I just lost my temper with my son.
Exercising my new grocery shopping habits (Let's Talk Turkey Blog), I purchased ten snack-size Three Musketeers candy bars for one dollar! I selected those candy bars especially because they are one of my daughter’s favorites. She’d had a particularly rough week, and I wanted to do something special for her.
After dinner I noticed her searching the cupboards for dessert and suggested she might like a Three Musketeers bar.
“There aren’t any Three Musketeers bars in here, mom.”
“Yeah, there are!” my son piped up. “I saw them.”
“Well, they’re not here now,” she replied.
I intervened. “What are you talking about, I just bought them this afternoon.”
Assuming she simply wasn’t looking hard enough, I began digging through the treat bowl we keep in the cupboard.
I dug deeper.
I dumped the entire contents of the bowl onto the kitchen counter.
No candy bars!
I looked at my son in astonishment. “You ate TEN candy bars!”
“No, I didn’t eat ten! No way did I eat ten!” He said, eyes wide.
But sure enough, he did. That boy came home from school and ate TEN Three Musketeers bars for his healthy after-school snack.
I exploded. What was he doing to his growing body! How could he choose garbage as his source of nutrition when he was feeling hungry after school! I ranted about how it wasn’t helping his muscles grow, how it wasn’t doing anything positive for his body at all. By the time I was done, he was in tears, and I was frustrated.
As he stormed off to be alone, I thought about the whole sugar issue. See, I think I got so angry because I know exactly where he got that Sugar Monster that lives inside of him. He got it from me. It’s hereditary. It’s in our genes.
The entire reason we even have a “treat bowl” is because of me and the way I grew up.
As a child, my parents were um…how shall I put this— health freaks, really. They made their own yogurt, we ate granola, and multi-grain bread that weighed as much as we did; and the only occasions we had candy in the house were Halloween and Easter.
When I went away to college, woo hoo! I lived on candy and junk food for about a year before I finally figured out I actually didn’t feel so good filling my body up with so much junk on a daily basis.
After I got married and we had children, I suggested to my husband, (who actually prefers a plate of vegetables to dessert—can you even believe that!) that perhaps we should have candy and cookies available for our children to eat in moderation. Then maybe it wouldn’t be such a big deal to them, and maybe they wouldn’t become as obsessed as I had been.
This worked well with our daughter. She can take it or leave it. But our son…well, yep. It was fine when they were little and I totally controlled the amount they ate. But as they’ve gotten older, and I’ve gotten busier, the treat bowl seems to disappear faster and faster.
You know, God didn’t have to make sugar. He didn’t have to make flavors at all. He could have made a bunch of mush for us to eat and we’d never have known the difference. But instead, he made such a wonderful variety of foods in different textures and flavors: sour to sweet, spicy to bland, buttery, juicy, fruity. All these amazing sensations for us to enjoy. He did it because he loves us, and wants us to be able to enjoy food as well as take nourishment from it.
But for my son (as it was for me), the key is self-control and learning to tame the Sugar Monster. He’s a good kid. I’m sure he’ll eventually succeed. But in the meantime, maybe I’ll stop filling the treat bowl quite so often. Start leaving sliced fruit, cheese and whole-grain crackers out for him to nibble on. (Oh my gosh, I sound like my MOTHER! :) Live and learn, right.
Anybody have some healthy EASY after-school snack suggestions?
Mother's Day Protest
As we all know it was Mother’s Day Sunday. I know I shouldn’t whine, but mine was really…well, not fun.
Here in Michigan, the day dawned cold, gray and full of the promise of rain. And the reason I know it dawned that way was because I was up at dawn to get my son to his incredibly early morning soccer game played half an hour away, and which he was required to be 45 minutes early for. So there we soccer moms sat, huddled under overcast skies and shivering under blankets as our boys were pummeled 4-1. Oh what fun!
This is my son’s third year participating in this soccer tournament and it is always held on Mother’s Day weekend. Whose bright idea was that one I wonder.
His game was followed up later in the day by my daughter’s soccer game, which we attended in the still cold, gray, but now pouring-down-rain day. I’m not talking a light sprinkling here, folks. I’m talking a full-out drenching rain. And naturally, the game didn’t start on time, adding to our immense enjoyment of the situation. For this game, I bundled up even more—tucking handwarmers into my gloves and pulling on my battery-powered socks. (Hey, they work!)
