Adventures In Motherhood

I've seen a lot of s*&% as a parent, but this summer my eyes, virgin to teenage boyhood, have been forced wide open, nearly blinding me by my own home's National Lampoon's 'Animal House' potential. My basement is not your frat house. With possibilities of destruction seemingly endless, my cool mom attitude butts up against the tough mother raising responsible adults. Sweet gooey hugs and the illusion of parental control seeming to vanish overnight like the soft moustache hair you shaved with your brand new razor last night. Help yourselves to pizza and microwave anything; popcorn, burritos and free-range chicken nuggets are lunchtime staples in my home, along with snacks of Goldfish, chips, pretzels, apples, oranges, grapes, (a bonanza of bananas for your buddy with the midnight potassium cravings), and instant lemonade. I will sauté, grill, and bake my Betty Crocker butt off to satiate the hungriest army of growing children at our family dinner table! Your...

Be careful or the negative will consume you, I thought to myself summoning the energy to raise much-needed positive endorphins on a morning run. The 24-hour news cycle, global temps rising, and Customer Care Representatives who suck me bone dry will require a longer run this morning to combat the negative slime oozing in our country and polluting my mind. Keep America Great! The irony when 'customer care' reps deny, deny, deny or someone from India answers. Aetna health insurance is the bane of my existence after seven phone calls, each a minimum hour-long blood boiling conversation having diminishing returns on my mental health (which is also likely not covered). And what happened to common courtesy? Last night a lady refused to zipper merge me onto I-5 south, throwing up her hands in anger, as if it made her a better driver! I gave her thumbs up instead. Then there's the mid-century modern sofa we purchased supporting a boutique local business thinking it would be grand...

Parenthood is a Mensa mental challenge these days of major league proportions. Uncomfortable silence be damned! You are my son and I will keep rattling off topics requiring more than a yes/no answer until the cows come home, as we pass the pastures and rolling hills of Oregon en route to our latest baseball tournament. The hour and location unimportant, I have a GPS and my only goal is time alone with you. With four children, a car ride alone with you is a passable date as I step up to the plate. Deep voice and prickly moustache amidst your fourteen-year-old complexion, I can still see the almost 8lb 12.5oz little slugger with handsome sideburns gazing in my eyes with wonder. I know you still need your mom even though your replies sound more like grunts. Why is the answer to what you and your buddies ate for dinner while skateboarding last night 'stuff'? I'm mom and you're safe! This is my first time parenting a teen boy. Grunts and stuff may be the norm though ...

I'm convinced grandmas regain creative energy zapped from exhausted parents. This is why I pulled out my mother's dusty care package of 'Make Your Own Bubble Tea', hidden out of reach in the depths of a kitchen cabinet, when she came to visit. Who has time to make dinner, let alone bubble tea, with end of year concerts and baseball 7 days a week? Besides, the army of frozen bananas edging out the frozen veggies in my freezer drawer is evidence my former banana bread ambition had petrified. I surrendered control years ago to sandwiches in the car! Grandma surely has the stamina and fresh outlook I am lacking, rolling up her sleeves with a smile on her face as my eager 8-year-old son sidled up next to her at the counter to measure ingredients. Grandma always has everything under control, I thought to myself stepping away, grateful to manage one less duty. "Careful," I cautioned my son who placed a glass measuring cup on the edge of the sink, "it could fal...

I'm pregnant! That's exactly what I told my boys, husband included, at the breakfast table this morning. Their reactions were worth the cost of admission to this nuthouse and an April Fools joke I honestly didn't think I could pull off! Truth told, I forgot about April Fools’ Day, still recovering and playing catch-up from a weeklong 'East Coast Extravaganza' Spring Break. The kind of trip, not to be confused with a relaxing beach vacation, wherein we jam packed three weeks of 'Forced Family Fun' sightseeing and history into an exhausting week of fun-filled memories. Sitting down to a brimming bowl of Honey Nut O's, my 8-year-old was the first to announce, "Look Mommy, it's snowing!" A tried and true prank I played on them when we lived in Colorado, his clever tactics minus his usual poker face were simply adorable. He blurted April Fools before I could look outside. Meanwhile my 15-year-old daughter sat transfixed by her iPhone typin...

