Tuesday, December 30, 2008

SSSSSSHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

I consider myself a pretty sociable person. I have close friends that I hang out with regularly, for coffee dates and parties and such. I enjoy spending quality time with my family. However, the two boys and my husband have all been home with me for 7...solid...endless days, and the nonstop togetherness is about to push me over the edge. At this moment, I would gladly throw some stuff into a bag, sneak out of the house under cover of night, and drive somewhere far, far away from them. The car would be silent, if I wanted it to be. My 5-year old would not be in the back seat, making up his own version of The Grinch Song ("you're a porcupine, Mr. Grinch, you really are a....butt!" I apologize, but these were his actual words). He has proven he can keep this up for as long as the car is moving, or until I yell, "Pleeeeaaase, stop", whichever comes first. Whenever I arrived at my destination, my 8-year old bottomless pit would not be asking me "is it snack time yet?" as he does approximately every two hours. There would certainly not be any Hoover Wind Tunnel Bowl on the television (get it? for teams that suck! see, I am losing my mind!) with pre-and post-game hoopla that leads directly into the next game, and the next. I would not answer questions or break up fights. I would not wash December mud off people's shoes. I would not purchase, prepare, or clean up after meals. What would I do? I would relax in the silence, feeling myself becoming calm and peaceful...until I was well-rested enough to be unbearably bored. Then I would return to my loving family, fortified for the chatter and chaos...bring on those last five days of Winter Break!

Sunday, December 28, 2008

I'm getting old (sigh)

An old college pal, who happens to be a childless bachelor, is hosting the New Year's Eve party this year...in his cozy townhouse that boasts new hardwood floors, but precious few kid-friendly entertainment options. Before RSVPing, I envisioned the following scenario: my charming-but-rambunctious offspring ecstatically hoover their way through all the festive snacks they're not normally allowed to eat (elapsed time: 10 minutes). They settle down to watch TV, another activity that is strictly monitored and limited at home (elapsed time: 30 minutes). They begin to feel bored and restless (elapsed time: 5 minutes). They initiate a spirited game of tackle football, using a dinner roll from the buffet, which inevitably ends with someone's head denting the aforementioned hardwood (elapsed time: about 2 minutes). Therefore, I decided the only prudent course of action was to try to rustle up a babysitter and leave them at home. I wasn't too hopeful, as I expected most teenagers to already have their own plans lined up for the NYE event. One of our favorite sitters was a little vague when I asked her if she was available. After quizzing me for a few minutes about the details, she finally came to the point: "You'd probably be home after midnight, right?" With an involuntary chuckle, I assured her that my husband and I would be back long before that, probably in our pjs, and maybe even asleep. "Oh, that's okay, then," she chirped, "my friend just wants me over at her house by the time the ball drops!" Hmm, I sort of recall those byegone days...before I valued my solid 8 hours of shuteye more than the champagne and noisemakers...and before the monkey boys woke me up every morning at 7 a.m. no matter how late any of us went to bed. So, I may be feeling ancient, but I will hand my children over to the sitter and go revel with the adults...until at least 10:00!

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Super Mom

I just watched Iron Man (although I'm not such a huge fan of comic-book movies, I've always had a little thing for Robert Downey Jr.). It was thoroughly enjoyable, and inspired me to think of what superpowers I long to have. For example, I could be Chef Woman, able to snap my fingers and conjure (nutritionally balanced yet delicious) meals out of thin air. Or Hyperspeed Girl, who zips around town, completing errands in a mere fraction of the usual time (appearing only as a shiny flash of light, but of course obeying all local traffic laws). Many days, I'd prefer to be Mega Mediator Mom, who has the ability to stop any argument by freezing the opponents with an icy glare, and sweeping them to opposite sides of the room with a slight wave of her hand. This morning, however, my 5-year old son provided a solid reminder that sometimes wishes are best kept simple. In the process of getting dressed, he stood in just his little white briefs, chin in the air, chest outthrust, hands on hips, legs spread wide. With an enormous grin, he declared, "I'm Naked Man! With the power of...underwear! (You go save the world, little dude!)

