If I were a superhero, I would wear a black cape with secret pockets holding pens, pencils, and various notepads. I could whip off a list in 10 seconds flat. I would be…(drum roll here)…Listmaker. Picture a giant L plastered onto my grungy sweatshirt.

Lists are especially important at this time of year. I have lists upon lists of Christmas gifts. Obviously, for my kids and husband, but also for teachers, scout leaders, friends, and all of the relatives. We have cut back over the years as our family has grown, but my list is still long and complicated.

I also have a list of things to do before we leave on the 26th for a week of Christmas fun at Grandma’s house. Stop the mail, make arrangements for our dog and pay bills, to name a few. Going out of town creates the need for a giant list of what gifts need to be packed as well as the normal mountain of clothes and stuff that a family of 5 seems to need.

Then, there’s the Christmas card list. Every year I think to myself that this is the year I’m not going to send cards. I love almost every aspect of Christmas (once I have my lists made) but for some reason I find the whole process of sending out Christmas cards extremely tedious. But, I love receiving them. It’s amazing how a year changes the children in the photos and the family updates help me to catch up with friends and family. It’s just the sending that I have issues with. It’s probably because I usually end up working on cards at about 10 p.m. after I’m tired from all of the other Christmas preparations. So, I’m contemplating sending out Christmas ecards this year.

Finally, there is the food list. We need items that are above and beyond our normal grocery list: baking supplies and also ingredients for those special meals around Christmas. Which brings us to yet another list. Menus for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Heaven forbid I forget the homemade pierogies that my husband’s family has made every Christmas Eve since the beginning of time.

Sometimes I feel like my head will explode. That is until I write down a list. Then I can relax. It’s all there in black and white. Phew. I can check things off as I go.

My husband tells me that I over think the whole thing, but I believe he would change his tune if I forgot to buy his mother a gift or to make our New Year’s Eve reservations or to perhaps pay our mortgage. Oops. Or what if I neglected to give our house key to our neighbor so that she could take care of our dog?

This happened to our neighbor this past summer. They were literally pulling out of their driveway to go to Myrtle Beach for a week when they realized that they hadn’t made plans for their dog. In the excitement and chaos of packing, it had slipped their minds. My neighbor frantically knocked on my door as her family sat in their loaded van. She tossed the key to me amongst apologies and thanks.

She’s probably didn’t have a list. She needed (1 more drum roll, please) Listmaker!!

-Kay

My niece, Sofia, is 2-years-old and is a chatter bug. Her very first phrase was “want it!” With the explanation point.

I wonder how many times she’ll think or say that during her lifetime. It seems like hardly a day goes by that I don’t think of something that I want or need in order to achieve contentment. Or so I think.

Usually it’s fairly little stuff, a new pair of jeans or a winter jacket. I really need a new dishwasher as mine leaves little food bits on our dishes. And a new phone because ours is constantly in need of charging. I could go and on with my list.

I’m embarrassed to say that one item I really, really want and sometimes I even push into the need category is a new house. The reason I’m embarrassed is that my house is fine. Nothing wrong with it. I even liked it until I saw “the house.”

It all started when I stopped into an “open house” just for fun. Unfortunately, I fell in love with that home. Great floor plan, yard, neighborhood, and loads of character. I could picture my future grandchildren coming to visit me in that home. If only I could have that house, my life would be perfect. Too bad it wasn’t a handy time for us to move and that it would have seriously killed our budget.

It is perfectly normal to “want it” but even if you are a Rockefeller, buying everything on your want list will not bring you contentment. There will always be more. Since it is the season of buying, here are a few parenting tips to help build some contentment into your life and that of your children.

• Frequently mention how lucky your family is. “We’re so lucky” is kind of like a mantra to me. I say it often to myself and out loud. I say it both because I truly believe it (and sometimes I need to remind myself) and also because I want my children to recognize and be grateful for all that our family has.

