The Little House

We got the classic picture book The Little House at the library the other day. For those of you who haven't read it, it's about a little house in the country that sits on a hill covered with daisies. The anthropomorphized house is the main character of the book. The house is a "she," which makes sense to me as I have always thought of inanimate objects as having a gender (spoons are girls, forks are boys, etc.) Way out in the country, the Little House spends her days watching the moon change from a thin moon to a full moon and wondering about what life would be like in the far-away city whose lights she can see in the distance.

You can guess what happens next, right? It's kind of like Up without the balloons. Slowly the city encroaches on the Little House until she's surrounded by oppressive tenement houses and the constant clatter of elevated trains. The Little House can't even see what season it is anymore because everything that surrounds her is covered by cement and steel.

The tiny house looks ridiculous surrounded by all the tall buildings in the big city. One of these things is not like the other…one of these things just doesn't belong. Eventually the Little House is moved back to the country where she belongs and all is right with the world.

I live in a Little House. It is one of the little houses that was original to the neighborhood when it was first developed in the 40s. Over the past 70 years, only four families have lived in this little house, my family being the fourth. I still find notes from the original owners. There's a recipe for sourdough biscuits on the inside of the heavy vintage kitchen cabinet doors. The yellowed recipe says "From the recipe file of Betty Dodge" and has a picture of an old-fashioned oven, curlicues of steam issuing from it.

We don't own this little house. We're just renting it for now. We're moving out soon and our landlords have been sending over builders to look at it. Our little house is on a huge lot in an area of town where the land is very valuable. People don't want little houses anymore. They want big houses with lots of rooms: media rooms, mudrooms, playrooms, gift-wrapping rooms, workout rooms, man caves, mom caves, walk-in closets and soaking tubs. Hey, I wouldn't mind having some of these things myself. Who wouldn't?

Our little house drives me crazy all the time. I am not a tall person, but I am constantly hitting my head on the kitchen cabinets or the sloped attic ceilings in the boys' rooms. The stairs going up to the kids' rooms are so narrow and steep that I can barely carry a laundry basket up and down. I have always worried about Teddy, our youngest, falling down the stairs, but so far I am the only one who has taken the plunge down the black diamond staircase.

As a lover of all things HGTV, I have tried to imagine what the Property Brothers would do to our little house. I'm sure there are amazing things that could be done to make this little house feel more livable by today's standards. But doing them would probably cost a fortune and the house would still be little.

All around us, little old houses are being knocked down and enormous new ones are being built in their place. Teddy and I watched a house up the street being knocked down a few months ago. It was amazing to watch. The front walls had already come down, so we were looking into this house like it was a dollhouse or a theater set. Just when it seemed like a character in a Neil Simon play should come bounding down the stairs declaring he was going to Greenblatt's for a loaf of rye bread, a bulldozer scooped up a chunk of the living room like it was made of Legos. Thinking of the human dramas that had likely been played out in that house made the demolishing hard to watch, but at the same time I couldn't look away.

A few blocks over, the neighborhood swim club is being torn down and rebuilt. This has involved leveling the old victorian house that was on the property. Construction workers on the project were alarmed one day when they saw a little girl peering out of the window of the victorian house they were about to knock down. They went over to talk to her and then she disappeared. People in the neighborhood say the ghost, who is always seen wearing victorian garb, has been a regular around the pool for years. After her death at age fourteen in 1913, her parents moved out of the victorian house and it was later turned into a sanitarium for Washington dignitaries. She has been known to swim with children at the pool and generally hang around the house, that is, until her home was leveled a few months ago.

For some reason that story doesn't creep me out. I think houses are infused with the spirits of the people who inhabited them, so imagining that spirit taking human form isn't that big of a stretch. Like the book, I anthropomorphize my house and think of her as an entity with feelings and needs. I think houses have souls. That's why I leave the biscuit recipe up.

Is it wrong to knock down all these little houses? In a way I feel lucky that I don't have the kind of money it would take to worry about such decisions. I wish we didn't think we needed so much stuff and so many rooms to feel like we are okay human beings. And when I say "we" I really mean "I." The house envy I feel when I walk around someone else's giant new house isn't pretty. It's not pretty but it's so real it practically has a beating heart. I find it ironic that as a society we probably spend far less time in our houses and have fewer children living in them, yet we still can't manage to fit our lives into these relatively small spaces. What does that say about us? What does it say about me?

I think it's probably inevitable that this house will be torn down after we leave it. I'd like to think that when that happens Betty will show up with her biscuits. Mad as hell.

House Hunters Anonymous

Lately I've been watching unseemly amounts of the HGTV show "House Hunters." Both the domestic and international versions. In case you've never watched this show, I'll give you a basic rundown of what happens: A couple needs to buy a house. We'll call the people Sheila and Bill, just to make things easier. Sheila and Bill have a budget of $350,000 and they are looking for a starter house in, let's say, the Chicago suburbs. Bill doesn't want to be too far from the commuter train. Sheila is really concerned about being in a neighborhood with good schools for their son, Paul. Oh, and Sheila really wants granite countertops in the kitchen, a big walk-in closet in the master bedroom and a nice yard for Paul to run around in. She thinks this makes her unique in some way. Sorry, Sheila, but it doesn't. Everyone on "House Hunters" wants these things.

The couple walks through three houses, none of which truly meets their needs. There is the small house that needs updating (no granite countertops) that is under their budget. There's the house that is right at their budget that has most of what they want, but maybe is in the wrong location. Then there is the perfect house, replete with granite countertops, walk-in closets, a swing set for Paul in the backyard, right across the street from Bill's commuter train, but it is of course over budget.

Brandon and I used to watch this show together. We loved making jokes about the couples they feature on these shows, laughing about the obligatory joke the guy always makes about closet size relative to the number of shoes the woman owns. "I don't know where his stuff is going, but this closet will be perfect for me," quips every woman who has ever been on House Hunters.

Brandon prides himself on his ability to predict which house the couple will pick. He has an uncanny ability to guess which item on their wish list the couple will be willing to give up or compromise on. This show has provided much entertainment for us, a couple who has been renting for nine out of the ten years we've been married.

Recently, I have started watching "House Hunters" alone, though. Brandon always seems to be busy at 10 pm. when the show comes on. Without his fun commentary, the show is a little boring. I know it's hard to believe that people walking around empty houses could possibly be boring, but it is. I have taken to watching "House Hunters" while surfing real estate websites on my iPhone, something akin to the dirty feeling you get from eating junk food while watching Oprah talk about how she gained 30 pounds from eating nothing but blue corn tortilla chips all summer.

I'm not sure I can be entirely objective, but I think my house obsession may be entering Oprah blue corn tortilla chip territory.

There I admitted it. That's the first step, right? I am more than a little preoccupied with the idea of buying a house and then living in it for the next, oh, fifty years of my life. You see, since I graduated from college many, many years ago, I have had approximately fourteen different addresses. We have lived in condos, apartments, townhouses, and in single-family houses. We have lived in the suburbs and in a bustling city. Our countertops have ranged from granite to corian, to our current "vintage" countertops that are off-white and flecked with gold. I have had enough countertops to know that granite, while it is nice, does not really make your life better or make you a better cook. I would still like it in my future dream kitchen, though.

I also know that, as with granite countertops, owning a house is something I would like a lot, but won't really impact my life in a way that truly matters. Oh, who am I kidding? It totally will!

It's not just the house that I want. This is not shear materialism rearing its ugly head, or at least I hope it's not. Like with Oprah and her tortilla chips, it's what the thing promises rather than the thing itself that I crave. I doubt Oprah was really hungry for all those tortilla chips. She was hungry for something else: for comfort, for the feeling of well-being and fullness that a salty snack can bring. I am hungry not just for walk-in closets and a soaking tub, but for the security and peace of mind that come with having a house you know you can stay in forever if you want to.

