Author Archives: Lisha Fink

Rites of Passage Sure Have Changed

I keep a short leash on my boys when it comes to certain things. The big kids weren’t allowed to have a Facebook page until they were in high school, and then only under my watch. Slick and The Trailblazer didn’t have internet on their phones until recently. The poor Caboose is the ONLY sixth-grader on the planet that doesn’t have a cell phone at all.

So last night was a bit of a big night. The Caboose sent his first email. To his dad. Then one to The Trailblazer up at LSU. (Then we had to call his big brother to tell him to check his email.)

His new school is very “21^st Century,” and most of their curriculum is based from the laptops every student is issued. They have school email addresses, and they use email as their primary means of communication.

He showed me how to open up Outlook to check his email like Bill Gates must’ve done once to show the world. I oooh-ed and aaah-ed, and gave a proud smile. He had two messages in his Inbox from teachers. And now he has two in his Sent Items as well.

I saw no need for an email address until now. (The fewer paths pedophiles have to contact my kid the better.) But his school has an extremely aggressive filter on their services (and it’s required), so whether I was ready or not, it was time.

He’s now entered the world of electronic communication. And I’m sure he’ll be toting a cell phone before too much longer. But it won’t have internet.

This may be TMI.

12 Replies

I’ve made a few vague references to peeing in my pants once or twice here, so the intuitive amongst you may have figured out that I (along with ~~thousands~~ millions of other women, so don’t judge) experience occasional bladder issues when sneezing or laughing or jogging or jumping on a trampoline.

There. Now you all know.

It’s not a chronic problem or anything. Just an occasional (and minor) condition that I sometimes feel the need to be prepared for. So my shopping routine sometimes includes the purchase of panty-liner type products I lovingly call pee-pee pads.

I usually slip into Walgreen’s at an odd hour when the crowd is light and the chances are slim that I’ll bump into my priest or a neighbor and spare myself the awkward moment when they glance in my hand to see what I’m buying.

But today I needed school supplies and groceries and pee-pee pads, so I decided to be a big girl and go to Wal-Mart, where I could get everything I needed in one stop.

I scope the aisle I need to go down and, seeing no one I know, trot on swiftly to snatch what I need. My plan is to do a slow-rolling grab, then proceed to the shampoo aisle to calm my nerves. From there I’ll compose myself and continue shopping.

I get to the spot for my grab-and-go, but alas, the product I need is on the top shelf with only a few remaining, pushed back far beyond my reach.

Damn.

I go around the aisle to look at this predicament from a different angle, hoping to spot a misplaced package of what I need on a lower shelf. Nothing.

I stand there. Staring. As if my glare and presence are going to make the packages move to a shelf within my 5’2” reach. Still nothing.

I glance around, and notice a really tall older man on the next aisle. Perhaps I could ask him for help. (He’s much older, and probably won’t think anything of it when I asked him to hand me a package of pee-pee pads.) Nope. Not gonna happen.

Can I stand on a lower shelf and try to reach it myself? (Visual: me lying on the ground after the shelf falls on top of me, surrounded by neighbors and friends, covered with hundreds of packages of incontinence products.) Nope. Not gonna happen.

So I make another lap around the aisle looking for solutions. (Lo and behold, the aisle next to the pee-pee pads is full of geriatric products. Hmmm.) I pull a cane off the rack of geriatric aides, and (shrugging off all previous anxiety) use the cane to pull the package I need to the edge of the shelf where I can stand on my tip-toes and reach it.

Smugly, and with a sense of accomplishment, I put the pads into my cart and turn around to return the cane to the next aisle. The man I had considered asking for help was now nearby. “You had to get creative?” he said. I gathered a smiled and managed a little laugh, returned the cane, and high-tailed it to the grocery section.

I gotta find a web site where I can order this stuff online.

Cuz I’m the MOM

6 Replies

Who remembers The Mom Song, the little ditty sung to The William Tell Overture that takes all the stuff a mom says in a day, compressed into a couple of minutes…

(I CAN NOT get enough of this.)

Well, now the teens have had their reply.

I hope y’all enjoyed this as much as I did. 🙂

Happy Birthday, Little Man

19 Replies

He wore that jersey for three days straight. Since he hasn't gone through puberty yet he can get away with that.

I thought my life was perfect. Two terrific sons, a wonderful husband, a new house with a spare bedroom. I didn’t think it could get any better. Then you came along, and the relatively calm life we had with two kids gave way to the new hustle of three.

