Getting Locked In A Spa Locker At Midnight On Your 10th Birthday

Wow! That's a title that says it all, doesn't it?

It was Birk's 10th birthday. She crossed into double digits, excited and happy to be leaving 9 and all that baby jazz behind her.

Around 11 PM, her dad took Birk, her sister, Ruth, and her best friend to the pool to finish off what was a pretty terrific day. It was time for the famous night swim.

What we didn't expect, was for her best friend to lock her into a pint size spa locker and forget the combination.

No staff on duty, no manager at the front desk of the resort, and my baby trapped in a locker. This puts "use at your own risk" in a whole new light.

Luckily, after 10 minutes of panic, the smartest of the group on the outside of the locker (which included a 9 year old, my husband and a security guard), 13 year old Ruth, figured out how to talk Birk through opening the locker from the inside.

I was blissfully cleaning up from the happy day when Birk arrived shaken and tear ridden. The story was outrageous. We, of course, went on and on about how you would never put yourself into that kind of situation.

Then, we also remembered, kids get into trouble. They get into all kinds of trouble. They get into the kind of trouble that you can't begin to think of warning them about.

Even after 10 years, parenting is still a tricky job. It will always be a tricky job. Things just keep changing, and you never know what is coming up next.

Mommy Angst: Cut-Throat Competition for Private School Acceptance

Our kids go to the cutest, private school. O-k, I've said it and you, reader, are either cringing that I used the word "private" or you have private school in your background.

My kids did not end up at an "elitist" institution out of breeding. My husband and I went to public schools and I think we turned out pretty o-k. We kind of ended up at private school by accident. How does one make a ca trillion dollar mistake such as this? Read on...

Our first born, John, is an early September birthday boy. If you are a parent of a September boy, you know there is always one question before they enter kindergarten, "Do you send them early, or do you hold them back?"

If you are new to this debate, at the heart of it, a lot of people believe that you should give a child the "gift of time." This especially holds true for boys. I'm a Montessori preschool teacher, and when it came time for our son's third year of preschool, it was considered his "kindergarten year."

My husband and I, just figured that John would enter the public school kindergarten class with his "gift of time." He would be 6, and that would be around the age of most of the boys in his class. We went to tour the public school kindergarten and uh oh.

The tour guide said that they like the kindergartners to enter school being able to write their name and that most kids are reading by the time they enter 1st grade. John was over at Montessori school probably reading chapter books as we took our tour. This wasn't going to work out so well.

We toured 1st grade. The class sizes were small, but there were 600 kids on recess that border a public park. All we could picture was our little baby in that big class. He was quiet and shy and sweet and he was going to get lost!

Meanwhile, our Montessori teacher called us in for a conference. She told us if John entered kindergarten, it was going to be a disaster. Basically, we were told there was no way John could do kindergarten again.

She recommended that we tour a number of small private schools. We started touring, and the rest is history. We chose the sweetest school that was a cross between Montessori and traditional school. It actually was nick named the "Hippie School" a long time ago.

This was not a fancy school with a parking lot full of fancy cars. Being in Northern California, it had an eensy weensy celebrity attendance, but for the most part, you wouldn't know it was a private school, until you got the bill.

There is one class for each grade. Each class has a team of teachers, usually one male and one female. Every teacher at the school knows you and knows your kid. There is music and art and a wonderful projects lab where the kids use saws, hammers and drills. It has been a lovely place for our now 8th grader to grow and learn.

However, this school ends at 8th grade. Now, we are being catapulted out of our comfort zone and into the land of high school. Public school is large and excellent and facing big budget cuts. Private school is uber competitive and exceedingly expensive and excellent--it faces no budget crisis as the prices just keep going up.

Now we are on that age old question again, what do we do? Do we sell the farm, and maybe a couple of siblings to afford an excellent secondary education? The competition is so fierce for so few spots, you can't go anywhere around 8th grade parents from our school and not have the "High School Conversation."

Where did you apply? Do you think you'll get in? How many recommendations? Test scores? How many times did you child take the SSAT? Did you take the SSAT courses? How was the interview? What did your child write their essay about? Grades?

