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<channel>
<title>Adventures in Motherhood</title>
<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/</link>
<description>Miami Valley moms dish about the wonderful, often humorous and always challenging role of being a mother including: families, kids, babies, pregnancy and things to do with kids in the Dayton and Springfield area.

Lucy Baker (a copy editor at the Dayton Daily News) is a mom of three.

Darci Jordan (a columnist for the Dayton Daily News and Springfield News-Sun) is the mom of two boys with a girl on the way</description>
<dc:language>en-us</dc:language>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
<dc:date>2012-01-31T07:58:01-05:00</dc:date>
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<item>
<title>My son did WHAT?!</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2012/01/31/my_son_did_what.html</link>
<description>&amp;#8220;I wanted to share some info about your kids &amp;#8230;&amp;#8221; the email from our son&amp;#8217;s teacher began. I&amp;#8217;m an iPhone addict, so when my phone beeped to alert me I had a message, I read it right away. Upon opening...</description>
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&amp;#8220;I wanted to share some info about your kids &amp;#8230;&amp;#8221; the email from our son&amp;#8217;s teacher began.

I&amp;#8217;m an iPhone addict, so when my phone beeped to alert me I had a message, I read it right away.

Upon opening the message and revealing who it was from I was immediately emotionally transported from our current location - a game night party with friends - to &amp;#8220;Uh-Oh What Now? Land.&amp;#8221;

I mean, if something is worthy of a message from a teacher it&amp;#8217;s going to be: 
A.) embarrassing B.) worrisome C.) embarrassing or D.) not what you think.

&amp;#8220;&amp;#133; do not be alarmed this is good news!&amp;#8221; the message continued.
Whew! And the answer is D!

Our second grade son&amp;#8217;s teacher had been suffering from a bout of Frog-In-Your-Throat. She was having a hard time speaking loud enough for the students to hear her. Thus, the kids decided that speaking out of turn was OK. After all, the teacher couldn&amp;#8217;t yell at them.

&amp;#8220;Wednesday - they (my son and two others) did great throughout the day until the last 10 minutes or so of the day, as they were influenced by other students to talk.&amp;#8221;

My blood pressure went up a little.

How many times do I have to tell him the teacher is in charge of the class room!? He is to listen to her, not his friends/peers? Oh, right. Calm down. Read the &amp;#8220;good news.&amp;#8221;

My son, and several others, ended up having his name written on the board which usually results in a consequence, but they were never told what their consequence would be.

Rather than rejoice - Yay, no consequence! - my son and two of his friends decided to impose their own.

Huh? I had to reread that part &amp;#133;

&amp;#8220;After recess they came in from outside and told me they did not play.&amp;#8221; 

The kids explained to their teacher that they sat against the wall and denied themselves precious play time as a self-imposed consequence for talking during class the day before.

&amp;#8220;I turned this moment into yet another teachable moment and praised each one of these students for having an outstanding set of morals and praised them for respecting me as their teacher,&amp;#8221; the teacher wrote.

&amp;#8220;As I shared with the class what these three had just done, applause broke out and the other students praised them as well.&amp;#8221;

The teacher ended up rewarding them for showing such character.

Oh, how I relish these proud moments in child rearing. But, fellow-mom Heather said it best, &amp;#8220;I am very proud of these three for actually understanding they were wrong! I am concerned though that this &amp;#8216;self-imposed&amp;#8217; consequence does not carry through here at home!&amp;#8221;

If only &amp;#133;

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhoodCTC

</content>
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<guid isPermaLink="false">17403948@http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/</guid>
<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2012-01-31T07:58:01-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
</item>
<item>
<title>Toddler + out of eye-shot = MESS (will this mom ever learn?)</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2012/01/24/toddler_out_of.html</link>
<description>I am the mother of three children. THREE. I have been through the gamut of Toddlerhood twice. The obvious lesson: toddlers cannot be trusted. However, now running the toddler-gamut for the third time, I remain the Oh-she&amp;#8217;s-fine!-mom; assuming my 2-year...</description>
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I am the mother of three children. THREE. I have been through the gamut of Toddlerhood twice. 

The obvious lesson: toddlers cannot be trusted. 

However, now running the toddler-gamut for the third time, I remain the Oh-she&amp;#8217;s-fine!-mom; assuming my 2-year old daughter is off being mannerly, sweet and playing nicely. 
Yet she continues to prove that my toddler-radar needs some work; a lot of work.

For obvious reasons - ages 8, 6, and 2 - I enjoy the occasional time out of the house. And because I decided I needed more of this I joined a direct sales company that sounds something like &amp;#8220;dirty nun.&amp;#8221; 

Said company also just opened a distribution center in our home town. So it was a win-win: a break from the kids, er, &amp;#8220;daily norm&amp;#8221; and supporting local jobs.

However, due to a scheduling conflict (my husband&amp;#8217;s weekly hoops game) I had to take the kids along - with permission from the hostess (a friend, thankfully) - on a recent outing. It wasn&amp;#8217;t five minutes after the Princess made her entrance (really, five minutes!) when I heard my son call from the other room, &amp;#8220;Mom! Sissy&amp;#8217;s naked!&amp;#8221;

And that she was. Stripped down to her undershirt and diaper, she was offering to show the hostess&amp;#8217; son her &amp;#8220;booty.&amp;#8221; The child (hers, not mine) and I were both wide-eyed, speechless, stifling giggles and wishing the &amp;#8220;Dirty Nun Company&amp;#8221; had a Toddler-Tote I could stuff her in and sneak out the door. 

Then last weekend we went to a party; it was a family event so other children were there, too. The adults gathered around to visit and play games, leaving the older children in charge of the younger children.

My daughter paired up with a little boy her age and went off to play under the guidance - or so we thought - of &amp;#8220;the big kids.&amp;#8221;

Our game came to a stand-still though, when my daughter appeared in the room soaking wet, her playmate missing.

All thoughts went the same direction - to the bathroom. 

Water was all over the floor and toys floated in the toilet bowl; the two tots oblivious to the mess and the &amp;#8220;Eeeewww!&amp;#8221;

I was again left shaking my head, but still failed to take note of my child&amp;#8217;s ornery antics.

As if cleaning up toilet water wasn&amp;#8217;t gross enough, getting diaper rash cream out of carpet is a whole new level of impossible.

Just ask my mother, who now has a greasy, white stain on her living room floor compliments of her granddaughter who was &amp;#8220;tanging her beebee&amp;#8221; (changing her baby doll).

