No Longer Haunted by Halloween

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Taryn and her husband, Sebastian, still get a kick out of Halloween

By Kathy P. Behan

I have always hated Halloween. I have lots of good reasons to feel this way. For starters, I was always really tall for my age and I’d go trick-or-treating with Kathy, my best friend, and my older sister, Mona. But when I got to be about 9, people would give them candy and before I could get any, they’d say, “You’re too old!” and slam the door in my face. Unfortunately, this happened way too often. I’d be left on the doorstep candy-less and feeling humiliated.

Then there was the year Gloria coerced us into trick-or-treating with her. By this time, my older sister was out with her friends, and Kathy decided it would be more fun if we joined Gloria and her group. We soon learned that these girls were more into tricks than treats.

Three houses into the night, we came upon one that looked deserted. Gloria took out a can of shaving cream and began squirting the front door. She then took an egg out of her side pocket and threw it against a window. My friend and I watched all this in horrified silence. The other girls were laughing and pardon the pun, egging Gloria on. We continued to other houses gathering candy or if the house looked unoccupied, Gloria and her crew would “cream it.”

Before long, we stopped at one dark house where Gloria, no longer content with my watching the proceedings, began to goad me into being a trick participant. I wish I could report that I stood up to the taunting, but instead, I caved into the pressure.

After initially holding out, I began artfully outlining the front door in shaving cream. Suddenly it opened and an old woman appeared. “Who made this mess?” she angrily demanded.

Without hesitation, Gloria pointed my way. What could I say? There I was with the shaving cream in my hand, a blush of shame spreading across my face. After cleaning the door and enduring a torrent of the woman’s angry reprimands, I walked home alone. I was kept company though by memories of Gloria’s insults, the old woman’s complaints and most hurtfully, by my own cowardice.

Looking back, some of my Halloween mishaps were more comical than sinister. Like the time I was dressed up as a witch, complete with long black plastic nails. At one house, we had to pick our candy out of a bowl. In the process I lost a bunch of my nails. As I was trying to retrieve them, the bowl’s owner accused me of trying to take more than my fair share of candy, and unceremoniously, shoved me out of her house. Or there was the time that we were held captive in an elderly couple’s home until we correctly performed an Irish jig.

As if being refused candy and getting into trouble with oldsters wasn’t enough to dampen my enthusiasm for Halloween, being mugged when I was 11 (it’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it sometime) squashed it completely.

Because of my children, up until now, I’ve tried to keep my tawdry Halloween past a secret. After all, they so enjoy every aspect of this holiday. They happily decide what they’ll be, help with all the preparations, and count the days until they’re dressed up and collecting candy.

My favorite one so far was when we brought the kids to California and spent it trick-or-treating with Mona and her family in an exceptionally theme-inspired neighborhood. The residents tried to outdo each other creating steaming witches’ caldrons and makeshift graveyards on their lawns. There was even one house where you had to collect your candy from Dracula while he lay in a coffin.

Over the years, I’ve not only enjoyed trick-or-treating with my kids but also the traditions we’ve developed around Halloween. For instance, we have a pumpkin-carving contest and vote for the best one. Every year my husband makes a scary face, I make a cute one and the kids often base theirs on cartoon characters or super heroes. And no matter where the children are at the beginning of the evening, we all meet up at a certain time to walk around our own neighborhood together.

Thanks to my children, Halloween, for me, has lost a lot of its former sting. I’ve found this to be an interesting aspect of parenthood. Old likes and dislikes take on a different spin because you’re experiencing them from a new perspective – that of your children’s.

So no, Halloween will never be a favorite holiday of mine, but my kids certainly make it bearable, and even fun.

Kathy P. Behan, a mother of three, is a nationally published freelance writer specializing in family and health issues.

Near Miss Heightens Driving Paranoia

adventure-automobile-automotive-787476BY KATHY P. BEHAN

I almost lost someone I love today through the ignorance and impatience of a 17-year-old girl. She decided she had waited long enough at a stop sign, and accelerated right into the oncoming traffic. By good fortune, the only casualties were the cars involved in the crash — not their occupants.

