Lindsay's Tree

When I was very young, I attended three different elementary schools: two public, one private. I enjoyed the private school the best, mostly because elective courses were offered. I also enjoyed the teachers, and having to take a course in religion. As strange as it may sound, I enjoyed learning about a subject other than math, history, or science. But when it was time to move on from grade school to middle school, I was very excited. For one, I no longer had to listen to Roger and Jay snicker at me, and call me names like fish on a daily basis. I also didn’t have to listen to Mrs. Wheeler whine about how I needed new underwear because I was always pulling mine out of my rear. What business was it of hers, anyway? But the biggest reason I was excited about middle school was all the unknowns I was about to discover.

For instance, I had no idea classes would be split into several periods, and that each grade level had its own lunch period assigned. This seemed appropriate, since I was already having my monthly visitor on a regular basis. Most other girls didn’t get theirs until sometime in middle school, but I was one of the few unlucky ones who got hers sometime in the fourth grade. It wasn’t until I was much older that I understood that was the reason Roger and Jay always called me fish. I didn’t feel any better about the many years of torment those two put me through, but at least I understood. where the insults were coming from.

Junior High was also fun because we got to take electives like cheerleading, band, foreign language, and choir. I always wanted to be a singer, but everyone said those in choir were nerds. I was stupid enough to believe them and didn’t join the chorus.

At my mom’s suggestion, I joined the band and began learning to play the clarinet. I was horrible my first year. I popped and squeaked, and thought I would never get the hang of it. But my mom was so proud of me that I chose to stick with it. I eventually got better – a lot better, and went on to play in the jazz, marching, and concert bands in high school. I still always aspired to be a professional songstress, but never turned the dream into reality. Truth told, I realized that my dream of being a singer was too ambitious. Why? Because I can’t carry a tune to save my soul.

Another thing I enjoyed: having many different teachers. In grade school, you are lucky if you have two teachers: one for phys. ed., another for everything else. But in Jr. High, you have as many as seven different teachers! WOW, did I feel like I had hit the jackpot! Of course, I liked some instructors more than others. Mrs. Gerber, for example, was a favorite of mine. She was an English teacher.

I often enjoyed my language arts teachers because we got to do fun things like memorize parts in plays and perform them in front of the class. For someone whom was extremely shy, I really enjoyed this part of school. Of course, I never had the guts to join the drama club – I didn’t think I was popular enough, and thought everyone would laugh at me. If I could change one thing about my adolescent years, I would try out for the drama team. I think I would have been really good and really wish I had the confidence in myself back then that I do now. But there is no sense in looking backwards since we only have the ability to move forward.

Of course there were other things I enjoyed about junior high: being part of the clubs: M.A.D.D. and S.A.D.D. (Mothers and Students Against Drunk Driving); the school dances, meeting new people, my first date, my first kiss, my first break-up, and best of all: getting to go to the roller rink every Friday and Saturday night all by myself!

I wouldn’t trade those memories for anything in the world. So now that I have a daughter who is graduating elementary and moving on to junior high, I hope she can make the most of it by experiencing all the firsts I did. I want her to get involved in all school has to offer and begin making some memories of her own that she can cherish forever. I know she is excited about middle school, but I also know she is scared of all the uncertainty. As a mom, I want to hold her and tell her everything will work out perfect. But that is naïve. I know what I am supposed to do is let her grow, learn, and expand her wings at her own pace. But of course, as only mother’s can do, I will be here to catch her whenever she flies too close to the sun.

Think you know what's hiding in Lindsay's Tree? Login soon to see if you're right.

~l

Sometimes, as mothers, we take on the weight of the world to make sure our family is happy, healthy, and fully nurtured. In the midst of all the chaos, we often forget to thank the one person who always has our back in good times, and in bad, in sickness, and in health: our partners, husbands, and significant others.


I don’t always outwardly show my respect and appreciation for all the wonderful things my husband does, but truth told: I would not make it through most weekends if I did not have him to lean on. During the week, I spend much one-on-one time with my daughter. I chauffer her from one activity to another, provide a gentle nudge to complete homework, and help put together schedules for projects that would otherwise seem overwhelming and never be completed. The job is not easy, is obviously quite exhausting, and pays less than nothing.


