tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69759877902270669122024-03-05T01:41:05.982-08:00Media MomsWe are two working mothers — Lauren Rose, the director of business development for Name Bubbles, and Betsy DeMars, the assistant managing editor at The Saratogian. Try as we may to be really good at both, balancing motherhood and career can get pretty messy. As professionals, work schedules and mommy schedules often collide. So, we plow through, hoping at the end of the day, our kids — Lauren's 5-year-old son and Betsy's 11-year-old son and 9-year-old daughter — know how much we love them.Media Mom Betsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13486176636273398400noreply@blogger.comBlogger155125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6975987790227066912.post-88079670470292700452012-12-14T14:56:00.000-08:002013-02-03T05:14:51.640-08:00Moments matter for busy momsAs a working mom, there are times when work and family collide and the end result is that you're either home with your child working or, in this case, your child is with you at the office.<br />
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When I must bring my son into the office, his incentive for watching mommy work is a trip to the vending machine, which is usually "off limits" to him. I give him one dollar which buys him exactly one item. Today, he had his eyes on a pack of Twizzlers and proceeded to casually type in the 3-digit code and then press 'start'.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">To his horrifying dismay, a pack of Beef Jerky emerged from the drawer below where his Twizzlers should have been. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">He was exactly one number off.</span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSmlHTpq4Ah0q5gnuL9LfXdYChUtxnrXq-ScQNvnT1tgxXfr5UYlb4kly1mPCrZlzS4J9Q_xa9nr50K9Ts3MpZNNlO-xgjB1tPhSBtvsfaqEOn2R51xz4xQ1lRbvqTdQ3A6hE7eC4Mdng/s1600/Vending.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSmlHTpq4Ah0q5gnuL9LfXdYChUtxnrXq-ScQNvnT1tgxXfr5UYlb4kly1mPCrZlzS4J9Q_xa9nr50K9Ts3MpZNNlO-xgjB1tPhSBtvsfaqEOn2R51xz4xQ1lRbvqTdQ3A6hE7eC4Mdng/s400/Vending.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">The look on his face was priceless, and it took everything I had to quell the laughter brewing in my belly. I took a breath and embraced this "teachable moment" by explaining to him the importance of being present and paying attention to details. Once he heard me out, he said <b>"I understand that part, mom, but why on earth is there meat in the candy machine?"</b></span></blockquote>
{Insert dollar and press <i>correct</i> 3-digit code for Twizzlers}<br />
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What a great question! I let the laughter flow this time and the two of us cracked up about the absurdity of meat being right next to candy. We walked hand-in-hand back to my office, talking and laughing the entire way. Although this isn't what anyone would call a picture perfect family memory, it is exactly what I crave more of as a mom - a perfect <i>moment</i>. As busy moms with to-do lists a mile long, it's important to make even the most mundane and routine parts of our day with the ones we love count for something. What started out as a scheduling conundrum, turned out to be a moment I'll never forget. <br />
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Media Mom Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042102413497952439noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6975987790227066912.post-31289020100293299762012-10-11T13:01:00.002-07:002012-10-11T13:01:23.731-07:00What if moms went on strike?I saw a segment on the Today show yesterday that really struck me. It was about <a href="http://moms.today.com/_news/2012/10/10/14340869-mom-goes-on-strike-stops-cleaning-for-a-week-chaos-ensues?lite#__utma=238145375.2106425443.1337364659.1349893187.1349970351.3&__utmb=238145375.2.10.1349970351&__utmc=238145375&__utmx=-&__utmz=238145375.1349970351.3.3.utmcsr=google|utmccn=(organic)|utmcmd=organic|utmctr=(not%20provided)&__utmv=238145375.|8=Earned%20By=todayshow%7Ctoday=1^12=Landing%20Content=Mixed=1^13=Landing%20Hostname=today.msnbc.msn.com=1^30=Visit%20Type%20to%20Content=Earned%20to%20Mixed=1&__utmk=90449625">a mom who -- fed up with picking up after her children — went on stike.</a> <br />
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She and her husband agreed to let their children's dirty dishes pile up in the sink (or wherever they left them), let the laundry go unwashed, and, in general, to leave everything their daughters didn't pick up sitting right where they left it.<br />
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The result was shocking and disgusting. It took about a week for the kids to realize the filth that was building up around them. I'm not sure I would be able to handle how terrible it got in their home.<br />
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It got me thinking: how long would it take before my children would start picking up after themselves? Or at least to realize that something was amiss?<br />
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My 10-year-old daughter actually teases me about my tendencies, asking me why I'm so "zany with cleaning." That stems from the acrostic poem on my name (Elizabeth in case you didn't know what Betsy was derived from) that she did at school in which she needed to find a phrase to describe me that started with 'z'.<br />
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But the only reason I get "zany with cleaning" is because they leave such messes behind! No matter how much I nag them to pick up the stray socks left in the middle of the hallway or the throw away the granola bar wrapper instead of leaving it on the counter, the lazy messes keep happening.<br />
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Something occured to me the other day, though, when I told my son he needed to clean his room. Seriously, stuff was spilling out of his closet and his desk was heaped with random stuff. But to him, perhaps because the carpet was still visible, it was perfectly acceptable. "My room is clean, Mom!" I realized then that his perspective "clean" is clearly much different than mine.<br />
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Sometimes I probably am too picky. That is, if you consider requiring that towels are not left on the floor in the middle of the bathroom as being too picky.<br />
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Most of the time, though, I'm just trying to keep our space liveable. Is that too much to ask?Media Mom Betsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13486176636273398400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6975987790227066912.post-59905460889442978752012-09-05T13:45:00.002-07:002012-09-05T13:45:23.407-07:00That strange feeling right before school startsMy kids go back to school tomorrow (B'Spa district), and the feeling in my house when I left this morning was quite melancholy. <br />
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Between the two of them and the baby sitter, who's getting ready to start her senior year of high school, they all looked depressed as I passed by them all sitting on the couch this morning. The party's over.<br />
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They've had a heck of a summer, though. They spend nearly three busy weeks in Kansas with relatives (lots of spoiling going on there. <br />