I will spare you all the details, but Brandon's job situation is making another move a very real possibility. I'm not even exactly sure which city his job will lead us to next, making my Trulia.com searches and Charlie's kindergarten registration all the more interesting.

I'm really tired of moving. I'm really tired of living in someone else's house. I want my own house. My own swing set, my own countertops that I can change if they are not to my liking.

I read a book this summer called Life Would Be Perfect If I Lived in that House by Meghan Daum. This book is a memoir about one writer's attempt to find happiness through real estate. Daum can barely make it through a semester of college without changing dorm rooms. This constant need to improve upon her surroundings continues when she moves to New York City and becomes obsessed with space or her lack of it. When she can't live in the kind of place she wants in NYC, she decides, pretty randomly, to move to Omaha, Nebraska, where she can buy an old farmhouse for what she used to spend on cabs in New York. Eventually she moves to L.A. and buys a tiny bungalow in a slightly shady neighborhood at the peak of the housing bubble.

The moral of this story is that a house does not guarantee happiness. I know this intellectually, but I still get a thrill at the end of every "House Hunters" episode, when the show revisits the couple after they have been living in their new house for a few months. Their lives may not be perfect, but they definitely seem happier than they were at the beginning of the show.

I wonder if I will still like watching "House Hunters" once we finally find a permanent home? Something tells me, the show won't appeal to me anymore. Oh well, then it's onto the home improvement shows, right?

Facebrag

Not to brag, but I did a guest post on Mammalingo today. The word I invented is "facebrag." Click on over to Melissa Sher's awesome website to see the definition.

Are you a bragface? If not, surely you know someone who is. Please share your facebragging experiences in the comments. I'm dying to hear. Now it's back to basking in the glow of the perfectness that is my life. (sigh)

Big Boy Bed Redux

I can't believe I am already having to write about my two-year-old, Teddy, needing a big boy bed. It feels like I was just posting about him being born and singing the praises of the Miracle Blanket. It feels like I was also just posting about my 5.5-year old, Charlie, needing a big boy bed, but that was over two years ago.

Right now I'm about two seconds away from swaddling Teddy up in a Miracle Blanket and tucking the whole package into his big boy bed sheets. This transition to big-boydom has not been what one would call "smooth."

Teddy started climbing out of his crib a few weeks ago. For a week or so, we weren't sure what to do. He didn't always climb out during every nap or bed time, so we left the crib up and crossed our fingers every time we put him down. I considered getting a crib tent, but when I went to Babies 'r Us, it turned out they didn't sell crib tents anymore. I could've ordered one online, but then I would've had to wait several days for it to arrive and it seemed like after that many days of freedom, it would be cruel zipping Teddy up into a crib tent every night. Plus it just seemed a little wrong to use a crib tent for a 2.25-year old. If this had happened six months ago, I totally would've gone for the crib tent. But two and up seems like big boy bed territory.

Last week, Teddy started climbing out of his crib constantly, so I just decided to take it down. Now he's sleeping on a mattress on the floor while he awaits the twin bed we ordered for him. Incidentally we ordered matching twin beds for Charlie and Teddy (they share a room) on Overstock.com for half what they would've cost most places. Plus, the shipping was free. Plus, they can be turned into bunk beds should we ever trust Teddy to be alone in a room with a ladder.

Hang on, I have to go put Teddy back in his bed. He's "napping."

So, now Teddy has total freedom to roam around his room. He is using this freedom to pull books off the shelf and not nap. He is really living it up. It has only been about four days since we got rid of the crib, and none of those days has been alike in terms of sleep. Most days he hasn't napped, but he has gotten a lot of reading done. Yesterday he napped and then was up bugging Charlie until almost eleven o'clock at night. I really don't think he's ready to give up his nap yet because before all this big boy bed nonsense, he was a champion napper and equally awesome at going to bed. Right now, it seems as though he's not successful at going to sleep in his big boy bed unless he is absolutely delirious from lack of sleep. If he's not super exhausted, then the books on the shelf call his name.

Does anyone have a formula for how long it will take to get him back to being the fabulous napper I know he is deep down inside? How long until the allure of getting out of bed wears off? With my other two, I still was able to use the crib for naps until they basically didn't need a nap anymore, so this is kind of new territory for me.

Any other big kid bed training tips you can share? In a way, this feels kind of like potty training in that we are going to have to go through a few weeks of torture before he gets it. Is that true?

I thought of Teddy and his big boy bed when I heard this story on NPR yesterday. It's about how important it is to teach children self-control. Interesting stuff. Basically, a child's self-control is a big predictor of success later in life. It's much simpler to teach a preschooler self-control than it is a teenager or an adult. Maybe this big boy bed drama is an opportunity to teach Teddy a thing or two about self-control.

Last night Charlie came downstairs at around ten o'clock and told us that he had figured out why Teddy kept getting out of bed. "It's because his bed doesn't have walls on it anymore," Charlie said standing there in his snowman p.j.s. Charlie, ever the logician, was right. We need to teach Teddy to act as though there are walls even though the walls are gone. This would seem completely impossible, except that our other two children miraculously sleep in their big kid beds even though no one has chained them to their fitted sheets. There is hope for Teddy. I think.

Homemade Valentines

I used to google ideas for valentines and then try to make my kids do the craft exactly as prescribed. See here for proof that I used to do this. Then, I got fed up and just started buying valentines at Target. I didn't want to go through the battle of making my kids do valentines. It was just too painful for both of us. Oh, the control issues. That's another post.

This year, I decided to get back on the homemade valentine horse. I checked my inner Martha Stewart at the door, and decided not to have any kind of agenda for the valentines. Now, even the two-year old is making valentines on his own without me micromanaging things. As usual he benefits from me screwing everything up the first time with the other two kids. Below are some pictures of what we did. Don't feel like this is what you need to do for your valentines. Hopefully these pictures will inspire you to make your valentine masterpieces, and soon you too will be finding glitter in your children's nether regions.


Supplies:
red and pink cards and matching envelopes
colored paper
Heart stickers
scissors
glitter
glue
crayons/pencils/markers
rubber stamps
old valentines
labels or table of friends' names

The obligatory glitter plate. You know the drill: Glue, shake the glitter, shake card over glitter plate

Charlie's school sent home these labels for him to cut and paste his friends' names. Brilliant! You could also write the names on heart stickers or labels and have your child stick them on.

Charlie's valentines. Note, the recycled dump truck valentine. Great way to use old valentines!

Teddy's Valentines. He's two and he did these beauties by himself. He dipped a rubber stamp in some glue and shook some glitter on the glue. Easy!

Emma's valentines. She loves to write personal notes in hers. One of my favorites is to her friend Josh: "You are smart and that is a gift." And then she drew a picture of Josh's brain inside of Josh's head. Romantic!

I hope these ideas help take some of the pain out of homemade valentines. We have really enjoyed making these this year. I think most importantly the kids got a lot out of thinking creatively about what they love about their friends. These may not make it on the cover of a magazine, but who cares? That's not the point. Happy Valentine's day, everyone!

Battle Hymn of a Rabbit Mother

The other day Emma and I were driving to gymnastics, our new Saturday ritual. I decided to schedule this activity on Saturdays instead of a weekday so as not to have to haul two extra kids to the gymnastics place once a week. I love this arrangement. It allows for Emma and me to have some one-on-one time together (a hard thing to come by in our family of five), and I can sit and really focus on watching her gymnastics class/read a book/zone out rather than corralling two younger children for an hour.

We were stopped at a red light on the way to gymnastics when Emma asked me apropos of nothing, "Mommy, what's a tiger mother?"