My husband is my hero, because he truly understands how difficult parenting is. When he gets in the car after a long day at work, sees my “deer in the headlights expression”, he instantly knows it’s time to rescue me. My husband performs his role as savior with conviction, grace, and a whole lot of humor.


I know my husband works hard, and coming home to a house in chaos is not desired, inviting, or even fair. But my husband never a chip on his shoulder, and never, ever lets me down. He’s the one who buys me flowers to brighten my mood. He’ll make me breakfast in bed to nurture me. And he takes on extra household chores to provide me the opportunity to relax and rejuvenate.


I love my husband. In a blog about parenting, and finding patience, I want my husband to know that without his commitment, and desire to love and protect, my mission would be much, much more difficult. Thank you, Mr. Bear, for all you do to make our house a warm and loving home. I cherish you, and I respect you.


Now that we know there's a bear in Lindsay's Tree, what will we discover next?  Login in soon to find out!

~Lindsay

Every now and then, your child does something absolutely amazing that totally takes your breath away. Mother’s Day was a few short weeks ago, and my daughter showed no signs of doing anything to celebrate mommy’s day. I didn’t get too worked up over it. After all, she is eleven and eleven year-olds don’t think about much outside of boys, and … well, boys.

Imagine my surprise when my lovely little mini-me elected to use her outside play time to gather flowers to give me at dinner. Not only did the little one gather some of the most beautiful wildflowers I have ever seen, but she arranged them in a small, but lovely, white planter. The flowers were very fragrant because she had also added a few sprigs of fresh Rosemary to the bouquet. How original … and very grown up of her!

The flowers would have been enough, but my sweet little girl didn’t stop there. No, no, no! She also crafted a beautifully handwritten card, and made place cards to put in front of our chairs at dinner. She’s a natural little party planner, that girl. To finish off the festive decorations, she created small little bits of confetti to place around my area of the table. I must say, this little girl put her heart into making sure this mother’s day was extra special.

Sometimes, when you least expect it, your child surprises you by letting you know she does love you. For a brief moment, she acknowledges your existence and you feel like you’re the most special person in the world. When those happy little moments occur, cherish them. As your child gets older, "I love you" turns into grunts and grumbles that you no longer understand, and you will rarely do anything worthy of her outward appreciation. But when she exudes the extra effort: savor it, take a bath in it, drink it, whatever! But whatever you do: don’t forget how special you felt, even if it was only for a brief moment.

Something else is lurking in Lindsay's Tree ... login tomorrow to find out what.

~Lindsay

Raising kids is a lot like playing the lottery. If you play the game long enough, you may win.  Of course, the odds are stacked against you, but there's something to be said for taking chances.  Take today for instance:  the kid and I get home after school.  As I get out of the car, I hear a grunt coming from the back area of the vehicle.  You know the kind of grunt I'm referencing:  the kind a chimpanzee or other non-domesticated species might make. I ignore the noise, because I am, after all, not a species of the wild. Rather, I am a human whom has mastered the spoken word.  I would like to think I have, at least.

As I travel from the garage to the house, I hear another grunt. This time, I realize the grunt is coming from my child: my eleven year old child who starts sixth grade in a few short months.  I turn to see what I am missing and realize the grunt is to tell me that "here is my bag, do you want it?" Now, if I didn't speak fluent grunt, I would never have understood that was what the child was trying to communicate. Suddenly, I realize I have won the lottery. Because, I realize I am probably the only one I know whom speaks fluent grunt. So you see ... I played the game long enough that I eventually won the ability to interpret my child's grunts; thus, winning the lottery.  You too may someday master the alternative language your kid so proudly speaks.


