Category Archives: Erin’s Word Splat

Who Had a Doctor Who Party and Didn’t Invite Ellen?

I’m in a little bit of trouble. You see I had a party. A great party. Some might even say epic party. And I didn’t invite Ellen.

Oops. I know. Deep, deep trouble, right?

But you have to understand, it was a Doctor Who premiere party and, well, I didn’t think she’d want to come. Sonic Screwdrivers, time-traveling doctors, and daleks aren’t really her thing. Apparently, I didn’t get the memo that when Ellen says she’s a party girl, she’s down for all parties, even those a little left of center.

To make it up to my dear friend who will henceforth be invited to ALL of my parties, I will walk you through the rollicking festivities. If you are a fan or love a fan, there should be enough ideas to help you create your own Doctor Who party.

Decking the Halls

So much of any great party is setting the mood. We are true fans so a lot of our decorating was just pulling out things we already owned and getting the timey-wimey vibe going. Come to think of it, most of the things we used for ambiance were gifts to one of the Doctor Who fans in our house which means they would be perfect for any Companion in your house too.

Doctor Who – TV Show Poster (Van Gogh’s Exploding Tardis) (Size: 36 x 24) Poster Print, 36×24

Last year’s Christmas present to our 11yo son usually hangs on the wall beside his bed, but we relocated this to the kitchen wall for the party and it definitely set the tone.

Weeping Angel Vacuform Mask Standard

We hung this on the wall by the food, but guests started taking it down to try it on. We considered it the gift that kept on giving.

10 Pairs of Red/Cyan Cardboard 3D Glasses – Folded in Protective Sleeve

We gave these out as party favors. Yes, these are reminiscent of the 10th doctor, but they served a purpose too. My kids made a 3-D movie of Doctor Who highlights that they had playing on the computer during the party. Fun AND functional. They also had a Doctor Who theme music playlist emanating from our Sonos before the show started. We go ALL IN when we party.

Note: We also gave out glow-in-the-dark necklaces and bracelets and psychic paper which we made ourselves. The kids (and Whovian adults) loved all the party gifts and I loved that they were cheap and easy.

Doctor Who Doctor Who 11th Sonic Screwdriver

Um, yeah. If you are a fan, you are gonna need one of these. It has light AND sound. ‘Nuff said.

Doctor Who – The Tenth Doctor’s Sonic Screwdriver

This one too.

Doctor Who Postcards from Time and Space

We taped these postcards everywhere! Everyone loved checking out all the classic characters, moments, and scenes. We loved the inexpensive decorations.

Doctor Who Tardis 30″ X 60″ Beach Towel

In the planning phases of the party, there had been talk of building a cardboard TARDIS around our front door and other similar notions/crazy talk/delusions of grandeur. In the end, we abandoned folly in favor of practicality.

This towel could hang in our front storm door and people would get the idea that they were stepping into the TARDIS when they arrived. My kids then strung white lights and funky streamers in the foyer to give our guests that “timey-wimey” feeling. The absolutely best part about buying the towel over diving into an ill-conceived construction project is getting to fight over who gets to use it post-party. Family fun at its finest.

Doctor Who Tardis Cookie Jar Lights and Sounds

We use this all the time for my renowned chocolate chip cookies, but it served as a centerpiece on the food table during the party. To kick the fun up a notch, it makes TARDIS sounds. Epic.

Doctor Who TARDIS Projection Alarm Clock

Another everyday item we repurposed as a decoration to set the mood.

The Eats (and The Drinks)

No party is complete without the good stuff. So here’s some of the food and drinks we served that were Doctor Who-themed. There were fish fingers and custard of course, but also the usual party food fare including my Lazy Girl’s Black Bean Dip.

Jelly Babies
These English sweets are a Doctor Who thing. While the 4th Doctor was particularly fond of them, they became a recurring butt of jokes through every incarnation of the Doctor. These little jellies in the shape of a humanoid child are a must have even if they taste a little funny.

Jammie Dodgers

Whether being used by the Doctor to trick a Dalek into thinking one was a self-destruct button for the TARDIS or being distributed as a Halloween treat, these delicious little jam-filled cookies showed up in many episodes over the years.

Sonic Screwdriver

Our friend Nicole brought a little something for the adults. Every good Whovian knows every Doctor needs his tool of choice, a Sonic Screwdriver. This one is good enough for all your fans over 21.

In each cup, add one shot of vodka to one shot of Curacao liqueur. Add a splash of Blue Hawaiian punch and another splash of orange juice. Enjoy!

Sonic Screwdriver Punch

We borrowed this one from Trisha Yearwood, but the kids and designated drivers loved it so we consider it a hit.

