I'm learning that this whole parenting thing can get pretty tricky. And that seems to be the case, increasingly, as my daughter gets older. When she was a baby, then a toddler, even in those early elementary school years, I could pretty much solve any of her problems with Cheerios or Band-Aids or endless hugs or an extra bedtime story. Not so much anymore. The dilemmas are a bit more complicated -- far too tough for a Cinderella Band-Aid.

And, to be honest, while I'm firm with her when I've come to a decision (I hope she doesn't read this) -- I must admit that I go back-and-forth constantly in my own head as to whether I'm doing the right thing, whether I'm being too strict or too lenient. Ultimately, I have to have faith that I've done my best, and hopefully the right thing for her. And, when necessary, I'll own up to my mistakes. 

The cause for our most recent faceoff is Facebook. My daughter wants to become a member. I've said no, and held my ground now for several years. Sounds simple, doesn't it? But, well, not so much. Many of her classmates have been on Facebook for years with the blessing of their parents. Some, I'm sure, have done this without them knowing. Last year, during a sixth-grade safety program about the Internet, about 70 percent of my daughter's classmates said they were already on Facebook.

My tentative plan, at this point, is to allow her to do this when she turns 13 -- the age required by the Facebook site.  But even then, it will be done with so much parental oversight she may wonder whether it was worth it.

I'm not anxious for her to delve too deeply, too quickly into social media. It's a tough world out there. And I don't like the idea of her lying about her age to get on the site. That's one of my fears about the Internet: so much misrepresentation and lying that causes serious, sometimes fatal, problems for our kids. I worry about her safety in our neighborhood and this county; I'm even more wary of the unseen threats in the wide world of the Internet. I'm about as anxious for her to get on Facebook as I am for her to get behind the wheel of a car.

It's become increasingly difficult as more and more of her friends become Facebookers. My daughter has accepted my stance, but keeps coming back when she thinks I might have a weak moment. She's gotten me on days I thought I would cave -- but I made it through. But it's hard. And I'd be lying if I said otherwise. Some parent friends think I'm overly protective. Others, like I, have struggled long and hard with the Facebook dilemma and reached their decision, whether to stay off or on it, with great difficulty. Ultimately, every parent has to make these decisions based upon what they think is right for their own kids, so I'm not judging others. It's rough for us all. Keep your fingers crossed I can hold out until July!

A mom in Fort Wayne, Ind., forced her 14-year-old son to wear a sign in public yesterday that read: "I lie, I steal, I sell drugs, I don't follow the law."

For two hours, the boy stood along a busy street with the sign hanging from his neck.

Dynesha Lax told news reporters that she took the action because her son has already been convicted of multiple felonies and the court's punishments have done little to correct his law-breaking ways. Sentences to community service have had no positive effect on the teen's behavior, she said "So, today, I decided that if he wants attention, we are going to get him some attention.''

Time will tell whether his mom's approach will do the trick, but the teen told a TV news reporter that he will change his ways.

It's tough love, for sure, but a good move on Mom's part as far as I'm concerned.

(Check it out at http://www.cnn.com/video/?hpt=hp_t2#/video/us/2012/01/11/dnt-wane-kid-stealing-sign.wane .)

What do you think, parents? Too tough, or the actions of a loving mom?

By now you've probably seen the video, or heard about it. And it's disgusting. It shows a 16-year-old girl being beaten with a board and a belt by her father, a Texas family court judge. Because the video is 7 years old, and the incident two years beyond the 5-year statute of limitations, the DA will not be prosecuting. There could be federal charges, and judicial disciplinary action for the judge, who has been put on leave for two weeks while the case is investigated.

Now, the judge admits to the beating but interviewed yesterday and in an ensuing statement through his attorney, continued to blame and chastise his daughter. He said she released the video because he threatened to cut her off financially.

He's missing the gargantuan point.

His brand of discipline is appalling. Adding insult to his daughter's emotional, mental and physical injuries, is his refusal to offer an apology or even to be contrite or conciliatory. The girl's mother took part in the beating by berating her daughter and telling her to take the physical punishment. The mother has since divorced the dad, apologized to her daughter and is making the rounds on TV news shows to describe an abusive family life at the hand of her ex. Her role as an accessory makes me cringe, too.

The fact that this man is a family court judge makes this troubling at best because of his significant role in determining the proper course for troubled families and children. But whether an abuser is a judge or a welder or a homemaker, such forms of discipline are never acceptable. Period. I've yet to be convinced that this kind of punishment is anything other than angry and frustrated parents who need to find an outlet for their rage. Little ones can never be the target, whether it is a spanking or a beating or whatever term is applied. Studies show this is not effective, and is likely to cause lifelong problems for the human being who must endure the rod.

The court administrator in Arkansas County, Texas, said that the judge's behavior in the courtroom revealed that he had anger management issues. The judge himself said yesterday at the time of the taped beating, he lost his temper. My point: This is about his inability to control his rage and thus, to take it out on a child. Sadly, this is being repeated in homes across this county and our nation every day. A sobering comment on our parenting skills.

I call it abuse, and it's never ok.

What do you think?

Just took my daughter to the pediatrician for a flu shot. It's safe to say that she loathes shots, almost as much as me reminding her that there's no one I know who is delighted at the prospect of being stuck with a needle.

On the ride home from the doctor's office, she looked at me, and said in a flat tone, "Mother. You just let them stick dead bacteria into my body.''

Indeed, I said. You're most welcome!

OK, parents: How are you feeling today? Teary? Or were you more than ready to nudge those kids onto the school bus? Or is it a bittersweet day of mixed emotions?

Gotta say, my throat is tight and working hard at holding back the tears. My daughter started her first day of middle school. She got up before her 6 a.m. alarm. She made her lunch last night, and even helped to make breakfast this morning. (I wouldn't mind if that continued.) Her clothes are laid out for the rest of the week. And when I took her to the bus this morning, for the first time, I hung back -- across the street from the bus stop where she had, moments earlier, walked with a good friend to climb into the vehicle that would take her to the new world beyond elementary school. (Anyone have tissues.)

But I still got my first-day photos! Last week I was looking at pictures of her first day of kindergarten. Honestly, I couldn't tell you how we got to this point in time, seven years later, so quickly. My parent friends run the gamut this year -- some sending 5- and 6-year-olds off to their first day of school, and others with kids going into high school and college. A time of new beginnings for us, and especially for our children. Wishing you a good start to it all! Don't forget the Kleenex!

We had our share of mishaps during vacation last week, but my sister gets top honors. Friday, she grabbed me in the hallway of our beach house and whispered: "I washed Aaron's cellphone." I thought she meant that she wiped a bit of jelly off of her 10-year-old's phone, until she confided that it was in the pocket of a pair of shorts that were in a super load of colored clothing that made its way through the wash cycle. She didn't discover the mega-clean phone until she was transferring laundry to the dryer. Oops.

I felt her pain. About two years ago, I microwaved my cellphone. I was running a bunch of errands and somewhere between the grocery store and the post office my phone found its way into a tub of popcorn I bought at the video store. When I got home, I put the popcorn in the microwave. Only when the oven started making sparks instead of popped corn did I realize what I had done. My daughter, away on a Girl Scout camping trip at the time, told me upon her return home that I needed to be a little more responsible with my things. Wonder where she heard that?

My forgiving nephew, however, took a more pragmatic tone when my sister told him about the phone. "I was due for an upgrade anyway, Mom."

Checked in with Park City Center for the 2011 back-to-school fashion trends. For girls, sweater ponchos, worker pants (in lots of colors), the tuxedo top (it's big on ruffles), the glam tee and the folk dress. On the boys' lists are rugby shirts, '90s-style hoodies, "Wild West shirts'' (which actually looks more like lumberjack toppers to me), worker chinos and the cardi-coat, which, as you might have guessed, is a kind-of cross between a sweater and a coat.

I'm not particularly interested in the styles, because my daughter is of an age now where my fashion suggestions are cooly received. (I have not,  however, given up my role as fashion censor.) And in these styles I'm reminded once again of fashion's cyclical nature, as the folk dress (peasant dresses of the '70s) and rugby shirts (remember the '80s and '90s) are retailored styles of old -- ok, maybe not so old.

But what really got my attention were the "worker'' pants for, I'm thrilled to note, both boys and girls. I'm banking on the fact that these styles will live up to their labels and bring a fall of tidy bedrooms, clean countertops and an entryway I can maneuver without tripping over backpacks and lunchboxes and sneakers.

We all, or I'd like to believe that most of us, think our kids are pretty awesome! They're smart, talented, eager to soak up the world around them ...

But every once in a while I'm reminded that, well, they're kids.

After a quick visit with my parents last night, my daughter and our dog ventured out to the car. I stayed in the house just a few minutes longer. From the kitchen window, I watched my daughter get into the car and start to make faces in the sideview mirror. She was grinning, tilting her head, exaggerating her appearance and then laughing out loud.

I kept watching, noticing that she was contorting her face, with help from her fingers, in a way that I couldn't quite figure out from my vantage point. 

When I got into the car, I asked her what she'd been doing. Her response left me speechless, but laughing.

"I was trying to fold my tongue!''

It's so much fun to play with little ones in the baby pool. Tossing toys in the air. Tightly holding toddlers while they "float'' on their backs. Swishing them around in the water, and watching them delight at splashing every living person who comes within an 18-inch radius. But I admit, when my daughter was this age and I was incessantly worrying about how much sunscreen had washed off, I occasionaly fantasized about what it would be like -- someday -- to actually go to the pool and relax with a book or chat with a friend. Having just a teeny break from playing, and not worrying every second whether she was getting too close to the edge of the pool when she should have been napping or eating, seemed like a luxury far in the future.