• Teach your child to question the things they want. One Christmas, my then 6-year-old daughter wanted (needed!) an American Girl Doll. She received a My Generation Doll from Target. She was thrilled until a classmate taunted her. “That’s not a real American Girl Doll.” So, we told my daughter to tell the classmate, “Well, yours isn’t a real My Generation Doll.” The point is, don’t get sucked into the status game of having to have what everyone else has. Being comfortable with yourself and your stuff is a big step toward contentment.

• When your child really wants something, validate it. Say, “I know you want it. It would be nice to have it. I understand.” Then continue with why they can’t have it. Perhaps it’s a budget issue or simply that your child already has enough. Or it’s inappropriate. Then move on. The lesson here is yes, you want it. No, you can’t have it. And, you’ll be fine without it. Even content.

• Keep your list of wants inside your head. Don’t complain about what you don’t have. Make the best of what you do have. Be a good example if you want your kids to do the same. Be clear with yourself and your children about the difference between wants and needs. Remember needs are food, shelter, and clothing (not necessarily the kind with labels).

• More is not always better. My daughter has two Strawberry Shortcake videos that she loves to watch. I suggested that she might want to put some others on her Christmas list. She looked at me like I was nuts and said, “but I already have enough.” My mistake.

Think about the opposite of contentment. It’s discontentment. Who needs that? The definition of contentment is: “not desiring more than one has.” Since contentment is learned in part by experiencing a lack of things, won’t we deny our children the opportunity to learn contentment if we give them too much?

As far as that house goes, sure I still want it. But, honestly, I think I could be content living in a tent. As long as I had my family with me…and indoor plumbing…and my daily quota of chocolate and Diet Coke. Oh, and there was that cute purse on sale and…. well, you get the point.

May contentment be in abundance at your home this holiday season!

-Kay

Ta da: My birthday was Wednesday, 11:25 a.m. EST.

Hold your applause and texts, thank you.

I took the day off and got a full-body massage in the morning – which, by the way, is the greatest thing in the universe for an aging body that bore three children: I do not flinch when my massage therapist touches my thighs, because I know she’s touched lots worse. After my massage with the most yummily subtle grapefruit oil, I went to lunch with my friend at Chipotle, which is my favorite because they have vegan guacamole and veggie black beans. And then, in the evening, it was on to dinner with the family at a dark restaurant where they serve burgers and beer (garden burger and Great Lakes’ Christmas Ale for me), where the five of us got tucked into a booth in a back corner, very intimate so we could throw wrapping paper all over the place without disturbing.

In characteristic style, I got lots of little goodies — a homemade fleece blanket like the one I made the kids two Christmases ago, a slim silver bracelet that says Live Love Laugh, a new vegan cookbook. But the gifts I will remember, like any sentimental mother (is that redundant), are the intangibles. With all due respect to the rest of the family, this year, they are the ones that came from Emily.

Emily is 16 and having a hard junior year at high school – not in the textbook bad grades bad relationships pregnant way you hear about most high school students having a bad year. This child makes straight As, sings in the choir, plays three sports and is involved in every (seemingly) possible, and then some, leadership activities. Last night after my guacamole lunch, but before going for the bday dinner, we all watched while she swam in her first swim meet, then as she and her huge circle of high-achieving friends were inducted into the National Honor Society.

Emily is having a hard year at high school because she is this high achiever.

They are all like this, these high achieving girls, trying so hard to do EVERYTHING – though what might make Emily’s situation worse is her head. She is a thinker. And a worrier. Like her mother. Alas, the genes and role modeling of the very person who claims to be her best advocate is the one who breastfed her these character traits.

Luckily, mothers are always older than their Emilys, so that with the wisdom born of age, we can pass along the tricks we learned. Some of the tools I offer are behavior mod type tools, like deep breathing, like imagining all your worries trapped inside a balloon that you float up to a telephone pole for the night so you can sleep. Others involve deep core work. I tap the center of my chest and say to her when she is struggling: “Go to your center.” I talk to her about the importance of respecting her limits in the midst of so many opportunities, even bucking the system sometimes that says you HAVE to do things the right way and a certain way every single minute of every single day.

