Published Articles: AUGUST 2008
Published in The Wareham Observer, August 28, 2008
When 'Baby' went to kindergarten
Notes from Momma Jeana's Journal:
Here they come, the yellow school buses to whisk my daughters away. My oldest daughter boards the grade school bus as if she’s been doing it all her life. A big smile and a confident look in her eyes helped me through the next ordeal, getting my baby to board the school bus for the first time.
Bus stops. Door opens. Little legs stretch to climb the stairs. Jackie sits in the first open window seat so we can say ‘ciao’ one more time.
Waves are exchanged. My wave is a goofy one, a nervous one, as if I’m flagging down a car to ask if they’ve seen a lost dog in the neighborhood. Jackie waves back, a smug wave – the “I expect you to sit right there and worry about me for the next three hours” kind of wave. The bus departs, leaving me and my husband – and my sister who drove 50 miles to be part of the event of the year – with cold coffees and Kleenex tissues in our hands.
What now? Do I follow the bus to make sure my baby knows I’m close by if she needs me? Do I call her teacher to make sure she sanitized her hands after touching the seats on the bus? Do I text the Principal and ask if Jackie’s adjusting to her new environment? Do I show up at snacktime to ensure she drinks her milk and says ‘please’ and ‘thank you’?
Wait a minute. Today the first day in five and a quarter years where I have three full hours to myself. A day to declare war on household grime. Surely that will keep me busy till the bus returns my precious cargo.
But where do I start? In the attic or the cellar? The toilets or the laundry? The playroom or the kitchen cabinets?
Eenie, Meenie, Miny Mo….
Perhaps I’ll log on and check today’s headlines and my emails first….
BEEP, BEEP.
(Oh, no! It can’t be!)
“Hi, Mom. I’m home.”
“Hi Baby. How was your day?”
“Great. I’ll tell you all about it after I take off my itchy school clothes.”
“Please hurry, Jackie. I can’t wait to hear about kindergarten.”
From upstairs, Jackie yells, “Mom! You said you would wash my Power Puff Girls’ shirt while I was at school but it’s still in the laundry pile!”
Think quick. “That’s because, Jackie, our washing machine broke, but I’m sure Dad can fix it later.”
“Mom? Were you playing on the computer all the time I was at school?”
“Of course not. Maybe for a few minutes, but not the whole time,” I answered softly.
“Oh. So you didn’t have time to get dressed because my bus came home so quickly, right Mommy?” Jackie asked.
“Wow, Jackie. One day at kindergarten and you are so smart already!”
Published in The Wareham Observer, August 21, 2008
A bone to pick with the dog days of summer
Where did the last nine weeks go? They’re gone, nothing but history now. In disbelief, I chronicle what we did this summer. …
For my daughters, camp was the highlight. They participated in an eight week camp where tennis/swimming lessons, arts and crafts, nature walks, and games like Capture the Flag and 4-Square filled half of their days. They took part in a camp musical (Grease), spent a day at Water Wiz; enjoyed dance parties, movie nights, and many sleepovers. They got a total of eleven monkey bar blisters, four camp T’s, one skinned knee, two bee stings, one Camper of the Week prize (a surgical glove stuffed with candy), two Polar Bear Club certificates (for dunking the cold water every day), and one Most Adventurous Swimmer trophy. They learned to dress like camp counselors by rolling their clothes – up or down – to expose a tanned belly. (Parents, that’s ‘cami’s’ up and ‘shorty’s’ down. I’m sure you get the picture.)
While the kids were at camp, this mom kept busy with keeping beach towels and bathing suits clean, replenishing lunch supplies - and tending to the garden, the bills, the puppy - and the other trillion chores that build up in every busy household. As for my husband, well, summer is not the right season for a fisherman to take a vacation.
Getting back to camp – was it worth the financial investment? Let me count the ways. For about $5 per hour (per child) we knew where the kids were, what they were doing, and who they were doing what with (basically anyway). For parents of preteens and/or fourth grade children, that’s important stuff to know.
And then the organized fun ends. …
“Hi girls. Hop into the car. We’re going to the beach.”
“Mom, do we have to? We already went swimming today. I just want to go to Jess’s and hang out. Please?” Jackie asks.
“And Mom, I told my (non camp) friends that I would meet them at the playground so we could ‘chill’. It is the last day of camp you know,” Elizabeth adds.
Oh. Last day of camp!
“Sure girls. You really do need more ‘hanging out’ and ‘chillin’ time with your friends. Go ahead. I have a few things to do at home anyway. See you in an hour (or two).”
What to do first? Blacken windows, disconnect phones, cancel internet services, or bury cell phones? Perhaps that will keep the girls’ friends from calling, emailing, or just showing up. I’ve got just enough time to tidy up the RV (the one in our yard that doesn’t run) and map out destinations that we’ll pretend to visit before school begins on Tuesday.
I know I could use a little vacation.
