Patio Mingling

Happy New School Year!

2009-08-25T17:01:00.004-05:00

I can’t remember a time when I didn’t look forward to buying school supplies. As a kid I would wait anxiously for the “back-to-school” signs to popup in the stores and spend hours picking out the right colored folders and perfect pencils. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on a new box of crayons or a smooth, flawless pink eraser and I would spend countless hours organizing my new school loot in preparation for the first day of school. With my school days long gone, I still find great joy in the school supply shopping excursion. I love watching my children make their selections and rush home to put every piece carefully in their new backpacks. Suddenly the excitement of summer is replaced by the anticipation of a new school year.

Although my kids may not feel new notebooks and highlighters are anything more than school supplies, to me they symbolize a new beginning—a chance to start with a clean slate so to speak. For a brief moment I have forgotten all about the endless nights of arguing over homework, the fights with friends and the seven pairs of gloves lost during winter recess football games. I find myself longing for filling lunch boxes with nutritious goodies and spending afternoons playing chauffeur to kids with ball practices and band programs. “This is my year,” I say to myself in the mirror. “This is my year to go from overwhelmed mother to school-mom extraordinaire.”

But, before long, the school year begins and the fresh, clean notebooks are soon tattered and torn. The schedule gets hectic, the homework gets hard and my kids and I find ourselves longing for lazy weekend afternoons. I guess that’s why I cherish those back-to-school shopping moments so much—they give me that rare opportunity to be able to fix all that is broken or achieve all that is hard by simply buying my child a Chicago Bears lunchbox or a Hollister backpack. Nothing seems impossible with a good, sharpened pencil and a fresh pad of paper.

This school year we are embarking on a lot of new “firsts” for our family. My daughter is spending her 8th grade year in a new middle school and is now joined by her brother who is starting 6th grade. And, my youngest son is stepping into first grade without the comfort of his big brother and his fifth grade entourage. As we sifted through folders and picked out backpacks I couldn't help but relish in the thought that this could truly be "our year."

Better With Age?

2009-07-21T13:13:00.004-05:00

It is one of those unbelievable cool July days—the kind where you begin thinking football and crackling leaves and find yourself surprised that you still have swim towels drying on the patio chairs. I have decided to skip impending work projects and laundry folding and make my way to the sunlit patio to begin leafing through the plethora of magazines that have spent many a week lying on my family room floor.

“I wonder if I know anyone that has been to a ‘Botox Party’?” I innocently ask out loud as I begin reading an article on the subject.

“What’s that?” Nate replies as he walks over to the patio and pulls up a chair.

“It’s a party where women go to have Botox injections.” Nate’s expressionless face quickly tells me that my answer means absolutely nothing to his 11-year-old mind. “They stick a needle in your wrinkles to make them smooth,” I add.

“Yuck, who would want to do that?”

“People who want to look younger.”

“Why would you ever want to be younger than you are?”

Isn’t looking at the world through an 11-year-old’s eyes wonderful? At 11, you can’t imagine anyone wanting to be younger—after all, with age comes great opportunities such as being able to ride your bike one more street over in the neighborhood or going to the movies with just your friends. We mark our calendar for those age milestones such as turning 13, 16, 21—eagerly anticipating all the great things that the new age will let us do and the great person we will be able to become.

Something happens to us—I’m guessing somewhere in our thirties—where age stops being something we look forward to and starts becoming something we dread. We begin to see how precious time really is and how quickly it flies when we are preoccupied with kids, work and life in general. And then, when we hit a major milestone (for me it was 40), we find ourselves frozen in fear—fearful that we may have nothing else to accomplish or to become. This, we think, may be as good as it gets.

I reply, “Some people believe that getting older means they aren’t as good as they used to be, so they try to keep themselves looking young.”

“Are you as good as you used to be?”

What is with this kid today? I wasn’t prepared for such deep, introspective questioning from the boy whose conversations usually include some type of sports’ reference or sixth-grade boy humor.

“Well, Nate, probably not,” I reply. “But, I’m not really sad about it—at least I’m not sad enough to have a needle put into my forehead.”

“So, you don’t wish you were younger?”

“Not really, I kind of like life right where it is—not wishing it would move forward too fast or even move backwards.” I stop for a moment and realize that I should probably take advantage of this rare serious discussion with Nate. “You know what, Nate? You should like life right where it is as well—not always wanting to be a few years older just so you can ride your bike to Dairy Queen with your friends.”

“Yeah, I’ll think about doing that as I watch the other guys come back with their ice cream cones,” he replies. “Hey, what’s under there?”

“Under where?”

Nate laughs as he runs to the front yard yelling, “I just made you say ‘underwear.’”

It’s nice to see this serious side of Nate is no match for the funny side. I kind of like him with a little dirt on his face, spitting sunflower seeds through a baseball dugout fence and sharing jokes with his friends about bodily functions and words deemed ‘inappropriate’ for casual conversations such as ‘underwear’ and ‘sports cups’.

But, it’s always nice to see there is a little more to Nate than meets the eye—and with age, he will undoubtedly become better. Don’t we all?

Going Home--Again

2009-07-14T14:52:00.004-05:00

The moment our car drives over the line into Terre Haute, Indiana, my stomach becomes tense. I always have mixed emotions about visiting my hometown—excited to see family and friends, but not quite prepared for the onslaught of guilt I have for leaving. I wanted to leave the moment I was old enough to realize there was a world outside of the city limits of this semi-small Indiana town, but every time I return I secretly resent the fact that life has gone on without me.

