I should’ve known something would go wrong. Early in the morning I had to drop my cat off at the vet’s office for her first teeth cleaning and get home in time to catch the school bus. When my alarm buzzed, I walked into my seven-year-old’s room to discover she was already dressed. Excellent! That left plenty of time for her to eat breakfast. No problem.

Now I had a cushion in case I had to chase my cat around the house like last time. I could even grab something for myself to eat and in my wildest dreams, drink a cup of coffee. As I wrangled my cat into the carrier, I kept worrying that something would go wrong. That’s because pets and kids are unpredictable. That’s because whenever I think we have plenty of time, something always happens.

That day’s “something” was my daughter spilling V-8 juice all over the floor, a white dish towel and of course, on her pink tights. Somehow I remained calm as I used about fifty paper towels to tackle the mess. My daughter, who was succumbing to a cold, did not remain calm. She was wearing a pink shirt, pink skirt and pink tights. In her mind, only pink tights would do. I told her to wear white ones. She went to her room and came back mumbling that her shirt didn’t have any white on it. Because there wasn’t white on her outfit, she didn’t want white tights.  Again, as I mopped up red puddles, I explained that white is a neutral and matches everything. (I’d love to see Stacy & Clinton take on a sleepy seven-year-old on What Not to Wear!)

To move things along, I helped my daughter pull on her tights. She whined that they didn’t fit. (They’re brand new, size 7-10). I explained how tights are probably called tights because they feel tight. She didn’t laugh. Then I thought if anyone should be upset, it’s me. I just had to clean tomato juice splattered all over my kitchen and I’m not sure the stain will come out of the tea towel my grandmother embroidered with a kitten and the word “Monday.”

Was there any doubt in your mind that this was a Monday? As I drove through the morning darkness, listening to the radio dj predict snow, I couldn’t help feeling a bit of déjà vu. It seems whenever we’re relaxed, running ahead of schedule, a spill or a rip or some other minor catastrophe puts the rush back into our routine. Have you noticed that once you have kids, if anything can go wrong, it will? Unless of course, you’re expecting it. 

According to Wikipedia, Murphy’s Law dates back to 1877. I say it’s been around longer than that—ever since the first woman gave birth.

If you’re a busy woman, having a Murphy's Law kind of day, treat yourself to the novella, Made for Two. It’s a “sweet read with depth” for 99¢.    

Whenever I discover a recipe that everyone in my family likes, I put a star next to it. If it's easy to make, then it gets another star. This starred recipe is so simple and yummy, I had to share it. It's supposed to be for breakfast, but we like to eat it for dinner.

1. Preheat the oven to 425 degrees. Line a baking sheet with non-stick foil or spray with cooking spray. Place 5 cups frozen, shredded hash brown potatoes in a large bowl, breaking up large clumps. 

How did I miss “the best film of 2005” according to the Los Angeles Times? Oh, yeah. I had a baby. I probably didn’t go to the theater more than once that year. But I don’t even remember hearing about this film. I'm so glad I stumbled across it at my local library.

Now my baby is seven and she loves to watch movies. In fact, if I let her eat popcorn in the living room while watching a DVD, I’ve elevated the event to something special. She still likes animated films, but I especially enjoy a movie that entertains us both. (You know—one with actors, not cartoons). That’s why I’m writing about “DUMA.”

Duma is the name of a cheetah that wanders into the road in South Africa where a father and son find him. (All we ever find in the road where I live are squirrels and skunks!) Since the cub is orphaned, the family takes him home to their farm miles away. The gentle squeak that comes out of that cheetah’s mouth is not what you expect. Soon the cat grows bigger than the boy and proves to be better than a watchdog. Unfortunately, the father dies and the boy, his mother, and Duma must leave the farm. (Be aware that the sad parts of the movie are off-screen. We do not see how the father dies, which works well for my sensitive daughter and me.)

Before the dad died, he told his son, Xan, that Duma needed to return to the wild. (What a great name! I think I'll name my next kid Xan, although he'll probably have to explain to everyone that it's pronounced Zan.) Xan decides to fulfill his dad’s wishes and runs away with the cheetah. African deserts, lions, crocodiles and a suspicious stranger provide plenty of obstacles for the twelve-year-old boy to overcome. He is amazingly resourceful, reading a compass and making a canoe out of sticks. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have fared nearly as well as he did, but I guess it is fiction. There was drama, but no tears until the very end when Duma finally remembers what it means to be wild.

This film would entertain children from ages seven on up and I highly recommend it! 

What’s your favorite family film? I'd love to know, so I can watch it! Would you like "Movies you Might've Missed" to become a regular feature?
 
If you're looking for a "sweet read with depth" after the kids go to bed, check out my 99 cent novella, Made for Two. 

