While the perks of this easygoing lifestyle may have seemed enticing to casual observers, there was definitely one thing missing during most of this time and it wasn’t having my own juicer, it was the painful absence of being called “mom”.

We knew we wanted children soon after we tied the knot, but never imagined it would be easier to catch a greased pig than it would be to get pregnant. The years went by and instead of holding a newborn swaddled in sweetness I held on to a tiny shred of hope—that someday I would finally be some lucky child’s mother.  And I took it one step further by imagining all the wonderful, inspiring and cutting edge ways I was going to parent once it finally did happen.  I mean there was just no way a phrase like “You’ll do it because I’m your mother and I said so” was going to escape my lips!

I was obviously very good at grasping on to hope because I clutched so tightly I didn’t get just one chance to try out this role of motherhood I wanted so desperately, I got 8 opportunities, and presently they range in ages from 17 down on to 5.  All that precise daydreaming I did before the stork arrived disappeared into thin air when I realized that my adorable children had minds of their own, not to mention I was going to have to compromise with my husband on some of his parenting beliefs—eek!

Looking back to the beginning of all those newborn days, the top item on my mommy agenda was love and kindness.  Don’t worry, I’m not going to nauseate you with any Pollyanna-type parenting philosophy I promise.  I’m simply talking unconditional love for each child even  when they innocently reveal my deepest, darkest secrets to one of their teachers like how I don’t change their sheets every week or how I steal candy from their Halloween bags and blame it on the dog.

Of course, I was also never, ever going to raise my voice, get aggravated over silly things like ball playing inside the house, serve meals like tuna casserole, or worse, begin dressing in ensembles with stretchy waistbands or embroidered sweater vests.

I found out soon enough, however, that although such trivial things seemed to be so important at the time, they paled in comparison to the pivotal moments where I found rock-solid strength and courage due to circumstances that were beyond my mothering control.  One such time was when our 6^th child was hospitalized for weeks after nearly dying from whooping cough at the young age of 2 months old.  I kept God very busy during that ordeal, but the two gifts I received at the end—my son’s full recovery and learning how to trust and live in the moment have been accruing interest in my mother bank account all these years later.

And as any parent with a special needs child can tell you when you first receive a heart wrenching diagnosis—it’s just not fair!  Or so I thought at first.  Three of our children had significant speech delays when they were very young in fact we were even told one was autistic.  Talk about ruining my best laid plans of having perfect children that were going to change the world with the amazing, ingenious things they would contribute.  Well, they’ve already done just that, and they started with me, their determined mother who alongside my husband worked my stretchy-pant buns off  to help them overcome these delays, one precious and very long day at a time, and now I wouldn’t change a thing (well, maybe just the stretchy pants!) about that trying time in our lives.  Watching them break through so many barriers to utter simple words that many parents might take for granted added traits like resilience, patience and faith into my motherhood foundation, qualities that will hopefully mature as my kids continue to grow.

Now I’m experiencing the teenage years with my four oldest and have been enduring, I mean enjoying, driver’s permits, acne, boyfriend troubles, and having to finally eat my words of saying “because I said so” one too many times.  The times I think I’m doing everything wrong can be undone in a heartbeat like when one of my daughters asks if she can borrow something from my closet—the ultimate of compliments!

Motherhood is indeed not the romantic journey I dreamed it would be all those years that I waited and longed for my turn to come and for that I am grateful!  In a few weeks we will celebrate Thanksgiving Day and as I do every year, I will quietly look around the table at my family sitting together and give thanks for the gift of children and for my ability to experience motherhood in a completely different way than I ever thought I would.  Oh, and my family—they’ll be giving thanks also—that not once in 23 years have I ever served tuna casserole.

Copyright 2010 Cheryl Butler

On a typical weekday, I normally wouldn’t be feeling such a rush of euphoria over having a crumb strewn kitchen floor mixed with three catastrophic bathrooms all to myself, but this day was anything but normal.  Today I was going to implement the mother of all finds—speed cleaning our home in 19 breezy minutes!  I stumbled upon this news breaking method completely by accident when I was searching the internet the day before looking for a remedy on how to remove small objects from a child’s ear (that so I could see if the miniscule stick-on earring my 4-year old mistakenly placed in her ear canal could possibly be treated at home as opposed to the 3-hour emergency room visit that we eventually did make!)  I struck out on the ear fiasco, but I may have hit the jackpot with this innovative process that could possibly allow us to live in a semi-sparkling environment with hardly any effort which would then afford me such guilty pleasures as showering and brushing my teeth all in the same day.

I studied the notes I had made very carefully and then set the kitchen timer for 19 glorious minutes.  According to the house sanitation experts, it all boiled down to three key factors:  Eliminate, Organize, and Hide followed with just a bit of surface fluff and the mission would be accomplished.  Sounded simple enough!

• Eliminate: Enter each room of the home, including rooms with sinks and tubs, and scan quickly and thoroughly for areas that are piled with unnecessary claptrap on counters, coffee tables, kitchen islands, dining room tables, shelves, stove tops, and yes, even toilets.  Once you locate the items that should not belong there, simply pick them up and move to step # 2—organize!  (This was easier than I ever thought it could be.)
• Organize:  In order to complete the “Elimination Phase” of this process, you must be willing to go one of two ways:  1.  Actually put these items back where they belong, or 2.  Move to step # 3—hide!  (Hmm, the items or myself.)
• Hide:  You’re almost done (and hey, it’s only been 5 minutes!) so stay the course.  Now that you’ve scanned each room for clutter traps that need to be removed and have decided that there is no way you can realistically put them back in their proper places in less than 19 minutes you are ready to close the deal.  Simply find any empty drawer, closet space, cubby hole, or if need be—a large comforter or a loose rug that lifts easily and quickly sort and shove all of these items into or under their temporary new locations.  Playing upbeat music is always helpful during such a maneuver—taps and sappy love ballads are not recommended—it will only slow you down.  (Remember, we’re working with 19 skillful minutes here).

In less than 10 minutes, I had managed to complete this three step process in our 2800 square foot homestead and could now focus the remaining 9 minutes on the final steps—the actual cleaning. I rechecked my notes and wondered where I went wrong.  Now that everything was literally swept under the rug I was to bring it on home by physically scrubbing, polishing, vacuuming, dusting, straightening, removing cobwebs, plumping pillows, and freshening the atmosphere with delightful smells such as lighting cozy scented candles and even better, baking cinnamon coated apples.

Obviously this quick-fix article did not apply to a home like ours harboring 10 people, a slobbering dog and the gazillion possessions needed to  keep us all ticking day in and day out.  Today, our house was not going to be shining from corner to corner just as the article had promised it would, but I was not feeling the least bit defeated.

Because I have so much free time on my hands every day as a stay-at-home domestic engineer, there would be plenty of opportunity to tackle a good old-fashioned cleaning in the near future.  For now, I will do what any savvy housewife and mother with 19 minutes, alone, behind closed doors would do—brush my teeth in decadent solitude and then proceed to jump into a sinfully hot shower!

Copyright 2010 Cheryl Butler

After just one short week of this incredible thing called school, I soon discovered two very important things—4.5 hours really isn’t that much time at all, and if I wanted to be in the know about all the goings on that take place in that blink of time the answers could always be found in that oversized pouch—the backpack.   Because she was our first to venture off to school via the big yellow bus, the only communication I had with her new world was stashed in that sack.  The first few weeks I unpacked it lovingly—oohing and aahing over each juice spattered Tempera painting she created on the school easel (exactly where all painting projects should take place), gently checked her lunch box to make sure she had eaten her snack (a decade ago it was ok to send Twinkies or chips), and always, always sat down to quietly read all the paperwork that was sent home from the teacher (my heart skipping a beat when I eagerly signed up to be the coveted room mother).

Seven kids later that ritual went right out the window, along with the Twinkies and chips, and as soon as they hit middle school the chances of getting anyplace near their sacred backpacks was about as likely as getting them to take a hardboiled egg to school to accommodate today’s healthy snack policy.

Most communication between school and family comes to a crashing halt during these and the high school years, so to this day I am so grateful that I didn’t take for granted the sheer ecstasy I received those many years ago when I  received our oldest daughter’s very first and all important field trip permission slip!  I knew immediately it was something special and not just the everyday ditto that came down the pike.  You see, it was copied on orange paper and it was glowing with adorable pumpkins and a few festive bales of hay.  You guessed it!  The Kindergarten kids were going on their very first field trip—to the pumpkin patch!

I could barely catch my breath before I caught glimpse of the bold text glaring at me from the bottom of the page—“No Parents Allowed”.  Chaperones would not be necessary this time, but the teacher assured us that plenty of other opportunities would be there for the parental taking. (Be careful what you wish for—12 years later I’ve ridden that big yellow bus loaded with boisterous cherubs to more museums and outings than I ever could’ve hoped for!)

As families across America surround themselves with freshly sharpened # 2 pencils, overpriced new sneakers and a rainbow of canvas backpacks I, too, have purchased a few back-to-school supplies of my own, starting with an un creased, blank 5-subject notebook and a shiny blue sharpie.  Nope,  I don’t plan on taking any classes this fall, but after reminiscing back to my oldest daughter’s first year in Kindergarten I realized I’ve been missing out on an unbelievable opportunity each September—field trips—not for the school youngsters—for me, the parent, as in “No Kids Allowed”!