Of course, whether the tricks of a mother’s trade actually become a part of the child’s repertoire is hard to say. And then you get hints that maybe you’re having an effect.

“MAMA,” my daughter wrote on the homemade poster board birthday card the whole family signed, “you are at the very core of all that I am. When I am stressed out about everything, and I go to my center to calm down, it is that I’m going to you. You are my center.”

WOW. And then she went home and did something she never does: She fell into her bed and slept 12 hours.

She was supposed to go home and study til midnight for an AP history test, which means she was only going to get 5.5 hours sleep because she had to get up at 5:30 to swim.

She was supposed to stay at school all day, swimming once in the morning and once in the afternoon.

And then she would stay out til midnight working on a leadership project.

And then, she would get up at 5:30 again the next day.

Instead, on the way home from my birthday dinner: “Mama,” she in her tired little teenager trying to figure out her balance voice on the way home. “Is it OK if I sleep in and go to school late tomorrow?”

It is, as I write, 10:30 a.m. on Thursday. And there are still no sounds coming from her bedroom above me.

I hear only the sound of a high-achieving child realizing the value of rest. I hear only the sound of my daughter letting go — all the pressures and have-tos, all the striving and worrying, all the accommodating and placating and worrying about high school as college looms. I hear my child’s sweet breathing, heavy with sleep – my greatest bday present of all.

- Debra-Lynn

The set-up: It is snowing really hard this morning. We live just before a 90-degree turn on a street that gets busy during rush hour. There is, of course, a yellow street sign telling all the drivers “Hey, we told you to slow down before, now, we really mean it!” (read with humor).

The incident: As my kids and I waited (with the dog) for the bus to arrive in the slippery, slippery snow, a little red car could not make the turn and ran right into the sign. The road conditions were too treacherous to overcome. The car was stuck.

Polyanna’s immediate reaction: We have to help, we have to fix this! I put the dog inside. The kids and I walk over to the car (just sitting there, stuck). There is a man sitting in the car. Just sitting in the car. I walk to the front of the car and put up the international signal for “are you OK”? He responds with the international sign for “yes.”

Great, thinks Polyanna. The man is OK. The car is stuck, but no one is hurt. He tries to back out. His bumper is stuck. I signal him to come forward. He does. I signal him to go back. [Of course, traffic is backing up. People are beeping but I see NO one get out to assist the mother and two small children trying to push a car….lovely]. He shakes the car loose and off he goes.

The relationship to the PTA Meeting: I got my kids on the bus and walked inside to write this post. I wanted to write about the PTA meeting that I missed the other night (don’t think me a quitter, I had to see my Mom at the hospital; family first).

The PTA “issue” ( original post) ( follow up post) is like what happened this morning (stay with me).

• The PTA is like the traffic; they just want to keep moving (“beep, beep: Get out of our way! We need to keep moving”).

• The parents who want more information are like the stuck car: we’re broken down, need help and are in the way of traffic moving along (“I’m stuck here, could you help me?”).

• It doesn’t seem to matter to the traffic that assistance is needed on the road…traffic only wants to keep moving. No one got out of their car to help get the stuck car UN-stuck (which would benefit everyone)

Yucky, yucky feeling inside. I’m glad I tried to help. I’m sad no one else bothered.

The Meeting: I missed the meeting, yes. But I did not miss much. Despite the promise in the October meeting that this issue would be discussed at the November meeting, it was not on the agenda, it was not addressed whatsoever.

It feels like the Polyanna parents who want to make this change are jumping up and down screaming “there is a car stuck in the road, if we all work together, we can make the world a better place!!” And the PTA is sitting in their car beeping the horn for traffic to keep moving.

