And you thought your last cake was a mess. Credit: cakewrecks.blogspot.com

When our firstborn turned one, I decided to do a farm-themed party in honor of his love of animals and tractors, complete with a homemade barn cake. This was the first theme cake I'd ever attempted and I had no inkling that no matter how many bottles of red food coloring you add to butter cream frosting, it will remain pink.

In addition to the color issue, in all the stress of preparations for the party, only a square pan and lone cupcake emerged unscathed from the inferno of that house's ancient convection oven I never quite figured out how to operate. The visual effect of stacking the cupcake on the main cake slathered in pink butter cream was of a Barbie military tank, so I added a plastic straw to complete the effect. Happy 1st Birthday, Baby!

That was a pretty awful cake, but at least I was an amateur. Cake Wrecks is a blog dedicated to professionally decorated cakes that went very, very wrong along the way like an incredibly graphic baby shower cake or a unique "weeding" cake. The more I explore this blog, the better I feel about that tank/barn so many years ago!

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Welcome to Time Out, the place parents go for witty insight, tongue-in-cheek advice, and calming reassurance from a seasoned parenting veteran who believes laughing together beats sobbing alone when it comes to crayons in the dryer and other hazards of childhood.

It occurred to me that many parents are oblivious to the secret meaning behind a teacher's carefully chosen words about a student's behavior. To help understand what is really being said, here are some common sayings translated by someone with a degree in Teacherese. (Cut and paste for a handy reference during Parent/Teacher conference time!)

When a teacher says:
"Johnny was very enthusiastic today!"
What he/she means is:
The kid yelled out (wrong) answers before anyone else all day, even after repeated hand-raising reminders.

When a teacher says:
"Sally shows strong leadership skills."
What is meant is:
Sally consistently shoves, cries, and/or bullies her way to the front of the line.

When a teacher says:
"Johnny was a great friend today!"
What he/ she means is:
Johnny let the classmate with strong leadership skills have cuts in line without going all Fight Club.

When a teacher says:
"Sally shows a high level of self-esteem.
What he/she means is:
Sally thinks she is never wrong, even when logic and facts show that she is.

When a teacher says:
"Johnny was very active!"
What he/she means is:
The little bugger didn't sit down ALL DAY and injured 2 or more classmates.

When a teacher says:
"Sally was a little active today."
It means:
The same as"very active" only with no visible injuries to classmates.

When a teacher says:
"Johnny had a little accident today."
What is really being said is:
This was no damn accident. He peed his pants in spite of being asked forty-seven times if he needed to use the bathroom and if he's be stuck with some urine-related nickname through high school, it's not my fault.

When a teacher says:
"Sally had a little trouble listening today."
It translates to:
Sally was a total jerk. Also? I don't get paid enough.

When a teacher says:
"Johnny got a little upset today."
It means:
If Johnny acted like this as an adult, a neighbor would have called the cops.

When a teacher says:
"Sally was very loving today!"
What is really being said is:
If the kid wasn't clinging to my leg, she was sitting on my lap. I have no feeling from the hips down.

When a teacher says:
"Johnny and Sally seem to have become special friends!"
What is meant is:
That cute little hand-holding has turned into a kissy-face situation.

When a teacher says:
"Johnny and Sally seem to have be getting along better."
What he/she means is:
The two have put their hatred aside and now team torment others.

When a teacher says:
"Johnny has a very active imagination!"
What they're saying is:
The kid told me all your embarrassing family secrets but I'm too classy to let on.

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Welcome to Time Out, the place parents go for witty insight, tongue-in-cheek advice, and calming reassurance from a seasoned parenting veteran who believes laughing together beats sobbing alone when it comes to crayons in the dryer and other hazards of childhood.

Dear Time Out,

After watching this week's historic inauguration ceremony, my first grader has decided his daddy should become president. What's the best way to handle this without crushing his little spirit by admitting that although Daddy is a GREAT guy, he's not exactly Oval Office material?

Signed,

First Lady in Waiting

Dear First Lady,

No matter your political affiliation, it sounds like your household is already reaping the benefits of the Obama administration! Once you point out Daddy already has a job he enjoys, but that if Junior faithfully accomplishes tasks x, y, and z (such as: finishing homework, flossing, and remembering to flush) maybe he'll be President when he grows up!

If Junior persists that Commander in Chief is the perfect job for his super smart Daddy, completely forgetting that it was clever old MOM who pulled together that last-minute science project using only potatoes, string, and cough drops, it might be time to bring up the hard cold facts: before he met Mommy, Daddy dated skanks and it would be impossible for him to run for public office.

