Finding Your Own Path Through Swirling Snowflakes

The first official snowflakes have fallen.

While I’m not a big fan of winter, or the cold (as I have Raynaud’s and my fingers and toes like to turn purple in frigid conditions), I do like the way snowflakes look as they sprinkle out of the sky.

Snow reminds me of my childhood. I was born in the Texas panhandle, and needless to say, we had plenty of the white stuff during the winters. I loved building snowmen, eating snow ice cream, and making snow angels. 

Snow isn’t quite as much fun when you’re older. First, there’s cleaning the walkways, driving on slick streets, and, of course, all the wet clothes to wash when your kids run out to play.

But, I do enjoy watching the snow fall, leaving behind a world that’s pristine and white.

Snowflakes have three basic ingredients: ice crystals, water vapor and dust.

Yet, while all snowflakes are made of the same components — and are all six-sided — it’s not likely you will ever see two the same.  

In fact, scientists estimate the chances of two snowflakes being exactly alike are about one in one million trillion according to the National Center for Families Learning.

So why do snowflakes — even from the same clouds — end up being so different?

As snowflakes tumble through the air — swirling and spiraling — they take different paths to the ground. Each snowflake falls and floats through clouds with different temperatures and moisture levels, which shapes each snowflake in a unique way, says the National Center for Families Learning.

As I watched the first snowflakes drift down from the sky, I was reminded that we all have our own paths to take in life.

We each tumble and whirl in our own ways, but it’s ultimately our individual routes that help shape who we become.

We need to appreciate and respect the journeys of those around us. And, we’ve always got to remember that even though we’re different — just like the snowflakes — we’re alike in a lot of ways, too.

I hope when my children are grown, and look up at the sky to see the snowflakes fall, they will always think of me.

Sometimes we work so hard to make sure our children fit in, but we can’t be afraid to shine light on exactly what makes them different.

Because, therein lies the beauty.

It’s our differences — such as character, strengths and abilities — that make us stand out from the others.

We all shine and sparkle in our own ways; you just have to be brave enough to find and take your own path.

Will it be a white Christmas? It looks like they’re calling for rain. But, regardless, I’ll be looking out my window, waiting for the next snow, and the hope it brings. 

The “Other” Spelling Bee

My seven-year-old son came home and told me that one of his little friends — another boy mind you — in his first grade class said a bad word at school the other day.

I asked, “Oh, did he get in trouble?”

“No; nobody heard him except me.”

I looked at him, trying to decide if that was worry or excitement I detected in his voice.

Then he continued, “It was a really bad word.”

“OK. Well don’t repeat it.”

“But it was a really bad word,” he said. “Really bad. The h word. You know the one that starts with h – e …” Well, you know the rest.

I sighed — great — now he’s spelled it.

So, the next day he comes home and again tells me his friend said a bad word. “It’s a really bad word. You know the one that starts with s.”

He proceeded to spell it out for me. But I told him that really wasn’t necessary, I was more than familiar with the word.

By the next time he’s telling me about this friend — who I’m beginning to think my son has put on a pedestal for his ingenuity in language — I’ve realized for sure that this is a co-op mission. In fact, his friend may be the one to say the word, but then I’m pretty sure it’s my son who spends his recess period trying to sound out and then spell these words that they ought not be saying, or spelling, in the first place.

The take home message is that my son can spell; and, I’m so proud. If only he would use his powers for good instead of evil.

Or, perhaps if we lived in an alternate universe — that showcased the dark side of spelling bees — I’m quite sure my son would be the national champion.

This draws to my attention the fact that boys and girls are so vastly different. I remember the first time I said a bad word, (and it wasn’t anything like my son can spell); I cried for days.

But, I guess I should have had my first clue when my boys were drawn to the Stormtroopers instead of the Jedi. Boys idolize bad guys.

My son thinks he’s truly brilliant because spelling isn’t technically saying. It’s like he gets to deal the cards, but not gamble. No crime, no punishment.

I don’t know if I should applaud him, or be deeply afraid of this young mastermind. The other bad thing is that even I can’t even spell things out in my own house anymore. You know, I used to get by with spelling things out to my husband that I didn’t want the boys to know about or hear. Those days are long gone. Like I said, my boy can spell and sound things out quite well.

A blessing, and yet, a curse.