Final score: Soccer 4-4, Mom: only slightly numb.
At my daughter’s game, I spoke with one mom who had attended her son’s early morning baseball game, and another mom who still had a hockey game to get to.
In between games, I did manage to squeeze in attending a local one-hour church musical, where I noted an army of mothers working hard behind the scenes serving the choir food and cleaning up afterwards. Ah, a mother’s work is never done.
After this day of fun, we arrived home by 8:00 p.m., too late to go out to eat—school tomorrow and all. So we popped popcorn and downed some sliced summer sausage and cheese. Voila! Dinner is served.
The last two years, I let it slide. But this year, I’ve finally rebelled. I didn’t open my cards; and I refused to acknowledge this miserable way to spend a day as Mother’s Day. I informed my family that I was officially moving Mother’s Day to a new date.
When the kids were little, the May date worked fine. But once kids get older and are involved in school and sports, forget about it. Mother’s Day should definitely be moved to a random date after the spring sports season is over, school is out, and the weather is more consistently warm. (A day a lot like…oh, I dunno, Father’s Day maybe? J )
Fortunately my sister (also a mom) and I already made plans with our own mom to celebrate Mother’s Day with her next weekend. (Hopefully, it will be sunny!)
And my own family awaits a still-to-be-announced day when we will celebrate a real Mother’s Day. When I’ll get to fully enjoy the day as it was meant to be enjoyed: with my treasured breakfast in bed, listening to the sweet sounds of peaceful play and joyful laughter amongst my children (cough!), maybe squeezing in time for a nap, and of course, a little chocolate to finish off the day.
So, how was your Mother’s Day?
Here in Michigan, the day dawned cold, gray and full of the promise of rain. And the reason I know it dawned that way was because I was up at dawn to get my son to his incredibly early morning soccer game played half an hour away, and which he was required to be 45 minutes early for. So there we soccer moms sat, huddled under overcast skies and shivering under blankets as our boys were pummeled 4-1. Oh what fun!
This is my son’s third year participating in this soccer tournament and it is always held on Mother’s Day weekend. Whose bright idea was that one I wonder.
His game was followed up later in the day by my daughter’s soccer game, which we attended in the still cold, gray, but now pouring-down-rain day. I’m not talking a light sprinkling here, folks. I’m talking a full-out drenching rain. And naturally, the game didn’t start on time, adding to our immense enjoyment of the situation. For this game, I bundled up even more—tucking handwarmers into my gloves and pulling on my battery-powered socks. (Hey, they work!)
Final score: Soccer 4-4, Mom: only slightly numb.
At my daughter’s game, I spoke with one mom who had attended her son’s early morning baseball game, and another mom who still had a hockey game to get to.
In between games, I did manage to squeeze in attending a local one-hour church musical, where I noted an army of mothers working hard behind the scenes serving the choir food and cleaning up afterwards. Ah, a mother’s work is never done.
After this day of fun, we arrived home by 8:00 p.m., too late to go out to eat—school tomorrow and all. So we popped popcorn and downed some sliced summer sausage and cheese. Voila! Dinner is served.
The last two years, I let it slide. But this year, I’ve finally rebelled. I didn’t open my cards; and I refused to acknowledge this miserable way to spend a day as Mother’s Day. I informed my family that I was officially moving Mother’s Day to a new date.
When the kids were little, the May date worked fine. But once kids get older and are involved in school and sports, forget about it. Mother’s Day should definitely be moved to a random date after the spring sports season is over, school is out, and the weather is more consistently warm. (A day a lot like…oh, I dunno, Father’s Day maybe? J )
Fortunately my sister (also a mom) and I already made plans with our own mom to celebrate Mother’s Day with her next weekend. (Hopefully, it will be sunny!)
And my own family awaits a still-to-be-announced day when we will celebrate a real Mother’s Day. When I’ll get to fully enjoy the day as it was meant to be enjoyed: with my treasured breakfast in bed, listening to the sweet sounds of peaceful play and joyful laughter amongst my children (cough!), maybe squeezing in time for a nap, and of course, a little chocolate to finish off the day.