I sat and daydreamed about all the places I, a fun-loving fresh off a 10-week summer vacation parent, would like to spend some “me” time (other than the loony bin) and within moments, my new blue sharpie was practically dry!  I’ve got dozens of places I’d like to go visit during this upcoming school year as well as some new things I’d love to try.  Destinations as simple as taking a picnic lunch, a good book and one of those contraptions people actually sit in on the sand, a chair I believe, to the beach to catching the train to Boston and meeting my husband for lunch where catsup isn’t the main course.  And as crazy as this may sound, I’m going to try and make one new recipe a week from scratch for the entire school year starting with homemade apple dumplings, using apples I pick from the orchard, of course!

We look at New Year’s Eve as a magical marker for making resolutions that will improve our individual lifestyles—why not back-to-school as well?  A brand new school year is an incredible opportunity for everyone who wishes to take stock in their current lives—including people who don’t have children.  There is an eagerness to learn in the air as well as excitement in getting to know new friends and teachers.

What a great time for young and old alike to go within and decide if our life grades are up to snuff.  I know there are several areas in my life where I’d like to strive for a few more A+’s especially where the subject matter is trying new things and exploring new places.  I’m just so glad I don’t need an official permission slip to get started—or have to rely on a school bus laden with children to get me there.



Copyright 2010 Cheryl Butler

How hard could it be, I thought?  I can type nearly 100 words per minute, so texting couldn’t possibly be any different.  Maybe not if your Tinker Bell, but if you own a cell phone that is as old as George Washington’s wooden teeth like I did, finding the letters on each tiny key and then  figuring out how many times to press that silly little key to get the correct letter to pop up was near maddening.   If I was going to be successful at this, I needed to call in the Big Dogs, one of my teens.

First, you need to know that my cell phone was at least 8 or so years old.  This boggles most people’s minds, but you must remember that as a mother of 8, talking on the telephone is quite foreign to me.  If I am to have any type of a lucid discussion with anyone—be it the folks from that fabulous new resort in the West Indies calling to tell me I had won a free vacation for four,  or my own husband needing a reminder of what he was suppose to be bringing home in a brown paper bag en route from work, the chances of actually exchanging intelligent conversation without chaos in the background is zilch.

That said, I could’ve cared less if I ever made a call from my closet, never mind from my car on a cell phone.  Then something unbelievable happened—my kids started growing up!  They were no longer just playing in the backyard or over at the neighbor’s house.  They had the gall to decide they wanted to join things!  Sporting teams, after-school programs, summer jobs—all these wonderful opportunities that I could no longer offer them from home so with that came their next step of independence—getting their own cell phones.

I fought this off as long as I could but soon realized that I was only hurting myself.  Communication is key with our kids today, so my husband and I painfully came on board to the world of cell phones and family plans.  Better late than never! Though texting seems to come naturally to many, I found it to be as frustrating as standing up on a greased surf board. (No, I don’t surf!)  It took a bit of work, but I finally did it.  Sent my very first text to my son which I believe was the following:  Hi, Love Mom.  Short and sweet and it only took me 10 minutes.

With that, word spread like wildfire that Cheryl L. Butler had learned to text and before I could get my phone back in my purse, I began receiving so many messages I thought sure my new nickname would soon be Alexander Graham Bell. There was only one problem however, I couldn’t understand them!

For you regular texters out there, you already know that texting has its very own language.  For newbies like me, however, it is much like learning French or Spanish. I “no speaka the text” so reading the following was quite frustrating:

Hwru? DdUheAd PTA mtg wz  movDagn? Let’s gt2gtha wen skool gets ot.  Ive so mch 2 telu.  U won’t bleeve w@ hapned @d clb yesterday.  I cUd Jst di!  Don’t wrk 2 hrd. Ive 2 run.  Bbacinabit.  ?4U, so cll me.  MsU!  Is it Chardonnay or Mrlo 4U deez days? LOL

Translation:

How are you?  Did you hear the PTA meeting was moved again?  Let’s get together when school gets out.  I have so much to tell you.  You won’t believe what happened at the club yesterday—I could just die!   Don’t work too hard.  I have to run.  Be back in a bit. I have a question for you, so call me!  Miss you!  Is it Chardonnay or Merlot for you these days? Laugh out loud!

2.5 billion text messages are sent in the USA each day so obviously texting is much more than a trend.  While I’m slowly learning the lingo and my way around my new and highly sophisticated cell phone , and am grateful to have an instant way to keep in touch with my kids when they are out and about, I doubt I’ll ever rely on texting as my major means of communication.  Texting may be hands on and convenient but it has its time and place besides, it can never replace the adrenaline rush I get while making a dental appointment from our landline with a dog and a gaggle of kids going bonkers in the background, LOL!



Copyright 2010 Cheryl Butler

Spoil sport you say?  Heavens no—a realist is more like it.  I mean, how many years have families been doing this summer vacation thing?  Seems like since dinosaurs roamed the earth for some, but I suppose it only feels that way because so many of us have this inbred gene that tells us our children simply must be entertained the moment they step foot off that bus until Labor Day graces our calendars.

Now, I certainly don’t want to speak for the rest of you because believe me, I have plenty of friends who start counting down the last days of school somewhere around Christmas.  “Can’t wait until my babies are home with me every day.  We always have so much fun together,” chime my friends with nannies! Please don’t misunderstand me, I have oodles of fun with my eight kids too, but let me be honest, sometimes it takes a little work.

So, in order to stave off any unnecessary moments of angst when one of my darlings realizes they are not part of a three-ring circus for the summer I did the only logical thing—joined the wine of the month club and then headed to my favorite place to think and get creative—the bookstore.  Don’t worry, I didn’t bring a bottle of merlot along with me, the smell of crisp new pages just waiting to be discovered is always enough to relax me in an instant.  No sooner did I find a quiet little nook to sit and think, there it was in glorious yellow and black—the answer to this year’s vacation entertainment—Summer for Dummies, written by One Smart Parent.

In case you’ve never laid eyes on the Dummy series, you’ll be happy to know that the publisher does not ever intend to make the reader feel like a stupid head!  For Dummies is an extensive series of instructional books which are intended to present non-intimidating guides for readers new to the various topics covered.  Everything from cooking to learning a foreign language are covered–literally dozens of books on virtually everything are in their series, so why not one on navigating the waters of a family-filled summer?

After briefly skimming the table of contents, I knew I had a winner.  This author had done her homework and was now passing along her words of wisdom to the rest of us.  Here are a few brief passages:

Chapter One:   Summer Forecast—Bright and Sunny—Lighten Up! Where is it written in seashells that we have to schedule our kids’ entire summer vacation?  Only in our minds, that’s where.  Summer days were meant to be easy, breezy and lazy, not loaded from dawn to dusk with lessons, play dates and other kid-centered entertainment.  Of course that doesn’t mean we won’t plan some special events while they’re out of school, but there is nothing wrong with allowing children to create their own adventures as well. (See what I mean, great stuff!)

Chapter Two:  Vacations are like sandcastles—when your plans come crumbling down, grab your pail and shovel and build something better! Easier said than done perhaps, but let’s face it, not all our summer days are going to be peachy keen, beach days.  Rainy and non-eventful days present awesome opportunities for baking yummy cookies, building forts out of boxes, hanging out in PJs and watching funny movies, or dare it be suggested—organizing their bedrooms after a full year of school clutter creeps in.  These can be some of our kid’s favorite summer memories, so never be disappointed when a given day suggests you start digging a new hole. (Love it!)

Chapter Three:  If something has to melt, let it be your popsicle! Ah, yes—those sticky moments during vacation—usually the second week of August when we’ve all had enough of summer’s carefree days and we really don’t care to spend another moment together.  This is the perfect time to grab a frozen delight (or that wine of the month) and remember that these times are completely normal and only temporary. Believe it or not, there will come a time (when we are retired and aching to have them driving us crazy again) that it will seem like no big deal little Freddy used sidewalk chalk to draw on the dining room walls instead of the driveway.  Stay cool! (I couldn’t agree more!)

OK, so there really is no such thing as Summer for Dummies but just because the school bus would not be back in our neighborhood for two more months was no reason to panic.  Families have the power to set their own expectations for the flavor they wish their summer to have.  This year, I’m hoping to taste a vacation that is a lot less loaded and a lot more laid back—to me, there’s nothing dumb about that!

Copyright 2010 Cheryl L. Butler

Editor’s Note:  Congratulations to our friend and CatholicMom.com contributor Cheryl Butler on the launch of her new website and the publication of her first book, Pregnant Women Don’t Eat Cabbage.  Great job Cheryl!

Yesterday I had an extremely close call with reality.  As I quickly flossed my teeth (is there really any other way?) somewhere between my upper right bicuspid and molar I looked into my Colgate spattered mirror and let out a startling gasp.  “Who the heck are you?” I said short of breath.  “And what are you doing in my “his & her” bathroom?”

There was dead silence.  The familiar looking face did not respond, instead, she just grimaced at me let out a mysterious little cackle.  Next thing I knew, my gums were bleeding (never floss with a vengeance) and I was darting out the door to another jam-packed day of errands, car pooling, meal making, laundering (clothes—not money) and anything else that stay-at-home moms do on a regular basis.

I didn’t have a second to spare that day, but there in the back of my recently coiffed head I kept hearing that cackle and worse saw that almost recognizable face trying to get my attention.  “Whatever could her message be?” I agonized.

