La Famiglia D

Why We Do What We Do

2012-01-29T13:55:00.000-08:00

"We want the kids to know why Daddy goes to work. He earns money so we can have food and a car and lights."

This is the tangent we've gone off on at my book club one evening. Three of us are stay-at-homers. Two of us are teachers. One of those two isn't comfortable with this discussion.
Psst! It's me.
I don't like this.
I love my (grown-up, book-clubbing) girls, and our somewhat varied points of view. And I agree with this concept. Sort of. We should impress upon our kids why Daddy has to be away from us all day (to earn money), and that life (from your TV shows to your sneaks to your dinosaur-shaped nuggets) is not free. My "Um, yeah, but NO!" reaction, which I don't voice that night because I already know I'll whine about it in blogworld, isn't because I disagree. Heck yeah, kids should learn this, when they're old enough. Miss M could use a dose of this medicine, since she either thinks the family dining out budget is infinite, or that the diner is free.
BUT... you know me and where I'm going here...

WHY's it gotta be DADDY who we're appreciating? It's too patriarchal for me - oh aren't we all so grateful to Daddy, our benevolent caretaker, for providing for us? Yes, I know that's not how it's meant. But it runs the giant risk of putting Daddy on a pedestal where he is unreachable for things like cleaning up puke and getting up with crying babies...and likewise, unapproachable for day to day emotional needs of his babies as they grow. Sorry, there's a bra-burning chick stuck inside me and she was born in the wrong era. Tolerate her and read on.

Most daddies I know are very accessible to their munchkins, whether mommy also works out of the home, or not. And by the way: if you're a full-time stay-at-homer, oh my gawd do you work, too.

Heh. Dig the Mom Jeans. I'd hike mine that high her her place, too, for fear they'd fall down.

Tacked onto the definitely necessary educational speech about Happy Meals costing money should be the knowledge that Mommy cares for you all day, ties your shoes, taxis you around endlessly, and by gum that's ~~freakin' draining~~ a service for which a lot of people pay a lot of money.

Coming in the same deluge of reality should be an understanding that, no matter what your situation, both parents work, assuming you've got two parents in your house. If you don't, you are elevated to super-human status in my eyes. Seriously. How are you not an alco/coffee-holic? If you work outside the home, your children are obviously aware that you're disappearing to somewhere all day too. Yes, you earn the bread and bring home the bacon too. BUT...

This brings my crazytrain of thought into the next station:

This is not why I go to work.

Ok, it is. And if we had planned our lives so it would be financially feasible for hubby could take the next 10 years off his career and stay home with our girls, he would.
I wouldn't. But we already knew all that.

I'm hoping I find a way to impress upon my girls the value of having something in your life that brings you joy. A fervent wish of mine is that M and E have the drive and talent to go get careers (not jobs) that they like to do. And if their work doesn't spark their inner flame? I hope their job allows them the resource of time and money needed to incorporate something else in their lives that says "fulfillment".
OUTSIDE the home.

Not that I want them to think that family and home life isn't quite enough.
Many times it isn't, for me, but I love them no less that a parent who chooses to stay home. Home is key. It's your your base, your tonic chord, your stable running board pointed toward all that's out there in the big, big world.
Even this school year, in new and (shall we politely say) different situation, I still get to go do something every day that brings me joy.
And I get to play my horn - this is my thing that I've taken back from that crazy-busy-mommy world that puts an end to all pursuits of your own - and getting it back is so good. It takes time away from my family, some times, but it's mine.
AND, hello, I also write this nonsense when I have time. Which is next to never, clearly. But it makes me feel good.
And it has nothing to do with money, bills, or having the money to pay for a candybar at the checkout counter.

I know life doesn't allow everybody a job they love. But you can want more or your kids; I hope so much them to get to take it a step further. I'm sure most people do. But I just wanted it sorted out and said.

My girls: Your job, or your hobby after your job, the reason you're away or practicing, or bent over the computer, or whatever, shouldn't be just about the money. Yes, life costs money, but life itself can be enriched by what you do while you're earning it.

Merry...whatever.

2012-01-22T10:45:00.000-08:00

Festive, not frantic, right?

I proclaim Christmas 2011 to be 'Procrastination Christmas'.

*************************************************************

Yes, I'm aware that it's almost the end of January and I'm doing a Christmas post.

What? This is a ~~tale~~ bullet list of procrastination and adjustment.

Sorry, THAT is how we roll at La Famiglia.
***********************************************************

Ok, hear me out. In the month of December...

We had more than double the usual performances, including a few on the same days/nights.
I took forty-two 4th and 5th graders to sing in a big mall in the big city. And I was sooooo not ok with me being the only certified, authoritative body in a sea of hyper kids and a few very patient mommy chaperons.
I finally settled into teaching what I'm teaching for the year. Why'd I take so long? It's a long annoying story. Of course the first week back in 2012 we had to fill out forms requesting what we want to teach next year.
Speaking of, hubby interviewed for and was offered a new job in a new district - he'll be leaving his old everything-music-teacher job soon to be a Band Director. This is his 5th school district in nine years. But, nine school years and five districts later, he finally gets to be what he wanted to be when he grew up.
E got 5 teeth and the sweet ~~disposition of a baby getting 5 teeth~~ to match that. Lots of plate-hurling at dinner. Keeps your reflexes fast.
M tested the limits of Santa's "Nice List" in new and dangerous ways.

This resulted in the various ways I slacked off, let things go, screwed up, and had a really awesome Christmas despite/because of it:

My big kid went to school in carefully selected pajamas, with a beautiful little bow to match... a week after her school had PJ day. She was absolutely thrilled.
I received many lovely teacher gifts, more than ever...and yet managed zero hand-written thank-you cards to my lovely students. I did send emails to parents. To some. Yes, I still feel bad. Especially when I use a new Dunkin Donuts gift card. Bless you, children.
Turns out Miss M did NOT have school the 23rd. Oops. Missed the opportunity to buy and send her teacher the traditional teacher gift. Which, being teachers, we should know is very nice to receive. Nothing to do with greasing the wheels at all! We planned to send a New Year's gift the first day back. Oops. Maybe for Valentine's she'll get a nice "sorry we missed Christmas" gift card. If we think of it.
I used to do 99% of the Christmas shopping myself. This year? Most of our shopping was done online, by my husband. And he did a really good job.
In past years I started the Christmas shopping the day after Turkey Day. I always had a budget and a spreadsheet, thanks to the hubby. The year I was pregnant with Miss M I had it all done before she was born (3 days before Thanksgiving.) This year? I ordered our last Christmas present to family on January 2nd.
Our elf-on-the-shelf moved every night last year, observing Miss M and keeping her on her toes. This year? "Mommy he must be very comfortable up there, he hasn't moved since last week!"

Oh yeah, and we had an awesome Christmas. Emergency stops for teething rings, and all.

I fully intend to slack off as least this much next year. It was beautiful.

3 years of schmarm and turkey comics

2011-11-24T05:32:00.000-08:00

2009:

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

We hope everybody has a lovely day of Turkey-Goodness.

Just a few of our many blessings for which we are ever Thankful:

Our beautiful girls, and the joy they bring us daily.

Our loving and funny family; full of warmth, generosity, and just a pinch of bizarre, they are always there for us.

Those bag-clip snappy things from Ikea that have simplified kitchen life.

Fold-down seats in the mini-van.

Healthcare reform.

The Daily Show.

YouTube.

Christmas Music.

Bob's new job, and the ability we both have to go to work and do something we love.

A-1 sauce (this is more a Meg thing).

"Cool Cars" (Mario Kart Wii).

A country where being born white and rich isn't a prerequisite for being president.

Students who practice.

Sandra Boynton books. Ooooh, snuggle puppy of mine...

Weekend mornings spent in jammies.

Mulan, because she can kick the other princess's @$$!

National Public Radio.

Pumpkin Spice Coffee creamer.

2010:

For bulleted lists.
For a potty-trained kid.
For a heart-healthy baby.
For knowing that there are far more good people in the world than bad.
For the random child who hugs a random teacher "just cause".
For people who love my kids as I do.
For fabulous books and the time to read (some of) them.
For a husband who is even more than the sum of his "Dad", "Husband", "Teacher", "Friend", "Love of My Life" labels.
For meeting so many good people who heap love on sick kids as much as do their mothers.
For teachers who think about their students as if they were their own kids.
For cheese of all varieties.
For showing my youngest snow on Thanksgiving morning while her sister twirls in it, outside, in her jammies.

2011:

All of the above, pretty much, and just a few additions:

From preparing ridiculous amounts of stuffing, to teaching instrumental music: for being able to branch out and try something new.
Friends and family who love and ~~put up with us~~ support us through old and new endeavors.
Improved health and happiness for a lot of people I know, including my own little family.
My own little family, and for PBS kids being on TV Thanksgiving morning.
Oooh, I gotta have 5? I'm going right back to that Pumpkin Spice creamer.

Thank Goodness.

And just because it's wrong:

This is why I will make the stuffing, but not the turkey.

Happy Birthday, Dear Maddie

2011-11-20T04:55:00.000-08:00

2006

2007

2008

2009

2010

Happy Birthday, big 5 year-old!

********************************************************

Miss M's Birth Story post on our old blog is here. I've had friends read it and later smack me up side the head for not going to the hospital sooner, but other than that, I'm pretty darn proud of the post, the night, and so very proud of the kiddo herself.

*******************************************************

Happy Birthday, my sweet girl!

5 Love Languages and Other Stuff We Didn't Learn

2011-11-16T19:06:00.000-08:00

We got a photo-copied section of this book for our "Premarital Counseling" with the pastor who married us.

I think it was his idea of couples pre-therapy. I also think it's pretty lame.

It's a bit of a Men are From Mars thing, with a quiz. And who doesn't love a good internet quiz? Sorry, I just usually don't go in for these self-help, "you're a _____, let's categorize and interpret you" things. People are multi-faceted; they grow and change. Most people I know don't fit under these nice little labels that are supposed to save your marriage or help you communicate and live happily ever yadda yadda yadda. God knows hubby and I don't fit the Women are from Venus molds. Not that he's all Venetian. But the boy CAN cook...
However, the goal of this text is inherrently nice: You two are different people, you think differently, you communicate differently, and different things makes you feel loved. Let's figure that out.
We took that test with photocopies and pencils, 8 years ago. I got the same results yesterday, on the fancy online version.
So here's what I got:

Yes, I'm pretty touchy-feely. What? Shut up!
Bob's result was pretty much the same. I think he had less in the "acts of service" category. Thank goodness, cause I took out the trash for the first time in our marriage this past week.
Now, lucky for the little cheapskate that I married, I've never cared a bit about getting presents from him. You know the song, "You Don't Bring Me Flowers"? Flowers? Why do you want flowers? You have to find a vase, remember to keep filling up the water, then they wilt and before you know it ~~two weeks later~~ they start to stink...

Here's what the guys who are trying to sell you the 5 Love Languages book are saying about Physical Touch:

Yep, that sounds about right. Tickling, however, is unforgivable. Back. Away. Slowly. Tickling me, that is. Tickle Bob all you like, he laughs like the Pillsbury Doughboy with helium in his asthma inhaler.
Knowing that we already understood all that about each other kind of made the whole next step of 'learning each other's language for better communication' pretty useless. I think we may have foiled the pastor's plans. Oops. We did not, however, get to skip the next 3 sessions of premarital counseling. Go fig.

As it turns out, there's also a test for children. This I found more interesting. I can already forsee communication issues with me and the big one, as she grows. Because we're both always right, naturally.

Guess what Miss M's Love Language is?

But I knew that. "Play with me. Mommy you never play with me. You said we'd go to the park. You said we'd play Trouble. Mommy, when are you going to play with me?" ... !

Actually, I was predicting "Receiving Gifts", but that could be because 1. she's a kid and kids don't have it in them not to be greedy sometimes, and 2. her birthday is this weekend, followed by ~~Santa Claus~~ the Christmas season.

Working parents can have a hard time providing quality time enough for children who don't have an especially deep need for large chunks of your attention. Throw in another child, other jobs, dishes, phones, homework, and life in general... and we have a challenge on our hands. But we like a challenge, right?
That said, it's helpful to have it spelled out for me like that: "Mads likes you to hang out with her as much as possible, ok?"

...ok.
So maybe the book isn't total cheese.

Wondering what others find out.

Click here if you want to take the test yourself.

(You can click "skip this step" so as not to give our your email.)

Click here for the test designed for children.

Wondering if others actually manage to get their spouses and children to take the 20 question test!

I couldn't get through it without mocking, but maybe your significant other will have more luck.

Good luck with the kids. I'd give 'em a piece of candy for every question they answer, then send them off to your spouse. "Daddy/Mommy said she wants to spend some 'quality time' with you!"

Vacuums Suck, and Other Realizations of Failed Domesticity

2011-10-31T19:20:00.000-07:00

Wednesday lunch, I had a very fun, spirited conversation with some women I (*sigh* used to) teach with. We were exploring the differences in our homemaking styles, but the mood was light and amusing. We're professional, working mothers, with passions and careers. Bright and multifaceted women, we.
But at at some point we'd moved on from all that, and we were discussing sheets.

My lesson for the day:
Turns out you're supposed to fold them.

What?You're going to sleep on them. You need your sleeping surface to be unwrinkled while you're unconscious, Princess Pea?

Honestly, however the heck anybody wants to run anything in their house is fine by me, as long as "no children or animals are harmed in the making of this" ...bed.
Me? I stuff them inside one of the pillow cases for the set, all neatly packaged up, and shove them in the linen closet. That is, when I don't wash them and throw them right back on the bed. I stated my strategy to my colleagues, sure that they'd agree this was the sensible way to store linens.
My teacher friends stared incredulously. Either they thought I was joking, or their pity for this poor inept girl was setting in.
The conversation continued, and then, I feel, a bombshell was dropped: One of them, one I will always consider a brilliant teacher, a loving, involved mom to her young children, a role model, and an all-around nice, non-crazy lady? She ... I can't say it.
She IRONS her sheets.

Some women will never cease to amaze and startle me.

I'm not a domestic goddess. My house is a mess. On a good day.
But while the layer of toys, dust, or mixed vegetables does bother hubby and I, we're finding ways to make it work.
My new arrangement with husband, children, and house is this: hubby takes the munchkins to church and I stay home and clean. I crank up music that my children are not allowed to listen to because they're little repeating parakeets, and attempt to get things in order while my children are at Sunday school. Yes, we involved God, and I've informed him that I'm now the cleaning lady. He says he's cool with it, I think. I couldn't hear over my playlist.
Yes, I am terrible.
Yes, so far, it's working great.

So this past Sunday morning I'm using the vacuum hose, picking up the pieces (and crumbs) of a crappy-ass, busy, and stressful week. And the hose isn't picking up. Those crumbs are just sitting there, mocking me at every pass of the Hoover.

Now, Hubby is the mechanical one. I do not take apart the vacuum. I do not take apart anything, aside from pulling the mozzarella off pizza. But I think that morning I decided that I needed a bit more control in my life, and damn it, that vacuum was going to cooperate. I probably also just had something to prove. Since I don't fold sheets, and all.

I saw in the little clear tube the good people of Hoover have provided that there's a yellow circley-looking thing blocking the path of the suction. Thinking it's one of the foam alphabet discs from my kids' bath toys, I attempt to dig it out by hand. I succeed in cutting my finger on a safety pin that was sucked into the hose back when the hose actually sucked. So I carefully detached the hose from the vacuum. That alone is big for me, just so we're clear. At this point, I'm already proud of myself. I started trying various plastic kitchen utensils from the kitchen set, to poke the yellow disc through. I could see it there, but I couldn't reach it. Neither with the mini plastic spatula, nor the handle of the 4-inch frying pan will do the trick. On to the closet to find a wire coat hanger...

I unbent it and jammed it into the tube, thrilled to see the yellow disc moving at last. I attempted this for a good 15 minutes. I bruised my fingers, bent my thumb nail back, and wasted valuable no-kids-in-house cleaning time. However, I could now kind of flap the disc around. Progress was made, but I couldn't detach it and get it out. It was almost like it was purposely stuck in the tube, right at the base of the vacuum. It seemed to want to pivot up and down when I poked it, as if it were closing and opening up the tube and OH MY GOD IT'S THE FREAKIN' HOSE VALVE.

Doh.

The vacuum hose had not bee sucking up crumbs because the dial that opened and closed the valve that allowed air to suck through the hose was still on "Vacuum". If you want your vacuum hose to suck (or rather, NOT to suck) just leave it there. It'll frustrate you beautifully.
Otherwise? Best to actually turn the dial to "Hose", and save your injured fingers and precious time.

That's all I'm saying about that.

"Busy" is as "Busy" Does

2011-10-16T12:47:00.000-07:00

I got asked by a co-worker/reader/awesome person who does wonders for my self-esteem: "Where the heck have you been with the blog, girl? Too busy this time of year?"

Yes. Yes I am.

Actually, I'm not. I could have done this instead of something else. Lots of other things got done instead of writing, my fourth-favorite hobby after music, drinking coffee, and staring off into space. But I've been busy.
And that's where the whole "busy" thing becomes so much more complicated. It's not about "busy", it's about "priority".

