I was the mom who cut the crust off her kids’ sandwiches. Cute cookie-cutters were often used to make their sandwiches look like a heart, an airplane, or maybe a train. I wrote messages on their lunchbox napkins and placed little notes in their pant pockets. There was also a time that a Vienna beef hotdog and a glass of juice would be waiting for them in the car at the end of the school day – an early lunch hour would make for starving kids by 3:30. (I learned these tricks from my own mom, by the way.)
And then there were the little pink pigs. My mom once told me that pigs were a sign of Good Luck – so, I started buying them by the dozen at a local school supply store. I’d sneak these little piggies in pockets of jackets, pants, and backpacks.
I love being a mom. At times, I think I’ve been pretty good at it. (Luckily for my kids, my mothering skills do go beyond making crustless sandwiches and Chicago hotdogs.) But it hasn’t been easy during these last few years. Adjusting to M’s needs as he’s gotten older has been tricky. Parenting books are pretty good for the teen who fits perfectly in the “box,” but I haven’t found anything that beats talking to my mom when it comes to raising her oldest grandson.