Tips from the Trenches: A Guide to Practical Parenting

After more than 6 years and $10,000, potty training is complete. Am I sad that my kids are growing up? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!

There are times in my life when I reach in my bag to find a pen and I pull out five juice boxes, cookie crumbs, scratched sunglasses, and some receipts. Then, there are the times when I pull out the pen.

So, I was talking to my son's first grade room mother (no, it's not a legally binding relationship) about the upcoming class' Holiday-Mas party on the last day of school before the Winter-Mas Break (tomorrow at the time of this writing).

I was volunteering to do my part and in a flight of whimsy about classroom parties of my youth said, "it should be fun. At least, I hope they have more fun than the Halloween Fall party. Party days were so fun at school!"
To which she replied, "what do you mean?"
And I said, "well, they all just sat in their chairs and had to be quiet." (They had a sub that day, so I thought that was the reason why it was dull.)
To which she said, "They have to sit down or they will get in trouble."
Me: "Huh?"
She: "It would be dangerous and disrespectful for them to be out of their chairs. Someone would come and tell them to sit down."
Me: "Huh!? That's ridiculous. They should play some games. They are old enough to be told that they have to play at an appropriate level."
She: "Oh, no. They can't take that risk."

Not only that, but there is nary a speck of sugar on the list of food items being brought in for the party!!!!!!

Ah, I bet that word conjures up many a happy memory for most of my readers. And even if getting trashed didn't end up exactly like you planned one night, I bet it didn't end up like this (unless you are REALLY unlucky, that is):




Now this is not my first "messy house" post (see here, here, and here for some other examples) and it is unlikely to be my last (after all, it is fertile ground, you know); but you really have to appreciate the totality with which the distruction occurred in a mere 25 minutes.

How do I know you ask? I know because I finished tidying up and vaccuming, and then immediately ordered pizza. Then, I went in the kitchen to work on some Christmas cooking. Twenty-five minutes later (I checked my watch upon arrival) when the door bell rang for the delivery guy, I came out to this.

Just for you Anna. Hope this doesn't offend your aging eyes too much. Don't say I never gave you anything.

School lunch is an interesting topic. I doubt too many people would agree that the nutritional value of school lunch is, at least at times, pretty questionable, but it is convenient and cheap. (Isn't that what the fast food giants say, too? Interesting.)

My son and I used to have daily debates about lunch that involved me checking the published menu and negotiating whether or not he would take lunch. By the time we brokered a deal, I'd spent more time on talking about lunch than I would have spent making it.

So, I started making it everyday only to find him coming home with the healthiest parts leftover in his lunch bag. Then, I would spend each day pointing out what he should be eating instead of what he was eating since they don't bother to teach nutrition in schools while it matters the most. (Hmmm, obesity problem? Why not educate them early and often? But that's another soap box.)

After two years of honing my methods, I realized that my lunch strategy was simple AND effective! Basically, my lunch tips come down to two issues outlined below with my suggested solutions. So here goes:

Problem 1: Child doesn't want to eat school lunch.
Solution A: Progressively make home made lunches less palatable.
Solution B: Hide the food so that every once in a while you can say "I don't have anything to give you. You'll have to eat at school today."

Problem 2: Child doesn't eat the most nutritional parts of the home made lunch. (Why do those pieces of fruit or the carrots always come home?)
Solution: Slightly underfeed the child so that he/she is hungry enough to eat everything. Works every time!

Be sure to offer a nutritional snack at pick-up or as soon as he/she gets home. See here for tips on providing healthy snacks.

Happy eating!

DAUGHTER: I don't want guns on my airplane (see on left)
SON: But they are love-heart guns. See the hearts?
DAUGHTER: Oh, ok.

OK, I'm feeling a little peeved today. I've been saying this for years, but now that some "researchers" in TWO STUDIES have announced their "findings", everyone is taking it seriously. (I'll give you a minute to hop over to the article and get back to me......lalalalalalala....ho hum....oh, good, you're back.)

In 2005, when I said, "the way I see it, two year olds and dogs are operating on the same level" after observing my then-nearly-two-year-old son lying in a mud puddle next to his black lab pal, Tater, I got shock and awe. It was like I spit on the Bible or something.

Just the thought of likening a dog to a child was apparently inappropriate or something. Maybe it's the whole "Evolution? Pa-shaw" movement that's been hitting the news over the past few years. Unfortunately, my son wasn't lying in a mud puddle next to a chimp because, if he was, the proverbial poop may have hit the proverbial fan at record breaking velocity.

Anyway, I've been saying it ever since, including recently when I stood watching my three-year old daughter chasing her own "tail" next to a dog chasing his own tail. In fact, I say it so often that when I saw these studies, I had to look up the names of the authors to make sure they didn't overhear me say it! So far it all looks legit, but I have my suspicions.

Well, it has finally happened. "Mommy's baby, Daddy's maybe" has official proven herself genetically-related to her father. For years, I've been listening to my husband remake songs to suit his own agenda. Unfortunately, I cannot reproduce them on TftT because they are wildly inappropriate. (For example, "Venus in Blue Jeans" by Jimmy Clanton and "In Your Eyes" by Peter Gabriel are two with some of the most obvious potential, but I digress.)

Underpants.

Underpants.

On my face.

Why can't school projects be made of materials that rot so I know when to throw them away?