A 5-year old explains Easter...

When I was growing up, my mother worked very hard to perpetuate the fantasy of "Christmas magic", including Santa and Mrs. Claus, flying reindeer, toymaking elves, the North Pole....We had presents under the tree from Santa (until we were in college); we left milk and cookies out; we listened for a sleigh on the roof. Let's put it this way: Mom treated The Night Before Christmas as if it were a documentary, rather than a fairy tale. So when I grew up and became a mother myself, it surprised me that I never felt like emphasizing the "jolly old St. Nicholas" aspect of the holiday. Of course we read Christmas stories and watched the classic TV shows, but my kids just matter-of-factly assumed and accepted that Santa--and by extension his cousins the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy--were fictional characters. Fast forward to yesterday, when my 5-year old son and I were discussing the meaning of Easter. I gave him a Kindergarten-appropriate version of the Bible events, which seemed to satisfy him. Then he appeared to ponder for a moment, and calmly concluded, "you know, Easter's not about the Easter bunny." Well, I guess that sort of summarizes my point...He wrinkled his forehead in concentration for another second, then triumphantly announced, "the Easter Bunny hides eggs, with love from Jesus' heart!" Oh---kay. If that helps you reconcile a big old chocolate bunny with the resurrection of Christ, then sign me up!

A non-girly "shopping" day

Today I survived my maiden (and hopefully ONLY) trip to a store called Lumber Liquidators. I felt intimidated before I even embarked upon my journey. To me, "lumber" is a verb, as in: "boys, would you please stop lumbering up the stairs like a herd of elephants?" But in home improvement terms, lumber is a serious item, deserving of more respect and consideration than plain old "wood". "Lumber" involves surveying an enormous wall covered with different kinds of boards--many of which look exactly the same to me--and attempting to select features like grain, and finish, and plank-width, and hardness, and... some other stuff I tuned out when my brain was full. I gamely attempted to ask semi-intelligent questions of the extremely kind and patient salesman. He lost me while detailing the advantages of Brazilian Cherry. I hope my glazed expression didn't give away the fact that I still know as much about Brazilian Cherry as I do about a Brazilian bikini wax (ie: nada : ). Yet somehow I managed to whittle the vast forest of choices down to just four trees, at which point I grabbed my samples and practically sprinted from the showroom. As I collapsed into my car, limp with relief, I decided that my triumph surely deserved a victory celebration. Do they make Brazilian Cherry ice cream?

You Gotta Have Goals...

My 5-year old son has been thinking of his future, lately. First he announced at breakfast that one day he wanted to become--in this order--a construction worker, an astronaut, and a toymaker. (We figured out that he actually wants to design the houses, not build them, so we amended it to "architect".) Then he asked me, "How long will I stay in my room when I'm an adult?" He quickly added, to show the gravity of his question and how much he'd thought it through: "I mean, when I don't need my toys anymore and you get me a bigger bed..." Oh right, clearly you have a plan for being an ADULT! I explained that after college he'd probably want to live in his own apartment, without Mommy and Daddy. Comprehension dawned on his face, "Oh, right, I forgot I have to get MARRIED!" Choking only a little bit, I hastened to clarify that he didn't have to get married until he found just the right girl. Undaunted, he replied, "I might marry Casey, but she thinks that's gross." Give it a few decades, honey. She'll won't be able to resist a successful rocket scientist who's also designed his own house...and filled it with toys!

Spring Break (but definitely not MTV-style!)

Since I work for a college, I still have a "Spring Break" week. In the days of my misspent youth, this meant a girlfriend and I jumped in one of our cars at 10 p.m. on the first day of vacation, drove 14 1/2 hours south, (stopping only to refuel with unleaded gas, Skittles, and Diet Coke), and crashed (not literally) at my Great Aunt's house in Vero Beach, Florida. There we would spend a blissful week lying by the pool, trekking to the beach, and cheering at minor-league VB Dodgers games.

