Plumbing Problems

The plumber is here right now.

Initially, I’d called him for a very legitimate reason; our hot water heater had seen its last good days and we were in desperate need of showers that didn’t involve shivering. Thus, two days ago, I spent the better half of my lunch break at work calling around to find the best deal possible on a new hot water heater. It’s funny how the male pediatrician in my office usually spends lunchtime surfing the internet or calling his wife just to chat while I regularly spend that hour scheduling doctor appointments for my children, arranging play dates and other after school activities, and managing my house. Somehow, life doesn’t seem to be divided evenly between the genders.

Anyway, back to my plumbing situation.

That night, not long after I’d told my husband that we were set to have hot water in just a matter of days, I heard a loud, ear piercing noise coming from the upstairs portion of our house.

“Mommy! I neeeeed yooouuuuuu!” my nine year old daughter Jordyn was screaming for me.

I rushed to her room, hoping she wasn’t sick, scared, or god-forbid, injured, only to find her standing in the middle of the bathroom with her hand on her hip and a huge pout on her face.

“I clogged the sink,” Jordyn informed me, clearly frustrated.

“And, how did you manage that?” I asked skeptically.

“Well, I knew you were busy and didn’t have time to clean my toad’s cage, so I decided to do it myself!” she announced proudly. “But, when I poured the stuff from his cage into the sink, it wouldn’t go down the drain.”

“You did WHAT!!!” I found myself yelling, much louder, and much angrier than I really should have. “Why in the world would you pour wood chips down your sink?” I then continued ranting for a couple more minutes about not dumping ANYTHING down the sink, tub, or toilet, without asking permission first.

“But, I thought you were going to be happy,” Jordyn said sadly. “I wanted to surprise you by cleaning the toad’s cage all by myself. I thought you were going to be proud of me.”

I thought you were going to be proud of me...

Suddenly, I felt like the worst mom in the history of motherhood.

Sure, Jordyn should have asked before she attempted to clean her toad’s cage. And, sure, she should have told me what she was doing so that I could have prevented her little plumbing complication. But, the truth of the matter was that Jordyn had been trying hard, in her own, nine year old way, to be mature, assertive, and independent. She had attempted to do something that she knew needed to be done and she had hoped to help me out by doing it herself.

My daughter’s intentions had been good; actually, better than good. Her intentions had been wonderful and honorable. And, my reaction had been unbelievably bad.

“I am proud of you,” I reassured Jordyn, hugging her tightly. “And I really appreciate what you were trying to do. It’s just that, next time you want to surprise me with something, please ask me first!”

“I will,” she promised hugging me back.

Thankfully, I’d already had the plumber scheduled. So, today, just two days later, we now have very hot water and a working sink to put it in.

We also have one very sweet little girl with a very proud mommy...

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by Sharon Dunski Vermont

Finding Warmth

I’m feeling very cold these days.

Winters in St. Louis are, in my humble opinion, for the birds! In fact, they’re rather unbearable. Now, for those of you who hail from the northern part of our country, or for the penguins who reside in the North Pole, our coldest season of the year probably seems very mild and quite tolerable. Yet to me, someone who lives for hundred degree weather and high humidity, winter is the time of year when I often think about moving…………..to the equator!

At work, I’ve had the building manager come out numerous times the past several weeks to fix our office temperature so that I could stop walking around with my coat and scarf on all day long. At home, I am constantly turning the heat up, up, up, always battling my husband who comes along behind me to turn the thermostat right back down. And in my car, I’ve succumbed to having the heater on full blast the entire time I’m driving, just to assure that my fingers can partly thaw out before I arrive at my destination.

At times, coffee or hot chocolate help my inner deep freeze. And, occasionally I’ll sit in front of my fireplace with hopes of feeling toasty. Yet, no matter what I do or how much clothing I put on, I can’t seem to get rid of my constant chill.

Then, a few days ago, as I was shivering and complaining to my family about how freezing and uncomfortable I was feeling, my nine year old daughter Jordyn informed me that she had a solution to my temperature problem.