Dear Time Out,

One of my worst household fears has been realized-one of the older kids left a permanent marker out and the toddler created a Jackson Pollock down the painted hallway. What now?!

-Scribbler's Mother

Dear Scribblers Momma,

Childhood artwork is always special, but artistry applied to eggshell walls or upholstery is extra memorable! Luckily, even permanent marker fades from most hard surfaces if scrubbed with a paste made up of baking soda and water. (Just be sure to test in an inconspicuous area first, just to be on the safe side.)

To keep history from repeating itself take these safety measures:

1. Gather up all permanent markers in your house
2. Rent a large backhoe
3. Using the backhoe, die a fifteen foot trench.
4. Place all permanent markers into a aluminum garbage can that had been secured with a thirty-foot metal chain that has been triple padlocked.
5. Throw sealed garbage can into trench
6. Fill hole
7. Seal area off with ten-foot fencing topped with barbed wire and patrolled by snarly, snappy guard dogs

Of course, none of the above measures will protect walls from the doodles of a determined toddler, but it will keep your mind off it for a little while!

Dear T.O.,

Blending and adding to our two families means our house includes kids ranging in age from teenager to toddlers. Finding privacy for some special "mommy/daddy" time has been..............rather challenging, to say the least! It will get better, right?!

Signed,

Stacy's Mom is Not Getting it On

Stacy's Mom,

Sure! In about 18 years you'll be able to swing naked from the chandelier if you want! To pass the time until that glorious day, instead of taking in a movie on your next date night, go parking!

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When the school year rolls around to student conference time, there are three options a parent has to look forward to: A good conference, a bad conference, and the student-led conference.

Many of my out-of-state friends had never heard of the student-led conference, so I'm not sure if it's a Michigan thing, or just an annoyance used in our particular school district, so let me elaborate on this marvel of modern education.

Remember when you were a kid and your parents asked you what you did in school that day?
Well, you didn't know it at the time, but that was a student led conference!
Only in today's student-led conference, parents have to schedule a time at the school, cram their behinds into tiny chairs, stuff their knees under the low table and try to keep a calm look on their face as their kid stammers, "uh, uh, uh....then we read. And we do math stuff. And we uh..............write stuff about things........ and stuff. Then it's lunchtime. And then we have recess." because the teacher is sitting there too, probably assessing how well the parent copes with stress.

My first student-led conference was with my oldest, who was a 5th grader at the time.
He stammered and yammered about things he knew I already knew and finally mentioned something about Lit Circle. I asked (in my very polite company voice for the benefit of the teacher smiling serenely at me), "What exactly is Lit Circle?"
And he said very slowly, like he was talking to someone a few beers short a six-pack, "It STANDS FOR......LIT-ER-A-TURE.......CIRCLE. WE READ BOOKS".
And because I was trapped in the seventh circle of hell, the one labeled "Student-led Conferences", I couldn't do anything but smile serenely back (although I might have been kicking his shin under the low table.)

The last three minutes of that student-led conference the teacher gave me his report card. He was getting a D in math and C's in social studies and science.
The blood drained from my face, because the STUDENT LEADING THE DAMN CONFERENCE had failed to mention that he was accidentally throwing out bad tests before his parents could get a glimpse at them as well as omitting the incomplete homework assignment part and was GOING TO FLUNK THE 5TH GRADE IF HE DIDN'T GET HIS HEAD OUT PRONTO, but our twenty minutes with the teacher was up.

Since that first student-led conference, I've suffered through one a year for each of my children and have yet to learn a single bit of information I didn't know before going in: they're decent students who are lousy at public speaking and giving presentations.

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I have a parenting confession to make-my kids are junkies.

No, not the kind of junkie that hangs out in dark alleys with unsavory characters looking for their next fix-the other kind of junkie. Despite my best attempts, I appear to be raising a houseful of hoarders. (Please note that the word was "hoarders" not "whores," which would be an altogether different issue.)

While it's true that my children have never had the honor of trodding upon sacred Disney soil, they are not lacking much when it comes to material goods. There's a Wii in the basement and a barefoot walk will painfully uncover enough Legos to build a replica of the Titanic; the shelves in our home are stocked with books on every subject the kids have ever shown an interest in as well as a bunch they could/would/should down the road. (You know, classics like Grey's Anatomy for Med School, and "The Complete Idiot's Guide to Getting Into Law School".) We have K'Nex, Pokemon, Ugly Dolls, wooden toys, recalled stuff, and likely, loads and loads of lead. We have kid crappe galore!