And, as much as I love the fact that he has an inquisitive mind and a love for learning, I told him for now, we need to take a break from spelling bad words. I don’t want him to showcase his talents at school or, heaven forbid, Sunday school.

Last year, I thought it was great as I stacked up his full semester of perfect spelling tests. Yes, he got all his words correct for his entire Kindergarten year. Now, I’m beginning to wonder if this was such a good thing? And no, I’m not quite sure where he gets his talents from.

Dog Toys Are Not for Boys

I went to Tractor Supply the other day in search of dog food with no added coloring — as advised by my vet — for my dog, Mr. Sensitivity. After I waited in line and got up to the checkout counter, I noticed my two boys were hiding items from me.

“What do you have?”

They laughed as they produced dog toys from behind their backs.

“Are those for Rex?”

“No. They’re for us!” they exclaimed.

“Put them back.” I’m not buying those.

They, then, proceeded to scream, cry and throw tantrums (gaining everyone’s attention in the store) because I am quite possibly the meanest mom in the world. What kind of mother won’t buy her children dog toys after all?

Perhaps if they would’ve promised to chew on them quietly in the corner, I would’ve been more tempted to give in. But, instead, I could see the situation play out in my head of the boys fighting with the dog over the toys, or squeaking them until I pulled out my hair and threw the toys (or the boys) out the door.

But — at least now — I know what I need to get them for Christmas.

Dog trainers encourage you to make a clear distinction to your dog between yourself — the master — and him, the dog.

But, no matter how hard I try, my dog hasn’t seemed to grasp the fact that my children aren’t dogs themselves. And, considering their behavior, it’s no wonder why.

Just the other day, I ordered my oldest son to clean up the orange JELL-O he dropped and left on the kitchen floor.

Then I turned around just in time to see him lapping it up off the floor with his tongue.

A Trip Through the Cabela’s Woods

You would think from the line of cars backed up at the exit off the Interstate, the parade of taillights, the overflowing parking lot, outdoor tents, and the NASCAR car parked out front, we were going to DisneyWorld.

Unfortunately, for us … we were in a land far, far away. While I was looking at the long, meandering line, I was sad to remember there was no Space Mountain, Pleasure Island or even Butterbeer at the other end to comfort me.

Instead, we were waiting in line at the opening weekend of Cabela’s in Lexington. Which — apparently — is quite an event in and of itself.

Of course, we’ve been to Cabela’s — every store we ever pass in fact — but, my husband said we just had to get out and see the latest and the greatest. And he assured me he would find some great deals, as he lured me with thoughts of those cinnamon and sugar almonds I like so much. The kids cheered wildly when we told them where we were going.

Boys. Need I say more?

So not only did we have to drive two hours to get there, fight the crowd, and buy toys for both big and little boys alike, I have to admit, the store was very similar to all the other stores … perhaps we could have saved time with some online shopping?

But my oldest son was quick to point out to me that at this location we got to see a lion about to eat a gazelle, (something we hadn’t seen before). His fascination with animals eating other animals is slightly disturbing, but I’m glad he takes such an interest in nature.

Now, you would think between the children gawking, and onlookers snapping pictures on their phones, we were actually at a zoo — yes, there were even people petting some of the animals.

Far be it from me to tell anyone these animals are actually not alive anymore (because, nobody else seemed to know).

Doctors Won’t Tell You, But Allergies Are Contagious

I’ve determined my husband gave me his allergies.

Yes, while I’ll admit, the medical community would probably frown at the conclusion I’ve drawn, let me take a moment to make an argument for my case.

I didn’t have allergies before I moved to Eastern Kentucky. (Apparently, I was living a life of bliss, and I didn’t even know it.)

My husband, however, grew up as a regular allergy shot taker, and now laughs as his allergies are minimal, while mine have not only developed, but keep getting worse

In fact, I’ve joined the ranks as a full, year-round allergy sufferer. All year. Yes. Something bothers me, all year.

This is why I blame my husband entirely for my problems, and have therefore determined allergies are contagious — or, perhaps, something that’s in the water — seeing as, these are the only things that makes sense.

The Easter Sugar Rush

While spring in Kentucky teases us with intermittent days of warm weather, I can’t help but feel hopeful as I hear the birds begin to sing, and see the flowers start to bloom. Yes, we are one month closer to summer (invariably the best time of the year).

