They Really DO Love Each Other!

Now that I have my own children, I am truly grateful for my parents' ability to raise highly independent people. My siblings and I are all great problem solvers, go-getters, and have the ability to make confident decisions. In an attempt to follow in their footsteps, I made a decision to give my daughter a dollar on the days I drop her off at dance class. I used to send a snack with her since she has two classes in a row, but I decided some early financial lessons would be good.

The first day I gave her two dollars. I told her she could use one dollar in the juice machine and the other in the snack machine. After class she was excited to tell me about her healthy choices! She also moved to give me her change. I told her she could keep the change. I got an excited thank-you-mommy, and we went home.

The next week I only gave her one dollar. It was cute to watch her try and figure out why she was only given one.

"I don't get two dollars? I can't get a snack with my drink?"
"You can choose to get a drink out of the machine, but the dance studio does have a water fountain. If you drink water you can save your money and get a snack. You get to decide."
"If I get a drink I won't have any change, but sometimes I am thirsty for something better than water."
"You decide. It's okay to pick the drink if you want it. It is one of those decisions that is just a choice."

She wasn't thrilled with the idea of a choice, but she said thank you and off she went. I was excited to find she was choosing to buy snacks. I was even MORE proud the day she came back to the car after class with both a juice and a granola bar.

"Both? How did you manage to get both?"
"When I get pop tarts I only get 15 cents in change. When I get granola bars I get 40 cents change. I have been saving my change and today I had enough for both a drink AND a snack. Granola bars are healthier anyway."

My 8 year old is a genius!

But the best day ever? Hip hop class. Normally I don't send snack money on Hip hop day. Ryan makes breakfast on Saturdays so their tummies are usually plenty full. However one day we were rushed through breakfast to get out the door. I sent one dollar with each kid and went to run an errand. As I pulled away I could hear my daughter teaching her brother - " . . . but if you choose to drink water from the fountain . . . "

When the kids got back in the car I got a full report - my daughter picked her granola bar; my son picked what he thought were peanut butter crackers. What he ended up with - cheese on cheese crackers. He loathes cheese on cheese. I can only imagine the melt down that could have happened.

"I told him not to be upset. I gave him my change and told him to use his change and he would have enough to pick something else."
"Yeah mom, she gave me her change and so I got a chocolate bar."
"And since I gave him my change, he shared his candy with me mom!"
"Don't worry, I didn't waste the crackers. I kept them. Do you want me to give them to the babies?"

THEY DO LOVE EACH OTHER! THEY EVEN LOVE THEIR LITTLE SIBLINGS!

It was such a great mommy moment. I should call and tell my mom . . .

-Sara

Boys Being Boys

My son rummaged through his Valentines and was excited to find six temporary tatoos. One of them was an image of a Bratz doll. He handed it to me and said -

"Can you save this for me? I want to use it someday, but not right now, maybe this weekend." Then, he added in a whisper, "Because I like Bratz too, but please don't tell anyone."

Gender rolls - looks like we are in the girl-stuff-is-icky phase. Poor thing. He lives in a family where you are allowed to like whatever you like. Ryan's favorite color is purple, Grandpa used to take dance lessons, and Uncle is a stylist/salon owner (I should probably add - straight). My son himself used to be in a competitive dance duo. Too bad the rest world isn't always as accepting.

-Sara

Ignorance is Bliss

WOW, I am HUGE!!! I knew I wasn't skinny anymore. Skinny ended LONG ago, which is why I joined a fitness center. At the gym yesterday I decided I might as well step on the scale and get a good starting reference. I think my eyeballs nearly popped out of the socket! No wonder my son calls me big mama! Great, now I have to break up with SingleBFF. I can't be seen with that skinny bitch anymore. Sheesh. Why didn't anyone TELL me I was growing at an enormous rate?

I suppose my mother has tried. She slips it in from time to time. Not outright, no, she is sneaky. She says things like, "I bought these pants for you, I THINK they will fit" or "Look at this picture of you in junior high, man you looked good." Unfortunately I never listen to my mom about size or weight. She is 4' 11" and 110 lbs soaking wet. She enjoys my junior high looks because that is the last time I was her size. Guess how much she weighed on the day she delivered me. 120! I only know because when I went to the doctor my junior year of high school and stepped on the scale I heard her say, "WOW, I wasn't even that big when I was nine months pregnant with you!" Thanks Mom!

I grew up not caring about my weight. I knew I was active, taught dance and although I am a sucker for sweets and fast food, I generally ate healthy. In my early twenties I was a full time dance teacher, and while not smoking hot skinny, I was adorable. Marriage added ten lovely pounds. When I got pregnant with baby #1 I didn't care how much weight I gained as long as I didn't hit my husband's weight, forty more. Thankfully I didn't, and six weeks after delivery I was back down to pre-pregnancy size. Teaching dance 20 hours a week helped. I wasn't so lucky after baby #2. He added ten pounds. Baby #3, ten pounds. Baby #4, you guessed it, another ten.

