Flying? I can't even.

It’s not that I’m scared to fly.  I’m just worried the plane will crash while I’m on it. 

It was just a thought I had when my husband, daughter, and I started our Florida vacation by flying from Milwaukee to Pensacola with a 2.5 hour layover in Hot-lanta.  That was bad enough.  The fact that we had to drive from Rockford to the Milwaukee airport, park, shuttle to airport, board, deplane, layover, board, deplane, then rent a car and finish the drive to our destination was what made it a little more challenging.  By challenging I mean we were tired, cranky, and hungry.  We were barely recognizable by the time we got to Grayton Beach, Florida.

After just one spectacular, sunny day on the beach, however, we forgot all about the previous day’s travel difficulties.  I forgot how much I hate to fly.  After a week of the beach (our friend Captain Morgan was there!) the trip down seemed like a bad dream.  A blurry fog.  A mere memory!  

Until the night before we have to leave, when we realize it’s our last sleep in this beautiful beach house and worse, that the very next day we have to repeat last week’s travel nightmare in order to get home.  That’s ok, though, because the flights on the way down were lovely, floaty things.  I almost wasn’t scared.

The next day, on the way back home, our second flight is the Atlanta to Milwaukee part.  Despite pleading with the gate agent she can’t seat us all together, so my husband is back several rows.  I usually break hold his hand while we fly.  It’s 10:12 p.m. and I hope to sleep during the flight, but whee!  There’s a lightning storm our pilot tries unsuccessfully to avoid and I feel like I’m in a bouncy house.  My stomach is in knots.  I shoot six drinks in succession but remain stone cold sober. 

It was then for some odd reason it feels as if the pilot has hit the brakes.  Hard.  To say it is unsettling is an understatement, as I would hope there wouldn’t be any red lights or stop signs this high up.  We lurch forward in our seats.

Daughter latches on to my arm and says, “Why does it feel like the plane’s slowing down?”

I tell her, “Oh, that’s normal.”  She’s unconvinced and gives me the side eye.  I curl my lips up in my best recollection of what a reassuring smile looks like but I’m afraid it’s more of a grimace. 

After our plane endures another severe shaking, she says, “Are you sure that’s normal?”

I am in a cold sweat but still have the presence of mind to lie to my child.  “Yes, of course.”  It’s nowhere near normal, as far as I’m concerned.  And I’m not sure why we slow down in midair either.  I am convinced we’ve been hit by lightning and we’re going down.  All I can think about is our drink cart hasn’t even come with the microscopic bags of pretzels and a meager cup of juice, so I’m going to die on an empty stomach…something I vowed I’d never do.  I’m freaking out a little bit.  Like, “there’s someone on the wing” freaking out.

However, I school my features into confident, soothing mom mode and tell her as long as the flight attendants aren’t worried, we don’t have to be worried either. 

It was at that point the pilot makes an announcement over the crackling loudspeaker.  “This is your captain speaking.  The plane is going down.  Please find your seats and buckle up because stuff just got real.” 

My husband tells me later that what he actually said was, “Flight personnel, please find your seats because we’re about to encounter some turbulence.”  Between you and me, he never hears things right.

My daughter and I both watch, horrified, as the flight attendant hurtles past us, drink cart rattling, rushing to secure the cart and fasten her seat belt.   This isn’t just turbulence.  Our plane ride has turned into a hayrack ride on a country road of potholes. 

I don’t even want to look at my daughter.  I’ve let her down.  I finally sneak a peek at her and—you know how horses look when they get scared?  You only see the whites of their gigantic eyes, their sides are heaving, their nostrils flaring?  Then you have a pretty clear picture of what my daughter’s face looked like at that moment.  The Xanax she has washed down with rum does not seem to be helping.

 

This is where I would normally say, "Like this, except not this bad." Except it's pretty close to what I actually saw. 

But what an exciting ten minutes followed!  I believe that if the Guinness Book of World Records had a category for speed-reciting the Lord’s Prayer, I’d be the record holder.  Through the buzzing in my ears I heard someone swearing like a sailor then realize it’s me.  My daughter’s fingernails leave gouges in my arm. 

Finally, the plane stops rattling.  She releases her death grip and pretends to read a book.  I am faking sleep and watch her turn pages with shaky hands. 

My nerve endings are completely shot.