Busy: The Big People

We are a two-parent, full-time working family. We are teachers. Hubby is in over his ever-thinning hairline at work, because he's two music teachers rolled into one. I'm in a new position, a very different style and subject matter, and I'm under water. I can see the surface up there, though. I'm not breaking through anytime soon.
This fall, Hubby also started working for a marching band. (Not this one, but I love this post). Around here that means that several nights a week and for a couple of weekends, he's away. Child & house-running duties are all on me. Just like one of those real wives! Imagine!
Do I mind it? Only in the sense that I'm pretty damn jealous sometimes! Because I'm a busyholic, and a ~~who are we kidding, not recovered at all~~ recovering band geek. But damn are we busy now.
But, I like "busy". I was one of those kids who ran around to a billion and one rehearsals and activities, and loved every second of it. And like many I'm way more productive and happy when I know I've got a purpose or two for the day. Yes, outside my usual "mommy" purpose. If I don't have something going on for a day or two at a time, like in summer? I get itchy and create something. No, cleaning doesn't count. Duh.

Since it's been way more of just me and the girls, I feel lately like I have much less patience to give them, particularly the big one. In honor of this adjustment in our lives, Miss M has decided to amp up the WHINE factor. Why do I feel like I've already blogged that exact sentence before? OH well.
I think I go right to white-hot annoyance more readily because I'm busier now. I don't have the time to mentally sort through everything she wants vs. everything she needs. Or perhaps my older child is honestly more freakin' annoying? Internal monologue: Oh my GOD stop your bitching and moaning or I will give you something to...aw, I'm tired, nevermind. Tell me again how it gets better when they turn 5? Somebody? Please?
I'm too busy to listen to whining (who isn't?), and I'm not a naturally patient person.
Yes, I teach elementary. What?

PS: Even though I work full-time and my kids are (slooooowwwwly gaining independence), I wish I knew how many other busy parents want to hide in the bathroom a few times a week.

Busy: The Little People

Then there's the children's activities. For instance, I was informed this weekend that my older one is almost of age to perform in a color guard unit for children. (Can you guess where I was when this was discussed? Boo-yah, Band fanatics!) There are practices, I think twice weekly, and performances to come. And it prepares them for entering marching band and indoor guard at a younger age and continuing through college and WHAT? I'm sorry, excuse me while I go laugh my ass off...
No-no, I'm sure it's a wonderful organization. Yes, love of music, poise and confidence. We will consider it. Someday.
However... She. Is. 4.
I have not even consented to drive her to a freakin' dance class yet, and you want me to sign on for 14 years of color guard?
Our neighbors are always raving about the kiddie soccer experience. And Karate. Which, between their two older children, they are driving around no than 4 nights a week. And one weekend morning. Including some Sundays. Shoot me.
I hear how my teacher friends take their sons to T-ball and their daughters to scouts, and I think, "How nice, I want to hide my children in the house now." I don't want to go to the extra effort of doing all that stuff, because I am a selfish, selfish mommy, and when would I blog and check facebook?
And can't they just go the heck outside and play?
No. Miss M does not do that. You have to come outside with her and entertain her, because apparently imagination turns off when you're in a place that Mommy doesn't mind you trashing. Now, the living room...OH, the possibilities for scattering junk!
As infants, my children did not go to "The Little Gross Motor Skill Competition Gym Class", or "Mommy & Me Fretful Busytime with Cutesy Singing and Noisemakers Class", or...
Geez, Meg, cynical much? You get my point. And these classes are wonderful things! They're fun, and skill-building! Only $300! That there, thats' where you lost me. I'm busy, but I'm also cheap.
I just never got around to it. E went to 8 weeks of Physical Therapy during which she cooperated with the wonderful therapist like twice. Does that count?
But where's the socialization? The added experience that my kids are expected to have (you know, my 20 month-old, she's not getting any younger!) before they hit First grade?
I recall a co-worker complaining about a socially inept student: "He just has no life experiences to draw from. He does nothing but school and home, no classes, no group activities, he doesn't know how to live!"
Who wants that to be their kid? There's just this understanding amongst suburban parents that dance, little league, boy scouts, etc., is what you do. It's a given. And it's clearly positive overall, the kids are having fun, displaying learned skills, and growing into wonderful little people! So why not?

Ok, sign us up for color guard, please!

Ha ha! Riiiight, let me get right on that.

...On the other hand, who wants to have the child who is scheduled to death? Who wants the family that never sees each other, all the time, because everybody is involved in two or three after school activities, night classes, and other fun, enriching, skill and character-building ....aw, crap. There's a fine line, and I think I lost it somewhere under this pile of permission slips.

Busyholics?

I'm thinking there's a few questions families have to ask:
What is the level of familiy Busy doing to the kids? Is it cool? Or not so much:
There's been lots of talk about the fact that kids just don't know how to play. Is it because they're too busy with all these essential, fun activities?
How does this level of Busy affect the family as a whole?
Do we see each other enough? If it's important to us, can we pull off a family dinner on a quasi-regular basis, for instance? Do I remember my children's full names and ages?
If you're a busy couple, how about that?
How's that working out for you? Busy can help you forge a "whatever doesn't kill us makes us stronger" relationship. But it can also be a deal-breaker.

Because I know next to nothing in the grand scheme of things, ignore my "wisdom" and substitute your own. Then write and tell me cause, again, I know nothing:
How's your "Busy" working for you?
Do you wish you did more or less?
If so, are you in a place do DO anything about that?
I know I'm too busy to be writing this post, for one thing.

A Matter of Taste

2011-09-27T17:18:00.000-07:00

Why do kids go nuts for Halloween?
Why care about the Easter basket at all?
Why did I think I'd get at least half of that bag of M&M's to myself?

Sugar (sing it! "do do do-do, do-do, OH, honey-honey do do do-do, do-do) is possibly driving my older daughter's every waking thought.

Are we going to Chick-fil-A? Well are we getting ICE CREAM???

Kids are small sucrose-powered machines.

And now we have it confirmed that there's a decent biological reason for the disappearance of all things sweet and tasty.

The Salt, an NPR.org food blog, has published piece that reveals research suggesting that kids' taste buds and receptors are wired differently than adults, to give them a much higher affinity for all thing sweet. This is true of children up through age 15 or 16, when puberty drops them off on the curb in their big boy pants, almost done their growing.

Blogpost by "The Salt" Here!

In this report we also learn that children have very different taste buds overall than adults. They are wired to crave the most calorie-rich roods, because that's the best thing from them, biologically, to grow on.
This kind of makes me wonder about the whole Eat-Your-Vegetables thing.
Yes, our munchkins need to eat a variety of whole, nutritious, healthy food... said the woman who fed her daughters a tub of Chef Boyardee mac-n-cheese for dinner. WHAT? They had mixed veggies too! And E had apricots! Don't judge me, it's a Band night!

Miss M, who until the age of 3 would eat anything and everything put in front of her, no matter how green, has sent most new foods packing lately. She has a two-bite chart. It sort of works. Actually, right now it's sort of MIA, I think it fell under the fridge. And she was half-way to a trip to Sahara Sam's for trying new foods. That's how desperate we were getting.

Here's our system with food, Miss M:
"We are making for dinner whatever we make for dinner. You have to TRY a bite of it. If you try 2 bites, it goes on your Two Bite Chart. If you don't want any more than one bite, fine. You do not get something else. You do not get dessert. ~~You do not pass 'go and collect 2,000 M&M's~~. Breakfast will taste really good. The End."
She's not wasting away. Skinny does not run in our family. We have no need of the 'clean plate club' in our house, for any of us.
I'm sorry, for 75% of us.
E, on the other hand, has just about earned herself back the title of "The Little Project".
Physical therapy. Orthopedic ankle braces. Rx fiber powder. "Lazy eye" patch. And she's supposed to drink at least one pediasure a day, because she's still technically "underweight".
Did you hear that? That's my ancestors laughing their ample butts off.
Ok, "Failure to Thrive", until two weeks ago, when she was weighed and she's climbed back up in the percentiles. Woo-hoo!

E the Project gets whatever she'll eat for dinner, almost always something different than what we're having, and if she doesn't want that, she can have something else. And so on.
Her dinner is usually macaroni and cheese or chicken nugget-related. With some veggies. And some fruit. And more cheese. But hey, she's eating.
If she's not eating, she gets what is basically a (pediasure) ...milkshake.

OH what a fabulous message.

Where's her biological wiring telling her to consume the most calories possible, huh?
What's the research say about kids who won't eat?

She's getting better, she's gaining, and she is starting to show that toddler pattern of peaks and valleys in her eating routine.
I'm 100% on board with the "do what it takes" feeding of the small one.
But seriously, kid: I'm a teacher! I'm having a Hell of a time with the consistency and fairness issues you're bringing into this house. Not to mention that then there's macaroni and cheese left on her tray as I carry it to the sink, and I have a heck of a time with the "no grazing" rule that Weight Watchers enforces. How many points for this toddler-sized piece of cheese-and-pasta-goodness?

I'm wondering what other families do:
Were you/are you consistent child to child with your dinner routines?
Or did you have to tailor your food rules to each child? (And hope the other didn't notice?)

Our good boy, Max.

2011-09-21T18:59:00.000-07:00

We lost our yellow lab, Max, at the beginning of last week.
Pardon me, our good boy, Maxwell "Tornado" D'Errico.
He was 7, he had been relatively healthy before that week, and it was so very, very hard to let him go.

If you've never shared your home with a (giant, lovable, loud, crazy-friendly, eating-machine-security-blanket of a) pet, your might not quite get how such an animal could be a family member.
But he was, simple as that.
Maybe someday I'll write out the whole experience, once I've sorted the whole awful night out in my head and I've made my peace with it. But while I still hate going in the laundry room because that's where his crate and toys are, while almost every day at breakfast I forget and drop a crust on the floor specifically so he can munch it, while I still re-remember twenty times a day that we don't have a family dog anymore... yeah, I don't have it in me to write that post right now.

So we're just going to enjoy some Maxy moments instead.

New (School) Year's Resolution

2011-09-05T07:02:00.000-07:00

You know how I love bulleted lists.

Another way Hand Hubby has molded my crazy into something Office Max-organized. Summer is over, no matter when the autumnal equinox decides to occur.
So again, it's list-making time. There's a "Pride in Our Great Public Schools" notepad on my desk and it's half-full of lists:
Questions to ask the other Band director.
Questions for my new school principals.
Things to do at each school I'll be traveling to this year.
B. E. (before Elliebean,) Bob's mom gave me the idea of using pretty blank journals as my date book/daily to-do list.

I think the last one I had got soaked by a leaky bottle.

After that, like most mommies, I gave up on anything real getting done on a regular basis. So good-bye pretty journal lists.
Hubby has resorted to a marble composition book for the same purpose this year. Just as organized, without the girly flowers and cherubs playing harps on the front cover.

So while we're in To-Do list mode... Here's some stuff I want to make sure actually happens this year:

New (School) Year's Resolutions:

Keep my appointments with the damn elliptical. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. 5:30 AM. Till Bob's Band rehearsals start. Then we have the 5:00 AM slot. Don't be late, you hulking hamster wheel of torture...
Either enlist the help of a cleaning service, or stop letting the mess bother me. The level of angst about the crumbs in the kitchen and grime in the bathroom is just high enough to raise my anxiety level, but not quite high enough that I'll do much about it till it becomes DYFS-worthy. Do something about it, or let go and let it be what it'll be.
Miss M is almost 5. Make her do her part in the family clean-up. There will be a basket in the living room. Another in her bedroom. Either she or we will throw all the toys in the basket every evening. That is all she need do then, because we value her time with us more than clean floors. HOWEVER: the next day, after preschool, her job will be to Put. The. Damn. Toys. Away. Just the ones in the baskets. Bins will be properly labeled for her sorting pleasure.

Lest we forget.

Yes, play is definitely a child's work.

And this is what a good time looks like.

But try walking through it in bare feet in the middle of the night.

Read. Thank you, MOMS club Book Club. Peer pressure and the desire to have the excuse to hang with some awesome ladies will keep me in line here.
Speaking of, maintain some lovely newly cultivated friendships, rather than letting them fall by the wayside during the busy, busy school year. More than "keeping in touch", remember the value of a social life, a bestie to talk with, and the vast benefits of my children having non-school friends to play with.
Explore the new Band Method by Heather Dziczek that I'm very excited about. Similarly, have no fear about doing Something Different than the rest of my department.
Keep on keepin' on with the Weight Watchers. Evil points. Incidentally, Handsome Hubby got a stern lecture from WW this morning when he entered his weight. He'd lost too much. Oh, the horror.

And he ate like 4 pieces of cake yesterday, too.

Schedule practice time into my days for my "other" instruments. After a summer of growling expletives at the giant awkwardness that is the trombone, I'd like to continue to not suck at it. Ditto for saxophone. That sucker is deceptively heavy.
Play horn more. Take it to school and play on lunch if necessary. After all, it's relatively cheap therapy.
Write. Speaking of inexpensive therapeutic practices! Treat it like a to-do and not a "maybe do everything else first and then if I have time" thing. Hello, me time.
Date night. With the hubby. Without the kids. Once a month? Ok, maybe after marching band season is over. But I'm finding this item especially important after reading a recent post on the blog Committed: The Ties the Bond,. We will get a babysitter and actually use her, darn it. Because my hubby is and always has been a great dater.

Why do I bother posting goals on the blog?

Because I'd been making a mental list in my head for days and wanted to try out the new Blogger user interface.
Because this way people know about them and may actually hold me accountable.
Because, again, I love bulleted lists.

This is really our New Year's. Come January, we're in the thick of it already. It's resolution time.

Wondering if anybody else treats September as January.

Speak up if you create your own (mental?) list of goals for the New Year.

Errand Odyssey

2011-08-28T12:29:00.000-07:00

It's late August. The end of the month is approaching. It's taskmaster time. School is creeping up on us. Our weekdays are booked and our weeknights are often the same.
And the DMV isn't open during hours when normal people can actually get there...

Thursday we decided we were going to spend the day getting as much done to prepare for the school year and (life in general) as possible. DMV stuff. Banking stuff. School stuff. Oh yeah, and there was this supposedly epic hurricane slowly plowing up the coast, ready to devour us. So buying groceries was in order; hopefully a few non-perishable foods in case the damn hurricane knocks out power for a week. Thank kind of stuff.
With the kids in tow. Both the big whiney one and the small whiney one who's currently being a bugger about eating and has major tummy/diaper issues at times. Because we like a challenge.

Thus began the "Errand Odyssey".

Goals for that day included:

Close TD bank account. (Hubby is now switching to the cash system because the system we'd tried all summer is too much record-keeping for him.)
Merge PNC bank accounts and deposit ~~piddling~~ contents of TD account.
Pick up stuff Bob had left at school Tuesday, including his only real pair of wearable shoes.
Get car (the tiny one) inspected, hope to God it passes because our sticker expires in a week.
Renew the van's registration at DMV. Ditto on the expiration.
Renew my license at DMV. Again, come September, I'm not legal.
Buy regular old groceries at Walmart, surely fighting the storm-crazed crowds.

TD:
Just waited in the car while Bob went in. Listened to Miss M complain about not getting to go in and jump around on the "shapes" on their carpet.

PNC:

It's pouring. We both have to go in to this bank. Hubby offers to pull up to the walkway and let me get the girls out and go in while he parks. This sounds like pure chivalry. However, afterward, while standing in the lobby of the bank with a soaked back (had to stand there and get the baby out) and sopping wet shoes (had to stand in inch-deep puddles to help Miss M around the car), I realize that I got the short end of the stick. Bob jogs into the bank, way drier than I, and we take care of the banking. And the shivering. Wet + bank air conditioning.

School:
Then we stop at Bob's school and picked up his shoes. If he'd had socks he'd have thrown them on and danced a jig for the sheer joy of having dry feet.

DMV:
We each take a kid a split up. The receptionist is unsympathetic: Registration line is this way, but ...licence? Oh, you actually want a licence? What is the number one thing you think of doing when you go to the DMV, hmm? Yes, I want a freakin' licence!
Oh, well the camera is down, you'll have to wait. Um, ok. Can I just use my old picture? No, no, no, the whole camera system is down. Oh, you mean the licence printer is broken? Yes. You'll have to wait till they fix it. Or we can give you a priority ticket so you don't have to wait in line next time you come. Ok...

I wait in line to get my documents checked, to see if the I brought the right paper peace offerings for New Jersey to be kind enough to grant me the right to drive. And to see if I'm worthy of priority ticket, I guess. Who doesn't love a DMV line?

Like this, only with actual lines, and more of a life-sucking ambiance.

Yes, the cranky lady says when I reach the front of her line, all is well in document land. I can go wait over there. With the 12-15 other people in the seats of gloom. What are they waiting for? Oh, they're waiting for the licence printer to get fixed. I'd be in line after them. Me and my squirmy, hungry children.

Um...No. Please hand me the priority ticket that lets me come back another day and not have to wait in line again, because I have only so much life, and it's being sucked dry.

She can't find any more priority tickets. Another employee comes over and asks her for one too. They think they're out. They get flustered. E gets fussy. I get annoyed. They find one. The lady with the crying child gets it (That's me! Thank you, crying child!) and we bugger out, half of our goals for that building accomplished.

Inspection:
Ok, fine, except that can take a while, and we're all starving. Lunch first.

Applebee's has Weight Watchers entrees. No brainer. Then Bob will drop me off at Walmart w/ the girls. He'll take the ~~tiny sardine can car we're all crammed into~~ Saturn to be inspected, and meet me there. It'll all go smoothly, and we'll be home before naptime.

I know, I know! Can you believe we thought that would work? Naive or insane, you decide.