I am now sitting at the dining room table skillfully crafting another titillating entry in Lindsay's Tree. Imagine what appears: my child, of course. I acknowledge the child with a smile, and then return my focus to my work. Down the stairs she comes. That didn't take long ... Again, I acknowledge the young whipper-snapper with a friendly smile.  Mind you, she has not uttered a single word during this friendly exchange of smiles.  Ironically, she is now staring at me while perched on the second to last stair. I wonder what she is going to say or do.  Then it comes, "Is there anything you need me to do?"  WOWEWOWWOW! The kid is offering to help?  No, it can't be! But wait, as I ponder the answer, she darts over to the cat, plops down, and proceeds to pet him until he is hairless in one area of his back.  I then force a smile and say, "just your homework, dear." "I don't have any homework", she bellows back. "Okay, then I have nothing."  "Well, can I have my backpack?" "Dear, there is nothing in your backpack." "As you stated, you have no homework." "Um ... well, okay." And then up the stairs she returns.  Now mind you, the kid may not have "homework, per se", however she has a state report due in three days, a book report due in three days, a science experiment due in a week, and a project to do for marine week.  None of which are close to being done, if started at all. I know all this because I missed most of Dancing with the Stars Monday night so that I could create timelines for all these projects that she apparently doesn't have.  That's two more hours that I will never ever be able to recoup.  But hey! The kid has no homework, and I have once again lost my mind!

Remember my friend, Chardonnay? I think I will be paying her a visit this evening. I do hope she is home.

Stay tuned for more adventures in Lindsay's Tree.

~Lindsay

Everyday is like groundhog day. We wake up, get dressed, get the kid ready for school, remind the kid to get lunch, get socks, put a belt on, get in the car ... the list goes on. In the evening, the routine is not much different: pickup the kid, have the kid do her homework, take a shower, get dressed, get ready for bed, etcetera.

Before we get through the door, “what time is dinner?” she asks. My response is always the same: “when we call you”. “But I am hungry now”, she says. I reply, “I understand, but dinner does not magically appear when you snap your fingers”. “So when is dinner?”, she asks. “Good grief”, I think to myself, "did I speak a foreign language?"

This is my life every day. One would think after many, many years of the same routine, the kid would finally get it. Not going to happen. The kid is not ever going to get it. Why? Because my mother made it so. She wished for this to happen, as payback. After all, doesn’t every parent put the same hex on their children? It’s like a rite of passage. I just wish we could get to the happy ending where my child has one of her own and can finally understand the torture she put her dad and me through all these years.

Don’t get me wrong, there are moments of pure bliss. And I treasure those moments far more now that my child is older than I ever did when she was a wee-bit. Children are so much fun when they are just starting out in the world. They lean on you for everything. But once they hit those teen years, forget it: you're toast! You no longer are their favorite person. You no longer have any clue what is hip, cool, trendy, etcetera. And you certainly don’t understand them!

My kid is pretty great though. When she is sleeping. She barely makes a sound, except when she falls off the bed in the middle of the night. Why do all children sleep so weirdly? I go in to check on her, she is upside down in the bed, blankets are on the floor, pillow is wedged between the nightstand and the wall, and the sheet is nowhere to be found. If I were her, I’d wake up cranky and ready to fight with the world too if I slept as badly as her.

But really, my kid does some amazing things that I am so very proud of.  Like when she ... And then there was that time that ... hmm ... I wish I could think of some to share with you, but my mind has gone totally blank! Perhaps I’ll remember a few and post them tomorrow.

Stay tuned ...
 
~Lindsay

Sometimes parents have a difficult time maintaining composure in stressful situations. This is completely normal, but extremely frustrating.  If you have experienced this in your own house, you are not alone.  You may think you are, but you are not.

Consider this scenario: You are working on your latest blog entry and your child comes out of her room and stands at the top of the stairs. She doesn’t say anything. Rather, she stands there and stares at you for about thirty seconds. Not getting a reaction, she begins to make loud noises, stomps, sighs, yawns in disgust, and then stares in silence for awhile longer before heading back to her room. You realize she is being a real “insert unpleasant expletive here”, and your natural inclination at this point is to bellow at her. But you don’t. Instead, you sit there calm and cool, and complete your latest entry. Why? Because you know that what just happened has nothing to do with anything you have done or not done.

