Anne Shaw Heinrich’s Blog

January 14, 2008

Just when I thought I had nailed my “Mother of the Year” Award for sure, I find myself thinking unmotherly thoughts. One of the reasons I do like my working from home status is that I’m there to answer the call when one of the little people is sick. It’s a nice and flexible luxury to have, being able to be the one to wipe the noses, serve hot chicken noodle soup and make everyone feel better. I know this. But after a few days of it, my motherly Florence Nightingale sheen starts to wear thin. After all, I do have things to do…work for pay, working on my latest book or column, LAUNDRY…
When you get that dreaded call from the school nurse, you know it can’t be good. The call from the nurse means that the rest of your day will quite likely go right down the tubes. For me, it means that instead of making progress on my novel, or other writing project, that I’m going to be put on puke bucket detail, or headed to the doctor’s office and then for a trip to the drugstore, where I’ll spend the very little money that I’m earning as a freelance writer on medicine. It means every time the DVD player isn’t working, I’ll be called to the rescue. And I’ll start worrying about getting the make-up work from school and how I’m going to cajole a sick kid into working on it. This week, we’ve had two of our three children home from school every day. We’ve had pink eye, stomach flu and an ear infection that wasn’t severe enough to warrant antibiotics, but was uncomfortable enough to keep the kid home. Yesterday, I was convinced that my son was ready to get back into the swing of things. I had him fed, dressed, loaded up with a bookbag full of finished homework…he was headed out the door toward the van, and then he threw up! I guess I’ll write the great American novel another day.

January 13, 2009

I hate January and February, and sometimes March isn’t so hot, either. A doctor friend of mine tells me that the suicide rates go way up during this time of year because people are depressed. A lot of people, myself included, have to really grit our teeth to get through these dark months every year. We’re not getting enough sunlight, so we start getting really crabby.

I don’t feel crabby, but I do feel restless, and trapped here in the house. February usually has me in tears. The lack of fresh air, the doldrums of winter…yuck. A couple of years ago, my doctor suggested that I go catch some artificial rays in a tanning bed. The ultraviolet light exposure would do me some good, he said. I was so down, I was ready to try anything, and I think my poor little family was ready for me to try anything, too. That old saying about “If Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy” has got some validity to it. I’ve come to realize that I am really the guage by which the entire mood of my household depends. If I’m upbeat and ready to face the day, I can cajole the rest of the crew into feeling the same way. But if I’m in a negative, sad slump, everyone hides from me. Honestly, I can’t blame them.

Back to the tanning bed business. I took my doctor’s advice and headed to the tanning booth, which in our tiny town, also serves as a video store and the place you can rent a tuxedo. I’ve never been one for letting it all hang out, so I wasn’t terribly keen on stripping down to get into the tanning bed. I thought it smelled way too much like artificial coconut in there, and I had the distinct feeling that I was closing myself into a coffin. I tried it a few more times before I decided I’d have to opt for Plan B. Plan B means bumping up the antidepressant dosages until the trees started to bloom. I guess I’m just predestined to be pasty and pathetic.

I guess everyone gets into the slumps now and then. I still do, but I’m getting better at plowing through it. I try to look forward to the day ahead, read a few pasages in my Bible, surround myself with sane people and just recognize how blessed I am to be in a warm home, surrounded by three pretty great kids and a husband who loves all of us terribly.

