Anna Kate Donovan

Today has been planting day at our house.  After hours of manual labor, there is now a sun garden with cucumbers, bell peppers, chives, rosemary, thyme and three varieties of tomatoes.  The shade garden has basil, cilantro, peppermint, parsley and oregano.  A truckload of mulch and some flowers will follow in the coming weeks.

I have always wanted a good garden.  I grew tomatoes by the bushel when we lived in Birmingham.  I couldn’t grow much else but my tomatoes were brilliant.  When we were in Nashville I had a great yard for a garden but I managed to be enormously pregnant the first summer and toting my baby girl during the second.  That seemed to take up a lot of my time.  Imagine that!  Nonetheless, we had beautiful flowers but the tomatoes, peppers and herbs were less than satisfactory.  This frustrated the heck out of me.  My parents and my in-laws are all master gardeners.  Their yards are stunning.  Is breathtaking too much to ask for?

Luckily, our current house has a nice yard.  It was well landscaped about 12 years ago.  The bones are there – it just needs life breathed into it and crap hauled out of it.  Unfortunately, a LOT of gunk builds up in a decade.  A LOT.  In order to clean out the 4×10 area for the shade garden, I had to scoop out 5 wheelbarrows full of leaves, rotten mulch and who knows what else.  Do you know how much stuff fits into 5 wheelbarrow loads?  A LOT.  I think I’ve made my point.  It’s not easy for me to dump a full wheelbarrow by the side of the road for the leaf truck either.  Me + full wheelbarrow = freak show.  I’m sure anyone who saw me is now well schooled on my lack of grace.

However, I did manage to get everything cleaned up including myself before collapsing on the sofa.  I’m worn out.  Done. Over and out.  It’s a good feeling though.  I have accomplished something important today.  I want my children to know about growing herbs and veggies and about doing fun productive things outside.  Of course I won’t be able to enjoy any tomatoes for about 80 days.  My mouth is watering already!

This time last night, Robert and I were guests at an amazing birthday party.  Yesterday was, in fact, Robert’s grandmother’s 90th birthday.  It was quite the event.  It was not a huge party.  It was not a black tie party.  But it was a fabulous party.

Grandmama was joined by her best friend and surrounded by her family.  As I talked with Grandmama and her friend before dinner I thought about what all these women have seen in their 90 years.  Plenty of bad, lots of good.  Pain and joy, happy and sad.  I am sure their experiences run the gamut of human emotion.

I am happy to report that there was nothing but love and happiness as we gathered to celebrate Grandmama’s monumental birthday.  If I am lucky enough to make it to 90, I will be sitting with my best friend surrounded by my family to celebrate.  It sounds pretty good to me!

Just so you’re prepared, I’m probably going to step on some toes and anger some of my readers but that’s a chance I’m going to have to take.

This morning, Laura and I were sitting in the pharmacy waiting for a prescription to be filled.  There was a mother with her two young sons sitting near us.  The little boys were not sitting still but they were not being bad either.  The main problem was they were sharing a chair and couldn’t keep their hands to themselves.  Completely understandable for two boys under the age of 5.  Honestly that’s understandable for boys of any age!  I could tell from their mother’s expression that she had run out of patience before she got out of bed this morning.  I can commiserate.  We’ve all had days like that.  Unfortunately her patience meter was not just running low, it was into negative numbers.  When one of the boys poked the other for the fiftieth time she announced that she would “yank off this belt and tear your butt up.”  Of course this got a reaction.  She was neither kidding nor exaggerating.  I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had followed through right then and there.  The boys sat straight up and didn’t dare breathe.  The reaction from Laura was visceral.  She hid her face in my chest and clung to me with all of her might.  She might not have understood the woman’s words but she understood her tone.  Her message was loud and clear.  It was also clear that those boys knew exactly what she meant.

We had a similar experience just after moving here.  We did not have our washer and dryer hooked up yet so I loaded up baskets of dirty clothes and headed to the laundromat with the girls.  A woman there gave her little boy a spanking that I will never forget right there in the middle of the laundromat.  It was horrible.  This little boy was only about 15 months old.  He had no idea what was happening.  Laura had a reaction similar to the one she had this morning.  She was truly afraid.  Abigail and Hattie couldn’t figure out what was happening and I was without an explanation.  I got my children out of there as fast as I could.

