On homework, then onward.

The interlopers. Nate was unable to escape from work so I was flying solo, and Julia insisted on attending her brothers Thanksgiving performance (her teachers were a little bit "meh, it is very crowded in there and I was equally all "meh" other people have like eleventy grandparents and cousins along for the show I'm sure a 3 foot tall sister won't take up much space *sales nod twinkly eyes smile*. They said okay, and I happily stole my girl out of class so that she could proudly watch her brother. Many kudos go to Luke's teachers, who saw her, and quickly made a special place for her right next to Luke and his teacher. In case you can't tell, I'm not thrilled with Julia's teachers this year. They need a personality pill) Jake was just along for the free snacks, as usual.

I admit to totally dreading this Thanksgiving program. I mean, c'mon. Honestly I had three gazillion things to do as it was the week I was hosting Thanksgiving. However, it was a tear inducing sweet and touching sort of thing that I was really glad that I went to. The kids sang about 15 songs, the table was set with care (and I had to perform all sorts of theatrics to keep Jake from the table, laden with snacks, while simultaneously trying to get pics and video of Luke). Tall Uggs were the super wrong choice for the endeavor, I felt rage. Next year I'm wearing a bikini or something. It was ridiculously hot in there, even to those not trying to deter 31 lb's of pure determination.

The Turkey. This will play into the "homework" topic. Luke's feather is third from the bottom, with the pom poms, smiley face stickers and general non linear chaos that makes me twitch. The perfect glitter calligraphy cornucopia one was directly below Lukes...but of course that winner Mom got to the Turkey first and removed it before the rest of us slacker parents had a chance to get to ours. More on that later.

The Family Crests. You know, because we are all royalty and whatnot. Luke's is second from last on the top row. The messy one :)

Nate and his new toy......a preview of Thanksgiving posts.

First off, Happy Thanksgiving to those who read! I hope that you had lovely days filled with family and delicious eats. I have to catch up on stuff before I get to ours, so bear with me.

We are experiencing a new development in preschool land. Homework. Some parents call what Luke is in Pre-K, I call it preschool, but the general gist is the same. His October newsletter foretold the beginning of homework. I pictured, like, worksheets and stuff. Wrong. It was Momwork, not homework.

This all started with the feather. Luke brought home a plain white poster board feather. We were charged with decorating it, with the understanding that it would adorn a bulletin board turkey's plumage. Cool, right? Except that I'm Luke's Mom. Poor Luke. I like things neat. I really like things to be linear and balanced. I'm a little nutty, very admittedly. So when Luke said, in his very Lukeish way, "Lets ALL do this together! I want Julia and Jake to help me!" I twitched. I got out the armory of craft supplies as I continued to clean up the kitchen.....and I let them loose. I love my Mom. Love her so much. My Mom is really perfect, like, really perfect. I remember "creating" projects in elementary school that made my stomach hurt, but won the blue ribbon. I admire my Mom's desire to do things well, and I certainly recognize those same tendencies in myself, but I want to avoid the stomach ache part. I want to let them do it imperfectly, even if it is hard for me. So, they had at it. At times, despite myself, I found myself saying things like "Its a feather, lets try to make a PATTERN!"...but alas, it was like those artists who throw paint at an easel in the result. I mean, Jake was helping. And when it was "done", Luke beamed with pride and we handed it in the next morning, with total excitement.

So, when I came home from Arizona there was this big crest thing waiting for me. It had already been sullied (Nate not realizing what it was all about let Luke start to write his name on it) and it was already due like the day after I got home. Anyway, it was a "Family Crest". The family surname was to adorn the top, and the three sections that were pre divided were to represent three things: Luke's family, something Luke likes to do, and something Luke likes to eat. Now. Luke can't read or write, so the talk of actually creating the family crest presumably fell to the readers and writers in the family. Nate was out of town like 12 hours after I got home from Az, so that meant me. I wrote MANGAN across the top with marker, (over the part where Luke had accidentally started writing his name in giant black crown)...and I let the kids loose with like 7 magazines that I had stolen (borrowed!) from the gym. For our "family" picture I am ashamed to admit that I didn't even have one printed up (I'm so bad with printed pictures) so I had to use the one of the three kids on the podium at Lake Placid, no parents in sight). For the "things I like to do" picture, Luke chose a picture of a lovely Asian family sledding. For his "favorite food" photo, he chose linguine with clams. And he wasn't kidding, this kid loves some pasta and loves some clams. So. So I glued this imperfect family photo, this random sledding photo, and this linguine and clam photo onto the crest......and again I just let him go. It was....cute, if random. It was clearly made by a 4 year old.

So fast forward to like a week later as I dropped the kids off at preschool. Luke's teacher had a crest in her hand as she got him out of the car. It was PERFECTION. The surname was, like, hand EMBROIDERED across the top. The sections were like felt backed and hand cut and, well, impressive. I got this little clench in my gut. This moment of "WHO THE HELLS CREST IS THAT? IS MY KIDS CREST GOING TO SUCK? IS THAT THE LEVEL OF COMPETITION? AM I A SUCKY MOM?????"

Anyway. When we got to the Thanksgiving program I admit to anxiously scanning the family crest wall in my sweaty Ugg Jake tending Julia herding state. I was so. So. so. relieved to see that most people are normal. Most people were not hand embroidering their kids preschool homework. I scanned the turkey's plumage to see the same thing: two Mom done turkey feathers, and like 14 totally ugly, imperfect, yet beautiful feathers. I felt joy.