&amp;#8220;She&amp;#8217;s too quiet,&amp;#8221; said my husband. &amp;#8220;What is she doing?&amp;#8221;

&amp;#8220;Playing in the living room with her toys,&amp;#8221; I ignorantly replied.

By the time I went to (double) check it was too late. The carpet was streaked with Desitin, the baby doll - and her &amp;#8220;mommy&amp;#8221; - were covered head-to-toe in white paste.

Conclusion: Toddler + out of eye-shot for more than a half-second = MESS

You will have to forgive me for cutting this abruptly short, but I have a lot to clean up &amp;#133;

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhoodCTC.

</content>
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<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2012-01-24T08:59:07-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
</item>
<item>
<title>Dad saves toddler from crib&apos;s grasp, mom shunned</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2012/01/16/dad_saves_toddl.html</link>
<description>Winter break is over and the kids are back in school; welcome back, Routine. Although we did enjoy the kids all staying up later with us, we really enjoyed them sleeping in much later in the mornings. But all good...</description>
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Winter break is over and the kids are back in school; welcome back, Routine.

Although we did enjoy the kids all staying up later with us, we really enjoyed them sleeping in much later in the mornings. But all good things come to an end.

It&amp;#8217;s time to get back to business, back to school and back to bed at a decent hour. 
It&amp;#8217;s time to reclaim my evenings of enjoying a good book, Words With Friends, an adult conversation with my husband (not necessarily in that order).

All went well with our first back-to-school-night routine. No major meltdowns, no &amp;#8220;I can&amp;#8217;t sleep&amp;#8221; and no trouble waking in the morning; too good to be true.

Even our 2-year-old daughter, who tends to be &amp;#133; uh&amp;#133; obstinate, went to bed with little hassle (maybe because I denied her an afternoon nap?).

The next night was the same. All were in bed, sleeping soundly - or so we thought - by 8:30 p.m.

Engrossed in the Sugar Bowl, my husband suddenly heard a noise (amazing!).

&amp;#8220;I think she&amp;#8217;s crying,&amp;#8221; he said, turning the TV down.

I listened, heard her little muffled cries, and like the good mom I am, remained seated in the recliner.
&amp;#8220;She&amp;#8217;ll go back to sleep.&amp;#8221;

Her cries though, increased in intensity and volume.

I sprang from my comfy seat and sprinted to her room, hurdling the deadly coffee table, rounding corners with precision; all the while thinking, &amp;#8220;Oh-no! She must be sick! I hope there&amp;#8217;s no puke to clean up!&amp;#8221;

I braced myself for the worst only to find my daughter sitting up in her crib, struggling to move and crying in pain.

It took a minute for my eyes to register the fact that she was stuck. Somehow, she managed to get her leg wedged between the &amp;#8220;safety slats&amp;#8221; of her crib. And it wasn&amp;#8217;t moving.

The more I pushed, wiggled and maneuvered her leg, the louder she cried.

After several tries to free her from the grasp of the crib, I began to panic. Did we have any Crisco? It works if you have a ring stuck on your finger, why not a leg stuck between crib slats? A saw maybe? How do I get her out of this one?

Thankfully, I didn&amp;#8217;t have to. Daddy - always her hero - was able to wiggle her leg free from jaws of the crib.

But, because I was unable to, I was shunned and given the &amp;#8220;you-did-not-save-me&amp;#8221; slanty-eyed-glare from our tearful child.

It wasn&amp;#8217;t the first time I was reminded she&amp;#8217;s a Daddy&amp;#8217;s Girl, and I&amp;#8217;m sure it won&amp;#8217;t be the last.

Maybe it&amp;#8217;s time though, for a big-girl bed.

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhoodCTC.

</content>
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<guid isPermaLink="false">17403253@http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/</guid>
<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2012-01-16T19:28:14-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
</item>
<item>
<title>Cleaning up Christmas: back to reality</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2012/01/10/cleaning_up_chr.html</link>
<description>I&amp;#8217;m reveling in the, albeit temporary, quietness that has descended upon our home as I write this. The fan on the fireplace gently hums, the washing machine begins its first cycle of &amp;#8220;Oh-no, I&amp;#8217;m out of clean underwear!&amp;#8221; and snowflakes...</description>
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I&amp;#8217;m reveling in the, albeit temporary, quietness that has descended upon our home as I write this. 

The fan on the fireplace gently hums, the washing machine begins its first cycle of &amp;#8220;Oh-no, I&amp;#8217;m out of clean underwear!&amp;#8221; and snowflakes gently fall outside.

Even my 2-year-old sleeps soundly at this hour (wonders never cease).

The boys went back to school today after what loomed ahead as the longest winter break ever; and now it is has suddenly ended.

Another season of making cookies, memories and sleeping-in is over.

The stores are already stocked up with heart-shaped chocolates and plastic roses.

Now that I am not refereeing sibling squabbles over the new Squinkies from Santa, I have no reason to procrastinate any longer.

It is time to face the aftermath of another holiday that was.

The Christmas decorations must come down, the laundry must be caught up, and the once exciting new toys must find a location appropriate for now collecting dust.

Looking around at the many jobs I started, but never finished, leads me to wonder: What on earth have I been doing for the last three weeks? 

The stockings are piled carelessly on the fireplace hearth, the garland falls limp and uneven on the wooden hand rails, the holiday dishes are stacked on the counter (at least they are washed), the no-longer-scented pine cones hide in places I can&amp;#8217;t remember, rolls of wrapping paper are scattered about, thank-you notes are written but sit waiting for stamps that were used up sending holiday cards, and my kids&amp;#8217; rooms look like a tornado blew through Toys-R-Us.

I think I prefer watching college football and playing Sorry! and Operation. Again.

I did manage to talk the boys into helping me put away some of the decorations. Once the Christmas tree becomes a target for couch-catapulting, it&amp;#8217;s time to put it away.

However, it was eerily similar to putting the decorations up for the season:
&amp;#8220;Can I eat this old candy cane?&amp;#8221; &amp;#8220;Who made this one?&amp;#8221; &amp;#8220;Will this break if I drop it?&amp;#8221; &amp;#8220;Where is the step stool? I can&amp;#8217;t reach the top.&amp;#8221; &amp;#8220;Who moved baby Jesus?&amp;#8221; &amp;#8220;Were there really pine cones where Jesus was born?&amp;#8221;  &amp;#8220;Sissy&amp;#8217;s chewing on the camel!&amp;#8221;

There is always excitement for the holidays. When else is it acceptable to bake (eat) 19 dozen cookies and drink Bailey&amp;#8217;s in your morning coffee?

