Tag: parenting

It’s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it, Personal Favorites

It was the morning of the annual Christmas celebration in my neighborhood. Roads around a park would be shut down for a couple of hours while kids decorated cookies, made crafts, danced to a live band, and of course, met Santa. My neighborhood homeowners dues can feel pricey at times, but on this occasion they seem worth it.

I was looking for my camera as Kiddo approached me. “Mom,” he said. “I know it’s not going to be the real Santa.”

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I gulped as I glanced around the room. LT was nowhere in site. Shew, the situation is still contained. I frantically thought how best to handle the line of questioning I was sure would be coming next.

Now I have a few issues with Christmas, how it has taken over the entire month of December, is annexing November, and has even begun to bleed into October. It even has a small outpost in July. Yet at the same time I absolutely adore the look upon the kids faces as the decorations go up (which is the only reason I have forgiven my siblings for the 6ft tall bilingual singing Santa they ‘gifted’ us with several years ago and perhaps a story for another day), and I can’t help but smile at their excitement as the holiday specials begin to flood the airways.

Only this year, as we watched a few of the movies, I began to notice how many feature a character rediscovering their Christmas spirit after meeting the real Santa and it troubled me. Just a year or two ago, Kiddo would never have thought to question the authenticity of Santa in the park. But now? . . . Darn you Holiday Classics! Darn you, every one.

I looked into Kiddo’s eyes, still unsure how to respond.

“I know it is one of his helpers,” kiddo offered, oblivious to my discomfort.

In that instant it felt like a little bit of Kiddo’s innocence fell away. “Yes, it probably is,” I said while hoping that LT would remain in the other room awhile longer.

Luckily the conversation ended there and we arrived at the park a short time later. The band was rocking out holiday tunes and the hot cocoa was delicious. After taking a ride in a horse-drawn carriage, we got in line to meet Mr. Claus. Before long it was our turn. For the very first time, LT wasn’t afraid as we placed him on the bench next to the man in the red suit. Without missing a beat, Santa insisted that Lamont and I join the boys for a group photo while instructing the prior family to stick around and take our picture. I was impressed. The man knew how to run an assembly line. Once photographed, he turned to each boy and listened as they tried to recall their wishlists. Afterward, he looked at them both and announced with authority that they had been good rather than asking them if they had. I watched in awe as kiddo’s eyes widened.

As we walked away, Kiddo turned to me and said, “mom, I know that Santa has helpers, but I think that might be the real Santa.”

“I think you might be right,” I answered as I saw a little of his boyhood wonder return, if only for a moment. And I meant it. After all, I certainly got what I wanted from Santa this year.

 

I’m fixing a hole

by Allie P., posted in Indie book promotion, Life as I know it
Image courtesy of Wikipedia
Someone, please find me an iron torch and an epic hero. (Image courtesy of Wikipedia)

Getting your novel ready for its grand debut is like battling a hydra. You make one correction, only to then discover the need for three more. I had grown somewhat obsessed over the last few weeks, a condition that has only gotten worse the closer I got to my launch date (which is next week by the way). I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night worried that there might be some aspect of the reading experience I could still improve.

The boys were taking their bath. Knowing they were occupied for the moment, I decided to sneak away to process yet another last-minute update. They’ll barely notice I am gone. After Lamont caught me in the act, I felt the need to explain what I was up to, and why. He wisely refrained from rolling his eyes. We’ve probably only had this same conversation a half a dozen times over the last month (I have the slight tendency to worry something to death). I was turning to go back to the boys when I saw it – a stream of water coming from the kitchen ceiling. Yes, it was raining out, but my kitchen is on the first floor. Considering we hadn’t recently installed an indoor water feature, there could be only one source.

