tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58560679285232525182024-03-21T02:06:01.725-07:00B+ MommyBeth Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07038215179690798385noreply@blogger.comBlogger48125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856067928523252518.post-63008808040647047222012-12-03T20:21:00.001-08:002012-12-03T20:28:42.237-08:00Career PlanningFor many years now, Secret Service has said he wants to be a pilot when he grows up. He has always loved everything about flying, airplanes, even airports. He spends many, MANY hours on a simulator, flying as a virtual pilot on Southwest, United and American airlines. When Secret isn't flying (or sometimes when he is multi-tasking), he is watching TV or playing video games. Recently, Secret discovered the TV series, Grey's Anatomy, and has been working his way through it episode by episode. <br />
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I have come to believe that Secret thinks by watching these shows, he's taking an on-line class that is preparing him to become a doctor. Since starting this course of instruction, if someone complains of an ache or pain, Secrets' head pops up. He listens intently and then wonders aloud if they've got a cardiac problem or a brain tumor.<br />
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Science Girl and I have been attempting to encourage Secret to put as much effort in at school as he does pursuing his hobbies. We have said that if he wants to be a pilot, he'll need to earn excellent grades to demonstrate that he's got what it takes to be responsible for an expensive airplane and the lives of numerous passengers. When we spoke not long ago, Secret smiled. "Don't worry, he said, "if I can't be a pilot, I have a back up plan." This was news to us. We looked at him expectantly. "I can be a neurosurgeon," he said, confidently. Science Girl and I exchanged glances. <br />
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School isn't all that relevant for Secret. He thinks he can successfully fly a plane and operate on a brain. What else is there to learn?<br />
<br />Beth Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07038215179690798385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856067928523252518.post-75289314522286211142012-11-22T17:53:00.000-08:002012-11-22T17:57:44.502-08:00Thanksgiving GratitudeSitting at the kitchen table in my pajamas, drinking coffee, thinking about gratitude on this Thanksgiving morning. While Science Girl makes breakfast, the boys are watching the Macy's parade. The dog wanders around looking for scraps, the cat positions himself on the top of the couch, a sunbeam warming him.<br />
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In the spirit of the day, the mood is bright. Science Girl summons us to the table for bagels, eggs and a large platter of fruit. The boys are cheerful, happy, healthy. They are talking about the new video game Sport purchased yesterday, wondering if the neighbors will be available to toss the football. Later, they will throw each other down on the floor in some type of non-sanctioned wrestling moves which will end in angry words and tears. But for now, we are all engaged in pleasant mealtime conversation. <br />
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I look around the table, aware that this isn't the life I had pictured for myself. I didn't have any conscious thought of being attracted to women until I was in my twenties, so as a teenager when I imagined my future, it would not have included Science Girl, now seated to my right. And while I always knew that someday I wanted to be a mother, I didn't imagine I'd be the adoptive mother of two Latin American boys. I smile looking at my sons - both smart, funny and handsome. <br />
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In my gratitude, there is a sense of wonder. I'm grateful that even though as a teen I lacked the foresight to know what would make me feel happy and fulfilled, life gave it to me anyway. Today, I take a moment to be thankful for surprises.<br />
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<br />Beth Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07038215179690798385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856067928523252518.post-11040148488194506812012-08-19T22:00:00.000-07:002012-08-19T22:00:15.415-07:00ShowersWe have lived in our house for almost five years and although the boys have their own bathroom, they have preferred to shower in ours. This summer, Science Girl decided this practice had gone on long enough, she didn't want to share the bathroom with them anymore and insisted that they do their ablutions in their own bathroom. This decree was met with shock, resistance and the five stages of grief. First, the boys were in complete denial. "Us?" "Not us!" Then they were angry. "Why do we have to leave the Master bathroom?" "Why is it that the parents automatically get it?" They bellowed that it wasn't fair. Science Girl stayed firm. <br />
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They calmed down and attempted to negotiate. Secret Service graciously agreed to shower in his own bathroom if we installed a special shower head and replaced the (like new) shower curtain with a glass door. Sport amiably agreed to stay out of our bathroom as long as we accepted swimming as a substitute for showering and didn't make him shower until Autumn. When these efforts weren't successful, the boys fell into a depression, both too sad and dejected to shower. Science Girl and I had to cajole and threaten to get them into the shower. Several times during this phase, Secret pretended to shower. Luckily, he always had a "tell," typically emerging from a shampoo with his hair dry. Sport actually entered the shower and stood under the running water. The problem was that it was to about the count of 10 - Mississippi. Sport developed a speedy shower routine that we believe consists of one hand rubbing a minuscule drop of shampoo through his hair while the other hand simultaneously swipes a bar of soap over his genitals while simultaneously rinsing and climbing out. <br />
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Tonight, brought me hope that we are moving into the acceptance phase. After being told fifteen times to get into the shower, Secret did and his hair was damp upon completion. And, Sport stayed in the water to the count of 25 - Mississippi.<br />
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<br />Beth Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07038215179690798385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856067928523252518.post-70647517809588196582012-08-15T21:27:00.001-07:002012-08-15T21:40:03.039-07:00Summer GuestsAs summer wraps up, I'm already feeling nostalgic for what was. We were fortunate to host a lot of out-of-town guests, the first of which was one of my sisters, called "Aunt Skinnybones" and her husband, who I refer to as "Uncle Scout."<br />
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As her name implies, Aunt Skinnybones is slim and trim, in part from walking each day as she commutes via public transportation from Brooklyn to her job in Manhattan. In addition, Aunt Skinnybones exercises by biking through the park, and doing goodness-knows-what with a trainer. Aunt Skinnybones is also organized and efficient. Nothing makes her happier than to stand in my closet and encourage and supervise me in discarding torn, stained, outgrown, unfashionable clothes for donation to charity or the garbage. <br />
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Uncle Scout earned his Eagle Scout as a teenager, and seems most likely to survive any calamity armed only with a roll of duct tape, a pocket knife and a safety pin. Uncle Scout could probably survive in a forest by eating wood chips, leaves and berries. However, at our house, he wants to eat fruit. In anticipation of one of his visits, I lay in a large supply of oranges, apples, bananas, grapes and strawberries. For whatever reason, many times I buy a pineapple. The first year, Uncle Scout carefully examined the pineapple and announced it wasn't ready to be consumed. Their visit ended and he and my sister left, the pineapple still intact. About three days later, I came home to find a message on the machine. There was no greeting, but I recognized Uncle Scout's voice. He simply said, "Cut the pineapple." We did and it was delicious. Since he was over 1,000 miles away, we don't know how he knew it was ripe.<br />
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We also had a visit from my aunt, "Aunt Sushi" who came to take care of us when Science Girl was away on a prolonged business trip. Aunt Sushi, a Japanese food lover, helped me by keeping Sport occupied while I drove Secret Service to play baseball and spending time with Secret while Sport was in camp. Aunt Sushi cooked for us, took us out to dinner one night and maintained good humor as the boys chased, wrestled, and shot each other with Nerf weaponry. She displayed coordination by dodging balls that barely missed her head and remained calm when the boys responded to any request by first saying no.<br />
