Jun 28

A Glimpse in to the Pug Psyche

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It made me smile to see the dog in the new “Toy Story 3” movie advance in age alongside Andy. It reminded me of my sweet little pug, Aggie, who is undoubtedly showing the signs of age on her smooshed face. No level of denial on my part with stop time from marching on.

White hairs outline the years of stress she’s experienced as a member of our busy family. She’s endured three bedridden pregnancies, helped raise three active girls, survived endless sleepovers, playdates and birthday parties. She’s had her ears tugged on (more than once), been barfed on (more than once), and has been dressed in head to toe doll clothes and toted around in a basket (more than once).

She doesn’t seem to notice that she’s slowing down a bit. She can’t run to keep up with the kids on their scooters anymore and her naps are more numerous and longer in length. She still races up and down the stairs with the kids when they play with her and she runs for her leash if you say the words, “Go” or “Walk.” She also gets into mischief in the same ways she did as a puppy (i.e. unrolling the toilet paper and shredding it into tiny pieces when she needs attention) and sneaking into the kids snacks and bingeing on a bag full of baby carrots when no one was looking. (She had a tummy ache for days and looked green – or maybe I should say “orange.”)

While she’s unaware of her own mortality I don’t think she’s aware of our children’s development either. Really, the tables have turned a lot over the years. When the kids were little, she was kind of a watch dog of sorts. If the girls woke up from their naps or were doing something sneaky she’d come get me and pace around to let me know that I was back on duty. (She’s sort of the Lassie of pugs.) She’d wipe their faces clean and clean up after them as they learned to navigate eating meals with a fork. She’d curl up with them at nap time or when they’re sick to offer them comfort.

These days she’s at their mercy. They fill up her bowls with food and water. They’re the ones holding her leash as they take her for walks in the neighborhood or let her out to do her business. They snuggle with her at night to offer her comfort because now she’s completely dependent on their co-sleeping arrangement. (They even trade weeks taking turns sleeping with her.) The girls have even taken to disciplining her and teaching her new tricks.

Although the tide has turned and the girls have become the Alpha Dog in the house, I don’t think Aggie has noticed. Any day of the week, any hour of the day, I can ask her, “Where are the babies?” and she’ll go run towards the girls. No matter how white her black coat turns, or who’s holding her leash, I believe she’ll always see herself as the overprotective mother hen of the house with her three little babies.

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Jun 14

Sailing Through Parenthood

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When I asked my four-year-old what she wanted to do this summer, she quickly and confidently replied, “I think I’d like to sail around the world.” Clearly, the media firestorm around 16-year-old, Abby Sunderland, has sparked the attention of my young adrenaline junky.

My response is the same as it always is when she decides she thinks something dangerous is appealing. I sigh and say, “Really.” And her response to my flatness is always ignored as she proceeds with a laundry list of reasons why it’s super cool to do dangerous stuff.

When she was two I was flipping through the channels and she saw a half-mili-second of something that caught her interest. She begged me turn back a few channels and then had me stop on an Olympic slalom ski jump of all things. The only words she could string together to express her excitement were. “Wow! Fun! Fun!”

She was born with an awareness about her that even my family doctor recognized as she emptied his shirt pocket while he leaned forward to look in her ears when she was only a few months old.

Then there was the time when she drove in her Grandma’s little red sports car and said, “Gamma go fasta!! C’mon fasta!!”

At six months of age she was trying to walk – which sounds adorable – but when you have a “danger lover” on your hands it really is a curse not a blessing. She’d troll around the playground and go down the tall twisty slide. I really couldn’t keep her from being who she was – a fun loving, thrill seeker. Yes, I had to keep her safe, but I realized that term had a new definition for my free-spirit.

Other moms would scorn, glare, or even lecture me about how irresponsible I was. I could empathize with them. At times, before the birth of this child, I probably felt some of those same judgmental feelings towards anonymous mothers at the park, the ones that seemed to let their kids do things that appeared to be too overwhelming at such a young age. Most of the time I’d blow them off and every once in a while one of those well-intentioned helicopter moms would try to hover over my child and I’d remind them to fly in their own designated airspace.

Now, I see the Sunderland family take on ridicule from the media and supposed parenting experts for letting their child take on such a difficult goal. I have to sit back and observe from a different place. I don’t know their circumstances, but I do know what it’s like to parent a child that has more zest for life than can be contained in a small body. There’s really more than one way to sail through the solo voyage of parenthood.