My relief at knowing that my “friend” and this girl were all right, quickly turned into a burning and consuming rage. How could she do something so stupid? What, if anything, was she thinking? And so, for the rest of the day, I alternately gave thanks to God for sparing my loved one, and watching the drivers around me with a suspiciousness that bordered on paranoia.

For the next few days, I witnessed several horn-blaring, tire-screeching, wild swerving near misses in the time that I drove. People, what is going on? To begin with, tailgating seems to be as common as collisions (501 car accidents last year just in our town alone, according to a recent report). It seems as if you can’t drive for more than five minutes without some moron zooming up and trying to impale him- or herself on your rear bumper.

Young drivers aren’t the only ones guilty of this. I’ve seen everyone from middle-aged housewives to business people to oldsters engaging in this reckless practice. It’s more understandable but still not condonable, when the car being tailgated is going below the speed limit, but I’ve been in cars traveling at a high rate of speed that were still being harassed by the driver behind them.

Another peculiar and treacherous practice occurs when you’re on a main road but are trying to make a left-hand turn onto a side street. A driver stopped, but about to come out of that side street, expects you to let them make their own left turn in front of your car. How did this ridiculous behavior begin, not to mention, become so widespread?

Drivers, we really need to take stock here. We need to become much more conscious and careful of our behavior when we’re at the wheel. Does it really matter if we arrive at our destination a few minutes later because we drove without speeding? Can lateness for anything really be more important than our lives, or those of the people we love? Just think of what it would be like to know you’re responsible for someone’s death, especially that of a child.

So if you’d ever like to pass me on the road, go right ahead. I’m busy taking care of the infinitely precious people in my car, so I really don’t care if you get ahead of me. But if you do drive as if you’re out for blood — just make sure it’s your own.

Kathy P. Behan, a mother of three, is a nationally published freelance writer, specializing in health and family issues.

