Acceptance, Tolerance, And Empathy: Things my kids have learned from Voldemort and other villians.

Recently I was given reason to take a step back from my own situation and examine my own parenting and the lifestyle in which my children are being raised. I was made to feel guilt and doubt, and I wanted to take some time to reflect upon the choices I make regarding my children. The attack came from someone I don’t know, leaving me to wonder if the opinion was rather more unbiased than that of friends and family, who wouldn’t normally criticize how I do things, for fear of hurting my feelings. It was specifically in regards to the movies and literature I choose to expose my children to. It was suggested that perhaps some of the content I allow my children to be privy to were perhaps too advanced, too mature, too terrifying for their small, maybe even weak minds. It made me wonder, what it is, I really am exposing them to?

            I have always had a specific genre of books, movies and shows on TV I am especially drawn to. I devour every fantasy book I can get my hands on, I become absolutely enthralled with movies and television series set in magical, fantastical lands, future, dystopian societies, and anything that revolves around people with special abilities, cast aside by society as “weird”, who end up “saving the day”. In the same way fathers sometimes enjoy sharing their favorite sport with their child, I too, enjoy sharing my favorites with my kids. The question now becomes, am I doing this for selfish reasons? Am I forcing something on them they shouldn’t be a part of, just yet? I took a deeper look at the specific literature and movies they’ve heard and seen so many times in their short lives, they nearly have every line memorized.

            Among some of our more beloved works are Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, The Chronicles of Narnia, we’ve even watched The Divergent series together, and most recently, after having read all three in as many days, we went to the movie theater and saw Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children. On the surface these types of books and movies are nothing more than pure fantasy, plots revolving around magic, nothing that could ever happen in the “real world”. There are however, plenty of violent scenes described and/or shown. I have decided though, that not only is the surface level a bad thing, but neither is the violence or the deeper meanings weaved into the stories. As far the most simple of layers to these works go, the root lesson being taught is imagination. Albert Einstein said, “Imagination is everything. It is the preview for life’s coming attractions.”

            Child experts unanimously agree imagination in a child’s life has benefits that are to be celebrated. Children with active imaginations are more creative, happier, more alert, more likely to cope with life’s twists and turns, and usually grow into well-adjusted and secure adults. Imagination is the younger sibling to creativity and innovation. All of which are traits I would be proud to the point of bursting to have instilled into my children. The fantasy books and movies I allow, and encourage my kids to hear and see foster within them a sense of magic. It teaches them to see the mundane, and use their minds to make the boring, the tepid, and the tedious parts of life a truly wild adventure. When we, as people, become complacent and bored we lose our passion. The potential that is always hidden beneath a layer of bland, humdrum regularity, ignites a passion within us to uncover what could be. I don’t want my children to ever lose that, that feeling that makes our hearts skip, that which makes us wonder with curiosity and the passion that drives us to work until the mystery underneath is discovered. When we lose our passion, we lose the ability to truly live.

            As mentioned earlier, there is some violence within many of the fantasy series we love. I am against the gore. There is no reason for children to see blood and guts. It’s just gross. If and when there are scenes that portray anything bloody and disgusting, we fast forward, or close our eyes. My so-called righteous quest for enlightenment for both myself and my kids is not at the cost of their innocence.  I think, as a parent it is within my job description to discern what is too-much. My line is drawn when the fake blood starts to spray at the camera. There are though, instances of death that can be used as a learning experience that aren’t accompanied by graphic and grotesque bodily injury. In Harry Potter, when Dobby dies, we learn there is evil in this world, and we learn the virtue of loyalty. When, in LOTR, we see what we think is Gandalf’s heroic and sacrificial death, we learn the same thing. I would much rather explain and discuss the bad things that do happen in this world through fantasy. When it gets to be too heavy, too deep and too scary, we can turn it off and know it’s just pretend. It does though, prepare them later in life for the moments we can’t shut off and close our eyes too. But throughout all of the death portrayed, there is a glimmer, a beautiful, shining spark that never fails, and that which we cling to even in real life. HOPE.

            I believe I am teaching my children to always have hope. No matter what evil comes their way, there is hope and we see it the way the heroes in our stories fight fiercely for good. The underdog, the underprivileged, the cast offs, they are the ones who come forward and do what is right. With hope comes tolerance and acceptance. These types of stories show us that despite illness (Remus Lupin), despite mental illness (Jake, the peculiar child after his grandfather dies) you can still persevere. The oddballs, the freaks, they are the ones we learn to love and understand and have a deep empathy for. I would be thrilled to know my children have the same attitude towards the “freaks” they encounter in the real world. Another important aspect I have come away with and encourage my children to see are the overwhelming amount of female empowerment within the fantasy genre. Maybe someday it won’t be a fantasy?  