Calgon! Take me away! We will get letters from the schools about acceptances March 18th. Until then, oh boy. There is tension among the best of friends. There is parental angst over who will get the coveted one or two spots at the top schools.

Then the rumors fly right alongside the circus. If you give more money, you have a better chance. If you have this zip code, you have a better chance. If you play such and such sport you have a better chance. If you have siblings you have a better chance. If you're famous, if you're friends with so and so, if, if, if...

If this is high school, we are going to need Valium to get through the college application process.

My Problem With REI

The problem that I have with REI is a lot like the problem I have with The Container Store: everything is just too darn cool and opens a world of possibilities.

Couldn't I bike farther, faster and better in that helmet? Couldn't I sleep just a little more comfortably in that down, cozy sleeping bag iF I EVER went camping? Wouldn't I work out more if I had those pants?

The answer in NO NO NO. But for some reason, a part of my brain that I rarely use engages in that store and I transform into a hike going, safari taking, marathon running figment of my imagination. The better person that is hidden deep at the bottom of me that will never come out.

Transfer the situation to one of my children and we have a BIG problem. An over $800 problem. Here is the story...

John is going on a week-long trip with his 8th grade class. They are flying on an airplane with their teacher to regions unknown to me. Yes, it is still in the continental United States, and No, I am not worried, But, for some reason REI sets off all of my parental instincts.

John NEEDS a new ultra warm fleece, what if he gets cold at night? He NEEDS a high tech flashlight, what if he's somewhere in the dark? He NEEDS gore tex rain pants, what if it rains? I am his mommy and I won't be there and I want him to have everything he NEEDS, right?

I was almost embarrassed at check out. My cart was overflowing with advanced designed adventure gear, my heart was pounding, and my visa card was smoking. I could tell from the gal behind the counter, that this was everyday business for her. Nothing out of the ordinary here...she apparently sees neurotic mothers every day.

This is the same problem I have in The Container Store...won't my life be just a little easier and a little more perfect with that shoe storage system? Won't I sleep just a little lighter knowing John has a satellite tracking GPS, you know, he might get lost...

Don't Talk To Strangers

This post is for my kids. Originally, it was titled, "Men (and Women) I Meet in Bars." Realizing that my kids are my biggest readers, I thought it better to write about the teachable moments that can be found in grown up foolishness

Learn from your elders, kids. You may think that we're old and slow and need bright light to read, and yes, this is all true, but we are the literal beings of been there, done that. Learn from our stupidity and our smartitiude, I beg you.

O-k, John, you are smirking at the word, "smartitude," and I tell you that grown ups can be smart. Now you be smart, and read and learn...

I'll start this off with a letter:

Dear Dee,

I'm sorry that I never e-mailed you. You were kind enough to find a pen and a spare napkin and write your name, phone number and address down for me. However, the next day, my friends told me that they feared for my life when I was chatting with you.

My friends even went so far as to think that maybe you were an ex-con. They thought you and your husband had plans to take me back to your apartment over the bar and lock me in your closet for the rest of my life--however long or short you determined it to be.

This thought was more than a little terrifying.

The truth is, I don't know you. I don't know where you've been, I don't know where you're going. I don't know where you live. I don't know if you're nice or if you're crazy. I don't know if you're a cat person or a dog person or an iguana person.

It's more than truth, it's fact. I don't know you. Therefore, I thought it best not to e-mail you. On Sunday, I realized that we just didn't have that much in common and you probably weren't my new best friend, even though you told me that you were...over and over again.

You were very friendly, and I enjoyed chatting with you, but I think that's as far as it can go. I am 41, and I know I'm being a little narrow-minded, but I just don't think we have much of a chance at true friendship.

Thanks very much,

Deb

Although sometimes it's good to take chances in life, it is much better to take them in the daylight in public places than post midnight in a drinking establishment.

No matter how "nice" someone appears in the dim light in the wee hours of the morning, trust me, you will be thinking much clearer if you wait to meet them in daylight. Caffeine might even be helpful.

The next day, you might not even want to meet that person anymore. It's nice to make new friends, but use caution and trust your old friends. Think situations through, keep your head on your shoulders, and remember trusting that there is good in everyone and friendliness runs in the family.