One night when I was still naïve enough to think raising kids was a pretty straight-forward endeavor, I saw a young family at Wal-Mart. Two toddlers climbed all over the cart, whining and crying. I looked at my watch. 10 p.m. “Why aren’t those kids in bed?” I whispered to my husband.

That’s how I was for many years—a childless parenting expert. Everyone who knew about my Franklin calendar priority lists and my desperate need to keep my desk clean, must’ve secretly laughed when I announced I was having a baby. They probably thought,“She’ll never finish another to-do list again.” They were right.

Motherhood threw me off-balance. I tried to figure out my infant daughter’s schedule by writing every feeding and nap down. I needed some kind of predictability, but there wasn’t any clear pattern. As soon as I thought I’d figured her out, she’d change. My biggest fear was that we’d be out in public, she’d start bawling and everyone’s eyes would be on me. No one wants to hear a baby cry, I reasoned, and it was my job as her mother to make sure she didn’t disturb others.

Well, baby’s first Christmas arrived. Cry, cry, cry. Everybody tried rocking her—me, her dad, grandma, great-grandma , etc. I was mortified. She was ruining everyone’s holiday dinner. She wasn’t hungry, tired or lonely—just miserable. Nothing we did helped. Finally, we put her down in a quiet bedroom and gave up.

A little while later, we found out why she had been inconsolable. She’d eaten prunes for the first time and it upset her insides. One very messy diaper change later and my baby’s smile returned. (There should be a warning label on prune baby food containers!)

Seven years later, I still think about that family at Wal-Mart. Perhaps they’d run out of children’s Tylenol and one of the kids was sick. Or maybe they just hadn’t figured the whole parenting thing out quite yet. Either way, I try not to judge any more. I want to tell all of the new moms out there to stop worrying about what everybody else thinks. The ones who give you disapproving looks probably don’t know any better. The rest of us see your two year old having a meltdown and remember when we were in your shoes. How there’s no reasoning, no placating kids sometimes. Sometimes you just have to wait them out. And sometimes they just need to go poo. 

If you liked this post, please comment and click the like or tweet buttons below. To show my appreciation, I will enter everyone who leaves a comment into a drawing to win my novel What Happiness Looks Like!

           “Are fairies real?” my five-year-old daughter asked. She’d been playing with the fairy house she’d made out of a saltine cracker box and dollhouse furniture. She’d also checked out every fairy book she could find from the library. I didn’t hesitate to say, “No, fairies aren’t real.”

            Her blue eyes grew wide. “What about the Tooth Fairy?” she demanded.

            Oops. “I thought you meant Tinker Bell. She’s not real. But the Tooth Fairy is different.” Ugh.

            Is it a mistake to let your kids believe in the magic of pixie dust? I don’t want to lie, but I don’t want to ruin the fun of placing a baby tooth under her pillow or the anticipation of waking up to discover a prize, either. Besides, I read that the Tooth Fairy was invented to calm children’s fears about their teeth falling out. So that seems like a good thing.

            But where do I draw the line? My daughter, now seven, is fascinated with mermaids. She has a book detailing the folklore in different cultures and in the back of the book, there’s a map. To her, a map of where mermaids live means they’re real. She looks to me for confirmation. I hesitate--having learned my lesson from answering too quickly about fairies. “Well, this map doesn’t tell us any places we could find on a real map. No names of oceans or countries to help us locate it.”

            “I’ll get a real map and figure it out.” I smiled at her determination and told her to look in the car.

            She came back with a roadmap of Ohio. “There aren’t any oceans in Ohio,” I laughed. Then she opened an atlas. I liked that she was giving herself a mini-geography lesson, but felt guilty that it was mixed with a myth. Would she someday be teased for her faith in mermaids? Would she write her college admissions essay on the magical world beneath the sea? Surely it wouldn’t go that far.

            She studied the maps and I savored the moments of quiet. I was looking forward to an afternoon of her carefully examining all fifty states. Wishful thinking! In no time, she determined that a bay in Alaska matched the one in the mermaid book. (Why did Alaska have to start with the letter A?) She showed me the similar oblong shape and opening to the ocean.

            “Hmm. Could be,” I said. “What do you think?” (I tell myself this is good parenting--letting her form her own opinion.)

            Even though she could tell I was cynical, she thought definitely yes. Mermaids must live in Alaska. At this point, her dad stepped in. He told her it’s awfully cold in the water there. She didn’t care. She held firm in her belief.

            In fact, after swim lessons one day, I praised her for swimming like a fish.             
            
           She grinned. “No, Mom. Better than a fish. I swim like a mermaid!”

            I chuckled. She had a point. 