Published in The Wareham Observer, August 14, 2008
To the Moon and Back Again
Excerpt from “Enchanted Whispers: Wit & Wisdom from the Mouths of Babes (and Momma too)" by Jean Lanahan of Bourne. Reprinted with permission.
“Want to try something cool, Mom?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Stand on the couch, next to us. Hook this towel into the collar of your shirt. Now, close your eyes and jump in the air and make a wish. Do this (spread your arms) when you jump and then keep them out till your feet hit the rug. Watch us fly first. …. WEEEE!”
“Oh boy! You girls want me to jump that high?”
“Mom, you can do it. All it takes is a little bit of trust, and a little bit of fairy dust too. Let me sprinkle you with some pretend dust. … You’re all set now Mom.”
“Okay. Ready, set, here I go! ….. WEEEE!”
“Wow! You know how to fly, Mom!”
And then came a verse from ‘You Can Fly!” (from Peter Pan):
“Soon you’ll zoom all around the room
All it takes is faith and trust
But the thing that’s a positive must
Is a little bit of pixie dust
The dust is a positive must
You can fly! You can fly!
You can fly! You can fly!”
**** After learning to fly in the playroom today, I was blessed with the opportunity to go outside and search for a new species of birds, study beautiful weeds, and build our own version of a worm farm. Then we took a ride in a wagon, which transformed into a fishing vessel. We enjoyed snacks at a picnic table, until it converted into a deserted tropical island surrounded by hungry sharks and playful dolphins. We rested on a hammock – for about two minutes – while we encouraged the ropes to grow wings that flew us straight to the moon! And all upon a wishes’ command!
**** But sometimes, Momma needs to fly solo, to do something for herself, by herself!
When we have the urge to go shopping (alone) when it’s not even “Completely Out of Groceries Day,” it’s because we need to spread our independent wings, soar through space like a rocket, while singing our favorite songs along the way.
But mothers are never alone - even when we are by ourselves.
As I’m wedged in a line of cars at the nearest drive-through coffee shop, I hear the voices:
“Mom, where’s my Ipod?”
“Mommy, where’s my ‘learn to tell time’ watch that I got last Christmas?”
“Honey, where’s my other boot?”
“Where you all left them. That’s where!” I shout as I turn up the volume to a good Jimmy Buffet tune and opt to take the long route to the mall.
We can do without Yoplait and Keebler’s for one night. Momma needs a new bra!
Published In The Wareham Observer, August 7, 2008, in The Patriot Ledger, September 24, 2008.
Notes from Momma Jeana’s Journal: Nothing like a writer’s block party
From time to time, every artist must ask herself, “Why do noteworthy thoughts flow so eloquently when they’re least expected?” Like when you’re stuck in traffic, have a “thought” but no place to put “it” and no right to think about putting “it” someplace anyway.
Or those times when you are supposed to be interested in what someone else is saying but your mind is busy churning words into sentences.
It’s difficult to pretend to be engrossed in my daughter’s one thousandth rendition of “Hopelessly Devoted to You” for an upcoming talent show, while other images need be captured pronto.
Or how about when you’re up to your elbows with cleaning products and overhear your child’s lengthy analogy of why she should have two mothers - so that Mom #2 could take her the playground while Mom #1 completes the household chores.
Even though you convince yourself that you’ll memorize her every syllable and recapture the tale later, you won’t. Ask an artist is she’s able recreate – exactly - yesterday’s rainbow that magnificently, unexpectedly, appeared through the storm while she was driving over the Sagamore Bridge. Doubt it. Artists must be armed for the unexpected with pencil and paper handy at all times.
I admit to making time to write. Like tonight. All is quiet. My housework is as done as it’s going to be, there’s nothing of interest on TV, and my notebook and pen are calling. Did I mention that everyone is asleep? Even the hamsters forgot they’re nocturnal and our hyperactive puppy is dreaming about devouring a rib bone.
Just me and my thoughts….. What better time to reflect upon my worries, woes, and wonders of parenthood? And what about the dirty laundry that seems to multiply and mutate by the minute? Then there’s the interesting topics in which most nine year olds think that they’re teenagers and most eleven year olds believe that they’re smarter than they are.
Think, brain, think! What “thoughts” were so important a few minutes ago that I swapped with my husband, in a two for one fashion, a turn for tucking the girls into bed?
That’s it. It’s too quiet. I can’t think straight! I have no stimulus, no prey. Might as well go to sleep.
Happy inspirations to return when my world is busting with adventure, stress, and my dear family. And those darn animals!......
Contact Jean for engagements, signed books, or to chat.