My friends were a little paranoid, but a little paranoia can be a good thing. Trust me, I'm not in Dee's closet right now.

To Fiddle On The Roof, Or Not

My kids love the theater. They love the singing, the acting, and the entire experience. We try to go as a family to one show a year--but the ticket prices keep going up and it's becoming akin to taking a vacation.

I looked into tickets for Fiddler in San Francisco. Mediocre seats were going to cost over $500 for our family of 5. I balked. Now, weeks later, the seats are worse and the price remains the same.

I read about Rush tickets. Has anybody done this? Are there any tricks to the trade so that you can take your kids to the theater and not have to sell one of them first to afford the tickets? How much are kids going for these days?

Is it worth it? Does the experience really effect them? I guess that's a personal question. Several friends have stopped "wasting" money on taking their kids to high cost performances.

Anyhoo, that's what's on my mind. It sure would be a nice world if kids could go to a Broadway quality production that doesn't cost an arm and a leg.

Writing Your Kid's Entrance Essay or Who's Essay Is This Anyway?

I've always approached education in a different way than other teachers and parents. As a junior high school teacher, I let the kids actually run the school newspaper. It wasn't pretty and polished, but it was a product of the student's own work. At the end of a semester in my journalism class, kids knew the entire process first hand.

I also let 8th graders with drama experience select plays, hold tryouts, and run wild with the production of the plays that we produced. Once again, life wasn't perfect and tidy, it was messy and trying. The plays in the end were excellent, but there were a lot of fields to plow until we harvested, if you know what I mean.

Now, my own son is writing his high school entrance essays. He is 13.

Flashback to 1st grade when the kids were assigned research reports. My son did all of the research, writing and artwork on his own. He was so proud of his project and we walked into school together that day, carrying his diorama. Two other kids walked in with their parents. Their projects looked like professional architecture presentations for a corporate firm.

I overheard a parent say that he would come in at lunchtime with the computer to set up the power point presentation!

What?

High School admissions directors, I will tell you now: Have the students write their essays when they visit your school. Otherwise, you are getting a familial composite essay at best. Rumor has it that some parents are paying tutors to write their children's entrance essays.

Last night, a mom said that she was going home to write her son's essay. Her excuse was that he just didn't care enough to do it. Does he care enough to do the four hours plus of homework a night if he actually gets into one of these schools?

Parents, are you good enough to write an essay that will get you, um, I mean your kid, into a prestigious private high school?

I don't know what to say... I hope those parents are ready to keep doing all of the homework in that cut throat four years of high school for their kid, too.

Where I come from, you fight fair, you do your own work, and your kids sink or swim on their own merit. Is anyone out there still where I come from? Do I have to play dirty to even give my kid a fighting chance?

If you compromise your morals, in my opinion, what is the point? What are we teaching our kids?

The world is not fair, and yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

We Have Lice--Tra La La La La I'm Being Taking To The Cleaners

Normal kids slump in their seats with embarrassment when they have lice. My kids jump and sing and broadcast it joyfully to the world. After all, there is no shame in lice. However, people do tend to lean away from you and avoid playdates and hugs.

We discovered a local shop that de-bugs you. It's a great place to go if you're filthy full of lice and filthy rich. Birk's first visit was $200.00. Our second visit was $300.00. I've destroyed three North Face sleeping bags in the dryer on high heat. I don't even want to do the math on that one.

Sorry, kids, we were going to have Christmas, but we decided to do "Lice" instead.

Trickle Down Theory

My husband is working like a dog lately. I am juggling the normal chainsaws in the air, but I think soon I will not be able to operate such heavy machinery.

My favorite is stay at home moms that ask me what I do with all of my time. Don't my sisters in the trenches know? What are THEY doing with all of their time?

I am tired at being at FUNctions that are supposed to be FUN, but feel more like torture. I fantasize about staying home in my jammies and watching t.v. My time has been whittled to a nub and here I am, stressed out in my own little suburban way.

I'm on my way to the grocery store for some Calgon and some Zombie Zin. I hope it can take me away just enough to make it through the weekend, and next week, and the remainder of this year.

