Riddle Me This...

My sons have SO many things in common, a fact which I attribute to their Y-chromosome. Among these unique "boy traits" are: the ability to armpit-fart at will; a tendency to giggle uproariously whenever the words 'poop' or 'butt' are mentioned; and the knack for attracting dirt, even when sitting perfectly still, inside the house. However, since there is a 3-year age gap between them, their grasp of certain delicate topics (e.g: GIRLS) can be very different.

For example: I was excitedly talking about the Harry Potter movie opening next month, and hinting that, since it's rated PG, I might consider taking Derek with me. Instead of his eyes lighting up as I expected, his face remained grave and unsmiling. When I asked him what was wrong, he leaned over and whispered, "I don't know if it's appropriate, Mommy." And why is that, I wondered, expecting his hesitance to be about the evil Voldemort or scary Dark Magic. "I saw a preview, and there's...KISSING!" For a 9-year old, that might as well be a horror flick!

Then there's the not-quite-6-year-old...who started snickering from the backseat of the car in the middle of the Jonas Brothers song "Paranoid". The lyrics said: "that's why my ex is still my ex", and when we could finally get him to take a breath and explain what was so funny, he gasped in hysteria, "is his Y still his Y, too?" This from the boy who claims to have 27 girlfriends (I guess he's never broken up with any of them). I guess I'm glad he's getting his information from sugar-coated pop stars rather than somewhere far worse...like the school playground!

(And please let this beautiful naivete continue for as long as possible. Maybe they won't be interested in girls until they're, oh, 25 or so. I can handle that!)

Yes, it's the ever-popular "How I Spent my Summer Vacation"

The tee-shirt I SHOULD have brought back from Orlando would read: "I survived my Family Vacation". 5 solid days of togetherness with my husband and 2 sons. That's 120 hours...20 or so meals (I know it doesn't add up, but yes, they do eat that frequently)...97 trips to the nearest Disney bathroom...1 entire (brand new before the trip) tube of sunscreen... approximately 10 gallons of sweat (each)...and of course countless smiles. Here are a few things I learned on my adventure with "The Boys":

--It is impossible to sleep in a double bed with any other member of my clan. I spent most of my "restful slumber time" with a 9-year old's foot up my butt. He, of course, slept like a baby.
--It's a good thing I'm finished growing...so I could share all "my" food with my ravenous children.
--A pool slide shaped like a dragon, in which you swoosh down his "tongue" into the water, never gets old. Not on the 5th turn. Not on the 25th. They'd still be there if we hadn't dragged them to bed eventually.
--In an attempt to convince my guys that "It's a Small World" is truly a cool, must-see ride, I made the fatal mistake of describing it as "a bunch of dolls singing." Now they'll be sure never to go near it if they live to be one-hundred-and-three.
--On a realistic safari ride, surrounded by the majesty of African giraffes, antelopes, and zebras, NOTHING is as funny or fascinating as a rhinosceros...peeing.

And they wonder why sometimes Mommy needs some Alone Time?

(feel free to hum along) M-i-c-k-e-y....M-O-U-S-E!

Last week the boys made their maiden voyage (so to speak) to that mecca of all theme parks, Walt Disney World. Yep, it was just us and approximately 197,000 other foolish--I mean brave--souls in Orlando. How can I sum this up? The heat was hellacious. The crowds were crushing. The sunblock was slimy. And the perspiration was prevalent. But...dare I say it? A Magical Time was had by all. My sons (bless their stout little hearts) trooped from Tomorrowland to PrettyPrettyPrincessland to We'reLostLand (also known as "haven't we passed this stinking fountain twice already?"...Land) without whining or complaint. At ages 9 and 5 3/4, they're young enough to be unabashedly thrilled by the spectacle. 3-D glasses, superfast rides, Cinderella's Castle of Doom (as they dubbed that iconic Disney symbol; they ARE boys, after all), and even the Mickey-shaped ice cream bars filled them with delight. More importantly, they're not yet so cool that they're embarassed to be seen with their parents...and Life-Sized Cartoon Characters. How great is this: not only did I revisit my childhood favorites (Haunted Mansion, anyone?), but I got to savor the boys' new memories (Buzz Lightyear's Space Ranger Spin!) as well. Next time we go (and they're already trying to pin us down for Another Visit), they definitely won't want to walk next to me, letting me hold their sweaty hands as they gasp and gape at all the sights. So all the miles we trudged, all the Coppertone we smeared on, all the Gatorade we chugged, were well worth it for the chance to act like kids together, in the Magic Kingdom.

