I live in a house of extremely competitive people. We have family races to bed and guitar hero rock-offs complete with behind the head Hendrix style antics. My son at 5 was using phrases like, “I’m gonna crush you” and “you just got schooled.”
The latest thing in my house is family superlatives. You know like, “Most likely to make their bed” or “Best looking in a Barbie wig,” (thankfully my daughter won that one). My son is doling out the titles and my little girl wants in on the good ones. Each day she asks me to think of things she can be the best at, because Jake already has throwing, catching, guitar hero, whistling, streaking and tying his shoes.
So, I gave her “Noise Making” and “Underwear Putting On.” Listen, this has been going on for a week or two, we’re well past “Most Spirited,” and “Best Smile” I’m running out of accolades… I’ve even managed to assign “Biggest Flirt.”
Last night at dinner, while giving themselves some big ones like “Artistic Ability,” “Most likely to be President,” and “Best Imagination,” I hear, “Hey Mommy do you know what you’re the best at?”
Finally, I’m in. “What?” I replied excitedly. “Is it best dressed?” “Nope.” “Best Cook?” Pause, small snicker… “Nope.” “Funniest?” No pause, big snicker as if to say ‘As if’… “Nuh-uh” “Singing, accents…laundry?” at this point I’ll take anything.
Ryan: Farting Anything but that. Jake: No Daddy wins “Best Farter.” Ryan: No Mommy does.
–Dealing with a lost pet can be extremely daunting… even if it’s a ladybug.
I can still hear the faint murmurs of my son Jake’s 40-minute meltdown when his pet ladybug, “Lady,” flew away. We kidnapped this 4 year old (or 4 day old bug – whatever the spot things mean), at the top of Mount Aspen. Jake loved her, cared for her, nurtured her, taught her to ride a bike, and started a 529 plan in her name. About a quarter of the way down the mountain, Lady flew to the ceiling of our gondola and made a mad dash for freedom.
Jake jumped out of his seat and bounced towards the door. This caused the gondola to start swinging. According to the warning sign that pictured a man falling out of the gondola to his unexpected demise, wild swinging was strictly forbidden. “Jake, you can’t jump around. Do you see what happened to the unfortunate man on the sign?”
This is seriously the picture!! What???
Jake continued searching, intensely focused on the whereabouts of Lady. “Hey, do you guys hear her? I can hear her. Do you hear her?” he said desperately, like someone who could put a straight jacket to good use. Continue reading →
I don’t know about you, but I have a hard time with the rough-housing and horseplay that comes along with having a son. Okay, those are totally 50’s terms, yet I can’t think of a better way to say it.
Girls definitely give us moms a huge mental workout. Mine came into this world with an attitude; my closest friend swears she gave her the evil eye on day one. Those little lasses are often cranky and snippy. They can get catty, jealous and yes, they even fight over boys before they’re out of Pull-Ups.
Oh, she will get her way!
But boys are a different breed. Sometimes they can be so mushy and sensitive, like little Prince Charmings, and other times they’re more like Neanderthals. While my little girl is busily primping in her room, trying on outfit number seven, and attempting to apply eye shadow, my son is out front flying across the yard with reckless abandon, as he tackles a neighbor’s son in a “friendly” game of “touch” football.
My neighbor, who has two sons and a brother, looks on half-heartedly as she files a chipped nail. I, on the other hand, am on the edge of my seat, well, my patch of grass, ready to hurl myself onto the makeshift field at the first sign of injury. Was that a wince? Was that a double- blink? A groan? A sigh? I’m on it, like a ski patrolman on a toboggan.
How can “neighbor mom” be so calm? Does she not realize that this is bound to end when somebody gets hurt? Could an eye not be poked out here? Continue reading →
In my latest assignment, I sat down with Andrew Taylor the director of a major company that just totally revamped to find out what’s hip for summer. Wanna know? You gotta watch:
Jenny From the Blog goes beyond any beauty pageant hopeful in the question/answer portion and not only strives for World Peace she finds a means to achieve it. Please, hold your Pulitzers until you’ve read the piece.
Today, I was in a crappy mood. I walked into Starbucks, as is my routine, with a sluggish gait knowing it would take my half-caf grande, no fat, no foam latte to remotely tackle my morning. When I entered I realized 22 other people had the same thought and my crappy mood got exponentially worse. An acquaintance two people ahead of me foolishly tried to make chit chat, which I quickly put a stop to with my terse responses. Don’t try to talk to me right now lady, I’m pissy and I haven’t had my coffee.