So we're driving to the town that contains not only an Applebee's, but also an inspection station AND a Walmart...and the "check engine" light comes on in the tiny dashboard of the tiny car.
Bob knows it's the O2 sensor, because Bob sort of knows this stuff. I take his word for it, because that sounds particularly big and official. Unfortunately, this turn of events kills the car's chances of passing inspection.

Yay! Cross one destination off our list.

Applebee's:
...was very good, and there was Steak, baby. 10 points.

Simpsons theater:

"What's for dinner? Steaaaak?"

"Money's too tight for steak."

"Steaaaaaaaak?"

"Uh, sure. 'Steak'."

E won't eat much of her grilled cheese. But E won't eat much of anything lately. We're working on it. She of course needs a diaper change in dire way - get it? Dire? - right as our meals arrive at our table. Bob valiantly offers to go changer her. Probably because I've complained lately that I end up eating by myself because I get everybody everything while they eat, ala the mom in "A Christmas Story". He returns with a pantless baby in a fresh diaper. Apparently the contents of that diaper were not able to stay in the diaper. Luv's, you're wussing out of me. Ewwwwwww. Do I have extra clothes for her packed?

Yes.

Yes I do.

In the car.

The other car.

You know, the van? The one that we actually drive our children around in?

Not that tin can on wheels that we're driving today specifically to go take to be inspected after this, except we can't because it would fail, and...

So E has to sit there and ~~refuse to~~ eat, pantless.

I call the pediatrician the minute we get in the car. I've had it with these poops.
We are done with "wait and see". (Seeing if she's allergic to milk, if she's got a tummy bug, if she's teething, if her astrologist told her this "refuse to eat and poop anyway" was a celebrity trick for weight loss...)

Grocery Shopping:
We get to Walmart and the first thing we do is go buy her a cheapo pair of pants. Eureka! Something is going our way, because here on the clearance table is a pair of pink polka-dot pants for $1.00. We go back to the front of the store to buy them, so we can put them on our half naked child and proceed to struggle through the storm-addled crowds.
And then we see the lines.

There are 5 registers open for 500 people, most of them buying milk, bread, eggs, and D batteries.

French toast and ... do I want to know?
Oh, flashlights.

The check-out lines are back to the racks of clothes, across the wide aisle.

So guess what? E was wearing those pants, paid for or not. We decide to leave the label on and swear to remember to have the clerk scan the label sticker on her butt after I finished my shopping. I am not about to let my baby shoplift $1.00 pants. Because come on! They're $1.00 pants! I'm HAPPY to pay for $1.00 pants!

I was just hoping she wouldn't poop through them first.

Pants you'd be glad to leave the red clearance tag on, for bargain-hunter bragging rights.

So we go shopping - this is regular, sensible grocery shopping, not omigod-here-comes-Irene-buy-bottled-water shopping. Ok. We bought bottled water too. But we were NOT one of the crazies buying out the racks of flashlights, I swear.

When we hit the cosmetics section, I remember that I am out of body wash. I go to choose a new one. I open the top to give it a little sniff. Smell is ridiculously important to me, particularly in the morning - prime body wash usage time. Cause I'm crazy and easily nauseated, that's why.

I was a teenager in the 90's, you'd think I know what Cucumber Melon smells like.

I can't smell it, so I give the bottle a tiny squeeze, to bring the body wash up to the hole so I can smell it better, and - SPLAT.

I squirt body wash up my nose and into my left eye.

...ow.

OW OW OW not cool OW.

After painful walk to a - I gotta say, surprisingly clean - Walmart bathroom, I try to do an eyewash at an automatic faucet. Then the pediatrician calls and we discuss the finer points of E's poop while I hold my eye shut and walk through Walmart trying to find my family without stereo vision.

We do our weekly grocery shopping with E in pants that still very visibly belonged to Sam Walton. My eye squinted shut, smelling nothing but cucumber melon, I'm pleased to find that the storm shoppers are more plentiful but less crazy than I thought they'd be. Everybody behaves themselves as they empty the store of canned goods and rope. Bob miraculously remembers to hold the baby up above the conveyor belt so the clerk could scan her new pants. It totally slipped my mind. We would have easily shoplifted $1.00 baby pants. Not good.
But I cannot bring myself to buy the cucumber body wash. Too many bad memories.

And that was the end of our adventure.

Less an odyssey and more a day spent half-accomplishing things, I know.
Doesn't measure up to our Wegman's Odyssey of last summer.
But still...
There were cranky DMV workers. There was steak. There was poop. There was glycerin up my nose.
Good times.
And every summer needs at least one Odyssey, I've decided.

Dear Weight Watchers,

2011-08-18T19:08:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Dear Weight Watchers,

Ok. I'm on board.
But just so we're clear, I will not be that woman in the lunch room with a freakin' calculator.
I will not be asking anybody how many points I think the cafeteria cookie is going to cost me. I will not be discussing our little PointsPlus tracking time with people I don't know well. I will flush red when I discuss it at all. We don't talk about this stuff, my people. We just eat the cookie. And get on the treadmill later. Usually.

Just so we understand that.

Love,
Me.

Thursday August 4, 2011

Dear Weight Watchers,

Let's talk about this "edit profile" business.

You ask us to select our favorite this and that, and "favorite sport" is among the choices we must make. Then, presumably, you'll display our choices in our profile, so all the other poor souls here on WW can see who else needs to lose weight but also happens to like ice hockey.
Favorite sport? If I was an avid sport-playing enthusiast, what would be the odds that I'd even be here in the first place?
You do realize that 90% of the people I know who "like sports" actually like WATCHING SPORTS ON TV, FROM A RECLINER, preferably with a bag of chips.
Does that count? They watch baseball from their basement, they get to pick it here? I don't think that's fair, Weight Watchers. Can "30 Rock" be a sport?
Why do sports viewers get an option on that drop-down list, while I, who simply have no desire to "like sports" while eating chips, get to select nothing?
Oh, wait, sorry. That "other", is that for me?
So people can assume I like curling or badminton?
Good call. Cause as it was, being on Weight Watchers was making me waaaay too cool.

Love,
Me.

Friday August 5, 2011

Dear Weight Watchers,

You? You are not invited for Thanksgiving. Or Christmas.
I'm sorry to be harsh, but I feel that we should set the parameters of this relationship early on, so as to avoid confusion and/or guilt.

Love,
Me.

Saturday, August 6th, 2011

Dear Weight Watchers,

I so love the part of your program that assigns no "Plus points" or whatever you call them, to fruits and veggies. I could just sit here and eat blueberries all day. Right after I run to the bathroom because all this fiber is completely foreign to my digestive system.
Thanks.

Love,
Me.

Sunday, August 7th, 2011

Dear Weight Watchers,

Let's talk about these "Activity Points" you're granting us. The ones that you can spend before you start attacking your extra, "weekly" (splurge) points. I'm sure they're not intended to be earned simply so we can eat more. Perish the thought. I'm sure we're supposed to track our activity to encourage us to be more physically fit, and make us aware of just how much exercise our daily lives are giving us.

Yeah, I'm just going to think of them as penance.
Like, "Eat a Poptart, do the elliptical for 45 minutes. And say three 'Hail Mary's."

Love,
Me.

Monday, August 8th, 2011

Dear Weight Watchers,

I. Am. Still. Hungry.

Love,
Me.

PS - NO, I do not want an effing carrot.

Tuesday August 9th, 2011

Dear Weight Watchers,

Again, about the activity points:
Let's look at the various ways we can earn them:

"Aerobics, low-impact"
"Walk/Run, low-impact"
"Childrens' Games; hopscotch, foursquare..."
"Hacky Sack"

... really? Hacky sack?

May I suggest the following additions?

Chasing dog who has slipped leash.
Walking through house bent over, scooping up toys (low impact?)
Wrestling and pinning down toddler during diaper changes (high impact)

Seriously, WW, we deserve more points for our daily lives than this!
Where is "walking to fridge, opening fridge, realizing you're not supposed to eat anything else because you're out of points, walking back to couch"?
Where is "sprinting down hallway to your classroom because you forgot you rescheduled a class that is currently lined up at your door with an impatient teacher"?
Where is "carrying double-stacked baskets of laundry up steps while maintaining balance"?
Um, WW? Where's... *ahem!* Well, where is "it"?
No? Fine. Clearly, you're doing it wrong.
Where is "Getting up from your chair a thousand times a meal to get something for whichever kid needs it?"

Just some additions to consider, WW.

Love,

Me.

Wednesday, August 10th, 2011

Dear Weight Watchers,

What's up with not assigning any points for A1 sauce?You sure you want to do that? Cause Me? I can eat a lot of A1 sauce.

Love,
Me.

What...?

How many points, do you think?

Teacher Brain: The Weekly School Year

2011-08-16T14:05:00.000-07:00

Hubby has had this system in his head since he was himself a student. Hubby also insists I've done this post before. But we all know artificial sweeteners ruin your memory. We have since adapted it to the teacher mindset and lifestyle. Our theory:

The year, in particular, the school year, can be superimposed over a regular Monday to Sunday week, and each yearly section lines up coincidentally with its corresponding day.

*Disclaimer: Just as some days seem to drrrraaaaag on indefinitely and other fly by, each day of the School Year Week is not necessarily equal in length.*

Sunday:
The entire month of August
Because you're still off, there's still freedom, but September is there... looming in the distance, like a coming Monday on a Sunday afternoon. August also feels busier, unlike a lazy Saturday.
On Sunday you possibly have church, family visits, and house-cleaning to do before the workweek begins. And let's not forget homework. Yes, I am referring to teacher homework. Teaching is one of those professions that follows you home whether you like it or not. In August, many of us go on vacation, try to fit in cleaning and household projects, and basically attempt to cram in any more summer fun we can before September. The homework aspect? By the 3rd week of August, Bob and I get itchy to get our butts into school and make sure everything is ready and rarin'. He actually goes all summer. I am not so crazy.
I know my time will come, just like the 5:30 AM alarm on a dreary...

Monday:
All of September and October
Already this doesn't quite work out in my case, because I love back-to-school.

When it's actually time for back-to-school. In September. Not in July, thankyouvermuch, Target and Walmart. The clean, fresh-start feel of a new school year, like those new clothes and shiny new sneakers on my little students' feet, almost makes up for the cramped feel of being inside 8 hours straight. Kind of like children's feet in brand-new, stiff sneakers, when those toes have lived in flip-flops all summer.
It is So. Darn. Hard. to say goodbye to summer. Yeah, yeah, most people get 2 weeks off, lazy teachers, must be nice to play with kids all day and then have summers off, blah blah...YES, uninformed ignoramus who could have become a teacher if you'd wanted to but thank God you didn't cause look at your terrible attitude... Yes, it IS nice.
Then, there's October which is loooooooong too. There are Halloween assemblies and sugar-fueled meltdowns at home and at school. It's a long haul until...

Tuesday:
November and December
Tuesdays I never minded much. The sting of Monday has worn off, and I always seemed to have good classes on Tuesdays. Much in the way Tuesday is an easier bite to swallow than Monday, November and December have new promise of fun, and some free time for you and the family. Speaking of bites...

Mmm, Thanksgiving Cake.

When I first started teaching in New Jersey, I looked at the calendar for November and thought, "You're kidding me, right?"
NJEA conferences take two days, conferences in my district take more, then there's Thanksgiving, etc. School? No no, we don't do school regularly this time of year. School has only partial custody of us in November.
Or you could be a music teacher and have a concert to get on stage and find those interruptions maddening as they screw with your rehearsal schedule and black out dress rehearsal possibilities. Oh! Jingle bells, jingle bells, shoot me in the head...

Wednesday:
I hate January and February. And most of March. Most teachers do.
As Music teachers, the only good thing about the New Year is the lovely break from concert-crunch time, as your holiday concert is over and your spring concert is still months away. There are a few minor holidays to break the monotony. Valentine's is nice if you're in the 7 and under set and still have class parties. Oh, and those snowdays are sweeeeet. But Wednesday, in my experience, just draaaaaags mercilessly on. In one of the best, more obscure kids' books, Meg's World by John Kollock, 4 year-old Meg explains, "Wednesday is nothing. Maybe somebody should invent something for Wednesday. Like a game or a long nap." I think the same would apply for January and February.
But on the other side of March is Spring break (and Wednesday), we begin to take a turn.

Or so we think.

Thursday:
End of March, April.
Late March is such a tease. We staple up construction paper flowers and tack up "Signs of Spring" bulletin boards in the hallway...while we trudge through parking lots in freezing rain. Around here, anyway. April is really the beginning of a slight downward slope. Very slight. It's concert time.

Yikes.

In our family, when concerts are done, you can start to think about maybe starting to consider relaxing. Later. You of course take a day to breathe and then start planning for next year, but the tie around your neck starts loosening. Or you could be like my husband, who goes to school dressed formally until April and then decides every year by late April that ties are "impractical". BUT you're not done yet. There are performance field trips to take, state-mandated testing for the school to crunch for. On Thursday you still have the Little Engine That Could mentality (or not), chuggin' on through the week, but there's a light at the end of the train tunnel... and that light is called:

Friday:
May and JUNE!

*Gasp!* It's almost here! Cue that insidious Rebecca Black song! Classes go on the fun field trips! Dress codes slacken and flip-flops are (sort of) acceptable!

And then, for us, there's the family picnic.

I usually do my dance unit, and the younger kids have class out under the trees in their little circles with their little glockenspiels, and OH! summer (the weekend) is just ahead, God is in Heaven and all is right with the world. The end of June is especially sweet because there's the promise of two beautiful, yet-untouched months of freedom stretching out before you.
Ditto for the happy musings of a Saturday and Sunday ahead of you, from your place on the couch, Friday night.

Saturday:
July
July is Saturday, unquestioned. So open and full of possibilities, you can't conceive of it ever ending.

Bring bathing suit, add water, repeat.

But *sniff!* it does have an end.

Because then we're back to Sunday.
Er, I mean, August.
And that's where we are now. Judging from the August calendar, it's probably late afternoon on a Sunday, too. There are a bunch more tasks to be done, things needing to be checked off the list before school starts. During the school year I find better uses for my free time than cleaning, without serious need, let's put it that way.
I actually think my hubby and I have a now-or-never attitude in late August, and I also think that's it's completely unnecessary; as if we do nothing but school and sleep during the "work week" of the year. We have a nice life year-round. But OH, those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer... sweet like a Saturday.

Bribery: making kids do stuff since the dawn of time

2011-07-29T15:51:00.000-07:00

I read one potty training book. Most of the way through. I read one child-rearing, behavior-y book, post-college. Happiest Toddler on the Block. Eh. Good theory: speaking "cave kid" to your supposedly non-verbal toddler. But when she argues back in full sentences, it isn't particularly effective. Although the looks I got from passers-by were priceless. I read a stack of child psychology and classroom management books in college, for what that's worth.

Let's face it, people:

They can be bought.
You just have to find the right currency.

What? I personally love my 9 to 5 (my 7:30 - 4:00), but 99% of us don't go to work every day because we LOVE fighting traffic and getting asked if we have a case of the "Mondays". We go because we're PAID to do so. Elementary classrooms everywhere are working for good behavior-related tickets, marbles, checks, stickers, and pizza parties. It's an intro to the pattern of societal give and take. Like it or not, children observe from the very beginning that it's the part of the way the world works. However, we don't need to abuse it. Only when it really matters. Like when great Aunt Myrtle is visiting, or your little flower girl refuses to go down the aisle, or you're, um...tired?

I know, I know. Intrinsic motivation. Self-esteem. Social consciousness.
Explain that to my youngest when she's going all jelly-legged and raging as only a toddler can... at her physical therapist.
Sometimes, a "thing" is necessary to motivate a child.
You know, to get away from that roadkill, stop wailing like a banshee, go potty, try two bites of that food on your plate, suck it up and go on the big slide like that other kid who is 2 years younger than you, and stop talking about different varieties of poop in church.

I won't even get into my classroom management systems. However, in the interest of full disclosure...

Things I have offered one or both of my children, at some time, in exchange for a desired behavior:

Pony. Both the real, and "My Little" variety.

Money. The highest actual amount I promised was $10, and that was a potty chart reward. Yes, I'm awful. Yes, I would have gone so much higher.
Crackers.
Cookies. Barnum's Animal, preferably, for E. Miss M would eat tofu if you called it a cookie.
Juice box. Hit or miss; Miss M doesn't really like juice, cause she's a werido.
Lollipop.

Ice cream. Mainly because then I get ice cream too.
Sticker.
Many stickers.
Whole book of stickers.
Trip to dollar store to pick out a toy from China that has lead paint, small parts, and probably bites small fingers.
Trip to Target to pick out a better toy, but you better actually hit the potty this time.
Trip to playground.

Trip to Bounce U. Again, because who doesn't love places where they let grown-ups bounce for free?
Dip in the pool. Sure, by her ankles...
Princess-Fairy-Somesuchcrap Barbie. Don't even get me started.
Powerhweels. Yeah, fat chance. That was never going to happen. When you get a full ride to Harvard, that's when I'll buy you a Powerwheels.

Parents, teachers, people who have had to control kids at some point:
come clean.

What have you bribed 'em with?

What worked and what didn't?

(Expensive Little) Season Tickets

2011-07-26T12:29:00.000-07:00

Buzzfeed's Culture Buzz has published a list of "15 Places You Can No Longer Go As An Adult".
Chuck-E-Cheese, children's museums, and Santa's lap rank among these places of sheer delight that adults can no longer frequent without appearing creepy or ridiculous. Sorry, that joyful phase of your life has passed. No more ball pits for you. No more playground tunnels, goodbye petting zoo. *sigh*

Au contraire, dear Buzzfeed.
Such places of wonder are off limits to you in the 18+ crowd...until you have KIDS.
Then, the game's back on.