There was one other homework assignment, which I pretty much failed to pay attention to. We had to send in a list of three tasks that our child had done to help our family, and sign it. I admit to being that Mom in car line who was eternally grateful for my long form sticky pad and pen.....so that while waiting in car line I could scrawl "Luke set the table. Luke cleared the table. Luke puts his clothes in the laundry room". These were nothing special, these are just his jobs. In the Thanksgiving performance all of the kids had to stand up and recite the three ways that they had been helpful to their families, and then received a special feather. I was so proud of my boy as he stood up and recited ways that he helped his family.

So. That was the program. At the end we all got lots of food and even got to bring home a loaf of pumpkin bread that they had made during class! It was precious.

It was important to me. I see the perfect feathers, and the perfect crests........and I don't care. I have new found confidence in my desire to divert from my own childhood mandate of "perfection" into a new paradigm. It is okay to let things be imperfect, it is actually good. And if perfect Mom needs to be perfect, that may be good for their family, too. For me, it isn't. For me, watching my son want to share the fun of "homework" with his sibs is joyful.

Farmin

So. It's been a long day.

We started out at 8 am, (Poor Nate started out at 4 am en route to the airport) to head to Becca's school. We had a great time with the kids, and Luke stood up in front of a class of high schoolers, grabbed his Aunt's hand, and started doing his little side to side dance as he sang the alphabet to them. I was grossly, unduly, proud of my brave little guy. It took his Mama 33 years and two kids to be so comfortable singing in public. It was so much fun. Thanks, Bec.

It was 11 by the time that we were done answering the childhood development questions of two classes of teens and following up on our September visit. Rather than ruin nap time pre lunch, we decided to head to a store that I had been getting emails from for about a year. I had a coupon, and they had announced a "huge sale", so we took a jaunt to check it out. It was a lovely store. The sort of place that I would have just eaten up pre children and pre one income and pre reality of life with actual dirt eating, food messing, bug hunting, toilet water splashing children. I put my foot in my mouth when one of my girlfriends called me to see what I was doing and I answered "Oh, just shopping in some grotesquely overpriced kids store"................ and then went to check out my two measly items with my measly little coupon, and had the owner say to me "I am sorry that you think that our store is overpriced, I try hard to be competitive". Foot. Mouth. Oops.

It was one of those moments in life where I actually was so NOT trying to hurt someones feelings, or call them out, but was just candidly (and I thought quietly) being honest. I went on to tell the now-I-know-is-the-owner that I knew it was not her fault, but the fault of the manufacturers of the children's clothing lines that she carried, and how my two and one year olds trash clothing in various almost incomprehensible ways, and how I love the clothes but simply cannot justify the cost(one dress that I thought was cute was $120....for my one year old. Um, no). We went on to have a lovely discussion about cloth diapers, and I am thrilled with the two small products that I did buy, but man was it awkward there for a moment. She was a lovely woman with a lovely store, and I totally probably made her feel bad, and it made me feel bad. Argh.

Pre me feeling bad, I was perusing the counter and found the business cards of several local businesspeople. I have to tell you that I was awed. There were maybe 6 business cards there. In no particular order:

*One for a babyproofer. Because, you know, you will very likely kill your child DEAD if you don't have someone professionally prepare your home for your own offspring. First thought: they are CHILDREN, not anacondas. Is it really that hard???? Second thought. No, there was no second thought. Mind was getting numbingly blurry.

*One for a professional errand runner. Because, you know, why should you have to bother getting your own sushi, or your own dry cleaning, or your own snowshoes/baby diapers/jewelery cleaning/whatever when you don't have to? Only $30/hour on weekends or early or late errands. What a steal.

*This was the one that really got me. One for a "baby concierge". I had no idea what that meant (in all honesty, I had no idea what any of them fully meant, so of course I grabbed their cards and went to their websites). I came to learn that a "baby concierge" is someone who will come and tell you how to be pregnant, and how to have a baby. They will actually "craft" your baby registry for you, and plan your nursery, and pretty much do everything but actually gestate your child. Now. Call me a cynic......but. I try not to be judgemental on my blog. I try not to even pretend to give other people mothering advice, or whatever. I just try to write about my kids. BUT. This one made me want to throw all that out the window. You know why? Because if you can't:

A. Talk to your friends, research on line, read some books on what a baby might need, than it is possible, QUITE possible, that you are not intelligent enough to actually raise a child.

OR

B. If you are too BUSY to talk to your friends research on line read some books etc on what a baby might need, you may just be too busy to have a child.

So. We went to lunch after that. It was just one of those perfect days where the sky was so blue, the breeze so fresh, and my kids being so edible and endearing, that I did not want it to end.

After naps we headed out amongst a whole nother set of folk. Those less concerned with purchasing $110 organic baby snuzzly blankets shipped in from another country, and those more concerned with actually bettering their own backyard via supporting local organic farms (do I sound judgemental? I just read back through this and it sounds judgemental. Forgive me. Maybe I am judgemental about this. Or maybe I am just a busy Mom living a real life. I can't decipher which it is). Mom Mom came along for the ride, as she was excited to see the farm. We picked peas (which we then consumed, feverishly, with dinner), got our food, and our pastured meat and eggs, and came home. I bathed my decidedly filthy children, and watered the plants, and here I am.

If only my baby concierge could come mop my floors for me, then give me a bath, then tuck me in bed.

Or is that more errand runner territory?

Maybe I should just call for a personal yoga lesson and chill-the-heck-out.

