My seven year old, Aden, is doing his own version of the Hokey Pokey lately. He’s got one foot in the preteen world, and the other in Lego and Dora-land. Trying to keep up with his 11-year-old brother, and still connected to his 5-year-old brother, Aden is knee deep in middle child syndrome. It’s a rough struggle to watch.  Part of the challenge of parenting is discovering who your kid is. Even if you think you’ve figured out your first one, the second’s unique personality makes rearing him or her a totally different experience. My oldest, Jacob, has always been mature, self-confident and …

He’s baaaaack. I should have known to expect him, considering the spring temperatures and busy ball fields.  He sneaks up, catching me unprepared…then lingers for hours, like an oblivious, uninvited guest at a dinner party.     It’s your friendly, neighborhood ice cream man.  He’s deceiving: luring children in with his carnival music and colorful posters advertising products that are technically considered food, but have enough dye and preservatives to live in your freezer until your toddler graduates high school. Sometimes he’s brazen enough to show up at school, but he’s also figured out …

If you know me at all, you know I’m a talker. I’d like to think I’m also a listener but when it comes to my kids, it’s been difficult to find a balance. My children’s chatter either comes in gushing waves or meager dribbles.  My boys (ages 5, 7 and 11) have gone through many talking turns. When they were babies, I was so eager for them to babble I hung on their every noise. Then came the mind-numbing toddler period when they understood everything but were not yet able to articulate needs and ideas so they just screeched at me all day, as if their muteness was my fault. I yearned for them to …

Recently, I was serving my boys dinner when my seven year old, Aden, asked me for ranch dressing for his carrots. I placed the bottle right in front of him while he chitchatted with his brothers. The dressing could not have been more than six inches in front of his face when he asked for it again.  Perhaps he didn’t see it among the olive oil, barbecue sauce, ketchup, and other condiments my children require to get through a meal. But more likely it’s because he just wasn’t looking. When he asked me a third time in an exasperated tone that only a mother could love, I told him I didn’t know …