I laughed and tried my best to explain what a tiger mother was without totally freaking her out. I told her I was born in the year of the rabbit and was therefore not a tiger mother.

For those of you who don't know about the book by Amy Chua, Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, it's a memoir of sorts about one mother's experience with raising kids the "Chinese way." Here's an excerpt from the Wall Street Journal piece by Chua detailing what Chinese children are not allowed to do:

• attend a sleepover

• have a playdate

• be in a school play

• complain about not being in a school play

• watch TV or play computer games

• choose their own extracurricular activities

• get any grade less than an A

• not be the No. 1 student in every subject except gym and drama

• play any instrument other than the piano or violin

• not play the piano or violin.

The gym where Emma takes gymnastics is like a three-ring circus. There's Emma's "level 2" class, which is learning how to do cartwheels, how to walk backwards on the balance beam. Meanwhile the girls on the gymnastics team are practicing their floor routines, flipping their bodies powerfully across the big blue square in the middle of the gym. Another class practices the vault, another the uneven bars. You can see the evolution of how a donkey kick leads to a handstand, which leads to a handspring, which leads to a standing front flip. It's rare to see such a vivid example of how hard work and practice (and a touch of talent) can pay off.

Watching the class, I'm reminded of what the Tiger Mother said in her article: "What Chinese parents understand is that nothing is fun until you're good at it. To get good at anything you have to work, and children on their own never want to work, which is why it is crucial to override their preferences. This often requires fortitude on the part of the parents because the child will resist; things are always hardest at the beginning, which is where Western parents tend to give up."

In the car on the way to gymnastics Emma told me she doesn't want to continue to level 3 gymnastics. She thinks it's too hard and she's not "good" at it. She has said similar things about soccer and ballet and we didn't continue with those activities. Since Chua's article was fresh in my mind, I reacted more like a tiger and less like a rabbit. I told her that she was going to stick with gymnastics, that she hadn't given it enough time to be good at it. That things that are worth having sometimes take hard work and practice. "Things are always hardest at the beginning," I said, channeling Chua.

Chua has gotten lots of flack for her book and Wall Street Journal piece. I completely agree with her critics who find her parenting "strategies" borderline abusive. She calls her girls "garbage" and "lazy" if they disrespect her or do not get straight A-pluses in school. She threatens to give away her little girl's dollhouse piece by piece if she doesn't perfect her piano piece. She's extremely hardcore.

It's a shame, though, that these sensational details get most of the press when a lot of what Chua is saying about the "Western" parenting style is valid. We do quit too easily. We place so much stock in our children's self-esteem that we treat them like these privileged, fragile little deities. We worship their accomplishments to such a degree that they are growing up with nothing to shoot for, nothing to work for. If they aren't enjoying themselves, then we scurry to make things more entertaining, more palatable for them. I know not all "Western" parents are guilty of this, but a lot of us are, me most certainly included.

Is there a happy medium? Some sweet spot somewhere between calling your child garbage if she brings home an A- and praising the crap out of her all the time? I'm still working this out in my head. I'm starting by not letting Emma give up on gymnastics so quickly. I'm also starting to work with my kids on their math skills more at home. We've always focused on reading together because I am a reader and it's just something I enjoy doing with them. I have never placed much emphasis on math, though, and I'm trying to change this. I am not calling them lazy or garbage while we work on our addition and subtraction, rest assured. We are making it fun, and they are actually enjoying themselves, although that is not the point. The point is getting better at math. If it happens to be fun, then that's just a bonus. I am incrementally trying to raise the bar a little bit, to give my kids something higher to shoot for.

Try as I might to be a tiger mom, I will always be a rabbit. I am a softy, too sensitive for my own good. It's my nature to swaddle my kids with kind, encouraging words, protect them from anything uncomfortable or difficult. I want their lives to be easy and fun. But I now see that there is an unintentional consequence to this kind of mothering. If they are never forced to work for their achievements, how will they ever develop self-discipline, stamina or a work ethic? If life is presented to them as easy and fun-centered, how disappointed and ill-equipped will they be when they find out that life is not like this at all?

When I told Emma she was not quitting gymnastics so easily, she didn't question me. She almost seemed relieved to have this particular issue off the table. It must be exhausting being a "Western" kid sometimes--so much depends upon your happiness. It must be a relief to discover you're not the center of the universe, unless of course you discover it too late.

Out with the old, in with the new

After all of the December acquiring we did, we are now doing our ritual January purging. And by "we," I mean "I."

I am really schizophrenic when it comes to getting rid of things. I hold onto things that are really not worth holding onto. For a while, I save everything: every preschool art project, every card anyone ever sends me, every Chick-fil-a toy. Eventually I get completely fed up with the clutter, and then I am ruthless about getting rid of things. At this particular moment, I'm going through a purging phase. I've been going through old toys and tossing them in bags and posting the contents of those bags on freecycle. Someone from freecycle wants them and is supposed to come take them away tonight. Yay! I love that our beloved toys will have a life beyond our house. I hate the idea of them not getting played with. Maybe I've watched too much Toy Story.

We dismantled our guestroom bed that only gets used two times a year, figuring that real estate in our small house could be put to better use. We're keeping the mattress in the basement in case we ever have another guestroom in a future house, but we decided to get rid of the box spring and the lopsided metal frame it rested on. Incidentally, to make the metal frame un-lopsided, Brandon and I stuck a really cheesy paperback book underneath one of the legs to prop it up. Classy, I know. This book basically has a hole in it because it had been holding an entire bed up for many years. When it came time to toss the book in the recycling bin, I almost couldn't bear to do it because this was the book Brandon and I had read side-by-side on the plane to our honeymoon destination in Tangolunda Bay, Mexico. We read that whole book tandem-style, each one waiting patiently for the other one to finish so we could turn the page. It was a courtroom thriller. I can't remember much about the story other than that. It's in our recycling bin right now. That book has served us well, but it's time had come. See, I'm totally ruthless. But what am I going to do with a cheesy courtroom thriller with a hole in it now that it is no longer propping up a bed?

So, I need to somehow dispose of a box spring mattress. People on freecycle are giving away cheese that's past its sell-by date, so maybe someone will want my box spring and broken frame. Did I mention I have our living room furniture on craigslist? Brandon is a little concerned about that one. I guess I can't blame him. We have a lot of furniture crammed into our tiny living room. We tried moving two of the chairs into different rooms, but they won't fit through the narrow doors or up our tiny, treacherous staircase. Have I mentioned before how this house was built for exceptionally small people? Well, I'm no anthropologist, but the tiny doorways, low bathroom counters and shorty ceilings indicate that the people who lived here and raised six kids here were very short. I am always bumping my head on things and I am 5'5".

I mentioned freecycle earlier like everyone knows what it is. Have you tried this freecycle? As with most things, I'm a little late to the party on this one, but it's pretty amazing. You post things that you want to get rid of (for free) and then if someone wants your stuff, they email you and come and take it away. I like getting the freecycle emails. Here are the items being given away in my neighborhood freecycle group at this very moment:

• 3 old fashioned keys
• wooden box with salmon on it
• Pewter porringer (um, what?)
• Pentax film camera
• messenger bag
• Bra w/prothesis
• Gold snake choker
• Electric laminator
• Sewing machine with broken needle
• Standing Japanese shoji screen

I could go on, but you get the idea. I think this list is amazing. I may use it as a writing exercise at some point where you have to write a story using all these items. Put all these items on a farm in Canada and you have an Alice Munro story.