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We also had an annual visit from Science Girl's brother, "Uncle Sweet Tooth" and his 6 year old son, "the German boy" who traveled from their home in Germany to see us. When they arrived "the German boy" was well-behaved and well-adjusted, playing quietly with puzzles, drawing pictures, reading books. However, after 10 days with Secret and Sport, while his dad ate Oreo's and M & M's, he had developed a glazed look like my boys and was drinking soda like it was the elixir of the gods, humming the Sponge bob song (learned from hours of TV viewing), and repeatedly playing a ridiculous electronic game called, "kick the boss." He's been back home for a while now, I hope he's back to normal - not everyone can adjust to our lifestyle.Beth Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07038215179690798385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856067928523252518.post-47318183483266752152012-05-28T15:56:00.001-07:002012-05-28T16:53:21.414-07:00While You Were SleepingIn our community, it is commonplace for children to invite each other to sleepover. When I grew up, we called these "slumber parties" and I didn't go to many, my father thinking it wasn't a good idea. My dad never felt the need to give me an explanation for his veto, but as a parent myself, I understand there are potential pitfalls when you let your child sleep at someone else's home.<br />
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When my boys were younger, I was very concerned about their safety. I am still concerned, but now I am also increasingly exhausted. (Almost 15 years on the job does that to you.) Over the years, at times, the boys have been invited to sleepover at a child's house whose family we don't know. In those cases, I call the family to find out about them. These are awkward conversations. Without offending the parents, I am attempting to discover if they have loaded guns sitting around, if they are drunks or drug addicts or have poor sexual boundaries. I have found that coming right out and asking those questions puts people off and even if you ask directly, you are not guaranteed that they will answer truthfully.<br />
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When Secret Service was in 4th grade, a boy whose family we did not know invited him to a birthday sleepover. We took him over and spoke to the parents to assure that they'd take good care of our darling. I gave Secret the same words of advice I always give when dropping my kids off at someones house - remember to say thank you and flush the toilet. Then, we went on our way. The next day, we returned to pick up our boy. He was in a cheerful, effervescent mood. As soon as we got into the car, he excitedly told us he'd discovered a wonderful show, <u>Family Guy</u>, and had stayed up all night watching episodes. As we turned the corner, we told him that we were headed to Lowe's to buy a new refrigerator, and he suddenly became irritable. Secret grumbled that he was tired and wanted to go home to sleep. When we arrived at the store, he snarled at us and crumbled into a heap, saying he was unable to walk. Science Girl and I loaded him into a shopping cart and wheeled him around the store, looking at appliances. Every now and again, he'd lift his head and mumble something but mostly, he was out of it, not waking to start his day until 5 PM.<br />
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A couple of weeks later, the new refrigerator was delivered. As they wheeled it in, Secret looked surprised and confused. "When did we buy that?" he said. "While you were sleeping," we responded.Beth Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07038215179690798385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856067928523252518.post-92106211680240422142012-05-16T21:48:00.000-07:002012-05-16T21:56:30.024-07:00Sleeping Through the Night<span style="background-color: #d9ead3;">My friend is a new mom and one of her goals for her tiny son is that he sleep through the night. I am fortunate in that regard. At our house, we are at the perfect intersection of children sleeping through the night and not yet having to wait up for teenagers to come home.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #d9ead3;">Secret Service has always been a good sleeper. (So important in a baby.) Sport, easy-going in most regards, has more often struggled in this department. It sometimes still happens that we put Sport to bed and a couple of hours later, he pops up and announces he can't sleep. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #d9ead3;">Getting children to sleep is an art. When they were younger, Science Girl and I spent countless hours rocking them, singing to them, reading bedtime stories. And at the end of a long day, it was always good fun to get to search the house to find the stuffed animal that they wanted to sleep with that night.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #d9ead3;">One of our go-to-sleep strategies was to make their bedrooms a place they'd want to be. A couple of years ago, we went to buy a bed for our guest room and while at the store, both boys became enamored with the temperpedic foam beds. Having no money of their own, the boys were not hindered by budgets, so they didn't see a problem with requesting that we buy them each a bed that cost over $1,000. At one point in the negotiation, Sport collapsed on the floor model temperpedic mattress and declared that he would not spend another night in his current bed. Sport proclaimed that now that he had experienced the comfort of a temperpedic, he realized that sleeping on his old bed was like sleeping on rocks. Luckily, at that same store, there were inexpensive, non-name brand versions and the boys emerged victorious, with mattresses that Sport said was like "sleeping on a cloud."</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #d9ead3;">Anyway, periodically, one of the boys have asked Science Girl or me to lie down with them while they start to fall asleep. I remember the last time Secret asked me to lay down with him. I had several valid reasons why I didn't want to - tired, busy, etc. But, I thought to myself, he's growing up, how many more times is he going to ask me to do this? Mostly, he says good night and puts himself to bed. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #d9ead3;">The other night, I was comfortable in my own non-temperpedic bed, remote in hand, pajamas on, when Sport called out, "Will you lay down with me?" I didn't want to get up, but then I wondered, how many more times will he ask. Secret hasn't asked me to lay down with him for two years. I put down the remote and went.</span>Beth Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07038215179690798385noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856067928523252518.post-47427535304805839562012-05-09T18:53:00.000-07:002012-05-09T18:53:43.205-07:00The Hungry CaterpillarHere, in Denver, school is almost out for the year. The end of each school year always causes me to reflect and feel nostalgic about the boys growing up. This year is especially poignant because Sport is completing elementary school. He's fine about it, of course, my kids adjust better to these developmental changes than I do. They embrace the changes while I experience some loss with every change they make. I didn't know this before I became a parent, didn't know that there would be a trace of sadness with every developmental gain. I was thrilled when they learned to walk and to talk. So, I was surprised that after they learned to walk, they used those chubby little toddler legs to walk away from me and when they talked, they disagreed with me, saying "no" at every opportunity. I had always thought that children becoming independent was a good thing, a desirable outcome. It was only when I was the parent did I realize that it didn't always feel 100 percent good to have them becoming independent from <u>me</u>.<br />
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We've had another developmental milestone here. Secret Service, the boy who grew so slowly that he was able to wear the same jacket throughout elementary school, has had a growth spurt in this past year. A couple of months ago, when we measured him, he announced that as soon as he was taller than me, he'd be in charge. Although I assured him this wasn't the way it worked, I'm not sure I convinced him. Even without the hope of running the family, Secret seemed determined to grow. He kept insisting that he was taller than me and I put up a good fight, even styling my hair to be puffier on top and finding tennis shoes with a platform bottom which gave me some additional height. However, within the last few weeks, I have come to accept that he is now taller than I am. On one hand, I know this is good. On the other hand . . .</div>
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Remember the children's book <u>The Hungry Caterpillar</u>? When the boys were little, I read it to them countless times. Only recently, I have decided that it is a metaphor about teenagers. Currently, my boys eat like that caterpillar - one steak, one bushel of strawberries, one family size bag of pretzels, one entire pizza, one gallon of milk. And soon, just like the caterpillar in the story, the boys will undergo a metamorphosis and emerge . . . grown up . . . and then fly away, like that caterpillar turned butterfly did. And, when that happens, I'll be proud and I'll celebrate, with just a twinge of sadness and tears streaming down my face.<br />
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<br />Beth Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07038215179690798385noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856067928523252518.post-56691240600717456622012-04-30T22:07:00.000-07:002012-04-30T22:10:41.120-07:00The Babysitters ClubRecently, Science Girl and I were stumped about what to do when invited to a friends birthday party on a Saturday night without our boys. Secret Service is fourteen and Sport is ten. I feel comfortable letting either one of them stay home alone but don't feel comfortable about them staying home alone together. I imagine that when together, if not supervised, they might microwave aluminum foil, break out all the lights by playing ball in the house, have an indoor water fight with garden hoses. I imagine that despite many years of almost daily warnings, they will decide to light matches with lighter fluid and aerosol cans or open the front door and usher strangers in off the street.