Which is why I find it so peculiar to come across a stash of empty gum wrappers in a dresser drawer. It's not even the cute comics that come wrapped around Bazooka chewing gum or an assortment of different kinds of gum wrappers -- I can see the logic in keeping that sort of thing. No, this was nothing at all that could be considered the start of a collection -- just a pile of empty Trident paper wraps that never made it to the trash can.

Under the bed I've discovered mounds of used tissues, flattened cereal boxes from the recycle bin, and the round plastic rings off milk jugs. If I didn't know better, I'd assume a cat got into the garbage, but we don't have a house cat. It's just sort of ... Sanford & Son.

Another thing that made me realize that the shorter members of our house have gotten a little to fond of stuff was when our stove died. As I was holding the door open for the delivery guy to haul it off, I noticed that one son had tears in his eyes. He had an emotional attachment TO THE NON-WORKING STOVE AND WAS CRUSHED WE WERE GIVING AWAY HIS HOT LITTLE FRIEND.

Every one of the kids had a special lovey when they were little, a treasured blanket or stuffed animal that they'd hug and snuggle. I understood the importance of these items. I don't understand the significance of gathering and storing used tissues (Science project? Forensic evidence? Analyzing blow patterns?) or empty tin cans (Assessing mold growth? Testing tetanus immunity? Breeding baby robots?). Hoarding food makes sense, we could run out, and animals are said to stockpile more when it's going to be hard winter, but storing up rubbish?!?

I wonder is there a twelve step program for parents of this sort of junkie?

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Welcome to Time Out, the place parents gather for witty insight, tongue-in-cheek advice, and calming reassurance from a seasoned parenting veteran who believes laughing together beats sobbing alone when it comes to crayons in the dryer and other hazards of childhood.

Dear Time Out,

How can I tell if my kid is really sick or just trying to get out of school? I don't mind staying home if something is truly wrong, but a lot of sore throats and tummy aches seem to be occurring on days when there are Dora marathons on Nick Jr. While I'm just as concerned as the next person about Dora's fate, I can't afford to blow sick days just to keep Swiper from swiping and master basic Spanish. It's becoming a grande problemo.

Adios and muchas gracias!

Anne

Dear Anne,

At my rural public school back in the day, the school nurse job appeared to be filled by the first parent to show up with a white uniform in their possession. While she was really nice, I can remember being sent home with a fever on two different occasions after complaining of a sore throat and thinking hot thoughts with the thermometer in my mouth.

And let's face facts, without upholstery-destroying bodily fluids, common, run-of-the-mill-just-don't-feel-so-good illness can be hard to prove. Here some some signs I look for to see if the kid is sick or just sick of school:

• Skin tone is pale or slightly greenish and not due to coloring themselves with markers
• Sweaty or flushed and haven't been wrestling siblings
• Shows lack of interest rather than spontaneously combusting with joy when offered an All-You-Can-Eat soda, juice, and Popsicle buffet
• Quiet and still while awake
• Asks to take a nap (or falls asleep on their own) rather than shrieking about the inhumanity of enforced rest time
• Will watch the Weather Channel for hours without requesting the channel be changed to something animated
• Doesn't notice or care if beverage offered is not in their special cup
• Remain sluggish even after television is turned off and healthy siblings depart for a fun activity (like Disney World)

It's common for kids to fake illness every now and then. As long as it doesn't become a regular avoidance tactic (in which case you should seek professional assistance in how best to teach the child better coping methods) and staying home doesn't become more pleasant and fun school, schedules usually get back to normal fairly quickly.

And if it turns out your kid IS faking, try not to get too upset-think of it as practice for when they enter the working world!

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Welcome to Time Out, the place parents go for witty insight, tongue-in-cheek advice, and calming reassurance from a seasoned parenting veteran who believes laughing together beats sobbing alone when it comes to crayons in the dryer and other hazards of childhood.

Dear Unknown Family Member Who Has Stopped Up the Toilet for the Third Day in a Row,

While I applaud your attempts to deal with the situation yourself (and will be sure to add "Plunging 101" on the agenda for our next family meeting), you might consider to altering your typical bathroom routine. Perhaps a pre-emptive flush before things get out of hand?

Thanks in advance and let's never speak of this again,

Your Mother (or Wife)

Dear Youngest Son,

It has been brought to my attention that you are required by law to address me as "Mommy" until you have filed the appropriate paperwork granting you permission to call me "Mom" like your older and less huggable brothers.

Please make the necessary adjustments as soon as possible.

XOXOXO,

Mommy

Dear 2nd Youngest,

Thanks for emptying the dishwasher without even being asked! I never cared for that particular bowl much anyway. Wanna help me find a better one?

