A Simple Hug

Tweens are, biologically and emotionally, a hot mess. As someone who was once a tween (and then a teen) I can recognize the misery of being entirely overtaken by hormones, but not understanding what that overwhelming feeling is. Unfortunately for me, Brynn almost always channels those feelings into outbursts of anger directed at me.

Seriously. Two days ago she was furious at me because 7x8 did not equal 58.

The majority of our time together is spent in a delicate dance of managing or evading rampaging hormones. Without fail there's a minimum of one rage filled outburst every day, sometimes many more. Frequently it's a string of things, as if once she begins acting out she just can't reign it back in.

Years ago I read an article explaining that a child who could keep it together at school, but started unravelling at home, was actually rather well adjusted. So at least Brynn knows not to berate her teacher when the multiplication tables don't meet her creative mathematical interpretations. Still, it wears away at both of us at home.

All of this is to set the scene for Brynn walking silently into my bedroom two nights ago, walking up behind me, wrapping her arms around me, and laying her head on my back. No one said anything for a couple minutes. We just stood there with each other. Exhausted.

Eventually I turned around and wrapped my arms around her too. Not too soon. I didn't want to ruin that hug. It was spontaneous, honest, and increasingly rare. I couldn't risk ending it. But when I turned around Brynn didn't go anywhere. She just leaned on my chest and we rocked back and forth for a minute. All the stress and tension just melted away.

Then I tickled her and we fell onto the bed, laughing wildly.

In all, the scene lasted maybe 5 minutes. It made my whole night, maybe my week.

That hug will have to keep me going through the resistance to chores, demands to abandon our dog, Ke$ha, indignant complaints about having a bedtime, makeup, pleas for everything from a bigger room to strapless bras, the dreaded homework hurricane, and so much more. It will though.

The tween emotional roller coaster takes its toll on everyone who's drug along its ups and downs. But there are ups. I cherish those. The downs are intense and hurtful, but when you love each other you get each other through. Sometimes with a hug.

They Just Don't Make "First Days" Like They Used To

On the first day of kindergarten proud parents spring out of bed at the crack of dawn to prepare their munchkins for their very first encounter with elementary education. There are dresses and bows and enough pictures to fill an album. Children want their parents to drive them to school and walk them to their classrooms. These tiny pupils even tell their anxious parents everything about their day once they get home.

Brynn's first day of kindergarten was like that. Her first days of a few subsequent grades even resemble this fairy tale model. Fifth grade was not a fairy tale first day. In fact, it was kind of a bumbling mess.

The night before, Brynn couldn't fall asleep. One thing after another spun through her head and kept her up past 11pm, despite laying down at 8:30. No worries though, her outfit was chosen, lunch packed, and shoes located. Monday morning was set to run like clockwork.

Except I screwed up the clock. Like countless times before, I managed to set my phone alarms for pm instead of am. Two out of three alarms were accidentally set to sound close to dinner-time. When the third alarm went off at 7:35 I immediately knew it was too bright outside and that something was terribly wrong.

I sprung out of bed. Ran to Brynn's room. Threw on the light and yanked back the covers.

Good morning, welcome to fifth grade. You're about to be tardy.

In the end Brynn made it to school in plenty of time, but she'd missed the bus and her friends. I'd missed any chance to take photos. I did get to drive her to school, but I think we'd both have been mortified if I'd walked her to the classroom in my pajama pants.

To make up for the rocky start I walked to the bus stop, camera in hand, to meet her and take an action shot as she strode off the bus. As they turned the corner and I readied the camera I realized the memory stick was in my laptop. Foiled again.

I did snag a couple quick shots before Brynn made it inside the house, but she wasn't exactly ecstatic.

                                       Impatient is really more the emotion she's got going on this year.

I'd like to say that her second day ran smoother. It did not. Brynn and a friend bounded down to the bus stop ten minutes early. Forty five minutes later...<knock, knock knock>. I guess the bus driver overslept. So we're 2 for 2 on pajama clad last minute rides to school. Not an auspicious start.

On the bright side, Brynn got loads of compliments on her second day of school outfit.

                                                      One of these days these hightops are gonna walk all over you.

It's gonna be a long year folks. A long year.

Confessions of a Rotten Chef; My Pot Roast is the Pits

Tonight I did everything right. I set aside plenty or time. I bought fresh veggies. I followed the recipe like I was a first year chemistry grad student in the laboratory. Still...failure.

For years now I've attempted to make the perfect pot roast. I'd have even settled for a very good pot roast. Most of my attempts have been edible, perhaps even "okay," but never delectable.

Pot roast is one of my very favorite foods. It's a dish that's even able to make carrots taste fantastic. The perfect comfort food. Unfortunately, it always turns out a little less than comforting when I make it. This failure is all the more poignant in the face of how simple pot roast is supposed to be. Tonight, after my latest less-than-melt-in-your-mouth roast, I called a friend who suggested I just needed to put the roast in water with a little bit of salt, pepper, and oil. How can I be screwing this up?!?

Tonight, I started with a 2.5 lb chuck roast. I braised it, put it in water with lipton onion soup and red wine, added minced garlic. I waited until just an hour before presentation and added potatoes and carrots. Aromatically it was 110% success. It looked juicy and mouth-watering. I could barely wait to taste it! Ultimately though, it was bland and sort of rubbery. I'd been worried that the onion soup mix and the garlic might be too flavorful, how could this roast be bland?!?

