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I am fortunate enough to be able to send my two older children to sleepaway camp.  It is a fantastic learning, growing and maturing experience - for me and them!  My kids learn that the world still turns if they wear clothes that don’t match or the same shirt 4 days in a row, or what it’s like to meet new people, watch themselves become independent beings and experience things they never could at home (we don’t have a lake in our backyard or a kiln in the kitchen).

That said, there’s a lot of waiting involved with camp.  It all starts with the waiting-to-pack time period.  It’s incredible how much stuff needs to be stuffed inside of the trunks that are taken to camp.  Ok, first off, let’s not date ourselves to when they were actual black with gold rivet trunks – they’re really just duffle bags.  Granted, huge, enormous, can hold at least 4 grown men duffles, but duffle bags nevertheless.  And these duffles sit in my bedroom for weeks until they are actually picked up and taken away (given that we don’t have an extra bedroom and my husband and I’s room has the most space).  So I wait as long as possible to unearth them from where they are stashed all winter to reduce the number of nights I can possibly slip, roll and kill myself on an errant battery or sunscreen stick that has escaped the double layered ziploc bag in which it was stored.  Aside from my general safety, I have to wait to pack because nothing pisses me off more than putting items inside the bags and crossing them off my checklist, only to be asked the next morning by one of my chidlren if they can wear that shirt, jersey, soccer cleat, you name it, one last time.  So, although I have a few friends that are happy to feel organized starting this process in February for a June pick-up, I’ll stick with the wait-until-the-last-minute crunch time way that seems to work best for us.

But the waiting doesn’t end with the pick-up of the bags.  No siree.  Then there’s the parking lot send-off where the parents stand in the middle of an open parking lot in midday.  Blinking, shielding their eyes in the glaring heat (even behind the giant black Jackie-O glasses bought for the occasion) at a tinted window to try to catch a last glimpse of their child while trying to choke back emotion to “put on a good front”.  Inevitably, there’s a late-comer who was stuck in traffic so us parents are left standing like beauty pageant idiots waving and waiting, waving and waiting.

Once the bus pulls away then the wait for the first online picture begins.  Can you say refresh button?  You never know when new pics will be posted… And of course, the first letter (hopefully with no circled tear droplets or talk of homesickness and hitching a ride home) and the first phone call.  Visiting Day can never arrive quickly enough and as soon as you pull away from camp, the countdown to their homecoming begins.  And then there’s the the daily wait for the mailman in the hopes he brings some small tidbit of a literary connection.

Key thing to note (and I learned this the hard way the first summer my kids were away), is that my summer life is what happens in between all this waiting.  So although I miss them terribly each summer and usually have several countdowns going at once, I also recognize that the countdown to the hectic long days of the school year with homework, carpooling, sports practices and coordination of schedules is also going on during these precious and fleeting summer weeks. 

So I’m trying to appreciate the waiting.  And dare I say, enjoy it.  Because before you know it, we’ll all have to endure the longest wait of all… when summer ends and we wait until next summer to do it all over again.

Help!  My kids are hoarders.  Ok, it’s out there and I’ve said it but it doesn’t make me feel any better.  Dr. Phil, Oprah, Dateline – someone please rescue us from all the clutter!!  I need professional help – either for helping us to say good riddance to the random refuse or for helping me to buck my bare-essential neatnick upbringing.

The minute school ends and the summer officially kicks in – so do my obsessive organization neuroses which I’ve forced myself to ignore all year long.  But like any addict that has denied their compulsion for too long, the desire eventually reaches a boiling point and can no longer be ignored.  So, straight from dropping my two older children at the bus for sleepaway camp, I practically sprinted up the stairs to their bedrooms armed with garbage bags and a determination to be pragmatic in my purging.

I started in my son’s room - my disorganized son’s room.  This was the kid who couldn’t find anything he needed all year long in his school notebooks when it was time to do homework or look up an assignment.  Maybe he should have checked on the desk in his room.  Mind you, I don’t think he sat at this desk once all year to study or do any work (that was done in the kitchen, of course, so he could snack at the same time and have the most chance for distraction as it’s always the busiest room in our house).  However, the desk was certainly being put to use in some way – as a paper landfill!  There were stacks of old school work each piled 2-3 feet high.  He had taken very little interest in these papers when they counted, but now they were all apparently too important for him to dump in the trash.  Not for me!  But, interspersed in the ripped, dog-eared unkempt piles were a few fabulous art projects and a couple of creative essays that were definite “keepers”.  So, like most excavation projects, I had to carefully sift through what was mostly rubble to uncover a few gems worth holding onto before returning his desk to its regular full, upright, unencumbered, and unused position.