Well, someday came Sunday and now I'm fantasizing about the days that I never read or word or shut an eyelid while we were at the pool. I found myself wishing they were here again. I took my daughter and a friend to the pool Sunday and, gasp, decided to stay too. We, of course, sat in different places -- so that I would not embarrass them -- but I still positioned myself where I could get a constant good view -- and, unbeknownst to them, their every move. About an hour into our stay, they came over and asked if I'd ever let my daughter come to the pool without me, but with friends. Someday, I told them. But I took the hint and moved my blanket a little farther from the girls and their growing group of pals. I read, and worked on a crossword puzzle. I even caught up with friends. I guess the worrying never ends, it just takes a different form.

Sometimes my job gets to me, and that's particularly true when I see story after story after story about adults accused of abusing and neglecting their children. Maybe you read that a Missouri couple was charged Wednesday with first-degree child endangerment. Both pleaded not guilty. According to wire reports, their youngest of four children was 4 months old on Jan. 10 when a pet ferret gnawed seven fingers off of the baby. Only the baby's two thumbs and part of a pinkie finger remained when authorities arrived at the home. The parents called 911 at about 2:30 in the morning. They said they were home sleeping;investigators said cellphone records showed that they were in several different locations texting and calling one another.

Authorities believe the mother who abandoned a battered newborn outside Weehawken High School in Newark, N.J., was a well-regarded teacher at a neighboring school district. The 1-month-old baby was found June 10 clad in a diaper and wrapped in a blanket, according to authorities, who said the child's injuries included a fractured skull and multiple broken bones. The mother is being questioned but has not yet been charged. 

In a report today, police said a northeastern Pennsylvania man admitted to killing his newborn daughter with a cinderblock May 28. Both he and the mother, who gave birth to the baby in a car before the father took the child into the woods and killed her, were charged in the death, authorities said. Police said the father indicated the couple could not afford the child.

Sadly, we have too many of these cases in our own backyard. Police recently arrested a Warwick Township dad for punching his 4-month-old daughter. The child survives, but suffered traumatic brain injuries and fractured ribs, according to news reports.

Do we bring these little ones into the world only to abuse and neglect them? Do couples, like the one in northeastern Pennsylvania, not know that adoption would have been a wonderful option for their baby? Do we still stygmatize people who choose to place their babies for adoption? Are support services inadequate? Are we so me-centered that we won't take the time to put our children ahead of our own pleasures?

I don't have the answers, but I'm sickened by it. And I'm increasingly disturbed by our almost casual acceptance of it. We, as a society, seem to be more outraged by puppy mills and mistreatment of animals, than our own human babies. If a dog is tethered outside in inclement weather, we call the humane society. But if we suspect abuse of a child, are we more apt to shy away from involving ourselves in someone's private family affairs?

We need to be doing more. Much more.

Because I was running late for work this morning, I saw an interview with a mother, her pseudonym is Jennifer Rabiner, on the "Today'' show. The piece described this mother's profound feelings of disappointment in her older daughter, from infancy, which was chronicled in an essay for Redbook magazine (redbookmag.com -- search for Jennifer Rabiner).

Before learning more about her story, I realized that I was immediately hostile toward this woman, but as I learned more I felt more empathy for her -- and, especially for her daughter. It was a struggle to get this child to eat, to sleep, to take an interest in the world around her, to engage with other children. She was a crier, who needed to be rescued. And through it all, her mother seized every opportunity to let her daughter know what a disappointment she was.

Her shocking admission: "As you can imagine,'' this mother wrote, "I felt guilty that I was basically repelled by my own child. But  honestly, the guilt was overshadowed by a colossal sense of disappointment.''

"Sophie'' even began tearing out clumps of her own hair, and later started scratching herself.

It was not until this little one was 7 that she was diagnosed with a growth hormone deficiency.

I'd encourage you to read this mom's story, and, if you're so moved, to share your thoughts here. This is an extreme case, but it also brings up questions about the rest of us: Do we always like the children we love? And perhaps the same question could be asked of them. Is this mom someone to be chastised for the treatment of her daughter, or applauded for seeking help and sharing her story with a wider audience -- where there may be others who feel the same way, and can benefit from her confessions. I don't have the answer.

When I picked up my daughter at dance tonight, her greeting left a little to be desired. Mom, why are you wearing THAT shrug with THAT dress? It's black on black, my 11-year-old Chanel wannabe told me, and the textures are all wrong when worn together. A few moments later she corrected my grammar by pointing out that an intended adverb was missing the "ly.'' She was, indeed, right. But that didn't make me less annoyed. Then, when I asked about her day, she responded with shock that I'd think she would know everything that happened in her Lancaster County school  -- you would have thought she was touring Paris all afternoon and that I made the ridiculous assumption that she would have a clue as to what was happening in North America.

At that point, I demanded quiet in the car. Complete and uninterrupted silence. I like to think of myself as fairly intelligent, and somewhat insightful. But now that my daughter is 11 -- soon to turn 12 -- I'm not so sure. All of sudden, I don't seem to have much on the ball. My sister has a 13-year-old girl. My sister-in-law has two daughters, one who just finished her freshman year of college and another in her late 20s who's about to be a mom herself. My sister and sister-in-law, by their daughters standards, are also significantly flawed.

We enjoy wonderful relationships with our daughters. But what's with the nitpicking?

Perhaps it's a painful rite of passage. Maybe daughters can be occasionally super-critical because when they look at their moms they see themselves. And how about this for a revelation: My mother has noted that all three of us mothers -- my sister, sister-in-law and I -- are too critical of her at times. Ouch!

"A mom forgives us all our faults, not to mention one or two we don't even have,'' wrote freelander Robert Brault.

Maybe that needs to work from a daughter's direction, as well. Meanwhile, I'm thinking about pairing cotton and taffeta tomorrow. Wonder what the resident fashion critic will say about that?

It is Mother's Day, and I am childless -- my daughter is at a sleepover at a dear friend's home and most assuredly having the time of her life. But we'll be together later this afternoon with grandparents, and an aunt, uncle and cousin. My daughter will spend the remainder of the day finishing a school project on Egypt. And I'll be nearby, offering the encouragement and glue, staples, magic markers and scissors. But that's OK. That's what we moms do.

I hope I'll remember to thank my own mom today, now 79 years old, for all that she's done for me -- and, even now, still does. I hope I'll also remember all of the women in my life who, though perhaps they do not have children of their own, have always been at the ready to nurture and love our kids. Teachers. Neighbors. Aunts or cousins. I don't know where my daughter and I would be without them.

Wishing you all a glorious May 8. To all women, whether moms by birth, adoption, happy circumstance or a nurturing countenance, Happy Mother's Day!

Don't know how I missed this, but just came across some kid trends for 2011 that were identified earlier this year by Parents magazine on the fourth hour of the "Today'' show. See what you think:

1. Look for little birds, perhaps inspired by the Twitter craze, to adorn nursery decor, toys and children's clothes.

2. Jeggings, which cross a jean look with a legging fit, are hot, hot, hot.

3D. No longer limited to the movie theater, the magazine notes that 3D images are everywhere: latptops, cameras, video games and more. However, this comes with a word of caution. Nintendo has noted that too much 3D viewing can be harmful to the eyes, particularly for children under age 6.

4. Video chatting. Skype, Parents notes, is great for moms and dads who travel and want to keep in touch with their kids. And it's a godsend for families with military parents serving far from their homes. Wonderful, too, for grandparents and other relatives who lives states away.

5. Add to the list spooky toys, perhaps inspired by the "Twilight'' fervor. For little kids, there are stuffed animals like cute bats -- I know, those two words are a weird combo -- and picture books.

6. Movie remakes of the classics: Think "Gnomeo & Juliet."

7. Finally, what Parents call "Mommy and Me Beauty,'' which are lines of lotions and other skin-care products for mom and baby. Some are organic. One among them, California Baby.

What would you add to the list?

Still having a bit of insomnia trouble. I've been awake for hours -- it's just after 5:30 a.m. now -- and the time change hasn't helped. Nor did the early morning rain. It's too darn dark and wet to get up, but no use wasting waking hours. So here I am and working to put the time to its best use. I have a couple of thank-you notes to write. One to a dear friend who so kindly made dinner for my daughter and me last week. No reason to do it. Just because she was thinking of us. And another to a cousin, who is a treasured friend, for a lovely lunch on Monday. In this case, I arrived at the restaurant -- it was my day off so maybe the head was somewhere else -- without my purse. That's right, no cell phone, no makeup, and worse, no wallet. Thus, no money or card to cover the lunch, which she so graciously took care of. (I can tell you exactly why I forgot the purse -- I was busy loading bag after bag of kid stuff in the car, so my stuff never made it off the kitchen counter.)

Anyway, my lack of sleep is probably for the best. PSSAs start today, so this means a good breakfast for my daughter. And perhaps even getting our lunches made without running around the kitchen like I'm in some kind of timed relay, which of course, I always am. And if I play my cards right, I might even get a few more pages of "The Help'' read. It took me a few dozen pages to get into the rhythm of the writing, but now the book by Kathryn Stockett has my full attention. (Anybody out there read it? What did you think?) I could always do some dusting ... no, no use getting overzealous about my insomnia.

So enough of the pre-dawn ramblings. I'm off and into the day. May you have a good one.

It found us: The sickness that's had people dropping like flies finally invaded our home, even though we did everything we could to elude its grasp. So, at about 10 o'clock, last night, after a happy weekend of  dinner with friends, a party with more friends, my daughter's sleepover followed by a restful holiday topped by an evening of ballet class, she was stricken with a stomach bug and fever. (I know, busy weekend ... maybe too busy, and a lot of exposure to every illness making its rounds.)