In both cases all that was needed was a little redirection.  The baby boy in the laundromat needed a nap.  Or a little book or toy.  Or a walk around the store.   The boys in the pharmacy needed to be separated.  There was no need in either case to threaten or mistreat.  I was so very sad for those boys…and for their mothers.  I also felt like we were intruding even though we were in a public place.  It seemed like we were watching something that no one is supposed to see…like looking at a car wreck.

I have no problem with discipline.  Sometimes we need more in our house.  Other times I feel like I’m too hard on the girls.  We try to find a balance.  There are times when we’re not patient enough and one or both of us loses our temper.  I can safely say that I’ve never had the thought to hurt my child to “teach a lesson”.  In neither case I mentioned above was this discipline.  This was severe punishment for minor offenses.

I know that spanking was used as the fundamental method of discipline for many years.  Some people still choose that as their primary discipline.  We spank on the rarest of occasions and when we do it is a mild pop on the behind that is meant to send a message, not to leave a physical or emotional scar.  I know that many people were raised differently than I was and that they have chosen to raise their children differently than we have.  I have no issue with that.  But harming, humiliating or terrorizing your child is never justified.  The boy at the laundromat was legitimately afraid.  You could see it in his little round face.

This is a touchy subject but there is a solution for every situation.  Each family is different and each dynamic requires an individual plan.  Discipline requires consistency and patience, limits and boundaries, truth and consequences.  It also requires love and acceptance, forgiveness and praise.  Children have to know what they have done right as well as what they have done wrong.

I try my hardest not to judge people.  Especially those I don’t know.  You never know what the back story might be.   In some occasions I cannot help myself.  My brain sees something and immediately forms an opinion.  It’s up to me to decipher the information and come up with a fair point of view.  I’m sure that these little boys are not thrashed every waking hour of their lives.  I hope they are shown love and affection.  I do know that if my girls ever cowered in fear of me, I would be devastated.

As parents, we are responsible for molding our children in thought, word and deed.  We are supposed to support them and make them feel secure.  It is not an easy task.  It is endless and exhausting.  Children have the job of making us into better parents.  They are responsible for testing us and for pushing our boundaries until the right spot is found for the family fence.  In return for challenging us, children teach us about unconditional love and finding happiness in the simplest of things.  Their part of the bargain is not always easy either.  We parents are stubborn and convinced that we are always right.  (we’re not!)

After all I have said I want to add that I don’t think my views are better than anyone else’s.  They are just MY views.  They do not belong to my parents, my brothers, you or my friends.  They are just my thoughts and opinions.  I am not trying to tell anyone how they should run their life or discipline their children.  I am merely putting my own view of the world out there.  That is the point of this blog.

I am also not a perfect parent.  Far from it.  I lose my temper.  I let things slide that should be dealt with.  I don’t always clean up the mess I just made.  I procrastinate.  I don’t always put the needs of others before my own trivial wants.  I’m human.  So are you.

I love my daughters with all of my being.  Robert and I are so lucky to have them in our life.  I hope that they are confident in their parents and know just how much we love them.  After all, that is the most important part…..

If you have young children, you’re probably familiar with the concept of counting to three to give your child the chance to do something themselves.  For example, “Laura, it’s time to pick a story to read for nap time.”  “I don’t want to.”  “I’m going to count to 3.  If you haven’t picked a story, I’ll pick it for you.”  This usually results in a glare from the 3 year old.  So I say, “ONE.”  And she’s off…running to her room to pick a book.  Heaven forbid Mommy pick the story!  I have yet to get past TWO with Laura.  She hasn’t pushed me that far….yet.  She will eventually, that is a given.  Truth be told, I’ve only gotten to THREE a few times in the eight and a half years that I have been a mother.

The counting tactic still works on Abigail and Hattie, much to my surprise.  Abigail is a procrastinator.  Especially at bed time.  It is not her fault.  She inherited the procrastination gene from both sides.  When bed time rolls around, she is usually giggly and we are no longer feeling tolerant.  She will dance around the living room…or fall on the floor and pretend that she can’t get up…or pretend that she doesn’t hear us…or act like she is “helping” her sisters do something (we know this is an act because her sisters are loud protesters of unwanted “help”).   It doesn’t take me long to get to “ONE!”  She knows that means business.  No more shenanigans.  Mom is done.