Dress Like a Doctor (or a Companion)

We encouraged our friends to dress up like their favorite character and they did not disappoint.

If you need a little inspiration for your own Doctor Who costume, I think we’ve got you covered.

The 4th Doctor

The 10th Doctor

The 11th Doctor

Ginger Companion

Doctor Who costume ideas--SIsterhood of the Sensible Moms

My girl is spot on for Amy, am I right?

River Song

Costume ideas for a Doctor Who party---Sisterhood of theSensible Moms

My 15yo daughter spent about an hour turning me into the follicularly blessed heroine, River Song.

Doctor Who party ideas---Sisterhood of the Sensible Moms

Check out some other great costumes!

So there you go: a fabulous evening of fun in a nutshell. Should you ever want to host a Doctor Who party of your own, you should be all set.

Just make sure you add Ellen to the guest list.

-Erin

Don’t forget about the Doctor Who Christmas Special due to air on Christmas Day!

If you are one of those people who like teaser trailers and the like, have at it.

If you need Doctor Who party ideas, we’ve got you covered from decorations to food.

Click To Tweet

You can follow us on Google+, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and Pinterest.

Check out our books, “I Just Want to Be Alone” and “You Have Lipstick on Your Teeth.”

Have every post delivered to your inbox! You can opt out at any time, but you won’t want to.

Share it real good . . .

Swimming Upstream: Life With Dyslexia

4 Replies

Grrrr. Nothing like an inbox full of missing assignment notifications from school to enjoy with my morning coffee and bowl of cereal. It’s way too early to pretend that I’m not annoyed with my middle-schooler, but if I’m honest, I’m a little defeated too. These missing assignments have become a regular event around here. This is not eighth-grader-itis or I’m-too-cool-i-osis. This is not a byproduct of too much screen time or a symptom of an over-scheduled kid. This is what dyslexia looks like, at least in my house.

My middle son has dyslexia. When he was four, my precocious funny boy was quoting back entire passages from books, picking out the different instruments in “The Nutcracker” and teaching himself how to ride a bike and a skateboard. He was also really struggling to learn the letters of his name. I took him to a group of specialists in Washington, DC who tested him for 5 hours. When they emerged from the testing room with him, the center’s director was laughing and she turned to me, “If you ever tire of him, I’ll take him.” She also said that the testing was inconclusive. There were worrisome issues with some visual processing areas, but he had some real gifts in verbal comprehension and non-verbal processing. And so the story has gone for years even up until this semester. Dyslexia is a slippery fish and we recognize it more in the shadows than the light.

Dealing with Dyslexia Isn't Easy | Parenting | Education | Sisterhood of the Sensible Moms

My son is smart enough and socially gifted enough to swim with the other kids in the classroom who do not share his diagnosis. In fact, if you had to visit his classroom, you would be hard-pressed to pick him out of the crowd of sweaty eighth graders at first. If you hung around long enough, you would see him start to bob a little. You would notice how hard it is for him to copy notes from the board. You would see that it takes him longer to read a passage, and you would sense his anxiety when presented with a lot of visual information all at once. Dyslexia can look like attention issues and tiredness and even laziness. But how it looks is nothing compared with how it feels.

Tiring, exhausting, confusing, and confounding: dyslexia checks every one of those boxes and then some. Just last week, I used the word flummoxed to describe how I felt about my son’s current academic situation, and we really are. My husband and I worry about his future constantly. His potential rarely matches his performance. We have older kids so we know that this is not a recipe for success. We are well aware of all the pitfalls waiting for kids who are not successful academically. Our eyes are wide open and are hearts are willing, but our path forward is uncertain. My emotional state is all over the place as we deal with the fallout of the issues dyslexia brings, but that’s nothing compared to what it’s like for my son.

For the most part, my son just keeps swimming along. Sure, he is working a little harder than everybody else, using up those reserves a little quicker, and pushing himself to the breaking point a little faster, but that’s just how school is for him. Sad to say, but school has always been a difficult place so he is used to the daily struggle.

But sometimes he gets overwhelmed. A difficult assignment, a missed class, or just too much work in one week can provide the tipping point that takes him from finishing to flailing. At moments like this, he is swimming upstream through rough seas with fogged goggles. He quite literally loses his way at the same moment he runs out of steam. These are the moments when the waves crash over him and he starts to sink. Then those emails start filling up my inbox.

So now we are back in the unenviable position of circling the wagons and trying to regroup. We are all stressed out and cranky at having the same conversations, worn out and tapped out confronting the same issues, exhausted and deflated treading the same water. School is a marathon not a sprint so we keep repeating this mantra hoping that it will bring peace and focus. School rewards the long view and the courageous return to the journey every single day, so we tell him to keep moving forward despite how unproductive he might feel. School forgives momentary failures and allows us to learn from our mistakes, so we help him brush off losses and find strength in small victories.