            Many of these movies have a rating of PG-13. I was told there are ratings for a reason. I agree. PG stands for parental guidance and I absolutely believe if you as a parent are too inept and unequipped to guide your children through what they are seeing than you do more damage than good. I understand that some parents just don’t understand what they are truly reading or seeing and those are the types I would strongly caution against movies with PG13 ratings. But if you can see the bigger picture and can turn it into a life lesson then perhaps this genre is for you and your kids. The “G” refers to guidance as there is a large range of movies within this rating. LOTR, Avatar, Pirates of the Caribbean, Harry Potter, X-Men, Bruce Almighty, Indiana Jones, Jurassic Park 3, The Avengers, Starwars, Spider Man and Batman are all rated the exact same as Drag me to Hell, The Ring, 6^th Sense, Insidious, The Woman in Black and World War Z, amongst many other horror flicks.

            Above all, though, I hope I am fostering a sense of joy and creativity. The same way in which the God I serve, and am teaching my children to serve, fosters joy and creativity in me. He is the ultimate in creativity but He has never shied away from violence. He was murdered brutally, but God, Himself, is the hope all these works of literature palely try to imitate. There is bad in this world, and sometimes, yes, I let my kids see it in movies, that they may know how blessed they are to have both parents and a secure setting to grow up in and turn to. For those who don’t, just remember, JK Rowling said, Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home. <3

Help me, I'm Poor.

I have a confession, guys. It’s not a good one. It’s ugly, really ugly. I found something out about myself this past week, and it’s enough to make me sick. This whole time I thought I was Annie, maybe even Megan, from Bridesmaids but I am absolutely, 100% Helen. There it is. I am Helen. I’m competitive, slightly arrogant, I have a mean streak, and I am insecure to top off the old self-hate sundae. I might not be planning a bridal shower, but I am planning a preschool Halloween party, and this whole thing has brought out the she-wolf in me.

I have “mom-ed” so hard this week I popped a blood vessel and my left eye is doing this permanent, irritating twitch. I can’t make it stop. I look like I forgot my medicine. When my son started school, I was literally the first to sign up to be Room Mother (all caps, it’s a super important gig), so there’s my stupid name, on the stupid list, front and center, CAITLYN SHITHEAD GEORGE. I thought I was being a super present, awesome mom. Look at me go, I thought, first in line, I’ll make some cute Pinterest fail pretzel skeletons, and stand around and “assist” the teachers. I have never been so wrong.

I walk into school last week and the teachers pull me aside to tell me they usually have a craft, some games, snacks, treat bags, and story time, and I will need to organize the whole thing, and make a sign-up sheet for the other parents to donate things towards this dumb party. WHAT?!? I am already on edge having to do my make-up every day for drop-off, and now this?? I smile so hard wisdom teeth I had pulled 8 years ago are showing, nod like I knew all along what Room Mother meant, and pat my son on the head, and walk out backwards, two thumbs up, winking at the teach. “You got it sister, I’m good to go!” I think she thinks I’m manic, I don’t know.

I immediately go home and cuss out my husband, it’s obviously HIS fault as he insisted on sending our son to this pretentious, over-priced, elitist, college prep, DAY CARE, and it’s his fault I am now in charge of making sure no one asphyxiates when I accidentally organize a party with peanuts everywhere for the allergic kids.  After I calm down, which for me, means voraciously chain smoking for an hour while crying to my mom, I take action. And here is where Helen comes into this sad story.

            I made an actual agenda, down to the minute, every second of this party is meticulously planned out. I made this over the top photo booth, a wooden pallet sign; I used chalk paint to write the name of the school as a prop, as well as some rustic pumpkins, a back drop, I even got hay bales guys. Hay. Bales.  I’m going to snap everyone’s picture and run down to the one-hour photo, so for craft time they can decorate a frame with their Halloween costume photo sesh pic inside. I have 14 pumpkins to paint and decorate, games, cutesy Halloween snacks, and I am ashamed to admit, 14 signed copies of my book.