Who knew my former career as an undercover CIA agent with top-secret clearances would prepare me for my largest role as mom to four? Unfortunately my cover was nearly blown for the first time disguised as Santa! Tooth Fairy, Santa, Easter Bunny, you name it, it's an easy job if my husband would only follow my rules... admit nothing, deny everything, make counteraccusations . We still have an 8-year-old and I have undercover magic left to give! Last Saturday, while counting the Portland Trailblazers basketball tickets Santa had carefully delivered to each of our six stockings, my husband announced we were missing a ticket for seat 7. Oh s*&%! The barcoded ticket I discreetly printed on our color printer must've been thrown away with the wrapping paper on Christmas Day. How was I possibly going to cover my tracks and print another ticket without the kids knowing in the ten minutes before we left? "Santa's cheap!" sang my 13-year-old son laughing. Granted...

Today is the final day of 'Winter Break'; New Year's Day and I am thankful for time. The kids have had too much screen time, too much time eating candy, too much pestering time, and too much time supervised by parents, so I did what any good parent would do and kicked them out of the house! It's a new year and the sun is shining, even in Portland, so time to get on with those New Years' resolutions...right? I'd rather reflect on the blessing of 'time' by writing alone, as best I know how. I am thankful to have experienced 18 days together with my four children and husband. Who says that? I'm not sure we've ever had 18 days together without an insane schedule of activities! Sure, I could do without the week confined to the same travel sleeping quarters with my son and husband coughing like barking dogs at midnight, poor souls, but I'm thankful for that time of forced family fun, especially since our teenage daughter all too ready ...

This morning began like any other, dogs out, coffee on, my starving 15-year-old daughter accusing me of running out of food in the house, rushing my 8-year-old to the bus stop, wetting down my 13-year-old's hair, lest he look like a rooster at the band concert tonight, and verifying my 11-year-old had black pants and a white shirt that fit for his first band concert. This was all before my first cup of Joe! Determining I'd have to add 'buy black pants' to my endless To Do list today, I made my ritual stop in the boys' bathroom to flush the simmering pot whatever they had deposited. A boys' bathroom is a Petri dish of disgusting bodily fluids and this morning was no exception. Little did I know it was a ticking time bomb ready to explode. Like a Magic Tree House book, I was transported on yet another Adventure In Motherhood: 'Tsunami Before Coffee'! Flushing the handle, I turned to jog downstairs for a cup of coffee before stopping cold in my tracks. My...

"We are the only kids that don't have smartphones at school!” insisted my four children when we moved to Oregon two years ago. Even my 1st grade son had children in his class with the latest and greatest smartphones at that time. I recall a similar conversation from my own childhood revolving around getting a corded telephone for my bedroom. New technology, even greater challenges; flipping awesome! Having moved halfway across the country at the start of my daughter's 8th grade year in middle school, we were keenly aware of her need to build social relationships ASAP. When she named every known child her age with a smart phone, we quickly realized that she was quite possibly the only 8th grade student in Oregon and Colorado without one. Having experienced traumatic family moves during my formative teen years, my daughter knew I was an easy sell, and my three younger sons began their campaign as well. Fortunately as parents, we had Bill Gates on our side. How can childr...

Bowls full of crock-pot dinner, facing a 40-minute commute in traffic, I didn't know what to expect as we piled in the car last night without screen time devices. Surely bitching and moaning, touching and arguing would ensue, and not just with my husband. "Boredom is good!" my husband and I agreed. Optimistic, I hoped for the best. Forced Family Fun (#FFF) time together giving back during the holiday season. What could go wrong? I decided to mix it up this year, volunteering the six of us as a team packing food and fun at the Oregon Food Bank. Donations of allowance to charity and serving pie and turkey at the Salvation Army in years past were too predictable. I prayed my children would step up to the challenge. "Why don't you tell the brothers about your day?" I asked my 15-year-old daughter trapped in the middle of the car. "Perhaps they can problem solve your dilemma." I was having a hell of a time figuring out the situation myself; saving f...

My 13-year-old is stubborn. I am reminded of this as he begrudgingly drags the garbage bag around the house emptying trashcans, the large white Glad plastic bag busting at the seams, in order to instill fear in his mother of it exploding all over the carpet. In an effort to relinquish control and ease my burden, I can no longer watch the stubborn parade of trash. His antics began when he was merely a toddler, age two. Pregnant for the third time and literally busting at the seams myself, I desperately needed his cooperation in order to pick up his sister on time from pre-school. "No!" he shouted, running as fast as his little legs could propel himself up to his bedroom, slamming the door before his weary mother could catch him. Fuming mad, knowing the time was ticking towards the preschool pickup tardy bell and I would face repercussions, the least of which would be judgment and lecture, I struggled to mount the stairs after him. Needless to say, I was additionally tardy ...