Then I tentatively marched into each of my daughters’ rooms.  My 12 year old’s dresser and desk were easy – some old rubber bracelets, books that have long since been read, clay figurines made in a random art class, a couple of Chuck E. Cheese coins and some old candy wrappers (though I’m not sure if it was her who ate the candy or the dog who just left the plastic behind).  Easy because when it comes to her stuff – the nick-knacks – everything seems to have its place.  Not so much in her closet.  Overall it seemed as though she had taken every article of clothing she owns out of each shelf, rolled them each up in a ball and thrown them back in carnival-style as if she was trying to see how many she could get back in the area from which it originally came.  It didn’t look like she had won any prizes.  Definitely not as far as I was concerned.  And then there were all the clothes that were obviously too small, too juvenile or too “unfavorite” to have been worn this year but that she just didn’t want to part with.  Let’s just say I helped her with some of the tough decision-making.  Anything that involuntarily disappeared will likely never be missed or even asked for again.  Out of sight, out of mind really applies here.

Not so much with my younger daughter.  In fact, her room is the hardest for me.  She’s home for the summer.  And like a jackal at my side, she rifled through her older brother and sister’s stuff with me scavenging for treasures.  Before I knew it, I had a real mess on my hands.  And, I’m not even talking about what her room now looked like.  I’m talking about having “the talk”.  No, not that one.  But one that is even more difficult for me to discuss with her – the talk about how we just can’t save everything we find, buy or are given - for the rest of eternity.  If she could, that’s just what she would do because “you never know when you might need the scratched gold sequin found in the movie parking lot from 2 years ago”.  And, sometimes I have trouble denying her.  Because she knows exactly where she’s put all these little (and sometimes big) things and she almost always puts her “finds” to use.  But, when the top of the dresser can’t even be seen anymore, it’s time to start dishing out the tough love – while she’s not looking of course.  And all that while start thinking up excuses and explanations as to where the items I’ve tossed have gone.  Because this daughter will definitely ask.

So overall what’s a mother to do here?  Compromise of course!  I’ll let my kids accumulate, build up and save whatever they want all school-year long while turning a blind eye under the guise of nurturing creativity and a sense of self for each of them.  But, just like Jekyll has his Hyde, I’ll try to summon my alter ego to resurface each summer to tip the scales back and re-establish our household organizational balance.  That is, at least, until one of Oprah’s “hoarding specialists” show up to show me how it’s really done.

Call me a Twi-hard, Fanpire, Cullenist, Team Jacob and Team Edward member, Twerd or Twi-maniac.  I’m all of the above and more.  That’s right.  And I’m 40 years old.  And I’m not afraid to admit it.  The 40 part and the Twilight part.

Truth be told, I was first introduced to the book series by my daughter’s friend.  Her mom (a good friend of mine) decided to read the first Twilight book to make sure it was appropriate for her then 11 year old daughter who was insistent upon reading it.  Soon after my friend began, she dropped off the face of this earth (and landed in the middle of Forks, Washington!) as she obsessively finished each of the four books in the Twilight series: Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse and Breaking Dawn.  She whipped through them all in about a week.  Seriously.  I barely saw her.  And when I did have contact with her, it was quick and brief communications mostly centered on how fabulous the books were and questioning why exactly it was that I wasn’t reading them yet.  Well, aside from the fact that I considered the novels written for an age group two decades younger than me, I also have never been keen on the whole fantasy or vampire genres  But, I couldn’t deny her persistence, so I decided to give them a go.  After the first page, I too, never looked back - or ahead for that matter.  I seemed to be walking and reading at the same time - bringing the books everywhere with me so that I could read in whatever few free moments I had – wherever I had them.

Oh yeah, and not only did my friend and I devour the books but so did my friend’s daughter as well as mine.  And then, it became a three generation bonding Twilight-a-holic frenzy as my mom read and loved the books too. What a concept!  Hard to believe that in today’s day and age of being “plugged in”, a mother, daughter and grandmother can all be excited about, discuss and most importantly, connect and bond over a book!  But, that’s exactly what happened.

Yes, all the chaos and hoopla over the books, movies and the actors involved is a bit over the top.  And certainly, the rescued woman who is protected, loved and swept off her feet by the man (or men in this case) that is seemingly not right for her is not an original storyline.  And it’ a shame that so many men, as a result of the Twilight series, have inferiority complexes because they can’t shape-shift into wolves or be ultra-protectors who live forever.  But all that said, my tickets for the 5pm showing of Eclipse are already bought.  It’s opening day and I know I’ll be in the center of the “fandemonium”.  But, what can I say?  I’m hooked – no glamouring required.

