8 is enough ... to fill our lives with looooove

Julie tagged me for this Crazy 8s meme and who am I to say no to a woman who is about to give birth any second?

8 things I’m passionate about:
1. My big girl
2. My little boy
3. Old houses
4. New books
5. Food (but only eating it. Not shopping for it or cooking it.)
6. Family
7. Friends
8. Blogging (if only based on time spent!)

8 things I say often:
1. I just need a little snack.
2. Time to go! We're late!
3. Give Mommy a kiss.
4. No, no candy right now.
5. No, we're done with TV for today.
6. Yes, I'll read that to you.
7. I'll just check my email.
8. Crap! Is it 2:45 already?

8 books I’ve recently read:
1. Beauty Confidential, Nadine Haobsh
2. The Boy in Striped Pajamas, John Boyne
3. The Lion King souvenir program (both my son and I have this one committed to memory)
4. Water for Elephants, Sara Gruen
5. The Last of Her Kind, Sigrid Nunez
6. Purple Hibiscus, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
7. The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver
8. (several months ago but I'm still inordinately proud) The Count of Monte Cristo, Andre Dumas

8 songs I could listen to over and over:
1. Hey, Julie (Fountains of Wayne)
2. Almost any Christmas carol or song
3. When You and I Were Young Maggie Blues (Grandpa)
4. Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard (Paul Simon)
5. More Pretty Girls Than One (Lyle Lovett)
6. Any 80s/early 90s R.E.M.
7. Inch By Inch (That Baby -- if my daughter is singing along)
8. Love Shack (B-52's)

8 things that attract me to my best friends:
1. wit
2. smarts
3. shared experiences
4. well-placed swear words
5. comic timing
6. good grammar
7. kid-friendly homes
8. parenting style

8 things I’ve learned in the past year:
1. All the words to every song on the Lion King soundtrack
2. That annoying cliquey stuff among girls starts in kindergarten
3. To do my own pedicures
4. Who Zac Efron, Vanessa Hudgens, and Miley Cyrus are
5. That turkey slices and cookie cutters don't mix
6. That I will never catch up on everything I want to read, as long as I live
7. That every Catholic church has a relic inside its altar. I've been in 12 million churches and I never knew that. I don't know why I find it so fascinating, but I do.
8. I should go to bed earlier, but I never do.

8 of my peeps I think should do crazy 8s if they haven't already:
1. I am shy
2. about tagging
3. so if you feel
4. like 8-ing it up
5. go for it!
6. makes good
7. NaBloPoMo
8. fodder.

You're high maintenance, but you think you're low maintenance

I am not particularly a girly girl when it comes to hair, makeup, and all things beauty. While it's true that I can't bear to leave the house without a bit of makeup, the operative words are "a bit" (concealer, eye pencil, mascara, done). I have my hair highlighted every four or five months, but I don't wear perfume ever. I own both daytime and nighttime moisturizers, but both of them came from Walgreens, not Sephora.

So why did I want to read Beauty Confidential when Parent Bloggers Network offered it for review? Head over to The Full Mommy to find out.

And don't miss my other post today, below: It's Blog Exchange time, and we're itchin' for a fight.

Well, spank my ...

I am not a spanker.

(Just a clarification for you Googlers: I am talking about disciplining kids here.)

There are no scenarios in which I can imagine hitting my kids on purpose. As a parent, my two biggest responsibilities are to keep my children safe from harm, and to love them unconditionally. If I strike them, either in anger or in an attempt to teach them a lesson, I have failed in both those responsibilities. Even if that lesson is an important one (don't run in the street; respect your elders; calm down now). Even if I just tap a diapered bottom. Even if I count to 10 first.

Sure, I want them to obey me. I want them to be well behaved. But I don't want to achieve those goals through intimidation and anger. I want to help my children learn values, so that they behave because they know it's the right thing to do. I want them to feel good about themselves and their decisions. If they're obeying the rules simply because they fear a whuppin', they haven't learned the skills they need to make good choices later. And once again, I've let them down as a parent.

I'll admit this all sounds mighty hippie. Like in our house we all sit around and talk about our feeeeeelings instead of doing anything. Like we are those ineffective parents who sit on the sidelines and feebly call out "No sweetie! Let's be nice to our friends!"