Today these emails are peeving me, but they are also tangible reminders of the rough seas that mark my son’s marathon journey through school. So I will remind myself to channel patience and understanding for something beyond my experience. I will take deep breaths and try not to scream or lecture. Today, I know we will do what we have always done for him: throw him a lifeline, extend our hand, pick him up.

Today, like every day, we will pray that he will just keep swimming.

Dyslexia can feel a bit like swimming upstream, but we just have to keep swimming.

Click To Tweet

-Erin

You can follow us on Google+, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and Pinterest.

Check out our books, “I Just Want to Be Alone” and “You Have Lipstick on Your Teeth.”

Share it real good . . .

Do This, Not That: The Get Your Butt Out To Vote Edition

4 Replies

I’m a post-forty woman. In simple terms, that means that the checklist of things I do before I start my day looks like this: Open eyes. Put feet on floor. Get caffeine. Check social media.

Because I do the daily check-in on my Facebook feed and the other feeds as well, I have noticed something. While I am looking for cute pictures of your family, some of your great book recommendations, and even an article you might suggest for me to read, some of you are getting worked up. Like really worked up. And we’re all worked up about the same thing: schools.

Not that I blame you. I was recently hanging precariously out of my own tree. Last week, my brother posted a link to an article TIme was going to run. In the actual article, Time reported about people working to reform schools by reducing or ending the practice of teacher tenure and highlighted a recent court case Vergara v. California about just this thing. The reporting was fairly balanced, but then Time decided to do something just plain dirty. It titled that article Rotten Apples and suddenly all the world’s, or in this case, the federal system of education’s problems were being blamed on bad teachers. I couldn’t help myself. My blood started boiling, so I shared that post on my wall.

There was even a hashtag #TIMEfail. I was buoyed by the number of people who were with me. I wasn’t in a tree, I was in the same boat as lots of other people and we were all pulling the oars together. But here’s the thing: Facebook status updates don’t change the world, at least not the world of chalkboards and pencils. And tweets don’t move mountains. Most parents and educators are not bloggers and social media partakers like me.

My message was being heard but not by the right people. Social media may be a great first step and good for clearing the “pissed off” pipes, but it is not really action. Social media can raise awareness and entice people to action (we’re looking at you, Ice Bucket Challenge), but it lacks gravitas and doesn’t inspire commitment over time.

In the spirit of “Do this, Not that,” here are 3 things, you can do that really can change the world, or at least your school. At the very least, it will keep that boat to keep on keeping on in the right direction.

1. Get involved. Instead of just grousing on social media about the crappy fields your kids are forced to play on, make sure you are part of the solution. Join the PTO. Help raise money. Volunteer at school or choose to be part of the home solution. A huge portion of what schools and teachers get blamed for are things we as parents should be taking care of at home. Keep your ship in top shape and that will help too.

2. Take that commitment to the next level. You can attend Board of Education meetings or School Improvement Team meetings. Never underestimate that your presence doesn’t matter at these. These are definitely instances where bodies matter. Who fills a chair better than you?

3. Vote. Mid-term elections aren’t sexy, but they are necessary. Take time to figure out who is more than just a sympathetic ear to those making educational decisions. Find your players. Find those willing to die on the sword of education. These are your people.Tweet and Facebook that you support them and spread the word.

Then do this: go out and vote. Demonstrate you are paying attention to what is being said about and done for our children. If the children of your county are not being funded as the main priority (like ours aren’t), take that anger to the polls and do some damage where it hurts.

Show your local government leaders that in your mind and heart there is nothing else to do but that. Make yourself heard and not just on social media. On that note, I leave you with one of my favorite quotes:

Never underestimate the power of a small group of committed people to change the world. In fact, it is the only thing that ever has.—Margaret Mead

The following is for our local readers: I happened to go to a community meeting recently in which our school superintendent basically said that there are no more corners to cut, no more coupons to collect, and no more creative accounting to make the education budget work. The consistent underfunding of our local schools has now created an unsustainable situation. There is nothing to be done but get mad, get out there, and get busy changing people’s minds about what an education is worth and what we are willing to pay for it. If we consistently pay lip service to the notion that education is important, but then are unwilling to back what we say with action, we’re doing a disservice not just to our kids today but to our county tomorrow. I trust my good friends and neighbors to do their part and invest in our future.

Get inspired and get out there.—Erin

Make yourself heard. . .and not just on social media. Vote!

Click To Tweet

You can follow us on Google+, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and Pinterest.

Check out our books, “I Just Want to Be Alone” and “You Have Lipstick on Your Teeth.”