I was still okay, ten pounds under my worst fear. Then I stepped on that scale yesterday. I am THIRTEEN pounds heavier than I thought. Three pounds over the dreaded ex-husband weight.

For those who aren't number geeks - I have 53 pounds to lose to attain a healthy fit body. Sigh. That is how much my oldest weighs. I'll keep you posted.

- Jolly Sara

From Babies to College

I have come up with a solution to my baby addiction. Reborn dolls. Have you seen these things? You need to go to ebay and search reborn ooak (one of a kind). Artists take dolls and repaint them, add hair, add eyelashes, open up the nose to look more real, give them manicures, give them pedicures, add magnets behind the mouth to add a pacifier for when they get "fussy," and even weight them down with sand or pellets to get them up to 4 - 6 pounds. Unbelievable!

They freak Ryan out, but I would LOVE to have one sitting on the couch and throw a party. I know I could fool at least a few of my friends. Maybe when my baby hits school I will start a collection. Instead of making the real thing I can display a few of their doll counterparts. Of course if I start bringing them to bed or trying to nurse them, Ryan may commit me. :)

The more I think about having more kids, the more confused I get about whether or not I want more. I love kids. I love being with them 24 hours a day. With the exception of more laundry and more food on my kitchen floor, I love everything about them. I even love watching them grown up.

Yesterday I was sitting at the computer working on a spreadsheet for my brother's business as my oldest daughter played with my hair. She was giving my ponytails and complaining that short hair wasn't as fun to design. At the same time I was having a conversation through IM with Ryan who was sitting ten feet away in the family room.

Discussing how funny she was about my hair turned into a conversation about college vs. hair school. That conversation led to a discussion about our second source of income, our rental houses. I was trying to figure out how many houses we need to pay for college and retirement, and how long it would take to pay them off using the profits they generate. Then it hit me:

College is only ten and a half years away.

Wow, not a long time when you are trying to build equity. Then I have one more in college the year after she goes. Once we get the first two out, we have two more going back to back. I guess retirement will have to wait until we are 50.

As much as I would love to have another baby to hold 24 hours a day, I am looking forward to the next stage of life. The one where the whole family gets to be on the mountain skiing instead of me at the condo playing with toddlers. The one where I get to run the oldest to gymnastics, then next one to wrestling, the next one to dance class, and the baby to swim lessons. As it stands we have already left the breastfeeding stage. I have forgotten how much it zaps your energy. My hyper nature is coming back and I love it.

Enough rambling, I need to get back to those blankets. I am behind on my schedule, tsk, tsk.

- Sara

Sara's Santa Story

And speaking of Santa . . . I don't know why more adults don't simply commit. I understand having trouble committing to relationships. The divorce rate is so high it is scary. I even understand the problems committing to a car. Shiny new models can easily turn very resonable people away from the idea of using a car until it won't run anymore - I get it.

But Santa? We can't commit to Santa? Santa is real and I am beginning to feel like I am the only adult out there defending him.

I vividly remember Christmas Eve when I was five or six years old. My older cousin, who was the smartest girl I knew, wanted to tell me a big secret. She led me into the entry way of my Grandparents house and told me Santa was really her parents. I couldn't wrap my brain around the concept. I wondered how my aunt and uncle could be Santa when they clearly didn't live at the north pole and were way too skinny! She tried to clear it up by saying she had seen them wrapping presents and my parents did the same thing. I didn't believe her. I knew MY parents didn't do such things.

Maybe it was the same year, or possibly the next Christmas, Santa came early. We had been at the Christmas Eve pageant at school followed by Grandmas house. When we got home, Santa had already come! We were able to open our presents before leaving for out of town. It COULDN'T have been my parents. They were with me all night.

As I got older, I am sure I had my doubts, but even by the age of 11 I still had a 6 year old brother who needed assurance that Santa would come to our house. There were a few years of trying the snoop method at Christmas, but I always came up short. He seemed real. He always brought the gifts my mother SWORE she would never get us. Nintendo was banned in my household, that is until Santa brought one.

In high school I was ready to get confirmation from the one person who always told me the truth. My brother, sister and I went to our mother to force the truth out of her. "Come on mom, we know about Santa, you can tell us. Seriously, admit it."

But she wouldn't budge. Finally she looked at the three of us very seriously and said, "Santa is real. He is the spirit of giving. Without him, no one would get presents. If you choose not to believe, I guess he will stop coming." That was all it took for me. I BELIEVE! My mother wasn't like my best friend's mom and dad. They got toys from the store all year round. In my house, presents and toys were only received on birthdays and from Santa. Since Santa was so generous, we never even got gifts from mom on Christmas. I BELIEVE! I know he is real because he hasn't stop coming. I still get presents under my moms tree.