Well, speaking of writing, I have a rare block of time where a kid doesn't need something. Teddy is sleeping, Charlie is at a friend's house and Emma's at school. I am hoping to get a little fiction writing accomplished with this lovely hour or so. Feel free to steal my freecycle story starter idea if you're blocked and need a little writing exercise to free you up. If you have other great writing exercises, I'd love to hear them.

Also, I've been thinking about the books I've read this past year and trying to pick my favorite. So far, the front-runner is Room by Emma Donahue. Has anyone else read Room? I'd love to hear your favorite book of 2010. If you leave a comment you'll automatically be entered to win a free box spring mattress!

In search of the perfect toy

I don't know about you, but lately I've been reading a lot of Amazon toy reviews. I think these reviews are pretty helpful when it comes to choosing which toys you might want to purchase for your kids, but I also like reading them for entertainment. They say so much about human nature to me. One person's "ADORABLE FOR LITTLE HELPERS!!!!" five-star review is another person's "DISAPPOINTED" one-star review. Isn't this how it is with everything in life? There are always those people who will get excited to the point of bursting about a talking vacuum cleaner and then there are the people who say, "meh, I thought it would talk more. Why doesn't it say more things?"

And to the people who are surprised when a two-thousand piece play kitchen with laundry, ironing board, microwave and refrigerator is hard to put together, I want to say, really?

Every year I get suckered into believing the hype about a certain toy. All I have to read is, "my son played with this for hours," and into the virtual shopping cart it goes. Because really, let's be honest here, I'm not buying toys, I'm buying myself time.

So, I'm dying to know. Does anyone have any toy recommendations out there for a 7-year-old girl, a 5-year-old boy, and a 2-year-old boy? Preferably, the toy should take up no room, should not require batteries, be made in the U.S. out of sustainable materials and should keep them occupied for hours. That's not too much to ask, right?

I actually do know of a toy that fits this description. Would you like to read my review?

"GREEN TOY THAT WILL MAKE MOTHER EARTH BREATHE A BIG SIGH OF RELIEF!!!!" FIVE STARS

I wasn't sure how my son would react when he opened up the Charmin toilet paper tube I had been saving for him for Christmas. I'd seen him playing with a friend's toilet paper tube at playgroup, and noticed he was having a ball pretending it was a telescope, a microphone, and a even a periscope! Well, my worries were completely unfounded, because as soon as he opened up his gift, he squealed with glee! Now, I can make dinner, talk to my husband, even take a shower and all I have to do is make sure he has his toilet paper tube handy. He even sleeps with it snuggled up next to him at night. We are working on getting him another tube soon. He says he wants to make binoculars! This is a toy I can really feel good about giving--it's sustainable and made right here in the U.S. and not that awful China. If you're thinking of getting this for the child on your list, don't hesitate! You won't regret it!!!!

Happy shopping, everyone!

A funny thing happened on the way to the bus stop

Picture this: I'm walking to the bus stop with one kid in a stroller and two kids on scooters. Charlie, as usual, is completely oblivious and is barreling down the middle of the street on his Spiderman scooter, despite the fact that a car is right behind him. I'm yelling, "Charlie! Charlie!!!" like a crazy person while the crowd waiting at the bus stop stares at the lunatic running down the street screaming her head off.

At the bus stop, I give Charlie a stern talking to, you know the kind that is almost as much for the benefit of the other parents who are eavesdropping as it is for your child? Have you ever had one of those moments where you're scolding your kid in front of other parents and you can hear yourself sounding all weird and phony, like you're playing the part of a parent scolding a kid in a high school play? I actually asked Charlie to call me ma'am at some point during this little harangue at the bus stop, like we were filming an episode of the Andy Griffith Show all of the sudden.

So, Emma gets on the bus and we wave goodbye to her as though her battalion is shipping out for war. Do battalions ship out? Hmmm...will probably have to rethink that simile at some point. Anyway, we wave goodbye to Emma and then Teddy, Charlie and I turn around to scooter and stroller back home.

I'm talking to one of my neighbors while Charlie scooters a few yards ahead of me. "How was your trip to Illinois?" I ask. "Was it colder there than it is here?"

"Oh, Illinois is always about ten degrees colder than it is here," she says.

"I went to graduate school in Chicago," I say. "But I can't really remember how cold it was in relation to here."

"Oh, well, if you lived in Chicago, then you know how cold it is," she says. "You know, because of the--"

SPLAT!

I look up and Charlie has just body-slammed a parked BMW. I was too deep into my is-Illinois-colder-than-here discussion and missed the fact that Charlie was scootering and looking at the ground instead of ahead of him (as he is wont to do) and smacked right into a parked car. And the most ridiculous part is that he was going UPHILL.

Is it bad that my first reaction was to laugh? Then my second reaction was to inspect the BMW. Then I asked Charlie "Are you kidding me?"

You'll be glad to know that Charlie emerged from the incident unscathed and is happily punching holes in paper next to me as I write this (don't ask me why he's doing this). However, Charlie will not be riding a scooter or anything else to the bus stop for a long time. And he will never be allowed to drive a car. Ever.

Mammalingo and NaNoWriMo

I'm taking a break from bleaching my house free of vomit germs to tell you some exciting news! Have you heard of the hilarious blog mammalingo? You know the one that was featured in the New York Times recently? Well, if you haven't heard of it, you're in for a treat! Mammalingo is a website that attempts to "define motherhood one random thought at a time." Take a dash of online dictionary, a pinch of parenting blog and a big handful of funny and you've got mammalingo.

Here are a few of my favorite mammalingo definitions:

TIPSY CUP n. [Fr. sippy cup and tipsy]: Mommy’s reward at the end of a very, very long day with naughty Baby.
(Submitted by Gail from Minneapolis.)
Gail is a mother of three whose little kids have grown – and are certainly no longer using sippy cups. Her email reminded me – yet again – that children grow up in the blink of an eye. I’ll try to remember that the next time my younger son gets into a jar of Vaseline. (Does anyone have any great Vaseline removal tips? And, wouldn’t it be funny if the answer was white wine?)

or one of my favorites, "nestinct:"

NESTINCT n. [Fr. nesting +instinct]: Instinct a pregnant woman may have to “nest” in the months, weeks and days before her due date by preparing the home for the arrival of a new baby. Projects may include cleaning out one’s closets, painting the nursery, mopping the floors, re-grouting the shower tiles and beginning construction on a new home. There are researchers who say that nesting is triggered by a surge in oxytocin – a hormone that helps promote infant-mother bonding as well as the need to lick your finger and wipe the schmutz off someone’s face. Of course, not all mothers-to-be experience nestinct. Some women, instead of spending their final stretches of pregnancy readying their homes for baby, prefer to sit on the couch, eat fried chicken and watch marathons of “Law & Order.”

Hahaha. Love that one! So, I attempted to add to the mammalingo lexicon and Melissa Sher, author and creator of mammalingo, posted my humble offering today. I won't ruin the surprise, you'll have to click on over to read for yourself. If you've got an idea for a word that should be part of mammalingo, feel free to email it to Melissa. Her info is on her blog.

In other news, I'm participating in National Novel Writing Month again this year. We're only three days in, but so far I'm keeping up with my daily word count goal of 1,667 words. This year feels a lot easier because I'm starting a new novel. Last year I was already about 100 pages into a novel and my goal was to write the last 200 pages for NaNoWriMo, a strict violation of the NaNoWriMo rules, which stipulate that you should not try to finish an already-started project in one month. Their reasoning is that once you've already started something, you'll take everything way too seriously and be too rigid with things. The point of NaNoWriMo is to cut loose and write crazy stuff really quickly. I did have a really hard time writing the 50,000 words last year, but I did finish that novel and now it's being read by a few potential agents. So, suck it, NaNoWriMo, rule makers!

