Fight Like A Cat

I have always had a very strong personality. 

I was a stubborn and loud child. 

I now have a stubborn and loud child. 

I don't like it when people say things to mothers such as "I hope you have a daughter who turns out just like you."

It's never meant in a caring, loving way. 

It's always a dig. 

It's always meant to hurt. 

I'm sure it's been said to me. 

I'm opinionated. 

I'm not afraid to voice that opinion. 

And yes, I have a daughter who is just like me. 

One of my daughters looks like me, but has her father's quiet demeanor. 

The other daughter looks like...I don't know who she looks like...but she acts like I do. 

And that's just fine with me. 

My stubborn ways and fierce voice have helped our family get through some harrowing days. 

I'm in no way perfect. 

Far from it. 

I can sometimes think too quickly and then spew garbage from my mouth.  

I am sometimes too honest. 

You know, those things you think about later and say to yourself "wow, I sure shouldn't have said THAT!"

But, I see these flaws and I'm working on them. 

When Zoe was diagnosed with cancer, I didn't cry. 

I got mad. 

Wildcat mad. 

How dare this interrupt my daughter's young life?

She was brand new. 

She had only been on the earth for five years. 

She had just started full day school two weeks prior. 

I was determined, from the first minute of knowing she had leukemia, that she would not go down. 

And that I would go through this with her as if my healthy body could somehow find its way into her body. 

My energy would be her energy. 

My positivity would be her positivity. 

We did let her cry. 

We did let her ask "why is this happening to me?"

But we didn't let her stay there too long. 

Despair doesn't heal. 

Light heals. 

Love heals. 

I was always present during procedures. 

I would help hold her arms or legs when she would get a spinal tap. 

I wasn't going to let a nurse speak quietly into her ear as the doctor inserted a needle into her spine. 

She would hear my voice. 

I would penetrate through the sedation drugs. 

I firmly believed that my voice would override the pain or discomfort. 

If she couldn't eat before a sedation, I wouldn't eat. 

It was only when she was wheeled off to surgery or the spinal tap was completed, would I then take a bite of an apple. 

When she was fit for her radiation face mask, her father and I stood behind a wall in the room she was in. 

The radiation face mask fitting was, by and large, the most terrifying thing that she went through. 

As soon as the fitting was over I swooped from behind the wall, telling her we would go get some Dunkin Donuts in the hospital lobby. 

I was yearning for control. 

Needing to feel control in a situation that, in all reality, I had no control over anything that was happening at all. 

Either the medicine would work. 

Or it wouldn't. 

Either she would live. 

Or the cancer in her blood would live. 

Killing her in the process. 

Her sister was only two. 

She was only five. 

This isn't what was supposed to happen. 

This wasn't the storyline I had signed up for. 

My husband and I had decided to have children. 

They were planned. 

How dare cancer try to take away a member of our tribe. 

I'm not a tiger mother. 

I'm more of a serval mother. 

And this cat wasn't going to let her kitten go down without a loud, opinionated, stubborn fight. 

My daughter's school principal told me today that a friend's daughter was just diagnosed with cancer. 

She's only 12 years old. 

She asked me for some advice. 

I told her to tell her friend to ask many questions, to the point that she may think she's asking too many questions. 

To become stubbornly loud. 

Because her daughter can't fight this kind of fight herself. 

She needs a serval mother. 

Big, Fat Mama

As soon as I walked in the back door, she was there waiting for me. 

The blonde girl.  

I had barely put down my first bag of groceries before she started speaking. 

"Mom!"

Quieter, "mom"

"Yes?" 

"When you were gone dad got so mad.  He was saying damn, and mother bleeper, and shit."

"Why was he saying that?  What was he mad at?" 

"The garbage can. He was yelling at the garbage can."

"Huh" I said, my mind's ideas swirling around as to what had happened in the hour that I was not at home. 

"There was a hole in the garbage bag and he got sooooo mad at it."

