Miles To Go Before We Sleep

“Dad, are we going to see the delivery bell?” Emily (5) asked.  “Sure, just a few more minutes.” Ken said with a laugh.  We had been waiting in line less than ten minutes.  The weather was cool and the sun was bright.  Before long, we would be inside gazing at the historic bell.

It was Saturday morning and Ken, the kids and I had hopped a train into downtown Philly to see the historic sites.  It had been five days since we left home on our extended Thanksgiving weekend and we were starting to lose steam. 

The trip started on Tuesday night.  Ken had packed the minivan while I was at work.  As soon as I got home, we loaded the crew and set off on the open road.  We almost made it to Indiana before sunset.  We were snuggled in our hotel room by ten o'clock that night.

Day 2 was more driving. Eric (8) watched Harry Potter and the Power Ranges on the DVD.  Ken drove.  I handed snacks to Beth (3) and Emily.  We arrived at my sister Theresa’s house just in time for dinner.

After hugs, kisses and a quick bite to eat we were back in the car.  Theresa had suggested we spend the evening at Hershey Park.  Cousin Mary (4) showed Beth how to pick the best horse on the carousel.  Cousin Max (5) played carnival games with Eric. Emily danced and clapped at the red, yellow and blue Christmas lights that hung from the trees.

Day 3 was Thanksgiving.  Nanny and Poppy gathered with their kids at Theresa’s house.  We held hands and thanked God for our good fortune.  We stuffed our stomachs with turkey and dressing.  We retold old stories about times long ago.

On day 4, we piled the clan back into the minivan.  Our next stop would be just outside of Philadelphia.  Grand mom and Pop pop were waiting to see us.  We'd be there in time for lunch. After naps we planned to play games or read or do nothing.  It was a do nothing kind of day.

We spent day 5 exploring Independence Hall in Old Town Philly.  We learned about the Constitution.  The kids splashed through piles of leaves in Washington Park.  On the train ride home, Beth crawled into my lap and dozed while I sang the Mocking Beard song.  Emily rested her head on Ken's shoulder and hummed along to the buzz of the train.  Eric gazed at the city as it raced past.

It’s day 6 now.  We’ve just left West Virginia.  Only six more hours to go until we are home.  The kids are tired of driving so much.  The car, which had been so neatly packed when we left Illinois earlier in the week, is a mess of napkins, blankets, shoes and socks. 

The movies are getting old.  Even Beth is starting to repeat lines from Harry Potter.  "No mail on Sunday." She laughs as she recalls the scene when the owls deliver a hundred letters to Harry. 

Though we had a great time being with our family, we’re anxious to feel the warmth of our beds tonight.  We are thinking of our soft covers and cozy rooms.  We're wishing for our favorite jammies and slippers. 

But alas, those dreams will need to wait a bit longer.  We’ve still got miles to go before we sleep.

If I Could Save Time In A Bottle

The question on the table was “If you could relive any moment in time, which would it be and how would you live it differently.”  I was at a Toastmaster meeting and we had reached the table topics portion of the gathering.  That’s when members are given a question to ponder and they take turns responding.

But I couldn’t speak.  I could barely breath.  And my eyes were turning red.  Because I knew the answer to that question.  I had thought about it a million times.  The moment in time I have wanted to relive has been burned in my brain for over eighteen years.

It was a humid Sunday afternoon in July and I was getting ready to go back to Philly.  Nana was standing on her front porch.  She was wearing a blue cotton dress and sensible black shoes.  She was holding a pair of gardening shears in her left hand and waiving goodbye to me with the other.  She was smiling.

I had just completed my second year of law school and I was making big plans for my future.  I had important things on my mind. I had important things to do.  I had an important life.

Despite my important schedule, I had taken the weekend to drive up north and visit my family.  I arrived at my parent’s house on Friday evening.  I breezed into the house, hugged Mom and kissed Dad.  I rushed up to my old room, dropped my bag on the bed and rushed out the door.   My sister Tina and I were going out to a local club to listen to a local band.  It seemed so important at the time.

The following day I had even more important things on my plate.  There was a sale at the mall.  I needed new shoes.  And, maybe a pair of shorts.  Hey, fifty percent off.   This is, after all, important stuff.