So, how was your Mother’s Day?
Censor This!
Okay, this blog entry may sound a bit like sour grapes, but I got a rejection today. Nothing new there, of course. But it was the form of the rejection. As a writer, I’ve learned there are different kinds of rejections. There are “good rejections,” where the editor sends a note of encouragement along with the rejection. There are “not-as-good form-letter rejections,” and the dreaded “no-response-at-all rejection.” But up until today, I’ve never received a “bad rejection.”
I submitted an opinion essay to a magazine that supposedly provides an open source for essays related to the well-being of mothers—and provides a forum in support of social change. The publication has an opinion section. The primary point of my piece was to challenge mothers of today to take a stand, and stop allowing the male bashing that is currently going on in our society. I pointed to the media, sports arena, and even clothing slogans to back up my point.
The editor of the rejecting publication, instead of giving me the ever-popular “no-response-at-all rejection,” or even the “not-as-good form-letter rejection,” took it upon herself to provide me with her own negative opinion essay of my opinion essay. Gee, thanks. She didn’t agree with my opinion, so therefore, she “regrettably” wasn’t going to publish it.
The editor focused on only one of my given examples, then proceeded to explain to me why she was right and I was wrong. Thanks for sharing.
It’s one thing to reject my work because it doesn’t align with the magazine’s requirements; but it’s another thing entirely to not publish work because you personally don’t happen to agree with the writer’s views. Did I mention we were dealing with the opinion section? I guess the editor of that publication is only going to publish opinion pieces that match his or her own opinion.
Fortunately for me, the editor of the Detroit Free Press’ opinion section, whether in agreement or not, did publish my essay, and you can view it online at: Detroit Free Press.
It’s encouraging to note, that since its publication, I’ve received one negative response, and over 50 positive e-mail responses from people all over the country, and even one person as far away as Australia.
Obviously there are some people out there who agreed with my point of view. And I’m thankful I was provided a forum for expressing it. (Thanks Detroit Free Press!)
As for the rejecting publication, hmmm… can you say “censorship”?
I submitted an opinion essay to a magazine that supposedly provides an open source for essays related to the well-being of mothers—and provides a forum in support of social change. The publication has an opinion section. The primary point of my piece was to challenge mothers of today to take a stand, and stop allowing the male bashing that is currently going on in our society. I pointed to the media, sports arena, and even clothing slogans to back up my point.
The editor of the rejecting publication, instead of giving me the ever-popular “no-response-at-all rejection,” or even the “not-as-good form-letter rejection,” took it upon herself to provide me with her own negative opinion essay of my opinion essay. Gee, thanks. She didn’t agree with my opinion, so therefore, she “regrettably” wasn’t going to publish it.
The editor focused on only one of my given examples, then proceeded to explain to me why she was right and I was wrong. Thanks for sharing.
It’s one thing to reject my work because it doesn’t align with the magazine’s requirements; but it’s another thing entirely to not publish work because you personally don’t happen to agree with the writer’s views. Did I mention we were dealing with the opinion section? I guess the editor of that publication is only going to publish opinion pieces that match his or her own opinion.
Fortunately for me, the editor of the Detroit Free Press’ opinion section, whether in agreement or not, did publish my essay, and you can view it online at: Detroit Free Press.
It’s encouraging to note, that since its publication, I’ve received one negative response, and over 50 positive e-mail responses from people all over the country, and even one person as far away as Australia.
Obviously there are some people out there who agreed with my point of view. And I’m thankful I was provided a forum for expressing it. (Thanks Detroit Free Press!)
As for the rejecting publication, hmmm… can you say “censorship”?
Sacred
Mother’s Day cometh! Always on the lookout for unique Mother’s Day treats, I thought I’d share a really exceptional gift idea with you. My good friend, Linda Hasley, and her twin sister, Lisa Dunlap, have combined their talents to create a masterpiece celebrating the incredible beauty of motherhood—and parenthood—in their book, “Sacred.”Linda is an accomplished poet, and her sister Lisa, a talented photographer. Together, Linda’s heartfelt poems, and Lisa’s artistic photographs of pregnant women and newly formed families, eloquently reflect the awesome depth and range of emotions that surround the miracle of new life. As the authors describe on the inside cover of their book, their intent “is to capture the sacredness of the soul along with the rawness of what it means to be human.” A goal which they achieve brilliantly.