The reality is: your child is bored. She’s been entertaining herself for an hour, and now she needs inspiration. She doesn’t want to get into it with you, but she does want some kind of banter. However unproductive it may be. Why? Because she needs to fill that sixty seconds with something. And what could be more entertaining that getting mom all riled up?!

Of course, this decision is made unconsciously. And truth be told: she doesn’t really want to fight with mom. What she does want is to remind you that she still exists, and to be reminded that you are there as well. As if there was any way not to know she was there! It’s a quest for comfort. Unfortunately, children often go on quests without the proper supplies. Eventually she will figure it out, but until then, you must find your inner patience extraordinaire.

What's sitting in Lindsay's Tree? Tune in tomorrow for another discovery.

~Lindsay

Children will often tell you the one thing they want, but never get from their parents, is to be listened to. I am unsure what children have to say that is so important, but what I do know is this: no matter how difficult it is to do, you must always listen to your child.

Sometimes it is not the words they are speaking, but rather the words they are not that you should be hearing. I will give you an example. Your child comes home and complains the children at school are calling her shrimp. Now, you yourself have experienced name calling when you were her age, so you think it’s normal. Wrong. The child is asking for your help, not for you to take a walk down memory lane.

Remember: you aren’t supposed fix the problem, but rather lead her down a path of discovery. Your job at this point: ask questions -- lots of questions! Surprisingly, you (and she) will discover the problem. And then, being the smart mom you are, you will offer solutions that are applicable and that she will accept. Why? Because you didn’t appear to “know it all” before she ever uttered a single word. Of course you did know the problem and subsequent solutions, but you can’t let her know that. Remember, you are the dinosaur who does not know a thing.

During this mission of discovery, you are learning too. Or so she must think. You will always be the hero if you just sit back and observe. Recall when you were a kid. You didn’t want to “hear” what mom had to say. Why? Because she didn't understand. How could she?  After all, she had never experienced the terrible experiences you were going through.  Right?!  No.  Even though you always knew she was mostly right about almost everything, you would never, ever, outwardly admit it. This is the right of passage for all children. And your child is no different.

No matter how difficult it is for us parents to observe our children making the same silly mistakes we did as kids, we must let them find their own way. This is to your benefit as well as theirs. And believe it or not, they will appreciate you -- eventually. I know this, because I was once "one of those kids", and my mom has the e-mail I sent her on the day that I finally got it. My e-mail was a note of apology for all the torture I put her through. I didn't know it at the time, but my mom printed that note and put it in her purse. Every now and then she reminds me that she has the note. It travels with her everywhere -- as a reminder, as validation, as newfound respect and admiration for her daughter whom finally "grew up".  Those of you who have done the same with your mom, know exactly what I am talking about here.

Find out what else is lurking in Lindsay's Tree tomorrow.

~Lindsay

Every day it is a struggle just to get out the door in the morning. One would think getting ready would be a fairly simple task for an eleven year old. The routine is always the same: get up, get dressed, and eat breakfast. Our expectations aren’t so extravagant that we expect the child to actually brush her teeth, brush her hair, and put away her dishes. Oh no!  That would be asking too much: way too much! \After all, the sign on the dishwasher does say, “dirty” in very readable lettering. Perhaps the problem is the note isn't written in the correct language. Or perhaps the dishwasher was cemented shut that morning. Whatever the reason, I should get paid a whole lot more for busing those tables!

When you're a child, it is much more fun to play with the cat, eat ten granola bars that have been strategically hidden by the parents, and hide apple cores and orange peels in milk cartons in your room than take care of the core responsibilities your parent has outlined for you. Oh, and ... let us not forget the countless love notes penned to boys at school before heading off to school.  Of course, the morning dishes are still on the table, the hair is not brushed, the breath smells terrible, and the cat has wedged itself between the corn plant and the TV stand. But hey, we have a fantastically crafted letter to Hank that expresses our undying love and affection for him.  Yep, that's right folks:  my child is writing love notes to a kid who already dislikes her and reminds her of it every day. You, as well as I, know that is a very unproductive way to spend a morning, and definitely, definitely will not make the kid like your daughter more. In fact, it is one of the quickest ways for your child to get reported to the front front office.