January 5, 2009

The kids decided to prepare breakfast in bed for us the other day. They’ve done this before, and it’s always pretty sweet to see the effort they put into it, how excited they are do be doing something nice for us, and what they come up with to serve us to eat. It’s such a nice gesture. This time, it was our youngest, Charlotte, who got the ball rolling. It wasn’t long before her big brother, Harry, had joined in the project. It was really sweet to watch Char as she inched her way across the room with our cups of hot coffee, prepared just the way we each like it. And Harry is turning out to be quite cook. This time, we had pancakes and eggs. Naturally, we made a big deal about how delicious everything was and how we couldn’t believe we had such thoughtful, talented children. We’ve had enough of these breakfast in bed surprises, however, to know that it pays to linger a bit longer over our coffee than we might do normally. We’re savoring not only the moment, but also putting off the inevitable mess that awaits us in the kitchen. Usually after the kids have cooked, the kitchen looks like a hurricane has blown through–messy mixing bowls thrown all over, ingredients spilled and slopped on every surface possible, cabinets thrown wide open. It takes more time to clean up from one of these projects than it might have had we made the breakfast ourselves three times over. The tough part is, you can’t really get too mad or say much about the mess in these cases. The intent was pure and sweet, even if the process is all to evident.

I want my kids to know how to cook and to feel free to experiment with new recipes. I want them to be comfortable in the kitchen. So far, all three are well on their way. My Eleanor loves to pore through cookbooks. I love to do this too. I think she’s going to be an instinctive cook, kind of like me. I rarely follow a recipe, opting instead to make things up as I go along. Harry’s also going to know his way around the kitchen, though I’ve not detected any patterns beyond them messes he creates just yet. And our precise little Charlotte will the the kind of cook that follows recipes to a t, with no deviations whatsover.

I’m trying to teach them all, that it’s best to clean up as you go, so you don’t have a great big mess awaiting you when you’re finished and ready to eat. So far, nobody’s buying it.

December 11, 2008–My husband and I are going to try to get some Christmas shopping done this weekend. We’re really going to try to keep things real this year. More focus on just being together, less on greed and stuff. We’re usually pretty good about that. We always limit our gifts to one another to things that can be fit in one another’s stockings. It’s kind of fun. Sometimes we cheat a little. As the kids get older, it’s not as fun to get gifts. They want things like music and clothes and gift cards. We have one little one left, someone who still plays with toys and is counting down the days with that childlike anticipation that makes it all magical. Soon, she’ll be just like the rest of them, and prefer clothes and money. I want to savor every minute of having a young child in the house for Christmas. It’s fleeting. A few weeks ago, we were watching some family videos of Christmas mornings when all three were little. They were so young, and truly thrilled with the moment. In one of the videos, they were just squealing with excitement. Our son, Harry was probably about three years old. He was in his trucks and cars stage and had just discovered a toy fire truck under the tree from Santa. The look of joy on his perfect little boy face and his gravelly little-boy voice was something worth having on video. Another Christmas morning, the kids discovered a new Golden Retriever puppy with a big, red bow around his neck waiting for them. As much as I love watching the home movies, the experience always sobers me just a bit. It reminds me that so much of my children’s childhood is already gone. Where did it go?

December 8, 2008–

It’s been awhile since I made an entry on this darn blog. We’ve just had too much going, and I have to admit that I’ve not made it a priority. We’ve had sick kids, crazy schedules, or both. One of my resolutions for the new year will be to make this blog a priority.

With the holidays just around the corner, there is a never-ending list of things to do. Decorating, baking, shopping, attending one festive function or another…it’s all good, but for some, a little bit of merriment goes a long way. I’m among those who tend to get a little depressed during the holiday season. For me, the materialism of the season is bothersome. Family members are urging my kids to make lists of things they want–to me, this seems a little greedy, and really puts the emphasis on GETTING GIFTS instead of GIVING gifts. It’s really difficult to help your children understand the importance of giving, when they’re all wrapped up (no pun intended) in their own wants. Every year, we say we’re going to cut back, but it seems like they still have too much.