At last we land safely.  I have obviously kept the plane up in the air single handedly with my prayers, although the ungrateful rabble we flew with doesn’t realize it.  They are rushing the door to leave like there’s a Black Friday sale on TVs at Walmart and not waiting their turn so that I, their champion plane-keeper-upper, might depart the plane.  I am petulant and crabby, naturally.  If Bruce Willis had saved their plane, they’d be letting him off first. 

Finally, after what feels like forever, my exhausted family is able to get off the plane, collect our luggage and we’re on our way back home.  None of us are looking forward to the two hour drive home but we are on the ground and quite frankly, right now there’s nowhere I’d rather be.

She's learning. And it's amazing.

The smartest grandchild in the world

The grandchild came over to spend some time on Sunday and again last night.  I get her approximately once a week for about a half day, and watching her grow is the most amazing thing I've ever seen. 

I think back to when I was a young woman and my children were small and I wish I could have all that time back.  I see Alyssa, my 13 month old granddaughter, doing these grownup things and I think, "when did my kids do that?"  And I DON'T REMEMBER.  It makes me sad.  I'm sure it was amazing at the time, and I bet I called my mom or my sister and told them what Child A B or C did, but I just don't remember anymore.  And those of you thinking, "look it up in their baby book"?  Well, I only did a few pages of each child's baby book, but lost all of them in the flood of 1996, when we were living in the Joliet area and the water in the basement crept up to almost the third stair from the upstairs.

Good times.  Lost in that flood were pictures, favorite toys, favorite blankets, ultrasound pictures, and all of my faith in storm drains.

While at my house, Alyssa left the living room to wander down the hallway toward the bedrooms.  Most of the doors are closed off to her because she certainly doesn't need to be in the bathroom (she throws everything she can find into the tub, and would play in the toity I'm sure if she got the chance) and there's nothing in the other bedrooms or closets she would be allowed to play with.  (besides our my husband's Sing-a-ma-jig, but she spilled coffee on it and Joe took it back.) 

Alyssa, Grandpa is keeping this all for himself.  Sorry.

I called for her and could hear her voice in "her" room, where we have her books, toys, and a rocking chair.  I came around the corner and she came running at me with her favorite Usborne book, smiling with anticipation, then ran back to the rocking chair and patted it with her tiny fingers, her book in the other hand.

She wanted me to sit down so I could read her a book.  She communicated with me.  Grandma, I would like you to read to me.

Ermehgerd. Alyssa has realized where we go to rock and read books.  She knows that Grandma loves to read to her.

My mother pointed out that Alyssa first communicated the second she opened her mouth and cried for the first time.  That is true, but this time she had purpose.

At what point do they eat people food? 

I did daycare for 11 years and took care of a lot of children.  (ah, those were the days.)  I can remember moms coming in while their children were in the high chairs and hearing them say happily, "hey, I didn't know they could eat that yet!" to cereal bars, or cut up bananas, or yogurt.  Last night Alyssa was at the house for dinner and I smashed up the corn, chicken, and potatoes from a can of Progresso Chicken Corn Chowder.  Smashed fine enough, it made the perfect dinner, with an accompaniment of a graham cracker and applesauce and a fine house juice.

When my oldest was 1, I had some friends over for dinner, and they noticed me feeding my son in a high chair.  I distinctly remember my friend's husband asking, "when do they start eating people food?"  It's been 25 years but I still remember that like it was yesterday because it was so funny to me. 

Grandma, I can reach up high now.  Watch out.

A lesson I learned last night, because I must learn everything the hard way, is that Alyssa is not only walking around (and has for three months now) but she can reach.  She stands up on her tippy toes in her pink sandals and her adorable painted toes, and reaches up onto the counter and table for everything she can get.  She also likes to open my drawers in the kitchen to get out items specifically not meant for children of her or any age...baggies and steak knives among them.  Looks like I have to do some baby proofing, I believe.  (she said, as she writes down outlet covers on her grocery list)

I'm not as young as I used to be.

After having her for only three hours last night, I was exhausted.  I harken back to the long, ten hour daycare days and now I realize why I was so tired at night.  I was licensed for 8 children, most 6 and under, and all day I ran after them, swept and mopped the floor a kajillion times, pushed on swings, played in the sandbox, cleaned off counters, faces and hineys all day long.  (not at the same time, thankfully.)  It was a lot of work. 

This is just one child and I was as tired as if I had taken care of 6.  It's why I work in an office now, and don't run a daycare. 

At my age, I have to save my energy for just the one child.  Because she sure is saving it up for me.



shall I talk on the phone, or bang my drum?  Or BOTH???  Let's do both.
 