And, watching the new flowers popping up out of the ground, I can’t help but think of my children, as I see their brightly-colored blooms emerge.

Kids love loud, vibrant colors … clothes, balloons, cereals, candy, Popsicles … you name it. (Somehow, this color thing has yet to catch on with vegetables, where this does — in fact — create quite the opposite effect; take eggplant and orange cauliflower for example. But, I’m still keeping my fingers crossed.)

Yet, as much as my children delight in artificial coloring, these days I’m trying to buy more foods without added dyes (Thank you General Mills for making my cereal selections easier.)

But, Easter becomes a particularly hard time to say no to high-fructose corn syrup and food coloring. Dyeing Easter eggs, eating JELL-O salad, and supplying baskets full of candy are all American staples during this time of year.

And I’ve found the more vibrantly colored a processed food is, the more children are drawn to it; like a moth to a flame.

Some Things Just Go Together, Like PB&J

Some things just go together — they seem to be made for each other.

Like thunder and lightning, Starbucks and lattes, Peter Pan and Wendy, or Oreos and milk.

When I was pregnant with my second child, I was trying to save money, so I ate my lunches at work in my office.

Soon, I found myself keeping a loaf of bread, peanut butter, and strawberry jelly (PB&SJ) readily available. I thought it practical; because it was cheap, and something I could keep easily at work.

When I thought about it, I couldn’t really remember the last time I’d eaten a PB&J sandwich. I loved them as a kid, but I’d pretty much outgrown that phase of my life.

I was sophisticated now after all. Grown-up people don’t eat PB&J.

In fact, it wasn’t until the day I sat at my desk and ate three entire sandwiches, I realized I had a problem. Ha! Apparently, (now so obvious) I was experiencing pregnancy cravings.

I have to say, while I don’t snarf them down like I did then, I still have great appreciation for a good PB&SJ sandwich.

So, I was somewhat caught off guard when my son (the in utero PB&SJ eater) told me he wanted a jelly sandwich for lunch.

What’s a jelly sandwich? “You mean a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”

“No; just jelly.”

OK; I believe something is missing in this equation.

Jelly is perhaps fabulous as a standalone item on a biscuit, or perhaps even a piece of toast. But a jelly sandwich? It just doesn’t seem right.

Training the Family

I bought my boys a puppy.

Yes, I can’t deny it; I’m crazy, a sucker, and a glutton for punishment.

But, apparently the boys asked Santa for a puppy, which of course Santa didn’t bring (because they neglected to tell anyone else). But, after the holidays, they made sure to tell everyone in the family, they didn’t get what they asked for.

So, I gave in, and we have an Australian Shepherd puppy of our very own. Darling, sweet and definitely naughty … all rolled up into one big fuzz-ball. That’s our boy. So far he’s added quite a bit of excitement and work to my daily routine. But I tell myself that his cuteness makes up for all of the things he gets into.

The boys named him Rex, after the sheepdog on Babe, and of course, short for T-Rex, the tyrant lizard king.

The other day my son asked me what Rex’s last name is. I said, “Well I guess he has our last name, so Turner.”

“So his name is Rex Delicious Turner?” he asked.

What? He’s a dog. He doesn’t have a middle name.

“But you call him Rex Delicious.”

I was wondering what he was talking about, when I realized he was quite right. I had started calling him (on occasion, mind you) Rexaliscious, because, he is in fact so cute.

Rex Delicious doesn’t roll of the tongue too well, so my husband shortened it to Rex D.

Now our dog has a first, middle, and last name. So I guess he’s officially part of the family now.

Career Day Vigilante

Spirit weeks start early now. Even in elementary school, kids are encouraged to dress up in various ways to show their school spirit.

While little kids probably don’t fully understand school spirit, they do get that these days are fun, and also help them begin to see they’re part of something bigger, part of a team.

The first pajama day at school, my son had his doubts.

He thought I was trying to pull a fast one on him, and send him to school as the only kid dressed in his sleepwear.

That might be a good one for April Fools’ Day, but even I’m not that mean.

I explained to him everyone would be in their pajamas, as I shoved a clean PJ shirt over his head. But he protested the whole time that he was still very much against it. In fact, it wasn’t until we pulled up in front of the school — and saw other kids, and even teachers in their pajamas — that he fully believed me.