But, it is also nice when the holidays are over; when the daily routine you were &amp;#8220;stuck&amp;#8221; in graciously returns marking only the beginning of a long, cold, trapped-in-the-house-with- three-energetic-kids winter.

I&amp;#8217;ll be out at the curb with the Christmas tree &amp;#133;

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhoodCTC

</content>
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<guid isPermaLink="false">17402961@http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/</guid>
<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2012-01-10T08:57:54-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
</item>
<item>
<title>Mom accused of tying shoes, zipping coat</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2012/01/03/mom_accused_of.html</link>
<description>Sometimes moms do things without realizing they are doing them. I don&amp;#8217;t mean the audible conversations with ourselves or hiding in the bathroom for a few minutes of peace and quiet. I mean things like tying our kids&amp;#8217; shoes for...</description>
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Sometimes moms do things without realizing they are doing them. I don&amp;#8217;t mean the audible conversations with ourselves or hiding in the bathroom for a few minutes of peace and quiet.

I mean things like tying our kids&amp;#8217; shoes for them.

I&amp;#8217;m guilty of that. I was convicted by my son&amp;#8217;s Kindergarten teacher.

&amp;#8220;He really needs to know how to tie shoe laces.&amp;#8221;

&amp;#8220;But, his shoes have a Velcro closure&amp;#133;&amp;#8221; I said, temporarily confused.

If he doesn&amp;#8217;t have to learn cursive writing, why bother with tying shoe laces, right?
Wrong.

Quite honestly, it never crossed my mind. My son always just slipped his shoes on and ran out the door. We actually had to purchase him a pair of shoes that required laces in order to accomplish this task assigned to him (us) by his teacher. 

After some practice, my son was tying his shoes with no trouble, although he prefers now forcing them off and on without taking the time to tie them up correctly.

This same teacher now has my younger son in her class. Again, she had to convict me of my unconscious wrong-doing in order for me to realize I was doing it.

I received an email with a subject line: Zipping of coat

Referring to my precocious 6-year-old, she wrote: &amp;#8220;Your son and I have an ongoing joke. He keeps saying he can&amp;#8217;t (zip his coat) and I keep telling him he can. He says he is not going to practice and I told him I would email your parents. He told me today, &amp;#8216;You said that the last time and you forgot. I bet you forget this time too.&amp;#8217;
So here I am emailing you about helping him learn to zip his coat. Make sure you mention this to him. (I would love to see his reaction.)&amp;#8221;


After I lifted my jaw off of the floor, appalled by the gall of my dear, sweet lovable child to say such a thing to his teacher; I perched myself in a kitchen chair and waited for him to walk in the door, home from school.

As he strolled in and began removing his unzipped coat, I said, &amp;#8220;Leave it on.&amp;#8221; and gave him my best death-ray glare.

&amp;#8220;Oh-no! Did you get a note from my teacher?&amp;#8221; he asked.

We spent the next hour zipping and unzipping his winter coat. We even practiced on other coats and jackets until he had it down to a fine art and could virtually do it with his eyes closed and his hands tied behind his back (well, maybe not that.)

This lesson in coat zipping - another thing I had been doing without giving it a second thought (because we are usually scrambling to get out the door to the school bus) - was followed by a lesson in &amp;#8220;how to talk to appropriately your teacher.&amp;#8221;

I&amp;#8217;ve been paying more attention since this happened, trying to make my kids be more independent and not do all of the little things for them.

Next up on the life lessons list: fingers are not utensils.

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhoodCTC

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<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2012-01-03T07:24:28-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
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<item>
<title>Many (recycled) birthday wishes to my son!</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2011/12/20/many_recycled_b.html</link>
<description>I&amp;#8217;m not a good birthday-person/wife/mom. My problem isn&amp;#8217;t remembering birthdays; it is the pulling-everything-together-and-making-that-person-feel-special that is my problem. My husband is a high-maintenance-birthday-guy and I fail miserably every year. I seem to relay my &amp;#8220;blah&amp;#8221; for my own birthday on...</description>
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I&amp;#8217;m not a good birthday-person/wife/mom. 

My problem isn&amp;#8217;t remembering birthdays; it is the pulling-everything-together-and-making-that-person-feel-special that is my problem.

My husband is a high-maintenance-birthday-guy and I fail miserably every year. 

I seem to relay my &amp;#8220;blah&amp;#8221; for my own birthday on everyone else. I don&amp;#8217;t want to be surprised and I don&amp;#8217;t want a party or anything else (really). Therefore, no one else should expect a big ordeal on their birthday &amp;#133; except for my kids.

I do my best to make them feel special on their birthday because the other 364 days of each year they are competing with their two siblings for our attention.

But my oldest son was cursed with a December birthday. Talk about extra pressure!

Just like every year, this week he asked me, &amp;#8220;Mom, what day are you bringing treats to school for my birthday?&amp;#8221;

I stood and stared, completely baffled by this question.
&amp;#8220;Huh? Oh. Oh!&amp;#8221; My eyes popped wide.
 &amp;#8220;Uh, I will have to email your teacher. I don&amp;#8217;t know yet.&amp;#8221;

I forgot. The most integral detail in children&amp;#8217;s birthday party celebrations and I completely overlooked it (thank you, Christmas).

While I sent a message to my son&amp;#8217;s teacher - thankfully I wasn&amp;#8217;t too late - I decided I should also find a creative person who can bake a Lego cake so it will actually look like a Lego and not a lumpy, lopsided box.

In the midst of planning my son&amp;#8217;s birthday party, we attended a birthday dinner for a family friend (I didn&amp;#8217;t plan this one either&amp;#8230;)

It wasn&amp;#8217;t until her cake was brought out - a 3-shape and 8-shape candle gleaming - that I realized I would be needing candles for my son&amp;#8217;s cake, too.

&amp;#8220;Hey! If you aren&amp;#8217;t going to need those candles again, we can use the 8 next week &amp;#133;&amp;#8221;

My friend, her sister and her mother all gasped. I had confirmed their suspicion: &amp;#8220;She really is no good at this birthday thing!&amp;#8221;

They, apparently, are &amp;#8220;good-birthday-people;&amp;#8221; re-using candles means recycling a birthday wish. 

&amp;#8220;No! You can&amp;#8217;t do that! He needs new candles!&amp;#8221; they said in unison. The candles were quickly swept away and put out of my reach.

I don&amp;#8217;t think my 6-year-old or 2-year-old has ever had a new birthday candle. What is wrong with reusing candles? I have a drawer full of used candles and even managed to put a recycled 6 and a 1 on my mom&amp;#8217;s cake this year (sorry, Mom).

