Five Times My Kids Made Me Cry…Incident #2

Syringe 5 with drops.

This one’s a doozy.

One morning, I returned home after a PRAYER MEETING (this fact gains significance after you hear what my kid did) to find my ten year-old daughter sitting on the couch.

“Where’s your brother?” I ask

“He’s out riding his scooter” she replies

I think this a bit strange as it was 40 degrees out and not the best scooter riding weather, but whatever… he’s a kid right?  So I go into the kitchen to do a little cleaning.  As I am taking out the trash, I see the scooter leaning against the wall in the garage.  Hmm.  I go back to the couch-sitting daughter.

“When did you last see your brother?” I ask

“I don’t know.”

Detective Mom springs into action. Let’s see, I left for my meeting at 8:30am, it was now 10:30am. That means he had been MIA for 2 hours.  I started to feel a little nervous and called the neighbors to see if he was there.  Nope.  I rode my bike around the neighborhood calling his name.  Nothing.  I called Hubby at the office.  After some heated deliberation, (my crying, him saying “he’ll turn up”) we decided to call the sheriff.

The deputy took a full description and requested a recent picture of our son. They instructed me to stay at home by the phone.  My neighbors and their kids took to their bikes scouring the neighborhood and nearby library.  My husband, dressed in his suit, walked the small paths in the woods as the police cruiser drove up through fields and open areas.

I sat on our front step, praying, trying not to imagine the worst.  In 1989, Jacob Wetterling was abducted while riding his bike in a town just north of us.  He was never found.  Jacob was eleven, our son had just turned twelve.  I felt a rising panic.  I didn’t want to become a news story.  After an agonizing two hours, the sheriff called.  They had spotted our son walking along the highway near our neighborhood.  He was on his way home. I cried with relief as the police car pulled into our driveway with our son in the back seat.

The story he gave us was that he had decided to go for a hike.  He planned ahead and packed his school back-pack full of water bottles. Hydration is important, right? After a stern lecture from the cop, yelling from Mom and Dad, laughter from the neighbors, and sneering from his sister, we resumed our daily life.

I returned to the kitchen and noticed my calendar, open on the counter. A large SHOTS with the perp’s initials was clearly written in for 1:00pm.  It was now 12:45pm and we could just make it.  As I mentioned this fact, the perp went ballistic.


Ah, now it all made sense.  He had hatched this diabolical, yet poorly executed plan to avoid getting his shots. Well, not on my watch, Mister.

I hauled his sorry little butt to the car and turned up the radio to drown out his cries. I dragged him through the lobby of the clinic and into the exam room, ignoring the wide-eyed stares of the other mothers.  I sat, reading a magazine, as he quivered and pleaded for mercy. Innocently, I asked if they had a few more shots they could give him.  Unfortunately, the perp was up to date.  Too bad.

This incident inspired me to form a new calendar code system.  Now, no one knows what’s about to happen but me.  It’s better this way.


Five Times My Kids Made Me Cry…Incident #1

The perpetrators in these stories will remain nameless.

I had almost finished loading the car for a two week vacation in California.  We were flying instead of driving so timing was important.  My husband was at the office handling some last minute details while I packed for him and the five kids, loaded the car, made sandwiches, checked-in for our flights, made sure every one had something to entertain themselves, arranged for the pets and the yard and cleaned the house. Get the picture? We had five minutes before we needed be in the car and make the one hour drive to the airport. The kids were wild so I banned them to the back yard and and told them not to show their faces until Dad was in the driveway.  Mother of the year.

Hubby screeched in with three minutes to spare.  I greeted him in the driveway.  We locked eyes.  I think I saw him shudder as he pulled past me and parked his car in the garage.

I fumed by the car as he rushed in to change his clothes. It was then that I heard the pandemonium erupt in the backyard.

Four kids barreled around the side of the house, a churning mass of shouts and pointing fingers.  A fifth child came more slowly, dripping, shoes squishing, hair sopping, algae clinging to his clothes.  His older sibling had shoved him headlong into the pond.  We had one minute.

After a moment of stunned shock, I sprung to action. My husband herded the dry kids into the car while I stripped the wet one.  I bagged his shoes, wiped the pond scum off his head and hung over the back seat, digging for some dry clothes as we rocketed down the highway.  We made it.  Barely.  Frazzled mothers should be upgraded to first-class and given complimentary cocktails.  I also recommend a special section in the back, by the bathrooms, for procrastinating fathers and unruly children. Just sayin’.

The perp in this case just got married.  I’m still not over it.

The Daddy Doll by Blogger Awanthi Vandaraj and Uncertain Crossroads

This is a beautifully written story of one daughter’s longing for her father – after reading this I am profoundly thankful for my father and for my husband who loves me and our children so well.

 Please read

The Daddy Doll.

Sweating The Small Stuff

This morning, I wrote down the first memories that came to mind about each of my parents.  Here they are:


  • Making a little fire by the side of a fishing stream so I could dry my boots after falling in the river.
  • Taking eight-year-old me backpacking with my teenage cousins and bragging that I caught the biggest fish.
  • Tying ropes around my sister and my waists and letting us scoot down a steep hill and laughing while pulling us back up.
  • Letting me drive the car around in a horse pasture on Mother’s day and not getting angry when I scraped an old heap of farm equipment in the middle of the field.

Grilled Ham and Cheese Sandwich


  • Taking us to the lake with a big cooler of sandwiches and drinks.
  • Serving as my Girl Scout leader, sporting a kelly green, polyester pantsuit.
  • Showing me how to mix up a very smelly fish solution to pour on her beautiful backyard flowers.
  • Making me grilled cheese sandwiches when I occasionally came home from school for lunch

So, there you have it, not very earth shattering.  But, those simple memories bring tears to my eyes.  I guess the small stuff really matters to kids.  I wonder what my kids will remember about me?