Your brothers were easy. You were hard. There were times when I resented the amount of effort it took to get through the day. But that was because I hadn’t yet learned what God wanted me to figure out. That you were the child who would complete me. That you were the one I still needed.

For you are the person who made me realize the greatest truth in life: that we are all EXACTLY what God wants us to be. There have been people along the way who didn’t get you, who thought you needed to change, to fit in a little better, to be more like the others. I must confess that I even thought that a few times. But watching your conviction to be yourself made me realize this great truth.

Thank you.

Now that you’re getting older, I see the greatness that is in you. You will do amazing things one day, because you think so big. I’m not yet sure what that thing will be, but I have no doubt the creativity inside you will one day change the world. You’ve already changed mine.

This year will bring big changes. You’ll be leaving boyhood behind soon, entering adolescence. Manhood isn’t far behind. But I know it will suit you. In fact, I think some of the constraints of childhood hold you back and that once you’re free to open up that amazing mind of yours you’ll reach heights even I can’t imagine. Yes, adulthood is going to suit you well.

So Happy Birthday, Little Man. Keep rocking the world!

Good Night, Sleep Tight . . .

6 Replies

I know I’ve already extolled the perks of having big kids, but a few weeks ago, Mr. Wonderful and I pushed the envelope a little further, and planned an overnight trip – without any kids. The Trailblazer is still home for the summer, so we left him in charge and darted down I-10 to the Mississippi Gulf Coast for a get together with Mr. Wonderful’s old high school friends.

We had a lovely time, and for a few blissful hours, I actually forgot I had kids. (There’s something about being around the people who remind you of a time before you had kids that can actually transport you back to that time. Aaahhh.) We hung out at a casino (no one under 21 present), had dinner at a lovely restaurant (no chicken nuggets on the menu), and spent the evening at an outdoor venue listening to music (drinking refreshing adult beverages) in the July Mississippi heat. The next morning we gathered again for brunch, slowly bringing ourselves back into reality for the trip home.

This is the critter I found in my bed. * cringe *

It was so blissful I completely forgot about a topic that has been in the news quite a bit lately.

Bedbugs.

I don’t travel much anymore, so when this topic hit the current events circuit in every news outlet in America I brushed it off as something that really didn’t apply to me. I disregarded all of the advice on how to inspect a room for evidence of bedbugs and how to handle your luggage in a way that reduces the likelihood of bringing them home with you.

I now regret not paying better attention to that advice.

Sure enough, as I’m stripping beds last week, I pull back the fitted sheet on my bed to discover a little brown critter sitting all comfy at the foot of my bed. Not realizing what it was at first, I made an audible noise of disgust and flushed the little sucker. It wasn’t until the following morning that I realized what I’d seen.

Then the panic began.

I Googled BEDBUGS to look at some photos, only to confirm my terrible suspicion. As I feared, it was, indeed, a Cimex lectularius, a common bedbug.

The cleaning process. I was making sure no bugs sneaked past me.

I read a few articles to get an idea of what I was dealing with, watched a couple of YouTube videos on how to inspect a room for infestation, and put in a call to my exterminator. Then I began the process of dismantling my bedroom.

I discovered that eradicating bedbugs is a lot like getting rid of fleas or lice. (Both of which I have done at various times in my parenting career.) It involves lots of laundry, intense vacuuming, and thorough cleaning.

Our search produced only one live bedbug, so my exterminator seems to think I got off easy. (Probably just a single stowaway who wasn’t in a family way when he/she hitched a ride to my house.) Whew.

Now I just have to get over the heebie-jeebies I get every time I walk into my bedroom. And figure out if I ever intend to use that suitcase again.

As for the cute little saying “Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite…” I’m no longer amused.

Bedbug advice:

NEVER place your suitcase on a hotel bed. Put it on the stand, on the dresser, or if necessary on the bathroom counter to unpack it.

Pack plastic garbage bags, and seal your luggage in the bags during your stay.

Examine the sheets for small, rust-colored flakes. (Bedbug poop.) Or for actual bugs.

If you find them in your home, don’t panic. But do get ready for a boat-load of work to get rid of them.

A Mind of His Own

6 Replies

My Gratitude Chalkboard has become fodder for my family. Some of it I find amusing, some not. But a few days ago Slick wrote something on it that brought back one of my favorite memories of The Caboose.

(Cue nostalgic, pre-school music.)

When he was 3 years old, he went to a Mother’s Day Out program a couple of days a week. There was a bulletin board in the hall (where the mommies lined up to reclaim their kids) always decorated with seasonal activities. When a new project went up, all the mommies would oooh and aaah over their little one’s contribution with pride.