But, it's hard to find a babysitter for someone who is the age of many of the babysitters. I made an effort to get one of Science Girl's nineteen year old nieces to watch the boys or a grown woman who is our former nanny, but alas, they were busy. This led Science Girl to hire Secret to babysit Sport. I was half satisfied with the notion that Secret would have his eyes on Sport. But, who would watch Secret?
The evening of the party, we returned to a house that was neither burned or flooded, two boys watching a movie, pizza remnants on the counter. We shepherded them to bed and took stock. Science Girl complained that her wallet was empty - $20 for pizza, $20 for Secret to babysit Sport. I smiled. "I got a good deal," I said. "I only paid Sport $10 to babysit Secret."Beth Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07038215179690798385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856067928523252518.post-36381801966647967932012-04-22T16:43:00.006-07:002012-04-22T19:31:52.626-07:00The BankThere is an amazing children's bank, in Denver, Young Americans Bank, the only FDIC-insured bank in the world specifically designed for young people. Everything is child-size, plus there are jars stuffed with candy on the counters and on Saturdays, serving trays filled with small donuts.<br /><br />We helped Secret Service and Sport open savings accounts there, several years ago. Periodically, when Secret had a windfall in terms of birthday money, we've wrested some of it away from him and coerced him into depositing it into his account.<br /><br />Sport, on the other hand, has been a more willing bank participant, saving money at home and then cheerfully depositing any surplus. Because of that, Sport takes great pride in knowing that he maintains a higher account balance than his older brother. <br /><br />Since Sport was more invested (so to speak) in saving, I took the liberty to sign him up for two 1 hour classes there - a banking scavenger hunt and a millionaire game. The bank gives participants $5 to deposit in their accounts for each class they attend and I thought Sport would appreciate that.<br /><br />He mildly protested when I took him to the first class a couple of weeks ago but yesterday, on the way to the second class, he really balked. Sport said he hadn't been consulted and had never agreed to attend. Upon arriving, he refused to get out of the car. A lengthy negotiation ensued before we struck a deal and he willingly walked into the bank. <br /><br />After the class, Sport deposited the $5 into his account. The teller asked him what he had learned and Sport said a person would be more likely to make a million dollars if they attended college. On the way home, we talked about when you do well in school you are better prepared to do well in life.<br /><br />A decent conversation and it only cost me a few hours of my time, some aggravation, and a trip to Target so that Sport could use all the money he'd saved up at home to buy the latest nerf gun.Beth Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07038215179690798385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856067928523252518.post-686399316557739322012-04-16T20:35:00.007-07:002012-04-18T16:42:39.742-07:00Spring BreakBoth children knew we were going skiing over Spring Break. On that Saturday, we packed the car, then took inventory. Ski gloves, check, goggles, check, ski pants, check, ski jacket, what? Secret Service looked up, all wide eyed innocence. <br /><br />"Where is your ski jacket?" I asked.<br />He looked at me blankly.<br />"The jacket I bought you at the end of last winter?" <br />Still blank.<br />"The jacket you begged for because it wasn't bulky."<br />Blank.<br />"The jacket that cost more than $100?"<br /> <br />Science Girl, Sport and I fanned out and looked in every closet. When none of us had success, we reconvened in the kitchen. I considered increasing the questioning techniques, where was a flashlight to shine in Secret's sleepy eyes? (I found a flashlight but of course it had no batteries in it.)<br /><br />Secret Service, calm as a well-trained spy in enemy territory, said, "It might be at school." The rest of us turned to look at him. "In my locker." Then, he added, "I'm not sure." Even the dog peered at him as if to say,"What?"<br /><br />Science Girl ushered everyone into the car, saying we'd stop at the school before driving to the mountains. On the way over, Secret assured us the school would be locked up tight on the weekend. As we drove, I used the time to issue warnings and ultimatums to Secret, lecturing about taking care of possessions and the value of a dollar. Secret maintained that this was all my fault as I had insisted he wear a coat when the weather was 10 degrees. He patiently explained that if not for my insistence, he wouldn't have even taken it to school and it wouldn't be there now.<br /><br />When we arrived as the school, it seemed obvious that the building was open and there was some sort of event being hosted. When out in the world, Secret is a strict follower of rules so he promptly announced he would not enter the building as he wasn't part of the event. I climbed out of the car to accompany him. Murmering threats of revoking numerous privileges, I persuaded him to walk into the school. We entered the school and in the main hallway, there was an iron gate to the left of the main staircase. Secret turned to me, "We can't get through that way," he said, referring to the gate, "it's all locked up." I looked over. The gate was not fastened. I asked, "Is your locker that way?" Secret said, "no." I tried not to display my impatience. Secret reluctantly indicated his locker was upstairs. He walked gingerly, as if an alarm would sound if he wasn't cautious.<br /><br />I stayed on the second floor as he went to the third. A few minutes later, Secret re-appeared, the red ski coat scrunched up in his arms. He handed it to me and we raced to the car. Getting in to the front seat, I turned to the family. "What smells?" I asked.<br /><br />"It's the coat," Secret said, matter of factly, from the backseat. Tentatively, I sniffed the jacket. It was vile. I could not imagine what could have caused an odor like that. I issued inappropriate expletives and demanded an explanation.<br /><br />He shrugged, clearly unconcerned, offered a brief explanation of a shared locker and something that his locker mate had placed in their shared space. I held the coat out the window and then we stopped the car so I could put it in the trunk.<br /><br />As I re-fastened my seat belt, Secret looked at me. "What's wrong? We got the coat, everything worked out," he said. Another happy ending.Beth Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07038215179690798385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856067928523252518.post-18918399683991134092012-02-02T09:45:00.000-08:002012-02-09T11:39:37.815-08:00JobsI started babysitting when I was 13 years old. I was thrilled that someone would pay me for playing with children, better yet, for sitting in a quiet house watching TV while children slept. I liked having money. I didn't see a downside to it. So, as Secret has gotten older, I've encouraged him to do some part-time work. <br /><br />Like almost everything I've tried to persuade him to do, Secret wasn't readily on board. Secret appreciates the finer things in life but was convinced that his parents should provide those things for him. Secret, perhaps operating from the premise that he is the son of an oil sheik, routinely requests things that seem outrageous to us, middle class working stiffs that we are. If Secret sees a commercial for a cruise ship, he begins a campaign that we go on a cruise. If Secret sees an ad for a new route that an airline is establishing (I think the most recent one was Denver to Iceland), he begins a relentless pursuit of a trip there. <br /><br />Science Girl and I have tried to