Frankly, there should be a rule that no one talk to you in the morning coffee line, because we’re all in the same boat (barely awake and coffee-less.) Unfortunately, the person in front of me did not get that memo or maybe she did, but she couldn’t read it because she was approximately 1 year old.
She was also being carried by her mother and therefore facing me directly. The one thing about lines that you can usually count on is that people face front in anticipation of their turn, which means less talk. Kind of like the way people stare at the doors of the elevator until it’s their floor.
It would be odd to have someone facing you in an elevator… and this was my current situation.
Sure, she was cute. She had fiery red curls and sweet blue eyes. But she wouldn’t break me, uh uh. I was not smiling for anyone and some baby was not about to change that, even if she flashed me her own 4 tiny, little toothed smile. Then out of nowhere she started laughing this adorable little giggle. Clearly, she sensed my disdain and was taunting me.
Puhlease Baby, you think you’re soooo cute don’t you? But not to me, uh uh. I’m in a bad mood and your precious, I mean dumb little laugh does nothing for me… NOTHING. But this baby was not giving up; she was relentless in her torture. She cooed and ooed and ahhed, but I would not crack. It was my will against hers and I would win. Finally, in defeat she buried her head in her mom’s shoulder.
Ha, Ha Baby, I’m the winner, yes I am… Wait, what’s that? What’s she doing now? She popped her head back up and put her hands over her eyes, she wasn’t cowering as I had hoped; she was playing peek-a-boo. Nooooo, not peek-a-boo.
She opened her hands to show me her eyes and I clenched my fist ready to weather the storm. “Peek-a-boo,” escaped from my mouth before I could reel the words back in. She giggled and next thing you know I had my hands over my own eyes. Then she giggled, then I giggled, then I smiled like a big pile of mush. She was working me like a marionette. Oh, she was smug one… cooeing and flashing her 4 tiny teeth.
My mood had picked up, even before gulping down my latte. I wasn’t all daggers and evil thoughts, I was rainbows and unicorns. Don’t judge me for crumbling. No one and I mean NO ONE is immune to peek-a-boo.
In fact, I think we deal with the unrest in Libya and Egypt by sending cute little babies to the front lines. What would enemy militia do if a Hummer pulled up and a bunch of babies trained in the art of peek-a-boo waddled out? Hmmm? Sure, you’ve probably been asked that before, but have ever given it any real thought? What if we air dropped babies over enemy lines with their tiny little baby parachutes? The campaign would be called “Drop Babies, Not Bombs.” Brillaint, right? Sheesh, why do I have to come up with all the ideas? Gaddafi and Mubarak you better watch your step, chubby legged cooing babies with parachutes will be dropping in when you least expect it.
Okay, I’ll take my Pulitzer now.
For Other Articles I’ve Done on Hybrid Mom or to comment directly at their site: HYBRID MOM
COMMENT QUESTION: Do You Got Any Better Ideas? and if not could I borrow your baby?
How miniatures, cash, beer, and spa products can make the dad in your life giddy on Father’s Day. And who doesn’t like a giddy man?
“It’s a sweater!!!” Yes, that was the infamous (in-famous) exclamation of the great El Guapo. See pic below.
El Guapo's banditos knit him a birthday sweater. See how happy he is? (Three Amigos)
And yes, that was some good acting and yet… it’s the exact response I look for from my hubby on Father’s Day and rarely – ok, never get. I don’t know how to make you men happy. Well, I know, but I don’t want to go there. Please, I’m a nice Jewish girl. I’d never do that kinda stuff… after marriage.
Besides, I prefer the old fashioned way of keeping a spouse happy: Material Goods. Unfortunately, you men don’t seem as wowed by a new pair of stilettos or a spa day as we chicks do and that is why you suck to get gifts for and also why we married you. Oh, the irony.
On the Sunday after next, men all over America will open slender boxes and say, “It’s a tie” yawn.
Why?
Because we don’t know what the hell else to get you.
And we like very much that you’re currently employed. Also, Because you never tell us what you want. So, I, Jenny from the Blog, Lifestyle Expert extraordinaire, have compiled a list of the best gifts for the guy that doesn’t need, want, or ask for anything.