Hattie’s crime that results in a “ONE” is usually cleaning up.  She detests cleaning up.  It’s getting better but it still occasionally results in some parental encouragement.

The punishment of getting to THREE isn’t that bad.  Usually it involves time out and losing computer time or dessert.  Maybe it still works because I don’t use it all the time.  Maybe because my tone in the counting game (at least with the older two) is much more serious.  I’m not smiling.  Like I said, when Mom starts counting, Mom is DONE.

Now, I really should get off the computer and get back to de-germing the house from our battle with the cold and fever bug this weekend.  But I don’t want to….but I need to….ONE…TWO…………

PS – I have to give my husband credit for the idea of this blog.  I dealt out a “ONE” the other night at bed time and he just looked at me and said “the power of one”.  So, thanks honey!

I love my children deeply and unconditionally but if I get coughed on, sneezed on, or breathed on anymore this weekend, I’m going to hurt somebody.

Two of my daughters have heinous colds.  The third daughter is starting to sniff so I know her turn is coming.  The older two girls are miserable.  There have been fevers, coughing fits, lots of sighing, runny noses and the occasional loud moan.  I feel horrible for them.  It makes me ache to see them feeling bad.  I would much rather be the sick one watching them dance around from the sofa.  But that is yet another thing I have no control over.  They are sick and feeling awful and there’s not much I can do about it.

Robert was out on errands for the majority of the day yesterday so I was the only “nurse” on duty in our home hospital wing.  I got the girls juice and pampered them while they snuggled on the sofa and watched movies.  I made sure they had medicine when they needed it and did all of those things that moms of ailing children do.  The day went by and everyone seemed to be feeling better.  Of course we had another round of fevers during the night so obviously, we’re not done yet.

Watching your children suffer is one of the banes of parenthood.  Eventually your loved ones will be disappointed or sick or hurt and there’s nothing you can do about it.  Of course, we do not live in an ideal world.  Life is full of heartache, illness, disappointment and sadness.  As parents, we have to let our children learn to deal with these things.  I’m not embarrassed to admit that if it were up to me I would shield them from all of the bullies in life but I know that would lead to disaster!

For now, I just have to plod along refilling juice cups and spraying Lysol as I go.  Hopefully today will be the last day.  We can only hope that everyone rests well and fights off the cold gremlins.  They are certainly nothing to sneeze at!  

On Monday I picked Laura up from preschool.  After we had the usual Q & A session about her day, she said “Mommy…you know what?” (long pause) “Russ said butt.”  What exactly was I supposed to say to that?  I was trying not to laugh my own butt off!  So I gathered myself (a lot easier when we’re in the car and she can’t see my face) and said that that was not a nice thing to say.  Laura could not have agreed more.  Still, she told me about Russ’ new favorite word several more times that afternoon.

In the grand scheme of things, “butt” is pretty harmless.  That being said, I don’t want it in my children’s standard vocabulary.  They know the words they are not supposed to say.  At this point in their lives that includes stupid, hate, dumb and shut up.  The last one is on TV a LOT.  I didn’t realize how much until it became an issue.  We do not use that phrase and the girls have only said it once or twice but they hear it more than I’d like.

The funny part is that the girls think it’s their duty to tell us whenever a word on the “do not say” list is uttered.  I thought Laura was going to have a conniption waiting for me to get out of the bathroom this morning so she could tell me that someone had said a bad word.  They have become the curse cops.  They have also associated saying bad words with people who are not nice.  This mostly pertains to Hattie, the kindergartner.  There are several little boys in her class at school who are bad in general.  The majority of the boys in her class (and a couple of the girls) are not sweet little children.  But there are a couple that are bad.  No other word will suffice.  These are the ones who wait for the teacher to turn her back before they throw out their favorite swear word.  Hattie thinks this is repulsive.  Fine by me.  If she can learn to stay away from this type early, she may save herself some heartbreak later on!

So for now I am doing my best not to laugh in my daughters’ faces as they tattle on the latest swearer.  And watch every word I say….the cops are out there!!