But this year I am following the rules and letting myself write with abandon. The Swiss Miss is flowing and things are going well. Hopefully, I'll be feeling this good come day 20. Probably not. Especially not if this stomach bug keeps causing me to spend all my free time disinfecting things.

Well, Teddy is screaming his head off. He who was last to vomit gets top priority in this house, so I'm off to my nurse/orderly duties.

I just want to say one last thing before I go. If you've ever thought you had a story to tell or dreamed of writing a novel, then go for it. NaNoWriMo is a completely no-risk way to achieve your writing goals. Challenging myself in this way has completely changed my writing life and is helping me get my work done even in the midst of kids being sick, soccer practice, and making dinner. I'll go ahead and toss in one of my favorite Anne Lamott quotes here: “I used to not be able to work if there were dishes in the sink. Then I had a child and now I can work if there is a corpse in the sink."

Teddy has miraculously stopped crying. Maybe I have a few extra minutes to write after all.

Hints from Heloise, a parody

Have you ever read the "Hints from Heloise" column in the newspaper and thought to yourself, that is the most obvious thing I've ever heard in my entire life? Maybe it's just me.

Dear Heloise,

I thought your readers might be interested to know that sometimes after we've eaten some beans that come in a can, I wash the can out and then use it for other things like pencils or even pens. Be sure to take lid off and dispose of it first. That is important.


Dear Heloise,
When my family of four can't finish the dinner I've made for them, I wrap it up in some Saran Wrap and put it in the refrigerator. The refrigerator keeps it cold and the Saran Wrap keeps the food from drying out and tasting like the other food in the refrigerator. Then we eat it the next day at another meal time. We have a silly name for meals like this at our house: "leftovers."


Dear Heloise,
In case your readers are wondering what to do with yesterday's newspaper, I have a great tip! I like to take a newspaper that has already been read and crumple it up into a little ball. Once you set a match to it, this ball of newspaper becomes very flammable. It is a great way to start a fire! Fire is good for heating your skin or your home on a cold night. And it provides light! (Light helps you to see things in the dark.)

Dear Heloise,
I have a helpful hint for readers who are always finding they are without something important when they are out and about. I realized I was always needing glasses to read a menu in a dimly lit restaurant, but I would often forget them at home. When it came time to pay the bill, I was completely useless without the wallet I use for my dollar bills, coins and credit cards. Then there was the set of keys I needed to get into my house, my car and office. Well, I have forgotten these things for the last time and here's how: I now care a small leather bag with me everywhere I go. It is just the right size for carrying my glasses, my wallet, keys and maybe a few other essentials with me when I go out. It even has a thin leather strap so that I can hook it on my shoulder and be hands-free! No more getting locked out of my house or stranded in parking lots for me!

Dear Heloise,
A few months ago you printed a recipe for boiled water. Can you please share that with us again?

Mary Smith
Columbus, OH

Dear Mary,
Here is the recipe for boiled water you requested. This classic may be one of our most requested recipes!

Fill a metal pot with water. Water from the tap is best. Do not use toilet water.
Put the pot on the stove and turn the stove to HIGH.
Walk away and do something else. A watched pot never boils.
When you see bubbles and steam, you'll know your water is boiling.

Boiling water can be used for making Easter eggs, cleaning metal blinds, sterilizing baby bottles, making tea...the list is endless!

Haha...happy Friday!

Love,
Elizabeth

Curious George, shin guards, and rainbows

The soundtrack from the movie version of Curious George is pumping in the boys' room right now. Charlie is in love with this CD and with Curious George in general these days. I never knew Jack Johnson could be so very LOUD. These mellow numbers are not meant to be heard at volumes that hurt your brain. Ahhhhhg....Jack Johnson, stop freaking screaming at me about friendship and recycling!

Life is moving at a breakneck speed lately. We are now a two-soccer-game-per-weekend family. How in the world did that happen. It's nuts. Charlie is a hilarious soccer player. He claims to be playing defense, but really what he does is stay about ten feet from the ball at all times and kind of hustle around while cheering for other people to kick the ball. I couldn't make the most recent game, but Brandon said Charlie totally ran out of gas about halfway through. At one point during the game he actually leaned on the coach and started moaning. If only someone had thought to play some Curious George, then he would've gotten pumped!

Speaking of soccer...what's up with the oranges? I had no idea this was such a thing.

This past Saturday, we had two soccer games and two birthday parties, one of which we were hosting. Sometimes I have to remind myself that this is really my life, and not a commercial for a minivan.

So without further ado....

Rainbow birthday party pictures!

First we painted watercolor rainbows. Mellow songs from my rainbow mix CD played quietly in the background. This was a nice, calm way to start the party. Ahhhh...don't you just love little girls and how they will serenely paint rainbows on command?

We had a lego table for the boys just in case they didn't want to paint watercolor rainbows. And they didn't.

Decorations: We TPed our own tree in rainbow colors. Awesome! We also had balloons in rainbow colors. Joy!

We had a "rainbow walk." This was sort of like a cake walk. Kids walked in a circle to music. Whoever was on a special rainbow square when the music stopped could pick a few silly bands from a basket. DJ Teddy made this a little bit challenging, but still fun. The silly bands were a hit!

Rainbow silly bands!!

Rainbow scavenger hunt: We pretended like a leprechaun had left clues to finding the pot of gold he hid in our yard. Each clue led the kids to find a color of the rainbow. The first clue was "What rolls on the ground and holds something that cries? In it you'll find a red surprise." Then we hid a red ball in our stroller, along with the clue for the next object: an orange pumpkin hidden in our swing. The clue for that one was, "what flies through the air, but doesn't have wings? In it you'll find a little orange thing." Leprechaun poets we are not, but we had fun with it. Once they found all the colors of the rainbow, the leprechaun left them a clue to find the pot of gold. Each child got their own little bag of chocolate coins. Hooray! This was a big hit!

Then we ate pizza and hung out in the backyard for a little bit. After that we went inside to decorate the cake using tons of candy every color of the rainbow! Woo!

Teddy calls this cake "happy cake." I agree. Didn't the kids do a great job decorating? I may never decorate another cake again. They LOVED decorating it and they saved me lots of work!

Our party favor was the aforementioned CD of rainbow songs, a rainbow lollipop and the gold coins that the leprechaun left in our yard. I also let the kids help themselves to our gumball machine at various times throughout the party. Just call me Willy Wonka!

We had lots of fun. It was a very simple party, but a lot of love went into it. Those are the best parties in my opinion!

Fashion

Weeks ago I went on a rare solo shopping trip for fall clothes for the kids. I sold a lot of their outgrown stuff at a consignment store and was able to get tons of "new" stuff for them for about $60. I had saved so much that I thought it was kind of my duty to go shopping at Nordstrom's and buy some more stuff. Are you with me?

I found the sweetest little Tea dress that Emma and I had seen a few weeks earlier in the Tea catalog. At the time, we had both agreed that it would be a good pick for school. I found another dress that looked perfect for Emma. It was teal corduroy with little patchwork flowers on the front and adorable pockets with pleats and buttons. This was a dress designed for the first day of school. I couldn't wait to see her wear it. When I brought the new stuff home, she was really excited. She wanted to wear the corduroy dress right away, but I told her she had to wait until the first day of school. Oh, I could barely wait myself!

Finally, the first day of school eve arrived and we were getting around to the business of laying out clothes. Emma wanted to wear the green shirt that she had been wearing all summer long. I liked that shirt when we bought it, but like most things from Target, it was beginning to lose its charm after about the 100th washing. It needed to be put out of its misery. It didn't need to be paraded out on the first day of school like some kind of showpiece. Am I making too big a deal out of this. Probably!

