Tired Mama.com

Letting go

I was talking with a friend this weekend and I mentioned that my oldest daughter had applied to a junior college for the fall.

We talked about the financial costs, where she would live and how it would all work.

I talked about how I thought she was ready and how she was excited about the idea.

And then my friend stopped my babbling, took my hand, looked me in the eye and asked me,

'Yes, and how are you REALLY with this?'

How am I with my baby leaving home a year earlier than planned?

I'm uh, honestly?

Thrilled for her, frightened for her, sad for me, excited for her, mad at how fast time has flown and even slightly jealous.

Basically? I have no idea how I am. So far, I've just been focused on her.

But, my daughter is thinking about leaving home.

LEAVING me.

How am I with this?

I'll get back to you on that. 

Right after I take a valium.

Followed perhaps by a red wine chaser...

Sigh.

She can see things I can't..

My youngest daughter is taking some music exams in the spring and so I've been bugging her to get on with her practicing this week.

As I cleaned up the kitchen tonight I listened to her go through her music, she played well but she played quickly and she played music that I had heard often.

'Lizzie,' I called. 'Is that what you're supposed to be practicing?'

'Yep,' she replied.

'Are you sure? Bring me your teacher's notes,' I demanded.

As I read through the list with her I pointed out that nothing she had played was on the list of things to practice.

'Yes, it is,' she insisted.

'Where?' I asked giving her the book and a scowl.

'Right there,' she said, pointing at the blank part at the bottom of the page.

'Right there, written in invisible ink.'

Oh.

Right.

Silly me.

And yeah, she really does know how to turn my scowls around.

TGIF

My teenagers think they have me all figured out. 

You know what I think?

I think horrible teen attitudes have nothing to do with hormones.

I think teens just figure that if they are rotten enough to us that we'll let them stay out late at night just so we can have some peace and quiet.

What they've forgotten however is that they still need us to pick them up from where ever they are hanging out.

And teens? I need my sleep more then I need peace.  

So, pester away, cause the curfew?

It's still there.

 

What's in a name?

When my daughter entered sixth grade last September, she started at a brand new school. It's been a great success, she likes it, she's making friends, she's doing well. It's all good.

When she started at this new school however, she changed her name.

It was nothing too drastic, let's say her name is Elizabeth*, well at the new school she asked everyone to call her Lizzie.

Lizzie. My sweet little Elizabeth is now a Lizzie.

In fairness, she did ask if it was okay with me before she did it, and I told her I was fine with it, but I would continue to call her Elizabeth. But, I assured her, if she wanted all her friends to call her Lizzie, that was okay.

So, now at school, she signs all her papers, Lizzie. Her friends and even her teachers call her, Lizzie.

When we had parent-teacher interviews, all the paperwork was made out in her given name. The teachers referred to her as Lizzie however until I started referring to her as Elizabeth. They then paused for half a beat, and started to refer to her as Elizabeth too for the remainder of the conference.

When her new friends call the house and ask to speak with Lizzie, I pause for half a beat and then call Elizabeth to the phone.

But it's a little unsettling for me. My little girl was Elizabeth Anne since I first felt her roll in my tummy, and it's tough for me to think of her by any other name.

But I will, because it's really no big deal. The name is cute and really, I suppose, it's hers to pick. 

My baby is growing up.

 

* Yep, she's not really an Elizabeth, but if it's okay with you, I'll just keep her real name to myself and out of the blog world for a little longer. :)

Christmas Shopping

I took my youngest daughter out to the local HUGE mall today and we did some Christmas shopping.

It was nice. We talked, we walked, we browsed and then we stood in line to pay for things.

She was so happy to get out to this particular mall that she talked a mile a minute all the way there and then she practically danced through the parking lot in her excitement to get inside.

We got a few things stroked off our lists and we had a nice dinner together too.

But really the best part for me was seeing her so happy.

She was happy to be out and she was happy to be spending time with me.

And at eleven years old, I am probably counting on two fingers the number of years I have left of her being happy to go Christmas shopping with boring old Mom.

But then again, she will still need me to pay for her things for a few years yet so maybe I can drag out this Christmas shopping together thing for at least a couple more years.

Here's hoping....

 

Let's rethink this. Okay?

In 1928 all kids wanted for Christmas was a Duncan Yo-yo.

In 1983, Cabbage Patch Kid dolls caused a stampede at my local department store.

In 1996, everyone was rushing around looking for a Tickle Me Elmo and in 2007, everyone was gifting the iPod Touch.

