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The new math adds up to a looooong summer ahead.
My third grader's math skills shocked me last night. It wasn't his ability to multiply and subtract,
it was his answer.
Him: "How many weeks of school are left?"
Me: (checking the calendar on my PDA) "1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Five."
Him: "And there are five schools days a week, so five times five is 25. Just 25 days!"
Me: "You have two days off for Memorial Day."
Him: "Twenty-five minus two is 23. We only have 23 days left of school!"
Just 23 days left and, thanks to extra weeks of summer break, thanks to the construction at the high school,
13 weeks of summer. That's thirteen times seven days a week, or 91 days of summer break or about 1300 waking
hours to fill with activities and anything to keep my kids from clobbering each other.
I always hated math.
Posted by Jen. May 12, 2008 at 9:22 a.m.
Happy Mother's Day
For Mother's Day, one son wrote a card that read: "If you were a car, you'd be a mini-van,
because you're always bringing us places."
I wonder if it also means I've got baseballs rolling around inside me.
But he also said if I were an animal, I'd be a kitty because I'm sweet.
Not as sweet as he is, though.
My other son wrote a poem that seems to be an ode to my housework skills, which really don't deserve
praise. But there's something deeper here, and I think it applies to many mothers. So here is
a poem for all you moms out there, courtesy of my fourth grader:
Mothers are for cleaning
When the house is a mess.
Mothers are for making
Homework a lot less stress.
Mothers are for making sure
All the laundry is done
Mothers are for making
Life a lot more fun.
Mothers are for driving you to
Wherever you need to go.
Mothers are for giving you answers
For whatever you need to know.
Happy Mother's Day!
Posted by Jen. May 11, 2008 at 9:45 a.m.
Dear Co-Sleepers
Dear Co-Sleepers:
The "Co-" I totally understand. Your kids are warm all bundled up in their feety pajamas
or whatever and smell so nice after coming out of the bath/shower. It seems nice to spend the night
lying next to them.
It's the "Sleepers" part I don't get.
Last night, a child of mine appeared next to my bed having had a nightmare. He climbed into my bed
between my husband and me and fell back asleep.
That's when the kicking began. And the elbowing. And the teeth grinding and the pushing me to the edge
of the bed like a jumper on a skyscraper.
I hardly slept at all after he showed up. In the morning, he asked, "Did I kick you?"
Yes, like a Jackie Chan movie rehearsal.
He had his nightmare, and then I had mine. Next time, I'm sleeping in his bed. He can "Co-" his father for a change.
Posted by Jen. May 8, 2008 at 3:35 p.m.
Quiet on the Set!
All I wanted was a little quiet so the folks of Bowling Green wouldn't get an earful of my life.
After dinner last night, I had an interview with a Kentucky radio station to talk about my new book.
I told my husband, two kids and their friend who was visiting that I needed quiet near my home office
for about 15 minutes while I talked on the phone and therefore, over the radio, in the
fourth largest city in Kentucky.
Eight minutes before my interview, all three children appeared in the backyard about five to 10 feet from my
desk, and therefore from my phone. They were on bikes, swarming around the yard, shouting about I-don't-know-what.
I knocked on the window, but they didn't hear me.
I imagined that if my office were in the living room, they'd find a way to ride their bikes in there.
If I took the call in my car, they'd stand in the garage, bouncing balls off my door. If I drove away,
they'd take chase on bikes.
With six minutes until my interview, I got up from my desk, opened the sliding door and gently reminded them
that my radio interview would begin in just six minutes and that they should leave the backyard until after 7 p.m.
They looked at me as though this was new information, nodded and left.
See? That wasn't so hard.
When my interview began, somebody came into the house and plodded in the room over my head, as though
he's suddenly gained about 200 pounds or was having a struggle with gravity.
Hey, at least he left his bike outside.
Posted by Jen. May 6, 2008 at 9:36 a.m.
Tasty Kakes
Brandy either thought that my foot was dirty or just plain tasty. My sister-in-law's dog
stopped by my chair at my niece's communion party today to lick my exposed foot several times,
making me wish I had chosen boots instead of the slingbacks I was wearing.