I have a book published. “You Dooooooooo?” – (Annie) Everyone. I even wrote every parent a letter, detailing the party, what I needed donated and a rage-inducing poem I wrote called The Invitation, about a Halloween party at a spooky, haunted house. I know, I know, it’s so damn obnoxious! Guys, I titled the poem and did this at the end: “ –Caitlyn George”… I HATE ME TOO!! Like, why? Last, but certainly not least, I made every mother who is helping me some homemade, organic goat shit soap, I mean milk, PRINTED OFF A HYMN, SOAKED IT IN COFFEE TO MAKE IT RUSTIC AND WRAPPED THEM, DECORATED THEM WITH EFFING BIRDS, AND PUT THEM IN A BAG THAT SAYS “YOU’RE A TWEET-HEART.”!!!!!!! I literally have never wanted to punch myself so hard in the face. I may as well go all out, like Helen, and hand out puppies at the end.  

            I wanted so hard to show everyone what an amazing mother I am, how thoughtful, clever, witty and creative I am. I write poems, I make my own soap, I’m published, and rainbows come out of my ass, meanwhile, like Helen’s step children in Bridesmaids, my own kids are like, “we hate you.” I was so desperate to crush all the other moms, and walk away with them wondering, what CAN’T this bitch do, that I am the exact type of person, or rather, I am behaving like the type of woman, I cannot stand. I want to be friends with Megan, who hits on Air Marshals and takes 9 puppies home. Instead I am acting like Helen, with her giant cookie and bleached butt…

            Every day I tell Dominic as I send him off to show the other kids in his class who is in his heart. I mean Jesus. I am sitting here staring at this box of party supplies, ashamed at how passive aggressive, competitive and insecure I was being. I don’t need to prove myself to anyone, I don’t need to be perfect and 4 year olds don’t give a rip about rustic autumnal décor vs. tacky plastic ghost figurines. I may have put together a cute party, but in doing so I will have made every single woman I have to work with, hate my guts. I know I would. I can whip up some handmade soap, but am I nice? Am I kind? My poems might be okay, but am I funny? Can I poke fun at myself and be humble? These are the things that matter, and I think with that being said, tomorrow, when I drop my kid off, I’ll be true to myself and show up in pajama pants, and let them all hear me screaming into the backseat, “KNOCK IT OFF YOU LITTLE SHITS!”.  I tell my kids constantly that it’s better to put yourself down, and let someone else raise you up, than to do it yourself and allow the world to destroy you. I am who I am. And that alone should be something to be proud of, there is no reason to try so hard to show off. My kids love me, and they are happy and healthy. Be an Annie, not a Helen.

