Learning to Leap

Growing up is hard to do. The list of things that you are no longer able to do for no other reason than you are simply too big is growing around here every day. Tonight we discovered another one to add to the list of restrictions for my 6-yr-old: The grocery cart ride. It went down like this: hubby is traveling (again) for work and it's just the girls, me, and Hank. Around 6:30 I remembered that this was my last night to gather the items Lauren needed to bring to school for a Thanksgiving food drive, so I was forced to load everyone up (NOT the dog) and head off to the closest grocery store, which just happens to be Kroger. I am not a huge fan of Kroger for several reasons (not the least of which are the fruit flies who seem quite cozy in the produce department), but when you just need a couple items, it'll do in a pinch. Kroger is my kids' favorite grocery store for one reason and one reason only. The car grocery carts. They LOVE these things. The novelty of "dri...

We are raising not just one criminal now, but two. A few months back I told you about our youngest child's obsession with taking mail out of other people's mailboxes. It amounts to nothing short of mail fraud. Her sisters have warned her repeatedly of her imminent future at "juvie"but she just won't stop. It seems the criminal intentions run strong in this family, because now my middle child has taken to a life of crime as well. You see, she has a substantial addiction to a certain illegal activity. She just can't seem to help herself. It's like a compulsion, a habit quickly taking hold of her life. We are looking into an intervention program. This is my first time to say this out loud, so it's a big step for me, here it is. My daughter is a... LITTERBUG. A serious, repeat offense litterbug. It started out innocently enough. And I suppose I'm to blame for planting ideas into her little mind. One day, I had no time to make my usual egg bea...

I thought I had a few more years before this hit. My husband is scared spitless. I'm afraid I'm not much better off. Girls. Hormones. Emotional gymnastics. I took the girls and their friend roller skating today since they had the day off school. That sounds like fun, right? Everyone happily gathered their roller skates, piled into the van, and off we went. We entered the rink and all the memories from the 80's and 90's came rushing back. The disco balls, the loud music, the carpeted walls, even the radio-voiced DJ announcing games like the hokey pokey and limbo. The girls put their skates on and were off. But not to skate. Oh, no, off to the arcades, of course. I really could've saved the admission price and just given them that money to spend on ski ball and such. Whatever. While they were gone, I people watched. I couldn't help but notice the 40 something couple skating like pros in the middle of the rink. We all know the middle is where the RE...

I heard it in the wee hours of the morning. It was still dark out. A little voice, calling through the darkness with great anguish, seeking solace from the presence of her favorite person in the universe. Me. And as all good (or honest) mothers do, I put her off for a couple minutes. She didn't sound seriously distressed. I knew she couldn't be injured because she was calling from her bed. No danger of falling off a bike or imminent disaster involving bloodshed could be possible at this hour. Perhaps she'll go back to sleep, I thought. When is the last time any mother said this to herself and saw it actually happen? The odds of winning a lottery you didn't even buy a ticket for are considerably higher. And so, after a few minutes as I listened to her cries grow increasingly indignant, I pulled myself from the warmth of my new down comforter, tried to be very quiet so as not to disturb my peacefully sleeping husband (Oh, whoops...did I accidentally throw the co...