A couple of hours ago, Hattie came walking through our kitchen where I was putting away groceries.  Laura was right behind her.  Here was their dialogue:

Hattie:  “Mooooooommmmmmmmmm!”

Laura:  “Mooooooommmmmmmmmm!”

Hattie:  “Laura’s copying me.”

Laura:  “Laura’s copying me.”

Hattie:  “Stop it Laura!”

Laura:  “Stop it Laura!”

What did I do?  I laughed.  And laughed. And laughed.  I couldn’t help myself!  I already told you that I’m not a candidate for mother of the year.

What is it about annoying someone you love just because you can?  Why do we drive each other to the brink of insanity for the kick of it?  This time I was laughing out of relief that I wasn’t the victim.  I am the prey in the copy-everything-you-say game a lot at our house.  It started when Abigail was 3.  I don’t know where she heard it or how she thought of it but we went through a period of about a month when she loved that game.  She would follow me around the house like a little puppy and mimic every word I uttered.  I know why she loved it – she always got a great reaction from me.  This game is one of those things that frustrates me every time.  There’s no explanation – it scrambles my brain waves or something.  I’m sure it’s just payback from pestering my brothers when I was little.

When Hattie turned 3, she started following Abigail around echoing her every word.  Abigail was repaying for doing it to me.  Now it’s Hattie’s turn.  As with everything she does, Laura is relentless.  She waits until Hattie is happily playing or drawing and makes her move.  I can’t do anything to stop her and as frustrating as it is, the whole thing is pretty harmless.  When Laura has a 3 year old of her own, I’m sure there will be payback for the torture she is now unleashing on her sister.

Like most things in parenthood, this too shall pass.  Until then, we’ll just have to put up with the echo…

Roe vs. Wade.  Brown vs. Board of Education.  Joe vs. the Volcano.  Anna Kate vs. Ivy.

As in, leafy green English ivy.  Ivy is such an oxymoron.  It is beautiful and delicate.  It flows gracefully from planters.  The variegated kind is especially beautiful with its mix of dark and light green.  Visually appealing.  But ivy, like kudzu and wisteria, has a deep dark secret.  It kills.  It sucks the life out of trees and plants.  It rips the paint off of your house.  It will even dig its way into mortar and cement.  It is evil.

Our house has a very nice yard.  It is beautifully landscaped with an array of lush southern foliage.  It was well maintained 12 – 15 years ago.  The base plants are still there but it is now overgrown and leggy.  And there is ivy everywhere.  It is on every tree, in every bush, and twisted around every branch in our yard.

I am on a mission.  When I am done, the ivy will be minimal and the plants will be free.

My father got me started about a month ago.  He is a master gardener and I am jealous.  My father can grow anything.  I hope to get there someday.  Anyway, we were walking through the back yard looking at the ivy roots on the base of the two big trees back there.  Before I could blink, he was hacking away at the roots.  This ivy had grown roots about 2 inches in diameter.  They had grown so far into the bark of the tree that it took all our strength to pry them off.  Luckily we got the roots severed so the ivy in the tree is starting to die.  Whew.  Trees saved.

This past weekend was our first bout of great weather since we moved here.  It was 65 degrees and sunny.  Prime yard work weather.  On Saturday, I headed out to the front yard in my grubby clothes to liberate the Japanese maple.  I pulled ivy for about 4 hours.  The ivy was wrapped around the base of the maple like that was its job.  I pulled and yanked and yelled and wrestled and grunted and wailed and moaned and gnashed my teeth.  Three leaf bags full of ivy and I was done.  Spent.  Over and out.

That was Saturday.  Today is Monday.  My back feels like someone beat me with a Louisville slugger.  My palms are sore.  My yard gloves have more epithelials than your local crime lab.  I walked to meet the bus and I’m sure the neighbors thought Igor was on the loose.  I’ve taken more Advil in the last 48 hours than I have in the last 4 – 8 years.

But that will not stop me.  I will win.  I will shut down the ivy operations.  I will save my yard.  It will be beautiful.  I might have to look at it lovingly through the windows from my traction set up in the living room but I WILL WIN!!!