After some finagling around (and maybe a little bribing of my friend&amp;#8217;s sneaky daughter), I managed to get my hands on the once-used candles that were doomed for the trash can.

I happen to believe they have many more birthday wishes in them and my son will be happy to blow-out the 8-candle this week.

After all, he&amp;#8217;s lucky I remembered to plan his party; having a candle is icing on the cake!

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhoodCTC.

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<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2011-12-20T08:51:50-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
</item>
<item>
<title>A Mom&apos;s Letter to Santa</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2011/12/13/a_moms_letter_t.html</link>
<description>My cousin Amanda is like my evil twin sister. OK, maybe not evil - though she has her moments - but she&amp;#8217;s definitely my total opposite. Well, she was, until she became a mom. She was the City Mouse; I...</description>
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<![CDATA[My cousin Amanda is like my evil twin sister. OK, maybe not evil - though she has her moments - but she&#8217;s definitely my total opposite. 

Well, she was, until she became a mom.

She was the City Mouse; I was the Country Mouse.

I&#8217;d visit her in Chicago where she would scoff at my wardrobe and promptly take me shopping at stores I&#8217;d never heard of, nor could I pronounce the name. I once came home wearing a green &#8220;pleather&#8221; jacket.

She would come to Ohio and I would drag her to the Clark County Fair and make her wear rubber boots and help me wash my pigs and horse. She was thrilled (not really), and yes, I took joy in watching her gag reflex kick in while mucking stalls.

Then we grew-up - so to speak - began our careers, and even married. Shockingly, both of us married international men: our first thing in common. Ever.

But, I jumped on the Mom-Wagon first &#133; and second &#133; and third.

When Amanda joined me on the Motherhood journey, she was a career-driven Marketing Queen living in South Florida.

By the time my daughter came along in 2009 I had gone from full-time, to part-time to &#8220;working from home.&#8221;

Amanda, like me, continued working after her son was born. Admittedly, although I wouldn&#8217;t change a thing now, I envied her and her daily work routine; the &#8220;adult time&#8221; and getting to &#8220;use your brain&#8221; for something more than deciding between PB&amp;J or a hotdog for lunch.
I mean, I did go to college hoping to have a career afterwards.

When her husband&#8217;s job required them to move, Amanda decided to stay home with their son. I worried, remembering my own transition to stay-at-home-mom; major adjustment.

But, then she humbled me with these words in a Mom&#8217;s Letter to Santa she wrote herself.

&#8220;Dear Santa, 
Now that I&#8217;m a mommy at home, please stuff my stocking with the items below: 

I no longer need nail polish remover, I&#8217;m not painting my nails, I&#8217;m cleaning up boogers. So instead of Red OPI, please stuff my stocking with toys that stop tantrum cries.

I traded my high heels for Pumas and flip-flops, now I need lots of Tide pens for cleaning my tops. 
Anything created by Procter and Gamble that I can shove in my purse; too bad you can&#8217;t stuff my stocking with a nurse. 

I remember small boxes with diamonds or pearls, this year Santa it&#8217;s a whole different world&#8212; instead of studs, I&#8217;d really love some killer earplugs. 

Forget Mac lipstick, please replace with eye-concealer and a new diaper-wipe case. 

I hope you don&#8217;t take my new list the wrong way; I really do love staying home every day. 

My nails aren&#8217;t filed and my hair&#8217;s a mess, but of all my jobs this is really the best. 

After the boogers are gone, I get kisses from my baby and he sings me love songs. 

Never after a rough meeting was I ever consoled with the loving hugs I get from my 2-year old. 

So this year Santa I&#8217;ve already got the best gift &#8212;- to spend my days watching my little boy grow, and seeing him play in his first Christmas snow.&#8221;

Though Amanda&#8217;s sweatpants are much more stylish than mine, I&#8217;d say we officially (finally) have a few more things in common.

Next week: My personal letter to Santa

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/MotherhoodCTC.
]]>
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<guid isPermaLink="false">17401927@http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/</guid>
<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2011-12-13T08:01:26-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
</item>
<item>
<title>Mom has many titles, but &quot;weather-forecaster&quot; not one of them</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2011/12/06/mom_has_many_ti.html</link>
<description>&amp;#8216;Tis the season again and so soon it seems. I don&amp;#8217;t mean the season of giving (and let&amp;#8217;s be honest, receiving) or the season of jingle bells and shopping sprees, but the season of the white, wet, flaky stuff that...</description>
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&amp;#8216;Tis the season again and so soon it seems.

I don&amp;#8217;t mean the season of giving (and let&amp;#8217;s be honest, receiving) or the season of jingle bells and shopping sprees, but the season of the white, wet, flaky stuff that falls from the sky and coats everything with pristine slippery-ness.

Yeah, winter.

I know, it&amp;#8217;s not &amp;#8220;officially&amp;#8221; winter yet, but for my 6-year-old son, if it&amp;#8217;s not snowing then it&amp;#8217;s not Christmas-time. 

&amp;#8220;Mom, when will it snow?&amp;#8221; he asks me several times a day now that our Christmas tree is up.

I see the hint of worry in his eyes that says, &amp;#8220;If there is no snow, there will be no Santa.&amp;#8221;

I do my best to make him understand that: 1) Mommy cannot predict the weather, 2) A lot of times the people on TV can&amp;#8217;t predict the weather either and 3) winter is still cold and well, wintery even if there is no snow.

When the first flakes fell last week my kids were ecstatic; running from window to window, throwing open the front door, flipping on the outdoor lights and asking, &amp;#8220;Will we have school tomorrow?!&amp;#8221;

Remember when the first snow fall was that much fun?

Our 6-year-old son, flanked by his 2-year-old sister who has no recollection of snow from last year, plopped their chairs in front of the sliding glass doors and sat. And sat. And sat. 
They watched the snow fall with awe. It was the quietest the two of them have ever been for any length of time. 

In awe of the first snowfall of the season.

The snowfall was pretty to watch, as it always is, but it quickly melted the following day leaving me to explain why, if it is Christmas-time, the snow melts.

&amp;#8220;Uhm, because the sun was warm enough to melt the snow on the ground which isn&amp;#8217;t very cold yet &amp;#133;blahblahblah.&amp;#8221;

Blank stare. 

&amp;#8220;Because we live in Ohio and the weather changes every 10 minutes.&amp;#8221;

Blank stare.