Look for Enchanted Whispers on the shelves of these Southeastern Massachusetts stores:
Titcomb's Bookshop (Sandwich)
Lily-Belle's Florals & Treasure Chest (Buzzards Bay)
Old Company Store (Wareham)
Market Street Bookshop (Mashpee)
Booksmith (Falmouth)
Inkwell Books (Falmouth)
Holidays Hallmark
(Hyannis & Dennis & Hanover)
Heaven and Earth Books (Onset)
Borders Books
(Kingston & Hyannis)
Scusset Beach General Store
(Sagamore Beach)
Sea Whispers Gift Shop
(Cape Cod Canal)
Bev Loves Books (Rochester)
To schedule signing engagements, contact Jean by clicking on the email link.
Hope to hear from you soon.
This book deserves to be on every kitchen table:
Enchanted Whispers:
'Wit & Wisdom' from the
Mouths of Babes
(and Momma Too)
by Jean Lanahan
.
Articles Published by Jean Lanahan
May through August 2008
Notes from Momma's Journal........
LOOK WHO"S READING !!!
Liz, Mom, and Jackie read to crowd at Art From the Heart of Bourne Festival, February 23, 2008.
Published Articles: JULY 2008
In The Wareham Observer, July 17, 2008
For parents, it’s a fair to remember
Notes from Momma Jeana’s Journal:
Children wake every morning with refreshed zest for life. They open their eyes and it starts. The questions, the prioritizing of unlimited fun to be had during the course of each new day.
“Mom, Dad, you up? It’s time to go. We’ve been waiting for this since last summer!,” Elizabeth shouts.
We’re dressed, teeth are brushed and the Lanahan clan is strapped in car seats in record time.
“Are we almost there yet?,” Jackie asks before we even reach the coffee drive through window.
“Not quite. A little while longer girls,” Tom answers.
“Why don’t you play a game, like a guessing game,” I suggest to the girls so they’ll stop asking “are we there yet?”
“Okay Mom. Hey, Elizabeth! Look over there. It’s Lizzy McGuire in that big white limo.”
“Jackie, that’s not Lizzy McGuire. Besides, Hilary Duff drives in a black limo, not in a white one.”
“Oh.”
And so they chat for the remainder of the ride. Tom and I listen to our daughters growing up and growing more excited.
“What ride do you want to go on first?”…
“What animals do you want to hold?”…
“What do you want to eat at the fair?...
“Do you think we’ll see any of our friends there?...
”What kind of face paint are you gonna get?’….
Suddenly, the ferris wheel is within sight.
“I can see the Fair,” Elizabeth howled from the backseat.
“Hurry! We have to see the sheep before they get haircuts,” Jackie screamed even louder.
“And remember, Mom and Dad, you promised that we could go on scary rides and eat fried dough,” Elizabeth yelled as she jumped out of the van.
“Scary rides, painted faces, animal viewing and fried dough it is,” I said back.
Tom and I wished for just a fraction of their energy and enthusiasm, which they can’t control – or hide. But why should they?
It’s their way of expressing love for life, love of adventure.
It’s a natural high, a contagious high.
It’s a reminder that ‘NOW’ is the time to do things we were too busy to do yesterday; a time to make precious memories with those you love.
Isn’t a fair a great place to show appreciation for 4H club and crafter exhibitions while sharing fried dough – and yourself - with your favorite people?
Is it ‘Now’ or never? County fairs only come once a year.
“Last one to the gate is a rotten egg!”
Jean Lanahan of Bourne, is author of “Enchanted Whispers: Wit & Wisdom from the Mouths of Babes (and Momma too)” www.jeanlanahan.com
In Wareham Observer, July 31, 2008
Just a little food for thought
Notes From Momma Jeana’s Journal:
Some people eat to live, some live to eat. I admit to being in the latter group. I go to bed thinking about breakfast, what to pack for the kids’ lunches, and wake in the morning with dinner on my mind. Food is important to me and to my family (so important that my grandfathers, mother, father, sister and I have been in the restaurant business at one time or another).
My husband used to be one of those people who ate to live, but since joining my family, he’s been converted. While eating last night's leftovers for breakfast, he eyeballs the cans, spices, or veggies I’m holding to figure out tonight's delight.
Create, eat, share - and then do it all over again. That’s how it goes in our house. Always has and always will - while I'm the head chef anyway!
Growing up in my mother’s kitchen, we were taught about originality, thankfulness, and kindness while we washed and prepped the ingredients that went into her masterpiece dishes. We witnessed perseverance – the hard work that goes into preparing home cooked meals. And talk about ingenuity. My mother’s creative shortcuts were impressive, like adding brewed coffee to chocolate frosting - presto! A mocha delight. Or her ability to season, just right, the cheapest cut of meat to turn it into a five star Filet Mignon. If Iron Chef America was popular in her day, my mother would have won.
My mother’s kitchen was also an appropriate place to learn about sharing, as we wrapped much of our finished goods into Tupperware containers to be distributed to relatives and friends. And then came leftovers. Half chickens or butts of a roast were transformed into one, two, or three pots of goodness, leading to yet more dinner guests and more take out containers going and coming. To say that our kitchen was always full is an understatement.
