Parenting

Back To School Edition: Tip #1

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 Bus

Hey, I think I saw you in the school supply section yesterday, grabbing the last blue-Mead-100-page-wide-ruled-spiral-notebook off the shelf just as another mom tried to snatch it up. Oh, how school shopping brings out the best in us! Every August, you and I, we stalk the aisles as if we are on a safari, commissioned to find some rare species on the edge of extinction, and every year I think, “For the love of God, school administrators, can’t we just add some money to our already frustrating school fees and order this stuff in bulk?”

Even though I might, maybe, complain just a little bit about school supply shopping, the truth is that I love it as much as I hate it. I enjoy the ritual of it, the anticipation created by a backpack overflowing with sharpened crayons and undefiled paper and fresh markers. Maybe that’s because I always loved school as a kid, or maybe it’s because I crave a routine after the seduction of summer. Maybe it’s because I see the start of the school year as more symbolic of a new beginning than January 1. (Or maybe it’s because I need some alone time. I really, REALLY need some alone time, people.)

Regardless, we all invest quite a bit of time and money into gathering all of the tangible things that our kids need to get off to a good start at school, but sometimes we forget to think about the intangibles that can make a HUGE difference in the quality of our kids’ year. Somewhere between organizing all of the supplies, planning the first-day attire, and grocery shopping to fill the lunchboxes, it might be a good idea to create a mindset for the school year that will help your child to achieve happiness and success. For that reason, I’ll be sending you one tip a day for the next nine days, some things to ponder as we all prepare for the big first day. And if you are TOTALLY OVERWHELMED by nine posts in nine days, please don’t worry. Once school starts, things at my house speed up and the blog will slooooow down! I promise!  I’ll aim for once a week . . . if I’m lucky!

Back to School Tip of the Day #1

If your first impression of your child’s new teacher is negative, keep it to yourself.  I remember one particular meet-the-teacher experience when I was, well, not impressed. The meeting left me expecting a disappointing year for my son, but, fortunately for us, I later discovered that my first impression had been totally wrong. This teacher turned out to be sweet, creative, and very effective in working with my kid.

The truth is that you can’t really tell what a teacher will be like in the classroom after talking to her for five or ten minutes. (Keep in mind that sometimes talking to parents can be just as intimidating for teachers as talking to teachers can be for parents!) You also can’t predict what your experience with a teacher will be like just from talking to other parents, whose opinions are often based on the opinions of ten-year-olds and, at least partly, on gossip.

But here is the most important point: Even if you don’t think you are going to like the teacher, if you want your child to get off to a great start, you need to put on your happy face when talking about school with your child. You can commiserate privately with a friend. You can schedule a conference with that teacher every week. You can make an appointment with the principal if absolutely necessary. But your goal is to foster a good relationship between your child and that teacher, and this will be virtually impossible if you are badmouthing her in front of your kids or openly venting on Facebook. (Everyone knows that Facebook is where we pretend to be happy, anyway, so just default to that social norm in this situation.) And one more thing to consider: Most “problems” are actually just “miscommunications” that can be easily resolved if you aren’t afraid to raise your concerns in a face-to-face conference with the teacher. Try this before erupting like Mount Vesuvius and see what happens.

What if, after a few weeks of school, you still don’t like the teacher?  Check out Tip #2 tomorrow!

photo credit: <a ef=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/57166722@N00/2756087093″>New York</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/”>(license)</a&gt;

To the Mom in the Preschool Drop-Off Line

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Preschool

Hello, friends!  Watch for some back-to-school posts on the blog in the next few days!  I am excited that THIS post is also featured on The Today Show Parenting Blog.  Please click here to give me your vote!

To the Mom in the Preschool Drop-Off Line:

I see your child before class, so sweet and small and pure of heart. I see those chubby cheeks, that baby face, reminders that this little person who is growing oh-so-quickly was swaddled in your arms not long ago. I see him clinging to your leg, his knuckles white, his eyes glossy with tears that are just about to spill.