Thank goodness for technology and my ability to operate a cell phone and chew gum at the same time because each time I dared to revisit my puzzling bathroom encounter, I was saved by the bell.  First it was a pal that needed help with a pick up after practice—her meeting was going to run well into the dinner hour.  Next, the eye doctor needed to change an appointment I had scheduled a year earlier.  Here’s the husband on line 2, “Can you pick up the lawnmower from the repair shop before 6 PM?”  Oldest son now sends a text about needing $20 delivered to school by 2 PM—forgot to tell me about important field trip.  (Although I can read a text, please don’t ask me to send one!)

I continue driving and am having one darn good conversation with myself (usually the only time I get a word in edgewise) about where I am going to stick that lawnmower with a car full of groceries and meanwhile have driven by my son’s school and am now late for the pre-school pick up.  That cackling—–it’s much louder now and it’s beginning to haunt me.

This morning I can’t get my toothbrush out fast enough.  Though my dental background may have something to do with my fastidious brushing and flossing habits, it’s my spotted bathroom mirror I’m most interested in.  I took my time and slowly hummed “Whistle While You Work”        as I flossed, but that familiar face I longed to see did not appear.  I patiently waited for 2 whole minutes, but then duty called—there was a dead bird at the bus stop forcing me to crumple my floss and run.  Maybe I’d see her tomorrow.

My day picks up momentum as soon as my seven school-aged kids are off to school on that glorious yellow chariot known as the bus.  Three loads of laundry under my belt, dishwasher unloaded, reloaded and now whirring away to what I  swear is actually the melody of “Killing me Softly”, but don’t quote me on that, the cable man arrived during the last four minutes of his said time block only to tell me he’ll have to return tomorrow with a new box, and now I  must move fast enough so I can deliver my 4-year-old to nursery school without having to mingle too long with the other mommies that want to chat about whether or not it’s a good idea to introduce a second language like French or Chinese before the kid has mastered the alphabet in English. What a grind!

This all said and done, I quickly head to the local coffee shop where I order a double iced tea, hold the lemon, and sit and join three of my best friends for a quick “how’s it going” before heading back to the nursery school an hour later where hopefully the foreign language crisis will be solved.

“Cheryl, you look awful,” said the only human being I won’t wallop for telling me this, my friend who has four kids and is expecting her fifth.  Moments later, our two other friends arrived, both in fine business attire due to their busy corporate lifestyles, and I got the eye from them as well, so now I know I must look un-Cheryl-like! My coffee mates gently asked why I hadn’t been returning phone calls and wanted confirmation about whether the rumors that I was actually cutting my own bangs and worse—was considering a Lilt home perm to save time was true?  Eek!  They were on to me!

Now it was starting to make sense—that familiar face in my bathroom mirror was me—but with the crazy end-of-school year routine already taking its toll, little by little, I was disappearing right before my very eyes.  Instead of slowly sipping my daily cup of busy, I was drowning in it.  If I didn’t act quickly, next Id be starring in a Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom show—The Real You—Saving an Endangered Species!

Not wanting to have my picture on the front of a stamp collection encouraging the human race to save me like the blue whale or our cousin the gorilla, I was grateful to have recognized that familiar person signaling to get out beyond my toothpaste splattered mirror—the real me.  She’s the gal I knew better than anyone else before I journeyed into wife and motherhood but every now and then she runs away.  As long as I make the time to grab on to her and pull her back home (when I’m done flossing, of course) that’s ok, but under no circumstance is it ok to let her real identity become an endangered species or allow her to cut her own bangs—ever again!

Copyright 2010 Cheryl Butler

I’m already well trained by my two oldest sons that I’m not to hoot and holler, no matter what the circumstance, until they’ve actually made a play or gotten a hit. If I should so much sneeze or breathe too loudly causing the hairs in my nostrils to move, I am to quickly leave the area and come back when I can behave. Got it boys!

Thank goodness for my younger boys, who also call me Mom, and love it when I clap and cheer even if they’ve just been taken out of the game so another kid on the team can play. I’m showing them my love and support—and boy are they proud!

Well, here we are just weeks after opening day, and between the school teams, Little League and Babe Ruth the only socializing I will be doing in the near future is with the clerks in the local Dollar Sore where I stock up on fan essentials like Swedish Fish and large salty bags of imitation buttered popcorn. Baseball season is indeed my busiest time of year, but don’t get me wrong, despite my desperate pleas about how it rules my entire life for nearly four very long months, I’m still the biggest fan my kids will ever know!

I can’t help myself, though, for being transported back to the jarring end of last year’s fall ball season, where I learned a very important lesson about being a P.A.F. (Parent as Fans).

It was a balmy late October day that I endured that six-hour torture session, I mean Babe Ruth game.  Did I mention it was a Sunday afternoon–the day of rest that the Lord intended all of us to take each week? I don’t think the individual who scheduled this game got that memo, but no problem, I’m a loyal, supportive mother who will be there for those very long and poorly scheduled games no matter what day of the week they are held.

Now please keep in mind that we are playing on our home field, and are short one player for this afternoon delight called a “Double Session”. Not only do we now have to forfeit the game and borrow a player from the other team, the manager on the other team can’t see any harm in playing two games rather than one long one—after all—that means they technically win both games, am I right?

Also, we’d hate to disappoint the visiting P.A.F’s that have arrived all the way from the city (in droves I might add) to cheer on their undefeated team! Did I mention yet that our team Tase Right (Something to do with meatballs) hasn’t won a single game? I think it’s us, quite frankly—the Butler’s have yet to be on a winning team unless selling the most magazines in the local fundraiser counts as a win. Otherwise, when cleats, clubs or bats are involved—we haven’t felt the thrill of victory too often.

Now back to those P.A.F’s. Here’s where I struggle with my good Catholic upbringing—when you are the parent of the losing team (and I do have a lot of experience with this) it is very difficult to digest all the rambunctious ranting and raving going on one bleacher over—particularly when they feel it necessary to do the wave every time one of our kids strikes out or drops a ball! Not fair I tell ya! Still, I always remember that motto “Turn the Other Cheek” and try to behave like the 40-something woman of finesse that I am rather than sticking my fingers in the corners of my mouth and whistling like I’m calling in the dog every time the other team makes a mistake. So tacky!

P.A.F’s need to come to an understanding that cheering and being enthusiastic when your own team is doing well is completely understandable and most of us applaud you for it.
However, when the winning team is up 30 to 1 and it’s quite obvious well into the 6th inning that there’s a better chance of finding Brad Pitt working the concession stand than the losing team making a comeback, layoff the nasty remarks to the boys that are not doing so well. Yes, they do have feelings believe it or not and listening to 25 grown men and women screeching “C’mon Bucko…….show him who’s boss” at the very last out of the 6 hour game when they already feel defeated, tired and cranky is really not necessary, is it?

So yes, I heartily embrace this new ball season and intend to follow all the rules at each and every game.  I will abide by my older son’s requests to lay low no matter how much I want to let the town know my boy throws the fastest curve ball.  I will rejoice as loud as I can when my younger guys make a good cut even though they strike out, but most importantly I will try to be the best darn P.A.F. I can be, because good sportsmanship starts at home and if my children learn this early on, then “Parents as Fans” can truly be a winning combination.

Copyright 2010 Cheryl Butler

What a shame that I had just robbed myself of 15 carefree moments to kibitz with my daughter and simply enjoy the experience of watching her try on napkins, I mean two-piece bathing suits, all while she opened up about her complicated 17-year old lifestyle.  Worse, she called me on it!  Clearly it was time for me to get on board with today’s self-help gurus and stop being so distracted by life but instead try living in the moment!

I did a little research and found that living in the moment means you are totally immersed in an experience and therefore should reap far more happiness from your everyday life. I once read–the past is history, the future is a mystery, and the only time we really have is now – just this moment.  So as not to ever miss out on important bonding moments like I did when my daughter asked me if I preferred tassels or fringe on those cute shorts she was trying on, I decided I would try to live in the second, never mind the moment, as often as I could.

I turned in early the night before so that I would be well rested and full of vim and vigor for my first full-fledged day of “Living in the Moment”.  The alarm went off at precisely 5:45 AM, and I searched the nightstand for my glasses but instead knocked over my glass of water.  That was so not the plan, so I allowed myself a little groan and then scurried to the bathroom to grab a towel before the spill ruined one of my only guilty pleasures, my latest edition of Soap Opera Digest—hey, if anyone knows how to live in the moment, it’s my friends from Days of Our Lives.  They never work or seem to have any trouble finding invisible caregivers to watch their children so they can relax, putter around their beautifully decorated penthouses, or dine out 7 day’s a week, not once fretting over a negative balance in their checkbooks—these are my kind of people!

Breakfast is served and instead of shuffling through six boxes of cereal, I decide I will stop, look lovingly into all my children’s half-opened eyes and ask them how they slept and if they would like to have cereal or something hot and delicious instead.  The confused looks on their faces told me all I needed to know—Mom must be really ill, hot and delicious on a school morning means rinsing off the hardened food particles leftover from last evening’s silverware with boiling water.

Bus departures begin at 6:40 AM in our homestead, so instead of cackling half-minded “the bus just went down the street” to my high schoolers, I gently tapped on their bedroom doors and quietly made the announcement and just relished the harried moments I observed as they snatched backpacks, iPods and hoodies, while treasuring those snarky comments they made under their breath—something I usually do from three rooms away.  Ah, soaking in the moment—what a beautiful thing!

