Drilling into a New Year

I’ve never been a big fan of fitness classes. I can’t keep up with the moves, my 20-year-old t-shirts and shorts are out of place and the walls of mirrors leave no place for klutzes like me to hide. Exercising alone, in the comfort of my shabby and outdated workout attire, has always been much more appealing.

So I was surprised last week when I heard myself ask a neighbor friend if I could attend “Boot camp” with her–at 5:45 a.m. I had no idea what the class involved. Between Zumba, Bosu, Pilates, glide and spin, it’s hard to keep up with all the fitness trends.

When my alarm went off hours before the crack of dawn the next morning, my bed had never felt more divine. The sheets were soft and cool, the blankets the perfect balance of heaviness and warmth.

I scolded myself for volunteering for such a crazy idea. Nevertheless, volunteer I did and now my friend was counting on me to pick her up. So to Boot camp I must go.

Just twenty minutes after leaving the cozy nest of my bed, my nose was pressed against a dusty gym floor while a stop-watched carrying drill sergeant disguised as a small, blond fitness teacher stood overhead counting my push-ups. The name of the class suddenly made perfect sense.

During the next 45 minutes we ran lines and shuffled across the floor like high school hoopsters in slow motion. We did push-ups, sit-ups, burpees, squats, and jumping jacks. “Come on guys. This is suppose to be a sprint,” drill sergeant Jen scolded.

The Christmas truffles I had been eating for weeks shook like rocks in my head and the gingersnaps and frosted sugar cookies I ate the night before didn’t seem like such a smart bedtime snack. Thank goodness I remembered to grab a water bottle. It was gone half way through the class.

The final five minutes were dedicated to sit-ups. My red face looked like it would explode under the pressure of pulling myself up. I figured, in between grunts, that it had been at least 10 years since I had done a full sit-up. My abs had been sleeping a long time and clearly preferred to remain in slumber.

I cheated my way through the last of those, laid lifeless on the mat during the cool down, and shuffled out of the class.

“Isn’t that a great workout? Doesn’t it go fast?” my friend said cheerfully on the way home. Fortunately she didn’t wait for my response.

For the next couple days, normal functions like sitting, standing, and walking required considerable concentration. My whole body hurt. Laughing was torture. My only choice was to return to class in hopes of loosening up those stiff and neglected muscles.

Despite the pain, I have returned to the class three more times. The hour is grueling, but my classmates are motivating, the instructor is challenging, and I love how alive I feel when I drive to work.

Best wishes to all who are launching fitness goals in the New Year. May you find your inner drill sergeant—or a good Boot camp class—to keep you going.

Christmas is Patience

Some friends and I are studying the fruit of the spirit – love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness and self control. It’s an amazing study – one I’ve completed before and embraced again because of the “fruit” it produced last time. I need more fruit.

One of the exercises in the study involves learning the American Sign Language expressions for each of the nine fruits. The sign for patience brought me to tears. You make a fist, place it thumb side down on your upper lip and move your thumb down over your closed lips, stopping under your chin. It’s a little difficult to demonstrate in writing, but it looks like a sign for shut your mouth.

I think I wrote about this the last time I completed this study but it bears repeating. Patience means “Keep that sharp comment to yourself.” I should check my actions with that sign when I feel my patience dwindling.

Patience can be hard to come by for kids and adults in our house. We had to wait 20 minutes at a coffee drive through on Sunday morning and tension was so high by the time we received our order we barely mustered a thank you for the woman who handed us our drinks. Merry Christmas. God bless you!

It’s embarrassing to admit, but I know we aren’t alone. I watched two young women in a large SUV nearly run a sedan off south 7th street last week when the car wasn’t going fast enough. They eventually weaved hazardously through the traffic and roared past the “slow” car only to sit next to it at the very next stoplight.

Christmas is associated with a variety of feelings and states—joy, hope, generosity, peace. This year, I’m noticing how much Christmas has to teach us about patience. The word isn’t emblazoned on Christmas ornaments or stocking holders but Christmas is swaddled in manger of patience.

Adults need patience to manage the extensive list of Christmas preparations on top of our already packed everyday lives. We need patience to deal with crowded stores and streets and with additional bills. Sometimes we need patience to interact with family members we only see at the holidays.

For children, Christmas is a grueling test of patience. Weeks, days, hours and minutes creep by until the moment when they can finally rip the wrapping off their gifts or rush to the tree to see what Santa delivered.

Ultimately, though, these are small and relatively simple exercises in patience. A friend said to me last week, “If only we spent as much time decorating our souls as we spend decorating our homes for Christmas.” There’s a lot of truth to that.

What are we decorating and why? Why are we buying and baking and giving?
What Christians are really preparing for is the arrival of our Savior—perhaps the ultimate test in patience. In this respect, the Christmas Season is a metaphor for Christian living. We share generously our gifts, serve our family and friends, remember the less fortunate, spread joy and good cheer, sing praises, all with the hope of someday meeting our Savior.

May we walk patiently through the remaining days of advent and beyond, using all of our Christmas preparations and celebrations as an opportunity to decorate our souls for Christ.

A classic Thanksgiving battle: Woman versus turkey

A small container of lumpy potatoes is all that remains of Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday.

Christmas promoters have been trying to overtake Thanksgiving for years. We had just finished counting our Halloween candy when one radio station started playing Christmas music 24/7 and an eager neighbor revealed an impressive display of Christmas lights.

In stubborn protection of Thanksgiving, we refused to hang our outdoor lights during the many calm and balmy November days. It wouldn’t be Christmas if we didn’t have to prop a ladder on icy sidewalks and wrestle with frozen lights in a brisk December wind.

So, our home was all gourds and leaves for our Thanksgiving gathering that included 11 adults and 7 children—a manageable number yet big enough to feel like a party.

I have a habit of underestimating these tasks and feeling more confident than I should. “I’m keeping it simple,” I tell myself. “Just the basics.”

I delegated the pies and stuffing, and a friend at work inspired me with a promising recipe for the most memorable turkey ever: a champagne turkey.

I’ve tried many methods for cooking gobblers – the bag, the deep fryer, soaking in brine. All have left me wanting. Surely, the champagne turkey would end my search. I looked forward to satisfied looks and glowing praise from guests after the first juicy bites of this succulent, flavorful turkey touched their lips.

My Food Network mentor, the Barefoot Contessa, inspired me to stay up late on Thanksgiving Eve to prepare the bird. Just like her, I would be ready in advance, a carefree host calmly offering my guests refreshing holiday drinks and laughing gaily with them rather than sweating in the kitchen.

At noon, everything was progressing as planned. Just a few more details and I would join the guests. I put the turkey in the oven in preparation for a 3:30 meal, fried bacon for salad, sautéed mushrooms for gravy and cleaned up the kitchen.

Two hours had passed so I checked the bird. The meat thermometer didn’t even register a temp. Weird. I turned the oven up to 400, poured myself a Kir Royale and went to work on more “final” details. Then I cleaned the kitchen.

At 3 p.m., the temperature had only advanced a few more degrees—so much for a 3:30 dinner. I poured myself a different champagne concoction and stole turkey drippings to make the gravy. Then I cleaned up the kitchen.

At 4:30 p.m., our kitchen looked like a bunch of college boys had been living in it for a month. The stove, island and counters were filled with prepared food or dirty pans. Every serving bowl and spoon we own was in use. And the turkey barely registered 150 degrees.

At this point, I decided guests could either suffer salmonella or have Thanksgiving dinner without turkey. Their choice.

I stomped downstairs and transferred title for the turkey to my husband. He retracted the recliner and dryly suggested we could order pizza (to the chuckles of all our guests.)

I threatened him with the sharp end of the meat thermometer.

He pulled the bird out of the oven, began carving it and declared, “Oh, it’s done. This is definitely done.” It wasn’t as dry as turkey jerky, but let’s just put it this way. There wasn’t any leftover gravy.

Thanksgiving is still my favorite holiday, but I’ve officially resigned as cooker of holiday meat. Santa, please bring my husband a new meat thermometer. I don’t want to eat pizza on Christmas Day.

Observations from the bleachers of the 2010 election

The election is over. North Dakotans, and most Americans, are sighing with relief. No more ads.

We’re all too familiar with the template:

Dark, sinister music plays. An ominous voice relates a list of dreadful misdeeds or characteristics. “This bad guy supports putting oil wells on stage at Medora’s Burning Hills Amphitheater.” “That bad guy votes with Satan, I mean Nancy Pelosi, 97 percent of the time.”

Cue bright, cheerful music and a upbeat voice expressing meaningless platitudes. “But ‘good guy’, he’s respected and trustworthy. He’ll hold the line on spending, care for seniors and bring home the bacon. He’ll ignore special interest groups -- except of course yours (wink wink).” He will. Honest. Believe me -- I’m a nameless person with a trustworthy voice being paid to say this.

The scripts are so dim and predictable it’s laughable. Campaign staffers even mock them.

I love politics, but today’s political landscape is discouraging. Leadership of our nation seems to have been reduced to an NFL football game, a perpetual rematch of Vikings versus Packers.

Rival teams struggle for field position, develop their strategies and occasionally steal plays from each other. Commentators scrutinize every fumble or touch down. The pundits, cheerleaders and a dwindling group of fans devour it. But a growing mass of spectators tunes it out.

Politics is supposed to be about policy. We elect people to develop laws that significantly affect our lives.

But political campaigns today, at least the part that reaches most people, are rarely about policy. It’s about personality. In order to simplify messages into 30-second ads, political parties and consultants brand the personalities involved.

In 2008 Bush was the “bad guy” roped around Republicans like a noose. This year, the Republicans copied this play and choked Democrats with Nancy Pelosi and Harry Reid.

Political consultants advocate strongly for these and other negative tactics. “They work,” they argue, and go back to writing talking points. I’ve long accepted this rational, but the endless assault of attack ads in North Dakota’s Congressional race – sometimes three or four in a row – left me wondering why. Why is this an acceptable?