Saying GOOD BYE to my baby

     This morning I was met with some very unexpected feelings. They come as a shock to me, I had no idea I would suffer such an intense, emotional identity crisis. Since April 7th, 2012, 4 years, one month and one week today, I have been in a particular season of life. My entire existence since that day, my whole schedule, everything about me, has revolved around diaper changes. Every place I've gone to, every home I visit, every doctor appointment, dentist appointment, and church nursery has been a place for me to change dirty diapers, discard them discreetly, or not so discreetly, a place where I've gently and carefully wiped precious little bottoms clean. Poop isn't something most come to find endearing or special, our own, or anyone else's. As mothers however, we have been charged with total care of these little people from the cute and adorable down to the most revolting of tasks. In all actuality it isn't the poop that's important, it's the meaning behind it. They need us for everything, without us they'd be hungry, sick, and soiled. In the same way nursing a child is an intimate and bonding experience, so is being the one person in this world who will wash from their delicate skin that which most wouldn't even come near, without huge sums of money involved and at the very least a wrinkled nose. It may be disgusting, but we do it, without hesitation because they need us. We are everything to them and in turn, our every moment of life from the day they're born until the day they don't use diapers anymore, all aspects of our being orbits around ensuring they never have to feel discomfort.
     When my first born became potty trained, I was elated and proud. Everything he does is new and exciting. A new frontier, a new challenge, I never once felt any sort of loss. I didn't mourn the stage he was leaving, because his little sister was still in that familiar territory that I had grown so accustomed to. No matter what my first does, I always have his sister, still a baby, still needing me for everything. I can enjoy his independence, while still clinging to her babyhood. This morning, though, marks 24 hours wearing Frozen undies in various shades of pink, with not one accident. She even went the entire night without a diaper. She walks herself to the potty, climbs up a step stool, does her business, and then patiently waits for me to come in and wipe her little bottom. She hops down, pulls her pants up, says "thanks mommy!", and runs off to continue whatever it was she was doing when nature's call interrupted. I am beaming with pride over this development, I cannot believe how quickly she figured it all out. However, I had no idea how sad it would make me as well. I didn't mentally prepare myself, I didn't say good bye to my baby girl, I didn't think to cherish every moment I would never get back of her and I alone somewhere, changing diapers. She always talked to me in her little voice, she used to pull on my hair, I remember when she'd lay there and chew on her toes while I rummaged around for the baby wipes. Once you begin to potty train, you can never, ever go back. Once they've learned it, that is the utter end of that season.
     Diapering not only consumes your life from the moment they're born, it also brings with it a sense of identity for momma, and an entire community of diapering mothers welcome you to the sisterhood with open arms. Who am I without my gigantic, obtrusive, bulky, 600 pound diaper bag, that is the bane of my existence?  How many times have I complained about needing to take it with me everywhere I go? How many photos have been taken of me with it on my shoulder or in the background, marking me as a new mother? What will it be like to grocery shop and never again need to steer my cart towards the baby aisle? What will summertime be like without my go-to staple of swim diapers? For so long, this has been who I am, and what I do. I grieve the loss of her baby years, and I grieve the loss of my identity as "mommy-to-babies". The sense of community too, that I have so grown to love and appreciate feels as if it's slipping. How many times have I easily started conversations with other mothers who have children the same age with jokes about diapers, blow outs, baby poop and so on? We all share that, and you could be anywhere, run out of baby wipes and someone in the vicinity in the same stage as you could offer up a few of her own.
     I have started a whole new phase, and don't get me wrong, the thought of how much money we will save alone, has me absolutely jumping with joy, not to mention the insufferable bragging rights I now have as far as having both kids potty trained and out of diapers, but there is still a persistent sense of loss I can't seem to shake this morning. I am no longer a mommy to infants. I am no longer ever going to change another diaper ever again. I will never frantically search for a changing table out in public. My regret is not paying enough attention to each and every second I was in charge of babies. After so long, I started to be set on auto-pilot and now that that task is forever a part of my personal motherhood history book, I can't help but feel grief. When one stage ends, an entirely new one begins, bringing with it, it's own set of hardships and joys. I am so looking forward to this second part of mommyhood, I am thrilled my bag will now be considerably less heavy, I am pleased for her, watching her beam with pride over her own accomplishments, but allow me this small moment to say good bye to my babies. I will genuinely miss the smell of warm morning diapers, the fluffy butts inside tight, baby pants, the bow legged toddle of a full diaper, and the chubby bunny look of a little girl, in just a diaper, running around the yard or house. You were a pleasure to care for baby girl, and I can't wait to see what this new season of life brings us! So long baby, and cheers to officially being a kid!
     My only advice, as trite as it may be, to new moms is to enjoy every second. As exhausting and inconvenient as it all may be, once it's over, you will never again see your child in diapers. Some things you can't get back, so take lots of pictures, try to soak in that special time between you and baby as you clean them up (not literally, that's gross) and know that someday they won't need you for that anymore, and that is a special, God given honor to be the one who they rely on for everything. <3

The cat's out of the bag, I got BOTOX.