After college, I returned to Terre Haute—had a wonderful job, got married and even had two of my three children in the very same hospital where I was born. I really tried to get comfortable with the idea that I might never leave, but something kept pulling me in a different direction. Then I came across the straw that broke the camel’s back. In the middle of a presentation to a prospective client, the VP of the company (who also happened to be a childhood friend) raised his hand and asked, “Hey, what was the name of that boy that sat in front of you in Chemistry?” It was this question that made me realize there would always be some people in this town who would refuse to see me as an adult—they would only see me as their high school friend or the daughter of Cecil and Nancy.

We left several months after that presentation and have been gone for almost 12 years. However, every time we return, I come face to face with the reality that it isn’t this town that refused to let me grow up, it was me. I am the one that still sees everything—and everybody—through the eyes of an 18 year-old girl and my heart breaks just a little more each time when I realize that life has truly moved on without me.

A few weeks ago I spent a rainy Saturday morning sitting in a Terre Haute Starbucks enjoying the anonymity that comes with visiting places outside of your regular ‘hood. Every single person that walked through the door knew someone inside this busy little coffee shop—from the people behind the counter to the older man who sat in the back corner quietly reading the local paper. It was truly one of those Cheers moments where “everyone knows your name.” Except for me—I sat by the window watching the rain as I emotionally moved myself from a place of comfort to agitation. It was as if I was sitting at a party where I wasn’t really invited.

Even the people that looked vaguely familiar to me looked right past me—not even stopping to think that perhaps we had once been friends (OK, not great friends, but in a smaller town your friend circles do tend to overlap). There they stood with their spouses and children—obviously having moved way past the days of high school football games and parties. They had accomplished what I had failed to do—become a real life adult in a town that holds every single piece of my childhood.

How fun it must be to raise your kids in the same town where you grew up—attending the same schools, shopping at the same stores, knowing the same people. My kids and I will never have this type of shared experience—which is why, when we make our trips to Terre Haute, I spend countless hours taking them down unmarked roads and past homes that no longer house the families I once knew. And just when I think the cause is lost….

“Mom, can we get ice cream from Green Acres and go see the ‘Spooky Tree’?’” my son asks from the backseat.

“Of course,” I reply with a smile—happy to know that there will always be a little Indiana in all of us.

Who Needs Downtime? I Do!

2009-07-10T18:30:00.005-05:00

“I can’t believe how busy I am,” I overheard a woman say as I sat perusing magazines at a local bookstore. “Between getting four kids to camp, my part-time job at the doctor’s office and evening baseball games and dance rehearsals, I barely have time to volunteer at church and workout every other day. I wish I had just a little more time so I could finally take that cooking class I’ve been wanting to take.”

Wow. While this woman was busy trying to get in a cooking class, I was using my one free weekday evening to buy as many magazines as possible so I could sit in my pajamas and catch up with everything that has been going on in the lives of Brad and Angelina, Jon and Kate and of course—most recently—the Jackson family.

I am always impressed with the endless amount of energy and motivation that some women seem to possess, but truth be known, I enjoy my downtime—matter of fact, I need downtime in order to function on a day to day basis. And this summer—with all of its activities and events—I am craving downtime more than ever. So much so, that every spare moment between camps, baseball games, family visits and work projects has been spent trying to find a life with a little less action (and a lot more magazine reading—oh, and a nice glass of wine).

Unfortunately, my blog has suffered from the “Great Search for Downtime of 2009” and I have not been updating it on a regular basis. I know you are all just sitting on the edge of your seat waiting for the next great Minglin Family Adventure and I wanted to let you know that you will once again be treated to weekly updates of our crazy, yet joyful (OK, maybe ‘joyful’ is a little strong) suburban life.

Thank you for being patient—I so enjoy sharing my stories with all of you and absolutely love your feedback and comments. Hope you are all enjoying a summer of mingling on your own patios—can’t wait to bring “Patio Mingling” back to you!

A Real 'Working' Job

2009-06-03T13:49:00.005-05:00

Being a work-from-home mom is not always the best of gigs. I am constantly juggling life on both sides of the working fence--not quite a stay-at-home mom and not quite a corporate ladder climber. I try to keep my work tasks scheduled during normal school hours, but there is often a glitch in the routine: an unexpected day off, a child who comes home sick or a West Coast phone meeting that can only happen when everyone is home at the end of the day.

I have managed to extend my work hours today by letting the boys walk home from school on their own. I can only imagine the “walking path” chatter as other moms innocently ask, “Where’s your Mom today? She must be so busy with work—we never see her.” Somewhere between the decision to not go to an office and the decision to sometimes let the boys walk home on their own after school, I have seemingly been shunned by some of the other moms in our school community. They roll their eyes whenever I turn down a volunteer request by citing “work conflicts” and though I can’t prove it, I’m pretty sure when my number pops up on their caller ID they don’t answer for fear that I am about to ask them to pick up or take to a sports’ practice or change dates for bringing the game snacks.

“Shhhhhh,” Nate says as they walk in the front door. “Mom’s still working.”

“Working on what?” Jack asks.

“Work—you know, writing stuff.”