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Stay Tuned for the Comfort Inn "Nativity Bowl"

As many Christian families do at this time of year, we set out Nativity scenes for the celebration of Jesus' birthday. In our house, we have two sets (see photo). These have been designated the "real" nativity set (humans) and the "fake" nativity set (vegetables) by my sons. Each December I carefully arrange them on tables in the living room, where they remain for approximately 10 minutes, until one of the boys spots them and yells, "Oh look, our Jesus toys!" At this point, the Holy Land becomes quite the happening spot, with the two companies facing off against each other in some kind of fierce competition. Last year, it was Battle of the Bands. I believe the Veggie Tales rock-n-roll group won, narrowly edging out the Bethlehem Jazz Combo. But this year, it's all about football (that explains the plastic egg!). The Veggie squad lines up against team Bethlehem, and gridiron mayhem ensues. Since the boys can't remember what the Wise Men are called, Derek re-named the trio... Joe, Kevin, and Nick Jonas. So from the kitchen, I will sometimes hear spirited commentary such as: Camel breaks through the defenders, until he's taken down by Shepherd at the 10 yard line, for a gain of 3! Or my favorite: Mary drops back to pass, but she's tackled by Nick Jonas and fumbles at the 20! Looks like Joseph is going to have to punt, folks! Even if God's not a football fan, I pray he's laughing!

Thursday, December 11, 2008

What I DON'T miss...

In the interest of fairness, I suppose I should mention what I find less than desirable about summer:
--Moisture. Washington, having been built over a swamp oh-so-many years ago, boasts humidity of staggering proportions for part of the summer. When you step out the door, it feels like someone dropped a damp blanket on you from above. You can sense the beads of water forming on your skin. And that's just when you're standing perfectly still!
--Slimy sunscreen. Being Irish/German and pale, I must slather myself with strong ray-blocking goop whenever I venture out into the summer air. It gets tedious. Then I have to do the squirming, protesting children as well. It's an exciting morning ritual I can do without.
--Getting into my hot car. This is inevitably preceded by my driving around parking lots, scanning for any space that offers even sliver of shade (preferably on the driver's side). When the search is unsuccessful, I dread leaving the air-conditioned store to climb back into the traveling-Subaru-sauna.
--And finally, on a personal note: shaving my legs far too often for my taste. If I could learn just one measly magical spell, "Hairus disappearis" would be high on my list!

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Counting down to the Solstice

Since it seems we're doomed to suffer an early winter here in the Washington D.C. area, and summer feels like it disappeared ages ago, I've found myself daydreaming fondly about what I miss from the warm months. For example:
--Casually throwing on one light layer of clothing (maybe a sweater I'm going someplace super air-conditioned) and breezing out the door. Contrast that with standing in front of the closet every morning, working up the nerve to whip off the fleecy pajama top and pile on long-sleeved athletic shirt, sweatshirt, and maybe a jacket over it...and that's just for indoors.
--Running and biking outside. Yes, it's sweaty business, exercising in the summer. But the muscles get warm and stretchy (rather than clenched to keep from shivering), the lungs easily absorb humid air (as opposed to dry, icy breaths), and the perspiration evaporates (instead of sticking around to chill you the instant you finish).
--Sunshine strong enough to warm your skin, accompanied by breezes that cool you off immediately when you step into the shade. What we are experiencing now is winter wind that slaps you in the face, making you involuntarily grit your teeth and duck your head, to shield yourself as much as possible from the blast.
--Strawberries...and grilled vegetables. Yes, I can make my husband stand outside and shiver while grilling in the dark, frigid months. But somehow what he brings in just doesn't have the same bright, crisp summer flavor. And canned fruit--let's just call it a necessary evil.
I could go on, but just thinking about this has made me cold. Off to make some hot tea... one of my few pleasures of winter!

Thursday, December 4, 2008

Young Love: Our Saga Begins

I feel fortunate that my boys, so far, have very open, chatty personalities. They haven't yet demonstrated the need for privacy, or hiding things, or telling me to mind my own business. That is, until the other night around dinner time when Derek sidled up to me and whispered, "I have a secret, Mommy." Of course I asked what it was. He looked mildly exasperated and said, "I can't tell you!" I could almost hear the implied "Duh!" However, my son has proven many times over that he is incapable of bottling anything up for any length of time, so I just smiled in what I hoped was a gentle, understanding, motherly kind of way, and let it pass. The very next morning, in a transparent attempt to be sneaky and mysterious, he began another conversation, detailing which girls in his class "liked" which boys, and who had a "boyfriend/girlfriend". Nonchalantly, I asked if he had a girlfriend. "Yes, I like Nancy," he replied soberly, "and Kara is supposed to tell her for me in math class today." I bit back my first comment, which was "you're in 3rd grade, can't you wait until at least middle school for this nonsense?" Instead I took a moment to be grateful that he feels comfortable talking to me...and I can only hope that all his future secrets are this easy to extract!