When I had a cat, he never licked my foot. In fact, he only licked my fingers after I'd dipped them in ice cream.
Either he figured I could clean myself or he prefered Haagan Dazs, or at least, Dairy Queen.
Aha! Now I get it: Brandy must have liked the sugar cane moisturizer I used this morning. I'd better switch to something
less sweet, or I'll have the neighborhood dogs chasing me this summer. The cats, though, they'll wait for
the Rocky Road.
Posted by Jen. May 3, 2008 at 6:39 p.m.
Mud Magnets
The school bus was about to arrive, and my son was lying backpack down in the dirt with another kid hovering over him, trying
to pull the papers out of his hand.
All the mothers groaned.
We shouted at our kids to stop/get up/help him up/line up for the bus/quit giving us all that
stabbing pain over our eyes that comes whenever we witness such an event.
If one of the mothers would up flat out in the neighbor's yard, people would slow their cars would
to offer assistance while the other mothers rushed to help her up. The other boys, however, just watched, waiting
for the papers to return to them so they could read the words: lyrics to an Alvin and the Chipmunks song.
My son got up, the other kid grabbed the papers, and I swatted wood chips, twigs and leaves off my kid's back.
My son announced, "I'll be Alvin!" Another kid picked Simon, one chose Theodore and another
said the whole thing was dumb and refused to sing anything.
Then they piled on the bus where they probably sang their song until the bus driver had that stabbing pain over his eye
whenever he witnesses such an event.
Posted by Jen. May 2, 2008 at 9:43 a.m.
The Fourth Grade Concierge
Here's a family secret that I'm sorry has gotten out: Mrs. Singer has a fax machine.
Ever since several fourth graders discovered that A. I own a fax machine and B. My son doesn't do his homework until after dinner,
they have been calling me to please fax over the math/reading/social studies/book report/etc. homework via fax, because
somehow, they didn't bring theirs home.
Normally, this (free!) fax service isn't much of a bother, but sometimes, like today, either my fax or their phone line or both
will keep the fax from going through, leaving me to spend the hour or so after school standing over my fax machine,
grumbling, like it's 1995 or something. It'd be faster if I drove a copy over.
I'm thinking of bringing this fourth grade concierge service into the 21st century by scanning the homework, creating a pdf
and posting it on my web site. Ah, but then I wouldn't get to talk to all those fourth graders on the phone.
Time to try the fax again.
Posted by Jen. April 28, 2008 at 4:37 p.m.
Here's the story...
I was sitting in our usual pew at church when I felt the urge to count them. 1...2...3...4...5...6. Six children and one set of parents
were in the pew in front of us.
I tried to figure out if perhaps one of the kids was a friend who had slept over or a cousin who's visiting, but they seemed to all belong
together. Six of them, from about age 4 up to about 11.
Good Lord.
When we got to the car, I asked my husband, "Do you think all six of those were theirs?" He shuddered and mumbled.
I couldn't hear what he was saying, but I'm sure it had to do with the fact that we can barely handle
two kids, but six? That would surely push us over the edge.
And so, it is with great reverence that we bow to you, family of eight, particularly the parents, who probably go to church in part
for the chance to sit down for a little while.
Amen.
Posted by Jen. April 27, 2008 at 11:58 a.m.
That Socks
On Wednesday, the day began and ended with another parent handing me my son's socks.
At the morning school bus stop, my neighbor Ken held up a pair of dirty beige socks and
asked if they belonged to us. I don't recall my son coming home barefoot the day before, but they
did look familiar,
I took them home and threw them in the hamper.
Later that day, my neighbor Eisha held up a sopping wet, filthy pair of white socks with a hole in one heel.
They smelled like swamp. "Are these yours or ours?" she asked. I turned to see my son wandering home in his
rubber boots, the hem of his pants covered in swamp mud, and said, "I'm going to guess they're ours."
I brought them home and threw them in the garbage.
I've never before wished for sandal season quite so much.
Posted by Jen. April 25, 2008 at 9:24 a.m.