No matter how simple or complex the situation, the child will inevitably fight tooth and nail against whatever advice you have to offer. After all, you are just an old dinosaur who could never, ever, in a million years, understand them! Tsk! But when the child comes home crying because the kids are making fun of him again, then … well then it is your job to listen. Don’t try to fix it. You’ll only make things worse for yourself. Just listen and let the child work it out. Because, put simply, you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.

As a confident, intelligent, person, I do know this:  Children really want to do the right thing, and they do want to know that you are there for them -- unconditionally. However, they will wiggle, squirm, and circumvent the path you’ve strategically placed in front of them at all emotional cost to you. This is because children are always looking for an easy way out, whatever the result. That is why parents should outline the rules and expectations for their children, and then smartly sit back and observe. One day, you will see the fruits of your labor. One day, the child will actually put the socks on her feet, and they will match. One day, she will brush her hair – not just the front and sides – all of it. And one day, the child will do something so incredibly awesome that for one split second, you will forget all the other stuff she ever did that sent you on the fast track to Crazy Town. You will actually feel something foreign come over you. That feeling you get: it is pride. When that day comes, I urge you to simply take a deep breath and rejoice. Because you, for one split second, have gotten through.

Tune in tomorrow to travel on another adventure through Lindsay's Tree.

~Lindsay

Some days, patience seems to be cleverly engaged in a game of hide and seek. I am frantically searching for it, wanting it, needing it, and it’s on vacation in the Caribbean sipping Mai Tai’s. As a parent, you often feel alone. If you are the parent who spends the majority of the time with the child, you are sure to be on the receiving end of the majority of the ‘tude. The child holds nothing back when it comes to you. If you even breathe the wrong way, the child will snap at you and make you feel like an utter loser. This is all part of the game they like to call: how far can I push mom before she totally goes berserk? This is when finding patience is most necessary. Of course, just at that moment, patience has taken a self-imposed timeout! That's when desperate times call for desperate measures: “Hello Chardonnay? This is Lindsay … I’m stuck in a tree and can’t seem to find my way down. Please help me!” Moments later, life is once again in balance. Not because Chardonnay fixed anything, but the few seconds you and Chardonnay had alone together … ah … it was like taking a sip of heaven packaged in a beautiful crystal glass. Do be cautioned, Chardonnay is only there for you for a split moment, "Trouble", however, is there for the long haul … waiting … patiently … to engage mom or dad once more in a long game of crazy. Want to know what's lurking in Lindsay's Tree? Tune in tomorrow for another installment. ~Lindsay

My mom and I were discussing parenting one day and she mentioned how amazingly well my grandma handled raising her children. My grandma raised seven children: four of them biological, three were blended into the family after remarriage. “The woman”, my mom said, “was born with the patience of a saint.” She went on to explain how grandma could give "the look" and the kids knew they had pushed it too far. I am amazed at the adversity my grandma faced over the course of her parental career. With seven children, every situation imaginable became a reality. Sometimes, I would spend the night at my grandparent’s and I would see how my grandma handled her kids with such grace, elegance, and dignity. Now that I am older, I realize my grandmother was a person of patience extraordinaire. As a mom in a blended family, I had no idea what I was doing when I first took the job. I thought I would just copy the methods my mother used with me and that should do it. Boy, I was wrong. As I mentioned before, you quickly learn that every child is different and methods that worked on you, or that you saw in other families, simply don't work as well as you'd like them to. That is why every new parent has to forget what think they know, what they observed from others, and what the books tell them. Eventually, every parent learns the most important trait necessary to successful parenting is patience. And perhaps a little blind luck. Want to know what else is in Lindsay's Tree? Tune in tomorrow. ~Lindsay