Was $88 Now $49
1. The wallet full of stuff. Oh, I truly looooove this one. Take a look at your guys money holder, if it’s falling apart or has Velcro located anywhere on it, it’s time for a new one. The best part isn’t the wallet, it’s the thought you put into it. You need to go to Starbucks, Blockbuster, and Sports Authority or a rounder at your supermarket and pick up gift cards from some of your man’s or your Dad’s favorite places. The denominations can be small (you will have to get the cards in store if less than $20), but it’s worth the smile on his face. Oh, and don’t forget to put in pics of the kids or yourself if you are “the kid.” PS – Cole Hahn outlets are the best. They are an average of 30%-60% off all the time and they smell like Italy (or at least how I imagine Italy would smell.)
2. Lot’s of guys like beer, name one who wouldn’t like their own tap? See, you can’t can you? The Krupps BeerTender fits on your counter and keeps your beverage at optimal serving temperature.
$80 with a 20% off coupon from BB and Beyond
It features a temperature indicator, signaling when the beer reaches its optimal 37.4° F serving temperature and lasts up to 30 days. Plus you can remove the tap so the kids can’t access the beverages. Like the key the liquor cabinet.
If you don’t get a coupon from BB&B like every other day, sign up for their mail online and you will soon receive one.
If you want to make it super thoughtful, get frosty mugs from your hubbies favorite team at Bed Bath and Beyond or if you’re willing to get a dozen you can have his initials or name laser engraved into a mug at DiscountMugs.com for an amazing price.
3. The Mix Tape for the Millenium. Remember how much you loved getting a mix tape from your high school beau? You know, a little Journey, maybe a Chicago tune or two? Well, now you can give that dope gift to the man you love. Pick him up an MP3 (I recommend an iTouch) and fill it with songs for him. Your song plus anything else that feels right and don’t forget to put on a few from the kiddies. I’m thinking Yeti Stomp by the Backyardigans and let’s not forget C is for Cookie from the Monster himself or if your kids are like mine maybe some Zepplin, Who, and of course Ke$ha for my 6yo.
If your man has an MP3 steal it and add a few and then surprise him with a pair of high tech headphones.
$14 - $20 at Best Buy, depending on sale.
$95 from $179 at Best Buy
4. Everything’s better in mini size, well not everything, but miniatures do make things cuter (get your brain out of the gutter and think Tea Cup poodles). Get the dad in your life a Dopp kit, which is a small toiletry bag that’s used for storing men’s grooming tools for travel. Then get a bunch of mini’s to fill it with, think: comb, brush, deodorant, shaving cream, shampoo, conditioner, scissors, toothbrush, toothpaste, cologne, men’s eye cream, moisturizer and of course a razor and extra blades. It’s a gift every guy LOVVVVVVES.
Great Buy Cabela's leather Dopp Kit on sale for $29
5. It’s Tee Time baby. Give the golfer the newest gadgets. If you don’t know what’s big now, I’ll lay it out for you… I mean fore you.
Taylormade R11 Driver
$399 not crazy for a driver.
Taylormade R11 Driver – This could be the biggest golf product launch of the year. It’s a Golf Digest Hot List Gold Metal Winner, and was selected as Editors Choice for drivers for 2011.
Only R11 can be adjusted in 48 combinations of:
Loft
Increase or decrease launch angle to get more distance
Face Angle
Select and open, closed, or neutral address setting for more distance
Flight Path
Promote A Fade – Heavier weight in toe, lighter weight in heel for more distance
Promote A Draw – Lighter weight in toe, heavier weight in heel for more distance
In other words, if you’re confused, go with this club!
$200 with mail in rebate
Garmin Approach® S1, a GPS wristwatch for golf courses with no annual fee.
Preloaded with over 13,000 courses (and counting), US and Canada
Includes par & distance to front, middle, & back of each green (accounting for dog leg distances)
Measures last shot distance
Odometer provides distance walked on or off the course
Watch mode features GPS time & date, alarm and automatic time zone detection
Easy to use interface featuring automatic hole transitioning
Any mom who gets that “featured student” backpack sent home, with a stuffed animal and journal instructions, knows why this “honor” is better left to somebody else’s kid.
Don't let the smile fool ya. He was miserable... miserable, I say!
Last week, my son was the featured student in his class. Oh, don’t get all congratulatory; I’m pretty sure his teacher picks the names out of a hat. On top of this, my son wasn’t even happy to be featured student, and frankly, I understand why.
One of the perks of being “featured student,” is that both student and mother get extra “homework” each night, so that the class can learn more about said student. Let’s not forget the obligatory schlepping around and journaling of a stuffed animal. Sure, watching my kids carry around Clifford in nursery school was cute… well, minus the barrage of snot and germs each of the other kids left on him before it was our turn, but carrying a stuffed dog around in the 3rd grade could ruin a kid’s rep.