The Story of Cody

With Cody blue couch
Cody with one of his happy owners
By Kathy P. Behan
Once upon a time there was a hyperactive, adorable, ball of fur who was in a pet store with his sister and two brothers. He was known by the staff as “Mr. Energy.” A woman named Kathy happened to come by who was continuing her search to try to find which, if any, type of dog she wouldn’t be allergic to. After observing a number of different dogs, she spotted Mr. Energy and his litter mates, and noticed that they were purported to be a hypo-allergenic  breed. She asked the clerk if she could be “introduced.”
This woman was no casual dog shopper. She had done a lot of research about types of dogs and the best ways to select a puppy. After noticing that she wasn’t breaking out in hives or having any other sort of allergic reaction, she ran the puppies through a number of different tests and made her selection – one of Mr. Energy’s brothers.
Kathy returned home extremely excited. She had finally found what she hoped would become her family’s pet. She had been keeping her puppy research hidden from her three children because she didn’t want them to have their hearts broken if it turned out she wasn’t able to find a dog that didn’t make her  itch. She confided in  her husband though, and the two set out to meet what they hoped would be their perfect pet.
The woman took her husband to the schnoodle kennel and happily showed him her selection. The man turned to her and said, “No. I want that one.”
He was pointing at “Mr. Energy” who was wildly hopping up and down in his pen. Kathy was so thrilled at the prospect of finally being able to have a dog, that she immediately agreed. The couple arranged to pick up the puppy later that week.
When they returned  home, she decided it would be best to “fib” to her children about the dog. What if it turned out that she couldn’t tolerate the pet’s dander? The children would be devastated. So she came up with a plan. She would tell her kids that she was baby-sitting a puppy for a friend.
On the day that they were to pick up Cody, the woman’s mother happened to be visiting. Grammy had initially been upset that her daughter had used the money she had so carefully “stolen” from her husband to give to her daughter, for the purchase of a dog. But upon meeting Cody, she was immediately smitten. This five-pound  energetic furball was so tiny that the pet store owner gave them a cat’s collar and leash to take the dog home. He also promised the women that they could return the pet if he caused Kathy’s allergies to flare up.
The women left the pet store with their adorable purchase. Grammy rode in the middle of the back seat with Cody in her arms. She carefully explained to him that he needed to be very well-behaved in the car because she wasn’t sure she’d be able to properly restrain him if he wiggled too much. Grammy had seen his antics in the pet store and was a bit worried about trying to keep him under control. Cody responded like the perfect gentleman. He snuggled into her lap and barely moved on the ride to his new home.
They set up baby gates around the kitchen to keep the puppy contained but he also had freedom to romp. Kathy spent a lot of time with the dog, petting him and letting him lick her waiting for an allergic reaction that never came. She was optimistic they’d be able to keep this furry treasure.
When the kids came home from school, Kathy told them the prearranged story, and as expected, they were delighted by the puppy. However, Cullen was  upset that someone would ask his Mom to dog-sit.
“Doesn’t that lady know you’re allergic?” he demanded.
Kathy reassured him that so far, she was feeling fine.
When it became clear to her later that day, that she was remarkably allergy free, she couldn’t wait any longer and gathered the kids together to tell them the good news – that Cody was theirs.
That was the beginning of what would be a 15-and-a-half-year love affair.
Kathy bought a dog crate and set it up in the kitchen with a check-patterned pad. Cody started off unsure of the contraption but after Kathy put treats and other goodies inside, he was able to make peace with it. At bedtime though, he was resistant to his confinement – especially when he was still located in the kitchen and his family was nowhere to be seen. After a long period of howling, barking and crying, the couple partially relented and had Cody’s crate set up in their bedroom. Almost immediately, he went to sleep.
Cody was just shy of three months old when they got him and he was able to sleep through the night right from the start. Of course, he rose at the crack of dawn needing to relieve himself. The couple would trade off early-morning bathroom duty.
Kathy also set up yarn with sleigh bells on the kitchen’s sliding glass door hoping to teach Cody to “ring the bell” when he needed to go outside. She had heard about this trick from a friend. After quickly learning paper training, Cody also was fast  on mastering the art of  “doing his business” outside. To get out there, he did indeed learn to ring those bells. Sometimes though, he just rang them cause it was time to play in the backyard.
The one thing that Cody was never really able to master was the art of “walking.” Instead, he would prance, bound, run, frolic, and romp. He would also tug and strain against the leash, not being able to contain his joy and enthusiasm with the wide world waiting to be explored.
Of course, because he was still a puppy, he spent a lot of time sleeping. But when he was awake, he more than made up for his periods of inactivity. He was a whirling dervish of movement and mischief. Ignoring his many chew toys, he chose instead to gnaw the molding off the walls. He would also play fetch with himself, hurling his cloth bone into the air and then attacking it. Tug of war was another of his favorite amusements. He would hang on so tightly that he could actually be lifted off the ground by the object clutched between his jaws.
As much as the family took pride in Cody’s achievements and quick learning, he was actually training all the members of his household as well. He was a noble schnoodle after all, and terriers only do what they choose to do. For instance, another of his favorite games was “keep away.” He would lie in wait for dirty underwear or socks to come his way and then he would pounce. He would grab the object and tear through the house. If he wasn’t  chased though, the game wasn’t nearly as fun. Cody would then set out to find the nearest person and taunt him/her with his treasure. He’d be in a crouch with the object clenched between his teeth, tail wagging frantically, as he expectantly watched for signs that a human would race after him and try to take his prize. Hardly anything was as much fun for him as the chase that was likely to ensue because he had trained his family to pursue him.
Cody also adored being walked. As stated earlier, he pranced through the neighborhood greeting every animal and person that he could. And trying to mark his territory as often as allowed. He made many friends on these walks.
One such walk led him to his lifelong friend and companion, Jaspar. Cody was walking with Kathy one day  when Cody was about three. They spotted a tiny puppy  frantically pawing the front door of a house. It was clear that something was wrong so Kathy approached the “youngster” and rang the doorbell. No one answered. The small dog began following them so Kathy picked him up and decided to take him back to her home. She learned the name of the puppy’s owner and planned to call her. Kathy set up the baby gates again around the kitchen, barricading the two dogs inside. The puppy flung himself at Cody and tore around the room. Cody was amused by the small thing and gently but firmly let him know when he’d had enough. Shortly thereafter, Jaspar took up permanent residence with Cody and his family.
Cody also turned out to be a wonderful teacher – he taught Jaspar to ring the bell to be let out; showed him how to negotiate the dog door; and unfortunately, also showed Jaspar how to react to visitors ringing the front doorbell. The visitor would watch in fear/amazement as Cody would race down the stairs and hurl himself at the glass next to the door, practically doing a backflip off the glass in his excitement. And because Cody barked as long and loudly as he wanted to no matter how the family tried to quiet him, Jaspar soon learned to do the same.
Cody’s treatment of Jaspar was typical. He was a sweet, patient gentleman who was interested in making friends and closely examining every animal and person who came his way.
Over the years, Cody’s brilliance and athletic prowess were evident. He leapt over blocking obstacles with ease, climbed bunk bed ladders, learned to push or pull gates to knock them over, and also taught himself how to open backyard gates so his owners had to also tie them closed. His family  had to spell the word “walk” so that Cody wouldn’t go ballistic, but after he caught on to that, they then had to spell it backward. He amazed them with his understanding of many different words and concepts. He was also a great car dog and learned to recognize the landmarks along the way of certain destinations.
Mr. Energy essentially remained that way until he was 15 – 105 in people years. Until about a month before he died, despite a significant weight loss, aging, cancer and a giant leg lymphoma, Cody would routinely go for a spirited walk. Even right before his death, while his “parents,” the doctor and a technician looked on, he walked into the backyard, peed, and then almost looked as if he were going to make a run for it. He couldn’t though, and he also couldn’t out-race time. Cody’s time had come and he died peacefully, outside in his yard, surrounded by some of the people he loved, and laid to rest in his own surroundings.
This noble, gentle, sweet boy will never be forgotten by the family who loved him.

