Dear Lucy,

You are five years old today. Per your request we are having a “princess” party although you have made it very clear that not only are you NOT dressing up, you would prefer if your guests also did not dress up. Unlike most five year old little girls you do NOT like to play dress up. You do NOT like baby dolls and you do NOT like Barbie dolls. As a matter of fact I was kind of surprised that you even suggested a princess party. Admittedly, this was your third choice behind a gymnastics party (which we couldn’t afford) or a butterfly party.

This is your last year to be home with me. This fall you will start Kindergarten. I have very mixed emotions about this transition. Although I know you are more than ready for school I am sad to see you take this first step towards independence. We went to visit a school last week and immediately upon arrival you buried your head into my leg and muttered “can we leave now?” You made it very clear that you had no interest whatsoever in discovering if the school was nice. I realized I was looking at a glimpse of you as a teenager. You pouted, moped, whined, and complained about everything that was shown to you.

The school visit was followed by a gymnastics lesson with a teacher you have never had, in a gym filled with a 100 kids you have never seen before. For an hour you stood almost completely still, sucking your fingers and studying the floor. The uncomfortable angst that was spread out on your face was excruciating to watch and it took every ounce of will power I had to not run down and swoop you up into my arms. Indeed, when class was over you ran past Daddy, ran past Max, jumped into my lap, buried your face into my arms and cried. I wanted to cry too.

Sweetheart, I know how it feels to be someplace new. I know the stress and anxiety you feel as it washes over you. I know how you long to run out of that situation and to keep running until you are home and safe. I know how it feels because that was me at five years old. I also know, like my mother did, that you HAVE to face that fear. It is imperative for your success in life to sit in that awkward anxiety and learn to push yourself past it. And as scared of school as you are, I also know how much you will love it if you can just find your way out of the anxiety. I know you are scared. I know with every ounce of my being how scared you are but as a mother, I must prepare you for life without me and that means you learning to overcome that fear.

It also means that as much as I want to scoop you up into my arms and hold you forever I cannot. We must both face our fears. I want to see you fly Lucy. I want to see you spread your wings and show the world the beauty and amazing person that I have the privilege of seeing every day. You will blow them away. So baby, here we go. Let us take our first steps together.

I never liked playing with baby dolls as a child. As many of my friends embraced pretending to be a mommy, or even playing dress-up I was disinterested. My mother stayed home, as did most of my friend’s mothers, and she was wonderful and I respected her (and still do). But, these games seemed two-dimensional and lacked interest for me. I enjoyed playing library or pretend cooking, or even playing safari, but babies – never. There was only one doll I ever wanted to play with and that was Barbie.

I remember my mother begrudgingly supporting my interest in Barbie. Most of my Barbie’s clothes were hand me downs from when my sister had played with her. That meant that my Barbie had a lot of bell-bottomed jeans and go-go boots. When I was ten I yearned for the Barbie Styling Head. Remember that one? The giant Barbie head that let you curl and style her hair. I begged my mother, I pleaded with my mother and eventually she caved. Shortly after receiving this prized possession I out grew playing with Barbies. At the time my mother’s dislike of the Barbie puzzled me but now I get it.

Barbie is a stunning symbol of a misogynistic society that continually is reinforcing that the ideal woman should be skinny, have big boobs, blond hair and walk in high heels. I’m horrified by her sheer existence. How could I possibly provide my daughter with such a toy? Why would I willingly reinforce this negative societal message? And yet, I let Max play with guns. Does that mean he’s going to grow up to be a thug? And even though I frolicked lovingly with my Barbie I am the farthest thing from female milk-toast.

While many of Lucy’s peers drag their Barbie dolls from house to house Lucy has yet to find the pleasure in a Barbie doll. She loves the Barbie movies and I must begrudgingly admit that I do too. Yes, I said it- I like the Barbie movies. The music is very well done, the stories are classics, and well, at least Barbie isn’t running around with half her body exposed throwing herself at Ken.

Parenthood is filled with so many choices that sometimes it is hard to identify the really important ones from the insignificant ones. I’ll let Lucy play with Barbie because I know Barbie can’t overshadow my desire to raise an empowered, strong, confident, independent woman. I know this because Barbie never once overshadowed my mother.

The relationship between blogger and reader can be tenuous. As a blogger you are making the choice to allow strangers into your life. You, as the blogger, are TRUSTING your reader to be gentle and to understand that there is a person behind the words. The problem is that as a reader it is easy to forget about the human side. And then there are comments.

Most bloggers love comments. That is they love comments until somebody disagrees with them. Then the comments disappear. This can cause a breach in the reader/blogger relationship. Some readers disgusted and disappointed, that their favorite blogger has chosen to delete opposing views abandons them. Some bloggers, crushed by the personal fervor and pointed criticism slink off into darkness and anonymity licking their bruises.

I do think that most of this hurt and bad blood comes from misunderstandings and expectations. Let me lay down the tenets of comments.