No, I’m not a scrooge. I understand that part of the magic, especially for children, is the anticipation of opening a few special gifts. But helping them make the Christian connection to the gift-giving tradition is critical for me. What we’re really celebrating here is the arrival of the Christ child, the birth of the Son of God, the One who was sent to this Earth to save us from our Sins. As I grow in my own spiritual walk, the enormity of this GREAT GIFT settles to my chest and into my heart. Perhaps that’s why I find myself less enchanted with anything that could be bought in a store, and more hungry for a life that’s loaded with meaning. I wish that I’d been capable of truly comprehending the significance of Christmas as a child. I was raised in a Christian home, and the message was most certainly delivered to me again and again. But now, at 41, I’m finally, finally getting it. More on this later…

November 18, 2008

I made the mistake of mentioning to my daughters that I was going to just order some pre-cut Christmas cookies this year. We’d just have to bake and decorate–get right to the fun part, no rolling and cutting. I expected to hear shouts of joy and get all kinds of pats on the back for my ingenuity. But my seven-year-old wrinkled her nose and wouldn’t have any of it. “That’s not how we do it!” she said. The little stink. She’s at the perfect age to want to go through all of the motions of Christmas, all of the blessed, messy motions, and I suppose that’s a good thing. She’s not looking at the pending holidays with any kind of dread or anxiety that adults tend to attach to life. It’s a lesson I need to hear on a daily basis. Make the snow angels. Let snow flakes melt on my tongue. Put more marshmallows in my cocoa. Count down the days until Christmas morning with joy. Make each and every moment count. This kid knows how to live life the way God intended. I’ve got to start taking more cues from her.

November 17, 2008

It never fails…whenever my husband leaves town or if I’m on deadline, somebody gets sick. This morning, one kids was hacking and the other had a sore throat. What kind of mother sends her kids to school like that? Tempting as it was, I threw their little butts back in bed and waited for the doctor’s office to open, so I could be the first one to call in with my ailments. I went to bed early last night, thinking I’d be fully rested myself, and ready to tackle my day. I had a press release, and two articles that really needed to make it out the door. I used to have the stamina to stay up at night and get a head start on stuff like that, but I don’t even try that any more. It’s not worth it. This morning, I wish that I had. With Daddy gone, I was tending to two sick girls, thinking about my deadlines, trying to figure out how I was going to get them to the doctor since I’m not driving these days…rats. Why didn’t I just stay up last night and at least get the article out of my hair? When the kids are sick, what I really want to do is just sit in bed with them and read to them, or watch a movie or play a game. That’s what all moms really want to do. I guess I shouldn’t complain. At least I’m here on the property with them. A lot of mother’s don’t have that luxury. Isn’t that the human condition–to never be happy with what we have? Once these deadlines are clear, I’m going to make some soup, put on some soothing music and get out a stack of books to read or play a game with my sick kid. That’s it.

November 14, 2008

We had pancakes and bacon for supper last night. A supper like this usually means that I’ve not thought ahead early enough in the day to provide something better. It means I’ve not defrosted the meat and everybody’s circling the kitchen like a bunch of vultures wondering what I’m going to throw on the table. More often than not, the kids are all over pancakes for supper. It’s kind of fun. I remember feeling the same way as a kid. Breakfast for supper was pretty novel. It meant we were shaking things up a little bit. But being on the other side of the table, I know that breakfast is served up for supper for all kinds of reasons that little people don’t always detect. It could mean that Mom’s not been to the grocery store and that pancake mix is about all that’s left in the pantry. As a child, it never occurred to me that what was on the table might have had a direct correlation to the balance in my mother’s checkbook. It’s certainly possible in just about any home, that the last few days before the next paycheck rolls in, pancakes are being served in many households who can’t just hit the grocery store whenever they feel like it. And, it might just be, that once in awhile, pancakes are served for supper because Mom is in need of some comfort food herself, something that goes down good with cold milk, something that won’t be pushed around on the plate like vegetables might. Sometimes Mom craves a great big “Hooray!” when she’s asked “What’s for supper?”