I had intended on writing this for Mother's Day, as it's a blog post about my Mother's Day gift, but I have been exceedingly busy as of late...er...as of always really. So excuse the lateness. What does a busy, tired, and haggard looking mom want most for Mother's Day? What does she need? One might suggest a day of rest and relaxation, or perhaps an uninterrupted nap and bubble bath. Well not this mama. I received for Mom's Day 15 injections right into my face. I'm laughing as I write this, because I already know how ludicrous it sounds...you can't actually tell by my facial expression, or lack thereof that I'm laughing, but I can still make the sound, at least. If you haven't already guessed, I was given the gift of everlasting youth, technically called BOTOX. Yes, I know I am only 24 to 26 years old ( see what I did there?) but the lines gently etched into my face have bothered me for quite some time, and I decided to erase them.
   When you schedule an appointment, the cosmetic surgeon must first do a consultation, for a heavy fee of course, on top of the actual procedure, and for "free" ( yeah right!) He also included an over-all consult, to cover any other procedure I may need or want now or in the future. I was asked to undress, much like you do at the gyno, and given a huge paper towel to wear for "modesty" purposes. I sat and waited on him to enter, expecting a man who resembled Ken, or Brad Pitt given his profession, but instead, in walked the bald bad guy from The Princess Bride. Well, the cobbler doesn't ever have new shoes as they say, so I brushed off his imperfect appearance. His first consultation covered possible breast augmentation. He was curt and to the point. He wasn't overly friendly, if at all. The first words out of his mouth was an incredulous observation regarding how tight I wear my bra. I said, well, I've had two kids, and nursed both for awhile, I am pushing and pulling them up and out, at the expense of my diaphragm, to appear larger and perkier. He didn't laugh. I did, nervously though. His final conclusion was one boob was an entire cup size smaller. Now, I can tell you with complete honesty, I have always fantasized about a boob job. I have always thought it would be awesome to have huge, super perky tits, but I have never once thought one was bigger than the other! I actually didn't think mine were too bad. I look in the mirror after a shower, and think...two kids? Not too shabby, sister!
   Next he inspected my belly. It is an absolute subconscious reflex to suck in and flex, at all times. The only time I'm not is when I'm asleep. He irritatedly told me to relax my stomach, and I had to really muster up bravery for that small act. I literally breathed deeply and closed my eyes, then let that thing hang out. He started painfully yanking and pulling on me, showing me where my belly button should actually be placed as opposed to where it is now. ha! (Again, I'm smirking, but you can't tell.) He told me I need a tuck, and he would reconstruct my belly button, even going so far as to say he would remove my heinous belly button ring scar. The belly button ring I got when I was 16, with my mom. The time we went to the tattoo shop together and she let me pierce it without telling my dad. I wrapped myself back up in my paper towel quickly, and asked uncomfortably how much all this would cost.
  He asked me if it mattered! SIGH. The last thing on the list was my face. They hemmed and hawed, way too close to my pores and the zit on my forehead and concluded, the doctor and his esthetic's professional, that my face skin was much, much older than my actual biological age, and I certainly needed the botox, and 200 dollars worth of skin care shit. I had entered the office thinking I was pretty hot, and one small injection later I would be perfect, and as my appointment drew to an end, I felt like a withered husk of a woman. I had effed up boobs, my belly button was halfway up my rib cage now apparently, I had floppy, loose skin hanging off my bones like plastic grocery bags, and my skin was pushing 80 years old. I slouched around the office, like a deflated balloon. WHY AM I SO HIDEOUS?!?!
   I admit, I went through with the Botox injections, despite the feeling I was totally being hustled. Insurance doesn't cover any of it, and the doctor is in it to make MONEY. Much like any salesmen, they high pressure sale you into things you suddenly think you NEED. He wiped my face with alcohol, and one after the other stuck my face with a needle. They advised against grand facial expressions, crinkling my nose, squinting, and furrowing my brow.  I left the office completely dejected, despite the brochure that said the office was in the business of improving self esteem. I really have considered all these procedures before, and how amazing it would be to be perfect. I can say that without shame. Who hasn't? But having actually gone through with one procedure and contemplating all the others I was consulted on, I started to think about my body and my face.
   My boobs. They fed two babies, and they've been used to nestle two little faces, as they drifted off to sleep. Behind them beats the heart that holds an immeasurable amount of love. My stomach that housed my sweet infants, stretched to the limit as they grew strong and healthy. As mentioned before even my belly button holds memories dear to me. I was truly saddened at the thought of changing any of it! Who would've thought?? And lastly my face. The face that lights up at childish antics, the brows that furrow in annoyance at my husband, the crow's feet that deepen as I squint into the summer sun, and the lines around my face that crease when I belly laugh. I don't plan on going back, or ever getting any more work done. It took the experience to realize how much I really do love myself, and how disturbing it would be to alter any of who I am. Therein lies the rub, changing the outward, would be truly changing WHO I AM. I make dramatic faces. I like to smile, and scowl, I certainly don't have resting bitch face (at least not naturally) I smile at strangers, and I wink at babies. The lesson learned was that changing what I thought I hated, was in reality, changing what I love about myself. As I write this I am making a face that says contemplation and realization, and in six months from now you'll be able to see it again. Till then, I guess I will have to start writing my blog posts again to express myself! ...now I'm smiling. HA!

Fun things to do with kids.