It happens to be my Spring Break week right now. I'm at home, very far north of Florida, and the weather is currently damp, chilly, and windy, as usual in March. Tragically, there are no palm trees, salty ocean breezes, warm sandy beaches, or baseball players in my town. Instead, I have a to-do list as long as my arm, which I am clearly avoiding with every ounce of my concentration at the moment. So, to continue not accomplishing anything, I'd like to share a few places I'd rather be right now in my Fantasy Spring Break scenario...

1. Hawaii: volcanoes, lush tropical scenery, pineapples...(just say "no" to grass skirts, though)
2. Australia: isn't it still summer there? kangaroos and koalas!
3. (Southern) California: as long as it's not mudslide, earthquake, or wildfire season
4. St.-somewhere (sorry, Mr. Buffett): sensing an "island theme" yet?

Sigh. Back to reality: I'll just sit here in my fleece, drinking hot tea, daydreaming warm thoughts...maybe surfing travel websites...

Cutting, Pasting, Coloring and...Geometry?

Remember the good old days of Kindergarten? We sang our ABCs, counted to about 20 or so, then stopped to rest and have a snack. Afterwards, maybe we practiced cutting a straight line with scissors, or perhaps coloring inside the lines with crayons. We frequently dropped everything for free-play time, when we worked on the all-important skills of "sharing" and "taking turns". After our rigorous morning, our school day wrapped up by noon, so we could go home for lunch and an afternoon nap. Life was so easy, and so carefree.

My, how times have changed. Those cushy half-days are a thing of the past, since the Kindergarten curriculum now includes: reading groups, math instruction, science experiments, social studies lessons, cultural assemblies, art/music/phys ed...oh, and lunch and recess too! The little darlings don't even get to pause for juice and graham crackers anymore in their go-go-go day! My 5-year old son seems to take the schedule in stride, but sometimes the subject matter he brings home throws me for a loop. For example, one night he was sharing his homework book titled Firefighters. One page described a tanker truck. He paused in his reading and matter-of-factly said, "If you wanted to know how much the tanker holds, that's capacity." Apparently, the Kindergartener of the new millenium must understand geometry terms...to measure how much dirt to use in their mudpies? To fill their dumptruck without overflowing?

I need to curl up with some milk and cookies, and an old classic like "The Cat in the Hat"!

Blasts from the Past

My old high school opened its doors to visitors on a weekend last summer, right before it was scheduled to be demolished. Former students and teachers were invited to come bid farewell to the place. Roaming through the hallways, opening lockers, and peering into classrooms brought me wave after wave of nostalgia. Yet I found myself looking over my shoulder every few feet, craning my neck to try and spot classmates from way back when. Without buddies to swap stories with, the "stroll down memory lane" was really just a walk through a rather dark, dingy, tired old building. Fast forward to the present. Recently a few familiar faces from bygone middle and high school years have popped into my life on Facebook. So on a whim one day I dug up and posted old photos I had taken from that era (who let me loose in school with a camera, and why I wasn't in class, has yet to be answered). Oh. My. Goodness. I never imagined the tidal wave of response that would ensue! Suddenly, people from my past are springing up like dandelions (but in a good way : ). Remember the old shampoo commercial "they'll tell 2 friends, and they'll tell 2 friends, and so on..." It's one thing relating (edited) tales to your kids. It's quite another to throw real stories back and forth, with a group of old pals helping to kick in teachers' names, students' shenanigans, and other silly details. As kids who just grabbed onto the beginning of the "computer age", we certainly have come a long way, mastering the cyber-reunion and online reminiscing! As I get older, I'm finding it even more fun to look back at "where I came from". So to all my newly-rediscovered, old friends, keep it coming!

Whoopieee!

