spend more quality time with my children

well ive not exactly spent quality time with my children today as they have all been out for the day, so i had the house 2 myself, which is a very rare thing

i have managed to spend a lot more time with the youngest, but saying that shes never been a problem to spend time with as shes only 5, its the other 2 that im finding hard to spend time with as there teenagers & both do their own thing, if any one has any suggestions on how to spend more time with teenagers then please feel free to help me out, thank you

i want to spend more quality time with my children, especially the oldest one who is neary 16 (im finding it a little hard at the moment)

A summer stomach bug was not what I had in mind when I thought of fulfilling this goal!

A full sunny Sunday without plans and my poor sweet baby girl and I holed up in her air conditioned room with cool compresses and a bucket. I wish I could make her well, but only time can do that.

In just about four hours, a slew of 9-year old boys will converge on my home for my son’s 9th birthday party. Lazer Tag, pizza, make-your-own sundaes, and a costumed dance party are on the agenda, followed by a sleepover (sleeping?!? what were we thinking?). There is no doubt in my mind that we are riding the express train to Mayhem. The three hours of sleep I got last night will make me just punchy enough to embrace and enjoy, and maybe get in on the ruckus myself! The joy on their faces will be worth it, regardless. Wish us luck, and a minimum of child vomit. It should be … interesting.

This weekend we’re taking our children to the opera. Back in November we bid on and won tickets to see a local performance of Puccini’s Turandot. We thought it would be enlightening and fun to share opera with R and E. They are more excited than I thought they’d be, but then again, these are the children who independently planned an entire NYC weekend “art safari” centered around the Met, the MOMA and the Whitney. Knowing my children, they will have strong reactions to the performance, and to opera in general. It will be interesting to see where their tastes lie.

This week I’ve been at it alone, the daily stuff of childrearing. My SO is away on business, which is extremely rare, no more than an annual occurrence. My SO is the one who normally cracks the whip around schedules and deadlines, keeps us on track to get places and get things done on time. I’m more qualitative, fluid, and I handle emotional betterment, nurturing, education, and social crisis. This week has been fun and rewarding, and even though my children miss their father, we’ve done a reasonably good job of time management, task sharing, and defusing the emotional outbursts that characterize an 8-year-old boy, a 10-year-old girl, and a stressed working mother. We’ve had a little fun, if not a lot; some giggles before bedtime, a few enlightening dinner conversations, and some much needed Mommy time for R and E, as well as a necessary sharpening of focus for me. I realize how much our children still need us, and just how soon, in life time, they no longer will. So we lost the TV remote, forgot to send back a school notice, got to bed late on at least one night, but all in all it’s been a good week, one to be cherished. One of many, in fact.

Yesterday my 10-year old emerged from the school bus, angry at the world. Burdened by her backpack, her trumpet and her mood, she trudged into the house and flopped down on a kitchen chair. She looked as if she was going to cry, or hit someone, or both.

In typical fashion I asked her “What’s wrong?” and without hesitation she responded, “None of your business.” My first instinct was to press her, coax the trouble out of her, but from somewhere deep inside emerged the gift of restraint. “You know you can tell me anything, right?” was all I said. “Right,” she said, seemingly half-convinced. And for once I left it there. She went outside on the front steps to do her homework, away from everyone. It was chilly, but I didn’t remind her to put on her coat, or take her glasses, or even take off her headphones. I simply let her go. She did her homework for an hour or so, and when she came inside, homework completed, I approached her gently. “I’m running to the store, wanna come?” She scowled a bit, arms crossed, but then said “Just us?” “Just us,” I promised. She got her coat and I my bag and we headed out. We ran our errand, chose groceries, but more importantly, we talked, or rather she did, and I listened. We were hardly out of the driveway, in fact, before she erupted like a volcano, spewing emotion and the story of her day like magma. Forty-minutes and $40 later, she was mostly her silly self again, arm in arm with me, all hugs and smiles. She was still troubled, but less so, and now I was in on it, so she was no longer alone. I understood, or tried to, and that seemed to mean a lot to her. I know it won’t always be that easy, but for now I am extremely grateful for our relationship. It’s nice to know that sometimes my daughter’s happiness can be ensured by something as simple as some mindfulness on my part, some space on hers, and some time alone together, even in the form of a grocery run.

My eight-year-old son imparted some wisdom to me today, about the importance of tradition and of living in the moment. It happened on our annual pilgrimage to find and cut our Christmas tree, a task my heart was not at all in this morning. Thanks to Eli, what began as a half-hearted chore on a TO DO list ended as an act of family togetherness and holiday joy. Sometimes it takes the view from a child’s eyes to help us to slow down long enough to see life as it truly is, wild and precious.

My kids and I went Halloween costume shopping recently. Not the trek to the crowded, frenzied costume shop to buy a cheesoid disguise-in-a-bag, but a creative adventure to the fabric store and myriad other accessorial treasure troves for elements to adorn their emergent alter egoes. In the midst of too much busy and not enough downtime, our afternoon of “errands” was a welcome chance to goof around and be silly. We tried on hats and wigs and glasses, erupting in giggles at our reflections and each other, creating voices to match each transformation. We draped ourselves in fabric and trim, and let our minds soar at the possibilities some pattern or texture or bauble could release. We even bought matching Halloween socks to commemorate our festivity. In the end, we compiled materials for a great punk costume for my eight-year-old, including a smashing set of dragon tattoo sleeves, industrial safety pins, and red and purple hair color, and the makings of a groovy hippie ensemble for my ten-year-old. In the end, hugs abounded, and my heart was full. I needed that. We all did.