LT. The boy is currently obsessed with volcanos and waterfalls. He likes the look of thing cascading downward. Sand. A glass of milk. An entire roll of toilet paper. He’s not picky. I must have left a cup within his reach once again (whatever happened to those good old days before he was mobile). I flew up the stairs, stopping at the bathroom door. Sure enough, you could almost make out waves and tidal patterns in the amount of water that covered the tile floor. (I’m a tad surprised NOAA wasn’t already there). I had only been gone a couple of minutes. Five tops! It takes the boy twenty minutes to eat half of a peanut butter sandwich, but he can cause trouble with amazing efficiency.

Ahhhh, children – such bringers of joy and destroyers of all things expensive to replace.

I looked to his brother, who immediately volunteered, “It was LT” as he scurried down the hall. Kiddo is a survivor. He takes after his father.

LT, on the other hand, happily continued to splash, as unconcerned about the pulsing vein in my forehead as he was about the stream flowing downstairs. Scooping our little future delinquent volcanologist out of the water, Lamont and I sent him to bed without a story (the worst punishment this writer could think of at the time – I have since come up with several other things that I would have liked to have done), before we set out to clean up the mess. Several soaked towels later, it occurred to us that we would also have to address the moisture in the space between floors. (Finding mold would make this a horror story)

So in the words of Paul McCartney and John Lennon

“I’m fixing a hole where the rain gets in
And stops my mind from wandering
Where it will go”

Bacon Apple Pie
My bacon apple pie: Warning – bacon has now been linked to cancer. Consider your day ruined.

As October closes, allow me to summarize. My coffee pot caught on fire, a mouse moved into my house, and there is now a gaping hole in my kitchen ceiling. Even so, I still love this time of year. The leaves are changing and autumn brews are back on the shelves along with other seasonal treats. Best of all, by writing this, I am now thinking of pie, Halloween, and Thanksgiving (but not Christmas – stay in December where you belong). I am finally not thinking about what else I could do to the book. It is time to stop worrying about the what ifs and get back to recognizing the what wills.

The water will dry, the mouse will take the bait, and I will enjoy some coffee. All the rest can wait.

I missed the red moon arising

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it

Sorry we missed you signSo apparently there was this whole blood moon, super moon, lunar eclipse thing, and I missed it. Not to worry, I will have another chance to see it again in (pulling out the calculator because I no longer do simple math in my head). 18 Years. (I mean I can, otherwise I might never escape the recurring hostage situation known as Kiddo’s homework time, I just prefer not to). That’s plenty of time for me to forget again.

I might have missed seeing the red moon rising, but I’ve noticed that things have been getting weird around my house ever since that event. For example, Lamont and I were getting ready for our second cup of coffee for the day when we heard an odd bubbling sound coming from the kitchen. The sound was coming from our trusted coffee maker and provider of wondrous mornings. The semi-full carafe was seated on its warming pad and I noticed a cloud as it coiled its way out of the machine and into the air. At first I thought it was steam. Only then did I get a whiff of burnt plastic and bad electronics. Lifting it up for better examination, I noticed the cloud was coming from the bottom of the machine where a metal plate read, “Do not submerge”

Yanking the cord out of the wall I presented the smouldering heap to Lamont. “The coffee maker is on fire,” I announced. I really wasn’t sure what to do at this point as I hadn’t yet drunk my second cup. (I am barely conversant in the morning. I definitely wasn’t prepared to problem solve.) Lamont turned on the faucet and started filling the sink. “But it says do not submerge,” I countered (this is why I married a ‘morning person.‘)

Evening came. Later. Much, much later, I was awoken by the sound of music playing in the house. At first I thought it was Lamont’s phone as it is not entirely unexpected that he might get a phone call in the wee hours of the morning due to his job, but the music continued well beyond a typical ringtone and Lamont wasn’t moving. Fine. First no coffee. Now no sleep. I hauled myself out of bed to investigate while Lamont pretended not to notice (and this one of the reasons why Lamont married a non-morning person).