Sometimes being a stay-at-home-mom is boring and tedious. My son refers to bedtime as "nap time". He simply is taking a small nap in between the endless days that seem to run together. Structure and routine is very healthy for small ones, but for adults it can mean intense bouts of cabin fever and monotony. In response to such feelings I've come up with several activities that break up our days and offer education and fun. Some require imagination and some are things we've all done, but it has to be better than sitting at home watching Cars and Frozen on repeat, right?  I also would like to point out I always refer to staying home because that's my current situation, but motherhood in general sometimes needs some spice. Granted as I type this my son opened his sippy and dumped it on the white carpet, but that isn't the excitement I'm looking for....So, here are a few things I have come up with for rainy days, boring days, and days when you just need out of the house! Have fun!

1.  Several times I have taken the kids to the Humane Society and we have walked the dogs, or played with the kittens and cats. For one thing, those poor creatures need it, and for another there is never too young an age to teach compassion. It's a decent work-out for all involved and the animals and the kids love it. Kids naturally love animals. The employees will direct you to dogs that are safe, so no need to fear an attack. They'll never let volunteers near "mean" dogs. (For those of you reading this in Stark County who know the precise location of the shelter, you might also realize for REAL excitement, you might get lucky and witness an escaped convict making a run for it...just saying.) 
2. This activity takes a bit of imagination, but another outing we've gone on has been to Harry London Chocolate Factory. In the morning we watched Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (the old version as the new version borders on horror and slight pedophilia) and then made our way to Harry London. They offer FREE tours, FREE samples and you get to experience the inner workings of the factory. There is an educational movie to start and it then takes you through the whole building...gigantic vats of chocolate syrup, conveyer belts loaded with chocolate covered strawberries and ends in the candy shop. They pass out samples and if you're like me, you can also buy a bunch..I mean a couple, items of your choosing. I told my kids the workers were Oompa Loompas and they believed me. It was fun. 
3. The McKinley Museum is a great way to spend a couple hours on a rainy day. They have dinosaurs, science experiments, an Old Time village you can walk through as you step back through time, a model train section, lots of local history education and learning opportunities. They also have a gift shop that sells my book..so. There's that. 
4. This summer, I recreated different scenes and events from Harry Potter, one being Hogwarts..aka Glamorgan Castle in Alliance. It is absolutely breath taking. Whether you're pretending you've entered Hogwarts, or you have a little girl who wants to see where Elsa and Anna grew up, it's a great time. The vast lawn in the front is gorgeous and inside you'll find suits of armor and a pretty chandelier. My son still talks about the pond on the front lawn and the "giant squid" I told him lived in it...Harry Potter fans unite!
5. Another one of our more memorable trips was to Hale Farm and Village. It's an entire recreated village modeling the first settler's lives, with a functioning church, school house, gardens, town store, an attorney's office, farms with real animals, a glass blower's shop, a blacksmith, amongst many more. You're free to explore and learn as you travel in and out of the different buildings, while actors dressed in full colonial garb greet you in vernacular popular to the time. They spin their own wool, make their own glass and iron products, and all product can be purchased in the gift shop at the front office. We had a fabulous time that day. One of the trips I highly encourage everyone with little people to try. "There's something they aren't telling us!"- Bridesmaids.
6. Sometimes a fun day is just that, for fun. I always try to encourage education but sometimes kids just want to bounce off the walls. Sky Maxx offers the ability to literally do so. One of the more expensive activities on my list, but well worth it if you come home afterwards and the kids are passed out in exhaustion for three hours. The floor and walls are trampolines, surrounded by netting. You buy your children a wrist band and cut them loose to wear themselves OUT for 30 minutes or an hour depending on what you spend and how long you want to chase them around. My daughter kept bouncing off across the room like a little Mexican jumping bean, and then licking the floor. No socks or shoes allowed! Gross! 
7. For the helicopter and plane enthusiasts, I recommend MAPS air museum. Offering interesting facts about the planes flown during the world wars, real artifacts and a hanger full of airplanes used during war time, it is a HUGE space to walk around in and check out. My son was allowed to sit inside different planes, touch propellers, and examine a machine gun from WW2. Both times we've gone, we have shown up within thirty minutes of closing time and both times a volunteer veteran has happily showed us around, waived admission fees and even gave Dominic a model plane from the gift shop, also for free. I have nothing but nice things to say about them. No jokes on this one, I love the people who work there! 
8. Summer time is always more fun, but a few things you may not have thought of include strawberry picking, Farmer's Markets (again, venders are always happy to hand out samples and different goodies for free to cute customers ..I meant me, not the kids..HA!), apple picking, The Zoo, and the pool. If you don't have access to a pool, my kids were happy to splash around in a large Tupperware container I filled with water. Kids don't know they're hillbillies till they're older. We also had many bon fires and roasted marshmellows and hotdogs, picked flowers and made crowns with them, and lastly, we really enjoy the Wilderness Center. The observatory building has a gift shop, and a natural museum with a huge log and life sized models of the creatures that live inside. Kids can crawl through, in and around it. The nature trails are safe, stroller accessible, show the beauty of the land, and one trail even allows dogs. I huffed and puffed, sweat, was bit by a thousand mosquitoes, and my legs were torn open by nettles, but the kids loved it.  
9. Want something free? The library. A card is free, borrowing the books is free, and they give you three warnings before they kick you out for being too loud and obnoxious. We've only ever gotten to two. My son is trying to beat our record by pulling all the books off the shelves and then climbing them. It's good to have goals, even as a child. 