I don’t claim to be as great a cook as my mother – or nearly as generous - but I am as courageous in the kitchen. And I’m grateful that my children, the striving artists/scientists that they are, are willing to participate in the dissecting of mushrooms, onions, or anything else that need be diced, skinned, de-bearded or sampled.
Why is it important to cook with our children? Cooking is an art, not always foolproof, a perfect time to teach them, “Food breaks – but it could be worse!”
Cooking with and for our families is a time to express gratitude…. “Let’s make the best of what we have - enjoy the gifts we’ve been given and the dishes we’ve created. May we savor every bite because there are many unlucky people who will go without tonight. Manja!”
By Jean Lanahan of Bourne. Find her online at www.jeanlanahan.com
In The Wareham Observer, July 24, 2008
Notes From Momma's Journal: Some things that baffled me today
I woke this morning completely refreshed. My daughters went on a sleepover last night, a great opportunity for Momma’s brain to rejuvenate, gain new powers. My parental antennae grew overnight; “I can hear you up there; Stop doing that to your sister; I can see and smell everything you’re about to do”, to an astounding level. And yet, even with such accelerated alertness, these things – straightforward as they may seem - baffled me today….
Backwards playdates.
My oldest daughter called a friend to come over and ‘hang out’. We invited her little sister, too, so that my youngest would not be the third wheel. Get this, my oldest played house with her friend’s little sister and my youngest chatted on AIM with the older guest and her friends.
Same dinner, different presentation.
My kids refused to eat tonight’s ‘burnt and crunchy’ lasagna. Instead of arguing, I said I’d cut new pieces. Ha! I took the plates to the kitchen, flipped the lasagna squares (over) into smaller bowls, added more sauce, warmed them and represented dinner. They both said that it was the best lasagna they ever tasted.
The art of giving.
After spending three hours at the mall with my girls picking out birthday gifts for two upcoming birthday parties, we left with special presents that will be hard to wrap for even a best friend.
My age.
To answer that question, I ask myself, “What year is it?” 2008.
“What year was I born?” 1961.
That means I am 47, or will be on my next birthday.
When did that happen? For just yesterday my babies were mastering climbing out of their cribs. And a moment prior, I was saying “I Do” to Tom. And the day before that my girlfriends and I were eating pizza in Quincy Square sharing nickels for the bus ride home. And the day before that my sister and I were pretending to nap at preschool.
Summer Camp is half over.
How can that be? I’ve yet to finish clearing sweaters from the closets. Thankfully, there’s still a few weeks remaining with kids at camp to finish up on the spring cleaning - while my friends are busy chatting at the beach. Let me think….beach or closets? The weather will be getting a bit chilly soon, won’t it?
The finality of Death.
My kids ate oatmeal this morning – smothered in milk and sugar. But the fact remains - they enjoyed oatmeal. Wait till my mother hears this… An unfamiliar voice answered my mother’s long time phone number reminding me that my mother died some 8 years ago. I wept in my own sugary oats.
By Jean Lanahan of Bourne. Find her online at www.jeanlanahan.com
In The Wareham Observer, July 10, 2008
In Patriot Ledger, July 15, 2008
Sowing the Seeds of love and family
An open shed door means business at our house, especially when hedge clippers, chain saws, weed whackers, nail guns, or compressors are spread about the lawn. The same is true of a rototiller, I recently found out.
On a chilly morning this past May, Tom was busy rototilling our garden. Great, I thought, and my daughters and I got busy with planting vegetable and flower seeds in labeled containers. By the time we finished, Tom had not only scalped every bush in our bushy yard, he extinguished the grass in a good part of our huge back yard. Instead of being satisfied that our garden, now triple the size of last year’s large garden was large enough, he was at work clearing yet another grassy area.
I ran outside to remind Tom that gardening is a hobby; it’s supposed to be fun. I also reminded him that I have no intention of spending every waking moment sowing the land. “Tom, we didn’t grow up on farms! You’re from Weymouth and I’m from Quincy, remember?”
Tom reminded me that city life for us is long gone. “Jean, we live in the suburbs where the soil is rich. You’re gonna love it! Think of what you’ll save on groceries? Think of the quality time we’ll spend in the great outdoors? And wait till you see the chicken coup I’ve designed?”
Funny guy. “Chickens!?”, I thought to myself.
At the time of our discussion, gasoline, tomatoes, and eggs cost about $1 less per unit. Did my husband have a premonition that gas would exceed $4 a gallon, that salmonella would taint tomatoes, or that our daughters suddenly crave omelets? Perhaps.
He was right, also, about my love of gardening. I love nurturing seeds to seedlings, baby plants to baby bearing plants. I love clipping fresh herbs from the vine and discovering perfectly grown vegetables hidden under healthy greenery. I love watching my daughters turn off an episode of “The Suite Life of Zack and Cody” to help to water, weed, or pick the fruits of our labor. I admire my family’s readiness to try creative veggie dishes and their enthusiasm for caring for the baby chicks. I’m excited that we are sure to save money on gas, produce - and yes, eggs - by eating what we have in our backyard.