His anxiety is running high, and so is yours, but your acting skills have come a long way this year, Mom. You deserve a round of applause, a standing ovation. You should get an Oscar, really, for pretending that preschool drop-off doesn’t bother you, that helping the teacher peel your crying child off your body one finger at a time is no big deal, that watching the director pull your sobbing little guy from your car doesn’t feel like your heart is being crunched in a vice. You don’t want to make the situation worse, and your child is anxious enough on his own, so you do your best to appear calm every time. You don’t have the minutes or the privacy to meditate before preschool since small children are always running circles around you, but you try to channel your inner yogi while zipping the jackets and buckling the car seats and running back in the house for that thing you forgot.

You start the engine each morning knowing exactly what is going to happen. It’s an uneasy feeling that gets your adrenaline pumping so that this drive to school is somehow similar to dipping your toe into a shark tank or leaping from a plane when you are afraid of heights. You think that maybe it is most like having a tooth pulled. It might be necessary. It might be the right thing to do. It might pay off in the long run. But it is also painful. And you choose to do this three mornings a week. Who has a tooth pulled three times a week? Eventually, you would run out of teeth.

The teachers at school are very nice. They smile. They tell you that, although the first ten minutes are difficult, your child is usually fine after that. He asks about you often and watches the clock, but he has friends and is learning quickly and likes to paint and loves the playground. They really enjoy him, they say, and you know that they do, but you sense frustration. Maybe you should try a sticker chart to encourage him not to sob inconsolably every day? Maybe you should offer a reward if he does not cry for a week when he goes to school? Maybe it would be better if you did not walk him to class but used the drop-off point outside instead?

And you wonder, “Do they honestly think I haven’t tried these things?”

The truth is that you have tried everything. You are still trying everything. You have sought advice from every mom you know. You have read every mommy blog that you can find. You have asked the preschool director and the pediatrician for ideas. No one has found a solution to this problem. And maybe there is no solution because there isn’t a problem. There is a child. Your child. Your child, whom you love to the moon and back, who experiences separation anxiety. Maybe that is just who he is and you cannot change it and it is going to take time for him to learn the strategies he needs to cope. Maybe you need people to understand and accept it. Maybe you need to accept it, too.

You remember that your older son cried once when you left him at preschool. After school, you talked to him. You looked him in the eyes. You asked him why he cried. He wasn’t sure. You asked him if he was afraid at school, if everyone was nice to him. He loved his class and his teachers and his friends. You explained that he was going to go to school whether he cried or not, so wouldn’t it be better to enjoy his time at school? Mommy would pick him up every day, right on time, and she wanted him to have fun with his friends.

He never cried another day.

Other moms told you not to worry. This would last only a few days. He would stop crying when he got into the routine. “It’s normal,” they said. “My kids cried for a few days, too.”

Then they said to give it a few weeks. It would be fine. Really, it would. Maybe their children had been sad a little longer than they had remembered, yes, now that they thought about it, but soon those kids were skipping down the halls in a rush to get to class. “Trust me,” they said. “It won’t last!”

Now they don’t say anything. They just smile, a sideways kind of smile with a cocked eyebrow that shows empathy. But you wonder if they are thinking about where you must have failed as a mother. Because that is what you are thinking. It has to be your fault. Did you hold him too much or too little? Is it because you decided to stay home with him for a few years? That sacrifice seemed selfless at the time, but was it selfish? Is it because you moved, and it took time to trust people, and he was with you, and you only, so much of the time? Did you genetically gift him with your own anxieties?  What a horrible gift. What did you do, and how do you unravel it now? Maybe you need to be more understanding. Maybe you need to be more stern. How do you stop your child’s suffering?

This is the cry of your heart, but you are a smart lady, and your mind knows better. It is not your fault. The pediatrician said that it is not your fault. You know that everyone faces unique challenges that must be overcome, and your children will be no exception. You had just hoped that those challenges would not start so early, with your sweet little boy facing anxiety, real anxiety, at just four years old.

I know that you use the drop-off line, because that is what the teachers asked you to do, and that you smile as the director lovingly drags (because there is no other way) your child from the car. I know that you thank her every day for her patience. I know that it makes you sad to see the line of cars behind you, all of those moms and dads watching your child make his dramatic entrance every day. I know how hopeful you are whenever he has a good day, or a good week, or a good month, and how devastated you feel when a new wave of anxiety consumes him and it all starts again.