Is there a more helpless feeling, than when your child is sick? I can't think of one that surpasses it. And doesn't it always seem like the worst hits at about 3 o'clock in the morning ... when the world is at its darkest, and oh-so quiet? And doctors' offices are closed? That's about the time foreheads are hottest with fever, the thermometer passing 100 and ever-edging upward. It makes the world an incredibly lonely place. As it was for me last night, as I took my daughter from her room into mine so I could check her through the night. She was so sick, and so uncomfortable. It seemed the new day would never dawn.

But it did, and with it her fever broke.  So the day, for my daughter, will be one of rest and hot tea. For me, it will be work at home mixed in with laundry and snow shoveling. But all is well, or getting there, as I proceed with a sense of relief mixed with equal parts exhaustion and accomplishment. May your days be healthy ones!

The flu and other late-winter maladies seem to have a tight grip on Lancaster County. My daughter, who's managed to remain healthy though started coughing a bit last night, said out of the two sixth-grade classrooms at her Penn Manor school, 18 students were absent yesterday. And that's just sixth grade. The illnesses seem to be: upper respiratory ailments (and sinus infections); strep throat; and of course, my favorite, stomach bugs.

And it's crossing the country: My fourth-grade nephew in Chicago called his grandparents last week to announce that he had strep throat. He was actually quite proud of his achievement.

We're pushing Vitamin C, and lots of sleep. Hand washing. Other parent friends are taking preventive measures with Airborne. Hopefully it will work, though right now these illnesses seem to be ganging up on adults and kids alike. Even our dog has been listless.

Stay well, and if you have secrets to keeping the flu, and the doctor away, pass them along.

We cheer our kids as they grow, learn and reach milestones, but for many of us parents, the latter can be bittersweet celebrations. We understand that our children are growing up and older and, if we're doing our jobs right, becoming increasingly independent. Well, allow me to confide, all is extraordinarily bittersweet for me this year as my daughter enters into the final months of sixth grade and, alas, elementary school. She enjoys being at the top of the heap, so to speak, and is increasingly looking ahead to middle school. I, on the other hand, find myself doing a lot of glancing back, thinking about the special moments of first grade, second and third grades ... throughout it all, holding on to each day of sixth grade with a white-knuckled grip.

And so it was yesterday that I assisted with her classmates' final grade-school Valentine's Day party. I made brownies. I helped the teacher ready the room with treats. I filled paper cups with orangeade. I took pictures. But, for the most part, my daughter and her friends didn't need a lot of attending to. Far different from the Valentine's Day party I helped with when my daughter was a little kindergartener. Back then, these same kids, now on the verge of teenhood, delighted at serving as little postmasters and postmistresses at a valentine-filled post office in the corner of their first classroom. The mind plays tricks, because I remember it vividly ... so it must have been only yesterday.

So it is that we move on. And, on this post-Valentine's Day, my heart breaks as it rejoices.  

My daughter was born in China. For us, the Chinese New Year is a big deal, one we've celebrated with gusto all of her life. The New Year began this week and, appropriately for us, it is the Year of the Rabbit -- the year she was born. (I still remember buying a stamp, carved in the shape of a rabbit, for my daughter when we were in Hong Kong more than a decade ago. And receiving another as a gift while in mainland China.) We've marked the holiday at huge parties in Philadelphia. At smaller dinners in our dining room. And with thousands in NewYork's Chinatown. We've hosted celebrations for family. And have attended many more festivities with friends over the years. What great memories!

We've also made a big deal out of the celebration at school. In my daughter's early elementary years, for example, we gave gift bags, adorned with Chinese characters, to each one of her classmates. They were filled with coloring papers, trinkets and other items related to the new year. We'd share the traditions through music and lanterns and picture books. We'd bring in treats -- traditional Chinese fare complemented by brownies and fruit-juice boxes. And of course, for years, even when the bags went by the wayside as she grew older, she continued to distribute "hung bao'' or red envelopes to all of her classmates. Tradition calls for lucky money, usually given to Chinese children, to be place inside. Chocolate "gold'' coins seemed more appropriate for school. All of our efforts were a hit with teachers and my daughter's classmates. Most importantly, my daughter could share her heritage in a positive way, and it made her feel proud!

This year, for the first time, my daughter elected to forgo the Chinese celebration at school. I've coaxed, oh-so-gently. But no, Mom, not this year. Not even the hung bao. I'm chalking this up to the fact that she's in sixth grade now and perhaps what she did as a second-grader no longer holds the same appeal. We'll still be celebrating with dear friends on Sunday. The red envelopes are on the kitchen countertop, waiting for me to fill them with lucky money. It is my hope that she has outgrown only the traditions of how we mark the day at school, but not her heritage itself. For all of us, I tell her, the past, traditions, heritage and family hold a special place. I hope it's one we'll still be able to find.

It is, indeed, the safety of our children that is paramount on these icy, cold, snowy days, not to mention that of the folks who need to get to school to make their education happen. So I understand the reason for snow days, or should I say snow "daze.'' But, truly, this is one incredible winter. AND I'VE HAD IT! And I'm even a lover of the season.

The school delays, school closings, delays that morph into closings have finally won. I dream about shoveling; I rarely know what day of the week it is. School cancellation lists scroll endlessly through my head, much like the commercial jingles you can't stop humming. A seven-day forecast suggesting a storm of any sort puts me into a panic. I no longer have the stamina to adjust and readjust and readjust school days and activity schedules and doctors' appointments. And trying to do it all while getting to work is pushing me to the edge of the snow drift. Even I have my limits, and they've cracked beneath my snow-filled pumps.

So I am flying the white snowy flag of surrender and most parents I know -- many complaining of fighting kids and lack of regimen -- will happily help to hoist it up the pole.

Still, there is hope in the day: Prognosticator Punxsutawney Phil predicts an early spring! No, I don't typically get my weather reports from a woodchuck but I'll make an exception in this case. And I'll do it with the same fervor with which I'll ignore the prediction of our more local Octorara Orphie, who says winter's going to stick around for six more weeks. Give me the good-news groundhog! 

One of the things I've learned, but somehow keep forgetting, is that the best-laid plans are at risk of imploding. That's especially true at the holidays when things are scheduled to the milli-second, to the last piece of cookie dough, to the final gift tag, to that one last  calendar entry. It's a time when we especially want things to go perfectly, even if they don't come close the rest of the year.

A day before Christmas, my sister and her family arrived here from Chicago. I expected them in the afternoon so I had the morning to run those final errands. I got home at 12:05, five minutes later than I'd scheduled, to begin cooking -- a final batch of cookies, the first of two coffee cakes, entrees for the Christmas morning brunch, a fruit tray for later in the day. They arrived slightly later than expected, but that gave me a few minutes of extra kitchen time. But moments after they began sticking package after wrapped package under the Christmas tree, my sister pointed out that my dog was sick. And so she was -- in the living room, the hallway, the entrance way and the dining room. That was my sister's family's cue to skedaddle to my brothers' house in Lititz. I was left cleaning the carpets and floors for the next hour. Not how I planned things.

Christmas Day I was scheduled to work at my job. But before heading in at 12:30, I hosted a Christmas brunch for 12. All went well. Until about an hour and a half after I arrived at work. My sister called to say that she was in the emergency room with my dad, who would end up being hospitalized for five days and miss Christmas night activities and the big family gathering Dec. 26. Health problems were not part of the plan. Then came the snow, which nearly, but did not, upend other scheduled events. Not how I'd planned things.

Which brings me to my one New Year's resolution: to no longer be a slave to my itinerary.  As somebody once said if you want God to laugh, tell him about your plans.

Christmas is nine days away: How are you faring? Made the cookies? Wrapped the gifts? Planned the Christmas dinner? What about Christmas Eve? Cards? Housecleaning? Teacher gifts?  I'm trying to follow my own advice of taking it all in stride, smiling a lot -- even if through clenched teeth -- and succumbing to an occasional glass of wine, or morsel of chocolate, to keep myself together. I must admit, I'm doing better this season than in years past and I haven't even pulled any all-nighters. An achievement. But this morning, not such a good one. I'm feeling very frazzled, though it was the day this week I managed to leave home with my keys, my phone, my wallet and my to-do list in tow. Another achievement.! Right now, my biggest concern is the state of my home: a disaster! And relatives from Chicago arrive next week. But I'll take it one floor and sink at a time -- and do it with Christmas music playing in the background. And you can be sure, I'll cut more than a few corners. As Erma Bombeck wrote, "Housework, if you do it right, will kill you!''

My daughter and I watched part of Oprah's "Ultimate Favorite Things'' show on Monday. It was the second of back-to-back giveaways, and the last of her talk-show TV run. If you've never seen it, Oprah talks about the things she loves -- everything from a basil keeper to a Coach purse to a Pottery Barn jewelry box holding diamond earrings to, yes, even a Volkswagen Beetle -- and then presents every audience member with one of each item. As in, a basil keeper, the diamond earrings, the purse and the car ... and much, much more.

The audience goes wild and, several times on Monday, I could barely watch. Mostly because I wanted to be in Chicago at that show receiving those same gifts. I was jealous. Big time. Then my daughter pipes up: "Mom, wouldn't it be great to be there?! You know, to give away all of those gifts?''

Oh my gosh! Instantly, I felt very small and selfish. My daughter had the right idea, and certainly without any prodding from me. I was focusing on the receiving, my 11-year-old on the giving. It's not that it wouldn't be fun to get some gifts, she confided later, but imagine giving so much away. Lesson learned, just in time for Thanksgiving! 

I'm on vacation from work this week, and have been fortunate to spend some time volunteering at my child's school. That's where I was much of today. And I'm glad for it because, once again, I learned something from our kids.