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Jun 08

Cable Car Moms

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After dragging my three children up to the top of Nob Hill (which was only 6 blocks from our hotel, but entirely uphill) to the Cable Car Museum in San Francisco, I was exhausted. I stood on the platform and observed the hard-working cables that keep the cars running up and down the steep slopes of the city. I don’t know if it was the tired sounds of the machines or the sweat pouring down the back of my neck, but it got me thinking: Cable cars and moms are a lot alike. 

First of all, cable cars run all day – except between the hours of 1 a.m. and 6 a.m when they return to the barn for a brief rest. Moms of newborns have been known to keep these hours. And moms of teenagers too. And overworked, busy moms with lots of hats to wear have also been known to keep “cable car” hours too. Pretty much if you’re a mom, you haven’t slept a regular eight-hour night in years – unless you were sick, and even then it’s debatable.

Next, cable cars run at a constant but slow speed all day long – 9.5 miles per hour to be exact. While it seems like a mom is never getting things done because she’s always on the go, it also feels like a mom can’t ever seem to get anywhere very fast. Just when a mom gets going, it’s time to stop again. Just like the cable car trudging up and down the steep hills of San Francisco, as mothers we’re journeying uphill all day to cross things off our lists with temper-tantrum-prone toddlers and pouting pre-teens in toe.

Finally, these antique cars’ cables are coated with a sacrificial lubricant that keeps the ropes gripping day in and day out. They compare this special tar-like oil to a pencil eraser eroding away instead of the paper. In mom-speak, our protective lubricant is the thick skin we develop so our own pride and self-esteem don’t wear away. In comes in  those times when we step into a tough spot to defend our family and find ourselves looking the lone wolf in a forest full of hungry salivating predators. In the end it’s that extra layer that helps us develop greater resolve than ever to do whatever it takes to keep our little den of wolf cubs safe and happy – day after day.

Cable cars have been around for what seems like forever (just like moms), will be around for a whole lot longer (just like moms), and seem to only get better and more beloved with time (just like moms.)

 

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May 17

Future American Idol Finalist

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Yesterday, I could hear my youngest daughter belting out one of the many songs from her repertoire as I sat on my peaceful perch on the sectional in our living room. But this performance sounded louder than normal. Her sister, who was at my side when the show started, wandered upstairs to investigate and bolted back down to the living room to exclaim, “She’s standing in your bedroom window – totally naked—singing to the entire neighborhood! She said she was in her room but moved to yours because she ‘needed a bigger audience.’”  (Side note: My bedroom window overlooks a fairly busy commercial area of shops and restaurants.)

In my defense, I had sent my youngest daughter upstairs to get dressed and brush her teeth. I have to admit that I wasn’t at all shocked to hear that she became sidetracked by the thrill of being on center stage. I can picture a reporter interviewing me in 15 or 20 years asking, “What was your daughter like as a child?” And I will be able to honestly reply, “There was never a dull moment.”

One of the most thrilling things about being a mom – especially to girls – is to see how alike or, and in this case, not alike, to me they are becoming. Not that I want my kids to be just like me (because that means they would inherit the good, the bad, and the ugly. And who wants that?), but it’s fun to see how some of that DNA transfers over in a completely identifiable pattern. One of my daughters has developed my love of writing. Another loves sports. Another has inherited my passion for all things related to HGTV.

In the case of my youngest (i.e. the budding “American Idol” finalist), I see some definite areas where we don’t overlap. For starters, I’m not a singer. I can barely join in on Christmas carols and it’s a great feat that I even hum “Happy Birthday.” (She gets her songbird-ness from her father.) And second, I’m not a big fan of public nudity. Never went skinny dipping. Never did any streaking. (And I’m guessing that didn’t come from her paternity, either.)

So, her performance causes me to ponder some on those traits that I can’t readily trace back to any one ancestor. I wonder, “Where in the heck did this come from?” Don’t get me wrong—I’m not threatening to disown her or any of my kids. I do, however, seriously watch the behavior of each of my children some days and wonder where some of their strongest traits (even the good ones) come from when I can’t seem to link even an inch of their talent, courage or gusto to either side of their family tree.