(As a disclaimer, as an ardent Capitalist, I think that it is totally fantastic that these people are doing these things. I wish them great success, even if I do not understand a bit of it.)

(As another aside, when I spell checked this post, my spell check cried foul at my use of babyproofer. It suggested just one term as a conceivable alternative : bombproofer. It is worthy of consideration that spell check is wiser than it seems, at times.)

Schooled

These pictures are unrelated to anything, but they will serve as a belated happy 30th and 25th birthday post to my wonderful brother and sister. It was fun celebrating with both of you. Thanks for being a great Aunt and Uncle (And Godmother and Godfather) to our children. Pete, I know that this pic is of Samantha, not of you, but I didn't get any good ones of you at your party, just a few of Sam. You are great, but not quite as photo worthy as your adorable daughter, apparently.

In other news, I have officially registered Luke for pre-school. He will start in a 2 & 1/2's program and will be in school from 9-12 two mornings a week. I don't know why this felt like such a big decision. I mean, it's like pre-pre-pre K. Coloring and singing and the like. I started where every first time Mom starts anything..........with my friends. A few of my friends already have their Luke's age tots in a preschool program, most are starting in the fall, and a couple are waiting or did wait until after age 3 to start. My girlfriends are pretty well spread over about a 25 mile radius from my house....so many of the schools that they were looking at were out of my driving range for a bi-weekly commitment. Many of the schools in my immediate vicinity have cut offs of Feb 1st for their 2.5 class. As Luke is Feb 13th, he didn't make the cut. So....to the Internet I turned.

I found Chesterbrook Academy. There is one about 1/2 mile from my house, and practically adjacent to our gym. I called. Turns out that "Academy" is fancy faux school talk for daycare. Now, in no way do I have anything against daycare, but I want a true preschool, not a daycare where my child joins all of the other full time daycare kids two mornings a week. Plus, it was clearly priced at daycare prices. Ouch. I didn't even go look.

Then I found a Goddard School about a mile from our house. Set up a tour. Was totally impressed. Clean, organized, safe. They have kiddy yoga, and music, and computers, and Spanish and all sorts of fabulous things. Super duper. I was totally lapping up the Kool-Aide. Their program seemed a little long to me (8.30 till 12.30) and I wasn't sure that I was ready to commit to that much school at only 2.5. Only after they suckered me in with the facilities and curriculum did we got to price. Oh! Over $500/month for pre-school? Oh! And it's year round! So I have the great opportunity to send my son to learn how to color and sing and do some downward facing dogs for $6,000/year at the age of 2.5. Super.

I kept talking to other Mom's. I found programs with waiting lists, and crazy lotteries, and parents who have to show up at 3 am to stand in line to get their kids into a preschool. I found a couple of church programs, but they were only from 9-11. By the time I got there and dragged both kids of the car and dropped Luke off, it seemed like it would be time to pick him up again. One friend in DC had highly recommended getting involved in a co-op. She said that it was a great way to really know what was going on at the school, to be involved, and vested in your child's education and educator's. She raved about the like minded parents and kids who were a part of her children's co-op.

I finally found one in our area that would take 2.5's. We did the tour there two weeks ago. We liked it. It's in an old farmhouse. It's homey. It's warm, and inviting, and the kids appeared to be well taken care of, and loved. At this age, their focus is more around encouraging play and exploration and expression (art, music etc) than a rigid curriculum of the 3 R's and computers and the like. It seemed more my pace, and Luke's pace. We signed him up.

I live in the NE. We have probably 25 secondary schools in our relatively immediate area that cost well over $25,000/year. There is a lot of mania about going to the "right" schools, and about knowing the "right" people. It can get a little crazy, to me. One of my biggest fears is buying into that Mommy Mania. The parent trap of 3 bagillion "exclusive" sports camps, the most expensive schools, the pushing and pulling and performance-chasing that can happen as we all want what is best for our kids. I'm scared of it. I really am. I truly believe that it will take a concerted effort on our part to remember what is most important to US, and to OUR kids, and not worry about what other people are doing with their kids. I feel as though we are spoon fed this thing about giving our kids the "best", which all too often, at least around here, simply means the most expensive or most exclusive. I want to be able to remember that the "best" to us is whatever will enable our kids to best become the people that they want to be. I admit, not proudly, that there was a part of me that worried, for one brief fleeting moment.........."But will Luke be BEHIND if he isn't learning Spanish and computers and trigonometry at 2.5?". I only entertained the thought for a second, but it was there, before I resolutely buried it. I don't know where this dread fear of "behind" even comes from. Is it just from growing up around here? Is it a total innate parent fear thing? Do the schools plant it in us as they trot out their fancy curriculum's and shiny brochures? Is it my own issues as I didn't go to a school that I enjoyed or related to from 6-12th grade, and want my kids to be somewhere that they feel loved and supported and challenged? Is it the "Joneses"? Damn those Joneses.

I firmly believe that Luke and Julia will be the people that they are because of who they are, innately, and because of the time and care and love that they get, from us, and from all who love them. I can't believe that the worry about the "right school" already flirted with me, and he isn't yet 2 years old.

I hope I did okay. I hope I found a good balance of play and structure, and safety, and kind teachers, and great classmates and parents, and all the rest. I hope that it's a place that Luke loves, and I love. And I hope that I only get more confident as I face many, MANY more school/camp/sports/tutoring/music/art or whatever decisions down the road. These are the easy ones, these preschool decisions. It only gets harder. Sigh.

PS - To any Blogger users out there.........do you have any idea why my paragraphs sometimes don't stay separated into paragraphs, and why I can't indent my paragraphs like normal? I type it out that way and then when I publish it it comes out as one big post lump. It's maddening.

