Bree Watson Archives | University of Central ��ӽ紫ý News

Is Anyone Else Living in a Children’s Book, Or Is It Just Me?

BREE WATSON ’04, ��ӽ紫ý FORUM COLUMNIST — Wed, 15 Sep 2021 15:48:25 +0000

I was stuck.

Stuck at home with kids in quarantine and stuck on what to write for this column.

I had a half-dozen half-baked ideas, but nothing had enough creative gas to get to the publishable finish line. The previous paragraphs would fall into literary limbo each time my attention turned to another potential topic.

Like many working parents, it seemed I was always doing something that needed immediate attention — snacks, crafts, emails, virtual meetings, timesheets, tidying up, etc. And when the dust would settle at the end of the day, I was always in the same spot staring at a mess of misfit words and a blank page to start again tomorrow.

Then it dawned on me. I’m living in a children’s book. One of my favorite children’s books, actually — If You Give A Mouse A Cookie by Lauren Numeroff — which I’ve read countless times as a child and now to my children.

So, I wrote this piece for all the people who accomplish a dizzying array of tasks and activities each day, only to feel like they’re right back where they started.

I hope it brings a smile to your face and the comfort of knowing that you’re not alone.

If You Give A Mom Some Laundry

If you give a mom some laundry,

She’ll take it right to the washing machine.

On the way, she’ll see an overturned sippy cup leaking on the floor.

So she’ll grab a paper towel to wipe it up.

Seeing the milk will remind her it’s snack time for her toddlers, so she’ll cut up some apples and spoon out some peanut butter.

When she opens the dishwasher to put the used utensils inside, she’ll realize the dishwasher is still full of clean dishes. So she’ll put them away.

Opening the cabinet, she’ll notice that the hinge is a bit wobbly. So she’ll rifle through the junk drawer to find the right-size Allen wrench.

Inside the junk drawer, she’ll see an old birthday card and remember she never sent out thank-you notes.

So she’ll grab a pen and paper.

When her kids see her writing, they’ll ask to draw something, too.

So she’ll get out stickers, crayons and construction paper.

While hanging up the artwork on the fridge, she’ll notice the sticky handprints covering the stainless-steel door.

So she’ll search for the chamois under the sink.

Unclipping the child lock, she’ll discover the dinosaur toy that’s been missing for a few days.

When she returns it to the toy box, she’ll find a stray sock.

The sock reminds her that she was supposed to be doing a load of laundry, so she tracks down the abandoned basket and takes it to the laundry room.

When she opens the washing machine door, she’ll be hit with the scent of musty clothes.

She’ll realize the last set of laundry never made it to the dryer.

So she’ll pour in more detergent and run the wash cycle again.

And chances are, if you give a mom some laundry…

She’s going to get sidetracked by life and forget to move the wet clothes over to the dryer until the very moment she settles into bed.

Bree Watson ’04 is senior copywriter with ��ӽ紫ý’s Communications and Marketing team. She can be reached at bree@ucf.edu.

The ��ӽ紫ý Forum is a weekly series of opinion columns from faculty, staff and students who serve on a panel for a year. A new column is posted each Wednesday on ��ӽ紫ý Today and then broadcast on W��ӽ紫ý-FM (89.9) between 7:50 and 8 a.m. Sunday. Opinions expressed are those of the columnists, and are not necessarily shared by the University of Central ��ӽ紫ý.

In Defense of Doing Nothing

Bree Watson ’04, ��ӽ紫ý Forum columnist — Wed, 14 Apr 2021 13:10:59 +0000

Are you always doing something? Always working, studying, reading, writing, clicking, typing, teaching, meeting, Zooming, cooking, cleaning, washing, wiping, folding, planning, prepping or just plain worrying?

I know I am. And it was time to do nothing about it!

So I took a day off. I wasn’t going on vacation. I didn’t have a doctor’s appointment or need to care for a sick child. And I wasn’t taking my car in for service.

I had no to-do list. No home repair to tackle. Nothing.

I was a stick on a river called Nothing and I let it take me for a ride.

I just took a day off.

“I did nothing. I did absolutely nothing, and it was everything that I thought it could be.”

Film fans may recognize that line from Office Space. In the dark comedy, the main character, Peter, is asked what he would do if he had a million dollars. He says he would do nothing — and soon after, he does exactly that. A whole day of nothing. Doesn’t it sound grand?

Doing nothing, so to speak, is still doing something, just as avoiding a decision is still a decision. But on my day off — on Nothing Day — I had nothing planned, and it was everything I needed to reset and reenergize.