motivate him by explaining that since we can't (and won't) buy him everything he wants, he should earn his own money and buy it for himself. Last year, a neighbor was looking for a helper for one hour a week, a teen who could play with and occupy her children while she did household chores. Secret was upset that I recommended him for the job. He believed that his hour could be better spent at home playing video games. Math whiz that he is, he also noted that earning an extra $5 a week wouldn't buy him that trip to Iceland. Every week, Secret would return from this one hour of strenuous work, toss the cash on the counter and exclaim that he wouldn't go back the next week. At some point, his child care services were no longer needed and he breathed a sigh of relief. <br /><br />Months later, the same neighbor was seeking someone to take care of their dog while they were out of town. To his great dismay, once again I volunteered Secrets' help. Secret complained about this assignment until Sport said he'd take it over and then he became protective of the work. Meanwhile, Sport wasn't as resistant to work and snagged himself a short gig as a "cat lover" for another neighbor. While that neighbor was out of town, Sports' job was to visit said cat at least twice a day, just to pet him. <br /><br />In an unusual twist of events, Secret has now heeded my advice to work, becoming an ice hockey referee. Before he could work, we had to buy him a uniform ($100 + $7 for a whistle), skates ($250), a required course ($75) and registration as a referee ($45). This Saturday, in a odd burst of willingness, Secret accepted three assignments of games to officiate. I have to work on Saturday so that leaves Science Girl to spend her entire Saturday driving him in circles around town (starting at 7:00AM and wrapping up at 9:00 PM) to three different rinks. Meanwhile, Sport is planning a career as a cat lover. <br /><br />I mean well, but somehow, my efforts never turn out the way I envision.Beth Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07038215179690798385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856067928523252518.post-4810021876466016952012-01-30T16:01:00.000-08:002012-01-31T05:12:43.026-08:00Our Dog - Part 2Science Girl and I realized we'd made a mistake taking our boys to "look" at puppies with no plan to actually bring one home. Once sold on the idea of having a dog, the boys saw no need to shop around. <br /><br />The puppy rescue people posted pictures of puppies on their web site on Fridays. That day, our family gathered around the computer, hoping that the selection would be good. We were in luck. There was a litter of puppies, supposedly the offspring of a Boxer mother and unknown father. Science Girl and I quickly conferred. A Boxer mix seemed like a good size dog and judging by the pictures, the unknown part of the lineage didn't seem to include Poodle or German Shepherd.<br /><br />One of the puppies was the color of caramel, another was white with black spots, and the third was a mix of black and white. The boys started referring to the dogs as Caramel, Spot, and Oreo. I reminded them that if we got one of them, we'd call him something else. I was thinking up names that would fit well with Leo, our cat, and was contemplating Gus, Fletcher and Linus.<br /><br />Science Girl had also learned that to get your pick, you needed to show up early and get your name on a list. People would get to choose based on when they arrived.<br /><br />On the designated Saturday, we showed up before the event started and were happy to discover that we were number 4 on the list. The first set of people looked at Caramel and took him. The second set of people, a large family in overalls, looked at Oreo. Simultaneously, the third family looked at Spot. Sport started to whimper, there were other dogs but we'd agreed that these three were our top choices. Science Girl and I looked at each other, anxiety building. <br /><br />Suddenly, the overall clad family put Oreo back and asked to look at another dog. We were given an opportunity to visit with this black and white dog. We petted him, he seemed friendly and sweet. Our family all agreed that this was our dog. We picked him up and walked over to fill out papers. I asked the kids, "What do you think? Linus?" They scowled. "His name is Oreo," they said. I argued. They remained steadfast. We approached the registration desk. "Oreo Blizzard," they said. I winced.<br /><br />Anyway, Oreo Blizzard has turned out to be a fine dog - funny looking with a long back and short legs, a loyal watchdog, affectionate, playful. And, whenever the boys or Science Girl declare their love for him, I remind them, it was my idea to get a dog.Beth Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07038215179690798385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856067928523252518.post-90507584517748533802012-01-17T12:43:00.000-08:002012-01-17T14:33:09.200-08:00Our Dog - Part 1When I knew everything about being a parent, before I actually became a parent, I knew I wanted our family to have a dog because I thought all children should grow up with a dog. I envisioned a dignified animal who was loyal, loving and protective of our children, sleeping in their rooms, playing ball with them in the yard. A couple of years ago, I suddenly realized that the boys were already 12 and 8 years old and we had never had a dog. When I addressed this fact and my idea to remedy the issue, I thought everyone in the family would be enthused. They were not. In fact, Science Girl, Secret Service and Sport were united in their lack of desire for a dog. We had a handsome (but poorly behaved) grey and while cat named Leo and they all agreed that he was sufficient in the role of family pet. <br /><br />I couldn't help but believe that they were wrong (like I often do when they disagree with me). The boys' focus was elsewhere. If I remember correctly, I think Secret was lobbying for us to purchase an ice rink for the backyard that he'd seen in a Sky Mall magazine and Sport was designing a tree house that he wanted built in our backyard (even though our trees were less than 5 feet tall at the time). I persisted and gradually managed to engage Science Girl in a series of discussions - adult dog vs. puppy, large dog vs. small, purebred vs. mixed breed. Science Girl did some research and found a puppy rescue group that gathered mixed breed puppies from several states and brought them to a Denver pet store each Saturday to facilitate adoptions. <br /><br />Trooping over there on a Saturday morning in September 2009, we explained to the boys that we were just going to look, we weren't ready to buy. The boys didn't seem particularly interested in the whole venture, only reluctantly climbing into the car. On the way over, we talked about what type of dog we were seeking. Science Girl wanted a medium size dog who wasn't a Poodle. I wanted a medium size dog who wasn't a German Shepherd. (Please don't chastise me if you are a Poodle or Shepherd fan, I'm sure they are wonderful dogs but Science Girl takes offense at the poodles puffy coat and I feel like Shepherds would rather bite me than cuddle.)<br /><br />In the pet store, Science Girl and I learned the routine, Secret (as usual) said little, keeping his thoughts to himself. Sport saw a puppy who intrigued him, a brindle colored German Shepherd looking little guy. Making yet another one in a long series of parenting errors, I let Sport play with this puppy. We had finished looking around and were ready to go. Sport looked shocked, weren't we getting this dog? We reminded him we weren't ready to buy. <br /><br />Sports' face crumbled, big tears rolled down his unblemished cheeks. He had fallen in love. The whole family turned to me. Sport loved this dog, could we get him? Weakly, I said, "It looks like a German Shepherd." Secret started to argue with me about my discomfort with the breed. I was not persuaded to change my mind. When we got out of the store, Sport, (sans puppy) tears still trickling down his face, said, "You broke my heart." Secret glared at me. Science Girl looked exhausted by the ordeal. So far, this (like many other realities of being a parent) wasn't going the way I had imagined it would.