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They returned to go to Lake George for several days for our annual family campout. <br />
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Then it was VBS the next week, for which their cousins stayed the week with us. We even attended a Philadelphia Orchestra at SPAC that week.<br />
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They've spent many summer days with fun baby sitters who take them to cool places like Moreau State Park and play fun games with them like water balloon wars at the house. They've slept in and stayed in their pjs late into the day.<br />
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We went to a Yankees game. <br />
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We even spent last weekend in the Thousand Islands region on the boat and camping.</div>
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I definitely get affected by the close of summer and the start of school, too. On Monday when I woke up at the campground, the twinge of depression hit me. Everyone was packing up and leaving the park -- even the lifeguards were shutting everything down for the season. It manifested itself in being a bit cranky as I started packing up. And taking the boat out of water at the end of that long weekend always feels weird, especially on a beautiful sunny day. There's that uncertainty of whether you'll actually make it out again this year. Once school starts -- and sports -- it's just too busy. </div>
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So that's it. So long, summer. Tonight, the kids will go to bed early, and we'll be up at 6 to start back into the routine. It's that strange feeling of letting go and grabbing ahold of what lies ahead.<br />
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Media Mom Betsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13486176636273398400noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6975987790227066912.post-70075485121450021252012-08-10T14:06:00.002-07:002012-08-10T14:06:24.073-07:00Wonder who's gonna show up to baby sit next weekIt's Day 5 of having baby sitters come to my house instead of having to get the kids ready and drive them to the sitter's house. And I have to say, it's going swimmingly well. <br />
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Notice that I used the plural -- baby sitters. I actually didn't know who was going to be showing up each day, and I was fine with that. Sounds weird, I know.<br />
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But the way this is working — at least after the first week — I can't complain. See, I actually "hired" a college student I know very well from church to baby sit weekdays for the month of August. Though she had some other sitting gigs lined up, she arranged for others to come in her sted whenever she was not available. It should be noted that her substitutes are also teenagers I know very well from church. One is even the pastor's daughter.<br />
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So it's been a joy each morning this week having these youngsters, whom I consider positive influences on my two children, come to my home. I've left each morning feeling good about what lay ahead for the day, on the homefront anyway.<br />
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The only negative so far is that I feel compelled to have my house totally in order before anyone arrives in the morning. Perhaps this OCD-induced compulsion will pass.<br />
<br />Media Mom Betsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13486176636273398400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6975987790227066912.post-34226010160303915262012-08-02T11:06:00.003-07:002012-08-02T11:06:59.689-07:00A working mom's summer is no vacationFor the working mom, summer time management is no picnic. <br />
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At least for me, I find it's a constant juggling act — almost as much as it is during the school year. It starts with the coordination of making sure we have child care throughout the summer. <br />
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That's gotten a little less stressful since the children started going to visit relatives in Kansas during the first few weeks of their summer vacation. Those two to three weeks should have been stress-free, right? But because I'm me, I jammed in as much stuff as I could -- two weekend camping trips and some nights out -- putting a lot of pressure on myself to get all my office work done AND packing for camping (never simple).<br />
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My inlaws brought the kids home a couple weeks ago and stayed at our house for a week before joining us on a camping trip to Roger's Rock on Lake George. Once again, everything had to be buttoned up at work (in the midst of track season no less). Thankfully my inlaws are AMAZING and packed and planned for much of the trip.<br />
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This week, my sister is here from Connecticut with her children to attend our church's vacation Bible school each morning. So we have a houseful, and I'm a bit on edge during the day because she's got her kids and mine and I'm scrambling to get out of work before she loses her mind dealing with all of them.<br />
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Beginning next week and until the end of the summer, I'm counting on two lovely teenage girls to watch my kids full time. I'm grateful they will be coming to my house so I don't have to get us all out the door to go somewhere each morning, but my OCD about having my house presentable for guests is looming. I can see myself uneccessarily burdening each morning with the stress of having my house clean. Gotta shake that quickly or I'll be a basketcase by next week.<br />
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Work here at The Saratogian is always overwhelming, and summer is no exception. Outside the office window, looking out on Lake Avenue, I can see the blue sky and people walking around in vacation garb. It adds a pressure to get out and enjoy these fleeting days of summer. But, truthfully, all I really want to do is sit on my back porch with my feet up and sip a glass of lemonade.<br />Media Mom Betsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13486176636273398400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6975987790227066912.post-35998840538761763752012-07-20T07:29:00.001-07:002012-07-23T06:47:02.935-07:00Do kids of working parents get cheated in the summer?<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First Day of Camp </td></tr>
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Was my son going to get cheated out of his summer vacation because I'm a working mom? <span style="background-color: white;">This was the question that kept racing through my mind mid-way through my son's first year of elementary school. When he leaves Kindergarten in June, would he feel like less fortunate than his peers who "got to" stay home all summer? It's never simple balancing work and family as a working mom, but this particular dilemma was new to me. You see, during the daycare years, the transition to summertime was seamless and frankly unnoticeable. Why was that? Well, all of his friends were in the exact same boat. Not so with elementary school. In fact, several of my son's closest friends have moms who are teachers or freelance or don't work. How was I going to ensure that my son had a great summer? Or better yet, was that even possible?</span><br />