Mostly, I love the fact that we, as a family, appreciate the simple pleasures of gardening.
Happy gardening to you and yours!
By Jean Lanahan of Bourne. Find her online at www.jeanlanahan.com
In The Wareham Observer July 5, 2008
The magic of multitasking mommies
My mother was one of those incredible women who started – and finished – four or five projects at the same time. I was always amazed by her ability to fill our drawers with sweet smelling laundry, clean out the fridge, and scour the kitchen and bath – all at the same time. Her tasks were done, meticulously, without the help of floral scented dryer sheets or grime removing wipes, and usually before we finished slurping the milk from our cereal bowls.
My mother, the multitalented person she was, could console a friend over the phone while applying contact paper to he interior of the kitchen cabinets as wet paint was drying on the outside of the cabinets. And I’m not talking cordless phones or quick drying latex paints here.
While ironing butterfly patches onto the butt of one child’s jeans, she helped another strategically pin a Butterick skirt pattern onto seersucker cotton draped over the kitchen table. A simmering soup pot was atop the stove, constantly it seemed, to which freshly chopped meats, vegetables, and herbs were added at just the right moments. Talk about juggling!
When my children were younger, I mastered the art of combining playtime, exercise, napping, writing, and cleaning my car – all at the same time. Long gone are the days of “go out and play” so driving one child to the playground while baby successfully naps in her car seat makes so much sense. And writing a to do list – or an essay - on a bank receipt found under the seat in the car (while filling the park’s trash can with debris from our minivans) is all about time management.
Admit it Moms, how many of us pay bills, online, in between monitoring our pre-teen’s AIM messages and the outcome of an Ebay auction for a must have camera battery pack (for this week’s camp talent show)? Of course we can do that and astound our children with “I saw that” or “I heard that” even though we’re completely engrossed in uploading pictures to an ad on Craig’s list.
At the beach today, I’m sure to catch up with my friends - while watching our children swim and build sand castles, perusing “Everyday with Rachel Ray”, and planning side dishes for tonight’s rotisserie chicken cooking at home.
Suffice to say that we’ve been trained by the best. .
By Jean Lanahan of Bourne. Find her online at www.jeanlanahan.com
...JUNE
Printed in The Patriot Ledger, June 3, 2008
And The Wareham Observer June 5, 2008
Little white lies are part of being a mom….
Notes from Momma Jeana’s Journal:
Face it Moms. No matter what we do or how well we do it, another mother will exceed our labors. She’ll bake bigger cookies. She’ll allow her kids to stay up later. She’ll let her kids go to bed dirty. She’ll show up at school to volunteer three mornings a week.
As a child, I compared my mother to other moms - and now my kids are doing the same to me. Is it in the genes? Is it a girl thing? Is it a guilt thing? Perhaps children were invented to remind us that we are human, works in progress, regular mistake makers.
Speaking of mistakes, I have thrown away coloring books with 18 yet to be colored pages and I’ve vacuumed up more Polly Pocket accessories than I can count.
I’ve lowered the car radio volume when Miley Sirus’s songs play, even though I heard, “but, Mom, this is my favorite song.”
I take responsibility for cooking too much food for dinner and for scolding my family for eating the groceries I just worked so hard to buy!
For quite awhile, I had my kids convinced that “You’ve Got Mail” was a computerized college professor instructing Mom to sit, alone, to complete a homework assignment.
I’ve bought freshly baked cupcakes at the grocery store, repackaged them, and donated them to school bake sales.
Once, I left the house to buy milk and bread. Instead of shopping for necessities, I sat by the Canal reading “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn” for one solid hour.
Just the other night, I fibbed to my nine year old. She watched a commercial on TV and asked, “Mom, what does Genital Herpes mean?” I questioned back, “Oh! Don’t you mean ‘General Herpes’? Wasn’t he was a top notch General back when Washington was President?”
I’ve forgotten to swap coins for newly extracted baby teeth from beneath the pillow of a sleeping head and gave The Tooth Fairy credit for hiding a really big chocolate bar in the back of the freezer.
Someday I’ll admit to falsifying the entrance age to join Irish Step dancing, cheer leading, horse back riding, and opera singing lessons.
I’ll explain all of the above to my daughters when they have youngsters of their own. Surely, by then they’ll appreciate the meanings of “burnout, me time, little white lies, a clean house, and safe sex”.
By Jean Lanahan of Bourne. Find her online at www.jeanlanahan.com
Printed in The Wareham Observer June 12, 2008
You’ve Found the Right Guy if…
Finding the right partner is not an easy task. I know many couples who are happily married, and perhaps just as many who are not. My husband and I have been married for some 14 years, together for 20. I’ll admit that the following points made me realize that, yes, we are meant to be to together. Forever!
You’ve found the right guy if …...