Have every post delivered to your inbox! You can opt out at any time, but you won’t want to.

Share it real good . . .

Read This When You Have Time

1 Reply

Ten years ago, a kind but wily acquaintance was giving me the hard sell. He was leaving the neighborhood Cub Scout pack and moving on with his son. He was looking for a replacement/fresh meat/gullible sucker to take his place. I was strong and full of good reasons why I was not the girl he was looking for. He listened intently to every word I said and nodded his head in quiet acknowledgement. But as he was leaving, he handed me a note and said, “read this when you have time.”

Well, to this day, I think of him as the Lex Luther to my Supermom persona. On that little note, he had written the following:

Let’s just say that his little note was the kryptonite to all my arguments. I have been happily traipsing, backpacking, hiking, biking, and canoeing the outdoors with a gaggle of boys (and girls too) in tow ever since.

But that doesn’t mean that I was ready for the job I had undertaken. I love the outdoors with a passion, but you know what they say about passion making you blind, right? I have gotten lost on familiar mountains more times than I can count. I would send up flares when the Diet Coke supply got a little low in the house, so my wilderness skills weren’t exactly honed yet. And the extent of my nature knowledge was mostly stuff I learned off of Snapple caps and from my own well-intentioned but equally clueless mom.

But the truth is that experience is a fine teacher and ten years in, you can feel safe sending your kids into the woods with me and giving them actual knowledge about the outdoors. We might get lost but we will have a darn good time getting there. I would have loved to have had the following book with me in my early days of figuring it all out and you will too.

The Truth About Nature: A Family’s Guide to 144 Common Myths about the Great Outdoors is a book you can sip or gulp. Organized by season with a fun myth rating system kids love, it’s a book that can serve as a reference when needed or a nightly reading staple just for fun. It’s a versatile, accessible read and how you read it will depend heavily on why you are reading it. Just know that once you open its pages, it’s hard to put it down.

My seven year old is currently obsessed with this book and goes around asking his friends things like, “Fact or Myth? Frogs freeze” or quizzing unsuspecting guests on whether they think that bats are blind. We read it in little bits each night as part of our nightly ritual and he can read it by himself but prefers to hear me say “No Way!” whenever a deeply entrenched myth of mine is debunked. But this book’s greatest value by far is the way it excites about the wonders of nature. Even lukewarm couch potatoes won’t be able to escape the allure of all the “too strange to be true” facts and fun experiments you can do at home.

So this is my note to you: Read this when you have time. I hope it changes your mind about nature and kids and kids in nature the way that other little note changed mine. If you want to take kids hiking, camping, or even just out in the great outdoors known as your backyard, you can make a great time even better if you bring this book along. Consider this the kryptonite to all your arguments about why you can’t get your kids away from the TV and on to a trail.

The fall colors are waiting. Enjoy some time with your family in nature today!

-Erin

For the launch of this book, there is an exciting contest going on right now with the publisher where you can enter to win a school visit and free books!

All you have to do is make a simple video.

Just visit this site and follow the directions.

Looking for #books on kids and nature? Read This When You Have Time

Click To Tweet

You can follow us on Google+, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and Pinterest.

Check out our books, please, “I Just Want to Be Alone” and “You Have Lipstick on Your Teeth.”

Have every post delivered to your inbox! You can opt out at any time, but you won’t want to.

Share it real good . . .

The Place Between: Finding Our Way in the Year Before College

4 Replies

When I was a freshman in college, my brother was only eight years old. While I was living the high life of newfound freedom and enjoying the other heady elixirs of campus life, he was home missing me. Every once in awhile, a package would arrive from home with goodies to remind me that there were people not that far away who were missing me and wishing me the best of luck and all those other things that families wish. Each package would always contain something homemade from my mom, news clippings from our local paper from my dad, and a handmade map from my little brother showing me the way home.

I know. Sweet, right? And I have to tell you I carried those maps with me for years as I moved to Delaware and then Maine and then Maryland. They were a kind of talisman for me as I traveled through my unsettled years. They were literally calling me home, but they also provided me with that sure-footed confidence I needed to move me through uncharted territory. I had proof positive of a safety net and way back to where I was most comfortable. I was going to be A-OK. Bring it on, life, I was ready for it all.

I wish I had one of Jonathan’s maps right now. My oldest is a senior in high school. We are making plans and talking constantly about all that awesomeness that lies just over the horizon of our family for him. I really want to cherish these conversations. I can see the sand in the hourglass of our time with this easy access to each other running out, and I am anxious to impart nuggets of wisdom while it’s still my place to do so. But the truth is that senior year is busy and we don’t have much time for the cherishing.