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Back in February, my fellow working mom friends and I were frantically signing our kids up for camp, or more accurately camps. I registered my son for six-weeks at the local golf and tennis club, followed by two weeks of day camp at the <a href="http://saratogaregionalymca.org/documents/2012%20campBrochure_krg.pdf">YMCA</a>, and added one additional week of<br />
<a href="http://www.saratoga-arts.org/education">Art Camp</a> (there is no camp the last week of summer, but that's a topic for another day). As you can imagine, there are numerous logistics associated with singing up for multiple camps and then there's tuition, something we hoped not to see after years of daycare payments. In fact, camp does not come cheap. Honesty, though, the looming sign up deadlines and credit card charges were nothing compared to the unknown: would my son feel like he got robbed of his summer vacation?<br />
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To my surprise (and delight!) my son loves camp and has said multiple times that he's a very lucky kid because he gets to go to the "Best Camp Ever!" Phew, what a relief. The kid can't wait to go each morning and is having the time of his life - playing sports, making new friends, eating chocolate cake for snack - and he can't wait to tell me about the games he plays and crafts he's made when I fetch him in the afternoon.<br />
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Sure, we still need to transition to camp #2 and #3, but I can honestly say that the first several weeks of summer have been a joy for our family and a big relief for me. My son has his cake and is eating it, too.Media Mom Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042102413497952439noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6975987790227066912.post-90323333592721929062012-06-01T09:25:00.000-07:002012-06-01T09:25:30.655-07:00Chicken update: the coop is openRemember the little chicks I wrote about in <a href="http://2mediamoms.blogspot.com/2012/04/chicks-start-of-our-little-farm.html">my previous post?</a> Well, they are not so chick-like anymore. In fact, they practically look like full-grown chickens now in just a couple months' time.<br />
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They outgrew the storage tub we had them in very quickly, so my husband built a bigger box to keep them indoors until it got a bit warmer. In no time, they were too big for that, too.<br />
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In the meantime, we built a coop in the backyard. We have three acres, and my husband chose a spot nestled in a stand of trees with lots of vegetation around the coop for the chickens to enjoy.<br />
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In the interest of being economical about building the thing, we used all free materials -- old wood fence takedowns from jobs my husband did recently. (A lot of stuff around my house is made of old fence parts. That's what happens when you're married to a fence installer.) The only thing we paid for was the box of screws.<br />
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We "finished" the coop and fenced yard for them (it still needs some work, but it was at a functional point) on a Saturday evening about 9. So, under the cover of darkness, we transported the chicks one by one from a fenced area behind the house to their new home. I'm sure it looked pretty odd -- my daughter and I running in the dark with chickens in our hands. That's 19 trips to and fro.<br />
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They were very happy in their new home, especially the outdoor area, where they spend their days.Media Mom Betsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13486176636273398400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6975987790227066912.post-4334926058668788222012-04-18T10:49:00.004-07:002012-04-18T11:42:38.693-07:00Daddy and daughter have a dateDespite my excitement when a daddy-daughter dance was announced during church a few Sundays ago, the looks on the faces of my husband and daughter were not so enthusiastic. I looked to my left at my daughter and got a deer-in-the-headlights expression. I looked to my right and got raised eyebrows from my husband.<br /><br />But, after talking to both of them seperately, it was clear there were just a few misconceptions and silly apprehensions. She thought it was for little, little girls -- not big 9-year-old girls like herself. And my husband, well, he isn't too fond of dancing, per se. Clearly there are more important aspects of this, though. Spending time with her doing something special is really the most important part of it.<br /><br />So I pushed a bit (after it was clear she really wanted him to take her). It didn't take too much, really -- just pointing out how important that kind of stuff is to a father-daughter bond. Because he is a sensitive guy at heart, I could tell he just needed that nudge.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgtEDa2ltwub1OyC83mVTMXd-64ftFrGEWSU5DRTAELVwWeYqI4rNM5BbYwECCxjwiwOpnY9rplSaAcGmZHJ0lTTiV2b7rM4rIO9cgqvPF4TSoPAiBPy6tBzOHGkMo6cEAdCJQFt3IxFM/s1600/dance+ticket.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgtEDa2ltwub1OyC83mVTMXd-64ftFrGEWSU5DRTAELVwWeYqI4rNM5BbYwECCxjwiwOpnY9rplSaAcGmZHJ0lTTiV2b7rM4rIO9cgqvPF4TSoPAiBPy6tBzOHGkMo6cEAdCJQFt3IxFM/s320/dance+ticket.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5732812451345250946" /></a><br /><br />The two of them went and bought their ticket after church, and I could tell by the way my daughter displayed it in her room, that she <em>is</em> really excited about it.Media Mom Betsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13486176636273398400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6975987790227066912.post-11573558979010789582012-04-17T11:17:00.008-07:002012-04-18T10:49:26.128-07:00Chicks -- the start of our little farmWe had talked about getting some chickens for quite some time. We figured it would be a little toe dip into farming, which we've also daydreamed about a bit. <br /><br />The ideal would be having a farm with blueberries (just because we love them), goats (for cheese) and chickens (for eggs) and maybe even grapes (for wine, of course).<br /><br />But to start off the dream, we decided to get some chicks. When Tractor Supply advertised their "Chick Days," which featured a few different breeds at a good price, it seemed like a great time to just jump in. All the feed and other stuff you need also was on sale.<br /><br />So we made a family trip to the store and came home with 20 chicks. We lost one on day 2 (poor little guy), but we've had 19 for the past week, and they all seem to be doing well.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ0Ai8dU1PBzzvFCcnsdVJOWlMMXrsr6WPnW3i0Vex7NiHkzzocqBKR8BG-Uz78oYv8nCn_EHJAUB5w79tAwmfClxawuSyd4kcss_ZEd3BQnE_atH-POzGS2SXpD65o3MQjRy6mU16LKA/s1600/chicks.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ0Ai8dU1PBzzvFCcnsdVJOWlMMXrsr6WPnW3i0Vex7NiHkzzocqBKR8BG-Uz78oYv8nCn_EHJAUB5w79tAwmfClxawuSyd4kcss_ZEd3BQnE_atH-POzGS2SXpD65o3MQjRy6mU16LKA/s320/chicks.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5732792173373865746" /></a><br />My husband worked on a chicken farm years ago and his brother's family has chickens, so he at least has some background knowledge. But, for the most part, this is a learn-as-we-go situation. We're reading what we can and all participating as a family.<br /><br />Our kids are a great age for helping with this, too (12 and 9). They want to make sure the chicks are fed and watered and generally cared for, so they are jumping in and helping without even being asked. (Wow!) They actaully <em>want</em> to do these chores!<br /><br />We have to keep them inside for a few more weeks, but my husband is building the outdoor coop, so it will be ready for them. Honestly, as much as I'm enjoying them, I can't wait to get them outdoors. It turns out no matter how often you clean out their living area, the chicken coop smell doesn't really go away. No matter how much of a farm girl I <em>think</em> I am at heart, I don't want it to smell like a barnyard in my house.Media Mom Betsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13486176636273398400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6975987790227066912.post-76295059409582694462012-04-12T17:19:00.005-07:002012-04-13T03:33:24.980-07:00Stop throwing that ball or you might lose a...This morning, our five year old son asked to go outside at 7:00 am. As my husband and I sipped our coffee, we looked at each other, nodded, and off he went with his new red ball.<br />