I know that when you pull out of the parking lot some days, your stoic façade cracks, and tears stream down your cheeks all the way home.

I know that you are a person who likes to be in control of your life, and it is hard for you to accept that this is out of your control. You want to fix things for your kids, to make them happy, and you cannot fix this. I know that you know that this child is a tremendous blessing and that other parents face greater challenges, but I give you permission to feel what you feel. Your sadness and guilt and anger are real, and problems are all relative, anyway.

I know that it will get better, that your child will grow and he will mature and he will learn about his emotions and how he can cope. He may outgrow his anxiety, or he may not, but he can learn to manage it with time. I know that he will eventually go to school without tears, but it may be a long time before that happens, and that is okay. I know that your child is his own person with his own schedule. I know that you are trying very hard and that you will find loving, supportive friends who will understand. I know that his anxiety does not diminish his kindness, his intelligence, his enthusiasm, and his loving heart. I know that you have an amazing kid.

Most of all, I know that he is really, REALLY lucky to have you on his team.

Sincerely,

The Mom Who Won the Oscar for “Best Performance at a Preschool Drop-Off” in 2010

No is Not Cool

/ Still Chasing Fireflies / 4 Comments

No

There’s this word that I’ve been saying too often this summer, and it’s starting to get on my nerves, actually. My kids swear the word is evil, and it does leave a bad taste in my mouth when I say it, sometimes bitter, like regret, sometimes saltier, like anger. Sometimes, when I have repeated it more than a few times in five minutes, it tastes a bit like exhaustion. It’s a little word, just two letters, yet it holds extraordinary power. According to my kids, this word alone has propelled me to “the meanest mom” and “the worst mom” on multiple occasions – not just in our neighborhood, mind you, but in the whole entire world.

It’s okay, though. I have thick skin. I can take it. But I know that they are tired of hearing that word, the one that begins with N and ends with O. I know that NO gets old, and I have to confess that sometimes, a lot of times, I just hate to say it, too.

“No, you may not stay there overnight. I don’t know that family. Snag some DNA samples, and we’ll talk.”

“No, you may not hang out at the playground without an adult in sight. That’s how gangs get started. I saw it on Dateline.”

“No, every PG-13 movie is not fair game because we watched Jurassic World. Dinosaurs aren’t breaking laws by killing people. In fact, they probably should kill people who think spending time with dinosaurs is a good idea. That’s an important life lesson.”

“No, you may not have a Facebook account.”

“No, you may not have a Twitter account.”

“No, you may not have an Instagram account.”

And that’s just before lunch . . .

“No, you will not be getting a cell phone for your birthday. A cell phone is not a gift at our house. A cell phone is a bill that you can’t pay. Your friends live down the street. Yell louder.”

“No, we are not signing you up for another sports camp this summer. But, PLEASE, feel free to play soccer and basketball. Outside. Right now. For free. And let’s make some nice cold water bottles for you, just in case the door is maybe possibly locked until dinner time.”

“No, we are not going somewhere else today. We just left the water park, for goodness’ sake. Do you realize that some kids NEVER get to visit a water park? Like N-E-V-E-R. Not in their entire lives. Some kids don’t even have water to DRINK, and you get to play in it! Can we appreciate that for a few minutes, guys? Can we show some gratitude?”

“No, you may not watch TV all day.”

“No, you may not play video games all day.”

“No, you may not eat ice cream all day.”

“Or cookies.”

“Or Cheetos.”

“Yes, I said ‘ice cream,’ BUT YOU KNEW WHAT I MEANT!”

No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

My sons, particularly my soon-to-be sixth grader, are struggling with NO – and I get it. I really do. It’s hard to be the kid whose mom says NO regularly. NO is not cool. It hurts your image. It reminds you that even though you feel like you are old enough to make your own decisions, someone else is still (sort of) in control. But while my guys think that I don’t understand, that I don’t empathize with them, the truth is that I do. We actually have a lot in common.