After shopping, I spent the afternoon sunning myself on the deck by Mom and Dad’s pool.  I drank a couple of beers.  I ate some pretzels.  I took a nap.  I worked on my tan lines.  Mmmm….I was having a very important and very lazy day.

That night I went to a movie.  Or maybe it was another bar.  I don’t remember.  Whatever it was, I am sure it was a very important thing to do. 

It was Sunday morning before I realized that I had not visited Nana yet.  That’s OK, I told myself, I’ll stop in to see her before I head back to Philly.  

It took me until almost noon to drag my butt out of bed, shower and pack my bag.  I’d better get moving or risk getting stuck in afternoon traffic on the Schuylkill I thought. 

I parked my car in front of Nana’s house.  Nana was in the yard tending her tomatoes.  She smiled at me when I walked up to her.  “When did you get home?” She asked.

“Oh, well.” I paused.  “Actually, I came in Friday night.”

“Well, how about coming in for some lunch.”  She said.

“I need to get on the road.” I said.  “I just popped in for a minute.”

“Well how about I take a break and we get a glass of juice.”  Nana offered.  I was in a hurry but I agreed.

Nana walked with me to her front porch.  While she rested on the swing, I went into the kitchen and poured us each a glass of her homemade iced tea.  Then we sat together on the green porch swing watching the birds flutter through the neighbors trees and chatting.

Nana pointed to the house across the street.  “Look how they let their grass grow so high. It didn’t use to look like that.” Nana sighed.  Her best friend, who had lived across the street from her for thirty years, had passed away and the new neighbors weren’t living up to Nana’s expectations.

I changed the subject.  “How are the Phillies doing?” I asked. 

Nana shook her head.  Nana hated sports.  They were silly and a waste of time.  Except baseball.  Nana loved baseball.  And she especially loved the Phillies.  But this year wasn’t turning out so good for her team.  “They probably won’t make it to the playoffs.” She said.

After a few minutes I finished my ice tea.  “I guess I’d better get going.”  After all, I had a lot of important things left to do.

I hugged Nana and hopped into my car.  As I backed out of her driveway, I saw her standing there waving and smiling.  Next time, I’ll spend more time with her, I promised myself.

But there wasn’t a next time.  Nana passed away a week later.

The question on the table was “If you could relive any moment in time, which would it be and how would you live it differently.” 

If I could relive any moment in time, it would be a Sunday afternoon in July in the summer of 92.  What would I do differently, I would spend the entire afternoon sitting on Nana’s porch, drinking iced tea and talking about the Phillies. And I would forget about every other important thing I thought I needed to do.

On Facing the Power of Failure

As the year wears thin and nears its end, most folks turn and reflect on that which they have achieved in the past year.  They count the dollars they have made.  They mark the matches they have won.  They tout the triumphs they have attained. Most folks consider the power of their successes.      

I am not most folks.

With less than forty days until year’s end, I am not extolling my achievements.  Instead, I am praising the power of my failures.  I am rejoicing in my setbacks.  I am basking in the glory of each loss.  Losing, I have come to understand, is more important than winning. And failure, I have learned, is more powerful than success. 

In April, I ran my first race.  I did not break the tape.  No one presented me with a prize.  In all measurable accounts, I had failed.  Yet it remains one of the greatest successes I had seen all year.  

In August, I made my first climb to the top of the towers, a twenty-nine story building located downtown.  No crowds gather to cheer my arrival.  Indeed, what I had done was tiny compared to those who regularly compete in the sport of tower climbing.  Yet it remains an example of the great heights I have reached.

In September, I ran a 15K race.  I tortured and tormented my body for over nine miles.  I finished in four hundredth and nineteenth place.  I was not inducted into the winners circle.  Indeed, my name was barely noted as I crossed the finish line.  Yet it remains one of the biggest successes in my life.

As I look back over my year, I am thankful.  Not for the ribbons I received.  Not for bronze awards.  Not for accolades or accomplishments.

Rather, I am more thankful for the failures I have had the privilege to live.

Early Mornings and Naked Babies

There is a naked baby running around my bedroom.  I am not amused. I suppose I should be smiling and laughing as I watch Beth (3) giggle and scamper away from me.  But I’m not. 

It’s already seven thirty, Beth isn’t dressed.  It's already seven thirty and I still have to get dressed. And if we don’t get moving now I’m going to be late for work.  It’s only seven thirty and I already have a headache.