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He's pretty obsessed with the new red ball and just can't help but bounce it EVERYWHERE. We could tell where he was in our front yard by the different sounds the ball would make. Ping on the pavement. Thud on the grass. Then, we heard a bang on the house. Bang. Bang. Bang. I put my coffee down and went to the door. "Please don't throw the ball at the house", I said. <br />
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Then, we heard it again. Bang!<br />
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Suddenly, the front door flew open and in he ran. "I lost my first tooth! I lost my first tooth!". It had been wiggling around in his mouth for over a month and I'd simply forgotten about it. "The ball bounced off the house and knocked it right out!" he said. He couldn't have been more excited and, to our dismay, not at all upset that after I told him not to bounce the ball on the house he did it anyway. We couldn't help but laugh out loud as he told us over and over exactly how it happened. He thought the whole thing was "really cool".<br />
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The loss of his first tooth brings with it another "first" in our household: a visit from the Tooth Fairy. I've thankfully been collecting brand-spanking-new gold dollar coins for this very occasion (I think I have seven in total). They put a brand new vending machine in at our office complex and it dispenses the gold coins as change. Since I don't use the vending machines personally, I "buy" the coins from my coworkers.<br />
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Tonight, we'll pack up the tooth in the little bag he decorated himself (a Christmas gift from his Aunt <a href="http://www.glitterpieart.com/index2.html">Glitter Pie - Art in a Box</a>), place it under his pillow, and the tooth fairy will bring him something special. Let's just say, he's beyond excited!<br />
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We'll have to wait and see, though, if the fact that the Tooth Fairy comes INTO his room (and will not simply lurk around downstairs like Santa or the Easter Bunny) will keep him in his own bed all night long. That's a blog post for another day.<br />
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<br />Media Mom Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042102413497952439noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6975987790227066912.post-65764298721298763762012-03-13T12:28:00.005-07:002012-03-13T12:49:35.219-07:00When you send a man to the store, part II<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLHfhYUKOHva0gnLIZ_5XzxQga4SaWb4LgC-KVhsyJ51iP_wylkSbSeapUgNJHLAw6xPbkl-NxtztrrDngIKRiV4jb_76uIkkRkYFhRi11bHm7v2FrEZdLzcgYQrGo1CFQ6YVc94IMAfM/s1600/content.php.gif"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 100px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLHfhYUKOHva0gnLIZ_5XzxQga4SaWb4LgC-KVhsyJ51iP_wylkSbSeapUgNJHLAw6xPbkl-NxtztrrDngIKRiV4jb_76uIkkRkYFhRi11bHm7v2FrEZdLzcgYQrGo1CFQ6YVc94IMAfM/s320/content.php.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719466202991638786" /></a><br />After <a href="http://2mediamoms.blogspot.com/2012/03/when-you-send-man-to-store.html">my last post</a> about my husband coming home with "groceries" that weren't exactly the basics I had asked for, a co-worker sent me this cartoon, which I think is quite fitting.<br /><br />Although if my daughter were with him on this shopping trip, my husband probably would have picked up more "dinnery" stuff, as she tends to keep the boys in line when I'm not around.<br /><br />My husband did laugh when I pointed out the lack of nutritional value in the choices he and our son made that evening. "It looks like two guys went to the store," he chuckled.<br /><br />And since I am still on this tangent: I left two "basics" off the list of groceries he picked up that night. <br />1.) A large container of French onion dip. <br />2.) A container of sour cream and onion dip. <br /><br />These two items apparently make a meal out of the five bags of potato chips he bought.Media Mom Betsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13486176636273398400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6975987790227066912.post-84083370688275609872012-03-08T08:51:00.002-08:002012-03-08T09:24:53.991-08:00When you send a man to the store ..."I'm going to run to Wal-Mart tonight during soccer practice if you want me to get some groceries," my husband told me Tuesday afternoon. Great, I thought, because I had such a busy weekend that I didn't get to the store at all.<br /><br />"Just grab some basics and stuff for lunches," I told him quickly, as per usual I was in the middle of 50 things at work and didn't have time to spell it out. "Oh, but make sure to get dog food. We definitely need that."<br /><br />The fridge and cupboards were pretty bare — hardly any milk, eggs and bread, which are the staples in our house. No lunch meat or cheese or granola bars or fruit either — all stuff we use during the week for bagged lunches. (I was getting to the point of having to get really creative when making the kids lunches, like giving them Cheerios as a snack.)<br /><br />I was really glad he was going to get to the store because I was booked through about 10 that night. But as it turns out, my expectations were a bit high. When I checked the cupboards and fridge when I arrived home, it became clear that my idea of "the basics" is much, much different than his. <br /><br />No milk, no bread, no eggs. No lunch meat. No fruit.<br /><br />Here's what he did get:<br />3 bags of different flavored Cheetos<br />1 bag of Ruffles potato chips<br />1 box of Hot and Spicy Cheez Its<br />A big container of peanut butter<br />A box of individually wrapped cookie packs<br />Nutter Butters<br />Grape-flavored sqeeze-type drinks<br />8 Chobani Greek yogurts (This was bought for me, because I apparently he thinks I consume mass amounts of yogurt.)<br /><br />Oh, I almost forgot. Dog food. He did get that. Guess I have to give the guy a little credit ...Media Mom Betsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13486176636273398400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6975987790227066912.post-38521475507981121642012-02-15T11:16:00.000-08:002012-02-15T11:47:20.807-08:00A surprising Valentine's DaySometimes it's the little things that help you course-correct in your life. A letter in the mail, a friend's gentle reminder, or in my case - a birdhouse and a piece of jewelry.<br />