“Work? Mommy doesn’t have a real job—she just writes stuff. That’s not a real job like William’s mom—she’s a police officer. Ooohh, or an army guy, or the person that brings our pizzas—those are cool jobs. Mommy needs a real job, you know a real 'working job'.”

I realize it is hard for Jack to wrap his head around the idea that his mom actually has a job, after all—I’m always home. When Jack was asked what his mom did all day while he was at school he simply stated: “she plays on her computer.” True—and while that is a perfectly good answer coming from an elementary student, it is probably the same answer some of my neighbors would give if asked the very same question (of course, they would spice it up with additional commentary such as “Well, she’s certainly not doing her laundry—did you see what Nate was wearing yesterday?”).

“Mom!” Jack yells as he comes up the stairs and into my office. “See, Nate—I told you she wasn’t working. She’s just on her computer.”

“Hi, Jack,” I answer. “How was school?”

“Good—I painted today. Do you want to see?”

“Of course.” As Jack digs through his backpack to find today’s art project I dig through my desk drawer for a thumbtack—knowing he will want this painting, like all others before it, displayed nicely on my bulletin board.

“Wow, Jack—that’s awesome. Looks like you really worked hard today.”

“What did you do you today?” He asks.

“Well, I worked on my book, talked to a few people on the phone about a story and wrote some things for my clients.”

“Oh,” he sighs as he starts to walk out the door. “You should really do something that can be put up on a bulletin board.”

“I’ll work on that, Jack. Thanks.”

The Cool Factor

2009-05-20T15:39:00.004-05:00

Here I am—sitting in the car outside of the orthodontist office helping my daughter blot away her tears before her appointment. I had scheduled Hanna’s appointment to immediately follow soccer tryouts—completely forgetting they would be posting the results which turned out to be a devastating blow to her middle school ego.

“It’s not fair,” she said. “The girls that were on the team last year got to help pick the new girls. They picked a lot of their friends—not necessarily the ones that were really good.” I really stopped myself from saying the old parent stand-by “life’s not fair” and instead opted for something a little more supportive and empathetic.

“I know your feelings are hurt and you have every right to be disappointed,” I started. “When you work hard for something and then you don’t get it…well, it sucks.” I think Hanna was both shocked and impressed that I had thrown out such a “never-say-around-parents” word and I thought we just might be turning the corner with our emotions.

“It does suck,” she said. "I'm never trying out for a team again."

“You don’t really mean that. It’s just hard for you to see through your disappointment.” By the look on Hanna’s face that final statement caused us to come to a complete standstill on the emotional corner we were in the process of turning.

“What do you know?” Hanna questioned. “You don’t know those girls. You don’t know the coach. You don’t know anything.”

Ah, there it is. The phrase I love the most as a Mom: “You don’t know anything.” As my children have gotten older I am beginning to hear that phrase a bit more often. Sometimes I feel as if my children are looking at me in wonder thinking, “She is a complete moron. How did she ever become a functioning adult with a job and a family.”

“You’re right, Hanna,” I begin. “I don’t know the girls or the coach, but I definitely know how you feel. When I was in the eighth grade I tried out for cheerleader and made it all the way to the very end. There were only 10 girls left and I was so certain I would make the cut—I had practiced so hard. Well, I didn’t make it and I was crushed."

Hanna is now staring at me through her tears as if my story of cheerleading woe has absolutely nothing to do with her situation or feelings. “Nice story, Mom.

“All I’m saying is that not being an eighth grade cheerleader had very little affect on my future success in school—or in life overall—and this little blip in your middle school career will seem like nothing one day.”

“I know, I know, I know,” Hanna says as she begins to dry her eyes. “You’re right. Life will go on.” Then she adds with a laugh, “And even though I didn’t make seventh grade soccer, I could still become prom queen.”

I realize she is referencing my only real high school claim to fame and although I detect the sarcasm in her voice there is a part of me that thinks the prom queen status just might make me cool in the eyes of my daughter.

“You can do anything you set your mind to, Hanna. You know what I loved—student government. Maybe you could be class president. I always wanted to be class president.”

“Mom, you’re a geek.” So much for the cool factor.

Strategies of Distraction

2009-05-18T12:13:00.006-05:00

Jack is sitting in the dugout picking at the bottom of his cleats. He appears to be mesmerized by the amount of dirt and grass stuck between the spikes and just when I think he has gotten bored with the task, he screams out onto the playing field, “Hey, look what’s on the bottom of my foot.” I look over to see the remains of a very long and gooey worm. The poor dear met his unfortunate fate by being in the wrong place at the wrong time in the outfield. Jack is ecstatic—as is every other kindergarten boy on and off the field.

“So cool, Jack,” his friend Mark exclaims. “Is it still moving?”

“No, only when I wiggle it with my fingers. The other part is missing—it must still be in the grass,” Jack says.

“Let’s try to find it.” Replies Mark as he yells to the other team who is now positioned in the field, “Hey, look for a worm part in the grass—Jack has the other part on his shoe.”

Obviously, the worm has become a distraction as Jack and his teammates (and even some of those on the opposing team) are busy trying to determine if the stuck worm is a whole or a part. Just then, Nate—who is already dressed for his late evening baseball game—gets up off the ground and walks over to the dugout. He snatches the worm from Jack’s shoe and says, “There, it’s gone. There’s no need to find the other part. Watch the game.”