This year? This year my youngest asked for a Fijit Friend for Christmas.

A green one.

And yeah, I've been driving all over trying to locate one. 

And yes, I've stood in line at Toys R Us to get a rain check for one on a Friday night at 11 pm.

And yes, I've even considered driving for an hour to do some cross border shopping to get one.

I'm doing this because she didn't really ask for much else this year.

And I'm doing this because they're not really that expensive so, at first, it didn't seem like that big a deal.

And I'm doing this because she asked SANTA for one.

And honestly?

I'm doing this because I'm slightly crazy.

Sigh.

You need shoes to get to University, right?

I'm off to take my oldest daughter to the College/University Fair this afternoon.

Yes, my oldest is old enough that we have to start thinking about things like this.

And yes, I am old enough to have a daughter this old. I just don't like to admit it.

Sigh.

I have no idea what we're going to find today or what my child is going to want to look at.

My eldest has no idea what she wants to study at University and she's one of those kids who does well at a few things so she has some choices.

I want to help her, but I want her to make the decision for herself as to what she wants to do and where she wants to go. She needs to decide the future that is going to suit her best and make her happy. I can help, but I can't make the decision.

I think deep down she'd like to follow her passion for art but she knows getting a well-paying job in that field could be a challenge.

She also has great marks in science so we'll look at those programs too.

She's got the marks for medicine and she's also an amazing writer.

So. Where does one start?

Personally, I think we'll start with lunch and part way through the afternoon, if things get too much, we'll skip out of the fair and go and look for some shoes.

Yep, shoes. 

The conference is being held in a part of town that has some nice shoe stores and when the stress of deciding ones future gets too much I think it's always good to distract oneself for a while

And looking at shoes? 

That's a good distraction.

Really?

Quote of the day,

"Gee Mom, the kitchen really looks a lot cleaner if we just take all the dirty dishes off the counter and put them in the dishwasher."

Really? Ya think so, hon?

My children are truly brilliant.

Sigh.

Up and up and up.

My oldest daughter is two years and ten months older than her brother and my youngest daughter is two years and six months younger than her brother.

As my three children have grown there has always been roughly about a head difference in height between them.

I must admit I always thought it was cute that when they stood in birth order there was a step pattern by age in terms of height. I have literally thousands of pictures, taken through the years, of them lined up from oldest to youngest - girl, boy, girl - tallest to shortest.

Until now.

I was looking at them yesterday from a distance, as they did something with their father, and I realized my thirteen year old son is now much taller than his ten year old sister. In fact, my son is quickly catching up in height to his sixteen year old sister.

And you know what? It made me sad.

That height spacing is now gone - forever. It won't be long until my son is as tall and then taller then his older sister. That step pattern might come back at some point but it will no longer be by birth order because soon my middle child will be the tallest of my children.

They're growing up and up and up.

And I know it's a good thing and it's something that has to happen, but honestly? Tonight it's just making me sad.

Pass the wine.

Sigh.

She's ten. But she's only ten.

I'm pretty sure that, at this very minute, my daughter is failing a french test.

The reason I know this is because I overheard her friends talking about the test when I dropped her off at school this morning and then I watched as my daughter's face went white.

My daughter did her homework at the kitchen table last night - she did math and english. She didn't review any french. She's only ten, she forgets stuff.

In the grand scheme of things this is okay. My youngest will probably still get into University, eight years from now, even though she may have failed a fifth grade french test today. She is, after all, only ten.

On the other hand, she shouldn't be failing tests and she needs to learn to be responsible for her own work. It's time - she's ten.

I must admit I'm feeling guilty today because I could have flipped open her homework book and checked her test schedule myself, but I didn't. She was doing her work and so I just assumed she was on top of things. She is ten.

But as I sit here a part of me knows she's failing and will feel badly about it. A big part of me wants to save her from that but there's also a big part of me that thinks this is a good lesson for her to learn. She is after all, ten.

So, is she ten? Or is she only ten?

I can't decide.

Sigh.

Happy Heart Month

I don't normally participate in give aways or promotions on my blog.

I guess I don't because I've always used this place to write my own thoughts, keep track of my own life and to uh, vent.

For the next ten days however I'm going to tell you about my life and share with you a little from a book I'm reading.

It's called, 'Saving Women's Hearts - How you can prevent and reverse Heart Disease with natural and conventional strategies.'

Yep, heart disease.

My grandmother is in the hospital today because yesterday she had a heart attack.