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My mom called yesterday morning to see if she and my dad could come up to the house and bring my son his Valentine's Day gift. It was a quick phone call (I'm busy, after all) and within a minute we'd confirmed the time that they'd be arriving. Later on, and moments after I met my son at the bus stop, my parents arrived with a balloon, a card, and a box of SweetHearts in hand. After a lot of hugging, my son opened his gift, ate a few candy hearts and punched away at the balloon (not its intended use). Then, to my surprise, my parents pulled out two additional gifts - both of them for me. Last I knew, we didn't exchange Valentine's Day gifts. Did I miss something? Two gifts, really?<br />
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My dad had handmade a little birdhouse for our deck. Apparently, he and my son made it together on a recent overnight visit as a 'special project'. My dad had taken care to place a little wire netting above the birdhouse floor to keep the bird's home clean and comfortable. He thought I'd like it, and I do; very much in fact. <br />
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My mom's gift to me was a little jewelry box wrapped in a red ribbon. "I thought you'd like to have this", she said. I opened it up and lifted a beautiful rhinestone choker from the box. It was a piece from my grandmother's collection of costume jewelry (nice stuff, actually). She had impeccable taste, but not much of a budget. I also have her beautiful 3/4 sleeve faux fur with mink collar, which tells me that she made the most of her limited resources! It's really too bad that she died when I was just five years old, since both my mother and I agree that we would have gotten along famously. This gift really meant a lot to me.<br />
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These small acts of kindness from my parents made me realize that my parents are still <i>mine</i> and although they act a whole lot more like grandparents these days (giving my child gummy worms and doing WHATEVER he wants, whenever he wants), I'm pretty lucky to have two living parents that I see on a regular basis. I'd honestly gotten so used to them being <i>Grandma</i> and <i>Papa</i>, that I'd pretty much stepped out of the parent/daughter relationship all together without truly realizing it.<br />
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This year my parents will both turn 70, so it feels pretty important to savor these moments and appreciate them in a way that matters. Because they do matter.Media Mom Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042102413497952439noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6975987790227066912.post-9248751464369484812012-02-15T08:14:00.000-08:002012-02-15T08:14:00.134-08:00Sleep deprived, but it's my own faultEver since I slipped into a pattern of getting only 6 hours of sleep a night tops, I wondered how it would manifest itself physically. And I believe I am beginning to see. The dark circles are starting to appear under my eyes, and I have to say -- I'm pretty freaked out about it.<br /><br />I've typically been an 8-hours-a-day type of person. But in September — when I started getting up at 5:15 a.m. some weekdays to go to the gym and the rest of the weekdays at 6 a.m. because my now middle-schooler son's bus comes at 6:45 a.m. — 6 hours a night became the norm.<br /><br />I kept saying I was going to start going to bed earlier, but it ends up being impossible. On the sort of rare day when we don't have something going on in the evening, I am usually not home from work till nearly 7 p.m. (newsrooms can hold you hostage in the evening very easily). By the time dinner, dishes, homework, showers, laundry, etc. are wrapped up, I'm not heading upstairs to the bedroom till 10 p.m. or later.<br /><br />Then sometimes there is paperwork, bills or reading to do. It's pretty rare to be able to settle down before 11. And when that alarm goes off just after 5 a.m., I really regret that.<br /><br />What to do? I often say there are not enough hours in the day, but I think I need to probably go the route of trying to do less in the day. <br /><br />I've heard so many things about how getting enough sleep is so important to good health. I'm sure the dark circles are not the only issue my lack of sleep is creating. <br /><br />So, I'm on a mission to remedy this. It's just deciding which things can be trimmed out of the day when everything seems to be a priority.Media Mom Betsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13486176636273398400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6975987790227066912.post-35967825464783713442012-02-14T10:30:00.000-08:002012-02-14T11:13:35.634-08:00An on-time valentineI am so proud of myself this Valentine's Day. You may recall <a href="http://2mediamoms.blogspot.com/2011/03/when-valentines-day-is-deadline-day.html">the insanity I endured last year </a>, which involved grabbing leftover candy from the office for my children's Valentine's Day "gifts" (Tacky, I know. But desperate times, call for desperate measures.)<br /><br />This year, I vowed to be more prepared. That doesn't mean I went all out, but I did manage to actually purchase items BEFORE Valentine's Day for my husband, son and daughter. Thankfully, I had plenty of prompting from my daughter, who LOVES V-Day (and any "holiday" for that matter). She always fills out her valentines for her classmates early and was preparing cards for us several days ahead, too. <br /><br />So, I decided to take a page out of her playbook and bought my husband a card on Saturday while I was shopping at WalMart, and I picked up and some goodies for him and the kids Monday (a whole day ahead!).<br /><br />My husband and I had this pre-Valentine's Day conversation:<br />HUBBY: I'm sure you'll be impressed; I already got your card.<br />ME: (all excited) Yeah! I got yours on Saturday!<br />HUBBY: Wow, we're really on the ball this year!<br /><br />Indeed! For once ...<br /><br />Of course, the day is still filled with the usual chaos. We have multiple activities tonight (soccer, basketball and a church group meeting), so we'll all be in different places till day's end. Good thing we all expressed our love for each other early in the day.Media Mom Betsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13486176636273398400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6975987790227066912.post-27125895836726347632012-02-06T12:36:00.000-08:002012-02-06T13:55:27.026-08:00Super Bowl Sunday silliness<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJQzJpM94icNZzloZsrT8VF_mKuG6E7oUlmvBMy36k7PuqZ-9Z22W9bMsYwYDjJXFn5Safhs9HINTZ-LzQO_djg5rcEFshyphenhyphenF5pY-D-X4c3w9M7gdsollTNiLWqJr_G9wNgyrWuHTl8Y48/s1600/matthew+patriots.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJQzJpM94icNZzloZsrT8VF_mKuG6E7oUlmvBMy36k7PuqZ-9Z22W9bMsYwYDjJXFn5Safhs9HINTZ-LzQO_djg5rcEFshyphenhyphenF5pY-D-X4c3w9M7gdsollTNiLWqJr_G9wNgyrWuHTl8Y48/s320/matthew+patriots.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706141299974406498" /></a><br /><br />Super Bowl Sunday was certainly interesting in my house. My 12-year-old son was super pumped about his team (the Patriots) being in the big game (which is why his mood went downhill toward the end of the game as is evidenced in this photo), and I think my husband probably was rooting for the Giants just to spite him a little.