The Mickey Production

Once upon a time there was a woman who was Footloose and Fancy Free. She was known to call her "partner in crime" (you know who you are), and convince her to flee town at a moment's notice on a Friday night. Fortified with CDs, Diet Coke and Skittles, they would drive 400 miles to a N.C. beach, bringing nothing but a toothbrush and change of clothes in a duffel bag. Sometimes I really miss that Wild Woman.
Like right now, for example, as I sit surrounded by the piles of "stuff" I need to organize and pack for our family vacation to Disneyworld. There's pajamas and underwear (briefs and boxer-briefs) and an mp3 player and a Leapster game and swim gear and snacks and cell phones and chargers and allergy medicine and a nightlight and guidebooks and reservation information and hats...have I forgotten anything...oh yes, CLOTHES! And I haven't even started on MY bag yet! I think it's clear that my simple, carefree,"grab-and-go" days are o-v-e-r. Who knew it took so much work to make the Magic happen?
Hopefully I haven't left out anything crucial (I did already mention underwear, right?), because tomorrow it's look out Uncle Walt, here we come!

High School Torture, Self-Inflicted

My usual M.O. at the Public Library is to stroll along the New Arrivals shelf, head tilted sideways, reaching for novels with intriguing names or cool jackets ("judging a book by its cover", as it were!) Every once in a while, however, I hear the High School Required Reading Section whispering to me, taunting me, daring me to inflict a Great Book or two on myself. Maybe deep down I feel prickles of guilt about choosing Harry Potter and teen-vampire novels over Literature. Maybe I want to make sure I still can decode and comprehend multisyllabic words and complex ideas. Whatever the reason, now that I am an adult--and not required by a teacher to discuss/evaluate/critique the novel-- I give myself permission to steer clear of the authors that gave me hives the first time around (Joseph Conrad, James Fenimore Cooper, William Faulkner, you know who you are...were...whatever, just BEGONE!) Anyway, on one of my recent forays I picked up The Handmaid's Tale, which I had heard of, but somehow missed during all of my school years. Book Report in 5 words or less: "it's a teacher's DREAM book." It takes place in a futuristic society in which there is war, religious persecution, a totalitarian government, and complete objectification of women as "vessels" to produce babies. I was nauseated, horrified...yet unable to stop reading. Now, having fulfilled my "duty" to stretch my brain and exercise my powers of analysis...I can joyfully return to the boy wizards and benevolent vampires whose company I prefer!

No more pencils, no more books...

This is the last full week of school for my kids until they are released into the wild...for the 9 looong weeks of summer. They are, naturally, beside themselves with glee about the impending freedom...and secretly, I'm cheering right along with them. "Summer Break" doesn't mean quite the same thing for Mommy, but here's what I'm anticipating:

NOT MAKING LUNCHES! It's such a stupid chore to get disgruntled about, but if I never see baby carrots, fruit cups, or ham sandwiches again, I'll die a happy woman (not to mention: "no, Mommy, I only like peanut butter and jelly now," or "no sandwich, just cheese and crackers". It's like Mom's Deli. But they don't tip.)

NO HOMEWORK: Technically, this is the kids' job, but mine are young enough to still need that Parental Supervision to make sure it gets done, and done right. So every Monday through Thursday, it's Reading and Math for both, and Spelling for Derek. We've learned about honeybees, and writing biographies, and long division, and capacity, and even the metric system. We've conquered cursive and whipped the "Word Wall" (Kindergarten reading list). Now it's time to allow our brains to melt down for a while...

THE MAD SCRAMBLE FOR THE BUS: We've been at this for several years now, but somehow 8:50 still finds us frantically cramming lunches into backpacks, shoving shoes onto feet, and screaming down the road (in the car, since it's too late to take a leisurely stroll to the bus-stop) to catch the school bus. The driver actually laughs at us as we tumble out of the car, panting as if we've sprinted the whole way, thanking him for waiting once again.

Starting next week, we're trading schoolbooks and routines for "p.j-lounging, late-breakfast-eating, meander-to-the-pool time! " 5 days and counting...

Haiku for June

Feeling like being a silly poet today (not promising to be a GOOD one, you'll notice!). The theme is "the month of June", which in this Mid-Atlantic state can be a bit...mercurial. There's a flurry of activity for a few weeks, then the school year (finally) grinds to a halt. The weather is all over the map. It's a kind-of "between" month when busy Spring hasn't quite packed up and gone, and lazy summer hasn't yet completely taken over. So, without further chatter, I present:

June, in 17 syllables.

Maryland in June...
heat, thunderstorms, damp and cool:
What to wear today?

Steamy June is here,
too hot to turn on the stove:
Ice cream for dinner!

School is winding down.
More time to run, play and sweat.
AAH! The pool's too cold!

Homework is over!
Wait, reading and math packets?
School follows us home!

So much free time now,
the empty days stretch out long,
Help, Mom, I'm soooo bored!

Summer ABCs

The kids are almost done with school, so here's one last "assignment" before all of our brains shut down...