My first born, my baby, my now somewhat mature 11 year old has just graduated from 5th grade, signaling the end of her elementary school days. Tears of joy, confusion, disbelief and incredulity well up in my eyes as I type the words.

It is milestones such as these when I examine not only my children’s development but also my parenting skills (they kinda go hand in hand). The most challenging aspect of parenting, I think, is to help your child to feel secure, accepted and part of a group while simultaneously encouraging them to feel confident enough to be themselves - comfortable in their own skin and with their actions - even if it means bucking the trend. I think this about sums it up:

“Do not go where the path may lead; go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

I am consistently shocked by the hamster-wheel of pandemonium that I call my everyday life. Maybe I’m trying to get too much done. Maybe I need my own office. Maybe my to-do lists need sub-lists. Maybe I need to hire a personal assistant. Maybe I’m suffering from some type of attention deficit disorder and should seek immediate medical attention.

My aunt recently forwarded me an email that made me feel less alone in my illness (and made me laugh hysterically!). Though my daily tasks and activities are different than the ones described, the flow of the day is disarmingly similar…

I decide to water my garden. As I turn on the hose in the driveway, I look over at my car and decide it needs washing.

As I start toward the garage, I notice mail on the porch table that I brought up from the mail box earlier. I decide to go through the mail before I wash the car.

I lay my car keys on the table, put the junk mail in the garbage can under the table, and notice that the can is full. So, I decide to put the bills back on the table and take out the garbage first.

But then I think, since I’m going to be near the mailbox when I take out the garbage anyway, I may as well pay the bills first.

I take my check book off the table, and see that there is only one check left. My extra checks are in my desk in the study, so I go inside the house to my desk where I find the can of Pepsi I’d been drinking.

I’m going to look for my checks, but first I need to push the Pepsi aside so that I don’t accidentally knock it over. The Pepsi is getting warm, and I decide to put it in the refrigerator to keep it cold.

As I head toward the kitchen with the Pepsi, a vase of flowers on the counter catches my eye–they need water. I put the Pepsi on the counter and discover my reading glasses that I’ve been searching for all morning. I decide I better put them back on my desk, but first I’m going to water the flowers.

I set the glasses back down on the counter, fill a container with water and suddenly spot the TV remote…someone left it on the kitchen table.

I realize that tonight when we go to watch TV, I’ll be looking for the remote, but I won’t remember that it’s on the kitchen table, so I decide to put it back in the den where it belongs, but first I’ll water the flowers.

I pour some water in the flowers, but quite a bit of it spills on the floor. So, I set the remote back on the table, get some towels and wipe up the spill.
Then, I head down the hall trying to remember what I was planning to do.

At the end of the day, the car isn’t washed, the bills aren’t paid, there is a warm can of Pepsi sitting on the counter, the flowers don’t have enough water, there is still only 1 check in my check book, I can’t find the remote, I can’t find my glasses, and I don’t remember what I did with the car keys. Then, when I try to figure out why nothing got done today, I’m really baffled because I know I was busy all day long, and I’m really tired!

The crazy part is, if this really was my exact day, after realizing my inefficiency, I would wash the car while the kids’ dinner was cooking, I would pay bills and find a new book of checks while my kids were doing their homework, with baths and showers running I would clean up all loose house clutter – including the now warm can of Pepsi, and just prior to bedtime I would start a game of seek and find with my kids to see who could find my glasses and the remote first – winner allowed to choose which TV show we watch before collapsing in bed!!

No matter how crazy, distracted, or chaotic my focus gets, at the end of the day I keep the wheel spinning until my jobs are done. Most of them anyway. Some may say I’m just spinning my wheels, but it’s my raucous reality and I wouldn’t change a thing.

It’s a rare and strange talent.  A skill that most do not have nor desire to acquire.  Yet those in possession of such a skill are predisposed for a creative and resourceful life.  I’m talking about the peculiar talent (okay, wacky might be a better descriptor) that my younger daughter, Lily, has for making creations out of garbage.  No, I mean literally garbage.  As in she will open the trash to throw something out, see something else inside the can that catches her eye, sparks an idea and the next thing I know she’s asking, “Can I have that?  I need it for something.”

My husband put together a filing cabinet yesterday and he left the box and packing material remains on the mud room floor (you know, not quite in the garage but close enough to count).  Lily came home from school and before she had even taken her backpack off her shoulders she asked me if she could have some of “that stuff” as she pointed to the strewn styrofoam boards used to pack the filing cabinet parts.  Sure I said, somewhat hesitantly, as I envisioned what kind of messy project she was about to embark upon. 