Hey Diddle Diddle

Some of the best gifts that my kids got this Christmas were books. Anyone who knows me is aware of my love of books, and one of my most fervent wishes for my children is that I somehow manage to pass along my love of reading to them.

Before I comment on this one particular book that we got, I have to say that I love the book and we have read it for the past three nights. That said........it's a book of nursery rhymes. They all bring me back to my childhood........my Mom loved to read to me, and often turned to the Mother Goose-ish classics. They are all lodged somewhere in a foggy little portion of my brain, and this book is causing me to dust off some memories of baked blackbirds and Mother Hubbard's that I had long since forgotten.

Has anyone else read any of the classic nursery rhymes lately? Like, as an adult?

"And the dish ran away with the spoon"

* What a little trollop! This entire nursery rhyme is wonderfully nonsensical,and it ends with a tabletop elopement! I love Hey Diddle Diddle!

"The King of Hearts Called for the tarts and BEAT the Knave FULL SORE"

*The Knave ends this one by vowing to steal no more ~ who wouldn't after being beaten full sore?! ? I don't even know for sure what full sore means, but I am guessing that it's modern day equivalent is a "beat down". A full beat down by some rich fat King on some poor little servant boy over some tarts! "The Queen of Hearts" is full of crime and violence, and only about 10 short sentences long. (The funny thing about this one is that Luke pointed to the Queen and said "Mama", then pointed to the King and said "Danta!, which means Santa. Me and Danta getting down and dirty on some Knave over some tarts! Imagine it!".)

"Down will come baby, cradle and all"

*Um, the baby falls out of a tree. Falls! The bough breaks! Down goes baby! And this (Rock-a-Bye Baby) is likely our cultures most well known nursery rhyme. How utterly bizarre. Stupid wind.

"And so the poor Dog had none"

*None, in this case, referring to food. Poor Old Mother Hubbard and her bare cupboards! Her poor dog! Where the heck are Old Mother Hubbard's children? Why isn't she being taken care of? Whats to become of the Dog?

"Stuck a feather in his hat and called it macaroni"

*What is up with the Yankee Doodle anyway? Surely the feather did not resemble macaroni, did it? Was the Doodle a man of great creativity? An artist perhaps? Is macaroni the only word that rhymes with pony?

"Jack fell down and broke his crown, and Jill came tumbling after"

*Jack got a busted head just trying to get some water! Quite the antithesis of the "Little engine that could". And I'm most curious about why Jill went tumbling after.....was it a Princess Bride sort of throw oneself down the hill after hapless man thing? Why didn't Jill continue on without her clumsy Jack and fetch the water herself? Perhaps the hill was really a precarious cliff? Why would a well be perched atop such a dangerous hill? Totally confused.

"Humpty Dumpty"

*Enough said. He jumped. He died. Yet in the books he is always pictured sitting all round and jolly atop the wall ~ PRE fall. Poor Humpty. What a mess he must have made.

"Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie"

* What a large pie it must have been ! And those darling, freedom loving birds! I know that they came out singing and all, but still, it's funny that "Sing a song of Sixpence" is a vague introduction to our children to the idea that many of those cute and cuddly little animals that we talk about in our picture books ultimately end up on our table. I can only imagine how tough and terrible a blackbird would taste. And why would they have baked them with the feathers? Who want's to eat feather?

"She had so many children she didn't know what to do, she gave them some broth without any bread, then whipped them all soundly and put them to bed"

*Someone call CPS! And where the heck is the old man for Pete's sake? Surely there must be an old man in the picture if she keeps churning out children? What a horrible story. The poor abused family who lives in a lousy old shoe! Can you even imagine the stench of an entire so-many-children-ed family living in a stinking SHOE without any bread? And the cacophony of the whippings of so many children? What a terrible place to live.

"There I met an old man who would not say his prayers, I took him by the left leg and threw him down the stairs"

*How utterly terrible! An Elder Abuser! Pray for yourself you horrid stair throwing person in Goosey Goosey Gander!

Anyway. I love the book. I love reading the stories, the pictures are fantastic and 3-d and much loved by Luke. The rhymes, the rhythm, the cadence, the whole bit. I was just a bit taken aback as I read some of these things as an adult.

In today's PC world of feel good about yourself, everyone is a winner, no one is ever wrong, everyone loves you, you are perfect sort of children's books..........I have to admit that some old school nursery rhyme ass kicking was a bit refreshing to me.

Feeling Festive

I can't believe that my second crazy little critter will be 9 months old tomorrow. This is her at our playgroup holiday extravaganza on Wednesday. It shocks me that it was already 9 months ago tonight that I went to bed ~ disheartened from my OB appointment that day ~ and woke up thrilled to find myself in labor. 9 months ago tomorrow, our daughter was born.

We are in full Christmas swing around here. The tree is (amazingly) still standing, the stockings are hung, the Christmas outfits are bought, and Nate and I went Christmas shopping last night.