 The real stars of tonight's show. It was better in the glasses than in the roast.

I wish I had answers, but it turns out I really am a struggling cook. I'm hoping my kitchen-savvy friends will be able to set me on the right path. I beg of you, please save my next dinner party (my apologies to my friends who've been subjected to multiple failed pot roast attempts). Short of buying a crock-pot or smuggling in a roast cooked by a friend, what's the secret?

Breaking Up is Hard to Do...Unless You're Brynn

So Brynn got dumped tonight.

For more than a year she's had a long distance boyfriend. Once a month or so they'd exchange a phone call or an email, but she put a lot of thought into whether or not to stay with him in the face of other cute little boys liking her. I wasn't sure exactly how she was taking the news after her now ex-boyfriend popped out of his house and announced that he'd just broken up with Brynn. Would there be tears? Was she going to be snippy or say mean things?

She tagged him, shouted "you're it!," and ran for base. They played for at least another hour before I pried her away because it was getting late. The only time she mentioned it again was in a whispered voice in my ear assuring me that she "was going to break up with him anyway."

When we piled in the car I wondered if maybe now she'd be a little sad. I asked her what had happened. He simply said that since she lived so far away he was breaking up with her. She responded "okay" and reminded him that she'd suggested that months ago when we first moved. Then they went to play. As easy as that. Was she sad?

Brynn: "Sad?!? I'm SINGLE!!! I'm gonna get a new boyfriend!"

She even sang a little made up tune about having a new boyfriend.

Without a doubt, future breakups will be heart wrenching for Brynn. There will be tears. For now though, breaking up is about moving on when the time is right for everyone...and about staying friends. I know she's only 10, but I couldn't hope for a better breakup for her.

Winning Isn't Everything, Except When You Won, A Tale of Two 5Ks

Running a 5K in July during a heat wave is probably not a brilliant idea. That's exactly what Brynn and I did yesterday morning though.

Physical challenges aren't my strong suit and this was the first 5K I've ever entered. Last year when Brynn was running cross country (she was awarded for being the most improved runner of the year) I promised her I'd try to walk and get in good enough shape to do a 5K with her. The transplant had lowered my blood counts and my physical endurance. If I was going to do a 5K, I had a lot of work ahead of me. Despite the stifling heat, I started walking at a local park this summer. I was slow and I wasn't walking very far, but I was out there giving it a go. When we saw there was going to be a 5K at the very same park we knew this had to be the one we "ran" together.

                            Me before the race. Yes before. I know I'm sweating. It was hot.

I certainly didn't run. Well, just for a few feet off the starting line because I signed up for the "run." The runners started 5 minutes before the walkers and I knew I was going to need that head start. Before the starting line was out of sight I was down to a walk and I walked the remainder of the race. My victorious last place finish was fine by me though. My goal was to finish the race without crawling or crying. I might have come in behind every runner in the race (and six of the walkers who passed me) but I completed a 5K and kept my promise to Brynn. It isn't all about winning anyways, right?

Actually, it is all about winning when you've won. In this race there were awards for three different age groups, with the youngest being 3-11 years old. Brynn knew 3 things: there weren't many kids, she was one of the oldest kids in that age range, and she'd run cross country in the past. She ran with her eyes on the prize and finished at around 40 minutes. Not her best time, but she was convinced she'd come in first for the elementary category. Imagine her disappointment when they only gave ribbons to the adult and the older youth (12-17)! As soon as the awards were finished and the raffle prizes had been given away her lip began to quiver. Act fast mom! "Brynn let's go to the car and talk about it there!" Too late. As the tears started rolling down her face she put her head down on the picnic table. She cried for several minutes before sulking and sniffling her way to the car. Ever heard of a sore winner?

As soon as we arrived back at my mom's house Brynn trudged up to her room, still sniffling with the occasional tear. Being the protective mom that I am, I headed straight for the computer and composed an email to the race director. Without being forceful or rude I explained how disappointed we were with the elimination of the kids awards. I mean, who does that? Especially to 3 to 11 year olds! In other words, I sent a politely worded guilt trip to her inbox. Within 15 minutes my phone was ringing.

Director: Hi, is this Shawntel?

Me: It is. How are you doing?

Director: Just awful actually. I feel completely terrible.

Good. That's not what I said of course, but you should feel terrible when you make kids cry, particularly when you make my kid cry. She was SO apologetic that I couldn't be upset for long. The ribbons had been left in her trunk and she'd forgotten all about them. Who knows if that's true, she might've just run to the store and bought three more ribbons. Didn't matter. To set things right she insisted on driving to the house and presenting Brynn her ribbon. You should have seen the magical transformation in Brynn's expression when I announced that her ribbon was on its way.

                           Can you believe this child was crying not 5 minutes before this?

So for me, a -7 last place finish was a huge personal victory. (Let's not talk about my time. When I told a runner friend how long it took me to finish she stopped and asked me again if it was a 5K). Brynn had a real victory, with a first place finish in her age group, but it didn't feel like it until someone recognized her achievement. "It isn't always about winning" is a good lesson, but I'm glad she was able to revel in her success this time around.