If you enjoyed this post, check out Karen Lenfestey's novels, "A Sister's Promise" and "What Happiness Looks Like." Click below to read excerpts:

We’re planning a family vacation and I must confess, I’m a little scared. Even the research shows that happiness surges most when anticipating a trip rather than during it. I suspect that’s especially true if you’re bringing along the munchkins.

 Until now we’ve only ventured a few hours from home with our little one. We took the South Shore railroad (how cool is that?!?) to Chicago. On day three, our toddler had a tearful meltdown in Shedd Aquarium because she was so tired. (All right, I might have had a meltdown, too, but it was because I had an untreated sinus infection.) We stayed home the next summer. 

              But inevitably, the vacation bug bit us again. Recently we visited Jack Hanna’s zoo in Columbus on a day the forecasters marveled would be sunny and in the seventies. Instead, it was in the fifties and during lunch, thunder and lightening forced us to bolt for the parking lot where we searched in the pouring rain for our vehicle. On the ride home, our daughter choked on a sip of water and threw up in our brand new car. (My husband had a meltdown that time.)

            So yes, I’m afraid. But I’m excited too. Today we ordered our seven-year-old her first passport. (I didn’t get mine until I went on my honeymoon!) I’m tickled at the opportunities we are providing for her. She’s going to see Niagara Falls from the Canadian side. She’s going to mine for “diamonds” and visit the chocolate-scented town of Hershey. What could possibly go wrong?

            No--please don’t tell me. It’ll ruin the surprise.

What was your most memorable vacation? 
When did you get your first passport?

If you enjoyed this blog, please click “tweet” or “like” below. If you’re looking for a book to read on your vacation, check out novels by the author Glo Magazine said is "a charming writer. . .with a gift for storytelling”: A Sister’s Promise or What Happiness Looks Like. 

I remember as a little girl, listening to my heart with a stethoscope then announcing that I wanted to be a doctor. My grandmother paused and said, “Well. . .I guess these days girls can do anything boys can”. I remember thinking, “Of course they can!”

 That’s why I feel lucky I have a daughter. Girls can go to medical school or beauty school, wear pants or dresses, and choose whether to work or be stay-at-home moms, without (too much) societal judgment. So when my daughter came home from school and informed me that only boys can play soccer, I told her that wasn’t true. I encouraged her to join the boys on the soccer field during recess if she wanted to. And she did. I was so proud.

                  But last spring my five-year-old daughter challenged my can-do attitude. This was a request I had never anticipated from a little girl who enjoyed ballet and pretending to be a princess. She asked if she could learn karate.

                  Teaching children—girls or boys--to hit and kick didn’t sound like a good idea to me. Instead of saying that, I asked her where she heard about karate. “Sesame Street,” she said. (That darned PBS! I’d trusted them.) “Why do you want to learn karate?” I asked. “Because it looks like dancing.” I assured her it wasn’t at all like dancing and waited for her to forget about it. She didn’t. Almost daily she asked if she could learn karate. Eventually, I called about an introductory lesson.

                  Once at the local tae kwon do studio, I felt conflicted. The instructor wasn’t what I expected—a black belt with red toenails. Talk about busting gender stereotypes--the owner was a woman! (I admit I kind of liked that.) The teacher told my daughter when she enters the studio, she should bow and greet the instructors with “Hi, ma’am. Hi, sir.” The instructor also said it’s important to listen and respect one’s parents. (OK so far. . .)

                  But when the instructor asked what my daughter would do if a stranger grabbed her arm, my stomach clenched. I didn’t want my little girl to fear strangers. I didn’t want to squash her naturally outgoing personality and I didn’t want her to grow up afraid. Yet, heaven forbid she should need to, I did want her to be able to defend herself.

                  On the ride home, we discussed whether our family wanted to add tae kwon do to our schedule. In between “Hi-ya!” yells, my daughter said she definitely wanted to try it. Overall, I was impressed with the program, but still couldn’t wrap my mind around my daughter learning to fight. My husband, however, said since girls are smaller than boys, it made sense for them to learn how to outsmart an attacker. I still wasn’t anxious to start something in which I figured she would quickly lose interest. After all, I’m pretty sure she’s the only kid to ever learn martial arts because they like to dance.

                  When I parked the car in our garage, I told my daughter to clean out the trash in the backseat. “Aww, Mom,” she protested. I headed for the mailbox. Half way down the driveway, I heard her yell, “Yes, ma’am!” I turned around and saw her smiling at me.

                  I was sold.

IF YOU'RE LIKE ME, YOU'RE ALWAYS LOOKING FOR A GOOD BOOK TO READ AFTER THE KIDS GO TO BED. CLICK HERE TO READ THE OPENING CHAPTERS OF "A SISTER'S PROMISE" OR "WHAT HAPPINESS LOOKS LIKE". For more information on tae kwon do, visit: http://ataonline.com