The Christmas of 1979 was a special one. My mother’s family came down to Louisiana from Nebraska, delighted by the lack of snow, and I received two of the best presents ever (from my three year old viewpoint). One was the Fisher Price Nursery School set complete with children, school bus and playground, the other was an inflatable green frog chair (both seen above). I thought that seat was fantastic! It was my size, comfortable and had huge eyes.

The holidays are special for many reasons. For me they were and still are about coming together with loved ones, realizing traditions from different ages and making memories. My frog chair was a memory soon enough, after it sustained an unrepairable injury and deflated…but a fond memory nonetheless.

Let’s move on to frogs. Growing up, we lived near a pond, a creek, and in an area that received rain often. Wildlife was abundant, especially frogs. My brothers and I played outside for hours and catching things was, well, something that kids do. Frogs were one of those things we would catch. I preferred small “baby” frogs that looked little even in my hand. They were easy to catch and we would make Lego space ships and houses for them. The big frogs were for eating as far as I was concerned. I don’t recall being afraid of frogs until three events happened. First, during a thunderstorm I was sitting on the couch in the living room when a particularly loud clap of thunder sounded and the sky lit up with lightning. I pulled back the curtains and was met with the underside of a frog clinging on to the window screen. Not terrible, but a little startling since I was already stirred up by the storm. Second, maybe a year or two later, I heard some adults talking about warts, then kids were talking about warts, then my brother told me that warts came from toads and frogs, then he held one up and teased me with it. The seed that had been planted began to sprout. Third, another couple of years later, I saw the movie Frogs. A 1972 gem of a horror movie, that frightened the hop out of me. As I got older, frogs stopped having a frightening effect on me, or so I thought. At 19, I worked at an animal hospital. One morning at 6 am I began taking dogs outside as part of the daily routine. I turned the corner and shrieked. There, in the middle of a dog run was the biggest, ugliest toad I had ever seen. It was a Colorado River Toad (aka Sonoran Desert Toad). I lived just down the road and immediately left and went home. I woke my younger, 16, brother and begged him to come remove the toad. He was resistant but when I promised money, he reluctantly got out of bed and came to save the day. His reaction was similar to mine, minus the shriek and plus a gag or two.

If I’ve got a little warning, frogs have little effect on me. In fact, they can be quite cute and interesting. Frog decor is even something I find appealing. Maybe it goes back to that inflatable chair, maybe not.

It’s interesting how we develop preferences and dislikes. Children receive messages from the adults in their lives that guide them in their preferences. Allowing children to explore with many different options (food, toys, activities) helps them develop their own preferences (I didn’t know I liked cottage cheese until I was 23 because one of my parents didn’t like it). Encouraging a child to stick with an experience gives them time to really figure out if they like it or not, or if it just takes a little time to get used to it. For example, an infant or toddler needs to taste a new food 10 or more times (different occasions) before it can be determined if he likes it or not.

Do you have a preference or dislike that has followed you from childhood?

You may recognize the title of this post as a line from “A Christmas Story” when the younger brother, Randy, gets all bundled up to go out into the snow and calls for his brother, Ralphie, to wait for him. The whole movie is full of memorable lines and side splitting humor. Our own lives are full of memorable lines as well, and children benefit from hearing these stories told over and over.

In the photo above, my younger brother is the one bundled beneath those layers in 1982. At the time my parents, brothers and I lived in Louisiana and we traveled to the Nebraska sandhills, to spend the holidays on my grandparents’ ranch where my mother grew up. We came prepared for cold weather with long pants, sweaters and jackets, but not prepared enough for the temperatures that froze the pipes that year. That was an adventure, full of lessons about how to find ‘clean’ snow, and how bathing every day was not absolutely necessary…

Sharing stories about family and friends with children can be interesting and exciting to them as they watch their parents or caregivers experience fond emotions or laugh while remembering. Just as important, is the sharing of stories with children about themselves. Whether it be about a time when they were too young to remember (my mom still laughs telling the story of how I urinated on the doctor after I was born when he held me upside down), or about something neat or funny they did just last week. Children benefit from those stories by listening and sharing parts themselves. These moments help build a child’s understanding of the world and connection to it.

I will be sharing more winter stories in the next few weeks, but would love to know some of yours.

Do you ever get so cold that no amount of blankets or fuzzy socks will warm you up? I do, and there is only one perfect way to chase the chills away- a nice, hot bath. Bath time was fun for me growing up. When my brothers and I were very young we would often share a bath and play silly games and splash each other, though splashing never lasted too long since mom was sitting right there. I remember getting to use bath crayons, in bright, rich colors, to draw on the bathtub and ourselves with. Mom would write words or draw faces and we would try and copy her, or just scribble right over what she created. Toys and items such as plastic cups were a staple of bath time, but bubble baths were the most special. When I would see the Mr. Bubble box, I knew we were in for fun!