Let me assure you that we do discipline our children. We remove privileges, we use time-outs, we are consistent and firm. We allow natural consequences to make their own points. And nope, these strategies don't always work, so sometimes we get frustrated.

But we don't hit. I would be livid if anyone else laid a hand on my children, so why would I ever think it's okay for me to be the one delivering the blow? I read a post recently in which a mom said that the only time she ever spanks is if her child intentionally hurts another person or an animal. Where, oh where, is the logic there? "No hitting!" [whack!] "You know you're not supposed to hit!" [smack!] "This is what you get when you hit!" [slap!]

Yeah. That seems effective.


Do I sound a little more ... provocative than usual today? That's because we're debating! Today's Blog Exchange is a series of arguments on hot topics. So be sure to click over to Webkittyn Warbles for the flip side on spanking -- she does make a good case. You can also visit the BE site for more juicy debates.

Worst Halloween picture ever

My camera was recently dropped on its head. Can you tell? Plus my daughter seems to be affecting some kind of American Gothic vibe. But for the record:

Stick guy and Cheetah (not to be confused with Cheetah Girl), 2007.

Happy Halloween!

P.S. Here's our 2006 retrospective.

Declutter debrief

Several weeks ago I promised to spend my free Friday afternoons tackling the clutter that's threatening to overtake my house.

I got off to a great start:

Then weeks went by where I wasted my so-called "free" afternoons working. But I did manage to do a 10-minute project this past Friday -- culling coats for a coat drive. I pulled out 8 or 9 of my coats and my kids' and dropped them off that very afternoon. Very freeing!

Here, by the way, is what I found in the pockets of all those coats:

• 4 heart-shaped rubber bracelets
• 1 ghost pencil topper
• 1 pacifier
• 1 daycare tracking sheet (infant room)
• 3 rubber bands, and
• a great deal of (clean) Kleenex

Gimme a merit badge in "grumpy"

My child has been a school-ager for all of 7 weeks now and I have decided I hate enrichment activities. I hate gymnastics because it is too far away and there is nowhere to wait safely and sanely with a 2-year-old in tow. I usually flee to Wal-Hell (to borrow Jamie's term) and that should give you an idea of how awful it is to stay at the gym.

I hate swimming because of the changing into suits/changing back to clothes, the grungy showers, the (again) dealing with the toddler in the locker room.

I hate soccer because I had to sign up two weeks ago (and pay $85) for a season that starts next May. And I had to pay an extra $25 so I wouldn't have to be an assistant coach or some other ill-defined volunteer job that I have no interest in or time for.

I hate dance because of the inappropriate songs and costumes (Chicago's "All That Jazz" for 4-year-olds, anyone?).

I hate music because my son opts to stand in the corner, crawl under the table, or throw things and I'm left scraping sandpaper all by myself.

I do like Sunday school. It amounts to free babysitting and there are doughnuts after.

Tell me it gets better when the kids get older, and I just sit in the car with a book while they're off somersaulting or playing the French horn or whatever.

Please?

Rosy-fingered haiku

Small boy up at dawn
Declares "Mommy, it's oh-clock!"
Abandon all hope

An experience is worth a thousand toys

Last week I wrote about awe-inspiring places I've seen, and we collaborated on an amazing list of more sights to see. I said I'd write about what got me thinking about that. I was cuddling with Opie before bed, and we had the Lion King soundtrack playing. I thought about how he'd be seeing the traveling production again in a few months--his second Broadway show, before he even turns three. And I worried "Is this going to ruin him? Is he going to think this is the norm, that he's entitled to these exciting, expensive adventures as a matter of course--until they are no longer exciting?"

Because we live far from our families, which in turn are spread across the U.S. and even beyond, we have traveled extensively with our kids. They have their own frequent-flyer accounts. They have seen the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans and the busy streets of London, New York, Chicago, and more. If one day we take them to Venice or Agra or Belize, will they see it with jaded eyes?

Tammie says (in the comments to that first post) that she doesn't think we can spoil our kids with experiences "if we teach them how sacred they are. Just as we teach them to value their belongings."

Bon says "yes, in a way kids can be spoiled by too much experience, but I'm not sure it's the same type of spoiled. I dunno. It depends on whether they lose the appreciation and the wonder of travel."

I agree that it's up to us to teach our children the value in what they see and do, not just what they have. A tall order; but then again so is flying internationally, overnight, with a 2-year-old, when you are 6 weeks pregnant and imminently barfing.