<br /> <br />For someone who isn't a hard-core Giants fan, my husband got very into this game. Early last week he told me he needed to find facepaint. Very important, apparently. I didn't know how crucial this was until he insisted we go to Ocean State Job Lot after church Sunday so he could find some.<br /><br />I met with my Skidmore News students (I am their newspaper club adviser) in the afternoon instead of our normal evening meeting, so we all could watch the game. I came home to some wild and crazy stuff. My kids' faces were both painted in Patriots' colors with names and numbers of favorite players on their cheeks, and my husband's face was painted in blue and white with "NY" on his cheeks.<br />They were all whooped up and were heading next door to our neighbors' Super Bowl party to -- as my husband put it -- "raise a ruckus."<br /><br />I admit I rolled my eyes at how nuts the three of them were acting -- especially my husband. I mean it was pretty over the top to see my 41-year-old husband with his face painted blue and white.<br /><br />I was even pretty sarcastic when he said there was a little girl next door who thought he was the bees knees. "That's because you look like a smurf," I mocked.<br /><br />But, now I'm doing some Monday morning quarterbacking on my behavior. The kids loved it, and he was being a fun person, something I think I used to be better at.<br />So even though my son was a bit depressed about his team's loss, the overall experience was certainly positive in my house.Media Mom Betsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13486176636273398400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6975987790227066912.post-57251471591184651402012-01-17T09:02:00.000-08:002012-01-17T10:09:19.531-08:00Finally tuning in to my desire to play pianoThe best Christmas present I got this year wasn't something my husband picked out from behind the glass at a jewelry story (although that was very nice, too). Instead, this gift came from my Aunt Gail and Uncle Mike, who after many years decided to hand down what was orginally my grandmother's piano. And somehow my family became the fortunate recipient.<br /><br />For many, many years, I have said I want to learn to play piano. I bought a keyboard and had planned to take lessons from a friend, but we moved across the country before I could take advantage of her generous offer. <br /><br />Life has gotten in the way with all the other time commitments I have. But the idea of having a real, live piano in the house renewed my desire to really do it -- to make time somehow. <br /><br />I was so excited to get it home, but all my husband could think was how much work it was going to take to get the thing on Christmas day from my aunt and Uncle's truck (they were coming from New Hampshire) in Connecticut, transport it to New York and get it into our living room. We would have a lot of help moving it from truck to truck at my parents' house that day, but once at out house it would be a different story.<br /><br />My husband enlisted the help of friends — or so he thought. It turned out they were both unavailable when the time actually came. But my husband didn't miss a beat in saying he was sure we could handle it on our own, leading me to believe it was really his plan all along.<br /><br />So, he build a ramp from the truck's tailgate to the front door out of plywood and 2-by-8s, and slowly but surely we (my husband, our 9-year-old, 50-pound daughter and me) rolled and lifted this piano into place in the living room. It took us a long time as we made a plywood path across the room on which we guided the wheels.<br /><br />It's now the prettiest thing in the room. Definitely time for new furniture in that room.<br /><br />I'm trying to sit down and play for 15 minutes a day. I'm using the beginning piano books that my aunt and mother used when they were children. Something cool: each lesson in the books is marked with a little gold or silver star and the initials of my aunt or mother, signifying how they did on the lesson. Perhaps I should get some foil stars to reward myself as I complete each lesson.Media Mom Betsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13486176636273398400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6975987790227066912.post-23415018930956314392011-12-14T07:40:00.001-08:002011-12-14T11:40:58.199-08:00Off and running — in heelsYesterday was one of those days when I woke up and thought, "there's no way I'm going to get all of this done today." Most days are very full, but this was one of those have-to-be-in-three-places-at-once days. <br /><br />It started by getting to the gym at 5:30 a.m. I was home by 6:50, thinking maybe I'd crawl back under the covers for a few minutes before waking my daughter. My thoughts of relaxation didn't last long. The 4-foot pile of clean laundry sitting on the couch shot me an insuting look as soon as I walked into the house. So I folded and sorted instead of going back to bed.<br /><br />At work I whipped through emails and wrapped up our January magazine, working with reporters on their daily stories in between everything else. When I thought an escape was possible, I zipped over to Target. I was on a mission: black pants and black shoes for my son's orchestra concert that night. (Of course, we remembered he needed these the previous evening). <br /><br />Black shoes -- check. Black pants -- uh, oh. Nada. Nothing in his size whatsoever.<br />Alright, I was close to the mall at that point, so I zipped over there and parked at JC Penney's. Once again, failure. Everything is too expensive.<br /><br />So at that point I realized the clock is ticking and I needed to get back to work to finish the daily story budget for the copy editors. I started power walking into the mall, bee-lining for Sears. My feet were killing me. I hadn't planned to do this much walking when I put on those heels.<br /><br />Sears had the goods -- Dockers for 17 bucks and a cute clip-on tie on clearance. I checked out and bolted out the nearest door. Turns out I was waaaay far away from my car. I broke into a deliberate power walk again; then a full-out run (in the hurty heels, mind you) once I saw my car in the distance.<br /><br />The last hour at work was a blur, and then I was on my way to pick up the kids, drop my daughter off at a friend's house across town so she could catch a ride to soccer practice and buzz home to get my son ready for his concert.<br /><br />Once at home, we had 10 minutes to transform him. I ripped off the tags, he got dressed and we were out the door.<br /><br />Where was my husband during all this mayhem? As we raced to the school, he called. He had been working more than an hours-drive away in Hudson but was now on his way from Clifton Park. I dropped off my son and parked (after doing two full loops around the school and its parking lots searching for a spot), and as luck would have it, my husband reached the school entrance just as I did.<br /><br />The concert was wonderful, although we had to crane our necks to see just a patch of his little, blond head. <br /><br />My day was not over, though. I had to bolt out of the concert a few minutes early, once again running to my car (I wisely changed my shoes while at home earlier). It just happens to be my week to sing at church, and rehearsal was starting at 8:30 p.m.<br />Two hours later, I was finally heading home.<br /><br />Just another day in paradise.Media Mom Betsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13486176636273398400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6975987790227066912.post-23198896891971618422011-12-07T09:10:00.000-08:002011-12-07T11:01:02.579-08:00Where does a parent's responsibility end?It's always a tough call for me whether to "fix" something for my children or let them suffer the consequences of their actions.