We have now piled senior nights and college applications on top of our regularly jam-packed schedule of soccer games and work and schoolwork. These conversations are happening in the place between practices and playoffs and all the other preparations. Sometimes we connect beautifully and our conversations flow easily. These are the moments where I overflow with hope and optimism, with my love for him, and with excitement for the next year and I think “He’s a great kid. I’m a great mom. This is a great talk.”

But just as often, things don’t go so well. I think I am reminding him to turn in an important piece of paper without realizing I just launched a bombshell. Suddenly, we are both emotional and needy, our conversations fraught and unproductive. These are the moments where I start to hyperventilate, stress, and panic about the future not just for him but for both of us. “He’s a mess. I’ve failed him. How the heck are we gonna get any of this done when he won’t even turn in papers on time?”

In a nutshell, our talks this year warm my heart or scare the bejeesus out of me and there’s really no middle place. Once when I was in high school, I walked right off a trail near my house. I didn’t notice until I was so far gone from where I was supposed to be that I was deep holy-crap-how-am-I-gonna-get-myself-out-of-this-mess lost. The simultaneous and conflicting emotions of exhilaration and terror remind me of where I am right now. I remember that feeling of wanting to stay planted in place and that need to just keep placing one foot in front of the other to get me back to where I was supposed to be.

So I wish there was a map for this. I know some great resources and have found some good friends to turn to when I need answers to questions, but that’s not what I’m looking for. What I yearn for is that perfect compass that will not only guide our passage through this place, but keep us in one piece as we make the journey. My worst fear of course is that he will slip away from me, from all of us, and that our family will never resemble the thing I love and cherish so much just as it is today.

But I am not willing to fold to fears. We are a people wide open to possibilities even in the face of misgivings and second guesses, and I am honoring our open minds and hearts. There will be no map for me for the next few months, nothing tangible to hold other than each other, but we are going to chart this course together. We are going to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

We are going to explore this place between.

-Erin

Even Dora had The Map. Where’s mine for this year before college?

Click To Tweet

You can follow us on Google+, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and Pinterest.

Check out our books, please, “I Just Want to Be Alone” and “You Have Lipstick on Your Teeth.”

Have every post delivered to your inbox! You can opt out at any time, but you won’t want to.

Share it real good . . .

The Little Things That Are Really Big Things

9 Replies

When I was a new teacher, I had a professor who slashed grades with the enthusiasm of a Wal-Mart employee on markdown day. Her pet peeve: referring to our students by their diagnosis. If we forgot and referred to an “autistic student” or “an LD kid,” she would punish us with her weapon of choice: the red pen. I may have grumbled at her vehemence, but it did the trick. My students were forever forth children with dyslexia, children with emotional disturbances, children with autism. They were individuals first and foremost, never the sum of their disabilities.

It was a simple, subtle shift that made the difference for me as a teacher and I took that with me as I worked with families, advocated for students, and partnered with schools. I often had to lobby for big changes, profound commitments, and systemic, institutional shifts, especially in times of crisis. But I always honored that it’s the subtle nuances that turn the ship around, the moments of grace that beget small miracles. The story I am going to tell is one of those.

My neighbor Dylon is a teen with autism. He is also obsessed with telephone poles. He knows every type of utility pole, their crossarms, their type of resistors, what utility companies work where. If he were on a car trip, he could point out which company services which area from Patapsco to Constellation all the way from Maryland to Florida. It’s safe to say that power poles are kind of his thing.

His dad Ron knows this: “When we are driving down any street, he will notice a new pole and he will whip his head around like he just saw Santa in a sleigh.” Yeah, we’ve got Minecraft, LEGO, and One Direction going on here, we get the obsessions. But while every kid can have a bit of a one track mind, it is a whole different ballgame in autism.

Autism brings other challenges as well. When Ron asks Dylon what he wants for Christmas or his birthday, Dylon will just repeat what he has gotten in the past. No original thoughts. No lengthy lists. No last minute addendums or post-scripts.

So the family has to get creative. Last year, Ron noticed some new utility poles going up in South Jersey, the biggest he had ever seen, so he drove the whole family up there as a surprise for Dylon. The picture of their three kids sitting on that utility pole was their Christmas card that year.

This year, Ron wanted to score some Delmarva Power gear for a Christmas present for Dylon. He had tried unsuccessfully a year ago to visit the plant itself. The PR person there said there was no program for a tour like that even though they really just wanted ten minutes to look around. Ron thought his idea this year was so much simpler–a pen, a mug, a coaster, anything–and he just knew how much Dylon would love it, so he started emailing people. He received no response. Like not a single one.

So he decided to hit the pavement and make a visit or three. Every stop had the same pattern. Ron would usually meet a perfectly nice customer service rep who would refer him to a supervisor who would promptly dismiss him and show him on his way. Empty-handed. No premium items. Nada. Nothing. Each stop. Same story.