What do you think?

$10 plus tax

... and worth every penny.

Update on the lil' slugger in the post below. Thank you all for your sympathy and advice. Can you believe this sweet child punched a classmate in the stomach? I think she was framed.

A milestone I would have preferred to put off for awhile

10/23/07: First Call from the Principal (Regarding a Disciplinary Issue).

So apparently Jo decided to let her fists do the talking during a.m. recess today. And then she and her sparring partner kept up their beef once they returned to the classroom. Pretty soon they both earned themselves a trip to the principal's office. I don't know about the other kid (the principal intimated that there was more than enough blame to be shared by the two of them), but Jo's punishment was to miss the next recess and to sit by herself at the "behavior table" during lunch.

The thought of her small little self eating her lunch all alone makes me want to cry.

Setting that aside, I am wondering what the etiquette of all this is. Obviously I will reinforce the "use your words" lesson at home, but do I also have her write a note of apology? To the other kid, the teacher, the principal, all of the above? When I see the teacher after school, do I say something (keep in mind she'll be in the doorway of the school with tons of other kids and parents swarming around)?

And what did the other kid say that made Jo want to punch him in the stomach?

Update, 10/24: I've now talked to Jo, the teacher, and another mother who happened to witness the big fight. Apparently the other child was all up in Jo's face calling her "stupid." She told him several times to stop and he wouldn't, so she slugged him. The two adults corroborated Jo's contention that she was provoked by this child, so I am going to let it go. No apology for him! And since I spoke to the teacher (she called me yesterday afternoon, which I appreciated; I had quickly caught her eye at pick-up time and said "I'm sorry, I'll talk to her"), I don't think we need to get into an apology note for her either.

I do feel bad that this dispute interrupted class time, but then again, kindergarten is about learning social skills and how to interact in a group. I reminded Jo this morning to steer clear of the name-caller, and to ask for help from an adult if she needed it. I think she'll be fine, and honestly? I'd rather have an assertive girl than a pushover.

Friends don't let friends ...

When he was about eight years old, my younger brother had a red cotton jacket with a baseball patch on it. Kid loved that jacket and wore it nonstop, until it turned from a cheery cherry red to a dingy brick hue. Finally one evening my mother managed to get it away from him and into the washing machine. I'm not sure what she used on it, but the end result was so astonishingly wonderful that she hiked up two flights of steps to my bedroom and woke me up just to show me how clean the jacket had become.

Rush over to The Full Mommy to find out about my similar moment of laundry exaltation.

Cheerer-upper art

For the Baddest Mother of them all:

Mermaids cavorting beneath magic flying cat. Jo, 2007.
Collection the artist's mother.

If this is what I can do to ease the suffering of my morning-sick sisters, I am so there. Someday soon (very very soon) may your stomachs settle and your appetites return.

Let's go spanning the world

I love audience participation--especially when I get to live vicariously through all your amazing travels! Herewith, assembled from your comments (plus a few of my own, added as promised):

The Official Mayberry Mom Readers Most Awe-Inspiring Places in the World

Living on a prayer:
Cathedral of St. Paul, St. Paul, Minnesota
Basilica of the Immaculate Conception, Washington, D.C.
National Holocaust Museum, Washington, D.C.
St. Patrick's Cathedral, New York
An unnamed church, the Cayman Islands
Our Lady of San Juan de Los Lagos in the town of the same name, Jalisco, Mexico
Westminster Abbey, London
Canterbury Cathedral, Canterbury, U.K.
Cathedral of Our Lady of Chartres, Chartres, France
Notre Dame, Paris
The Alhambra, Granada, Spain
Sagrada Familia, Barcelona
St. Peter's Basilica, Rome
Hagia Sophia, Istanbul
Angkor Wat, Siem Reap, Cambodia

For love or money:
Graceland, Memphis, Tennessee
Versailles Palace, Versailles, France
The Taj Mahal, Agra, India

Once upon a time:
Salinas Pueblo Missions, New Mexico
Mayan ruins, Belize
Mayan ruins, Tulum, Mexico
Ruined castle, Marmorera, Switzerland
Anne Frank's home, Amsterdam
Eastern Czech Republic
Neuschwanstein Castle, Germany
Roman Baths, Bath, England
Pre-Roman ruins in Turkey
Ephesus, Turkey
Fairy castles, Cappadocia, Turkey
Greek island of Delos