1. In the fall we love Nickajack Farm. Pumpkin picking, horse rides, a petting zoo, a hay bale maze... again with the gift shop....my house is filled with plastic, Chinese made junk from all the gift shops we've entered... the neat part about Nickajack though, is the education they offer on local farming, live stock and crops. You can play and learn. 

1. My last ones are for the fishies in your family. The Massillon Rec Center has an amazing indoor "water park" for 3 bucks each! They have a lazy river, a pirate ship, a very shallow kiddie pool and a regular pool. The kids and I went and we all laid on an inner tube for hours and floated around the lazy river. And if you're stuck in Ohio in the summer with kids and want a quasi-vacation, I say head to Vermillion. It's a pretty, small town, with clean, sandy beaches attached to Lake Eerie. You can swim and lay on the beach near a picture-perfect lighthouse and depending on your Instagram filter, no one will be none the wiser as to where you actually are. Again, imagination is key, but that's what kids are good at! You can go to the old-time sundae shop afterwards and order an old fashioned banana split! 

Have fun! 

For the babies :)

Sometimes while you sleep, I watch you dream.
Your little lips twitch into smiles, exhausted, you've run out of steam.
You both have curled up into little balls of warmth, you smell so sweet.
I like to kiss your foreheads and the bottoms of your feet.
Your precious dreams make your eyelashes flutter,
Tiny squeaks, happy sighs, and little noises you mutter.
Are you flying over fields of flowers on giant butterfly wings?
Are you watching puppets dance on life sized strings?
Atop an ivory steed, do you slay dragons and terrible foes?
Do you gracefully dance for an adoring audience up on your tippy-toes?
Are you the pilot of a plane, the captain of a ship?
Or through a magical fairy forest, in a gown of gold, do you skip?
Are you dreaming of the Wild West, where you're the sheriff of the town?
Or do you simply dream about a grassy knoll, rolling down and down?
Maybe hand in hand, you're togethor in your dreamland,
Are you building castles with mermaids in the sand?
Or do you two throw snowballs at friendly polar bears?
Do you venture in togethor to creepy mountain lairs?
Your rosy cheeks and messy hair pressed hard into the pillows,
I think you might just sit and whisper beneath a shady willow.
One rolls into the other, your blankets tangled tight,
Are you in an air balloon, floating on the soft winds of twilight?
Do you swim with ease amongst whales from the deep?
Tell me darlings, what happens when you sleep?
While you dream, I watch you and wonder where you are.
Do you splash your feet in a creek bed, or explore a distant star?
Someday you can tell me, but for now sleep well my sweets,
While you travel and explore from your soft, cotton sheets.