So, then I turned into kind of a crazy person. I freaked out a little on poor Emma. She proudly showed me her outfit. And I, taking a page from the Kate Gosslyn school of mothering, was like, "You are not wearing that shirt. You are wearing the corduroy dress or the Tea dress or the plaid dress with the ruffle on the front. Those are first day of school dresses. EVERYONE WEARS A DRESS ON THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL!" I shouted in a really insane way.

We went round and round, fighting over what was "fashion" and what wasn't. As we were arguing, I kept having sudden bursts of clarity and thinking: am I really arguing with my daughter about what she wants to wear? Who was I turning into? There was part of me that could see how ridiculous it was that I cared so much, and then there was part of me that was so upset that she was being so stubborn. She loved the dress when I had brought it home. It was like she just wanted to make me crazy by not wearing it. Or maybe she was just in the mood to wear something comfy and familiar on her first day at a new school?

Then she decided a good compromise would be to wear a new white t-shirt (the one I had bought to wear under the corduroy dress) with her jeans and sketchers. Apparently she wanted to look like Pony Boy from The Outsiders on her first day of school.

Thankfully, Brandon intervened, and over a nice toothbrushing, convinced Emma that most girls do wear dresses on the first day of school and that it might be nice to humor her crazy mother just this once. She came back to her room, where I was painstakingly lacing her Sketchers, and told me that she had changed her mind. She wanted to wear the corduroy dress.

So, score one for Mommy. It was a hollow victory, though. She seemed really happy to be wearing the dress today, but how much of a toll did it take on her spunky, stubborn little spirit and on my relationship with her? She's wearing the green Target shirt and jeans tomorrow. She will look fabulous. She will look like herself.

Party Down

Hi there. Sorry I've been such a bad blogger lately. We are moving soon and my life has been consumed by the details of getting out of this house and getting into a new one. Plus, all the parties. Parties for the end of t-ball, parties for the end of kindergarten, birthday parties, end-of-preschool parties, Mother's day, Father's day... I'm about to puke from all the celebrating. Could we just not have a party and say we did?

I'm being a bit of a party pooper, I know. I will admit that I had a lot of fun planning Charlie's campfire birthday party. We rented a campfire ring at our local nature center and roasted marshmallows and hot dogs (not in that order) and threw rocks in the nearby creek. If your five-year-old boy ever complains of boredom, just take him to a creek and instruct him to throw rocks at it. You will be amazed at the amount of time your son can do something that doesn't involve a cape, or wheels, or a guy named Mario.

And my time for blogging may just be up because Teddy does not stand for people being on the computer these days. Or people playing with toys or people eating in big-kid chairs while he is stuck in a booster seat or people drinking out of regular cups while he is drinking from a sippy cup. He thinks he is so big-time. In the pro-Teddy category I have to include the fact that he is basically potty-training himself. (!!!!) I noticed he was dry when I was changing him after long periods of not changing him, so I started putting him on the potty and voila, pee pee! Now, I just put him on the potty every so often and he pretty much always goes. He even wears underwear around the house. Seeing as I thought Charlie would go to college with pull-ups, I'm pretty much in awe of Teddy's potty giftedness. I chalk it up to the cloth diapers. Even if you don't believe in global warming, I still recommend you use cloth diapers (and check out the movie An Inconvenient Truth). They have proven to be very economical, pretty easy, and a means to facilitate early potty training.

I just had to take a Teddy potty break...He went #2!!! Could I be any prouder of my boy? No, I could not!!!! I realize I sound like one of those annoying braggy mom bloggers right now. Sorry, can't help it. And I realize I just wrote #2 in a post. I am just shameless today.

Back to parties....I'm curious about something....what do people think about the whole "no gifts" trend at kids' b-day parties. I'm an old-school birthday party thrower. I think there should be gifts and sweets and candles blown out while guests sing happy birthday. I even think it's okay for the b-day boy or girl to open the gifts in front of people. Am I totally behind the times? I recently went to a party that I could've sworn was a no-gifts party and didn't bring a gift. Then sat in horror as gifts were opened and one of the kids asked, "what did you bring?" Oops!

In my opinion, requesting "no gifts" is totally confusing and not helping anyone. I know people think they're being kind when they say "no gifts," but really all they're doing is playing this b-day party mind game. Does "no gifts" really mean no gifts? Or does it mean contribute to a charity in the name of the birthday boy? Does it mean bring a card with sticker sheets in lieu of gifts? Does it mean bring a big, showy gift to show you are really just too generous and lousy with free time and money to go to a party without a nerf blaster in hand?

I tend to agree with Miss Manners who says that no mention of gifts should be made on an invitation, period. It's tacky to presume that someone would bring a gift in the first place, so to instruct them not to bring a gift is arguably equally tacky. Plus, it's actually fun to pick out a gift for someone you care about. Why deny our children this pleasure? It's also instructive for the child being celebrated to learn how to open and appreciate gifts graciously. Plus, getting gifts on your birthday is pretty much the whole point of having a birthday. I still wake up on my birthday full of anticipation and excitement. And that's not because I love turning another year older; it's because of the gifts!

Teddy is not at all pleased at how long I've been on the computer. Gotta run!

Resistance Training

Brandon has just left to go running. Outside it's the greenish purple of evening in the late spring. Everything is so lush right now. When you go running on the trail behind our house, you smell honeysuckle and see cardinals and lizards flying and darting around. The kids are in their beds. All three are still awake, having their conversations. It's precious to listen to them. Or, it would be precious if, say, I were a stranger just hearing them for the first time. I'm not a stranger, though. I'm the opposite of a stranger to them. I am the person they know so well and are so close to, that they can barely untangle their own identities from mine. And I'm pretty much the same way with them. So, I don't find them so precious at the moment. They sound like birds tweeting or the white noise of crickets that you don't really notice until someone says, "listen to those crickets."

I am tired from doing resistance training all day. I'm not referring to some new workout regime. Well, it is sort of a workout. I'm talking about toddler resistance training. The muscles in my arms are aching from keeping Teddy out of harm's way--from falling down the stairs, falling out of the computer chair and onto the sharp-edge of the desk drawer that holds the keyboard. I have imagined him hitting his head just so and piercing his eye with the edge of the drawer. It's my weird way of steeling myself for the worst-case scenario. I think it helps me to feel better about the rest of my day.

Teddy is almost 19 months-old now, and he is in full-blown toddler mode. It's like he watched some documentary about how to be a toddler and is now practicing his new skills. I don't think I have sat down all day. If he is awake, he is testing the limits of everything. If I try to send an email, he is hitting the shift key over and over again, so that my computer has to be rebooted in order to work properly. At lunch he hurls his food over the banister into the sunken living room, where it lands on the white couch. At the library he pulls the books off the shelf, runs with abandon through the fiction section. He is happiest at the playground. But any second he could step off the ten-foot drop-off next to the slide. Why do they put these drop-offs on playgrounds??? Can we just have one place where we mothers of toddlers can rest for a second? I follow him around the play scape, hitting my head on the entryway to the slide.

I know this part of childhood is relatively short-lived. In just six months from now, he'll be less of a handful. In a year, he'll be scaling the climbing structures at the playground while I stifle a yawn, seated at a nearby bench. I'm in the thick of this toddler thing and I know that this too shall pass. But it's still exhausting.

I'm looking forward to the kids finally getting quiet upstairs, to Brandon coming home from his run in the almost-dark. I want to sit and read a book in peace for as long as I can. Until I can't possibly hold my eyes open another second.

Holding Boys Back from Kindergarten

I've been listening to the book Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell this week. We have it on CD. I don't normally "read" books this way, but I have been amazed at how much I've enjoyed listening to it. I'm not sure I would feel that way about every book, but I plan to listen to more books this way in the future. I just started it on Tuesday and I finished it today. All that "reading" took place while I was making blueberry muffins and folding laundry and driving around in my minivan. Pretty efficient.