Urban paradises:
New York City--streets, skyline, and during a blizzard
The Bean, Chicago
A moonlit San Francisco bridge
Vancouver, BC (view from Stanley Park)
The Berlin Wall, mid-demolition
Bucharest, Romania
Prague
Bangkok
Hong Kong

Fiddler on the roof:
Sunsets over ...
The desert outside Las Vegas, Nevada
The Rocky Mountains, from the air
The Gulf of Mexico, from the Florida Keys
A beach in Mexico
The cliffs of Santorini
Mount Warning in Eastern Australia

Sunrises in ...
The Valley of the Gods, southern Utah
The waters off Molokai Island, Hawaii

High and low:
Mt. Washington, Oregon
Rocky Mountains, Telluride, Colorado
Santa Fe, New Mexico, in the snow
Grand Canyon, Arizona
Awaawapuhi trail, Kauai, Hawaii
Hierve el Agua, Mexico
Cliffs, east coast of Ireland
Mountain views, Lugano, Switzerland
Mountains and fjords, Norway
Samaria Gorge, Crete

Wet and dry:
Arches national park, Utah
Red rock formations, Bryce and Zion, Utah
White Sands, New Mexico
Petrified Forest, Arizona
Northern California coast
Cola De Caballo waterfall, Monterrey, Mexico
Todos Santos, Baja, Mexico
The Blue Pool, Hana, Hawaii
The Gobi Desert
The ocean--from the shore, from a ship, from underwater

Check the comments on the previous post for more details on many of these; thank you to all who shared (especially those who are new or infrequent commenters!).

Totally awe-some

The other night as I was waiting for Opie to fall asleep (or at least settle down enough so that I could safely exit the room), I started thinking* about places I've been that were truly awe-inspiring. Places that really stopped me dead in my tracks the first time I saw them. At first, I only came up with two. I later thought of a bunch more, when I pushed myself to think beyond the borders of Western Europe (and the Catholic church, I guess), and out into the natural world. But the very first two that popped into my head were Ste.-Chappelle, in Paris, and St. Peter's Basilica.

I'm curious to know what would be on your list. Tell me a few and then I'll share the others that I came up with after more thought.

*And then maybe in a future post I'll explain the train of thought that got me to this particular station because it brings up another topic worth discussing -- can kids be spoiled by experiences (as well as material goods)?

It's a tur-ku kind of day

Snack duty this week
Daughter insists on lunchmeat
Just like Grace's mom brought

But wait there is more
We must use cookie cutters
To style our turkey

Guess what? Turkey's thin
Rips, shreds, grease on my fingers
Kid, never again

True story! Our turn to bring snack and we have to live up to the Platonic ideal set by Grace's mom, who brought some unspecified "meat" and cheese slices cut into acorn and leaf shapes. I at least talked Jo into storebought, pre-cut cheese but no such luck in the meat category. Trying to be healthful, I bought thickly sliced turkey. Word to the wise: It totally fell apart. Next time you need to cut lunchmeat into cute shapes, I recommend salami or bologna. Just FYI.

What are your kids learning in school?

But never, not ever, in a bathroom

My nursing days ended--most likely for good--over a year ago, so I can't participate in today's Great Virtual Breast Fest (brainchild of the League of Maternal Justice). But if you can't see me nursing, perhaps some of these other absolutely beautiful babies and mamas?



I breastfed for a total of 32 months (holy cow) and guess what? I occasionally left my home, with my babies during that nearly three-year period. That means I have nursed:

• on airplanes and in airports
• on busses
• in (parked) cars
• in dozens of restaurants
• in stores and shopping malls
• in Central Park
• in many other parks
• in my boss's office (during a meeting)
• in my own office (sometimes with baby, sometimes with pump)
• at the hair salon and the dentist's
• during a pelvic exam (I wish I were kidding)
• at church
• in front of my dad, my brother, my uncle, my brother-in-law, and my mother-in-law's "gentleman friend"

I only wish I had some photographic evidence to stick in Facebook's eye. Well, maybe not from that time during the pelvic.

About 978.58 miles, give or take

That's exactly how far I'd go for my kids. It's how far I went when we moved from New York City to Mayberry.

OK, so that's not really what the Parent Bloggers Network meant with today's Blog Blast question, but watch while I string this together.

