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Tell Me About Your Failure

Take those things out of your ears and tell me your biggest failure right this minute young lady!"

That's me, parent extraordinaire, attempting a deep bonding moment with my pre-teen daughter.

I was just following the advice of Stanford University professor Carol Dweck in her book, Mindset: The New Psychology of Success.

She makes the case that intelligence can be developed through effort and education. We parents can foster this by, among other things, sitting around the dinner table and talking about mistakes and what has been learned from them.

So when last Sunday afternoon found me, my husband and two kids driving to a family dinner, I decided to take advantage of my children being trapped in a fast moving mini van and gave her theory a test.

"So kids, Mom has a question. Tell me about your biggest failures."

Silence.

I swiveled around to see that they were both listening to their iPods and hadn't heard a word I said.

I motioned for them to remove the ear buds and repeated my request.

My eldest daughter threw me one of those incredulous looks that teenagers do so well and informed me that if I was going to keep asking lame questions like that she was going to stay connected to her iPod for the rest of her life.

Now I love my daughter and I wasn't prepared to give up so easily. Thinking quickly, I tried another tact.

"How about I start. I'll tell you a recent failure of mine."

"This could take a while," quipped my husband.

Reminding him that it was his turn next, I continued.

"Mom has a book club meeting tomorrow night and I'm on page seven of a 900 page book. I think it's safe to assume that I've failed at finishing this book. Now, how should I handle this?"

They began to get interested. Thinking for a moment, my youngest leaned forward and in her most serious voice directed me to, "Lie mommy."

The older and wiser one was more crafty. "Don't say anything unless you're asked. And if they do ask you something, just nod your head and say, 'It didn't resonate with me' They'll never know."

Momentarily distracted by their deceitful yet excellent suggestions, it took me a few minutes to realize that my bonding and life-skill training moment had morphed into a discussion on how best to trick The Happy Bookers. (By the way, if anyone from my book club is reading this, I did finish the book, really, it just didn't resonate with me.)

I was brought back to the present moment by the sound of my family competing with each other to come up with the best tale of Mom's failures.

"Remember the time Mom asked her hairdresser for "a little change" and came home with bright orange hair?"

"Remember the time Mom was going to start a craft business but after three months had only produced three scarves and the sleeve of a sweater?"

As the peels of laughter rang through the car, I said a silent thank you to Dr. Dweck. Her technique didn't work exactly as I had envisioned it but we were, nevertheless having a bonding moment.

Karen is an urbanmoms.ca member, a freelance writer and the publisher of a website for Toronto women 40+ - The Best Kept Secret

Camping With Small Children is Not for the Weak

We tried our best. Our first night (Friday) was actually a lot of fun. We set up the site, had a lovely dinner with friends, the kids played joyfully in the forest, strolled to the beach to watch a gorgeous sunset, and wrapped things up with a campfire and marshmallows. A great start! The kids even went to sleep without too much muss and fuss! Ah, the outdoors are definitely for me.

It was the next morning that things went sour. After awakening at 7:00 am (why don't children sleep late when they go to bed late?!) we noticed a slightly menacing sky overhead. Best to get the tarp up over our picnic table and cooking area.  By the time we had it up, the downpour began.

Perhaps a passing shower, we thought. By 10:00 am, we realized it wasn't clearing and remembered there was a children's activity (Wiggly Worms!) taking place at the Visitor's Centre. We threw the kids into the van as quickly as possible and drove over to the Centre. They enjoyed about an hour of fun there and then we were back at the soggy site to determine next steps as the rain continued.

It was decided we'd take a drive into the nearby town for lunch and explore a bit. Well, tough to explore in the pouring rain so we found a pub to hunker down in for some fish and chips. By the time we made it back to the site, the rain was coming down even harder, with a few thunder claps to boot.

