Relaxation for mom? Are you kidding?

"Relaaaaax," croons the voice on my yoga DVD. "Relaaaax"

I stretch out in savasana, or corpse pose, flat on my back. I take a deep breath and let it out. Yes, I need to relax.

"MOM," shouts my son from the office room next door. "WHAT'S MARIO'S LAST NAME? IS IT MEATBALL? HOW DO YOU SPELL MEATBALL??"

I am not answering. I am relaxing - just like the lady on the DVD is recommending. I open one eye. The lady on the DVD is apparently in Hawaii. I am in our family room, and I can't help but notice that the rug I'm lying on could use a good shampooing. I close my eye again.

"Breathe," says the DVD lady. "Become one with your breath."

There is a voice in my ear. It sounds suspiciously like my daughter's. "Mom!" it hisses. "Picture day is on Friday. Did you know that picture day is on Friday? Because it is. I need to wear something nice."

I don't answer. Because I am one with my breath.

Suddenly, with a rush, all that breath is knocked out of me. Our new dog, all 50 pounds of him, has bounded down the stairs and landed on my chest.

I gasp for air. The children giggle. The dog drops his new toy, a soggy raccoon we have fondly named "Dead Rigby," on my stomach.

I sit up. I sense the DVD lady's disapproval. But I think I've had all the relaxation I can stand for one night.

"Even a daddy's girl has to let go sometime"

I was freezing cold and soaking wet.

The parking lot had been full that morning, so my son and I had hoofed it from blocks away to the elementary school. I'd given up my side of the umbrella, so the icy rivulets running down my back were an unpleasant reminder that fall had arrived quite early this year.

But when I turned the corner of the hallway, I almost forgot my discomfort. The scene in front of me broke my heart.

There was a dad, on his knees, with his first-grade daughter in his arms. Today was only the third day of school, and she was apparently having a little separation anxiety.

Daddy, for his part, looked bewildered and miserable. He was dressed for work, in khakis and a nice sweater, with his cell phone on his belt. The first school bell had already rung, and the Pledge of Allegiance had already been recited over the loudspeaker. I'm sure he was late for work; I know I was.

But his daughter was sobbing; she was clinging and didn't want to let go. I could tell he didn't want to, either.

I knew the teacher - she was my son's teacher two years ago and she's wonderful. "Are you a daddy's girl?" she said. "I'm a daddy's girl, too. But even a daddy's girl has to let go sometime."

It will get easier, Dad, I promise. For your daughter, at least. But for you ... I think it might take a little more time. : )

Making friends awkward for grown-ups

It's the first day of school, and there's a meet-and-greet for the new elementary school principal.

I'm standing against the wall, sipping my coffee, feeling incredibly awkward. I'm reminded again how hard it is to make friends when you're a grown-up. I've lived in this community for about four years now and I love it. But standing here, I still feel like an outsider.

Oh, everyone is extremely nice, of course. They always have been. It's just that it seems everyone has lived here forever. Their friendships go way back.

Today, everyone is in their own group. Moms with little kids. Dad coaches. Pregnant moms. Moms who craft together, work together.

There's doesn't seem to be a group for solitary writer moms, or moms who work out of town.

I finish my coffee and contemplate leaving. But I did want to meet the principal. And there were donuts from Tim Horton.

Then I catch the eye of a little girl with glasses, eating raisins from a box. She gives me such a big smile I have to smile back.

And I realize she has the right idea.

Taking one long, last breath of summer

I was walking the dog past the subdivision clubhouse this morning when I noticed the deck chairs were gone. The pool had been drained and covered by a tarp.

I felt a sudden, immediate stab of sadness. I shouldn't have, of course. It's September. Summer is over. But ... September? How did that happen? How did summer slip away so fast?

I know, I know, it's cliche. It's just that at the beginning of spring, you feel like you have so much time. Winter has just ended, and summer is unfolding in front of you like a fresh, green carpet of possibility.