I highly recommend this book. It will really make you think about the ways in which our background and culture inform who we are. The book looks at success and tries to figure out if there is some kind of pattern that success follows. Guess what, there is! There's not necessarily a recipe for success that you can follow, but there are certain circumstances that breed success.

One section of the book is about hockey players in Canada. It turns out that, almost without exception, the best hockey players in Canada are all born in the first half of the year. That seems pretty weird, until you realize that January 1st is the arbitrary cutoff birthday for signing up for hockey. Gladwell explains that the players who were born closest to the cutoff date of January 1, are the best players because they are the oldest players on the team. Because they are the best players, they get picked for special travel teams, practice and play more, and get the best coaches. By the time they have gone through many years in the hockey system, they have been groomed to be best players, and therefore are the best players.

Gladwell then explains that this is the case in most school systems as well. In kindergarten, the oldest kids generally do the best and are put in the advanced reading and math groups where they get special attention and praise for their work. They continue to be tracked in these advanced groups and over the years, the gap between them and their peers grows larger, rather than smaller. They are being groomed to be the best and they live up to that expectation.

Of course, you have to take all this with a grain of salt because this theory of Gladwell's cannot be applied in every case. I'm sure there are plenty of cases of younger kids in a classroom being in the advanced groups. But, I think it is safe to assume that if your child is the oldest in their class, then you are definitely stacking the odds in their favor. Can't hurt, right?

Another book that informed our decision to hold Charlie (our boy who will be five in June) back from kindergarten next year was It's a Boy by Michael Thompson. We have been really questioning whether or not to hold Charlie back. He's ready for kindergarten in so many ways, but he's admittedly not the most mature child on the block either. He doesn't always follow instructions. He struggles to do things like put his socks on (or acts like it's a struggle so you will come help him). He's emotional in good and bad ways and I could see him getting frustrated to the point of tears if something in school didn't come easily to him.

With Emma in kindergarten already, I have a pretty good idea what goes on academically. I have no doubt that Charlie could rise to the occasion and be just fine academically. He wouldn't be one of the top students most likely, but he would be somewhere in the middle. Charlie is very smart, don't get me wrong. But so far he's not exceptional in the things that count in kindergarten (reading, writing and sitting still). If you need a robot built out of stuff found in the recycling bin, then Charlie's your guy.

So, I turned to the It's a Boy book to find out if Michael Thompson had some helpful info on boys and kindergarten. Turns out he did! He's pretty opinionated about this subject, in fact:

"The age at which a boy starts kindergarten, his developmental readiness and the experiences he has there will affect him for the rest of his school career, and perhaps for the rest of his life. In the first three years of formal schooling--kindergarten through second grade--he forms a view of himself as a successful boy or a failure. Research confirms what most parents and educators see every day: that how well a boy performs in these earliest years of school affects his self-image and later performance."

Wow. So, I wasn't crazy for giving this so much thought. The age at which a boy starts kindergarten will affect him for the rest of his life?? This is serious business. To me, Thompson is effectively saying the same thing as Gladwell. Whether it's hockey or school, those who have the advantage at the very beginning will continue to have an advantage their entire career. And according to Gladwell, the advantage doesn't stay the same, it grows over time.

Thompson also goes on to say that kindergarten, in it's current academics-focused form, plays more to a typical girl's strengths than a boy's. (Notice I'm saying "typical" here.) In his book, Thompson quotes Jane Katch, a teacher and author of books about kindergarten. Katch says that kindergarten

"doesn't work for boys. What happens is that they come into school thinking they are okay and they immediately discover that the things that are valued by the teacher are the things they are worst at: fine motor coordination, word/sound discrimination skills, hearing the beginning, middle, and end of words. They can't come up with them or recognize them. They will in six months, but they can't now. They aren't as good at coming up quickly with answers to questions, so they don't raise their hands. It is much harder for them to sit still, so they're told they're restless...And we've cut out everything they are good at. Boys at this age have terrific skills at making big things happen together, as a group--cooperating, communicating, being a constructive group together to make exciting things work."

Later, Thompson says this about the difference between girls and boys in kindergarten:

"Because reading, sitting still, and taking school seriously are so strongly developmental, the boys on the younger end of the development arc are most at risk for difficulty or failure in an academic kindergarten, although all children are shortchanged by a curriculum that pressures them to move forward too quickly."

So, there you have it. Our case for holding Charlie back. This has been a decision I have agonized over. It's hard to buck the system and do something a little different from what other people are doing. I think it will turn out great for Charlie, though. It certainly can't hurt him.

For the next post, I'm hoping to divulge our plan for next year! I'm very excited about Charlie's "gap year." What a gift to have an extra year with my sweet boy! :)

Rocket Birthday Party

With a kids ages 6, 4, and 17 months, birthday parties are quite the hot topic at our house. I thought it would be fun to post about birthday parties we've either had or have thought about having or would like to have in the future. Please feel free to share your own party ideas. I'm almost as birthday-party obsessed as my kids are and I would love to hear your ideas!

For Charlie's 4th birthday, we had a rocket/space-themed birthday party. It was a blast! (ha ha)

Here's what we did:

Decorations: I displayed space books around the kids' playroom (where most of the party took place). Books are a fun (and cheap) way to decorate and they double as a quiet party activity. I also had little astronaut figurines and any other toys having to do with space out on the playroom shelves for kids to play with at their leisure. The big centerpiece of the party was the cardboard rocket playhouse my parents gave Charlie as a birthday present. We let the kids color it with crayons and play inside it during the party.

• Activities: For parties, I always set up different centers for the kids to pick from when they arrive. I know I can feel uncomfortable when I go to parties...and I'm a grown up. I figure kids feel this way sometimes too, so it's nice to give them a choice of activities to get them feeling comfortable and in the party mood. Plus, when you're talking about young children, you can never make them all do the same activity at the same time. It's too hard. Giving them options is the way to go. For this party we had a playdough table, a craft table, books and space toys scattered around the playroom and the playhouse rocket. I was also brave and put the computer on a kids' space website for tech savvy kids to explore. Our computer is in the middle of the kids' playroom, so it was easy to monitor their use of the computer while the party was going on. I made sure to expand the screen on the computer so that no other toolbars/windows would be accessible to a preschoolers' wandering mouse. To do this, just go to your browser's toolbar and click "view" and then click "full screen."

Playdough table!

Craft:

We made planets by coloring round coffee filters with water-soluble markers and then spraying them with water. After our planets dried, we glued them to black paper and added star stickers. Too bad this picture is so bad, because this craft turned out really cool. Using blue and green markers makes the planets look like Earth, using red and orange can make them look like Jupiter? Mars? Who knows...the point is, they look planety and that's what you're going for.

Food:

Rocket sandwiches with baby carrot rocket boosters, stars and planets cheese and crackers.



Cake:

Your basic chocolate cake decorated to look like space. Adding plastic space guys and a space shuttle hopefully distracted from my less than professional cake decorating skills.

Grand Finale: We walked to a field near our house (one without lots of power lines or low-flying planes) and blasted off a real rocket! I had no idea these rockets even existed until one day when I was at Michaels getting supplies for the party and saw an aisle there labeled "Rockets." I was giddy with excitement to go down that aisle, let me tell you. These rockets are serious business and not for people like me who are afraid to open up a can of biscuits. Thankfully my husband was not scared to light the tiny little sticks of dynamite that are required to launch one of these babies.