That fall, the Thanksgiving bulletin board went up, and each child dictated to the teacher (they were too young to write) what they were thankful for, and teacher wrote it down on the little pumpkin cutout beneath their name. The title of the board was “I am Thankful For…” (wait, now my chalkboard feels much less original).

The wall was full of pumpkins bearing sweet messages of thanks, obviously prompted by the teacher. Most of the children claimed to be thankful for their families – their parents, their brothers and sisters, a few included their pets. Some were thankful for their health (yeah, right), and a few for God. I scan the wall for my son’s pumpkin, so I can beam.

I find it, and it says, “I am Thankful for scissors.”

Huh?

At the time, he wanted to be a barber when he grew up. (Kid loved getting haircuts.) And he liked using scissors. (Probably because he had my undivided attention when using them.) So it made a little sense.

Then I thought about how this process must have gone. Teacher asks three-year-old what they were thankful for. Child looks back at teacher with a blank stare. Teacher says (nodding), “You’re thankful for your family, aren’t you??” Child nods back. Teacher moves on to next child.

Then I thought about my son. He was probably the only kid in that class who gave his own answer to that question. Even at three, my little dude saw things from his own, unique perspective. And no grown up was going to lead him elsewhere.

Impulse Buying — or How to Get Your Kids to Clean Their Rooms

14 Replies

It’s all Target’s fault.

There’s a new Super Target near my neighborhood, and I heard through the grapevine (Facebook) that it opened a few days early AND that there were no crowds AND that they had everything in every size AND that I HAD to drop what I was doing and head over there before too many people found out and it got crowded and picked over.

So a few days ago I did just that. I roamed through every department getting the lay of the land, exploring every aisle and putting things I didn’t need in the basket. (This is starting to sound a little like the trip to Sam’s that got me to make Red Gravy, isn’t it?)

Sirloin Medallions. Yum.

As I was roaming through the grocery section (yes, they have a grocery section!) I noticed a package of steaks. Little sirloin steaks wrapped in bacon, like tiny, affordable filet mignons. I’m thinking that my kids probably wouldn’t know the difference, and probably would enjoy these affordable (and cute) steaks for dinner. (No, I’m not an impulse buyer, am I?)

Then I remembered a recipe my friend Nell from Allbritton or Nothing posted on her blog a few weeks ago for Steakhouse Steaks. She declared that cooking steaks this way at home would never make you pay big bucks for fancy shmancy steaks from the expensive steakhouse ever again. And that cooking steaks this way would make your husband want to Buy You Things. All I wanted was to get my kids to Clean Their Rooms, so I figured steaks from Target would be good enough. In the basket they went.

They were cute little sirloin medallions, wrapped in bacon, three to a skewer. I grabbed three packages and headed for the cashier. I hurried home to made Nell’s Steakhouse Steaks. My kids made yummy noises during dinner and asked me to make it again.

They did not, however, clean their rooms.

*I recommend you hop over to Nell’s site and read her narrative accompanying the recipe. You’ll probably find her ~~more~~ almost as amusing as you find me. (Wink.)

Fancy Shmancy Steakhouse Steaks

4 Replies

Nice, thick steaks* (1 ½ to 2 inches thick is perfect)
Olive oil
Kosher or sea salt (regular table salt will make the meat tough, or so someone says)
Butter
Minced garlic

*Let the steaks sit out for about an hour before cooking to bring them to room temperature.

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Rub the steaks with olive oil and salt. Turn on your stove vent, open a window, and remove the smoke alarm.

(I really need a new camera.) I used Sirloin medallions from Super Target to feed my brood. I'm sure real filets would have been better!

Heat a cast iron skillet on medium-high for 5-7 minutes (until it starts to smoke). Sear the steaks evenly on both sides, no more than 2 minutes per side. Transfer the steaks to a pre-heated foil-lined pan (for easy clean-up). Put a pat of butter and a smidgen of minced garlic on each steak and put them in the oven.

Getting the steaks cooked to the desired doneness is the hard part. You can use a meat thermometer for precise results or use my mama’s method (pulling them out and cutting one open to check). When they’re ALMOST done the way you like them, remove them from the oven, and cover them with foil. This helps the meat “set” and fills your kitchen with the most amazing aroma. It will draw a crowd if you opened a window.

About 8 minutes in the oven will give you a medium-rare steak. About 10 minutes for medium.