Stalkers
They've been following us all weekend. First, they were at the same baseball game. Then, they showed up at the Chinese restaurant
where we had dinner. This morning, they were at the Kick for a Cause fundraiser at the high school. Isn't it obvious? Our neighbors are stalking us.
We rarely saw them all winter, but now that it's getting warmer out, the family of four that lives about five minutes from us keeps popping
up in the same places. Last year, we even "ran into them" at a hotel in Washington D.C. during Spring Break. When I mentioned we might
go to Disney this year, the mom said "We're going then, too!"
Of course you are. And I'll probably see you at the supermarket tomorrow, too. Right after I hire a security detail.
Granted, they were at the baseball game because their kid's team was playing my son's team. And the fundraiser was a community-wide
event. They probably gave up on the line at Outback Steak House, too, and went to the Chinese restauarant for dinner just like we did.
Actually, before we did -- they were there first.
So maybe they're not following us. We're following them. After all, they bring the Munchkins with them, and we're hungry from all
this running around.
Posted by Jen. April 13, 2008 at 10:38 a.m.
Good Grief! Read my blog about parenting tweens over at GoodHousekeeping.com and at Yahoo! Shine.
Opening Day
Dear God of Baseball,
As you know, tomorrow morning is opening day for my son's baseball season. His team had a great scrimmage the other night, defeating one
of the other teams and boosting morale. It was just what they needed -- just what my son needed after the losingest basketball season since the Knicks.
I know you're busy with tonight's Yankees-Red Sox game, but I don't usually call upon you for help. Well, except that time we really needed a night off from everything, and I prayed for rain. But that
was really a plea to Mother Nature, and not to you. Anyhow, all I'm asking is for a better season than basketball turned out to be.
Not necessarily the trophy-winning baseball season of two years ago, though that would be extremely pleasant, bordering on really, really cool.
Rather, I'm asking for just some wins here and there and some good plays and most of all, a whole lotta fun.
We had enough of the character-building this winter, thanks to the God of Basketball.
Meanwhile, if the kids are calling upon you for a big win, well, that's your call. If you could spare them a soul-crushing defeat now
and then, I would truly appreciate it.
Sincerely,
A Baseball Mom
Posted by Jen. April 11, 2008 at 11:18 a.m.
Snack Time
The other people in the office would frown on it. You, out eating pizza and then ice cream at 3 o'clock in the afternoon?
Who do you think you are? Don't you have work to do?
Ah, but I work from home and I'm my own boss. And I was hungry. Really hungry. So, after I picked up the kids from school
yesterday but before piano lessons, we ate pizza. Then I took my fourth grader for ice cream while my third grader had his lesson.
A half-hour later, they switched.
For the record, I had a double scoop of coffee chip royale with sprinkles in "spring colors," orange, purple and yellow, on a sugar cone.
This is a perk of motherhood --
an excuse to eat ice cream on a warm Tuesday afternoon. Just sit next to a kid, and it's okay.
Other things you can do thanks to kids-in-tow:
* Talk to yourself in the supermarket. It looks like you're talking to your child.
* Play basketball in the driveway.
* Swing on swings.
* Go to the beach on a weekday. (Summer only)
* Buy Peeps.
* Play the Partridge Family CD with the car windows open.
Next week, I'm getting Rocky Road with rainbow sprinkles. Thanks, kids!
Posted by Jen. April 9, 2008 at 11:23 a.m.
Sporting Goods
If you heard a loud sucking sound this morning, it was probably coming from Sports Authority, where half the parents from the area
were purchasing all those things their kids had outgrown since the last baseball, softball, lacrosse or soccer season. That noise was the
sound of cash sucking out of our bank accounts. Also, coffee from our jumbo cups from the Borders Cafe next door.
My son needed cleats and more socks (to lose behind the dryer and ruin in the mud in the backyard.) One of my neighbors needed a new baseball mitt
for his fourth grader,
and one family of five was swarming the Footwear section like frat brothers around a keg. I didn't dare get in their way.
When we left, we passed by even more families on their way in to have their wallets vacuumed. I'll see all of them again when soccer starts
in the fall, and my son outgrows the cleats we just bought, and his socks have all gone MIA.
