 80 miles to Kenilworth, so it should be about an hour and 15 min. to get there. This will give us 20+ minutes to get our tickets and organized.

We will arrive in Chicago at 10:30 a.m.

From the Metra we will catch the trolley that will take us directly to the Shedd. We will arrive there, get tickets and enjoy the Shedd.

Each girl will need to pack a lunch and 2 snacks. One for the morning and one for the afternoon. I will need each chaperone to bring a backpack to help carry the lunches. I do not have a trolley schedule, yet, but we will be leaving the Shedd at about 3:30 to catch the return trolley to get to the train by 4:35. This should give us 4.5 hours at the Shedd. We should arrive back home by 6:30 p.m.

Good gawd.

If you were able to follow her note (I was only barely able to keep up), you'll see that she'd planned a pretty damn complicated way to transport 20 eight-year olds to one of the biggest cities in the U.S.

Hey, I've got an idea! How about you check out one of the many fine museums in our own town? Or, if you insist on taking them to Chicago, why don't you charter a bus. What she suggested sounded less like a typical kid's field trip and more like the synopsis of Planes, Trains and Automobiles.

I politely notified her that my two Brownies would not be participating. I tried to delicately explain that I wasn't comfortable with the logistics involved.

She never responded to my email.

When the girls learned they couldn't go, I was deemed, The Meanest Mom in the World. And yes, there were tears.

In the end, a dozen girls took the trip. And thankfully, it sounds like all 12 made it back. Frankly I'm surprised anyone let their kids participate.

Which brings me to ask you... Was I being overprotective by not letting them go? Am I, in fact, The Meanest Mom in the World?

Please vote using the poll, located at the top, right of the screen. I'd like to know if you guys think I'm on track or if I need to loosen up and relax a little.

Thanks, in advance, for sharing your opinion.

It's the most wonderful time of the year.

Now that we’re officially into December, the countdown to Christmas has begun. The tree is up, the rotation for the chocolate Advent calendar has been determined, and the discussion on who has been naughty or nice is ramping up in both frequency and intensity.

The twins are in third grade and even though some of their classmates have tried their best to debunk the whole Santa thing, their confidence in the big guy is only slightly shaken.

“Mom?” The Deuce asked me the other day. “Is Santa real?”

“What do you think?” I asked, treading carefully.

“I think he’s real because remember, last year, we didn’t have enough money for the slushie maker, and I got it anyway. I'm pretty sure that Santa brought it.”

I don’t remember that exchange quite the same way. I think I was trying to give a lesson on wants vs. needs and how you have to spend your money accordingly. I give lots of reasons why I don't buy the kids this or that, but I'm certain I never used, 'we don't have enough money' as an excuse.

No matter, the miscommunication seems to have bought me some more Santa time. And after Mr. Elf shows up this weekend, I think we're in the clear for a little while longer.

The magic elf is an old family tradition that I remember as a kid. We had this little elf that my grandma made out of felt and pipe cleaners. Mom told us he was magic. Actually, to be specific, we were told that he was sent from the North Pole to do some reconnaissance work for Santa. It was his job to report back to the big guy if we were being naughty or nice.

My brothers and I knew he was really magical because he would mysteriously move from spot to spot in the living room -- looking for an ideal vantage point for his surveillance, no doubt. And each time he'd move, our candy dish would be filled with chocolates or candy canes. We kids were at once in awe and a little afraid of Mr. Elf.

Of course nobody ever saw him move, but one time, after staring really hard, I thought I saw him blink.

It's exciting for me to continue the magic elf tradition with my kids. Every year he shows up on St. Nick's Eve and then disappears by Christmas morning. And let me tell you - that span is one of my favorite times of the year.

At the first sign of naughty, all I have to do is say, "I hope Mr. Elf didn't see that," and the kids are totally freaking out, apologizing to the little spy.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Elf. Really. Please don't tell Santa, PLEASE!"

Sure it's a little sneaky, but c'mon. Even with Mark around, I'm still outnumbered here. I've got to use every trick in the book. Besides, it makes the Christmas season that much more special for the kids - and for me, a little extra peace and joy never hurts.

Life lessons.

About a week ago, The Deuce asked:

"Mom, who are you going to vote for?"

"Mr. Obama," I said.

"Dad's voting for McCain," she responded, watching me closely for my reaction.

"That's okay. He can vote for whoever he wants. That's what's so great about our country. Each person gets to give their opinion."

Never pass up an opportunity to teach your kids to appreciate our democratic process and, equally important, to be respectful of other people's opinions.

(Even your ex-husband's.)

I like to call it "creative parenting."

The other day one of the girls asked me what's "bluffing."

I explained that it's when someone says they're going to do something, to try to make someone do something else. And the other person has to figure out if they're serious or not. I used a kid-friendly example to help explain (can't really reference poker, ya know?) and they got it.