Love,

Mom

Dear 2nd Oldest,

Good job texting me right back when I asked "Hey, this little gathering isn't a make-out party or anything, is it?!" Good communication skills are one of the most important skills to master!

Proud to be,

Your mom

PS. You do realize I can tell just by looking if your lips were getting a workout, right?

**ATTENTION FAMILY: THE PERMANENT MARKER HAS DISAPPEARED FROM THE KITCHEN DRAWER. REPEAT, WE HAVE AN AWOL MARKER OF THE PERMANENT VARIETY. IF YOU SEE THE MARKER AND ARE UNDER THE AGE OF TEN, ALERT PROPER AUTHORITIES. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO TOUCH THIS MARKER BY YOURSELF.**

Dear Oldest,

You're mastering Chemistry and French in school and can follow complicated routes during cross country meets. I'm pretty sure if you applied yourself, you could familiarize yourself with our kitchen rather than ask me every day where the toaster or knives live. Seriously, it's not that hard!

Third drawer from the left,

Mom

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Welcome to Time Out, the place parents go for witty insight, tongue-in-cheek advice, and calming reassurance from a seasoned parenting veteran who believes laughing together beats sobbing alone when it comes to crayons in the dryer and other hazards of childhood.

Dear T.O.,

Our two-year-old son thinks farting is one of the funniest things ever. How and when should we go about teaching him (and my husband for that matter) that farts are not funny?

Signed,

Stinky's Momma

Dear Stinky's Momma,

I'm afraid you may be fighting an uphill and lifelong battle on this one, Momma.

Hollywood has been banking on the fact that people (males especially!) find burps or farts EXTREMELY funny, using them as tried and true laugh-getters for years on both the large and small screens in animated (see: Shrek, The Lion King, Spongebob Squarepants, etc) as well as non-animated fare (See: Blazing Saddles, Caddyshack, Dumb and Dumber, Austin Powers, Elf, any Jim Carey comedy)

That being said, it IS worth the effort to try and make your children as mannerly with their methane as possible. If you let Junior rip with abandon and giggle yourself, you may all too soon find yourself the mother of a high schooler with nicknames like "Sir ShitsaLot" or "FrankenFarter" who grows up to be a "Hey, pull my finger!" guy.

Breaking kids' pride for public pooting is best attempted well in advance of when they start school, even if it's just preschool. Keeping your eyebrows raised as high will help keep you from smiling while saying, "That is NOT good manners, please say 'excuse me' and go to the <basement/back porch/yard/unpleasant neighbor's house> to do that."

Good luck and when it comes to farts, there's one silver lining- at least the worst ones no one can hear!

Dear T.O.

My childless, unmarried brother keeps giving my children gifts that are either inappropriate for their age or downright dangerous. I've told him, made wish lists, even enlisted the help of my mother, but nothing so far has worked. Any suggestions?

Annoyed

Dear Annoyed,

Oh, easy! The key here is patience.

1. As soon as the kids open their newest switchblade from Uncle Buck, offer them treats while you "hold" the gift.
2. Remove gift from sight, chances are the kids will forget all about it.
3. Sell/trade/donate gift.
4. Put proceeds from gift into a special account.
5. When Uncle Buck marries, use money from special account to buy his kids lovely age-appropriate items like a Hungry, Hungry Hippo game, the Fisher-Price popcorn popper on a stick, a real drum set, and so on.
6. Make sure none of these purchases are dangerous, just really, really loud.
7. Sit back and enjoy!

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Welcome to Time Out, the place parents go for witty insight, tongue-in-cheek advice, and calming reassurance from a seasoned parenting veteran who believes laughing together beats sobbing alone when it comes to crayons in the dryer and other hazards of childhood.

Dear Time Out,

What can I do to make homework time for my daughter more pleasant and educational and less: "I-don't-get-this-why-are-you-so-mean-I-hate-you-and-I'll-never-use-multiplication-anyway-stomp-stomp-stomp-door slam-sob"?

Signed,

Subtraction-less in Seattle

Dear SiS,

Oh, I feel your pain, Subtraction-less. There's nothing quite like the weary, frustrated rantings of kid gone off the homework rails.

First, try to isolate exactly what IS the underlying problem. Depending on the child, this could be easy or it could require years of therapy. When my youngest freaked out doing homework, in less than four minutes I learned he was being teased at school. On the flip side, I've been working on it for seven years and still can't pinpoint what it is that keeps his older brother from turning in homework on time.