So, yes, I did do something on Nothing Day. But I did it all on my time, without any distractions. Even household chores felt relaxing without the constraints of a schedule or clingy children. I washed a load of towels, vacuumed the house and happily put away a basket of folded laundry that had been perched on the dining room table for days, silently taunting me every time I passed by. (I see you, baby clothes! And I will put you away whenever I feel like it! You’re not the boss of me!)

I got takeout from a new spot. Played with our pups in the backyard. And soaked up an audiobook uninterrupted.

I also listened to big band jazz as I leisurely prepared dinner, a refreshing change from the hastily thrown-together meals I concoct on most evenings. And I successfully took a short nap, which, for my anxious mind, is quite a feat.

I was a stick on a river called Nothing and I let it take me for a ride.

Between kids and work and chores and more, there’s always some to-do list lingering and lurking in the back of my brain.

Don’t forget dog food. Need a new rug. Mail that birthday card. Call a plumber. Update the sprinkler timer. Buy more toddler socks. Try to decipher the size charts to transition from toddler socks to children’s socks. Ponder the great expanse of the universe and assume it’s where all the toddler socks go.

But not today. Not on Nothing Day.

In a sense, it took a pandemic for me to take a day for myself. With my COVID-19 vaccination the day before, I requested this otherwise random Tuesday off in case my side effects were difficult to work around.

Fortunately, other than a tender arm, I felt a lot like I normally do — tired, sore and a bit run-down. You know, like a working mom with two young kids. Like most people these days. Like you, perhaps?

It’s funny to think about, but I actually had to make a plan to do nothing. I used to do nothing on a regular basis. Nothing and I were good friends. But this was back when email was exciting not exhausting and shopping resembled a saunter rather than Supermarket Sweep.

These days, it seems there’s always something and no time for nothing. We fill every bit of free time, every moment of silence with scrolling and swiping and streaming on a variety of glowing screens.

But if all the somethings are leaving you with nothing, it’s time to unplan, unplug and unwind, just for a bit.

I recognize there are different jobs, different life situations and even different personalities that make it easier or more difficult to enjoy a Nothing Day. But I hope that no matter who you are and what you do for a living, you can find time to pause, take a deep breath and take a day or an hour or just a few minutes away from your worries to do a whole lot of nothing.

Take a walk. Take a nap. Take the long way home. Just take a break! Turn nothing into something. You deserve it.

Bree Watson ’04 is senior copywriter with ��ӽ紫ý’s Communications and Marketing team. She can be reached at bree@ucf.edu.

Learning to Parent in the Pandemic

Bree Watson ’04, ��ӽ紫ý Forum columnist — Wed, 10 Feb 2021 14:00:25 +0000

“I don’t know how to be a parent in the real world!” I exclaimed to my husband. I was exasperated, but finally realized the root of recent frustration. The pandemic wasn’t letting me be a parent in public.

At the start of shutdowns and social distancing last spring, my son was 19 months old and I was 34 weeks pregnant. I had already wondered how I would balance two kids under age 2 while doing everyday things, like running errands and going grocery shopping. Do you wear the baby in a carrier and put the toddler in the shopping cart? What about places that don’t have shopping carts? How do you keep your curious kiddo from ducking under bathroom stalls while you change the baby’s diaper? And most importantly, how on earth do I use the restroom with two kids in tow? The toddler leashes I once mocked were starting to look pretty good.

Of course, I’m not the first parent to encounter these situations. But because of the pandemic, I haven’t had to. I have two happy, healthy boys who have pretty much never been in a public, indoor setting together in their lives.

We are not hermits, by any means. The boys go to daycare each weekday, so we try to minimize the risk of exposure the rest of the time. They’re just too young to safely and effectively wear a face mask, so we keep them away from situations where face coverings are important and essential.

To be clear, this pandemic has stolen something from everyone. The tragic loss of lives and livelihoods is heartbreakingly measurable, whereas the loss of opportunities and experiences can’t be quickly tallied. Some of these invisible losses pile up slowly, and it’s only when we look back at how things were that we begin to see the full impact of how things were supposed to be.

Now 2½ years old, my toddler hasn’t been inside a store or restaurant in almost a year.

Now 2½ years old, my toddler hasn’t been inside a store or restaurant in almost a year. No Target toy aisle. No cookie from the Publix bakery. And no going out to eat as a family. In his world, it’s like these places don’t even exist.

This thought reminded me of a speaker I saw at a conference a couple years ago. The presenter, a master of misdirection, told the crowd that his home contained a secret room — but it was only a secret to his young daughter. He planned to reveal the existence of this room in the future in order to elicit a sense of magic and wonder, much like when Dorothy opens the drab door of her tornado-tossed home to the vibrant and colorful Land of Oz.