Snarky McSnarkster. A/k/a I'm Grateful.

(our last prompt in Prompt Club was to write 1000 words starting with the words, "I'm grateful.")

I’m grateful, truly I am.  Roof over our heads, food on the table, money to pay the bills and from time to time visit a fancy restaurant like Chipotle or Granite City.  I have three healthy kids, a beautiful granddaughter and a husband who still wants to hold my hand all the time.  I have been on the opposite end of the financial and romantic spectrum, so suffice it to say I know whereof I speak.

I’m also grateful for things other people might not think of as worthy of appreciation—for instance, my gift of sarcasm.  So when we drew the prompt where you had to start a story with the words “I’m grateful”, I immediately snarked it up.

I’m grateful that years ago before a doctor’s appointment, I was able to help my middle daughter learn to pronounce “vaginal” correctly without laughing. 

I like to think I spared her the embarrassment I endured when my 7^th grade science teacher asked our class what the hangy thing in the back of the throat is called. 

Turns out “vulva” was not the answer he was searching for.  That day, I comforted my 12 year old self with the thought that I didn’t need social acceptance and popularity anyway. 

Fast forward 35 years, and guess what…that social acceptance and popularity thing is on its way because my youngest daughter just told me that in another week or so her six new puppies will be winged.  If that’s the case we’ll all be so popular we’ll have to move.  I’m grateful I have days off coming because puppies are a lot of work to begin with, but flying puppies and a nine month old—that’s a recipe for disaster. 

I’m grateful for the fact that I got shingles right before my daughter’s 21^st birthday, so that I was forced to cancel plans to take my granddaughter for the weekend like I had promised months prior so she could celebrate.  I’m also grateful that I didn’t have to worry about sleeping while I was suffering with that wretched condition, because that gave me plenty of time to worry about a worrisome secondary rash and the mushroom of a cold sore on my lip.  It also gave me extra time to drunk-google late at night terms like “duration of shingles” or “shingles rash” or “should you drink when you have shingles” or my personal favorite, “how many people die per year from shingles”. 

Actual shingles that were on my back.
ps. Good news.  I didn't die.  But it sure did burn. 

 

I’m also really, truly grateful that when I finally was able to give my husband the seductive come-hither green light after the whole shingles/cold sore fiasco, Aunt Flo decided to come for an extended visit.  She didn’t just bring an overnight bag like she normally did but in fact the biggest, bulkiest suitcases she owned and jammed them in my uterus but good.  I’m plotting her demise and she will be grateful when her death finally arrives.

I’m grateful for the snowfall that prevented our family from a 2 hour drive into Plainfield on New Year’s Day for a delayed Christmas celebration to see family I don’t see often.  I hadn’t gone grocery shopping because I knew we’d be in Plainfield, so there was hardly anything edible in the house.  However, it’s good to experience true hunger once in a while.  Thankfully we were able to gag down all of those old, questionable leftovers and dry Christmas cookies whilst face-timing with the Plainfield crowd, watching everyone eat spinach dip and cheese potatoes.

I’m also really grateful they didn’t let me know ahead of time they were going to call, because it’s good for my family to see what I look like with no makeup, glasses on, and hair scraped into a brutally oily ponytail.  In case they weren’t buying all those gorgeous selfies I post online.   

I’m grateful for the guy who maintained a 4 inch distance between the front of his vehicle and the rear of mine the other night as we drove through blinding snow during rush hour.  Your thoughtlessness kept my mind off of how slick the roads were that night.  Especially helpful was the rage that kept me warm all the way home.

And speaking of slick, I’m grateful for the Kenyan sprinter masquerading as our black lab.  It’s good to test my own speed slalom skills in the back yard from time to time while being dragged behind a speedboat of a dog.  It keeps me limber.  He also helps me keep the ligaments in my shoulders stretched as he sprints off the icy back porch, yanking me with him.

And with all the things I have to be grateful for, I need to stay in the best shape possible.

Sandman! Oh, Sandman!

For a while, I wasn't sleeping at all at night.  Total insomnia.  To the point that I started worrying a little bit after oh, say 9:00 p.m.  I built it up in my head.  I know I won't be able to sleep.  I know it.  I'll get into bed and lay there for hours.  I was tired, exhausted even; but the minute my head hit the pillow I laid there, wide awake. 

here's me.  not sleeping.