The rest of the day unfolded with much of the same.  I tried to be alert in nearly every waking moment.  From consciously noting the involuntary twitching of my upper body as the dog barked nonstop at the UPS man to the gentle creaking of my bones as I sat perched in the family room  scrubbing the freshly ground backyard mud out of the carpet, I was temporarily able to push my to do lists and often intense thoughts about what was waiting for me around future’s corner right out of my mind.  And when my son’s 6-year old play date commented that our home smelled like his grandfather’s car, I stopped what I was doing and savored his innocence rather than  panic that our house smelled like a cigar joint.

I probably went overboard at my first attempt to immerse myself in life’s everyday moments—when I began naming the dust bunnies in our kitchen I realized I had gone too far.  Most days my mindset will still be crazed and usually one step ahead of where I am presently standing, but if I can try to be more present during those “dressing room” instances with my daughter and the rest of my family then I will certainly be living more in the motherhood moment—and I think every child deserves at least that.

Copyright 2010 Cheryl Butler

This State of the Union, however has nothing to do with Wall Street, Homeland Security or International Policies—it is specifically geared to the people who I serve three meals a day to (no, make that about ten!) and who’s laundry I sort, wash and fold 7 days a week—my loving family.

As I proudly stood in front of my Presidential Seal–a makeshift poster board I had decorated with Betty Crocker boxes, empty toilet roll spools, a pair of dirty socks, a photo of my pre-mommy self, our upcoming Little League Schedule (that took up ½ the board!), and a few other incidentals that represented a “day in the life of” this family, I looked them each in the eye and humbly began speaking from my teleprompter—the magnifying mirror I use to help me apply my mid-life lipstick color—coral raisin—in a matte finish.

Mr. Husband, Madame Black Lab, and esteemed members who make up the eight Butler children–our Constitution does not declare that from time to time, the little woman—also known as your wife, lab’s best friend, and doting mother report in about the state of our family, but if it’s good enough for Congress, well—then it’s good enough for me.

While I realize you will all find it hard to believe, although things in your world seem to be near perfect, there are a few issues in “our family” world that need a bit of attention.

Domestic Issues

• Our Furniture—It is a pleasure to have a sectional sofa that is made in the United States, not China, but let’s all try to remember one thing—the stuffing that is gently dangling from the arms and the back of the recliner should be treated with the utmost respect.  This fine piece of chenille needs to last your mother another 14 years—when our little Annie heads off to college.  (And…it may need to accompany your father and I to a retirement community such as Shady Pines, so please, no more using it for art projects and the like.
• Going Green—Remember how excited you kids were to come home from school and announce all the earth-saving measures being taken at school to reuse, renew, and restore?  I wasn’t allowed to throw out a single item that still had life in it.  Well, I am pleased as punch to announce this family’s new recycling and conservation efforts, and I know I’ll have your full support and enthusiasm—just like you showed for school.  The heels of all loafs of bread are now as important as the middles—please get used to it.  I will happily unplug my blinking neon “The Kitchen is Closed” sign if you are willing to take 7- minute showers as opposed to 40- minute ones and will do so in the dark.  Hand me downs in a large family are just part of the deal if we want to continue with the luxuries of electricity and grocery shopping—hey, I do my part, who do you think gets your father’s old leisure knits?

The Economy & International Affairs

• I’ll be brief.  It’s not looking too good for our vacation to Europe this spring.

Health Care Reform

• Paid family member sick days continue to be a sore subject, specifically for a certain mother who tries desperately never to become ill, especially if it should interfere with her children’s lives—attending sporting events, helping with homework, providing taxi services at a moment’s notice, preparing hot, tasty meals 7 nights a week (stop rolling your eyes—they might not always be tasty but they do have a temperature), and of course, being available to be your private nurse when any of you take ill.  Congress may not have come up with a way to give me a paycheck yet, but the speaker of this house has unanimously decided that my sick days can now be taken in a horizontal position and in the comfort of my Winnie the Pooh bathrobe.

In closing I would like to leave you with a few thoughts.  We have just finished another jam-packed year in the Butler household—some of it difficult, some of it outrageous, (we only left one child accidentally behind at Sunday school and he’s no longer having nightmares, so for that I am grateful) but most of it was filled with joy.  With the continuing challenges that lie ahead of us during this brand new year (a new driver in the family, six kids on eight different baseball teams, weaning me off the hot glue gun that I bought myself for Christmas) let’s seize this moment – to start anew, to help with household chores, to never forget Mother’s Day and above all, cherish the fact that you belong to a family who loves, supports and appreciates you for the individuals you are, even though you’ve all decided those frozen meatballs in a bag are much more delicious than the ones I spend hours making from scratch. We’re all in this together, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Thank you. God Bless You. And God Bless every family in these United States of America.

Copyright 2010 Cheryl Butler

You know the ones—always written on festive computer stationery laced with poinsettias or jolly old snowmen wearing cozy wool scarves—sets the tone beautifully for what’s to come next—a lot of hot air touting how fabulous the individual or family had just sailed through the past year. (Ok, most of them.)

A typical one reads “Morton received his third MBA from Harvard as well as his pilot’s license while I received the broker of the year award from my real estate firm for the fifth year in a row, despite this challenging economy.  It was a struggle, but our teenaged twins, Bart and Bella were able to graduate with high honors from high school a year early.  Sven, our Major Domo for the past 15 years had to really kick it up a notch by serving extra high-protein hot breakfasts for them every morning so they could excel in both their studies and polo team duties.  How we lived through it, I’ll never know!”    You’ve seen versions similar, I’m sure.

But that’s ok—once a year I think we all deserve to blow our family’s horn a little bit.  As long as we don’t blow out anyone’s ear drums in the process, what’s the harm?  With the written holiday cheer way down, it leads me to believe that either our soft economy is to blame or………or is our infatuation with the internet these days the real culprit?

It all started quite innocently when the computer world was rocked with one of the savviest means of communication ever—e-mail.  What a high it was to log on to your computer and hear those three zippy words “You’ve Got Mail”. (Remember the movie?)  After we were hooked, there was no turning back and the journey into the cyber world continued to grow faster than dandelions on a dank summer’s day.

But it didn’t end there.  Socializing on the internet was turned into a multi-million dollar industry with companies like My Space, Twitter and the most popular network worldwide—Facebook.  Facebook is a social networking website that is operated and privately owned. Users can add friends and send them messages, and update their personal profiles to notify friends about themselves.  For those who are privacy conscious, this type of social hoopla is probably not for you. I admit, at first, I was skeptical myself, but my how that has changed.

Little by little I started to reconnect with friends from high school, college, my dental days, and with family members that live all across the country, and in the process I’ve met new friends that I absolutely adore.  For those unfamiliar with how it all works, there is a place on your profile page that allows you to post photos and your status (what’s on your mind)—as frequently or as little as you like.  Let me give you some examples:

There is your “random”  status facebooker that will post things as simple as “Tired”, “Indigestion”, “More snow!”, “In laws!”, “Mocha Cappuccino” and anything else that sums up in one or two words what is on their mind at that particular moment.

Moving right along we also have the “Play By Play” status facebooker that will log on the moment he awakens and will list everything he’s done, in specific order, from brushing his teeth, to finding a hair in his oatmeal to what time he will be leaving the house to buy anti-fungal cream (and where the itch is), shop for yesterday’s bake and then back home again to drain the puss out of his three-legged cat’s infected ear.  As my kids love to say “TMI”—too much information!

Next up is the “Woe is Me”  facebooker, who will post just how dreadful her life is going to which anyone with a conscience and a beating heart will comment back that things aren’t really that bad and the world really is a better place because she is in it.

One of my favorite status types are the “inspiring” ones.  They will usually post an upbeat or thought provoking quote such as “Don’t ask what your mother can do for you, ask what you can do for your mother!” (Or something on those lines)  Those types of status remarks leave me wanting to be a better individual.

And lastly, there are the “life’s a bowl of cherries” facebookers, which I believe yours truly would fall under.  It took me a few months to get the hang of regularly posting my status, but I soon realized it was pretty neat to share what was going on in my world, as long as I could make it fun.  Though I’m private by nature, there is something very refreshing about sharing the comical trials and tribulations of real family life—no one lives in a perfect world, but why not live in one where we can laugh a little each day.

Greeting cards may be down but that doesn’t mean our friends and family aren’t thinking about us and wondering how we are doing.  Whether you facebook or not, why not be prepared.  The next time someone asks “What’s your status?” what will you say but more importantly how will you say it?

Copyright 2010 Cheryl Butler

I’m not going to kid you, by the time I’ve hauled the last box of shiny ornaments back up those attic stairs, I’m more than ready to change gears and get back to basics like figuring out what kind of hair accessories I can still carry off as a 40-something mother so as not to embarrass my teenage daughters (or myself) when we’re out in public.  Good news, though, that shouldn’t be a problem this year because now that I’ve been diagnosed with PPS—Post Purging Syndrome, if in fact I do choose to grab a cheesy pony tail holder for my tresses, I will know exactly where to locate it.

PPS is a real shock to the system.  While PMS is a much laughed at (or feared!) topic of many, PPS is fairly new on the radar screen in the medical community.  In fact, it’s so rare that those inflicted with it are facing an uncertain future for themselves and their families.  I mean I know we can’t be the only household in town that has way too many broken pencils, expired coupons, empty gum packages and useless C and D batteries stuffed into several gadget drawers in the kitchen.  And that’s only one room in the house! Go ahead, you can admit it, your secret is safe with me.