It’s hard to be the kid whose mom says NO.

But it’s hard to be the mom who says NO, too.

My boys don’t understand the social dynamics of NO, the way that other moms think I am judging their decisions when I say NO to things that they allow. My guys don’t know how heartbreaking it is to see them excluded from something or how difficult it is to find the sweet spot between “does-that-kid-even-have-parents?” and “that-mom-needs-to-cut-the-cord.” They don’t realize that it is painful, that it literally hurts, to deny them something that I know they really want, even when I know it is the right decision for our family. My oldest can’t yet comprehend that, even though I trust him, experience has taught me that there are temptations that he is not ready to face as a preteen. That there are people who seem trustworthy who should not be trusted. That even though he thinks he has seen everything, there are things that he has not seen and is not ready to see and if I could create a world where he would never ever see them, I would do that.

They think my job is easy. They imagine that I retire to my room after saying NO, reveling in some kind of sinister satisfaction, gloating with an evil laugh. (Bwahahahaha!) I am the villain in the script, the one with the kryptonite, always thwarting their plans. But it just isn’t true.

Maybe someday I will look back and wish that I had not said NO as often. Maybe, when they are all grown up, my kids will still insist that I was too strict. Maybe they will entertain everyone at the holidays with embarrassing stories about my husband and me, about how we REALLY were the meanest, most awful parents. Maybe, and this is where it gets really frightening, it will all fall apart, and they will blame our parenting for their own bad choices and rebellion.

Or maybe they will thank us. Maybe they will appreciate just a little bit more the very word that they hate. Maybe they will feel grateful, as I feel grateful to my parents, who loved and trusted me but did not shy from saying NO.

Maybe someday they will understand.

It’s a gamble, really, a risk that we all take in those weird years between helping our children order from the kids’ menu and taking them to get a driver’s license. All parents walk the same wire, seeking a safe balance between being overly strict and being too permissive. There is no simple answer, no decision that fits the needs of every child or every family, but the compromise in our family is that even though we do say no often, we always say yes more – yes to fun, yes to adventures and time with friends, yes to building character, yes to hugs, yes to trying new things and facing our fears, yes to family, yes to celebrations, and yes to love.

And when I feel uneasy about denying my children something, I remind myself that every NO is just a YES, really. It’s a yes to the values that I want to instill in the men I am raising, a yes to protecting them just a little bit longer, a yes to allowing them to earn the responsibilities and privileges that they think that they deserve. Saying NO isn’t easy. It’s a word that hurts sometimes.  I know, because it hurts me, too.  But when I say NO to my sons, it really means I LOVE YOU, and I hope that they will understand that, eventually, maybe when they have the honor of being “the meanest dads in the whole entire world” themselves.

Hamster Wheel

/ Still Chasing Fireflies / 2 Comments

Hamster Wheel

From late August through mid-June, when the school year is in full swing, I generally feel like I am running on a hamster wheel. I run nonstop, fearful that if I stop, or even attempt to slow down, I will fly off haphazardly, crashing and leaving everything around me in disarray – and we all know who would have to clean up that mess. So I just keep running. To insert obstacles into the race, I add more and more to my agenda as I run because (A.) I don’t like to say no and (B.) I can always make time for one more good idea. I will just run a little bit faster. I run and run and run, from meeting to class to soccer practice to church to basketball games to volunteer commitments to the next project that I have created for myself to another meeting, and sometimes I wonder what it is like to *Just. Sit. Still.*

And this is where I am a little bit lucky. As a teacher, I am fortunate to enjoy a summer break with my children, and, to be honest, given the current climate of education in America, it is one of the bright spots in a gloomy, depressing mess. But every year I fall prey to the same evil trap; it snags me in the dark winter months of hibernation and tightens its grip as the icy thaw reveals the promises of spring. It seems harmless at first, really. I begin to say things like, “It can wait; I will work on it this summer.” Or, “I don’t have time to worry about that right now, but I will have time to care about it in the summer.” Or, “I am really busy right now, but let’s get together this summer!” I will do it in the summer. I will fix it in the summer. I will check on it in the summer.