Things got better for a while, thanks to my good friend Southern Comfort.  I was able to break through whatever it was keeping me awake and actually get some real rest at night.  Whatever cycle I had been experiencing was over, apparently.  
 

At least, that's what I thought. 

 

It was a Sunday like many other Sundays.  The cars started. It rained but we didn't get water in our basement.  The dog didn’t run away.  Dinner was good.  Nothing earth shattering.   
 

However, Sunday night around 10:30 p.m., my husband and I kissed each other good night, as we always do, cuddled for approximately 10.7 seconds until it got wayyyy too hot, and then turned over to our respective spots.  I hadn't even given my sleeplessness a thought.  I burrowed further into the covers.   

And laid there.  A half hour went by.  I knew my husband was awake.  He knew I was awake too because he says my eyes make a sound when I blink.   

We laid there some more.  And laid there.  Another half hour went by and…  

…we’re still awake.  And I’m thinking, what the hell?  

I get up and pee to break the monotony.  I am quiet and careful, reluctant to jostle my husband or bounce the bed.  I know where the squeaky floorboards are and avoid them, drawing on years of experience with fretful babies and a father who worked midnights.  I don't use any lights, even in the bathroom.  I climb back into bed with the stealth of a ninja. 

Having taken care of that, I snuggle back down.  I think, any time now I’ll fall fast asleep.  I close my eyes and try to count sheep but end up mentally composing a story about them instead. 

I hear my son come in at midnight.  He doesn't wake me up because I'm not asleep.  He knows after years of sneaking in how to hold the bells on the door so they don't make a noise when he opens it.  He too is familiar with the floorboards and is able to avoid the squeaky ones.  He pees and goes to bed.   

Now my husband gets up to pee.  He is not silent and careful like I am.  He was a bachelor for 45 years and never had to be quiet for a sleeping wife or child.  Everyone knows he's up because he uses every light he can on the endless ten foot trip to the bathroom.  He has owned the home longer than my children have drawn breath and yet doesn't know the path to take on the wooden boards to avoid making excess noise. 

He stomps back to our room and swings himself back into bed like an orangutan, then proceeds to thrash around on the bed trying to get comfortable.  Good God, I think.  He moves more than a kid in a bouncy house. 

Unbelievable.  I wait until he is settled and I blink several times in a row, loudly, in retaliation. 

Shortly after he gets back to bed, my daughter is up.  She has inherited her mother's ability to walk catlike in a sleeping household.  She also has inherited her mother's sneakiness and I know she's going outside to have a cigarette.  She is fooling no one.    She too knows to hold the bells on the door as she comes back in and creeps back to her room, stopping in the bathroom, also to pee. 

Ok, I think.  Now that we’ve all ensured there would be no bedwetting, we’ll all get to sleep. 

Husband whispers to me.  "Are you awake?"

 

I whisper back. "Yes, what’s the deal with this?  I’m so tired and I just can’t fall asleep!  Is there some giant geometry test I didn’t study for?  A project I didn’t turn in?  Because the only time I can’t sleep is when I’m fretting.  And for the life of me, I don’t have anything to really fret about."

Husband whispers again. "I can’t sleep either!  And I think Annie is smoking!"

No shit, Sherlock, I think.  Only for like six months now.  Out loud, I say, "Gosh, I hope not."  And then I think, why are we whispering, anyway?  We're all awake.

During the course of the sleepless night from hell, husband ends up sleeping in the living room on his chair.  I must be experiencing some sort of menopausal symptoms, as I am either freezing or too hot, and eventually make my own way out to the living room as well where I lay wide eyed on the couch for two hours, with a floor fan three inches from my face.

4:41 a.m.  I haven’t slept at all.  I briefly drift off and dream I'm in a wind tunnel.

4:42 a.m.  Husband turns on a new age music channel on cable.  It reminds me of the nightmare that was his deviated septum surgical recovery and I fight the urge to throw up.

5:00 a.m.  We should probably just stay up.  However, I don't come from a family of quitters.  I get up and stumble down the hallway to the much more comfortable bed and that's all I remember, because I sink into the most blissful sleep anyone has ever experienced. 

For about one hour.  It's not enough.  I'm so tired and frustrated I want to punch someone.  However, it is at this time I smell fresh coffee. 

One thing my husband manages to do quite well is the coffee.  And I firmly believe that today, it's probably saving his life.

 

Infinitely Sweet...more pictures to drool over!