I could give my kids Dramamine every night to make them sleep rather than struggle through the bedtime routine. I could start smoking to lose weight. We could open a new credit card and charge a family trip to Hawaii to help make winter more tolerable.

All of these tactics would solve the problems at hand, but that doesn’t make them responsible or smart.

So it is with negative ads – those that go beyond pointing out someone’s record to degrade their personality. “Be a man!” one recent North Dakota ad condemned. Maybe this “works” but it’s seriously undermining our political process.

Political consultants need to chart another path. Candidates must insist on it. The rest of the responsibility belongs to us. You know, we, the people.

Rather than relying on 30-second ads to inform us, we must invest some time, just a modest amount, to understand the background and experience of candidates. How are they qualified for the positions they want and where do they stand on issues that matter deeply to our American way of life.

The Internet is full of resources to do this. Think of it like making your own fantasy football team of political leaders.

Peace has returned to the airwaves for now, but it’s temporary.

Cue eerie music and creepy voice. “… We’ll be back … ”

The next election is just around the corner. Dare we hope it’s more positive?

In admiration of little boys

My husband and daughter were gone last weekend, so my boys, five and seven, invited a buddy to sleep over. Oh for a hidden camera to preserve the spirit of these three boys who exist for one purpose: to squeeze the life out of every waking minute.

Sports consumed them for the first couple hours. Sammy exploded into the house to report that he had hit a baseball all the way to our porch window. He seemed surprise by my response. “Did you break it?” What an irrelevant thing to ask a five-year-old after the biggest hit of his life.

Later, they took over the swing set – not swinging or sliding or using any of the accessories for their intended purpose, of course. The ladder was on the ground. They spun the horse in circles, wrapped the swing around the top bar, and scaled all the walls except the one intended for climbing – the rock wall.

I dragged them on a short errand to my parent’s house. There they found a jumper and invented a wrestling/jumping/basketball game, the spontaneous rules of which they each understood perfectly.

The promise of pizza and pop drove them bonkers, and effectively bribed them away from the jumper. While they waited for their gourmet meal, they waged a Nerf gun War of Terror in our basement. Their impressive arsenal of arms includes a crossbow, pistols, rifles, lasers and even an automatic weapon that delivers Velcro-tipped bullets at an alarming force.

I find them in every corner of our house including, most recently, the bottom of my purse. I fully expect to walk into a meeting someday with a bullet dangling from the back of my jacket.

As we concluded our perfect meal, the clock struck 7:30. The October sky was already dark.

“How’d you like to go for a night walk?” I asked.

All six eyes widened and sparkled and the boys burst forth with a collective, “Yaaahh!” For a moment, they looked at me sideways in disbelief, as if I had just offered them an endless supply of Laffy Taffy and three uninterrupted hours of Wii.

As we prepared for the walk, one of them said, “You know, there’s been a lot more crime here lately.” The others solemnly agreed. They grabbed a flashlight and armed themselves. Not with weapons from the Nerf cache -- that would be foolish. “We’d lose the bullets, mom.”

No, they grabbed a device dreaded by all hardened criminals: rubber bands. We set out -- our loyal chocolate lab and a fearless band of rubber-band-bearing boys -- unafraid of any danger we might face at dusk in Bismarck.

For the entire 20-minute walk they discussed various plans of attack should we encounter “night robbers.” Wrestling, shooting them in the eyes and knocking them where the sun doesn’t shine were the most popular schemes.

Fortunately, we made it home without incident. After a competitive game of Sorry Sliders and their favorite creatures-of-the-desert book, they had consumed the day’s final drops of life. The three tireless tykes were tuckered out.

I kissed them and left them with their rubber bands and bullets to defeat the bad guys of their dreams.

Little boys -- marvels of energy, courage, curiosity and competiveness. Sadly, these qualities don’t always conform to the designs of modern childhood. Still, let us nurture not suppress the best of these traits so our future men might fulfill their potential to lead, defend, love and live life to the fullest.

Searching for Life's Easy Button

My daughter wants to learn how to play guitar. We are thrilled about this so two years ago we bought her a cute half-size instrument, found a wonderful young teacher and added guitar lessons and practice to our schedule.

That was the easy part. Everything since then -- not so easy. She quickly discovered that, while the gear and the lessons can be purchased, the skills to play a guitar cannot. Whenever the struggle comes to a head, she insists tearfully, “No mom. I don’t want to quit. I just don’t want to practice.”

Oh, how I can relate. I have a long list of aspirations – playing the guitar, speaking Spanish, writing a book, learning to knit. But somehow I lack the time, focus and probably the passion to make them a reality.

One of the inconvenient truths about life is that we can buy a lot of things to make our time on Earth easier – self-cleaning ovens, drive-through food, automatic sprinklers, remote car starters, and any number of “I” items (I-phones, pods, pads, tunes, books).

But most of the things in life worth having can’t be bought or gained through a short cut. Apple doesn’t offer an I-PerfectMarriage, I-MedicalDegree, I-ScratchGolfer.

Nowhere is the lack of convenient shortcuts more evident than in parenting.

Our youngest is struggling a bit to adjust to pre-school. On the first day, a spiffy new pair of shoes was enough to inspire him through the door. But the novelty of the new shoes has long since worn off. Lately when I drop him off he wraps his arms and legs around me like a spider monkey and insists he’s staying with me.

Removing a nimble five-year-old who is clinging to your back with all four limbs is impossible to do gracefully while wearing high heels and carrying a giant pink purse. Especially when, in my heart, I want to stay with him, introduce him to friends and keep him comfortable.

Would my presence ease his transition or rob him of an important chance to learn how to make friends and adjust to new situations on his own? Oh for an I-ParentingDecisionMaker to tell me.

For parents, every day is a replay of “to do or not to do.” Should we confront the mean friend on our child’s behalf, protect them from a bad teacher, buy them what they want, restrict their access to TV or video games, say no to junk food and soda, lobby a coach for more playing time?

When should we intervene and when should we leave them to fight their own battles and learn their own lessons? Where’s the “easy button” to help us find this delicate balance?

Our instinct is to make things easy and comfortable for our kids, to fix their mistakes and protect them from bad consequences. But good things rarely come easy or without effort. Convenience doesn’t build character.

The best and most loving approach might very well be to let them struggle through some hard times, learn to deal with pain and disappointment and hopefully gain the confidence, compassion and strength of realizing they can.

For kids and adults alike, money can’t buy a shortcut for that

Fall is Here

I did something last week that I haven’t done for months -- wore long pants running. I hated to take this step and debated trying to ignore the thermometer, but the previous day found me shivering in white capris and sandals that I naively wore in protest to the changing temps.

Let’s face it. Fall is here.

A few weeks ago I was celebrating the best summer ever. But the air today is altogether different. The undertones are undeniably cool and the dominoes of a new season are beginning to tumble. New routines, responsibilities and hobbies one-by-one shut the door on summer and transition us gently (please oh please gently, and slowly) into winter.

It begins with clothes. Fall means jeans and sweatshirts, and for women especially the return of socks. Wool, corduroy or “Russels” are clearly premature at this point, but cotton is much too breezy. Denim and fleece are just right.

Food also takes a major turn. Fall means soup and chili – the easiest comfort foods. I miss having these no-fail options to turn to in the summer when the clock strikes six and we realize the dinner angels forgot to bless our home with food or inspiration for it.

Fall means the return of school routines. Amen and hallelujah. Parents everywhere are celebrating this.

Don’t get me wrong. I treasure the freedom of summer, but enough is enough. Our kids were beginning to sound way too much like Sponge Bob and Patrick. They stayed up late, played all day and ate so many freeze pops I began to worry their teeth might take on the brilliant rainbow hues of these cheap treats.

So long freedom, hello 8:15 bedtimes and two glorious hours of mostly quiet adult time. One of these days I might actually watch a television show or balance the checkbook again.

Fall also means the end of potted plants and their incessant need for water. I’m sick of ours, and secretly hope for a freeze so I can quit watching them slowly die from neglect. Don’t tell, but I’m cheating on them already anyway. I noticed some very attractive pumpkins at the farmer’s market the other day. The dainty pink petunias that brought me joy all summer will soon be withering in the garbage can, replaced by rough and ruddy hay bales and gourds.

Finally, fall means new hobbies. My poor hips and bunions are begging me to return to the lap pool, something I just can’t do until the snow flies and temperatures plummet. Golf clubs will soon be replaced with shotguns. And Sunday afternoons will find families and friends gathered together for the great (and often futile) tradition on these Northern plains: cheering for the Vikings or Packers.

Welcome fall! Enter slowly, make yourself at home, and please stick around for a while. I have lots of jeans to wear.

Bidding Farewell to the Best Summer Ever

I’ve been cyber-stalking my 26-year-old niece all summer. She has a Facebook album titled, “The Best Summer Ever – 2010.” It’s loaded with pictures of her and other beautiful Denver singles camping, climbing mountains, attending outdoor festivals and generally celebrating the freedom of their age and singleness.

In late July I realized young people in the Rockies don’t have a monopoly on the “Best Summer Ever.” We’ve had a pretty amazing summer too, kids and all, right here in North Dakota. So, I started my own “2010 The Best Summer Ever” Facebook album.

I’ve only uploaded a few photos so far but I’ll get to that, perhaps in 2023 when my kids graduate. Meanwhile, here are some highlights of our Best Summer Ever.

Medora: Quaint, safe and carefree, my kids fell in love with Medora. They were enchanted by the musical, especially the gunfight at the finale of course. The collection of toys at the Doll House and the Old West playground also proved entertaining.

But most impressive to them was their ability to walk everywhere in this spiffy little town, from one end to the other, without a single care. We did this several times. They never once asked for a water park.

Downstream Campground: This must be one of the nicest campgrounds in the state, and it provided the perfect backdrop for a legendary travel video that I’ll upload on the state tourism site just as soon as I finish it. Right after the “Best Summer Ever” album.