On my desk, there are post-it notes with lists of books to read this summer. I joined a book club in the spring – something that I have wanted to do for years – because summer vowed to bestow endless days of freedom that I could not possibly fill on my own. My kids created lists of activities that they intend to check off before the first day of school. And I said, “No problem! It’s summer!” My spring cleaning was never finished, and a general inventory of our house is in order. “No worries! We have all summer!” And the garage needs cleaned out. And I really want to learn to knit while I have time. And I have a chair that I want to refinish. And I have been waiting for the time to look for some new decorating ideas. And my photo albums are so far behind that I’m not sure what I was even trying to commemorate anymore. Just uploading and organizing and ordering all of those pictures will be a HUGE job . . . definitely a task to save for summer.

And we need to catch up on some doctor appointments this summer.

And I can’t wait to invest time in my blog every day!

And I am TOTALLY going to redeem myself as a mother by forcing encouraging my kids to keep up with their summer homework assignments this year.

And I told loved ones that we would spend time together, you know, in summer. The boys and I would have lunch with old friends. We would take road trips to visit those at a distance. We would meet neighbors at the park every week. We would have SO MUCH TIME!

So the fourth of July hit me with a bang last week, and not just because of the fireworks. It was a reminder that summer is slipping away, that the promises she made me remain unfulfilled. There really aren’t more hours in a summer day. More sunshine, yes. More hours, no. Life is still busy. With kids home from school, there are more messes to clean up, more snacks to prepare, more arguments to officiate, more activities to coordinate. Time does not decelerate in summer, just as it doesn’t slow down on the weekends or during a coveted week of vacation.

I have not read one book from my post-it notes. My blog has been quiet and lonely. My kids are dreadfully behind on their summer homework. My projects aren’t finished. (Or started.)

And I still don’t know how to knit.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m exceedingly grateful for the time that I can devote to my family when I am not working in the summer. I don’t take it for granted. But all of the lists, all of the unfinished projects, all of the tasks that remain incomplete and dreams that remain unfulfilled – well, they can drag a girl down. And, no, we have not been moping around the house, avoiding all of the fun. We have been having fun, and maybe that’s part of the problem. Or maybe it’s not. This whole balancing act is exhausting, and the truth is that after eleven years of parenting I’m still not exactly sure how this is all supposed to work.

Maybe I am lamenting how quickly time passes. The empty grid, those clean white boxes on the calendar that seem swollen with potential at the start of each year, fills in a flash with the exciting and, more often, the mundane demands of life. The days bend and flip and slide from your hands like a fish escaping back to the water. You try to hold on, but time is elusive, gone so quickly, and what is left behind? Maybe a picture . . . that might, eventually, find its way to a photo album . . . maybe.

Or maybe I am frustrated that I have not planned better, that I put so much off until summer in the first place. Maybe I am just venting my aggravation with myself – that I am not rising before dawn, that I have not maintained a structured plan for every hour like I do when the hamster wheel is in motion. I’m sure that I could have accomplished more by now if I had been more diligent. Then I would not be tormented by reminders of my lackadaisical attitude, like the remnants of fifth grade that my son unloaded several weeks ago, still neatly stacked in a corner. That’s what I should be doing right now – sorting piles instead of writing about them. No wonder I am a hot mess. And I’m pretty sure that I could have knit a sweater by now if I had my stuff together. 

Or maybe my go-go-go personality is just trying to process the potential of life outside the wheel. Although it fills me with anxiety, maybe there is joy in NOT living from a to-do list for a few days or, if you are fortunate, a few weeks. Maybe there is peace in NOT waking up to an alarm every single day. Satisfaction in NOT prioritizing the unimportant just to cross it off a list. Fulfillment in NOT planning the most efficient way to dissect the day but in allowing the day to unfold organically. Happiness in NOT accomplishing something but in enjoying something, instead.

As with so much of my life, I am still figuring it out, seeking balance, sorting through the different perspectives and emotions. Maybe your legs are aching, growing weary on the hamster wheel, as well. Maybe you can relate.

If you don’t have time to ponder it today, don’t worry. You will have more time this weekend.