Nate has no patience for such shenanigans and would rather these young boys spend their dugout time cheering on their teammates or spitting sunflower seeds through the fence. In his short 11 years of life, Nate’s sport experience has gone from frivolous fun to serious strategy and while he was once a reluctant baseball player (his real passion is football and wrestling), he has developed an admiration and respect for the game—something he is trying to instill in his young brother.

“Nate!” Jack screams from the dugout. “Why did you do that?”

“It’s a worm. A dead worm. I’ll find you a new ‘alive’ worm while you finish the game.” Nate screams back. Nate and I both know he has no intention of digging for worms during this game, but his reply seems to be just enough to appease the young boys on the team.

“Don’t you think Jack will be disappointed when he doesn’t have a new worm at the end of this game?” I ask.

“I don’t need to find a worm,” says Nate. “I just saw the Mom with the snacks and she brought blue Gatorades and Rice Krispie treats. They won’t even remember the worm in Jack’s shoe when they see that. Hey, can we bring blue Gatorades when it’s our snack day for my team?”

“We don’t have snack days for your team, Nate. You’re too old.”

“Oh,” he says as he begins kicking the dirt with his cleat. “Hey, look what’s on the bottom of my foot?”

I look down to see the missing part of Jack’s worm dangling oh so carefully from Nate’s shoe. “I’ll just give him this part. He won’t know it’s dead until he gets home.”

“The worm is not going in my car—dead or not,” I state.

“Well, you better hope he likes the blue Gatorade,” laughs Nate.

It’s nice to see the serious sport strategies that Nate is learning include how to distract his young brother. Perhaps I should be taking notes.

Life Lessons and Homework

2009-05-13T14:39:00.003-05:00

Status Update: Patti Smith Minglin knows very little about John Hancock.

“What do you know about John Hancock?” My son asks. Honestly, I know more about the John Hancock building in downtown Chicago than I do the man behind the name. But how do you tell that to a fifth grade boy who not only struggles to get his homework done, but often forgets to turn it in? I mutter something about his signature being the first one on the Declaration of Independence and encourage him to do his own online research. “After all,” I say, “You are in the fifth grade now—you need to figure these things out on your own.” Which is parent code for: I have no idea what the answer is to your very hard question.

There comes a time during everyone’s educational career when a wise teacher or parent says, “You need to know this information—you will use it someday when you are an adult.” I had no idea that the reason I needed to keep John Hancock lifestyle information—along with how to divide mixed fractions and conjugate French sentences—was to ensure I would be of some actual help on school homework nights. I always thought the very fact I avoided going into a career in politics, finance or foreign language translation meant that I could move that information out of my brain—making way for new and exciting information such as how many kids Angelina and Brad now have.

As my mind wanders to thoughts of enjoying a drink on the 95^th floor of the Hancock (I told you my base of information was firmly set in the building—not the man), my youngest son comes walking through the family room yelling, “P-I-G, pig. D-O-G, dog. 2+3=5. 3+3=6.” It is as if he is having a mind-dump of all the things he learned at school this week. There isn’t really any rhyme or reason to his dialogue, just a constant stream of kindergarten knowledge that he is exceptionally proud to display. “Mom, why can’t I swim?” This is the brilliance of Jack—he seemingly transitions from one subject to the next without any stop in his flow of consciousness.

“Well,” I begin. “You have been busy playing other sports. Do you want to take swimming lessons?”

“No,” says Jack.

“Then, how do you expect to learn to swim?”

“I just want it to happen—can’t I just ‘think’ it to come true?”

“That’s not how life works, Jack. You can’t just ‘think’ things to come true, you have to work to make them happen.”

“Oh.” He says as he continues to walk through the house spouting off this week’s spelling words and math lessons. I have apparently broken the spirit of a kindergartner by revealing one of those great awful lessons of life—things just don’t happen because you want them to. Soon to be followed by the next great lesson—sometimes things don’t happen even when you work really hard to get them. I think I’ll save that for the fifth grader who has reemerged from the basement with a list of accomplishments and facts about John Hancock.

“Mom, what do you know about Thomas Paine?” I have hit the wall with my learning capabilities and am certain that I can no longer parent—at least parent academically—past the fourth grade. Let’s face it, even fourth grade was a challenge.

The Psychology of Frogs

2009-05-11T14:39:00.004-05:00

Patti Smith Minglin is enjoying her coffee at Starbucks while watching Jack write most of his numbers backwards. Yet another sign that Harvard is in our future.

Watching Jack write his numbers backwards on the blackboard inside the coffee shop, I begin to regret our decision to not hold him back a year before he started kindergarten. He is a young kindergartner having just turned 5 a few days before school started (and won't even be 6 on the first day of first grade thanks to a change in the academic calendar), but he had two years of preschool under his belt and is the youngest of three. He carried himself in a way that most kindergarten students did not and not only had conquered such academic achievements as knowing the alphabet and spelling his name, he could also sit still on the reading rug and share his crayons.

Those first few weeks of kindergarten were brutal as Jack transitioned from a schedule of half-day preschool to full-day kindergarten. Notes were sent home weekly explaining that Jack was having trouble grasping the basic classroom rules which resulted in his ‘frog’ being moved almost on a daily basis—a fate worse than getting your DS taken away. In between the boot-camp-like learning structure I had created at home with flash cards and dry-erase boards, I spent almost every evening of those days crying myself to sleep—certain I had just sealed this poor boy’s fate and he would spend the rest of his educational career struggling to survive.