In my child development classes in college my instructor argued that strong character traits are a result of a combination of nature or nurturing. I’m pretty sure there must be a third category called “neither.” Since I haven’t come up with any better theory, I’m proposing that these traits come from the stork that delivers children out of the sky. Maybe if I roll with that theory I won’t have to take responsibility for the outcome now or later. I guess that also means I can’t take credit for it later when she matures into the fantastic person I can see taking shape. There’s that whole Catch 22-thing popping up again in parenting.

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May 10

Baby Mama — The Last Trimester

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Here’s another great guest post from Tara as she shares her perspectives on the journey of her second pregnancy.

I am officially in the third trimester of pregnancy now. While I would rate it as easier than the first trimester—when I am always nauseated— I wouldn’t exactly call this trimester fun.  

While there are many reasons to complain about this final term of pregnancy, I limit my whining to just six reasons why I wouldn’t mind if my little boy came a few weeks early.

  1. Hurting Hips. Apparently the ligaments in my pelvis have softened, allowing my hips to spread, in preparation for birth. I think they should just wait and soften once I have an epidural, so I can’t feel any of it.
  2. Bladder pressure. Need I say more?
  3. Contractions. While Braxton Hicks aren’t painful yet, it’s still uncomfortable to try to do anything when my uterus is doing its own little work out.
  4. Frequent Doctor Visits. I now have to take time out of my day every two weeks to visit the doctor’s office. It isn’t that much fun anymore. For the first couple of visits when you are pregnant it is very cool to go to the doctor and realize there is a little baby forming inside of you, but at this point I don’t need the doctor’s help to know that there is a baby in there.
  5. Sleeping. I don’t think a comfortable position exists during the last ten weeks of pregnancy. It doesn’t help that once you finally get to sleep you have to wake up to visit the bathroom.
  6. Extra body heat. It isn’t really fun to have everyone else in the vicinity comment on what a nice day it is, when I am sweating.

 All of this being said, I suppose I will forget it all when we bring home our cute little baby boy.

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May 03

Cheetahs and Cheaters

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While the girls and I were all piled in the car running errands recently, one of the older girls saw a sign that listed a phone number and said, “Private Eye. We catch cheaters.”

The other one said, “What’s a cheater?”

I held my breath and tried to look invisible behind the wheel. I know we’ve had the birds and the bees chat with the older girls, but I am pretty sure the subject of infidelity never came up and the word “cheater” was never used. As I crouched down in the driver’s seat trying to go unnoticed, while still driving between the white lines, I listened as my girls discussed all of the possible definitions of the word “cheater.”

“They’re talking about Cheetoes. I love Cheetoes. Except when they make your fingers turn orange and you lick them but your fingers are still orange. That’s gross. Then I’d rather have Ruffles or something.”

Phew…so far I’ve escaped a really difficult topic. They’re completely off track and now they’re talking about food. That’s a good sign. Please don’t ask me, please don’t ask me, please don’t ask me, I chant silently in my head.

“No it says, ‘Cheaters,’ like someone who cheats,” the oldest one chimes in.

Ugh-oh. This sounds like dangerous territory. Should I intercede before she blurts out more info than I’m ready for the younger ones to hear? This could open up a whole can of worms I’m not ready for.

“I hate when so-and-so at school tries to cheat off my spelling test. It’s so annoying,” whines my other daughter.

Hooray! Another tangent. I should be safe, but we’re still many minutes from home. Maybe I should turn on some Taylor Swift or the “High School Musical 3” soundtrack and throw them off. If nothing else, it will kill the conversation.

While I’m fumbling around looking for some music,  my brilliant and comedic four-year-old burst out with, “Cheetahs! Cheetahs! I a cheetah! Or you a cheetah! You can’t catch me Mr. Eye. I run fast, fast, fast. I-uh-cheet-ah.”

Everyone’s laughing. Keep laughing. Keep thinking about cheetahs. While you’re laughing I’ll begin praying that my fact-loving oldest daughter will begin spewing a laundry list of data about cheetahs.

“Cheetahs run so fast! How can anyone catch a cheetah? That’s humanly impossible,” she said as she begins telling us exactly how many miles per hour a cheetah can run and how long they can sustain that speed.

Of course, my middle daughter didn’t go down without a fight. She spouted back, “But if he was a super fast runner then he could totally catch the cheetah.”

“And if he had magical powers, like Dora and Diego,” chided the youngest.