He knows you well enough to realize that your silence means you are about to start an argument - so he busies himself with vacuuming every inch of the house.
He looks you in the eye and then announces to the children, “Get your coats. Let’s go on a nature walk and then to McDonald’s for dinner. Tell Mom we’ll see her in a few hours.”
While you’re busy with the kids’ nightly routine of homework, dinner, and bathing, he fills his spare time with washing dishes.
He doesn’t live for sports.
He gets up extra early one morning, leaves the house without saying ‘good bye’ or ‘have a nice day’, feels guilty, and returns home with a Latte for Mom and doughnuts for the kids.
When asked “how do I look?” he never says “fine”. He says, “great, as usual”.
He says, “Wow! This is good”, even though your tuna casserole turned into plop served on toast.
He doesn’t forget that on the odd days of the week, it’s his turn to tuck the kids into bed.
He gladly gives up his warm spot in our bed for an awakened child.
He rarely asks, “So, what did you do all day?”
He seems to know exactly when to shut his mouth, open a large bottle of wine, pass you a tissue, or offer his shoulder to cushion your wet cheek.
He listens to your woes about dancing school, karate, CCD, PTA, drama club, and gymnastics, even though he’s heard them 1000 times before.
If you are in search of a partner and are lucky enough to find one that has at least half of the above attributes, make your move. If you’ve already found a man who possesses a majority of the above mentioned qualities, hide him in the closet. There are many starving women out there!
Suffice to say that we’ll be celebrating Father’s Day at our house. “Take the day off, Tom!”
By Jean Lanahan of Sagamore Beach.
In Wareham Observer June 19, 2008
Shooing away those bed bugs
When mothers have a disagreement or argument with another, we are sure to tell every open ear about each spectacular detail. Most of us will relive the drama 100 times before taking the episode to bed - where we’ll dream about living amongst creepy crawly creatures determined to rule the world. Our world! And chances are good that Mom will wake in the morning with puffy eyes, hives, and a bit of an attitude.
Yesterday: Nothing good happened at the Lanahan residence. My children’s rainy day missions were to irritate each other, tease the dog, antagonize me, and dirty every room in my tidy house.
Last night: “There’s no need to disagree with me and/or each other about every little thing! Please, girls, promise me it won’t happen again.”
“Sorry, Mom. It won’t happen again. Love you. Good night. Don’t let the bed bugs bite,” Elizabeth says.
“Yeah, Mom. We’ll be nicer tomorrow. And I really hope the bed bugs don’t sting you, Mommy. Love you. Night-night,” Jackie adds.
“I love you both - more. Sleep well. May the bedbugs bring you no harm. Not much, anyway,” I had to add.
This morning: I’m making a cup of tea and the culprits of my sleepless night appear.
“Morning Mom,” says my oldest daughter.
“Hi Mommy. What’s for breakfast?” asks my youngest daughter.
In awe, I examine their flawless complexions. No bites, scratches, or welts. And to annoy my weary, tattered disposition just a wee bit more, based upon the sheet lines on their cheeks and dips in their hair it looks as though they both slept pretty well.
Before speaking, I take a sip of tea and question myself, Perhaps I imagined yesterday’s horrific happenings?
My next sip of tea, however, clarifies my thoughts. It did happen, all of it!
“Okay, girls, eat breakfast and get your backpacks ready. Buses are in route! Oh, it’s the last day of school! How wonderful! I’ve got some special things planned for this afternoon!”
“Bye Mom. See you after school,” the girls sing in unison.
When the afternoon buses drop off my dumplings, I’ll remind them of yesterday’s unacceptable performances. Instead of a last day of school celebration today, it’s high time they learn to dust and clean antique windows (while I relax on the couch with a cold cloth on my head and on Benadryl on my hives).
By Jean Lanahan of Sagamore Beach.
In The Wareham Observer, June 26, 2008
Sometimes motherhood is its own reward
Since my children sleep through the night, bathe and dress themselves, and are able to make and clean their own breakfast dishes, I say this with authority: As challenging as our job is, Motherhood is a rewarding vocation!
If you need be reminded of this, think about the moment you held your newborn and she instantly recognized you, suckling her little lips as if saying, “Hey Mom, we’re in this together for a long time to come”.
And remember when your toddler told you she loved you, ‘really lubbed you’ while you were in the middle of complaining about blocks and toys scattered about? Enough to make you stop whining and hug your little one.
How about when your child knew you were having ‘a moment’ and she created an extraordinary bouquet out of ordinary weeds and asked you to keep the bouquet forever? I bet we all have a few ‘twigs’ in our memory boxes.
And remember when you overheard your little one telling her playmate about your expert cooking, painting, and dancing abilities? Sure makes a mom feel appreciated for her hard work - and play.
Could a parent be more proud as when she watches her child help a youngster get started on a swing, or express compassion for a peer left out of a game of tag at the playground?