Second, look for a fun way to help explain or reinforce the subject matter covered in the homework.

• School House Rock covers the basics on nearly every subject (and is how I learned how the electoral college worked, having been too busy in high school staring at boys to understand it at that time) and is available on DVD.
• Review quizzes and spelling words using a game show format complete with buzzer noise for incorrect answers.
• Change song lyrics to fit the material that need to be learned.
• Using scatological humor to your advantage. Oh sure, I could have had my seven year old stare at flash cards to memorize his sight words, but holding them up as I made up a story about a dog befouling a rug (HOW is it possible this dog manage to pee on the rug again? WERE you in the room when THIS happened? ALL I wanted was a puppy, not A LOT of puddles on my rug! WHAT are we going to do about THIS? WHO is going to clean up this mess?! It's LIKE the dog waits until no one is looking WHEN he unloads!) made the process a lot easier and more giggle-filled for everyone involved.

Finally, take a break. Between trying not to draw unwanted attention to themselves, scoping out the opposite sex, keeping abreast of current friendship conditions, learning to say no to drugs, yes to the six pillars of character, reading, writing, arithmetic, science, social studies, music, gym, art, and the emotion landmine known as the lunchroom, it's no wonder kids tend to fall apart when back in the safety of their home. Take a well-deserved chocolate chip cookie and hot chocolate snack break before hitting the books and try again.

If all else fails, enlist/hire/kidnap a tutor. Sometimes the best way to help your child with math (or other subjects) is to simply remove yourself from the equation and that's totally okay. It takes a village and you taught them how to walk, talk and use the potty for crying out loud!

Good luck!

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Looking for some good New Year resolutions for kids?

Continue reading DailyDish - Make It a Healthful New Year

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"I just don't know why I say 'free' so weird. I've been trying and trying but I just can't..... so I've been trying to just not say it when I'm at school but sometimes in math class I forget and then they say stuff and it just makes me feel so bad."

My delightful, happy, thrilled-to-be-a-big-schoolboy-like-his-brothers son had finally spilled why he'd been so emotional- classmates had been teasing him over his inability to pronounce words with the 'th' sound.

Speech delays of this sort are common, at least that's what I'd been assured by speech therapists. Rather than being concerned, I found it charming to be wished a "Happy Mudder's Day!" for one more year. Little Scott is the youngest and unlike his free older brothers would still hold my hand in public, check the wedder outside every morning so we'd all dress appropriately and keeps me updated on important things like his fadder's Christmas shopping progress.

I fully expect the "th" to ushered in with the arrival of permanent teeth and exit of the last of the baby fat, much like the way "train" suddenly replaced "woo-woo" from his vocabulary on one significant, yet completely unremarkable day. What I hadn't expected were some ill-mannered, snot-nosed, jerk face classmates to make my child so self-conscious about these adorable speech mannerisms that he actually tried NOT TO SAY THE NUMBER THREE WHILE IN SCHOOL. After cleaning up the thousand pieces of my heart that had splintered off and exploded on the floor after hearing this admission, I spent the rest of the evening stewing on how best to handle the situation.

Morning's light dawned and I still had no clear plan when it came time to take my th-challenged first grader and his fourth grade brother to school. The most do-able scenario involved chainsaws and a deep ravine that would remain undiscovered until the spring thaw............ but chainsaws can be pretty hard to come by in the city.

"Guys," I said looking back in the rear-view mirror, "I'm still trying to figure out the best way for Scott to handle this teasing problem. "

Without missing a beat, Michael, the 4th grader who still has to be reminded that sleeves are not napkins and has a chronic inability to find his own shoes said from the back of the van, "I think I'd use the ACT system. First I'd: A) acknowledge that I was feeling bad by the comments and, C) calm myself down in order to better deal with the situation and then, T) talk to those who were making me feel bad, making sure to use "I statements".

Errr, yeah. That's exactly what I, the mature adult in charge, had been thinking! (Except with chainsaws!)

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Here's an easy and educational way for younger kids to be active participants in their thank you cards

Continue reading Daily Dish- Ransom Note Thank Yous

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Since he was a wee thing, one of my sons has always been a little more into conspiracy/supernatural/natural mysteries than the average bear. His dream family vacation would be to head up to Big Foot country, then take a cruise on Loch Ness, and end with some time camping in Roswell under the stars and alien spacecrafts.

While I'm also intrigued at the possibilities of the unknown, (UFOs? Sure, why not?! There's a whole lotta space up there and it seems a little egotistical {and a bit depressing} to assume we're the only intelligent life in the entire universe. Some days I feel like the only intelligent life form driving on the road and that's a lonely time.) as are many people, it's not quite at the same intensity level as my son.