My other three grandparents all died from heart disease.

I wanted to read this book because a nagging part of me is wondering what's going to happen to me one day.

The introduction in the book starts by asking the question, 'Why should you care about your heart? Why does it matter at any age? Well, heart disease is the number-one killer of women. Most women think cancer (particularly breast cancer) should be their number-one health concern, but the facts are the facts. One out of three women will develop heart disease in her lifetime.'

Scary.

Sigh.

But I want to read this book so I can take the steps to protect myself and to teach my daughters how to recognize and prevent heart disease.

So, if you'll excuse me for the next ten days I'm going to deviate from my normal scheduled venting to share with you a little bit about what I'm learning about heart disease. 

If you're interested in reading the book too, leave a comment sometime in the next ten days telling me why you'd be interested in reading it and I'll enter your name into a draw for a copy of the book.

And here's hoping that in the next few days, that by learning more to help myself, I can help some of you too.

 

And here's the small print: Disclosure - I am participating in the Saving Women’s Hearts program by Mom Central on behalf of Wiley Publishing.  I received a copy of the book to review and gift card as a thank you for my participation.  The opinions on this blog are my own.

Why I do, what I do.

Yes, she was supposed to be in bed sleeping but she was up sending e-mails.

Mom,
Thank you very much for helping me with musical! I know how much work you have done to make this possible for me. Thank you sooooooo much! I love you!!! You're the best mom in the whole wide world!!!!

Thanks again!!!
Love,
Youngest Daughter

I guess I'll forgive her for staying up a little past her bed-time. 

May all your dreams come true.*

'I have two dreams,' my youngest informed me as we drove home from school today.

'Really? What are those?' I inquired.

'Why do you want to know?' she asked suddenly suspicious.

'Well,' I said. 'As your mother I'd like to help make all your dreams come true if I can. I kinda see that as part of my job.'

My daughter thought about this for a bit and then proceeded to tell me what her two dreams are. 

Now, I won't tell you exactly what she said, but I will tell you that I now have to have a long talk with hubby about getting a puppy.

Yep - a dog.

Because I honestly do think it's part of my job to help make my daughter's dreams come true.

And, my youngest?

She knows exactly how to play me to get what she wants. 

Sigh.

 

*Alternate titles considered for this post were: 'Just Shoot Me' and 'Sucker Mama'.

Is there a rating system for bumper stickers?

I was following a truck today that had a bumper sticker on it that read, 'Dodge the father. Ram the daughter.'

Yeah, it was on a Dodge Ram 4X4 truck.

Classy.

I'm all for free speech, but really?

Really?

It's icy in my part of the world, but I found myself leaving even more space between this truck and my van so I was very sure that I wouldn't slide into it and then be forced to stop and have to find out who the person was that puts this kinda stuff on their vehicle.

Maybe that was their whole point.

Personally, I hope they were just passing through.

Older than dirt.

Well, it's official. I am OLD.

I took my daughter to get her learner's permit today. In my town this is known as getting a G1 license.

She passed.

Yesterday my beautiful baby turned sixteen and today she can drive.

Argh.

My girl will be a good driver, that's not the problem. The problem is basically that MY DAUGHTER IS OLD ENOUGH TO DRIVE.

Yes, all caps.

This means I am no longer nineteen. Hell, I'm no longer even in my thirties.

I am healthy and I am loved. Yes, I know that I am all sorts of good things.

But today? Today, I have a daughter who is old enough to drive.

Let's just wallow in that for a while, shall we?

We'll get back to being positive tomorrow.

Or next week.

Maybe.

Five golden rings!

It's only five days until Christmas and the things I still have to do fill a post-it note.

Yep, I know. Impressive.

It's a rather large post-it note, but at least my list now looks manageable.

Do-able even.

I'm also wondering what I forgot.

Tomorrow my youngest and I are heading into the city to see the lights, the Christmas windows and the huge trees that get decorated at the big mall in the 'big city'.

She and I plan to gawk at everything, do a little shopping, have a nice lunch and then come home on the city train.

It's our second year doing this, and I'm getting the feeling it's on its way to becoming a tradition.

It's going to be nice to spend some one-on-one time with my youngest daughter.

It's also going to be nice to finally be able to relax a bit too.

But I'm still thinking I'm forgetting something.

Several somethings even.

Sigh.

I may get my picture yet.