When looking through a magazine at the grocery store the other day, it was awesome to hear my nine year old express disenchantment over the fact that Brittany was in trouble – again - for alcohol and drugs. And about Brittany’s little sister, “how could she…”?
Hearing my pre-teen tell her friends, “I don’t want to be involved in a three way (telephone) conversation talking badly about other people” made this mother jump for joy. Almost as high as when she asks, “Mom, can we talk for a minute…..”
I am honored to have my daughters’ friends over for play dates (is there a better word for bigger kid’s play dates?) and stay for dinner after being referred to as a great cook. And isn’t it sweet when parents of our kids’ playmates reciprocate and invite our children over for the next get together?
Those are just a few of the rewards that camouflage the challenges associated with motherhood - simple rewards that validate the old cliché, “What goes around, comes around”.
By Jean Lanahan of Sagamore Beach
.Articles published in MAY, 2008
Published In The Patriot Ledger , May 20, 2008; in The Wareham Observer, May 29, 2008
Notes from Momma's Journal: Learning on the job each and every day
Like every mother of youngsters, my laundry is three days behind. Crowded countertops in my kitchen scream for organization while my children demand an audience – and a chauffeur, a tutor, a seamstress, a snack!
I’m willing to bet that your kids are as witty and challenging, and without a doubt as captivating, convincing, and demanding as mine. Therefore, I feel comfortable as a member of the Honorable Sorority of Motherhood. One who strives to breathe through the difficult moments, laugh through the funny times, and capture the monumental ones.
As far as the physical changes in me since becoming a mother, I hate to admit it, but my shoe size no longer exceeds my dress size and my hair grows grayer with each new day.
And yet, I am a whole lot smarter.
I’m learning that teaching children to count, unhurriedly, is not the same as coaching ourselves to count, reassuringly. (It’s not the same at all.) I’m also well aware that eating my kid’s leftovers, even corners of PB&J sandwiches and a few lonely tater-tots, really does count as calories.
Yep. I’m learning it all these days. Everything that’s most important anyway. …. With children to nurture and love, today is truly our most precious gift.
My kids have taught me how to play, why to make wishes upon stars, and when to be spontaneous. Living life as a Mom has given the words patience, gratitude, and growth new significance. Motherhood has taught me to continually believe in myself when all else says halt.
But getting back to the physical changes in me since joining the ranks of motherhood, I still can’t comprehend why bending and picking up a thousand toys a day doesn’t minimize the Gluteus Maximus area. Or why moving in any direction with 10 to 50 pounds in tow doesn’t qualify as weight lifting? Why doesn’t folding laundry, sweeping floors, or rigorous toilet scrubbing adequately tone pectorals, deltoids, and biceps? Repetitive stair climbing, isn’t that an exercise designed to define quadriceps and abductors? And about that miracle night cream I’ve been using? It’s not so miraculous.
By Jean Lanahan of Sagamore Beach
Published in The Patriot Ledger, May 6, 2008; in The Wareham Observer, May 22, 2008
‘Momma’ is the best stage to grow through
Since meeting my husband nearly twenty years ago, I’ve gone through many phases, chapters in my life. From single to with partner, successfully employed to nervously self employed, worker bee to housewife. And of late, I’m growing through even more enlightening stages: student to teacher, observer to writer, daughter to Momma.
It is the Momma stage that I am truly amazed at - the lessons I teach, lessons I learn. It’s like reliving childhood, going and growing through familiar, yet strange, arenas.
I’m happy to report that my daughters and I have survived a phase in which my oldest could not go into a room by ‘all by herself’ and a time in which my youngest insisted on frequenting every strange bathroom we encountered.
With great perseverance, we hurdled the “don’t leave me – alone - at school all day” phase as well as the “I have to sleep with all (two hundred) of my stuffed animals” chapter in another young child’s life.
We graduated a stage in which every decision deserves a fair choice, “eenie meenie mini mo”, only to be replaced with a game of “I win you lose. Now you get a big bruise!”
But the most the most difficult, and yes, the longest stages to undergo are the most recent. My eleven year old daughter is convinced that she IS a vegetarian, putting a huge strain on my creativeness in the kitchen and planning well rounded meals. “Meat was once a living thing, therefore, I cannot eat it,” Elizabeth boasts. This completely baffles me as just a few weeks back her favorite meals were tacos or deli sandwiches, but heck, a little less meat in our diets may benefit us all.
At the same time, my nine year old believes that she truly knows about most everything and anything as she gives long winded sermons, and detailed examples, of why – and how - she knows what she knows. I have a feeling this stage will continue for a long time, well into Jackie’s adult years. And honestly, it's a good lesson on creativity. I'm learning a lot about patience and perseverance from her speeches.
I just hope and pray that the next stages/phases of growth we encounter don’t require too large a dose of Midol for the girls or Fen-phen for me! YIKES!