About 15 minutes after the start of the school day, there was a fire drill. It was Friday. Early dismissal. The book fair shelves and displays were still adorning the main hallway, where they remained a tempting diversion for young eyes (and hands).

But when the alarm rang, those kids had a job to do and nothing got in their way. I'm talking 5-year-olds and those readying for middle school. They were up. Quiet. Out the door in orderly single file. They waited on and around the playground for instructions from their principal, and teachers, before reentering the building. It was a sight to behold. I remain impressed.

They take direction better than most adults, I said to the building secretary. And I wasn't kidding.

Just minutes earlier, and on most mornings (and afternoons), the dropoff and pickup lines at schools across Lancaster County are a traffic jam of SUVs and minivans. It can get hairy. And while parents, grandparents and other seemingly able adults have been told (and told and told) the rules, there are always those who can't (won't) follow them -- and in some cases put the safety of children at risk. Unlike their children who understand how their conduct and demeanor could affect their own welfare and that of others, adults can serve as pretty disappointing examples. 

So I'm suggesting that grownups take a cue from our kids. Maybe observe a fire drill or two. And put those lessons to use when we're behind the steering wheels in idling cars, and tempted to swerve around the two vehicles ahead of us because we want to get back home two minutes sooner. Probably not worth the risk, our wise kids would tell us.

I worked at the LancMoms.com both at the Baby and Toddler Expo most of Friday. Great time! Lots of parents, grandparents and, of course, babys and toddlers. There were hot dogs, subs, ice cream and other foods to be sampled, not to mention dozens of displays that tout everything from alpacas to consignment clothing to children's health to makeup and massages for mom (and dad)! Bob and Larry of Veggie Tales fame strolled through the crowd as did several mascots including Cylo. There was plenty of entertainment, and contests and lots of giveaways to boot! But the best part of the day was the people -- vendors and participants alike. A great crowd! If you didn't make it today, get down to the Lancaster County Convention Center on South Queen Street tomorrow (Oct. 30.) The Expo runs 9 a.m-6 p.m.!

My daughter's mind is made up: no more viola. It's a sad day for me, because I wanted her to continue and was hoping time would prompt her to do just that. But she has fulfilled her end of our bargain -- to finish her commitment to a second year --  and so, the viola case is closed.

I believe it's very important for children to have a music background. I know it will serve them well through school, and the rest of their lives. I wanted my daughter to not only appreciate music, but to read it, to play it, to feel it and to embrace it.

In second grade, she started piano lessons ... just like I did when I was that age and, believe it or not, with my first piano teacher.  But unlike my situation, the piano's appeal lasted only so long. What I stuck with through high school, she was done with by fourth grade. We made a deal that she complete the year before quitting but, on reflection, I'm not sure it was a wise move. Getting her to practice took nothing short of calling in the National Guard. Usually, it was accompanied by threats (mine) and tears (hers and sometimes mine). So what started as a pleasant adventure into the world of whole notes and scales and sheet music became nothing more than a horrific chore.

When she showed interest in the viola, I was thrilled. I'd played strings when I was younger, and thought that maybe the viola, not the piano, was her true musical calling. But by the second year of lessons, she wanted to stop. I pushed on. Surely, in time, she would find the joy I knew in instrumental music. But once again, the practicing became a grueling chore. She simply lacked the interest. But I held out hope when both her viola and music teachers encouraged her to continue, lauding her talents. But alas, it was to no avail. So she has put down the bow for a final time.

My daughter says she doesn't want to play viola because she doesn't like to practice. But that's not really true. She's diligent about her homework. The ballerina in her is never too tired to rehearse pirouettes at home.  Never does she complain about a "Nutcracker'' rehearsal or a dance class; rather, she is eager to get there. She is passionate about art and reading. She can't get enough.

I suppose the lesson here is more mine, than hers. I want her to play the piano. I want her to pratice the viola. And, I think if we were both honest, we know that she stuck with the instruments as long as she did because I wanted her to -- and she didn't want to disappoint me. Funny how we parents want our chess players to be football standouts, our soccer players to be thespians, our swimmers to play lacrosse. So I guess I'll let her be free to be who she is and if I can't let go of the viola, maybe I'm the one who should start the lessons.

If you've never been to Harvest Days at Landis Valley Museum, mark your calendars. It's Saturday and Sunday, Oct. 9 and 10, at the museum adjacent to Hands-on House at 2451 Kissel Hill Road. It's a wonderful family adventure; better yet, it's couldn't come at a better  time of year.

My daughter and I were recently reminiscing about how much she enjoyed picking out her own jack-o'-lantern -- especially when she was younger. But there's much more than that. There is food, music and wagon rides. In addition, you can be part of early Pennsylvania German life by taking in demonstrations on blacksmithing, dyeing wool, chair caning, broom-making, and bookbinding. But that's not all. There is also apple butter boiling -- yum! -- and hearth and bake-oven cooking.

One of our favorite stops has always been the children's tent where there are hands-on activities for little ones that include crafts, and to which my daughter has devoted hours of her time over successive autumns. Harvest Days is open 11 a.m.-5 p.m. Cost is $12 for adults, $10 for seniors and $8 for youth, 6-11. Children age 5 and under are admitted free of charge. For more, visit www.landisvalleymuseum.org .

You'll love it!

As I was preparing dinner the other evening, I heard a gasp in the dining room. The kind of sound that comes when someone comes face to web with a giant spider, crashes her bike into the mailbox, or catches a pinkie in the car door. My heart skipped a beat as I rushed into the dining room, where my daughter, clearly overcome with shock, read aloud the words of the catalog she was holding. "They're retiring Felicity!!'' she gasped.

OK, it was a bigtime overreaction, but once I put down the first-aid kit and scolded her for scaring the heck out of me, we quietly flipped through the pages together.

By "they'' she meant American Girl, the company that's made millions upon millions through the sale of dolls representing various periods of our country's history along with their extensive accouterments. And I mean extensive! There are also "Just Like Me'' contemporary dolls that resemble the little girls who play with them as well as books, videos, children's clothing, beach towels, games, accessories -- you name it, they've got it. We've enjoyed a stage show and afternoon tea at the AG restaurant in Chicago and, just last month, took in brunch at the Fifth Avenue store in New York City. It is, indeed, doll heaven on earth! (In November, Hands-on House Children's Museum will once again stage its American Girl fashion show fundraiser; we've attended twice! Check it out at www.handsonhouse.org .)

Over the years, my daughter has amassed several of these dolls -- something I said would never happen. These are pricey playthings, that have come her way thanks to Santa, grandparents and aunts and uncles. And the announcement of Felicity Merriman's departure, along with that of her American Revolution-era friend Elizabeth, still gives gift-givers time to snatch up what's left of these dolls in anticipation of the holidays. And snatch they will.

I was sad when I learned that Felicity was going the way of Samantha, an early-19th century doll who was retired a few years ago. Partly because Felicity was among the first in this long line of dolls. But partly because my daughter's once-obsessive interest in these 18-inch friends -- let's just say we got our money's worth -- is retiring as well, leaving us with hatboxes stuffed full of small coats and shoes that serve as reminders of hours upon hours spent together. Playtime that began with the dolls eventually pushed our imaginations beyond their limits -- empty boxes turned into furniture adorned with tissue blankets. You know how that goes.

Thanks for the memories, Felicity!   

Over the weekend my daughter lost another molar. It wasn't actually lost; she pulled it herself and the tooth came out neatly in her right hand. This is one parenting job my daughter has spared me -- and I am sooooo thankful to her for it! Over the years, I've been at the ready to handle any parenting task, no matter how glorious or gory. And I still am. But the whole tooth-pulling thing really sends me into orbit. Weird, but true. Fortunately, she's had help and guidance from her grandfather and Aunt Sheila. And it's during these times that I am more than happy to retire to another room -- in a neighbor's house.

Ehow.com offers tips for kids and parents. So for those of you who might be at loose ends over pulling teeth, here is its advice.

1. Be sure your child washes his hands thoroughly with antibacterial soap to remove as many germs as possible before he sticks his fingers into his mouth. Then he is ready to begin to try to pull out the loose tooth.

2. Wiggle the loose tooth back and forth. Do this over and over again until the tooth is as loose as possible.

3. Try pulling the tooth upward and out with your fingers. If it refuses to budge, repeat Step Two. If the tooth is extremely loose, you should be able to remove it without a problem.

4. Try eating an apple with the loose tooth. This will sometimes jerk the tooth loose from the gum.

5. Let an adult try to pull the tooth. (Uh-oh, count me out on No. 5.) If the child experiences pain, it is a good idea to wait until it becomes a little looser or let time take care of it -- when the tooth is ready to come out, it will.

6. Put pressure on the bleeding gums with a towel or gauze pad once the tooth is removed to stop the bleeding. Have your child lean slightly forward to avoid swallowing blood which could upset the stomach.

7. Help your child put his tooth under his bed pillow so the tooth fairy can find it easily.

Thank goodness for No. 7, the one part of this whole ordeal at which I excel!

Here I sit, on the eve of yet another school year. It should feel familiar to me by now. My daughter's room has been thinned of old books and paper trash and clothes that are too small -- all to make way for that which will be exciting and new on Monday. At least, for her.

But nothing about this year feels comfortable for me. I am struggling this time around, even more than the morning I put her on the bus bound for her first day of kindergarten. I still remember her warning as she climbed the bus steps: "Remember what the principal said, Mommy. Don't follow the bus. The driver calls the police when she sees someone behind her who shouldn't be there.'' I obeyed -- kind of -- hurrying instead to meet the bus at school to make sure she and her Dora the Explorer backpack arrived safely and happily. Which, of course, they did.

Every first day of school since I wait for her bus outside the front door, near the flagpole, and take a picture. This will be the seventh round for our tradition, which she has grown to tolerate with a smile. And I love her for that! But this is the last year of elementary school, which reminds me yet again that my daughter is growing up.