I went Christmas shopping yesterday. I was being totally indecisive so I didn't get much done, but I did have a nice time looking at all the decorations and listening to the Christmas music. My local mall has a particularly nice looking Santa this year, he's plump, friendly and his beard even looks real.

As I stopped for a minute to watch all the little children go up for a visit with Mr. Claus I found myself remembering my own children's visits to Santa. My girls were always a little scared but they usually went bravely up, handed over their letters and smiled for a picture. 

My son? He simply refused to go near the dear old man. My boy was having nothing to do with the mall Santa's and he would pitch a fit whenever my hubby or I would try to encourage him to go up with his sisters for a visit. 

So, in my family album I have many pictures of Santa Claus with my daughters and none at all of him with my son.

But yesterday, as I stood watching all the little children line up for their visit with the red dressed guy, I noticed that this year my mall has fairies working as Santa's helpers.

These aren't just any fairies though; our local Santa has cute, teen-aged girl fairies working for him this year. He also has these adorable teen girls all decked out in short skirts, glittery wings and tight-fitting low-cut tops. These young ladies all had long legs, brilliant smiles and gorgeous floaty hair.

Did I mention my son is now thirteen?

Hmmm.

I may have finally found a way to convince my son to visit Santa.

Hello fairies? Can I ask you for a favor?

And could you get him to smile for a picture too? 

RIP Little Piggy

Sunday morning is my only morning to sleep in.

I love to sleep in.

So, for years my kids have learned to leave Tired Mama alone on Sunday mornings. I have always told them that unless someone has died or the house is burning down to not bug me on Sunday mornings until after nine.

But this past Sunday morning my youngest burst into my room at about seven. Thank goodness I had enough sleepy sense not to berate her for coming in so early because in between her shaking sobs she told me something had actually died.

Her guinea pig.

Oh.

Yep, our beloved little pet had decided, with no warning, to pass on during the night. Our family spent part of this past Sunday holding a burial service in our backyard.

Rest in peace, my little friend. You were a good and loyal pet and you will be missed.

I actually do miss the guinea pig's squeaks for attention already. It was very quiet while I was working today - it made me sad.

But now?

Now, the puppy pleading will begin in earnest. I give Tired Papa six months of big teary hazel eyes from his little girl before we get another guinea pig or a dog, or a bunny or some other new furry creature for ME to look after.

Yeah. ME.

I think I'm gonna miss you for a long time, little piggy.

Sigh.

Out with the trashy

In his home office in-tray Tired Papa usually keeps the bills that need to be paid and any pending family correspondence. Tonight? There's a Barbie doll in there too.

You see tonight my youngest daughter is off at a camp with her school. So while she's away I decided to clean her room and throw out some of the crap  garbage stuff she was stock-piling. At the bottom of her closet I found a broken Barbie doll. 

But this broken Barbie doll wasn't pouting, she was smiling. And this Barbie doll had hardly any make-up painted on her little plastic face, her hair was brushed back in a smooth pony-tail and she was even dressed in something I might actually let a child of mine leave the house wearing.

Wonder of wonders - I found a Barbie doll that doesn't look like a hooker.

So, since my fingers were not strong enough to push the different parts of this doll back into place I gently put her, and her assorted parts, into my hubby's in-basket for him to fix. I think all this doll needs is some major limb realignment and then she'll be as good as new.

As for all the Bratz and other trashy dolls I found? They went into the garbage.

Probably tomorrow night Tired Papa will yell down the stairs to ask me why there's a dismembered doll in his in-basket. I will then yell back ask him to put her back together so that she can be played with.

And he will because he's good with this kinda thing.

And this will make me happy because there's got to be some reward in this world for being wholesome.

Right?

Yeah, no.

Dear Children,

Mom - it's not an acronym for 'Made Of Money'.

Honest.

Nice try though.

Love,
Tired Mama
XOX

E-mail from a ten year old.

When the new school year starts in a few weeks my youngest will be going into grade five which is when her school starts giving out school e-mail accounts.

I decided today it would be a good idea to talk with her a little about what was appropriate to send out in an e-mail and how it was done before the school did.

I also wanted her to muck around with it a bit before she started sending things to her friends so I set her up with a home e-mail account and I gave her my e-mail address and her father's e-mail address to practice with.

Tonight I got my first e-mail from her. Here is what it said:

Dear Leanne and **her Dad's name**,

We of the **our surname** kids* would like to inform you that you have not yet gotten us a dog.

I think it is very important that you get us a dog because it would teach us responsibility.