We gave it one last chance and drove to the Park Office to check on the forecast. Rain, rain and more rain. Oh, and a thunderstorm, too. Looks like Mother Nature was not on our side this weekend. Daddy, being the outdoor enthusiast he is, said we should stay and try to make the best of it. The rest of us, however, thought otherwise. There's no playing cards with a toddler and baby for 8 hours in a cold tent! What planet was he from?!

With disappointment, mostly on Daddy's part, we began packing up. Of course, the mood (or rather, *my* mood) turned quickly to frustration inside the tent as entertaining three small children in a 10 X 13 enclosure for 1.5 hours isn't easy, especially as you are trying to pack up. Between Suvi complaining that her Leapster wasn't working right (yes, I brought the Leapster to camp for her...so sue me), Max spreading mud all over the floor and turning off Suvi's Leapster, to Finnegan attempting to put teeny little puncture holes in every wall of the tent with his toys, it was a long, long 1.5 hours in that tent.

Once we had everything except the tent into the van, it was time to throw the kids in and put on a movie to keep their minds off how cold and damp and miserable they were. I had to keep Finnegan fed and occupied as he was not at all interested in the movie. He climbed around the front seats of the van, throwing food at me and occasionally turning off the movie for the other two (resulting in serious loud complaining until it resumed) or putting the gear shift into neutral. Why couldn't he just nap all day, for goodness sake!

After an hour in the van, Daddy finished loading the tent and other equipment into the back and, drenched and exhausted, sat himself in the front seat ready to get on our way. "We should have just stayed," he said. I'll let you imagine what my response was.

Cynthia is an urbanmoms.ca member and also a blogger in her own right. Share your feedback (and maybe your own camping horror stories!) below, in comments.

Remembering Shelby

Karri is an urbanmoms.ca member and mom of one who lives in Calgary. Last year she lost her beloved dog, Shelby, and this week she shares a glimpse into the grieving and recovery process of that loss in Remembering Shelby.

I had a moment tonight that hasn't happened in a couple of months...  a piercing, soul-stopping, all-encompassing memory, based on smell.  I opened a bag of take-out Swiss Chalet that my husband had brought home, and (bear with me here) it smelled momentarily like Shelby after I used to walk her out in the summer rains of the big T.O.  Now, setting aside the issue of my dinner smelling like wet dog, I was totally caught off guard, and found myself desperately inhaling the scent from the bag (I know, totally unsafe, in retrospect) and crying all over my white quarter chicken dinner with mashed potatoes and gravy.  (And salad, for those concerned with my dietary intake.)   I let myself smell that stupid bag until all the smell was gone, and then when it was, I was both mortified and relieved.  And sad.  And bleary-eyed from crying into my chicken.  And although the dinner was yummy, I have to say it took just about everything I had to stuff it down, for a host of psychological reasons that even I don't want to examine too closely.

I've had this moment multiple times since her death.  Not with my dinner, mind you, and not even chicken-related.  But there have been at least 10 instances in the past 15 months that have been copies of what happened tonight - moments where my heart nearly stops because some tangible reality of her past presence is somehow suddenly reintroduced into my world, and then simultaneously taken away by the knowledge that she is no longer here.  I find myself so exposed in these moments - I crave them, for in that split second that the memory starts, I have my girl back with me.  And I hate them, because after that split second is over, the happy shock turns into crushing pain and a flood of tears and emotion - I'm like a deep-fried nerve on a stick - raw on the inside, prickly on the outside, and bad for the digestive system. 

These moments have run the sensory gamut so far - from hallucinating that I could hear the click clack of her nails on the hardwood, to coming down the stairs and actually sensing movement from the corner where her bed used to be, to hearing the metallic jingle of the tags on her collar when I come home and open the door, to finding the lid that used to fit on partially-used cans of soft food, to smelling the smell of her on her harness when it got unpacked at the new house, to forgetting that I don't have to put my water glass up high and at least a foot in from the edge of the table anymore, to realizing we have a ton more plastic shopping bags, now that we don't have to stoop and scoop, to finding myself crying and inhaling into a plastic bag because my dinner smells like my wet dog.  Some moments are one-timers, and others linger for weeks at a time.  They all have this in common, though:  they never fail to catch me off guard with a punch to the gut, no matter how frequently or rarely they occur. 

