I Survived Mr. Potato Head

I Survived Mr. Potato Head

Remember Mr. Potato Head?

Better yet, remember when you used an actual potato to play with Mr. Potato Head?

I do.

The older I get, the more nostalgic I become. Maybe it’s because I have increasingly more things to look back on.

What I didn’t remember is that, according to the folks at NowIKnow.com, Mr. Potato Head originally came with a pipe, which he donated to the American Cancer Society to help promote anti-smoking efforts.

In 1964, the plastic potato head was created as the pegs that allowed you to insert the pieces into potatoes and other fruits and vegetables were deemed too sharp for children.

I’m all for child safety, but, try as I might, I can’t remember ever hurting myself on a Mr. Potato Head peg.

Then again, I remember sitting on the armrest in the front seat of the family station wagon on the way to the grocery store. I never wore a helmet when I rode my bike and I never wore a seat belt.

How on earth did I survive these dangers and make it to the advanced age of 53?

What horrific childhood hazards did you survive?

Here’s more about Mr. Potato Head.

It’s All In the Letting Go

It’s All In the Letting Go

sisters

A very long time ago, when I had a tiny baby, someone told me that successful parenting is a series of letting go moments. I didn’t believe it then. But now that I’ve lived it, I know it’s true.

I remember holding her, rocking her, inhaling the baby smells, feeling her little head nestling on my shoulder and thinking there was no way I was ever letting go.

Then one day I held her in my lap and felt her pull away, lean forward and try to sit up on her own. I let go and she sat up.

A few months later, I let her pull up on the coffee table and stand, sort of, on her own two feet.

Then she took a step, by herself, without my hand in hers.

After that, she learned to use the potty and sleep in a big-girl bed. She wanted to dress herself and she chose some interesting combinations of clothing. We took her to church in an outfit that didn’t match and we didn’t (much) care what anyone thought.

It seemed only moments later when I drove her to preschool, stopped the car and watched as she hopped out the door to go fingerpaint, run on the playground and listen to someone else read to her.

Soon she began Kindergarten — all day long. She learned to read and to write her name. And while she still wanted me to read to her occasionally, most of the time she wanted to read to her baby dolls and stuffed animals.

When it was time for the middle school dance, I couldn’t believe I was letting her go. To a dance? With a boy? But I helped her choose the perfect dress, watched her curl her hair and put on just a little blush, lip gloss, the tiniest bit of mascara and shoes with heels that were way too high. And she was beautiful.

Her freshman year, it was her first high school dance. She wore a long red dress and she looked way too grown up. But I let her go and after the dance, in the wee hours of the morning, she told me about her first kiss.

We taught her to drive cautiously and to concentrate on the road, knowing full well that when driver’s permit became license, away from our watchful eyes she would turn up the music and drive too fast and ride with boys. We were scared to death, but we watched her drive away.

All too soon we packed the car with her belongings and moved her into a tiny dorm room to live with another girl she barely knew. We helped her arrange her room, find a place for the mini-fridge and then I hugged her, afraid to let go, because I knew I was letting go for real this time.

A year or so later, we moved her into her first apartment. We bought a couch, a TV, a bed, gave her hand-me-downs from the attic, helped her hang pictures and cautioned her to always lock the door. Somewhere else became her home; now she comes to visit. When it’s time to go, she says, “I have to go home.

One day, she’ll hold onto Jim’s arm as he escorts her down the aisle. She’ll let go and take the hand of a young man who loves her enough to never let go. Then someday she’ll become a mother and she’ll read this post and understand.

And that’s parenthood. It’s okay to let go. All of the growth is in the letting go.

Seven Ways to Enjoy Your Own Party

Seven Ways to Enjoy Your Own Party

In today’s economy, more of us are eating in than eating out. This suits me fine, as I love a crowd at the family dinner table — we’ve been known to squeeze as many as 14 people around our table for six. I enjoy having people in our home, whether it’s a Christmas party for 15 families in our home on five minutes’ notice and or a cocktail buffet for 45 after months of planning.

Our house is far from perfect; in fact there are several rooms that are somehow stalled in the redecoration process, but my guests aren’t coming for a home show. Don’t let that stop you from inviting friends into your home; just use what you do have creatively and focus on relationships and interaction more than the environment.