Now I believe that Dad would say " You have stuffed animal dogs!" as for Leanne, she would say, "convince your father!"

So Dad, a stuffed animal dog isn't REAL. As for Leanne, I hope this letter convinces Dad to get a dog.

Thank you for your time and patience and have a good day.

*ME
Sincerely,

**Youngest daughter's full name**, daughter.

I think she's got it figured out.

Now I'm just waiting for her Dad's reply. I'll let you know how that works out.

Scary Mama

My girls had camp this morning and as I was standing in the kitchen trying to figure out how to create them some lunches from the nothing that was in my empty cupboards, my eldest walked into the kitchen.

'Wow,' she commented to me. 'You look nice.'

'I showered,' I replied and continued to making a lunch for her.

Two minutes later, my youngest walked into the kitchen. 'Mom,' she exclaimed, 'look at you, you're all dressed up!'

My problem with this? I wasn't. I had on clean clothes, I had showered, dried my hair and put on some make-up, but I was far from dressed up. I was clean and made up, but I hadn't put ANY real effort into the way I looked.

What they were comparing me to however, was my look this past weekend at the cottage where I had spent two days in dirty, unmatched clothes, where I had bathed by swimming in the lake, and where I wore no make-up and sported frizzy sun dried hair.

It was a work weekend up north where we were cleaning, sorting and burning trash.

I probably looked a mess, but honestly? I didn't pay a lot of attention to it.

But, in retrospect we did have a lot of people drop by this weekend to deliver things and several friends who just dropped by for a quick visit.

Now I'm wondering what did I look like all weekend? If my kids are noticing a big enough difference to comment on it I must have been a real mess.

Oh, boy.

Maybe I need to move a bigger mirror up to the cottage and possibly some mascara and a hair brush too.

Or not. I think I might just be getting too old to worry about it.

So, long live messy! Maybe it'll make my family appreciate me all the more when I do dress up and uh, shower. 

As long as they don't copy me - that could get a little um, smelly.

Sigh.

It's all good

Tired Papa and I have been married for seventeen years tomorrow.

Seventeen years.

That's a long time. 

As my youngest daughter and I were driving to dance tonight she told me that her Dad and I should do something special for our anniversary.

'Like what?' I asked.

'Like go downtown and go out for a romantic dinner,' she replied.

I reminded her that on our anniversary her father and I would be running between her two dance recitals and her brother's baseball tournament. I don't think we'll even have time to have a burger together tomorrow, never mind a whole romantic meal.

'That's bad,' she said. 

But you know what? I'm not so sure it is. 

If you had told me seventeen years ago that I would be spending my anniversary today still happily married to the same guy and that I'd be spending the day enjoying activities with our beautiful healthy children, I think I would have been okay with that.

I'm still okay with that.

Happy Anniversary Hun.

Oh, but can I get a rain check on the whole romantic dinner idea? That sounds kinda nice too.

Sweet and uh, gross too

We're creating a new laundry room.

I know you're excited to share this news with me. But since I am moving my laundry room from my dark creepy basement to the second floor of my house, where all our bedrooms are located, it's a good thing.

It's a really good thing.

Last Friday my contractor informed me that he would be moving my washer and dryer upstairs on Monday. He told me that I would be without my appliances for the day so that his guys could haul them upstairs, run a gas line and get them hooked back up.

No problem.

I made sure that in between music lessons, baseball, dance, swimming and birthday parties over the weekend I got all my laundry done.

All. of. it.

So, I shouldn't have been surprised when at about 4 am on Monday morning I heard the pitter-patter of medium sized feet enter my room to inform me that their owner's stomach hurt.

Yep, the one day when we don't have a washer and dryer, the stomach flu hit our house.

Sigh.

You know you have good friends when they offer to haul your smelly vomit filled kid's sheets over to their house so they can wash them for you.

Sweet.

Gross too.

But very sweet. 

I think they've forgotten who they're talking to.

It's not what they say, it's how they say it.

It's their TONE.

It's their ATTITUDE.

Yeah, I have a tween, a teen and my ten year old? She thinks she's twenty-one.

Sigh.

My kids are not being very polite to their parents these days so I've decided I need to clamp down a bit on my kid's 'tudes.'

Yeah, I know this is not going to go well and that I probably won't change much, but I have to try and do something - their sneering is getting out of control.

I truly do everything for my kids and, like all kids, they don't appreciate it. And the reason they don't appreciate it?

Because they are spoiled rotten brats.

There I said it.

How's your week going?