Losing Polyanna?: Today, I feel yucky at about the apathy I see with the PTA and the traffic. Today, I noticed that the man I tried to help didn’t wave or beep or say thanks or offer any acknowledgment that I tried to help (I didn’t try to help to get a thank you, by the way. I tried to help because I think that is what we’re supposed to do for each other in this world). But today, I don’t feel like Polyanna, I feel like a grouchy, old, negative, yucky, scrooge.

Lest the “yucky people” in the world get the best of me, I’m going to make hot chocolate and play in the snow until Polyanna returns to my heart….

Lisa

My husband and I could almost hear the collective uh-oh when we asked the kids to sit down for a family meeting.

“We’re going to have to cut back on Christmas this year,” my husband said, as the gasps went up.

“It’s only partly because of money,” I said. “It’s also because we think there are better ways to celebrate.” (See this article…)

A hush fell as the kids said not a word.

Then one by one, beginning with the eldest, and trickling down through the middle and to the youngest, the three of them began to nod their heads.

“All right,” said one, shrugging his shoulders.

“Fine with me,” said the other.

“OK,” said the youngest.

Huh?

In our family, Christmas is presents and presents is Christmas. The kids wake to Santa’s unwrapped presents and an overstuffed stocking. We have breakfast, and then begins the ritual gift exchange, as the five of us spend four hours opening at least a dozen modest presents from each other and another half dozen from extended family. Each gift-giving takes several minutes, as the small gift is given, then opened, then savored, while other family members look on.

My kids have always loved this ritual and tradition. They look forward to it all year. And now they’re telling me they’re OK with cutting back on it?

“I guess I just don’t need that much,” the eldest said. “Too many things complicate my life.”

“I can’t really think of anything I need that much either,” the middle child said.

I was stunned at the acquiescence.

And yet the more I think about it, the more I realize that the joy of presents might have nothing to do with the presents themselves.

It’s that for one short block of time, our family stops.

No cell phones, no computers or texting friends. It’s just us, connected, unencumbered and together in our PJs in a tiny corner of our living room. We put a fire in the fireplace and Christmas music on the stereo. We are comfortable, safe, healthy, warm, as we truly savor each other’s presence, one by one, one at a time, and what brings that person joy.

My husband and I are determining our next step in this recreation of Christmas. We are thinking that maybe we will ask each family member what activity they would like to lead on Christmas — whether it’s building a jigsaw puzzle like we always manage to do sometime during the season, going into the community to perform even a small miracle, or playing Rock Band together, which I just bet will be the 11-year-old’s choice. The idea is not to forego presents altogether. The idea is to pay attention to what’s important to each individual, to celebrate ourselves as individuals and collectively, to fold in together as a family on that one day when we allow it.

Stay tuned, as this is work in progress. I will keep you posted. Meanwhile, I hold in my heart this treasured commitment from the book, “ Unplug the Christmas Machine: A Complete Guide to Putting Love and Warmth Back Into the Season”:

The Christmas Pledge:

- To remember those people who truly need my gifts.
- To express my love for family and friends in more direct ways.
- To rededicate myself to the spiritual growth of my family.
- To examine my holiday activities in light of the true spirit of Christmas.
- To initiate one act of peacemaking within my circle of family and friends.

- Debra-Lynn

My grandfather was quite a character. Smart, charming, opinionated, proud, hard working, cynical, and funny. He had the gifts of a sharp wit and storytelling. Since his death about five years ago, I have truly missed him.

One memory of him that stands out to me, because it happened so frequently, was sitting around the dining room table and talking. Dinner would be long over yet everyone would stay seated. The children would drift away in waves, based upon age. The older we got, the longer we’d hang around for the conversation. There was a lot of political talk (mostly critical) about the general state of affairs both locally and nationally. That’s where I learned about not only current events but also family stories, like how a great uncle dislocated a shoulder from cranking up his early Ford car. I had that same feeling of awe that my kids get when I tell them that I only had three channels on my TV and no remote when I was growing up.