I am not a normal woman. I don't like shopping. I really don't. Everything about it annoys me ~ the traffic, getting a babysitter, the piped in Christmas music, the faux cheer, the frazzled sales people, the lines, etc etc. The whole "get Julia a Christmas dress" experience was annoying and stressful. First of all, they make them all short sleeved. Fantastic, if you live in Florida. In PA, not so much. I could make a killing creating a children's holiday dress wear line which actually had seasonally appropriate clothing available. Beyond the clothes....I don't like toys. My kids don't really have that many toys. They are probably officially deprived in the toy department. When Julia will spend 45 minutes playing with a whisk......why on earth buy a toy? I just am not one of those Mom's who gets into toys or gets all excited to buy them. More power to you if you do ~ in no way am I criticizing you, in fact, I am a little jealous of you. I wish that I could get more into it. The garish plastic and lights and bells and whistles and sound effects and stupid battery cases that only can be opened with the teeny tiny stupid little screwdrivers that NEVER can be found. Anyway.

Kids. If you read this someday:

I hope that you never suspected these things about when you were a child. I hope that you never knew that I resented having to get all into Santa, I hope that you never knew that I really disliked toys, and shopping, and I hope that you never knew that I actually wrapped up a whisk for Julia this Christmas. I hope that you didn't know that I considered burning our Christmas tree out of indignation at its refusal to stand up straight and not fall over. I hope that you didn't know that you don't have stockings this year because I have been pregnant with one or the other of you the past two years so didn't get you one ~ and this year I am too cheap to get the stupidly expensive ones that I really want until they go on sale after Christmas. I hope that the fact that I am an utterly terrible singer didn't turn you off to Christmas carols for your whole life. I hope that by the time Christmas starts being magical to you, I am better at the whole thing. I want it to be magical for you. Until then, I feel silly making something that you are totally unaware of magical. I'm either a giant scrooge, or a tremendously practical Mama.

Santa ~ Game On?

There are lots of things that I should probably think more about as a mother. I don't worry too much about germs, or choking, or reading a ton of books about how to be a better parent. I didn't get into the whole "play Mozart to the baby while in utero" gig, or the Baby Einstein videos. We don't do Gymboree, or Kindermusik, or whatnot. On the other hand, there are lots of things that I probably think too much about as a mother......many of them ridiculous.

Right now, I'm wrestling with the whole Santa thing, and wondering if I am weird for doing so?

Santa is cool. I mean, who doesn't love a big fat jolly man in red? Especially one that arrives laden with gifts? Yet, there is also the little detail of "Santa isn't real". And the other minor detail about how I dislike much of what Christmas has become in America today. And the way that to take any mention of religion or spirituality out of Christmas is no big thing for many people, but the mere mention of taking Santa out of Christmas makes some people actually angry. Am I strange for feeling torn about creating this whole Santa myth for my kids? Am I weird for feeling like its lying to them? I mean, I believe that lying is wrong, but I have already lied to my kids (is it a lie to say that the LOUD.ANNOYING.TERRIBLE toy is broken when in reality the batteries are just dead?) and I will likely lie to them again several (*cough cough*) times in their lives. So why any hang up on the Santa thing?

Luke and Julia went and got their picture taken with Santa last night. Luke seemed totally into it, until it was time to actually sit on the big guys lap. He didn't cry ~ But he made his discomfort clear as he reached out to us with both arms and gave Santa dirty looks. I had actually expected Jules to cry, but she was fine with the whole thing. Luke calmed down after a moment, but only once he determined that Santa was clearly.someone.not.to.be.trusted and decided not to take his eyes off of him. That got Julia looking at him as well (as she is already obsessed with doing whatever her big brother does) and resulted in the photo below. Santa looks right whacked in the pic if you ask me. No wonder Luke was scared of him.

The problem with Santa is that he is so easy. As soon as we left Luke was shouting "Danta!~ Danta!" every time he caught a glimpse of him (which was about 300 times in our 30 minute stint at the mall). It's fun to see your kid getting excited about anything, and I caught myself saying "Santa!~" in that awful high pitched Mommy voice along with him every time that he pointed one out. Later last night, I felt weird about it. Now, I know that Luke isn't even two yet, so getting the whole religious aspect of Christmas into his head is a little tougher than visually identifying the big jolly guy. He isn't likely to point to a creche and scream "Silent Night! Holy Night!". Luke is too young to buy or make or otherwise procure gifts for others in this Christmas season. Luke is too young to get into serving others, or volunteering, or donating. He just doesn't get it at almost 22 months old. But he gets (or at least identifies) Santa. That seems unfair to me.

I guess that this all boils down, to some degree, to my *slight* authority problem. I feel like I have to get all into Santa now that I have kids, and I truly hate feeling like I have to do anything. I really don't want my kids to be those brats who run around the schoolyard making other kids cry by telling them "Santa isn't real". And as my kids are going to go to school, and as I don't think that a 3 or 4 or 5 year old has the emotional maturity to know something and have the wisdom or self discipline to not share it with other kids......I don't know how to not have to tell them that Santa is real, and hop on the proverbial Santa train. Then I worry that I am a weirdo kill joy ~ I mean, its SANTA......the whole world loves Santa, right?

Am I a terrible Mother for not really giving much of a hoot about Santa? Am I weird for even thinking about this? Do I need to take up knitting, or learn another language or something to stop me from wrestling with idiotic issues like this? Do all parents feel like this for a moment? Religious, not religious, whatever do all parents just feel kind of weird, maybe even for just a moment, about lying to their kids about Santa or about who the gifts come from?

Bueller?

Bueller?

When A tree falls in the Forest.........

You know the rest of that one, right? The whole does it make a noise thing? Personally, I believe that of course it does.

I can also state with 100% certainty that when a tree falls in your living room, it makes a sound also. When it falls twice in your living room, it makes even more noise, and actual curse words too.

