The Skirted Cat

Elizabeth told me a story that has lingered with me for a couple of weeks now.  She was at school when one of her friends became very upset over how some other kids were treating her.  Elizabeth decided to try and cheer her up by giving her some advice.

She told her that whenever she feels sad she thinks of a cat wearing a skirt and it makes her laugh.  When Elizabeth recounted the incident to me, she said,

 "seriously Mom, I told her, if you picture a cat with a skirt on, doesn't it make you laugh?  I mean you can't stay sad or angry with that cat in your head running around in a skirt!"

No Elizabeth, you really can't can you?  I have taken her advice a few times and it works.  So, if you want, take a page from my 6 year old's book and imagine a cat wearing a skirt the next time you feel annoyed, angry or sad and see for yourself if it works.

Watching Her Grow

So Elizabeth recently learned about capillary action in school and seems quite taken with the concept.  I am 45 and she is 6.  I never heard of capillary action but she explained it to me in greater detail than Wikipedia, so now I get it.   I sometimes ask her about it because I love to watch her gesture with her hands as she tries to pull such a long word out of her mouth.  " Cap- i-llar- y action, the process by which liquid flows through a small space without the help of gravity, like through a flower stem."

Last week she completed an experiment where she took a white carnation, placed it in different color liquid dye to see capillarity in action.   I picked her up from school the day she brought her completed experiment home and watched her proudly walk down the hall.  Eyes beaming, she presented me with the flower, a white carnation with beautiful red and blue tipped petals, she created with the dye.  She explained to me in great detail how she conducted the experiment, asking over and over again,
"Don't you just LOVE it?"
"Yes."
"Isn't it AMAZING?"
"Yes."
" Isn't it just WONDERFUL how it works?".
"Yes."

As we walked to the car, I wondered if she'd ever know that while she was referring to the flower, I was referring to her. 

Sometimes You Have to Bite Your Tongue

This is Connor's second year participating in the First State Jr. Lego League.  It is one of his favorite clubs to participate in. Grade school age students spend 2 months researching a topic and developing a structure made solely of Legos, reflecting what they have learned.  They must incorporate 1 movable part and one simple machine.  The season culminates in a competition where the students are judged by adults and their peers.  Every team is recognized for something.  I like it because it give the students the opportunity to learn teamwork and problem solving skills.  That is if the adults let them. 

There in lies the problem I keep running into with the kids' activities.  Last year's competition featured structures clearly built by very talented and educated adults.  These pieces, fascinating to behold, lacked the childhood charm of something constructed by 8 and 9 year olds. 

This year's competition was no different.  In fact it seemed worse.  Perhaps becuase we were packed into a smaller space and could not take hardly a step without encountering a  creation, a poster or a child in an official t-shirt.  Most adults were fine and stood back watching the kids put their hard work to the test, answering and asking questions.  Other adults could not resisit the temptation to step in and answer questions, or show how their movable part worked, while the kids watched, their fingers itching for a turn.

At one point the students were asked impromptu to build something in a short period of time that had to do with their project.  Connor's team of boys, not surprisingly built a stack of cookies and a laser gun delivery truck that pretended to shoot said cookies at people.  I marveled at how well they worked together.  They had really bonded as a team.  Then I turned around and found myself confronted by a parent who accused the boys of stealing legos that she needed.  In a huff she ran off to the Lego bin, pulling it aside so that she and her son were the only ones with easy access to it.  She sat, sprawled on the floor in a frantic rage of lunacy.  She began constructing what I can only say looked like the proto type to the Mars Rover.  Her son sat next to her, fingers itching to reach into the box and build whatever was roving around in his imagination but he did not dare move.  He knew Mom was at work and not to interupt.

I thought about recording this mother and posting it on facebook, mocking her lack of boundaries and inablilty to separate her son's success from her own.  Didn't she understand that her son is simply that, her son and not a part of her success at all, that he would be capable of his own success and failure if only she would let him.

 Haven't we all been there? To feel the pain of our kids and want to protect them from it, to want them to be a success becuase we somehow feel validated by it?  This mom had not yet learned that our kids need to sprout their wings, take a chance,  make bad decisions, fail, and feel stupid because failure leads to growth.  She did not understand that if we do everything for them, they grow up not knowing how to do anything and  once they go it alone, failure is their only option.