Fast forward to Sunday morning:

We're at the table, eating breakfast. The kids have this annoying habit of eating ridiculously slowly or racing through a meal. I swear I must tell the kids to either "hurry up" or "slow down" at least ten times each. We rarely, if ever, all finish eating at the same time. So, it wasn't surprising that Mad Dog totally inhaled her cinnamon roll and cereal. As she got up and started walking out of the dining room, she asked to be excused.

"Wait."

"What?"

"Sit down. You need to wait until everyone else is done."

I had been writing out a list of the day's to dos and I wanted her to be a part of the discussion.

"But I want to play my video game," she whined.

"No. Sit down."

She flopped down into her chair in a huff. Somehow in the last week, she developed an attitude like a 16 year old. I ignored the tantrum and returned to the topic at hand. A minute or two passed when she asked,

"Can I be excused, pleease?"

"No. We're not done."

"Well, when?"

"When I say."

She folded her arms across her chest and rolled her eyes. At this point, I've gone from mildly annoyed to somewhat pissed. The Deuce slurped down the rest of her food, but aside from that, the rest of us were still eating.

"Can I be excused?" The Deuce asked.

"No. You guys need to wait. We're talking about what we're going to do today. It's a team meeting. We all need to be here."

Thirty seconds later (I swear), Mad Dog was dumb enough to ask again.

"Can I be excused, NOW?!" Clearly, she was pissed too.

"NO! And the next person that asks is going to... to..."

My mind raced. In the past week, I'd taken away the TV and computer. Taking either one away again wouldn't have the effect I wanted and I couldn't think of a suitable punishment.

"Going to what?" the girls asked, leaning in.

"Going to stand outside in the cold, barefoot, for two whole minutes."

They studied my face. Was I serious?

"Are you bluffing?" asked Mad Dog.

"Try me," I said.

With devilish smiles on their faces, they did.

"May I be excused?" they chirped in unison.

"Outside," I said, grinning. I pointed to the back door. "NOW!"

The girls giggled and laughed as they ran for the door and stepped outside. The weather was a brisk 54 degrees, but the cold concrete patio made it feel colder. They stood, face to face, still giggling as I set the timer.

"Two minutes, starting... NOW!"

For the first thirty seconds, the girls danced around and rubbed their arms, telling me it really wasn't so bad. Then, at about 40 seconds, they asked if time was almost up.

"You're about half way," I called out the back door. "Stay out there!"



Their giggles turned to shrieks, "Eeks! We're cold!"

At the minute-and-a-half mark, they clutched each other for warmth.

"Time's up!" I opened the back door, letting them in. They flew through the door and straight in their warm robes.

"Sorry, Mom!" they called as they raced up the steps to their room. "Sorry!"

~ ~ ~

Now, some might think this was cruel, but I like to call it "creative parenting." It's hard when the kids decide to test their boundaries so thoroughly. Some days it feels like all I do is sold and punish. And besides, the more I lecture, the more my kids tune it out anyway. Sometimes it pays to be a little resourceful. Sometimes, simple shock value can be more effective than any time out or grounding.

I'm curious. Do you have a creative parenting moment to share? It could be you as a parent or you as a kid. Either way, I'm always looking for more creative parenting tricks to add to my arsenal!

Practical Parenting Tip #94

Don't let your three-year old drink a quart of cherry Kool-Aid an hour before bedtime. Despite his best efforts and your best potty training, he WILL wet the bed.

Was I pissed at myself? Oh, yeaaaahh!

~ ~ ~

I should've known better. I rarely make Kool-Aid for the kids - they generally drink milk or water. But last night as a treat with popcorn, I whipped up a pitcher of the sugar-free stuff. Crowbar inhaled his first glass. Smacking his lips, he immediately asked for more. And I obliged, not once, but twice.

Fast forward to 2 a.m. Crowbar's soaked and I'm hauling wet bedding downstairs to the laundry. I guess even the most seasoned parents have temporary lapses in judgement. In my case, it left us both pissed.

The Big Blow Off.

In my house, every other sentence from my kids either begins with:

A) "I want ____." or
B) "I don't want to ____."

It can get quite tiresome. Whether we're at home or out and about, they're constantly telling me they want/don't want something.

Now, I don't frequently give in to their requests, so I'm a little surprised that they keep asking me. It's not like I roll over and say, "Okay," each time they say they want McDonald's for dinner or a new toy or to go to grandma's.

And I don't bend when they tell me they don't want to go to school, eat their vegetables, or go to bed at 8:30. You'd think getting shot down so often, they'd just stop asking. But they don't. They're eternally hopeful, I guess.

Normally when I turn down the request, I give a reason.