Despite some hard times in his life, my grandfather was a joyful man. He laughed often and delighted in teasing his grandchildren. And he was even more delighted when we got old enough to “give it right back.” Joke Christmas gifts, funny ecards, and lots and lots of ribbing each other. All in love.

One of the expressions I heard frequently growing up was, “I wouldn’t tease you if I didn’t love you.” Growing up in my house, we all pretty much had to learn how to take a joke. Thank goodness.

After his death, I received an inheritance. Not a huge amount but enough to make me consider how to wisely spend it. I wanted to somehow honor my grandfather with the money. It would have been easy and perhaps prudent to pay off some bills. Instead, my husband and I went table shopping!

We bought a great big huge table with lots of chairs. It’s about 9 feet long and almost 4 feet wide. It’s awesome. It has a rustic look because I wanted it to be used and enjoyed. I didn’t want to worry about every scratch. When we bought it, I was hoping that my family would sit around it for hours, just talking. I pictured my kids doing homework and working on crafts. And that’s exactly what happened.

Yes, my table is often a mess. It usually has craft supplies and homework projects spread all over. But, most evenings everything is put away so that we can all sit down together. I think that would have pleased my grandfather.

Dinner is a great time to gather and talk about what went on that day. I find that I often can’t get my children to slow down enough to tell me more than the basics of their day until we sit down to dinner. There’s something about breaking bread together that encourages real talk. The sharing of thoughts rather than just a rundown of the day. If we don’t have meaningful conversations with the people we love, how can we have meaningful relationships with them? In addition, there’s research that shows children who sit down and eat regular meals with their parents eat healthier, get better grades, and have lower rates of smoking, drinking and drug use.

My kids know the origin of the table and our reasons for purchasing such a large one. They know many of my grandfather’s stories. Mostly, they know how much I value family. As you sit down around your table this holiday season, give thanks for the wonderful gift of family and the conversations that are shared.

-Kay

I do not like to cook. I’ve only really acknowledged this recently because I feel like I should like to cook. Other people seem to, and I certainly like to eat, so where is the disconnect? For me, I think it’s partly because I have to prepare meals everyday for a somewhat picky crowd. Every darn day.

If I only had to worry about, say, Wednesday dinner each week, I could pour over recipes in preparation and find something that would appeal to everyone. I could sauté, braise, and roast to my heart’s content. But when it’s a daily occurrence, it becomes a chore. And rarely am I solely focused on cooking. Like most moms, I’m often multitasking between homework assistance, settling quarrels, and our constantly ringing phone. Then when the meal is served, there is usually at least one child who is less than enthusiastic about it. Where’s the joy in that?

I even have a beautiful recipe box that my husband made for me for Mother’s Day. My older kids copied over my recipes onto large index cards while my youngest decorated the backs with pictures they printed out from Webshots. Still, nothing.

But I do love to bake. It’s not daily and everyone appreciates the end product. You can’t go wrong with a cookie. So, when I received an e-mail asking if I would prepare something for the teachers at my daughter’s school to eat on conference night, I was happy to comply when I saw that desserts were needed. However, I apparently wasn’t quick enough, because I received an e-mail back saying that desserts were covered but could I please send in a crock-pot of soup.

I responded with a hearty “sure” since I didn’t want to admit my culinary inadequacies to those PTO moms. Nothing against PTO. I’m a member, myself. Just some of those Moms are so bubbly and well, perfect. After I hit the send button, I regretted it. I don’t make soup. I Googled “soup recipes” but they all required so much chopping and dicing and time. I called my neighbor and asked if it was tacky to pour canned soup into my crock-pot and just add some noodles and chicken to make it look homemade.

She responded by saying, “No, um, that’s fine. But I have a really easy soup recipe. You just roast chicken, shred the meat, cut up carrots,” and that’s when my mind started glazing over. I just don’t enjoy cooking. Period. I wish I did.

