If there's anything I hate more than entertaining children for playdates, it's feeding them. I mean, do the neighborhood children have an alert set up for the moment I come home from the grocery store with unopened snacks? Because it sure seems that way.
But a box of crackers is nothing compared to feeding other people's children a sit-down dinner. I have to feed my own kids, and I expect decent manners from them, but if I'm feeding someone else's kid, I demand good manners, dammit. Don't follow the below, sweetheart, and you aren't coming back ...
People are crazy. And there's no place to better illustrate that fact than on the sidelines at any kids' sporting event.
Picture insane screaming parents making fools out of themselves and living vicariously through little Timmy’s ability to kick a ball into a goal. It's nuts! But the yelling and aggressiveness is only one of the bad behaviors I keep running into at children’s sporting events.
So I’ve made a pact with myself: There are some things I will never do on the sidelines or from the bleachers while my offspring are participating in a sporting event. Here they are ...
I love everything about Thanksgiving -- the smell, the taste, the house bursting at the seams. It's my favorite holiday, by far. So, of course, I had very high expectations for my first Thanksgiving as a mother. And of, course, it was a collosal failure. I undercooked and then burned the turkey, my daughter's nap was distrupted by the smoke alarm and we both ended up in tears at the dinner table. So much for perfect planning. To ensure that your holiday is a tad better than our first together, I present you with some tips. Cheers.
If there’s one thing no one will ever accuse me of, it’s being a helicopter parent. You know, the kind of parent who’s constantly swooping down on her kids to do something for them that they should be able to do themselves. No hovering here.
I want them to be self-sufficient, after all. It makes them confident, responsible, and helps them grow up. Not that I want them to grow up faster or anything. I just prefer to not, you know, be packing a 16-year-old's lunch every day.
My kids are 5, 7, and 9. At their ages, these are the things I expect them to know:
It's November, which means it’s time for us to start using words like thankfulness and gratitude while we look for fridge space to hang up another set of red and yellow and orange turkeys made from the shape of our kids’ hands. Just like the pilgrims once did.
So I’m spending the month trying to find things to be thankful for, and this week I’ve come up with a good one: I’m thankful they’re your kids, not mine. Here’s why.