Opening the bedroom door I was assaulted by They Might Be Giants blasting from across the hall. What in the world?! I opened Kiddo’s door. The clock display on his CD player was blinking. Not only had the alarm clock feature been enabled, someone (or something) had set it to trigger at a time long after midnight (ruling out a simple power outage reset). I glanced into the shadows of Kiddo’s bed. There he lay, sleeping as peacefully as if a minimum of 100db of alternative rock / children’s music wasn’t currently vibrating the room’s walls. At least I hoped he was sleeping.

As I located the off button, I noticed that Kiddo still hadn’t moved. I inched closer to his bed to determine whether he was either only pretending to still be asleep or if I needed to check his vital signs. I watched his chest rise and fall. At least he is alive, although if he was goofing around after lights out he might wish he wasn’t.

Sleep Wanted
Image Courtesy of Flickr

I returned to my bed with my imagination working overtime. Were aliens playing tricks on my family and testing our defenses? Did a being from an alternate dimension invade my home’s electrical grid during the eclipse? Has a poltergeist decided to get an early jump on the Halloween season? Are my beloved robotic overlords simply trying to modify my sleep cycle to make me a better me? (All hail, as they are just and know best).

I may not learn the answer anytime soon, and until then I may lay awake in self-induced paranoia, but one thing is for sure – Kiddo can sleep through anything. Note to self – ask him to guest write how he does it. But at least, I may have a few ideas for some short stories.

 

 

Coffee and Karma

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it, Personal Favorites

Three am.

I was wide awake. I just couldn’t seem to find a comfortable enough position to sleep more than ten minutes at a time. I tossed and turned. Nothing seemed to work. Time passed during the wee hours of Saturday morning in fits and spurts. After hours which felt like years, I felt the bed shift as hubby got up for a pre-dawn run. Morning people… grumble, grumble…

Slightly after dawn, (I can’t tell you the specific time as the clock and I were no longer speaking, but it was early) I heard the sound of Kiddo moving around in his room across the hall. It didn’t matter if that I hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep. Morning could no longer be denied. I exited the bedroom with a single mission in mind. Find coffee now.

Immediately Kiddo’s door swung open. “Mom! Mom! I need help!”

“With what?” I asked, although it probably sounded more along the lines of “gah! wha?”

“With my museum. Can you help me build it?”

Available on Amazon
Yup – This pretty much sums up my mornings. Too bad the kids are still learning to read. (Mug available on Amazon – Click to link)

I rubbed my eyes. It didn’t help the view. His LEGOs had turned the floor into a land field, and there, at the other side, was a partially built construction about the size of two loaves of bread. It would take hours to complete his ‘vision’. Run, my body urged me. Run, while there is still time. “Sorry kid, Mommy needs her coffee.”

I made my way downstairs. Kiddo followed. “I’m starving. Cereal please!”

At least he was trying to be polite. “Here you go,” I said, pouring him a bowl. Or did I say bah!?

“Then can you help me with the museum?”

“Mommy needs some time to wake up.” Darn you coffee pot, why are you still empty?

Thump. It was a sound that meant LT was not only up, but jettisoning toys from his bed. I could go upstairs and collect him at once or spend the rest of the day attempting to coordinate a clean-up process with a stubborn three-year-old. It was my decision.

“Milk!” LT greeted me while flinging another animal friend.

Sigh… I  carried him downstairs, placing him near his brother.

“Movie please!” they demanded in stereo. My tummy grumbled, the coffee pot remained dry, and the kids were on a fast track for early naps.

Ding. Ding. My phone chimed. You’ve got to be kidding! Who in the world is texting me at this hour?

“Am bringing home a bagel for you.” The unsolicited text was from the hubby extraordinaire and savior of offspring.

No act of kindness no matter how small is ever wasted – Aesop

I love that man every day, but some days even more so than others. Fortified, Kiddo and I completed his museum. It only took two hours. A new record! Huzzah.

Fast forward a couple of days. I saw another message from the hubby. Someone had placed a handwritten note on his windshield. “You’ve been RAK’d,” it said. Beneath the note lay twenty dollars. There were no strings attached and no name on the note. It was exactly what it said it was. a RAK, also known as a Random Act of Kindness.