Fort Union. Historical interpreters bring this rather modest attraction alive. My kids hauled firewood in exchange for arrowheads, watched a metal smith make tools and ate cornbread cooked over fire in a cast-iron skillet.

In its day, Fort Union was a major trading post, carrying fabric, tools, beads, sugar, paint and many other imports from America and Europe. Fort Union was North Dakota’s first Wal Mart. Who knew?

Lake Isabel, Fourth of July: Sunny, hot weather set the stage for a glorious day of swimming, tubing, eating, watching fireworks and learning how to water ski. Our friends keep urging us to buy a cabin there. Why would we do that, we wonder, when we have an open invitation to hang out at theirs?

Rounding out the “Best Summer Ever” memories in North Dakota are a picture-perfect day on Lake Sakakawea, Raging Rivers, biking the trails in Bismarck, Junior Zookeeper and Sleepy Hollow art camps, Bismarck Baseball League, wine cruises on the river and a garden bursting with herbs and veggies.

My only regret is that two good weeks of summer, probably the most pleasant, remain but the kids are already back in school and we’re forced to behave as if summer is over.

Let’s change this goofy school schedule. Meanwhile, plans are underway for The Best Summer Ever Part II, 2011, featuring the Fargo Air Show, the Peace Gardens, Lake Metigoshe, canoeing down the Little Missouri, camping at Jamestown Reservoir, Frost Fire Theater and much more. I love this state.

Early in our marriage, I often whined when Mike’s work took him away from home overnight.

He had little patience for my complaints. “People leave their families and ship out to sea for 10 months at a time,” he insisted. “That’s hardship. This is not. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Growing up the son of an airman, Mike lived in a half dozen different places. He then served in the Navy and traveled the globe for six years on a Naval oiler, which apparently is even less glamorous than it sounds. Despite being young, single and childless, he struggled with the loneliness of long assignments at sea.

A few weeks ago, the last of the 650 North Dakota soldiers who served in Kosovo as part of a multi-national NATO peacekeeping mission returned home. Bismarck’s own Brig. Gen. Al Dohrmann commanded the force, which included troops from six countries and was the largest single deployment of the North Dakota National Guard since the Korean War.
It was not as dangerous an assignment as some have been, but it was long and affected many. These folks were separated from their spouses, children, parents and friends for nearly a year. Three hundred forty three days away from their own beds, fridges, hobbies, cars, bathrooms, blankets and affection of any sort from their family and friends.

They left behind 485 children. Included among the soldiers were mothers (uff da); a few parents of newborn babies (ugh); and at least 12 soon-to-be-dads with pregnant wives (ouch).

I suspect everyone in North Dakota knew someone who was deployed. We had three friends on the mission, and witnessed up-close the sacrifices these military families make in service to our country and world. The solo parents at home coordinated the first day of school and the last, umpteen practices and parties, holidays, trips, birthdays and milestones. They consoled, advised and disciplined alone.

I calculated conservatively that just one of these moms managed more than 900 family activities and events while her husband served in Kosovo. Everything from the mundane (dental appointments) to the monumental (a 60th anniversary) was up to her.

Meanwhile, the guardsmen lived in small, no-frills rooms, spent Christmas with fellow soldiers and missed countless daily moments with their family.

According to the North Dakota National Guard, our guard has mobilized more than 3,500 soldiers and 1,800 airmen since 2001. About 150 North Dakota guardsmen are currently serving overseas. We can all be proud of the fact that North Dakotans volunteer for service in the guard at a rate that’s more than four times the national average.

Military service is more than a job -- it’s a way of life that demands sacrifice from the whole family. Where would be today without people who are willing to make this sacrifice? It’s a disturbing thought.

Welcome back KFOR 12 service men and women. Thanks to you and your family members for not only believing in peace and freedom, but for undergoing real hardship to help maintain it.

What habits are defining you?

My mom and I took a week long road trip recently – just the two of us. Preparing for the trip, we set 4 p.m. as our targeted departure time. Three hours later, we finally hit the road.

While traveling we listened to an audio presentation by author and speaker Matthew Kelly. The subject was “Becoming the Best Version of Yourself.” The difference between average people and people who achieve greatness comes down to one thing, he says. It isn’t courage or brains or beauty. Not wealth or wisdom.

The difference is habits. Accomplished people are guided by great habits. I reflected sheepishly on our three-hour delay and my habit of tardiness.

We can learn a lot about leaders by their habits. Theodore Roosevelt was a voracious reader. Benjamin Franklin worked relentlessly. Mother Teresa’s habit was charity – she was singularly committed to it.

Closer to home, Ed Schafer’s endless energy stemmed from his dogged commitment to mid-day runs. John Hoeven is known for disciplined decision making.

We all have habits, good and bad. A big part of parenting involves nurturing good habits in our kids, habits perhaps we wish were our own. Flossing daily, eating vegetables, reading, telling the truth, sharing.

Experts say it takes 30 days to create a good habit. Six years later, we’re hoping our children soon learn the habit of saying please. Despite the seemingly endless reinforcement required, we press on with our kids, knowing that developing good habits now will be far easier than breaking bad ones later.

On a recent field trip with girlfriends, I asked about their best and worst habits. Several cited yelling or nagging. Others confessed to being chronically late. I’m habitually trying to overcome both of these bad habits, which stem from a more basic problem: over-estimating how much I can do.

Whether writing a column or packing for a trip, I frequently underestimate how long it will take This leaves me scrambling at the end, barking at my kids and trying to pull off my best work with far less time than necessary.

In the spectrum of bad habits, this one isn’t the worst. It does, however, create a lot of needless stress. The perpetual rush foils our efforts to face the world calmly and in good cheer, from noticing something cool or someone in need.

This is the problem with bad habits: they often come in multiples. Staying up too late makes people oversleep, impatient, tardy, under productive, too tired to exercise and more likely to overeat.

Some people claim to be creatures of habit, but in many ways we all are. We might have big goals and lofty ideals but ultimately our simple, daily habits -- constructive or destructive – determine what we accomplish. They draw us closer or further from the person we want to be.

Whatever good I’m able to achieve one thing is probably for certain. I’ll be late.

Let’s not be fools about food

My kids stared at a glass of bright green, frothy liquid I whipped up for their snack. Before they could turn up their nose and object, I enthusiastically announced, “Check it out -- Shrek Shakes!”

Whatever hesitation they initially felt vanished with those two magic words – Shrek and shake. They happily slurped down and asked for seconds of the vitamin-packed banana and yogurt concoction that gets its bold color from several heaping cups of fresh, raw spinach.

My husband, salesman that he is, mastered marketing food to the kids much sooner than I did. They cheer for Daddy’s World Famous Beans (a.k.a Van de Camp’s with extra mustard and brown sugar). And, in side-by-side taste tests, Daddy’s World Famous Pancakes (a.k.a. Krusteez powdered mix) regularly outperformed my genuinely homemade buttermilk pancakes. That is, until I launched Mommy’s World Famous Homemade Pancakes.

Despite the pathetic lack of originality of these names, our kids remain convinced that the daily hash we sling under the “world famous” banner lives up to its billing. (Maybe they aren’t that bright.)

Their gullibility is funny, until you consider how well the same tricks work on us. Restaurants promote Grandma’s cottage meatloaf, juicy Angus thick burgers, and hand-scooped, triple-thick milk shakes. And the tempting names move product.

Food psychologist Brian Wansink has spent his career researching the psychology of eating and has identified dozens of hidden persuaders, like marketing, that influence our food choices and often cause us to overeat.

For example, we will eat more out of large bowls and large plates, in the company of friends, when faced with great variety (buffets, Thanksgiving dinner), when we’re distracted (by books, television or a movies), and when we believe the food is suppose to be good (i.e. the juicy Angus thick burger).

His book, “Mindless Eating: Why We Eat More Than We Think,” is filled with results from his studies and outlines nine strategies for “re-engineering” our food choices and influencers. The book is both fascinating and practical.

Rather than restrictive diets calling for unsustainable changes that usually leave us face first in a gallon of ice cream, he argues for “stealth health.” These are small, positive changes that we can incorporate subtly into our lifestyles to become more healthy long term.

Some of his suggestions include:
1. See all you can eat: Plate your meals and snacks. Minimize seconds. Never eat out of a large bag or box and leave extra food on the stove not the table.
2. Make overeating a hassle not a habit. Put tempting foods in an inconvenient place. Store cookies in the freezer rather than a cookie jar. Place candy dishes across the room not beside the couch.
3. Be a good gatekeeper. If there’s no soda or Pop-Tarts in the house it’s hard to eat them.
4. Use the 50/50 rule: Reduce the size of your plate and fill half of it at every meal with fruits and vegetables.

Bookstores are filled with diet books, many of them best sellers, yet 63 percent of Americans are overweight. The truth is eating is fun and dieting stinks.

Wansink’s approach seems more realistic. Understand the influencers behind our eating habits and use them to our benefit. Rather than mindlessly gaining weight we can mindlessly lose or maintain our weight for a healthier lifestyle.

Time to make some cool, refreshing Shrek shakes.

Can you control your happiness or are you at the mercy of genetics, fate and/or your thoughtless spouse? http://ping.fm/TqGBn

If a stranger offered you a free hug, would you accept it? http://ping.fm/ky6iJ

Fake your way to a happier heart

During college, my friend and roommate at UND’s Selke Hall was struggling to adjust to campus life during her freshman year. We tried a variety of things to perk her up, but nothing seemed to work. She was hopelessly homesick.

At one point I was out of ideas and tired of her blue attitude. I blurted out in frustration, “Schultzie, sometimes when you aren’t happy you just have to fake it until you are.”

Happiness can be an elusive pursuit. People seek it in many ways –through spending or saving, drugs or alcohol, working incessantly or not at all. It can be the rational for marriage or divorce, caring for others or focusing on purely selfish pursuits.
Some people who seem to have everything, are perpetually miserable. Others have very little or have experienced repeated, dramatic loss and yet continue to face the world with a smile. What a puzzle.