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

Young Love--a prelude

Last year, at the tender age of 7, my insulated, innocent little boy had his first brush with the terrifying World of Girls. As part of a literacy unit in school, everyone in the 2nd grade had written their own fairy tale, to be read aloud at an "Authors Conference" in May, in front of their parents, teachers, and classmates. As the big day approached, they practiced sharing their stories in their classrooms. One day Derek came home looking dejected. When I asked him what was wrong, he mumbled something about Missy and her fairy tale. Oh, dear. This was the same Missy who had made him a doily-covered, heart-shaped valentine in February, and signed it "all my love". So I was onto Missy, the 2nd grade trollop! I braced for something awful. Turns out she had been given permission not to read her story in front of people, after her test-run in class had been met with hooting, howling, and immature 7-year old boys rolling around on the floor in hysteria. What had she done to earn this critical review? She cast herself as a princess, with Derek being the brave and daring young prince who rescues her. According to Derek, they were both "embarrassed" by the incident. As I hugged him and soothed his bruised ego with a plate of cookies, I thought, "at least there was no kissing--narrative or otherwise!"

Friday, November 28, 2008

Not your traditional Thanksgiving...

My mother is a force of nature. Ninety pounds (soaking wet, after a big meal), and a two-time cancer survivor, she still manages to plan and execute all family get-togethers with almost military precision. It is amazing to watch her simultaneously juggle food preparation, chase grandchildren out from underfoot, and catch up with her grown children on all the news. So as I showered and dressed yesterday, I was looking forward to another chaotic, noisy, but satisfying Thanksgiving dinner at mom's. However, a phone call from Dad informed me that it just wasn't going to happen this year. Oh, my mother had already cooked the turkey, stuffing, and other delicious dishes we were anticipating. But then my brother had called him to explain that most of his own household was busy throwing up, and therefore couldn't be doing any feasting at the moment. Dad further reported that this unfortunate and unexpected interruption to the festivities had given my mother the opportunity to go and lie down, as she had a nasty infection herself and was on very strong antibiotics. (Of course, she had been prepared to soldier on, until the vomiting came along.) With no dinner arrangements and precious little food in the house, we scrambled to arrange our own makeshift Thanksgiving meal. In the end, we sat around the table with our plates of fish sticks and macaroni and cheese, grateful to be healthy, and together...and hopeful that the stomach bug doesn't make it to our house!

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Hopefully this is the end of it!

Remember the "donkey" story (posted 11/18)? Well, I was sitting in the kitchen with my sons a few days later, explaining how 'Boy A was as tall as Boy B...' The 5-year old started to snicker quietly into his hand, a delighted gleam in his eye. I could practically hear the little wheels grinding, as his mischievous mind cooked up something wicked to say. Sighing inwardly, and hoping to head off what was sure to be an inappropriate interjection on his part, I began to explain the finer points of the grammatical structure, the pronunciation, the usage for comparison, blah blah blah. In the middle of this, my husband meandered through the kitchen, grasped the situation instantly, and with all the logical problem-solving ability available to men, succinctly stated, "She didn't say ass, okay?" He then continued out the door, leaving the children cackling madly on the floor, since they had fallen off their chairs at Daddy's words of enlightenment. Thanks, honey! You'll be fielding the phone call from either a 3rd grade or Kindergarten teacher to explain and/or apologize!

Thursday, November 20, 2008

A Major Crisis!!!! (Averted : )

Let me first say: I can't believe I'd made it this long without suffering a massive computer-related trauma. I've been blessed with excellent cyber-health--which of course was too good to last! My laptop, which is only a year old, has never been the speediest of little machines. But it has done it's best to chug along for me as I surf and type and play. First it gave me warnings that it wasn't feeling well. It froze. It kicked me off. It locked me out. It shut down. Technological coughs and sniffles, if you will. Then the other day it just...stopped. All the pretty little pictures were there, and the cursor happily jogged around when I moved it, but nothing happened. I actually had to break down and call one of those geek-computer-doctors who make house calls! The first technician I called gravely listened as I explained all the "symptoms", then informed me, in a voiced reserved for speaking to the parents of terminally-ill machines, that I had a malevolent virus that had infected my registry and (cue terrifying music) was multiplying! But for just the low, low price of $249, he would clean it up for me! Fortunately, I didn't hire this quack. The calm, pleasant man who did examine the patient later that night had my laptop up and running in approximately 10 minutes. Turns out, it was merely a "memory shortage", and I could order some more right away for about...thirty dollars. Lack of memory I can understand! And sympathize with! Now if only I had an extra chip to plug into my own brain, all of my memory problems would truly be solved!