Tenet #1
This is MY blog. I have chosen to establish a little corner of the Internet and have labeled it as such. This means I can do with this space whatever I bloody well feel like. I can allow comments or not allow comments. You can read, or not read.

Tenet #2
I might, periodically, write about controversial issues. This might cause you to have passionate feelings, feelings that make you want to scream from the mountain top that “Beth is an idiot”. Well, let me clear some things up. I pretty much already know I’m an idiot so you don’t have to tell me that. Feel free to leave a thoughtful, respectful comment indicating that you disagree with me. I would be flattered that you are reading and took the time to comment. Do not leave me a foul-mouthed diatribe of how I smell, am stupid and my mother’s a goat. This kind of comment I will NOT publish.

Tenet #3
Don’t use my comment space to spam me or to somehow delicately push your completely unrelated blog/article/deoderant product

Tenet #4
I am a person. I do have a family and friends who read this blog. When you say mean things to me it hurts, I cry and sometimes my family gets angry. Ask yourself before commenting, “would I say this to her face?” If the answer is yes but still includes pointed, personal attacks than don’t leave the comment, but seek the assistance of a professional mental health expert.

Tenet #5
If your comment is filled with so many grammatical errors and bad spelling that I think YOU would look like an idiot I will not publish it. I am an English teacher afterall and I must maintain standards.

I hope this clears up expectations, lays some foundation principles with which we can build a healthy line of communication. Go ahead, comment. I promise I’ll listen.

I realize that most people don’t even know the name of their university president and definitely could not point to the guy if

they saw him. Dr. Diether Haenicke, president of Western Michigan University, was different. During the first days of every school year, while parents and students were busily moving their belongings back into their dorm rooms, Dr. Haenicke would drive around in his golf cart greeting students and parents. He was warm and friendly and you would think that he was in charge of a small high school instead of a large state university. It was important to him that the school truly felt like a home away from home and so the grounds were immaculately kept with fresh flowers constantly being planted, shrubs trimmed and grass mowed. He kept open office hours where anybody could come and talk to him about anything and these hours were published in the student newspaper every semester. It was during these open office hours that my friend Kym and I went to visit him.

At the time we worked for the residence hall system and as a staff that had faced everything from a suicide to drunken brawls we were feeling under appreciated. We went to Dr. Haenicke’s office in order to garner more benefits for student employees. Dr. Haenicke greeted us and invited us to sit down. His office was large and warm but not ostentatious. We firmly laid out our complaint. We worked long hours, we handled tough situations AND we were students and although our room and board was paid for that just didn’t seem like enough. Our argument was weak, but Dr. Haenicke never let on that he knew that. He carefully listened and then in his heavy German accent said, “So, you vould like more varm fuzzies no?” Kym and I smiled at each other, giggled, and said “yes.” He perked up, called in his assistant and in a most serious tone said “Please note that ve must plan a special dinner for a student staff.” He then turned to Kym and I and said, “Vill that be okay?” We nodded silently. He stood up, shook our hands and said “my little vhiners. Ok, ve vill do this.” Three months later the entire university student staff was invited to a catered dinner and free tickets to see Bill Cosby live. From that moment on, whenever Kym and I saw Dr. Haenicke he would hug us and say, “my little vhiners”.

Dr. Haenicke loved being president, he loved Western Michigan University, and he loved his students. You would see him everywhere and he was always excited to see you. This past Sunday Dr. Haenicke died. It feels strange to shed tears over somebody that I knew so little but his influence was felt everywhere while I was in college. He was a great educator, a wonderful administrator and WMU was lucky to have him as a president.

I was almost too old to be riding a bike but at fourteen I had no other means of transportation. I had a green ten-speed that had been a hand me down from my older sister. It wasn’t fancy but I didn’t mind. My friend Laura lived just outside of our subdivision entrance and even though my mother normally didn’t like me riding past her line of sight, this seemed harmless.

I don’t really remember what Laura and I did that summer afternoon but I suspect it focused on talking about boys at our school. Dinner time was fast approaching and the sun was low. I climbed onto my bicycle and began my trip home. It was warm and muggy and my skin stuck to the plastic of the small seat. The air felt good as it whipped through my light t-shirt and cotton shorts, so I pedaled faster, confident in my skills.

Each house was neatly tucked behind trees and rolling hills and my ten-speed easily managed the changing terrain. At fourteen, the strength and energy it takes to ride up and down hills was readily available and my legs pumped easily. As I crested the last of the big hills I took my hands off the handlebars to wipe the moisture off of my face. The bike began to waiver, I quickly lost my balance and before I could react, me and the bike went tumbling down the hill.

I stood up. There were no cars to be seen in either direction. I was safely hidden from view by anyone in a house due to the towering pines. I looked down and saw raw, bloodied skin from my calf to my butt. It was simple road rash, but it was bad. I stood there unsure of what to do. I had never been hurt this badly without a “grown-up” near at hand. How could I have let this happen? Where was my mommy? What should I do now?