Bubble baths offer so much for a child to do. There’s the classic bubble hat, bubble eyebrows, and bubble beard (with an inevitable Ho, Ho, Ho!). Bubbles can be loaded into cups and boats, and be endlessly blown out of the palm of your hand. Parents can point out different shapes. Hide and seek is also a bubble bath favorite when toys float away. When you look at all the child development happening (math, science, problem solving, language, social development) it’s hard to find anything against bubble baths.

Adult supervision is a must during bath time. During the colder months parents will often run a deeper bath for their child because the surrounding air is cooler. Children are not safe unsupervised around bodies of water and can drown in less than two inches of water. Water safety is usually revisited during the warmer months of the year because swimming increases, but it is important always. Never leave a child alone during bath time or near bodies or containers of water. Choosing appropriate items for play and learning during bath time will also help keep children safe. Choose items that are made for the water such as measuring cups and floating toys. Assisting your child when they stand is also a way to help keep them safe. Installing a non-slip mat will help those little feet from slipping and sliding.

There are several bubble bath products on the market, most of which contain chemicals that aren’t too gentle, especially for children. Talk with your child’s pediatrician about recommendations. Generally, if bubble bath is used occasionally and not every day, then many health care professionals say it’s safe. But if you’re not one to take chances, then do a little research. Chances are you won’t end up with mountains of bubbles, but you may find something that your child will enjoy just as much. Here are some recipes and considerations for alternatives to the classic: Homemade Honey and Vanilla Bubblebath; Organic Bubble Bath for Kids; Easy Homemade Bubble Bath Recipes; Baby Bee Bubble Bath.

How do you make bath time fun for your kids?

I don’t like to pull weeds, but this past weekend I felt a feeling while weeding. It was a feeling I had never before experienced while pulling weeds. It was….satisfaction. Yes, you read that right, and now those responsible for forcing me into years of weed pulling labor are undoubtedly smirking and wondering what took so long.

As a very young child, pulling weeds along side parents and siblings can sort of be fun. It can be made into a game of seek and destroy, or a race to see who can pull the most. Providing children with gloves that fit well and tools for the job make the act of pulling weeds slightly less unbearable. Schedules are also a great way of keeping the chore of pulling weeds less overwhelming. For example, setting a time once a day for 10 minutes of weeding is more manageable than once every two or three weeks for an entire Saturday.

When my parents finally purchased a weed eater, it was like getting a Christmas present that had been forgotten in the back of the closet for two months. My brothers and I even argued over who would get to use it. Oh the joy of chopping down the weeds that ran along the driveway and curb, the smell of cut weeds- death, the sound of the tool buzzing, the sting of a pebble colliding with your shin because you didn’t want to wear long pants…wait, that part wasn’t fun at all. The garden still had to be weeded by hand, though, as someone who shall not be named found out.

When we moved into our home in Nebraska, the garden area was huge, and completely full of weeds. Some were taller than me at 12 years old. Clearing it out was a huge family task, and I’m sure my parents did most of the work. I do remember it taking more than a couple of days, and how tired and sore we all were, but the payoff was worth it. The garden was beautiful.

So, back to my first statement: I don’t like to pull weeds…but I do like a yard free of them.

I’ve never really had an aversion to clowns, but understand why some people do. Two of my favorite childhood toys were a pair of clowns that my Great Grandmother, Mabel Anderson, made for me. She knitted the bodies in a bright, rainbow colored yarn. The clowns reflected Grandma’s personality: bright, funny, flexible, and easy to love. She enjoyed knitting and sewing, playing cards, crossword puzzles and soap operas. She was a vivacious and feisty lady.

Here are some of my favorite stories and memories of her:

Grandma was known for her lead foot. She drove a copper colored Omega Hatchback with a glasspack muffler that seemed to add to her reputation as a ‘speed demon’. Once while driving in either Wyoming or Nebraska, she was pulled over. The officer asked her to sit in his patrol car and she replied, “My mother told me to never get into a car with a strange man.” And she didn’t.