The sounds “uh-uh,” and “uh-huh” going back and forth were music to my ears as I knew that my children’s innocence to the awful things of the world were pushed back just one day further. And I was spared from enlightening them.

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Apr 26

Where Have Those Lips Been?

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My youngest is really into giving kisses. Unfortunately, she’s discovered “romantic” kissing – thank you endless Disney flicks – and tries to share her love with a little more generosity than what is typically appreciated.

Like any normal, neurotic, parent I fret about her teenage years. How will we ever keep the boys away? My husband will have to dress like a redneck and carry a gun. Or maybe he’ll issue lie detector tests like the father in “Meet the Parents.” Either way, I’m sure he’ll be plenty scary, but what would be my role in scaring off all future suitors?

A flood of memories suddenly came to mind as I watched the little kisser shriek as she chased her terrified older sisters with threats of “juicy kisses.” Those lips have already had quite a ride in just four short years. I began concocting my plan that I decided could include my older girls as well. I would share gross-out moments in a special scrapbook entitled, “Do you know where those lips have been?” that only comes out right before one of them leaves on a date. 

The possibilities are endless but I share here a few lovely moments I could include that would scare off any prom date.

1.       My husband and I were in the kitchen making dinner and catching up on our day, when all of a sudden my mommy-radar heard an odd noise coming from the bathroom. I heard the sound of thirsty guzzling. That’s odd, I thought, as I gazed across the hallway from the kitchen to the powder room. My two-year-old (at the time) was in plain view with a cup in her hand. I asked her what she was doing and she frankly replied. “I was thirsty so I got dink (drink).” I knew she wasn’t tall enough to turn the faucet on, so I asked in horror because I was pretty sure I knew the answer, “Where did you get a drink from?” Her answer, “The toilet.” Needless to say, my appetite was ruined.

2.       When we moved into our newly constructed home, our daughter was only in the crawling stage. As a result, everything she saw went directly into her mouth. And she was fast. I was constantly pulling things out of her grasp in exchange for acceptable chew toys. We had what my husband called “a minor mouse problem” when we moved into our home. (Later he confessed that is was more like a major problem. This is why I can no longer view movies like “Ratatouille” or “Stuart Little.” I have a serious rodent issue.) As I was unpacking the kitchen my daughter grabbed a sticky, glue mouse trap and put it to her face. The 3 x 5 glue trap was stuck to her face and both of hands. An hour later and after numerous calls to poison control, pest control, the doctor’s office, and my husband, the glue trap was removed, the mice were all gone, and luckily no damage was done. (Glue traps are non-toxic. Phew!)

3.       On a trip to Sea World, one of my daughters became obsessed with the starfish in the tidepool area. One of the attendants said she could pick it up and look at it. Like any good mother, I took a few steps back from toddler, so I could snap a shot of this precious moment. My daughter was carefully looking over the red crustacean when suddenly her mouth opened wide and she proceeded to insert the starfish into her mouth. I hopped up out of my squatted photographer position just in time to swoop in to save that poor starfish’s life. It’s proof you never know quite what your child is thinking. While I thought my sweet daughter was considering her life as a future oceanographer apparently, she was actually thinking about lunch.

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Apr 19

The First 24

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There’s nothing cuter than a litter of new puppies. You watch them play and sleep and you snuggle with them and pet them. But it can be nearly impossible to pick one out of the bunch. Experts advise doing one easy test to know which puppy has the best personality: you simply put the puppy on his back and hold him down gently for a few seconds – enough to give resistance but not too much to hurt the pup. How he responds – either by lying passively or by wiggling and worming out of your grasp — will tell you a lot about the kind of pet you’re welcoming into your family. Most people are looking for a pup that’s somewhere in the middle.

I think the same could be said about newborns. While I’m not suggesting holding a newborn down to see what he or she would do, I can say that the first 24 hours of a newborn’s new life is a foreshadowing of any dominant personality traits. I can see now with years of perspective the early signs of the strong character traits each of my three daughters possessed in those first hours of life.

When my oldest was born she greeted us with the typical signs of healthy life – lots of screaming and crying – but her crying ended quickly. She was a content child and snuggled up into her little burrito with her eyes closed and as happy as a clam to sleep off the trauma of childbirth. I, on the other hand, couldn’t get enough of her. I repeatedly unwrapped her blanket to look at her crinkly ears that she inherited from her grandpa and her full lips she stole from my DNA. She stretched and fussed each time I’d examine her just as she acts today when I try to fuss over her. She’s content just the way she is. These days that means tucked away into a corner of the house, close to all the action, but snuggled up under a blanket (just like in those first few hours of life). Now, however, she snuggles with a book in hand.