I’ll be honest, there was some real reason to doubt the authenticity of my decision. After all, I am a work-from-home Mom who couldn’t wait until all three of my children would be in school full-time and we would finally be out from underneath the financial strain of childcare. During those first weeks of school I began to think I had been blinded by my selfishness and what I thought I saw in Jack—that spark that made me believe he could succeed in school—was never really there.

Even when the weekly notes stopped and Jack’s frog seemed to stay in place on a more regular basis, I was worried. I had such a knot in my stomach as we walked into the school to have Jack’s first parent/teacher conference—a knot that got even tighter when I noticed two teachers sitting at the table instead of just one. “Great. He’s doing such a horrible job that they have brought in a school therapist to help us explain to Jack why he has to leave his kindergarten friends and go back to preschool,” I whispered to my husband.

“Mr. and Mrs. Minglin, this is Mrs. B, Jack’s reading teacher,” his teacher started, “We have to tell you something about Jack.” From my previous experience as a parent, that sentence coming from a teacher (or psychologist, doctor, coach, etc.) is rarely followed by anything positive. “Jack is doing such a wonderful job,” she finished.

“Really? I mean, not that I was really worried, but he’s so young and all those notes about not getting the rules and his frog kept moving and…”

“Oh, the frog,” his teacher started, “The overall progress of Jack does not ultimately reside in how many lily pads his frog has moved for the day.” I suddenly felt so foolish—had I really boiled down my child’s educational success to the movement of a small amphibian? This was my third child, yet I felt like a “new mom” sitting in that small (and highly uncomfortable) kindergarten chair.

Yet, here I am near the end of the school year, sitting in a coffee shop and still second-guessing our decision. “Jack, what is 2+5?” I innocently ask.

“Seven,” he quickly replies.

“How do you spell truck?”

“T-R-U-C.”

First grade may be on the horizon, but Harvard still appears to be out of our grasp.

The Mind of a Fifth Grader

2009-05-06T19:03:00.005-05:00

Patti Smith Minglin wonders what could possibly be packed inside the mind of a fifth grader that makes it nearly impossible for him to remember his lunch each day.*

Every morning I send the kids off to school and apprehensively walk back into the kitchen knowing that someone has left something on the counter. Homework that has to be turned in for a grade, a signed permission slip that allows entry onto the field trip bus, an instrument that is in desperate need of being played or lunch. The very same lunch that I so painstakingly put together (OK, so I buy the frozen "Uncrustable" sandwiches--I still have to gather the chips and fruit) and asked the boy at least 3 times if he had put it in his backpack. Yet, here I stand looking at the lunch bag--half expecting it to move itself from the counter to the school office.

I know the mind of a fifth grade boy must be filled with lots of stuff. While Nate can't seem to remember his lunch he is always quick to offer up important information ("Did you know the Sox are in fourth place?"), exciting updates on events ("I think someone got arrested today at school--or maybe it was just a police officer visiting a classroom"), facts about friends ("Jake got a black eye during his hockey game on Saturday") and the all important daily sports update ("If I just move my arm up a bit, I think I can hit the ball harder"). I'd like to think there is also some more pressing information floating around in that blond-haired topped head such as math facts, spelling tricks and what he should possibly get his Mom for Mother's Day.

I grab the lunch bag, mutter something completely awful to the dog and head to school. It's a routine I do several times each month and one I am hoping goes unnoticed by school staff.

"Good morning, is that Nate's?" The oh-so-friendly secretary smiles. I have two children at this school and the very fact she knows exactly why I'm standing in this office at 9:30 AM is frightening. I am already certain our family folder has been filled with notes about missing permission slips and forgotten morning band practices. Will I also be known as the "Mom of the kid that forgets everything?"

"Yes," I reply. "He was in such a hurry to get to school and learn something new that he forgot his lunch." OK, that's a real stretch, but I suddenly felt the need to give the kid a break. He may forget his lunch, but who else can tell you something unique about every player on his baseball team, his teacher's favorite book or why the Bears should spend good money on a new quarterback? He's the kid that frets over missing math class for fear he will miss something new and is always the first one to volunteer to help a new student get more acclimated with the school. So he forgot his lunch--OK, so he forgets his lunch on a regular basis. Will this stop him from getting into a good college?

"Sure," laughed the secretary. "I'll make sure he gets it. Anything else he needs for his day?"

"No, he's all set. Thanks." I walk out of the office with my head held high and rush back to the car mocking her last words. "Does he need anything else? Right. He just forgot his lunch, it's not like he left his backpack at home." As if on cue, I hear a thud from the backseat and turn around to find...two of Nate's textbooks. Great. Looks like another trip the office.

*based on Facebook status from April 2009

The Facebook Chronicles

2009-05-04T20:47:00.003-05:00

When I was in college I kept a journal--a journal filled with stories of young love, school stress, fun-filled nights with friends and just a touch of good old-fashioned teenage angst. I had several journals that chronicled my college years and as I got older I continued to try and tell the story of my life in some form or another. Not exactly an easy task--especially when you have a job, three children and a boatload of other commitments. Then came Facebook.

While it didn't start out this way, Facebook has actually become my journal--giving me the opportunity to capture my life (and the lives of my family and friends) in small pieces and bits. Such is the basis for my first book--which I'm busy working on as we speak (or write). Toward that goal, I am going to begin using some of my most recent Facebook status updates to inspire this weekly blog--hoping to update it more frequently and give you a sneak peek at what is to come.