Then my office line rang, the afternoon emails came in at a steady pace, I scrambled to process and pack the outgoing day’s orders and before I knew it I was my usual pre-UPS pick-up ball of late afternoon stress.  I hadn’t seen or heard much from Lily for the rest of the afternoon but I do recall her running up the stairs at one point with her arms full – and I wasn’t sure of what.  As the dinner hour approached, I grumbled to myself about all the work I still needed to do after the kids went to sleep.  Then I left to carpool for my older daughter’s soccer practice.  Because I can never do one thing at a time, I simultaneously drove and berated myself (both ways) for not having enough time (again) to make a “proper” meal for my family.  When I got home, as the chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese cooked, I exhaustedly went up to my room to put away some laundry not knowing where the strength would come to get through the rest of my night.  That’s when I glimpsed something on my bed.

Lily had broken up the flat strips of styrofoam packing into foot long “plaques” which she then decorated, personalized and carefully placed on each of our respective beds.  My heart – along with my stress – melted away as I marveled at Lily’s creativity, independence and thoughtfulness.

We all have a lot of “garbage” in our lives.  The lucky ones know how to look past it all.  The truly fortunate know how to transform it.

This is an ongoing series that could really be an entire blog in and of itself as there are so many insightful, moment-making and just flat out hysterical things that come out of my children’s mouths.

I’m a busy woman trying to do it all. Admittedly, certain chores fall off my priority list now and again. Like cutting my children’s nails. Unfortunately, with my schedule of late, it’s not until there is a major injury - bordering on an inadvertent disembowelment during a tickling episode – before I realize how long I’ve let things go in the kids’ mani/pedi department. Last night, after noticing that both of my daughters could be stand-ins for Johnny Depp in a remake of Edward Scissorhands (no hand props necessary), I knew that it was time to break out the clippers.

“Who’s going first?” I asked, expecting the usual reaction I receive to questions posed after 8pm when all plug-in distractions are going full force in the living room (i.e., TV at full volume, 2 laptops, a Game Boy and my son’s cell phone that keeps announcing new texts every 30 seconds with the “I’m A Gummy Bear” song). I guess the fingernail situation was worse than usual because Lily immediately jumped up from the couch and ran over to me screaming, “I’ll go first. I should go before Sammi because my nails are HEROCIOUS!!!” I paused for half a second…did she just say herocious? What exactly was that word a combination of? Hideous and ferocious? Horrible and atrocious? Horrific and horrendous? Heinous and vicious?

I’ve been known to make up words now and again myself when I can’t quite put my brain on the one that gets it right. Apparently, Lily inherited that skill. Sometimes inventing vocabulary is necessary when there are just no known words to describe what you are looking at. Ya know, like Lily’s fingernails. She was right…totally herocious!

Spring to me is driving season. Between my 3 children, any given week consists of no less than 9 sports practices, 3 official games, 2 after school programs, 2 days of Hebrew School, a couple of playdates and one 7:30am band practice. I don’t know if I’m coming or going once mid-March hits because I’m always coming and going! Yes I have some carpools organized, but even so, I’m always driving someone somewhere. I’ve often said, to run an efficient household I don’t really need babysitters, homework tutors or even a house cleaner (okay, maybe I do need the house cleaner!) – what I really could use is a chauffer for my kids!!! Obviously, there are others out there that agree with me:

“A suburban mother’s role is to deliver children obstetrically once, and by car for ever after.” ~ Peter De Vries

As a parent it is so rewarding to teach your children something new. But, it’s even cooler when they figure things out for themselves.

My son, Ryan, has always been big for his age – especially big given that he is one of the youngest in his grade. From the time he was 18 months old, his height and weight measurements were off the percentile charts. At doctor’s appointments his stats were delivered to me as if/then statements – “He’s now 18 months, but if he was a 2 yr. old he’d already be in the 75th percentile”. He was like a bull in a china shop no matter where we went. He was in constant motion – constantly. I lost my baby weight in record time and was always glowing (okay, in a full body sweat) as I tried to keep up with him. Add to that, the fact that I come from a large family that is comprised of lots of girls, and it’s not hard to see why none of us seemed to know what to do with a boy – especially one that was a whirlybird of energy like Ryan. I have often described my mother’s interaction with him as akin to someone who is clearly not a “dog person” trying to play with a Saint Bernard. One of my favorite quotes is from my grandfather as he watched a then 2 year old Ryan at our Passover seder. “What’s wrong with the boy?” he asked with what can only be described as a mix of confusion and horror.