Another story details her encounter with a judge after a highway patrol officer pulled her over for speeding. She decided to fight this particular ticket and arrived in court on the specified date. She explained to the judge that she had gotten stuck behind some old man driving well below the posted speed limit. When she finally got around him, she sped up to make up for lost time (this was her defense). The judge didn’t agree with her reasoning and she was given the ticket and court costs. Upon reviewing the court costs, she addressed the judge, “It says here there’s a $1 fee for your retirement. Well, you didn’t pay for my retirement and I’m not going to pay for yours.” She paid the ticket and court costs minus $1, and walked out. Grandma was around 70 years old at the time.

We took many car trips growing up and each time we saw a car speeding past, we would sing out, “It’s the little old lady from Pasadena! Go granny, go granny, go granny go!” Pretending it was Grandma Anderson zooming by made us laugh and miss her.

Grandma was a good card player, and enjoyed playing Pitch. While living in a residential facility for seniors, she would excuse herself saying, “I’m going to go play cards with the old people at the senior center.” And, while she wasn’t much of a drinker, she had to have a beer when she ate pizza.

When my older brother was 6 and I was almost 3, Grandma Anderson came down to Louisiana to stay with us while my mom was staying with relatives preparing for the birth of my younger brother. Grandma never served a meal incomplete, and always served dessert at the end. Of course, we loved this and quickly became accustomed to this meal time staple. One day as my older brother was leaving for school, he asked her, “What’s for dessert tonight, Grandma?” Without missing a beat she replied, “Snake pie.” Now, we’d had snake before (this was rural Louisiana after all), but never as a dessert…. When the pie was served, we were pleased that it did not contain snake, or any other animal for that matter. Snake pie still lives on in our family and my older brother is usually the one to make it.

My favorite memory of Grandma Anderson was a weekend that I got to go stay with her. She was watching a soap opera and I was playing in the living room near her, when she says, “Can you believe she’d just go back to him, after all the grief he’s put her through?” I looked up at her and then at the television. No adult had ever addressed me in such, well, an adult way before. I immediately was pleased and then felt the pressure to live up to Grandma’s expectations of my conversational skills. I did my best and she smiled at me. We continued our conversation, and I sure did feel important. I realized later, as a young adult, that she had probably just been talking out loud to the T.V. as many people do, and I just happened to be there. But the way she made me feel in that experience was amazing. She didn’t dismiss me, she made me feel like my 9 year old voice was important.

It is so easy to talk ‘kid talk’ to a child, and I’m certainly no stranger to it. But, talking to children as real people can have an especially positive impact as well. Do you have some special memories of conversations with a loved one?

P.S. If you’d like the recipe for snake pie, I’d be happy to share. 🙂

Toddlers are inventive if given the chance and opportunity.

As a toddler I was energetic and confident (some might say hyper and strong-willed). Many young children have such traits that can be considered strengths to encourage and nurture with guidance and routines. My mother helped nurture this in me by providing items in our home for me to use without help. Unfortunately, sometimes things go wrong.

In our kitchen there were some low shelves, easy to access as a kid. On one of those shelves was an empty cracker can, the kind that several sleeves of crackers fit into. I had taken ownership of this can and used it for reaching the counter and also to sit on. It was just the right height for my little legs. One day I went to the cabinet, retrieved the can, and sat down…the only problem was that I sat on the open end and thus became stuck. I tried to get out but couldn’t. The harder I tried the more frustrated I became, and very soon was in tears. My older brother, 5 at the time, and mother came to the rescue, or so I thought. They took one look at me and burst out laughing. Mom got the camera and my older brother fell on the floor laughing so hard he could barely catch his breath. Eventually I was freed from my tin prison, but am not certain that I ever sat on it again.

Providing children with items that they can use with little or no help is a great way to encourage problem solving and confidence. How were you encouraged as a child, or how have you encouraged children?

Oh those seemingly endless car rides full of sibling deviance and parents on the verge of pulling their hair out…

“Quit touching me!”

“Stop looking at me!”

“How many more miles?”

“Ouch!”

“You look out your window, you look out your window, and you look straight ahead!”

“Do I have to stop the car?!”

The answer to that last question and threat was either a unanimous ‘no’ or complete silence, but the bickering didn’t stop for long. A family of 5 in a car with 5 seats makes sense on paper, right? Right….

We used to fight for the seats by the doors, avoiding the center seat at all costs. You just couldn’t get as comfortable in the center seat, until it was discovered that you could put your feet up on the center arm rest between the driver and passenger seats. Ah…luxury. Just kidding. There was still no way to sleep comfortably unless one of the siblings let you lay your head on their shoulder, a rare occurrence. It wasn’t often that we got along during car rides but I do remember a few periods when we called a cease fire, or two of us did at least.