“I’m going to take a hot bath,” she announced happily. “And if you get in with me, you’ll feel nice and warm!”

“Oh, you’re so sweet!” I hugged my child. “But I have to get ready for work. If I get in a bath, I’ll be too wet to put my clothes on and I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

“It’s really hot in here!” Jordyn called from her steamy tub a few seconds later. “You should really get in, Mommy!”

Sure, the heat sounded good, but what I really needed was to dress quickly and get to my office, no matter how cold I was feeling at that moment.

“Just put a foot in!” Jordyn kept coaxing. “You’ll be happy!” she wooed me in her sing-songy voice.

“Okay, just a foot. For just a quick second!” I replied hesitantly.

And with that, I rolled up my pants and stepped barefoot into her tub.

“Wow! This feels great!” I announced, very surprised.

“Are you getting warmer?” Jordyn asked happily.

“Actually, I am!” I told her, shocked.

Jordyn kept talking about how she’d known all along how to fix my inner freeze. All it took was a warm bath. It was simple!

As I stepped back out of my daughter’s bath, on my mission to get ready for work, I noticed, surprisingly, that I still felt warm inside! Maybe Jordyn was right. All it took was stepping in a warm bath.

Then, again, maybe it wasn’t the hot bath that had warmed me up at all! Maybe, just maybe, it was actually the love of a beautiful nine year old blonde girl that had warmed my heart, and thus, my entire body……………..keeping me happy and comfortable for the entire rest of the day.

By Sharon Dunski Vermont

Parenting Problems

My daughter wants a cell phone. And she’s only nine years old.

My other daughter wants a facebook page. She’s barely eleven.

I want someone to tell me what to do. And I feel like I should know. Afterall, I’m forty one. And a half.

I remember as a preteen whining to my parents that they “Just didn’t get it. Being a teenager is so complicated. You really can’t understand what it’s like to be me.”

Funny, I truly believed back then that my mom and dad had never experienced any of the pubescent angst and confusion that I, myself, was going through at the time. Surely they had never worried about important problems such as fitting in, having the right clothes, or catching the eye of that someone special. They were parents, grownups, old people. They couldn’t possibly understand what being a teenager was all about.

And apparently, neither do I. My girls tell me constantly that I have no idea about this or that. I don’t understand what kids their age are going through. And I most certainly can’t understand why it’s so necessary for them to be constantly connected to every other kid their age via phone, internet, facebook, and text message.

I guess I’m just an old fuddy duddy. Maybe I need to start going to the grocery store in my bathrobe and curlers.

On one hand, I want my girls to be accepted, liked, and happy. On the other hand, I want to keep them sheltered, protected, and safe. Thus, giving a cell phone to a daughter who’s age doesn’t even contain two digits, or a facebook page to a child who is truthfully under the required age stated on the web site simply doesn’t seem like the right thing to do. Of course, my girls talk often about “So and so’s mom who lets her……….” Yet, I’m not so and so’s mom, now am I?

My job in life is to keep my girls happy and safe. And sometimes keeping them happy could actually put them in harm’s way. Which is why I have to stick with the age old motto of “Safety first.” I keep telling my girls that I will let them have more technology and more freedom when I think they’re ready. (Or when they’re a hundred years old, whichever comes first!) And, at this point, I need to stick to my guns and keep them sheltered when possible. Sure, there are parents who say “I can’t stop my kids from doing things, so I just tell them it’s okay.”

Well, I’m here to say that as parents, we can ALWAYS try and stop our kids from doing things that we don’t consider to be appropriate. We need to be firm and consistent, and stay true to our beliefs and our values. If we don’t, then how can we expect our kids to grow up properly?

For now, there’s no third grade cell phone or middle school facebook page at my house. I’ll let my children have access to these things when I believe it to be safe or necessary. Sure, there are times when I feel bad about not giving in and not giving my children everything. So, I keep reminding myself that it’s because of my refusal to give in that my girls really are happy and safe. I’m a parent. And a good one.