I am really looking for your feedback--so feel free to post your comments, advice, etc. And, if you like what you read, tell your friends. The more fans I have of this blog the better!!

Be on the lookout for updates--I can't wait to share a little bit more of my world with all of you.

The Morning Commute

2009-04-15T14:01:00.004-05:00

As with many people living in the suburbs of a big city, my husband commutes to work everyday. At least once a week he will complain about the traffic and let me know exactly how difficult it is to maneuver around accidents, roadwork and out-of-synch stoplights. "You are so lucky to work from home," he will say. "There's nothing keeping you from getting to where you need to be on time. Nothing to stop you from getting on with your day." Really?

While I don't have traffic disasters to foil my morning routine, I have something just as distracting: children. Sure we have the normal "kid-influenced" issues such as lost backpacks and permission slips that have yet to be signed, but there are also those moments that can throw even the best of Moms for a loop. I've been compiling a few of my morning distractions over the past couple of days and thought I would share:

1. Dislodging pinched skin from a Nerf gun.

2. Refereeing fight over Cubs vs. Sox when both boys put on opposing team jerseys.

3. Patting down daughter and confiscating cell phone, iTouch, etc. before she heads to the bus.

4. Counting out 100 goldfish crackers for son to take to the "100 Day Celebration" at school--which he conveniently forgot to tell me about until that morning.

5. Chasing the dog through neighbors' yards in the rain--while wearing pajamas.

When I first started working from home I was under the impression that I could get everything together the night before, and since my kids were old enough to be somewhat self-sufficient with their morning tasks, I would find myself sitting at my desk ready to work at 8:00 AM. Nice theory, but not very practical. Without fail, the moment I sit down at my desk in the morning I hear the beautiful bellow of a child, "Mom, I need you." They need me to find lost shoes, to practice forgotten spelling words or to stop their sibling from chucking them with a baseball that was left rolling around on the family room floor. They are not particularly big "needs", but they certainly interrupt the flow of the morning routine.

I guess we all have our own issues with traffic--commute or no commute.

Boys Will Be Boys

2009-04-07T14:36:00.004-05:00

I really know very little about raising boys. I grew up in a family of all girls and although my Dad tried very hard to expand our insights and introduce us to a more masculine world, how boys think and act is still a mystery to me. Which is why I have no idea how to handle the situation that fell into my lap this afternoon.

My children had the day off from school (yes, a very cruel joke considering we just finished Spring Break last week) and my two boys walked to the school playground to play with some friends. As they were getting ready to leave, an older boy from the neighborhood told my littlest one to "shut up." As all big brothers do, the oldest stopped in his tracks and said, "Who told my little brother to 'shut up'?" When the boy admitted he was the one, my son clocked him. Which of course resulted in the much older, bigger boy to jump on top of him and hit him back. Although his pride was a little injured, physically he was fine.

I stopped myself from blurting out, "Did you not see how big he was before you threw the first punch?" realizing this phrase alone not only appears to condone fighting but suggests that my son should always backdown from situations where he isn't quite sure he will succeed (I know, I really read way too much into things). Obviously, my son was in the wrong for throwing the first punch, but there is something admirable about his attempt to stick up for his younger brother. I'm really not sure how to reprimand one action while applauding the other--a familiar situation for me as I try and deal with all the boys in my household (husband included).

Here's the real kicker: While I sit in my home office stewing over the details of this afternoon's event, my son is outside playing football with the boys--including the boy he just had a fight with on the playground. He's over it, the boy is over it and it appears I am the only one still trying to reconcile the behavior with the motivation behind it. I'm such a girl.

The Shifting of Roles

2009-03-19T14:16:00.007-05:00

I just read on Twitter that 80% of recent job loss as been suffered by men. My Twitter follower, the fabulous Kelley Skoloda, partner/director at Ketchum Public Relations and author of a new book, "Too Busy to Shop: Marketing to 'Multi-Minding' Women," asked if this new "state of the union" so to speak would mean that more men would be involved with activities such as shopping, PTA, etc. and would they be changing the landscape of these typical "mom-led" programs and activities. Great question.

I have noticed a few more Dads picking up kids after school and rushing to get children to those wonderful after school sports programs that start right at 4:30. And just today, while shopping at Trader Joe's, I saw at least three Dads pushing the cart while their little ones were strapped safely inside dropping produce on the floor. This influx of "stay-at home" Dads (even it if is just a temporary "stay-at-home" situation) can also mean more Moms in the workforce and that is certain to change the landscape of parenting.

But how? So what if more Dads are involved in room parties and field trips and Moms are not always the ones to make school lunches and attend orthodontist appointments? Haven't we moved away from the more gender-specific tasks of the past and embraced the concept of true partnership parenting? Regardless of how much we have evolved, the fact remains--men and women are different. We approach things differently, we think about things differently and we react differently.

I'm not being sexist--I believe women can do anything they want to do, but they will do it differently than their male counterparts. Same goes for men getting more involved in traditionally "women-led" activities--they will do it well, they will just do it differently.

Should be interesting to see how this develops.

Where Does The Time Go?