You go so many more places, do so many more things - some you've never tried before - because you have munchkins. And because they're still fun.

For example, until recently, I had never touched a sting ray.

I've touched one now, I'm good, I feel no need to do it again.

But still. How cool is that?

They're annoying little buggers sometimes, these kidlets, but they are (expensive) season tickets to all the awesome kiddie rides and attractions life has to offer. And you can totally pretend that the fun you're having is all about watching your child have new and magical experiences, blah blah blah...hey, sweetie, want Mommy will take you the teacups again?

I humbly submit the following additions to the list of places I missed out on as an adult, until I had kiddos:

Kids' Playplaces. We have Jelly Bean Jungle and Bounce U around here, for starters. I looooooove Bounce U. Parents are invited to bounce with their kids, and there is no admission charge for parents during Preschool Playdate. Score, free bouncing!

Kiddie/Family Movies: I will always love Princess and the Frog. Always. That, and shoveling movie theater popcorn into my mouth. Always love both.

Children's concerts. Wait a minute, usually my internal monologue spends the concert heckling the singers. But I love these shows anyway. You should see my older one dance/spin/wiggle to the sound of someone playing guitar and singing random stuff about vegetables. While I enjoy myself and continue the internal heckling.

Good old playdates/playgroups. When else can you go over to someone's house in the middle of the afternoon for no other purpose than to hang out? Because everybody knows the toys are better in the other kid's playroom. Assuming your kids will actually play together, you can sit around, drink coffee, and talk about work, life, and whatever new stupid allergen rules have surfaced this week. Bonus if there's juice boxes. Giant bonus if there's grown-up juice boxes.

Kidding, kidding!

(Not really kidding.)

You know what? I may not have gotten 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep in years, I may have to cut up other peoples' food into tiny non-choking-hazard pieces while my own entree cools to room temperature, but I can sure as heck go down the big slide at Bounce U. I have jumped in a ball pit quite recently, and it was still fun. What, there was hardly anybody at Jelly Bean Jungle that day, and somewhere in there was E's sock!

I will, however, refrain from sitting on Santa's lap. I promise.

Ellie concurs.

Comment with any additions to this list you'd like to include.
It's good to be to the parents.

Rent Me a Onesie

2011-07-20T19:43:00.000-07:00

A recent article published in Good introduced us to the website Plumgear.com, which has been described as being "like Netflix for Baby Clothes". You enroll and pay a montly fee, and they send you a "bundle" of baby clothes from brands like Egg Baby, Kate Quinn Organics, and Tea Collection. Brands I've never heard of...but the pictures look darn cute. You send them back as your child outgrows them, and you receive a new bundle every 30 days. They wash with 7th Generation products only, and they donate anything too stained to foster care programs. No mention of their policy regarding charging you for the loss, but let's just say they'd have lost money on my reflux babies.

First impression: how progressive, how brilliant, and if I could have gotten the formula stains out in time to pass the clothes on, how I would have LOVED to participate in this service.

Second impression: OOOH! Could I get that blue flowered dress at the bottom left in an 18 months?

When the news of your pregnancy circulates, sweet friends and family start gifting you with tiny articles of clothing to oooh and ahhh over. Then you may start to wonder...

...do I really need this many onesies?
...why did Aunt Myrtle give me a newborn size sundress when my baby is due in January?
...who the heck makes tiny red halter tops and filly Daisy Dukes in size 6 months?

When my girls grew out of their collections of clothes in various sizes, some were worn through the knees, many were stained with something questionable, and a few still had the tags attached. For the reasons above.

I recently sorted the first year's worth of Maddie & Ellie clothes.

I'm passing on a bazillion tiny tops and and bottoms to future nieces and nephews some day. I purposely, stubbornly, insisted on having a bunch of unisex stuff for Miss M, because I am not the pink type. Turns out, SHE IS. But that sorting and passing takes a lot of work and coordination. And the size-corresponding-to-season thing is a total crapshoot. All those bins of baby clothes carefully "folded" away for my girls' future cousins may never see the light of another bouncing baby day again.

The theory behind Plum's business is simply brilliant. If I didn't already have bins of clothes waiting for E that her sister "gently" wore, I would seriously consider enrolling. The idea of the clothes getting as much wear as possible, of minimizing waste, is so appealing. I'm the one in our household that needs talked out of saving everything. Hey! Somebody we run into somewhere might NEED that (fill the blank with a random piece of crap), it could help someone and be useful again someday! And so, I save:

You see this? This picture was taken December 30, 2009.
This would be all of Maddie's baby clothes, ready to be sorted for my Ellie-to-be.

Yes, after a while I stopped sorting them in bins by size and instead resorted to throwing them in trash bags and having Hubby toss them in the attic. I knew this clothes-sorting day would come and I'd get my comeuppance.

Re-freakin'-diculous.

On the other hand...stranger-babies' saliva, spit-up, POOP, having been on my baby's clothes...hmmmmmm. Not exactly easy to get over the Gross Factor when you're talking about your baby.

Ah, that's better.

The prices at Plumgear aren't stunningly low, but when you consider what you'd spend on 7 baby outfits that they'd puke on and outgrow... yeah, I still think the $49.99 a month is quite prohibitive. Most of my kids' clothes were gifts, thankfully. Hey Plum, do a service plan with Target brand baby clothes and charge half price. Then you'd have me hooked.

Apparently the idea was well-received, and parents are trying to waste less;

Plumgear is so popular, there's now a waiting list to subscribe to the service!

What do you think?

Brilliant, or gross?

Would you rent baby clothes?

A Few Budgetary Restrictions

2011-07-10T11:04:00.000-07:00

"We didn't overspend our budget. The allocation simply fell short of the expenditure."
~ Kieth Davis

"I have to do the money stuff tonight."
This is Bob's way of telling me to run for cover, because he's going to do the bills.

"Awwww, really?"

"Yes, it's been forever, and it's going to be a mess."

Honest to God, hubby and I do not fight about money. But that's because, until recently, one of us didn't give a damn about how we spent our money anyway. We do disagree periodically. Then I give in because I honestly know he's right and we don't need to take an Ikea field trip and buy a big boxy wall unit for the toys.

We recently switched from a money management system we'd used since we got married, to a newer, fairer, (we hope) more savings-friendly strategy:

Old system:
Bob did the budget, deciding what we spent on everything in every category, but getting my input for things like birthday gifts and "extra" stuff. (Dining out, Dunkin Donuts, collections for causes at school, etc.) I seldom carried cash, but rather swiped "the black card" for every purchase. We racked up points, and he paid the card off every month when he paid the other bills. I would, monthly or so, get in trouble for overspending on things... like birthday gifts and "extra stuff". I stayed in trouble for 5 minutes, long enough for him to say something like,
"Next month we really need to stick to the budget, ok?"
"Ok, you're right, I'm sorry."

Pros: I get off scott-free for most stupid purchases, Bob handles the aftermath and makes our household budget work by sheer spreadsheet magic.

Cons: I get off scott-free for most stupid purchases, Bob handles the aftermath and makes our household budget work by sheer spreadsheet magic. But when I'm honest with myself, how immature of me! How reckless! And while I'm not a vocal feminist, geez, girl, take some responsibility, half of it IS your money!

New system:
He figured out what it takes to pay the bills, put food on the table and gas in the cars, and a set amount we divide up pretty evenly. He still does the bills, but I'm learning. We each have our own checking account, with an "orange card". We get "paid" from our joint backing account twice a month.
He pays for the dog's vet bills and medicine, the upkeep of the house (but not the prettification), his own upkeep, etc. So no more buying him clothes when I think he looks ratty...
I pay for the kids' stuff, activities, and prettification/organization/random other stuff for the house. And now my coffee habit is my own problem. We treat for dinner out, depending on who has how much money left.

Pros: Responsibility for one's own purchasing action! Plus, I am going to do the bills more. We swear. More importantly, when there is no more money in said checking account, there is No. More. Money. Till payday.

Cons: I pretty much see that whole last sentence as one big CON, especially the "No. More. Money." part.

But again, I'm learning:

Yesterday I was embarking on a kid-related house prettification project. I needed items from Walmart and in the 20 items or less checkout, my orange card got declined! Trying to perform inscrutable math in my head while holding up line, I could not figure out why my account had no money left. I had tons of money in there this morning! Ok, not tons, but enough for a minor trip to Walmart, right?
Oh wait, I did go to the post office. And Fashion bug (store closing sale in July = I have blouses for school in September! Smart purchases in the long run). And Dunkin Donuts. And how much was I spending at this checkout lane?
Wow.
Ditz. I'm a big, irresponsible ditz, and if I knew me, I'd tell me that I need to start acting like an adult and not a 14 year-old who got a Visa Prepaid card from Grandma.

So, I actually had the lovely experience of asking the Walmart cashier to take a few things off the order.
How dignified. This time, the transaction ran through effortlessly.
When I got home I checked my balance online and found that I had indeed had enough money to make the original purchase, and then some.
What the what?

"You probably entered the wrong pin number the first time."
*thinking back*
"Oh yeah...I used the old pin from the old card."

Hey married peoples,
I'm really wondering if this Yours, Mine, and Ours system is common.

Do you divide up, or run things separately?
Statistically, spending is a top cause for arguments among couples;
What do you do, and is it working?

Sweet Mystery of Life

2011-07-08T13:24:00.000-07:00

On a one-hour road trip with both dear daughters, hubby is at work for the day:
(Paraphrased in sections, my memory is sometimes sketchy.)

M: Mommy why do some people not have two grandmas?
(We actually do still have both grandmas, except we don't call either of them "Grandma", despite the greeting card industry's insistence that we obviously should have.)
Me: Well everybody's families are a little different. Everybody has lots of different people in their family.
M: No, I mean, do some peoples' grandmas die?
(Oh.) Me: Well some people's grandparents are in Heaven, yes.
M: Oh. *Silence* For how long?
Me: Forever, sweetie.
M: But they weren't always. Like I wasn't always in Heaven, I came from Heaven and I was in your tummy and then I was born.
(Oh, boy.) Me, wondering where this new theory came from: Ok, yes, but God kind of decides when people are going to be born and when they die.
M: When did God decide I would be born?
Me: *SMILE* On your birthday!

M: Does God tell you that, like when the baby's going to be born?
Me: Yep, you definitely know when the baby's going to be born. Unless you're Mommy, and then you swear up and down you're not in labor cause it doesn't hurt that much and miss your chance for an epidural.
M: What?
Me: Nevermind.
M: And then WHERE do you go? You go to the hospital to get the baby out of your tummy? Is that where you go then?
Me: Yep.
M: Did you know it was time for me to go into your tummy?
Me: Uh, sure! Hey, look, blueberry bushes!

M: Oooh! ...Mommy? ...where were you when God decided to put me in your tummy?

Me, totally copping out: Hey, I have Capri Suns, who wants one?
M: ME! Can you get the straw?
Me: Next traffic light, I'll get the straw.

(A few miles later)

M: Ok, when does God think I'll die?

That and a dollar will buy you a cup of...

2011-07-05T23:55:00.000-07:00

Having come out of the I. T. closet last summer, let's move on to a favorite poison:

So I rushed around a bit this morning, but I finished my first cup (and by "cup", I mean giant mug that holds what my coffee maker thinks is about 3 cups) while checking email. In my hurry out the door, I poured myself a thermos full, at least another 3 cups worth, with some cinnamon bun creamer. Not having a real chance to drink it till much later in the afternoon, I enjoyed my still hot coffee around 2:30 or 3:00.

And here it is, 11:30 PM, and I'm still going strong. This is a regular deal for me, sleeplessness. Then, like many, I pay the next day. Darn you, coffee!

Not being one of those people who can have a cup and a little later, have a good night's sleep, I wonder: Should I just give it up?
Crazy talk!
Perhaps try to better regulate when I have it, cut myself off at noon, for instance?
But at 2:30 in the afternoon, it's only 2:30 in the afternoon! Bedtime is so far away, and there's nice warm coffee that tastes like a Cinnabon in my thermos...no dice.

My favorite mug holds 4 cups, while we're counting.

Let's not get into the headaches, the cravings, the last-minute stops at Dunkin Donuts that have admittedly made me late for work. I, a 5AM waker on the weekdays, have actually gotten up earlier than I had to on a Sat-ur-day, to make myself a cup; I had to cure the headache, then going on my merry, sleep-deprived way.

Oh, and please don't mention the word "decaf".

That's kind of like saying "Tofurkey" at Thanksgiving.

It's funny stuff, this wonder-drink. Coffee has many health benefits, but it messes with us so.

It's been proven to help with diabetes, but many in the diabetic community swear it off because it visibly messes with your blood sugar, day to day. I know it messed with mine. I loved it anyway.

Many of us girls cut it out completely when trying to get pregnant, because we're cautioned by our obstetricians. To quote my OB, "If caffeine has been linked to miscarriage at any level, why have any of it?" I did not partake when pregnant with Miss M. I waited till the 2nd trimester with when pregnant with E. I'm not made of stone.

It's also good for those seeking antioxidants, concentration skills, and let's not forget those trying to enjoy the experience of downing a Cinnabon without actually driving to the mall and consuming 700 calories.

It's my headache cure; my warm, comforting cup of happy familiarity.

Who's with me?

Forgive the massive wide-screen video messing with my sidebar.
It's all in the name of...

8 Years (and one week)

2011-07-02T07:59:00.000-07:00

I'm pink, he's blue. (I hate pink, but we'll go with it to avoid confusion.)

It's about 11:00 at night. It's a school night, and I swear we're seldom this sarcastic to each other. Usually.
"Hey, so I need you to think about your first impression of me, and maybe something like when you realized you wanted to marry me. "
"Ok...why?"
"Blog. Haven't written in forever. And it's anniversary time."
"Why does YOU blogging mean I have work to do?"
*smile* "Oh, so thinking about the beginning of our relationship is WORK now?"
"Well when you put it the way you put it..."
"HOW did I put it?"
"You said, 'I need you to', like 'I need you to put out the garbage.'"
"Well now that you mention it..."
*sigh* "Really? Right now?"
"Pft! No."

So, 8 years. And one week. And 4 days. Ok, so I'm a little late on the anniversary post! Hey, I'm very easily distracted, and somebody's been teething. Guess which one of us?

Media, social circles, and other blogs have confirmed for me lately that a solid marriage is not something to be taken for granted. Plus, I read a blog post that confirmed for me that it's apparently passé to gush about your spouse. But since when have I been even remotely cool?
At the risk of nauseating people...
8 years! We're very lucky to have lives that blend easily, being in the same profession. We so seldom argue that a spat we had in front of his siblings (about forgetting to buy sour cream for fajitas) is still discussed a year later, as if it were a epic, vase-throwing, deal-breaking event.
We do bicker. Definitely. Mostly because I backseat drive, and he nit-picks.

But 8 years, last week! Whoo-hoo! Nobody has thrown anything that I recall, including vases of sour cream.

So June 21st, 2011, we went out for a diner breakfast, E had her physical therapy eval, and we played Just Dance Wii in the basement with the kids. How romantic! Pop the champagne!
We did have an awesome weekend away for a friend's wedding out of state, sans children, last month. We were Bob-n-Meg, surrounded by some lovely college friends who knew us back when we started becoming Bob-n-Meg. Hubby was still the cute guy in the trumpet line there, too. Ok, trumpet quintet. We were very wrapped up in each other, loved the wedding festivities, and it was bliss. And you should have seen the tiny black purse I carried. A diaper literally could not have fit inside! So that was how we celebrated our 8 years together.

The thing is... it's actually an 11-and-half year thing, 12 years in September.
I was 18 when I met Bobby. He was a friend of a friend of a friend (the degrees of separation went: Me, to next-door hallmate Jaime, to her Euro band tour friend Rachel, to her county band friend Scott, to his next-door hallmate, Bobby). Our burgeoning circle of friends would walk to and from the band field together. He was big, tall, and darn cute up there in the trumpet line. So naturally, I asked him out.
Actually, I asked him if he wanted me to pick up his band gloves for him. He was scheduled to be at work in the dining hall during the time that the band manager was available to hand gloves out. I believe I then sheepishly pumped Scott for info about the boy. And yes, Scott, I may have said my roommate was the interested party. All's fair in love, yadda yadda... After finding out his dorm and phone number for drop-off purposes (am I a smart cookie or what?), I brought them over, and asked him out.

And got promptly shot down in favor of a computer game tournament.

Some guys at another college were going to hook computers up to big screen TVs, or somesuch crap, and try some of that new, online gaming! And he'd already told his roommate he'd go along!! And yes, I walked out of that dorm with a clear "NEVERMIND, dork!", (in my head) for that boy.

Ok, clearly things worked out anyway.
But how wonderful to be able to say that I offered to pick up his band gloves, and in return, I got this life. We literally grew up and became adults together, and I've always thought that is part of why we work. We ended up experiencing it all; college, jobs, apartment, flat tires, broken-down moving trucks, houses, babies, first words, first steps, hospitals, more jobs, lay-offs, dishes, laundry, bills, tears, and so many laughs, always as a team. I wanted to get T-shirts, but noooo...

Fortunately for our future kids, Bobby talked me up a few days after I wrote him off, back in September of '99. I had dropped my roommate's book bag off to her while she was working in the dining hall...where it turned out Bob was also working that evening. I was two lessons into Music Theory and I was already ~~completely sucking at it~~ beginning to struggle. He offered to let me come over (he had a keyboard) and help me sort out the submediant from the subdominant chords on some assignment. Or something.