I decided not to record her. I did feel bad for her though.  Her masterpiece rover was complete and quite an accomplishment but  I wanted  to get a picture of the laser gun delivery truck before it finished shooting cookies and  got turned into something else. 

What does it mean to be six?

A perfect storm of events has left me wondering why children today are subjected to so much sex.  OK, before you call me a prude, classify me as too conservative or decide I can't relate to life in the 21st century, hear me out.

  I had the misfortune of observing one of Elizabeth's 6 year old playmates, ditch her in hopes of being included in a group of teenaged boys the playmate desperately wanted to be a part of.

Later, I read an article about a 14 year old girl who had been sold to a brothel at age 6, and served as a sex slave for 3 years before she was able to escape.

  Finally, I read a blog detailing how a Colorado children's clothing store carries a line of crotchless panties for 6 year old children...the owner claimed people were buying them.

 Now I have a Masteer's Degree in Social Work and I really do think Erik Erickson was onto something with his description of the stages of the psychoscocial human life cycle.  Grade school aged children are at a stage of development where they should be developing self conficence through learning new tasks.  Praise and encouragement from adults will help them achieve a strong sense of  identity, self worth and self confience that prepares them for the turbulent adolescent road ahead .  This is why school is so important and why projecting a sexy self image is not so important.

It's really that simple.  We praise what they learn to do in school and they blossom, looking for more praise when they master the next task.  We reinforce a sexual self image and they become sexy, dependent of feed back that reinforces their sexiness, never navigate propery through this stage of development, and become teens with low self eteem and a low self worth. 

Still not with me?  Who is the greater tax burden, the young adult who keeps getting pregnant, has no skills and lacks the coinfidence to enroll in job training or the young adult who has the confidence to tackle a difficult job market?

Let's face it, when your 6, you don't need skinny jeans and lipstick to have fun at recess.  







 

Goodbye Star Wars?

I read in a book that 8 year old boys go through tremendous changes as they approach 9. They have different wants and needs. Their priorities change and they eat 4 times the amount of food they did a year ago. I was ready for all of this. It was in the book.

But what about the changes in their interests? The interests that define their childhood, build common bonds and occupy hours of play time. The change happens over night, and without warning.

I remember a few years ago Connor decided he was through with Thomas the Tank Engine. I felt relieved. Frankly, I found the talking trains somewhat disturbing and the songs utterly annoying. We kept a few trains for sentimentality and Connor never looked back. He had watched Star Wars: A New Hope, with us and it took him where talking trains could not. Sure Diesel was mean but he was no Darth Vader. Watch Episode III and you realize an ill mannered train has nothing on a light saber wielding, General Grievous.

Now Star Wars is something that I can relate to. I am of the generation that saw the episodes in proper order, starting with 4, not 1. I remember the collective gasp in the movie theater when Darth Vader reveals the truth to the beleaguered Luke and I waited anxiously for the (disappointing) episode 6. I have enjoyed watching Connor relive the saga. We built a common bond, often debating which episode is best (Episode 5) while making up alternate endings for other episodes.

Connor has Star Wars posters, legos, games, action figures, transformers, and books that range from easy readers to the chapter books delving into the lives of Han and Leah (they get married and have children, one of whom goes to the dark side.). Our common love of Star Wars, left me unprepared for this latest growth spurt.

His room is to be painted Yankees blue with a Cowboy's accent wall. In preparation we started going through old decor and toys.

"Do you want this train photo?"

"No."

"This airplane model?"

"No"

"Even though it was the first one you and Dad built?"

Confused look.

"Never mind". The yard sale pile grew and grew.

"What about your Star Wars Action figures?"

"Get rid of them"

Silence.

"Are you sure?"

"yeah."

"How about if I put them up on the shelf in your closet for a while."

"Whatever".

More silence.

I don't know if I am ready for the young man I am raising to make his appearance but I see I have no choice. I put the action figures on his shelf, next to Thomas and Diesel, but I am saving them for me not him. They are a reminder for when I open the door and want to look back. Connor does not need to look back and I can't keep him here in the closet with me. He is moving forward on his own path embracing life and ready to take on it's the next adventure.

The Color Wheel

Elizabeth has a pink room. It is a typical little girls room, pink with a Disney Princess bed spread ensemble. Well most of it is typical. she does have a green glass spider dangling from a spring below a shelf but otherwise completely pink.