&amp;#8220;Don&amp;#8217;t worry. Santa probably prefers no snow anyways. What if he wipes out and can&amp;#8217;t make it down the chimney?&amp;#8221;

Wide eyes. And something new to worry about. 
Oops.

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/MotherhoodCTC.

</content>
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<guid isPermaLink="false">17401568@http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/</guid>
<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2011-12-06T07:14:31-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
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<item>
<title>Our not-so-traditional family newsletter: part II</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2011/11/29/our_notsotradit_1.html</link>
<description>Last week I gave you the first five of my most favorite family moments of 2011 used in our family &amp;#8220;newsletter.&amp;#8221; Here are the top five: &amp;#8220;Feathers went flying, chickens went squawking, kids landed in the dirt, tears were streaming...</description>
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Last week I gave you the first five of my most favorite family moments of 2011 used in our family &amp;#8220;newsletter.&amp;#8221;

Here are the top five:


&amp;#8220;Feathers went flying, chickens went squawking, kids landed in the dirt, tears were streaming and by the time I had everyone picked up and put back together, I was having to explain why the goats were &amp;#133; uh &amp;#133; on top of each other.&amp;#8221;  - A simple visit to a friend&amp;#8217;s farm we a bit awry this summer &amp;#8230; 
On the first day of Kindergarten this year, I received an email from my son&amp;#8217;s teacher. It started out saying he had an &amp;#8220;awesome first day,&amp;#8221; that he is funny and reminds her of our older son. But then &amp;#133; &amp;#8216;We were talking about all the things we were going to learn about this year such as penguins and snow,&amp;#8217; she wrote. &amp;#8220;He said, &amp;#8216;we should learn not to eat yellow snow, it&amp;#8217;s not good for you!&amp;#8217;&amp;#8221;  - Nicholas makes his first impression at school &amp;#133;
&amp;#8220;My son has crabs. Now that I have your attention, let me clarify. My son has crabs of the hermit kind - like, in shells crawling around a pseudo tropical island (plastic Palm trees included) in our house.&amp;#8221; - After he failed in talking us into a pet rabbit, Nicholas became the proud owner of two hermit crabs compliments of some family friends (their status now questionable).
&amp;#8220;I wrote a few lines to my son telling him I hoped he was having a nice day at school and that I was (am) very proud of him. I signed it, &amp;#8220;Love, Mommy xoxo&amp;#8221; &amp;#133; parenting fail! Epic parenting-fail!&amp;#8221;  - Putting a note in your second-grader&amp;#8217;s lunch box is &amp;#8220;not cool.&amp;#8221; Sign it with X&amp;#8217;s and O&amp;#8217;s and he will not speak to you ever again. However, it is a great motivational tool: &amp;#8220;Get your room cleaned or you just may find a love note somewhere!&amp;#8221; Mr. Noah has also opted to move into the guest bedroom this year, a friendly reminder to us how quickly he is growing up.


And the winner is:


&amp;#8220;It was when we returned the next day that Grandpa then confessed.
Apparently, Memaw left Grandpa in charge of the kids for all of about, oh, five minutes (what was she thinking?).
Within this five-minute-eternity the boys began wrestling and knocked out the new sliding screen door.
While Grandpa was wrangling the boys, fixing the door and probably uttering a few choice words under his breath, Memaw had returned.
After taking in the chaotic scene she asked, &amp;#8216;Why is she all wet?&amp;#8217;
All eyes turned to the two-year-old, now dripping with slimy water.
While Grandpa was distracted with her brothers, our girly-girl daughter was using water from the fish pond to wet her hair down and make it &amp;#8216;pretty.&amp;#8217;&amp;#8221; 
How do you not share this story with, well,  everyone? We went out of town for a (as in ONE) night and the kids stayed with Memaw and Grandpa . Enough said.


Can&amp;#8217;t wait to see what 2012 has in store!

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/MotherhoodCTC.

</content>
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<guid isPermaLink="false">17401243@http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/</guid>
<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2011-11-29T08:10:36-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
</item>
<item>
<title>Our not-so-traditional family newsletter: part I</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2011/11/22/our_notsotradit.html</link>
<description>It&amp;#8217;s that time of year again: toy catalogs arrive in the mail every day, turkeys are running for their lives, the smells of pumpkin and cinnamon permeate the air and parents are snapping pictures of their little ones for holiday...</description>
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It&amp;#8217;s that time of year again: toy catalogs arrive in the mail every day, turkeys are running for their lives, the smells of pumpkin and cinnamon permeate the air and parents are snapping pictures of their little ones for holiday cards.

Along with those pretty pics, families often write letters with news (bragging about their kids) from the year past.

December is a busy month: Christmas pageants, school parties, tree trimming, our oldest son&amp;#8217;s birthday &amp;#133; sending cards gets lost in the shuffle. 

So, for the second year now, I opted to be non-traditional and send Thanksgiving cards instead. And for the first time, I decided to include a letter, but not a &amp;#8220;typical&amp;#8221; one.

Does anyone really want to read about how fabulous our rugrats &amp;#8230; er, children are? (Truly they are fabulous, but I&amp;#8217;m a little biased).

I read through the Motherhood columns from this year and selected my 10 favorite - comical, rather - moments of the year to share with our loved ones (and all of you).

Here are no.&amp;#8217;s 10-6:


&amp;#8220;After a Clark Griswold-like tantrum, my husband, sprinted back to the rental desk to inform them that not even our luggage - let alone a family of five - would fit in the tiny Fiat &amp;#8216;van&amp;#8217; on donut tires.&amp;#8221; - Although this was actually in December, it made headlines in January. We spent last Christmas abroad, in Austria, with the husband&amp;#8217;s family. The celebration was great; the vehicle, not so much.
(Valentine&amp;#8217;s Day): &amp;#8220;Naturally, while snatching a blob of chicken from the baby&amp;#8217;s grasp, a cup of juice was spilled on the table, leaving us to soak up the mess with paper towels while trying to avoid catching them on fire in the fondue flame.&amp;#8221; - Consider this a Public Service Announcement: fondue + children = bad idea
&amp;#8220;I have never worn safety glasses while trimming my kids&amp;#8217; toenails, but today would have been a good day to start.&amp;#8221;  - Do you really want to know?
&amp;#8220;My body demands oxygen after the physical challenge of changing her diaper. She insists on feeding herself, which would be great if she could hit her mouth. She has sucked back a travel-size tube of toothpaste requiring a call to poison control; managed to get a &amp;#8220;childproof cap&amp;#8221; off of a bottle of dish soap I mistakenly put within reach and escaped from her stroller - restraints and all - at the baseball park.&amp;#8221; - Princess reaches the Terrible-Twos a few months early.
&amp;#8220;I was more interested in what the medal was for: hula hoop toss? egg-in-a-spoon race? The suspense was killing me. When my son shoved the medal in my face I gasped again: first place&amp;#133; &amp;#8216;A writing contest&amp;#8217;, he said. &amp;#8216;I won!&amp;#8217;&amp;#8221; - A little &amp;#8220;traditional&amp;#8221; here: Our oldest son won first place in the entire first grade with his written and illustrated story &amp;#8220;Super Hamster.&amp;#8221; So proud of him!