Here are my seven tips for lively, low-stress, fun dinner parties:

  1. The House Get it cleaned up and ready several days ahead of time. Then you can focus on food and table prep rather than dust and dirty toilets. Once it’s ready, walk out the front door, and walk back in as if you were visiting for the first time. It’s likely you’ll notice things you wouldn’t otherwise catch.
  2. Table Get it ready at least one or two days ahead. If you have more than one dining area, one table can be completely set up ahead of time. We use the kitchen table for appetizers, so I just stack the place settings near the table until it’s time to quickly set up.
  3. Food Get to know mise en place. Literally means put in place. Do all of the food prep such as measuring, chopping, slicing and peeling before you begin to cook. Depending on the ingredients, some of this can be done a day ahead. Not only does this save time the day of the party, it helps you get a head start on the prep dishes.
  4. Flow For a buffet, separate drinks from food to help with traffic flow. Serve from whatever space you have — I use the stovetop. For a sit-down dinner, Jim and I plate the food assembly-line style just before seating everyone so they don’t sit down to empty plates.
  5. Plan for Extras You never know when someone will bring an extra person. For a larger party, I typically plan for about 10 percent more than the number of invited guests and enjoy the leftovers if we don’t need the extra food.
  6. Relax There is no bigger party buzzkill than a stressed-out host. Your friends will remember the time with you more than the perfection of your house, the table or whether or not your sauce breaks. Keep it in perspective and don’t forget to enjoy the people.
  7. Cleanup is Not Part of the Party I never let my guests do dishes. The last thing they remember should be conversation and good times — not the remains of someone else’s plate. Clear an area where dishes can be quickly stacked, then take the focus off cleanup — move to another room or serve coffee or dessert. Think of clean-up time as a way to unwind after everyone leaves; pour one more glass of wine and attack the dishes after the party.
Letting Go

Letting Go

It’s so hard to let go. I thought I had mastered it after Elizabeth, 20, left for college, which left Sara Ann, 16, as our only child at home.

I was her primary mode of transportation and it made for some valuable one-on-one time in the car that I came to treasure. Until August 1. She got her driver’s license that day and suddenly she didn’t need my driving services anymore. Now it’s just a text message to tell me where she is and where she will go next.

That hit me hard. I thought I had two more years to finish the letting go process; it never occurred to me that it must start now.

She sets her own alarm to wake up so I really don’t have to get up in the morning. But I want to hug her, watch her leave and remind her that I love her.

She can make her own lunch, but I do that, too, because when she sits down to eat I want her to remember that someone knows just how she likes her peanut butter and jelly and whether or not she is tired of carrots and ranch dip.

And even though it’s just the three of us, we eat together around the table as much as her schedule allows, because Jim and I want her to know that even if she is our only child at home, she is still worth setting the table for.

For the next two years, I’m going to let go where I must and hold on where I can.

Mess, Chaos and Hugs

Mess, Chaos and Hugs

taco.nightI read a letter to the advice columnist in our local paper this morning — the mother of a young boy was upset because his friends frequently play at her house and they make a mess.I sent a reply to the column but I doubt that my response will ever see the light of day, so I decided to post it here, where it is equally unlikely that anyone will read it. But it makes me feel better.

As the mom of two teenage girls, I sent my oldest off to college this past fall, so now I have only one child at home. Her friends are over here all the time. We often have large groups for dinner and, yes, they are loud and they make a mess.

But messes can be cleaned up and kids are only “ours” for such a short time. What does it really matter if your house is a wreck? Mine is most of the time, but my daughter knows that her friends are always welcome and there will always be plenty of junk food! What better place for your child and their friends than in your own home?

My advice is to enjoy the confusion, chaos and mess while you can. I am. I know how quickly my oldest daughter’s high school years went by. Only three short years and I will have an empty nest. Then maybe I will finally have a neat, orderly house.

In three short years, I know that I will no longer need to make cheese dip in the big crockpot or buy those liter bottles of soft drinks. I probably won’t often have to melt marshmallows over the stove and stir in the Rice Krispies, and I won’t buy nearly as much brownie mix. But I will miss the noise, the yelling, screaming, drink-spilling chaos that generally rules my house at least one night most weekends. And I will really miss the hugs that I get when they leave. And most of all, I will miss the daily “Mom-ness” of my life as I’ve known it for the past 18 years.