So, I was debating about what to do about the whole soup thing and I had a brainstorm. One of my very favorite, easiest recipes is called chicken chili. Chili’s close enough, right? So, on conference night I made it, took it to the school, and put this little label on it that said, “Mexican Chicken Soup.” Brilliant.

The very next day, a woman from the PTO called me and told me that she had received multiple e-mails from the teachers and the principal requesting the recipe because my soup was such a hit. She asked if she could have the recipe and would it be okay with me if she forwarded it throughout the school district.

After I yelled, “IN YOUR FACE, PTO!” (inside my head), I agreed. My only hesitation was the recipe is so darn easy. Now the teachers would know that I hadn’t been slaving away all day to create the perfect soup. But, I happily shared it and I’ll share it with you too because even mothers who like to cook need a few easy recipes for those busy days.

Chicken Chili (or Mexican Chicken Soup)

2 cans Great Northern Beans (undrained)
2 cans of canned chicken (undrained)
1 16 oz jar mild salsa
1 package (2 cups) shredded Mexican blend cheese

Mix all together in crock-pot and cook on low 3-4 hours. It is delicious and easy. My kind of recipe.

While I was searching for a soup recipe I came across a few good websites regarding food and children. Nutrition Explorations is a site for kids to check out and learn about nutrition. It has some cute activities and recipes that my 4th grader had fun with. Kids Food is a site that is for parents. It has ideas on how to get your children engaged in cooking and also kid-friendly recipes. And after looking at the Food Network website, it even made a non-chef type like myself feel like putting on my apron.

Bon appetit!

-Kay

I’m no longer a practicing Catholic.

But now that the election is over, I may need to confess my sins.

“Bless me, Father,” I would say in the confessional, “for I have said 400 unloving things during political debates, rallies and conventions. Out loud. In front of my children.”

It’s important to note here that I am generally a mother who prides herself on practicing and preaching tolerance whenever applicable. I don’t let my children say bad things about people who are different than they, nor so much as kill a spider that finds its way into the house.

I am also a mother who strode up and down in front of the TV during political conventions and debates, yelling intolerant comments at various and specific candidates, while openly sneering at them in front of my children.

Could it help to know I’m not the only sinner in the room?

“My son said watching me watch the (other) convention, was like watching Dad watch college football on Saturday,” said my friend, Megan. “I kept telling him we have to understand what’s good about all the candidates. But my son says, ‘Then why did you always yell at Sarah Palin when she was on television, Mom?’”

Let me also say that in addition to practicing and preaching tolerance, my friend Megan and I routinely practice other good habits that make us role models for our children. In fact, about the worst I do in front of my kids is sneak my own popcorn into movies. I consistently drive 1-4 miles over the speed limit. OK, and as long as I’m coming clean, I say bad words on particularly significant occasions, like the other day when the lid exploded off the blender, spraying scalding potato soup all over me.

I promise to bring these items before Father while I’m in there.

Meanwhile, I know that part of being cleansed of sin is vowing not to commit them anymore. And therein is going to be our little problem: I’ll do much better saying 400 Hail Marys for penance than going back into the world with a renewed commitment not to say ugly things about people who I think are saying ugly things. That’s the funny thing about my breed of intolerance. My intolerance is almost always in response to other people’s ugliness. Shouldn’t that be OK? Or is this just moral justification, much like saying it’s OK to take in my own popcorn because they are price-gauging me with theirs?

“I’m sorry,” I kept telling my kids, especially my impressionable preteen, even as I was yelling at the TV. I’m not perfect, and neither are the Amish, who reportedly sew the tiniest mistake into each beautifully accomplished quilt. They make the mistake intentionally as noting that only God is perfect.

The same could be said when I’m yelling at the TV. I am not God — and neither is that &^%$#$%B on C-Span.

- Debra-Lynn

One of my favorite parts of watching my children grow is their emergence of language and how they almost magically internalize all of the rules and vocabulary necessary in order to speak English. While they’re learning, little kids all have words they say that aren’t quite right, even though you know what they mean. When my kids misspeak, I often correct them or use the word they’re looking for in a sentence of my own. Before I know it, I’ve forgotten all of the adorable mistakes they used to make daily.