Happy Thanksgiving! And thanks to all of you for reading Motherhood. 
(Next week: the Top Five)

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/MotherhoodCTC.

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<guid isPermaLink="false">17400988@http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/</guid>
<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2011-11-22T07:49:16-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
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<item>
<title>Mikayla&apos;s story: community cheers on a local cheerleader as she recovers from tragic fall</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2011/11/15/mikaylas_story.html</link>
<description>It was to be a typical autumn Sunday afternoon for Mikayla Ochs and her family; a day full of football and cheerleading. But October 23 would be a day like no other for Mikayla; her life - and the lives...</description>
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It was to be a typical autumn Sunday afternoon for Mikayla Ochs and her family; a day full of football and cheerleading.
But October 23 would be a day like no other for Mikayla; her life - and the lives of her family members - would be forever changed.

The Fall

&amp;#8220;Dear Jesus, don&amp;#8217;t let it be bad,&amp;#8221; Joyce Ochs remembers saying.

Her daughter, 10-year-old Mikayla, had just been introduced by the announcer with the rest of the cheerleading squad.
Mikayla made her way - flipping and tumbling - onto the field like she did every week.

&amp;#8220;It&amp;#8217;s a little bit of a blur &amp;#133; they called Mikayla, I remember looking and watching her run, but someone asked a question and I turned. When I turned back around I noticed she was on the ground,&amp;#8221; said Joyce.

&amp;#8221;She doesn&amp;#8217;t like to be embarrassed, so I knew when she didn&amp;#8217;t get up it was bad.&amp;#8221;

Joyce quickly made her way onto the football field; Mikayla was not yet moving or talking. 
Soon, Mikayla&amp;#8217;s tears surfaced, but still no movement.

&amp;#8220;She was scared to death,&amp;#8221; said Joyce.

&amp;#8220;I remember her crying and I kept telling her it would be OK. I was just trying to comfort her.&amp;#8221;

Chaos ensued with paramedics and firemen moving into action; it was obvious Mikayla&amp;#8217;s injuries were severe.

&amp;#8220;He called my name and I was running by the football players and I did a round-off, a back hand-spring and another back hand-spring and then I fell,&amp;#8221; said Mikayla recalling her memories of that day.

&amp;#8220;It felt like my legs were floating. Then all of a sudden a bunch of people were around me.&amp;#8221;

Mikayla&amp;#8217;s Injuries

From a distance, Joyce Ochs could not tell what exactly happened to her daughter that day, but it is believed Mikayla&amp;#8217;s hand slipped on the wet ground when she landed her back hand-spring.

The awkward angle of her fall had dire consequences; Mikayla had no feeling in her extremities.
Frightened and in severe pain, Mikayla thought she was being transported by helicopter, but she was transported by ambulance to Springfield Regional Medical Center. 

Once Mikayla was assessed and her critical condition was determined, she was quickly transferred to Dayton Children&amp;#8217;s Hospital.

&amp;#8220;When we got to Dayton we found out she had broken her neck,&amp;#8221; said Joyce.

Mikayla&amp;#8217;s C4, C5 and C6 vertebrae were broken; as was her right wrist.

The following day Mikayla underwent a grueling seven hour surgery to repair her broken vertebrae.

Soon after her surgery, Mikayla began to have feeling: tingling, small movements.

&amp;#8220;It was pretty exciting,&amp;#8221; said Joyce.

&amp;#8220;The doctors were positive, but realistic. There was a lot of swelling, a lot of trauma actually, to the spinal cord itself; it was bruised pretty bad.&amp;#8221;

Mikayla&amp;#8217;s Journey Begins

As her condition continued to improve, Mikayla was transferred on Halloween day to Cincinnati Children&amp;#8217;s Hospital for physical therapy. 

She endures four to five hours of rigorous therapy every day. 

Mikayla is learning for the second time, not just to walk, but to do the basic things in life again.

&amp;#8220;It&amp;#8217;s a real roller coaster (of emotions),&amp;#8221; said Joyce.

&amp;#8220;I know what she was before; her spirit and her determination. I watched her multiple hours to learn back flips and I see that determination to be better at her sports, now I see her so conflicted with the fear of never walking again.&amp;#8221;

Mikayla&amp;#8217;s therapy includes sessions with a robotic type machine called a Lokomat. 

&amp;#8220;It&amp;#8217;s used to help strengthen the muscles in the legs for walking and holding her body weight. This has been a real answer to prayer,&amp;#8221; said Joyce.

Joyce says she feels the prayers and strength of the community. Many friends have made the long trek to Cincinnati to visit Mikayla whose room is flooded with stuffed animals and gifts.

&amp;#8220;I feel the spirit of the Lord working in our lives,&amp;#8221; said Joyce.

Joyce prays that her family learns from this journey and can help others; and that Mikayla, as a person, will become stronger.

Mikayla, an active cheerleader for several years, now prays she will be able to walk into school on the day she returns.
She says her therapy is going &amp;#8220;good&amp;#8221; and she wants to play volleyball and cheer on the sidelines again.

But, first and foremost, Mikayla wants to be baptized on her birthday, Dec. 29.

&amp;#8220;I&amp;#8217;ve been praying a lot and reading Scripture,&amp;#8221; she said.
&amp;#8220;It made me want to be baptized.&amp;#8221;

In the mean time, Mikayla continues to cheer from her hospital room. Her younger brother, Christian Ochs, 9, is a player on the Peewee Warrior football team which went undefeated this season.

Mikayla called to congratulate the Warriors on their championship victory telling them, &amp;#8220;You are true winners.&amp;#8221;

Christian - who shaved Mikayla&amp;#8217;s initials into his hair as a tribute to his big sister - comes to visit Mikayla often.

Mikayla with her brother, Christian Ochs, no. 45 on the Peewee Warrior football team. Christian shaved his sister&amp;#8217;s initials - MO - into his hair as a tribute to his big sister.