The trickle is getting more like a landslide of water that fills in all of the unfilled gaps. Time to get out the sandbags or swim like a wild, crazy woman.

SHUT UP! And I Mean That In The Nicest Possible Way

Last night, my husband and I headed into the big city to see South Pacific. The economy being what it is, and time being at the highest premium, I debated long and hard before I dragged him to see this show.

Usually I splurge a little bit on the tickets. This time I didn't. We sat in the balcony, and while the seats weren't too particularly bad, I had the experience of sharing my experience with a Grandmother and her eight year old.

I am a mother of three and all for taking your kids to the theater. However, if you take your 8 year old boy to the Friday night performance, please use a LITTLE etiquette. HELLO...you do not go to the show and proceed to TALK the entire time explaining the show. Loudly.

Then, the teenager next to me began to text furiously on his cell phone. The show was not a stellar production, the lead actress carried almost the entire performance, but Whoa Nellie, you also do not text during the show.

Do not act in ways during a live performance that would get you shushed in a movie. Have some respect for the actors and for the people who paid good money to actually see and hear the show.

***********Optional Reading. Warning! High Horse Personal Advice*************

Well, I'm a big talker, but, here's some advice to that grandmother:

a. If you're taking your kid to the theater, rent the movie first. He will know the plot, the characters and possibly recognize the songs. You can talk talk talk and answer answer answer questions again and again in the comfort of your own home.

b. If you rent the video, you will know how interested your kid is in the actual performance. If your kid can't sit through the video, it's not likely he's going to make it through the first act squinting at people the size of peanuts from the balcony in the theater.

c. Discuss theater etiquette before you get there. This is like anything else. You do not run and scream in a library. You do not talk during the performance.

d. If you have a question, please use a quiet voice. Whisper to each other. Cup your hand and speak into the other person's ear. Even better, wait until a scene change or applause to discuss a concern or question.

e. I realize we all might have questions. Ask your question. Do not "chat" endlessly.

I would have been fine with a few questions. I love kids, I'm a mom and a teacher. The thing is, I really wanted that kid and his grandma to have a good time. I just felt like it was the adult that was setting the poor example.

Earthworm Gummies: Made in China

I love Halloween. Friends might say that would be putting it mildly. Over the years, our decor has morphed from cute stuffed witches to eerie skeletons, tombstones and body parts. The creepier the decoration, the more tempted I am to string it up in the tree in front of our house.

This year, I ordered Gummy Roadkill, Toe Jam Cotton Candy and Gummy Earthworms. All three varietals are extremely gross. My kids recognize the "show candy." They know this is only for display, and they wouldn't dream of tasting it.

Mostly, this is because last year we gave out Bags of Blood. These tasted so disgusting, my children will no longer try any old kind of candy. Therefore, I order the grossest, un-tastiest props that I can find. Not only is it gruesome, it saves my waistline.

Of course, all of these novelties are MADE IN CHINA. It's stamped all over the individual wrappers and boxes. I could care less, I mean, we're not eating that stuff or anything. My friends have a strict NO CHINA policy on food and plastic (this candy is probably considered both). They've told me the horrors, I adhere.

Recently, we had the new neighbors over for cocktails. Their daughter grabbed a root beer-flavored Gummy Earthworm. I had to embarrassingly admit that it's origin was China. The mom looked at me as if I was from the Moon. Apparently, she had no personal embargo on China.

Why I would be more embarrassed to have a product MADE IN CHINA, rather than the fact that I actually had candy shaped like realistic earthworms, escapes me.

Canadian Chronicles 2009: Are We There Yet?

We shuffled the girls through the rotation of sharing the hard as a rock, not-enough-room-for-a-little-butt-cheek, middle seat. By the time we hit a few grocery stores, the wine store (essential), and the sports store for a kayak, we had already been sitting in the darn car for hours.

And the rain rain rain came down down down.

Everywhere we went, the people were complaining about how it was the worst summer ever. We of course, hoped that we had brought bright, sunny weather from California. We refused to buy into the foreshadowing of gloom and doom.