As I drive myself to school on Monday I'll wonder, once again, where the time has gone. Why the tick of the clock seems to quicken with each passing year. And hopefully remembering, as I reluctantly let her go, that the present is indeed a gift worth savoring.

Not so many days ago, I wrote about the conversation all America became privy to when a dad asked his young daughter, on NPR, if she had ever been disappointed in him. She told him that yes, she had, and explained that his absence from her life for a period of years was inexplicable and hurtful.

I was moved by this idea of a parent seeking such information from a child. Typically, it is we parents who routinely, perhaps sometimes mindlessly, dish out our approval or disapproval of youngsters' behavior. Perhaps the roles should be reversed once in a while.

I posed the question to my daughter: Had she, I asked, ever been disappointed in me? Her response was painful -- initially because it didn't take her long at all to come up with an instance when I had, indeed, let her down. About two years ago on a weekday morning, she recalled, our puppy had caused major havoc in the house. We were running late for school and work. There were lunches to be made. I'd not quite gotten through a pile of papers I'd brought home from the office. I couldn't find my shoes. I'd had enough. I lashed out, promising her the dog would have to go because she was causing too much work. Of course, I didn't mean it. I love our little Sophie. But angry, tired and frustrated, I let a small matter get the best of me and succeeded in sending a fourth-grader to school in tears. I apologized to my daughter that very morning and reassured her that our pup was a beloved member of the family who would remain so. Yet the damage was done, and an impression made. My daughter remembers the pain, fear and worry I laid on her that day. And so do I.

Just a few days ago, USA Today published an interview with actress Emma Thompson, who wrote the script for the new "Nanny McPhee'' movie, in which she also plays the title role. In the interview. she talked about parenting and how hard it is to get it right all the time. She confided that she tells her own young daughter when she gets it wrong, and promises to learn from her mistakes and try to do better the next time around. Not a bad approach to parenting.

Listening to a piece on NPR en route to work this morning, I almost stopped the car to be sure I would not miss a single word. An 8-year-old girl, Kioni "Popcorn'' Marshall, was talking with her dad as part of the StoryCorps series, which is designed to celebrate lives through listening.

Listen I did.

Kioni's parents were separated for five years of her young life. Now reconciled, they and their family were the subject for this brief but extraordinarily touching exchange between dad and daughter. The father, Beau Harris, asked his daughter if either of her parents had ever disappointed her. Each had, she told him. Her mother because she waited until Kioni was 5 to broach the idea of meeting Harris. Her dad had been a disappointment, she said, because he had been absent for so many years of Kioni's life. But he made her proud when, as she put it, he "came to my life.''

Hearing a grown man ask his little girl whether he'd been a source of pride and disappointment was deeply moving. In many ways, it was almost a revelation. And it got me to thinking. I've never asked my daughter how I've made her proud, or in what ways I might have made her sad. The roles in this whole child/parent thing are typically in reverse. We parents easily share prideful moments with our children, but just as quickly express our disapproval or sadness when they come up short -- in homework, on the soccer field, in relationships with friends.

I think I'll broach the topic with my daughter this weekend, and see what she has to say. Her response might make me feel ashamed, or joy-filled. Either way, it's a conversation we should have had long before this. 

As I was finally making my way upstairs last night, my daughter called out, "Mom. Did you fold the laundry?" I wasted no time in launching into a lecture about my hard life. A full day at the office. Then running around to pick up and drop off kids and pets. Dinner to make; a kitchen to clean up. Some time for office work at home, then bill paying. I didn't even get around to dusting and vacuuming the downstairs hallway. I only have two hands ... and I went on and on ad nauseum. (You should have heard me!)

My daughter said nothing.

I walked directly into the laundry room, and atop the washer and dryer was that clean load of laundry. All neatly folded. Only those items that were too high for my daughter to reach were left out for me to put away.

Foot, with high heel, went directly into mouth. Finally, I was at a loss for words. And it was a good thing. I was thrilled with her, and disappointed in myself. There were lots of hugs and endless thanks that continued this morning. My daughter's growing up. Maybe I should follow suit.

My daughter and I just finished watching Kevin Sullivan's "Anne of Green Gables'' movies, a Canadian made-for-television series. We loved them, and HIGHLY recommend them. The first of the three movies was made in the mid-1980s. They're absolutely great family viewing, but keep in mind that each movie is 3 to 4 hours, so you might want to pace yourself. The characters are rich, and the scenery beautiful. My daughter has read all but the last two of the "Anne'' book series. She gave lower marks to the final movie adaptation, "The Continuing Story,'' because it strayed too far from the book plot. It was also the darkest of the three. The first two movies get a cumulative four thumbs up from us! The movies are great for a rain day, and, according to my daughter, the books are wonderful fare rain or shine. Although I haven't read them, I will now.  

June 10 marked our last day of rushed mornings and evening homework -- at least until August. When I picked up my daughter, I couldn't help but smile as I saw her rush through the school doors and step into the sun. She was happy, and it showed. The kids could wear flip-flops for these final few hours ending at 11:30. That -- the footwear and the shortened school time -- got rave reviews! Her report card was stellar. And there was time for pictures and hugs with this year's beloved teacher.

My daughter was also thrilled at spending time with classmates and her new teacher in what we'll be next year's classroom. The one that will be her headquarters for sixth grade and the final year of elementary school. Many students don't know who next year's teacher will be until the new year is about to start. We like the way our school does it. A lot. It gives students an opportunity to meet their new teacher and get a feel for their surroundings-to-be. (Thanks Penn Manor!) It's the perfect way to tie up a great year, and prepare for what's to come. But first, we'll enjoy our summer!

I don't know where I've been the last couple of months, but it became apparent this weekend that I've been ignoring one of the biggest fads to hit in, well, the past couple of months.

If your kids, or your kids' friends, aren't sporting thin, rubbery bracelets crafted into colorful shapes -- butterflies, kites, hearts, guitars, drums, giraffes ... well, you get the picture -- they're still being rocked to sleep or have children of their own.

Boys and girls are donning these bands by the dozens. A package of 24, depending on the brand, is under $5 or $6. They are one hot trade, and stores can't keep them in stock. While my daughter and I were standing in line at Centerville Cardtique on Saturday -- Silly Bandz in hand, of course -- we learned from a teacher that they're becoming a distraction in some classrooms. They've also caused some fights and, thus, are morphing into contraband. Still other teachers, realizing their allure, are giving them as rewards for jobs well done.

As I resist the urge to use a couple of them to tie up the celery and keep the egg carton closed, I wonder what my daughter would say if I forced her to wear rubber bands as a fashion statement. Gotta believe I know the answer to that one!

As I'm helping the Easter Bunny put the finishing touches on a basket for my daughter, I came across some interesting numbers:

The Associated Press reports that we Americans will spend $14 billion on everything from candy to eggs to Sunday-dinner trimmings this weekend as Easter typically ranks fourth behind Christmas, Valentine's Day and Mother's Day for spending. And next to Halloween, Easter is the sweetest holiday as each person will spend $17.29 on candy alone.

I've done my part to help the E.B. and the economy, filling several baskets with treats, though mixing it up a bit this year with sweets as well as other small gifts that will be inedible, but unexpected. Tonight we'll color the eggs in anticipation of Sunday's festivities. And, by the way, if you don't know what to do with all those hard-boiled eggs, keep in mind that April 5 is the beginning of National Egg Salad Week. We should all have plenty with which to celebrate! 

There's nothing April Foolsy for my daughter and the fifth-grade classmates at her school today. This morning was the long-awaited "health movie'' that she and her friends have been whispering about for weeks. It all began, to be precise, at 9:05 a.m. While she and her female friends stayed in one classroom, the boys gathered in another.

So far, my daughter has been reluctant to allow me to engage her in conversations about the topic of the day. "Ewwwww, Mom,'' she says. We'll see how it goes post-movie.

The day has long-been anticipated. Weeks ago the school mailed letters advising parents about the movie. We needed to return a slip giving permission for our children's inclusion in the event, facilitated by the school nurse. And adults were invited to view the movie in advance.

Roll it back to my own fifth-grade "movie'' experience. To my knowledge, no letters went home. No permission was sought. No movie previews were offered.  And the boys got an extra recess while we girls remained in a darkened room with the teacher, no nurse. (Am I the only one of a certain age who remembers it that way?)

As far as I know, however, the changes brought on by adolescence are unaltered. And the facts of life remain the same.

As I quickly flossed my teeth at a red light just a few days ago -- I did have the wherewithall to be sure no one was watching -- I realized how acute my time crunch has become. Practicing good dental hygiene at an intersection isn't a great idea, but it exemplifies my desperate need for MORE time. I have not a single milli-second to be squandered. And the multitasking must keep pace.

What am I doing wrong? I make lists. I've given up procrastinating. I try to plan ahead with meals. I'm part of multiple car pools staffed by other frazzled moms so as to minimize our time as chauffeurs. If I could, I'd get a jump on the next work day while I sleep.

But I've come to realize that no matter how organized I am, life happens. Grandparents become ill. The dog chews up the electric bill. The bathtub won't drain. The ballerina is at the dance studio, but the pointe shoes are at home. The job runs late. The roast planned for today's supper isn't in the freezer; then I remember it was Sunday dinner two weeks ago.

I'm still in a book club, and we meet this Friday -- one of the last luxuries of leisure time I've allowed myself. I've read approximately 11 pages of Amy Tan's "Saving Fish From Drowning.'' Perhaps the title could apply to my own life as it is now. Yet I'll go, even if I haven't finished the first chapter and don't really have the time, and hope that the other female compatriots at the table will throw me a lifesaver. I need one.