&amp;#8220;He always kisses his hand and touches my forehead,&amp;#8221; she said.
&amp;#8220;He tells me he loves me before he leaves.&amp;#8221;

Mikayla&amp;#8217;s Prognosis

Mikayla, looking optimistic, at Cincinnatti Children&amp;#8217;s Hospital. (contributed photo)

While remaining realistic, Joyce says the doctors continue to be optimistic, anticipating a full recovery for Mikayla.

&amp;#8220;She&amp;#8217;s been working hard,&amp;#8221; said Joyce.
&amp;#8220;For some reason we&amp;#8217;ve been put on this journey &amp;#133; I know there&amp;#8217;s a reason for it.&amp;#8221;

Follow Mikayla on her journey at caringbridge.org and read about her progress in Motherhood next month.
Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhoodCTC.

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<guid isPermaLink="false">17400583@http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/</guid>
<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2011-11-15T07:38:14-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
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<item>
<title>No winter sports is a welcome, albeit short, reprieve</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2011/11/08/no_winter_sport.html</link>
<description>Almost eight years ago when I entered the World of Motherhood, I vowed I would not be a parent who lets her children get involved in too much at one time. I lied (sort-of). Really, I don&amp;#8217;t think my kids...</description>
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Almost eight years ago when I entered the World of Motherhood, I vowed I would not be a parent who lets her children get involved in too much at one time.

I lied (sort-of).

Really, I don&amp;#8217;t think my kids are too involved in extra-curricular activities, we do have limits, but when we asked my sons if they wanted to play basketball again this year and their answer was a unanimous, &amp;#8220;No.&amp;#8221; I breathed a sigh of relief.

&amp;#8220;Really? You don&amp;#8217;t want to play basketball? Are you sure?&amp;#8221;

&amp;#8220;Yep. I&amp;#8217;m tired of going to practice all the time,&amp;#8221; said my oldest son who just finished up a three month football season (Undefeated! Good job, boys!).

Before football he played basketball from January through March; baseball from April to the end of June and football started Aug. 1. 

Throw in school and this kid didn&amp;#8217;t take much of a breather.

He&amp;#8217;s burnt out; and I saw it coming when recently a practice time was added to his week.
&amp;#8220;What? Again? Mom, I just can&amp;#8217;t &amp;#133;&amp;#8221; he said, visibly upset.

So, he didn&amp;#8217;t. He rested, played and was a &amp;#8220;kid&amp;#8221; not an &amp;#8220;athlete&amp;#8221; for the rest of the day.

My younger son - who is a bit on the shy side - really doesn&amp;#8217;t ask to do much anyways. He prefers playing with other children, or playing on his own (he has a very vivid imagination) or coloring and drawing pictures. 
He doesn&amp;#8217;t want to be &amp;#8220;made&amp;#8221; to do anything, especially if it means poising his small stature competitively up against another boy twice his size (unless it&amp;#8217;s his brother, of course).

I&amp;#8217;m OK with that, because in the next breath he said, &amp;#8220;I just want to play the piano (once a week) and do martial arts after school (also once a week).&amp;#8221;

Here I thought I was forcing him to get some culture with the piano, and he&amp;#8217;s actually enjoying it. I was thrilled.

&amp;#8220;OK! We can definitely do those things!&amp;#8221;

Kids&amp;#8217; schedules are bound to become hectic; I know this, but if an opportunity for a break presents itself - we&amp;#8217;ll take it! 

I like sports; they are fun, healthy and exciting; but there are more important things in this short life.

My husband and I are looking forward to having our Sunday afternoons back, but are well aware that, come mid-winter, our sons will likely be bouncing off the walls.

Until then, we will enjoy our brief reprieve from sports commitments and maybe spend some time together as a family of five and not three or four, depending on practice and game schedules.

See you on the baseball field in a few months!

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhoodCTC.

</content>
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<guid isPermaLink="false">17400234@http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/</guid>
<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2011-11-08T07:55:12-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
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<item>
<title>Merry Halloween!</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2011/11/01/merry_halloween.html</link>
<description>Halloween is officially over and we have entered the spiraling vortex that is the &amp;#8220;holiday season&amp;#8221; - at least according the retailers. However, in my motherly opinion, Halloween is beginning to resemble Christmas more each year. No, Skeleton Clause is...</description>
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Halloween is officially over and we have entered the spiraling vortex that is the &amp;#8220;holiday season&amp;#8221; - at least according the retailers.

However, in my motherly opinion, Halloween is beginning to resemble Christmas more each year. No, Skeleton Clause is not squeezing down the chimney (although he&amp;#8217;d fit more easily) but the kids are just as &amp;#133; uh &amp;#133; &amp;#8220;excited&amp;#8221; about this memorable family time:

&amp;#8220;I want to be the red ninja!&amp;#8221;

&amp;#8220;The red ninjas are all gone, son.&amp;#8221;

&amp;#8220;But, I don&amp;#8217;t want to be the green ninja!&amp;#8221;

&amp;#8220;Get off of the floor and pick one or you will be Mary Poppins this year!&amp;#8221;

Having avoided the mess on the Halloweens before, I decided we should carve real pumpkins rather than switch the lights on in the battery powered jack-o-lanterns.

So, the Thursday before Beggars Night the kids picked out pumpkin faces from the carving kit we had purchased (what&amp;#8217;s wrong with a jack-o-lantern with crooked, uneven teeth?) and I began hacking into the tops of our carefully selected Pendleton&amp;#8217;s Pumpkins.

Once they got past the initial &amp;#8220;Ew!&amp;#8221; of the pumpkin guts, the boys were digging in, plucking seeds and outlining their jack-o-lantern faces (with crayon, because I&amp;#8217;m leery of giving my ninja-wanna-be sons sharp objects).

And in keeping with the play-it-safe theme I opted for the fake tea-lights over candles to light up the pumpkin faces.

Later we cozied up in front of the TV to watch &amp;#8220;It&amp;#8217;s The Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown.&amp;#8221;

The Halloween festivities continued into Friday with a school costume parade and a performance by the kindergartners singing Halloween Carols (you know, &amp;#8220;When the Creatures Come to Town&amp;#8221;).

The morning of Beggars Night I went all &amp;#8220;Betty Crocker&amp;#8221; and toasted the harvested pumpkin seeds, baked pumpkin cookies and prepared to trick-or-treat.