We were still talking at 2:30 in the morning. I've always thought it's a darn good sign in any type of relationship if you never run out of things to talk about. He and I have yet to shut up.

While we did not get much Theory done that evening, the fact that I passed that class at all is a testament to hubby's teaching skills, even then.

So Happy Anniversary to my hubby, who is still my cute guy in the trumpet line, but with so much more going for him today. I'm so grateful for you, babe; for your help with Theory homework, for the way you rock babies to sleep and talk with me way later than we should stay up and talk, and for your new but unwavering ability to make sure we always have sour cream for fajitas.

Why?

2011-06-26T13:07:00.000-07:00

... does Wegman's have to be so expensive and far away? I'm experiencing a physiological need for their humus. Now.
... do I bother picking up the toys?
... am I just finding out about Vitamin String Quartet now?

... do the mosquitoes ignore my husband and feast on me?
... can't I go back in time and tell myself that it'll all work out and to just chill? And to get a hairtcut.
... do I get this awesome family, these wonderful kids and hubby? Seriously, was I really good in another life? Love it.
... is reality TV so popular, other than mass schadenfruede?

... do I bother corraling the toys into neat little bins in other rooms?
... am I lucky enough to have such good friends as the friends I'm lucky enough to have?
... do I slather sunscreen on my children, thinking fearfully of my own father's melanoma, and yet forget to wear it myself? Ouch.
... are the toys multiplying like rabbits?

... does Max wait to go ask out at the back door until the minute I sit down?
... does Google come up with the most off-the-wall completions to questions when all you've typed is "Why"?
... did I not notice that I was clearly stung by something big and horrible (this is no mosquito bite!) until after I was done power washing and the merciless itching started?

Nasty thing.

... have I not fully appreciated the simple joys of coloring, splashing, floating, play-dohing, reading, painting, baking, sleeping, talking, and playing... in months?
...can't it always be summer?

Happy Anniversary.

2011-05-28T07:30:00.000-07:00

Dear duPont Cardiac Unit,

Thank you.

Link love:

A. I. duPont Hospital for Children, Cardiac Center

Ronald McDonald House of Delaware

Post from 5/31/10: "PDA Ligation: Our Attempt to Keep Life More Interesting"

In Response to WorkitMom.com Blog: "Is Your Spouse Your Best Friend?"

2011-05-25T19:00:00.000-07:00

Original post by WorkitMom.com blogger Angella.
This is what happens when you start to comment on a post and can't stop.

Unequivocal YES.

I do see where critics of this situation might be coming from; trouble could arise if your (healthy, complete, fabulous) relationship with your husband is your only true closeness with another adult human being. At some point, you will have to tap another resource for a sympathetic ear, or an outside perspective. Or girl talk. One person can't be your be-all and end-all for every aspect of your life, all the time.
You could run the risk of draining them dry, or talking them deaf.
And me? I love to chat
Ask my Best Friend.

The Little Project and her fun-filled first year left little room for frivolous things like friends. And television, reading, or personal interests beyond keeping the house from falling down. Then there was the fun of school budget cuts and job-changing; talk about drained! I had no time or desire left for social engagements or cultivation of non-familial relationships. I should definitely mention that for many years I've been lucky enough to have some fabulous work friends with whom I must make a point of connecting with out of work more often! Other than that? Friends? Eh. Busy! Ok, maybe on facebook.
All that time, I never felt deprived. Hubby fits me so well, I didn't notice a gap.

However, I'm rediscovering the beauty of conversing with amazing, admirable women who are walking similar paths as I, in different sandals. And I do love the girl talk. So as not to be thought sexist, I'll add that now and then I get to count an admirable man,usually a Daddy or teacher buddy, as a friend, and I love that too. As long as I need not feign interest in sports. Or be mocked when I drink a beer and get bright red cheeks. In both cases, the extra fun and validation as a friend, mom, woman, teacher, you name it, is priceless.
So too are the extra-marital friends (wait, that sounds wrong...), be they old friends from years ago, co-workers, or parenting compatriots.

Hubby isn't the social butterfly I am; I won't befriend just anyone, but I'll sure as heck chat them up. And like Angella, I don't at all feel that my crazy, near-telepathic connection to my husband inhibits my connecting with kindred spirits on other levels.
Honestly, I think the spouse/Best Friend role is in a different category than that of the traditional Best Friend(s). Like "snow" in the Inuit language, there should be completely separate terms for the two.

Husband has been and remains always my first "I have to tell ____" person. I think he should be. He is my consultant, my sounding board, and absolutely the Best Friend I could have wished for. I've written a handful of times about how I've hit the Husband and BabyDaddy jackpot.
If my friend-obsessed, teenager self could see me now? I like to think she'd be darn happy with my circumstances, all around.

But I can understand why someone might be concerned about having only one bucket to pour your heart out into.
Hubby has a lot of his own heart to carry!

Oh, wow.

2011-05-22T11:37:00.000-07:00

It's mid-late May. Thus begins the "one year ago today" posts, because this was a giant week for my family last year. Happy anniversary of the younger one's heart surgery! I'll be thinking of nothing other than how darn stinkin' lucky we are, all week.

So I was going through old pictures, cleaning up, and I found this one of a year ago TODAY, May 22, 2011.
And this is how that week started out: Ellie's first taste of rice cereal. (Via spoon. She'd had it in the bottle for months, reflux kid that she was.)

This was right before her congestive heart failure business suddenly got worser than worse, and we called and were listened to beautifully by her cardiologist and pediatrician.

Even here, this baby is too pale, too weak and inactive.

To me, anyway. I like my kids rosy.

If I look at the video as I used to analyze her, studying her breathing motions, I can see that even here she's panting. NOW, I see it, anyway.

Hindsight is 20/20, yadda yadda. Wow.

This is her on Easter, 2011.

Yeah. I know I'm the mom, but am I the only one having a "Wow" moment?

*Thank you, thank you, thank you God, & multiple doctors and nurses,

for this gorgeous pink, comfortable baby.*

Ok, there, I'm done. At least till later this week when I get all nostalgic about this all over again.

Of course we video'ed her first spoon feeding, since no grandparents were around. Disclaimer: not for those easily disgusted by mush.

Walmart formula, and other ways I jipped my children

2011-05-13T13:41:00.001-07:00

No. Not really.

Warning: this is NOT one of those "Breast Isn't Really Best" posts.
Because breastfeeding definitely is, most of the time, for most people. There's nothing wrong with those posts; for one thing, they're reassuring to women like my former self. You see, some of us beat the emotional crap out of ourselves when, for whatever reasons, we ended up bottle-feeding our children. It is nice to hear that we're not, you know, deadbeat moms. I'm just not going there right now. Oops, too late...

This post basically boils down to two things:
Companies that, in the name of sales, throw guilt and fear at new mothers. Because new moms have NONE of their own... AND
Me being cheap.
See, I don't like spending money I don't need to spend. Unless it's on coffee. Or shoe sales. Or MP3s of Dar Williams songs I haven't heard since high school. After Miss M's birth I was pretty torn up about the loss of the bonding that we'd supposedly never achieve over a bottle. She's definitely a Daddy's girl, but I can't get her off my lap with a crowbar some days. I think we're good. Even moreso, I was freaked about the cost of the liquid gold that is Name Brand Formula. At the time of Mad's birth, I didn't know there was any other kind.

Think for one minute about all the formula advertising mommies are subjected to: packets of coupons in the mail, free diaper bags, free bottles, keepsake books with the formula brand slapped all over it. My friend even got a giant Similac teddy bear! Not that I'm at ALL jealous.
Way cooler than the freebie bag I got. I would have actually opted to use this, even over my trusty college bookbag.

I distinctly remember reading that only (fill in the Brand Name Formula) has the something-something in the right combinations my baby needed to blah blah blah...
Obviously, you want everything to be just right, as good as it can be, for your new baby. With all the propaganda that expectant and new moms digest, no wonder we go home with the free can of the expensive stuff, find that our baby takes it beautifully, and never look back. If we did glance back, we'd notice that at the bottom of the grocery store shelf there are formula cans that retail for less than half of The Good Brand. With the exact same contents as the $20+ can we just tossed in our cart.

As in all grocery departments, if it's the same stuff with a plainer label and costs less, I will try it at least once. And guess what? Walmart, Target, Walgreens, everybody makes their own formula. Turns out they're pretty much all made by the same company. So guess what I (eventually) tried, pretty much when the Similac coupons ran out?
Pssst! Don't tell my kids' perspective colleges - I fed them Walmart's home brand!

Surprise! Miss M is fine. Better than fine. We'll go with "generally healthy" and "too darn smart for anyone's good". Both my girls were on weird formulas after a while anyway, but if not for the messed-up-heart and messed-up-stomach things, E would never have tasted a drop of the pricey stuff. And her pricey stuff was prescription.

I therefore found it so cool to read on a blog I follow that PBM Products, the makers of infant formula for major chain stores like Walmart, Target, Walgreens (the big three generics of my children's lives), won a false-advertising lawsuit against the makers of Enfamil.

Headline:

Mead Johnson, Maker of Enfamil, Loses Multi-Million Dollar False Advertising Case Against Store-Brand Infant Formulas.
Store-brand formulas found in federal court to be nutritionally equivalent to and confer the same developmental benefits as the more expensive national brands.

Full Press Release Here.

Why, with all the other "shoulds" I got about feeding Miss M, did I never hear from her pedicatricans, "Hey, guess what? You can feed your baby that non-fancy, no-name stuff and she'll be great anyway!" Why was this never discussed?

Because they pediatricians didn't want the free Enfamil pens to stop?

Because they wanted to pretend I was really a good mom, and was of course breastfeeding even though I said "bottle" when they asked?

Because, truthfully, I never asked?

Oh well.
That U. S. Circuit Court judge just schooled Enfamil.

Always the teacher, I'm pertetually looking for a good future lesson; what could this turn of events teach us?

That you never know if you'll like something new until you try it?

That "expensive" does not equal "better"?

That a pretty package doesn't mean a better product (or person)?

That the savings on a couple $10 cans of Parent's Choice equals a bunch of Dunkin Donuts trips and a new pair of flip-flops?

Meg and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Morning

2011-05-06T09:07:00.000-07:00

I swear I remember Shannon doing this post already.
Every Mommy Blogger has probably done this post.
But whatever, I'm not made of ideas over here.
And I too LOVE Alexander.

Disclaimer: I am amazingly blessed. Crazy-lucky. I should be posting that my life 99% rocks, not whining about one bad morning.

That said...who doesn't need a good cathartic kvetch session now and then?

"I went to sleep with with gum in my mouth and now there's gum in my hair."
(Ok, unlike Alex, I didn't, and there isn't. But there were gloomy, sticky thoughts in my head upon waking up on this busy Thursday at 5:30 AM, that's for darn sure.)

When I got out of bed I tripped on the dog and like every weekday I had to go exercise on that elliptical torture device right then and I hate exercise and I ran out of Big Bang Theory episodes on DVD to watch while I exercise and Bob overslept so we were running late and I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

At breakfast not only did I have to make everybody's breakfast, but I also had to set out paints and paper for Miss M to make Mother's Day cards for the Great-Grandmothers because apparently everybody calls their grandmother "Grandma" so I couldn't find any suitable cards for our great-grandmothers of various titles and so I had the brilliant idea that I'd have her make them, mail them, and be done with it. No, I did not think about the fact that the paint wouldn't dry before I left. No, I did not think of using crayons. Do I look like an Art teacher to you? Miss M wanted to paint before I had the stuff (and breakfast) ready, and proceeded throw a 0 to 60 meltdown because I had gotten out finger paints instead of water colors.
I think I'll move ot Australia. Or Germany. Germany was cool.

I got dressed and Bob started getting the stuff for the Meltdown Kid, giving her what she was crying for (or something) and I got annoyed that he was rewarding her for throwing a fit. Then I got really annoyed that we were running late and he was worrying about paint and we started bickering in general about encouraging meltdowns and running late and why I thought we shouldn't send Mothers' day cards to great-grandparents because we already do Grandparents' Day cards. We were then all-out fighting and we almost never fight unless I'm backseat-driving (and driving him crazy) and I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
Again, going to Australia. Or Greece.

I gave up on the cards and still managed to forget to comb Miss M's hair.

I left late despite getting no usual morning stuff done, having had no nice breakfast table family time, and I love nice breakfast family time.

I was on my way to my Thursday school, and I hate certain aspects of my Thursday school, including having to haul baskets of early childhood instruments around because often these instruments go crashing and spilling all over my van and I find them under the seats after I needed them in class.

Traffic was ridiculous and I ended up being late.

I turned a sharp corner and my basket of egg shakers and my basket of finger cymbals went crashing and spilling all over my van. Again.

I had to crawl into the backseats, pick up the instruments, and pray I'd gotten enough out from under my seats so that each kid could still have one all at once and that meant I was later still, and my Thursday school leaves you with the feeling that your every screw-up is being watched like a screwing-up hawk.

These. Completely covering the floor of my car. Hooray, how colorful.

I discovered that I had a stain on my shirt, exactly on my right, uh, chest.
How appropriate and stylish.

I went to set up the stage (I teach on the spacious stage and love it because it sure as heck beats Kindergarten bodies bumping into each other for 50 minutes in their classrooms) and found that it was covered in tables and those tables were covered with flowers, and nobody had bothered to tell me that my "classroom" was now the Mothers' Day Flower Sale room. I know who booked that, and didn't tell me, and I hope that person sits on a tack or has their ice cream cone fall, or whatever other evils Alexander wished on his ex-best friend Paul.

I discovered that I'd forgotten about my iPod. Who needs an iPod? (Well, I do, usually, because I like my lesson to flow without CD-shuffling or track-finding.)

I couldn't find any friends there who weren't teaching and I had the urge to seek a little friend humor/sympathy via text message when I realized that I don't have any friends who are on a conversational-text-whenever basis with me, who wouldn't also be teaching at that time and wow, my circle of friends is narrow. I really wanted somebody to talk to, who would get it, so I could say that "I am having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day." But I couldn't, so of course, no one even answered.

I discovered that I had another stain on my shirt, this time on the left side.
Oh good.

I left my phone in the Band and Orchestra room and I was stuck down in Kindergarten for two classes in a row so I couldn't text my hubby and tell him that I was so sorry that I'd been the queen of the you-know-whats that morning and that I missed him.

A boy in one of my Kindergartens had apparently bathed in $2 cologne that morning, and though I never get aggravated by that stuff, it hit me like a ton of brick histamines and I could barely stop coughing enough to teach and then my throat hurt like crazy from the coughing.

I heard from teacher friends that all teachers in my district are not going to find out what our (potentially drastically) different assignments for next year will be until next Friday, the 13th, at exactly 1:30, and yes, they mean it, no leaks this time. I know I am so very lucky to have an assignment for next year, but seriously?
I am going to lose my mind waiting for next Friday at 1:30.

The teacher's lunchroom was empty during my lunch at 10:20 (Yes, 10:20, that way I can be on the playground for my other "important" job, see below!), and I hate eating by myself, so I ate like a sad sack in my car so I could at least listen to the radio.

The teachers all got an hour lunch for Teacher Appreciation Week, except I couldn't take one because certain people wanted me out on the playground for "organized Music games" and all I could think was that next Thursday, instead of the playground for an hour and fifteen freakin' minutes of glorified lunch duty, I would love to go to Australia.

And actually, the rest of the day was fine.
With the exception of the cologne smell in the Kindergarten room.
So that's why it was just a Very Bad "Morning".

I got home, my family had a quick & easy dinner, cleaned up, and had a lovely evening playing on the front lawn.
Again, I'm a very lucky girl, and I really have no need to move to Australia.

On the other hand, WOW did a sucky morning like that catch me off guard.

But some mornings are like that. Even in Germany, or Greece, or Australia.

Take Your Child to Work Day

2011-05-03T19:00:00.000-07:00

So, the official day was Thursday April 28th, but I was permitted to bring my older child to work yesterday. Why? Because I work in a child-centered, family-friendly environment with people who have and/or love kids. Because, in the interest of helping further her education, one of my colleagues wanted to run the Developmental Reading Assessment (DRA) on her, to aide us in selecting early reader books. (Because on Thursdays I teach at a different (scary-different) school. Because I do as I'm told, try to be pleasant, and never say no to a song-for-this-event request. Because my most immediate boss is a mommy, and she gets it.)
That's why.

So we parked in the teacher's lot, we hit the office to get my mail, and away we went:
First up was a quick morning recorder lesson during homeroom with a First grader who is getting some Music enrichment. This admittedly princess-like child will forever be etched in Miss M's blonde head as "the girl who looks like Tianna", and we do have a thing for the princesses still. We saw her later, and will probably talk about her for weeks.
Then a 2nd grade class came in. I was so busy hauling out bass xylophones I forgot tell Miss M what to do. She silently sat with the kids on the flip form risers...these things:

*Damn it, lost part of my post in editing. Never edit the next day. Recap below.*

We began our class the usual way. The solfeg scale, warm-ups, and attendance (I make 'em match pitch every day with attendance-taking. Because I'm sneaky. Wa ha ha.) and our song for the day was Teresa Jennings's "Spring, Spring, Spring". Yes, it's a pun, great horn parts, and the kids love mimicing playing them. By this time I had forgotten that I'd brought my daughter to school that day. There were eighteen 2nd graders and one Miss M in here, and if not for the height difference I would have had to hunt for her like Waldo.