I tried not to smile too much as I went out to get more groceries from the car. 

Gigi loves two things.

Well, more than two things, but I'm focusing on two of her loves right now. 

Gigi loves to tattle on others and she loves any opportunity to use curse words. 

When I saw my husband a few moments later when he sauntered into the kitchen, I mentioned to him what Gigi had told me. 

"She's such a nark!" he declared. 

I prefer to think of it as honesty. 

Gigi is very honest. 

She's yet to learn how to stifle her thoughts. 

But, then again, why should she stifle her thoughts?

Why aren't we all so honest?

As honest as a 7 year old.

Who will tell you when your breath stinks as you go in to kiss her. 

Who will tell her doctor that her farts feel like the wind. 

Who will tell her sister, you hurt my feelings because you don't want to play school with me anymore. 

Even though sister has been playing with her for the last two hours. 

Who will lovingly tell me "I love you big fat mama" and not mean anything malicious by those words. 

I'm her mama. 

She loves me. 

And she thinks I'm big and fat. 

But I don't think I'm big and fat. 

I mean, YES I could stand to lose some pounds. 

But she weighs 55 pounds. 

So, in her wee little eyes and mind...

I'm big and fat. 

I need to be more honest. 

With people in my life. 

With people who have hurt me. 

Who continue to hurt me. 

And if I need to, I need to cut some ties. 

Because life is too short to have insincere strings connecting knotted up and frayed relationships. 

Honesty can be one of the hardest things to effectuate. 

Being honest can feel as if you're standing naked in a snowstorm. 

The vulnerability felt. 

The unknown reaction awaiting. 

But to a 7 year old, it's just how it is. 

Here's what you did and here's my response. 

I need to take some lessons from my daughter. 

But it's a scary lesson plan to look over. 

Why do we allow ourselves to shy away from honesty the older we get?

I have no answer. 

I'm still searching for "The Big Book Of Life's Answers". 

And I've lost the call number. 

I hope Gigi stays honest. 

I hope she doesn't go through life not telling it how it is. 

I hope she stands up for what she believes. 

Even if it goes against the grain. 

Even if it seems bizarre to others. 

Because sometimes the most bizarre ideas are in fact, the best ideas. 

I hope Gigi stays true. 

True to herself. 

True to her sister. 

True to her heart. 

True to those she loves the most. 

Especially big, fat mama. 

The Clockwork Chili Pepper

We have taught our children good table manners. 

We have taught them to say thank you. 

We have taught them to hold doors for strangers. 

We have taught them to give back to those who need help. 

But, I'm afraid we have failed them. 

Failed them miserably. 

I keep trying to teach them. 

Especially the elder child. 

But, she's having none of it. 

She says over and over "I can't do it!!"

It being...

she can't tell the time on a clock without numbers. 

This clock...

My chili pepper clock. 

A gift from my old roommate Bill from years ago. 

It has moved everywhere that I have moved. 

It has hung on various walls in various cities. 

It's been hung on white walls, brown walls, green walls, coffee colored walls. 

And my kids don't know how to read it. 

It's the only clock in our living room. 

The room we spend the most time in. 

My daughter will sit below it in the big comfy brown recliner that used to belong to Uncle Jeff. 

And she'll ask me "Mom, what time is it?"

"Look behind you" I'll reply. 

"There's a clock behind you."

"But I can't read that clock!"

"Try!" I'll plead with her. 

"Nooooooo!"

So she'll push a button on the television remote to see the time on the big screen she's been watching. 

Or she'll get up. 

Get up to leave the room to find a digital clock. 

Or to find her iPad to push the big middle button so that the time pops up in big, bold, digital numbers. 

And I cry. 

Silent tears fall slowly down my face. 

A face that prefers non-digital clocks.

A face that prefers the art of chili pepper clocks that make me think and allow me to make a cognitive decision on my own. 

Sigh. 

Where did we go wrong?

Watch Your Mouth

I think we all know that words have power.