My five-year-old, Olivia, still occasionally says “hims” instead of “his.” As in, “this is hims book.” It’s rare now, but every once in a while she slips back into the pronoun confusion stage. It just sounds so sweet to my ears. Otherwise, Olivia has pretty much mastered the major grammatical rules. However, she still has some vocabulary that she confuses or just fabricates. For example, she calls a sneeze an “ahchoo,” as in “I feel like I have to ahchoo.” Another is she calls the dentist the tooth fairy despite understanding the distinction. But, for whatever reason, she has always called our dentist the tooth fairy. I guess it helps that we have a female dentist. Now, the entire family has taken to calling our dentist the tooth fairy. And we probably always will. Let me explain.

We have some words that we’ve adopted and made part of our family lexicon, i.e. “packaback” for “backpack” and “comfortable” for “comforter.” These are invented words that we use so frequently that they are accepted parts of our conversation. Not only do we retain the words but we also hold onto some memories as each has a cute story behind it. Furthermore, it encourages that sense of team that I try to build into our family unit. It’s similar to having inside jokes. Now, we don’t go around talking baby talk or anything like that. It’s just the occasional word or phrase. I’ll share two of my favorites.

When my oldest daughter, Emily, was about two, she was (still is) a very picky eater. After learning that it wasn’t acceptable to say, “yuck” she cleverly came up with the oft repeated, “it’s not my favorite.” It’s so polite that it’s hard to be offended. We have generalized this expression in our home to refer to not only food but most anything: books, movies, clothes, and even the occasional person. It’s rare for one of my kids to say, “I don’t like whatever.” But, you often hear, “it’s not my favorite.” We all know what it really means.

My second story involves my daughter, Grace. When she was about three, she was leaning over an infant, studying her. The baby reached up, grabbed a hunk of hair, and pulled hard. Grace was in a difficult position. The baby was hurting her, yet she knew she couldn’t just haul off and slug her. So, in a very deep, low, strangely quiet voice she said, “Don’t do that baby.” Like she was in the mafia or something.

So, “don’t do that baby,” is thrown out in conversation frequently. If one of my daughters is about to do something unwise, that’s my comment. Tone and all.

I believe by retaining a few adorable, funny verbal mistakes or cute phrases and turning them into part of your family’s language, it is unifying. It’s like a secret code.

After all, your family is a very exclusive club. By special invitation only.

-Kay

Last month, I wrote about the Parent-Teacher Association meeting. I shared with you how stunned I was at the childish behavior that ensued. (Here’s the original post)

Two weeks ago, the minutes from the meeting came out and NOTHING was written in the minutes about the problem that was raised. It was as if the whole incident was erased. To top it off, nothing was noted about the issue being discussed at the next meeting (which is what the committee said they would do).

Disappointed doesn’t even begin to describe my feelings.

So here’s what I’ve learned:

• I am a Polyanna. I believe that people and groups genuinely want to improve and grow.
• Being a Polyanna is lonely.

What keeps running through my mind are my children’s voices “but that’s not fair,” “but that isn’t nice,” “but you told us we’re supposed to work together.”

All true. It isn’t fair, it isn’t nice and it clearly is not working together. Unfortunately, the world isn’t always fair, nice or cooperative.

So what do I do now? Give up? Uh, no! I will continue to teach my children that there are issues worth fighting for (just prepare yourself to face apathy in others).

That Polyanna side of me wants to keep fighting for justice. That Polyanna side of me believes if I just figure out the right way to discuss the problem that we can work together…

And so, I remain dedicated to working together (or, more truthfully, to find a way to get the group to believe it is worth it to work together!). I called another parent to prepare for the meeting and we’re putting together a committee….there is strength in numbers! If we join together, we’ll be heard and understood. If we stick with it, we’ll prevail.

Polyanna’s search for justice continues….