I’ll try to make this brief so I don’t scare you away too quickly.  This past November, I started showing peculiar symptoms that I just couldn’t put my finger on.  When my children left for school each morning I would scurry about the house scavenging coins for milk money from so many drawers, purses and black holes in the house that I asked for a metal detector for Christmas to turn it into a sport.  When the bus rolled out of our neighborhood and I had actually beat the clock by getting them on it each day I would then go inside and take care of  my daily business and I’m not referring to a few moments in the bathroom.  I’m talking about cramming our freshly folded laundry into drawers that were already bulging with clothing that either no longer fit, was no longer decent enough to be wearing or in my own case was severely outdated—like all my jeans embedded with jewels and such from my best Ronco purchase ever, the BeDazzler.

As if feeling harried after scrounging for loose milk change or nearly spraining my wrists by wrestling with the laundry each day wasn’t enough to get my heart pounding, I knew my symptoms were becoming worse when I’d reach for something in my spice cabinet and find my trusty hot glue gun with a dust bunny attached or my 4-year old’s headless Barbies rather than the nutmeg or garlic powder.  Little by little, I saw what was happening to me—I had gone from a super-organized (and dare I admit stylish) 25-year old bride whose biggest challenge each day was deciding which step aerobics class to take at the gym to a 40-plus married (and sadly a bit frumpy) “Little old Lady Who Lived in A Shoe and had so many kids she didn’t have a place to put anything” matron without even realizing it.  Clutter had conquered my life and was now leaving me physically drained.  If I recall, my doctor called it “Clutterbugitus” and the prognosis wasn’t good.  The treatment plan called for either getting rid of all the extra stuff in each and every room, or prepare for many more years ahead of drowning in it. Side effects for years to come may include shortness of breath, uncontrollable perspiration and full blown panic attacks when the simple search for my wonder girdle or brass hair clips is challenged by a condition I have the power to control—without medication (unless wine counts!).

Once I was diagnosed, I set right to work sorting, chucking, straightening and de-cluttering every inch of the house.  Room by room, drawer by drawer, closet by closet, hole by hole and yes that would include all my purses and every last tote bag innocently hanging in the mud room were tackled and reorganized.

Warning “Do” try this at home!  A painful process, yes, but after I removed that first hunk of year-old Swiss cheese from behind the steak knives, got rid of all the mismatched Tupperware, put the Band Aids in the medicine chest instead of in my daughter’s dollhouse I started seeing that there is indeed something to that phrase—a place for everything and everything in its place—and my symptoms began to slowly disappear.  I’m even starting to feel like that 25-year old carefree bride again (Ok, that’s going a bit far, I know!).

Though I’ve temporarily managed to skillfully kick my clutter habit, professionals have placed me in a high-risk category for slipping back into my harmful old ways—having eight kids could do that to a person. But if I take each day in 2010 with a “less is more” stride and don’t go through severe withdrawal symptoms the next time I reach for a pair of those gem-studded jeans I used to own, chances are I’ll be able to enjoy PPS for many years to come.

Copyright 2010 Cheryl Butler

Years ago I thought this was a harmless enough way to keep them all busy and out of each other’s hair (and mine).  For hours there wouldn’t be a sound in the house other than the intense swoosh of their markers and a few “oohs” and “ahhs” when something really tickled their fancy.  Albeit it did seem a bit ridiculous that my girls were circling GI Joe accessories and the boys were A-OK with the pink Barbie jeep, but I think the rush they were getting over the endless possibilities, ok the greedy gimme-mine-mine-mine, blinded them from what they really wanted and would actually play with.  Since this was happening at Halloween time, however, I figured they’d forget their 50-gift wish list well before the holidays were in full swing, so what harm could it cause?

I learned fast that I didn’t give my young offspring the credit they deserved.  Out of the blue, hours after the last gifts had been unwrapped I overheard their 4 and 5-year old voices commenting on what they didn’t get, instead of what they did get.  That was a painful lesson to learn.  As I got ready to serve the roasted turkey dinner with all the trimmings—I should’ve been sitting down to eat crow instead.

Well that promptly ended the days I’d let the Toys R Us Big Book babysit my kids.  Thereafter, as soon as those toy catalogues would hit our property, I made sure they were placed in the recycling bins instead of on the coffee table.

Of course, now we have something far more accessible for them to go window shopping with, and my kids are far savvier at navigating it than I am—the internet.  Who needs to touch the glossy pages of a 100-page toy pamphlet when instead, all they need to do is surf the net and print their wish lists, or worse—e-mail me what they want with a CC to my husband’s business e-mail along with a text thrown in for good measure.

Listen, I’m not trying to be a Scrooge here, honest!  I enjoy the magic and wonder of holiday surprises more than my kids do, but when I get home from having a root canal, the last thing I want to do is play back my answering machine and listen to my 10-year old disguising his voice as my husband asking if I remembered to pick up the Play Station 3 that was on sale at Target.

This year, I decided to beat them all to the punch.  It’s no secret in the Butler household that by late October, I’m frantically searching the radio stations for those 24/7 holiday music marathons.  Call me anything you like, but there is something outlandishly uplifting about hearing “Frosty the Snowman” wafting through the house when you’re stuck cleaning the bathroom that five boys under the age of 15 share!

With the festive holiday tunes blaring from the cable channel on TV, I got right to work making the very first holiday wish list I can remember since my days of wearing a training bra.

On a simple white piece of copy paper which I decorated with Save the Children stamps, here’s what I came up with.

Cheryl’s—AKA Wife, Mom, Chef, Dry Cleaner, Merry Maid, Gardner, Nurse, Dog Walker, Chauffeur, Errand Girl and Anything Else You Want Me To Be—2009 Holiday Wish List:

• New bathroom shower liners (preferably environmentally friendly) for all bathrooms
• New wastebaskets for all bathrooms and bedrooms—anything but wicker
• New drinking glasses to replace the soap-laden cloudy ones presently being used
• One (or two) packages of band-aids that I can stash away for those times when we actually have a bleeding cut.  Cartoon character brands not necessary.
• A dozen or so pencils—sharpened please
• A new dustpan and brush—one where string attaches brush to dustpan
• A new-aged wine opener—do I need to explain?

At the bottom of my list of material desires, I scrawled an addendum.

Dear Family,

Please forgive my confusion.  I seemed to have forgotten I already received many of these items at my bridal shower 23 years ago.  Don’t burden yourself by shopping for me, instead, consider giving me something that you can’t find in catalogs, malls or on-line—a holiday season where the focus isn’t on what we think we must have, but instead, what we are grateful for already having.

Love,

Mom

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Copyright 2009 Cheryl Butler

That wouldn’t be the case, however, if good old “Jeopardy!” decided to shake things up a bit with something many women in my circle could relate to–say “Jeopardy! The Motherhood Edition”.  I can picture it now—women all across America vying to get a spot on this show and tuned in every evening at 7:00 PM no matter how many dinner dishes were piled up in the sink.

Mom Contestant #1     “I’ll take “Body Noises for $100, Alex”

Alex Trebec “This happens every time you ask for help with the garbage, cleaning their bedroom or tell them “no” you will never have a pet snake in this house”

Mom Contestant #1 “What is whining?”

Mom Contestant #2   “I’ll take Last-Minute Chaos” for $200, please.”

Alex Trebec “It’s 10 PM on Thursday evening and your 6th grader looks at the clock, then at you and says “Mom, I forgot to tell you something I still need to do.”

Mom Contestant #2 “What is a full-blown last-minute Science Project due the next day, Alex?”

Mom Contestant #3 “May I please have “Family Members” for $500, Alex?”

Alex Trebec “They are the most difficult species of all human beings to decode.  One moment they kind of like you, the next—you’re a dundering chowderhead.  Staple wardrobe items may include a touch iPod, ear buds, low-rise jeans and a scowl.  They can text faster than the speed of light and you must never let on that you know them out in public.”

Mom Contestant #3 “What is a teenager?”

Mom Contestant #1 “Favorite Statements” for $1000”

Alex Trebec “This question is part of every child’s vocabulary at birth.  Many times you will hear this on a rainy day, but millions of mothers are attesting to the fact that they hear it even when their offspring is surrounded by state-of-the art electronics, dozens of books and games, paradise-filled backyards and lots of neighborhood buddies or siblings to play with.”

Mom Contestant #1 “I’m bored!  There’s nothing to do around here!”

Mom Contestant #2 “Alex, I’d love “Losing My Mind” for $1000

Alex Trebec “The phone rings and it’s the school nurse calling.  You let the machine pick up because you are dealing with an electrical crisis where your dryer and dishwasher seem to be shorting one another out each time they are used.  Two of your children are already home sick with the stomach bug and your husband is out of town on business for the week.  You assume your third child is now sick as well, but when you actually speak with the nurse, you learn it’s much worse”

Mom Contestant #2 “What is being told your oldest child has just wet his pants in school?”

Alex Trebec “That is not correct.”

Mom Contestant #1 “What is being told your daughter and her classroom have head lice?”

Alex Trebec “Absolutely correct!”

Mom Contestant #3 “I’ll take “Housekeeping Duties” for $1500, please”

Alex Trebec “For centuries this task has literally brought housewives to their knees.  Originally mastered in the great outdoors, modern technology has practically made this job mindless, but women everywhere agree, no matter how hard they try, it’s never something they can keep on top of.”

Mom Contestent #3 “What is cleaning a toilet?”

Alex Trebec “No, I’m so sorry, that answer is incorrect.”

Mom Contestant #2 “What is laundry?”

Alex Trebec “Yes!”