When my second daughter arrived, just 361 days after No. 1, I expected everything to be about the same. After all, the date on the calendar was almost the same, my swollen toes looked identical to the Vienna sausages I had carted around the year before, and my husband had the same concerned but calm look on his face.

So, I was blindsided when daughter No. 2 came out. First of all, we didn’t know she’d be a girl (the strong-willed fetus only showed us her backside in every ultrasound.) We also didn’t know a kid so small could have such a big set of lungs. I’m not sure I’d ever heard a child scream like that – ever. She was not as happy to see us as we were to see her. She screamed and screamed and then screamed a whole bunch more. The doctors swore up and down that she was perfectly healthy and that some kids are just more fiery than others. Hmm….fiery? What does that mean? I thought. That sounds like code for lots of sleepless nights.

As we lay down to sleep that night in the hospital, my 12-hour-old, 6-pound daughter could not be consoled. Everything I tried –and I thought I knew all the tricks – didn’t seem to work on her. She was only happy when I was holding her. The problem was, I’d been awake for over 24 hours – giving birth and all – and I was a wee bit tired from the day’s events. So, I did what every experienced mom would do (and at the risk of being lectured by a nurse): I set her down in bed beside me. She nestled up against me, let out a big sigh of relief, and then fell asleep in 1.2 seconds (which is exactly how long it takes her Dad to fall asleep each night, actually).

A few nights ago I had a flashback to our first night together. We were away from home and No. 2 was having a hard time falling asleep. She tried every excuse in the book to explain why she was still wide-eyed and bushy-tailed long after her sisters had zonked out. She all but threw a toddler tantrum – even though she’s well beyond the toddler years – before I allowed her to climb into bed with me. As you can guess, 1.2 seconds after she pulled the covers up to her chin, she was out cold, just like that first night over 8 years earlier.

Last, but not least, my third daughter arrived after years of heartache, medical trauma, months of morning sickness, and even more months of pre-term labor and bouts of bedrest. Needless to say, we were all exhaustedly excited for her arrival.

And arrive she did. Right on time. The doctor asked my husband to predict the hour of her birth after we checked into the hospital for the delivery. Even though my labor wasn’t progressing, my husband confidently declared that our daughter would arrive at 11:17 a.m. And that’s precisely – and I mean down to the second precisely – what she did.

Exactly eight minutes earlier (11:09 a.m.) I had sent my doctor off to take care of other patients since I figured I was hours from delivery. I turned to lie on my side where I had a full view of all of the machines tracking my contractions, just as seismograph machines record earthquakes. Suddenly my machine looked like the San Andreas Fault during “The Big One” and I went from the first stage of labor to delivery in less time than it takes cheese to melt on the top of a pizza.

As a mother of two girls already – with very different personalities – I couldn’t imagine how on earth I could have another daughter (this time I knew she’d be a girl) that could still add yet another female dynamic to our home. But there she was– all 7-plus pounds of full lips and a lively personality.  She took one look at me, calmed herself, and then knowingly reached up to grab my index finger. I think we were both relieved to no longer share a body, but to instead share life together but in separate bodies. She never misses a beat but still beats to her own drummer, just like her arrival nearly five years ago.

It never fails to amaze me how distinct and different each of my daughters is in looks and personality. Just like a litter of pups all from the same parents, but all so different. I guess my daughters’ births are proof that parenting really isn’t a one-size fits-all approach; rather, each child needs her own layers of compassion and direction. Each of my daughters’ births tells the first chapter of the story of who they are and what they will become. They are just as individualized today as they were the day they were born.

 

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Apr 12

Locked Out

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Our daughters used to have an obsession with locking themselves in their room. Unfortunately, they were old enough to lock themselves in their room but not old enough to figure out how to unlock the latch and get out. So, after several dramatic, tear-filled weeks in a row of picking the lock or taking the entire knob off the door, my husband decided to reverse the knob on our daughters’ door so that it locked from the outside only. Sounds like a genius, fail-proof plan right? Yep. Until my precious, innocent, little Irish twins closed the door behind me once and locked me in.

