Let me first say that I am not a doctor, nor do I play one on TV, but if someone would have told me some of these things, it may have saved us some dough and my kids some trauma.

`Tis a Flesh Wound

My son was jumping on the trampoline at my brother’s house. Bless their hearts, they made the effort to put the safety net around their trampoline. But, it was the metal stairs that lead up to the trampoline that my son cut his head on during a mad, three-kid-scramble to climb out. I was at work, my husband was at school, my sister-in-law did the right thing by calling us. Of course, we hurried over to their house to attend to our son. Although the cut wasn’t deep, it was bleeding a lot.

We took our five-year-old to the emergency room. By the time we arrived, the bleeding had stopped. We weren’t concerned about a concussion because my son was lucid and his pupils were their normal siz, but we thought that stitches might be in order. When we finally saw the doctor, he informed us that head wounds tend to bleed a lot because there are a lot of capillaries near the surface. He said that the cut wasn’t deep or large enough to merit stitches. The doctor asked the nurse to put Neosporin on my kid’s head and sent us on our way. That was the most expensive tube of Neosporin ever!

Don’t Leave Home without your Pharmacy

Our other son tripped a couple weeks ago in the backyard and broke his arm. Read on …

This will be the third and final installment of “Where this mom draws the line.” ‘Tis the last chapter–the third witness–that I am a mean, but well-meaning mom.

Part One was about how I don’t play videogames with my kids. I’ll play soccer, go on hikes and show them how to go off “sweet jumps” on my bike, but I will not, as they like to say, “kick their butts” at Mario Cart.

Part Two revealed my aversion for balloons. A lot of you, in your comments, agreed with me on this one. As you know, balloons always end in tears.

For Part Three I will tell you the food I will absolutely, positively, no-matter-how-much-they beg, not buy.

Let’s go back thirteen years to 1995. Read on …

My last post was about where I draw the line when it comes to what I will and will not do for my kids. Here’s a quick look back:

“When we become mothers we give and give up so much of ourselves for our children. We do it willingly. We do it with love. But, I think there is a point where you have to draw the line, a line in the sand, so to speak, where you, as a mother, decide, ‘I won’t give up this or I won’t do that for you, my darling child.’”

“My ‘line in the sand’ is video games. I will not play video games with my kids. I pack the lunches, chaperone field trips, dig under the bed for dirty socks, feed the dog when they forget, I will not ‘kick their butts,’ as they like to say, at Mario Kart.”

For Part Deux, I will let you know what I won’t let my kids have, buy, or be given. It may seem harsh, it may seem asinine, but if you think about it, you’ll know I am right and you just might follow suit. Read on …

When I gave birth to my three children, I went from a being free-wheeling, fun-loving, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-capris kind of gal, who could hop in a car and go at a moment’s notice to a diaper bag-hauling, over-protective, sleep deprived, germaphobe with a Super Woman complex. Sound dramatic? Sound familiar?

I remember getting a phone call from a friend for a lunch date and being able to say, “I’ll be there in ten.” Slap on some lip gloss, grab the keys and I was out.

With three small kids that just didn’t happen anymore. You gotta get them ready, brush their hair, match their socks, pack the diaper bag, don’t forget the treats! At one point I had three kids in car seats. The phrase “herding cats” comes to mind when I think about the days of trying to get three little ones out the door.

My kids are now nine, nine and seven. For the most part they are self-reliant. I do more reminding than hands-on getting them ready nowadays. I think I prefer the stage we are at now to the toddler years. Some of the free-wheeling and fun-loving has come back in my life.

When we become mothers we give and give up so much of ourselves for our children. We do it willingly. We do it with love. But, I think there is a point where you have to draw the line, a line in the sand, so to speak, where you, as a mother, decide, “I won’t give up this or I won’t do that for you, my darling child.”

My “line in the sand” is Read on …

In the morning, in the bathroom, while I am doing Mini Me’s hair is when we have our deepest conversations. Here is our conversation last Sunday before church:

Mini Me: I can’t wait for Christmas so I can get more TOYS, TOYS, TOYS!

Me: That’s great. (Brushing absent-mindedly)

Mini Me: Is Santa Claus real?

Me: He is as real as you want him to be. (Ambiguously sly)

Mini Me: How real? (Puzzled)

Me: As real as the Great Pumpkin.

Mini Me: What does he do?

Me: He waits for good little boys and girls in the pumpkin patch on Halloween. (Bluffing, because I can’t remember how the cartoon goes.) Read on …

I swore last year that we would never go to Cub Scout Day Camp again. After three days of loosely planned activities, other people’s ill-behaved boys, wind-whipped hair and a sunburn (my mom told me that I needed to wear sunscreen, even on overcast days but I didn’t listen.), I decided that next year I would plan our summer vacation for the same week as Cub Scout Camp.

Even though we registered weeks in advance last year, the first day of camp we stood in line for an hour and a half to check in. I’ve never stood in line for that long for anything. (Well, except for tickets to the Star Wars movies, but that kind of mania is another post for another day.) Have you ever stood in line for an hour and a half with 150 eight to ten year-old boys? Not fun. I did all the standing. My boys, along with 148 others ran and rolled and wrestled, while the other well-meaning mothers and I grew increasingly impatient.

After standing in line we were put in our groups. The plan was that for every five boys from your pack that participated, you needed to provide one “walking leader.” Okay, that sounded fair. I brought five boys from my pack, all well behaved somewhat manageable. Read on …

As much as I love to travel, I’m not very good at it. Motion sickness, homesickness, and a weak stomach make me a far from ideal travel companion. Despite that, over the years my husband, Secret Agent Man, has taken me along for some of his missions.

My first foreign travel experience was an extended trip to Venezuela. It took me a month to acclimate to the food. After any meal I felt was not going to sit right, I would drink straight from the bottle of Pepto I carried with me, in order to stave off any untimely intestinal difficulties. I was expecting Mexican-style food in this Latin country, but what I got was carajotas and arepitas. Don’t know what those are? Just let your imagination run wild. I have to admit though, that after a while I came to enjoy hallacas and years later, I would do anything for a plate of pabellón criollo.

One place I didn’t need time to get used to the food was on a cruise ship. It’s amazing to have 24/7 access to unlimited pizza and ice cream, not to mention expertly prepared gourmet meals.

My first cruise to the Caribbean was cut short. I was in my first trimester of pregnancy, which kept me from taking any anti-motion sickness medication. I ended up flying home Read on …