It's like my system is programmed to remember Shelby as intensely now as the day she died.  I remember everything about that day.  The snapshots in my head may be slightly out of order when I tell the story, and even a bit messy due to the emotions, but I can put the day together like a puzzle bought from the Goodwill - the pieces may be jagged and used and rubbed raw on the edges, and the colour may be fading from some of the images, but all the bits are there, and they still fit together.  No matter how many times I stumble across her momentary, and very real, presence, I am still then smacked upside the head by the jolting, big-picture reality of her absence.

Do I want this to stop?  Yes.  No.  Yes.  No. 

Do I want relief from being an exposed nerve, capable of the highs-to-lows ratio of a high-wire artist?  In those moments, yes.  Afterwards, no, since I am slowly recognizing that this frustrating ability to feel and ingest and inhabit emotions is one of my most developed, yet underrated and maligned qualities.

Do I realize that breathing into a plastic bag is not FDA approved?  And that it is somewhat disburbing that I proceeded to eat the quarter chicken dinner, even though it smelled like my pet?  Yes.  (Although, I'm trying to keep in mind that the very fact I managed it was also a victory of sorts.)

And do I feel embarrassed by myself, my psychological state, my impulse to put it online, or my admittedly long and loquacious note?  No.  I do not feel embarrassed.  I may feel a lot of things, but not that.  I feel sad.  I feel better.  I feel exhausted.  I feel relieved.  I feel numb.  I feel drained.  I feel exposed.  I feel connected.  I feel honest.

And I still miss Shelby.

Flying the Nest

I just wanted to take a moment to have a word with all the girls out there with friends having a child leave for their first year at university. I am now going on my third year of this and must say that this year I think I will handle it better; some of us just have a really hard time with it.

I really enjoy my son and I enjoyed having him in the house everyday. Even though I helped him select the University and I went for the orientation and everything, nothing could have prepared me for the devestation I felt that day dropping him off.

Or even the the months to follow.

I cried like a baby for months. I felt separated from a person that I did not want to be separated from. Everyone told me the same thing:

It's okay, it's for the best, you knew this was coming, he's doing great.

All true but unfortunately not very helpful tips. I look back now and wish I had known what was coming and had prepared for it by maybe having a girls' night in afterwards; a girlfriend, a bottle of wine and some nail polish maybe. I needed to vent and almost mourn but had to go back my family and still be mom to others in the household.

So if you have a friend out there that you know will be facing this, make sure they know you are there, make sure they know that other women do suffer from this -- and I mean suffer. Just be a girlfriend and support her during this. Believe it or not, come the third year, you are starting to feel more comfortable with your new role and you do move on and even know that there is more pain to come but that these small steps off to university will prepare you for the big blow!

Jean is an urbanmoms.ca member, mom of four and writer. Please share your comments on her story below.

Am I Alone?

As a mom to 2 teens and a tween (all  girls), I am just wondering if  everyone's life is like this??

My  husband has already left for work. As I lie awake at 6:30, I hear the shower, then I hear it again. Even if I heard it last night, you are NEVER too clean for high school and heaven forbid if your hair did not turn out right. I don't step foot out of the room until 10 minutes before the bus comes; I have learned that it only serves one purpose to talk to a teen in the morning: if you would like an eyebrow scrunch with the 'WOW' look or just to be ignored.

They leave at 7:30, just barely making it on the bus. Then my 11 year-old wakes up smiling and happy, until she finds out the weather has changed and she can't wear the outfit she had chosen last night. Oh, man, look out. Now we have to get a new outfit picked, breakfast eaten, lunch made and out the door in less than an hour. I am also getting ready to go, as I work 2 days a week.

Skip to 10:45: high school lunch break, I have already received 10 text msgs, of which I have only replied to two beacuse it takes me so bloody long to type on my stupid cell phone and - oh ya - because I write  in complete sentences!