Alas, we loaded our purchases into the car, tried to keep a stiff upper lip, and braved the torrential downpour.

At the sport's store, the nice man lashed the new kayak on top of the car, ignoring the pelting drops. He was Canadian, and he was making the best of it with smiles and sarcasm.

We drove slowly and carefully away from civilization. I squinted through the glass, trying to keep a steady eye on the road through the water-soaked windshield. The words 'Cabin Fever' kept slipping into my mind. As we twisted and turned out of civilization, I had flashes from "The Shining."

Flashback: First Official Day of Summer

This was my Saturday last weekend...

1. Woke up early. Bought donuts, juice boxes, ice and yogurts at the local grocery store. Dumped ice in cooler in back of the car and added the snacks, picked up husband from coffee shop and high-tailed it to a 9:00 Coach Pitch Little League Game. Tried to find my little Cleveland Indian who had been at a sleepover the night before. Collected her in the field parking lot from a friend's sitter. Hustled her late onto the field. Watched game, helped serve donuts.

2. Returned home and cleaned house (hid junk and paper piles), husband went under house to wire outdoor speakers.

3. Gathered gear for a swim party and the next round of baseball, so that we could rush from one event to the next.

4. Drove in circles on the way to the swim party, Google maps had failed me, yet again.

5. Arrived to have 45 minutes of adult conversation about my stress level.

6. Left fabulous party to drive John to baseball.

7. Rushed to store to buy sunscreen, a sandwich and a LARGE latte, realizing that I was VERY grumpy and hadn't had food yet that day.

8. Husband still under the house wiring...

9. Watched half of John's baseball game.

10. Drove to pick up Birk, who had stayed at the party with her BFF.

11. Took Birk to McDonald's (OMG, did I just say that?) because she was crying from exhaustion and starving and we had to get back to the game.

12. Couldn't locate Ruth, who had stayed at the party with her BFF.

13. Returned home to finish tidying, put out drinks and food for an on again, off again, on again school cocktail party.

14. Luckily pre-mixed margaritas sometime around step 3.

15. Help Birk put up a banner made of packing paper on our front step that said, "Moms and dads cum AND exit this way." We're talking 2 feet by 11 feet held in place with scotch tape and rocks.

16. Open wine, lit candles, located Ruth. Made arrangements for my parents to meet BFF's parents at Toyota dealership (complete with driving directions) to get Ruth and BFF and take all kids to Kung Fu Panda.

17. Quickly changed clothes and shoes.

18. Lit candles. Opened wine.

19. Greeted guests and finally had time to sit down and have a glass of wine. Was told I look too much like a housewife that night in my thrown together outfit. Careful, cocktails will bring out the honest in a lot of people.

20. Chatted, drank, served. Drank, chatted served. Served, drank, chatted. Listened to new speakers that husband had trolled under the house to install all day.

21. Cleaned up with husband.

22. Found three pairs of riding boots and three helmets in the garage, horse camp starts on Monday.

23. Packed partially for trip with husband to NYC.

24. Watched Army Wives-don't know why we were doing this...

25. Discussed party liability when too many cocktails are served. Hoped our guest were as sober and responsible as they claimed to be.

26. Set alarm noting that I had four hours of sleep before the alarm went off.

Summer started officially for our family on Friday. Hope summer doesn't kill me.

What's That Thing On Your Header?

I've been asked what that thing on my header is.  If you look closely, it's a footprint in the cement on our sidewalk.  I don't know who made this print or when, but we pass it every day.

In the spring, it is often filled with water after a rain.  In the summer, sometimes we find little blossoms that have dropped off the trees into the print.  In the fall, little crispy leaves fill it's shape. There is hardly a time we fail to notice this little impression.

We've been in our home 5 years now.  All three of my kids have measured their feet in this print.  Last summer, Birk finally put her foot in and like Cinderella, "It fits!"  She was so excited, but I felt a little sad.

All three kids have grown out of the print.  It kind of marks the passage of an era.  It seems like every day used to be full of firsts, but more often than not, I'm having a lot of days marked by lasts.  I know it's one of the  bittersweet qualities of life, but I sure am going to miss the pitter patter of little feet.