You will smile and be touched deeply as you move through the pages of this beautiful book. For a truly memorable Mother’s Day gift, for moms-to-be or moms of any age, I highly recommend purchasing a copy of “Sacred.”
You will smile and be touched deeply as you move through the pages of this beautiful book. For a truly memorable Mother’s Day gift, for moms-to-be or moms of any age, I highly recommend purchasing a copy of “Sacred.”
Click on the photograph of the book cover or go to http://www.sacredportraitsphotography.com/news.html to purchase a copy.
Puberty
So last weekend, the doorbell rang. I answered it to find myself looking up into the smiling face of a 6'2" gentlemen wearing basketball shorts and a T-shirt.
“Yes?”
“Hello Mrs. Bowne,” he replied in a deep, resonating voice, “I was wondering if Josh could come out and play?”
I blinked. “JORDAN?!”
I stepped down onto the porch, which put my 5-ft.-tall self at an even greater height disadvantage as I looked up into his smiling face. This was my neighbor’s 13-year-old grandson. Thirteen! I’m tellin’ ya’, this whole puberty thing is freaking me out!
My daughter is now 16, and I do recall noticing surprising changes in her and her friends, as they moved through middle school. It seemed like over one summer vacation those two-dimensional little girl bodies formed 3-D curves and bumps.
But somehow, the pubescent changes seem even more dramatic amongst the boys. I look at my own son, with his cherubic, hair-free face and body, his normal boy voice. Then I look at his friends and soccer teammates. They vary so incredibly. Some are just like him, and some seem to have transformed overnight.
They suddenly have hair on their legs. They address me in deep man voices (I never even recall experiencing one squeaky voice-cracking day), and some of them even need a shave! I think back with bitter sweetness to Joshua’s toddler days. His tiny, baby-chipmunk voice demanding I watch as he raced his new Match Box car down the hallway. Or squealing for me to push him higher on the swing.
I remember at that time, parents of older children telling me to appreciate those times because they would go by just like that! Yeah right, I thought—it took every minute of five years to get through the first five years of their lives. But it does seem like, once they get into school, the time passes more quickly. Maybe because you only get to see them on nights, weekends and vacations.
Aside from certain moments, overall I’ve enjoyed each phase of my children’s development. It’s such a cool experience! I get to watch as their personalities develop, their confidence grows. I get to listen as they form opinions on politics, society and religion. I get to witness the emergence of their individual gifts and talents.
Sure there are occasions when I wouldn’t mind trading teenage troubles for the dilemma of getting them to share a toy, or take a nap. But honestly, I wouldn’t really give up these times.
My children are each an amazing work of art--forming and reshaping right before my very eyes. And I’m blessed to even help mold them a little as they form. Like freshly emerged butterflies from a chrysalis, their colors are so fresh and vivid right now-- as they slowly test their wings, and ultimately learn to fly.
“Yes?”
“Hello Mrs. Bowne,” he replied in a deep, resonating voice, “I was wondering if Josh could come out and play?”
I blinked. “JORDAN?!”
I stepped down onto the porch, which put my 5-ft.-tall self at an even greater height disadvantage as I looked up into his smiling face. This was my neighbor’s 13-year-old grandson. Thirteen! I’m tellin’ ya’, this whole puberty thing is freaking me out!
My daughter is now 16, and I do recall noticing surprising changes in her and her friends, as they moved through middle school. It seemed like over one summer vacation those two-dimensional little girl bodies formed 3-D curves and bumps.
But somehow, the pubescent changes seem even more dramatic amongst the boys. I look at my own son, with his cherubic, hair-free face and body, his normal boy voice. Then I look at his friends and soccer teammates. They vary so incredibly. Some are just like him, and some seem to have transformed overnight.
They suddenly have hair on their legs. They address me in deep man voices (I never even recall experiencing one squeaky voice-cracking day), and some of them even need a shave! I think back with bitter sweetness to Joshua’s toddler days. His tiny, baby-chipmunk voice demanding I watch as he raced his new Match Box car down the hallway. Or squealing for me to push him higher on the swing.