I gingerly swung my leg over my bike but it was obvious I was not going to be riding home. My skin was sticky with blood and the pain and soreness was quickly setting in. I’d have to walk the last 1/8 of a mile. I felt small and shameful as I slowly crept into the driveway. I had taken my first shot at independence and failed. My mother would never allow me to do anything alone ever again – of this I was sure. I knew the hysterics that would be waiting for me behind our front door. I decided right then that I would not cry. If she knew that I had been scared, that I had faltered I would be a prisoner the rest of my life. I would laugh at it all and prove to her that I was grown up.

I opened the front door and quietly walked into the kitchen. I confidently said “hi”. My mother turned around and shrieked. “OH MY GOD WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU? ARE YOU OKAY? DID YOU BREAK ANYTHING? SIT DOWN. NO!! DON’T SIT DOWN, STAND UP! WAIT – I’LL GO GET THE PEROXIDE.” I don’t really remember what happened after that, but I do know that I did not cry.

That muggy, sticky, summer day marked my first step towards adulthood. It is the moments when things go horribly wrong and your reaction to them that builds an adult. It is failing, falling, floundering and learning to regain your equilibrium that ushers in being a “grown-up”. I wonder if I will have the same fortitude my parents had to send me out alone on my ten-speed to face the unknown when it is Lucy’s turn to start her path into adulthood.
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Wish me luck as I enter this month’s Write Away Contest at Scribbit.

Valentine’s day is not a big holiday in our house. We don’t decorate, David and I don’t make special plans. Heck, we’re lucky if we both remember to buy a card. In the greater scheme of life there are bigger, more important holidays. However, this year I have so many fun ideas for Valentine’s day I want to do them all. I thought I would share a little collection of great recipes I’ve found over the past couple of weeks:

This is one I’m actually going to do myself. It is homemade chocolate covered “heart” pretzels. It looks super easy and yummy. This idea is from Make and Takes and if you aren’t already checking out her great craft ideas you are missing out.

This is a recipe for red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese frosting which looks like the perfect cupcake recipe if you are trying to impress. I’ve been thinking about making these for David’s office.

This is a great recipe for school because it is a bar recipe. Valentine’s day blondies with M&M’s. So sweet, cute and easy. I might make these too.

And then finally this lovely entry by Ezra Pound Cake – These heart cakes are far too much for me, but so lovely to look at.

Happy Valentine’s Day Y’all!!
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My mother emailed me instantly this morning to remind me of a marshmallow Peeps recipe she had seen in a magazine. Although I’m sure this is not the one she found I did think this was a cute idea and makes you think of all the fun things you can do with Peeps. With every holiday season bringing it’s own style and colors of Peeps the possibilities are endless.

Every job has tasks that you don’t like doing. When I was a project manager it was budgets, as a teacher it is grading homework, and as a mom it is laundry. It is a never-ending task that is just annoying. The minute you finish it you have to start again. As a result I wait until I ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO do laundry to get it done.

Recently, David bought me two of these wire laundry hampers from “The Container Store” for our bathroom and I instantly fell in love. First of all, even my husband knows the difference between lights and darks and so now the laundry is pre-sorted. Thus, it removes one step in the hated laundry process. To be honest, if I had the space I would buy a third one for towels, but my closet just isn’t that big. Second, they have wheels. Do you see those on the bottom? Well, for a woman with chronic back problems this is a miracle from God. As soon as one gets full I simply wheel it into the laundry room, toss everything in, and wheel it back. It is such a pleasant experience now I’m surprised little animated blue birds aren’t singing on my shoulder while I’m doing this.

I still hate doing laundry but having the laundry pre-sorted and using these lovely baskets defnitely Works For Me

I awake Saturday morning, I walk into the kitchen and ask David, “Do you want me to make you something for breakfast? omelet? oatmeal? anything?” David easily responds, “Nah, I’m not really hungry.”

I DECIDE TO MAKE BREAKFAST FOR MYSELF

I pull the bacon out of the fridge and then the eggs and then IT BEGINS.

David: oh, are you making yourself an omelet? (with longing in his eyes)
Me: Yes, would you like one?
David: Yeah, that looks good
Me: No, problem. (I make him an omelet)
Max: MOMMY I WANT EGGIES TOO!
Me: ok, I’ll make you some eggs
Lucy: I want a waffle Mommy – I’m hungry!
Me: ok, hold on, I’ll get that going
Lucy: Are you making bacon? I’d like some bacon
Me: ok, I’m making bacon. Does anybody want Juice?
David: I’d like a cup of milk
Max: JUICE!!!
Lucy: No.

Everybody finishes, pushes away from the table and leaves. I am now staring at a table full of dishes, two dirty skillets, a messy kitchen AND I STILL HAVEN’T EATEN BREAKFAST.

A day will come, a new dawn, a morning when I will get out of bed and make breakfast for myself — and no one else.