Here's a video of our rocket launch:

Party Favors: Astronaut ice cream, of course! And I made a mix CD of songs about space using iTunes' "genius" feature. Just go on the iTunes website and it's pretty self-explanatory how you can find music that is about certain themes. I had fun picking the music for our "Space Jams" CD and it was great background music for our party as well. Here are a list of the songs on our CD if you're interested:

1. Rocketship Run by The Laurie Berkner Band


2. Nine Planets by Justin Roberts


3. Backyard Spaceship by Justin Roberts


4. Rocketship by Justin Roberts


5. Great Big Sun by Justin Roberts


6. Blast Off by Mikey's Band


7. The Solar System by Joel Media & Crew


8. Blast Off! by Rocknocerous


9. Pluto by Rocknocerous


10. Fly Me to the Moon by The Laurie Berkner Band


11. You Are My Sunshine by Elizabeth Mitchell


12. Twinkle Twinkle Little Star by Elizabeth Mitchell


13. Down to Earth by Peter Gabriel


14. Outer Space by Relax Kids

Did I mention that this is when my secret music crush on Justin Roberts began? Sigh...

Here's a picture of the actual Space Jams CD. I took a picture of some of Charlie's space toys and made a cool personalized label. Can you tell I live for this stuff?

Here's a video taken during the party when one of the space jams was really pumping. This will give you an idea of the space party milieu, if you will. That's me with the baby and the wet hair.

Query Letters

So, I finally finished editing my manuscript and it's in the in-boxes of my fabulous writing group ladies. By the way, if you are a writer and you don't have a writing group, let me urge you to run out and get one as soon as possible. I don't know what I would do without mine. They are such a source of strength, encouragement and laughs.

So, now the time has finally come to start researching literary agents. Yippee! I started by looking at the Agent Query web site, typed in "women's fiction" in the search bar and then that gave me a whole database of agents who are accepting submissions for women's fiction. Woo hoo! I think I have spent about two hours looking at this stuff and so far I've made it through three agents' web sites. One agent had a really helpful blog with "must read" posts about writing query letters, submitting, etc. I found it really helpful. Here it is if you're interested.

So, the first thing I need to do is write a query letter. All agents pretty much require that you send them that first. And then they ask to see your manuscript if they like your query. Here is the definition of a query letter from the afforementioned Book Ends Literary Agency's blog:

Query: A one-page letter sent to agents or editors in an attempt to attain representation. A query letter should include all of the author’s contact information—name, address, phone, email, and Web site—as well as the title of the book, genre, author bio if applicable, and a short, enticing blurb of the book. A query letter is your introduction and sometimes only contact with an agent and should not be taken lightly.

Basically, a query is your one-page pitch that will entice a literary agent to want to see more of your manuscript. It should read like the blurb on the back of a paperback book.

SO, this week I'm going to write a query letter. And make a list of agents that I want to send said query letter to. There is even this cool little query letter tracking device that you can use to track all of queries! Can't wait to start filling this baby in!

Anybody out there have any tips on finding an agent? I'd love to hear them! Right now it feels a little needle-in-a-haystacky trying to find the right person to send to.

I'd love to spend all morning on the internet reading up on literary agents, but, alas, we are out of milk. Gotta run!

Fairy Houses

Trying to write with kids in the room is like trying to french braid hair in the middle of a hurricane. You need these precise words and images to do what you want them to do. You almost lay your hands on them and fit them into a sentence. The image or line of dialogue you want is just within reach. You are about to pluck it out of thin air, when you hear "Mooooommmmyyyyyy?????" Everything you had in your hands is blown away and scattered, not to be retrieved until after bedtime, if you're lucky.

Don't you love a good french braiding simile?

I feel like I'm in a daze half of the time these days. That's nothing new, you're thinking. You're always writing about feeling that way. You may have a point, but I think I accidentally called the director of Charlie's preschool my main character's first name the other day by mistake. I feel foggy and removed from real life a lot. These are either by-products of the writing life or it's the prescription adult acne medication I'm taking.

I'm so tired.

The times I have to write are the times when normal people would be watching TV or taking showers. I feel like I'm trying to fit this thing into my life that just won't fit. It's frustrating, like trying to stuff Charlie's extra-wide feet into a pair of Chuck Taylors. Brandon knows what I'm talking about.


There's this new fad going on in the hipster mom world. Have you heard of it? No, it's not bento boxes, but those seem like lots of fun too. It's fairy houses. All the cool moms are encouraging their kids to get outside and make little houses for fairies out of sticks, leaves, rocks, pine cones, etc. You can get as elaborate as you want to. You can turn your fairy houses into some kind of Ikea showroom floor for fairies by making furniture, wall decor, little acorn sconces, peacock feather throws...the sky's the limit.

I love the idea of these fairy houses. I will have to get out there and start making some with the kids now that the weather is nice. I like the conceit of creating this miniature world for people that presumably don't really exist. (Sorry, I may be a weirdo in other ways, but I'm not a believer in fairies.) Unlike playing transformers or slogging through a game of Chutes and Ladders, this is the kind of play I can get into.

On good days, writing feels like how I imagine building fairy houses feels. It's just that instead of bark and feathers, I'm using words to build homes for my fairies to live in and get messy.

I used to feel like a fraud when I told people I was a writer. Similarly, I would've felt like a fraud if I went around telling people I was an ice skater. I would write the way I'd ice skate: shakily and infrequently, but with moments of glee. Now, I don't feel like a fraud telling people that I write. I do write. I fit it in even though it is almost impossible with three small children. I do it almost daily. A lot of times I do it badly, but I still do it.

I'm looking forward to the time when I can write without the distraction of children. Does that sound terrible to say? I'm not wishing their childhood away or anything. Teddy does this thing right now where he walks backwards when he gets really excited. He looks like a tiny Michael Jackson in Robeez. I don't want to lose all of that. But maybe a nice long writing retreat...a whole weekend to write without someone hurtling grapes at me or asking me to make them a sandwich. That sounds pretty great.

Sorry to those of you who thought this post was going to be a how-to on fairy houses or that it was going to have something to do with bento boxes. Maybe next time.

Shhh honey, Mommy's blogging about that funny thing you said yesterday.

This article is exactly what bugs me about mom blogs these days and why I rarely go cruising the internet looking for mom blogs to read. I've always had an "if-you-build-it-they-will-come" philosophy about my blog. I don't have a tracker that counts how many people visit my blog. I have no idea who's reading this thing. I keep meaning to get one, but then there are other pressing things to do, like, oh, I don't know hang out with my kids.

I feel like if the writing is decent and strikes a nerve, people will read this. All this crazy marketing of oneself makes me very uncomfortable. I have been trying to give Twitter the old college try. It is a good way to connect with other writers, especially other moms who are writing. I really like that about it. But I hate the narcissism that it breeds. Every time I get a new follower (and it is not often), I actually am fooled into believing that it means something, that my stock has just gone up a tiny bit.

This kind of thinking is dangerous. I recently got a new follower and they even put my Twitter "handle," "mommytown" in the line of one of their tweets. They said something like, "mommytown, you'll love this." I was blushing from head to toe. I had a secret admirer! And they were basically shouting their devotion to me from the rooftops! Alas, they were just trying to sell me on their ad agency specializing in social media. Of course. That old trick.

How many minutes of my life did I waste on that stupid tweet? What did that emotional roller coaster ride do to my psyche? What fun kid activity and how many loads of laundry could I have done with that precious time? I'm all for moms doing creative work and getting paid for it, but when that work involves turning the hilarious shenanigans of your kids into a brand that you try to sell to the highest bidder, then that sort of makes me want to puke a little. Go sell it somewhere else, sister, because this mommy isn't buying it.

Harsh? Read the article and see what you think. First five commenters get a brand new Fleurville diaper bag and will be entered for a chance to win a trip to Disney!!!!!!*

*; )