We moved because we wanted more space, safety, and time (which we'd get by eliminating commuting from our daily routine). And we wanted good schools, without having to pay exorbitant tuition or be a part of the loony urban private school admissions scene.

I believe in public school. Every child has a right to a free, high-quality education, one that will prepare him to be a successful, productive adult. And everyone in a community--young or old, parent or not--has a responsibility to make sure that education is available.

But was I willing to stand on principle and send my kid to a school where only two-thirds of her class could be considered "proficient" in language arts? Where 80% of her classmates would qualify for free or reduced lunch? Where the paint was probably chock full of lead, and the textbooks out of date? Where she'd be Left Behind before she even finished kindergarten?

I wasn't. It was enough for me to juggle a job (with commute), a child, a husband, and an apartment, without trying to add "singlehandedly reform crappy public school" to my list.

My ethics, in this case, took a back seat to my child's immediate needs--and I still feel bad about it. Because this is how we got into this mess. The smart, savvy parents walk: to the suburbs, to the private schools, even to their own home-school classrooms. The just-trying-to-keep-their-heads-above-water parents stay. They don't have the time (courage, wherewithal, awareness, language skills, etc.) to agitate for change. Things get worse and the cycle continues.

Since moving back to the crummy school district is not an option for us, and neither is coming up with a magic answer to this country's public school crisis, I'll have to start smaller. If I win the prize on this blog blast, I'll take my winnings and donate them to a public school teacher through Donors Choose. If Random.org doesn't smile on me this time, I'll take all my BlogHer Ads earnings from now through the end of the school year and donate them instead.

I'll tell my kids how lucky they are to live in a place where school is free, fun, and actually educational. I'll tell them that not every child is so blessed. And I'll tell them that they just might be the ones who could make it right.

Hit me with your best guess

I sent my parents the picture of toothless Jo, which prompted my dad to retaliate with a picture of toothless me (on the far left above).

The first person who correctly guesses the year this photo was taken wins a copy of the book we're reading there. Well, a contemporary copy.

High School Musical is a gateway drug

I should have known. I should have known! She started watching HSM when Jeff brought a DVD home from work. We thought it was cute that she liked the big kids singing and dancing (she also likes Singin' in the Rain). It seemed harmless enough and she even caught on to some of the lessons about peer pressure and why it isn't nice to act like Sharpay does.

Fast-forward to last month, when HSM2 came out ... and one or the other of those movies, or some portion thereof, is showing daily in my living room. Patois warned me to pull the plug, but did I listen? Of course not. As long as the daily intake didn't exceed recommended allowances, I let her keep watching, figuring the appeal would wear off eventually. (Hey, it worked for Maisy.)

So. All you parents of older kids can guess what happened. While I was out of town last week, those wily geniuses at Disney sunk their hooks ever deeper into my child. And now? She wants to watch this. And this.

Oh dear God.

P.S. We do not have the creepy bedding with the creepy Zac Efron pillow. In fact, the only merch we have so far is the DVD that started it all. So at least there's that.

Cross-posted at The Full Mommy.

Orange

I remember last year about this time when Fa discovered her favorite color.

She was in her first week of "Mommy & Me". She was painfully shy and she found some comfort in her spot behind the easel. (She is still very comfortable there, but for different reasons and she creates some gorgeous artwork.)

Armed and double fisted with paint brushes, two yogurt cups placed in front of her filled with red and yellow paint, she began her exploration.

Broad strokes of cherry red paint covered the butcher paper. She used thick layers of red on top of red. Satisfied with her work, she placed the red brush in the red yogurt cup.

Seemingly complete, she pondered her work. You could see the thought bubble rising from her head..."Something's missing, I'm not done yet."

Gently, she raised her second brush loaded with yellow paint and slid it across the red background. The colors magically changing right in front of her eyes. Woah!

"Look at what you discovered!", sang her teacher with glee...
"I don't see that color in your paint cups. I only see yellow and red. What happened?"

And it has been her favorite color ever since.


Fa is an almost four year old who lives with her Bloggin' Mamma ~JJ! in a suburb outside of NYC. She loves to paint and draw pictures all day long and go to art museums. She just started preschool and her mom is having major separation anxiety. You can read all about her and their separation woes over at ~JJ!'s Blog Gaining Balance.

