So I managed to do my ankle in, which landed me in an Aircast and crutches. I know what you’re thinking and for the record, I was not walking and texting. In fact, I was attempting to walk and talk at the VERY same time and managed to go over on my ankle. It’s a good thing I wasn’t chewing gum or I may have ended up in a full body cast.

Clearly this cast/crutches thing is not an ideal situation for a multi-tasking mama. To further complicate the matter, Daddy-o was out of town for the week and the affected ankle was attached to my driving foot. The already difficult task of getting various children to various activities at the same time reached a whole new level of crazy.

It was an interesting experience for me, and this is what being on crutches taught me:

- My friends who deal with real-life chronic pain, illness or disability – I know you find it annoying and even a little condescending when people tell you how amazing and brave you are, but yeah, that. I am not amazing or brave – mostly just whiney.

- Six-year-olds can pack their own school lunches and will include fruits and vegetables. They will also feel proud. Kids step up when they need to.

- Crutches take the focus off a sore ankle by causing excruciating pain to your armpits. Did the people who made the crutches plan it that way? Is it some twisted method of trying to distract from pain by creating new pain?

- Not being able to drive was like a forced holiday. I contemplated prolonging the appearance of injury, but convenience and reality won out.

- There are friends and family members who are extremely helpful. But when help is offered, I must be clear with instructions. I should specifically say, for example, that “picking up bread” means a minimum of three loaves in a family of our size. That one loaf that was dropped off lasted 20 minutes.

The top lesson, of course, is to watch where I’m going. Curbs have a way of jumping out at you when you least expect it. Have you had an injury or illness that has caused temporary disruption to family life? How did everyone manage?

Good big brothers don't expose the Santa lie to little brothers.

I spoke last year about the difficulty of outing Santa to my son. He was at an age that most kids no longer believed, so he needed to know – I didn’t want his ‘believing’ to potentially embarrass him among his peers.
I took the opportunity to spill the beans about Santa to him last June. The timing was good since absolutely no one was talking about Mr. Claus. My son was shocked, but generally it went over well. I positioned it in a way that he felt a part of the inner circle of maturity – he now had the responsibility not to ruin it for his younger siblings. He was on the same team as us parents, and it seemed to have some legs.

Not long after that, my 10-year-old daughter came downstairs one morning in tears. Apparently that slacker of a Tooth Fairy had forgotten to visit for the third night in a row. I guided her into the mud room, shut the door and said: “OK listen, I’m the Tooth Fairy and I suck at it, so (reaching into my pocket) here’s five bucks. You’re getting a couple of bucks extra as hush money”. She started laughing hysterically and asked who else was in on it. I said her big brother knew so she sought him out for a quiet meeting for those “in the know”. Big brother assumed she knew about all of the parental lies so blew the Santa secret. No great surprise for her – she admitted to having some suspicions on the Santa front.

Now that the holiday season is upon us, my son said to me last week “Mom, I’m really mad at you for telling me about Santa, but thanking you since no other kids my age believe in him. But, it’s still OK for me to believe in the Christmas spirit, right?” Yes son, permission granted.

And so, I have four believers in the big guy left and suspect by this time next year I’ll be down to three. The good news is, the two biggies are a great help. I can take them shopping and not worry about buying presents for the other kids. Also, they are in charge of relocating that ridiculous Elf on a Shelf every day. If you think I’m a bad Tooth Fairy, that’s nothing compared to when I had Elf-moving duties. Let’s just say we had the laziest Elf in town – and that’s exactly what I’d tell the kids.

Do you have a houseful of believers?

It's a sad day when you sit your kids down to warn them about being too trusting of coaches and mentors.

Last weekend, the whole family was in the truck and Daddy-o needed to dash into a shop. The rest of us waited in the vehicle, talking about capital cities. By the time he returned, we were in a big conversation about Penn State. He shot me the “How the heck did that happen?” look. As it turned out, the conversation went in a direction that provided an opportunity for this discussion. Besides, I had the undivided attention of all of them and had to take advantage of that.

I tried to explain the situation in simple terms – it was discovered that a trusted and loved coach was touching children in their private areas over many, many years. The point of the discussion was three fold; it was a chance to:

- remind them that people we love and trust can hurt us;
- once again say if an adult ever tells them to keep a secret from me, unless it has to do with a gift, it’s a red flag. Adults don’t ask children to keep secrets from their parents;
- re-state that no one is ever allowed to touch them or make them touch. If there is touching of any kind that makes them uncomfortable, they are encouraged to speak up and self-advocate, knowing that they will be supported by their family.

Then came the question period, and boy, did they ever do a good job of it. Three questions were particularly difficult and I was completely unprepared for them. I fielded them with honesty and think it went as well as it could.