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Excuse Me? (Part 2)

I've come to anticipate certain behaviors with 2 young boys in the house. Among these are random tackling, periodic whacking of each other for no apparent reason, and an inordinate amount of yelling. So it's a joyous occasion when they actually cooperate and play nicely together for any length of time. I thought I was experiencing one of these moments when they sat in the computer room the other night, taking turns on a Thomas the Tank Engine game. I grabbed the rare quiet time to make a phone call to a friend. But all of a sudden, the 5-year old came prancing through the kitchen, belting out a tune of his own creation. The words went something like this: "ASS, ASS, ASS, an ass is a don--keyyyy!!!" Merrily he continued twirling past me, as I forgot my phone conversation and gawked at his disappearing back. "Well," I thought to myself, "he's absolutely correct, but I suspect his big brother's about to be in trouble." After wrapping up my call, I went downstairs to find the little hooligans innocently plugging away at their game, all smiles and brotherly camaraderie. Without adding unnecessary detail, I explained that yes, in the Bible they often called donkeys asses, but we really don't do that anymore. The 5-year old accepted this without question; fortunately the 8-year old had the sense not to share any other 3rd-grade playground uses of the word. Parental sigh of relief. End of subject. At least for now.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Kung Fu Panda vs. the WWF

My 8-year old is Mister Sport Guy. Give him a ball and some space to run, kick, throw, shoot, or catch, and he's ecstatic. My younger son, while he enjoys frolicking in the grass as much as the next boy, just isn't into the organized sports thing. However, he's always been dragged to all of his brother's games/practices/lessons, so I wanted to find him an activity of his own. Some friends recommended karate, and it seemed perfect--something that builds self-confidence and discipline, and gives you exercise. But most importantly, since his older brother doesn't do it, there would be no competition, and no comparison. So now we have karate-boy, proudly donning his adorable little white uniform and earnestly practicing his strikes and kicks. Then baseball ended, and Big Brother was at loose ends. It's a long winter ahead until soccer season...but wait...Mom has a brainstorm. Let's try wrestling! (Those who have actually seen my child can now stop howling with laughter--yes, he's skinny, but surprisingly tough!) Have I given my sons extra incentive (not to mention skills) to beat the heck out of each other? Maybe. But they do that anyway. At least now as they teach each other how to break holds and to block punches, I can rationalize that it's heartwarming brotherly bonding time. Can I get an enthusiastic "ai-yah"?

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

A Kid's Game Revisited

Did you ever play "Fortunately/Unfortunately"? It's a story-starting game where the first person says a sentence beginning with "fortunately...(adding something good that happened)"; the next person turns it into something unfortunate, and so forth. Now I'm going to play it by myself--what fun!
Unfortunately, it's officially too cold to ride my bike until Spring.
Fortunately, I get to read trashy celebrity mags at the gym while I slog on the stationary bike.
Unfortunately, it's getting dark really stinking early these days.
Fortunately, that means it's only about 5 weeks until the Winter Solstice, when we turn the corner and start getting daylight back...little by little.
Unfortunately, it's time to layer on the clothes to keep warm.
Fortunately, bathing suit season is over for another year!
Unfortunately, this is the first Thanksgiving I don't eat turkey.
Fortunately, who cares! Stuffing! Mashed potatoes! Cranberry Sauce! And pie, pie, pie!
Whew, I'll leave it on the very up note (and go have lunch)!

Thursday, November 6, 2008

To Infinity (January 20th) and Beyond!

The atmosphere yesterday at the college where I work was absolutely charged. Everyone was still buzzing in high gear from the Presidential election the night before. I observed clumps of people--students and teachers alike--with bleary eyes, clutching coffee as they animatedly discussed the results and their hopes for President-Elect Obama. It was thoroughly exhilarating. My 8-year old son was just old enough to pick up on the hoopla, and to be curious about it. I'm pretty apolitical most of the time, but I had a blast teaching him about electoral votes, red and blue states, and the stunning historical significance of this campaign. I like to think that on some level he gets it--that he's witnessing the first African-American man chosen to lead our country. I'm proud to be able to share an event in which citizens of the United States acted with energy and excitement. Now it's up to our new leader to channel that enthusiasm into making positive changes for the future.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

It could be worse...