It's so nice to move so slow.

But now the respite is over. The Halloween stuff is out. Boots are on sale. I already feel rushed, like I'm behind in planning something - and I'm not even sure what.

I know I should use this long weekend to plan, to get ahead, to make sure I'm ready for school next week, but I don't think I will. I think I might take one last, long breath of summer.

Doggy devotion? That's just kid stuff, right?

I am a cat person. I've always loved cats. They're quiet, low-maintenance and they tend to mind their own business. I can appreciate that.

So I wasn't quite sure how I'd feel about having a dog in the house. I mean, dogs are loud and excitable, right? They chew things, jump around and seem to be a lot of work.

But my daughter, now in middle school, has been begging for a dog since second grade, and my son wanted one, too. We finally decided this was the summer of the dog.

Enter Copper, the "best dog ever," courtesy of our local humane society. He's a three-year-old lab mix who obviously used to be someone's pet. He knows how to sit and shake hands. (He also likes to drink out of the toilet and beg for food).

Copper is the kids' dog. I barely notice him. I mean, sure, he flops over for tummy rubs, eases his bulk into my lap, wakes me up in the morning with a lick on the ear and lies on my feet while I read at night.

But really, he's for the kids. I barely notice him.

Now, yes, I have been getting up a half hour earlier to walk him, but I figured that would be good for both of us. My brother Michael, my own personal dog whisperer, has been teaching me to stay calm and assertive with the leash.

"If you want to have a better dog," says author Jon Katz, "You need to be a better person."

I do believe that. Not that I really care, of course. Because Copper is for the kids. I barely notice him.

No nagging from mom? What will happen?

I left home on Friday for a long weekend, spending some time with a friend on a writing retreat.

I wanted to go, I really did. But I left with a bit of trepidation. I'm not good at leaving home. I miss my family, even for a weekend, and besides, you never know what dad will allow when mom's not around.

Coke for breakfast? Dirty kids all day? No teeth brushing before bed? What will happen when mom isn't around to nag all the time?

A lot, apparently. But ... not in the way I thought. In fact, when I came home, the kids were clean and happy, the grocery shopping was done, the laundry was folded, and pictures that had been propped up in the hall were now hanging properly - and some new ones had been added too.

And for the piece de resistance, my shower - the bane of my cleaning existence - had somehow been scraped free of its buildup of grody rust and lime. My husband had found a cleaner (CLR - Calcium, Lime and Rust remover) and scrubbed it clean as a little welcome-back present for me.

Maybe I should leave more often.

Oh, no. It's family game night - rescue me

You know those ads you see for family game night, where the contented family is gathered around the table, playing some board game? Think back. Is the mom smiling? No, she's not. At least not in my house.

Oh, I like the togetherness. I'm just not a big fan of board games.

And that's too bad, because we have no shortage. There's Sorry, Monopoly, Operation, even Apples to Apples. We can Spill the Beans, Break the Ice, Connect Four and even sink each other's battleships. We can get into Trouble, too, although I will say the Pop-O-Matic makes it somewhat tolerable.

Family game night. Rescue me.

But I love my family. And my family loves board games. And so I play. Oh, I try to duck out - hiding in the bedroom, feigning sleep, even staying in the bathroom for oddly long amounts of time - but they wait for me. Because family game night just doesn't work without mom, does it?

My husband doesn't understand it. Growing up, his family - his extremely competitive family - loved board games. They played them constantly. I think my brother and I played Ker-Plunk once or twice and called it a day.

I mentioned off-handedly to my husband that there used to be this game I remembered called Masterpiece - it was about art forgery - that I thought wasn't so bad. God love him, he found it on eBay and bought it, hoping he would change my game-hating ways.

I still haven't played it. But I know I'll have to. Soon.

Uh-oh ... I think I hear the Pop-O-Matic. Time to go. It's family game night. Rescue me.