There are several things that I have a love/hate relationship with.  The dishwasher.  I love to load it up to the max.  I love how clean it gets my dishes.  I hate unloading it.  Always have.  I love where we live but I hate how far we are from our family.  I love dogs.  I hate dog breath and scooping poop.  It’s just part of life.  You’re not going to love everything.  Trade-offs come with being human.

Today, my focus is on my relationship with a bunk bed.  When I was pregnant with Laura, we moved Hattie out of the nursery and into Abigail’s room.  We bought a bunk bed because that room was too small for two twin beds.  Let me rephrase.  If we had put two twin beds in that room, we couldn’t have fit anything else.  So, Abigail “graduated” to the top bunk.  Hattie moved from her crib into the bottom bunk and never looked back.  We have moved those bunk beds three times and they are still in good shape.  They have storage drawers underneath.  As a result of having bunk beds, the girls have a large amount of clear space in their room.  If you don’t have little girls, I’ll tell you that space is a good thing.  Little girls need room for twirling and puzzles and all of that girl paraphernalia.  (I know boys need space too but I wouldn’t know how to elaborate on that!)  It also gives them their own nook that no one else bothers.

All sounds great, right?  Wrong.  Ever tried to change the sheets on a bunk bed?  We just finished tucking in clean sheets, blankets and comforters on the girls’ beds.  Robert and I are both out of breath and exhausted.  The tucking of the covers involves Robert on the lower bed pushing the top mattress up from underneath.  I am on a stool doing the actual tucking.  It is not easy, graceful, elegant or even attractive to watch.  We struggle like we’re trying to shove a sleeping bag into a tube sock.

Maybe it’s our fault.  We bought the thicker mattresses.  Are we being punished for extravagance?  We even tried not tucking in the covers.  What happened?  Abigail couldn’t keep her feet covered, got cold and ended up in bed with us.  That is NOT an option.

So we are left to the tucking ritual.  It’s not fun but it works.  It’s still better than scooping poop! 

It’s Friday afternoon and it’s snowing.  All cities around us have already had snow.  All of my friends have been inundated with it this year.  My extended family has suffered through feet upon feet of snow, ice and power outages.  But for us, this is our first snow of the season.  As usual, we live in an area that is on the edge.  You know that line on the radar where white changes to green?  That’s where we live.  When others are getting beautiful snow, we are getting freezing cold wind and rain.  Misery.  I know that many people have had it with the snow this year.  I understand completely.  But as I said before, this is the first time we’ve seen any flakes!  Somehow, the snow gods smiled upon us today and we should actually have enough accumulation to make a snowman tomorrow.  Hallelujah!

A little while ago, I put on my long coat, heated up my mug of tea and stepped out onto the porch for a few moments.  I was instantly calmed.  A smile appeared.  All of the usual noises had been dampened by the snow.  The birds that were in the yard earlier had found their nests and bedded down for the night.  No one was driving on our street.  It was quiet.  A blanket of white had enveloped our neighborhood.  Everything looked clean and fresh.

Nine years ago, I was pregnant with Abigail.  In April of that year, Robert and I went on our last ‘there’s only 2 of us’ trip.  I was five months along in my pregnancy and feeling good so we packed up and headed to Yosemite.  When we got there, the weather was nasty.  Cold, raining and cloudy.  It stayed that way for three days.  Amateur photographer Robert was not thrilled.  We couldn’t see the top of anything.  I’m not ashamed to admit that we were disappointed.

On the last afternoon, it began to snow.  We had dinner in the main lodge where we were staying and headed to our cabin for our last night in Yosemite.  We sat outside and listened to the snow fall.  It was a sound like no other.  One snowflake finding its resting place doesn’t make much sound but the millions of large wet snowflakes falling sounded like a symphony.  The sky was a deep cobalt blue.  It snowed 18 inches that night.  The next morning we headed down the un-plowed road back towards the park.  The snow was brilliant and glittering white in the morning sun.  It was gorgeous.  We were in heaven.  We took one last lap around the park and finally saw all of the grandiose beauty of the mountains.

Tonight as I watch the snow fall through the living room windows, I am reminded of that trip to Yosemite.  It was a wonder filled time in our lives.  Now our children are the wide eyed ones watching through the window as the snow covers their world.  Tomorrow morning, in a flurry of boots and scarves, we will explore the snow as a family.  I can’t wait!

El Capitan