The power to knock us down. 

To make us feel small.

Words can hurt and words can also make us glow. 

Two simple words "I'm sorry" can be what brings us back from the brink of despair. 

And a message like "your outfit looks great today!" can get you through the rest of yours. 

Sometimes the spoken word seems harsher than the written word. 

Because a tone and an in-your-face assault usually accompanies those words. 

And while you are still physically standing, inside you have fallen to your knees. 

Unable to stand back up. 

In our current times, online typed words can pack a punch as well. 

Online bullying is a whole new assault on our psyche. 

Everyday someone gets text punched. 

Which is why my kids don't have a cell phone. 

As an adult, and now as a parent, I do really, REALLY try to watch my mouth. 

I do admit that I have a potty mouth. 

And I swear around my kids. 

Which is completely different than swearing AT my kids. 

I don't do that. 

Ever. 

And I'm honest with them. 

We have been honest ever since Zoe got sick. 

We didn't hide from her what was happening to her. 

From day one, we tried to explain what cancer was. 

Because 5 years old have zero concept of cancer and sickness. 

We explained why she had to get sedated and have needles stuck into her spine. 

Why she had to have a mask screwed over her face and why she had to lay motionless on a table for radiation. 

And so when she told her sister this morning "Mom doesn't care when I'm sick" I felt as if she had slapped me, spit on me, and then kicked my dog. 

Words hurt. 

Even to an almost 45 year old. 

Here's why she said this...

yesterday she had some intestinal distress. 

Also known as diarrhea. 

But she was romping it up with her sister during the day, playing, ate soup for dinner, went promptly to sleep at bedtime, slept through the night, and never had a fever. 

When I told her to get up and get ready for school she moseyed to the kitchen table. 

And looked like she usually does on a school day morning. 

Which is like she would rather go back to bed. 

We had a discussion about how she felt.  

She said she still felt bad. 

I said she looked okay. 

I asked her if she was going to school. 

She shrugged her tween shoulders. 

She went back to her room. 

I asked her sister to go see what she was doing. 

And that's when her sister came back with her message.

That I didn't care. 

My husband and I both just looked at each other. 

And gave a big sigh. 

I said "well, I guess I should call school to say she's not coming. I don't want Z to call DCFS on us."

And when I had her sister's school lunch made and had her shuttled off to the bus, I made my way to Zoe's bed.

And told her that what she had said was a bit bold. 

Because I don't want her to grow up thinking it's okay to say hurtful things and not realize how powerful those words are.

I get on her case if she tells her sister she's stupid and I told her how it wasn't fair to say "mom doesn't care when I'm sick."  

Not in this house. 

Sometimes grown ups in my life say hurtful things to me and they could care less that they've hurt me. 

That's probably their goal. 

But I don't want my daughters to use words to hurt. 

Sometimes silence is even worse than hurtful words. 

I also have adults in my life whose silence in my life is more of a lion's roar in my ear than they realize. 

Being a parent is the hardest job I've ever had. 

I'm not perfect. 

But I try to teach my kids that each thing we say to one another has power. 

And I want to accentuate the positive. 

So, if someone says something hurtful, you're going to get called out on it.

Because if you don't realize that you've hurt someone else, the words have the chance to repeat themselves. 

And it's a chance for ALL of us to stop. 

And think about each other's feelings. 

Because kids don't think moms have feelings. 

And most moms get walked on. 

Moms willingly take those soles tromping on our backs. 

But every once in a while, we need to get off of the floor and remember that we are raising the future. 

Teeny Tiny

My second child was an average sized baby upon her birth. 

Almost 8 pounds. 

She wasn't as chubby through her first year of life as her sister was. 

Her sister was a fat baby. 

A few chins. 

Tubular arms. 

So cute and squishy. 

First child was bottle fed. 

Second child was breast fed. 

Second child was fat, but not like her sister had been. 

She was by no means a puny baby. 