Early one morning, I was sleepily navigating up the stairs toward my bedroom to get dressed. My 8-year old son was bouncing around his own room, when I heard a sharp crack, like a bony body part connecting with a hard surface. Bracing myself for the inevitable howl of pain, I was surprised by the continued silence. But as I drew closer, I distinctly heard my son mutter angrily, "Damn wall!" Now, not to seem like Miss Goody Two Shoes or anything, but my husband and I just don't use curse words in our house. In my mind, I thought "well, I don't know where he got that, but he used it correctly!" What came out was actually, "Excuse me!?" He jumped guiltily. "What did you say?" I asked incredulously. Head down, he quietly mumbled, "A bad word." He's probably lucky I wasn't fully awake, and couldn't yet build up a head of steam, so all he got by way of lecture was a calm, "Well, don't use that word again." His shoulders sagged in evident relief as he readily agreed. And to my knowledge, he never has...yet!

Thursday, October 30, 2008

California Dreaming

It's October, and I'm freezing. It's way, way too early for winter to start, with the cold, and the dark...ugh. Makes me grumpy. Of course, in my perfect world, it would be about 75 degrees every day, light breeze, warm sunshine. Wait, I've visited this magical location. It's called Los Angeles. There's an ongoing family joke that I was actually born in California, and...misplaced? (That would be a heck of a hospital mixup, but work with me here.) I think it all started when I visited the West Coast about 12 years ago and felt an uncanny sense of belonging. I found myself surrounded by people crunching salads, and sipping smoothies, and pedaling their bikes along the beach. These were my compadres! They even recycled, just like me, before it was the hip thing to do! I know I'm idealizing things and it's not really perfect there--after all, they do suffer their share of traumas: mudslides and wildfires and traffic and Paris Hilton. But when I bury myself in my fuzzy coat (the one I wouldn't even have if I lived in a more temperate clime), to take fruit scraps out to the compost bin, I can pretend to hear the ocean, and to be warm.

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Future Earth-Guardians!

In my house one of my honorary positions is "Recycling Coordinator". (My husband calls it a Dictatorship, but I'll let you decide.) Duties include overseeing the placement of all cans, glass containers, and plastic items in the weekly collection bin, rather than the garbage. I have been known to pluck questionable materials, such as yogurt tubs, from the trashcan and instruct the family as to why they must be recycled, rather than discarded. After a few incidents where I snatched things from my sons' hands as they took their last bite, they learned to ask, "Recycle or trash, Mommy?" It also warms my heart to watch them cutting and pasting at their art table, then bringing each and every tiny scrap of leftover paper to the Mixed Paper bin. But I truly knew my teaching had taken root when we were driving in the car the other day and my younger son exclaimed from the back seat, "Derek, you can't throw that away, it's not biodegradable!" Bless my little tree-huggers!

Thursday, October 23, 2008

A (partial) Happy List

Things I have enjoyed lately, in no particular order:
1. picking chocolate chunks right out of the bowl while baking (I just did this, and boy, do I have brownie-breath!)
2. taking a Fall walk, feeling the still-warm sunshine, sniffing that smoky fireplace aroma, watching the leaves skittering down from the trees, hearing the crisp breeze stir those that are already underfoot.
3. Speaking of which: raking. I know, I'm weird. But as I see it, this is one chore that gives you fresh air and exercise. Bonus: you can actually see your progress as you clear the yard. And when the last leaf has tumbled down, you're done for a year! Beats dusting any day.
4. Volunteering at my kids' school. This week I got to hang a bulletin board, listen to 3rd graders read, and play Alphabet Bingo. I even got a sticker in Kindergarten for my good work!
5. Not having to watch the Yankees in the playoffs. Go Phils!
6. Bumping along on a hayride to the pumpkin patch, then tromping around, earnestly searching for just the right one for our front-porch jack-o-lantern.

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Something else to worry about...