Growl.

Texting is fun :)

I love texting.

I realize that's a dumb thing to love, but when I can get a text from my fifteen year old daughter, who is away on a five day school trip, that says,

'I'm alive. FYI.'

It just makes my day.

It also makes me realize that I'd better get on-line and buy her an international text plan to cover the next five days or we're gonna be broke.

Some how I doubt I'm the only one she's texting.

Sigh.

Just another manic Monday

On Monday my youngest learned that when you are on a swing you should not try to catch the stuffed dog your twelve year old brother is throwing to you.

Yep, she did one huge face plant off the swing.

My son, the one who wants to be a doctor, instead of trying to help his fallen sister, came running into the house screaming that my youngest wasn't moving after falling off the swing-set.

Yes, as a matter of fact, my heart did stop.

By the time I got out there my eldest daughter had climbed out of a nearby tree and was hauling her now screaming baby sister to her feet.

Um yeah, my fifteen year old was in a tree - that does sound strange. Jen was in the backyard taking pictures for her high school photography class and she wanted a different angle so she went uh, tree climbing.

Anyhoo.

To make a rambling story shorter, my little one is fine. A little bruised, and she had a headache from hitting her head, but she is fine.

But I did discover that maybe the reason I like to write is because I have a vivid imagination. My daughter had a very busy weekend and was obviously exhausted Monday night because she went to bed after she fell off the swing and slept for fourteen hours.

Fourteen.

Since my youngest is usually my energizer bunny this is highly unusual so I uh, worried.

I checked on her hourly and I woke her up frequently during the night to make sure she was okay. Reasonably I knew I should let her sleep. But honestly? I was quietly freaking out. I imagined her bleeding to death in her sleep, I imagined brain damage, I imagined paralysis and I imagined life without her.

I imagined everything horrible that could possible happen to her when, of course, all that really happened to her was that she fell off a swing.

I am a lunatic.

I am um, her mother.

Sigh.

I'm just a happy (and cheap) kinda gal.

Today as I was at Home Depot shopping for some cabinet hooks, I spied a pretty pink and white flowering Azalea for sale.

It was spring like, it was colorful and it was uh, pretty.

So I bought it.

Since I had to go straight from Home Depot to pick up assorted children from their assorted schools the Azalea rode with me in the front cup holder of my van to do the pick-ups.

When my daughter got in the van, she looked at the potted flower and asked me what it was.

'It's an Azalea,' I told her. 'It was so cheerful that it made me happy and so I bought it.'

'You know Mom,' she informed me. 'You do that a lot. When you see some silly thing in the store that makes you smile, you buy it and then you tell everyone you bought it because it made you happy.'

I do?

Okay, I might.

So, what? Does she think I should buy things that make me frown instead?

Besides it was only a $4.99 plant. 

It could be worse, it could take diamonds or expensive stuff to make me smile. 

Tired Papa is a very lucky man, don't ya think?

My Sally Brown

My youngest daughter informed me today that I didn't blog about her musical performance last week.

She's right.

So, everyone? I just wanted to let you know that my youngest played the part of Sally Brown in her school production of 'Snoopy - the musical' this past week.

What can I say? *

She looked beautiful, sang like an angel, performed beyond her years and was funny. She was actually very funny and it was a good funny, the type of funny that made the show better.

The most important thing? She had the time of her life.

She was extremely happy being on that stage and her being that happy? That made me happy.

Extremely happy.

Baby girl? You were amazing in the musical and you know what?

Even when you're not on stage, you're still amazing.

I love you, sunshine.

* Yes, it's my blog and I'll brag if I want to. :)

What's the difference?

I have a daughter who loves theater and a son who loves hockey.

I do everything I can to support both my children as they pursue their activity of choice.

As I was watching my son play in his hockey play-offs today all the parents were yelling directions at their kids from the stands telling their offspring what to do and how to play better.

They were uh, lunatics.

As I was listening to my fellow hockey parents 'coach' their off-spring  I started wondering what would happen if I was to yell directions at my daughter when she was on stage performing in her school musical.

Could you imagine me acting like a hockey Mom at the theater while she was on stage? I could have directed her from my seat, telling her where to stand and how to sing. I could have helped her!

Ah, no.

And no, of course I didn't do it.

If I had several people would have wanted to kill me. Actually had I yelled at any of the young thespians I would have been escorted from the building.

And you know what?

I think we should start considering doing this to those helpful parents at the hockey rinks too. 

Just sayin'.