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What to Do If Your Kid Says "I'm Bored"
It only takes once. If your child says, “I’m bored,” this summer, here’s what you do. First get all excited. Then, in the most madly excited voice you can muster say, “You are! Because I have the best thing for you to do, and I was just waiting for you to say you wanted to do something new!” …
I'm in Manitoba Visiting Ironic Mom, Eh!
I’m posting from Canada today. Seriously. I’m coming to you from Manitoba, eh. Seriously, I’m hanging out with Ironic Mom. Kind of. In a cyber-way. But I won her contest so I get to post on her blog. So hooray for hockey and Queen Elizabeth, beavers and Biebers, maple leaves and Mounties. …
On Selective Remembering
I love that my son is growing older, growing into the person he will one day become more fully. But there are some things I miss: like our Vulcan mind-meld moments….
Things I Won't Be Hearing On Mother's Day
Hubby is not the best facilitator when it comes to Mother’s Day. This is because he generally golfs on Sundays. And since Hubby is out playing with his wood, there is generally no one to oversee the “special last minute Mother’s Day present making” in our house, and I’m not about to pull out the markers and demand, “Make me something to show me how much you love me!” Let’s just say I have pretty low expectations for Sunday….
Gratitude From An 11-Year Old
I’ll tell you what I’m grateful for: my son, who decided to take over as today’s guest blogger and gave me a little extra vacation time….
"Out of The Closet" by Chrissy Teague
What are you holding onto that might benefit someone else? Needs have never been greater. What better time to give than now? You may feel like you don’t have much. I understand. I’m a jobless single mother coming out of two closets. I’ve got nothing to lose and everything to give. I challenge you to do what you can. Our relatives, our friends, our neighbors need us. The quality of community is in our hands. …
Being Neighborly
Growing up, I knew everyone in my neighborhood. The girls across the street were my babysitters, and they let me sit in the funky purple bedroom and play with their Barbies. The older couple who lived next door to my parents had a tiny little poodle, and the Mrs Z. liked to watch me practice my gymnastics on the lawn. The neighbors on our other side were a little standoffish, but we understood this about them and still waved as they passed in their beige car. There was an older woman who nurtured a fantastic garden in her backyard. She taught me my first words in French: “J’adore les fleurs.” The people behind us had children, and my brother and I would stay out late playing kickball and running barefoot in their tall grass until it grew dark and we could no longer see the ball. I loved knowing my neighbors, and I suppose I have tried to reproduce similar kinds of connections no matter the type of community in which I found myself living….
The Blessing of the Ugly Casserole Dish
When my husband and I were opening our wedding gifts (fifteen years ago), we noticed someone had given us a used casserole dish. It was yellow and chipped; it was even a little dirty. I ranted: “Who would give us a used dish?!” I was astonished and pretty pissed.
Then I read the card.
The casserole dish had come from my Aunt Bea who was in her early 90s at the time, and quite ill. Still, she wanted to send us something. Her husband, whom she had loved dearly, had passed away by then and she was alone. In her beautifully written penmanship, she explained that a dear friend had given her (and her new husband) that very casserole dish that I now had before me over fifty years earlier. She apologized about the chips and dings, but pointed out that the dish had seen her family through the good years and the lean years. That casserole dish had fed them through The Great Depression, fed their children and grandchildren. She told me that – while she no longer cooked her own meals – she still cherished the dish, but now she wanted me to have it….