Nearly 15 years later, after a serious conversation about school work, my daughter continued to linger around me with a weird smile on her face. I asked her if she had a question for me. "Is Santa really real?"

I grabbed both her hands and looked her straight in the eyes, "Yes, he's really real."

We went on to talk about how he is one of the few magical beings in this world. I was surprised at how little it took to assure her. Kids want to believe, and who wouldn't.

Do I feel guilty? Absolutely not. I have heard horror stories of kids scarred for life when they walked in on mom and dad. There were kids who hated their parents when they fessed up the truth. I even knew a girl in elementary school whose parents never had Santa visit. They didn't feel it was right to lie under any circumstances. I can respect that ideal.

What irks me to the core is the ones in the middle. Santa is so special, but he takes effort. Even my kids understand how busy Santa must be. He needs his helpers like the ones in the mall. That is where the commitment comes into play. Last year Santa's helpers weren't as careful as they should have been. A few gifts would have blown their cover, so they had to go back. I suppose next year Santa's workshop will have to move to Grandma's house to make sure his magic stays magical.

I know one thing that IS true across the board. When you stop believing, he stops coming. Since I don't get my kids presents on Christmas, I am guessing they will believe as long as I have.

And thanks Mom, for keeping the magic alive. In hind sight, the commitment was noticed. And it was greatly appreciated.

- Sara

Bittersweet Baby Talk

My fourth child finally said mamma. I didn't even get to enjoy it. The little buggar knows it too.

We were on our way home from a weekend trip to Chicago. The drive home was going great with 75% of my children sleeping, but the 14 month old wasn't happy. He was whimpering. I tried giving him a sippy, tried the glow worm toy, even gave him a potato chip. They were all thrown to the ground. He wanted held. I couldn't change his mind. That's when he played his trump card.

"Mmmmmmahhhhhmmmmmaahhhh!!!"

I immediately asked Ryan, "did he just say mamma?" Of course he was no help. He was using his male tuning out system. All I got was a, "huh?" But then clear as day, through a few more sobs, I heard it again.

"Mammmmmmma!"

Great. First time he calls for me I can't get him. Dang seatbelt laws! I asked the baby the next day if he remembered saying mamma. Buggar just smiled at me. I think he enjoys pushing my buttons, and why wouldn't he. The other three love it just as much.

Oh well, at least he said mamma. I have to remember it will be no time before I will be wishing he couldn't say it! :)

- Sara

A Gas Station Realization

I did it. I completely altered my son's view of the world.

He went from seeing the world as a place where everything is always okay and everyone can attain what they need, to finding out money is essential in the world. It happened in two minutes flat.

We were on our way to pick up some dinner. You know the type of evening. Karate practice ran late. The sun snuck its way under the horizon before I knew it. The freezer was full of items that would take way too much effort to turn into a scrumptious meal, and the fridge was nearly bare. The older two were STARVING and beginning to make those whiny noises that sound so pathetic you begin to think maybe they are slightly malnourished. When they heard "fast food night" there were cheers and praises. However the primitive whining noises began again, when I reminded them, for the fourth time, we HAD to stop for gas before the car sputtered to a stop. There would be absolutely NO FOOD until we got gas. So when I stopped at the pump but pulled away realizing space cadet mom had struck again and my purse was left in the entry way at home, my oldest son immediately noticed something wasn't right.

"Where are we going?"
"Home. I accidentally left my purse at home."
"I thought we were getting some food."
"We have to get gas first, remember?"
"Why didn't we get gas?"

I should have seen it coming, but I was too annoyed at myself for such a bonehead moment, I was in teacher-autopilot mode - answering questions with short, accurate answers which are the easiest for young ones to digest and learn.

"Because my money is in my purse."
"But mom, you don't need money, just use that pump thing."

That's when the floodgates opened up. We talked about debit cards and credit cards and how they transfer funds. We approached money in its infancy stage as a bartering system. I thought the conversation was over and I enjoyed the few moments of silence that we as mothers rarely receive. It was so quite I could almost hear the words swimming in his brain. He looked longingly out his window and said, almost to himself, "Wow, you need money for almost everything. That is so disappointing."

The gravity of what had happened in his head hit me like a swift punch in the stomach. My heart sank as I realized I had crushed his perception of a perfect world. A place where those who need gas in their cars, drive up to a pump and fill it. A place where hungry people can drive up to a window and order food. A society where you can walk into a dojo and learn karate or find a studio and take up dance. A city where you live in a home and turn on the lights and get air conditioning or heat whenever you need it. I wanted to live in his world. It sounded wonderful. But no, I had taken him by the hand and flung him into my world.

I have always talked to my children as real people. Kids can handle more truth than we think. However in that moment, I wished I had blown off his questions. Why didn't I just use the standard, "just because," or "don't worry about it, we will get gas in a minute after a quick detour."

I wish he could have lived in that world longer.

- Sara