By Jean Lanahan of Sagamore Beach
Published in The Wareham Observer, May 14, 2008
The never-ending debate of nature vs. nurture
For about the first 12 years of my life I accused my Mother of stealing me from the arms of another Mother.
“We may resemble each other, but we don’t think or act anything alike, therefore, I cannot be your daughter,” I blatantly said to my mother.
My mother responded with, “You’re right. You’re not my daughter. You’re your father’s.”
Then she laughed, encouraged me to do the same, assuming laughter would make the dispute go away. It didn’t.
I surmised, also, that my sister was abducted from another innocent family. But how could that be for my sister possessed so many of my mother’s qualities? The best ones too! Not only did they have similar lighthearted sense of humor, they had like social ease and an effortless way of saying exactly what they meant.
I blamed my bashfulness and serious demeanor on the fact that my actions were learned behavior. Never would I concede to the truth that my reservations were, perhaps, a matter of genetics. No way. My tongue got tied because I developed a lisp. And the fact that my sister recited the same sequence of “Sally Sells Sea Shells” right along side of me at Speech 101 had no impact upon my adolescent way of thinking.
It wasn’t till I became a mother that I appreciated my mother’s uncomplicated ways of expressing herself - through laughter or tears, hugs or words. For sure, I am a part of this woman.
But the nature vs. nurture debate continues. Looking at my two daughters and their differences astonish me. From physical appearances to personal preferences, everything about my daughters is different.
One of my girls has a head full of curls, eyes of amber.
The other, has hair of silk, eyes of mocha.
One of them sleeps in tank tops, the other prefers feety pajamas.
The one who likes pizza covered with pepperoni before her vanilla pudding can’t understand why her cheese only pizza lover sister likes chocolate pudding best.
And my daughter who adores baby dolls cannot appreciate her sister’s choice of creating cards out of construction paper.
One of these girls has a favorite color, green, and the other has a favorite color of blue - or pink, or yellow, or magenta, or teal.
One of my daughters loves to sing and dance while her sister perfects Tang Soo Do techniques.
When nervous about something, one is quiet, the other is a chatterbox.
And why is it when one of the girls wears a halo the other sports horns?
Their differences astound me, and yet ground me, reminding me of another pair of sisters….
My sister Lisa opts to wear Gucci slips-ons to shop at Neiman Marcus. I prefer slipping on Crocks to scurry through the aisles at Target.
This anonymous quote says it all: “If the greatest gift of all is life,
then the second must be that no two are alike.”
Jean Lanahan of Bourne, www.jeanlanahan.com
Published in The Wareham Observer, May 8, 2008
When I grow up, girls, I want to be your child
Dear My Darling Daughters,
On May 10, 2015, go into the attic, way in the back where the squirrels used to live, and find a big box marked Time Capsule. Open and read everything, including the fine print upon the coffee stained pieces of paper. If you discover any notes on the back of bank receipts, ignore the account number, because that money is long gone by now.
Here it is, girls. A few words of motherly wisdom to share with you when you turn 18, move out of the house, get married, or have children of your own, whichever comes first. The real deal about motherhood written by a middle aged mother of two demanding young girls, transcribe to teach you the real meanings of dedication, perseverance, and love. Lots of love.
Keep reading. Be sure to go through all six trunks full of papers. Once you get to your prom pictures, you can lock the trunks and return them to a safe place. Surely you’ll need these notes handy when it’s time to share them with your own children.
And then, please, I beg you to come to check on me and make sure I’m comfortable, that my tea is warm; my blankets are uncluttered; and my TV is tuned on to the latest cooking show.
Don’t forget about lunch. You know that freshly roasted turkey breast sandwiches and homemade red bliss potato salad (no onions - never any onions please), is one of my favorites. Or I like roast beef, cooked on rare side, with a dollop of mayo (Hellman’s only) and finely chopped pickles on a bulkie roll, only if it was baked fresh today.
And this afternoon, it would be lovely if we could spend some quality time together, perhaps at the library, or maybe, at the movies. Going to both places in one afternoon would make for a really wonderful day.
And before dinner, it would be lovely if you, Jackie, my now sixteen year old, could accompany me to the candy store. Fresh air and a brisk walk would do us both a world of good.
Or Lizzy, now that you have your driver’s license, how about taking your one and only Mom to CVS, and then, perhaps to visit with one of my friends? Oh, the choices. Isn’t life the best!?
One last thing, don’t forget that it’s Mother’s Day. Will it be prime rib or stuffed lobster tonight? I love them both equally, especially when served with a little bubbly!
Much love, Mom
P.S. For now, I can’t wait to enjoy this Mother’s Day, May 10, 2008, with you, my lovely daughters. Just please promise me (after you help to plant our vegetable garden - see how big it’s going to be this year?), that you will clean your bedrooms, take a shower, and get dressed – in the clothes I’ve laid out on the ironing board - for the dinner I’m sure Dad has planned at one of my favorite restaurants! oxox
Jean Lanahan of Bourne
www.jeanlanahan.com