I think it started when my younger brother blurted out one time, “Stop talking, I can’t yawn!!” We were stunned and confused, and as we turned to look at him, tears began to well up in his eyes as he tried in vain to yawn. “Quit looking at me!!” he yelled, “I can’t yawn!” Then the giggling began. We couldn’t help it. He became more frustrated and started to cry. Of course, we started to make fun of him and mimic him. Mom told us to stop, and we tried. Really. For a few seconds. Some how this moment put my older brother and me on the same team. After that, car rides were more about strategy. We would wait for our younger brother to fall asleep. My older brother would lead the way and I would follow, glad that it wasn’t me getting picked on. We never did anything too terrible. Maybe a straw wrapper to tickle the nose or ear, or light reflected off a seat belt buckle aimed at the face… The picking on didn’t last too long and soon we were back to annoying and ignoring each other individually. When my parents purchased a minivan, years later, we were elated. Two of us still had to share a seat, but there was this thing called ‘space’ between us. Oh the luxury of it. The only argument then was who got the center seat alone. Some things would never change.

My brothers and I are close and supportive of each other nowadays, and I’m glad that we can laugh about those long car rides. Do you have siblings, or did you grow up with cousins or close friends? How have they shaped your relationships in adulthood?

When we lived in Louisiana, we had a dog named Jack. He was a mix of canine superhero and amazingness- in our eyes at least. When I was just a toddler, I was outside playing with my doll. Three wild dogs approached growling, one taking my doll. I screamed and, as the story goes, seconds later Jack rounds the corner. He was growling, hair standing on end. My mother says she came running outside to see Jack standing over me, barking and snarling at the dogs as they growled back at him. After a few moments the first dog dropped my doll and the three left.

Jack was gentle but protective. He chased cars that drove past our rural home, and sometimes he would run after our truck when we left for town. We would sing “Hit the Road Jack” to him as we drove away.

When we moved from Louisiana to Kansas, we didn’t take Jack with us. He was used to roaming the woods and rural areas, and we were moving to a town where he would need to wear a collar and be kept contained in a yard. We left him with friends. My brothers and I were sad to leave him. I didn’t understand why we couldn’t keep him with us. We asked for another dog, but my parent’s decided against it.

Getting a new pet or replacing one right away may not be the best move for children. Loss is a normal part of growing up. There are the experiences that are easily associated with loss such as moving or the death of a loved one, and there are losses we may not realize as readily. When a toddler masters walking, there is the loss of being carried. When a sibling is born, there is the loss of having a parent’s full attention and energy. When you sit on your favorite sunglasses, there is the loss of that perfect fit and predictable tinted view. Loss for children is difficult. A parent or caregiver who can provide consistent support is important to the child developing coping skills, understanding and building resilience.

Seven years ago a stray puppy came into our lives. He was about six weeks old, found wandering around West Phoenix. A few months earlier, my sister-in-law found a year old min-pin mix in a Tucson wash. With no one claiming him, we took him in and named him Rocky. He was a handful. So, when the puppy was mentioned to us, I was adamant about NOT getting a second dog. However, once I saw him, I couldn’t leave him (apparently he had some superpowers, or a tractor beam that locked in on me). My husband and I thought about names, but only one would do. Jack. He looked nothing like my childhood dog, but there was something that reminded me of him.

Have you had a pet that played a special role in your life?

Growing up, I remember several long car rides. Sitting in the back seat for 8 hours or more was unavoidable, but nothing in comparison to the perceived excitement of the destination. There was curiosity, expectation, and an abundance of bathroom breaks (mostly because of me). The summer we drove to Florida I was 6 years old. It was just a few weeks after my birthday, and I remember the sand was so bright it hurt my eyes. It was loud and noisy on the beach. We had towels, buckets, shovels, sunscreen, hats, and a sense of purpose. We dug holes in the sand to fill the buckets with and were delighted and amazed to see the empty hole fill with water. We ran to the edge of the water, letting the waves gently wet our feet and chill us. The ocean waves seemed to be returning to the beach over and over. It was mesmerizing.

Most of the waves were only as high as my knees as I ventured into the water from dry sand. Some waves rose as high as my torso. I watched my older brother, further out and in deeper water. He was laughing, jumping into the waves and being carried back toward the shore. Then, I’m not sure what happened, but I was drenched. My whole body wet, hair clinging to my face and my eyes felt like they were on fire. I was crying, probably screaming, nose burning and running into my mouth. I had an overwhelming taste of salt and sour in my mouth, throat and nose. Then I became afraid. Afraid of the water, and angry at the ocean, really. How could it do that to me? Ruin all my fun? I remember my mom cleaning me up, wiping my eyes, telling me to, “Blow.” And I remember my dad, telling me to quit crying, taking me by the wrist and leading me back to the water, despite my whining and protests. I remember squealing as a wave splashed me, my eyes stinging, dad telling me to turn my back to the wave before it got to me, and to just wipe my eyes when they got wet. He said something like, “It isn’t that bad. You have to get used to it.” It took me a good while on the beach after that for me to start enjoying myself again, and it seemed like just when that happened, it was time for us to leave.