What is fall bringing with it this year besides lower temperatures, frost on the pumpkin, and defrosting your car’s windshield in the morning?  As far as Krystine Vermeer of Infinitely Sweet is concerned, it’s “Stripes, Stripes, Stripes.  Chevron is still hanging in there.  Prints in general are pretty hot this season.  Long maxi skirts are here for a while too.  Knitted sweaters, dresses and cardigans are perfect for fall and winter.  They keep us warm and look stylish.  And now, with knits as a trend, there are plenty of knitted items available, in all possible colors, prints, and lengths.”

can you believe the choices?

 I have to photobomb a little bit here; bear with me.  There are so many good pictures I'm having a hard time picking just a few. 



Cool, right?  You never want to leave.



Infinitely Sweet is participating in the Cider and Cinnamon weekend at Edgebrook Shopping Center, Rockford, IL, so you could drop by there and see what I'm talking about.

  

 

decisions, decisions.








One more, if you will bear with me...
    

Bring your jukebox money.  You'll want to spend it on this instead!!!

oh, yes.







Infinitely Sweet, Rockford, IL, pictures as promised...

As promised, here are some pictures that go along with the Infinitely Sweet article (part one.)  For some reason, the Examiner.com website is not allowing me to do a slideshow, which I planned out meticulously, and then am unable to use. 

The result is that I'm going to photobomb my blog with pictures and link this up.

Let's start, shall we?
 

Squeal!  Rockford Sock Monkey clothes!!! 

 This side of the store makes me want to go get a bunch of babies and dress them up in these adorable clothes.  Is there anything cuter?

Check out these headbands:



these little girl headbands are absolutely DELICIOUS.   And quite artfully displayed, as well.

And these socks!  Can you believe all of these socks?  Could these things be any more adorable?  I wanted to buy all of them.  Thankfully I had the small car so I wouldn't have been able to fit them all in.  Plus, I just rearranged my own sock drawer. 

And these!  There are little dresses of all shapes and sizes and colors.  Not to mention, there are accessories to match.

Hair bow, anyone?  How about a hat or a barrette?



 At any rate, I am doing an article in a couple of parts on Infinitely Sweet.  I really love going in that store, both for drooling over all the baby clothes and seeing what's in style for the fall on the teen/tween/junior side. 

But that is a story for another day.

****Examiner...get your slideshow uploader to work.

A week in review: 7 days in the life of Poopwa Foley

Sometimes, I hear conversations and/or phrasing that make me laugh, or things I think are interesting, or far fetched, or ghastly, and I write them down immediately, because I'm always thinking of YOU, dear reader, and how to entertain YOU. 

I just reread this and realize I should be honest.  I'm not writing things down for you.  No, I write them down because I'm on the downside of 45 and forget EVERYTHING.

Case in point.  Last night, my daughter told me that she was going to be working 12-6 today, Friday.  Around 5:00 pm, I begin to freak out because I have called her twice with no answer, and there is no response to my texts.  I have completely forgotten that she is working until I get her text which says, and I quote, "I'm working LOL."  I quickly called off the search parties.  In less than 24 hours, I managed to not only have a conversation with her about her hours for today, but turn around and panic when I don't hear back from her, because I didn't remember she was safely at work, ignoring her phone, because she's working.  At her job.

Yes, I'm getting old.

However, here are some of the things that have happened lately that I have managed to write down and remember for yens:



so. beautiful.  so. hard. to. take. a. good. picture.

 1)  The moon last Friday night.  It was awesome.  This was taken right after we got home from seeing the Bodeans at the "On the Waterfront", around midnight. 

**

2)  An argument between my two oldest children.  Those arguments used to be over toys, or tattling, or the TV station they were watching. 

Argument 12 years ago:

    "Mom, he took my Barbie." 
    "Mom, she's watched this already, can't I watch my channel?"

Argument now:

Oldest child (son, 23) tiredly makes his way up the basement stairs.  My husband and I and my daughter (21), are sitting on the couch.

    Boy:  My knees are so sore.

    Girl:  Maybe if you weren't on them so much they wouldn't hurt.

    Boy:  (long pause) I can't think of a comeback right now, but when I do, it's going to be f*****g epic. (bedroom door slams)



Still trying to think of something f*****g epic.  It's going to take a while.

**

3)  This unbelievably thoughtful gift my husband got me.  He recently discovered 'the Ebay'.  We set him up a Paypal account and I slid a pamphlet on computer addictions under his pillow. 