Day 1: Took a picture of my son pretending to play basketball with a stuffed dog, which he was actually using as the ball. Who could blame him, a 5th grader was watching. That evening I was required to write an essay about why I love my son, and what’s special about him. (yet another writing assignment that I’m being underpaid for).
Let’s face it, writing about your kid for the whole class to hear is cheesy and prohibits you from saying what you’d really like to say.
Hello, parameters people.
Clearly I didn’t want to embarrass my son in front of his friends. Hence, a sentence such as, “I love it each night when you beg me to come lie with you, and we giggle as I give you a kiss attack,” though true, isn’t advisable. Also unacceptable: “You’re the best at insert sport, smartest at insert subject, and easily the cutest kid in your class, even better looking than insert name. Yep – extremes, though you’re certain are true, are totally frowned upon.
Day 2: Took a picture of my son pretending to feed cereal to his stuffed dog, and ended up wiping spilled milk from both parties’ faces (secretly prayed that dog didn’t reek of rancid dairy by recess). We also had to find pictures for him to bring in which showed the major occurrences in his life from birth to date. I printed a bunch from an SD card and wrote Disney with varying years on them. (No one will be the wiser)
Disney 2010
Day 3: Took pic of stuffed dog, among all my son’s other stuffed animals. It was meant to be ironic, like in E.T., except it wasn’t because the stuffed dog is in fact also stuffed.
Notice how you can barely distinguish the dog from the stuffed animals? Crazy!
Also, pulled stuff together for “collection” day. When my son asked what the heck he collects, I said, “Bring in the last 5 books I bought you, and tell them you collect dust.” Ba da bum. In reality, I handed him a bunch of pennies and said, “Tell the class each is from a different year.” What, like someone’s gonna check?
Day 4: Took a portrait with stuffed dog as if he was part of the family. (That picture turned out good. Note to self: photo-shop real family cat in later.)
Not a holiday card... but not bad.
Also, brought in a special lunch for the featured student. After allotting an hour to get the stuff together, including cupcakes for the class, (a precedent some mom started 10 featured students ago,) I was ready to enjoy a meal with my kiddo. I arrived to find that it happened to be “Lunch and a Movie Day.” Yep, the kids were watching the “Cat in the Hat” on a huge screen at the front of the lunch room. What the hell am I paying for at this school? Oh right, I don’t pay… figures.
We didn’t get movies at school; we got some hostess pies, a roll that was seran wrapped with a pat of butter on top and a “full fat” chocolate milk, and a bunch of other deliciously fattening junk, that’s what we got.
Remember him?
“You guys are so lucky,” I said to my son and his friends. A few of his friends responded. My kid, who recently told me not being able to do more than one thing at a time was his downfall, was captivated by Mike Myer’s portrayal of Cat and barely nodded in my direction. Correction, that wasn’t a nod, he was tilting his head to see around my head, as I was blocking his view… silly me.
I then conversed with a few of his friends about how my day was going and what they had learned thus far, but a woman screeched onto a mic and interrupted, “If you can hear me clap 2 times.” We all clapped like cattle, ok, cows don’t clap, but you know what I meant…
Or Do They? Mawahaha
The woman continued, “Now, let’s use our movie manners! We are not here to socialize so let’s not talk to our friends and let’s just eat and enjoy our movie.”
Really, they’re not at lunch to socialize? They get like a 15 min recess and now they can’t talk during their 20 min lunch? – Which, didn’t even get them to the introduction of Thing 1… or Thing 2, for that matter. (Leave it to a school to ruin movie lunch.)
Day 5: We returned stuffed dog and I breathed a sigh of relief. “I get a year’s reprieve from this awesome task.” Maybe in 4th grade the boys can bring home something a little more masculine, like a sword… or a condom. Well, that was just silly, a condom would look ridiculous sitting next to grandma in a family portrait. Of course we could always photoshop in a pet snake or this guy:
See ya next year!
What is the worst thing the school has your child do?
Those were the words said to me this morning by my closest friend.
Her next words: “You have to come see this. It’s horrifying.”
Me: I just want to make sure we’re clear.You’re asking me to come to your house so that we can watch ducks have sex? Can we not afford good porn?
Susan: You make me sound so cheap.
Me: Moving on, you want me to drive over to your house to watch something so horrifying you’ve termed it rape?
Susan: Yeah.
Me: Okay.
What? You people think my days are so full of work that I don’t have time to watch ducks schtup? Like they say, “there’s never a reason to miss ducks getting laid.” Wait, is that what they say?