Friday we decided to get our Christmas tree. We had grand aspirations ~ we set off to go to the cut your own Christmas tree farm about 40 minutes from our house. Visions of kids prancing around a field of happy trees and picking one out to bring home danced in our heads. Only thing is, Julia can't prance, she can't even walk. And my back was hurting terribly for some unknown reason, which meant that I couldn't carry her in the sling. And Luke has no idea what a Christmas tree even is. And with the whole "fun" ride out to the fields on a wagon/tractor thing thing we couldn't bring the stroller. So.

About 5 minutes into our ride to the farm we passed a tree lot ~ you know the sort that pops up on every corner this time of year selling cut trees? Nate and I both turned to one another at the exact same moment and said "What the heck are we doing?". We turned the car around and let Luke prance around the cut tree laden lot and happily picked out a tree. We can save the whole "cut your own" experience till later. We are getting so practical these days with two young kids. Most days are about survival, not hallmark postcard moments and sugar plum fairies.

That evening Nate put up the tree while I picked up pizza. We got the kids to bed and then proceeded to wrap the tree liberally with lights, and put on the ornaments. I admit that I am a terribly sentimental and sappy person ~ almost every ornament that we have has a story behind it, and the simple act of pulling them out of the boxes usually makes me teary at one point or another. Especially the special, hand painted ones that were made for us by my sister, or the ones that we handpicked for our kids, or the ones from the year that we got married, or that we made ourselves as young children. You get the idea.

We finished. I proudly took a pic or two of our lovely tree (above) while Nate carried popcorn and water's up to our bedroom. We were exhausted. I went to unplug the tree, and it fell over. Crashed over. I screamed. It's a big, 8.5 foot tree. Water, needles, and ornaments went splashing and shattering all over our carpet. Nate came running downstairs sure that I was being attacked by a person, never suspecting that it might be a tree that attacked me. I started crying, and explaining how I didn't do anything, I didn't knock it over or anything, it just fell. I admit, the fact that I was unplugging it did seem to have to have had something to do with it.........but I swear I didn't knock into it or anything that would warrant it falling over. I don't think that Nate entirely believed me (I admit, it didn't look good ~ circumstantial evidence would certainly seem to indicate that I did do something terribly wrong) but Nate was kind, and didn't get angry, or bother assigning blame, and we simply got to work. It was probably a good 45 minutes of cleaning up, and me crying as I found broken ornaments, and getting up the water, and needles, and glass, and the like. We passed out in bed much too late, and were up again much too early the next morning.

Nate was gone playing golf most of the day yesterday, so we decided to wait and address the tree issue until last night. Sure that the problem was the old, small-ish tree stand that we had Nate went and bought a new one. Worried about some of the large, low branches, Nate cut them off. We had to pick the tree up (laden with lights and ornaments) and get it out of the first stand and into the second. Fun work, really fun. Stressful and pokey branches and sloshing water and heavy lifting sort of fun, you know?

We got it done. We noticed that the tree was leaning some, but blamed that on the much accursed stump. We rehung the 30 or so ornaments that had fallen off in the first crash. We vacuumed yet AGAIN. We sighed. We went to bed, again, exhausted. At some point, not long after we had fallen asleep, Nate heard a noise. Nate left the bedroom. I heard lots of cursing and shouting. I jumped up out of bed and started running down the steps ~ Nate hovered over the tree, which was again laying on the floor ~ shouting "don't even come in here!" to me as though he stood over a dead body and was trying to protect me from seeing it. A couple of my most precious ornaments were shattered. I have to tell you ~ at that point I had visions of gasoline and bonfires and crazed tired parents dancing around the blazing tree in some sort of foaming at the mouth insane victory dance. The tree felt like the enemy. I mean, WHO does that happen to? WHO can't get a freaking Christmas tree to stand up?

Us. That's who. Bah freaking humbug, you accursed Christmas Tree.

Muscles

Last night we went to test drive the new Toyota Sequoia. Cool car. Really really big car. In fact, car is a misnomer. Tank seems more suited. We gave it a go, then (in response to my fears that it would not fit in our garage) we took it home for the evening (the salespeople were visibly panting at the idea that someone might actually BUY one of these vehicles in these days of high fuel prices).. It did fit in our garage (barely). We have a 3 car garage, which really means that we have a normal 2 car garage, with another (single) garage door which houses our extra fridge/bikes/strollers/lawn maintenance things/tools/trash/recycling cans. It fit, begrudgingly. I would absolutely, definitely, without question smash through the wall, smash off a side mirror or two, and maybe crash into the garage itself while owning the Sequoia. Maybe even crash into Nate's car one day. That does not even begin to touch the damage I would do to his car/my car/our things/our children/myself while opening the doors and trying to extricate the kids from the belly of the beast once "safely" inside the garage.

Its cool, make no mistake about it. Tons of room. Awesome rear view cameras (so I could watch, in horrid live action color detail when I run over the dog/stroller/curb/other peoples car) some unfortunate day. Cool auto raising/closing/folding seat and rear door features. Its just huge. And the gas..........lets just say that the neato feature of it showing me how many miles worth of gas remained in my tank only seemed like a ticker counting down the money in our bank account. Should I ever get in a head to head with another car/deer/house or small office building, I would surely win. But, its huge. Part of me loved it, part of me loathed it.

We seem to be dealing with some sort of "coolness perception problem" as we look at giant SUV's vs. the uber-practical mini-van. I, like many other women of my generation, swore I would never own a mini-van. Yet I, like MANY other women of my generation, see why people own them.