This is going to be a little crunchy-granola-tree-hugging for some of you, but here goes...I read in my Natural Health magazine about a little substance called 1,4 Dioxane. (No, the comma's not a misprint, just some wacky scientific notation.) According to the article, it is a "carcinogen and groundwater contaminant" and also a "suspected kidney, brain, and respiratory toxicant." Wait for the best part: it's in ALMOST EVERY shampoo, body wash and lotion, as well as many cosmetics, under various sneaky chemical names. Seriously, I went around the house and checked, and 99% of the "beauty care" products I found have this nasty thing. Here's the first big question: while they're creating poisons in their bubbling beakers, (all the while protected from harsh ingredients and noxious fumes by safety gear), do the staff chemists for the beauty industry even think about the actual people who will be slathering these potions onto their hair and skin? Second big question: what can we do to guard ourselves, and even more importantly, our children, from this stuff? Of course I immediately collected offensive products and replaced them with organic, natural ones. But believe me, this was costly in both time (a special trip to an organic market) and money. I don't have the answer, by the way, but I think we should all be as informed as possible. Save the Earth, and save the humans, too!

Thursday, October 16, 2008

5 Going on 15

I've known for a long time that my 5-year old son is trouble waiting to happen. Let's just say he's a bit impish (the same way you'd imagine leprechauns to be "a bit impish"). Lately conversations with him have taken on somewhat of a surreal quality (as in "you're too short to be using that kind of language"). Playing with his older brother and a neighbor: "That's a sick skateboard." (yes, he knew it meant "cool") Battling with two action figures in a very serious duel: "You will not prevail!" (at least that one I knew he got from a Disney movie) Listening to the Jonas Brothers CD: "I think that's funky!" With all this warning, I shouldn't have been that surprised at what happened yesterday. He was standing on the bed to hug me, so we were at eye-level with each other. He gave me an enormous, mischievous grin and said, "Mommy, you're hot!" After the hysterics had died down, I managed to sputter, "Excuse me? Do you know what that means?" "It means 'cute', " he replied brightly. The next thing I wanted to know was who had taught him this very special vocabulary. Nonchalantly, he said, "Ms. Mac..." (his Kindergarten teacher). Oh boy. It should be an interesting parent-teacher conference in a few weeks...

Monday, October 13, 2008

Tweeny-bopper

I recently read that the term "tween" describes kids ages 8 to 12. But surely that only applies to girls, I thought. My 8-year old son still calls me Mommy, and asks if we can have a cuddle when I tuck him in at night. Then one day, with no warning whatsoever, Attitude showed up. It brought along its cousins, Sarcasm and Backtalk. Suddenly, my sweet little boy became a master of the rhetorical question. For example--Mom: "Time to do your homework!" Formerly obedient, charming child: "Who, me?" (delivered with all the sneer he can muster, which fortunately isn't that much...yet.) This of course assumes I haven't forgotten to lift the headphones so he can actually hear me over the Jonas Brothers. I consider this a warning phase. I know it won't be long before he starts trying out other delightful behaviors like eye-rolling and stomping off to his room in a huff. So for now, I'll treasure the moments when he folds his almost-too-big body onto my lap and gives a great big hug to his Mommy.

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

Say What??

Anyone remember an old folksy-type singer/songwriter named Jim Croce? My dad used to play his records (real vinyl, or perhaps even 8-track) a lot. Flipping through the radio yesterday on the way to work, I heard his voice on the oldies station for the first time in a while. The song was not a particular favorite, but I was ready to pull into a parking spot, so I left it on. Now, I have listened to this song, thanks to Dad, approximately a million times. "Like the pine trees lining the winding road, I got a name, I got a name." But for the first time in 30 years, I sat stunned and open-mouthed, staring foolishly at the radio when I heard the next line. "Like a singing bird or a croaking toad, I got a name, I got a name." My whole life until that moment, I believed he said "Like a singing bird or a broken toe..." I always thought it was such a stupid thing to sing about...but now I'm going to break into hysterical laughter when I hear it, and you'll know why!

Dedicated to DV, my buddy in "auditory misprocessing".

Sunday, October 5, 2008

Train 'em Early!

We were almost out of organic milk, and since I had to drag the boys with me, I opted for Roots Market. They may have expensive stuff, but they have free sample stations scattered throughout the store! Anyway, we don't go there often, so we simply must browse. After turning down requests for croissants and similarly sticky, sugary treats, I conceded that the boys could each choose one item, subject to Mom approval, of course. My 8-year old disappeared for a few minutes, then showed up with a box of cereal. He proceeded to plead his case for "Leaping Lemurs" by stating: "I checked the label, and it has no saturated fat, no trans fat, no partially hydrogenated oil, and eight grams of sugar. Oh, I forgot to check the fiber! Two grams, is that enough?" The clerk standing near us gaped in apparent disbelief at this speech and finally stammered, "He's well-educated, isn't he?" I couldn't have been prouder of my little walking advertisement for healthy eating. Evidently all my yammering about nutrition is, in fact, sinking in. I didn't have the heart to tell him that in that particular store, just about anything he picked up would have been acceptable. He seemed so pleased with himself as we turned our attention to finding some yummy-but-good-for-you cookies--after all, we had been so virtuous, we deserved a reward!