That’s what she promises, anyway. But I wouldn’t trust her.

photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/28638538@N00/4182287774″>Hamster in a wheel</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/”>(license)</a&gt;

“I Love Our Hugs” and Other Lessons From the Experts

/ Still Chasing Fireflies / 2 Comments

IMG_2284

There are lots of “experts” out there sharing advice about quality parenting, but the opinions that REALLY matter come from our own sons and daughters.  After sifting through over 400 statements that your kids shared about their moms this week, I am thrilled to report that THE REAL EXPERTS SAY THAT YOU ARE DOING AN EXCELLENT JOB! If there is room in their budgets to give you a raise, you just might get one this year. . . but you will probably have to increase their allowances first.

I know that you will enjoy reading about how our sons and daughters (ages 3 to 46) perceive their mothers differently as they mature from preschoolers to adults.  Some responses will make you laugh, and some will touch your heart.  Their answers speak for themselves, but a few trends deserve mention.  First, it seems that we moms expend a lot of breath saying, “I love you.” AND THIS MATTERS. Trust me.  Our kids mentioned it over and over and over again.  If you ever worried about saying it too much or if you thought about dialing it back as your kids get older, DON’T.  Second, no matter how busy life gets, always reserve some time to snuggle.  You might be surprised how often this was mentioned – and by sons AND daughters – and by “kids” of ALL ages.  Third, our sons and daughters treasure ANY TIME when they are getting our undivided attention.  It doesn’t even matter what we are doing with them.  How do I know?  Because that’s what THEY said.

Finally, Trenton, age 11, reminded me that sometimes aunts and grandmas play a significant role in a kid’s life, too.  His aunt and grandma laugh at his jokes, take him places, and care for him, and they deserve a Mother’s Day salute, too!

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY, EVERYONE!  ENJOY!

 

  1. If my mom becomes famous, it will be for…

Volunteering so much (Brooke, age 15)
Sewing (Katelyn, age 6)
Baking the most delicious homemade pies (Calandra, age 36)
Her minivan driving skills (Kate, age 14)
Her haircutting abilities (Will, age 9)
How much she likes her kids (Ivy, age 5)
Being a movie star (Declan, age 4)
Her awesome cooking (Maggie, age 7)
Helping people (Amelia, age 9)
MURDER. Just kidding. My mom will probably be famous for writing a bestseller. (Dominic, age 19)
Being a teacher (Samuel, age 4)
Our family’s farmer’s market (Ezra, age 26)
Inventing something useless but cool (Joel, age 13)
Singing (Connor and Evan, age 10)
Running (Marin, age 3)
Typing fast (Coen, age 9)
Writing a book (Gavin, age 11)
Being the world’s greatest mom (Jared, age 11)
Watching 100 kids at a time (Hannah, age 8)
Being nice (Ethan, age 6)

  1. One thing that makes my mom different from other moms is…

She takes me frog catching (Mark, age 11)
She likes tools, all kinds of tools (Keara, age 10)
She is always in my business (Brooke, age 15)
Her horrible dance moves (Brody, age 8)
She wears slippers during the day (Kate, age 5)
Her hair. Because she has blond hair. And she has some white. (Aislinn, age 5)
Her unending generosity and hospitality. Everyone who comes into her house is at home. (Calandra, age 36)
Whenever I’m down, my mom always notices even when I try to hide it, and she always cares enough to make me feel better. (Patrick, age 16)
She’s more introverted than most moms, but I love that about her (Kate, age 14)
She doesn’t care what others think about her (Caralyn, age 12)
Her face is different (Ivy, age 5)
She is the nicest person and sweet and pretty and I love her (Rachel, age 11)
She keeps things real – no sugar coating the truth! (Chloe, age 23)
She lets me be spoiled (Gabe, age 9)
She makes her own medicines with essential oils (Amelia, age 9)
She’s been through a whole lot, so she is really a wealth of practical experience in so many ways (Dominic, age 19)
She drives really fast (Leah, age 4)
She takes time to listen to me (Kyle, age 9)
She is caring to every child (Hannah, 8)
She’s way cooler (Jamison, age 11)