<br /><br />To Be Continued . . .Beth Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07038215179690798385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856067928523252518.post-35687928051100227062012-01-11T10:32:00.000-08:002012-01-11T13:10:16.707-08:00Mini MePerhaps as part of his self taught CIA/FBI training, my son, Secret Service, has developed a clever method of eavesdropping. Like many of us, at the end of a conversation, he leaves the room where we've been talking. Unlike many of us, he turns a corner so that he's out of sight and then waits. Secret believes that sometimes we will say something interesting after he leaves the room and he wants to know what that is.<br /><br />I don't know what juicy tidbits of family gossip Secret has scored in this manner. His surveillance techniques are based on the assumptions that we don't tell him directly what we think and feel about him and that we know things that we aren't sharing.<br /><br />This whole situation seems ironic because Science Girl and I feel like when we talk to Secret, face to face, he isn't listening. We have to get him to pull ear buds out of his ears, we have to repeat ourselves, we have to insist that he make eye contact. Yet, secretly, this child is so intrigued by what we've got to say that he's hiding and trying to hear us. <br /><br />The other day, we were all in the kitchen and Science Girl and I were instructing Secret to take out the garbage. This, like all other household tasks assigned to Secret, was not to his liking. I believe it wasn't convenient for him to do the chore at that time, there was a short burst of disagreement, which resulted in Secret stomping out of the room holding the trash bag. Science Girl and I remained in the kitchen, heard Secret walk through the mudroom, heard the door to the garage open and close. I smiled at her. "He sounds just like me when he argues," I said proudly. "He uses a lot of the same exact expressions I do."<br /><br />Just then, we heard something in the mudroom. I peaked around the corner. Secret, still holding the garbage, stood there scowling. I smiled pleasantly at him. "Here," I said, "let me help you with the door."<br /><br />When he was really gone, Science Girl and I chuckled. "I don't think that was what he was hoping to hear," she said.<br /><br />I think we should try to remember that Secret may be lurking around any corner of our house and remember to say warm and loving things when he leaves the room. As a parent, it is gratifying to see yourself reflected in your child, even if it is the negative. I especially will try to note when Secrets' behavior reminds me of me. If that doesn't stop the eavesdropping, I don't know what will.Beth Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07038215179690798385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856067928523252518.post-24211829996070151072011-12-31T03:53:00.000-08:002011-12-31T05:11:18.475-08:00The Twelve Days of Winter BreakTo the tune of - The 12 Days of Christmas<br /><br />On the first day of winter break<br />my children said to me: <br />We need a later bedtime<br /><br />On the second day of winter break<br />my children said to me:<br />2 chores only, we're on vacation <br />and we need a later bedtime.<br /><br />On the third day of winter break<br />my children said to me:<br />3 friends are coming over<br />2 chores only, we're on vacation<br />and we need a later bedtime<br /><br />On the fourth day of winter break<br />my children said to me:<br />4 days of nothing good to eat<br />3 friends are coming over<br />2 chores only, we're on vacation<br />and we need a later bedtime<br /><br />On the fifth day of winter break<br />my children said to me:<br />5 reasons why we're bored<br />4 days of nothing good to eat<br />3 friends coming over<br />2 chores only, we're on vacation <br />and we need a later bedtime<br /><br />On the sixth day of winter break<br />my children said to me:<br />6 excuses for our rooms<br />5 reasons why we're bored<br />4 days of nothing good to eat<br />3 friends coming over<br />2 chores only, we're on vacation<br />and we need a later bedtime<br /><br />On the seventh day of winter break<br />my children said to me: <br />7 things we need at the store<br />6 excuses for our rooms<br />5 reasons why we're bored<br />4 days of nothing good to eat<br />3 friends coming over<br />2 chores only, we're on vacation<br />and we need a later bedtime<br /><br />On the eighth day of winter break<br />my children said to me: <br />8 chanukah gifts please<br />7 things we need at the store<br />6 excuses for our rooms<br />5 reasons why we're bored<br />4 days of nothing good to eat<br />3 friends are coming over<br />2 chores only, we're on vacation<br />and we need a later bedtime<br /><br />On the ninth day of winter break<br />my children said to me: <br />9 balls a bouncing<br />8 chanukah gifts please<br />7 things we need at the store<br />6 excuses for our rooms<br />5 reasons why we're bored<br />4 days of nothing good to eat<br />3 friends are coming over<br />2 chores only, we're on vacation<br />and we need a later bedtime<br /><br />On the tenth day of winter break<br />my children said to me: <br />10 Nerf guns blazing<br />9 balls a bouncing<br />8 chanukah gifts please<br />7 things we need at the store<br />6 excuses for our rooms<br />5 reasons why we're bored<br />4 days of nothing good to eat<br />3 friends are coming over<br />2 chores only, we're on vacation<br />and we need a later bedtime<br /><br />On the eleventh day of winter break<br />my children said to me: <br />11 hours of television<br />10 Nerf guns blazing<br />9 balls a bouncing<br />8 chanukah gifts please<br />7 things we need at the store<br />6 excuses for our rooms<br />5 reasons why we're bored<br />4 days of nothing good to eat<br />3 friends coming over<br />2 chores only, we're on vacation<br />and we need a later bedtime<br /><br />On the twelfth day of winter break<br />my children said to me:<br />12 rides around town<br />11 hours of television<br />10 Nerf guns blazing<br />9 balls a bouncing<br />8 chanukah gifts please<br />7 things we need from the store<br />6 excuses for our rooms<br />5 reasons why we're bored<br />4 days of nothing good to eat<br />3 friends coming over<br />2 chores only, we're on vacation<br />and we need a later bedtimeBeth Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07038215179690798385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856067928523252518.post-10747830303663834602011-12-21T22:23:00.000-08:002011-12-24T05:24:19.722-08:00Mama Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be TeenagersTo the Tune of Willie Nelson's Mama Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys<br />(Inspired by my own teenager)<br /><br />Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be teenagers<br />Don't let 'em get tall and think that they're grown<br />Make 'em stay young and do what they're told<br /><br />Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be teenagers<br />They'll never stay home or if they are home<br />they're wrapped in electronic devices<br /><br />Teenagers ain't easy to love and they're harder to hold<br />They'd rather ignore you than talk or go for a walk<br />They seldom come 'round till they need a ride or are hungry<br /><br />And each night begins a new day<br />And if you don't understand them (and who would?)