The Search for Scout

As a "writer" I pride myself in my ability to articulate my feelings accurately into words, but I've never had to convey before such a deep sense of loss. I can't seem to find words intense enough to describe the immense pain I feel. Sad, heart broken, torn, depressed...none seem fitting for the way my heart feels right now. It has been a week since my dog of three years went missing. At midnight or a little before I took the trash out, which by the way, is something I never do, and I think this is a lesson to my husband that even the slightest change in roles can lead to disastrous results. As I went down through the basement lugging the garbage, and out through the garage, apparently my dog followed me, and took off into the night. She is so small, and it was so late, I hardly noticed anything but how cold my bare feet were and how annoyed I was that my husband wasn't the one doing it...By the time I noticed she wasn't in the house, thirty or more minutes had already gone by. In an absolute panic, I threw some boots on and an oversized hoody and drove around the neighborhood screaming for her. 
   "SCOUT!!!!!!!" I furiously chain smoked cigarettes, texted my husband some mean, vile threats and accusations (we don't handle strife in what you would call a "healthy" way), while rolling my eyes at the ones I received back, and hollered for her for an hour, effectively irritating and infuriating everyone within a five mile radius of us. I had to go in for the night. My two year old was awake and crying, wondering where his puppy had gone, it was very late, and my 11 month old daughter would greet me at the rise of the sun. I had to get some sleep. I said a desperate prayer for Scout and fitfully fell to sleep.
   The next morning I posted Scout's sappy, smiling mug all over social media. If you live in our county, you knew my dog had gone missing. The whole township was on a code red alert. I had one thought and that was to find Scout. The image of her wet and cold, shivering from cold, hunger and terror gripped my heart in fear. I did nothing but search all day whether on foot or in the car, dragging my two babies along for the miserable ride. My phone became an appendage (ok, it already was...whatever) and I checked incessantly for leads and tips strangers left me on the endless lost and found pages I had found on Facebook. My husband made flyers and I bought a staple gun specifically for hanging them. I have to include here that if you've ever been in pain or have been frustrated, there is something extremely soothing about slamming a staple gun into a telephone pole 57 times per flyer. It's rather decent therapy for 11.99 at Drug Mart. 
   I visited the pound and called them over and over. What a bleak place that is. For the most part, the workers seemed nice, but the smell and those tiny canine jail cells will haunt me forever. I tend to be overly descriptive when telling a story, tricks of the trade, but in this instance, I really felt that as I walked down the cold cement strip between rows of cells, holding my children's hands tightly in a maternal grip, passing every scared, sad and possibly mad with fear dog, I couldn't help but envision a scene similar in the movie, The Green Mile.  I prayed so hard, some of it came out of my mouth in an audible whisper. 
   "Please be here Scout, please...please..." 
   We left dejected. No Scout. The search continued day after day. The Humane Society had heard so often of Scout's disappearance when I called them about a missing dog, they asked for me by name.  The woman on the phone told me she checked her Facebook page 50 times a day for updates on my little pooch. As the days went on, and still no Scout, the only thing that kept me from scream-weeping alone in my garage all day ( which I allowed myself to do a few times), was the massive outpouring of support and encouragement. Hundreds and hundreds of people shared Scout's story, strangers, people I had never met before spent their afternoons in the freezing cold rain to look for her. A man left her food and treats in the park where she had been spotted, several women had seen her and even while they were on their way to work, stopped and tried to catch her. The second woman who did so, even sent her poor husband out to circle the block.
   Friends and family, and strangers alike rallied behind me. Some made flyers, some went door to door, some called vet's offices and shelters for me. Not to mention the hundreds online who helped me just by sharing her story. Several people called me with no information but simply to pray with me over the phone. I was sent on a wild goose chase one night, very late, and the neighborhood I was in was sleepy and dark and cold, and a couple who heard me yelling, came out and helped me look. I had a wrong number for a lead I found in the paper and even the wrong number wished me luck. 
   People from all walks of life have come together in the search for Scout. Smoking teenagers hiding out in the back of the high school parking lot, men and women, older people, younger people, friends and family. They have all expressed feeling my pain. The community weeps with me. They have done everything they can to assist us. I mentioned at one point I didn't know how I could possibly ever repay everyone for what they meant to me. I am not sure some even grasp what their small act of kindness has done to me. It has touched me in a way I can never describe. The community as a whole working together for one little pup...it's truly something I will carry with me for life, with or without Scout. Most have said they won't even take the reward money we are offering! 
   I started this blog post to vent my intense pain, and ended it, floored once again as I remind myself of the wonderful thing we call humanity. There are so many amazing humans out there. Our hearts beat as one as we go through this crazy thing called life. The compassion displayed towards me this week has been overwhelming at times and eye opening. If nothing else comes of this I will never doubt that this world as a whole is not such a bad place. The few evil people there are, are far outnumbered by the kind hearted ones. Thank you so much to the countless people helping me look, the ones sending me kind words, handing out flyers, going door to door, spending time walking in the woods, the police stations who have expressed sympathy, and to everyone who, like me, waits on baited breath for a happy ending. Even if, God forbid, we don't get the story we all want, I would say a little dog who has brought a community together, like Scout has, leaves behind an amazing legacy. Her goofy grin and ridiculous bat ears have shown me that people are good, and the community in which I live is a wonderful one. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart. We won't give up hope.