Last week I received a video about an Australian man with no arms and legs. He can swim, cook, get up and down stairs and live independently. He has every reason to be angry and dejected about his life – to roll in the misery of life without limbs.
But he’s chosen instead a good attitude and strong faith, and that has propelled him out of the wheelchair and into a fully engaged, inspiring life.

Happiness is the subject of volumes of research and books. Some people assume that our temperament is prewired and there’s little we can do about it. Research rebukes this.

In one recent study conducted in England, scientists examined 900 sets of twins and concluded that genetics accounts for about 50 percent of happiness. The remaining 50 percent is related to environmental factors like relationships and careers. In other words, half of our disposition comes from choices that we control.

Research also shows that people’s actions aren’t so much a product of their mood as much as their mood is a product of their actions. The simple act of being nice, cheerful, and optimistic can improve your mood and your happiness.

Writer Gretchen Rubin spent a year experimenting with theories on happiness. Her book, The Happiness Project, is an account of her year. On her blog and website, www.happiness-project.com, she explores factors contributing to happiness and offers tips for people to pursue their own happiness project.

Her 12 personal commandments offer some concepts worth considering. I particularly like her pledge to lighten up, let it go, enjoy the process, and of course, act the way you want to feel.

She emphasizes this again in what she calls Four Splendid Truths of Adulthood. “One of the best ways to make yourself happy is to make other people happy; One of the best ways to make other people happy is to be happy yourself.”

There are many strategies for happiness. For me, the most effective and lasting one begins on my knees. But sometimes, that knee-jerk advice to my friend when we were teenagers is the first step. Treat others kindly, put on a smile and before long it might very well be real.

Went to Toy Story 3 this weekend and loved it. Very clever and funny. The story is interesting and even has a message. And the toys are better than ever.

Amazing to think how many families barely survived 75 years ago trying to make a living off land that rested on top of so much oil http://ping.fm/ujnK1

Gaining wisdom from our fathers

My dad was born in 1929, the oldest boy of six children growing up on a small farm near Ryder, N.D. He spent his childhood working on those dry, windy prairies trying to help his family squeeze a living off land ravaged by the Great Depression.

Rocks were often the most plentiful crop, and the necessities for daily living were scarce. One of my dad’s earliest memories is of his mother saving the banana for Jell-O so everyone would get a taste of the exotic fruit.

This was the environment that shaped my dad’s (and mom’s) worldview. No wonder he scrapes mold off food, refuses to buy garbage bags when grocery sacks are plentiful and uses the insides of envelopes for notepaper.

With Father’s Day around the corner, I find myself reflecting on some of my dad’s wisdom for living. Perhaps these will sound familiar or trigger other memories of your own dad.

1. Get an education. When my dad completed high school, he wanted to stay and farm. But his dad wouldn’t let him. “Duane, you can always farm. Get your education first. No one can ever take that away from you.” Prudent advice from a man with limited formal schooling. Those words have echoed through eight kids, 31 grandkids and I suspect will keep ringing for generations to come.

2. Go figure. When my brother Dave was a kid my dad tasked him with fixing a broken appliance. “But dad, I don’t know how,” he protested. “Well, figure it out. That’s what I’d have to do,” dad said. So Dave did, and proceeded to learn how to fix or build just about anything. With hard work and an understanding of “basic physics,” few problems or challenges have been too big or risky for my dad to tackle.

3. Politics matters. I can still see remember watching Richard Nixon’s resignation speech on TV when I was about five. My dad realized as a young businessman that decisions in the political world had very real implications for him and his family. Being informed and involved isn’t an option it’s our duty.

4. Be a good steward. Everyone is born with gifts. It’s our responsibility to tend and multiply them. This means getting up, going to work and taking care of yourself, your kids and your community. It means living within your means, making do with what you have (even if it’s moldy food) or doing without. It’s not a complicated philosophy but somehow we have wandered far from it.

5. Play to win. A few years ago I remember scolding my son when he was whining after he lost a game. My dad watched the scene unfold and commented to me later. “Show me a good loser, and I’ll show you a loser.” Winning isn’t everything, but whether in business, sports or relationships, be there to do your best and win.

6. Seek change. People often grow complacent with age. It’s easier to stick to the comforts of the known rather than to see opportunity in something new. My dad has instinctively chosen the latter. His resume includes everything from hat sales and dance schools to cattle and commercial real estate. At 80, he routinely trades stocks online, wears a cell phone on his hip, and is still trying to decide whether Quickbooks or Quicken is the right business software for him.

As a child, my dad’s old-fashioned lessons were rather aggravating. Now, I find myself trying to instill remnants of these values in my own kids, who are growing up in a culture where cleaning up dog poop is considered a big job and bananas with too many spots are dismissed as “rotten.”

Anyone have a field of rocks that need to be picked?

Birth of a Saleswoman

Our 8-year-old likes to play Barbies, dress up and dolls like most little girls. But her favorite past time has very little to do with these typical childhood games. Her first passion is door-to-door sales.

When I was a kid, I hated having to knock on doors selling magazine subscriptions or candy bars for my school or club. Unfortunately for our neighbors, our daughter loves this.

The minute she receives her school raffle tickets she heads begins hitting people up with a practiced pitch that emphasizes purchasing not just one ticket but a whole book. She joined Brownies this fall and the highlight of that was selling Girl Scout cookies.

But she doesn’t need an organization to inspire her door-to-door sales. When she was four, she and a friend made cards and scoured the neighborhood selling them. After her first failed sale, she ran home, tears streaming down her face. “She didn’t have to say it so mean mom,” she said. “She could’ve said it nice.”

A few breaths later she had shaken it off and bounced away, determined that someone else would be inspired to purchase her creations.

Elizabeth has initiated countless lemonade stands, the most popular kid marketing scheme. The fact that we live on a cul-de-sac, however, makes for awfully slow sales in the middle of a workday. She’s learned the truth of the mantra, “Location. Location. Location.”

Last summer she set up a spa and offered manicures, pedicures and makeovers to anyone who could afford them. She designed invitations, delivered them to the most likely clients, prepared lemon water for her customers, hung up her sign on front of the porch and waited to get rich. Two customers later she was totally satisfied with her success.

Elizabeth’s entrepreneurial spirit is contagious. This weekend, her brothers set up a plant sale in our front yard. They conned me into buying them each a pack of impatiens, which they then divided and sold at twice my cost to anyone who walked within earshot of our house.

Our friend Mitch stopped by and said he’d take three but didn’t have the money on him. When a few minutes had passed and Mitch hadn’t gone home to grab his cash, Sam interrupted the conversation with an urgent question. “When is Mitch going to pay us? They aren’t fwee ya know.” Sam’s not as smooth as his sister.

Elizabeth’s latest venture is dog baths. She gathered a kit of supplies – a leash, shampoo, a brush, pet treats and doggie breath mints -- and was heading down the street seeking business before I knew what she was doing. She and her pal offered willing four-legged friends the full spa treatment for just two dollars. Quite a deal, I thought.

She marched next door to Bill’s house first. Bill, who owns a sweet and docile black lab, has paid a pretty penny over the years for warm, watery lemonade so I’m sure she expected an easy sale.

When she came back without a dog to wash, I thought that might be the end of her latest business venture. But, she was un-phased. “Who else has a dog?” she said, looking with determination down the block -- her box of doggie spa supplies resting on her hip.

Before I could respond, she was already out of our yard. She had dollar signs in her eyes, which were clearly set on a neighbor three houses away where four dachshunds with bad breath were surely waiting for some doggie pampering.

Perhaps it’s the innocence of her youth, but I hope she is always able to see the opportunity that exists beyond every closed door.

Marathons prove you're stronger than you think

It seems like every other person I meet is heading to Fargo this weekend to run in the marathon. I love it!

I was supposed to run in the race this weekend, but that’s a different and not-that-interesting story. My heart will be with the runners - my family members who are coming from many states to compete and one brave friend in particular. Kathleen Wrigley had brain surgery last September that left her with significant and possibly permanent impairment in her sight.

Most people would spend time nursing their wounds and feeling sorry for themselves. Not Kathleen. She trained for the marathon, as she says, for one simple reason, “Because I can.”

People often say they could never run a marathon. Most are wrong. Some health or mechanical issues might be “game enders,” but watch a person with no legs wheel across the finish line and explain to me why you can’t do it.

It’s been 20 years since I ran a marathon. When I finished I told myself I would do it every decade as a commitment to staying strong. That was a good idea. Running a marathon is a powerful experience, one that benefits your mind more than your body. And it reinforces some of the most basic truths of life.

The biggest challenge isn’t finishing the 26.2-mile race – that’s the fun part. Training is the challenge. Logging hundreds of miles on a treadmill, track or pavement can be lonely, boring and painful. Your mind plays tricks on you. Halfway through you tell yourself it’s silly, too much, not worth the effort. A bad run fuels doubts about your ability to finish. More than once you want to quit.

The thousands of people who will complete the marathon this weekend worked through all of those challenges. It was hard and not much fun at times, but achieving a big, worthy goal never comes easy. Convenience doesn’t build character.

Tapering is a vital part about preparing for a marathon. With the hard training behind, runners spend the final weeks before the race storing up their energy. My friend Bob, who is running his first marathon on Saturday, told me last week, “I hate tapering. I feel so lazy.”

What an incredible statement about hard work. After running 18, 19, 22 miles at a time, a short run of 10-12 miles seems almost pitiful it’s so easy. Hard work changes the mindset of the human brain. After a while what was once impossible becomes second nature.

The training and tapering are vital, of course. Without investing in that, the marathon experience would be miserable. But for those who are ready, finishing the 26.2 miles will be easier than they expected.

Why is that? It’s the fans. People line the streets virtually the entire route of the Fargo marathon and that level of support and enthusiasm fuels every competitor more than the world’s best energy bar.