"No, we can't eat at McDonald's tonight, I've got a healthy dinner planned at home." Or "I know you don't want to take a bath, but look at your feet. They're dirty."

I generally try to give them the WHY behind the no.

Well, Mark's got a different approach. I like to call it The Big Blow Off.

It goes like this:

Kid: I want a laptop computer.

Mark: I want my own talk show.

Kid: I want my own bedroom.

Mark: I want my own talk show.

Kid: I want a new backpack.

Mark: I want my own talk show.

No matter what the want is, his answer is the same. He wants his own talk show.

He also has a Big Blow Off response for the don't want to's.

Kid: I don't want to go to bed.

Mark: I don't want to pay taxes.

Kid: I don't want to go to the grocery store.

Mark: I don't want to pay taxes.

Kid: I don't want to do my homework.

Mark: I don't want to pay taxes.

The first time I heard it, I thought it was a little weird. And the first time the kids heard it, they were totally speechless. The Big Blow Off is a real conversation killer.

For a while I just shrugged my shoulders. It's not exactly how I choose to respond to their requests, but it's not like it's mean or hurtful. Like I said, it's just kind of weird.

But then, one day, as I was picking the girls up from school, I realized the effectiveness of The Big Blow Off. The Deuce hoped into the van and said, "I want to ride the bus home from school." Then, not a second later she added, "And Mark wants his own talk show."

Holy shit. She opened and closed the conversation herself, and I didn't even need to say a word.

A few days later, it happened again.

"I want to go to Wal-Mart. And Mark wants his own talk show."

The topic was opened, then shut. And I never said a peep. There was no reasoning, no bargaining - nothing.

While I think it can still be helpful to explain the WHY behind things, to Mark's credit, there are some times when it's just not necessary. And that's the beauty of The Big Blow Off.

We all want things. But we don't always get them. Hell, I want a free trip to Hawaii, but do I think that's gonna happen?

Sometimes it is, because it is.

Period.

Operation Mommie Dearest

The transition from our lazy summer evenings to our new, nightly back-to-school routine has not gone smoothly.

The kids are having a hard time adjusting to the volume of third grade homework and are starting to buckle from the responsibility of maintaining daily assignment notebooks. As soon as I mention the word homework they start in with the whining and bellyaching.

School work aside, the twins have also become exceptionally moody. This always seems to happen when we have a change in routine. They’re at each other’s throat and alternate between pushing my buttons and each others’. I’m getting tired of having my authority questioned and boundaries tested with such regularity.

And dinnertime has become particularly difficult lately. I find that no matter what I prepare, they poke, complain and stretch dinnertime out much longer than necessary. I’ve gained 5 lbs by simply willing them to eat. Too often, I’ve found myself clearing the table at 7:15, and having barely enough time to finish up homework and begin the bedtime routine by 8.

After one especially tough evening, I collapsed on my bed and vented to Mark. I was feeling battered, bruised and frustrated by my nightly role of task master, cook, housekeeper, teacher and referee. It was just all becoming unmanageable.

Mark confessed that he too, was feeling worn out. His evenings were consumed by running between his house and mine, then quickly jumping into the role of math tutor, Crowbar entertainer and Mom pep talker-er. (Don’t question my spelling –I’m tired and crabby, dammit.) He agreed that the kids seemed to have taken over, monopolizing our time and wearing down our nerves.

Then he shared something his mom always says, "Don't negotiate with a kid."

What he said really resonated with me. It was true, I’d become too tired to fight every little struggle and had essentially created a larger problem – kids who try to (and sometimes successfully) negotiate their way out of things that should be not negotiable.

Together we agreed that:

• Homework should be done quickly, efficiently and accurately.
• Eating dinner should take no longer than 30 minutes.
• All parties, ages 8 and younger, should be in bed, sleeping by 8:30 p.m.

Additionally, we agreed to set the following expectations:

• The dinner menu is non-negotiable and complaining is not allowed.
• Instructions given by grown ups should be followed immediately, and without debate.
• Mad Dog and The Deuce will accept personal responsibility for the condition, completion and organization of their school assignments and materials.
• Special activities, events and purchases are privileges that may be earned and lost – nobody is entitled to any of these things.

So, to accomplish this, we devised Operation Mommie Dearest*.

• Whatever the kids don’t eat after 30 minutes will be re-heated and served for dinner the following night.
• TV time is limited to about an hour a night – and not right before bedtime.
• No more counting to 3 or asking more than once. A negative consequence will be delivered immediately after the first request has not been immediately obeyed.
• TV and other privileges must wait until homework is completed.

Now, aside from the 30-minute dinner time limit, we didn’t come out and broadcast the new house rules. We just quietly rolled them out and have been enforcing them consistently for a few nights now.