But, we did notice a difference in baby size for them. 

And then toddler hood. 

Second sister was petite.

Petite yet sturdy. 

Just because she was little, that did not mean she was prone to breakage. 

Nope. 

She was solid. 

She still is. 

And she's not as petite as she was. 

I think. 

It's hard to tell. 

When I see her among her peers she seems on track with them. 

Similar heights. 

Weights, well that is different.

The weights of 6-7 year olds varies immensely. 

There are obese children, average sized, and profoundly thin kids.

My kids are right in the middle. 

Not too big. 

Not too small. 

Now, second sister loves all things little. 

Little cats. 

Little trees. 

Little shoes. 

I think my mom has had an influence on this. 

My mom is short. 

She was sent home from school by the crossing guard in kindergarten because he thought she was too small for school. 

He thought she had just followed her siblings and he sent her home.

My mom is 4"11. 

Well, she's shrinking, but I'm not allowed to publicly talk about it. 

She also likes little things. 

Little chip clips. 

Little candy bars. 

Little ziploc bags. 

And since second sister's hair became blonde, around the age of 20 months, grandma has declared something. 

Declared it because she saw her little self in second sister. 

My mom was petite with blonde curls as a child.

So is my girl. 

And we often heard these words three words...

"Just like grandma!"

My second baby's hair has stayed blonde, but it's not as curly as it was. 

But, she hasn't lost her love of little things. 

Her favorite things are little. 

Little yogurt cups. 

Little munchkins from Dunkin Donuts. 

Little purses. 

Little, little, little. 

She recently opened up a package of her sister's Legos that had been sitting around. 

And she poked her way around in them and found her favorite things. 

A little magnifying glass. 

A little hat. 

A little shield. 

Her birthday is coming up. 

She will be seven. 

She came as a surprise to us. 

Little did we know that our second girl would be one of the greatest joys of our lives. 

Her little curls. 

Her little laugh. 

Her love for little toys.

She told me recently that she wants this for her birthday. 

She saw it at Target. 

It's full of little things. 

Little fruit. 

Little shelves. 

Little things to step on and loose under the bed. 

Little things to go along with all of her other little things. 

Like her little tiny babies. 

I'll buy it for her. 

Because my little girl with the BIG imagination will love it. 

And I couldn't imagine life without my little girl with her big ideas. 

And her big heart. 

Map Time

The license plate game. 

Didn't we all play this as a child when we went on long road trips with our family?

When everyone piled into the car. 

The car that may or may not have had working A/C. 

DVDs and streaming movies did not exist in my childhood. 

We didn't even have computers that could print off coloring pages or lists of things. 

Coloring books, pads of blank papers, and my mom's handwritten lists got us there in a remotely sane fashion. 

When we drove to Florida from Illinois my brother and I had our imaginations to get us there without driving our parents bonkers. 

Which may not have worked when, as soon as we got to the ocean, my dad locked the keys in the car. 

He had driven right onto the sand and we all hopped out in true Griswold family stye and he forgot about his keys in the ignition. 

At least he had it in Park. 

But, my mom did try to keep us occupied on long road excursions. 

She would make lists of things for us to look for and mark off of the paper she had handed us at mile marker 57. 

So, I would fashion a blanket around my side of the backseat and over my head. 

I would briefly roll the window down to tuck the end in. 

Briefly, because if the window was down too long my mom would yell "roll that window up!  My hair is flying all over my face!"

I would have my backseat tent area all set up. 

And my brother better not get into my space because I wasn't afraid to scream. 

I would have my list in my lap looking for...

red barn

cow

truck pulling boat

blue motorcycle 

school

cloud shaped like a tv...

And when that game was over, my mom would whip out her list of states. 

We were to look for their license plates as my dad rolled along the interstate. 

In this 21st century world my kids get to grow up in, they don't understand hours of boredom. 

They have car DVD players. 