The main part of their lesson was a quasi-Orff thing (singing, xylophones, movement, repeat. Basically) and she did what they did, for the most part. The only tantrum threat was the end of class: I asked them to line up. My daugther lined up in the middle of them, and they all walked out. Oops.

I had to run and explain to her that she coudn't go to their classroom with them, because I had a bunch more classes to teach, and they were going to go to Math class. The tears started welling up...but just then my 5th grade teacher friend Robin came by with a box of Dunkin Donuts munchkins. That took care of that nicely. Thanks, girl!

The rest of my morning classes went the same way, and late in the morning my 1st grade teacher friend came to take her for the DRA thing. Miss M went off with her nicely, but I had my doubts that she'd actually focus long enough in a beautifully furnished 1st grade classroom to take the DRA.

Debbie brought her back with a little paperwork and the question,

"Does she ever stop?"

No.

No, she doesn't.

Until you want her to go. Then, watch those heels dig in.

Turns out Debbie could get her to show comprehension skills up to a 10, though her actual reading level was a little higher. 10 is about mid-1st grade level, as she explained it to me. I was grateful to have this information, and the added bonus of having another education professional confirm that my darling daughter has the attention span of a happy gnat.

But whatever. She's 4.

Then it was time for lunch. Miss M of course wanted to eat in the cafeteria. She parked her PB&J right next to my little recorder buddy from homeroom, and munched away. That's fine. I adore this student.

I wonder what this girl would charge to mentor my daughter.

Then we headed to the gym for a co-taught 5th grade thing with my P. E. teacher buddy. We were having them compose a dance in groups, then challenging them to try out the new, giant mass-Twister mat.

It sort of worked.

Good stuff, paint-stained socks.

Now then: my Fifth grade at the end of the day Monday is a challenging group. (They could frustrate you to tears if you weren't thick-skinned, let's put it that way.) Half are too cool for school, the other half haven't shut up since the day they started school. Bad combo. Yeah, yesterday? They were insanely well-behaved. They begged my daughter to sit with them, then proceeded to participate gorgeously. I had a kid who has not sung on pitch for me in literally years belt out a perfect pattern during attendance like he had been doing it every week since First grade. Honestly, I had thought he was tone deaf. Turns out he was just waiting to impress my 4 year old kid.
SPEAKING of how old Miss M is...yeah, it's starting already. *sigh* The wrong boys.
Their teacher brought these 5th graders in and we both gasped at who Miss M sought out and plopped down next to. Hmmm...which young man would my daughter want to chit-chat with?
Who catches her attention?
THAT boy. The bad boy.
5th teacher: "Of all the - is she sitting with - ?"
Me: "Wow..she can pick 'em already."
5th teacher: "Lock her up, Meg."
Greeeaaaaat. She stayed at his side through all of our usual opening stuff, getting books, singing the song from Ghana, and I separated them when I counted out everybody as either a "1" or a "2".
Oh, goodie. ;-)
But they all adored her:

All in all, she had a great day, impressed the Hell out of me, and got to play on the new playground.

We seem to have more friends with slightly older children, and I must compare her to these older kids a lot. In fact, just this weekend I was frustrated to find that she wouldn't cooperate with a party game that the older girls were having a ball playing.
I have to remind myself that 1) my expertise is only with big kids and 2) she's a little kid still.
But WOW, did she make a good elementary student for one day.

And she set up a killer drum set before she left.

On Being THAT Flower Girl's Mum

2011-05-01T10:59:00.000-07:00

Yeah, yeah, the kiss, modern fairy-tale...

I'll give it to you, it's very sweet.

I watched the highlights.

My little sister's wedding was last month, and at it Miss M was a "moderately" cooperative flower girl.

So this lovely image just speaks to me.

I figure half the mothers of preschool-aged girls out there were horrified upon seeing little Grace Van Something ("Mummy! You said their'd be cake! And it's my naptime!) stealing the show from the royal British make-out session.

Wow, Wills, save it for the honeymoon, you dog!

They were probably pitying this fed-up little girl's poor mum.

The other half of us are still chuckling to ourselves because, though our experience wasn't globally televised (Thank GOD!), we've already been this flower girl's mother.

Somebody tell Grace Van Nappytime's mum:
she's now in our club.

To cut, or not to cut?

2011-04-28T18:18:00.000-07:00

NO, I am not talking about school.

I am no longer a high school senior, registered for a lot of "study hall" in the Band room.

Somebody might notice if I skipped class tomorrow.

The big one. Her hair. That's what I'm considering cutting. CHOPPING, actually.

Considering the combing and tolerance invested, shouldn't this be down to her butt by now?

Last fall "we" decided "we" would grow it out, including letting her bangs grow. In reality, I decided to grow it out, then I got stuck dealing with the clusterBLEEP that is now "hair time". We can rest assured that my girl has both her father's low tolerance for pain, and, if she learns the language, a promising career as one of those sobbing women in Spanish soaps.

Bangs looked cute on her as a toddler. She's got ~~anaphylactic chipmunk cheeks~~ a sweet, round face. I thought growing them out might look nice and have an elongating effect.
She gets lots of compliments on her naturally curly hair. When it's sprayed with a pint of detangling stuff, combed out, wetted down, sprayed again, combed again, and restrained by hair accessories, that is.
And the grown-out bangs?
In reality, these chunks of thick dark-blonde frizz hang in her eyes, attract food particles, and make themselves a general nuisance. BUT again, there's the CUTE factor. We can just now pull off pig tails, with the aid of bobby pins or barrettes. The possibilities...

Backstory: This is apparently karma at work. As a child, I had very long hair at 3, and for one reason or another, by 5 it was as short as a boy's. This would be the origin of my Uncle Gene's pet name for me: "boy".
Charming.
But WOW do I get where my own mother was coming from.

I know, I'm supposed to give it more time, have patience, etc. Unfortunately, I don't have time, energy, patience, you-name-it. I look at some of my friends' little girls, with long silky hair down their backs and my jaw slackens in awe. Check that, it's their mothers who I look at in awe. The little cuties themselves don't have to brush it, they just have to be adorable.

Handsome hubby has expressed many times how much he likes short hair (on me, for one thing, but also on the elder offspring). It's getting hot. Miss M has awakened at night several times batting the froufy mess out of her face and whining. She has expressed that she now wants "short hair like Susie" instead of "long hair like Mary" (the names of these girls have been changed to protect the cutely-coiffed innocents). It would be So. Much. Quicker. in the mornings.

On the other hand, we've come this far. (Doesn't seem very far!) Her hair has lovely natural highlights and when grown out for a few years it'll probably settle down to a nice, thick, wavy mane. It's not even all one length yet! I should give it a chance and then let her decide, it's her appearance. I would have killed for long hair as a child of just about her age. Princesses have long hair! On the other hand, April O'Neil...

Here's where we were:

Last summer, when "hair time" was an admittedly simpler time.

Here's where we were this morning:

See the face? Yeah, that's as smiley as we get after "hair time".

So...pretend this is your kid's head.

Keep in mind that you have to both look at it, listen to other people's opinions about it, and also do the maintenance yourself.

Opinions please:

To cut, or not to cut?

Just Playing with Paper Dolls

2011-04-26T10:28:00.000-07:00

Thank you, Buzzfeed! Until the Disney empire finds out and sends the take-down order...I stumbled upon a website with which you can turn yourself into a Disney Princess-esque beauty!

Completely up my older child's alley, right? Well honestly, I can't decide if I should introduce this to Miss M or not. On one hand, it looks amazing, it's beautifully done, and the combinations are endless. The Handsome Hubby has rehearsals or tech crew gigs every night this week; I could use the diversion this inevitably would become for my princess-obsessed tot. WHEN do they get over the princess thing? Well, look at all the nuts going NUTS for the royal wedding. Soooo... never?

What a fun online toy!

On the other hand...talk about your mixed messages, your objectification of women, your...you're going against everything I strive to one day teach my daughters about body image and self-acceptance! Choose Body 1 for "severely emaciated", or choose Body 2 for "she hit the Tastykakes, but she's still skinnier than Barbie". Remember, women only have one of these two bodies.

The princess's boobs are another story; disproportionately large and in charge (we are talking about the online paper doll's, not Kate Middleton's). Yep, my girls could aspire to those, given their genetics. Atta girl, Princess Busty Le Roux.
Oh, and make sure you throw in a heapin' helping of lace-up corsets in the wardrobe options, too!
Ok, if lace-up corsets were a) any degree of comfortable and b) any degree of socially acceptable...I'd throw one on. Cause that's pretty hot and this Mommy's body wasn't "Barbie" BEFORE these two kids.

Hmmm...Taking another look:
OH, the hair choices. The color-coordinated accessories! The ability to make a Belle look-alike with green hair!
This could be love.

Yes, we may be playing onilne paper dolls tonight. What? I'll get out the real paper dolls tomorrow, I swear. What I find so deliciously ironic is that in college I used the beta version of that South Park character creator to make just about everybody I ever knew, complete with eye patches and hands flipping you the bird.

Funny how you see everything in a completely new light when you're looking through the eyes of a mother.

Go make yourself Disneyfied. Share 'em if you can.

Click below:
Princess Maker at dolldivine.com

Oh, and here's Princess Meg. She's a little Gaelic/Celtic/Gorgeous. And she's got body #2, for the record.

What I Should Have Said

2011-04-25T18:12:00.000-07:00

Thank God my big one has the attention span of a hummingbird and my little one only understands about one third of what we say. My problem: too much TV, unchecked sarcasm, and the awareness that they're probably not hearing me anyway. I hope.

Yes, karma will get me good. But till then... a few of my Smart-Mouthed Mommy Gems:

Miss M asks if it's ok to marry a prince.

What I should have said: "That's a lovely dream, dear, but Daddy and I just want you to be happy."

What I said: "Oh good, an rich, in-bred putz for a son in-law."

We are on our way to Bob's grandmother's nursing home. Miss M asks why.

What I should have said: "Because we love her and we want to visit with her."

What I said: "Because we love her and I'm hoping it's good karma for when your kids can choose whether they'll visit me."

E is standing, clinging to the coffee table, desperately straining to reach the remote.

What I should have said: "Let me move it a little closer to encourage you! You can do it, sweetie!"

What I said: (while walking away) "Eye of the tiger, Bean. Remotes are for winners."

I requested that Miss M go get the mail from the mailbox at the end of the driveway while I stand inside in my PJs and "assist" from there. She complains that it's "too much to carry!".

What I should have said: "Just do your best, darling, I'm so happy you're helping me."

What I said: "You know that kids your age were working in mills not that long ago, right?"

It's 10:00 PM, and Bob and I finally have some time to-ge-ther, just the two of us. And Miss M wakes up yelling. I go to her, but we were butting heads that day and she says, "No, I like Daddy better."

What I should have said, "I know you're still angry and tired. I'll give you a hug and go get Daddy."

What I said (under my breath, I swear): "Yeah, well right now? I guarantee Daddy likes me better." ;-)

What do the 'experts' say?

"They're listening to every word you say"

"Every minute they're hardwiring for life."

...Oops.

Hey, if you can't have a little fun with this parenting thing, then what IS the point?

Comment/fb/or tell me your child-directed oneliners. Surely I'm not the only one.

Religious Inexperience

2011-03-27T17:43:00.000-07:00

A week ago I substituted for an injurred handbell choir member. No, not injured in the line of Bell duty. I got to do my pre-babies routine of arriving at 7:45 at church, ringing for the 8:30 service, hanging out with the bell choir (and E) over breakfast during Sunday School hour, and ringing for the 11:00 service.

I ducked out after we played the offertory for the late service, to spring the girls from the nursery. E was happy to see me and wanted the heck out because, sweet and expertly trained as those nursery mommies are, they are not HER mommy. Love it. Maddie didn't whine to high Heaven at the thought of leaving, this time. Bonus.

We headed home for lunch & naps, a playdate in the park on the afternoon's horizon.

When we turned onto our street I saw 3 carfulls of people in nice clothes with pamphlets in their hands, pointing to various houses on my street.

"Aw, man...".

The Jehovah's Witnesses were back in the neighborhood. And they love my doorbell.

Nosey-posey M immediately demanded to know what I was aw-maning.

"Nothing, babe."

Flash forward to lunch: Maddie is griping about naptime (Yes, I still make her take a rest. It's not for her sake. Wait, actually, it is.) Ellie is refusing to eat whatever I have on the spoon, because Maddie has chicken nuggets. The dog is barking to go out. And the doorbell rings.

"Aw, MAN!"

Obviously, we're home. They can probably hear my baby screeching. They can plainly see my dog through the front door's glass. But I sit there and set a lovely (bad) example by not being polite and answering the door. I just don't have it in me to be told that the kingdom of Heaven is at hand and that I should not accept blood transfusions. After 3 rings they stick something in the storm door and leave.

"Mommy, WHY didn't you get the door? Who's there?"

"Um..." What the heck, why not?

"People who want to talk to us about going to their church."

"What's their church?"

"Um..."

"Why don't we go to their church?"

"Cause we go to our church."

Silence. Chewing.

"Why don't they go to our church?"

Here's where I stumble a bit more.

"Cause they like a different kind of church."

"I wanna try their church!"

"Oy."

I explain to Mads that we go to our church because we like it. Our friends are there. She loves the nursery, she loves Sunday School, she loves...(fill in the blank, there's a bunch of 'em). And Daddy went there when he was younger, because he sang in the choir with some high school friends. You know, those nice, superficial yet oh-so-crucial explanations as to why we go to St. Paul's.

"But why can't my friends all go to their church?"

"Because they don't. They go to our church, because...um, that's where their families go."

"Don't worry Mommy, they can try it with me!"

"Honey, we go to St. Paul's, we like it there!"

"WHY?"

Oh my goodness.

How do you explain to a 4 year-old that while your personal ideology sometimes differs from the officially accepted church "laws", you look past those discrepancies because there are really wonderful elements of the place that benefit your family as a whole? In other words: I am less than ok with the more conservative views the Presbytery sometimes expounds. I'm just hoping they won't be covered in Sunday School for a while. After all, while visiting another church at around 8 years old, I was once told that TV was a tool of the devil and that I was going to Hell for watching the Ninja Turtles.

Oh yeah, reeeaaal satanic.

I'd love to tell Miss M...

That I was raised attending a Evangelical Lutheran church in which the (pretty liberal?) pastors explained, when we asked about mortal sin in Confirmation class, "God doesn't want you on Soul Police, just do what you know is ok with him." I. E., it is not your job to make rules, it's God's.
That I think it's those who loudly profess that they've got it more right than everybody else that are probably the most wrong.
That I'm not madly in love with organized religion's track record. Like many, I find the historical record of Christianity's silent or not-so-silent endorsement of the ill-treatment of women, slaves, gay people, pretty much everybody but white, straight, upper-class men... abhorrent.
That I love the Kevin Smith movie Dogma. A little bloody, but this mass media introduction to the concept of "ideas" over "beliefs" is brilliant. Chris Rock's character: "I think it's better to have an idea. You can change an idea. Changing a belief is trickier. People die for it, people kill for it."

And Alanis Morissette got to play God. Love.

That I have the hardest time with evangelism, particularly this door-to-door, face-to-face type, because it makes me wonder how someone can push what they believe to be an obviously correct, one-size-fits-all religion. Religion is way too personal to be sold like newspaper subscriptions and girl scout cookies.
That I'm half-way in it for the music anyway, because nobody has to debate the morality of a song written/sung/played in the name of God. It's just there, you can be glad for whatever beauty you find in it, and the nitty-gritty questions about who's right and who's immoral don't matter. And I think our church does the music thing pretty nicely!
That, while I love our church and church family, I don't agree with a few of the "rules", including the West Jersey Presbytery's rules for church elders' and pastors' personal lives. Lay off and be happy that someone's willing to lead your church. You have to know about their love life when they're reading the week's announcements? Really?? Get a life.
That maybe I'm letting religious ideals take a back seat to my parenting needs; I adore the feeling of warmth and the very palpable sense of the existence of one church family. Anybody's kid is everybody's kid.

E, enjoying the arms of highly trained grandma, Marian, on our Music team last summer. I was teaching the 1st graders at the time.

This is how she napped.

You can let your kids run off and play nearby and know that there are caring eyes everywhere, and good influences at all age levels. I am currently trying to bribe the young man who lead my daughter's VBS class last year to move up to the 4 year olds class this summer. He was wonderful, and I promised him a case of Redbull to get him through the week this year.
That there is nothing so freakin' cute in the world as my husband leading his weekly Music Time, doing the motions to little Sunday School songs while the older kids follow his gestures and the younger ones dance randomly on the chancel steps. Melt.

I've gotten no more in-depth with Miss M's religious education than general values. Be nice, share, etc.

Some day we will undoubtedly have to address deeper, darker stuff with our kids. While I know what we'll say, I'm wondering how our personal beliefs will jive with the curriculum of the Sunday School I hope they'll still be attending. We'll see what happens, it may be a non-issue.

I'm wondering what other people think about their personal values vs. their church experiences, and what it meant for their kids.

Val-U?

2011-03-24T17:34:00.000-07:00

Lifting from Workitmom.com blog post by Miss Britt. Because she's a smartie.

The question is: What's worth your money?
Really, what's worth the time you put in earning that money?

What would you honestly rather have than the time or dollars, and what's not worth the investment of YOU?
Britt's response was that she values, among other things, warmth. Quality warm clothes, and warm environments. Putting value on a tropical vacation to escape from New Jersey in March is sounding mighty fine this week. Snow? Really?
Excuse me while I grab a sweater.