<br /><br />Here's what happened this morning that prompted me to reflect on this. As I was zipping around the house getting ready to leave for work, I noticed my daughter's homework folder sitting on her bed. I picked it up and opened it. Sure enough, her completed homework was tucked inside. For a moment, I contemplated running it over to the school so she wouldn't get in trouble for not having her homework. Glancing at the clock, I quickly decided it against it — but not before a twinge of guilt crept in. <br /><br />An internal dialogue ensued as I continued on my getting-ready routine. Could I bring it to her? Yes, but I would be late for work. Would she be happy and appreciate my efforts? Yes, but it certainly wasn't my responsibility to ensure the folder got to school. Besides, she goofed off for much of the morning before getting her bag packed. Surely, there is a lesson to be learned here for her.<br /><br />So I decided to let her take the heat. It reminded me of a saying we have at the office: "Poor planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part."<br /><br />But where is that line with our kids? We want to teach them to be responsible, but we also want to be there for them. We want to be their heroes on some level. Sometimes that involves coming to their rescue. Usually I can do that without even going out of my way. Like if we all rush out the door to get to soccer practice, and we're in the car on the way, I'll say, "So, you got your water bottle?" Of course, I know she didn't get it because I grabbed it and filled it. But I let her squirm for just a moment. "Oh, no! I don't have it!" <br /><br />Then I swoop in as the hero. Albeit, with a bit of sarcasm.<br /><br />That raises the question, though: When do I just let her forget the water bottle? Are there certain times, instances and levels of responsibility that parents just need to back off and let their kids fall?<br /><br />The biggest struggle I have is with schoolwork. My son is in sixth grade, and the teachers at this grade level are expecting a high level of independence. At what point do I quit nagging him about his homework and just let him suffer the consequences? They are <em>his</em> classes and <em>his</em> assignments, after all.<br /><br />Ballston Spa School District, like many others, offers parents access to a "parent portal" where we can see all assignments. But neither my husband nor I have time to check in there constantly for stuff our kids are charged with keeping track of themselves.<br /><br />So, I'm left to guess when to swoop in and when to back off. It's impossibly difficult to watch your kids fall on their faces, but I guess, in the end, it's where life's lessons are learned.Media Mom Betsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13486176636273398400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6975987790227066912.post-73150526188062693782011-12-01T18:00:00.000-08:002011-12-01T12:35:13.340-08:00When Dad's a SuperheroIt's not bragging to say that I do the lion's share of the daily preparation and household chores for our family. Like many moms, I suppose the same might be said if my husband <i>didn't</i> travel for work, but he does. <div><br /></div><div>When he's not spending a week in China or Europe or South America, my husband's jetting off to Pennsylvania, or Texas or Atlanta. This level of travel is partly why I adopted a friendlier work schedule late this summer. With my son heading to Kindergarten and my husband's travel heating up, it became obvious that <i>something</i> had to change. </div><div><br /></div><div>Because I'm around a bit more these days for things like leisurely weekday breakfasts and putting my son on the bus, which I love, I've become acutely aware of my husband's 'Superhero' status. </div><div><br /></div><div>Wikipedia refers to superheros as "mystery men", which I suppose is what has ultimately elevated my husband to this status. On top of being away quite a bit, his job requires him to help others, which he's very good at, and he's 'saved the day' on more than one occasion. Although he doesn't wear a cape, his business suit is equally impressive to a five year old.</div><div><br /></div><div>I might be the one serving up breakfast, lunch and dinner for my son, bathing him, reading him books, playing with him, carting him to sports, tending to bumps and bruises while working (nearly) full time, but my husband's grand entrance after a week away - gift in hand - is what really makes our son light up and smile ear to ear. In my son's eyes, his dad is most definitely a Superhero. I figure that being the Superhero's wife is pretty cool, too.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Media Mom Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042102413497952439noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6975987790227066912.post-76651073751715273912011-11-24T07:23:00.001-08:002011-11-28T11:38:36.628-08:00Letter to SantaMy five year old son is writing his very first letter to Santa on a notepad he got from the nice folks at Adirondack Trust at last year's Rotary Home show. He worked The Saratogian's booth with me and was a big hit as our official "newspaper hander-outer".<br /><br />His eyes light up as he considers the important task at hand. With his toungue out (he does this when he's concentrating really hard) he picks up his pencil and asks "What do I write first, mom?" I tell him it's completely up to him so he gets right to work with my husband and I there only to help him spell his words and wishes. He doesn't ask for world peace but takes great care writing each item and wants to be sure he uses "good manners". When he's finished, he puts it in an envelope, licks it shut and writes 'Santa' on the front. The look on his face is priceless.<br /><br />Of all the things I'm thankful for, watching him grow and change and become this little person that's uniquely him is my absolute favorite.<br /><br />Happy Holidays!<br /><br />Dear Santa,<br /><br />Merry Christmas to you. I've been very good. Please bring me:<br /><br />1. Suitcase (like Dad's)<br />2. Electric Pencil Sharpener<br />3. Cool Sneakers<br />4. Erasers<br />5. Skeleton<br />6. Notebook<br />7. Map<br /><br />Thank you very much,<br />K<br /><br />Note: For a sampling of adorable letters to Santa, click <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/melismashable/kids-letters-to-santa">here</a>Media Mom Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042102413497952439noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6975987790227066912.post-54439080787633342442011-11-10T16:30:00.000-08:002011-11-10T13:32:24.478-08:00Control freak or just organized?Whenever I'm planning to go to the gym in the morning, I go through a little routine to make sure everything will run smoothly for my husband and son.<br /><br />I pick out clothes for my son to save him the trouble of hunting around for stuff. I set his lunchbox on the counter and wash out his Thermos. I set his backpack on a chair in the kitchen, so it's ready to go.<br /><br />Now, I think I'm just being helpful, but I could see how this could be construed as being a bit of a control freak. But because this is the first year of having to get our sixth-grader on the bus at 6:50 a.m., I figure every little bit counts to save the two of them time. It doesn't seem feasible to get the poor kid up any earlier than 6 a.m., not when we tend to have so much stuff going on in the evenings that prevent him from getting to bed early.