Passing of a Landmark

I woke up at 4:15 this morning and lay in bed thinking about all the things I need to accomplish. Finally at 5 I got up, made myself a cappucino and here I am avoiding that list of things by writing a blog post instead.
Still, something important has happened: Our local Caribou Coffe is closing.
I'm so sad.
I know it's a chain, but it seems like a fairly reputable chain. They are 100% Rainforest Alliance certified -- whatever that means. They give me 50 cents off when I bring in my own cup.

Here we are sitting outside Caribou on New Year's Day.

It's a place we walk to at least once a week.
Caribou is closing because a local restaurant offered twice the rent that Caribou is currently paying. I hate that restaurant. Yes, I resent it because it drove Caribou away, but the two times I've been to that restaurant, bad things happened. Once Earl and I went and he bit into something metal in his food. (I'm not sure why we didn't sue them. Then maybe they wouldn't be able to afford to take over the Caribou space.) The other time I went to the restaurant with a bunch of girlfriends and a waitress spilled an entire Coke down one friend's back. (You remember that don't you, Stephanie?) To apologize, they offered her a cellophane wrapped cookie rather than offering to pick up her check. This place obviously has no people skills.
Even before we moved here, I spent a lot of time in Caribou. That's where I started retreating in the early mornings with my laptop. I wrote my first two books tucked into a corner at Caribou, sitting on the hard wooden bench, listening to the whirr of the coffee bean grinder.
I can still taste the creme horn pastry that I used to buy as my fingers tapped away, creating characters like the homeschool mom Annie who sold her minivan and ran away to Europe with her three kids. Or the two women, Jess and Andi who decided hiking the Appalachian trail was the best diet plan they could find.
I love the open ceiling that shows duct work painted a dark rust orange. The floors are green concrete except for a raised wooden section in the middle. The decor is Craftsman style, which is the style of the house we ended up buying when we moved closer. Not that we bought here just to be closer to Caribou.
Earl and I had many date nights at Caribou. It was one of the attractions that first brought us to this little town. And my friend Sheila and I have met at Caribou more times than I can count. We settle into leather arm chairs and lament the price of motherhood.
So the closing Caribou leaves a gap. Sure, there are other coffee shops nearby, but this Caribou felt like a community.
Oh Caribou, we hardly knew ye...

The Key to Happiness

The most exciting email ever arrived last night. It said:
"You've won: Spontaneous Happiness."
Really? I won that? So whenever I want, I can tap into spontaneous happiness? It's mine. I won it.
Turns out, I won a book from Vicki's blog. The book is called Spontaneous Happiness and it's by Andrew Weil. So that's still exciting, although not as exciting as winning happiness.
According to Amazon, the book explains that happiness comes from within, so I guess I'll never be able to win it. But the book does lay out a plan for "attaining and sustaining optimum emotional health."
I'll let you know if this book hands me the key to Spontaneous Happiness.
Then again, I may be too happy to write my blog any more.
Here are some things that make me happy:
Traveling with my husband


My family


Coffee with friends


Running with friends


And cats stuck on screen doors

What makes you happy?

Parenting Conundrums

When my kids were little, sometimes I would watch the famous pediatrician T. Berry Brazelton. His show always started out explaining a problem that a child was having. He would interact with the kid and the parents. Then he would turn to the camera and say, "I felt sure (child's name) would be fine, but it was the parents I was worried about." Most of the time, the kid was going to outgrow his medical or emotional issue. The parents worried about it and exacerbated it. I always wished I had Dr. Brazelton to reassure me that my kids would be fine.
Last night, between college football games and grading papers on the computer, I was flipping through the channels and came upon the show Supernanny. Supernanny is British and she goes to the houses of Americans with out-of-control children. She teaches the parents how to make their kids sleep in their own beds and advises parents how to correctly use time out.
"Why don't you ask Supernanny to come help you deal with the boys?" Grace suggested.
I raised an eyebrow at her.
"What do you think Supernanny would say to you?" I asked. Then in a mock British accent I said, "Why aren't you going back to college to finish your education, young lady? Why do you think you should spend a semester gallivanting around France and Italy when your parents are willing to pay for your schooling? You get yourself back to college and finish."
Grace did not seem amused.

It was easy for me to predict what Supernanny would say to Grace. I didn't want to think about what she would say to me.
"When did you give up on this family?" she might say. "When did you decide that you weren't responsible for your children's bad decisions?"
It's a dilemma I've been dealing with. My boys are 17 and 15. I raised them to make good choices, but they seem to frequently use their teenager brains to make bad choices. Is it my fault? I have accepted the idea that parents can't control their teenager's every move. But I'm not sure that's what Supernanny would say.
I think she'd tell me to do the hard work. To make Spencer be in by 10 p.m. even though he'll be 18 in October. To follow through with making Tucker clean up the basement rather than letting him leave dirty dishes and fast food wrappers around.
I could make a list of the good things my boys do. They work hard at school and are both taking honor classes. Spencer works at a restaurant and works out every day to fulfill his current obsession with basketball. Tucker volunteers in a mentoring program for younger students and swims. He plays his electric guitar for hours a day.
But they don't stay home all the time. They aren't limited to school, work, sports and home. They have those hang out hours with their friends, and in our small town, they are free to wander around. That's when they find trouble.
How much trouble can this boy get into if he takes the time to stop and smell the zinnias?

I could ground them for the rest of the year, forcing them to stay home when they aren't in school or at sports practice.
I encourage them to have friends come here, but it seems silly to control their every move when next year, Spencer will go away to college. He needs to have some freedom now and learn to make good choices before he is given carte blanche.
I know that you aren't Supernanny, but what do you think?
Do I give them enough freedom to make mistakes now or do I curtail their hanging out time, torturing both them and me?
Compromise solutions are also welcome.