An iPad and portable DS game players to keep them thoroughly occupied when traveling across the great U.S. of A. 

But, I do want them to look out the car windows. 

To see America's landscapes. 

To see the giant roadside stand called Boomland. 

Where you can buy fireworks, snacks, AND home decor. 

To see bridges and cotton growing in the field. 

To see the mighty and marvelous Mississippi River and the churning Gulf Coast. 

I was pumped when I caught a Today Show segment pre-summer for a website called Mr Printables.

They had a map of our country with the names of the states and so I decided on a revamped version of the license plate game for our summer adventures. 

We traveled to all over Illinois, Southern Michigan, Northern Indiana, Western Tennessee, and Eastern Missouri. 

Each time we saw a license plate from another state we colored it in with a purple crayon. 

Traveling in Indiana afforded us the opportunity to see many plates from Canada. 

The highway that travels through Northern Indiana and on to Detroit leads right to Canada. 

So we got to color in the top of our map which, for us, represented another country. 

We found 40 states during our summer travels. 

We even saw a Washington DC plate, which I've never seen on the road that I can recall. 

We had friends visit our farm from Vermont, but they had a rental car with Ohio plates. 

Go figure. 

We never saw Massachusetts

New Hampshire 

Vermont

Montana

Wyoming

South Dakota 

Utah

Nebraska 

do western staters ever leave home?

Or Alaska and Hawaii. 

I don't think I've ever seen a Hawaii license plate on the mainland, but I was certain we would see Alaska. 

Darn it. 

Maybe next summer. 

At The Big Kid Store

Zoe got some clothes from the teenager store yesterday. 

WHAT?!?!

I know!!!

It's craziness!

She's going to be 11 soon. 

And she got some Gap jeans in a size 14 recently. 

She has pretty long legs. 

As we were walking around the outlet mall yesterday with grandma, she asked "can we go to that store next?"

That store being Aeropostale. 

For teenagers. 

And hip young adults. 

I didn't think we would find much for her. 

Yet it turned out to be the best shopping deal we had all day. 

As soon as we walked in I saw a tank top with dream catchers on it. 

Dream catchers are her current obsession. 

And it was only $5. 

Score!

Hmmm, could this be her new favorite store?

She could fit into XS tops and S leggings. 

She's learned, from her budget conscious mother, to head to the back of a store first to the sale racks. 

We found the most awesome fish shirt for $2. 

$2!

For a shirt with fish on it!!

She was excited to find things she liked that fit her. 

She even declared at one point "I'm in the big kid store!"

And that reminded me that even though we were in the teen store, she's still my little girl. 

"New" Hair Goes To The Salon

My daughter got a haircut today. 

Which is just a normal thing for most people. 

But for us, it's a momentous occasion. 

It's her second haircut and she's 10 years old. 

And it's the first haircut with her "new" hair.

After getting her first haircut at the age of four we never thought that it would be the only haircut that her original hair would have. 

Her golden brown hair. 

It would be gone a year later. 

She would wake up with it all over her pillow after a night of sleeping. 

Brushing it was out of the question. 

It would make her cry. 

It would make me cry for her. 

I collected some of it as it fell out. 

It's tucked away into an old cigar box on a bookcase in the kitchen. 

I call it her "first" hair. 

Chemo caused her hair to fall out three different times. 

Her oncologist said having hair loss twice during 2 years of chemo wasn't rare. 

But three times. 

Doesn't happen too much. 

But, our girl was special so I guess her head needed that "3rd times the charm"

effect. 

She hasn't wanted a haircut since it's grown back. 

Her doctor wasn't sure if it would grow past her shoulders. 

Sometimes it just stops there if you've had low dose cranial radiation. 

But, her "new" hair defied those odds and has grown to what her "first" hair's length was. 

Her "new" hair is also darker than her "first" hair. 

When your hair falls out from chemotherapy it has the chance of growing in a different color. 

It may be curly when it had been straight before. 