But look!  Look!  A poster of one of my most favorite movies about witches!  In a beautiful frame we bought on a shopping trip together!



"Fall in love whenever you can." - Sally Owens
Oh, I will, Sally.  I will.

 To go along with that, I also have a shrine area where I have that paperback and also an adorable beanie baby, a black cat, wearing a witch hat. 

I know!


Possibly the finest literature ever.  And a cat.  On my nightstand.  Before I took this picture, I removed all of the used Kleenexes, cough drop wrappers, and dog hair-y earplugs.  You're welcome.

 **

4) Sunday I made a lovely bean and pasta soup, recipe courtesy of my sister.  I took a picture of the soup but it looked too much like barf so I left that off.  Better luck next time.

** 

5)  I am pretty sure I have a story that's going to be in a book coming out the end of next month.  Stay tuned for more details, like when I actually know for SURE.  However, I made it through the first round and now they're going to send it to me for editing, so...keep your fingers crossed for me.  I'll know more in a few weeks.

**

I think there were a few more things that I wrote down so I would remember. 

However, I forgot my notebook out in the car and the garage door is already shut, so that's that.

I'll have to start a new list of things to remember.  Number One will be to get my notebook out of the car.

Can you hear me now? Good...

Are you having a hard time communicating with your youngster?  Do you talk to your child, only to have them roll their eyes?  Shrug their shoulders?  Mumble a barely audible response?  Shoot you a look of thinly disguised contempt?  All of the above?  Congratulations, you have a teenager. 

Not so long ago and far away, my lucky husband and I had THREE of them in the house at one time.  It was, quite simply, a magical experience.  And by magical I mean NOT magical.  No, not magical at all.  At one point or another, someone was mad at me, or my husband, or each other, or a significant other, sometimes, every other living, breathing human being in the house, AND the dog.  For fun, sometimes it’s more than one child who’s upset. 

There was a LOT of drama going on a few short years ago in our house (and not much has changed, to be quite honest…they’re just older.)  Hubby and I used to walk around on eggshells, never knowing who might be offended by the simple patter of our adult footfalls or sound of our laughter.  How dare we be happy, when they were so obviously miserable? 

The problem is, however, that teenagers don’t like to actually TALK to you about what is going on.  Parents of teenagers already know this.  They will certainly make you aware that they are upset, but to actually communicate with you?  That would be ridiculous.  It's much more fun to keep you guessing why the door to their room is locked, or why they’re pushing around the food on their plate sullenly instead of shoveling it in like usual, or why they’re lying on the couch crying with a cell phone and a box of Kleenex.  Not telling you why.  Sobbing loudly, especially when you walk by.  

Do they not know that as parents, we have been through our share of issues?  Dating trouble, work trouble, personal issues, you name it.  Ask us for advice!  We LOVE to talk!  I realize there are issues that teens face now that weren’t around 20 years ago.  Case in point:  texting and instant messaging.  There were times when we’ve had to comfort one child or another because they got a text or instant message they thought was mean.    

We have tried, over and over, to explain to them that with those types of communication, you can't hear an inflection.  What is written is not always what you think it means.  When reading a text, instant message or Facebook post, it is not only possible but likely that you may mistake their meaning for something else. 

It is absolutely perplexing to me why more teens won’t just pick up the phone and CALL each other already.   Communicate clearly.   (author’s note:  I actually DO know why they text.  It’s easier and quicker and you don’t have to leave a voice mail, and I guarantee you will get their voicemail because no one answers their phones…they’re too busy texting.) 

One way to get your child to communicate is by journaling with them.  Get a spiral notebook, and compose a chatty note to your teen in it.  Date it, and stick it under their pillow with a note that it’s now THEIR turn to write in it, to you.  You will be amazed at what they will spills out in the pages of those notebooks…things that they (especially girls) would NEVER tell you in person, but feel on paper they’re ok to share.    

(another author’s note:  I myself have used this technique and was gratified at how easily my youngest daughter agreed to “pass the notebook”.  I was also slightly shocked at some of the information she shared, but that’s a story for another day. ) 

Find different ways to interact with each child, if you have more than one.  Make sure you get to spend some alone time with each one.  Take them grocery shopping with you.  Despite the fact that you’ll end up with $20 in junk food in the cart, it will be fun.  Make a pit stop for ice cream.  Be yourself, joke around, and it’s a pleasant surprise when your child actually might start making conversation.  

Maybe then, you can both LOL.