A while ago she told me she had outgrown the Disney Princess theme and longed for something different. Dogs perhaps, or spots and maybe some stripes. I thought it odd that at age 5, she'd be through with princesses but we flipped the comforter over so it was solid pink and I suggested she think about it for a while. She thought and thought and soon I forgot but she was still thinking.

Enter older brother, who wants his room painted Yankees and Cowboys Blue. All of which reminds Elizabeth that it is time to stop thinking and announce her decision.

"I have decided on a color."


" What is it?" I cringe as Andy asks her and I repeat to myself "please don't say black, please don't say black."

"Red."

Am I ready for red? I liked pink. Pink was soft and quite, peaceful and passive. Red is full of energy, loud and passionate. Red is angry and dangerous.

I look at Elizabeth and realize my mistake. She is not pink. She is not passive, not quiet and not peaceful and I couldn't be prouder of that. She is loud, passionate, strong, angry and even dangerous (depending on when you cross her path) and I love her for it. She has all of those qualities of a girl who drenches each day with her imagination and who spends the night spinning a web of adventures for her own amusement come sunrise.

So to all the little girls out there who find themselves stuck in pink, grab a paint brush and paint yourself a path that leads to red

Happy Father's Day

This year for Father's Day I am going to step aside. It was not an easy decision to make, in fact I really had no choice. I am just accepting what apparently is a natural part of life.

An 8 year old boy just does not need a Mom the way he used to. Oh he still needs her and always will but for now I just need to step aside an let Dad take over.

It is more cool to play catch with Dad. He throws better and even though I technically know more about baseball, it is more enjoyable to watch a ball game with Dad, not Mom. When I could not cite Major League statistics from the 1950's and failed to memorize Joe DiMaggio's hitting record, I knew I lost creditability. I tried to gain some back by recounting the ball game where Steve Carlton struck out his 3,000th batter. I was there and surely that must count for something. But it didn't.

I don't laugh at toilet jokes, but Dad tells really funny ones. I don't lay on the couch and watch TV, but Dad does. I get upset when my son's feelings are hurt or he is left out among his cousins, but Dad doesn't. He seems to know just what to say and how to move on without being hurt. Dad knows what is cool, how to handle bullies with one quick and witty comeback, he can talk to girls and do Everyday Math. Dad understands that when boys get together they burp and tease and wrestle themselves into a great big pile.

This year for Father's day I am stepping aside to make room for something that is bigger than life itself, the bond between a father and son. I am going to sit back and watch it grow (maybe water it every once in a while and feed it wings and frozen pizza). But most of all I am going to enjoy it.

A Case for Full Day Kindergarten

I recently had the opportunity to attend a Town Hall meeting sponsored by the Oxford Area School District. Potential budget cuts dominated the agenda and most parents attending expressed concern over the possible elimination of full day kindergarten and a return to a half day of kindergarten. After the meeting, I couldn't help but think of the evolution of education in our country and the crisis it currently faces.

Elizabeth began attending full day kindergarten 2 short weeks after her 5th birthday. I felt hesitant sending her to school for such a long period of time. She had rarely been away from me for more than 3 or 4 hours. After 2 months of cranky late afternoons, she adjusted and now, 100 plus days into it, she reads, keeps a journal, and completes simple math equations accurately.

But what has impressed me even more is the school district's approach to science. The kindergarten students leave their classroom and go to a classroom converted into a science lab. I first saw the science lab when I attended an Open House. It was empty of students but impressive. On Back to School Night I saw the science lab for the second time. I was more than impressed. The room, empty of teachers, was filled with kindergarten students eager to show their parents what they learned. I watched over a dozen confident boys and girls independently conduct a science experiment and explain the results. Imagine that, these 5 year old children explained a hypothesis, completed an experiment, evaluated their hypothesis and came to a conclusion. No other 5 year old in my family has had that strong of a foundation in science.

My grand parents emigrated from Italy in the early 20th century. They were uneducated and spoke little English. They worked very hard but did not value education. My Mother has often told me a story where the school principal would come to my grandfather, begging him to send his boys to school so they could play sports. My grand father kept them home so they could work. With support of the school system, my mother and her brothers did complete high school. My husband and I have 3 masters degrees between us. Each generation continues to achieve higher educational goals than the last. Seeing what Elizabeth has been exposed to so far in kindergarten, the possibilities for her seemed endless.