All Zoe hoped for was NOT to have blonde hair like her sister. 

She ended up having "new" hair that was darker in color with natural golden highlights. 

Today we had an appointment at my hair salon. 

Another mom from school cuts my hair at a chic little salon downtown. 

I got my hair cut and Zoe was scheduled for a trim. 

She didn't want layers. 

Nothing too drastic. 

Just an inch off of the ends. 

And blue. 

She wanted it dyed blue. 

So, at 10 am she got her "new" hair cut and colored for the first time. 

And she was beaming. 

And inside I was doing cartwheels for her. 

A Day At The Zoo

I took the girls to St. Louis today.

We went to the zoo. 

We try to drive to this zoo a few times a year. 

It's closer for us than Chicago zoos. 

They have a new polar bear and a new exhibit space for him. 

He's from Alaska and is little over two years of age.  

They have named him Kali. 

Here's his bio from the zoo's website...

The first occupant of this exhibit is Kali (pronounced "Cully”), a 2 ½ year-old, 850-pound male polar bear that was orphaned in Alaska. In March 2013, the orphaned bear was turned over to U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service (USFWS) by an Alaska Native hunter who killed Kali’s mother in a subsistence hunt without realizing the mother had a cub. USFWS determined that St. Louis would be the bear’s permanent home, working with the Association of Zoos and Aquariums (AZA) Polar Bear Species Survival Plan (SSP)

He seemed to love chomping on his ice. 

While I love zoos, I also feel a bit sad that some of these animals never see the wild. 

But, most have been born into captivity and know nothing else. 

As climate change is hurting the polar bear population, this new home should be a safe and secure place for this young polar bear. 

I hope he is the start of a great legacy. 

We also saw some happy chimps. 

They kissed. 

Just a peck. 

The girls conversed with a bird. 

I think it's a cormorant. 

And I saw a scene straight out of a Serengeti stock film. 

Elementary School

I registered my kids for elementary school today. 

Fifth and first grade. 

I love elementary school days. 

The work isn't too hard, yet. 

You spell words like L-A-K-E and 

S-U-S-P-I-C-I-O-U-S. 

You get served grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup at lunch. 

Volcanoes are constructed from clay and erupted. 

Butterflies are observed emerging from cocoons that are kept on a classroom table. 

But things ARE getting more complex. 

Computers are in every classroom. 

As are iPads. 

Technology is an everyday part of learning now. 

Handwriting is still taught in our district. 

I've heard from other parents across the state who say handwriting isn't taught at their school anymore. 

Every girl needs to learn how to write her name in cursive. 

For notes passed during class. 

Wait. 

Are notes still passed in class?

I'll have to ask my fifth grader. 

I don't remember much from my elementary school years. 

In first grade, my teacher was Mrs. Cave. 

She was a small woman with short blonde hair. 

Very sweet and reminded me of my favorite television teacher Miss Beadle. 

Miss Beadle taught the children of Walnut Grove on the show Little House On The Prairie. 

Oh, how I loved Miss Beadle and her soothing way with the children. 

Maybe my teacher didn't look anything like Miss Beadle and I'm just fabricating in my old mind what I wanted her to look like. 

Fifth grade comes in a bit clearer for me. 

But not much. 

I had Mr. Wilkes. 

Was that his name?

Or was it Wilkey?

I don't know. 

He looked like Chuck Woolery. 

All of my memories go back to pop culture television. 

Sorry. 

I remember doing a state project. 

I did New Mexico. 

I knew something about New Mexico because I went on a month long trip to the state with my grandparents in fourth grade. 

That trip was during the school year, too. 

I don't think that's allowed anymore with all of the testing and prepping for testing and pre-pre prepping for testing. 

Life was a bit easier when I was in elementary school in the 70s and 80s. 

We didn't have stranger danger drills. 

Drills where the kids and teacher hide silently in a corner of their locked room away from windows and away from the door sight line. 

In case a shooter has entered. 