Have I mentioned that I’m not a morning person and that I still need a cup of coffee?

I try to be pleasant in the morning.  I force a smile and call Beth “sunshine” and “sweet pea” as I coax her out of bed.  When she rolls over and buries herself deeper under her blankey, I patiently peel it back and kiss her cheek and whisper “wake up.”

I try to be patient in the morning.  I inhale and watch as Emily (5) slowly yanks a sock onto her right foot and then takes it off because she had it inside out.  Then she starts over.  I know it would take half the time if I just did it for her. But she is big enough and I am forced to stand and wait.

I try to be calm.  I sigh as I sift through Eric’s (8) closet searching for a pair of jeans that have a snap and not a button.  I had instructed Eric to get dressed ten minutes ago and was a bit miffed when I walked into his room and found him in his jammies.  But Eric hates buttons and is getting ready to cry because the only jeans in his closet have buttons instead of snaps.  I try not to snap as I pull out pants after pants looking for just the right one.  

I try.  I really, really try. But sometimes, I fail.  That’s what happened today.

Naked baby.  Cranky mom.  Early morning.  Need coffee.  Late for work. A bad combination all around.

“Get over here right now!” I yell.  Beth stops in her tracks.  Her eyes grow wide.  Her cheeks turn red.

I snatch her towards me and start to force her shirt over her head.  She screams and kicks.  I pull her pants onto her legs.  She squirms out of them and cries  Tears run down her face. 

The more I try to force things, the worse it gets.  And now I have a partially naked, crying baby and an angry Mom.  Lucky for me, Ken walks into the room just then.  “You go ahead and get dressed.” He says.  “I’ll take care of Beth.”

Ten minutes later, I am dressed and so is Beth. 

“Go tell your Mommy what we talked about.”  Ken says as he nudges Beth towards me.

Beth glances at the floor.  “I’m sorry Mommy.” She mumbles. “I’ll do better next time.”

I reach out my arms and fold her onto my lap.  “I’m sorry Jelly Bean.” I say. “I’ll do better next time too.”

At least now, we are both smiling, for real.

Twins

Beth (3) and Emily (5) are sitting on the family room floor playing with their stuffed animals.  Emily is tossing Minnie Mouse in the air and pretending Minnie can fly.  Beth is holding the pink care bear on her lap and pretending to feed her lunch.

“Emily, can you be my twin.”  Beth asks.

Emily pauses before answering.  “Sure.”  She smiles.  Beth hops up and rushes over to Emily to hug her.  The girls share a tight embrace before returning to their games.

I smile to myself.  A few minutes before, they had been arguing over Minnie Mouse.  Now they are best friends.   

That’s how it is with sisters.  You may argue.  You may fight.  But in the end, you are still best friends.

Lucky for me, I grew up with two sisters, one older and one younger.  Sometimes Theresa, Tina and I were best friends.  Other times….well, not so much.  But we always loved each other.

Like when I was ten and Theresa and I went away to Girl Scout day camp together.  Our troop had spent the week making flowers out of macaroni noodles, singing songs and hiking in the woods.  On Friday night, we would be spending the night at camp.

At first, I was excited.  We would get use our sleeping bags.  All of our friends would be there.  We would lie on the ground and gaze up at the stars.  We would watch the clouds spin across the moon and listen to the night noises.  It was going to be perfect.

As the day drew on, my excitement turned to nerves.  My nerves turned to fear.  My fear turned to tears.  I wanted to go home.

My counselor found me sitting on a bench with a red face and tears in my eyes.  I told her to call my Mom to come and get me.  Instead of calling my Mom, she called my sister.

For the next few minutes, Theresa sat beside me.  She reminded me that she had been to camp last year.  She knew the ropes.  

“Don’t worry.” She said.  “It’s going to be a lot of fun.  There’ll be a campfire.  And smores and songs.”

“But it will be dark.” I moaned.  Theresa reminded me she had flashlight in her backpack.  I knew about the flashlight.  The day before, Theresa and I had argued over who would get to use it.  Now she was offering it to me.  

“What about wild animals?” I asked.

“There aren’t any wild animals around this camp.” Theresa said.  She sounded confident, so I believed her.  In the end, Theresa convinced me to stay and I had one of the most memorable nights of my life.