I can't help but laugh at my lack of agility as of late as I sit on an ice pack nursing my hip from last weekend's yard work extravaganza. I often underestimate my abilities and pay the price later, but who can blame me for envisioning myself as fit and fast as my children? Recently they challenged me to an outdoor Parkour obstacle course that looked easy. Why not? I thought, imagining myself showing off my cat like reflexes and surely matching their pace, not my age. I aspired to be the fastest woman of the Parkour Challenge and confident this Tough Mother could outpace anyone! As I surveyed the course of wooden obstacles, I imagined the CIA training course of my youth. In my twenties, there were no obstacles that could hold me back and everyone banded together to accomplish the course. Over the wall, despite my small stature, a test of fitness and badge of pride earned! Somewhat lacking the chutzpah to immediately tackle the Parkour course, I carefully strategized my ...

Summer escapades are not for the faint of heart in our family of six; further evidence we never do anything small! A family of avid outdoor enthusiasts, we participated in Sunday Parkways last weekend in North Portland, an 8.8 mile loop bringing out cyclists of all persuasions from Storm Troopers and Unicyclists playing the violin, to dogs on bikes (my own included). Sunday Parkways in Portland is family friendly and the Forced Family Fun (#FFF) our family has grown accustomed to! As parents of two teenagers, ages 15 and 13, not to mention an 11 and 8 year old, sometimes we have to force the family fun, with less than eager participants. It becomes 'Extreme' when we load on the miles or level of difficulty, for us as parents that is. North Portland is quite a distance from our SE Portland hood, and the exact length of the 24-mile trek was not something we initially divulged to our children as they ventured out along the Springwater Corridor, wind at their backs and smiles o...

There is a secret society to which I'm convinced moms of four children belong. We simply smile in understanding of our shared journey when we cross paths. Without a sister of my own, it warms my heart to feel accepted into this compassionate sisterhood without judgment, united knowing we are all somewhat crazy! The 'secret sisterhood spy craft' is tried and true and our circle is growing... Reminiscent of CIA spy craft, we use simple code word exchanges in passing, as if validating an asset's bona fides. Appearing dumfounded one of us cautiously queries "You have four children?" Immediately recognizing the glimmer of hope in the other mother's weary eyes, she enthusiastically affirms, "Yes, but no one has four kids!" The exchange is complete and just like that, another mother is accepted into the secret sisterhood. One such brief exchange happened last week while hanging with my children (#FFF) at Cannon Beach on the Oregon coast and I welcom...

Last week my husband and I spent a blissful week in Cancun for our 23rd wedding anniversary. It was time we prioritized our marriage and ourselves, besides our children needed a break from us as much as we needed time away from them! A true blessing to experience, we relished the time together at an adults-only all-inclusive resort, never discussing nor missing our children who were experiencing an all-inclusive 'stay-cation' with relatives. Quite frankly, I didn't want to see children, hear children or smell children our entire celebration and we laughed at the couples who phoned their children from the beach. Needless to say, a week following our return, full-on into the final week of school projects, 5th grade continuation, marching band parades, baseball games, and 2nd grade stomach flu, I scarcely recall the ocean waves lapping the shore or the peace I felt reading three novels without agenda. Today I sit here, kids momentarily out of school, as panic ensues and summer...

When people ask me "What do you do?" I laugh and reply, "Whatever it takes!" From non-profit fundraising and career work, to volunteer service and parenting one day at a time, I simply do whatever it takes! This is especially true with regards to my writing, whether personal stories or letters to persuade legislators, I'm certainly not in it for fame or fortune. Writing is personally cathartic and while it's my hope to lift the spirit of others, my true passion resounds with my children and memorializing our experiences. I cannot help but reflect on this passion today, April 20th, an important anniversary of the tragic Columbine shootings and other 4/20 'cultural' events, it also happens to be the date of my late father's birthday. My father would've been 71 today, had he lived longer than 47 years (a surreal number I'm fast approaching). It's hard for me to fathom experiencing only 20 years with my children, the short length of...