<br />Just hang on till this phase is over <br /><br />Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be teenagers<br />Don't let them get tall and think that they're grown<br />Make 'em stay young and do what they're told<br /><br />Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be teenagers<br />They'll never stay home and when they're at home<br />they'll be wrapped in electronic devices<br /><br />Teenagers like sleeping till noon, listening to tunes,<br />texting a friend, watching shows til the end<br />They'll shower forever or not at all<br /><br />They want us to chill, think we're over the hill<br />Sometimes we don't know how to take them<br />They've changed but somewhere in there is the child we knew<br /><br />Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be teenagers<br />Don't let 'em get tall and think that they're grown<br />Make 'em stay young and do what they're told<br /><br />Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be teenagers<br />They'll never stay home or if they are home<br />they're wrapped in electronic devices<br /><br />Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be teenagersBeth Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07038215179690798385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856067928523252518.post-33150268144025980852011-12-16T05:15:00.000-08:002011-12-21T22:23:53.913-08:00Commotion in the Back Seat of the CarSince Secret Service is legally able to ride in the front seat of the car, when I'm performing my motherly chauffeur duties, the boys sit in different rows. However, when the four of us climb into the car, the boys "share" the backseat. And by "share," I mean they are assigned to sit there, next to each other. It sounds simple, but it hasn't been going well. <br /><br />Secret Service likes to cart a heavy, full-to-the brim backpack to and from school each day. He doesn't remove it from the car so I'm not sure why he carries it, maybe just as a status symbol. Wouldn't you think if you carried that around, there would be a reason, like you've got homework of some sort that you are going to complete? Or, maybe you've got a book in there that you are assigned to read. Or, maybe you have some notes in a notebook to review? Anyway, in the car, Secret likes to place this backpack next to him on the seat, in the spot closest to the window. With Sport in one window seat and the backpack in the other coveted window seat, Secret is squished into the non-existent middle seat. With Secret and Sport so close to each other, it is easy for them to constantly touch each other, yell at each other for touching each other, scream, then laugh hysterically. <br /><br />Even when we remove the giant backpack (which still seldom makes it into the house but instead sits forlornly in the garage) and mandate that each boy take a seat by a window, leaving the space between them empty, a neutral zone of sorts, there is bickering, fighting, taunting, teasing.<br /><br />Recently a new aspect of the ride was added when they started to sing together. Make no mistake, there is no harmony, these aren't the Hanson Brother's. Instead, they happily belt out tunes with inappropriate lyrics and then laugh maniacally when the adults object.<br /><br />What consequence can you enforce while driving? You can pull the car over and refuse to drive or you can threaten them with some loss of privilege that will occur when you get home. Neither seems to impact them in the moment. The only time I had a victory was when they were younger and sharing the back seat. They were squabbling, slapping each other, laughing, shrieking, clearly enjoying themselves. My nerves were frayed and jangled from the racket. We were close to a grocery store. Trying to ignore them, I started to think about a few items I needed to pick up - milk, bread, etc. The boys loathe running any household errands. I had an idea. With the store within sight, I said to them, "If I hear one more word, I am pulling over to that grocery store and we are all going in to shop." Complete silence. Quiet all the way home. Not a peep. <br /><br />I need to find more grocery stores.Beth Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07038215179690798385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856067928523252518.post-51751802918032362742011-12-04T22:42:00.000-08:002011-12-13T20:26:19.742-08:00Time or Money?I've had times when I am busy professionally, and the upside is that the money is there, but the downside is that I'm stressed, rushed, exhausted, feeling like I'm shortchanging my kids by being so busy and pre-occupied with work. After days, weeks, months of that type of schedule, the bank account is full but inside I'm on empty. I don't feel I am providing the kids with the all-important "quality time" we hear so much about and don't feel like I'm even fun to be around. Currently, I've chosen to work part-time so I've been able to take the kids to school, pick them up, be at home more. Most of the time, that feels like a better balance. I've got more time at home but lately I've wondered if I'm using this time wisely. Just like money can be wasted, so can time. <br /><br />My kids are getting ready to start their Winter Break and we'll be spending a lot of time together each day. Without effort or planning, I'm afraid the time will just slip away, with nothing accomplished and no special memories created. To prepare, I asked each of them to give me some ideas for how they'd like to spend the time. <br /><br />Secret Service would like to fly to another city to visit old friends, stay in a hotel, eat in restaurants, swim, shop, go to movies. Sport wants to ice skate at outdoor rinks, play at places where you pay to jump or participate in challenges, have a movie marathon where we watch all the Harry Potter movies. Both would like to have sleep-overs with friends.<br /><br />I thought it was odd that neither child mentioned an interest in doing any home improvement projects, cleaning out closets, cooking or baking. I see I'm on my own if I want to tackle any of these. My first and foremost goal of every vacation is the desire to sleep in later. Once that is accomplished, I'm open for anything. Let the break begin.Beth Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07038215179690798385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856067928523252518.post-2239464338984978782011-12-04T21:25:00.000-08:002011-12-04T22:22:36.029-08:00Holiday Wish ListsWith the holidays approaching, every day brings new catalogues in the mail. I've handed them to the boys, asking them to give me ideas about what they'd like to receive as gifts. Here's what I've gotten so far -<br /><br />Secret Service is requesting a soda making machine. Secret Service needs a soda making machine like I need to have a Krispy Kreme donut shop operating from my living room. Secret has a wicked soda addiction. I'm convinced Secret wakes up in the morning thinking about where and when to snag a Pepsi. Secret would rather drink soda than eat a meal and we have reason to suspect that uses his lunch money to buy soda instead of food. When soda is served at someones home, Secret parks himself at the counter like a drunk at a bar. So, no, sadly, Secret will not be getting a soda making machine.<br /><br />Another item on Secrets' list is an air soft gun. Secret already owns one of these and it has been confiscated for months because he misused it. I will spare you the details, no one was injured, but Secret did not prove he could handle this weapon and it is semi-permanently removed from his possession. Why would we get him another one?<br /><br />Secret would like a winter jacket that costs over $100. He showed me a picture of it. It is lovely. However, I don't understand why he needs this as he has refused to wear his current brand new (over $100) jacket, (that he selected) and on the one day I forced him to wear it to school, he supposedly left it in his locker and we haven't seen it since. <br /><br />Sport has looked through the catalogues and has consistently circled the same items each time. However, there are some problems here, too. Sport wants a Nerf gun. I was in the basement this morning and counted 11 Nerf guns. I mentioned this to Sport. He said they aren't all his, some of these belong to Secret. He said the new Nerf guns are better than the ones he has. I think not.