A few years later, Tina came to camp for the first time. “Don’t worry.” I assured her.  “Camping out is fun.”  Tina and I slept side by side in our sleeping bags that night just like Theresa and I had done on my first trip.

Now I am watching my own girls.  They play together.  They sing together.  Sometimes they fuss and argue.  But they always love each other.   And they’ll always be best friends.

It’s Not Just Child’s Play: Reasons to Support Extracurricular Activities in Schools

Authors note: Originally written for a persuasive speech assignment for my toastmaster's club. Decided to post it here since I liked the message.

What do you remember most about high school?  Do you remember how to solve a differential equation?  Can you recite the Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner? Or do you most remember most the hours spent in Chess Club or running with the Track Team? For many people, the most important lessons learned in high school weren’t related to standardized tests or required curriculum.  For many people the most important lessons were learned in math club, in marching band or on the basketball court.

As the economy grows tighter, school boards search for ways to cut their budgets.  Often, the first programs slashed are extracurricular activities.  Maybe it’s the name “extra” that leaves the impression these pursuits are not important.

In real life, by the time we are in the work force, most of us have forgotten the essential causes of the War of 1812 and we can’t recall how to diagram a sentence.  Instead, what we remember, and use every day, are the life lessons we learned from other pursuits - like in glee club and soccer.  Lessons like leadership, teamwork, dedication and perseverance. 

Extracurricular activities are not child’s play.  They are an essential part of education for four key reasons.

Reason One: Academics.  Studies show that students who are involved in extracurricular activities have higher grade point averages and score better on standardized tests.   One study of a southern California high school in 2005-06 found that tenth graders involved in music or athletics had higher GPAs and better standardized math and English scores than those who were not.  

Reason Two: Life Lessons.  Students involved in extracurricular activities learn important life skills that aren’t taught in the classroom.  For example, being involved in extracurricular activities means kids learn to balance a variety of competing interests and develop solid time management skills.   In addition, they learn to be responsible to a team or work group and to deal with situations where another team member isn’t pulling their weight. Finally, whether it’s spearheading a fundraiser or being captain of the cheerleading squad, students are challenged to take on leadership roles.  

Reason Three: Lower Drop Out Rates.  Among students identified as being at risk for dropping out of school, the risk of dropping out is less for kids who are involved in extracurricular programs. One study from Montana State University found that participation in extracurricular activities had a profound impact on dropout rates.  Put simply, extracurricular programs keep kids in school.

Reason Four: Higher Self Esteem.  Students involved in extracurricular programs report having higher self esteem than their peers, which translates into better success all around.  Maybe it’s because these students have the pride that comes with doing something they are good at.  Or maybe it’s because they feel like they belong.  Either way, the result is lower truancy, less incidents of behavioral problems, and lower incidents of drug and alcohol abuse.

Why do extracurricular activities have such a profound impact or student behavior and performance? There are a couple of theories.  One is that kids involved in extracurricular activities have less time to be delinquent.  Another is that the environment surrounding extracurricular programs models positive behaviors and values.

 

So, what does this all mean? Extracurricular programs are not frills –they are an essential part of learning.  And taking away extracurricular programs may mean decreasing your school’s educational excellence.

And now that you know the benefits of extracurricular programs, what can you do?  Remind your school board that despite the word "extra", these programs are as important to creating our children's future as algebra and geometry.  Remind them that it's not child's play.

Now We Are Eight

“In eight more years, I’ll get my driver’s license.” Eric said.  Today is Eric’s eighth birthday and he’s already planning. 

“You’ll need a car.” I said.  “They cost a lot of money.”

“That’s OK.”  He replied.  “I have thirty dollars saved already.”   I laughed as I pictured the kind of car that money will bring.

“Eric, my boy, you are a great kid.” 

It’s true.  He really is a great kid.  One of the best things about Eric is that he has an enormous heart.  He’s always concerned about other people.  Like this morning when I was working at the nursery at church.  Eric came with me to help.

“Remember.” I said.  “You’re here to help with the little kids.  Not to play your own games.”

At first, Eric kept close to Beth (3).  She wanted to play dolls.  Eric rolled his eyes.  “Wouldn’t you rather play with the cars?” He coaxed.  But Beth stood firm.  “Dolls!” She insisted.