Question #1:
Why would a grown-up WANT to touch a child like that?
(Insert my sad explanation about creepy pedophiles and the things they will do to “groom” a child).

Question #2:
What if the kid didn’t tell the coach to stop? What if the coach didn’t know the kid didn’t want to be touched?
(Insert my explanation that adults KNOW it’s wrong. Even when kids don’t speak up, adults know it’s against the law).

Question #3:
What if the coach didn’t actually “hurt” the child?
(Insert my explanation of different kinds of abuse, and how the ones that don’t physically hurt can be just as/even more damaging).

How did you deal with Penn State? Did you use it as an opportunity to speak with your kids about the hard stuff, or was it just too difficult to go there?

Soon into our Hallowe’en night trick or treating adventures, my three Biggies ditched me and the smaller siblings and hit the neighbourhood with a couple of cousins. The five master trick or treaters went off into the night with a plan – to collect as much candy as humanly possible. There were strategies and maps – and they identified speed and perseverance as keys to their success. They factored in occasional pit stops to drop off their current candy load so it wouldn’t weigh them down, thereby slowing them. After three hours of relentless hitting of pavement, they returned home victorious – pillowcases full of loot.

I’m like most parents – I look at all the crap and wonder what the heck we’re going to do with it. Two weeks ago I found the last remaining bag of candy from last Hallowe’en hidden in the back of a bedroom closet. I hope never to relive that experience. Parents have varied opinions about how to deal with the sweet treats – divide it into portions, have them gorge themselves sick, steal the good stuff when the kids are in bed, or donate it.

Although my kids love sweets as much as the next guy, I know that Hallowe’en is more about the hunt. When I heard that a local dentist set up a candy buy-back program, I knew that my kids would love to get in on that action. Now they’d be making cash for their hard-earned candy. The dentist offers up two bucks for every pound of candy, then the dental practice donates it all.

My theory that trick or treating is all about the hunt was verified when the kids divided their haul into a ‘keep’ pile and a ‘sell’ pile. The particular child pictured ditched two full shopping bags of candy, and kept only the one very small package she is holding in her hands. The other kids were remarkably similar.

What did you do with your loot? Do you have super-motivated Trick or Treaters or are they more the ‘hand-the-treats-out-at-the-door’ type?

Rather than "shush" my kid, I just throw another plug in his gob

I’m a little bit nosey and don’t pretend otherwise. On my recent travels to a conference, I injected myself into a couple of situations that were none of my business. I just couldn’t help it.

The first was on my way to the conference. Across the aisle from me sat a mother and her surfer dude teenaged son. He was polite, respectful, handsome – he pretty much had all the qualities I hope my kids have as teenagers. He also happened to be living with Down Syndrome. At one point he was making a few noises. I didn’t take much notice because I’m surrounded by noisy people all the time. Then, from somewhere nearby a random passenger let out the loudest, rudest SHUSH I’ve ever heard. I was angry and determined to find the culprit. I wanted to give the SHUSHER a piece of my mind. All my investigations were pointless – the SHUSHER would not come forward and admit to the SHUSHING.

On the way home came Nosey Parker incident #2. A young dad was sitting behind me and having a cell phone conversation with the mother of his baby. They were discussing her plans for the next day. It sounded like she had a fun event to attend with a group of friends. The dad expressed a bit of concern about taking care of the baby because he was exhausted from his work travels. He did the right thing – told her her to carry on with her plans but that he would find a babysitter for a couple of hours to get some rest before enjoying the rest of the day with his kid. Their phone call ended and a few quick calls to babysitters from the tarmac were made and he had it all sorted out. Happily, he called his baby mama back and explained that all was organized and that he was thrilled that she would have a well deserved day out with her friends. She must have announced that she decided to cancel the plans because he spent the next few minutes saying things like “but you deserve to go out” and “it’s not a hassle at all, I’m looking forward to having the day with my daughter”. Despite begging her to go, she could not be convinced. When he got off the phone, I heard a huge sigh of defeat and frustration.

Clearly, I know nothing about them, their relationship or how they share parental responsibilities. However, I couldn’t stop myself from turning around, admitting to eavesdropping and congratulating him on trying so hard to make it work – for wanting his partner to have a day out with her friends. Sure, I risked having him tell me to mind my own business but it was worth it when I looked at his exhausted big brown eyes and heard his whisper: “Thank you so much”.

It’s tough to know when to inject ourselves into a conversation or situation that we’re not directly involved in. For me, often my gut responds before my brain has the chance to make a decision. The greatest risk for the Nosey Parker is humiliation. For those of us who have experienced enough of that already, it’s not a risk that gets a whole lot of consideration.