I remember at that time, parents of older children telling me to appreciate those times because they would go by just like that! Yeah right, I thought—it took every minute of five years to get through the first five years of their lives. But it does seem like, once they get into school, the time passes more quickly. Maybe because you only get to see them on nights, weekends and vacations.
Aside from certain moments, overall I’ve enjoyed each phase of my children’s development. It’s such a cool experience! I get to watch as their personalities develop, their confidence grows. I get to listen as they form opinions on politics, society and religion. I get to witness the emergence of their individual gifts and talents.
Sure there are occasions when I wouldn’t mind trading teenage troubles for the dilemma of getting them to share a toy, or take a nap. But honestly, I wouldn’t really give up these times.
My children are each an amazing work of art--forming and reshaping right before my very eyes. And I’m blessed to even help mold them a little as they form. Like freshly emerged butterflies from a chrysalis, their colors are so fresh and vivid right now-- as they slowly test their wings, and ultimately learn to fly.
Rainy Days
It’s so great to see sunshine today! Last week, on one of those rainy, cold days, I had to run a bunch of errands. By the time I was finished, I was soaking wet, my hair was a frizzy mass, and my feet were cold. Rainy days, with their dark, cloud-covered skies make me feel low—like I just want to crawl back into bed and throw the covers over my head.
My sister-in-law dislikes these kinds of days so much she used to shut all the curtains in the house, and turn on every single light. Letting the blaze of 60-watt bulbs take the place of the sunshine she missed so much.
She lives in Florida now.
A couple of years ago, we were blessed to take a family vacation to Hawaii. We left on a frigid day in February, arriving to sunshine and perfect temperatures. It was amazingly beautiful. I snapped picture after picture trying to capture the beauty of all that scenery.
I couldn’t help but wonder if the Hawaiian people fully appreciated the splendor that surrounded them every day. As they inched through crowded traffic jams on their ways to and from work, did they notice the roadside waterfalls and arresting views that made our jaws drop?
Native Hawaiians may acknowledge the beauty of their islands, but I believe they cannot truly value it the way a person who has experienced the cold, wet, gray days of a Michigan winter can. I think we appreciate that warmth and beauty all the more because of what we have to compare it to.
As much as rainy days wear on us, however, we really do need them. Without them the lovely buds and blooms of spring would never appear. In some ways, rainy days are like the rainy days that occur in our lives. We may not always like them, but just as the plants of the Earth, we can use those rainy days to help us grow--spiritually.
Sometimes it’s the annoying drizzle of worry, or the constant dripping of fear. At other times, it may be a serious illness or even death, when the rain is falling so hard, it feels as if we are drowning from the sheer force of it.
These are the times we need to ask God to hold us close and share his umbrella.
Rainy days remind us that although life isn’t always beautiful and sunny and perfect, we need that rain to help us grow and fully appreciate the sunshine when it finally comes.
So, if you’re wallowing in gray, cold, dripping rain right now, remember one thing: It will not last. Someday soon the clouds will part and the sunshine will beam down, warming you with its sweet embrace.
My sister-in-law dislikes these kinds of days so much she used to shut all the curtains in the house, and turn on every single light. Letting the blaze of 60-watt bulbs take the place of the sunshine she missed so much.
She lives in Florida now.
A couple of years ago, we were blessed to take a family vacation to Hawaii. We left on a frigid day in February, arriving to sunshine and perfect temperatures. It was amazingly beautiful. I snapped picture after picture trying to capture the beauty of all that scenery.
I couldn’t help but wonder if the Hawaiian people fully appreciated the splendor that surrounded them every day. As they inched through crowded traffic jams on their ways to and from work, did they notice the roadside waterfalls and arresting views that made our jaws drop?
Native Hawaiians may acknowledge the beauty of their islands, but I believe they cannot truly value it the way a person who has experienced the cold, wet, gray days of a Michigan winter can. I think we appreciate that warmth and beauty all the more because of what we have to compare it to.
As much as rainy days wear on us, however, we really do need them. Without them the lovely buds and blooms of spring would never appear. In some ways, rainy days are like the rainy days that occur in our lives. We may not always like them, but just as the plants of the Earth, we can use those rainy days to help us grow--spiritually.