And isn’t that how life is? We work so hard and do our best, but when times are tough or we face a difficult challenge, it’s energy from others in the form of love and encouragement that gets us through.

The ultimate lesson of a marathon is that, regardless of whether you ever chose to run one, we are all much stronger than we imagine. Whether your goal is getting in shape, getting a degree or being a better parent, make a training plan, work harder than you think possible especially when you have setbacks or doubts, and accept the love and support of others who want to help you succeed.

Most of all, stick to it for one simple reason: Because you can.

Disney doesn't 'measure up' for Sam

I have vivid childhood memories for a family vacation I never took.

My parents, clearly under the influence of some kind of judgment-altering drugs, loaded all seven of their kids in a station wagon with bald tires and pulled a pop-up camper out to California for a month-long tour of the West Coast. The year was 1967 and I was “just a twinkle in their eyes,” as my dad always said.

I remember this trip as if I was there only because I had to watch and re-watch it on 8 mm home movies throughout my childhood. The two favorite clips featured my siblings riding the tea cups at Disneyland and a large hippo at a zoo relieving himself in a pond. We never tired of watching that bowel movement and played it over and over, forwards, backwards and in slow-motion.

I was indignant throughout my childhood that my parents took that trip without me. Looking back, I’m struck by the fact that this “trip not taken” even registers in my childhood memories. Of all the sacrifices my parents made and blessings I received as a result, why do I remember this?

It illustrates one of the most unjust aspects of parenting. We can work so hard and do so many things right, but ultimately we have no control over the things that our kids will most remember or be influenced by.

I’m remembering this because we recently returned from a family vacation at Disney World. It was a great trip, filled with “magical moments” and a few heaping helpings of whining, bickering and standing in line.

Despite our best efforts, I fear our son Sam might walk away with one overpowering memory of the trip: rejection. Just a few notches too short, Sam was left on the sidelines for most of the thrilling rides like Rockin’ Roller Coaster, Expedition Everest and Primeval Twist.

When asked to describe his favorite part of the first day, he replied with sarcasm far beyond his four years, “Oh yeah. I know. The part where I couldn’t ride any of the cool rides because I am too little.”

He was still taking the rejection hard at the end of the week. When he measured less than the necessary 42 inches for a log ride at Sea World, I argued with the gatekeeper that he had qualified all week for similar-sized rides at Disney. “Sorry lady. No exceptions,” he said flatly.

As we walked away, Sam hung his head, lifted his palms toward the sky and said, “What is this? Honey I shrunk the kids week?”

The trip required consultation and guidance from two massive “Doing Disney” manuals, the setting of a daily alarm and ridiculous outlays of cash. Yet, despite all of this planning and effort we can only hope that our kids will remember the happiest and most magical Disney moments rather than the fact that they were too little for the really fun stuff.

I guess justice is finally being served for the ill feelings I harbored so long over the family dream vacation I wasn’t born to see.

Indecent Exposure: Can we spare our kids?

The first time my kids saw “Dancing with the Stars” my son, age 5 at the time, said, “Mom, why is that lady dancing in her underwear?”

On Monday night we watched a bit of the program again – OK, I was curious about all the hype regarding Kate Gosselin – and my daughter, age 8, asked another underwear question. “Wow, how does she even wear underwear with that dress mom?”

I wondered the same thing. For the next minute we were transfixed watching this dancer move as we tried to determine the answer. The entire right side of her was bare from her heel to her underarm, only a couple, thin rhinestone strings secured the dress across her hip. My daughter leaned closer to the TV, squinting to see more clearly, “Is she even wearing underwear?” she asked with a hint of concern for the woman who was performing a lot of really high kicks.

The producers of that show are masters of costume illusions. The audience is left to feel, at any given time, there is the real possibility a dress might fall off one of the beautiful women dancing across the stage. A most popular move is to just rip their dress right off, only to reveal a tinier outfit underneath.

I’m torn about this show. The professional dancers are amazing both physically and artistically. But the costumes are over-the-top risqué and the presentation of women is so highly sexualized, I don’t see the value of encouraging these ideals for my boys or my girl.

Not that you can really get away from it anymore. The entertainment industry is completely consistent in the way it treats women and girls. We are to be perfectly shaped, tanned, young and scantily dressed at all times. Our value is not in our brains or our heart but in how much we appeal sexually to men.

This characterization pervades so much of our culture and even touches our own arts scene I’m sad to say. At a recent local dance production, I was dismayed by the costume selections for the young girls. A majority of the numbers featured teen or pre-teen dancers in low-cut, spaghetti strapped dresses revealing a stage full of young girl’s cleavage and mid-rifts.

Many of the costumes were decorated with feathers and other embellishments in key areas. Some were translucent teddies that could have been purchased off the rack at Victoria’s Secret.

The show itself was top notch – the music was fun and modern, the choreography was creative and the quality of the dancers was fantastic. But intentionally or unintentionally, the costumes were distracting and created a sexual overtone for the show that was unnecessary and unfortunate. How was the audience of dads, brothers and grandpas to watch the show respectfully and appreciate it for the quality of the dance?

I’m not suggesting we cover our girls from head to toe and make them ashamed of their bodies. But, as the parents and adults who are influencing our young men and women, we need to push back hard against the cultural forces that exploit their sexuality and seek to elevate it to a position of prominence.

We need to draw boundaries for our kids – boundaries that protect their innocence, youth and budding sexuality. Boundaries that allow them to grow up gradually and gain confidence not only in their beautiful bodies but in the beauty, potential and value of their whole self.

Key to longevity comes in a cup

I am blessed to be friends with a neat woman named Alma. I don’t see her often but appreciate any time I have to be with her. Alma is always armed with a huge hug, kind words and a greeting that warms you like a Snuggie.

With her shoes on, Alma tops out at about five feet. Her tiny frame is all heart and spirit. At 86 years old, she still cooks, shops, drives, quilts, volunteers and cares for herself independently. During my last encounter with Alma I asked her to share her secret to longevity. “You know Alma. What gets you out of bed in the morning?” I asked.

“Oh, that’s easy,” she responded in a flash. I waited eagerly for her words, expecting nuggets of deep wisdom and inspiration.

“Coffee,” she stated emphatically. “Coffee is what gets me up every morning.”

This might be my favorite no-nonsense response of all time.

I thought a lot about Alma during the last six weeks for one simple reason. I gave up coffee for Lent.

My kids suggested this awful idea a year ago, when the last Lenten season was over. I nearly choked on a perfect cup of mocha when they said it.

“No way. I would never do that!” But as soon as the words left my mouth I knew it was destined to be my next Lenten sacrifice. Darn kids.

You’re probably drinking a cup of coffee right now, so take a sip and enjoy while I describe my coffee fast. The novelty of the sacrifice helped me survive the first few days of nagging headaches. Then I discovered home-brewed Chai tea – a bit too sweet and utterly void of coffee’s richness, but it provided some comfort for a few weeks.

About half-way through Lent I marched bravely into Starbucks one morning to stare temptation in the face. The smell alone made my legs wobble. I felt like Ferdinand, the bull who prefers to sit under a tree and smell flowers rather than fight like a respectable bull.

I wanted to sit in Starbucks and spend the day smelling the fresh ground coffee, but I feared the baristas’ stares might break my resolve. So I dashed out the door with a green tea latte – a terrible concoction that tastes like warm, seaweed flavored milk with too much sugar -- and cursed the wasted $5.

As my fast progressed, I not only missed the taste of coffee, but the routine of having it every morning. I missed the pleasure of sharing it with my husband and girlfriends. I missed the way it can substitute for sleep on occasions when this delicious commodity is in short supply.

And I really missed the heavenly combination of strong coffee, rich cream, and anything home-baked with butter and sugar.

I’m not exactly suspicious of people who don’t like coffee, not yet anyway, but I do have to fight the urge to feel sorry for them. What’s not to like? Coffee is the perfect vice – a no calorie, energy-boosting, entirely legal, socially acceptable drug that comes readily available in a cup and is endorsed by happy, healthy, long-living grandmas.

My fast proved I can live without coffee, but I’d really rather not. Forty days was enough for me. I’m not about to ignore Alma’s simple secret to longevity again anytime soon.

No experience necessary

I’m fulfilling a job that I never applied for. I’ve been doing it for about 8 ½ years. I had no experience when I started, but no one interviewed me or checked my references. It was an easy job to land but it’s the toughest one I’ve ever had.

The responsibilities are daunting and the hours grueling. On any given day, I might serve as a seamstress, laundress, chef, or chauffer. I’m a counselor, coach, cheerleader and drill sergeant. I have to regulate, respond, mediate and enforce, serve as boundary setter, spy, juror, judge, lifesaver, teacher and tutor … All this before the morning school bell rings.

I’m a parent, of course. And I know I’m not alone in feeling vastly under-qualified for the job.

Kelly Hagen, who writes a column in this space every Friday, will soon be adding “dad” to his list of titles and jobs. I enjoy reading about how he and his “sweet Annette” are preparing for their first child. It’s one of the most magical times in life.

Kelly didn’t apply for this job either, and probably lacks experience like most new parents. I don’t have any advice for him in that regard, but will offer a few reflections.

Parenting is a profession that’s easier to perform from the sidelines. Before I had kids, solving behavior problems in other people’s naughty children was a snap. Temper tantrums, disrespect and outright manipulation were easy to spot and curtail.

But last week, I was momentarily speechless when my own 8-year-old responded to my request with a defiant, “You can’t make me.” The first thought that crossed my mind. “Oh no. Now what do I do? She’s finally realized it -- I can’t make her.”

Parenting demands constant, instantaneous judgment calls. The boys are being sassy, should I give them a break because they are tired or drop the hammer? Are we expecting too much or too little. Am I being consistent or nitpicky? Are we providing supportive guidance or preventing her from learning from a mistake?