I spent the afternoon adding layers to my kids&amp;#8217; clothes so they wouldn&amp;#8217;t freeze in their thin costumes (kind of like snow-suits in January).
Fortunately, no one had to &amp;#8220;go&amp;#8221; by the time 6 p.m. arrived, but piling layer after layer of warm clothes on my 2-year-old daughter did nothing to save her little hands from the cold. I could read her thoughts on her face:

&amp;#8220;Hmm. I say, &amp;#8220;tickotwet&amp;#8221; hold out my purple pumpkin and get candy! Best day ever!&amp;#8221;

The gloves came off and the sprinting began.

Thankfully we made it home safely on Beggars Night; loaded with sugar and just in time to put up the Christmas tree.

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhoodCTC.

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<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2011-11-01T07:34:42-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
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<title>In the game of Pee-Wee football, small victories are a big deal</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2011/10/25/in_the_game_of.html</link>
<description>Against my better judgment, my oldest son decided to join his school Pee-Wee football team this year. (Confession time: &amp;#8220;There is a flyer in your folder for football sign-ups! Do you want to play?&amp;#8221; asked Mom.) Despite being a football...</description>
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Against my better judgment, my oldest son decided to join his school Pee-Wee football team this year.

(Confession time: &amp;#8220;There is a flyer in your folder for football sign-ups! Do you want to play?&amp;#8221; asked Mom.)

Despite being a football fan, I cringed when he eagerly said, &amp;#8220;Yes!&amp;#8221;

My son, my sweet baby, wanted to be on a field with bigger boys banging around and knocking each other down.
Who in their right mind would let their child &amp;#133; with the big, brown pleading eyes &amp;#133; play football so young?

But, they are in elementary school so how intense can it be &amp;#133; right? 

I asked him - hoping he&amp;#8217;d say something like, &amp;#8220;Because I think the jerseys are cool!&amp;#8221; - why he wanted to play football.
The little boy who has been watching football with us since he was born said, &amp;#8220;I just want to know what it feels like to play on a real field.&amp;#8221; 

I agreed, on the condition that we had to get an &amp;#8220;OK&amp;#8221; from Dad, too.

I spelled it out for my husband: &amp;#8220;It. Is. Tackle. Football. He. Will. Wear. Pads. And. Practice. A. Lot.&amp;#8221;

I believe it was just a few weeks later (while trying to figure out what pad went into what mesh pocket and explaining that a 7-year-old does not wear &amp;#8220;that&amp;#8221; size cup) my husband (the poster-child for Selective Hearing) said, &amp;#8220;You told me it was flag football.&amp;#8221;  (Sigh.)

So, since Aug. 1, my son has been living football; practicing, studying his playbook and well, mostly warming the bench every Sunday afternoon.

(Confession time: I became one of &amp;#8220;those&amp;#8221; parents: &amp;#8220;Why is he going to practice four days a week for that much playing time?!&amp;#8221;)

My son, though, wasn&amp;#8217;t fazed. He wanted to be there and be a part of the team on or off the field.

He&amp;#8217;s one of the smaller players on the team, but he put his big heart into it all season. He can now do more push-ups than I ever could, he managed to overcome his aversion to leg-lifts and he gained a whopping four pounds of &amp;#8220;football muscle&amp;#8221; (we did a victory dance on the bathroom scale).

And he sure did learn the game. 

Now he follows the Buckeyes and explains to me &amp;#8220;what the heck that flag was for!&amp;#8221; 

My son&amp;#8217;s daily schedule became more hectic than mine, but his grades never dropped, he continued with piano lessons and he was part of an undefeated football team (way to go, boys!). 

(Confession time: I&amp;#8217;m proud of my son. Game winning touchdown or not, he&amp;#8217;s a winner in my playbook.)

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/Motherhood CTC.

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<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2011-10-25T08:30:05-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
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<title>Mr. Independent begins to emerge (in a new room)</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2011/10/18/mr_independent.html</link>
<description>My baby boy is moving out. OK, well he&amp;#8217;s not really moving out, he&amp;#8217;s moving into the guest room, but the guest room is further away from my room and I am having some serious growing pains. After all, even...</description>
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My baby boy is moving out.

OK, well he&amp;#8217;s not really moving out, he&amp;#8217;s moving into the guest room, but the guest room is further away from my room and I am having some serious growing pains.
After all, even though it is in the same house, the guest room is still further away from my own room.

I realize moms have cat-like hearing and instincts, but what if he needs me in the middle of the night? What if he has a nightmare and I can&amp;#8217;t hear him?

He&amp;#8217;s moving out of the room he has shared with his little brother for several years.

So what about my younger son who would climb into the top bunk with his big brother during thunder storms? I guess he will have to resort to cuddling with Mommy again.

Of course, with the mountains of backpacks, Legos and football gear; and with limited closet space - it was getting a little crowded in the John Deere themed room. But, apparently that wasn&amp;#8217;t really the reason for our almost-8-year-old&amp;#8217;s move-out request.

&amp;#8220;Mom, my brother is driving me nuts! I want to have my own room.&amp;#8221;

My husband and I knew this day would come, we just didn&amp;#8217;t expect it so soon.

Knowing that being downstairs &amp;#8220;alone&amp;#8221; (spooky ooh&amp;#8217;s and ahh&amp;#8217;s here) sometimes freaks him out; we decided to entertain his move-out request anyways.

&amp;#8220;OK, but before we move everything down there, I need to know you aren&amp;#8217;t going to be afraid and you will actually sleep there all night,&amp;#8221; I said with some satisfaction, knowing I would find him in the top bunk - upstairs - the next morning.

Oh, how wrong I was. I have now been wrong every night for more than a week. 

On night three my heart was aching and I just had to go check on him. There he was, in that over-sized bed, sprawled out in a peaceful, comfy slumber.

I stood there, staring - and maybe shedding a few tears - (come on, all moms do it!) and watched him sleep, wondering when my sweet baby turned into an independent little boy.
And though he made soft murmurings in his sleep, like the baby he once was, he was not afraid.

Neither was his younger brother who, once he realized the upstairs room was to be his and his alone, immediately took over.

He set up dragon battles all over the floor, began making Bendaroo art on every inch of free space and has requested new bedding because he is also, &amp;#8220;too big for John Deere.&amp;#8221;

No love lost between these brothers.

I&amp;#8217;ll get used to it. I&amp;#8217;m proud of my boys for being so grown-up about this change in their young lives, but I am left to wonder &amp;#133; what on earth am I going to do with all of the junk I had stored in the guest room?

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhoodCTC.

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<guid isPermaLink="false">17399135@http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/</guid>
<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2011-10-18T07:12:24-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
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