Surely this is what President Bush meant when he spoke about improving standards in the public school system. Giving 5 year old children access to this level science in an enriched environment is a step in the right direction. Connor never had a science lab and as a volunteer, I saw his teacher jam several minutes of science into their 3 hour day along with everything else. The science supplies and experiments were restricted by available space and time constraints.

In President Obama's 2011 state of the Union Address he referred to the need to strengthen our school systems and to provide a firm foundation at a very young age. Surely that is what this school district is working towards achieving and here is the direct result: a science lab full of 5 year olds, boys and girls, English speaking and Spanish speaking with a new found love of science. With continued support from the school district and at home these children could achieve goals their parents could never even imagine. They could literally shoot for the Moon. Certainly these children will be better equipped to handle the challenges currently facing our world.

Hopefully the Oxford Area School District will not have to make any cuts in their budget. If they do I will not support cuts that directly adversely affect their students' curriculum. To eliminate full day kindergarten would be one giant step backwards, back to the days of Elizabeth's great grand parents, back to education during the Great Depression and that is a place where we surely do not need to return.

A Thank You

I attended school conferences for both children last night. No surprises with Connor and I always brace myself for Elizabeth but I am fortunate enough again this year that her teacher allows her spirit to flourish.

School conferences always offer the amazing opportunity to enter the world through your child's eyes. The fact that both kids are writing now makes it all the more interesting. What seem to me everyday occurrences or "adult issues", take on a life of their own when told from a child's perspective.

In one of Connor's stories, he recounts a day when I made him refold all the laundry he and Tasha destroyed while playing fetch in the house. From his perspective it was a memorable moment because it was the first time Tasha, a frightened and timid rescue dog, played with him. A big deal for a boy who lost his dog and best friend earlier this year. He comments that everyone had fun and was laughing except Mom and includes a lovely picture of his stern Mother!

Elizabeth wrote about a series of sad and unfortunate events that happened to a friend of mine who lost her home. It is very matter of fact and written and a way that makes me wonder if she afraid the same thing will happen to us. I never considered the impact this had on Elizabeth.

Both experiences make me grateful for their teachers who encourage their independent thinking and self expression. I still think I know my kids better than anyone but it is good to be reminded that I don't know everything.

Ugh...UGG's

I sometimes wonder if I need to intervene when Elizabeth gets dressed. Her outfit today consisted a fuzzy pink sweater and red plaid leggings, which would not have been too bad except for the purple knees socks. She pushed the red leggings up over her knees so everyone could see the hearts on her knee socks. After a failed attempt to encourage her to change, I drove her to Sunday School. I always struggle with when to let her creativity flow and when to let conformity reign.

Then we went shopping. Now shopping with Elizabeth can be entertaining or excruciatingly painful. Her instructions today...pick out one pair of shoes that can be worn with pants or a dress..... Elizabeth picked out the 5 most obnoxious shoes in her size, carefully lined up the boxes in single file, sat on a bench and ever so slowly tried each one on her feet.

Engrossed in this ritual, she hardly noticed when another family arrived. A girl, about Elizabeth's age raced up to her mother with (very cute) imitation UGGs on.

"I want these! They are so comfy. Can I have them." She said to her mother.

"Oh no", said Mom, "Don't worry I am buying you UGGs, just not today." She did not look worried, however Mom did,

"But I like these" she said. And her father pointed out that they were only 19.99 compared to the UGGs they had seen for $100.00.

"I am buying her Uggs", Mom repeated

This went on and on with an occasional "Please!!!" from the daughter..

Finally, the mother said rather sharply to her husband "She is getting UGGs. and that is all there is to it. Now get them off her!"

Elizabeth, completely unphased by the other Mother's rage had narrowed her decision down to a pair of cowgirl boots and a pair of shiny, pink Mary Janes. Turning to me she said,' Mom, I just can't decide,"
to which I responded, "It is totally up to you, Elizabeth".

Because, you know, sometimes you just have to let a little girl live her own dream and not someone else's

Reaching a Milestone

For years now I have held a membership to our local swim club and every summer I have packed my bags and lugged all the necessities a Mom with young children needs to survive an afternoon poolside. During this time, I have watched with much longing and envy, the Moms of older kids reading magazines and novels as their children swim carefree in the surrounding pools. I have longed to be among them.

Some of them even talk on the phone for long periods of time, uninterrupted. But not me. I would be set to swim, every day no matter what my condition or the condition of the pool. I would be prepared to carry children, provide the entertainment and activities for said children, and negotiate between the children when one could swim and one could not.