And I don't remember girl bullies in elementary school. 

Girls didn't start getting snarky until junior high. 

Now it starts in second grade. 

I'm soaking up these elementary school years with my daughters. 

Listening to Gigi read to me when the word structure finally clicked in her mind.

That happened this summer. 

And listening to Zoe tell us some random fact about mummies or milkweed plants. 

Their minds are just beginning to open. 

To the world at large they are just kids. 

But I know what they really are. 

They are walking, talking sponges for the future. 

Of the future. 

Ready to soak in all of the knowledge presented to them. 

Leaving Darth Vader Alone

I follow a blog called Trail Mix.

It's authored by Deborah Rahalski. 

She's a mom of two girls, like myself.

Only her daughters are older than mine. 

And her youngest is leaving home to begin college life in Tokyo. 

Tokyo!  

I thought our rule of "you must go to college at least an hour away from home" would be daunting when the time came. 

Which, luckily for me, won't happen for many, many years yet, as my oldest daughter is starting 5th grade this September. 

We have so...much..time. 

Or do we?

I've heard it's going to fly by.

I guess it already has. 

Zoe is going to be eleven years old in February and I remember like it was yesterday...Chad and I high-fiving one another when we got to her 1st birthday and we celebrated that we had remembered to feed her every day. 

Knowing that time is fleeting. 

That we are living on our second chance, I try to be casual about life.

Like this. 

When I look into the girls' shared bedroom and I can't see the floor. 

I can't see the floor for the mess. 

The mess of psychedelic colored ponies, shrunken Disney Princes, and various teeny hats and wheels scattered over the beautiful 100 year old hardwood floors. 

I sigh. 

And remind them "this does need to be picked up so you can get to your bunk bed."

And they respond "yeeeeees mother!"

But, it's still there. 

And I said those words to them yesterday. 

Darth Vader still sits amongst the troll dolls and pigs wearing dresses. 

I have to remind myself that this won't last forever. 

And one day they may move to Tokyo. 

The Skate Park

Letting our children experience many different things in life is a goal for Chad and I. 

We take our rurally raised kids to the neighborhoods of Chicago frequently. 

To neighborhoods where friends live so that they can ride bicycles down city sidewalks to a park and walk to ice cream shops for a sweet treat instead of driving to one. 

We take them to art museums and science centers, not just museums labeled "children's museums".  

---side note-I'm not a fan of children's museums at all. We stopped going when Zoe was in cancer treatment since she couldn't be in germy environments. And to me, a children's museum is germville headquarters.---

We touch stingrays at zoos, hear concert pianists play at our local university, learn about history in our state's capital, and we skateboard. 

Well, I don't skateboard. 

And neither does Chad. 

But, Gigi has a skateboard that she received for her birthday last year. 

And we hadn't taken her to our lone skate park yet.

So, this morning she gathered her knee pads. 

Put on her elbow pads and fingerless gloves. 

And yelled at us to "hurry up!"

"Yes, I have my helmet, let's go!"

Once she was there and geared up, SAFETY FIRST, she shuttled her little self all over the skate park. 

Up ramps. 

Down ramps.

She did pretty good for someone who hadn't done it before. 

The most skateboarding she had done prior was rolling from our living room to our dining room. 

Gigi is pretty fearless with her body. 

While she has struggled with some social anxiety and separation issues, she's never been afraid to climb, jump, or crash herself through life.

Her life that has only existed for a mere 6 1/2 years so far. 

Her big sister has always been a bit more trepidacious. 

Afraid of getting hurt, falling. 

Because, I think, she spent so much time sitting in a hospital bed. 

Or her own bed because she was too tired to do anything. 

We worried for her and her bones that had had leukemia coursing through them, but we always tried not to voice our concerns too much. 

Zoe is more brave on a different level than her little sister. 

Zoe has no qualms about playing the piano in front of her entire school in a talent show. 

Or acting in a play in the theater group she was in last summer. 

