Family Life

People who are smarter than me: The Little Girl with the Hello Kitty umbrella

Posted in Family Life on October 1st, 2009 by Amy – Be the first to comment
I’m learning that fall, in Iowa, is rainy. Having grown up in an arid desert, I have a true appreciation for rain. I am probably one of the few people on earth who prefer clouds to sun (most of the time). There are times, however, when rain makes my day a little inconvenient. Grocery shopping with two toddlers in the rain is complicated. So is keeping a 7 year old boy out of the puddles.  But this morning, I learned a lesson about rain, and about perseverance, from a little girl with a Hello Kitty umbrella. She is infinitely smarter than me.
My children probably don’t realize how fortunate they are to have at least one parent who is capable of driving them to school every morning. This is one of the luxuries of being self-employed: The flexibility to “be there” for your family without feeling like you are disobeying a corporate policy. This morning, I lined up the kids, made sure they were properly layered for warmth, and topped them off with hooded rain jackets and an umbrella, to boot. All this so that they could make the short trip from our doorstep to our driveway, and then from our car door to the school doors, without getting wet. Excessive? Maybe. But that’s just the kind of Mom I am.
And we were off to make the mile drive to the school. All safe and sound, warm and dry. As we pulled up to the stoplight about half a mile from the school, I spotted it: A bright pink “Hello Kitty” umbrella, only a few feet off the ground, bouncing up and down toward the crossing guard. It’s carrier, a little girl of maybe 6 years, was wearing a sweatshirt with a hood, jeans, and sneakers. No rain jacket. No galoshes. All that protected her from the harsh—and now pouring—rain was essentially a nylon cat.
I could see that she was getting wet. Her pant legs were soaked to the calves, and she still had half a mile to go before reaching the school’s steps. I wanted to stop and say “Come here, honey, get in our car and I’ll take you to school.” But I didn’t. Why not? Because even when I have a car full of my own kids and a working relationship with the school administrators, I am still a “stranger” to this particular child. And in this society that has become so dangerous for children, I didn’t want to frighten her and make her trip to school even more difficult. So I drove by, dropped off my kids, and headed home.
That’s when I saw her again…the umbrella still bouncing, but this time I could see her face. She had obviously been crying at some point, but her face was now beaming, she could see the school just ahead. She had almost reached her goal.
I won’t lie, raising a family of six, working from home and working on our home is challenging. Throw in a recessed economy and the tribulations of maintaining our livelihoods (and the livelihoods of those we employ), and you have a pretty valid explanation for chronic insomnia. It is so easy, so easy to lose sight of the light at the end of the tunnel–the schoolhouse, just up the road, after a long, cold, rainy walk from home. This little girl and her kitty umbrella encapsulated both the pain of perseverance–and the triumph.
What is the schoolhouse at the end of your rainy walk? Do you love Hello Kitty? Tell me here @AmySwipeRite
Photo courtesy of Sanrio