Life has been much more difficult than I'd like to admit these past few weeks. Both of my parents have not been well, and the days are now a blur of emergency room visits, trauma unit vigils, infirmary stays, long days, sleepless nights, doctor consultations, CAT-scans, blood tests, hospital coffee, and worry-filled e-mails and phone calls between my brothers, sisters and me. It has been emotionally draining for all of us, my parents included. I just want everything to be the way it was. If only I could give them hugs, put bandages on their ailments and make everything better. Funny, that's what my dad said about us as we kids got older -- no longer would a parent's easy remedies fix life's bigger hurts.

Yet even now, as my parents approach their 80s, I see them as I did when I was a child. Working. Busy. Taking care of their children. Still in their late 30s, early 40s. When I look at them, my mind turns their gray hair dark. It erases the walker my mother now uses. It sees past their aches and pains. My mind plays tricks on me. But the image of them as young and healthy is one I can't shake any more than my deep, deep love for two people I would do anything for. Anything to make them better. Anything to hold on to them forever, though I know life's course.

It does look, at long last, like they are, finally, on a road that will take them back to their home, just in time for Dad to break ground for a garden and Mom to pull paperwork together for taxes. They want to putter around their house. To visit with friends. To spend time with grandchildren -- the first great-grandchild is on the way -- and more than anything else, to be with each other. Spring has never been more welcome. 

Winter weather is wreaking havoc on everything from roads to rain gutters to family routines ... and I've had enough. (Yes, it's true, I'm a lifelong winter enthusiast who's no longer feeling the love for the present season.) School closings and delays are taking their toll, as are what seems like never-ending adjustments to the routine because of canceled ballet classes, rescheduled family events and alternate child-care arrangements.

But then it hit me: Maybe I should put a notice in the paper and call the local tv station to announce that I've decided to cancel myself. Not permanently, of course. But, because of the inclement weather, I'm putting the brakes on my commitment to the laundry, the grocery shopping, the dusting, the trash toting, the carpooling, the bill paying, the vacuuming, the cooking, the dog caretaking, and the bathroom cleaning. While I'm at it, I'm going to terminate my concerns about the state of the garage, the paper piles breeding at the far end of the dining room table, and the shirts awaiting a hot iron. Sounds like a plan that will probably, in reality, resemble more of a postponement. I just remembered: Girl Scout cookies are stacked high in my house, I'm not sure what's for dinner, and the trash hauler comes Monday. So I'm looking ahead: Let's hope nobody cancels April!

I wanted snow, and boy did we get it! Yes, I still love it, but the back-to-back storms pounding the East Coast are even giving me, the winter adorer, pause. I was waste-deep in the white stuff earlier today as I slogged around the back of my house to make sure all of the vents were clear, and the window wells empty. I ventured to work during the weekend storm and, gratefully, made it to and from safely. While my daughter sledded with friends on Sunday, I oh-so-gently pushed gargantuan piles of snow off my roof. And then shoveled all that fell to the ground. I've got the aching back and bruised knuckles to prove it. And as a blizzard kicks up outside as I write this (Wednesday), more shoveling awaits ... and then some ... and then some.

Still, while I dig through the snow, I'm thankful that I have a home and sidewalk to look after. I'm sure many of the people seeking refuge in local shelters would be grateful for the responsibilities that come with a home. And I'm grateful that I'm healthy enough to tend to these chores, and that my daughter has friends with whom she can have some fun.

And, on a lighter note, I'm sure that my neighbors appreciate what the storm forced me to do: finally (Feb. 7) remove the Christmas decorations adorning the front of my house.

I'm a winter lover, which immediately puts me in a very small minority. I actually like the cold, and regard a fresh snowfall as one of nature's most beautiful offerings. I love playing in the snow with my daughter, and the dog. And who doesn't enjoy a mug of hot chocolate topped with marshmallows when you're done? I was raised in the Chicago area, where the biting cold on a windy February day felt like it could slice the ears right off the sides of your head. The winters here, by comparison, are a bit tepid -- and to a winter enthusiast like me, a bit disappointing.

It looks like this weekend, however, is going to be a doozie -- a dose of the Midwestern storms I grew up with. I'll be helping to put out a newspaper through much of it, but I hope I'll have some time to savor the snow. A quote by an unknown author on the Internet notes: "When it snows you have two choices: Shovel or make snow angels.'' Enjoy!

It's almost impossible to think about much else than the people of Haiti and especially the smallest among them who are homeless, hungry, orphaned and at the risk not only of nature's elements, but human predators as well. The United Nations estimates that as many as 1 million children lost at least one parent in the devastating earthquake that ripped through this small country Jan. 12, according to an Associated Press report today.

Pictures on TV, and those I see on the wire here at the newspaper, are frightening. The AP notes that some children are being released from hospitals with no one to care for them; there simply are not enough beds. Some are begging in the streets. Others who are on their own have been "fortunate'' enough to find their way to "Child Spaces'' set up by Save the Children, according to the AP.

There is certainly relief and comfort in the images of little ones cradled by relief workers or others en route to new parents in America, France and the Netherlands. But there's no ignoring the thousands of children, infants and toddlers among them, who are feared to have lost both parents to this horror.

There are many avenues through which we can help. Make sure you deal directly with an organization that you know you can trust. Often, that is through your local church, synagogue or temple. To make a donation through the American Red Cross, call 1-800-RED-CROSS, or the Salvation Army, call 1-800-SAL-ARMY OR go to www.SalvationArmyLancaster.org.

This is just a start. If you know of local relief efforts that you'd like to share with other families eager to help, please do so here or add a forum posting on the LancMoms site.

I'm still thinking about a 10-year-old boy, Stanley, who is the same age as my daughter. When he arrived in Pennsylvania from Haiti days ago, the AP reported, he was one of a few children in that group still awaiting a home. "I don't have a family,'' he told an adult accompanying the children. "Do you want to be my family?''

Maybe there are myriad ways we can all be part of that family. 

There's a load of clean laundry in my dryer. It's been there a couple of days. The reason? Contour sheets. Next to ironing, I hate folding these sheets more than any other domestic task. And no matter how much time I devote to it, the sheets look the same when I push -- AND I MEAN PUSH -- them into the linen closet shelf as they do when I pull them from the dryer. Argh! Is it just me? Is there some secret to neatly folding contour sheets that someone can divulge?

It's Day 5 of the new year, and I'm still determined to exercise more and make healthier food choices. (But first, I'm getting a pair of Uggs!) I'm going to try a new recipe every week, er, month and be diligent about good breakfasts for my daughter before she goes to school.

I'll devote more time to becoming, and staying, organized. The paper piles will be thinned, kitchen cupboards cleaned and old condiment bottles (wedged into fridge shelves) pitched. I'm going to put my keys on the key holder every time I get home from work -- I can only imagine the time I'll save looking for them in the morning. I will have tidy closets. My cell phone will always go into the purse pouch where it's intended, not into the bottom of the black leather pit where I can never find it.

The dog's teeth will be brushed daily -- OK, weekly.

And I'm going to do a better job of staying in touch with friends who have slipped between the scheduling cracks of my calendar. When all is done, I'm going to carve out a little free time for myself, assuming I'm not face-down-on-the-floor exhausted. Now, if I could just find those car keys.

I've already written about my attempts to destress the holidays. So far, I'd give myself a B-. My daughter's involvement in COBALT Dance Co.'s "The Nutcracker'' -- a tremendous experience for both of us -- has really altered the schedule this year. But I'm managing to get things done despite even less time than usual. The tree, finally, is no longer wearing just its skirt. Most of the shopping is done. And the Christmas cards are winding down. I've accepted the fact that this may be the first year we will not bake a single Christmas cookie. And that's OK.

Surprisingly, however, and despite the stress of a full work and holiday schedule, I'm smiling and enjoying these days leading into Christmas -- maybe even more than I have in years past. I don't know what's different. But something is definitely new this year. Maybe, as I get older, it's a keener sense of the significance of family and friends in our lives, and the joy that finds us when we're not looking for it ... An unexpected gift that appears at the front door on an especially difficult day, as happened to me this week ... A nighttime prayer of my child who, at a time when we adults wring our hands over my mother's walking difficulties, offers thanks for the walker that's so crucial to helping her get around ... Other moms who care for my child when I can't, and the pleasure that comes from returning the favor ...

I'm still as tired as ever, but renewed by the joys of the season. I'm glad they're finding me, and I, them.

I promised myself that I would not let this season get the best of me. I would not allow excessive expectations drain the joy from the holidays. How am I doing? Not so good. Well, it is true that I'm not pushing myself to be the perfect mom and hostess this season. But I must admit, it's killing me on the inside. A busy work schedule and a hectic calendar for my daughter have combined to make Christmas 2009 one to remember for what I haven't accomplished, and might never get done. Here's where it stands.

About half of my Christmas cards are mailed. The others are strewn across the dining room table, along with address books, scraps of paper with assorted other addresses, and books of stamps. The outside decorations are up, though I'm still missing one light for a downstairs window. I finally got a wreath. And then actually put it on the door. The Christmas tree is in the stand, and in the living room. Not a single strand of lights nor an ornament hangs from its branches. It is naked, or at least semi-naked: It is wearing a skirt. I have some of the presents wrapped, but only about half of the shopping done. Not one Christmas cookie has been pulled from the oven.

Somehow, I still picture myself sitting at a clean kitchen counter dressed in designer clothes and wearing an apron to sprinkle red and green sugar on cutout cookies as I listen to Bing Crosby sing "White Christmas'' as a twinkling tree blinks its lights on stacks of presents that were purchased and wrapped months ago by the organized woman I don't think I'll ever be. As the song goes, "If only in my dreams...''