 

Parenthood Is Not for Weenies

alone-beautiful-boardwalk-247314By Kathy P. Behan

To state the obvious, parenthood is hard. It’s also immensely important and enjoyable, but at times, it’s pure slog. Sometimes you’re just trying to make it through the day. And when you really have it bad, your desperate hope is that you’re not raising serial killers.

A big part of the problem is that it’s non-stop. You can’t raise your hand and say, “OK, I’ve had enough. Bring in my replacement.” It’s 24/7. Relentless. And for long stretches of time, it’s all on you. You can’t put a kid on “pause.”

If you’re lucky enough to have a partner, s/he can share the responsibility and the two of you can work out times when the other can sleep, eat, socialize or just recharge. But it’s still a challenge trying to balance being an attentive parent and yet maintaining your own mental and physical health.

Even when children are good, they can still be trying. Babies have to be watched nonstop. You’re also perennially on the night shift because they tend to be terrible sleepers. Older tykes go on the regular: “Read to me,” “Watch me,” “Play with me” rants. They never seem to tire of the same books or games.

An important parenting salvation trick is to try to teach them to entertain themselves. This way at least you can have a few minutes to yourself. Lucky parents may have a kid who has this trait naturally. My second child had this ability in spades. His imagination and early reading ability kept him enthralled for long periods of time. Children #1 and #3 were a different story. They wouldn’t let me off that easy. I was their entertainment center. For instance, even when my daughter was reading, she insisted on doing it from the same vantage point — sitting in my lap. You can just imagine how much I could accomplish while this child was perpetually sitting on me or when she wasn’t, clinging to my leg.

When I was at my breaking point, I had a sure-fire regrouping trick. I would make sure the kids were separated and safely confined and then I would lock myself in the bathroom with a Time magazine and a Diet Coke. This timeout never failed to help me cope, even though it only lasted a few minutes. Every parent needs to come up with a similar survival strategy.

I’m telling you all this because being a good parent is monumentally difficult, and your behavior is critical. What you say and do matters, a lot. How involved, or uninvolved you are as a parent. The time and interest you’ve shown to your little ones. How you manage them day in and day out. It has a lasting impact on your children. You can’t just choose your finest moments for them to remember, capturing snapshots of the happy times. The album is also filled with pictures of how you responded in anger and how you made them feel about their – and your own — failures, disappointments and hurts.