You’ve Just Scratched the Surface

I was sitting in the living room when I heard my boys enter the area whispering and giggling in the background.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“I was just telling Garrett to look at those hot babes,” Wyatt said pointing to the TV. I had been looking at my phone, and wasn’t even paying attention to the television. I looked up to see the Victoria Secret models running across the screen … in their underwear (of course) … in the snow.

How practical.

More giggles.

I take a deep breath. Boys.

My husband and I are definitely noticing the boys are becoming much more aware of their environment lately.

One day while shopping in JC Penney’s, we made our way through the middle of the store (in route to the home section), but my oldest son made a detour in the journey when we passed by the lingerie.

Yes, I turned around just in time to see him cupping the manikin’s lovely bra in his hands while my youngest son cheered him on. Luckily, I was able to grab him away before too many people noticed, and, fortunately, the headless victim didn’t press any charges.

It's Not All Hearts and Flowers

Ahh, new love. I remember those days fondly … the love notes, cartoon drawings, flowers, and him even putting forth effort to semi dress up for date nights.

There is nothing quite like the beginning of a relationship. It’s all so new, exciting and fresh. You haven’t tainted it with shortcomings, failures, and things said that you can never take back again.

Yes; one thing is for sure: married life isn’t all hearts and flowers.

But real life isn’t supposed to hold up to those perfect ideals we’ve built up in our heads. Real love is what happens after; real love is what can stand the test of time.

Beyond the Piggy Bank

My boys are wanters. They see toys, snacks, movies, clothes — you name it, they want it. The same could probably be said for my husband, only the toys he wants are on a grander scale, and much more expensive. But, seeing as how the kids want anything and everything that’s put in their line of sight, it’s becoming truly hard to satisfy them. They’re always thinking about what they’re getting next.

Thus, we’ve been trying to get them to understand the difference between wanting what’s placed right in front of you (as TV advertising is all too good at), and really wanting something, and therefore, working and saving for it.

The boys now have their own wallets, and are at the point where they know that having money is good (because they can buy more toys with it), but are far from appreciating it, or managing it well.

To help them out, we’ve started giving them an allowance to not only teach them the value of money, but more importantly, how to handle it.

When I asked my youngest son how many quarters were in a dollar, he answered, “Just one.”

“So one quarter equals one dollar?” I asked, hoping he would catch on.

“Yes, that’s correct,” he said with confidence.

OK, so we have a long way to go, but at least it’s a start.

The boys now have an allowance of $3 a week — three single bills, for three different jars — each boy has a save, spend and give jar. (I don’t quite know where the bank thought I was going when I went in and asked for $60 in one dollar bills.)

Past the Expiration

With it being a new year, it’s time to get out with the old, and in with the new.

At least this is what I told my mom this past weekend when I went to visit her, after I opened her freezer only to be viscously attacked by the food within. It was evident it was time for a little clean out.

My mom shies away from getting rid of anything, and she apologized for making me clean on my weekend away from my own house. But, ultimately, it’s a rush for me. It might sound strange, but I get enjoyment from cleaning out the fridge. It opens up space, makes everything look bright and new, and makes way for —my favorite — more food. Plus, at my mother’s house, I’ve turned it into a game to find the oldest expired product. Ten points for something at least four years old.

My mom, bless her heart, is a pack rat. She saves and saves, and then burrows things under other things. Yes, I like to call her an aware hoarder. Because she does know that you can’t keep everything, but she still tries.

But, let me tell you, when the zombie apocalypse hits, I know where I am going first.

Please … Just Let It Snow

Winter can be an overcast time in more ways than one. Not only do we get to start and end our days in darkness, but it also messes with our internal circadian clocks. So it’s really no wonder the gloom of the cold leaves us with a lack of motivation, and a deep desire to raid the cupboards.

Compounding the problem, is the fact that winter leaves parents (and teachers), with only intermittent outdoor playtime, making it hard to occupy children’s wildly creative minds.

Yes, this time of year, my boys certainly have a surplus of energy; enough to go around in fact. Of course, I feel just the opposite. I want to slip into my pajamas and crawl under a blanket and hibernate until spring … make that summer.

What I would give to have an ounce of their energy … just one ounce.

But since the boys have taken it upon themselves to eat me out of house and home, and literally destroy everything in their path as they do so, I’ve had to come out of hiding and push myself to keep their innovative minds active.