Hopefully, someday, my girls will come to realize that...

by Sharon Dunski Vermont

The True Meaning of My Life Try living in the moment each and every day

“May I have a venti, skinny caramel vanilla latte, please?” I asked politely out my car window into the intercom outside of Starbucks.

“You’d like a venti sugar-free caramel macchiato with half the syrup?” the barista’s voice boomed from the speakers in the outdoor menu.

“Um ... no,” I replied slowly.

“I’m so sorry,” came the booming voice. “What was it you wanted again?”

As I carefully repeated my order one slow word at a time, I couldn’t help but wonder what it was that had caused all the confusion with my request. True, a few years ago, before I’d become fully acquainted with Starbucks’ lingo, my order would have made absolutely no sense to me. Yet, for a barista who was immersed in the world of sweetened coffee drinks hour upon hour, my latte purchase had been relatively straightforward.

So, why did he not understand what I’d told him?

In my mind, the answer was simple. He hadn’t been paying attention.

Unfortunately, this is a problem we all face from time to time in our daily lives. There are definitely moments when my kids tell me some long-winded story where I soon find myself losing focus. When they ask for my opinion at the end, I have to stop and admit to myself that I have no earthly idea what they’ve been saying. My mind was elsewhere –– on groceries and laundry and my dog’s upcoming vet appointment.

I wasn’t living in the moment.

My daughters, of course, get quite frustrated when they realize I hadn’t truly been putting all of my thought on them, much the way I felt during my recent Starbucks encounter. When we don’t live in the moment, when we aren’t truly present and focused on each and every event in our lives, then our lives become so much less fulfilling.

If I’m thinking about all of my weekly commitments instead of paying attention to and enjoying the words of my children, I’m really cheating myself. Sure, I might be getting everything accomplished and look as though I’ve got my world under complete control. And yet, if I’ve lost out on the moments of laughter with my girls, or the times of tears with my friends, then what, really, is the purpose of existing at all?

I try frequently to remind myself, during those times when I find my mind wandering to other less-important thoughts, that I need to be ever-present, ever-focused, ever-mindful of each and every moment in time. When I’m old, looking back on my life, no one is going to exclaim, “We should be so proud of this woman who, during the course of her years, always got the laundry and the shopping done on time!”

Yet, my daughters will, hopefully say someday, “Our mother was always there for us in body and spirit. She loved us, listened to us and helped guide us down our paths.”

If I can hear those words some 50 years from now, then I’ll know my life was worthwhile. For now, I need to keep reminding myself to live in the moment each and every day. If I can do this, then I am certain I will someday be able to figure out the true meaning of my life.

The Story of “Boo”

When I was three years old, I had a treasured ragdoll. Her name was Raggedy Ann, and I thought she was truly my child. That raggedy daughter of mine did everything with me. She was, for all intent of purposes, my constant and favorite companion.

Then, suddenly, without warning one day, poor little Raggedy Ann fell into the toilet and drowned. Sure, my mother tried to revive her with ragdoll CPR. Yet, water stained and limp, my daughter’s life had come to a moist and soggy end.

I cried off and on for days about the loss of my darling young playmate. Yet, with time, the pain inside my heart eased and I was able to move on to new and more exciting friends.

If only it were so easy to recover from tragedy as an adult......

Over the years, I often thought about my beautiful friend whose life had come to such a tragic end. Yet, slowly, with time, even the memories faded and Raggedy Ann became a distant name from a long ago time.

Eventually, I had my own two daughters who both, not surprisingly, found themselves attached to various cuddly toys. For Hannah, her go-to friend was a little brown doggie whom she fondly named “Gimme’s doggie” after the grandmother who’d given it to her. Jordyn, on the other hand, discovered an undying attachment to a multi-colored pastel bear; a bear who lovingly became known to our family as “Boo.”

Now, Boo, I must admit, was truly much more to Jordyn than simply a snuggly toy. She was a playmate, a confidante, a sleeping companion, and a best friend. Boo slept, ate, and rode in the car with Jordyn. She went to school with her, and accompanied her to every doctor and dentist appointment she ever had. Boo lived beneath the crook of Jordyn’s tiny arm, and grew a very well-loved appearance from the many hours she spent being held tight.