As Ryan grew I found that most of what I said to him started with the word “no”. “No Ryan, that’s fragile. No Ryan, don’t push your sisters. No Ryan, stop splashing in the mud. No Ryan, don’t throw that ball in the house. No Ryan, I definitely do not enjoy being smacked from behind when I’m not ready for it.” I was worried about what all this negativity would do to his self-esteem.

Instinctively I knew that I just had to channel his “spirit” in a positive way – ya know, put all that energy to good use. I was so excited when he could finally be involved in organized sports. As soon as he was old enough, I quickly signed him up for the 2 most popular sports in town – soccer and baseball. He hated them both. He practiced, he played in the games, but he didn’t enjoy it – at all. He’d run after the soccer ball and wind up barreling into other players (some of which were his own teammates!) knocking them down like pins in a bowling alley. On the baseball field he could make good contact while up at bat, but he was a slow runner. And the speed of play for baseball in 2nd grade was equally pathetic. He didn’t care that these were the sports most of his friends were playing. Soccer and baseball were not for him - he just wasn’t interested. Okay, I thought, so he’s just not going to be a sports kind of kid.

Then Ryan started to play football and his world changed. Now his size, energy and aggression were attributes! His face lit up the first time he tackled someone to the ground and received not only a “way to go” from his coach but also a clap on the back for it! Knocking people over, not being afraid to get dirty, and having a tough enough butt to withstand the knocks (literally) of playing the position of center… that’s what it took to play football – it was the perfect sport for him!

Then spring came and lacrosse was a similar eye-opener - less pads than football but fast physical game play. And his body was made for defense. In fact, Ryan has perfected a move that we have named the “butt hole”. When a lacrosse ball is on the ground, often there is a swarm of players all trying to pick it up with their sticks. Most players shove head first into the fray. Not my son. Ryan likes to back up into this type of gathering . He leads with his butt – shoving and bumping players aside – essentially creating a hole in the crowd by using his rear end to clear the way for him to pick up the ball. And it’s effective!

It’s what every parent hopes and dreams of– that their children can try and try again until they are able to take his/her own unique personality and physical traits and use them to a successful advantage. We’ve been commenting on (okay, and sometimes poking fun of ) Ryan’s broad build his whole life. Who was to know his big strong butt would be the thing to perhaps lead him to greatness someday?!?!

There are few things worse than the 4am wake-up call of a vomiting 5 year old.  Their glassy, sad, scared eyes as they cling helplessly to the rim of the toilet bowl are enough to bring me to tears.  I feel instant “sympathy nausea” which I always overanalyze – “ooh, I don’t feel so good myself”, I think as I’m holding back hair and administering a soothing back rub.  Truth be told, the worst part I admit selfishly, is the middle of the night linen changes, towel washings and carpet blotting. 

Well, that’s how I started my day this past Saturday – ya know, the one day of the week I actually have the opportunity to sleep in until 7:45am.  But, what’s another night with less than 5 hours of sleep?  The ironic thing is that all week long I was looking forward to today - what I was calling “the afternoon of me”.  I desperately needed some relaxation time.  My husband, recognizing I was on the brink, was kind enough to offer to drive my older daughter to her camp reunion an hour away.  And, he was going to bring my son and other daughter with him to kill 3 hours at the nearby supermall before picking my daughter back up (oh yeah, and 3 of her friends that he was also carpooling).  You see, I was desperately in need of a little R & R – and I’m not talking about rock ‘n roll.  There’s so much “rocking” around here lately as we prepare for “rolling” out our Spring/Summer line that I needed the kind of down time that involves just me, myself and I (okay and maybe my manicurist!).

But, Lily’s early morning projectile party (sorry, too much detail, I know) changed all that.  So, there I sat, all day long, trying to focus on relaxing while I was snuggling (not too closely mind you) and watching what felt like a Suite Life of Zach and Cody marathon!  Never before did I think I would utter these words:  damn those DVRs!

I didn’t get my nails done.  I didn’t catch up on my very behind photo organizing.  I did no laundry.  I did no shopping.  I didn’t check e-mail.  I didn’t even walk the dog.  I spent the day on the couch with my ill 5 year old who didn’t feel like eating, speaking or even sitting up.  But, we were there for each other.  I comforted her while she wasn’t feeling her best and she showed me that sometimes the best way to recharge your battery and get a little R&R is to do nothing at all with the ones you love most of all.