We became aware that our son was Not Quite Like The Other Kids around the age of seven. When other children were pestering their parents whether or not it was time to set out the milk and cookies for Santa, our kid was also relentlessly hounding us about the Big Guy's arrival. However, his queries weren't in anticipation of a sackful of toys. Our little Christmas angel wanted to know how much time he had left to complete his Santa Trap.

For some inexplicable reason, Shelby felt that capturing Santa during his delivery of free toys to the household was a brilliant idea. He'd be famous at school-the kid who finally caught Santa! (Apparently the ramifications of being the reason a whole lot of toys were not distributed didn't occur to the kid.)

Around mid-day on Christmas Eve, the contents of our garage were slowly distributed throughout the house. Ropes, bungee cords, chains, bike locks, and plastic tubing were tied to door handles and chair-backs. Broom handles were positioned for maximum trippage factor, and baby monitors positioned in the best locations to capture the slightest of reindeer rustlings.

Yet year after year Santa managed to escape detection. If giant pyramids of empty tin cans were placed in front of the doors and the fireplace, he got around them. Lasso traps were set carefully on the floor, jingle bells draped on doorknobs, bubble wrap hidden under mats where fat feet might trod, but still no Santa.

Perhaps it was because of the advance warnings Shelby thoughtfully mailed the guy in red every year. While some kids sent wish lists to the North Pole, Shelby mailed friendly missives like, "This year, I'll get you!" or "I've got a whole new plan this time and my friends are ready too!" Or maybe Santa remained safe because in spite of the elaborate schemes and traps, once Shelby dozed off, he slept like the dead. Neither the ringing of the bell when his mother tripped on a rope on her way up the stairs, the astounding clatter of 12 metal coffee cans crashing on the dresser in his room, or the accidental detonation of the smoke detector could wake up that child. One year Santa even took down all the ropes from the trap and used them to (Loosely! Oh, so very loosely!) tie the kid in his bed without waking him up.

It's been years since there's been a Santa trap in our house. Our other kids have been content to set out cookies and reindeer treats and ask "Is Santa almost here yet?" every fifteen minutes. Having a creative child is great, but there's also something to be said for being able to wait for Santa without fear that someone will need a tetanus booster.

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I've never claimed to be a consummate environmentalist, but I think our household does a pretty okay job of it.

• We've been switching over to the new low-energy light bulbs that are supposed to last forever but take five minutes to get bright enough to read by so you have to plan ahead.
• On trash day, our recycling pile is larger than our trash pile unless kids haven't cleaned their rooms in a while and their father takes care of the problem. (I prefer a Salvation Army/Goodwill deposit, myself.)
• We have a low-flow toilet. We'll likely get more but first we need to get some teenage boys out of this house because there are some things low flow is just not equipped to handle.
• We utilize public transportation, carpool, bike, and cut out as much unnecessary driving as we can while keeping our kids busy enough to keep from assassinating each other with all their free time.
• Our house is furnished in a style I call "Early Thrift Store, Kids Still Bent on Destruction" and most of their clothing came from garage sale finds and dumpster diving. (Okay, not really that last part, but that's what I tell them if they start getting too attached to any one item of clothing and over-wearing it to the point where it can stand up on it's own.
• We've started using aluminum water bottles instead of plastic ones which keeps waste out of the landfill and money out of college funds from the due to replacing lost bottles
• We compost, mulch and shun lawn chemicals preferring a year safe for kids and animals to one that is lush and green from being sprayed with something from a truck by a guy wearing a hazmat suit.

So it's deliciously ironic that the very year I recover from my Perfect Family Holiday Fantasy, my youngest child goes and turns all Al Gore on me.

A family drive to look at neighborhood light displays resulted in, "Wait a minute! We're just driving around WASTING GAS?! What about the polar bears?!" Passing by a festive Christmas tree lot brought on, "Those poor polar bears. I wonder how much electricity is being used to light up all these cut-down Christmas trees."

The daily influx of holiday greetings in the mail, the festive wrapping paper, and increased oven usage for baking seasonal goodies hasn't escaped notice either. It's sort of like living with a shorter version of Ebenezer Scrooge. Only instead of having his eyes opened to his miserly ways, my kid is Ebenezer Environmentalist who apparently believes polar bears live on gasoline and electricity and build huts out of pine trees and Christmas is just one big plot to destroy their furry little lives and we're all willing participants.

It's almost enough to drive a person to fill his little stocking with nothing but sustainable harvest nuts, locally grown berries, with a few decorative (and mulch-able!) twigs tossed in for good measure.