Is this what it will feel like to go back to normal? Will my kids be awed by aisles of items? Amused by elevators and escalators? Or will they be oblivious to the newly expanded outings? Only time will tell.

And while I am more than happy to say that I haven’t had to use the fireman’s carry to remove a tantrum-entranced toddler from a store — yet! — I also haven’t been able to put lessons in pediatric patience to the test outside of our home. These are the types of parent experiences I’m missing — for better or worse. And I know I’m not alone. So, to all the other parents of youngsters who are waiting a bit longer to venture into the great indoors with your tiny humans, I feel your frustration.

My youngest son will be walking soon, and we will celebrate his first birthday much like we celebrated his other firsts — as a family of four eager to return to normal, yet respectful of the risks involved with rushing that return.

And so, I wait. Sometimes angrily, sometimes reluctantly, sometimes in tears. Much like a toddler learning to be patient.

Bree Watson ’04 is senior copywriter with ��ӽ紫ý’s Communications and Marketing team. She can be reached at bree@ucf.edu.

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Paw Patrol

Bree Watson, ��ӽ紫ý Forum columnist — Wed, 09 Dec 2020 13:57:54 +0000

I thought we’d avoid it, but it’s simply unavoidable. The animated allure of talking dogs is just too strong for preschoolers to resist.

Yes, I’m talking about Marshall, Rubble, Chase, Rocky, Zuma and Skye — the Paw Patrol. My 2-year-old is hooked on the hijinks of this Nickelodeon cartoon, while I’m stuck with the theme song in my head at all hours of the day and night.

I called it junk food television. Because unlike Sesame Street, Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood and other kids’ shows that offer important life lessons, Paw Patrol is a loud and glossy franchise with far-fetched plots (pun intended).

But I was wrong. I mean, yes, it’s still a loud and glossy franchise with far-fetched plots. But it also ignites my toddler’s imagination.

Some background for the folks not yet indoctrinated by this canine cult: Ryder, a 10-year-old boy with no parent or guardian supervision in sight, has a team of problem-solving pups who save the day in Adventure Bay with gear and gadgets that get more elaborate as the show’s seven seasons go on.

As hollow as some kids’ shows can feel to an adult, it has been heartwarming to see my son’s young imagination spring into action after watching this troop of pooches.

Each dog has career-centric skills. For example, Marshall, a clumsy Dalmatian, is the crew’s firefighter and paramedic; Chase, a German shepherd, is a police officer; and Skye, a cockapoo, is an expert aviator who jets around with a winged backpack (or “pup-pack” if you want to get technical).

How does Ryder afford all these pups and James Bond-like devices? My husband jokes that he’s funded by the Illuminati. My theory is that the taxes in Adventure Bay are absolutely exorbitant. How else would all the public services — from construction and recycling to underwater rescue missions — be handled by a squad of dogs with high-tech tools?

While stopped in traffic recently, my son asked what the towering object was near our car. “It’s a billboard,” I said.

“Mommy go up there?” he asked in his cute and curious toddler voice.

“Oh,” I replied. “It’s very tall, so we’d need a ladder.”

I thought that was a sufficient answer, but his silence was actually a pause. It turns out he was devising a solution to this height hindrance, and he knew exactly what we needed to do.

“Mommy, call Marshall?” he asked. You know, Paw Patrol’s resident firefighter who has fast access to a ladder.

I was impressed. This show I had chalked up to being a bit mindless is actually educational in its own way. It teaches my son that different skills can help in different situations. In this instance, it was Marshall’s ladder that was coming to our aid.

Since then, we’ve had to call the Paw Patrol countless times to save us from sticky situations. When a toy was perched precariously on a table’s edge, only a safety net from a responsible police pup would do — “Chase is on the case!” When there was a pile-up of pillows on the floor, we needed the strength of a bulldozing bulldog to clear a path — “Rubble on the double!” And whenever a bath toy floats out of reach, you better believe we’re quick to call Zuma, a chocolate lab with scuba skills and a buoy launcher — “Let’s dive in!”

As hollow as some kids’ shows can feel to an adult, it has been heartwarming to see my son’s young imagination spring into action after watching this troop of pooches. And while I do my best to limit his screen time, I will always encourage his creativity. Even if it means watching the same episode over and over and over again.

Besides, I grew up on a steady diet of Garfield, Muppet Babies and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and I turned out OK — I think. So next time I worry about Ryder and his team of pups occupying our afternoon routine, I’ll take a cue from Bart Simpson and tell myself, “Don’t have a cow, man.”