I would be wet, in freezing water, mascara running, while other moms lay pool side maybe even napping. I would stare at them silently begging for a turn to be just like them.

Finally this is the year I have been waiting for. Both kids can swim, both kids can go down the slide and both kids can dive (kind of). I have finally joined the ranks of those Moms I have long envied. I bring a book with me and on the days that I absolutely just cannot get into the water (you know what I mean) I don't have to come up with some lame excuse for why we aren't going swimming in 90 degree weather.

There is not much more that a Mom can ask for. Now if only they could apply their own sunscreen....

Elizabeth is graduating!

Elizabeth will graduate from preschool next week and I am tearful already. It will be an emotional day for me, not so much because my baby is growing up, (she does still fit nicely on my hip), but because I nearly died from complications following her birth. Every milestone my kids achieve, especially Elizabeth's, is marked by joyful tears and thankfulness that I am there to be a part of it .

I do not really talk much about what happened when Elizabeth was born because people sometimes seem overcome with an awkwardness or they do not know what to say. I don't mind but would like to tell them what a gift it is to be given a second chance and how different the world is for me now.

On graduation day I won't argue with Elizabeth over what to wear or what to put in her hair or how clean her fingernails are. It doesn't really matter. I will be the Mom with tissues in hand, just thankful that Elizabeth has someone there. Someone who has been there to hug and to coax, to discipline and teach, to encourage, to marvel, to give, and most of all to receive. Someone who knows her better than anyone and loves her even more.

Broken Eggs

Elizabeth broke 17 eggs last night and informed me of my culpability in the mess, as I failed to place the eggs in a more secure location. She approached me before dinner, as I played a board game with Connor. "It's the eggs" she told me, "they were in my way. I needed the happy milk" (i.e. organic milk, from happy cows).

"What about them? " I asked.

"I broke one and you know, it's your fault because you made them slanted in the refrigerator."

I venture into the kitchen to find a carton of 18 eggs on the kitchen floor with every egg displaced. One is clear across the kitchen. Several are huddled fractured and leaking against our island. One is in pieces and appears to have been stepped on. "Oh Elizabeth.." I start and then stop. I am so angry but refrain from yelling at her. She reminds me it is my fault and we discuss the concept of asking for help if we can't reach the happy milk from happy cows.

"What are you going to do?" she asks.

"Clean it up." I tell her. I start and fail. Half solid, half liquid mess, the paper towels and rags don't work.

Frustrated, I am speaking to her in a very controlled voice, trying not to yell as she pulls up a chair sits down and stares. "What are you doing?" I ask.

"Watching", she tells me. To which I ask, through gritted teeth, "Why?!?"

She looks at me perplexed, as if I should already know the answer. finally she explains, "In case I have a girl. You know, when I grow up and have a girl of my own. I have to know what to do. She will break my eggs and I want to know what to do if she does."

And I am suddenly calm. As she swings her feet back and forth, it occurs to me that she is always watching and storing information. She learns how to cope from how I handle situations just like this.

"Well you can help me" I tell her. "That's what I would want your little girl to do: help you and then move on to something else."

And that's just what we do. She gets me a dust pan and together we scrape the sloppy mess onto the pan, into the trash and then we move on. Incident forgotten and for me a valuable lesson learned.

Boys Will be Boys

I went to see Connor's basketball game last night. He performed very well, scoring on a rebound and making many good passes and blocks. I never played sports so it is fun watching my son play. This was the first time his league separated the boys from the girls. There really is something to be said about boyhood. Boys just have so much fun running a muck, especially when adults let them be boys.

I always found the expression "boys will be boys" sexist until I actually had a boy and found out first hand how true it is. Boys will be boys and it is so important to let them. When 2 or more boys get together, they evolve from the polite child you are raising oh so carefully, into a bundle of hot wired energy. They wrestle, they run, they climb and push and shove all in the name of fun. I love it when we, as parents don't apologize for their actions or make excuses but just let them be boys. There is no fighting, no complaining or bickering just an action packed adventure that only they truly understand.

I will miss basketball season more than I thought, but I know Connor will find a new outlet for all his energy, whether it be 16 boys running through the house with foam light sabers (New Year's Eve at our house), or discovering a fresh mud puddle at soccer camp (one boy was actually drinking the muddy water with a straw while the others cheered him on). I hope to sit back and marvel at how well they can just be boys, if we let them.