Posted by Jen. April 5, 2008 at 2:43 p.m.
Garage Band
If it's called a "garage band," why were they in my living room? Three of them, one with a guitar, one singing "We Are the Champions"
and one pushing the DRUM sound on his tricked-out keyboard. (And here I thought I'd escaped having drums in my house.)
Yesterday after school, my sons and their friend "practiced" their new band's songs, which, apparently, meant
making a noise that sounded like someone had turned
on all of the speakers tuned to different stations at Radio Shack at once.
Is it a garage band if they're digging through your couch cushions for guitar picks? I don't think so.
I'm hoping that word doesn't get out that this is the place to "practice" playing "music." Please kids. Check your trombones at the door.
The garage door.
Posted by Jen. April 4, 2008 at 10:44 a.m.
Goodnight, Mittens.
Eleven years ago today, we had eight inches of snow here in New Jersey. I remember this, because my son was a newborn who, born prematurely,
hated to breastfeed because the bottle was so much faster. So I was pumping breast milk with my double electric pump. Well, I was trying to.
The heavy wet snow kept knocking out the power. And the heat. Every time it went back on, I'd rush to pump, only to watch it shut off mid-pump.
I guess I wouldn't have made a good pioneer woman.
Today, however, there is no snow. I have started to put away the kids' snowpants, winter hats and what's left of the mittens, none of which match.
I found an inside-out black left glove, a right-handed green fleece glove a single blue glove I don't even remember buying and one snow
boot, covered in mud.
I am putting them all away with glee. No more wondering where their mittens are. It just doesn't matter. The Winter of 2008 is over, and
we made it through without frostbite or heavy wet snow knocking out the power. Goodnight, Mittens. Until next year.
Posted by Jen. April 1, 2008 at 1:07 p.m.
Bear in the Woods
The deer were racing through the woods in my backyard, white tails up to signal that danger was lurking. That's when I spotted it:
a black bear chasing after them...a very small black bear...out there without its mother...in sneakers...and glasses...and blonde hair.
Hey, wait a minute. That's not a black bear at all, I realized. That's my son. And he's getting deeper and deeper into the woods,
even though he had to be at the school bus stop in a few minutes.
I opened the bathroom window and yelled, "Don't go so far into the woods!"
He stopped and held up his hands like David Beckham when he's pretending he didn't just slide tackle someone's legs out from under him.
"You're going too far!" I yelled.
He let out a big sigh and stamped back toward the house. The deer were long gone.
When I met him in the driveway, I told him I had thought he was a bear. Then I saw the dirt smeared all over his black jacket, and I realized
that no, bears are cleaner. Silly me.
Posted by Jen. March 28, 2008 at 9:12 a.m.
That's Not Funny
This is the year that the town's recreation department thought it would be great to change things up a bit in baseball.
Instead of putting the 3rd and 4th graders together in one league, they're going to put the 2nd and 3rd graders together and the 4th through 6th graders together.
This is also the year that my 4th grader, who hasn't played organized baseball since kindergarten back when he used to spend his time at shortstop drawing
trucks in the sand, has decided he wants to play ball.
Did I mention I have a 3rd and a 4th grader? There goes Saturday -- every single one of them from this weekend until June. We've got two teams to follow.
It's not that I don't want my boys to play baseball. In fact, it's my 3rd grader's favorite sport, and I love watching him play.
And it's not that I don't realize that other folks have three or more kids on even more teams.
It's that my 4th grader
is dabbling in baseball in a year when it's harder to be a dabbler. For his first true baseball season (T-ball doesn't really count),
he's playing with 6th graders, not 3rd graders. And no doubt he'll be on one field while his brother is on the other while his parents
bounce back between the two like pin balls at an arcade on a Saturday night.
The thing about baseball season is that I usually get to sit down, preferably with an ice cold beverage in hand.
During soccer season, I have to run up and down the sidelines yelling, because I am the coach. But baseball season?
It's time to work on my tan and chit-chat with grown-ups. Alas, not this year.