What's really worth your hard-earned money?
A roof over the heads of me & mine. Dinner on table. Clothes, toothpaste, electricity, etc., yes, yes...

Me? Um, Dunkin Donuts coffee?

Ok, really? I buy my kids cheapo clothes, because they're only going to grow out of them, even if they do pass them on to someone else. Same with shoes. Payless and Target for me & hubby, shoe-wise. I've worked and conversed with women who would turn up an upper-middle class nose at that thought. On my KIDS' feet?? *Shudder*

~~Bob refuses~~ we refuse to buy smart phones and pay extra for data plans. Less concerned about the budget, I'm going along with that as a self-imposed guard against the delicious temptation of being online and available 24/7.

We do eat out about once a week, and we adore the diner.
We shop at Walmart, and we budget ~~obsessively~~ carefully for everything, down to the sub-category. . Ok, Bob does the budget, but I consent to it. "Anything can be accomplished with a spreadsheet.", that's my man.
I think the prices for Jersey shore houses are criminal.
I just had a scandalizing conversation with a work friend who thought $150 for a miracle swimsuit that makes you look 10 pounds thinner is a giant steal. Hmm, does it take 10 pounds off every limb, and cover me ankle to wrist? No? Put it back on the rack, baby.

It's only a miracle if I actually have this figure when I take it off, too.

I did, however, just drop $113 on French horn repair. $113 is not a really tiny drop in our ~~obsessive~~ household budget bucket. But part of my 30-something pre-midlife crisis is realizing that, while I initially didn't miss it, I used to get joy from this beautiful, creative outlet. And hey, the poor thing got neglected. Babies, they do that to instruments you used to play.

Meet my other "baby". Holton Farkas, H279.

We haven't hung out in a while.

We also bought ourselves a really "decent" memory foam mattress pad a few months ago.
When I do get to nod off, I like to do so with my back cradled by visco-elastic memory foam. Ahhhh!

I purposefully don't take extra clubs, camp jobs, or summer programs, for which I'd be paid nicely, because I'd rather have that piece of Summer than extra money. I will do them one day, when my kids aren't little kids. Right now, Summer is my taste of staying home with my babies.

So... personal creative fulfillment, sleep, and time to just be with my family, workstress-free. In the world of designer boots and dollar menus, that's what's worth my money.

I'm wondering what other people think is worth theirs.

Interview

2011-03-24T05:29:00.000-07:00

We'll say it's a developmental study of communication skills over the course of a 4-year period.
We won't say that it's been a while since I posted a video and the grandparents might be glad to see one of Maddie, for a change.

April 2007

March 2011

Wordless Wednesday:

2011-03-16T09:30:00.000-07:00

The Perilous Life of the Teacher's Child

2011-03-13T19:22:00.000-07:00

I'm not talking about tripping on the piles of papers Daddy brought home to grade. I'm not even going to mention the germs that Mommy carries home from fixing little fingers on recorders. Nor will we discuss being brought to evening school events and wondering why all the big kids are staring at you while calling your parent "Mr." or "Mrs." something. This is something much more sinister...

Don't let me near a group of children. I will have your unruly munchkins lined up and, and since it's my specialty, singing on pitch, in 2 minutes flat. Ok, I'll refrain, but damn will I want to. I quasi-humbly suggest here that the teacher mindset infiltrates and undermines your every parenting instinct. And it is not easy to turn off, just because your class has gone home for the day. The Teacher Stare Of Death? It gets results in restaurants, that's all I'm saying. As does the "I'm proud of you!" teacher smile.

My poor offspring are having their lives ruined by my students, and not just because their Mommy goes to work to play with other kids all day. Ooh, a little residual working-mommy guilt just leaked out! My poor older child has noticed a difference, right down to our daily routine...because I have a new ax to grind this year...

I have students who cannot zip coats or tie shoes, well past the acceptable age for assisted zipping and tying. Sometimes there are motor skill-related issues, or developmentally appropriate reasons for these troubles. And sometimes, the reason is called Mommy always does it for the little 7 year old darlin', so why would he know how to pop a straw in a juice box himself? Every day I come back from lunch duty with a new "Aw, HELL no!" bouncing around my head.

My goal is simply this: to abstain from doing as much as possible for my children that they could really do themselves. My kids need to be able to fend for themselves and know the pride of independence and a job well done, when they themselves are the big elementary students. My teacher brain is in constant communication with my mommy brain, and it's reminding her that these girls will one day be some other teacher's charge for 8 hours a day. In other words, that kid who needs everything done for her? Yeah, that best better NOT be my kid.

Confession time, since my last post felt so darn good: I may be sucking at this goal. I have no idea. My kids are four and one. My expertise begins at Kindergarten, and I still refuse to pick up a copy of What to Expect When You're a Bored Worrywort. I honestly have no clue what Miss M should be able to do for herself by now, and she is just that kind of kid who needs a gentle shove out of every nest..except the one marked "social interaction". She's good there. You pick your battles, but the coat and shoes thing seems like a sure bet. Oh, and my baby can find a paci in ANY bag and pop it happily. That's gotta count for something, right?

Hopefully. To give myself a little credit, an example of a semi-recent moment when I was pretty sure I was on the ball:

The scene is a social gathering for preschoolers. I run into a friend, who is also a teacher. Every preschooler has at least one parent in the room, and that parent is leaning above him or her, helping move pieces to the correct places on the game board in front of their child. Every preschooler, except two; my daughter, and my friend's child. My friend and I are standing away from the table, having set our kids up with a seat and a game, and are now talking school politics and pacifiers. Sodas in hands and babies on hips, we are not concerned that our older children may or may not have just placed their marker on the correct colored square.

I know, shocking. Sllllaaaacker mommies.

This is the teacher brain at work; There's 25 of you and one of me, so I'll give you what you need and you'd better do it yourself from there.

Surprise! Our children are actively engaged and having fun with the game, all by themselves.
My friend's kid won. Then they went to get juice boxes.
I did open the straw wrapper.

Coming Clean

2011-03-11T16:48:00.000-08:00

I have a box of Star Wars comic books under my bed. I was obsessed in grade school.

I wear my 2-week contact lenses until they bother my eyes so much that I rip them out at lunchtime and put on the old glasses in my desk. This way they last a month, at least.

I love Katy Perry.

I am still addicted to the internet; facebook in particular, because despite me & hubby slowly clawing our way back to the world of the living, it's how I stay connected.

I have bribed my older kid with candy on many an occasion to get her to try something new, like the Big Slide.

I effing hate playing Barbies.

Before I was surrounded with actual children 8 hours a day, I was sure I wanted sons.

I am so relieved to have daughters and would have no idea what to do with a boy.

When I find a song I like I play it to death and move on.

I took Maddie to MOMS club when she was 2 weeks old, despite pediatrician warnings that it was cold season and she could get sick, because I was already getting lonesome and itchy.

I would eat nachos every day. Every delicious day.

If we had the money, I would still teach Music in public school, but Bob would stay at home and be Mr. Mom, and I would LOVE that arrangement. But that's no secret.

My superpower would definitely be telepathy.

I think food additives, television, and video games combined are not nearly as potently capable of screwing up kids as are their own parents. And I'm a little scared of that responsibility.

I have the stubby-fingered hands of a boy; I cannot stand the sensation of nail-filing, and I think most fake nails would look, well, fake.

My only rules for work: 1. Do your job. 2. Be pleasant. 3. There should be jeans and bagels every Friday.

I believe that you never know a person until you see what they name their kid. Oh, what a cutie, what'd they name him? Really?

I will be making a dart board with a few governors' faces on it. Who wants a throw?

I have re-opened my old mental debate from high school... pro-con: finally getting that treble clef tattoo on my ankle. What? You never heard of a pre-midlife crisis?

I can kill an evening laughing myself crazy at snarky messages printed on baby onesies at cafepress.com

I have seen every episode of:

Star Trek, TNG
Scrubs
Golden Girls
Seinfeld
The Nanny
Gilmore Girls
And seasons 1-10 of The Simpsons. Because after that it started the shark-jumping process.

I should be at Walmart, grocery shopping, right now. But you gotta have priorities.

*************************************************
Well that was a cathartic one, as posts go.
Anybody else want in?

Thirty Something

2011-03-01T12:23:00.000-08:00

So...

Somebody...may or may not...

be turning...30.

Somebody who loves a good ellipsis.

Just saying, it's a possibility.

I've noticed a tendency for each birthday to hold less and less excitement for the birthday boy or girl, after the legal drinking age milestone. Not much of a drinker, 21 meant nothing more for me than the opportunity to order wine and have my cheeks turn a bright fushia inside restaurants, rather than at the occasional apartment party.
Oh wait. I did go buy beer with my roommate Brenda, who was a youngin' in our little circle of music friends, and underage.
We thought we were so bad. Sorry, Brendy, blew your cover.
I still only like Yuengling though. :-)
Yeah, 21 was not so monumental an occasion as was depicted in made-for-teen movies.

So, flash-forward 9 years...

People:
"What do you think of turning 30? Big deal?"
"You still haven't told me what you want for your birthday! Do you want a party, or do you want to keep it quiet?"
"Your birthday is coming - big 3-0! You and Bob going to go out?"

The usual interpretation of "going out", the "party" thing, is so 100% not me that I'm starting to wonder if it's being asked in jest. It seems that once upon a time, 30 was a big deal too. However, Americans in our generation are marrying and having children later than was done a generation or two ago; for women, the average age to be married is 25. 27 for men. Bob and I were 22 years old.

30 used to mean that you probably had work, wife, and children figured out. Used to. Nowadays, your thirtieth birthday could easily mean that you are just starting to think about maybe considering sorting it all out...next year. And that's cool too. It seems like one is expected to spend most of one's 20's in a bar. Yes, I realize I formed this perception mostly from sitcoms and friends' big talk. And no, I'm definitely not one for temperance. Whatever those margarita-colored things the girls below have look wonderful! But come on! Go out? Party?
Not exactly a "Woo!" girl over here. I do, however, love that episode of "How I Met Your Mother".

WOOOO!

I'm married with two kids, a minivan, and I teach elementary school.

I've been 30 since I was in my early 20's.

We lead pretty quiet lives, handsome hubby, Miss M, the Little Project, and me. "Quiet" being a subjective term, seeing as most of the time someone in our house is either dancing to loud music, storytelling with Barbies, or screeching. I don't know, pick one of us. When I'm told that I need to go out with "the girls" and "live a little", I call on my arsenal of "no thanks" decline lines. Using these excuses, I explain away the obligation to be somebody I'm not because my age starts with a two. I maintain that we're still coming out of 2nd-baby-with-a-heart-thing fog. Hubby isn't the social butterfly his elder daughter is, either, and he'd be quite happy hanging out at home or with a few friends. E still wails for a solid hour when you leave her at church nursery; calling a local teen to babysit so we can go "Woo" it up on weekends doesn't sound worth it...or even fun.

Definitely already 30-somethings, we are. Hell, I think we act like 40+ somethings on weeknights. So. Tired. Can't. Get. Off. Couch. Ooh! Let's watch last night's Colbert! Well hey, YOU go to bed late, get up at least once with small people who don't understand that you like sleep better than them at that moment, and then get up at 5:30AM the next day. I have to ~~not lash out at small children~~ be pleasant as part of my job. Me likey sleep.

So, "what do I think of turning 30?" Um, been there, done that.

This life is busy and occasionally overwhelming, but sweet. I can't imagine being in this exact spot in life, but ten years later, when I supposedly will have 10 years' less energy to my name. I hereby raise those with the patience and energy to do so to deity status. It ain't me. And besides, there are the LOVELY perks to being where I am on my 30th birthday. Babies' laughter, comfortable stability, partner who adores me, career figured out, blah blah blah.
The perks I'm talking about would fit in my response to Bob's inquiry regarding what I want to do for my birthday:

Me:
"I want to sleep till I wake up.
Then I want to go eat something ridiculously unhealthy for breakfast.
Then I want to go shopping without carrying a diaper bag or pushing a stoller, and buy stuff only for ME. Then I want to come home, have coffee, and curl up with a book.
Then I want to go out for Mexican with the family and not have to feed anybody tiny cut up pieces of anything.

Then I want margarita as big as my head."

Happy Birthday, Dear Ellie

2011-02-05T06:41:00.000-08:00

Slacker mommy.

Happy birthday and 4 days, Dear Ellie...

Well, today's her birthday PARTY, so it still counts.

Of course, for Maddie's 1st birthday we went nuts and packed the house with people. And this poor 2nd child gets close family only. Because Mommy and Daddy are burned, tapped, and partied out. And unlike Miss M., this kid doesn't subscribe to the notion that "a stranger is just a friend you haven't met". ("Streetcar!" Anybody? Anybody?) Yeah, E would just as soon have quiet to methodically empty containers of blocks all afternoon.

When I went back to read E's birth story, I was treated to such a familiar yet forgotten slice of reality, I ended up shaking my head in wonder. Ironic that my whiney little self experienced all that NICU, RSV stuff (let's not even get into the heart surgery stuff 3 months later), and yet I went on to complain about pathetic nuisances of today's daily life, like getting up at 5:30 on weekdays. Wuss.

I am So. Darn. Lucky. And my kiddo, she was a extremely lucky kiddo, as kiddos who grace intensive care units go. I remember seeing really truly tiny or sick babies in the NICU, beautiful daily reminders that it was a darn good thing that all my kid was really getting over was a bad case of jaundice and some breathing issues. I remember a nurse at duPont asking, "What are you here for? PDA? Pft! You'll be fine." Phew. Thanking God, family, friends, and medical professionals for this past year, with my whole sometimes-whiney heart.

So I thought I'd tell E just how fortunate she is, in case she wants to inherit Mommy's whiney streak later on:

Dear Ellie, (Ellie-Bean, Little Project, E, Sweet One)

When you were born, you had a few issues that most "normal" babies don't have. You couldn't breathe very well. Your liver, though it turned out to be ok, wasn't helping your body exactly like it should. Your tummy hurt and you threw up a lot. And your heart wasn't working like it should either. That was your biggest problem, as it turned out. With the help of some awesome doctors and nurses, your body started working fine in most ways after a while, and we were so grateful to have you home.

But your heart still didn't work quite right. It got worse. You got pale, you were tired all the time, and you couldn't stay awake enough to play, or to eat enough to be healthy. Your whole family was sad and worried about you. Our family helped us a lot by talking to us to make us feel better, and taking care of some things, especially big sister Maddie. When you were 3 1/2 months old, a doctor decided your heart wasn't going to get better on its own, and that you were getting sicker. So you were sent to a kid's hospital. The special doctors and nurses there made a cut on your back and fixed your heart (which is why you have that white line on your back, and a healthy heart today). It was scary at the time, but our family trusted the doctors, the nurses, and God that everything would be ok.

Don't ever fret about that little line left over from the cut on your back. You are lucky to have had this little cut, because it means your heart works better now. You are so very lucky to have been born in a time and a part of the world where there are great doctors and nurses who can do so much to help babies who get sick. Not everyone, everywhere is so lucky, and we need to remember that, and be thankful.

You have many, many people who love you; Mommy, Daddy, Maddie, Nana, Pop, Grammy, Granddad, Heidi, Uncle Nick, Aunt Cait, Aunt Laura, and lots of family members, church family, and friends. And Maxy Doggie loves you too. You drop food a lot, after all.

Right now, at one year old, you have learned so much! You don't lie stiller than still except your tummy moving up and down while you breathe too fast, sleeping all day. You crawl and kneel and bounce and dance and snuggle and know how and when to say "Hi" and "Bye" and "Dada" and wave and play Peeky-Boo and throw your cup and spit out chunky food and give kisses and blow kisses and take every toy out of every bin one by one, every day. You do so much! I can't believe you are already one year old! I also can't believe it was only a year since you were born, since so much happened, and since you shook up our lives! You seemed to say, "I am not just ANOTHER baby girl. Oh no, you will remember my birth, you will remember my first year!"

So Happy Birthday, my sweet baby. Wow, will I ever remember your first year.

I am so lucky to be your mom.

Reflection and Thanks.

2011-01-01T11:06:00.000-08:00

One year ago today we were slowly winning a knock-down, drag-out battle of wills with a three year-old over potty training.

I had another month to bake "Little D".

We had no idea that New Jersey politics would try to slay public education, that Bob would get RIF'ed. We also had no clue that he'd be one of the fortunate few to get a new position, and find a new professional home in such a nice school district.

We never imagined that we would spend so much time in pediatric hospitals and doctors' offices.

He he. She loved playing with the leads box.

Many thanks to everybody who helped us in 2010.

Babysitting, moral support, job-hunt info, or just being there.

You are loved and appreciated.

THANK YOU.

Here's to a quieter 2011.

Worst. Carol. Ever.

2010-12-23T08:07:00.000-08:00

Music is undoubtedly my favorite thing about the Holiday season. The music NOT coming from concerts that I'm involved in planning, running, or conducting, that is. My lesson plans this week involves student-made bingo boards listing 24 carols the school picked, and my iPod - on shuffle. Literally, my "procedure": I press play, they mark the song on their card, and we sit around and sing. Yes, for 50 minutes. In younger children, sitting around and singing together for the simple joy of sitting around and singing together is still alive and merry. It's been a festive little tradition, and they are actively engaged and quite spent when the class over. They do get holiday stickers for bingos, of course.

Our family prides itself on our vast and varried collection of Christmas music. We are at, I believe, 500 + songs in said collection. Last time I checked. The collection is expanded throughout each season as well, through gifts, rare finds on Amazon, and friends who contribute awesome versions of Feliz Navidad by acapella Puerto Rican vocal groups. I was thrilled a few years back to be able to score a used copy of "Dr. Demento's Greatest Christmas Novelty CD Ever" for Bob's stocking.