Am I one of the only mortals left who has not yet read even a single sentence from the "Twilight'' saga by Stephenie Meyer? I think I'm going to have to succumb to the hysteria and get a look at what has so many people crazy for these books -- and movies. (And I'm not just talking kids -- I'm talking moms, too. Many of my friends and family have devoured every page.)

"New Moon,'' the second in the vampire saga, debuts in theaters Friday and I must admit all the fuss has me a little more than curious. I loved scary books when I was younger, and remember curling up on the sofa in the den to watch oooooold Bela Lugosi movies late at night. OK, I know "Twilight'' is a far cry from that. My niece, who is in love with Robert Pattinson and has his pictures all over her room, might roll her eyes at me just about now.

Still, I think my daughter, 10, is too young for the books. Does anybody out there have a different opinion? And what about the movies? Something we should be sinking our teeth into? (Sorry, couldn't resist!) Help from moms who know something about this would be as welcome as a sunset to a castle full of vampires. (Sorry, again!) 

It's been a while since my last post. Sickness, vacation, sickness and an atypical amount of chaos on the homefront have taken a toll. But we're back and ready to roll, or so I'm trying to convince myself. If you've been hit by illness this season, you know that the fatigue and cough that hangs on ... and on ... and on ... can be a bit much. Even our dog became so accustomed to seeing the thermometer, she got a hold of it the other evening and had it in her mouth, correctly I might add.

But today is a new day and it's on to the holidays. We're ready. OK, to be honest, not really. I've done nothing to set the stage for the busy weeks to come. But I'm telling myself that all is well ... that by gosh we're going to roll with it this year. No panic attacks. No stressing out. What gets done gets done. And we're going to enjoy the next several weeks and hope that 2010 brings the peace, happiness and prosperity that eluded far too many people in the past year. Now, if I can just hold on to those thoughts...

... OK, she didn't actually ingest it, but she chewed the heck out of it. To the point that I need to call the credit-card company and request a new piece of plastic. The bright side? It's certainly one way to curtail spending on credit. And I should be happy that our four-legged ball of fur didn't take the card out for a shopping spree.

Having a dog in the house again -- our beloved golden retriever died several years ago at age 14 -- is wonderful. Our young miniature schnauzer is loyal and loving. She's got a fun personality. She is a wonderful companion for my daughter, who's learning the importance of respecting and caring for animals. Oh, who am I kidding? Sophie is good for me, too. She has a soothing, calming effect when, for example, I settle in to read a book after a long, hectic day and she curls up next to me. And she's an energetic walking partner.

However, Sophie's stamina knows no end. That's a diplomatic way of saying she's a bit of a rascal. She has a mind of her own, and she doesn't like it when she thinks she isn't getting enough attention. That's probably why she's ventured into the shower and destroyed at least three of my bath 'scrubbies. She chewed the buckle on a brand-new pair of black pumps that were an expensive gift from my sister. (Yes, I still wear the shoes; I've got them on today. I just hope nobody gets down on the floor to get a closer look.) She gnawed off the corner of a quilt made by my grandmother, and another corner on the duvet for my bed -- both of which were restored to their prior condition by a wonderfully creative local seamstress. (No, I am not that person.)

Drop something on the floor, and Sophie's in and out with the speed of light. That's been her M.O. She loves to run around the house with socks and varied unmentionables that drop out of the dryer. We end up chasing her down the stairs and, to her delight, around the dining room table over and over again. Once she actually jumped onto the table, but we put an end to that pretty quickly.

Early on, she ate an earring that slid off a bedroom dresser and sent us, tearfully, to the veterinarian. With their careful help and reassurance, the jewelry passed naturally as did, we thought, her cut-chew-eat-and-run phase. Receipts, greeting cards -- irresistible! She was particularly interested in some of the PTO book fair cash and checks I had at our house when she was just a little pup. I had everything in my purse, ready for a bank deposit the next day. I neglected to completely zip the purse and well ... Trying to piece together miniscule bits of 5- and 10-dollar bills at midnight will never make my 10-best-ways-to-end-a-day list. 

Anyway, things were much improved until the credit card incident. Maybe it's because she turned 2 last week. That has me wondering whether we're entering the terrible twos (do dogs have those?). Or is it an aberration? I'm hoping for the latter. Meanwhile, we'll keep doors shut, zippers zipped and clumsiness, mine, to a minimum. Yes, every dog has her day -- but she's going to have to share it with me!

An "American Idol'' family we are not. But when the new season of "Dancing With the Stars'' begins, as it does tonight, count us in. We love it!! I don't know what it is about the show that hits just the right steps for us ... maybe it's the music, the costumes, the glitz, the fact that it's live TV, or the pleasure of watching people move around a dance floor in the tech-obsessed 21st century. Or maybe it's just that it's one show that my daughter and I both enjoy, and can spend time watching together.

We critique along with the judges (often we spend as much time evaluating Len, Bruno and Carrie Ann as the dancers themselves) even though I understand even less about dance than my ballet-student daughter. But we have learned more than we ever thought we'd know about the waltz, the samba and the quick step.

I'm biased this season. I'll be pulling for my favorite "Dancing'' pro, Kym Johnson, who's paired with one of my teen idols, Donny Osmond. (Yeah, go ahead. Try and figure out how old I am. Shouldn't be too tough.) My daughter is taking a wait-and-see attitude, however. She says she wants to assess the talent. I have a meeting tonight -- argh! -- so my daughter's going to fill me in on what I miss. Hope it isn't too much.

See you on the dance floor, or more correctly in our case, on the living room sofa!

How's it going moms, dads, grandparents? I don't know about all of you, but we're into Week 2 of school and things are pretty quiet. And that's good news. So I'm giving myself a solid B+ as a supporting player in my daughter's educational/extracurricular endeavors. On the upside, we're sticking with routines and a good bedtime. Lunches, when she's not buying at school, are made the night before. By my daughter. Homework is done on time and, since our near miss at the bus stop on the first day, we've done a much better job of getting to the transport on schedule -- even after the pickup time was changed to a terrifying five minutes earlier. My daughter made it to school with her viola for the first fall lesson. I've even managed to whip up a few comfort-food meals. Best of all, she loves school.

This week is the test, however, as we take a courageous leap into all of her activities. On the downside, I forgot to sew the elastic straps on her new ballet shoes -- something we realized as we raced out the door for her first class of the season last night. (The old, tight shoes had to do.) When we arrived, we realized her pointe shoes were still on her bed. So it was back home, then back to class. BUT, we put all of the Girl Scout patches on her vest last night. Twenty-four hours before the meeting! You have no idea what a triumph that was! And I've even remembered that I need to take a few dozen cookies with me to tomorrow night's PTO meeting, which falls after "Meet the Teacher.'' Stll, I  can't shake this nagging feeling that I'm forgetting something.

Has anyone seen the dog?

Lately, I just can't seem to get enough of "Clean House.'' If you haven't seen the show on the Style Network, an organization-focused/design-savvy/motivational crew of four goes into a house filled to the rafters -- and I mean, filled to the rafters -- with stuff that hasn't been used, in some cases never opened, or should have been tossed years ago. In most cases, the pros are able to pry the junk from the white knuckles of the home's dwellers, sell it at a neighborhood garage sale and use the proceeds to transform the inside of the house into inhabitable living space. (Although, I always have the same question at the end: How long does it stay that way?)

Closer to home, my sister, Beth, and sister-in-law, Sheila, are inspiring forces on that front. They don't and won't tolerate the clutter. I'd like to be more like the two of them but, well, not so easy. It's not that my house is as bad as the ones on TV. But I have a lot more "stuff'' than I'd like. And the show has inspired me to start pitching that which junks up our home and our lives. Like my daughter's school papers from those early elementary years that I've had difficulty parting with. Like the stuffed animals that breed when we sleep. Or the piles of paper that find their way onto the dining room table because of the "but-I-might-just-use-that-coupon-someday'' or "I'll-deal-with-it-tomorrow'' mentality.

I must say, we've made great strides this Labor Day weekend. (We had time to relax, but the labor we expended has been worth it.) My daughter's been motivated by the news a desk is destined for her room. But not until something was done with the books, the millions of miniscule pieces that comprise her Polly Pocket entourage, the Barbie dolls that have seen better days, and the, I'm embarrassed to write, dozens of magic markers that no longer mark. The work continues, but we're feeling pretty good about the improvements. Of course, much of the stuff we've held on to isn't so much an attachment to the stuff itself, but to the memories it represents. We'll have those even when the garbage bags hit the curb, and others are enjoying the toys and books that have served their time here.

Now, if we could only get the "Clean House'' crew to redesign the basement family room.

I've been awake since 2:45 a.m., tossing and turning. Finally, I gave in and got up. I can't sleep and have had several nights like this for the past week or so. I've counted so many sheep I need a new calculator. Even the dog won't get up with me anymore. Several friends are experiencing the same thing: Maybe I'm just a sympathetic insomniac. Or maybe it's the change in seasons. Maybe it's my age -- I think I'm going to deny this one, as I have a birthday next week and it's a big one. Maybe I've got too much on my mind. Maybe I need to get more exercise. Maybe I need to chill (OK, I know this one is a definite.) Maybe I just need a cup of tea and a crossword puzzle.

I hate when I can't sleep because I don't get enough of it as it is. I look up at the ceiling, which I assume is there but can't see because it's way too dark, and listen to the cicadas, or at least I think that's what I'm hearing, and the volume keeps rising, rising, rising until I tell myself I need ear plugs covered with ear muffs topped with a pillow and comforter. But that would be really annoying, and then it would be impossible to get comfortable. Meanwhile, I'm thinking about all that I need to do, but can't do until the rest of the world is up. Then I fret about whether I'll fall back to sleep just before the alarm goes off and that I won't hear it when it does. And that I'm going to be so exhausted for work tomorrow (really, today) that I'll be good to no one. (Would anyone notice if I napped under my desk around, say, 3 p.m.???)