A is for air-conditioning: making it possible to go from sweaty to goose-pimply in 2 seconds flat.
B is for biking and the refreshing breeze you create while pedaling around the neighborhood.
C is for Coppertone (and you immediately got an imaginary whiff of it in the air, didn't you?)
D is for dirt, head-to-toes on my children every evening after their hours outside.
E is for enjoying every minute of free time!
F is for fireflies that twinkle in our backyard as the weather heats up.
G is for grooving to tunes in the car with the windows down (even if only on the way to to CVS).
H is for Harry Potter: re-reading the books every summer. (Bonus: 43 days until H-BP!)
I is for iced coffee: it's like having dessert for breakfast; can't go wrong with that!
J is for June and July (duh!)
K is for kicking back with a frosty beverage watching the sun set and the stars come out.
L is for looonngg days when the sun doesn't completely disappear until 9 p.m.
M is for movies: a great way to escape the heat for a few hours.
N is for ninety-degrees, which unfortunately melts us around here in August.
O is for Orioles--the Boys of Summer and games at the Yards.
P is for picnic--doesn't food just taste better on the patio?
Q is for "quit picking on your brother!" (a lesser-known summer sport).
R is for reruns--and relaxing while you catch any episodes you missed during the season!
S is for splash! pool, sprinkler, squirt-gun battle: summer's all about the water!
T is for trashy novels: nothing deep--just steamy, or silly, or whatever means FUN to you!
U is for unlimited strawberries! (whipped cream optional, but encouraged)
V is for vacation, of course! (even if it's just lounging in a chaise and dreaming about the beach!)
W is for watermelon: drippy, sticky, sweet, delightful!
X is for eXtra time to play, with no school to suck up the daytime hours!
Y is for Yahoo! No homework! Staying up late! Popsicles every night!
Z is for zoning out in a hammock in the shade, sipping iced tea, listening to the bees.

Well, what are you waiting for? Go outside and play!

The Wheels on the Bus....

I spent my day knee-deep in Kindergarteners--small people who started out loud, silly, and boisterous, and became increasingly hot, tired, bedraggled, and grimy as the Farm Field Trip wore on.

On the nausea-inducing (one-HOUR) bus ride, I was treated to the following snippets of titillating conversation:
Girl1: (very seriously) "I saw a groundhog at my Grandma's. They wanted to kill it."
Boy1: (with great excitement) "I see a Park Police car!"
My Son: "Does Spiderman eat bugs?"
Girl2: "You're weird!" (fortunately NOT aimed at me!)
Boy2: (passing a shopping center) "I'm huunnngry. Can we stop at McDonalds?"
Boy1 again: (singing) "Five dollar foot-longs at Subwaaaay!"
Girl1 again: "Why do they call it a hayride?" (Wait, I know this one! Because you ride...in the hay!)
My son: "Is the Hulk a bad guy?"
Boy 1 again: (quivering with enthusiasm) "I see a firetruck!"

Finally we arrived, and despite the oppressive humidity, 100 or so 5-year olds trudged through muddy fields, toiling diligently to gather strawberries (fortified, in my son's case, by promises of shortcake for dessert later). They emerged with brimming baskets: dotted with sticky red juice, itchy from hay that stuck to their socks, dripping sweat from their brows...but grinning with triumph and pride. So in the end, no one will recall the heat, or the gnats, or the muck, but rather "Remember when you came on my field trip, Mommy, and we picked so many strawberries?" Yep, chalk up another one of those "precious childhood moments"!

Winners Don't Always Score the Most Goals...

As a child, I didn't participate in organized sports (except for one brief, disastrous attempt at t-ball, but I've finally managed to suppress those memories). I was chubby, and shy, and insecure (aside to those who know me: Stop laughing now! It's the truth!). However, I'm glad I eventually uncovered my inner-athlete, since I now find myself raising two sporty little boys. The older one has played soccer for 5 seasons now, with the same coach, and most of the same kids. In 3rd grade they moved "up" a level, and are playing for the first time on a 3/4-length field, with full-size goals, and goalies, and referees. MLS it isn't, but it's almost the Real Thing!

My son's team is full of really terrific boys. They're enthusiastic, they run hard, they try their best...and they lose every game. They don't even score many goals (hence the losing). But Derek counts down to every single match, bouncing around the house in his excitement, checking the clock for how many hours until he can pull on his shinguards and cleats and get out in the grass. He bubbles over with the sheer joy of playing, and it is absolutely infectious (in a good way!).

On Game Days, the Parental Corps paces the sidelines, cheering at crisp passes, groaning at shots off the crossbar, and yelling encouragement until we're hoarse. After the last whistle--and yet another loss--Coach jogs over to us with a big grin on his face, to animatedly discuss all the little things the team did right today, and how much they're improving, and how close they are to that elusive first victory. No wonder my son loves soccer season. His entire experience--except for the teensy detail of the final score--has been one big barrel of positive energy. On this team, there's no criticism, no arguing, no defeatist-attitude. Instead, these 8 and 9-year olds pat each other on the back, congratulate one another for a job well done...and rehash the exciting moments over chips and juice boxes.

So these boys aren't getting much of a lesson in how to be a "gracious winner", but they certainly are incredibly Good Sports. And they've already instinctively figured out what even some adults tend to forget in the heat of competition: for a rousing good time, all you need is a ball, some grass, and a bunch of buddies to chase. And of course: snacks!