I thought it would look something like this.
But it looked more like this.
Half hour later: HOLY CRAP! First, let me explain that she wasn’t kidding or even exaggerating. If you’ve ever seen Mallards or their cousins, the Muscovy ducks, mate – and frankly, who hasn’t – you’d know of what I speak. The drakes are like boys at a frat party gone wrong—very very wrong. I swear one of them quacked, “No means Yes.” Well, it was “Quack, Quack, Quack,” but he said it with the same intonation (He then shot-gunned a beer and smashed the can on his beak).
As I watched with disturbing fascination, these guys just pecked at the female, attacked each other, and took turns attacking the female until she relented. It’s like my husband any Saturday night he doesn’t eat himself into a food coma. (So, like, once every couple of months.)
I walked up to the female, let’s call her Daisy, and said, “Look, I can get video of the whole thing. This will definitely hold up in court, and we’re gonna see Donald behind bars in no time. We’re talking heavy, metal, cage bars. I’ll represent you if I have to. I don’t think a duck trial would be too complex. I mean, I’m sure it’s nothing like a kangaroo court.”
I took her lack of response to mean she didn’t trust my legal abilities. “Yeah, well, good luck getting a better lawyer. Most of them are busy with Lindsey Lohan. How about this – just let me call Florida Animal Control, and I’ll have him removed from the premises.”
This time, I took her lack of response to mean that I should give it a try. She was also pinned to the ground, so I thought a bit of creative interpretation was called for.
Operator: Animal Control. How can I help you?
Me: Yes, I’ve witnessed a heinous crime in the animal kingdom, and I need you to come and remove the offender.
Oper: Ma’am what are you talking about, do you have a gator?
Me: No. I have a rapist duck.
Oper: What kind of duck is it?
Me: Why does that matter? Do you discriminate against certain types of ducks?
Oper: Is this a serious call?
Me: Yes. It’s a Muscovy duck.
Oper: I’m sorry ma’am. We don’t deal with animals that aren’t indigenous to Florida, and Muscovy is actually a breed from Mexico.
Me: And you have a thing about Mexican Ducks? What, do you think they’re taking all the jobs from American ducks or something? How horrible, this poor duck crosses the boarder for a little clean agua, and next thing you know she’s flying with a fast crowd, a gang attacks her, and she has no recourse. It’s just like West Side Story, but with less dancing.
Oper: Ma’am, I’m hanging up now.
Me: Wait, is there a Mexican Animal Embassy I could call?
Oper: Lady, that’s how ducks do it.
I especially love the operator’s last line because she was so serious throughout the conversation – calling me ma’am and such – even though it was said in an accent straight out of Deliverance. But she ended with “do it,” not “mate” or even “have sex.” I wanted to be like, heh… heh-heh, you said, “do it,” but she hung up too fast.
So, I got directly into my car. I couldn’t even look Daisy in the eye, mainly because I promised to put her old man on Dragon Pearl’s menu, but also because she’s really ugly. Seriously, have you ever seen those Muscovy ducks? If there was a lesson to be learned from the “The Ugly Duckling,” it’s that people really do hate ugly ducks.
So, I got home and googled “DuckRape.” It didn’t say “Did you mean duct-tape?” No, it actually gave me pages of studies on duckrape and the forced copulation habits of ducks. But, this was my favorite find. This is what Isabella Rossellini is doing now: Yes, she actually says the line, “Ouch ouch, one of them is raping me… I don’t care.” THIS VIDEO WILL LEAVE YOUR JAW ON THE GROUND… SERIOUSLY.
Oh, that happened. You should know, you watched it. You sick perv, you. Gives new meaning to “Fuck a Duck” right?
Who would have thought you’d be learning so much about duck sex today? Probably not you. And yet here you are, looking at a video of Isabella Rossellini’s duck vagina.
So what’s the message here? Don’t move to Florida if you’re an animal who’s not a native species. Maybe try California – they’re pretty liberal. We’ve also learned that ducks frequently get raped, but there’s no such thing as consent in the animal kingdom… so technically it isn’t rape.
PS thank goodness for the “no consent” thing. If animals could withhold consent I’d feel pretty guilty about eating them.
Oh, and lastly, the beautiful Isabella Rossellina is now doing animal porn.