Thursday, October 2, 2008

Confessions of the (mildly ) Electronically Challenged

I've made a bold, even brash leap in my personal life. I ditched my paper-and-pen-planner and went digital. I know, it's been a long time coming; I'm probably the last person on the planet not called "Grandma" to make this move. I just couldn't seem to let go of the habit of scribbling, color-coding, whiting-out...it was a pain, but it made my schedule visible and tangible to me. I wondered what would happen if I couldn't glance over and see my lists of appointments and chores at all times; would my life feel less real to me if it existed only in cyberspace? You can see my dilemma! (Then again, in plain black and white, it looks ridiculous, so maybe you don't.) Even though I've never been afraid of technology, it was tough for me to trust a machine to take over. However, now I have to admit I feel pretty hip typing reminders into my little MP3 player. Somehow, "volunteer at school" and "D's baseball game" manage to look official and slightly cooler than than they were on the mundane piece of paper. Of course, I also know I actually can check it whenever I want, by turning it on, clicking a few times, scrolling through...almost makes me miss my markers!

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Falling in love with Autumn

Some people lament the end of summer, even with its blazing heat and dripping humidity. They miss light, breezy wardrobes, hours of sunshine, eating outside. I admit these have a certain appeal. But after months of sticky clothes, goose-pimply air-conditioned buildings, and slimy sunblock, I am more than ready to leap into the next season. So, in honor of the Equinox, I present my personal list of Autumn favorites:
9. Crunchy, juicy apples (unlike the soggy, mealy ones you can get in the summer)
8. Switching from crisp, cool cotton sheets to soft, toasty flannel
7. Sipping warm tea on chilly mornings
6. Crackly leaves underfoot--I even enjoy raking them, though they make me sneeze!
5. Clean, crisp, light air; not the summer swamp of humidity and pollen that lies on your skin and clogs your nose
4. School! new teachers, new notebooks, new things to learn
3. Baseball is still going (not for the pathetic Orioles, but at least we can still watch some GOOD games)
2. Sweaters--haven't seen them for 5 months, suddenly they're appealing again! and might I add that Back to School shopping isn't strictly for the kids?
1. PUMPKIN EVERYTHING: pumpkin muffins, pumpkin butter, pumpkin beer--whatever they put it in, I'll try. So many options, so little time...

Monday, September 22, 2008

School Days

Fellow Harry Potter fans will appreciate this...My husband and I were diligently preparing my younger son for Kindergarten, trying to stir his enthusiasm about entering "real school" for the first time. Mostly, he seemed excited. One morning, however, he sat at the breakfast table with tears in his eyes and proclaimed in a quavery voice, "I'm scared to go to Kindergarten." We rushed to reassure him with more stories of all the fun he'd be having, the cool things he'd learn, etc. Nothing seemed to make any impact. Finally it occurred to me to ask what specifically was bothering him. He looked up at me, wide-eyed and deadly serious, and said, "On my report card, I don't want to ever get a T, for Troll!"

Thursday, September 18, 2008

The Cheating Vegetarian

I recently read a quote--I can't properly cite it, since I can't remember what famous person said it, or what magazine it was in--but it was something like, "I'm not a vegetarian because I love animals...but rather because I hate vegetables." Since I started dabbling in vegetarianism about 6 months ago, I find that even funnier now! People always want to know why I stopped eating meat, and the short answer is simply, 'because I don't like it anymore.' Yes, I support vegetarianism for environmental and philosophical and health reasons, but I've always had those leanings. It really just came down to the fact that I started feeling grossed out by the idea (and the actual process!) of consuming animal flesh. So why do I admit to being a cheater? I still eat, and greatly enjoy, seafood. "Real" vegetarians turn up their noses in scorn at this, but somehow, I don't view sea-dwellers and land-creatures in the same way. That's a whole other discussion, however. I could never be vegan either, since I love cheese and ice cream. And I staunchly refuse to feel guilty about that! Living in a house with 3 carnivores adds to the challenge, but so far they are, if not exactly rallying to the cause, then at least supporting the effort. Well, they don't really have a choice, since I'm the one who shops and prepares meals! As a household, we are eating a lot less animal product, and a happy side effect is that I'm forced to experiment with new and interesting ways to cook veggies and grains, to keep everyone's palate excited--and stomach full. Let's face it, "adventures with vegetables" is just a fresh wrinkle to my already "nature loving, recycling, composting, save-the-planet" personality. Must be time to go hug a tree!