2009-03-13T14:01:00.002-05:00

There are those moments in your mom life when you realize that time really doesn't stand still--no matter how hard we try to make it possible. In between the big moments such as sending our first child off to elementary school or watching our youngest get his driver's license, our days are filled with tiny events that serve as stepping stones towards our children becoming grown-ups. We should really relish in these moments, but truth is, they usually occur in the midst of our crazy lives and we fail to not only acknowledge they are happening, but to see their significance.

It happened to me just this week as I took my daughter to the orthodontist. When we walked into the office Hanna went up to the appointment desk, typed her name into the computer and promptly headed to the bathroom to brush her teeth. All of this happened without any assistance from me--the person who has been responsible for not only making every doctor appointment of her life, but standing by her side for every shot, X-ray and medical conversation. It is just a small sign of her growing independence and a quick reminder of just how short our time as "mommies and daddies" really is.

This week's event prompted me to think of other moments when I felt the sting of growing up:

Your preschooler stops kissing you in front of his friends.
Your youngest leaves you standing on the sidewalk as he walks fearlessly into his new school.
You watch on the sidelines as the coach tends to your child's injury.
You let your daughter go to the movies (or the mall) with her friends--alone.
Your child is taller than you, wears the same shoe size as you, etc.
When challenging your child to a sport of any kind, they suddenly beat you--fair and square!

There are so many more moments of life I could list, but to tell you the truth, I have tears in my eyes just writing the ones I've listed above. Growing up is a bittersweet experience--as much for the parents as it is the kids.

Mom-in-Chief: Really?

2009-02-23T12:46:00.000-06:00

For those of you that follow me on Facebook, you already know that several days ago I apparently ruined breakfast by taking the entire banana out of the peel. I have since ruined other moments for my children such as throwing away an empty egg carton that was being used as a parking garage for small cars, suggesting that my daughter actually brush out the back of her hair and putting sauce over the pasta noodles. Seriously, when did life become so complicated?

As a "mompreneur" (I just love writing that), I make tough decisions about my business every single day. I have client assignments to tackle, interviews to conduct, proposals to write and (more importantly) bills to pay. Although my daily calendar and task list look daunting, I somehow manage to get through the list with very little chaos. And then the family comes home.

The minute the front door opens and the first backpack hits the floor, my day begins to fall apart like a house of cards (blog "shout out" to my good friend Robyn who originally coined this term). I am suddenly overwhelmed by homework help, searches for lost shin guards or cleats and snack requests. There isn't an afternoon that goes by where I don't hear the phrase, "Mom, where's my..." or "Mom, how come you didn't buy the..." or my personal favorite, "Mom, why didn't you do...."

I almost feel like I am living a double-life--why can't I manage my household the same way I manage my business?

I was just reading an article about a new book titled "Mom-in-Chief: How Wisdom from the Workplace Can Save Your Family from Chaos." The article said that the key to running a successful household is to treat your family members the same way you would your staff and colleagues--it's all about learning how to "lead at home." The article suggests delegating tasks to each family member and--here's the kicker--"ask for progress reports, check in to see how it's going, offer support, allow for setbacks, say thank you and recognize success." Really? I can't imagine asking my daughter for a "progress report" on how her room cleaning is coming along and offering anything more helpful than a quick "just get it done." But then again, my family life appears to be in chaos.

I have always been more comfortable in the corporate world than the "at home" world, so perhaps utilizing the work skills I've developed over the years to run my family may work. I'm certainly willing to give it a try. After all, I could use a day or two of not ruining someone's life.

And You Thought You Really Knew Me.....

2009-01-27T10:24:00.000-06:00

I have become somewhat addicted to Facebook. I originally joined to keep track of my daughter's online activities and have since found myself in a frenzy over creating witty status updates, adding new "friends" and keeping track of what everyone else seems to be doing with their daily lives. If there is a 12-step program for the addiction, I need to join it and pronto!

Having said all that, I was recently "tagged" to participate in making a list of 25 random things about myself and while I spent days avoiding taking part in such a task, I finally broke down and created my list. Since I am really new to the blog world, I thought it would be fun to publish the list here and give all of you a little more insight into who I am--and who I am not. Enjoy!

1. I have three wonderful children.

2. I met my husband in a bar, but secretly want to change the encounter to be something more romantic and magical.

3. Although I graduated from Ball State I have never met, nor think I will ever meet, David Letterman (unless of course he reads this and decides he must have me on his show).

4. When I am running my iPod is filled with songs by Alice In Chains, Guns N' Roses and Limp Bizkit.

5. I like my alcohol to really taste like alcohol--bring on the Tanqueray 10, straight up, very cold with a twist of lemon.

6. I sometimes wish my children were more like me--just the good parts, of course.

7. I love to end my week by curling up on the couch with a wonderful read--the latest issue of In Touch or People.

8. I have a mad crush on Jon Stewart (and Paul Konrad, the morning weatherman on WGN in Chicago).

9. I used to have a mad crush on Jeremy Piven but he lost his luster with this whole "mercury poisoning" thing.

10. I religiously watched Mad Men on AMC and the Rachel Zoe Project on Bravo (I know, complete opposite ends of the spectrum).

11. I cannot kick the coffee habit--I've tried.

12. I absolutely love my job--I have fantastic clients that always give me smart, interesting projects.

13. My perfect date night with my husband: A sandwich and beer from Bar Louis (although not as good as the Chicago original) and then heading over to Barnes & Noble and Restoration Hardware. Ah, the glamorous life of a suburbanite.