Since male and female human beings are such vastly different creatures, we have to strive to find some common ground, in order to live in harmony with one another. Take my sons, for example. When deciding what to wear for school, they normally couldn't care less if their pant/shirt color combinations would sears your eyeballs. Yet when I'm getting dressed, my 8-year old has been known to comment, "Mommy, is that a new outfit? I've never seen that before!" And my 5-year old loves to pick out earrings for me. (Noticing what a woman is wearing, and choosing appropriate jewelry; future girlfriends will thank me for training them in these useful life skills!) However, there are some things I don't think I will ever understand: such as what is SO DARN FUNNY about burping and farting? It reduces them both to a state of bending over, clutching their stomachs, gasping for breath, hyperventilating with laughter. Talking about it is amusing; hearing someone else do it is hilarious; doing it yourself is beyond hysterical. What is that about? I've tried diligently to get them to tone it down (even if only in front of me...or at least at the dinner table). Just when I thought we had put a lid it (so to speak), they got Whoopie Cushions as favors at their cousins' birthday party last weekend. That's what my sister-in-law considers a favor? If someone wanted to do me a true favor they would conveniently leave the cushions out overnight for the cat to eat...hmmm...

Step Away From the Chemicals!

I was casually reading the latest issue of a live healthy, save-the-Earth kind of magazine that I receive, when I stumbled across an article called simply, "The Bad Stuff". It was about the 7 biggest offenders, chemically speaking, that are widely used in health and beauty products. Next to each substance was a succinct explanation of why we should avoid it. Some of the precautions included: "linked to cancer", "disrupts hormones", "interferes with reproductive health", "stresses the immune system", "causes kidney toxicity"...YIKES! Of course, I immediately carried the pages throughout the house, conducting a chemical witch-hunt. I scrutinized the miniscule writing on labels from hair conditioner to sunscreen to facial cleanser. All I can say is, no wonder they print that stuff so small. I rounded up an array of bottles full of stuff that shouldn't be anywhere near our skin. I'd already switched to organic soap and shampoo, but I guess I'll be purchasing more of our "personal care" items at organic markets from now on. I think a few years ago I might have brushed off this information as alarmist and maybe just a little bit cuckoo. But now I can't imagine exposing my kids' tender skin and developing bodies to all that foul junk. Oh, and here's the punchline. The absolute worst item I found in our house? The one that had not one, but all 7 of the evil ingredients? Banana Boat Baby Faces sunblock! Not on my babies anymore!

I almost wish for the common cold...

Here we go again. Last winter, my then-7-year old son had a hemangioma (big word for broken blood vessel) in his toe. It involved buckets of blood, visits to my podiatrist, minor surgery, a special shoe, and loads of drama and attention. That reigned as our best family-injury story...until this week. My 5-year old son woke up Sunday morning complaining that his shoulder hurt. Immediately I chalked it up to the incessant brother-tackling and arm-twisting that occur on a daily basis in our house. Following the time-honored Mommy Tradition, I gave him Motrin and assured him he'd be fine. However, by Monday he was clutching his arm tightly to his side, crying in pain whenever he tried to move it. My husband whisked him off to the pediatrician's office, where Riley was seen by the most senior doctor in the practice. This experienced, knowledgeable man...admitted he was stumped. If that's not disconcerting enough, he called in his partner, also a wise, older physician...who didn't know what it was either. So, we got an expedited pass to the Pediatric Orthopedic Surgeon, so he could try his diagnostic luck. Fortunately, the Specialist was a delightful man--he called Riley "dude" and made silly jokes to distract him as he gently poked and prodded. Unfortunately, I could see the tears glimmering in Riley's eyes, and his lower lip quivering as he bravely whispered "yes" each time the doctor asked if it hurts. But at last, the verdict! The Pediatric Orthopedic Surgeon is: not sure. Well, he knows it's an enlarged lymph node, but he can't tell us why. He seemed intent upon blaming the cat, though, which I could thoroughly get behind. Except that his questions were: "when was the last time the cat bit him?" Um, never. "Scratched him?" Not once in his life. "'Well, what does the cat do to him?" He PURRS at him! Does that help? All in all, this was not the concrete, definitive diagnosis and treatment plan I was looking for to cure my child and ease my mind. So for now Riley gets heating pads, super-strength antibiotics, and round-the-clock Motrin. And we keep our fingers crossed. And maybe heap some more guilt on the cat!