Carry out a random act of kindness, with no expectation of reward, safe in the knowledge that one day someone might do the same for you – Princess Diana of Wales

Out of all the cars in the parking lot that morning, some individual had chosen to be generous with my family. We will never be able to pay that person back, so I guess we have no choice. We will have to pay it forward.

Thank you, note-leaver, whoever you are. I hope that your kindness is returned as swiftly as was my hubby’s.

Easy Random Acts of Kindness
background image courtesy of unsplash

On your mark, get ready to race…

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it
Monster Jam, Anaheim Stadium, Anaheim, CA
Image courtesy of Flickr

My eldest son is currently enrolled in year-round school which means that he goes to school for nine weeks and has a three-week break. As our day jobs don’t provide the same flexibility of schedule (especially after two weeks of snow days), and because the last time we left kiddo unsupervised for a significant period of time he racked up over $90 in app store charges (time to change ye ole password), we decided it was best to find him some alternative dedicated care for his next break. Thankfully his various grandparents offered to take him in.

We packed his bags and sent him on his way leaving his brother, aka my Little Lord Tyrant, as the sole representative of their generation. I’ll refer to him as LT from hereon for simplicity. Based on previous days apart, I had expected LT to wander around the house in search of his brother. There was wandering, but it wasn’t in search of his brother, it was in search of his brother’s things. It was enough to make me wonder if LT had actually been the one to purchase all those apps in the first place (he is diabolical like that).

Being a second born myself, I thought at first how nice it must be for him to be the center of mommy and daddy’s attention for a few days, but as they say, power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. “Blaze! Bouncy Tires,” my boy demanded for the 100th time in two days (the DVR is both blessing and curse). Resistance would be futile, and everyone knew it.

For those of you who have not had the good fortune to have caught this show, it is about a monster truck named Blaze and his monster truck friends who have adventures structured around words like adhesion and inertia (it’s actually a pretty good show…on the first few viewings). Each episode features a song about the episode’s topic, many of which catchy enough to remain stuck in your memory for the next fortnight, but not enough for you to particularly enjoy them being there.

The show has only been on the air for a single season meaning there are only a few episodes, but as far as my son is concerned they could have stopped at one, “Bouncy Tires.”

Summary:

Human mechanic orders tires that bounce instead of roll (why these were originally ordered is never explained. There are also tires covered in feathers. It is best not to question her supply chain management strategy). A talking truck which looks like a dinosaur installs them without mechanic’s permission and without understanding the consequences. High stakes drama (gasp – will Blaze reach his friend in time?!?) and problem-solving ensues.

As the theme song began, I desperately sought a diversion. Thankfully I recently received a copy of “What If” by Randall Munroe. The book’s tagline states it is a book about scientific answers to absurdly hypothetical questions. Yep, that’ll do.

Speaking of questions, why is it that children so love watching a single show over and over again while the same activity threatens to transform an adult brain into a quivering pile of gray pink goo?

The answer (according to The Atlantic) is because repetition is the easiest way to process information. There is so much their growing minds are trying to process day in and day out that seeing the same show, or reading the same book for the millionth time is like a vacation. Repetition then is chocolate for your brain. Yes, it can potentially cause rot and decay if used to excess, but can make a number of new ingredients a lot less threatening.

“Here, try these roasted grasshoppers!”

“I’ll pass.”

“They are covered in chocolate…”

“How much chocolate?”

“Triple dipped.”

“Hmm, maybe just one.”

Full disclosure – I’ll try any food at least once (except dog – you have to draw the line somewhere).

As I mentioned last week, I have finished rewrites for my second novel and am in the process of polishing it to a high gloss (or at least an eggshell finish), but then what? Do I wait for feedback and give my creative mind some time off? That would be the easy thing to do, but then it would make getting back into the creative habit that much harder. Like LT, I have to keep up my routine. I guess then the only choice will be to begin work in earnest on my next project while I wait.

…1, 2, 3, Let’s Blaze!