We are so not cool. Not saying that we ever were necessarily "cool" ~ but schlepping around two kids, a dog and the various peripherals that we deem necessary to support the lives of aforementioned creatures has certainly knocked our perception of self coolness down a notch or two (please refer to previous post regarding the Thule roof rack thing...........affectionately referred to around here as the "silver bullet".). I will stipulate that we are not cool. So why the hesitation at the mini-van? Clearly we cling to some illusion.

Anyway. Taking an informal poll of my friends is no help. Comments like "Don't be an as$hole get the mini van" (Brendan M.) directly clash with those of the few girlfriends I have who already have three kids and drive one and are longing, hoping against hope, to get rid of it for a huge SUV (Tracy R.). Toss in the aghast comments from my friends who only have one kid (a MINI VAN? SERIOUSLY???!)and the waters really get murky. Add to that the whole DVD issue. My kids do not watch TV/movies/cartoons. I am one of those warped parents who do not believe that "baby Einstein" videos serve a purpose. Sue me. So do I get a DVD player thingy in the car? While I completely understand that my kids are getting older, and someday a little xanax (did I say xanax? I meant cartoon movie) might make our trips to the beach or anywhere else easier, I also loathe the idea that it might also make every venture out in the car a battle of "put in a DVD'. I don't know. This parenting stuff is hard. Babies are easy. The thought of being someones moral compass, of instilling actual values, and self control, and self respect etc in my kids is way more challenging to me. I hate our culture of consumerism, yet I am a part of it. No doubt about that.

Speaking of which, I went clothes shopping for the kids yesterday. I had a gift card from a baby shower that I had carefully hoarded up until now. I will tell you that I am unabashedly cheap when it comes to my children's clothes. I love hand-me-downs. Where I live that is a foreign concept to some, yet I love them. Kids trash clothes. They defile them with every conceivable body fluid. So I love free clothes from friends (shameless request for hand me downs disguised as a parenting stance :)). Anyway, it was my first taste of girl clothes shopping for Jules as she has been wearing much appreciated gifts up until now. What ridiculously cute and inordinately unpractical clothing they make for little girls! Whatever designer thought that anything WHITE was a good idea clearly never had a child. Kids clothing is inanely expensive. I need an entire fall wardrobe for both of my kids.........and after sifting through sale racks for 30 min I came away with a sweet darling little pumpkin hat from Janie and Jack. That was all, for the first hour. I then forced myself to get some cute little jumpers, tights, and a sweater or two for my girl. Today at whole foods I added an organic Tomato hat (in the pics) and long sleeve onesie to my fall arsenal. Did I complain about Indian Summer? I'm now embracing it as I am officially not happy about the fact that my children are growing up too fast and fall is coming on all too soon.

To add to my discomfiture, Julia is now crawling. I keep thinking of my friend (with two kids) who said............"as soon as that baby starts pulling up.........just push 'em right back down", with a laugh. Its all so different with your second child. I am so thrilled for my little girl. Her world just got a lot bigger, and my world just got a lot more scary. Not to mention, this whole crawling-girl child thing is a different adventure than with a boy. Her dresses trip her up. I don't have any answers, I know less today than I did yesterday, and I keep on trying.

Luke, on the other hand, knows more every day. My little kid loves to prove his balance on anything and everything. Our new thing is that I ask him to "show me your muscles" and he does the above. My little helper loves to find any tiny little speck of leaves/trash/dog food/food he has thrown.....on the floor and bring it over to me, proudly proclaiming "dirt!". Once I have ascertained that it is, in fact, "dirt", I tell him that he can throw it in the trashcan. He is very pleased with his new role of finder-of-all-that-is-dirt. I only wish he did not take equal amounts of joy in taking things OUT of the trashcan.

No Dilemma Here

I am utterly infatuated with the book "The Omnivore's Dilemma". A friend raved about it recently, and I had to go and get it. During the first chapter I realized that I had already read one of the authors books, "The Botany of Desire". Although my reading time is severely limited these days, I have almost finished. I wont bore anyone with my personal philosophy about food (which this book is challenging and changing as I go) but I will say that I heartily recommend that every one read this book. Seriously, get it.

Moving on. Yesterday Buddy (owner of the farm in our backyard) let me know that the corn that we had been watching grow all year is ready to eat. As Jeannie was coming over for dinner last night it seemed like the perfect opportunity to sample the wares.

Earlier yesterday as we were playing outside I told Luke that we were going to pick some ears of corn. Hence the ear grab in the photo. Smart kid. (And speaking of "Kid" I cant believe how much my oldest baby looks like a KID in that picture.)

After I had gotten the kids in pajamas we went outside for one last hurrah of play and a corn picking mission. I read a little bit while the kids played. At corn picking time, Luke helped me pluck 4 ears, and I commenced to husk them while he looked on. Finished husking, I looked down at Jules, who had excitedly made her way over to my book and was eating it. Ah! I got the book away from her and cleaned up her face, to look back at Luke, who was noshing away on the raw corn. I got that away from Luke and was throwing the bag of corn husks away, when I looked back at the blanket to find that Julia had apparently ninja rolled several times until she was off of the blanket and happily eating some grass. My little ruminate.

My views on food are being challenged. My kids ~ No such dilemma. Grass, corn, paper, its all simple and straightforward and apparently delicious to them.

