hello lovely child

Make the days with your children count
by Michele Ranard

1. Take as many luxurious bubble baths with your infant that you can possibly squeeze into your schedule. Memorize the luxurious softness and gorgeous scent of your baby’s skin. So much of motherhood is unromantic, and this can be a truly intimate time for you to lock up in your memory and return to when that infant is driving you crazy as a teen.

2. On a bitterly cold weekday, take a mommy-mental-health-improvement-connect- with-your-loved-ones morning. Stay in your pajamas. Spread a quilt over your bed, and let everyone pile on for a long leisurely breakfast. Don’t answer the phone. Read something magical or your favorite story from childhood. Then, if they are able, ask them to read that story to you.

3. Write a love note to your child during the day. Include the date, and place the note on their pillow. Even if they have reached an age where this borders on cheesy, they will love the thought and drift off to sleep feeling cherished. Tuck the notes away safely in a box.

4. When you or your child has a particularly terrible day, whip up an indulgent snack together. Let them help you make decadently rich cookie dough from scratch, but leave out the eggs and the baking. Eat the dough as dip for apple wedges and pretzels or mix it into ice cream. Allow them to get sticky and gooey while devouring it, and document it all on film.

5. Keep a diary or journal. When your child melts you with something precious like Mommy I just bless-you’d and da juice cames ride outta ma nose, you’ll be ready to record it. When you feel absolutely frazzled, write exactly what you’re feeling, caps, exclamation marks, drama and all. Don’t hold back. You may find you’ll instantly feel better after writing, and you can return to the entry on a calm day when you’re up for a good laugh.

6. Ask your kids and their friends to put on an impromptu fashion show. There are endless variations – towels only, toilet paper, pantyhose…My own sons invented their own “London-France” show for the catwalk. They layered on every pair of underwear from their drawers until they could only waddle, tied on a blanket cape, and donned one last pair of undies as a hat. It never failed to make my cheeks ache.

7. Sacrifice your tastefully decorated family room for a day and let the kids build the ultimate fort with every blanket and sheet in the house. When complete, head inside and play “Don’t Break the Ice” (my kids’ personal favorite) and “Chutes and Ladders” a thousand times or more. They never tire of the classic games, and you are their favorite player. The day will arrive when your children will be too busy for you.

8. In your planner, pencil in an entry every two months that reads “celebrity photo shoot.” Have your spouse or friend take a picture of just you and your child, and then switch places. Go outside if at all possible to capture the season. You will have a wonderful treasury of smiles as you both grow up, and no mom on the planet has ever said she took too many photos.

9. Let your child have a blast styling your hair. Supply them with colorful clips, rollers, bobby pins, whatever is on hand. When your makeover is done, go to the mirror and rave you look fabulous. Pretend that you love it and say you plan to wear it this way forever. Now let them apply the makeup.

10. If you have teens or tweens, sit down with them and a pizza and watch their favorite funny dvd, no matter how lame. Remember there was a time you thought Pretty in Pink should win the Oscar. They will appreciate the gesture because they know it’s a little painful for you, and though the activity may seem mindless, you might be rewarded with joyful expressions and laughter.

11. When they have reached an age where it is safe, partake in one of my family's traditions. Place your infant in the large oval roasting pan usually dusted off only for the Thanksgiving turkey. Place baby in roaster and give him a gentle but thrilling ride of a lifetime across the kitchen floor. Have your camera ready to preserve his joy for future generations.

12. On an evening you are not beyond exhausted, sneak into your child’s room and watch them as they dream. Let yourself fall in love with delicate eyelashes and precious tiny fingers all over again. Say a silent prayer of gratitude and ask for protection from all harm. Blow a quiet kiss to the one who holds your heart.

Michele Ranard is a professional counselor, academic tutor, and freelancer with a cheeky blog at hellolovelychild.blogspot.com.

by M. Ranard


“Come fair children! Retrieve Kipling and Milton from thy Power Ranger backpacks. Let us recline on eighteenth century Gustavian daybeds to devour sweet literature in the library. No, Jean-Charles, not the west wing library. Alas, fumes remain strong in the west as the paint on ceiling frescoes dries still. This was what I thought motherhood would be like when I daydreamed about it as a teen.

I blame it on my parents. They preached good manners, proper grammar, and wrinkle-free wardrobes. Indeed, my father was a freak for creases down the ol’ Gloria Vanderbilts, and Mom chased after us with an acrylic hairbrush for saying “shut up” (oddly, “shut your trap!” earned only a glare).

So of course my 14-year-old self thought I could do it better. And baby I wanted more—a more dignified household, complete with a sophisticated manor in which Ivy League sons and daughters clamored for advice. Where classical ballerinas and polo players begged to visit the Louvre. Of handsome offspring arriving at the dinner table in Lacoste button-downs the tones of Mary Cassatt’s palette.

“Oh Mother! Would it be quite all right if I skipped Simon’s sleepover on the yacht? I do so wish to add flourish to my report on Emily Dickinson due in six weeks!”
A breeze would waft through the main villa’s north clerestory windows enhancing our home’s interior scent of Ivory soap and linen…

As it turns out, 1980 was a bad year for prognostication.

Those Izod-clad kids never showed up. And it seems unlikely my sons will ever play polo. Worse, they’d struggle to name a common interest between us, including Ivory soap. Dude—my kids are too lazy for soap.

Gone is the image of refined persons reclining with me as a gentle breeze kisses our faces enraptured by fine literature. Still, I have chosen to look at the positive aspects of my children’s less than royal behavior. For example:

Mahhhhhhhm! Outta axe spray.
A fine example of their mastery of American English—and a sexy-smart substitute for showering, as well.

Dude! Me and Colin BALLED it up today—we PONED.
Another excellent illustration of their superior grasp of current idiomatic expression. For those of you still clinging to 20th century speech, “pone” is gamer talk for “power own”.

Don’t EVER ask Obama to step aside!
This exemplifies a polite manner of threatening someone. Me, for example. Such as when I ask my eldest prince to clean his room.

This family sucks!
Another modern colloquialism that, roughly translated, means “My teen experience leaves much to be desired. I am very distressed, mom.”

The roast smells like butt.
Despite its richly expressive tone, this colorful turn of phrase still confounds me. I’m fairly sure I’d sport a cranial disfigurement from a certain hairbrush had I ever uttered it, but times change.

I do admit that my kids make my family of origin look like royals. But then, I too have lowered my standards with age. The OCD I inherited from my neatnick parents does not encompass ironing. In fact, my kids would likely mistake a steam iron for a waffle one, having never laid eyes on either appliance in person.

I also did away with the idea of family road trips in a vintage Jaguar (too cramped) and that equestrian arena (I don’t need anything else to smell like butt around here).

I have no idea when reality shattered my dreams, or when, exactly, I embraced it. I can only assume extreme exhaustion negated my desire for extreme perfection.

But hey, I ended-up with two boys who are totally slammin’ and alt-worthy.

And I’m still angling for the villa.

Michele Ranard is a professional counselor, academic tutor, and freelancer with a cheeky blog at hellolovelychild.blogspot.com.