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Don't let a run-in with Yuletide greenery turn your White Christmas blue

Continue reading DailyDish - Toxic Holiday Plants

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As with most parts of parenthood, I visualized in my head the way things would be once I was a mother and nothing was clearer in my fantasies than future family Christmases.

There would be a fire, merrily crackling in the fireplace causing my daughters' cheeks to have a healthy, rosy glow. The girls (Elizabeth, Victoria, and Diana) would sit at my feet, contentedly stringing popcorn and watching as I put the lights on our majestic Balsam Fir. Later, we'd sip hot chocolate and put up the ornaments, laughing over the stories and history behind each treasured bauble.

I think the main purpose behind self-reflection and meditation is to allow yourself the time to wonder which childhood blow to the head affected your reasoning abilities. Because not only do I not have a gaggle of girls named after British royalty or even a working fireplace (ours is an old gas one and my husband says it'd be safer and cheaper to light a twenty dollar bill and watch it burn), but because of allergies, my kids have never experienced the seasonal, fragrant joy of a live Christmas tree.

Instead, our Christmas tradition involves going down to the basement and bringing up the storage bag that houses our artificial tree. We spend a half hour fluffing up the branches and trying to guesstimate where the ones that lost their paper labels a decade ago, are supposed to go.

I put on the lights alone, as the kids lost interest in the entire project back when we were still hoisting the bag up the stairs.

After mustering the troops for the application of ornaments, it becomes quickly obvious that no one really cares about the tales behind the tinsel, but I share it anyway. "This is the plastic apple that Michael thought was real and took a bite out of when he was about three years old. See this one? It's made from cinnamon and applesauce. We made a whole bunch one year and gave them out as gifts, remember? It was fun. This one shaped like a gingerbread man had a head until James ate it and then threw up. Remember that, James? That was not fun. Oooh, here's the glass bell my grandmother gave me after I got married. That crack in it is from you, Shelby. You tried to help a whole lot of angels get their wings one day when I was in the bathroom and you shook it so hard it flew right out of your hands and onto the floor! That "Babies First Christmas" one needs to turned so the hole from where someone knocked a hole in it with a candy cane won't show."

Some people (whose name rhymes with Fartha Goowart) have amazing trees every year that are not only gorgeous, their decorations all have themes like The Twelve Days of Christmas, or White Christmas, or Candy Land. It started to bum me out that the only theme that could be applied to our tree was: Total Destruction.

Finally, it dawned on me that we DO have our own traditions. Listening to lame excuses for not wanting to put up ornaments and then making teens do it anyway ("Hey, if you'd like to opt out of Christmas this year entirely, that is totally up to you. Let us know decision and we'll notify Santa.") is a new tradition. And after finally realizing that no matter how sentimental the piece is, losing it to a co-ordination challenged kid isn't really that big of a deal in the larger scheme of things.

And even though I've never had a holiday like those blissful ones I imagined, the ones involving shards and glue have been special and memorable in their own way.

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Whether you are out getting the weekly groceries or gathering stuffings for those stockings, the most common lyrical ear-worm in December seems to be "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year." However, according to the missives arriving inside Christmas cards, everyone I know has nothing but wonderfulness happen to them ALL THE TIME.

Never once has anyone mentioned a vaguely bad occurrence, admitted disappointment, or made a confession that the past year was anything less than exquisite. I'd make a special dinner and invite over the person brave enough to write, "Happy Holidays! 2008 held many parental challenges for us as well as countless snow days for the kids. Even now, just looking at a freshly shaken snow globe causes involuntary twitches that are only relieved by a double shot of bourbon." in their letter!

Nope, it's always a laundry list of Johnny's activities, how smart/unique/silly/amazing Susie is as evidenced by the numerous awards and honors which were bestowed (listed alphabetically), as well as a summary of the adventures and exotic trips the family took since last year's letter.

But it's not that hard to decode the real meaning behind the phrases used to make everything sound as holly jolly as possible. For example, if someone mentions their high school or college-age child is "reassessing" or "re-evaluating" their life choices, odds are good either their application wasn't accepted at the school they wanted to attend or that they flunked out and/or were fired from their job. Any mention of "excitement" or "challenge" is also a red flag. If a kindergarten year was describe as "filled with discovery and non-stop excitement" it likely means the little bugger was the class biter and was thisclose to being tested for rabies and expelled.

Rather than try to linguistically sugarcoat the past year, I find it much less stressful to just put it all out there rather than have to maintain a veneer of perfection the rest of the time. One year I used a Top Ten format to list the things the kids learned and included: "It's not a good idea to pee in the neighbor's yard." on the list.