Alex Trebec “Ladies, we are almost out of time.  Please listen carefully to our final clues.  “Her wardrobe is usually several seasons (make that year’s) behind the times though she’s known to raise a few brows when she wears her big, red cape.  Sleep deprivation cannot dampen her spirits and neither can a disappointing gift from her husband like that of a toaster.  She’s known as self-less, tireless and is always willing to go the extra mile (literally) for the people in her household. She collects no paycheck for the multitude of tasks she performs 24/7 and though she may not be Martha Stewart, she can kiss a boo boo better than any other set of lips in town.  Throw in her ability to fend off all monsters living under beds and gives the best hugs in the world—well, she’s truly one in a million.”

Alex Trebec “Folks—please, quiet down—I am not able to hear one of our contestants because the entire audience and every household in America is shouting the answer so loudly it’s deafening.

“What is a mother?”

“YES, you are all correct, and I urge families everywhere to never forget it!”

Now that’s a show I could watch with my kids.  How about you?



Copyright 2009 Cheryl Butler

It isn’t one thing in particular about java that doesn’t float my caffeine boat—I mean I absolutely love the fresh aroma of a pot of coffee brewing, and believe it or not, coffee ice cream and coffee milk are tops on my list of favorites.  Perhaps it stems from when I worked in a dental office and was on the receiving end of coffee breath! No, just kidding!  For some unknown reason the taste of coffee and I just do not agree.

With that information now aired in public, I think my strained relationship with a good cup of Joe is partly to blame for my latest challenge in life—mastering the coffee break.  Looking back at my working years as a babysitter, a waitress, and then 15 years in the dental field I don’t recall ever taking a single coffee break.  Not a one.  And now that I’ve moved up the ranks to the CEO of a family of ten, my idea of a relaxing break is sitting alone in the bathroom, never mind sitting down with a hot drink for a few minutes.

I got to thinking about all of this recently because we have just entered my favorite time of the year—beautiful fall.  It’s not just because the kids are finally back in school (yes, you heard me correctly) but the change of seasons is just stunning and the crisp snap in the air along with all those freshly sharpened pencils leaves me energized and wanting to learn a few new things myself.  Now, I may not be a gal who actually drinks coffee, but I recently laid claim to a total of eight childless hours each week so before I turn those into a deficit like I did during the last school year, I decided to give those old coffee breaks a whirl.

Being new to this whole break thing, I had to learn a few things the hard way.  You have to keep in mind that this is only the second spell in 16 years that I’ve been alone.  If it’s not one of the kids or my doting husband claiming my personal space it’s the dog, the orthodontist or the nice young man gathering the runaway shopping carts at the grocery store.  So you see, the first step to a successful coffee break was being able to quiet not only my mind but my nerve endings as well.  That said, I don’t recommend scheduling your very first coffee break with acquaintances that have vocal chords or still have young children in tow themselves—what was I thinking?

Timing seems to be an important part of this equation as well.  Never schedule your escape mid morning after eating late at Taco Bell the night before—need I say more!

And then there’s the late afternoon coffee break, which in some countries is referred to as a siesta.  Yours truly sat down the moment after completing the drop off at nursery school only to be awoken by the sound of the phone ringing—“Hi Mrs. Butler, we were just wondering who was supposed to pick up your daughter today—we finished an hour ago.”

Still not ready to give up on this just yet, I actually took out my calendar and my Sharpie and scheduled them in each day.  To bad it was last year’s calendar.

Lastly, I unplugged all the noisy electronics, including the doorbell chimes and I decided to just sit and be still in the moment.  Not knowing anything but the art of frantic multi-tasking, I felt completely out of my element, yet it still felt quite familiar.  My mind began racing—did I remember today’s milk money, who needs their toenails clipped, will I ever get rid of my wonder girdle, why does the dog smell funny, when was the last time I mailed a love letter to my hubby, who is that knocking at my front door?  What?  Yes—someone is knocking at the door.

I regain consciousness and exit my own little world only to find my mother in law standing at the front steps.  Startled, I jump up and begin making excuses as to why I am just lounging on the living room couch and not hovering over the washboard removing the grass stains from one of my five son’s pants.

Clearly I have a lot to learn about mastering the all-important coffee break because the intention is to feel refreshed after taking one, not to feel guilty.  The great thing here is that I have eight glorious hours per week to perfect it and until I do, I will simply enjoy all the trial and error that comes with this and I will never unplug our doorbell chimes again!



Copyright 2009 Cheryl Butler

I met Amy 16 years ago, the day after our oldest daughter was born.  We were in the NICU getting to know our new baby, only one short week after our adoption agency phoned to say a birthmother had chosen us.  Not only did I finally become a mother, I also gained a wonderful friend, one who had just delivered triplets in her spare time.

We’ve been close pals ever since so when my gracious husband suggested I check into the summer-saver airfare deals that were being advertised, I took the liberty of striking while the iron was hot.  I later found out he was buttering me up to take a golf vacation with the guys, but when my Flight #2261 is taxiing down the runway and that precious flight attendant asks me what I’d like to drink—ask me if I care!

Yep, Mama’s going to Denver–ALONE.  Of course, that does come with a wee little price.  It’s wishful thinking that I can simply pack my suitcase in a carefree instant, kiss my husband and kids good-bye and skip all the way to the departure gate.  There are a few minor details to handle prior to take-off.

Let’s see—I will be running away, I mean leaving for a short visit, just days after school begins so with that in mind I must do the following to alleviate any extra burden on my wonderfully considerate and very hardworking husband.

• Make sure all 40-some beginning-of-school year forms are completed and returned. (That task could scar him for life!)
• Count out 5 days of lunch and milk money ahead times 7, and place in marked envelopes with said child’s name and day of week
• Leave master calendar with all PE classes, library and band days. (He’ll thank me for not having to haul the trumpet down to school after the bus is long gone.)
• Review my system for setting kitchen timer in 20 minute intervals each morning so children will not miss any of three buses and will also allow him ample time to get to nursery school on time.  Remind him he will only have 1 hour 7 minutes in between drop off and pick up.
• Make sure all eight children have enough clean underwear for the duration and specifically label who wears boxers and which character briefs and that the Dora the Explorer panties do not belong to our teenaged daughters.
• Speaking of garments—the four teens are on their own.  As for the remaining four—make sure five days of outfits are set aside, named accordingly for each child with two extra per child in case of emergency—better include his too.
• Food shopping and meal preparation should include stocking all favorite cereals (remove toy prizes to avoid fights—or, not).  Pre pack 8 snacks times five days along with juice boxes of choice—hide in extra suitcase where bottomless pits will not think to find them.  (Hope husband can find them).  Stock freezer with decent meals so they won’t be eating Cocoa Puffs or Ramen noodles every night.
• Reschedule all orthodontic appointments. With four kids in braces or retainers, don’t want to push him over the edge.
• Leave explicit directions in laundry room that American Eagle and Abercrombie T-s cannot be placed in dryer.  He’d keel over if these $40 babies shrunk and had to be replaced.
• Call in favors from friends to help transport young ns to bowling, skating and laser tag birthday parties that are all scheduled for same day and time.
• Clean out fridge day before leaving.  Returning to rancid leftover tuna salad and slimy zucchini just wouldn’t be fair—to me.
• Place new batteries in all TV remotes, and label which chargers go to which kid’s Nintendo DSs, cell phones and iPods.
• Leave his mother’s phone number with gentle reminder to call on Sunday.
• Hide all K’nex and Leggo kits.  These require adult supervision—and I’ll be gone. (Sorry honey!)
• Leave subtle hints around house for the new laptop I’d just love to have for our 22nd Anniversary the week after I return. I’m so beyond diamonds.
• Be sure to triple stock toilet paper in all of the bathrooms.  Out of sight, out of mind is what frightens me here.
• Shop ahead for all travel items he will need to take on his golf vacation.  Would hate to burden him with details for his own getaway.
• Find cleaning lady brave enough to come in the day before I return—just to spiffy the bathrooms.
• Lastly, lighten up Cheryl!  Hard as it is to imagine, they will be just fine without you for one little week.  Sigh.

Still worth it you ask?  Taking care of a few incidentals beforehand so I can go visit one of my dearest friends in beautiful Colorado and then return home to my boisterous family of ten that I am going to be missing like crazy the moment I set foot on that plane–you bet it is!



Copyright 2009 Cheryl Butler

There are only so many snide comments one can make about the weather and then even that gets old, so by the third week of drizzle, clouds, whining kids and no sun in sight, I did the only logical thing—packed up all our gear, minus the sunscreen, and headed to the beach.  You wouldn’t believe the premium parking spot I was able to snag, along with a wide open beach to park our blankets, boogie boards, sand toys and bottomless bag of snacks—practically heaven.  This misty day of blah deserved to be interrupted with a batch of homemade sunshine, and I was sure the kids would agree.

I wish I could tell you that my kids were as willing to roll with this desperate attempt to snatch some summer as much as I was, but I would be lying and would hate myself for it.   My peppy plan wasn’t as well received as I had hoped it would be, but my threat to make them start trying on things in their closet to see what fit for back-to-school was enough to lure them into the car.

Once our things were strewn all over the muddy sand, I thought I could entice them into helping me sculpt a triple-decker sandcastle decorated with the most divine clamshells we could find, but they were far more interested in digging through the large sack of soggy snacks rather than digging with a shovel.