Contrary to their parents’ wishes, children really have no idea how their actions affect the ones around them. And they shouldn't. They are, after all, kids. My daughter often looks at me with that evil look that only a child can give. I swear, she must practice the look in the mirror, because no person that young should be able to naturally give good evil face. As parents, we must forget everything we learned from watching our own parents raise us. We must forget what we read in the books. And, we must forget what the doctors, nurses, and other specialists say we should do. Don't get me wrong: all of these folks have valuable input. And the advice always sounds so perfect at the time it is imparted upon us. However, in the actual moment of difficult situations, everything we have been taught, read, or heard goes out the window in a split second. That is why parenting is not about raising children based on others' experiences, it is about discovery: discovery of what works with our own child. And the reason so much discovery happens is because every child is so incredibly different. This leads me to my next point ... parenting is less about making sense of situations and more about patience: extraordinary patience. After all, children do strange things. Trying to make sense of the insane things they do will only frustrate you more. In fact, grown-up logic has no place when trying to diffuse a difficult situation. Children have no idea what you're saying, they don't care, and you will only find yourself amazingly angry when you can't get through to them. This is absolutely your fault, not theirs. That is why, if given the choice, I am most certain many parents would opt out of raising their children from age 11 - 18. I know this, because I have often thought about fleeing to a very secluded island where I can sip fruity drinks all day and take long, relaxing strolls on the beach. If only it were that easy ... Want to know what happens next? Tune in tomorrow for the next installment of Lindsay's Tree. ~Lindsay

Parenting is a series of firsts. The first time the child calls you mommy or Dada, or asks for its baba, you think that life is perfect. You ask yourself: "how could life get any better than this?" Well, in many ways it does get better. In many ways it gets worse. Much worse. Keep reading. Take for instance the times when the beautiful, sweet child decides to use its words against you such as the first time he tells you, “no.” Or, the first time she says the words, “I hate you.” Or better yet when you ask him to go back to class and get his jacket because it is the middle of winter and you want him to be warm, he says to you, “You can sit there all day because I am not coming back with anything.” This after you have carried the child for nine months, breastfed her until your nipples felt like they had been run through a meat grinder, after cleaning countless baby spit ups, enduring the smell of wretched poopy diapers, and washing so many loads of laundry you could have opened your own neighborhood Laundromat and charged a fee. What's next for Lindsay? Tune in tomorrow ... ~Lindsay

I never knew what patience was until I became a parent. They should change the title from parent to “patience extraordinaire”! People who decide to become parents think they are ready to guide their little creation from one phase of its happy life to the next. It is easy for a new parent to get caught in the glamour of new found parenthood. What, with the sweet baby’s breath, the cooing, the smiles, the first step, the first word, the first … the first … the first. What's next? Stay tuned ... ~Lindsay

Hello, my name is Lindsay. This is my blog. A blog about patience: wanting it, finding it, and desperately trying to hang on to it. This is the first entry in what my husband predicts will eventually land me a book deal, a movie project, and a whirlwind tour on the talk show circuit. In fact, he already has me booked on Regis and Kelly. In his imaginary world, I am reminiscing with Reg about what inspired me to write my blog, and if I ever predicted the success it's had. I can think of a few hundred reasons why I shouldn't write a blog. You know, like: what if no one likes what I write? Or worse, what if no one ever even visits my blog? How can they read it, and like it, if they never find me? One can only write if there is an audience to write to, correct? I actually think this is some sort of self-fulfilling prophecy my husband has. Like he is living vicariously through me. But, I am willing to indulge him because sometimes ... he does have good ideas. Even though I would never tell him, I do appreciate his believing in me, even when I don't believe in myself. So perhaps my content will appeal to a few of you. And, perhaps those who find me, will enjoy reading my dribble. If not, at least I can tell my husband you came, you saw, and you hit the "back" button. So we begin ... Lindsay's Tree: A blog about life, love, and the pursuit of happiness. Or, as I like to call it: a blog about finding the patience extraordinnaire. I know what you are thinking: what an odd topic. I assure you, you will eventually understand ... and appreciate, Lindsay's Tree. Stay tuned .... ~Lindsay