<br /><br />Maybe part of what I'm doing is easing my guilt. Just after school started in September I started meeting my friend Melissa at MY GYM (on Route 50 in the Carousel Plaza in Ballston Spa) a few mornings a week. The only time we can meet is 5:45 a.m., so we can get home in time for when our husbands leave for work. <br /><br />It's a good thing that we are working out. I know that. But I feel a little guilty leaving my husband to get our son ready and on the bus in addition to getting himself ready and out the door at the same time. I've been getting both kids ready and on the bus for years all by myself, so why do I feel guilty? <br /><br />I guess it's just hard for moms to let go sometimes ad do something good for themselves. Besides, it's been a couple months, and the boys seem to be doing fine in the morning without me.Media Mom Betsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13486176636273398400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6975987790227066912.post-2892659981421419022011-10-15T06:27:00.000-07:002011-10-15T06:40:49.470-07:00First WishboneIt's officially crock pot season! Like most working mothers, I put the crock pot to use once the weather turns colder each year. Although it takes some planning and prep up front, there's nothing that delights me more than coming home to the wonderful aroma of a home cooked meal, especially when I didn't have to "cook" it. <div><br /></div><div>This past weekend I bought a turkey breast, planning ahead for the crock pot. We love <i>faux</i> Thanksgiving dinners, so it was the perfect choice for us. I simply popped it in the crock pot, added a bit of water, and rubbed on my favorite mixture of fresh rosemary, thyme and sage (all from my little herb garden), parsley, Tamari (soy sauce), butter and a honey drizzle. That's it! Done.</div><div><br /></div><div>After we ate the turkey - not once, but <i>twice</i> - for dinner this week, it was time to make a wishbone wish. My son had never done this, so my husband and I were pretty excited. My husband arranged the wishbone "just right" so that my son would end up winning the pull, and then the two of them got into position. One...two...three... Pull!</div><div><br /></div><div>My son was jumping up and down. He (thankfully) got a bit of his mom's competitive nature. When my husband asked him what he wished for he said "I want to kiss mommy". What? That's your wish, kid? You can do that anytime. Yes, that was his wish. I smiled and gave him a big hug and kiss. What mother could argue with that.</div><div><br /></div>Media Mom Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042102413497952439noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6975987790227066912.post-48285842168276349532011-09-18T06:42:00.002-07:002011-09-19T08:08:25.331-07:00Kindergarten means big changes for working momsThis particular back-to-school was a milestone for our family. Our son, now a preschool graduate, started Kindergarten this year. This transition from daycare to Kindergarten brought up all sorts of feelings. Excitement and worry topping the list.<br /><br />On the first day of school, my son boarded his bus with such enthusiasm that he didn't even look back to wave. I smiled because I knew my child was ready. He had nearly a week of 'practice' Kindergarten at his new school and loads of practice at his preschool, too. He'd met new friends and was excited about his expanded schedule. What surprised me on this first day of school - along with the fact that I didn't shed a tear - was that after the bus drove away, I found myself facing a void. Now what?<br /><br />A few minutes later, I met four moms whose children had shared a similar new morning routine. As we sipped our coffee at Starbucks and shared the freshness of the first day, it hit me: <i>I wouldn't be seeing these moms every day anymore</i>. These women weren't just the moms of my son's preschool friends, these gals are my closest friends. We'd seen each other nearly every day for past five years at drop offs and pick ups. Sure we'd all be saving nearly a thousand dollars a month (yay!) now that daycare was done, but this aspect of my son's transition to Kindergarten I didn't see coming. I'd been so caught up in his 'what ifs', that I didn't realize until that moment that my friendships would be changing right along with his. <i>MY FRIENDSHIPS</i>. We'd still see each other at birthday parties, swim lessons and occasional play dates, but would we still share those day-to-day mom moments and meltdowns? Not likely.<br /><br />On the eve of my son's school's new parent orientation, I find myself wondering...will I make any new friends tomorrow evening?<br /><br />The bond between daycare kids and their friends is a strong one. They're noticeably close, even though they now go to different schools or attend different classes. I suspect that although our daily routine is changing, the daycare-moms-turned-Kindergarten-moms will stay pretty tight, too.Media Mom Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042102413497952439noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6975987790227066912.post-52703281530886153952011-09-18T06:42:00.001-07:002011-09-18T10:50:05.839-07:00Teaching kids to give back<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiytbKGnxErDsZLkOAC-fly1fLLSbQf7M5NmAwkDZHz1ItvBUtTArfNxsFBdtKyW_OnyZgUfM62VZug6Bt64OmqCKH7nG97b4ob4sOVxN8AnAvCPI0jEYmfC3yDYpXOvKr2YaDQR1tgT2Y/s1600/Image.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiytbKGnxErDsZLkOAC-fly1fLLSbQf7M5NmAwkDZHz1ItvBUtTArfNxsFBdtKyW_OnyZgUfM62VZug6Bt64OmqCKH7nG97b4ob4sOVxN8AnAvCPI0jEYmfC3yDYpXOvKr2YaDQR1tgT2Y/s320/Image.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653732845672283970" /></a>Meet "Piggy". Piggy is part of our family and is helping us teach our young son the importance of giving back. <div><br /></div><div>Piggy was a gift from my friend Kelly at my baby shower. Eight months pregnant at the time, I felt a lot like Piggy. But alas, Piggy was a gift for my son. He's been in our boy's bedroom since before he was born and does his best to blend in with with changes to decor over time. </div><div><br /></div><div>He's currently half full with silver coins with a few paper dollars mixed in. Our son is saving for gifts that he will donate at Christmas time to the "kids who don't have toys to play with". He's very serious when he talks about Piggy and knows exactly what Piggy stands. Everything inside Piggy is his to give back.</div><div><br /></div><div>We also teach our son about giving, by doing just that. He's helped me donate clothing items, baked goods, gently used baby gear, books and just about everything else we aren't currently putting to good use. We also talk about the beauty in receiving. For back-to-school, we bought a pair of <a href="http://www.toms.com/">TOMS shoes</a> together online. I showed him what the purchase of my son's corduroy lace-up shoes means to a boy in Haiti or Cambodia or South Africa. A pair of shoes. "You mean he doesn't have any shoes, mom?", he asked. It's a fact of life I feel compelled to teach our young child. We are very fortunate. Others are less so.</div><div><br /></div><div>Today he asked to shake Piggy when we added the money he earned at our recent garage sale. "There's a lot of money in there, mom". </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Media Mom Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042102413497952439noreply@blogger.com0