I wish I could tell you that our new strategy worked immediately. But, to be honest, it’s just too soon to tell. We’ve seen some small improvements – and let me tell ya, if you could’ve seen the look on the kids’ faces when they were served their leftovers instead of a delicious slice of pizza (like Mark and I enjoyed), you’d be as sure as I am that they’ll think twice before poking away at dinner, wasting time.

I may not win mother of the year with the new zero tolerance Mommie Dearest approach, but I expect to see results.

I'll let y'all know how it goes.

* The name Operation Mommie Dearest should not be taken to imply that Mark's mom is or ever was Joan Crawford-like in any way, shape or form. She's a lovely woman, who successfully raised three kids into responsible, tax-paying, law-abiding adults. In fact, I think so highly of one of her kids, that I'm marrying him. Thanks, M!

Thanks, Mom

When I first moved out of the house, I used to call my mom every other day for cooking help. She was my personal combination of Ready Reference and Take Home Chef all rolled into one. Looking back now, most of my calls were pretty ridiculous, but hey, you've got to learn, right?

"Yeah, Mom? It's me. I'm trying to boil an egg and it keeps cracking every time I drop it in the boiling water. What am I doing wrong? Oh, so I've got to GENTLY place the egg in the pan, THEN add water and THEN put it on the stove? Yeah, I was just dropping it in."

"Mom, if I were to make, say a lasagna, how would I do it and do you have any of the ingredients and I can borrow them?"

Then, when my kids were first born and I realized what unbelievably hard work it is raising them, I'd call her to apologize for all the rotten/difficult stuff I did.

"Yeah, Mom? Remember when I used to projectile vomit all over everything? Sorry about that."

"Hey Mom. Remember when I spilled cherry Kool-Aid on the living room carpet? Yeah... I'm really sorry."

But lately, I'm feeling compelled to just call her up and thank her for all the basic, how-to-get-through-life wisdom she gave me without even really trying. And I'm finding that it's the mundane stuff that's actually the most useful.

For one thing, she taught me how to grocery shop. Sounds simple, right? Not really. She taught me three basic rules that save me hundreds of dollars each year:

1. Plan ahead.
2. Make a list.
3. Stick to the damn list.

Mom also taught me through example, the art of extreme resourcefulness. Seriously, she's like MacGyver. She can do anything with a butter knife and her trusty singer sewing machine. And she loves being presented with a challenge:

"What? We need to make a 3-D replica of a hammerhead shark for tomorrow? Okie dokie!"

The woman simply lives for Halloween. As kids we never had store-bought costumes. They were ALWAYS homemade and they were always TOTALLY EFFING AWESOME. How many kids do you know who went as the Nina, the Pinta and the Santa Maria?

And let me tell you, I thank God at least twice a week that she passed her creativity and resourcefulness on to me. (Especially every time one of the kids announce that "Career Day" is less than 12 hours away.)

"Hold on honey, let me just take this coat hanger, hot-glue gun and old slip and I'll make your circus ringmaster uniform in a jiffy!"

Oh, and don't get me started on the Momisms I now use. My use of profanity is gradually being replaced by phrases only Moms say. What exactly is a "jiffy?" I don't know, but I say it A LOT.

And I want you to know that I'm doing my best to pass on valuable, life-enhancing knowledge to little Mad Dog, Crow Bar and The Deuce. Since day one, I've cradled each one in my arms and whispered my own words of wisdom:

"Be cool, stay in school."

"Credit cards are for emergencies."

"Nobody likes a whiner."

God, I hope they're listening.

Practical Parenting Tip #55

Teach your kids useful life skills: like how to negotiate effective trades to create a bag lunch that they'll actually eat.

My kids have gotten very picky lately. They're springing up all kinds of new dislikes so quickly, I can't hardly keep up.

"I don't like chunky peanut butter anymore," says one.

"Those juice boxes are gross," says the other.

"Since when don't you like BBQ chips?" I ask.

Out of desperation, I taught them how to trade away undesirable lunch components to fashion a lunch they'll actually eat.

I know... you parents of older kids are probably are shaking your heads and wagging your fingers. I know lunchtime trading is discouraged at most schools.

But come on! When you've got a pantry full of perfectly good food that you've gotta unload, what's the alternative?

Practical Parenting Tip #203

Even if you're sure all the pockets are empty, dry everything on the lowest setting possible. You never know when someone's stashed a couple hundred fuse beads somewhere.



Luckily, I didn't open the dryer to find these brightly colored beauties fused to the metal drum. But I consider it a close call.

So, what else am I finding in my laundry these days?

• Wood chips
• Pea gravel by the truck load
• Crayons
• Lip gloss
• Polly Pocket accessories
• Change
• Marbles (who plays with marbles anymore?!)

I can't complain too much though. Now that the kids are older and earning allowance, I'm finding cash. Found a $10 bill last weekend.