A few minutes later, I caught sight of Eric smiling as he swaddled a doll in blankets.  Our eyes met and he shrugged his shoulders before handing the baby to Beth who laid it in a toy crib.  Then Beth pushed a book into Eric's hands and they both sat next to their baby reading a story. 

Eventually Beth grew tired of playing at mommy and daddy and wandered away.  To his relief, Eric found a boy who was interested in playing roll the ball.  He’s going to make a good dad someday, I thought.

It’s not just the way he is with little kids.  It’s also how confident he is in himself.

“Mom,” He said as we were eating lunch.  “At gym class we can play football, basketball or hula hoop.”

“Which do you do?” I asked.

“Hula hoop,” He said.  “I’m the best of all the boys.”  Then he paused.  “Actually, I’m the only boy who does hula hoop.  The rest do football and basketball.”

“Why don’t you play football or basketball?” I inquired.

“Because I like hula hoop better.” He replied. He’s totally confident in his decision.  I wish I had that kind of confidence when I was eight.  And I hope he doesn’t lose it when he’s fourteen.

Before Eric went to bed tonight, we sat together on my bed reading Star Wars.  “It’s time for you to go to your room.”  I said.  Eric didn’t budge.

“Come on buddy, get moving.” I commanded.

“You need to give me a piggy pack ride.” He smiled.

“Aren’t you getting a little old for piggy back rides.” I replied.

Eric laughed.  “No way.  Besides, you promised you would give me rides until I turned fourteen.”

I burst out laughing.  I had promised Eric that.  But I made the promise when he was four and I never thought he would remember it.  But darned if he hasn’t remembered it.

"Hop on." I said.  Eric wrapped his arms around my neck and I hauled him to his room where I tossed him into his bed.  As I stepped to the door to turn out the light Eric called to me.

"Mom?"

"Yes."

"I love you."

"I love you too.  Now got to bed."

I Will Never Be The Perfect Mom

Try as I might, it will never happen.  I might as well admit it right now.  I will never, ever, ever be the PERFECT MOM.  I know, it sounds impossible.  But its time for me to face the cold, hard facts. 

It doesn’t matter that I can converse about Pokémon.  It doesn’t matter that I can name several characters from My Little Pony. (There’s Sadie and Lickety Split and Buttercup.)  It doesn’t matter that I willingly watch The Suite Life of Zac and Cody and Hannah Montana.  Perfection in motherhood will always elude me.

The source of my failure can be traced to one simple thing. 

Playdough.

I hate Playdough.  I loathe Playdough.  I despise Playdough.  And because of this, I will always fall short of motherly perfection.

Children, of course, love Playdough.  They love to mix the pink with the blue.  They love to squash it between their fingers.  They love to cram it up their noses and stomp it into the carpet and put it in their sister’s hair and feed it to the cat and….and….Oh, the humanity. 

In our hall closet, we have a big box full of Playdough.  Pink.  Purple. Red. Green.  We have big cans and little cans.  Much of it has never been opened or used.   And if I had my way, the Playdough box would never see the light of day.

But despite my best efforts, the children refuse to reject Playdough.  It’s fun, they say.  (Sure, they don’t have to clean up the mess.)  So, every few months they convince me to pull out the Playdough box and let them have a go.  And every few months, in an effort to resume my quest for perfection, I give in. That’s why I just spent the past half hour cleaning pink doughy gunk off the bottom of Beth’s sneaker. 

I’ve tried to enjoy Playdough.  I’ve tried to sit with my children and squish and mold it. I’ve tried to create and build.   But I can’t get over the feeling that no matter how hard I try, someone is going to walk away with a knot of gooey gunk stuck to the back of their head. 

In my mind, Playdough  is pure evil. 

I use to believe there was nothing worse in all of the world, until my Mom came to visit last spring.  “Look at this.” Mom said with a smile.  “I brought some toys for the kids.”

I opened up the box Mom handed me.  “What’s this stuff?” I asked as I popped open the lid on a blue sandy substance.  The kids danced around me and clapped their hands. 

“It’s called Moon Sand.” Mom said.  “I think it’s like Playdough.”   She sounded so innocent.  But I knew the truth.

“Why do you hate me?” I asked.

Mom just smiled, titled her head and turned away.  For some reason, I suspect I know what she was thinking. 

Revenge.  Sweet, sweet revenge.