Another year I did a brief monthly summary based on the old calendar which included who had hospital visits and for what (stitches and croup played major roles, but there was also an oral surgery to removed a 3rd front tooth embedded in the roof of one son that I theorized must be a recessive gene from my in-laws) ((They all called to assure me the mutant gene wasn't from their DNA, but I still don't believe it.)) and in another I use an ABC format. I don't remember everything on it, but I do remember I managed to use every letter and that A was for "Appliances-the stove, dishwasher, and the refrigerator all reached their expiration dates and died, which, despite what my husband says, is NOT THE SAME as getting a new kitchen."

My family is far from perfect, but they sure are entertaining and that's worth a mention in a yearly letter!

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Every year during that first week of December, neighbors down the street set up their 14 different inflatable yard sculptures (smooshtures? What is the term for those-huge-when-inflated-but-flaccid-when-unplugged holiday doodads everyone seems to be plopping in their yards these days?) and outline their house, trees, shrubbery, and mailbox with thousands of colored lights. And like clockwork, fifteen seconds after that first surge of electricity powers up their display, my kids turn into Oh Holy Terrors. And I know I'm not alone in my not-so-silent nights.

Whether from the excitement of non-stop must-have toy commercials or some primal reaction to the seasonal climate change, the whining, arguing and sudden inability to perform the most basic of chores can really destroy the joyful feelings and memories "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year" is supposed to provide.

I've collected some ideas from other parents on how they use Santa Claus as a behavior modifier. And although I have no idea if these people were on the naughty or nice list, there were some pretty good ones :

• One of the most popular methods was to simply call Santa and report infractions directly. It was interesting to learn that just threatening to call was just as effective as actually dialing a number.
• A Christmas decoration (toy elf, Xmas tree topper, bugged bows on wreaths, etc.) would provided Claus with behavioral data rather than a parent acting as Santa stoolie.
• One Godfather-esque approach was on particularly bad days, this parent would tie a ribbon around a charcoal briquette, attach a gift tag addressed to the offending party, and leave it on the porch as a warning.
• Put "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" on heavy rotation in your iPod. Any other time, a song telling a kid to "watch out" and not cry would sound sinister and "He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake" has a total stalker-vibe to it, but there are times when it's necessary to fight fire with fire. Once they know the lyrics, just humming the tune works as well.
• Visit the Big Guy in person. (You know the kids who cry in Santa's presence? This might have less to do with shyness and more from cracking under the pressure to be good.)

Do you have any creative Santa clauses to keep your kids in check? Spill, please! Holidaying minds want to know!

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In 1984, Madonna's "Like a Virgin" was banned from many a young girl's home, including my own. Even though none of my parochial school peers were quite sure what a virgin was (and if Jesus' mother was one, how could it be so bad?!) we got the message loud and clear. Virgin was not a word a word to be carelessly bandied about and it was definitely NOT something to be sung about if you if were wearing stacks of cool plastic bracelets had and a lace headband tied in your bleached and permed hair.

Nearly a quarter century later, today's children have been exposed to Janet's Jackson's nipple piercing, seen the crotches of some of their favorite female celebrities, and heard words in movies, television, songs and on the sidewalks of American that never,ever used to be uttered in public.

Society's acceptance of coarse language has even affected Britney Spears. In her blitzkrieg of Not-Crazy-Anymore! interviews, the singer and mother of two shared some of the vocabulary issues she's been having with her young sons.

"They're starting to learn words like 'stupid,' and Preston says the f-word now sometimes," Spears confided to Rolling Stone. "He must get it from his daddy. I say it, but not around my kids."

If your immediate reaction was to think what sort of loser would talk like that in front of a three year old, your not alone. I mean, it's KEVIN FEDERLINE, for goodness sake, the dude who left his pregnant first girlfried for Britney. He's not exactly a shining example of fatherhood at its finest.

Only here's the thing: Britney's new album contains a catchy little song with lyrics that at first glance make no sense whatsoever. However, when you hear the song it's clear that the lyrics are actually spelling out that same word she's upset HER kid is using.

Love me hate me
Say what you want about me
But all of the boys and all of the girls are beggin' to If You Seek Amy
Love me hate me
But can't you see what I see
All of the boys and all of the girls are beggin' to If You Seek Amy

It's an interesting parenting approach, wrapping up the forbidden word in a catchy tune so other kids can join Preston in his f-bombage.

It also makes me nostalgic for those days when songs were about being like a virgin.

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