Our family has a tough time getting out the door in the morning. More truthfully, my daughter and I have a tough time, and this makes it difficult for everyone else. My little angel mounts a series of four year old complaints: she’s too tired to get up; it’s too cold; her hair looks good with tangles, the fluorescent orange shirt does match the red skirt. I don’t rise to the occasion with my best face forward, either. I’m not a morning person. In fact, I’m pretty grumpy. This mutual grumpiness we share only leads to a bigger drama, what I call mudroom mania.

The night before school I try to head off the chaos. I lay out clothes, check homework, sign permission slips, write notes. Yet, we still lose ground in that pit we call a mudroom. Even if everything has gone smoothly, things fall apart here. It’s in this last stretch before we walk out the door that I discover the muddy school shoes, broken laces, dangling coat button, or that one mitten without a soul mate. Like some dark mystery, all the usual morning to-go items migrate to the most unlikely places over the weekend.

This morning, however, was different . Last night, I took an extra step, and double-checked the mudroom to make sure everything was in it’s place. I couldn’t believe the difference! Such a simple task was a huge sanity saver for me this morning. We still had a few early morning dramas (cheerios taste better with chocolate milk), but we eventually walked out the door on time with everyone smiling and looking forward to the day.

This little epiphany has made me realize that I need to prepare thoroughly for each day if I want to keep the stress level down for myself and the rest of the family. I’ve decided to enlist the kids in an evening mudroom ritual, checking coats, shoes, backpacks, hats and gloves. It’s a good habit for all of us, and it allows our children to take another step towards responsible proactive behavior. Besides, I could use a little help in that area.

When the kids’ bedtime rolls around–and in our house that means eight o’clock, I am ready for them to go to sleep. The key word here is I, as in “I am ready”.  My children, they, are not ready to go to sleep.

While we are fairly strict about bedtime, we do allow them to read in bed. My daughter usually falls asleep right away, but my son is another story. If allowed, he’d stay up until midnight reading. 

Yesterday, my son came home from school ready to make up for all the time he was cruelly forced to sit at a desk and learn. He informed me that desk time cut into recess time. As a result, he and his friends were denied from playing Star Wars for an indefinite time period. So he bundled all this extra energy and brought it home. One minute he was jumping off his loft bed, claiming he was using his escape pod; the next minute he was outside doing something that irritated his sister enough for her come in and play by herself. Later the two of them were in the basement, my son chasing my daughter with his light saber. Eventually, my little Jedi was pretty worn out. By bedtime he was calmer, but he still had reserves of energy that could push a tired mother to tears. Of course, he claimed he wasn’t tired because of the “force”. His heavy eyes told me another story. In between yawns, he begged me to let him read just a few pages of one of his favorite space books. I agreed. We said our prayers; I kissed him goodnight; and then I left him reading about astronauts, rockets, moons, and faraway planets.

With both kids in bed, it was time for me to play catch-up: fold the wrinkled clothes that sat in the dryer all day, lay out clothes for the morning rush, return phone calls, and finish kitchen clean-up. Finally, I sat down to read. About half-way into a chapter, I went to check on my son. When I got near his room I could see the light under his door. I was irritated to say the least. It was now after nine o’clock, and I knew we were in for a rough morning if he was still awake. Bracing myself for an argument about the merits of staying up late, I opened the door.

The peaceful little guy, who lay sound asleep in his bed, didn’t remotely resemble the tornado-like energy that had claimed our house only a few hours earlier. On his chest, his book lay open, moving up and down rhythmically with his breathing. One of his spaceships sat precariously close to the edge of the bed. In his hand, he held one of his astronauts. This was definitely a mommy-moment.

I stood over him wondering. What imaginary scenario had he been playing? Was he pretending to be an astronaut who went to the moon? Was he pretending to be the first human to land on the Red Planet? (He had been reading about Mars earlier in the week.) What was he dreaming now? I hoped the dream was filled with all his happiest and most fantastical imaginings. All in the same moment, I was thrilled and sad–thrilled with his ability to dream, and sad that life might someday bleed him of that gift.

Every year, Halloween falls on the same day, October 31.  That means we are well past summer and deep into fall.  In most of the country, the trees are bare, and we wake up to frost-covered windshields and lawns.  In Wisconsin, where I live, we pull out our winter coats and can watch our breath hang in the air.

Why then do I see an over-abundance of costumes that  look like cheap make-shift summer clothing?  I’m specifically talking about girls’ costumes.  (Boys costumes offer a little more coverage, although they are just as cheaply made.)

My daughter wants to be Swiper the Fox, a character from Dora the Explorer.  I’m thinking, ”Great–a warm costume.”  After all, he is a fox…and he has fur.  He’s perfect for Wisconsin trick or treating.  She could wear fleece, jersey, flannel, or thermal something-or-other.  I’d rather turn her into a walking endorsement for L.L. Bean than to wrap her in some flimsy tissue-paper costume.  Amazingly, no sane adult would go outside in forty degree weather wearing gauzy or nylon costumes that show more skin than they cover.  Yet these costume manufacturers expect young childrens to walk from house to house begging for candy in these summer costumes.  Twenty minutes into trick or treating, parents often end up covering up the $30 worth of nylon and gauze with winter coats. 