Years later, I was in the Sea of Cortez on a scuba diving certification trip. One of the skills a diver must perform is to take their mask off under water and put it back on. Salt water is trapped inside the mask until it is ‘blown out’ using your nose. The salt water definitely got into my eyes during this skill, and there was no way for me to wipe my eyes. It was uncomfortable, my eyes watered and stung but I remembered my dad saying, “It isn’t that bad. You have to get used to it.”

Parents play several roles in their child’s life. They protect, nurture, discipline, support and teach. My parents have taught me so much, some of which I am still discovering. What a valuable lesson that a parent or caregiver has taught you?

The scene was tense. Sticky liquid pooled and thickened on the table and chair seats. It had begun to dry in long dripped lines down the wood paneling of the dining room, only visible when the light hit it just right. Flies bounced in the air around the hanging light above the table, landing, getting stuck and freeing themselves again. The light was covered in the sticky substance that had dried pink, causing the light to cast dimly in the small space connected to the kitchen. The children, barely able to move, stood frightened. Eyes stinging, hair stuck to her face, the little girl worked at pulling her fingers apart where the skin stuck together from the dried liquid. She did this trying not to move too much for fear of drawing more attention to herself. She had not known it would feel like this. In her other hand she clutched the legs of her Barbie doll, hanging upside down and ruined by the dried fluid. The two boys beside her stood just as still, covered in stickiness and feeling stiff as their skin began to dry and tighten. The littlest boy’s eyelashes clumped together as his eyes filled with tears while the older boy glanced at him, not betraying his own feeling of fear and regret. Their hearts pumped in their chests so quickly it was difficult to hear. Then, liquid began to drip from the ceiling…

The warm summer evening had begun as usual. The three children played outside, exploring and making noise. When called in to dinner, they first pretended not to hear. By the rising sharpness in tone of the third call, the children knew they had to go inside. The daylight had just begun to fade and the sky started to turn grey. They entered through the sliding screen door, dusty and out of breath, and were told to wash up for dinner. The air was thick with the smell of fried fish and fries. Returning to the table, the children filled their plates with the food. Ketchup and hot sauce were mixed for dipping, cucumbers crunched, and sweet tea slurped. As the meal ended a huge watermelon was placed on the table. The three children bounced in their seats, excited. As they ate, happy conversation filled the small dining space. It was getting late. The children were left alone to clean up as M*A*S*H* came on. Several of the plates on the table were full of watermelon juice. The youngest boy picked up a plate to carry to the kitchen sink.  Juice from the plate splashed onto his hand and he shook it vigorously back and forth to get the juice off, droplets spraying the other two children. Protests erupted. The oldest boy dipped his own finger tips in another plate of juice and flicked them toward the younger boy. The youngest cried out and became upset as the juice speckled his cheek. The girl laughed, and the youngest threw a soaked napkin at her. It had begun.

At some early point in the juice flinging a couple of Barbie dolls made their way into the hilarious melee. The children were laughing as quietly as possible as Barbie hair was dipped into the hollowed out watermelon full of juice. Once the hair had become soaked the doll was used to fling watermelon juice across the dining room to another child. Soon the room was covered in watermelon juice. Seeds littered the floor and the children’s feet slipped as they tried to soak up the remaining juice from plates to get the last splash. The total time it took from the first event of juice spray couldn’t have been more than 10 minutes, but the entire space was affected. The ceiling, walls, floor, plants, pictures, furniture, and children were sticky. The gasp that came from my mother as the room came into view, was like a surprise blizzard. The three of us instantly froze.

I honestly don’t remember how the mess got cleaned up. I’m certain we had some part in it, but I must have blocked it out as I’m sure it involved much scrubbing and lecturing. Even though that event only lasted a short time, I remember the feeling of glee, of laughing so hard but trying to be so quiet, vividly to this day. My brothers and I occasionally reminisce about that evening and usually end up laughing so much we can’t finish a sentence properly.

I am grateful of those moments. We remain connected, each others’  biggest supporters. We all need supporters to help us through the life lessons. One lesson I will always remember is that watermelon juice stings the eyes.