Trauma at Summer Camp -- Opportunity to Help

Alison, Hannah and Alex have been having a great time at the Jordan YMCA summer camp. In the 10 weeks or so they'll be campers, they'll learn some sign language, about Chinese culture, hone their laser tag, miniature golf and cooking skills and learn about all kinds of fun animals.
They'll also get to swim and play with crafts and generally have fun and keep out of trouble.

But like all good paradises, there's a snake in summer camp. A thievin' varmint who's made away (so far) with two Webkinz, two Littlest Pet Shops and a bag of candy. And that's just from our three campers.

It was on the way home the other day that I discovered the Webkinz had gone missing. This was more than simple trauma. The Webkins were Hannah's. She'd loaned them to Alex so he could play with them during the day. The were the kids' two favorite Webkinz. And Alex had confessed already that he'd lost the gecko. We spent some time checking Lost & Found and in corners around the camp but no luck. When Hannah discovered in the car that he'd lost the lion, too, all sorts of wailing commenced. Hannah was mad and sad. Alex was distraught that his big sister was mad at him, even though he didn't do it on purpose. Alison was remembering her Littlest Pet Shops that that had been the victim of an earlier heist.

I say heist because I'm certain the toys have been stolen, rather than lost. The pet shops could have been lost, but the pattern has been the same: they leave the toys near, but not inside their backpacks when they go out for an activity or to the bathroom. They return to find no toys.

Now, we've all talked to them both before an after the thefts about the need to keep special things home. I think they've all really learned the lesson. But it didn't soften the pain of the most recent loss.

To help stem the sobbing I suggested that they think about ways they could recover from the blow. We talked about having a lemonade stand or doing chores for money to raise enough to replace the missing toys.

We've settled on a yard sale where they'll sell the toys they no longer play with.

Last week they made some pretty good inroads into examining what could be sold and what needed to be kept. The plastic bin in the photo is nearly full now; the toy box less so.

I think we'll have the sale in August when I'm off on vacation with them. It'll probably be sometime between August 11 and 14 if I can hold them off that long. And I think there may also be a lemonade stand. Depending on how I'm feeling, it may or may not have vodka in it...

Anyone who wants to donate toys for the sale -- or come by to shop or sip -- should stay tuned. I'll give you an exact date soon.

Prices will target the 4-feet-and-under wallet.

2-Step Stress Buster 100 percent guaranteed

Everyone at least occasionally suffers from a stress overload, whether it's from work, friends, family, all three, or even if it's self-induced. I tend to internalize stress because I don't want my inner bitch to emerge. (It's not my prettiest side.)

I tell myself if I hold in my instinctive response when stressed, I'll be more adult when I address the situation. Unfortunately, the usual result is that I end up fighting with the inner beast, which gives me wrinkles and stomach aches. Invariably, the inner bitch sneaks out anyway and I end up feeling like I've turned into Linda Blair and spewed green vomit all over a priest.

So far, I've kept a firm grip, but only because I made liberal use of this 2-Step Stress Buster, which I highly recommend to you if you have even a fraction of my issues. Yeah, I should probably find a therapist. But this remedy works. And it has to be cheaper.

Step 1. Attack the yard instead of friends, coworkers, family or the random stranger who knocks on your door trying to sell you something you don't want, need or welcome.

You need good weather for this, of course, and I was lucky enough to have it. In a pinch, you can clean the house, but the yard fights back more, which helps speed the recovery.

I spend more money on flowers than I thought I should have Friday, only to determine this morning that I want more. In addition to planting annuals in the front yard, I raked out all of the backyard flower beds and moved around a few perennials that had gotten too big for their borders. After 3-4 hours non-stop with rake, shovel and spade, I had killed a battalion of dandelions, reordered the borders and hopefully improved the curb appeal of our little house.

Step 2. Rent a kid to play with yours and then sit back and listen to the back seat chatter. Drive extra miles if you need to. Even with today's price of gas, the return on investment is in triple digits.

I rented Jenna this weekend. Like always, it was hilarious and a great help to my peace of mind.

Excerpts from the Alison-Jenna show:

As they get out of the car, Jenna finds a piece of Alison's artwork from school and picks it up.

"Hey, who's the guy on the cross?"

"Uh. That's Jesus, Jenna," says Ali.

"Oh yeah. Right. "

Later, while serving as my personal shopper, Jenna redeems herself and drags me over to look at a display of the Holy Family.

"Who is that anyway," I ask.

"Well that's the baby Jesus. That's his mommy and that's his daddy," she say.

"I think you're right," I say.

"Well, that is why people go to church," says the suddenly pious one.

***

"Hey, Miss Cheryl: what's that?" Jenna asks, pointing to my yard-work reward: a Mike's Hard Liquor pomegranate lemonade.

"That's a grown-up drink," I say.

