Leanna Kay

10) See if 24 straight hours of Wii playing will cause your brother’s eyes to cross.

9) Chase sister in a circle through out the house while yelling until your mother’s head explodes.

Compare all meals to school lunch food, making sure it’s clear that school food is better.

7) Have a contest with siblings to see who can come up with the most insulting nickname for each other. (Get creative. Poopyhead’s already taken.)

6) Farting contest.

5) Belching contest.

4) “Drive Mom crazy” contest.

3) Watch enough Spongebob that the annoying laugh comes naturally.

2) After day three, comment every five minutes about how bored you are.

1) Complain that you miss your friends and wish the snow would get cleared off the road so you can go back to school.

I was watching TV recently when I saw one of those ads for a product I never knew I needed until the announcer pointed it out to me. Ad makers have a way of making something so dumb look like it’s the best thing since sliced bread. Or at least the ad makers think that’s what they’re doing.

The announcer for this particular commercial asked in an excited voice if I was tired of the mess I made cracking an egg. I watched as a grown woman took an egg and smashed it over her baked goods in such a way that her hand instantly filled with goo. She repeated the process and smashed with enough vigor to send egg bits flying to the ceiling of the television studio.

I don’t know what was wrong with that woman, but I haven’t had that much trouble cracking an egg since I was three. Actually I don’t think any human with opposable thumbs has ever had that much difficulty with this task that she was suggesting took Herculean effort.

The announcer tsked at her ruined efforts and lamented the loss of money as she threw the entire cake mix into the trash. This poor woman repeated her efforts with blueberry mix while the announcer toiled on. “Day after day you throw away money. But no more.”

Now I must pause here to say I’ve never thrown away a mix because I got a little egg shell in it. Clearly what you do is dig out as much of the shell as you can. Then if anyone eating it gets something crunchy, you claim it was a nut.

Apparently this woman didn’t learn the fine art of kitchen trickery at her mother’s knees because she was completely astounded at her repeatedly unsuccessful attempts to crack an egg. Between the confused expression on her face and the vigor with which she was smashing these eggs, one was left to wonder if casting calls were held at the local insane asylum.

But all was not lost. After repeating the painful egg cracking process three times, the woman whipped out a new product that would crack eggs for her without all the mess. This amazing device easily cracked eggs without allowing the shell to get into the product. Mainly because this tool used a gentle pressure rather than the brute force the insane woman was applying.

After seeing this amazing thing in action, I was supposed to rush right out and buy it. But if I did that, my family would never again be treated with the “nutty” baked good they like so well. So I’ll stick with my old fashioned egg smashing and let the insane woman take this product back to the asylum.

“I have a treat for you, Mom.” She held out a candy cane.  “It’s for you because you’re doing such a good job cleaning your room.”

I often reward her for a job well done so it was nice to see her imitating me.  I took the candy cane and even though I didn’t want it, I opened it and immediately put a small piece in my mouth.  Tasted like mint with an odd aftertaste.  I was thinking maybe it was one of those specialty candy canes with a unique flavor combination.

“I don’t think it’s that old, Mom.” She said, still grinning like she’d given me the reward of the century.  “I found it under my bed.  I don’t think it was from this Christmas.  Maybe it was from last year.  Or could be the year before.”

Well that solved the mystery.  The “specialty candy cane” was mint with a hint of dust or mold.  I think next week I won’t take so much care in cleaning my room!

I recently took the kids ice skating. Ice skating always seems like a good idea when you’re in the comfort of your own home, sipping hot chocolate and paging through a Currier and Ives calendar. But the reality of ice skating with children is nothing like those idyllic photos from days gone by.

The truth hit me halfway through our first rotation around the rink. Lauren was clinging to me and yanking on my hand hard enough to send me butt first onto the ice more times than should be possible in a distance of twenty feet. I was trying to shake out the ice shards which had lodged themselves in my butt crack when I realized something significant. I was not having fun.

No matter how hard I tried, I could not get Lauren to wrench her hand free from mine even though she was gripping hard enough to leave bruises. I reminded her that last year she was skating just fine. All by herself. I told her if she just let go, she’d get her balance and be off in no time. I pointed out that it wasn’t lack of skill holding her back. It was fear.

My words didn’t have the desired effect. Instead of empowering the child, I was making her cling tighter. If my life had the qualities of a Hallmark card, I’d be able to tell you that now was the time when I drew upon my wells of maternal patience and did exactly the right thing to help my child in her time of need. Someday, Lauren would tell her children about how patiently her mother was when taught her to skate. Yeah, that didn’t happen. My best parenting has never occurred when my butt’s been frozen solid.

As Lauren clung tighter, I had the sudden image of a poor Mama bird who’d spent weeks regurgitating worms for her offspring. Offspring who just refused to leave the nest in search of their own dinner. I finally understood what gave the Mama bird the power to boot her little babies from the nest.

I wrenched Lauren’s hand free from mine and skated ahead about ten feet.

“Mom!” She screamed like I’d suddenly offered to sell her to pedophiles. “What are you doing?”

“Waiting for you.” I held my hands out so she could skate to me.

“You’re too far away.” She was still looking at me like I was a crazy woman, but she was inching closer ALL BY HERSELF.

I skated an inch toward her. “Okay. Now I’m closer. Skate to me.”

And she did. When she finally got close enough to grab me, she steadied herself by gripping my jacket for a second and then she finally let go.

“Just skate behind me, Mom,” she said as she took off on her own. “You were holding my hand so hard anyway that it was starting to hurt.”

[Finally back online.  The blog site has been down all week.]