Parenting magnifies your own weaknesses and insecurities and provides a fast track to growing up.

As challenging as this can be, it’s not the toughest part about parenting. When I was pregnant with our first child, I remember crying out of fear to my own mom (maybe the hormones had something to do with this).

It wasn’t labor or delivery. I didn’t fear nursing or sleepless nights (although I should have.) What scared me to tears was being so vulnerable -- realizing the potential heartache and pain I was subjecting myself to by having a child.

My instincts were dead on. I was right to fear this and still do. Nothing would be more painful than losing a child to an accident or illness. But my mom quickly placated my fears.

“Well, sure,” she said. “But there is so much more joy.”
I’m grateful she was right. Tiny triumphs bring endless joy to a parent -- watching them successfully snow plow down Huff Hills for the first time, say an unprompted prayer for a hurting grandparent, play a new song on the guitar or sound out a tough word. These are the small treasures that bring endless joy to a parent

It’s a crazy job, filled with heartache and laughter, worry, doubt, and a whole lot of joy. Experience would be helpful, but isn’t necessary -- you’ll get plenty of on the job training.

Sunshine protects our democracy

Sunshine protects our democracy

“Sunshine on My Shoulders” is a favorite bedtime lullaby in our house. “Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy. Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry. Sunshine on the water looks so lovely. Sunshine almost always makes me smile.”

Ok. I’m no John Denver. I only know one verse and I’ve changed the words a bit to my liking. But it’s a comforting tune, and always leaves us feeling more peaceful. It rings rather true right now as the dark days of winter give way to much lighter days of spring.

Already, we have two more hours of sunlight than we did just a few months ago. Ahhhhhhh -- it feels so good.

I recently heard something interesting about sunshine that had never occurred to me. Sunlight illuminates everything for us, but is invisible itself. We can see the source of light, of course, the sun. And to some extent we can see rays streaming from it. But a ray of sunshine is invisible to our eyes. We can not reach out and touch it.

This is sunshine week in the media – a time to celebrate the importance of having a free and independent media that has ready access to the records and meetings and lawmaking processes of our government.

In America, the business of government, at least a vast majority of it, is conducted openly – in the sun. The laws protecting the openness of these processes are often referred to as “sunshine laws.”

Now, unless your name is Jack MacDonald (the lobbyist for the North Dakota Newspaper Association) or you work for a news organization, protecting sunshine laws probably isn’t high on your list of priorities.

This issue is a bit like the sun for most people. We don’t see it or think about it and take for granted these protections will always exist.

About 10 years ago, I had the opportunity to spend three weeks traveling and learning about the struggles of establishing a democracy in a place where this form of government was entirely new. I was in Bulgaria, which at the time was trying to create a viable form of democratic government after years of communist rule by the Soviet Union.

I was illumined, to say the least, by the challenges this and all Soviet block countries faced after the “walls” came down. The biggest difficulty wasn’t setting up schools, building infrastructure or delivering healthcare. It was far more fundamental than that.

Their toughest battle was creating a fair and just legal system that people could trust. Bulgaria’s legal system was fraught with corruption. Their fledgling economy limped along under the absence of legal, enforceable contracts that businesses could count on. Criminals could buy their way out of jail.

And many of the people charged with fixing these challenges, the government leaders, were accustom to operating in the dark and resisted being unaccountable to the people who elected them. They could pad their own pockets freely, reward their friends and protect their own future. Without the threat of legal consequences, these people had little motivation to change.

I learned in Bulgaria that a sound, impartial legal system is the foundation for everything in a democracy. Sunshine laws are a vital part of this. Like sunlight itself, we take them for granted, but our country would be awfully dark without them.

How welcoming are we?

My husband called me on Saturday morning while he was away on business. “Hey, what are you doing?” I asked.

“Having coffee in Times Square,” he responded glibly.

I stood in my faded flannel p.j.s, surrounded by dirty dishes and noisy kids, and looked out my window into a gray sky and barren white field of snow. I imagined spending the day eating and people watching my way through Manhattan, soaking in the sights, sounds, tastes, people and experiences in New York City that are like no other place on earth.

As I stood at my window, I pondered the contrast between the winter landscape in my view and the stimulating scene my husband was living that moment in New York. And I wondered, how realistic is it to think, that someone who grew up in a big city like that can learn to love life in small town North Dakota?

We learned last week about a couple, Michael and Jeanette Tristani, who tried. The allure of free land drew them from Miami to Hazelton, N.D., four years ago. But they are pulling the plug on the experiment and going back to Florida.

The story focused heavily on dramatic claims of being run out of town by unwelcoming locals, but the couple has said repeatedly the biggest reason they are returning to Florida is to care for aging parents. The fact they didn’t feel they fit in at Hazelton probably sealed their decision.

The story was picked up by media outlets nationwide. It’s the kind of tale people on the coasts love to read to support their stereotype about Midwesterners – that we blindly cling to our guns and our religion, unwilling to accept new ideas, new people or change of any kind.

Hazelton has actually worked harder than most small North Dakota towns to change its destiny. Ironically, their aggressive attempt to alter their course might ultimately make them the poster child for the stubborn, dying small town -- something comedians and politicians reference in one-liners about close mindedness.

This is the kind of story that sticks in the brains of people who don’t remember anything else about North Dakota. That’s really unfortunate. But perhaps the story might trigger some worthwhile discussions in our communities.

Whether or not Hazelton was at fault (and facts reported since the original story suggest they weren’t) this story speaks to one of North Dakota’s biggest challenges. How do we attract and retain people to sustain our communities and grow our economy while maintaining the qualities we love about this state?

Many of our rural communities are losing the struggle to create a new identity beyond traditional agriculture which can no longer fully sustain them. Yet our low unemployment and growth opportunities in many industries provide an opportunity now to recruit people to our state.

We might be well served to reflect on how welcoming we are. How open are we to people who look different and have a very different world view? What are we doing to help them find a place in our communities?

North Dakota won’t be a match for everyone. The contrast for folks from Miami or New York might be too extreme. But people who desire to live in our state and integrate into our communities should receive a warm welcome from us and find in North Dakota a safe, comfortable and friendly new home.

And the Survey Says....

I recently conducted an unscientific study in which I surveyed about 50 friends regarding their thoughts on romance. The questions I asked are below, followed by their responses broken out into the three categories.

1. What is the most romantic thing someone has ever done for you? I’ll let you decide who that “someone” is, and you needn’t reveal that in your answer. But, it needs to be printable. Sorry but no smut!

2. What is the most romantic thing someone COULD do for you – in other words, start dreamin’. What’s your idea of romance? Again, printable please!

3. Finally, if you care to share your idea of the least romantic gesture that was intended to be romantic, feel free.

Most Romantic Memories

He puts toothpaste on my toothbrush every morning and night (really, whoever brushes first does the toothpaste for the other - we have done this for 10 years). Just a small remembrance of taking care of each other!

When he goes to bed before I do, he lays on my side of the bed to warm my sheets.

He picked me up from the airport with a picnic supper and a cute card to have at a park for the evening - wine included.

When I was hosting tons of family for Christmas, he came home with a beautiful winter bouquet - roses, star gazer lilies, baby's breath - for the centerpiece. The reason that was so romantic is 1) I knew how much he felt flowers are overpriced. 2) He had to have picked them out himself secretly - so he thought of it ahead of time 3) I had once told him how cool I thought it was that my Grandpa always bought a flower centerpiece for the hostess of a holiday. Whether it was my grandpa, or my aunt, or whomever it was a grand/sweet/thoughtful gesture.

Pam bought me a message, and then surprised me by showing up at the spa and joining me for a steam shower and a couples message. Another time, for my 40th birthday, she surprised me with a quick getaway day to Fargo. We stayed at the Hotel Donaldson and had dinner and drinks at the Hodo.

He once brought me flowers and brownies he made from scratch to school and left it in my classroom. I was really touched because he worked so hard to get it all together. It was a complete surprise because Valentines Day was not usually on his list of important days to celebrate.

A romantic gesture is something that is personally meaningful to only you. So chocolates and flowers aren't romantic because it's not personalized. For example, my husband knows that I LOVE sauerkraut and sausage but never make it for myself. I found it romantic when he saw the cafeteria menu for the day featuring my favorite and called me at work to ask me to come for lunch.

Everyone wants to have a romantic proposal story. Here's ours: sitting on a park bench we saw this incredible falling star. He said, "You know what I wish?" I said, "What?” He said, “I wish you'd marry me.” And the rest is history. 

One day, out of the blue, I got a box of cookies on my desk (from that "someone") with a note wishing me a great day.

He made me a list of the things he loved about me.

We are going to see Michael Buble in concert in Winnipeg in August. I cannot wait! My husband isn’t really a fan, but knows that I have been dying for him to go with me to one of his concerts if he ever went on tour close to Bismarck.

5th anniversary. She gave me a coffee table book of the 500 greatest golf holes. As I paged through the pictures there was a card marking the 12th hole of Augusta National. The card was an invitation to play Augusta National which is the dream of every golfer. She had a good friend who’s father was a member and was able to give me a once in a lifetime golf trip.

I'm not into all that dorky demonstrative stuff. We go running together at the lake. How's that for a headline?

He bought me a ring one time on Santa Monica. The ring was really cool, it had a painting by Hundertwasser on it, there's a museum all about him in Vienna. The problem: it was the second time in a year that I'd received a ring from him that was way too big. I lost it eventually... Argh. Still, the ring purchase was quite a romantic gesture.

I am just as bad with the romance as my husband although I did buy him a heart-shaped coffee mug last week that has conversation hearts painted all over it. That's the extent of our red hot romantic gestures over here. Too risqué for your article?

The most loving thing that someone has done for me is planned a surprise 30th birthday party for me that included all of the important people in my life. I had no idea beforehand.

Surprised me with a weekend getaway, made all the arrangements and just told me to pack whatever I needed and wisked me away...Obviously that was before we had kids!!