At the third location, things looked like they were shaping up to go the same way as before. But this time was different. There was a subtle change. This ship was turning around. This time the customer service rep didn’t bother looking for a supervisor. This woman listened to Ron tell his story of what he wanted for his son for Christmas and then promptly walked away.

But she came back quickly with a canvas bag with the company logo on it and started filling it up . . . with items from her workspace. Pens, desk items, notepads—any number of fully emblazoned ephemera made its way into the bag. This was a small miracle in and of itself, but then her neighboring coworker saw what was happening and started emptying out her desk area too. The bag was getting mighty big.

But it’s the little things. In the midst of all this generosity, the co-worker added a die-cast lift power truck replica that had been sitting on her desk for years. Who knows why she added it in with all the other items, but she did. Maybe she was moved by Ron’s determination, maybe she was touched by the Christmas spirit, or maybe she had her own obsessed kid at home and she really was able to see Dylon as just any other kid. Maybe, but it doesn’t really matter. Dylon carries that truck up to bed every night and back downstairs every morning.

This month is Autism Awareness Month. 1 in 68 children has an autism diagnosis. We are all shooting for the big goal of course: no more autism, but this year maybe we shoot for something else as well. Maybe we keep our eyes open to the dads trying to do something special for their kid, maybe we support the families living with autism every day, maybe we see the kids first and their diagnoses second. I believe in the power of red pens, die-cast trucks, and open hearts to change the world. I hope you do too.

–Erin

Be the Change You Want to See in the World.

-Gandhi

*I wrote two other posts about Dylon and his family here and here.

It’s the little things. We believe in the power of red pens and die-cast trucks to change the…

Click To Tweet

You can follow us on Google+, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and Pinterest.

Check out our books, “I Just Want to Be Alone” and “You Have Lipstick on Your Teeth.”

Share it real good . . .

10 Love Songs For Valentine’s Day

4 Replies

The Countdown is on, people! One week until Valentine’s Day! Time for the collective push back at the commercial juggernaut Hallmark has built. Boo to over-priced cards, short-lived flowers, tushy-padding candies and dust-collecting, bedbug-colonizing bears.

We’ll celebrate our love the old-fashioned way . . . with a mixed tape. Of course, we know that mixed tapes have gone the way of the dodo and New Coke. It’s just that when Ellen and I got together with our guys, we still called playlists “mixed tapes”.

This list is a deeply personal one. Think of it as a love story, my love story, told in song. Of course, each and every song is a much better choice than a lot of what’s offered up on lists like this one.

1. “Fly Me to the Moon” by Frank Sinatra

The song that quite literally started our whole romance. Back in the day, a newfangled contraption arrived on campus called voicemail. Steve and I had started hanging out the fall of my senior year, but we weren’t really dating yet. We were both going to our school’s annual Screw Your Roommate dance though, and we planned on trying to sneak in a dance. Unfortunately, this SYR dance had about as much drama on the floor as you might expect. Long story short: our dance never happened. Sweet Steve sent me this song to my brand-spanking new voicemail with a fun message about dancing to it later. I was a goner, ladies. A total goner.

2. “Romeo and Juliet” by Indigo Girls

So the Indigo Girls were kind of a thing when we were in college, and this particular song played on a loop during my senior year AKA the Heady-Crazy-About-Each-Other phase. The soaring vocals, the raw emotion, the energy. It was and still is the epitome of young, earnest love.

3. “Home” by Bonnie Raitt

While not a huge country music fan in general, Bonnie Raitt and the Dixie Chicks bridge the Great Divide for me. This one captures so clearly that moment when I realized that I was right where I was supposed to be. This Guy. This Moment. The Future I was starting to imagine for us.

4. “Slow Dancing” by Bono

Is it enough to just say Bono? It should be. This is a special song for us. Hell, it should be for everyone. Try NOT to dance with your sweetheart to this one.

5. “At Last” by Etta James

This song was worn out for all the playtime I gave it in the months leading up to my wedding. Old songs sung by beautiful, strong voices hit every right note for me. Whenever I hear this one, I’m 23 again. I can’t promise time travel when you hear it, but anybody who has found THAT somebody will get why this song can still move me to tears.

6. “You and I” Ingrid Michaelson

Even though I just found this song recently, it captures young love’s optimism and wild imagining so well I had to include it. It hints at that friendship and camaraderie that lies at the heart of many relationships, but especially mine.

7. The Beatles “In My Life”

This one isn’t just for Steve but for our whole little kingdom. It was playing on our CD player when I came home from the hospital with my first baby. In my life, I’ve loved them all, these people, my little clan. More than they will ever know.

