I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’m getting old. Old as in… when I bend down to pick up something my knees creak and I’m not sure I can get back up. Old as in… I’m getting red moles of the back of my knees like my mother had. And old as in … sometimes I forget where I left my kids. For example, this past weekend Eva had a sleepover at a friend’s house and she was gone Friday night and all day Saturday. With a houseful of all her siblings and their friends, I hardly missed her. Around 5pm on Saturday night she called me on my cell phone and asked me to come pick her up. And I thought to myself, “Pick you up? Where? All this time I thought you were in your room.” Nooooooo. I’m turning into my mother. Help!!! The red moles, the denial that I am losing my hearing, sight, mind… fill in the ___________. And now… I’m losing my kids!!! When they were babies I used to have nightmares that I drove off and left the car seat on roof of the car. Those were only bad dreams. This is my sad reality. In spite of my exhaustion, when they were little I always knew where they were. Now that they are teenagers, not so much.

I guess I shouldn’t be too hard on myself since my mom was guilty of  misplacing her children too. When we were kids she used to take us to WaWa after church on Sundays. (WaWa is a Northeastern regional convenience store chain similar to 7Eleven. I wish they had them here because they have the greatest milkshakes.) While Mom was at the deli counter we five kids would run wild through the store. My younger sister Jill and I would dip our hands into the pickle barrels, lick the pickles and throw them back in. (Aahh. Those were the days.) One day, Jill must have been in the bathroom when we left the store and drove home without her. I think we were home about a half hour when my mother  realized her “oversight” and shrieked in horror, “WE LEFT JILL IN WAWA!!!!!!!!!!!” We all clamored into the paneled station wagon (which my father had decorated with embarrassing Flower Power stickers) while my mom sped like a maniac back to the store where we found Jill wandering the aisles aimlessly, oblivious to the fact that we had left her in the store and had gone home without her.  My mother covered well when she told my sister, “Come on, Jill. Time to go.” Just as I did when I told Eva, “Sure, I’ll be right over to get you.” And we wonder why some children have abandonment issues.

Sophia got her wisdom teeth out on Friday and she came through like a real trouper. I know she was scared, but she kept a stiff upper lip (even though it was ashen, like the color of her face) and I was very proud of her. It was her first time under anesthesia  and I was a bit nervous myself. I assured her all the way that it was no big deal, that I had my wisdom teeth out when I was her age and I got to drink milkshakes  and it was so fun. (I didn’t mention that I remember puking blood into a bedpan afterward. I chose to keep that thought to myself.) In those days you stayed overnight in the hospital. Now, in this day and age of revolving door medical care, it’s in and out. I was horrified, truthfully, when the nurse called out to me, “Here’s your daughter. She’s ready to go,” and presented me with a wobbly teenager still doped up from the anesthesia. The child could barely stand, but she was cognizant enough to show me a baggy filled with her bloody teeth. Eeeeew. (I kept that thought to myself too.)

Fortunately her dad, Jared, my ex, was with me and together we carried her to the car. When we got her home, Paul was there to open the door and turn down her bed. Jared sat with her while I ran to the store to stock up on milkshake ingredients. When I returned, it was time for Sophia to ice her jaw. I gave her two baggies filled with ice cubes which she held to her face. She complained of being bored because she wanted her hands free. I tried tying the bags with a towel around her head, but that didn’t work so I asked my engineer husband for a problem solving solution. “What can we tie to her head that wouldn’t be too heavy and would stay on?” Seriously, without any hesitation, he responded, “How about a bra?” He then put the ice bags in  two socks and placed them in the cups of a bra and hooked it to her head. Voila. It worked. Sophia was able to ice her jaw for several hours while she played on her computer. And she got to experience the love and attention of her three parents. I would show you the photo I took of her, but she won’t let me. Just as well since some images are probably better left to the imagination.

Sophia won, “The Don’t Eat the Marshmallow Award” in math class this past week. It  was given to her from her teacher for “showing exemplary self control, delaying gratification and focusing  on the long term goal of doing her best every day throughout the course of Trigonometry/Analytic Geometry.”  The award is named after a groundbreaking experiment held at Stanford University in the early ’70’s in which four- year-old children were given a choice. They were each given a marshmallow, which they could eat right away, or they could wait 15 minutes and then have two. Two thirds of the children immediately devoured the marshmallow, some hung on as long as they could, and the rest were able to wait  and were rewarded with two marshmallows. Fourteen years later there was a followup study done that revealed that the kids who waited were much more successful in life, with better grades and life goals, than the ones who ate the marshmallow right away. The study’s findings were that self-discipline and delayed gratification are the most important factors for success.

Needless to say, I was extremely proud of Sophia, but more importantly, she was very proud of herself. This recognition is particularly significant because Sophia does not have a natural aptitude for math. She really has to work hard at it, that entails working with tutors  4-6 hours a week plus additional studying.  I have always told her that what she lacks in ability she  makes up for in dedication and perseverance. Way to go Sophia!!! We are all very proud of you. One final note: the award was in the form of  a certificate, which we framed, accompanied by two marshmallows, which Sophia promptly ate.