I found no Swiper costumes.  I saw lots fairy costumes, which meant leotard, tights, and of course fairy wings.  Some of the other costumes for girls included a cheerleader, Hannah Montana (in a mini-skirt), nurse costume (no doctor in my daughter’s age range), and a gothic female vampire (mini-skirt and fishnet tights).  I’m going to skip my feminist critiques of the costume industry and focus on the practicality of such costumes.  With the exception of the nurse, all the costumes would be better suited for temperatures of sixty degrees or more.  (I’m also disciplining myself not to digress into the appropriateness of the costumes.  Do preschool girls really need to look like some goth vampire chick?)

For some talented people, it would be nothing to pull out the sewing machine and whip up some masterpiece.  But I hate sewing, and I’m lousy at it.  Instead I often end up either making a no-sew costume or embellishing something store-bought.  Family Fun magazine has had some great costumes in past October issues.  One year, my son was a penguin and last year he was a robot, both ideas from the magazine.  The costumes were inexpensive and easy to make.  He even helped make the robot costume.

I was disappointed with this year’s halloween issue, however.  The costumes went beyond bizarre.  One costume was sushi.  Sushi?  I can just imagine my son saying, “Mom, I don’t think I want to be Batman this year.  What I’d really like to be is a sushi roll.”

Fortunately, the online version of Family Fun offers a much better selection than the printed publication.  (If your child has his heart set on dressing up as raw, dead fish, the sushi costume is listed here too.)   Most costumes are simple and inexpensinve to make, even if you are like me and fear the sewing machine more than a root canal.  Your little fairy princess can trade the gauze and nylon capsleeves for a long-sleaved sweater or jersey and still look as magical as her tropically-dressed counterpart.  A few of the other costumes include a scarecrow, a farmer, and a gypsy–one of my favorites.  The lego costume probably earns the most points for both creativity and ingenuity.  I only wish had discovered it before I spent money on the Anakin Star Wars costume which my son will probably be one of a dozen. 

With a little prodding from me, my daughter decided to be a ladybug.   I didn’t use the ladybug from Family Fun, only because I came across it after already putting together the costume.  The wings and antennae came from a party store, costing me a little more than seven dollars.  For her clothing, we picked out a a black turtleneck, black pants, and a red fleece vest and a red fleece cap.  I’m planning on using fabric glue (my sewing cop-out) to adhere black felt dots to her vest and cap.

Since we’re taking a trick or treat hayride, the fleece will add that extra and necessary warmth.  Anakin can wear a coat under his costume.  Even with all these layers, I’m still bringing a wool blanket; after all, it is October 31, not August 31.

Thanksgiving in our home is a frantic time for me. I’m baking late into the night while my husband is beginning one of his complicated, but outstanding, dishes for the feast. By morning, we are both blurry-eyed and racing to get things done. There are usually some “animated exchanges” over who is getting into the bathroom next (only one bath in our one hundred year old house) and I’m still trying to do last-minute cleaning. The kids chase each other into the kitchen, and then my husband, the iron chef, or myself, the pseudo cook, chases them out. By the time guests arrive, I’m frantic and exhausted.

It really shouldn’t be that difficult for me. My husband loves to cook and does so superbly. But it is difficult for me. I put more pressure on myself to finally cook something great this year. There is also the pressure of getting everything else to come together and creating some Norman Rockwell holiday. I guess we all have our hangups.

Then it’s prayer time, our opportunity to thank God for all we have. My mind is racing instead of praying. It’s off and running in a thousand different directions. With one eye open during the prayer, I search the table to make sure the cranberries are out and then re-orient myself back to the prayer. The other thoughts keep coming. Is my 98 year old grandmother comfortable in her chair? Is my daughter going to make it through the meal without falling asleep or having a meltdown because she is overtired? By the time we get to “Amen”, I’m praying for the day to be over. So much for gratitude.

This year was different, however. My husband’s grandparents and his uncle were going to be alone for the holiday. A three hour car ride had become increasingly difficult for Grandma and Grandpa. It made more sense for us to go up there. We thought about cooking for them but then decided going out to dinner would be easier for everyone. The three of them, Grandma, Grandpa and Uncle R., and the four of us would have a non-traditional, but less stressful Thanksgiving.

With few choices in this part of Wisconsin, we ate at one of those supper clubs with a smokey bar/lounge attached to it and the Packers game playing in the background. Fortunately, the restaurant wasn’t smokey.

The food wasn’t the greatest but then neither is mine, and since I didn’t have to cook or wash dishes it tasted pretty good. Even more important, this felt like thanksgiving. When it was time for the prayer, I wasn’t worried about getting all the food on the table or lamenting how tired I was. My prayer was truly heartfelt. No frenzied racing thoughts took over my mind. I was especially grateful to still have grandparents in our lives, and for my children to know their great-grandparents on both sides of the family. Of course, I didn’t forget to thank God for no cooking and no clean up.