Monday, September 15, 2008

Mini Baseball

After years of playing catch, throwing a ball on the roof, batting around the back yard, and running imaginary basepaths, my older son decided he was ready for organized baseball. We decided to try the "easier" option available to his age group, Machine Pitch. We figured we'd ease him into it, without erratic 8 year-olds pitching at his head to complicate matters. Due to league disorganization and some poorly-timed rain, they managed only one practice before their first game. Suffice it to say, the first time facing the unsympathetic machine was a disaster for my son. My mother (aka "Grammy") pointed out that with a machine, you just don't get the visual cues you get from a live pitcher: windup, coming to a set, arm moving toward you, release point of the ball. Anyway, Derek approached his first real game with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. He's always been an agile and enthusiastic fielder, but the batting was a question mark. I was enormously relieved when he returned home, however, as he was jumping up and down with glee while reporting on his "game stats": 5 for 6 at the plate, 4 RBI, 2 Runs scored, 2 unassisted putouts at1B, one at 3B, would have turned a DP if the First Baseman hadn't dropped the throw (which my husband assured me was right to him). AND he had gotten to play under the lights, since it was a night game. Almost too much joy for one little 3rd grader to handle! So, overall, a wildly successful first experience, restoring confidence and harmony in our sporting world. Now I'd better go make a small offering to the baseball gods for their benevolence : ).

Saturday, September 6, 2008

My baby left me (sort of)

Ah, the first day of school: new notebooks, new teachers, old friends...parental trauma?! When my older son started Kindergarten, we prepared him diligently. We discussed every aspect of what would happen during his day, sure that we had done everything possible to make his experience enjoyable. All was well until the bus pulled up. Did we forget to mention the huge, loud, orange vehicle that would whisk you away to your adventure? Oops! He promptly sat in the middle of the street and declared that he absolutely wasn't going. (Of course he did go, but we had to strongly talk him into it.) Fast forward to his little brother (LB for short), 3 years younger. LB had been trying to sneak onto the bus for YEARS. He was so determined to go to school that the kindly bus driver felt sympathetic and almost let him come! Again, we praised the wonders of Kindergarten, focusing on how much fun he would have, blah blah blah. Although I was not going to be taken off guard this time, I really wasn't expecting any drama from my youngest. So we trooped to the bus stop and took the obligatory photos of our freshly-scrubbed, excited youngsters. The bus pulled up. Big Brother put his arm protectively around Little Brother and said, "C'mon, buddy, let's go!" They climbed the stairs, the doors closed, and away they went. Wait just a minute! They're gone? That's it? Speechless, I stared at the back of the bus as it chugged down the street, my mouth hanging open in shock. No hug? No backward glance? No "bye Mom, see you later?" I wasn't sad before about both of my children joining the elementary crowd, but now I'm devastated! However...my neighbor had invited some other temporarily- childless moms over for "Mimosas and Muffins" after the kids left for the day. Nothing like a little champagne and sugar to cheer you up! And when they came home, both boys leapt off the bus with ENORMOUS hugs for Mom. Once again proving, "All's well that ends well."

Friday, September 5, 2008

Existential Crisis?

Or is that too dramatic? It took me a week of making lists on tiny little pieces of paper to finally even choose a NAME for this blog...much less get around to actually POSTING in it. I was stuck on the idea that it had to somehow sum me up in a funny, pithy, meaningful way. Then I got over myself and went to the tried and true baseball metaphors. Along the way, I rejected such gems as "Queen of the Monkey Boys"...I really don't remember why, but I suspect that my darling sons were probably beating each other up at the time. Also on the discard pile: "Chronicles of Mom-ia" (makes me want to barf now, but seemed like a good idea at the time), and "Confessions of a Closet Showgirl". I meant it in a Broadway kind of way, but couldn't stop picturing feather boas, and stilettos, and fishnet stockings. Anyone who knows me can stop that laughing RIGHT NOW!