The 4th Quarter

Everyone always talks about pregnancy in terms of trimesters, but lately I have been thinking that its really more like a basketball game, with 4 quarters. Your first 10 weeks have the initial excitement of the tip off, and then not much happens (From the fan's perspective, anyway). The huge point swings mirror the Mom to be's huge emotional swings, but don't really matter much, things tend to even out over time. The second quarter (weeks 10-20)things start to heat up a little, and just like that last important momentum shift before halftime, you generally have the excitement of your 20 week ultrasound to keep you horribly anxious and excited. Then comes the third quarter, weeks 20-30, the action is heating up, baby is moving all over, and you start to feel (and look!) big. People tune in more.

Then. The 4th quarter. I am in week 31 now, and things are starting to move fast. This baby is coming really soon. The action starts to really matter. You move to biweekly, then weekly appointments, much like the frequent time outs. No one is changing the channel anymore. This lasts until about 37/8 weeks or so, then it becomes EXACTLY like the last two minutes of a basketball game. Waking up each day thinking "gosh, today could be the day"....getting calls from the anxious "fans" as to whether or not anything is happening, enjoying those last few moments when your baby is truly still all "yours" tucked away in there in your belly, but really really feeling ready to meet them on the other side. Like the last 2 min of the game, with all of its fouls and timeouts and TV breaks, those last two weeks can seemingly last forever.

I have to say, I have noticed that the average person really WANTS pregnant women to complain. I cant even believe how socially accepted, even ENCOURAGED it is for a pregnant woman to moan her way through her pregnancy. Yes, your hips hurt. Yes, you have heartburn, and the baby moves a lot, and those little hiccups that used to be so endearing are suddenly not so when its 3 am and your belly is hiccuping with all the weight of a several pound baby. And YES! you are huge and your self confidence is shaky as you look in the mirror and think "who is that beast?" ~ But you know what? Theres a PERSON in there! Of COURSE its a little uncomfortable! You are experiencing literally the greatest miracle of life, in my opinion.

Consider this my vent about the fact that I feel great, and even when I tell people that, its almost like they don't want to hear it. "just you wait".....is something I hear a lot. Well, I have been there, and done that, and I know whats coming. And you know what, I still feel great. And to anyone else out there who is able to enjoy your pregnancy ~ MORE POWER TO YOU MAMA!

Playgroup today ~ cant wait :)

The times they are a changin

I used to be a hippy. I used to not shave my armpits or legs (sorry for that visual folks). I used to be a very vocal vegan, with no health insurance, and no current drivers license, traipsing merrily around the country, climbing mountains, attending potlucks that actually ended with "group hugs" (!) working to "save" sea turtles, old growth forests, beaches faced with erosion etc etc, and eating mochi with nary a care in the world. I used to be a lot more self righteous. I used to want to save the world, to "empower women", to legalize marijuana, to change the political face of America, blah blah blah (Mom and Dad M I do hope you still love me after reading that....I was young :))
Anyway. I remember coming home from Seattle one time to visit my family for my brothers high school graduation. I went shopping with my Mom and Sister at "Sam's Club" to stock up on some things for the party. I remember being in this mega-lo-warehouse with fluorescent lights, giant dead cows in the freezer (well, not really whole dead cows, but like, 300 count packs of hamburger patties, which to me at the time was the very same thing)......a veritable shrine to the whole "bigger is better' philosophy of America that I so loathed at the time. I was used to our little "Olympia Food Co-Op" where I volunteered making food for the Salad bar in order to get an additional 15% off of all of my purchases. They sold nothing that contained raw sugar (That Devil!) or anything that was from China (human rights abuses! Down with Chinese Pine Nuts!!!!) and the patchouli and homemade soap aisle was the most well stocked. Anyway, walking through this mega lo warehouse with my Mom and Sister I had a panic attack. I was so overwhelmed, my delicate sensibilities so affronted, that I literally had to leave the store and sit on a curb outside to catch my breath.

Last week, we joined one of those big box superstores. And you know what? Love it.

I also have a confession to make, that ties in with another sign of the changing landscape of my life. One of my greatest fears in having children was the thought of having to take them to Disneyland. Now, to all of you Disney enthusiasts out there~ Hooray! More power to you. Personally, I hate lines. I hate muggy landlocked Florida, I hate the idea of a place where you are supposed to be "happy all the time". Mickey gives me the creeps (he does not talk! A giant silent mouse ~ uggggh!) and I skeeve any sweatshirt or article of clothing that has a "character" on it. I absolutely love the fact that other people love it, but to me the thought of a "Disney Vacation" makes me queasy. Anyway.
I also don't like cruises. Now, I have to admit, I have never been on a cruise......I just always sortov assumed that cruises were not for me. I pictured giant lines of unhealthy people in half unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt waiting to "feed" at the buffet line. I know, I know, I fully accept that I am a terrible and judgemental person, but at least I am honest. Anyway. Last week we got invited to go on a cruise ~ A DISNEY CRUISE ~ with about 25 other couples and their kids. And you know what....we just might go. I wish I was more tech savvy, this is when the Dylan song "the Times they are a changing" ought to start playing for your listening enjoyment.

I still love the idea of empowered women, of happy healthy sea turtles, of buying locally, of healthy food and a smaller footprint. I still skeeve Disney, and am slightly afraid of cruise's. (Both Tom and Katie AND the ship sort)

But I love my family. I love my kid (s). I can laugh at myself a lot more these days. I love not having to deal with all of the gloom that came with trying to "change the world", quite honestly. I love having my little corner of the world where my greatest concern is not "where the hell did those PINE NUTS come from!" but, "is my son happy?"

The above pic is of my happy son gleefully noshing on some yogurt and berries. And yes, the Yogurt did contain some "devil sugar".

Now, if you ever catch me in a Disney Sweatshirt, please stage an intervention.