November 12, 2008

I’d like to say my dog ate my blog, but that would be an outright lie. The truth is, the last few days have been a blur and I’ve not been a faithful blogger. Shame on me. When you have three kids, two dogs and husband in the house, a girl can easily find someone else to take the fall for not getting things done. The weekend was a whirlwind, but fairly typical of how things happen around here. So anyone who would like to come do the white glove test on the tops of my ceiling fans and doorways, be prepared to come away with dirty gloves! Saturday, we had to make sure we had all of the pieces to my son’s football uniform located, cleaned and ready to turn back into the team. Sounds simple enough, doesn’t it? Well, for once, it was…that’s because in year’s past we’ve learned a thing or two. Quite simply…that Mom and Dad need to stay on top of stuff like that because a ten-year-old boy just doesn’t have the moxy yet. Our daughter was working at a speech contest. When she came home, we raced to the grocery store because our cupboards were bare. Really. We were down to peanut butter and a jar of pickles. By the time we got home, put everything away, it was time to get cleaned up and load everyone back into the van. We were headed to visit some friends for dinner. Sunday morning, we were up for church, with the usual broo-haha about “why do we have to go to church?” and the moaning and groaning as our reluctant little Christians shuffled themselves out to the car. Bret and I both taught Sunday School, then scooted right out the door, so we could drop off the two big kids, who were NOT invited to their little sister’s “friend birthday party,” an event we’ve been anticipating for the last six months. Ah, it’s nice to be seven. We loaded Charlotte and four of her giggling little chums into the minivan for a movie. After negotiating a fair treaty on who was going to get to sit by the birthday girl for each stage of the party, we had a pretty good time and I think everyone came out with their feelings intact. Girls are so touchy. There are so many little nuances and emotional landmines, even with first and second graders. Boys are much easier. They throw a few punches and then it’s over with.

The movie was great. (High School Musical, Part III). Then we headed to a pizza place for some cheese pizza and cupcakes, and of course, presents. I think everyone had a good time. It was nice to hear Char interacting with all of her buddies, just being silly, just being a little girl.

After we delivered the partygoers to their homes, we picked up brother and sister and headed home, ready to dive into back packs for homework, notes home, gyms uniforms to be washed, etc. I made a set of multiplication flash cards for Harry, who needs to refresh his memory, whether he thinks so or not. The dishwasher needed to be unloaded, then reloaded. Laundry had not been folded yet, or put away. Eleanor was typing furiously away at a writing assignment. The dogs had run into the sun room with muddy feet, prompting Bret to drag out the carpet shampooer. Since he had it out, he decided to go ahead and do ALL of the carpet. On the way home from the movie, I’d been called to do some substitute teaching, which meant I needed to get my ducks in row for work the next day.

It was a good weekend, but a busy one, not unlike what happens in the homes of just about any family. At night, once everyone is finally settled and the house is quiet, I listen for the sound of the train coming through town. It’s so constant and regular and comforting.
Signing off.

November 7, 2008

Hello, out there… do you ever have one of those mornings or entire days when you want to just look at your kids and ask, “Excuse, me…are you new here?” Every once in awhile, we’ll have a doosie here at Chez Heinrich. Someone can’t find the right pair of jeans or their shoes, which usually prompts an unwelcome lecture from me about putting things where they belong. More often than not, the coveted pair of jeans are crammed under a bed, along with about two hundred other items, including a few overdue library books, an important note from the school, or worse, a empty jello cup and spoon, which prompts another lecture…not a good way to start the day. On some school mornings, especially if we’ve been up later than we should the night before, one or more of the kids will just stand right in my path in the middle of the kitchen, like a deer caught in the headlights. Now, these are children who are seasoned at getting ready for school in the morning. We’ve thrown nothing new into the mix here. You get up. The first time you’re asked. Throw some clothes, preferably clean ones. If we’ve got time, you might get pancakes or something hot. If we’re pressed for time, you’ll have to catch a Pop Tart or bagel in your mouth on the way out the door. Mom really likes it if you just buy lunch. It’s easier. When you head to the bathroom to work on your hair issues and wash your face and brush your teeth, everyone’s going to be a lot happier if you wipe up the toothpaste gel and spit off the sink. And flushing is not optional! Are you new here? Signing off…