Prepared a seven course gourmet meal for me.

ON a trip to the ocean, we got up early and went for a walk by ourselves on the beach. It was beautiful. Barefoot in the sand.

One time many years ago, for my 30th birthday, beautiful roses and a romantic night out for dinner. It was the greatest birthday ever.

Being romantic is an ideal that is blown out of proportion, especially on Valentine's Day. I think it puts way too much pressure on the man to do something that a woman may or may not see as perfect. To me, being romantic is showing that you care. I think when my husband helps me around the house by cleaning up after dinner, folding clothes, helping the kids with homework, and always being there for me when I need him is romantic. It can't be easy to work full time then come home when you are tired and help where needed unless you care. That's romantic! I'm a pretty practical person, not a dreamer. It is so easy to get carried away wishing for something that may be just a dream.

Most romantic thing anyone every did was to make sure the kids were taken care of, got a nice bottle of wine, and allowed us some time to visit and reconnect. Wasn't even a special occasion, but she made it special.

When we were dating he called me and told me to get dressed up and that was all he said. A little while later he was picking me up in a limo. We drove around for awhile and drank a bottle of wine and then went out for dinner.

My husband left Post-Its with little love notes on them all over the house. I couldn’t stop smiling!

My future husband at the time and I attended a company Christmas party at a cheesy hotel in Grand Forks. Bad music, bad food, horrible ambience, but he picked up on the fact that the only thing I was eating were the peanuts out of the party Chex mix. The rest of the night he proceeded to separate the peanuts out from the Chex mix for me and made sure I had my own stash of peanuts. It’s a memory that I come back to time and time again and always puts a smile on my face. I’m sure he doesn’t even remember but made an impact with me

My aneurysm necklace to celebrate one year post-first surgery, celebrating life and its journey. Have never taken it off in five years. It’s like another wedding band.

My wife made reservations at a restaurant which happens to be my favorite place to spend time with her. She did this for Valentine’s Day, which was something I understood to be my responsibility. She took the initiative to assist with a busy schedule, and was pleased to do it!!

The most romantic - was when I got my wedding ring. He had baked a cake for me and gave it to my sister so she could bring it to the bank when we had coffee. I opened up the cake and on the frosting was written. “Will you marry me? He took a piece of the cake out and replaced it with the ring in the box wrapped in cellophane, and frosted the cake. So I had to "find" the ring.

The most romantic act was after he asked me to marry him he gave me a puzzle that had a promise written on the back of it for me. I had to put the puzzle together to retrieve the message.
"Lisa Kozel, This is my commitment to you. As God as my witness, I promise to love and cherish you all the days of my life. I will be faithful in mind, body and soul. I will be your partner, best friend and confidant and lover. Life is sometimes a puzzle and we will have to work hard to piece things together. I promise you that I will do my part! Let us never give up putting our puzzle together. You want to hug me, you want to kiss me, you want to marry me? I LOVE YOU! We placed this puzzle with the promise facing our bed in our bedroom.

Knowing that I don’t like to waste money on flowers, but still enjoy their beauty, my husband took advantage of a beautiful rose bush growing in our yard and picked a nice little bouquet, arranged them and had them waiting for me along with a nice clean house. That he went through the trouble to not only pick the flowers, but arrange them in a vase for me was really special.

A boyfriend I had once took me to one of those photobooth things, where you stand behind a curtain and take funny pictures and then they print out in a long strip 5 minutes later. Anyway, we got our pictures taken and then a day later I gave him a cheap frame, that would hold two of the little square images, never thinking he would actually put the pictures in it. But he did, and then he put it on his nightstand, which was both surprising and sweet.

The most romantic thing I ever received was a simple gift. It was a framed photo of her, her children, and me at a ball game. It was romantic because of the simplicity....a photo of me with the three people I treasured the most. While the relationship didn't work out in the end....it was a gift I will never forget. When I received it, it made this stoic guy teary eyed.

He let me borrow his nice car for a trip and had a little note for me and a CD in the stereo set to play “my song.”

He leaves me notes every morning before he heads out to the farm. I look forward to them every morning!!

She spent an entire day from dawn to dusk with me and dogs doing the thing I love and enjoy the most - hunting pheasants and a little bonus frolic in the field.

A quiet night of conversation with good friends, candles, a glass of wine and soft music.

It appears to me that there are three essential parts to the most romantic thing:
1. It takes time and energy to form
2. It’s creative.
3. It expresses your love.

DREAM GESTURES

No TV, nice music, warm, rain drop massage.

Plan a fun getaway or adventure for us that's a complete surprise.

Take me on a surprise weekend get-away. He’d pick me up from work with all my bags packed!

Cooking a meal for me --just once!

Make me something (anything... a card, a chair, a cup, anything he took time to make and made just for me).

Plan a surprise night out from start to finish, including the babysitter, based on what I would love to do, not just what he likes and what we tend to do. I would rather have a fun activity, such as mini golfing, shopping for something special together, visiting an exhibit, etc. than just going out to dinner and possibly a movie.


The most romantic thing my spouse can do for me is to make intimacy a priority.

To not see any dirty dishes in the sink in the morning that clearly were used and not put in the dishwasher AFTER I went to bed the night before and had the kitchen cleaned.

Plan a fun day (and night) together and have all of it be a surprise. It doesn’t have to be anything expensive or extravagant. It is more about the fact that someone put thought into planning a day they know you will enjoy.

I would just LOVE to come home and have the house sparkling clean, laundry done, maybe even supper on the table!

If he would plan a surprise trip for just the two of us.

The most romantic thing would be to do something with me (with kids or not) and just be able to enjoy it.

Put together a surprise special event for me…..like arrange for some girlfriends and I to go to Mpls or NYC or someplace like that for a weekend .

With two young kids and a very busy job, any weekend away (just the two of us) would be pretty darn romantic.

I would love to have her line up a weekend getaway for the two of us. Surprise me with tickets to New York or Chicago to see some shows and do some site seeing.

Romantic idea: he lines up the babysitter, picks a restaurant I like, eat in shared courses that we split - so you're not so full but get some of each thing. Then we something out of the ordinary - just a walk by the river, or geocaching, or bowling - or whatever! Not a movie.

I guess I’m pretty easy because right now I think it would just be helping or doing the dinner dishes, and going to a movie, or for a chat at Barnes and Noble.

A lingering kiss gives me butterflies, and holding my hand would be welcomed as well, but only because he wants to, not because he feels like I want him to!

I think I would like an entirely planned out, super relaxing vacation, but I know I would still worry and think about the kids too much. Maybe that will be at a later stage in our marriage.

I know this sounds sad, but to be able to come home one evening and do absolutely nothing! No laundry, no making dinner, fighting with kids. Be able to snuggle up on my bed, with my favorite blanket and movie with no interruptions. If I could snuggle with him that would be even better, but if he kept the kids away, I would be alright with that!

Probably planning/taking me on a trip somewhere fantastic and the itinerary would include an all inclusive spa.

My idea of romance: Husband and I, margaritas in hand on the deck of our house, late summer, talking, sans kids

I’ve had homebaked goodies wrapped up and placed in my study carol at law school, I think there was a sappy unsigned card with it (I thought that was sweet, but again I still liked the guy A

ROMANTIC FLOPS
Loud bar filled with TV's blaring of ballgames

Flowers and chocolate.

Buying a gift out of pure obligation which obviously has no thought into it.

I worked at a coffee shop in college. One day, a regular customer cornered me in the parking lot after my shift and told me he was taking me out to dinner. Yes, told me. "I am taking you out to dinner." Umm okay. He then "let" me choose where we were going to eat. I asked if he liked barbeque and he said yes. So I suggested Famous Dave's. I meet him there, we sit down, and he informs me that he's a vegetarian, so he's not going to eat anything. Before the food arrives (I convinced him to order the onion blossom) his phone rings on 4 separate occasions. Later, he asks me if I want to go to his apartment and look at his treadmill. I say no. A few minutes after that, he drops this: (keep in mind it's July), "When does the Fargo pro hockey team play?" me, "I don't know, December or January?" "Oh, well, when they play, do you want to go with me?"
And THEN, at the end of the so-called date, he asks, "So, what would you like to do tomorrow night?" I tell him, as kindly as possible, that there won't be a tomorrow night. "Why, was it something I said?" The entire evening was like a theatre production of someone being as non-romantic as possible.

The least romantic gesture has to be the acts or gifts that the giver enjoys more - Nascar tickets or new kitchen appliances.

Least romantic............ It was our FIRST Christmas with our NEW 1 month old daughter. My husband had purchased a new video camera the day she was born. When it came time to decorate the Christmas tree, we were listening to Christmas music as he had been taping throughout the evening. He decided to set up the tripod and put the camera on timer, so we could all be in the video. The baby was sitting in her baby seat in the middle of the couch, I was sitting on one side of her, he set the timer and ran back to the couch, sat down quickly, put a smile on his face and when the green light came on, he said, “This is our first Christmas with our beautiful 1 month old baby, Terra, and my lovly wife, Joan.” My mouth dropped open as I quickly looked at him. "WHAT?" he corrected himself. Joan was his OLD girlfriend.

I came home from work one day and there in the laundry room was a new washer and dryer with a huge red bow wrapped around both of them.

Least romantic: married to a very methodical person, fortunately/unfortunately, every action is thought out to the fullest with potential impact, looked at from all sides. The curse of the accountant.

My husband was on a business trip and kept telling me he was bringing me back some gifts. My husband is what you might call resourceful (not cheap), so I didn’t get too excited but was still eager to see what he picked out. It turned out the “gifts” he was referring to were a coffee cup (I didn’t drink coffee at the time, but he did) and a cap (in his size, not mine). I was not impressed and still haven’t let him forget it!!
Bought me underwear (that I didn't like or need) for Christmas...Yes, this happened on our first Christmas together. He has come along way. Not sure if they were meant to be romantic or not, but they definitely WERE NOT!!