<br /><br />Sport has also requested a battery powered helicopter that flies. The trouble is that Sport got one of these last year, played with it for 25 minutes the day he got it, 10 minutes the next day and then never again.<br /><br />I told Sport to look through the catalogues and find something that he doesn't already have. That's when he came up with the request for a candy machine, the kind that gives you candy when you put your hand under it. Why doesn't this sound like a good idea?<br /><br />I told both boys that they need to generate more ideas. Secret has asked for a full-size tempurpedic mattress. I said I heard that they are expensive. Secret said it wasn't too bad, he noted that the mattress is $1399.00! I asked if it can be a foam mattress that is a different brand, but Secret said he needs that particular brand. I don't think we can swing that at this time.<br /><br />If the boys can't come up with ideas for gifts that they don't already have, are safe and healthy, and affordable, I'm going to just buy them clothes. In the past, they wept when they received clothes for a gift but I'm running out of ideas.Beth Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07038215179690798385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856067928523252518.post-77973347161389336062011-11-26T01:31:00.000-08:002011-12-04T21:25:35.328-08:00Thanksgiving BlessingsAs the holiday of Thanksgiving comes and goes, in addition to planning who will make the sweet potatoes, we should reflect on what we have and do so with a spirit of gratitude. With that in mind, here are a few things for which I am grateful.<br /><br />I'm grateful that even though my kids complain when I experiment with a new recipe, and even if they don't like what I serve for dinner, we have food to put on our table. After school wasn't canceled during the last snow storm, Secret Service said he heard that the school system was relutant to cancel because for children who are eligible for free or reduced priced breakfast and lunch, canceling school could mean a day of going hungry. It was hard to hear that there are children who might not get food if they weren't at school. Secret and I looked at each other sadly.<br /><br />Lately, someone (I suspect Sport) has been leaving their dirty socks in the living room and as much as I haven't enjoyed that, I am grateful that although none of us clean or organize the house as much as I'd like, we have a house to live in, a place to call home.<br /><br />I am grateful that Science Girl and I each have reliable transportation. (I may not value this as much next year - Secret Service claims that he can get his drivers permit in June and he's started eying the cars in a way that makes me nervous.)<br /><br />I'm grateful that if I ever had a day where I could sleep past 7:30 AM (and if I could stay asleep), Secret Service sleeps in and Sport is old enough and independent enough that when he wakes, he quietly watch TV shows, even if they are shows that I would like to prohibit.<br /><br />I'm grateful that we have family and friends with whom to share our lives. I expecially enjoy meeting and getting to know the kids who Secret and Sport choose as friends and feel glad that my kids do such a good job picking friends.<br /><br />And last but certainly not the least, I'm grateful that our family is healthy. I don't want to ever take that for granted.Beth Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07038215179690798385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856067928523252518.post-21141875963660568662011-11-18T04:06:00.000-08:002011-11-18T04:55:00.927-08:00Stay where I can see youWhen the boys got old enough to walk independently, they immediately set out to investigate their world, which meant crawling, walking, running, hop, skip and jumping away from wherever I was. Initially, I tried to stop them, to keep them in my arms or in a stroller. When that proved impossible, I started to say, "Stay where I can see you." They came to understood that they didn't have to stand right next to me if they stayed nearby. <br /><br />I said those words for years, they were my mantra, part of my everyday routine with the boys, like "brush your teeth" or "get ready for bed." But now, through no fault of their own, those words don't fit anymore, the boys have grown out of them like so many of their baby onesies and toddler overalls.<br /><br />Yesterday Science Girl and I both had commitments that kept us from being able to pick up the boys from their respective schools. For the first time ever, Secret Service independently took the city bus and then walked home from the bus stop. Sport took a school bus, which he has done before. I had the boys each contact me when they'd reached the house. I was proud of them for their independence and relieved that I could trust them to get home on their own. <br /><br />But, sad, too. The boys are at ages where they are more often out of my sight. Secret Service in particular is more and more out of my sight. Recently, he and a friend went to a shopping mall and movie together, with no grown-up accompaniment. Also, no grown ups were present when he and his friends went to watch the high school soccer team compete in a tournament. <br /><br />What I've decided is that developmental milestones are more challenging for the parents than the kids. Secret seems happy to be let out of the house on his own recognizance. Sport is thrilled to be given the opportunity to get home from school on his own. It's just Mommy who feels a bit of confusion and loss. I can't always glance up and see my boys. Lately, they are not always where I can see them.Beth Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07038215179690798385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856067928523252518.post-57018110553386968732011-11-14T03:30:00.000-08:002011-11-14T04:24:02.005-08:00Fun with SportLast week, Secret Service, as a full-fledged teenager, busied himself with his peers and did his best to avoid interaction or meaningful conversation with me. Having time on my hands, I self-selected myself to be the parent who got to go to the last Cotillion class with Sport. The instructions were for moms to wear a dress and finding one in my closet of pantsuits was challenging. Digging through years of clothes, a dress was discovered, pantyhose were donned, make-up was applied and the next thing I knew, Sport and I were standing at the mantle in the living room, posing for photos snapped by Science Girl. Dressed in jeans, slippers and fleece, she looked content to stay home and happily wished us well. Arriving at the Cotillion, parents were directed to seats to observe while the children partnered up and demonstrated their manners and dances. Then, the parents joined their children on the dance floor and did the same dances. As the male, Sport was the lead. He patiently coached me about which way to go. And, when it was time to spin, we both laughed heartily at my awkwardness. Sport, swept up in the merriment, chanted, "Spin, my mommy, spin." It was the best laugh I'd had in ages, completely worth the cost of the class.<br /><br />The next day, I accompanied Sport and his 5th grade class on a field trip to Young Ameritowne, where students-turned-citizens applied concepts they'd learned such as supply and demand, job skills and work habits, banking procedures, democratic processes, civic consciousness, and career awareness. Sport was assigned to be an accountant in the medical center while I was chosen to support the children in the newspaper office. When I glanced in the medical center, I was surprised to see the accountant wearing a lab coat, a stethoscope draped casually around his neck. Later in the day, Sport claimed he had completed his accounting tasks, and he was seen pushing children in a wheelchair and diagnosing their illnesses.