A few months ago, in a drastic cost cutting measure, I had to let the housekeeper go. I figured with enough able bodies around pitching in we could all handle it. So far so good. The kids have taken over doing the laundry, “cleaning” their rooms ( I use that term loosely)  and bathrooms. I vacuum and Paul mops and all is well. The only thing no one seems to volunteer for is the dusting. Since I am allergic to dust I usually only tackle the task once every six months or so which is why I always had a housekeeper.

A few weeks ago, before we put out all the Christmas decorations, I summoned my five kids into the laundry room, gave each of them a dust rag, sprayed it with some Pledge and sent them all into a different room in the house. They complained, but their objections weren’t what you would expect like “boring, tedious, dirty…” No. My dusting method was simply not sophisticated enough for them or as Sophia put it, ” Mom (elongate the monosyllable in a lengthy whine) your dusting is just so low tech.” Low tech dusting???? “Why don’t you get a Swiffer? If you got a Swiffer I would dust all the time.” Really???  So I bought a Swiffer, which is  cheap flimsy piece of crap probably made by slaves in a foreign country stealing manufacturing jobs from us, but I bought one anyway and my kids LOVED IT. They all fought over it. So. The moral of this story is  …. If you want to get your kids to dust get high tech and buy a Swiffer. Note:  I am not a paid endorser of this product.

Baby Jack born Jan. 4th, 9 lbs 8 oz

We have a new baby in the family, my great nephew born on Jan. 4th to my niece Joy and her husband Dale. (Not their real names.) Joy is my sister Nina’s daughter and she and everyone else in our family is ecstatic about the birth of the first baby born in our family in 13 years –my Eva being the youngest grandchild on my side of the family.

Since I live on the opposite coast as most of my family, I have to rely on stories and photos, text messaging and Facebook to hear what is going on. I wish I could have been a fly on the wall the night Joy and Dale brought their new son home from the hospital. I heard he cried in the middle of the night and they looked at each other frantically and exclaimed, “Oh my god, he’s crying. What do we do?”

Been there. I have a very vivid memory of bringing my first born, Sophia, home from the hospital. She was warm and cuddly nestled in her baby snuggy when I put her down in her new crib. And then a few hours later she woke up wailing and would… not…stop. It was at that moment when I couldn’t pawn the kid off onto someone else as in, “Here, your kid’s crying. Take it.” that I realized I was a parent and there was no turning back. I tried to nurse Sophia, but that did not go over well. I rocked her in my brand new glider rocker and that didn’t help either. I was fretful, resentful, and overwhelmingly exhausted. I just wanted this baby to stop crying and go back to sleep so I could too. And then I just gave in. I made peace with the possibility that I would be up all night and I relaxed and miraculously, she did too and fell back to sleep. I learned a very important parenting lesson very early on and that is to stop resisting the demands of my child and to just surrender to her needs, because a need that is fulfilled goes away.

Over the years I adapted to my new time management style of working in fits and starts as I took many breaks to tie a shoe, prepare a snack or wipe away a tear for my children. Some days seemed to drag on forever (like when Sophia had chicken pox and I had to entertain her by dropping a bouncy ball from our second floor balcony down to the first floor landing to distract her from scratching) yet the years still managed to fly by.  I can remember walking Sophia in a her stroller and middle aged strangers stopping to admire her and wistfully telling me, “I remember when my baby was that small. ” I now know how they feel.

So it is with this thought in mind that I would like to impart some advice to my niece Joy and her husband Dale and to all new parents everywhere: Take the time to enjoy your children. You can dust later. If your son wants you to read to him or help him solve a puzzle, leave the dishes in the sink. You’ll get to them eventually.  Savor the little things like a hand picked bouquet of weeds or his “abstract” art that hopefully wasn’t scribbled on the wall.  Don’t resist. Surrender. And always remember this: If you think he’s wearing you out now, wait ’til he’s a teenager. I know.

Now that I have officially started grad school I am much busier with my academics and classes and have less time for domestic chores around the house. Paul and I had a discussion with the kids and  told them everyone has to pitch in. From now on they have to do their own laundry, which they agreed to do (as long as I do the sorting). Since I have classes a few nights a week, the kids will need to cook a few dinners. The latter they are very excited about doing.  Our routine is that we decide together on a recipe, which I leave out on the kitchen counter along with all the ingredients.  While I am in my office on-line with one of my classes, they cook dinner. So far so good. Last night Eva made Pasta Puttanesca and it was delicious. She was very proud of herself. Sophia did the dishes. It is her turn to make dinner on Thursday. She plans to make quiche. Here is the link for the Pasta Puttanesca  recipe if you would like to try it. Some of the  ingredients she used were  products from Coeur d’Olives, my friend Les’ company that I am doing some marketing for right now.