Sometimes it’s the annoying drizzle of worry, or the constant dripping of fear. At other times, it may be a serious illness or even death, when the rain is falling so hard, it feels as if we are drowning from the sheer force of it.
These are the times we need to ask God to hold us close and share his umbrella.
Rainy days remind us that although life isn’t always beautiful and sunny and perfect, we need that rain to help us grow and fully appreciate the sunshine when it finally comes.
So, if you’re wallowing in gray, cold, dripping rain right now, remember one thing: It will not last. Someday soon the clouds will part and the sunshine will beam down, warming you with its sweet embrace.
Letting go's
My 16-year-old passed the driver’s education written test with flying colors. And she could accurately describe every step of the upcoming driving portion of the exam with colored diagrams and everything.
But I took it as a bad sign when she ran over the garbage cans backing out of the driveway on the way to that road test. And an even worse sign when, during the test, she missed two, big yield signs and we almost became the road-kill victims of an 18-wheeler that flew by us on the entrance ramp to the highway.
I was freaked out. If she had been alone, she could have been killed! Even though she ultimately passed the road test, I thought to myself… she’s not ready.
I reasoned that even after 18 months of driving practice in all sorts of road and lighting conditions, that she still needed even more practice with a parent beside her. She needed to practice driving in unfamiliar areas, practice driving while relying on a map, practice what to do when she gets lost—practice, practice, practice.
But when would it be enough practice? Would it ever be enough?
Raising your children is really a series of “letting go’s.” When they’re young, you control everything: when and what they eat, bedtime, who their friends are, what they wear, what television programs they watch--everything.
But as they grow, the series of “letting go’s” begins.
The first time we let them ride the school bus. The first time we drop them off for a play date. The first time we let them go to the movies with their friends. The first time we let them get behind the wheel of a car with us, and finally without us. It’s scary.
But hopefully, along the road to raising them, we arm them with enough knowledge and confidence and problem-solving skills, that they ultimately don’t smash the car, or themselves.
Whenever our kids moan and groan over an assigned chore, my hubby and I remind them it’s not our job to be their maid, cook and personal assistant. It’s our job to raise them to be independent, self-sufficient adults.
And we do this through our “letting go’s.”
So after all this, since my daughter has passed the requisite tests, do I take her to get that license? Um, I will…eventually. But I can’t help it. We’re going to practice just a little more, before I finally do this next big “letting go.”
Did/do you have trouble with any of your “letting go’s”?
But I took it as a bad sign when she ran over the garbage cans backing out of the driveway on the way to that road test. And an even worse sign when, during the test, she missed two, big yield signs and we almost became the road-kill victims of an 18-wheeler that flew by us on the entrance ramp to the highway.
I was freaked out. If she had been alone, she could have been killed! Even though she ultimately passed the road test, I thought to myself… she’s not ready.
I reasoned that even after 18 months of driving practice in all sorts of road and lighting conditions, that she still needed even more practice with a parent beside her. She needed to practice driving in unfamiliar areas, practice driving while relying on a map, practice what to do when she gets lost—practice, practice, practice.
But when would it be enough practice? Would it ever be enough?
Raising your children is really a series of “letting go’s.” When they’re young, you control everything: when and what they eat, bedtime, who their friends are, what they wear, what television programs they watch--everything.
But as they grow, the series of “letting go’s” begins.
The first time we let them ride the school bus. The first time we drop them off for a play date. The first time we let them go to the movies with their friends. The first time we let them get behind the wheel of a car with us, and finally without us. It’s scary.
But hopefully, along the road to raising them, we arm them with enough knowledge and confidence and problem-solving skills, that they ultimately don’t smash the car, or themselves.
Whenever our kids moan and groan over an assigned chore, my hubby and I remind them it’s not our job to be their maid, cook and personal assistant. It’s our job to raise them to be independent, self-sufficient adults.
And we do this through our “letting go’s.”
So after all this, since my daughter has passed the requisite tests, do I take her to get that license? Um, I will…eventually. But I can’t help it. We’re going to practice just a little more, before I finally do this next big “letting go.”
Did/do you have trouble with any of your “letting go’s”?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)