There's always next year, when, no doubt, rec will change it back to 3rd and 4th graders together or my son will quit.
Until then, I'll gas up the mini-van and get my running shoes ready.
Posted by Jen. March 27, 2008 at 4:53 p.m.
I'm with the band
My son has taken a liking to his great grandfather's fedora, which he found at my parents' house this weekend. He wears it around the house.
He wears it when he's playing in the yard. He wore it to Easter dinner along with khaki pants and a button-down shirt,
looking as though he'd dropped in from 1955 to say hello.
This morning, he decided to wear his new hat to school. It was on his head when he emerged from the garage, lugging his saxophone case which
is bigger than he is. I offered to carry the case for him, and suddenly, I felt like a roadie for the Blues Brothers. As we walked
down the street toward the school bus stop, with me hauling that giant case, I wished he played the harmonica. Also, that he gets famous enough to hire roadies
so I can stay home.
Posted by Jen. March 25, 2008 at 12:24 p.m.
Just like my son, it's early
All of a sudden, I hated cats. My husband and I had been in the hospital all day, watching TV while we waited for our first baby to be born. The doctors had given up on keeping the baby in the womb, and, after my water started trickling, they induced -- some five weeks before our late April due date.
When we first started watching a documentary on cats that afternoon, it was fun, entertaining and informative. When my contractions kicked in mid-way through the show, however, it became annoying, aggravating and really not all that cute. Thanks to the stabbing labor pains, I hated those cats.
Three hours later, Nicholas was born. He wasn't breathing all that well, so nurses whisked him off to the NICU where he spent the next week, returning home just in time for Easter.
That was 11 years ago today, the day I discovered that my book, "You're a Good Mom (and Your Kids Aren't So Bad Either)" is now available for sale at
Amazon -- early, just like my son. Only, I didn't feel any contractionst his time, and I'm once again partial to cats. Also, to my son, who is currently working on his train set and fielding Happy Birthday phone calls from relatives. He has made me proud. I hope Good Mom does, too.
Posted by Jen. March 22, 2008 at 11:51 a.m.
Don't Ask...
I found the controller to our Wii in my bed last night. Also, a plastic sword on the floor and dozens of little pieces of ripped paper
on the floor.
I don't want to know.
I don't want to know what my boys were doing before all that stuff wound up in my room. It will only give me that sharp pain over my
right eye that I get whenever I find out something I don't want to know. Like why there are baseballs rolling around the floor
of my car and it's not even baseball season yet. Or why my childhood doll has been relocated to the coffee table. Or why
the boys have named the pea plants they're growing in our kitchen.
I cleaned up the papers, chucked the sword in my son's room and put the Wii controller back in the living room where it belongs.
When the kids get home from school, they'll probably move them again, but frankly, I don't want to know.
Posted by Jen. March 14, 2008 at 1:26 p.m.
Quarantined
There's a kid in my house, and he isn't mine. His mom had to work today, and his grandmother won't get here for another hour or so.
And so, my neighbor Jacob is upstairs playing with my son's toys until she gets here. I'll spray them all with Lysol later. And maybe him, too.
Jacob has one of the myriad of pre-Spring Break bugs that are going around my neighborhood.
Last night, he had a fever and a little sore throat.
Right now though, he seems perfectly fine. Well, from what I can tell two floors down from him. I'm afraid to get near him.
I love Jacob like a nephew, but I fear whatever he's got. At the school bus stop this morning, I heard about a kid down the street
who had pneumonia, and two others who just got over strep. My husband had a cold that lasted for two weeks, and I heard sneezing
coming from my son's bedroom this morning.
I am surrounded.
When Jacob's grandmother comes to get him later, I will wish him well. And then I will sanitize the house and my hands before
I do a dance to get the bad ju-ju out of my house before Spring Break starts.
Posted by Jen. March 12, 2008 at 9:38 a.m.
Kid Magnet
Yesterday after school, there were six children in my backyard. They traipsed through the mud, chased each other with sticks and pushed
the soccer goal into the woods. It was like a Columbian soccer match without the riot police.