Thank you from the bottom of our paint cups to Mayberry Mom for sharing her creative space with us for this month's Blog Exchange. The Blog Exchange is a monthly blog share that allows all participants to share their creativity on a new and different canvas. Come, be creative with us. And go read Mayberry Mom's artwork over at Gaining Balance today.

Let me 'splain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up.

1. Work: Eh. Lovely catching up with coworkers and demonstrating that I am, indeed, more than just a voice wafting through the speakerphone. Much slower pace than last visit. Project that I went to launch didn't launch, thanks to no help at all from other parts of our group. Blah blah story of our little team's life blah blah.

2. Opie: excellent companion. Befriended many fellow travelers. Dug the subway (except when it was "too woud"). Can demonstrate Statue of Liberty pose. Wants to be a "stick guy" for Halloween.

3. Neighbor child doting on Opie: Largely annoying (mostly because he riled Opie up so that it took me an average of one hour each night to get him to fall asleep). All forgiven when I learned he'd written in his school journal that "the best part of this week is taking care of the Baby Opie."

4. Celeb sightings: No Clooney, but Opie saw Chris Noth and Eric Bogosian and we both saw John McCain.

5. This weekend, aka The Return:

Guess whose is whose?

The lost tooth, by the way, is literally lost, somewhere in the depths of Home Depot. I only hope the next person rummaging through one of those drawers full of nuts and bolts doesn't find a small, bloody incisor instead. Jo wrote the following note to the fairy (punctuation emphatically hers):

Jo! lost! my! Tooth!
Look! for! it! at!
Home!
Depot!
[signed]
Jo!
Bye!

Gimme a muffin to go

For the record, this is what I brought to entertain one 2.5-year-old boy during two airplane flights and an airport layover:

6-8 miniature vehicles, including motorcycle, airplane, and various cars and trucks
4 books
2 coloring books/markers
2 pacifiers
1 laptop/5 DVDs
1 string of beads (vehicle theme)
1 baggie goldfish crackers
1 baggie trail mix
1 apple
1 turkey sandwich
1 sippy cup

This is what proved to be most entertaining of all:

1 overpriced, very dry blueberry muffin (place both hands on top of muffin; squeeze. A good 10 minutes of hilarity!)

I'm in New York this week with 1 junior sidekick. So posting will be light as I am busy massaging unused-to-high-heels feet, playing Frogger trying to cross Atlantic Avenue (see: feet too sore to reach crosswalk), catching up with friends, and -- oh yeah. Working.

ahhh-'ku!

Indian summer
Pool closed, sprinklers put away
Just soak up the warmth

Tell me dear husband
Why it's so hard to grasp
what's recyclable?

My scalp is itchy
Please don't tell me it's that--No,
It's all in my head

My stay at the Home for Wayward Girls

Last Sunday's New York Times blasted me to the past with this article about the Salvation Army's Parkside Evangeline Residence. When I first moved to New York City after college, I needed a place to stay while I was interviewing for jobs and looking for an apartment. I spent about 10 days at the Parkside Evangeline, which I insisted, then and now, on calling the Home for Wayward Girls. I think it cost $35 a night.

This women-only, single-room-occupancy, extended-stay hotel was a throwback even then, with its dingy decor and prim rules about male visitors to your room (as in, none allowed. Not that I had anyone to invite up). I didn't eat in the dining room or spend any time in the lobby -- if I wasn't out prowling for a job or an apartment, I holed up in my room with a few books and a tiny radio for company.

I did have friends in the city but I mostly remember feeling lonely and scared. I'd lived in Philadelphia for the past four years but was still felt like a total rube in NYC. Sleeping alone in a dim, narrow room, skulking down the hall to use the bathroom, and communicating with the outside world via the hallway pay phone didn't help at all. Nor did the bank screwup that left me with almost no cash (or credit) for a few days, weighing whether to spend my last $1.50 on a subway token or a bagel on the morning of an interview.

And I never availed myself of my one and only chance to visit Gramercy Park! Curses.

As for the plan to evict the remaining tenants from the Parkside Evangeline and sell the building, I can't say I blame the Salvation Army. Yes, the deal stinks for the current residents and for people in the position I was in. And it's a shame to see one of those places that makes New York New York be turned into yet another luxury condo. But all that sentiment and $1.50 will not even get you a ride on the subway.