It's all in what you watch

Sometimes I wonder what the other 4 year olds are watching. Elizabeth prefers Animal Planet over the traditional shows found on PBS or Noggin. She cannot recite her ABC's but knows the appropriate use of words like documentary, endangered species, carnivore, and habitat.
She became very excited yesterday when I informed her that she would be learning about arctic animals in preschool this week. She told me she needed to explain to her class how polar bears don't have enough ice to live on and are drowning in the water. Then she informed me that her classmates probably don't know the difference between emperor penguins and chin straps (neither do I for that matter).

I hope her teacher survives. When I dropped her off this morning, she informed her teacher that she had watched a documentary on wolves over the weekend and that wolves often sniff each others butts, which she found very amusing. She felt inclined to impart even more information when she entered the classroom. Penguins, she explained are unusual because the father takes care of the egg. No one really cared but she seemed satisfied that she'd provided a public service.
Some of classmates had commented on the wind this morning, to which her teacher added that the wind was howling like a wolf. (Wow, did she set herself up for this one. ) "Actually," Elizabeth explained, " wolves howl much louder than the wind. It sounds like this, "auwwwlll" (very loudly).

I left and heard her howling as I walked down the hall; petite, bright eyed, girl in a pink My Little Pony hoodie, doing her best howl, and the moon isn't even full yet.

Connor ate sloppy joe's for dinner last night which may not seem like to much of a big deal but to me it was a small victory. I am still savoring in the fact that he requested them! Unbeknowst to him, I quite cleverly, added carrots, onions, mushrooms and bell peppers to the mix!
This battle has been a seven year saga. He has always had an aversion to vegetables and prefers a meal of 100%protein with sugar on the side.
Once there was an incident with the pizza we made. "I cannot eat this pizza, " he announced. There is something wrong with it." He spit it out, like poison. "It is pizza for goodness sake what could be wrong with it. " I detect vegtables" , he insisted over and over again. Upon examination of the sauce jar, it turns out we served a vegatable medley sauce on the pizza. The horror. From that point on he would scrutinize every homemade pizza for quality assurance.

Then there were the meatballs. Disappointed, he looked at me ," You made these with vegetables?" He accused me further, I can see vegetables in here. , look!" He pulls out an onion sliver. A debate ensues. Onions don't count as a vegetable they are really a spice when you think about it. We discuss how they are grown and where they are purchased and conclude they are in fact a vegetable.
Next failure, sweet potato french fries. "They are not the same."
"They are potatoes. They are orange. You love orange. Your favorite football team is orange."
" I want real french fries, the kind we get at McDonalds."
I sigh.
I had actually considered admitting defeat when I had this small, sloppy joe victory. I sat there smug, watching him eat and wondering how long I can refrain from telling him, "your eating carrots, my boy! Carrots!" But I know that I can't so for know I will just offer him seconds.
I

The Silly Hat

My daughter is moving out. This may seem like the natural course that life takes except that Elizabeth is 4 years old. It is not the first time she has informed me of her desire to part ways, but perhaps it is the most endearing. It started innocently enough with a preschool assignment, requesting that she wear a silly hat to school tomorrow. This assignment quickly became an afternoon experiment in creative expression complete with beads, feathers, stickers, pom poms and the like. She even managed to burn herself slightly when grabbing the hot glue gun from me because I was not clumping the glue to her satisfaction.

The hat itself turned out to be a beautiful creation, one I hope she will wear with pride. As with all things, the creation did not come without cost. There was much cleaning up to do...which is where the high drama began. First there was the need for a nap. Fine I tell her. I will wake you up at 3 so you can clean up. This turns in to another realization. "Mom, what I really need right now is a time out. I am going to sit in my chair. Call me when 4 minutes is up". This seems agreeable I tell her but remind her she still needs to clean up. She returns from time out, eyes up her mess and with a clever gleam in her eye tells me, "Mom I have made a decision (her exact words), I have decided what I really need is to move out and go live somewhere else." Our eyes lock, battle lines drawn. I know that in her sweet little mind I am supposed to crumble, tell her I will clean up her mess if only she promises to never leave. Instead I tell her I will miss her. Her eyes fill with tears and I hug her as she climbs onto my lap.

As I help her clean up, I realize that one day she really will move out and decide I had better save the hat.