If anyone has a remedy, please share. Oh, the tea kettle is whistling. Wish me luck! I know I'll need it.

I'm off work, at home. It's quiet. I'm drinking a cup of Snickerdoodle coffee and I can't hear anyone anywhere moaning two words I've come to loathe: "I'm booooored!'' Life is good. We're back to school and, with the exception of a few snafus, the first day is off to a fairly smooth start. It's tradition for me to walk my daughter to the bus  -- which we almost missed this morning -- and then race over to school and get a picture of her getting off of the bus. All went as planned and my daughter, who is truly happy  to be back in the classroom with her friends,  is taking in the first moments of fifth grade. Meanwhile, I'm gearing up mentally for a full fall schedule of ballet, Girl Scouts, piano, viola, PTO, etc., etc. For now, I think I'll just enjoy my java -- maybe head for the bookstore before lunch with a dear friend. The calendar can wait.

I can't believe ... that most of the summer is looking over our shoulders ... that we got the last purple pencil box at Staples ... that after organizing my daughter's fifth-grade closet we agreed, agreed, that she didn't require much to start the year ... that purchases met my "appropriateness'' standards  and her "fashion-trendy'' expectations ... that she told me, at the mall, standing amid racks and stacks of all things new, that there were lots of items she actually didn't need ... that she's carrying an argyle-styled backpack to school (ahh memories) ... that she's so excited to return to the classroom and will do it in her first pair of contacts ... and that while I'm not at all ready for her to begin the first of the last two grades of elementary school, I'm eager to get back into a routine.

So I'm forecasting a smooth landing on the first day of school as we coast along this last week of summer vacation. Keeping the fingers crossed that it stays this way.

Today, Aug. 14, is International Nagging Day. (Who has the energy and the time to come up with these things?) Anyway, I hope I won't have to resort to actually annoying my daughter with scoldings and reminders, but it will be the backup plan when we begin the  annual get-the-bedroom-ready-for-a-new-school-year-a-thon later today. It's going to mean a lot of trying on of last year's clothes (hers) and shoes (hers) ... and even more emphasis on throwing away old school papers and other clutter (hers) that is spilling out of her bedroom and into the hallway. If we're still smiling by the end of all of this, and especially if we're not, it will be a good time to enjoy something a bit sweeter: National Creamsicle Day!

By the way, Saturday is National Best Friends Day! And I'll stop there.

I was already running behind schedule this morning when "Today'' show co-host Matt Lauer got me even further off-track. Consider this, as I did while rooting through the closet for my black high-heeled shoes:

Tweens account for $43 billion in spending power.

Seventy, that's 70, percent of them want their own credit card.

Tweens watch, on average, 40,000 TV commercials every year.

Sixty-seven percent of them wear popular, or the right, labels out of fear of being teased.

And the peer pressure isn't something to scoff at: about one-third are teased.

The stats were part of a segment with Martin Lindstrom, author of "Buyology: Truth and Lies About Why We Buy.'' In a report on his focus group of boys and girls, ages 9 to 11, it quickly became evident that kids know the big-name labels. And they're well-aware of which ones suggest wealth, status and an easier time at school.

I guess that's good news for the folks pushing everything from video games to jeans. A bit more sobering for parents and, in the end, the tweens themselves. I have some questions for my daughter, and all of this will be information I'm going to put to the test when we begin our back-to-school shopping.

It also made me think hard about my own buying habits and whether I'm overly influenced by a name, or a particular brand. Might be a good time for me to do some self-examination my own.

Thoughts, anyone?

Today is the day: I'm selling my daughter's first bicycle, complete with training wheels and helmet. She outgrew the 16-inch Barbie bike a long time ago, but it's been hard for me to part with yet another tangible reminder of her littler years -- even though she's pedaled far beyond those days. So I've filled out the card that will go on our for-sale sign at work. Gosh, it's hard to let go. If that isn't enough, she informed me yesterday that it's time to clean up the bulletin board in her room. I truly didn't know what she was talking about. But then I went in and took a good long look. It is layered with pre-kindergarten art projects and mementos of toddlerhood, pictures of her when she was a baby. It's all little-kid stuff, she told me in an exasperated tone, "and I'm going into fifth grade.'' Oh how sobering to realize that the board in her room was really more for me than it was for her. So tonight, down comes the baby and up goes the tween. Where is the time going? 

Sitting in church yesterday, I looked down and saw that my daughter had a spiral notebook opened to a very looooooooong list. (My apologies to Pastor Larry for the inappropriate diversion during the service.) Upon closer inspection I saw that it contained her back-to-school needs, everything from highlighters to planners to backpack to lunchbox to erasers. She'd even labeled the list "Draft.''  You've got to be kidding me, I thought. It was July 19. School starts Aug. 31. How many more "drafts'' would there be? I can't seem to formulate the perfect grocery list until I'm back from the store and lugging bags into the house.

 Why can't I be more like my daughter?

A few days ago I got a call from my bank; I apparently left my debit card at a local gas station. I didn't even know the card was missing. The bank called to tell me it had terminated the card and would await word from me before opening a new one. Argh! Thank goodness someone is watching over me. In May, I microwaved my cell phone, which had, unbeknownst to me, slipped into a bucket of popcorn en route from the video store to my house. And then there's my organized, focused daughter, who is crafting a blueprint for the 2009-10 school year.

I wonder sometimes where my head is. Do I deplete my organizational bank by the time I leave work? Am I juggling too many mom things? Am I getting old? Am I the only mom who feels like her mind is always leaping forward to the next Scout meeting or ballet lesson before I've parked the car at the one that started two minutes ago?  Is there hope? I don't know, but if there is, I'm sure it's somewhere on my daughter's checklist.

Three birthdays, one wedding and a funeral.

So it has been for our family since July 3, just three weeks ago. Joy brought us together that day for the marriage of my nephew and 'new niece.' My mom's birthday followed but, by July 16, we gathered again to remember my Great Aunt Jane, who died on the 89th anniversary of her own arrival in this world. Her death leaves a lone great aunt, the last of nine siblings whose childhood years spanned the early 1900s. Especially for Aunt Keak, the grief runs deep.

In all of this, I've been reminded of how life pushes on, despite our own attempts to slow it down, speed it up or manipulate its course. As I was putting the finishing touches on Aunt Jane's obituary for the newspaper, I was stringing balloons together for my young daughter's birthday party. What a lesson in both the newness and waning days of life ... and a reminder of all of the ordinary and extraordinary that fall in between. 

My new 10-year-old never tires of emphasizing the importance of family in our lives. And she's been doing it a lot lately. I think she's onto something.

I'm fortunate to have a soon-to-be-10-year-old and her 11-year-old cousin hanging over my shoulder as I write this. Isn't it great to have helpers!? Both girls had a terrific time at the wedding rehearsal yesterday at Lauxmont Farm in York County. What a gorgeous place for a wedding! It was "cool,'' as my niece puts it. And my daughter was impressed by the "pretty'' Pheasant Run Farm Bed & Breakfast on Marticville Road. (Nephew, 8, is still passed out from all of the activity -- it's only 7 a.m.ish.) What a beautiful place to have the dinner. It is tucked in the beautiful Lancaster County countryside. A real treasure. Rettew's did the catering. Fabulous! And all of the kids loved the server/cook extraordinaire, Kay. She was so great with all of the children. She allowed them in the kitchen. But more than that, she was so kind and fun and interested in everything the kids did and told her! Thank you Kay of Rettew's! Now the two girls, junior bridesmaids, wearing the "wedding party'' T-shirts they got last night, are off to get up-dos for the wedding! I anticipate a wonderful and exhausting day. And watching my daughter and all the nieces and nephews is sure to be a bittersweet pill --  how quickly they grow up! I'm off to get the tissues!

Happy wedding day, JJ and Elizabeth!

The house is full of family as we get ready for my nephew's wedding, which is tomorrow.Off to a good start. My sister, brother-in-law and kids are in from Oak Park, Ill., and staying with us. The dog got so excited last night she had several accidents. It was so hot in the guest bedroom that my brother-in-law slept on the living room floor and my sister on the sofa. The dog, at least, will have a respite; she's going to the kennel today. Meanwhile, the humans in the household will debate all day about who's going to sleep where tonight. They're either going to need to take the master bedroom, or I'm buying a fan. Ahhh, family.

Anyway, the cousins who are staying with us, ages 8 (nephew) and 11 (niece), are very excited. They and my daughter are in the wedding party. It's going to be so heart-warming to see them wear something other than shorts and T-shirts. And because people other than their moms are doing their hair, the girls will succumb to any hair style that tops their heads. A reason to be joyful! So it's off to pick up tuxes, drop off the dog, stop by a few stores for some last-minute shopping, prepare for the rehearsal and then on to the rehearsal dinner. In-between, we'll take time to reminisce about our nephew. I vividly remember that it was just yesterday that he was a 6-year-old running around the yard with his friends, and delighting his parents. He still delights, but when did he get to be such a fine, young man?!

If you've ever lived with a tween, plan to cohabitate with one within the next decade, have made it to tweendom's other side, or have been a tween yourself, this one's for you. A blog about kids who find themselves in that wonderfully emotional, beautiful, frustrating, crazy, roller-coaster time of life that we know as 8 to 12 years of age. It's also about those of us who are along for the ride, or as I prefer to think of it, setting the course. Yeah, I know. Who am I kidding?

As I write this, my daughter is gearing up for her 10th birthday. She's beside herself with excitement; I'm blinking back the tears. And so the stage is set. Let's see how it goes.