Even now, at age nine years old, Jordyn spends a lot of loving hours with her little friend Boo. In fact, this past summer, Boo traveled with our family to Canada. For several nights, Boo enjoyed sleeping with Jordyn in a hotel bed in Toronto. There, she received the same love and care to which she was privy back home.

Yet, one fateful day, our family left that now infamous hotel room in search of further excitement in the town of Niagra Falls. That evening, as Jordyn lay in her new hotel bed, she innocently asked me, “Mommy? Where’s Boo?”

Suddenly, I felt my heart stop. For in that instant, I realized one horrible, tragic thing. I’d forgotten to pack Boo when I’d gathered all of our things together earlier that day in our Toronto hotel room.

With extreme sobs and tears, Jordyn mourned the emptiness she felt within her soul. “Boo!” she wailed, as I quickly grabbed the phone to call the building where we knew Boo had been so thoughtlessly abandoned.

I waited on hold for what felt like forever as the hotel desk attendant went in search of my missing stuffed grandchild. All the while, Jordyn was moaning, tears pouring down her sweet young face.

“Mrs. Vermont,” the woman eventually spoke into the phone. “I have good news! Your bear is here!”

With joy, we all celebrated the recovery of our multicolored loved one.

And, several days later, as we returned home to our house in Chesterfield, a package arrived from Canada.

Boo was once again in her rightful place.

Unfortunately, as my daughter hugged and kissed her long lost companion, I learned two incredible lessons.

First, it costs sixty-five dollars to Fed Ex a multicolored bear back from Canada!

And second, US customs likes to slice open worn out, well loved bears as they return from vacation.

But, a quick check and a few stitches fixed both problems, leaving my daughter happy and content once again.

As Jordyn and I have both painfully learned, the loss of one’s cuddly stuffed child can be quite devastating. Yet, sometimes, even loss can have a wonderful, albeit very expensive, happy ending!

Please leave your comments here or on our FaceBook page.

by Sharon Dunski Vermont

Something Borrowed Daughter discovers the wonders hiding in Mom’s Closet and Shoe Outlet

My daughter Hannah turned 11 earlier this month. She, of course, was thrilled that it was her birthday. After all, what kid doesn’t love gifts, cake and lots of attention?

I, on the other hand, found myself struggling with the fact that I was now the mother of a middle-schooler; a middle-schooler who was almost as tall as I was. And with this growth spurt has come a variety of new and exciting changes. And one of these changes is really starting catch my attention more than all the others. You see, over the past several months, a new store has apparently opened up in my house. This store, consisting of a small boutique in my bedroom, is lovingly known as “Mom’s Closet and Shoe Outlet.”

Somehow, as my oldest child grew into the preteen years, her foot grew into just the right size to make stealing my new flip-flops a real possibility. Furthermore, as her height advanced, so did her love of my tank tops and sweaters. Thus, on any given day, I am now likely to encounter a dilemma with which I’ve never before had to deal. My things are rapidly disappearing, and I’m finding them in my oldest daughter’s room!

Now, I honestly find it cute to see Hannah walking around in my various articles of clothing. She usually looks adorable in them, and I love being able to share my things with her. But the problem comes when I’m trying to get dressed and the items I want to wear are missing in action! There was one day when my outfit required a white tank under my sweater. My white tank, of course, was nowhere to be found. Days later, it turned up in a pile of dirty laundry. Hannah, of course, denied knowing anything about the entire situation!

And then, there was the time when I dropped Hannah off at school, only to discover she was wearing the pair of shoes that I had been planning on wearing later that same day. “Did you ask me if you could borrow those?” I demanded, mad at her.

“Well, can I wear them?” she asked in that innocent tone of voice that almost always wins me over and dissipates my anger.

“Well, since you can’t go to school barefoot,” I said, defeated, “then, fine! But, next time, please ask first!”

I must admit that I honestly love being able to share clothes with Hannah for a variety of reasons. First of all, there are times when I can actually use things out of her closet! Now, that is truly a lot of fun. But, in addition, I love the fact that she is old enough now to share so much with me: her dreams, her hopes and even my wardrobe. Being able to share clothes, I’m hoping, will actually bring us even closer than we already are.