8. “Hey, Stephen” by Taylor Swift

When my daughter was a tween, we both fell in love with Taylor Swift. One day in the car we heard this song. From the front, I shouted over my shoulder, “This is my song for Daddy!” I don’t know what it says about the brain trust I’m raising that not a single child questioned how it could be our song when Taylor had just written it and clearly we had been around the block a couple times before that. Nevertheless, it is a love song for a boy named Stephen, and I’ve got me one of those.

9. “Come Away With Me” by Nora Jones

As of next week, we will tip the scales and teens will outnumber us. While not a terrifying realization, it is a sobering one. We already play this song often, plot our getaways, and exchange meaningful glances over school projects and dirty dishes. This is the rolled-up sleeves, deep-in-the-trenches stage of parenting for us, but Nora takes us to that beautiful place we want to get back to together.

10. “Grow Old Along With Me” by Mary Chapin Carpenter

This song always gives me a catch in the throat when I remember that John Lennon not only never really got to record this song properly before he was killed, he never grew old with his sweetheart. God bless our love and all those like it that we all get our second acts, our quiet folding into old age together.

Feel free to add your own love song to the list!

-Erin

Share it real good . . .

Back in the Saddle

3 Replies

Parenting is a very two steps forward, three steps back kind of enterprise. Sometimes you lead, sometimes your child does. Very often, it’s a bit like dancing: you kind of feel your way to where you are supposed to be.

Last month, we had a pretty, scary experience on a sledding hill near our house. While we weren’t shaken to our cores or anything dramatic like that, we were a little bruised by the incident. Normally, in the relatively mild climate we live in, we would have a solid year before we ever had to even hope for thoughts of slopes again. This would have given us plenty of time to get our full confidence back. But blame yet another indignity on the Polar Vortex, we were not given our moment of grace. We have had snow piling up around us in steady drifts since Old Man Winter arrived on the scene, and it didn’t stop just because we could have used a little time to lick our wounds.

We might have taken the sleds back out to the shed after the first storm. Then we might have rationalized that it was just too cold to take them back out after the second storm. But as we had storm after storm depositing the lovely flakes at our doorstep, we couldn’t really deny what needed to happen. We needed to get back on that horse.

We liked sledding after all. After the hot chocolate and the cute clothes, sledding is probably the best thing about winter. We have some mack daddy sleds that never even made it out of hibernation last year. It seemed such a waste to leave them collecting cobwebs with the pool noodles and lawn mower.

To be frank, we were also driving each other a little batty. We had built all the forts a family NOT under siege needed, and we had assembled a veritable arsenal of snowballs. There are only so many board games, science experiments, and craft projects you can do on your snow days before you want to hot glue gun your brother’s lips shut or plot your sister’s demise by tiger in Parcheesi. It was time to get the heck out of the house and back on the sleds again.

I myself hadn’t been in any hurry to get us back to our hill, but when my friend sent me the text to meet her at the park, I figured it was probably as good a day as any. I probably wouldn’t have chosen to go back to the hill where it all happened, but this was not my gig and I am never one to challenge another mother’s mojo.

It was time to put my dancing shoes on though, because this wasn’t gonna be as easy as “hey, kids, grab the sleds and pile in the minivan.” This was gonna take a little finesse and some of my finer moves. Each boy pushed back with the full power of his age and stage. The 12 year old gave me the international tween signal that it wasn’t happening: he feigned deafness. The 10 year old employed the old deflection tactic of not being able to find a single piece of his winter clothing. His hats, mittens, socks, and boots vanished like a black hole had opened up in our garage. The 6 year old began asking rapid fire questions.

Two steps forward. Three steps back. We were going back to those slopes. Even as I saw the mercury dropping and the light fading, THIS was happening, and today was the day.

That’s right. It was 14 degrees that day. Once we made the decision to get back out there, no sub-freezing temps were gonna get in our way. My feet were ultimately unhappy with this decision, but I stand by it 100%.

The van ride there was quiet with a capital Q. Silence is a mother’s barometer, so I knew their hearts were troubled, their minds distracted. The boys were muted to the extent that I could almost touch each boy’s anxiety, feel the weight of their restrained concern, see their tension take shape in the air around us.

Pulling into the parking lot didn’t pop the tension bubble at all, so I carried their sleds, and I NEVER carry sleds. I saw the 12 year old stop for a second as he crossed the point on the hill where the ranger had run towards us with warning. It was nearly imperceptible, but it was there. One foot in front of the other, son.

At the crest of the hill, the boys were still holding their breath a little. I handed each one a sled, looked each boy in the eye for the non-verbal OK, and pushed. Hard.