<br /><br />And a few days later found us working at the snack bar at a debate tournament at Secret Services' high school. Sport placed himself in charge of selling slices of pizza, elbowing the volunteer moms out of the way and making it his domain. When our time was up, the woman in charge asked if Sport could remain, saying she'd drive him home at the end of the evening. Alas, Sport had already committed to having a friend come over so he was unable to stay. In parting, as a gesture of her appreciation, the woman presented him with a whole pizza, which he was thrilled to accept.<br /><br />A whirling dervish, accountant/doctor, pizza salesman - quite a week.Beth Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07038215179690798385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856067928523252518.post-7966079059670711252011-11-02T12:25:00.000-07:002011-11-03T09:32:17.083-07:00Winter Comes to DenverOn facebook, I read excerpts that my friends post, sharing details about what they are doing. It pretty much always sounds great. Do you suppose my friends are telling it like it really is? Here is my excerpt from our evening, with parentheses around details I would omit on facebook.<br /><br />Here in Denver, we are enjoying (I am not!) our second snowfall of the season. The beautiful, white snow blankets the house (and is treacherous to drive in). (I'm worried that we're going to have to shell out @ $400 for Science Girl to have snow tires since she has a long, daily commute to work and we're on our second snow and it is only Nov. 3.) Science Girl made delicious chili (but, of course the kids won't eat it). I love having something warm to eat on a cold night.<br /><br />When the kids got home from school yesterday, they were excited to get outside (to make a huge mess playing in the snow). (I asked them to shovel the sidewalk but instead, they used the shovels to pick up snow and scatter it around and to hit each other.) The snow came so early this year and the boys are growing so fast that we realized they both need new snow boots. (Holy Cow! More $$$. Also, I don't have any idea when I'll have time to do this.) (When they were finished outside, they both tracked in chunks of snow and ice, and ran upstairs, leaving all their snow gear in a messy pile on the floor by the front door.)<br /><br />Later, (under protest) Sport read aloud to Science Girl while Secret Service and I completed some household chores. Secret has (grudgingly) agreed to do some extra things around the house as a way to pay back some money he owes. We worked together (he had to be watched constantly as any time I didn't stay vigilant, he stopped working and started pushing buttons on his phone). Secret worked diligently (with only the use of one hand as his other hand had to hold on to his cell phone at all times) and learned to clean mirrors, dust the wooden staircase (at one point spraying the cleaner in his eye and then trying to use this as a reason to stop), and vacuum staircases. The house is really starting to sparkle (or maybe it looks that way to me because I got cleaner in my eye, too).<br /><br />Afterwards, I made a loaf of banana bread. It smelled delicious (until it baked too long, the bottom got burned and the kids refused to eat it even when I cut the burnt piece off). At bedtime, I placed extra blankets on each bed. The boys snuggled in (Secret still clutching his phone) and looked so sweet. (All was quiet untill Sport started coughing, threw up from coughing, took cough syrup and returned to bed.) A nice (not!) start to winter.Beth Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07038215179690798385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856067928523252518.post-61714310812641902232011-10-31T19:09:00.000-07:002011-11-02T08:38:47.693-07:00Reflections on HalloweenWalking through the neighborhood tonight, trick or treating with Sport, I've been thinking how parenting is a bit like trick or treating. When you trick or treat, you approach a house with no idea about who is at the door or what you'll receive. How many times have you rung the bell and waited patiently, only to find that no one answers? Or, the person comes to the door and hands you a tiny, hard peppermint candy, the kind that old ladies carry in their purses.<br /><br />Just like that uncertainty at the door, no matter how you got your children, whether by birth or adoption, you really have no idea what you're getting until you've got it. You are hopeful, of course, like when you walk up to a house that has a porch light on and is decorated with pumpkins. Ultimately, there are no guarantees that a full-size chocolate candy bar will be tossed into your waiting bucket. We do what we can to better the odds. We trick or treat in affluent neighborhoods, or those with houses close together, or with lots of children. And in parenting, we love our children and provide them with what we believe increases the odds that they will grow into successful adults.<br /><br />Just like our Halloween experiences change from year to year, as people become more or less involved or invested in handing out candy to costumed children, our children change and grow, some years find them pleasant and cooperative and other years find the same children disagreeable and defiant.<br /><br />Walking around, Sport and I pass fairy princesses, villains, and superheroes. From door to door, I hear the familiar refrain, "trick or treat" and I marvel at the bravery of parents, who traverse the adventure of parenthood, filled with optimism, hope and good intentions.Beth Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07038215179690798385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856067928523252518.post-21990157261972464172011-10-25T12:49:00.000-07:002011-10-26T11:08:15.416-07:00An Example of IronySecret Service has been studying the concept of irony in English class. Although you know irony when you see it, it is a difficult concept to define. We've been talking (I talk, he rolls his eyes) about how an unexpected outcome can make a situation ironic. Secret had an assignment to write an ironic story using cartoon panels and couldn't think of anything to write about when we went to the doctors office last week.<br /><br />It turns out, excellent mother that I am, that Secret had missed his "well child" check-up, which was due in June. Now, faced with a form that needed to be filled out by a doctor for Secret to play school sports, I made an appointment for him and always striving to be on top of things, included Sport for his annual check up.<br /><br />On the drive over, Secret performed his big brother duties, as outlined in the manual, by tormenting Sport, telling him that at a 10 year old check-up, he believed Sport would get 3 immunizations, or as we call them, "shots." No one wants to hear that. I kept interrupting, reassuring Sport that we didn't know if that was the case, reminding him that his brother was a fountain of misinformation.<br /><br />When the doctor joined us in the exam room, he reviewed their records and proclaimed that at 10, there are no shots due. Sport was exuberant. Then, the doctor made another proclamation. At Secrets' 14 year old check-up, two shots were due! Secret looked surprised and when the doctor left the room, he made a last ditch effort to negotiate with me. I stood firm. After Secret had received the shots, I commented that it was ironic that he'd teased his brother and then been the one to get the shots. I said the good news is that now he has an idea for an ironic story. Secret agreed.Beth Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07038215179690798385noreply@blogger.com0