I’ve stocked up on basically everything and anything I can to keep them busy. I’ve bought Play-Doh, tools, glue, markers, books, board games, movies, downloaded Kindle games, and even gave them a camera. We’ve painted pottery, visited relatives, and run laps around the basement.

And when these activities get old to them, I continue looking for new ones, even in unusual places.

I’ve had them be assistant chefs, and even tricked them into helping with the chores.

“Hey kids, want to play with my Swiffer Sweeper?” (Just make sure to put a dry sweeping cloth on first. Then let them go to town.)

Like I said, I will do anything to keep them busy.

A Change of Playlist

My kids had their first sleepover EVER — at their grandparent’s house (not far, just across the street) — on New Year’s Eve.

Yes, I know, they’re old enough now. Yet, it was still a bit hard for me to let loose of the reins. But I finally decided they should go because they wanted to (a first), and I thought my husband and I could use this as an opportunity for a much-needed date night.

So we fought the crowd and managed to eat out with only a 1.5-hour call-ahead (plus another 10-minute) wait time.

I don’t like waiting for most things in life, and food is definitely at the top of that list. But, I thought we should embrace the opportunity and live it up. (And, perhaps, have one meal without a food fight or a discussion about why we need to eat our vegetables.)

So we had a nice dinner (yes, I made my husband eat a few vegetables, too); then we came home to ring in the new year in style.

OK, so we made brownies and drank milk instead.

After that was the best part though. Our evening’s entertainment consisted of turning on the TV to watch the New Year’s Rockin’ Eve Party in NYC … but then muting it and turning on the surprise high school playlist I made my husband (just for the evening) instead. All the excitement of NYC, but with better music — for sure.

No Place Like Home for the Holidays, Germs and All

The great thing about the holidays is getting to spend so much time together.

Yes — all that lovely family time — spent in close quarters.

Time to hug, snuggle up on the couch, and spread the love around.

And, we’ve certainly had a lot to share this year.

In fact, during the last few weeks, we’ve sort of turned it into a competition at our house. And we’ve tested just about every which way we can trade around the various illnesses that have plagued our family this holiday season.

It’s like the gift that keeps on giving.

But, in truth, it seems I get sick about this time, every year. It’s become a sort of special time to look forward to. A time when I can get nothing done, but just be thankful to still be breathing.

Drat kids. Since having children, I spend more time sick than ever before. This wasn’t on the warning label.

Two Negatives Make a Positive

“Are you being good right now?” I asked my boys up until the final days of Christmas.

“No,” they admitted honestly.

“I’m not sure if Santa will stop by our house this year at all,” I responded.

“But we are trying. We will be better.”

I think they’re trying to operate under the truth that two negatives make a positive.

Yes, for my kids, the Christmas countdown made staying on the good list even harder than getting there in the first place.

But their continuing (failed) efforts, reminded me that even if you come up short of your goals, don’t throw in the towel; keep giving it thought and effort, and you will get there (eventually).

And now that it’s a new year, you have a chance for a fresh start.

As for making those dreaded New Year’s Resolutions (you know, the things we’ve wanted to change about ourselves for the last five years) … it’s time for a clean slate.

This year, let’s not think on what we need to change about ourselves (i.e., lose weight, work less, quit smoking), but instead, focus on what we want for ourselves.

The Clean, Messy House

Feeling down that the Christmas tree your kids helped you decorate, the fridge covered in magnets and artwork all askew, the fresh cookie crumbs on the floor, and the living room full of trampled toys, don’t look quite like a scene out of Better Homes and Gardens Magazine?

Trust me, I’ve been there, too. But, don’t worry. These are the best kinds of messes to have — the kind that come from embracing life and enjoying every moment.

So, my new philosophy is all about striving to keep the clean, messy house.

Nobody wants an all-out dirty house. But a messy house is different; it is one full of life, love, laughter … and resulting debris.

If a spotless, impeccable house is your heart’s desire, just remember, not everything that looks great on the outside always is.

The animal cracker confetti, piles of dirty dishes, glitter in the carpet and magic marker on the dining room table, are all just signs of life.

Let’s be honest, you can’t do a whole lot in life without making a mess. And where’s the fun if you can’t get your hands a little dirty?