OK, so they were just a little hungry.  Now that they had filled up on Ding Dongs and Cheetos, I just knew they’d be interested in a little scavenger hunt, especially when I announced the winner got a prize.  “It’s not another book to add to our summer reading list is it,” squawked my 12-year old son.  Drat, how did he know?

We’d been there all of but 15 minutes and already they had depleted the cooler contents leaving one bruised apple, taunted the seagulls with cookies they had no intention of sharing with them, asked where they could go to the bathroom since the pavilion was closed and then let me know how bored they were and could we please go home and watch Spongebob.

Did they honestly think I was going to waste that front row parking spot for only fifteen lousy minutes of beach-filled ecstasy?  Not a chance!  Nothing that lives in a pineapple under the sea was going to persuade me to take them home, especially knowing that I was returning to a washer machine that had been out of commission for nearly 3 weeks.  Amazing that this 3-year old top-of-the-line commercial front loading washer could no longer handle my 4 plus loads a day.  Lucky for my family, though, I had the wherewithal to rig the Jacuzzi with pantyhose on the intake jets and did the wash like so until my delicate wrists became sprained from wringing out our plush Egyptian-Cotton towels by hand.  I may have had no control over my broken appliance, but thankfully I had control over my mind and stopped that nonsense so the Jacuzzi could be used for more important things like hiding the really good snacks that  I don’t leave for the vultures in our open pantry.

And of course, there was also our hot water tank that was currently on the blink as well.  I am well versed in how things break in threes, so I easily succumbed to having no hot water for nearly the entire duration that the washer was down.  These silly new-fangled gas water tanks that have their own computers—how were we to know the tank was in a computer lockdown because we had blown a fuse when the washer went kaput. We didn’t’ see the urgency in figuring out the problem because our teens were now taking 1-minute showers as opposed to 1-hour ones—the savings was well worth the sacrifice.

With the glorious beach all to ourselves I allowed myself the pleasure of actually sitting in my own beach chair like I see the other grown-ups doing on a hot, sunny day at the beach.  It was everything I could’ve hoped for, minus a great book and a dozen deep-fried clam cakes—this was the life!  Sadly, it was short-lived because the thunder began to rumble and the now black skies opened to let me know this party was over.

The ride home with 8 sandy drenched kids was a breeze because we were the only vehicle on the road.  No sun means no beach traffic which means less time for bickering and poking one another.  My husband, away on business, called home later that evening and sheepishly asked how it was going.  I glanced out the kitchen window to see my 6 and 9-year olds hitting golf balls in the mud with what I think were my husband’s new clubs.  “It’s going great I smirked, just another day at the beach.”

Copyright 2009 Cheryl Butler

Group Leader: “I want to welcome you all here this evening.  What a great turnout!  While I recognize most of the group, I do see one or two new faces.  Could you kindly introduce yourself and talk a bit about what has brought you here tonight and how you think we can help you?”

I felt the warm stares of the 20 or so people in attendance.  I nervously gazed amongst this eclectic mix of real powerhouses—beautifully dressed executives who radiated confidence seated alongside some earth mamas who were giving the term “go green” a whole new meaning.  There were even some funky student types and a couple of foxy mid-life gentlemen who probably thought they were at an eHarmony dating club.

The diversity was very interesting, but I was immediately drawn to the women twitching nervously in the front row, the multi-tasking veterans who really wanted to be there but obviously had a zillion other things they should be doing at that very moment—the PTO mothers.

My Turn: “Uh, hi everyone, my name is Cheryl, and I am a junkie—a volunteer junkie.  I’ve been clean for a couple of hours now, but that’s because I turned my cell phone off in order to attend this meeting.  For me, it all started with the simple joy of baking two dozen teddy bear cupcakes.  The immediate high I felt after I delivered them to my daughter’s nursery school is how I got hooked, and nearly 13 year’s later, I’ve totally lost control.

Group Leader: “Go on, dear, tell us more.”

My Turn: “You see, soon after the cupcake incident, I began fantasizing about living the charmed life of a “room mother” so I made sure I was easily accessible to attain that honor.  Once I fulfilled that 5 times over, it was only natural that I start attending each and every PTO and other school meeting that came down the pike.”

Group Response: “Ooh, we’ve all been there and done that, keep going—its obvious there is more you’re not telling us.”

My Turn:  “The rush I received from attending those PTO meetings prompted me to shoot up with the really good stuff–becoming a member of the board.  With only five children at the time, this was totally doable and there was plenty of time leftover to continue helping at bake sales, rallying to “save the bay” and support every magazine, candle and car wash fundraiser that came my way.

Group Leader: “What else, c’mon, you are amongst friends here.”

My Turn: “Um, yes, well it’s not just my eight children’s school’s I’m involved in, uh, there’s another place, too.

Group Leader: “It’s OK, Cheryl….we know this is difficult, but just say it aloud and let the healing begin.”

My Turn: “CHURCH”   “There, I said it” I’m neck deep in doing the Lord’s work and that’s a high that I just can’t stay away from.”

Group Leader: “Is that everything, Cheryl?  No Girl Scouts, nursing homes, or affiliations with saving the whales or baby seals in Alaska?”

My Turn: “Well, there are all those causes such as collecting for Juvenile Diabetes, the American Cancer Society etc., and during election time I do jump on board and make phone calls for my candidates.”  “Other than that, no, there’s just the ripple effect from having served on committees in the past which somehow follow me everywhere I go.”

Group Leader: “Cheryl, when did you realize you were totally addicted?”

My Turn: “Honestly, for the first ten years, I didn’t notice anything different. I signed up for anything and everything because I wanted to, not because I felt I had to.  Each new duty introduced me to new experiences, friends and feelings of being useful that I wouldn’t have had otherwise. But now my children are getting older.  I have four teenagers who need to be driven all over God’s green earth and this has added an extra few hours to each day.

Group Leader: “Ah, teenagers—say no more!”  “So tell us, how are your extra-curricular affairs affecting your family—are they supportive, resentful, or jealous?”

My Turn: “It really got bad this past spring.  My laptop and I were inseparable and I hid in any closet or crevice I could find so that my kids and husband wouldn’t know I was at it again.”  “Then, my 6-year old son sprained his ankle from hurdling the piles of laundry I had let go and now there are rumors circulating that the leftovers in our fridge are spending more quality time together than my husband and I have had in the past year.”   “Do you think there’s hope for me?”

Group Leader: “Cheryl, thank you so much for sharing and being so brutally honest about your addiction.  There are many that can relate and the key to your one-step recovery program is quite simple.    It’s ok to say “no” from time to time. You will not be judged in a bad light, only you have the power to do that to yourself.”

There I had it.  By saying “no” to a few obligations, I was really saying “yes” to myself and my family.  As I said my good-byes to my new group of confidantes, a paper was quickly handed to me.  Would I kindly be in charge of organizing the refreshments and location for the next group meeting?

With only a smidgeon of hesitation, I locked eyes with the others and said “I’m sorry, I just can’t commit to that right now.”

Group Leader: “Let’s give up a round of applause for Cheryl, folks.  She’s going to be just fine.”

Copyright 2009 Cheryl Butler

As we sail out of another jam-packed school year and cruise into the beginning of summer vacation, I find myself doing what I always do at this time of year—taking deep breaths and reciting any positive mantra I can get my lips around so as not to become overwhelmed with all the schedule changes coming my way.

Presently, I find myself chanting the following two quotes over and over again, and I have that silly old bear himself to thank, Winnie the Pooh. “Oh bother” and “Think, think, think” are staples of mine and have been from day one. Because of  the way my life flows—like a sweet, sticky pot of honey, I am sure author A.A. Milne had busy mothers in mind when he contrived one of make believes most popular fictional lands ever, The Hundred Acre Wood.


Not only am I a sucker for big, beautiful trees I can totally relate to most of the characters in Pooh Bear’s storybook forest.  Piglet, for instance may be Pooh’s smallest and very best friend but he is always up for conquering his fears and seems to want to be brave.  Not only do I see myself in that delightfully pink pig, I also see a couple of my children in his character as well.

And to every family, a little “owl” must fall.  Surely you remember the distinct characteristics of owl—always happy to offer his opinions, stories and sharp advice, whether or not they were actually wanted.  Hmmm, I guess that could be my mother n law (sorry, that wasn’t very nice of me!).  Well, you know what I mean.  We all know a person who means well regardless of whether or not his wisdom is needed.

Moving on, there is everyone’s favorite Hundred Acre Wood personality, Tigger.  Along with his striking orange and black stripes, the lively bouncing that Tigger is known for is what always stands out to me, and his energetic personality has always reeled me in.  Call me crazy, but if I have the choice to be around an active ball of fire or a lump of draining problems, I’ll take the springy route any day of the week.

Enter one of the best-known characters residing in that forest and sadly he’s the one that most people find it easiest to relate to, Eeyore, a very dim, blue-gray donkey who is dismally gloomy for almost eternity. But ironically that’s not Eeyore’s perception of himself, according to him; he doesn’t expect too much of himself and therefore remains quiet for most of the time.  Are you buying that?  I’m not. And the more blessed years I spend on this earth, I realize how many Eeyore’s surround us every day, so in some ways I’m happy we have a character reference like this to point to. Just ask my children—if I substitute their first names with one of Pooh’s friends, Eeyore is the name none of them want to be called, although I do an impressive donkey imitation that would make even Eeyore chuckle.