  1. My mom always says…

“I love you” (Mark, age 11, and many, MANY others!)
“Get out of the shower!” (Luke, age 14)
“Don’t push me! I have two more kinds of crazy and I am not afraid to use them!” (Keara, age 10)
“Never say never.” (Carson, age 9)
“No.” (Katelyn, age 6 and Aislinn, age 5)
“Call me when you get there.” (Patrick, age 16)
“Be yourself.” (Caralyn, age 12)
“Be nice!!!” (Grant, age 3)
“Only you, Rachel! Ha, ha!” (Rachel, age 11)
“Time to clean up.” (Declan, age 4)
“Go wash your hands” (Leah, age 4)
“Hurry up! You are going to be late!” (Ezra, age 26)
“Because I said so.” (Joel, age 13)
“Attitude is everything!” (Evan, age 10)
“Change the channel!” (Connor, age 10)
“Gavin, you’re grounded!” (Gavin, age 11)
“Be quiet!” (Noah, age 12)
“Don’t talk back.” (Jared, age 11)
“I’m so proud of you.” (Jamison, age 11)
“You can do it.” (Caleb, age 8)

 4. One thing my mom doesn’t like is…

When a song she likes is overplayed on the radio (Luke, age 14)
Anyone that is mean to kids, animals, or old people (Keara, age 10)
When I complain (Carson, age 9)
Pickles (Brody, age 8)
The puppy pooping in the house! (Kate, age 5)
Camping. Because she doesn’t like outdoors. (Aislinn, age 5)
Debt (Calandra, age 36)
Dishonesty (Patrick, age 16)
Drama (Caralyn, age 12)
Kids screaming (Ivy, age 5)
People that chew with their mouths open (Maggie, age 7)
Minecraft (Bo, age 9)
When I pick my nose (Micah, age 7)
When I spill my coffee all over her carpet (Dominic, age 19)
When people watch bad movies (Kyle, age 9)
People who have no compassion (Mary Ann, age 38)
Not listening (Abigail, age 10)
Lazy people (Ezra, age 26)
Tomatoes (Evan, age 10)
Messy floors (Ryne, age 7)
Scary things (Coen, age 9)
Snakes (Hannah, age 8)
People giving up (Caleb, age 8)

  1. My mom laughs when…

I say something funny (Mark, age 11)
I toot (Katelyn, age 6)
The grand- or great grandkids do something funny (Barb, age 46)
She is with her friends (Kate, age 5)
When she’s using her crazy imagination (Gabe, age 9)
When my sister dances (Bo, age 9)
When we tell her a joke (Lainey, age 5)
Silly stuff happens (Samuel, age 4)
We make funny faces (Kyle, age 9)
I’m funny (Marin, age 3)
I say something in a weird voice (Jared, age 11)
She is laughing at her own jokes (Jamison, age 11)

6. I want my mom to teach me to…

Excel at life (Luke, age 14)
Do a flip (Mark, age 11)
Be strong and brave (Keara, age 10)
Have faith, forgive, and be content (Brooke, age 15)
Multiply (Brody, age 8)
Sew (Katelyn, age 6)
She’s already taught me so much – to love, to work hard, to make memories (Calandra, age 36)
To cook. My mom needs to teach me to cook. Badly. (Kate, age 14)
Spell words correctly (Ivy, age 5)
Be a good wife and mother and have patience (Chloe, age 23)
Hang up my clothes (Declan, age 4)
Braid hair (Lainey, age 5)
Fly an airplane (Micah, age 7)
Whistle (Leah, age 4)
Keep plants alive (Mary Ann, age 38)
Drive (Joel, age 13)
Go running (Marin, age 3)
Make fettucine (Gavin, age 11)
Make pancakes (Noah, age 12)
Be successful in the real world (Jamison, age 11)
Ride a bike (Ethan, age 6)