Following Alison down the stairs, Jenna calls back, "When I'm grown up, can I have that drink?"

"Yes you may," I say, taking a swig.

"Hey Jenna, I bet I'll get to have that drink before you do," says Alison, a full 42 days older.

"Yeah probably," says Jenna.

***

Somewhere along the way, a bug crossed the girls' path.

"Kill it," said Jenna, progeny of the bug-hater Amer.

"It's not bothering us, Jenna," said Ali, she of a more liberal, live and let live home.

"Just. Kill. It," said Jenna.

This went on for a while. So long, in fact, the bug escaped.

***

Alison is keeping up pretty well with her fish responsibilities. I measure this by the fact that Grace the Fish still swims. The girls were returning her to her room after we cleaned her bowl.
Ali was carrying the bowl.

"Be careful, Ali. There's a fish in there," Jenna said. "You drop it, she's dead."

Alison, a bit offended, informed her: "I'm very used to this, Jenna!"

***

After dinner, I parked the girls in front of a movie and took a little break myself. At 10 o'clock, they were still going strong and Jeff decided they needed to go to bed. Every once in a while I would mute sound on the television just to hear them giggle. I didn't need to know why they were laughing. The squeals alone were pure therapy.

Read this and save your self!

I'm not a raging feminist, nor do I go for those self-help books that pit women against women or women against men or women against the world. I tend to push through it all, not asking for help or saying no and just dealing with whatever comes along.

But I just read an article that just may save my life -- or get me through the week at least. If you ever feel overwhelmed, you might want to read it, too.

Cheers!

You call that dancing?

Can I just say that I knew going in that it would be a challenge. How I let Amy Tokash talk me into taking a dance class, I don't know. And that rat hasn't even shown up for the last two weeks.

I'm a white girl. While I can spell rhythm, I have none. I'm so far away from having rhythm that I can't even hear its echo. As for grace? I have a fish named Grace, and she's only recently entered my life.

I once got out of high school gym class because it was 6 weeks of dancing. I hated the gym teacher, and she hated me right back. So I remembered that my parents were fundamentalists -- strict Pentecostals. And dancing is a sin if you're Pentecostal. I got religion real fast and spent the 6 weeks in study hall, far away from the horrid Ms. Stroud.

Looking back on it, I guess it wasn't my best decision. At least rhythm-wise. It was good to have some distance between me and the shrew.

It's possible that I may have learned something back then, though, that would have helped me out tonight. I am in this class with women who have danced since they were children. They're really sweet and supportive, but I'm like a hippo in a room full of butterflies. They're lucky I haven't trampled any of them.

Know anyone who might like to join me in the back row? I'd buy the first round after, and I'd probably pay your entry fee. You don't have to have overcome a fundamentalist religion. But those with rhythm need not apply.

Lights, Camera, Jeff Reed!

Jeff Reed has hit the airwaves in Philadelphia, and he may be appearing in Miami, Columbus, Cincinnati, Scranton and Dayton soon, too. You can see him in two segments, one on ticket brokers and the other on whether to go DIY or call in a pro. He's not the star, but you know even George Clooney started out as an extra. (I totally made that up. Don't tell George. Or Jeff for that matter...)

While I think he's excited about his TV debut, it was a lot of work and a big favor for me for Jeff to putter around and let us film him for Angie's List segments. He does love to get out his tool box.

Jeff joins a long list of friends who've let me use their homes as backdrops for our TV partners. Jonathan Swain, who I followed to Angie's List, started this tradition of calling on friends to help with the segments. (I wonder if it was my kick-ass performance on a Channel 8 segment on wedding that got me this gig...?) I keep thinking we should just buy his house here and use it as a set, but that wouldn't be as much fun for me.

"Using" friends essentially means I get paid to hang out my peeps. So far, Bobby Small, Peggy Boehm, Karin Ogden, along with Margaret, Jim and even Daisy Burlingame have helped us out. If you're not on this list, your time is coming. (This is your only warning: if I call you during work day and you pick up, I'll assume your answer is yes.)

Uh-oh, I've got to run. Ali just popped in to say she's conducting an experiment to see if plants will grow in her Moon Sand. Photoshoot to follow...

Great Opportunity for you

My friend and perhaps one day, Alison’s ice-skating instructor, Jesse Doecke, is doing a great thing in June this year. She’s bicycling in the AIDS/LifeCycle, a 7-day, 545-mile bike ride from San Francisco to Los Angeles that’s designed to help support the San Francisco AIDS Foundation. She’s riding for the cause, but specifically for her choreographer and close friend Brian Wright, who lived with HIV for 17 years and full blown aids for 8. I had some trouble giving an online donation at her Web site http://www.aidslifecycle.org/1051 so I’ll give her a check tomorrow. Please help if you can.