Now, I would hate myself if I neglected to mention rabbit, and I will let you in on a little secret, that’s because I have always seen myself in his makeup.  He’s always ready to take charge of nearly any situation brewing in The Hundred Acre Wood and has elaborate plans to make it all happen.  That, of course, explains why he is also the chief organizer amongst Pooh Bear’s brood but inevitably his most detailed plans go awry when he gets so caught up in doing it his way.  Ouch!  That’s a tough realization, but since I can’t grow a vegetable to save my life that lets me off the hook somewhat for being totally rabbit-like.

And saving the best for last, there’s the tubby little cubby all stuffed with fluff, Winnie the Pooh.  Outwardly he appears to be made of stuff and fluff but it’s the inspiration taking place on the inside that we all know and love him for.  Known as one of the great morale teachers in cartoon history, he sure is a wonderful role model for today’s know-it-all youth and perhaps even a few complacent adults out there.  He always greets others with a warm smile, sees the good in everyone and is a problem solver in his own way.  Let’s not forget he is brave, lighthearted and funny.  In essence Pooh is a being that everyone wants to be in the company of.

I suppose when school lets out later this month I will hold on to Pooh’s, “Think, think, think.” mantra as I try to come up with fun and exciting plans to keep everyone happy during the two months of summer vacation. At the same time, however, I hope I never lose sight of all the wonderful traits this silly old bear stands for because teaching my kids how to be Pooh-like, is far more important than trying to keep them busy.

Copyright 2009 Cheryl Butler

For the most part, my lists have served me well, sometimes too well.  Once I have items scrawled on a piece of paper, whatever I have written down is now something very real meaning I will move heaven and earth to see that it gets accomplished, regardless of whether or not it was something even worthy of my pen and pad in the first place.


So, when the movie The Bucket List, was released a couple of year’s ago starring Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman, you know I had to take their cue and come up with one of my own.  Mine was a bit more practical than theirs was, however.  I have no desire to go sky diving, drive a race car or go skinny-dipping at midnight in the South of France (not unless I achieve becoming a Swimsuit Model for “Mother’s Illustrated first).  Nonetheless, the items I have on my “Bucket List” are quite significant to me and one of the first items I had down was to master a second language.  Good news!  By sheer accident, which I owe all to my husband, I was able to do this without having to enroll in a single foreign language class or place an order for a Rosetta Stone software package.  (And I hear that product really works!)

When my husband saw my list, only because it came tumbling out of my suitcase, I mean pocketbook, as we waited for a prescription to be filled for one of our children down and out with strep throat a few weeks’ ago, he curiously grabbed it and started reading.  This was quite humbling as I watched my life’s partner reading my lofty ambitions only to watch his eyes widen and then listen to a few chuckles easily escaping his lips.  It’s not exactly the reaction I was hoping for.

Items like spending an uninterrupted (key word—uninterrupted) afternoon in the Jacuzzi eating take out Chinese Food is nothing to snicker at.  And what’s so funny about wanting to strut, I mean stroll, down the beach in a bathing suit without an over-sized cover-up hiding all my sins?  There was no stifling his laughter when he read one of my top 10—-enroll in an assertiveness training program so that I could learn to say the word “no” with confidence.   Alas, though, when he saw the one about learning a foreign language he asked why I even had this one down, seeing as I had already done that.

Perhaps he was referring to my childhood growing up on an Air Force Base in Puerto Rico.  Spanish was obviously the native tongue and at one point, I did speak it almost fluently, but, when you don’t practice and use it everyday, how quickly words like “hola” become a thing of the past.

It wasn’t Spanish he was referring to, however, it was another language that I have been speaking for 15 year’s now, day in and day out and thanks to my charming brood of children, apparently I’ve become quite fluent at it—The Mother Tongue.

Hold on a moment—he just might have something here.  From the moment my feet hit the floor in the early hours of each morning, my Mother Tongue starts speaking, before I’m even awake.  Usually it’s to my 3-year old who is frantically searching for one of her 70 pocketbooks or other important items that she stashed someplace before going to bed.  Without missing a beat my Mother Tongue immediately knows how to change subjects so we can head up to breakfast and avoid a meltdown before 6 AM.

It’s not always that easy, though, as any of us with teenagers know.  By 6:30 AM, my Mother Tongue has to quickly change gears from placating a 3-year old to bribing a 16-year old to get out of bed immediately so she doesn’t miss the 6:45 AM bus!  And then, there is that group known as middle schooler’s who constantly remind us that they know more than any adult ever could so my Mother Tongue must now play the game of wit, always being one step ahead of their pre-teen insight to life.

The Mother Tongue is spoken in our home from sunrise to sundown 7 days a week where occasionally silence is golden and the simple raise of an eyebrow or swift motion of my hand sends a message faster than any verbal prowess I could deliver by tongue.

Thanks to my husband’s astute awareness that I am already very savvy in a second language, I can cross another item off my 100 –item bucket list.  In honor of mother’s everywhere this month, I highly encourage you to create one of your own.  In a little over a year, I’ve crossed 20-some items off of mine, and on days when I feel like pulling the bucket over my head instead of checking off what’s on it, I remind myself that there is one item that I should be checking off each and every day, despite the challenges—enjoying and appreciating my family.

Copyright 2009 Cheryl Butler

There were many questions about what, when, and how this new business had unfolded, but the one I really found interesting was when they asked “Why would you want to do this, Mom?”

As a busy mother I’ve always admired “those people” who came up with a unique idea and then turned it into a business.  How many times I’ve uttered “why didn’t I think of that” to myself over the years.  Well, within the past six months my new business partner and I have found out what it means to be “two of those people”—who come up with a clever idea (or so we think) and turn it into an actual business.

We both have a newfound respect for inventors and small business people because now that we’ve turned our idea into a reality, we have realized that although it’s very exciting, it’s certainly not as easy as it looks especially when you’re already handling the hectic 24/7 job of raising a family, running a household and trying to find the time to brush your own teeth every day. (Never mind flossing!)  But that doesn’t mean it’s not possible either.

Luckily, when you put two determined mothers together who aren’t afraid of a little (a little?) hard work and who accept that committing to a new business means other things must slide—yes, that means we no longer have time to vacuum our curtains or make fresh-squeezed orange juice for breakfast, great things can happen.  For us, that great thing has been launching an innovative company from a simple idea that we shared one day as we were taking a walk through town.

This walk just happened to take place after I dropped my 3-year old off at nursery school for the afternoon.  I certainly couldn’t justify going back home and folding laundry or worse sitting on the couch watching a skin-care infomercial so taking a walk with a good friend was really the only option left.  Not only would we get a few miles of exercise under our belts, but because we’re so apt at multi-tasking we knew we’d be able to tackle several conversations at once, which would then free up time for a refreshing beverage after the walk. (Its true– blondes do know how to have more fun.)  What we didn’t know was that one of those conversations would soon be changing how we’d be spending the rest of our “free” time for the next several months and then some.

To put it simply, while we conversed back and forth about all the ups and downs we were faced with in our lives we realized that we were still able to find something, no matter how small, to laugh about.  They say “laughter is the best medicine,” for a good reason. Scientific research indicates there are real physical and emotional benefits from a good chuckle. Laughter stimulates the release of beneficial hormones and lessens the effects of mental stress.  We couldn’t agree more.  Hence, our idea to combine a much needed laugh with something nearly everyone enjoys—chocolate, gave way to our new business where we would create premium chocolates and include funny jokes inside of each one.

That was the easy part—acting on it was the challenge.  So after many a meeting at our kitchen islands or even better, the bus stop, we laid the groundwork for creating the product we had dreamed up.  Did I mention we usually had kids on our laps or gently tugging at our shirts with a zillion interruptions while all this took place?  We did! Next came the taxing weeks filled with business meetings, lawyer appointments, building our website, financial pow wows, marketing strategies interlaced with food shopping, laundry, feeding the dogs, helping with homework, cooking dinner, carpooling our kids around, working our part-time jobs, and trying to remember our husband’s names.  Determination doesn’t begin to describe the taste in our mouth (other than delicious chocolate, of course) that we inhaled right from the get-go.

And finally, many, many grueling hours later– it happened.  The idea was produced, the legal documents were signed, the business plan was etched, the website was launched, and our product made its grand debut right after Thanksgiving.  Don’t ask what our homes looked like during those first busy weeks, it’s all a blur.  Every precious second was put to good use and if you ask either of our families what they thought, they all had something different to say.

Our younger kids wanted to know if this idea would make us rich.  (You don’t think we’re in this for the money do you?) Some wondered if they could work for us.  They also harbored a bit of resentment from time to time, not to mention we were told that we were getting to be grumpy.  (Oh, that hurt—two ladies who have a business centered on laughter cannot be given the reputation of grumps.)   But then we had our “shining moment” that split second when we unveiled our packaged product to our friends and family who knew we were working on a top-secret business idea and we saw how proud everyone was of us.  We really believed we had a hit on our hands and we now had our family’s support as well.

Nearly six months later, we are pleased (and exhausted!) to have grown our business in such a short amount of time and have even started creating a new product line. This entrepreneur thing isn’t for everyone and although we are known as a “small business” there is nothing small about the amounts of time, effort and certainly passion that we’ve invested—but that is what makes the entire process so well worth it.  Now there is no question as to why we launched a new business nearly on the spur of the moment–in our minds, it would’ve been far worse to take our idea and just file it away for “maybe some day”—because that day may never have come.  As Alfred North Whitehead quotes, “The vitality of thought is in adventure. Ideas won’t keep. Something must be done about them.”

Copyright 2009 Cheryl L. Butler