14. I wish I lived just a little closer to family--not too close, but closer.

15. My favorite part of winter mornings is watching Nate carry Jack's snow boots into school. It is a very quick reminder of just how deep the brother bond really is (and makes up for the fact that he pushed his head into the kitchen floor the night before).

16. I still miss my Chicago Parent life--the witty banter of my sales team, cold pizza on production nights, the endless inside jokes that made it feel like family, paying too much for a chicken salad sandwich at George's and having Gus grab a Diet Coke from the back just to make sure you get a really cold one. Good times, good times.

17. I love that my daughter is mortified every time I try to do something modern: texting my friends, adding her downloaded songs to my playlist, etc.

18. I am completely fascinated with Facebook and how all these different areas of my life seem to come together in one little homemade community.

19. Having said that, I now have a deep fear that people will figure out that I'm not really that cool or together (I realize most of you have already figured this out).

20. I have a wonderful group of friends--past and present--that make me laugh, push me to do things I would never do and keep me on my intellectual toes.

21. I want to become friends with Bonnie Hunt.

22. I love ending the day by dancing with my 5 year-old son while listening to Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett and Dean Martin (his favorite: Dean's "Ain't That A Kick In The Head").

23. I wish they would have had Rock Band around when I was little--it certainly beats "Mr. Microphone."

24. I love Chicago--everything about that city makes me happy and I am so glad it is just a train ride away.

25. I think my family members do such cool and brave things--I admire them all very, very much.

Out of the Mouths of Parents

2009-01-21T14:36:00.001-06:00

Yesterday morning as I was helping my youngest son put on his coat and hat, he lovingly touched my upper arm and with great big beautiful eyes said, "Mommy, your arms are like pudding." I was quickly reminded of a story a friend recently told where her son said the new perfume she was wearing smelled like pickles. Now, to 5 year-old little boys pudding and pickles are at the top of your favorite things list. However, to parents--specifically to moms--who are trying their very best to not look as disheveled as they may feel, these statements cut right to the heart. Yet, our days are filled with comments such as these--comments that may sting when they are initially spoken, but make us laugh just a few minutes later. Only kids can get away with such things.

While there are statements only children can make, there are also phrases that only work when they are spoken by a parent. If any other adult uttered the sentence, "Don't pick your nose and put it on your sister" or "Don't bite the dog" to another adult, we would think they had lost their mind (and be somewhat worried that another adult was picking his nose or biting a dog). As parents, we say these phrases everyday and taking them out of context is always an interesting exercise in just how crazy our lives have become. "Shoelaces are not meant to be put in your mouth," "Toothpaste is for your toothbrush, not the bathroom wall," "When we get to their house, don't tell them about the hole in your underwear." Unfortunately, I could go on and on. But, I want to see your list of "out of the mouths of parents"--what questions or statements do you say that only work when you are talking with your kids?

The Secrets of a "Go To Mom"

2009-01-19T15:47:00.000-06:00

I very rarely get to hang my hat on the "experienced parent" peg. I have never been the mom with a magical bag of tricks that can soothe a teething toddler, bandage a skinned knee, wipe a runny nose or quickly ease the hunger pangs of a teenager with my extra granola bars and package of cheese crackers. I am the mom scrambling to find a still wet "Wet One" in the cushions of my backseat and rushing back home from baseball practice to retrieve the water bottle I left in the refrigerator.

We all know those moms who never forget a practice, are never late with their field trip permission slips and who always seem to have a spare Band-Aid or Kleenex in their bag. I used to be envious of their perfectly scheduled calendars and clean car interiors and would spend countless hours trying to discover the secret to being a "go to mom." Did they take classes on how to color-code kid programs and sporting events? Was there a secret document that clearly outlined the steps to take to get into the right camps? How did they always seem to know exactly what to do--and more importantly, what to expect?

I have come to embrace my laid-back parenting style and am content not being the "go to mom." Then it happened. My youngest entered kindergarten--and because I had been down the kindergarten road two times before--I was starting to become the "go to mom." I knew which days were best for buying hot lunch, when to send snow boots and how to organize a sports snack list. Parents were following my lead and seeking my advice. When did I transition from the mom who forgot to bring her son's helmet to football practice or who sent her daughter to school without reeds for her clarinet to the mom who had it all together?

It appears all you really need to move into this new parenting plateau is age and experience. Who knew?

What's with the name of this blog?

2009-01-14T13:24:00.000-06:00

Several years ago when the Internet was still new and computers were not always found on every office desk, spell check only contained the basic words found in the most mainstream of dictionaries. Therefore, when you typed in a proper name it often came up with numerous "real word" spell check options--making it possible for each of us to have spell check names. While most names appeared as something obscure and ridiculous, I was told by a colleague that my spell check name perfectly suited my personality. My name? Patio Mingling.

It is somewhat an ideal moniker--after all, I like nothing more than to spend wonderful evenings on the patio mingling with my family and friends. But, what I really like most about the words is what they represent about storytelling and conversations. I believe the very best stories are those told through dialogue--not monologue--and what I love most about participating in "patio mingling" is the sharing of various insights and perspectives.

So, as I embark on my first-ever blog, I thought the spell check name of the past just might be the perfect way to describe what I hope to be a place where my stories of life as a mom, wife and writer spark insightful conversations. In short, I'm hoping to build my own online patio--just fit for mingling.