So, as I said, parenthood is challenging. It takes a lot of time, energy, effort and wisdom. That’s why it fries me when I’ve occasionally heard mothers say how easy parenting was for them. How their children were never difficult. How they never lost their temper, and always did the right thing. Who are they kidding? They either have extremely bad memories or they’re liars. No one gets out of parenthood unscathed.

If you’re a good parent, you always have regrets and at times, wish you were better, smarter or more patient. The fact is that we’re not perfect, and neither are our kids. It’s harmful and a disservice to our children and other parents, to pretend otherwise.

Hopefully, we’re all striving to do, and be, our best. And frankly, that has to be good enough – but it’s still hard.

Kathy P. Behan, a mother of three, is a nationally-published freelance writer specializing in health and family matters.

Shopping For A Little Time

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My girl, Taryn, in all her spirited glory with her brothers.

By Kathy P. Behan

Right up there with camping, one of my least favorite activities to do en famile has got to be grocery shopping. It’s always such an ordeal to bring the kids. I’m willing to shop
late at night or with crowds of people on the weekend, just so I can do it solo while my husband stays home with our children. But even with careful planning, the unforeseen can happen and that’s when the kids get to come. Oh, it’s not so bad if I’m there for under three minutes and just have to pick up an item or two. But all you-know-what breaks loose if we’re there for any longer a period of time.

The clock begins ticking the second we enter the market. It’s always a race to see how many items I can collect before the time bombs, a.k.a. my children, go off. While I’m
racing down the aisles at top speed, wielding my shopping list and coupons, their finely tuned homing devices are zeroing in on the most expensive and rotten-for-you snacks
they can find. Usually though, I can reason with the boys and talk them out of some junk food, cooked up in  some deranged advertising executive’s mind and not in a nutritionist’s kitchen. But these debates and explanations eat, if you’ll pardon the
pun, into the time that my daughter allows me to shop.

At 21 months, my precocious Taryn is well on her way into one of the most aggravating and accurately–named stages of childhood — the Terrible Two’s. Two- year-olds are
usually not well-behaved at the best of times, but put these little tyrants into less than optimal conditions and watch the fur fly. She’ll begin our marketing in a pleasant enough mood, entranced by the people and brightly colored packages. But before long, she becomes bored with “sight-seeing.”

I really know we’re in trouble when she’s tired of squishing all the soft items in the
cart and no longer cares to dump out the foods that for some unfathomable reason fail to please her. These are the unmistakable signs that our time is up and she’s about
to blow. When Taryn has decided she’s been captive long enough, sometimes all it takes to soothe her is a little bribery — she’ll remain seated in the cart if she’s supplied with a
steady stream of animal crackers or string cheese. But other times she refuses to be pacified and just wants “Out!”

More than once we have arrived at the checkout counter in desperate straits. Taryn will be standing up on the seat, stamping her feet, with her arms wrapped tightly around my head, screaming what must surely be baby obscenities. I strive to look nonchalant
while trying to extricate myself from her vice-like grip in order to unload the cart, pay and keep her from toppling onto the ground.

During this ordeal the boys are: a) causing their own ruckus and therefore oblivious to their sister’s tantrum; b) trying hard to pretend they’re not in any way related to the
small screaming person and her hapless mother; or c) (my personal favorite) so in awe of their sister’s wild behavior that they just docilely follow us to watch the action.

The worst part is, after such a stressful experience, I usually completely lose my appetite and don’t care to eat any of the foods that I went to such great lengths and personal trauma to obtain.

I do try to learn from these trying times, though. For instance, I’m honing my skill in kiddie combat. That’s why the next time I find myself in a similar situation, I’m going
to hold my head high (if Taryn will let me), try to maintain my sense of humor and, like my sons, pretend the tantruming child isn’t mine. And based on our latest marketing
experience, I’ve also developed a brand new shopping strategy — I’ll let my husband do it!

Kathy P. Behan, a mother of three, is a nationally published freelance writer specializing in health and family issues.