Photo courtesy of Sanrio

I’m learning that fall, in Iowa, is rainy. Having grown up in an arid desert, I have a true appreciation for rain. I am probably one of the few people on earth who prefer clouds to sun (most of the time). There are times, however, when rain makes my day a little inconvenient. Grocery shopping with two toddlers in the rain is complicated. So is keeping a 7 year old boy out of the puddles.  But this morning, I learned a lesson about rain, and about perseverance, from a little girl with a Hello Kitty umbrella. She is infinitely smarter than me.
My children probably don’t realize how fortunate they are to have at least one parent who is capable of driving them to school every morning. This is one of the luxuries of being self-employed: The flexibility to “be there” for your family without feeling like you are disobeying a corporate policy. This morning, I lined up the kids, made sure they were properly layered for warmth, and topped them off with hooded rain jackets and an umbrella, to boot. All this so that they could make the short trip from our doorstep to our driveway, and then from our car door to the school doors, without getting wet. Excessive? Maybe. But that’s just the kind of Mom I am.
And with that, we were off to make the mile drive to the school. All safe and sound, warm and dry. As we pulled up to the stoplight about half a mile from the school, I spotted it: A bright pink “Hello Kitty” umbrella, only a few feet off the ground, bouncing up and down toward the crossing guard. It’s carrier, a little girl of maybe 6 years, was wearing a sweatshirt with a hood, jeans, and sneakers. No rain jacket. No galoshes. All that protected her from the harsh—and now pouring—rain was essentially a nylon cat.
I could see that she was getting wet. Her pant legs were soaked to the calves, and she still had half a mile to go before reaching the school’s steps. I wanted to stop and say “Come here, honey, get in our car and I’ll take you to school.” But I didn’t. Why not? Because even when I have a car full of my own kids and a working relationship with the school administrators, I am still a “stranger” to this particular child. And in this society that has become so dangerous for children, I didn’t want to frighten her and make her trip to school even more difficult. So I drove by, dropped off my kids, and headed home.
That’s when I saw her again…the umbrella still bouncing, but this time I could see her face. She had obviously been crying at some point, but her face was now beaming, she could see the school just ahead. She had almost reached her goal.
I won’t lie, raising a family of six, working from home and working on our home is challenging. Throw in a recessed economy and the tribulations of maintaining our livelihoods (and the livelihoods of those we employ), and you have a pretty valid explanation for chronic insomnia. It is so easy, so easy to lose sight of the light at the end of the tunnel–the schoolhouse, just up the road, after a long, cold, rainy walk from home. This little girl and her kitty umbrella encapsulated both the pain of perseverance–and the triumph.
What is the schoolhouse at the end of your rainy walk? Do you love Hello Kitty? Tell me here @AmySwipeRite

People who are smarter than me, the first in a Thursday series

Posted in Family Life, Social Media on September 17th, 2009 by Amy – Be the first to comment

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Every Thursday, I will feature someone who is smarter than me. This should be easy, since there are billions of people who fit this criteria. I am constantly surprised by the “teachers” who cross my path. Sometimes, they are doctors or authors, entrepreneurs or social media experts…and sometimes, they are the “little” people with whom I am fortunate to spend my days. Without further adieu:

Emme is smarter than me. This statement seems quizzical given the fact that I still change her diapers. But sometimes truth is a quizzical thing. Yesterday, she taught me a lesson in sharing.

It’s no secret to those who know Emme that she loves to eat. Whenever any of us have food in hand–from asparagus to ice cream– Em can smell it, spot it, bat her enormously long eyelashes and say “bite,” indicating that she wants us to share.

So yesterday, when I grabbed a cheese stick as an afternoon snack, I automatically grabbed one for her, as well. She heard the crinkle of the wrapper, and her little feet pit-patted into the kitchen. I handed her the cheese and expected her to head back to the playroom, snack in hand. But just as she was making her exit, our dog, Laurel, came into the room and sniffed her food dish–reminding me that she, too, was a little hungry. Emme stopped, glanced at Laurel’s empty food dish, took a look at her own cheese stick, looked back at the food dish and plunk…she dropped the stick right in the bowl. Instead of turning to me for another cheese stick, she ran to the playroom and brought back a half-eaten peanut butter sandwich, and dropped it in the bowl too. First, she shared what she had with someone who had nothing, then she found even more to give.

For weeks, I have been struggling with how I can safely share my children as I continue to build a reputation and interact with people online. Do I share their images? Their real names? Or do I just refer to them in some vague form? Maybe pretend they are pets? How do I remain authentic without putting them in harm’s way, in a world that is sadly a dangerous place for children.

But watching the way Emme so freely shared, without fear that she would herself go hungry if she gave Laurel her snacks, inspired my policy when it comes to my kids: I am lucky enough to have them. You don’t have them (you may have kids, but you don’t have mine). The lessons I learn from them are infinite, and I can’t correctly convey these to you without sharing -at least a little- about who they are. So I will share my children.

I’d like to thank Steve Woodruff for his infinitely helpful post on this topic and for his all around helpfulness. He’s another person who is smarter than me.

Do your kids like cheese sticks? Want tips on how to make asparagus that even a toddler will eat? Find me on Twitter.