 7. My favorite thing to do with my mom is…

Snuggle (Kate, age 5, and many others of ALL ages!)
Go out to eat (Teagan, age 7; This was also a very popular answer!)
Walk the dog and talk (Luke, age 14)
Go frog catching (Mark, age 11)
Plant flowers and build fairy gardens (Keara, age 10)
Go to the park (Katelyn, age 6)
Hang out (Barb, age 46)
Talk about big stuff, little stuff, any stuff. It’s good to just hear her voice (Calandra, age 36)
Everything. It doesn’t matter what it is. (Kate, age 14)
Play board games (Gabe, age 9)
Play volleyball together (Maggie, age 7)
Go to the mall (Lainey, age 5)
Kiss and hug (Samuel, age 4)
Go to Zoombezi Bay in the summer (Kyle, age 9)
Chat over a cup of hot tea (Mary Ann, age 38)
Dance (Abigail, age 10)
Throw the Frisbee (Connor, age 10)
Make crafts and build Legos (Ryne, age 7)
Play with Playdoh (Marin, age 3)
Take a bike ride (Coen, age 9)
Go to the beach (Gavin, age 11)
Go camping (Noah, age 12)
Spend the day with just the two of us (Jared, age 11)
Read (Caleb, age 8)
Play hide and seek (Ethan, age 6)

  1. I know my mom loves me because…

She always tells me (Brody, age 8, and SO MANY others!)
She likes to snuggle with me (Carson, age 9)
I hear it in her voice and see it in her eyes, especially when we have to leave (Barb, age 46)
She hugs me (Aislinn, age 5)
She says she loves me before I go to bed or leave the house, and before games (Patrick, age 16)
We tell each other that every time we leave (Caralyn, age 12)
She feeds me (Will, age 9)
I was born in her belly (Ivy, age 5)
She kisses my dimples on my hands (Grant, age 3)
She goes to the doctor with me even though I’m an adult (Chloe, age 23)
She lets us live in the house instead of outside (Bo, age 9)
She spends time with me (Kyle, age 9)
I love her (Evan, age 10)
She falls asleep with me (Coen, age 9)
She does everything she can to make me happy (Jared, age 11)
She always takes care of me (Hannah, age 8)

  1. One way that I am proud to be like my mom is…

All babies love me (Brooke, age 15)
We are both nice (Kate, age 5)
I am smart like her (Will, age 9)
I am a Christian, and I love my family and put them first just like her (Chloe, age 23)
I like to make new friends like her (Declan, age 4)
I have her imagination (Gabe, age 9)
We both have a good memory (Bo, age 9)
I like the color purple (Micah, age 7)
I’m good at staying in control and I’m very responsible (Dominic, age 19)
We are happy (Leah, age 4)
We both like vegetables (Kyle, age 9)
We both look for the good in people (Mary Ann, age 38)
She is a hard worker in all aspects of life (Ezra, age 26)
I am good looking and modest! Ha,ha! (Joel, age 13)
I can sing very well (Evan, age 10)
I have glasses (Connor, age 10)
We both like to be outside (Gavin, age 11)
I laugh like her (Noah, age 12)
I have her freckles and dark hair (Jared, age 11)
We love each other (Ethan, age 6)

  1. Something I want my mom to know is…

That I love her so much (Lainey, age 5, and LOTS of other sons and daughters!)
That I really like sports (Carson, age 9)
That I am a good friend at school (Will, age 9)
That she is the BEST (Rachel, age 11)
That she was and is a great mother, even if she didn’t always feel that way (Chloe, age 23)
Sometimes there are five hot dogs in the pan and one goes “smush” (Declan, age 4)
How to play Minecraft (Bo, age 9)
How to fly an airplane (Micah, age 7)
That I’m so glad I am just like her (Dominic, age 19)
That she makes good choices (Abigail, age 10)
How happy I am to be living closer to her now (Ezra, age 26)
That I love everything she does (Evan, age 10)
That I love our hugs (Connor, age 10)
That I appreciate everything she does (Hannah, age 8)
That’s she’s beautiful (Jamison, age 11)
That she’s cool no matter what (Caleb, age 8)
That I love her the mostest in our world! (Ryne, age 7)

A SPECIAL THANKS TO ALL OF THE EXPERTS WHO CONTRIBUTED TO THIS POST!