I need a ride after school

Can I go here with so and so, [do I remember that name?]

I have joined this or that team, I need $50.00.

By the time I have gone to the school to pick them up at 4:00, both are texting others and I get no "thanks mom, for picking me up".

Supper is blur, #1 daughter has a job, to which I have to drive her, because you can't drive alone until you are 17. GREAT. I need another job just to cover fuel costs to drive my kids to their jobs.

Between, facebook, MSN, and homework, my alotted time on the computer seems to be at about 4am.

So now I am wondering, am I alone in this???

Thanks for listening....

Julie is an urbanmoms.ca member an mom to 3 girls (2 teenagers and one 'tween'). Please share your thoughts on her story in comments, below (come on, don't be shy - everyone LOVES to get comments!).

Do you have a story to tell? Why not submit it for publication in The Lounge? Submissions should be between 300-700 words in length, and please send an image (or several) that is relevant to the story. Images should be in jpeg format. Send your submissions to contribute@urbanmoms.ca.

Love Thy Neighbor

The Lounge is that special area of urbanmoms.ca reserved for member submissions. So sit back and enjoy this week's submission, brought to you from Kara of Peachland (gotta love that name!), BC.

Often at the end of my days I sit down on my couch with a cup of tea and say to my husband “What a great day!” other days...not so much!  As the mother of 4 children under the age of 7 I often find myself in situations where I underestimate what can happen if just one little thing strays from the plan I had in my head.

Let me be so bold as to provide an example of this I had just recently. Lets call it “A trip to the grocery store.....gone bad”. I was out for a quick trip to pick up the essentials needed to run every household with small ones.  Everything was going along as planned, we made it through unscathed (and did I mention I was out with 3 year old twins and a 16 month old with a fever/ear infection!!)  So everyone is loaded into the van, we are ready to head home and wouldn't you know it the van decides today is the day it won't start.  Now not only does it not start but nothing works, no door locks, no auto door etc., you get what I am saying, disaster!  Well, I call my hubby, he is not available, he is conducting an interview or something of the sort, I am really not interested in listening at this point. 

Remaining calmish (Serenity Now, I keep saying under my breath!)  I unload the kids and the groceries, trek into the store ready for a walk in the 30 degree weather to my husband's work to get a ride home.  As I tell my story to the lovely ladies at the local grocery store not only am I met with sympathy, but the owner offers to drive me, my three darlings and my groceries home.  Talk about going above and beyond, she hardly knows me and she offered, no she insisted that she give us a ride home, like it was no big deal!  I sighed a great sigh of relief, thanked her profusely and we made it home safe and sound (leaving hubby a message to deal with said dead van).  We try to teach our children everyday do unto others as you would have done unto you.  A moment like this was such a teaching moment.  We baked a ton of cookies and made a beautiful card and took them down (once said van was back on the road) as a small token to thank her for her kindness.

This isn't the only occasion where I have experienced an act of kindness so sincere and so life altering by a member of our community.  Maybe it's life in a small town or maybe we just are lucky to be surrounded by wonderful people.  I don't know but when a neighbor shows up at my door with fresh baked muffins or cookies just because.  Or another one supplies us with month's worth of frozen fruit because “the kids will enjoy it and it's so good for them”.  Or another neighbor hops the fence on a daily basis to play chase with my kids, pet the dog and offer me a bit of advice here and there.  Or even better has the kids over for an ice cream and some morning cartoons just because they love them.  I mean really does it get much better than this?  Most days, I think not.  I count the blessings in our lives and try to “Love thy neighbor” as much as they love us and our brood.

So really the point of this article is to say thanks to those whose random acts of kindness pick up our mommy spirits on the days that sometimes feel not so good and make us remember how very loved we are.

Do you have a story to tell? Why not submit it for publication in The Lounge? Submissions should be between 300-700 words in length, and please send an image (or several) that is relevant to the story. Images should be in jpeg format. Send your submissions to contribute@urbanmoms.ca.