I just need to know that Hannah will try to remember to ask me before she takes my things. They are, after all MY THINGS. But, the truth is, I know that, because she is only 11, this really isn’t going to happen anytime soon.

So, for now, I just need to resign myself to the fact that, as the owner of “Mom’s Closet and Shoe Outlet” I must be prepared for a little bit of shoplifting every once in a while. Fortunately, this shoplifting comes only out of good intentions –– the good intentions of a beautiful little girl who’s growing up way too fast!

Please leave your comments here or on our FaceBook page.

by Sharon Dunski Vermont

“My Friendly Bug”

Sometimes, I’m a little too nosy for my own good. And, I never know just how it’s going to turn out when I find myself sticking my mouth in the middle of someone else’s conversation. Still, there are times where I just HAVE to interject something and as much as I try to stop myself, I find that I can’t.

I’m sitting in a coffee house right now, writing and typing away on my laptop as I often do when my kids are in school and I’m not at my pediatric office. A few minutes ago, I found myself listening to a group of three trying to put some sort of speech together. I had absolutely no idea who those people were or what they were even talking about. However, I did overhear them stumbling over one particular sentence that they were trying to formulate.

“This individual has been a racing fan since... ... ...” one of them was saying.

“... ... ...Since he was little.” Another one added..

“How about, ‘This individual has loved racing his whole life.’ ” I then overheard the first one saying. Then, I saw all three of them nodding in agreement and one woman wrote it down.

I couldn’t help but thinking that their sentence stunk. I knew I could do better. So, as I sweetened my coffee and stirred it for a while, I thought about that silly little group of words the people a few tables over were trying to put together.

Finally, it came to me. I had the perfect sentence for them. And yet, I just wasn’t sure how they would take my input. After all, I’m a total stranger with no clue what they were even trying to accomplish. I tried to stop myself. I honestly tried. And then, without realizing what I was doing, I found myself turning to the group of three coworkers as I announced, “You really should say “This individual has loved racing since he was barely out of a car seat!”

One woman just stared at me. “You were listening to us?” she asked, confused.

I froze for a second. I shouldn’t have done it. I should never have spoken. But, just like when I press “Send” on an email, the words were out there, never to be taken back.

And then, in an instant, it all changed. One of the men pointed to me with a smile, exclaiming “I like that!” And with his enthusiasm came a smile over the woman’s face as well. “What was that again?” she asked, poising her pencil to write down the words I had uttered just seconds before.

I smiled and repeated my sentence, and then apologized for having interrupted them. “It’s just that I’m a writer,” I found myself saying, in an attempt to legitimize what I had done. My apology worked however, because suddenly they cared about what I wrote and they began telling me what it was that they were doing. I didn’t realize understand what they were telling me. It was something about a big program for an insurance company and a trip to the Daytona 500. But, they weren’t mad at me, and I had actually helped some people with my nosiness!

“What do we owe you?” one of the men asked jokingly.

“Nothing!” I smiled. “Just a thank you!”

He thanked me and I once again turned back to my laptop, where my attention should have been focused the whole time.

Some of my friends and family roll their eyes when they see me talk to strangers. And I’m fairly certain they would have disowned me if they’d seen what I did in the coffee house today. But, I’m not embarrassed by my friendliness and I will never apologize for my desire to connect with others. Over the years, my impromptu conversations with people I’ve not seen before have made my life more fun, more interesting, and more exciting. Plus, aren’t strangers simply friends we haven’t made yet?

I hope that the people I helped today will now, in turn, go help someone else. I honestly believe that good deeds and friendly gestures can be contagious and I think that one of my jobs in life is to help spread these things as much as I can.

If I’m lucky, my children will catch the “friendly bug” from me. One of the lessons I try to teach my children is that we all have the power to make this earth a better place. We just need to tune into that power on a more regular basis. If we would all do this just once in a while, our world could be even more amazing than it already is... ...