Ebay Item #12345678, Kids For Sale, NO RESERVE

Posted in Family Life on August 14th, 2009 by Amy – Be the first to comment

Yesterday, I had the privilege of writing a guest blog for Crocs, the shoe company. My post, a parent’s perspective on going back to school, also required an impromptu informal photo shoot, as they wanted a couple of candid shots to go with the story.

Iowa schools are still on summer break, so my kids are basically spending their days outside, wearing cut-off shorts and old t-shirts. I tell them to bathe everyday but they are now too old for me to supervise the process. It’s all I can do to remind them to use soap and shampoo.
But yesterday, I took the time to stand outside the bathroom door and get them through each step. “Are you washing your hair?” “Yes Mom.” “Did you rinse it all out before adding conditioner?” No answer.
Once they were clean and dressed, I called them back into the bathroom individually. I brushed Lylah’s hair. I put gel in Simon’s. As I directed Simon to “look up at me” he raised an eyebrow and asked “Mom, are you doing all of this so you can sell us on eBay?”
It’s true, I have threatened to sell my children on eBay. I have also considered putting them in a box and shipping them to “Abu Dhabi” in true Garfield and Odie fashion. But yesterday, I just wanted a somewhat decent picture of them while they were CLEAN.
After the blog and photos were off to Crocs, I started to contemplate how an eBay item description for my kids might read.
Lylah’s, I decided, would go something like this: 10-year-old girl, loves to wear expensive clothes but hates to brush her hair. Straight “A” student, and highly…communicative.
Simon’s would read: 7-year-old boy, very artistic and loves to indulge his creativity on every medium…especially walls. Has never missed a single spelling word, including those used by his parents to keep the kids from understanding their conversation.
Hadley’s description might go something like: 2-year-old girl, fiery red hair and an expressive temperament to match. She was born on New Year’s Eve, need I say more?
Little Emme would be easy: 1-year-old girl, loves shoes and has a healthy appetite. Very healthy. May be a future hot dog eating champion.
Below each listing, I would be sure to include “Caveat Emptor. No returns.”
But once they were auctioned off to the highest bidder, I would most certainly change my mind about selling them. I’d miss the sound of Emme sucking her thumb while she uses my hair as her security blanket. I’d miss Hadley saying things like “Mom, I really love you.” I would miss Simon making goofy faces every time I try to take his picture. And I would miss Lylah, sounding all too much like her Mother, giving her thoroughly researched expert opinion on every subject.
Maybe I can just put them up “for lease” instead?
How would your kids’ eBay item descriptions read? Tell me, here @AmySwipeRite

In Iowa, the corn is always sweeter

Posted in Family Life, Food, Merchant Processing on August 5th, 2009 by Amy – Be the first to comment

A little variation this week, in honor of Iowa’s signature crop.

It’s corn harvest time in Iowa, and little stands are popping up on every corner. I bought our first helping of Iowa corn this week, and could hardly wait to get it home.

Having grown up in Tucson, Arizona-land of arid desertion, I am in complete amazement every time I see a corn field. I must sound like a broken record, pointing out my car window like a tourist telling the kids “look at that field, look at that barn, WOW!” Each field is so meticulously manicured, a point of pride amongst Iowa farmers.
But who has the sweetest corn? I dared to ask that very question of a native Iowan in my pursuit for the best corn in the Cedar Rapids area. The response, short and sweet- “In Iowa, all the corn is the sweetest.” This “all for one” attitude is very indicative of the Iowa mentality.
With this in mind, I stopped at three different stands, buying a half dozen ears at each. At home, I shucked two ears from each bag, and prepared them all the same way (boiled and topped with butter and Cookie’s Seasoning). My Iowan friend was right- all the corn in Iowa is sweet. This fabulous feast reminded me that I am truly blessed to call this land of bounty “home.” Whether you are growing a business, growing a family, or growing corn-there is no better place to be than Iowa.
Where do you buy Iowa corn? Have a favorite recipe? I want to hear from you! @AmySwipeRite
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