I don’t know when they exhaled on the long, sloping ride to the bottom, but the energy was different when they came back up the hill. They were looser, more open, unfurled.

The rest of the day was as it should be. Uneventful. Fun. Normal.

Despite the bitter cold, it couldn’t have been a lovelier day. We were grateful for beautiful clear skies, good friends, and even the cold, crisp air. We were thankful for this moment to get back in the saddle. It may not have been pretty or graceful or even noteworthy to anyone else, but we had found our old footing. Together. Two steps forward at least for now. Cue the jazz hands.

-Erin

Share it real good . . .

Blooming

13 Replies

When my fourth son was born, my grandmother came to visit. Bleary from lack of sleep, I hardly noticed the pink blur of my tiny daughter zipping by, but I couldn’t ignore the sound of something crashing into a gazillion pieces in the kitchen a moment later. Then door slams shook the house as “the blur” left on foot followed in hot pursuit by my mother. My grandmother smiled down at the sweet and still compliant newborn in her arms, and said, “Wow, that’s some rose you’ve got among the thorns.” Truth, Grammy. Truth.

At that point, I had been at the mercy of my daughter for a solid four and a half years. Every ounce of parenting wisdom and confidence I had shored up from the 19 months parenting my first son was rendered immediately irrelevant from the moment she was born. This darling girl thrust herself upon us with the fury of a mini-maelstrom. Everything about her broadcast the undeniable truth: Hello, family, there’s a new queen in town.

There was never the innocent hopeful debate about parenting style with this one. My tiny, feisty child pretty much demanded to be attached 24/7 via sling, baby carrier, or industrial strength duct tape . . . until she demanded that she had had enough of that nonsense. I thought I was tired from parenting ’round the clock, that is, until she leaped out of my arms at the tender age of 8 months and sprinted across the room. I pretty much didn’t sit down again for the next 5 years.

My girl’s speed was matched only by her ingenuity and gift for escape. Harried parents everywhere know this is the perfect trifecta for troublemakers, and she wore that title like royalty. I remember one conversation with the pediatrician when she was 9 months old. I was worried that she was already climbing out of her crib. “No problem,” he said. “Just put her to sleep in the pack-n-play. She won’t be able to climb out, and she’ll still be safe.” Such simple genius advice! If he had told me to shave my head and move halfway around the world right then, I would have bought a ticket and packed a bag. But I swear on my Sour Patch Kids, that baby heard every word he said and laughed herself silly. When I went to lay her down for her nap in the old Graco, she looked me right in the eye, shimmied up the corner of the playpen like Spiderbaby, and vaulted over the edge. My baby girl ended up sleeping on a mattress. ON THE FLOOR. next to her brother in a room we double-baby-gated every night. Our house was like Fort Knox without all the home-cooked meals and time off for good behavior.

But even with this indoctrination, I was unprepared for her toddler and preschool years. Frontlines, trenches, and warzones bring me a certain nostalgia after surviving this time with my girl. It’s easier to list the places we weren’t kicked out of: Zero. Nada. None. Library storytime–see ya later, suckers. Music and Motion class—beat it, bums. Local pizza place—fuggedaboutit. Even church, the last haven for the poor and downtrodden like myself, gave me the old “God will understand if you don’t come to church every week.” To say my girl was a difficult toddler is a disservice and a misnomer. Make no mistake: my darling daughter was adorable and dear, but she was also a terrorist with a tiara and a ‘tude. If you are currently parenting such a child, my thoughts, prayers, and fervent wishes for a quiet moment/night off/white flag are with you. Honestly. But I also offer you this: hope.

Today, my beautiful, feisty, funny girl turns fifteen. It’s hard to see, even now, exactly when she started to mellow, but she certainly did. The wide path she cut early on gave her room to move and grow and tussle with possibility. She treads more lightly now and those steps are more sure, less wild, more purposeful. Her frenetic energy has transformed into a casual confidence that is charming and magnetic. With her great smile, hair, and personality, she could totally sell you down the river, but you would be grateful for the lovely trip.

She loves her friends, her books, her writing, One Direction, tacos, Starbucks, strawberries, Doctor Who, Downton Abbey, and yes, even her crazy brothers, with a passion reminiscent of her early fire. She does have the Irish roots to back up that beautiful red hair after all, and God help the boy that falls for either.

She still runs circles around us, but now she wins ribbons for that. She still makes a beautiful noise but she is in good company and we call that music most of the time. She still can shake this house from front to back and around again but usually with our laughter from some clever thing she said. We all still know who the queen is around here, but her edges are softening as she moves gracefully into that best self we all see just around the corner.

She is Blossoming. Blooming. Becoming.

She is, as she always was, our rose among the thorns.