Suggesting he would propose using the same engagement ring his previous fiance had returned to him when they broke up. That's right, classy.

Just last week we got the 3 boys to bed, sat down with a cocktail, and I expected nice music and a good conversation. On goes the TV and we are live at the XGames!

When we were dating and I made him Christmas cookies. My mom said to spread some egg white over the tops so they'd be shiny and the colored sugar would stick. But the egg white was just gloppy and gross and disgustingly raw-eggish. It's the thought that counts, right? My baking skills haven't improved any yet either!

I think I might be the expert in this area. I’ve had (all different!) guys do some weird things. The things that come to mind are one configuring his body to take self-timed pictures of himself in the shape of the letters spelling out “I Love You”, with those pics pasted on a poster board and presented to me with flowers. I’ve had dinner in the parking lot outside of my workplace, complete with small grill and flowers and tablecloth, in order to try to incite me to date him longer. I’ve had gifts placed in or on my car for a two week period from a guy trying to woo me back (didn’t work – I just thought he was a stalker). I’ve received a homemade tape of songs that reminded him of me (this one I actually did like, maybe because I still liked the guy).

The least romantic gesture: If my husband took me out for Valentine's and gave me flowers, a nice dinner, incredible dessert, movie...whatever....and then forget about me until the next Valentine's Day. That would make me and angry spouse. Romance should happen every day by appreciating one another.

When I was in college, my boyfriend at the time, took me out for supper on Valentines Day at the Fortune Cookie in Minot. When we got our bill it came with two fortune cookies like usual. When I opened & read mine it said “Will you marry me?” It was not from him. The waitress had messed up & gave us the wrong cookies. It was intended for the couple sitting at the table next to us. It was pretty funny for us, but I felt bad for the guy who had gone to all that work.

Survey Reveals Common Ground on Romance

February is a month for melting away the winter blues with some red hot romance. So I asked about 50 men and women to share three things: memories of their most romantic moments, their biggest flops and romantic dreams waiting to be realized.

“For our 5th anniversary, my wife gave me a coffee table book of the 500 greatest golf holes. As I paged through the pictures there was a card marking the 12th hole of Augusta National. The card was an invitation to play Augusta National, which is the dream of every golfer.”

What a cool gift. That was the most extravagant story. Several told of touching marriage proposals:

“After he asked me to marry him he gave me a puzzle that had a promise written on the back of it. I had to put the puzzle together to retrieve the message. ‘…Life is sometimes a puzzle and we will have to work hard to piece things together. I promise you that I will do my part! Let us never give up putting our puzzle together…’”

A vast majority of the most memorable romantic moments, however, were simple things made meaningful by their thoughtfulness: putting toothpaste on a toothbrush every night, helping with laundry or the dishes, making arrangements for a babysitter, posting love notes around the house.

• My husband brought me flowers and brownies he made from scratch and left them in my classroom.
• She spent an entire day from dawn to dusk with me and dogs doing the thing I love and enjoy the most - hunting pheasants.
• My husband picked a nice little bouquet of roses from our yard, arranged them and had them waiting for me along with a nice clean house.

I received dozens of responses and most of them cost little or nothing.

Among the most common romantic flops revealed were “dates” in front of the TV watching sports, obligatory gifts like flowers or chocolate, and gifts the giver enjoys more, like Nascar tickets or kitchen appliances. I once gave my husband nice sheets for his birthday -- the “sheetiest” gift ever.

The Archie Bunker award for worst romantic gesture goes to the guy who said he would propose using the same engagement ring his previous fiance had returned to him when they broke up.

Another romantic flop was just plain sad. My friend opened a fortune cookie at a Chinese restaurant that read, “Will you marry me.” The poor guy at the table text to her had special ordered that cookie to complete his Valentine’s Day proposal. The waitress delivered it to the wrong table.

Survey participants were fairly unanimous about the most desired romantic gestures. Topping this list, for men and women, is a surprise, pre-arranged trip or outing. Other popular gestures include a surprise clean house, a date doing something other than dinner and a movie, or anything homemade.

One man said the most romantic thing his wife can do is make intimacy a priority. I suspect many others would embrace this honest answer.

A couple things about this exercise surprised me. The response rate was really high, nearly 75 percent. People clearly enjoyed thinking about and sharing their romantic memories.

I didn’t expect so many men to respond. And I was surprised by the overall simplicity of the things people found most touching or desirable.

We’re told that men are from Mars and women are from Venus. But when it comes to romance, it seems both genders stand squarely on Earth. What we long for most are thoughtful expressions that demonstrate our loved one knows, understands and appreciates us.

A Day with a Four Year Old

During a recent day with my four year old, something prompted me to step back from my roles as mother and teacher and observe how he approaches life.

The day started in a familiar way. He refused to wear the cute outfit I had selected and pulled on a grubby sports t-shirt and his favorite thread-bare sweatpants that are two inches too short.

Lesson one: Don’t do something just because someone suggested you should. Make your own decision.

Later that morning we went to the clinic for an appointment. We picked out a couple books to read while we were waiting, but the doctor arrived before we had time to finish them.

After the exam, as I prepared to leave, Sam objected, “But we didn’t read the books mom.” Thoughts of “more important” things to do came to mind, and I started to say, “Yeah, I know, but now we must get going.” But I realized we could spare enough time to read those books.

So we did. Dr. Seuss’s “Happy Birthday to You,” left us both smiling and was well worth the extra 10 minutes.

Lesson two: What’s the rush? Allow yourself time for things you enjoy.

On the way home we stopped at the grocery store. Sam walked straight for the “grocery cars.” A small basket would’ve been more than enough, but I went along with his choice.

As we rolled through the aisles he hung out the window of the “grocery car” and waved his arms like he was riding along the Pacific Coast Highway in a convertible. How I longed to be with him in his imaginary place – it was clearly more fun than the grocery store.

Lesson three: Use your imagination and the mundane can become magical.

We arrived home and an unusually warm January sun made the air feel like spring. Despite two-foot snow banks lining the sidewalk, Sam decided it was time to ride bike. So, we dug out his helmet and pulled his Incredible Hulk two-wheeler off the ceiling hooks in the garage.

He sped away, but within seconds a sheet of snow and ice sent him flat on his belly. I thought that might be the end of the January biking adventure, but I was wrong. He accepted my advice for maneuvering under slippery conditions and pedaled off, this time more carefully.

When we neared the end of the block, he suddenly hopped off the bike. “Oops. He’s had enough,” I thought. Wrong again. A smooth patch of ice by his feet screamed, “Dance on me.” So Sam shuffled around on the ice for a bit, enjoying a little boot dance in a neighbor’s driveway.

Lesson four: Be spontaneous, and joyful. If the spirit moves you, dance!

Soon it was time for lunch. Sam ate a half bowl of daily gruel and a few slices of apple. “Done mom,” he said and hopped down. He declined my offer of a treat saying, “I’m full mom. My tummy beeped.”

Lesson five: Stop eating when you’re full.

If you’re blessed to have a four-year-old in your life, take time today to see what he or she can teach you. If not, go ahead and borrow a couple lessons from Sam. Think for yourself. Be imaginative, spontaneous and joyful. Take time for things you enjoy. And listen carefully for your tummy to beep.

2010 Challenge: Can you give up shopping?

My 2010 New Year’s challenge started with an article from Good Housekeeping magazine, recommended to me by my friend Jesse.[http://www.goodhousekeeping.com/money/budget/stop-shopping.] The article poses a simple question: “Can you survive a year without shopping?”

The obvious answer is “no.” Only a strict vegetarian with a massive garden and no concern for how they smell could pull that off. But, a few families featured in this article successfully quit shopping for a year except for items that were edible or depletable.

For them, the goal wasn’t so much saving money as changing their focus. They wanted to focus less on accumulating things and more on accumulating experiences. So, they passed up collecting new toys, clothes and furniture, and embraced family trips and outings to movies or restaurants.

Having spent the past year trying to clear out clutter and simplify our lives, this challenge seemed like a natural next step. I have embraced it enthusiastically.

During the first week of the challenge I noticed how often thoughts of shopping popped into my head. “I should stop at Kmart quick and upgrade my Christmas storage with those smart red and green bins.”

Last week I passed the first big test, a trip to Target without my kids. Typically, the formula for this scenario reads like this: mother + time in Target + no children + no husband = unnecessary impulsive purchases.

On this trip I had a clear purpose: toilet paper, Oil of Olay, frozen egg rolls.

The cleverly placed dollar items beckoned me at the door, but since I wasn’t “shopping” I walked by. The endstops on aisles were full of attractive, non-essentials: Valentine’s Day decorations, discounted DVDs, pretty candles. Tempting but I resisted.

Sticking to my list (and a few extra food items) I was in and out in 15 minutes and drove away feeling peaceful and powerful. I rewrote the formula!

Take heart store owners. Despite my best lobbying efforts, my husband and kids don’t share my enthusiasm for the challenge, even after I sweetened the pot with an extravagant reward like a big family trip financed by the money we could save.

That said, my kids are still ex-officio participants. Unfortunately for them, I am the financier and taxi driver for 95 percent of their purchases. My six-year-old seems to have accepted this. On about day eight of the 365-day challenge he said, “Mom, when we’re done with the ‘no shopping’ thing, can I buy Sam a skateboard?”

I’m not sure he appreciates the length of a year.

Understand, I am not a big shopper, mostly because I suffer greatly from spending remorse. Still, the challenge is liberating.
• No negotiating with the kids about whether they can have this or that. “Sorry, mom’s not shopping.”
• No pressure to participate in the latest fashion trend.
• No need to read catalogues. They go straight into the garbage.
• Books will come from the library, or the shelves of unread books we already own.
• Gifts will be experiences – movie tickets, ski passes, coffee cards, a special class.

Rather than spending time looking for new things to get and finding places to put them, a year without shopping forces us to appreciate what we already have, and spend time together enjoying it.