"Christmas Dragnet" alone made it worth the search.

We have a playlist called, "Christmas, Alphabetically" in which you can hear no less than 13 "Silent Nights" in a row, ranging from Glen Miller's rendition to John Denver and the Muppets singing in the original German. And ask me about my North Jersey-inspired "Winter Wonderland" by the Roches. Not to be outdone by the fabulous Bob Dylan Christmas album, obviously. We have some very good stuff. We will NOT play one of these 500 songs before Thanksgiving day. And even then, only on the ride home. Honestly, we say that if you hear Christmas too much, it loses its meaning and magic.

In case you didn't hear bout Dylan's album from last year, YES, it does exist, and YES it does sound gloriously gravelly.

On the other hand, some Christmas songs are already in the doghouse. Apparently our local "Christmas" station, B101, which I have had extra special cause to listen to of late (go Chorus!), has exactly 20 songs in their playlist. They are trying to kill me, Ray Coniff and Percy Faith-style. I won't even go into the whole "Last Christmas" debacle. Really, Taylor Swift?

These are the Christmas songs that I and mine NEVER want to hear again. At least not until we fill up on enough of Karen's holiday punch, if you know what I mean.

Christmas Songs that Make Us Want to Stick Gingerbread in our Ears:

Me: Mariah Carey: All I Want for Christmas is You. Heard it 40 times in the week my students were played on B101. Ok, we get it, you have a nice whistle register.
Me: Christmas Shoes. Is this a true story? Cause if it is, I'm very sorry for the family and I hope the proceeds of this piece of schmarm at least went in part to them. If it's not: what a formulaic, blatant attempt at some Christmasy pathos. Boo.
Me: Baby, It's Cold Outside. Used to love it. It's swingy, jazzy, and you gotta love Dean. Then I started actually listening to the words and realized it's the script for a health class movie about date rape.
Me: Anything sung by Spike Jones. *Shudder* Nails on a chalkboard.
Bob: Band Aid's "Do They Know It's Christmastime?" Yes, most of them do, because Ethiopia is about 60% Christian. This was a very nice project, which hopefully sent all its proceeds to African famine and farming communities. In 1984. I am aware that there are new versions. Unless the royalties are still going to those in need, give us a break - what an ear worm.
Both of us: Bruce Springsteen's "Santa Claus is Comin' to Town": It was cute when Michael Jackson changed the rhythm of the chorus. It was not cute when you asked Clarence if he's "Been practicin' real hard so Santa bring him a new sax-uh-phone". They must have cut the part where Clarence told Bruce that he's a real musician and not to patronize him.
Bob: Anything by the Ronettes: To quote him, the background music "sounds like somebody threw up on a drum set".

Bah-humbugy enough for ya?
What's the Christmas song you can't do the tree/cookies/presents without?

Which one makes you want to put an icicle through your brain?

Here: Best rendition of Silent Night ever. John Denver and the Muppets, a Christmas Together:

Cait: did you know it was actually a Christmas special, not just an album we decorated the tree to every year??? I've been Youtubing it all week! Ah, the memories.

And here's one for my Mom, Dad, and sis: in our book this is tied for the best Christmas album ever with the above.

Wordless Wednesday: Concert Week Edition

2010-12-08T07:20:00.000-08:00

Wordless Wednesday

2010-12-01T07:26:00.000-08:00

Giving thanks...

2010-11-25T10:48:00.000-08:00

For bulleted lists.
For a potty-trained kid.
For a heart-healthy baby.
For knowing that there are far more good people in the world than bad.
For the random child who hugs a random teacher "just cause".
For people who love my kids as I do.
For fabulous books and the time to read (some of) them.
For a husband who is even more than the sum of his "Dad", "Husband", "Teacher", "Friend", "Love of My Life" labels.
For meeting so many good people who heap love on sick kids as much as do their mothers.
For teachers who think about their students as if they were their own kids.
For cheese of all varieties.
For showing my youngest snow on Thanksgiving morning while her sister twirls in it, outside, in her jammies.

Turkey Day Trivia Answers

2010-11-24T18:12:00.000-08:00

1. How long were those poor Pilgrims at sea?
A) 66 days
B) 77 days
C) Until the moon was in the 7th house and Jupiter aligned with Mars.
D) Are we there yet? Miles just did verily puketh in mine Pilgrim hat.

Look, this is what my highly scientific research said. I don't question the Wiki, do you?

2. The Mayflower: Pilgrims only, or a sea-shuttle for lots of non-puritan folks?
A) Infidels? On board the Mayflower?? Casteth ye out, Satan!
B) Yes, but only enough non-Pilgrims to munch on, should food get a little scarce.
C) Pilgrims and Puritans aren't actually the same religious sect. Get it right.
D) There was a whole mess of people going, the Pilgrims just came along too.

Actually called the "Separatists", which can refer to any group breaking off from what is considered mainstream ideology, the people we know as the Pilgrims were not the only folk getting lost and hitting Plymouth. Random people went for all kinds of reasons - including, for some, the whole boat crew thing being their day job. Nasty bit of a commute, huh?

3. What year was the first Thanksgiving celebrated?
A) 1621
B) 2003. Oh, wait! That was our first Mock Thanksgiving (8 years running!)
C) The year I discovered you can put sausage in stuffing. So, 2002?
D) 1924

But Mock Thanksgiving was way more entertaining, and nobody starved beforehand. Except the one year that the turkey was done like 2 hours late...

4. What food was NOT included in the Pilgrims' 3-day feast?
A) Sausage stuffing. Phooey.
B) Schwalm's Family Restaurant pumpkin pie, much to Dr. Sweigart's chagrin.
C) Green bean cassarole.
D) All of the above.

I know. What WAS the point without stuffing, at the very least? There was at least a nice cheese & cracker plate, I'm told.

5. Were Indians invited to the Pilgrim's first feast?
A) They were, but it was strictly BYOB.
B) Just one, for the picture. Like a college brochure.
C) Yes.
D) No, they were busy Christmas shopping that day, but they sent their regards.

Well they had to infest the Indians with smallpox somehow. This is how the traditional suburban "pox parties" came about, you know. We can trace the intentional infection of our children with chicken pox back to the first Thanksgiving. Who knew?

6. The potato is America's most beloved veggie. Why didn't the Pilgrims whip up some mashed potatoes for their big dinner?
A) Because good Pilgrims knoweth any plant from the nightshade family to be deadly.
B) Because nobody brought their stand mixer to the New World.
C) Because the potato is the devil's root.
D) Because they were watching their carbs. Pass the bird.

I'm sorry, a potato is not a vegetable as far as we diabetics are concerned, so they're all incorrect, really.

7. What is the oldest information source possessed today that documents the first Thanksgiving?
A) The colony newsletter.
B) A letter written from one Pilgrim describing the feast.
C) The stone tablets that Sir Moses Standish held up in that movie.
D) Wikipedia.

Again, I'm going with Wikipedia. After that, the Charlton Heston reference makes the most sense.

8. Which Christmas Carol was actually written to celebrate Thanksgiving?
A) Jingle Bells. But not the Steisand version. *Shudder*
B) O Holy Night.
C) All I Want for Christmas is My Passage Back to England.
D) Deck the Halls.

I hate Streisand. Clearly: I hate her so much, I must have ~~intentionally~~ subconsciously misspelled her name up there. Whoops! Yeah, blinded by hate.

9. Which country first adopted Thanksgiving as a national holiday?
A) The United States of Butterball. Otherwise known as America.
B) England.
C) Canada, but they do it in October so it's less of "Christmas: the Preamble".
D) Amuricuh. We're first at everything cause we're the finest nayshun on earth. It's our "strategery".

But I don't see how they avoid it clashing with their Halloween decor. Little ghosty Pilgrms?

10. What is the scientific name for the turkey?
A) Gobblus Wattlecus
B) Meleagaris Gallopave
C) Halyomorpha Halys
D) Passadi Gravys

That's Latin for "bird-with-stupid-name-but-compatible-with-cranberries".

11. What is Meg's favorite Thanksgiving food?
A) Un-candied Sweet potatoes - so nutrient rich and lower-carb!
B) Salad, because one should be careful to include various types of greens at each meal.
C) Cranberry sauce, out of the can, by the spoonful.
D) Two words: Clam. Dip.

And yes, I do scoop way too much dip per chip. Wanna make something of it? Huh, Cait?

12. What is Bob's favorite Thanksgiving food?
A) Everything but the green beans.
B) The green beans.
C) Gravy.
D) Gravy.

He objects. It's stuffing, he insists. It's actually not stuffing, it's just BREAD, in any form. Onto such bread, he pours copious amounts of gravy. Hence my misunderstanding.

13. What is Miss M's favorite Thanksgiving food?
A) M&Ms.
B) Mashed potatoes.
C) Blanched garlic asparagus spears with lemon zest.
D) Turkey nuggets.

According to the latest poll, at 7:45 PM tonight, it's the potatoes. Tomorrow it will have changed to whatever is put out as an appetizer at Aunt Cyndee's house.

14. What is E's favorite Thanksgiving food?
A) Gerber puffs, sweet potato flavor. How festive!
B) Similac Advance.
C) Whatever you're eating. Gimme that!
D) Um, her last Thanksgiving meal came through the umbilical cord, how should she know?

Two correct answers will be accepted, because she's a grabby little Gertie who won't actually consume whatever she managed to scoop into her mouth, unless it has the texture of a fine puree of water. Yeah, we have texture kid. Who called it? Project!

15. What's the best aspect of Thanksgiving?
A) Overeating, all day.
B) Nooooooo schoooooooolllll!!!!!
C) Sharing a joyous holiday with family and remembering that we are truly blessed.
D) We can finally listen to Christmas Music!

He he. I have NOT been sneaking B101 in the car when alone. Never. I wait till Black Friday like a good girl. "Last Christmas, I gave you my heart. The very next day, you gave it away. THIS year..."

And the winner of the Turkey Day Trivia Quiz is: BOB.

OH, big surprise. See, honey, aren't you glad I made you take this quiz?

His prize is: I will drive home from the Thankfulness festivities, so he can loosen his belt and pass out along with the girls, all the way back through the woods and over the river.

Happy Birthday Video

2010-11-21T07:59:00.001-08:00

For all loved ones who couldn't be with us yesterday, here you go:

Happy Birthday, Dear Maddie

2010-11-20T03:35:00.000-08:00

2006

2007

2008

2009

Happy Birthday, big 4 year-old!

Wordless Wednesday

2010-11-17T07:05:00.000-08:00

Wordless Wednesday

2010-11-10T07:47:00.000-08:00

Things

2010-11-09T19:02:00.000-08:00

Things... I get:

happy, especially when in close proximity to dark chocolate, my family, or free time.
Jon Stewart.

excited about stuff like new AV equipment at school.
futility: why put away the toys that will just find their way out again 10 hours later?

in-service; last week's workshops and NJEA were fun, refreshing, and with the exception of 45 minutes looking at Sam Ash's website, informative.
over the election quickly.

that NASCAR is just louder, expensive HotWheels for grownups.
sleep, but I'd still like more.
the need for more road construction in New Jersey. I just don't see why it seems to want to follow me around.
time to read more, now. Ah, that's better.

Things... I don't get:

freaked about state budget crisis stuff. Yet.

Reality TV.
Christmas Trees up on November 9th. Seriously.
the "who's" and "whose" thing. I've been taught, and yet, always, I screw it up.
the guy in traffic who flies up the shoulder past all the cars in line and thinks some schmuck will let him in.
the schmuck who lets him in.

Thanksgiving Bowl

2010-11-07T08:45:00.000-08:00

Come on people, what's your

Turkey Day I. Q.?

Send me your answers on facebook or in the comments section. Some questions may have more than one correct answer,

because I'm Just. That. Good.

WINNER and answers to be announced sometime closer to Thanksgiving, when I get a minute.

1. How long were those poor Pilgrims at sea?
A) 66 days
B) 77 days
C) Until the moon was in the 7th house and Jupiter aligned with Mars.
D) Are we there yet? Miles just did verily puketh in mine Pilgrim hat.

2. The Mayflower: Pilgrims only, or a sea-shuttle for lots of non-puritan folks?
A) Infidels? On board the Mayflower?? Casteth ye out, Satan!
B) Yes, but only enough non-Pilgrims to munch on, should food get a little scarce.
C) Pilgrims and Puritans aren't actually the same religious sect. Get it right.
D) There was a whole mess of people going, the Pilgrims just came along too.

3. What year was the first Thanksgiving celebrated?
A) 1621
B) 2003. Oh, wait! That was our first Mock Thanksgiving (8 years running!)
C) The year I discovered you can put sausage in stuffing. So, 2002?
D) 1924

4. What food was NOT included in the Pilgrims' 3-day feast?
A) Sausage stuffing. Phooey.
B) Schwalm's Family Restaurant pumpkin pie, much to Dr. Sweigart's chagrin.
C) Green bean cassarole.
D) All of the above.

5. Were Indians invited to the Pilgrim's first feast?
A) They were, but it was strictly BYOB.
B) Just one, for the picture. Like a college brochure.
C) Yes.
D) No, they were busy Christmas shopping that day, but they sent their regards.

6. The potato is America's most beloved veggie. Why didn't the Pilgrims whip up some mashed potatoes for their big dinner?
A) Because good Pilgrims knoweth any plant from the nightshade family to be deadly.
B) Because nobody brought their stand mixer to the New World.
C) Because the potato is the devil's root.
D) Because they were watching their carbs. Pass the bird.

7. What is the oldest information source possessed today that documents the first Thanksgiving?
A) The colony newsletter.
B) A letter written from one Pilgrim describing the feast.
C) The stone tablets that Sir Moses Standish held up in that movie.
D) Wikipedia.

8. Which Christmas Carol was actually written to celebrate Thanksgiving?
A) Jingle Bells. But not the Steisand version. *Shudder*
B) O Holy Night.
C) All I Want for Christmas is My Passage Back to England.
D) Deck the Halls.

9. Which country first adopted Thanksgiving as a national holiday?
A) The United States of Butterball. Otherwise known as America.
B) England.
C) Canada, but they do it in October so it's less of "Christmas: the Preamble".
D) Amuricuh. We're first at everything cause we're the finest nayshun on earth. It's our "strategery".

10. What is the scientific name for the turkey?
A) Gobblus Wattlecus
B) Meleagaris Gallopave
C) Halyomorpha Halys
D) Passadi Gravys

11. What is Meg's favorite Thanksgiving food?
A) Un-candied Sweet potatoes - so nutrient rich and lower-carb!
B) Salad, because one should be careful to include various types of greens at each meal.
C) Cranberry sauce, out of the can, by the spoonful.
D) Two words: Clam. Dip.

12. What is Bob's favorite Thanksgiving food?
A) Everything but the green beans.
B) The green beans.
C) Gravy.
D) Gravy.

13. What is Miss M's favorite Thanksgiving food?
A) M&Ms.
B) Mashed potatoes.
C) Blanched garlic asparagus spears with lemon zest.
D) Turkey nuggets.

14. What is E's favorite Thanksgiving food?
A) Gerber puffs, sweet potato flavor. How festive!
B) Similac Advance.
C) Whatever you're eating. Gimme that!
D) Um, her last Thanksgiving meal came through the umbilical cord, how should she know?

15. What's the best aspect of Thanksgiving?
A) Overeating, all day.
B) Nooooooo schoooooooolllll!!!!!
C) Sharing a joyous holiday with family and remembering that we are truly blessed.
D) We can finally listen to Christmas Music!

That's all folks! Enjoy your turkey and comment/send in your answers.

The Girls, Lately

2010-11-04T18:58:00.000-07:00

Word(full)less Wednesday. The rally.

2010-11-03T07:32:00.000-07:00

Why I Love Halloween

2010-10-28T19:16:00.000-07:00

Most of the people I work with, who spend their days (and many of them, their nights) with children...yeah, they hate Halloween.
I'm in the orange minority. I love it. No, not because I like to dress Goth and hang out at the mall.
Why?

The costume thing. What? It's fun! I love the yearly themes at school. The teachers are doing nursery rhymes/fairy tales. Tomorrow I'm Little Red Riding Hood. I borrowed a red cape and a red hooded sweatshirt. I've got a basket or two at home at least. OOOOH, real hard.
I love a good all-school song at an assembly. There, I said it.
The one bite of candy corn it takes to remember that candy corn is 5% good and 95% disgusting.
Trick-or-treat is literally the only time during the year I see half my neighbors. I'd like to see who's moved, who's had babies, and who springs for the actual chocolate.
Who doesn't love candy?
The kids' costumes were less simple than my own (ask me about the original plan involving the whole family wearing homemade costumes celebrating the 25th Anniversary of the Mario Brothers) but once I ~~gave up~~ realistically adjusted my goals and headed to Halloween Spirit...easy peazy lemon squeezy.
Two words: Great. Pumpkin.
And then there's these. Come on...

Of course, talk to me after a day of rammy students, junk food-driven, indulgent class parties, and then another day of hauling Miss M. around the neighborhood by her poodle skirt because she is the. pokiest. walker. ever...and we have candy to get, people!

Fun, harmless fantasy-inspiried holiday, or highly commercialized excuse to screw with children's blood sugar and socially sanction dressing like a hooker ...who is also a cat, mouse, Little Miss Muffet, etc.

Halloween: love it or hate it?