My sons' winter coats are caked in mud, and naturally, I'm out of detergent. Now I know what it feels like to be the laundress
for the South American soccer league. Aye, carumba!
Posted by Jen. March 11, 2008 at 12:24 p.m.
Running Horses
Children, like horses, need to run at least once a day. That's why I just saw my third grader whip by my home office window, twice.
It's as though he instinctively knows that a good run around the yard is vital for maintaining his strong legs and shiny coat.
Also, it's much quieter than Wii baseball and fighting with his brother over the piano.
Posted by Jen. March 7, 2008 at 11:06 a.m.
 10 Going on 70 Want to read more? Drop by Jen's Good Grief! blog on Good Housekeeping.com. Leave a comment! It's good to talk to grown-ups, you know. Besides, we'd love to hear from you.
Sinking Feeling
Ever since the snow melted in my backyard the other day, I have been watching my son's winter hat slowly sink into the mud.
I'd go get it, but then I'd get all muddy. I'd send him to get it, but then I'd certainly wind up with a muddy load of laundry to do.
And then I'd have to watch his boots and at least one sock slowly sink into the mud.
The weather forecast calls for upwards of three inches of rain tonight and tomorrow. All I can do is hope that the rain causes
the hat to sink completely into the ground, and that a big winter hat tree grows, ready for harvesting this fall.
Posted by Jen. March 7, 2008 at 9:25 a.m.
Hole in the Calendar
There's a hole in our calendar, and I don't want to fill it. Basketball season has ended, and baseball doesn't start for a few more weeks.
There's no Cub Scouts this week, and Spring Break is coming up soon. I keep thinking I have to be somewhere (rush somewhere), but I don't.
Instead, we get to stay home for the next few afternoons and evenings, watching our soccer balls, lacrosse sticks and winter hats
slowly seep into the mud in the backyard.
On second thought, let's go somewhere.
Posted by Jen. March 5, 2008 at 1:47 p.m.
To-Do List
My husband had to get to work in a hurry this morning, so he asked me to make the kids' lunches, which he's been doing this school year.
Sure. No problem.
After he left for work, I headed downstairs to get the lunches ready, but first, I had to:
- Find two pairs of socks for the boys in the pile of laundry I haven't gotten to.
- Empty the dishwasher and put the dirty dishes into the dishwasher.
- Find something else for my son to eat besides a power bar.
- Put the recycling in the bin.
- Empty out my son's backpack, which is nothing short of an archeologicial dig, only with papers.
- Save a birthday party invitation from the ruins of the backpack.
- Find a ruler for the unfinished math homework.
- Sign a reading log and a schedule.
- Find the saxophone mouthpiece, but first the saxophone case and then the saxophone neckstrap. (Why they aren't all together,
I'll never understand.)
- Put in a load of laundry.
- Put the piano books in the kitchen so I don't forget them later.
- Find the shoe that was wedged under the step in the garage.
And then I packed the lunches.
Sure. No problem.
Posted by Jen. March 4, 2008 at 11:30 a.m.
Long Distance
At breakfast yesterday, I was simultaneously testing my fourth grader on his 9's for his multiplication test,
signing my third grader's reading log, eating cereal and skimming my newspaper when my younger son asked,
"Which is shorter: Digging to China or walking there?"
Quickly, I shifted gears from the answer to 9 x 8, my signature and William F. Buckley's obituary and imagined
trying to dig to China. I figured that, even if you could dig that far, you'd eventually hit the super hot core of the earth
and melt to death, so, just before I said, "Nine times twelve," I answered, "Walking."
And then I remembered a little thing called "The Pacific Ocean." I started to revise my answer, but my son had left the kitchen.
"108?" my other son answered.
"Huh?" I said, wondering if he thought it would take 108 steps to get to China or to the school bus stop.
"Nine times twelve is 108," he said.
I did the math in my head, told him "Yes," and gave up on both breakfast and the newspaper. It was time to go. To school, that is.
Not to China.
Posted by Jen. March 1, 2008 at 11:22 a.m.
Google in Sneakers Want to read more? Drop by Jen's Good Grief! blog on Good Housekeeping.com.
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