I went out shopping with my mom the other day and I felt guilty, not because I was breaking my necessary self-imposed shopping ban, but because I had left my kids.I had left them not with a babysitter, but with my husband.They were not doing child labor; they were simply going to a movie. I couldn’t pinpoint the cause of the feeling I was having.Maybe it was guilt brought on by the fear of sending them off alone with their dad.Would something happen without my guidance?Continue reading →
Here is the original article I did for iVillage I gave you a bit more than a teaser this time because a lot was edited out.
When I first sat down to write this article I couldn’t help but snicker; not because this seems like an amusing predicament to be in, but because the topic tested my maturity level. A nervous wave came over me as I reluctantly imagined this scenario and all I could think was “Awkward.” As awkward as this circumstance is for the parent, consider the gut wrenching embarrassment from a child’s point of view. I know, simply empathizing could make you red in the face. In fact, at 30-whatever I am, I still wouldn’t want to have a conversation on the subject with one of my own parents.
So, what’s a parent to do when they’re confronted with such a touchy (no pun intended) situation? Continue reading →
Warning to all parents, the web character Fred Figglehorn is getting his own movie — Fred:The Movie — which will air on Nickelodeon Sept. 17th. You may be asking yourself, “Who is this Fred, and why am I being warned of his impending flick?” Fred, a character developed and portrayed by teen Lucas Cruikshank, may be one of the most annoying personas ever created.Read More
On a summer trip to Hilton Head, SC I realized that I may actually be the most neurotic mom on the planet. I first noticed this when we were at the park and children where climbing to the top limbs of these winding ancient oaks. In Florida, we don’t have many climbing trees, unless you have the ability to shimmy up a palm. Growing up in Maryland, I remember climbing those trees, and of course the memories that stand out most to a neurotic mom are the one’s of the kids that fell out and broke their own limbs.
So, there I was an inch from my child, ready to steady him at his first errant step. At the same time I was prepared to jump under some random 10yr old Evel Knievel, 25ft up, and let him use my frame to break his impending fall. “Where are that kid’s parents?” I asked my husband, as I was quite certain if they had witnessed his indiscretion in the tree, they would be giving him a stern talking to. Then over walked his dad. The kid said, “Who thinks, I’m gonna fall off and die?” To which the sensitive dad replied, “Well don’t do it halfway. If you only break something we’re gonna end up spending the whole night at the hospital.” Maybe you found that obnoxious, maybe you found it funny, I found it horrifying. But it seems that the general parenting attitude – outside of these very sheltered towns I’ve managed to live in – is one of ease and nonchalance. My husband has this attitude; he believes everything will be all right, whereas I think those crazy things that seem so rare are common occurrences and second guess my every decision, for fear of what those choices may have unleashed upon my family.
One of these choices was to sign the kids up for a day of Adventure Camp. I wanted to take advantage of the amazing golf. Scratch that, my husband wanted to take advantage of the amazing golf. He’ll be happy I mentioned “him,” “scratch,” and “golf” in the same sentence. The Adventure Camp wasn’t so adventurous. It was mainly 4 and 5 year olds and boasted a 1:3 counselor to camper ratio. They took the kids crabbing on the beach and then raced their crabs. Then they brought them to a shaded pool, low enough to stand in. Though I didn’t really care if we golfed or not, I reminded myself that sometimes your husband needs to do a bit of what he wants on a family vacation. Since, I rarely if ever put him first, or second, or third for that matter, I decided to let my kids enjoy a day at camp while we golfed. I know, it was the best choice for my kids and my husband, but for me, it was the one that caused the most anxiety. The other parents were in and out at drop off, but I spent quite some time saying my goodbyes, and assessing the counselors. I thoroughly interviewed them, asking about their lifesaving credentials, their head count procedures, and how I could contact them to check on my kids.
How many moms know how debilitating it is to worry over so many things at once? How hard it is to just enjoy something when scary scenarios keep popping into your head? I was relieved when we saw them at the pool in the afternoon; a surprise encounter that was only slightly planned on my part. Then in the hour between the pool and camp pickup a torrential downpour ensued and I had to start worrying all over again. Would the trolley skid or would someone slip on the wet brick pathways? After pick up I could breathe more freely, but I couldn’t help wonder, what kind of disservice I’m doing to my children by not allowing them to do things that other parents seem to have no problem with?
Comment Question:
What do you think, can you relate? Are you a worrier or easy goer?
So, I gave her “Noise Making” and “Underwear Putting On.” Listen, this has been going on for a week or two, we’re well past “Most Spirited,” and “Best Smile” I’m running out of accolades… I’ve even managed to assign “Biggest Flirt.” 
–Dealing with a lost pet can be extremely daunting… even if it’s a ladybug.