No big deal, right? I said to myself. I can handle this. No one’s life is in danger. It’s a simple problem to fix. No big deal. I’ll just talk them through it and they’ll be able to unlock the door. Who was I fooling? After lots of crying (mostly by me) the door was still locked and now everyone was hungry (mostly me). Did I mention that I was about 6 months pregnant? That explains the crying and the hunger, right?

So, I looked at my options and decided that if I stood on the toy box I could get enough height to hop out of the first-story bedroom window. I pried off the screen and opened the window without much problem. I was feeling confident my plan would work until I heard my pants split as I was coming over the window. Darn those Dairy Queen cravings from Week 14, I thought.

But the split in my pants was the least of my problems. I was still a good five feet off the ground and I’m pretty sure this little adventure was not on my doctor’s list of approved activities for my prescribed modified bedrest. I thought to myself, Just stay calm. Think of the positives. What on earth could be a positive right now? Hmmm … Think hard, I’m sure there’s a positive somewhere in this situation. At least there are no witnesses to this event. That’s a positive.

With that thought in my mind, I courageously took a death-defying leap and crossed my fingers that I could stick my landing in flip flops despite my protruding baby belly. To my surprise, I not only kept my balance, but I was also greeted by a chorus of cheers from my neighbors who had somehow caught a birds-eye view of the whole show. Where did they come from? I asked myself. And why didn’t they come help me? I’m pretty stubborn so I probably wouldn’t have accepted the help even if they had offered it.

I’d love to say that this was the only time that I’ve been locked in a room at the hands of my children. Once I was locked in my friend’s daughter’s bedroom on the second story. (There was no leaping  from tall buildings for me.) We were at the mercy of our two mischievous toddlers – 12 months and two years at the time. We had no phone, no food, and no hope for help for hours. Lucky for us, we had been assembling an IKEA bookshelf when the door locked behind us so we did have a large pile of tools to help us make our escape in time to pick up our older children from school and to keep the preschool aged rascals from getting into more mischief. They were pretty pleased with themselves when they figured out that they’d locked us in.

Years later, and with no children under the age of 4 living under my roof, I think maybe I’d like my kids to lock me in my room—especially if it was quiet, filled with fluffy pillows and large quantities of chocolate.

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Mar 29

Save Your Sanity: Boredom Busters for Spring Break

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Spring break offers a sneak peak at the fun that awaits us each summer. In our house, this means alarms aren’t set, pajamas stay on until at least noon, cereal becomes a main course, and Wii competitions intensify and go past regular bedtime hours. Good times are had by all for a few days, but sooner or later everyone gets a little stir crazy (and usually by day 3 of 14 I’m about ready to pull out my hair).

So, here is a list of some fun things that you might be able to do in your area when spring fever hits and you’ve got to get out of the house:

 Wear-Them-Out Activities:

  • Get wet. Everyone has access to water somewhere, whether it’s the pool, the lake, the beach, or the river. Or go old school and turn on the sprinklers and let ‘em have at it.
  • Walk or ride scooters around unique neighborhoods or walking paths.
  • Hit the road and take a bike ride on kid-friendly pathways in your community.
  • Take a hike. Find a book that list short and kid-friendly trails.
  • Visit a nature preserve. Don’t forget the binoculars.
  • Find a park you’ve never visited before or visit a favorite with a fun theme you don’t normally frequent.

 

Rainy Day Activities:

  • Watch a flick at the dollar-movie theatre or hit a matinee.
  • Pull out the board games and let the competition begin.
  • Go bowling.
  • Rent some video games and take a few for a test spin.

 

Just For Fun:

  • Thrifty ice cream at Rite-Aid is still the cheapest deal in town and it is available nearly everywhere.
  • Prefer yogurt? Try one of the many trendy self-serve places and make your own creation.
  • Hit the mall. Most have play areas and shows for younger kids and most tweeners and teenagers will be happy to do a little window shopping.
  • Ride the carousel. No one can resist smiling when they ride a carousel. It’s guaranteed happiness for only a few bucks. Throw in some cotton candy and your kids will think they’re in heaven.

 

Sneak In Some Learning:

  • Do a Google search and find out which days are FREE at your local museums.
  • Check out books at the library.
  • Visit the local aquarium or zoo.
  • Take a self-guided walking tour of an historic area of town.

Need some more tips for saving your sanity over spring break. Check out this post.

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