Two things her sister wouldn't have been able to do. 

Zoe did try skateboarding today. 

But, was a bit more careful. 

I'm glad that these two sisters are willing to try new things.

And knowing that they are curious, that their interests are peaked often, I think we are on the right track of this parenting ride. 

Needle And Thread

The creative fairy snuck into my girls' heads this morning. 

She came with thread in her magic bag. 

Gigi decided to sew an outfit for a Barbie doll. 

She's a hand sewer, and puts a lot of attention into the details.

A button on the belt. 

A large flower on the butt of the skirt.  

A smaller bauble on the back of the golden top. 

It kept her busy for about an hour. 

Zoe braided a thin headband. 

Amidst the technology and television there's still time for no nonsense creativity. 

I know that this kind of play is the most important. 

And what I'll remember them doing the most. 

Knowing When Summer Is Over

My kids are craving structure. 

We have 3 more weeks of summer to go before school begins. 

Other schools in our area go back next week. 

But our district is constructing new buildings and *fingers crossed* they should be completed by Labor Day.

So, we start school September 8th.

Which is what happened back in my day. 

School always resumed in early September and let out for summer break in early June. 

But these kids. 

Boy. 

They are getting bored. 

Of me. 

Of each other. 

Of being outside. 

Of the pool. 

Of Minecraft on the iPad. 

They want to go to school.

They want to see their friends.

They want to learn about Native American tribes. 

They want to do book reports. 

They want to eat in the school cafeteria. 

They want out. 

But, we aren't done with summer yet!

I have plans still for them. 

The Sate Fair on Thursday. 

The St. Louis Zoo on a Tuesday. 

Maybe an art museum. 

All when others are at school. 

So it's not crowded.

And they can get their last hurrahs out of the way. 

Before their brains get inundated with common core math and accelerated reading point levels. 

Chad gave them his mini camcorder that we don't use much anymore. 

Because they want to make some movies. 

It's their last summer spark I think. 

And then, it's on to business. 

Knowing When To Shoot

When I take pictures of my kids "doing things", like 

running

jumping

diving

dancing

swinging

really anything verby, I take multiple shots of the same thing. 

I set my camera for a continuous shutter release. 

And I end up deleting most of the shots. 

My kids are pretty great subjects. 

Listening to your mother takes effort. 

Listening to your mother can be daunting. 

But when I ask my girls to "do that just one more time", they don't hesitate. 

Because they know out of all of the snapping I do with my camera, I'll come out with something very special. 

And sometimes, the first shot is a gem. 

You just never know. 

So I shoot away.

You've Got To Know...

I love old school Kenny Rogers' songs. 

I've had The Gambler stuck in my head the last few days. 

I think it's because my husband told me that Paula Deen, the celebrity chef, is getting a divorce from her husband. 

And her husband looks like Kenny Rogers before he had plastic surgery.

Well, to me he does. Don't you think?

 

But wait...why does my husband know Paula Deen is getting a divorce?

He knows obscure things like that, but doesn't know how to find a hubcap for our car that fell off. 

Okay, back to The Gambler.

When I sing the lyrics, a section reminds me of parenting. 

Maybe parenting and gambling aren't so different, really. 

You do your best to get the best hand. 

You have moments when you screw up and make a bad choice. 

You can get cocky and blow the whole deal. 

Or you can have a really great day and come out a winner. 

You've got to know when to hold 'em. 

Preferably on your lap, for as long as they'll allow. I'm sure they'll fight me on this in the teen years. 

Know when to fold 'em. 

So much quarreling!  Both of you go to separate areas of the house!

Know when to walk away. 

Independance is a wonderful thing to see your child develop. 

Know when to run. 

To the ER!

You never count your money when you're sittin' at the table. 

Because they'll see your money and take it to buy earrings and Minecraft tees at the mall. 

There'll be time enough for countin' 

when the dealin's done. 

When they move away and I know I'll be lonely without them.