A real pain in the wrasse

All I didn't really need to know I learned in the first three weeks of kindergarten:

1. If the teacher says it, then It Is So. "Mommy, we can eat that brown stuff on the apple. It's just from air."

2. There is a fish called a wrasse that specializes in cleaning the teeth of other fish by swimming into their mouths and eating leftover food. Yum!

3. "Dear Parents: We have had a case of head lice reported in your child's classroom ... "

Beer, breastmilk -- whatever gets you through the night

Yesterday I opened up my fantasy football scoreboard to see if my come-from-behind victory was proceeding as planned. Indeed it was, but that's not what made me do a doubletake.


So if the U.S. Department of Health & Human Services and the Ad Council think that a sports website -- with a beer sponsorship, no less -- is a good place for an ad encouraging breastfeeding, what is Facebook's problem? Or Bill Maher's?

I've read many eloquent posts on the subject of what an idiot Maher is and how ridiculous Facebook is, and I completely agree with them. So I'm not going to add anything else except this little Moment of Zen from the world of sports.

And, no comments from the peanut gallery (ahemKyleahem) about my crappy team. It may have been an ugly win, but it was a win.

Stop the world, I want to get off

Yesterday, I caught Opie singing "There's not a star in heaven that we can't reach..."

That's from High School Musical, for the uninitiated. My baby!

And this evening, we discovered that Jo has a loose tooth. MY BABY!

to-do-haiku

Three free hours today
To-do list goes on for miles
Maybe I’ll just blog

It's Haiku Friday again!

Now that school has started, my schedule has changed and I am giving myself Friday afternoons off from both work and kid care. That means they are on for freelance jobs, household stuff, and maybe once in a while even something fun. My plan for the next several weeks is to slowly, surely purge this house of about a metric ton of accumulated crap. I will pick one closet/storage area/black hole per Friday and devote an hour to clearing it out. Realizing I still had a 15-year-old dress in my closet was definitely a kick in the ass, as was the change in weather that arrived this week. This happens every time the seasons change: I feel like I have no idea how to dress. I need to reset my brain from "capris" to "jeans" and back again, to find the long-sleeved shirts that have been buried under the short-sleeved ones for four months. But since very few of my clothes would really pass the Clinton/Stacy/Tim Gunn test, I feel the need to start fresh.

Wish me luck -- and I am counting on you to hold me accountable to my goal. Stay tuned for photographic evidence!

Every mother's dream: 1st place in the tractor pull

Being the mother of a girl is a tough, scary job. On top of general health, happiness, and welfare, you have to worry about plummeting self-esteem, body image issues, an overly sexualizing culture.


So when it comes to my little xx-chromosome bearer, I praise her athleticism in addition to her adorableness. I ban Bratz dolls and their skanky sisters. When, a few months ago, a classmate told Jo she had fat legs (!) (I know), we talked about strong muscles and how it's not kind to call anyone fat or skinny.


And today, I'm going to pat myself on the back just a little because I think some of this is sinking in. We stayed after school yesterday afternoon, hanging around at the playground as many kids and moms do. As we left, Jo told me that one of the girls had been telling her about the "secret pee places" (!) (?) (I know) in the schoolyard. "Like places you can go pee if you need to. When you are outside."


I reminded her that we most certainly do not pee in the yard. She replied that her friend said she had to or else they couldn't be friends.


My mind raced, trying to think of the best way to respond. Then Jo nonchalantly added that she didn't have to pee, so she just told the other girl that she didn't need to go right now, and they both carried on. Minor peer-pressure crisis averted.


On a roll, once in the car I reminded her of the birthday party invitation she'd received recently, for an "utimate hula girl party." And I quote: "Each girl comes in her swimsuit, gets a hula skirt to wear and is treated to a Hawaiian makeover with up-do, make-up, and nail polish. Then the whole group learns the hula!"



Win #2: She stands by her first instinct, to decline the invite. She'd said she wanted to go, but she did not want to "wear the bathing suit or do the part with the lipstick or the dancing." That's my little feminist! When I told her that she couldn't really avoid that stuff if she attended the party, she decided she wouldn't go at all.


Oh, and win #3? That would be the tractor pull she won this weekend. Oh yeah. At "family farm" day at the zoo (where, how lucky are we, we also got to meet two lovely residents of Binkytown), she pedaled a mini John Deere more than 8 feet -- the second-place finisher eked out 3.5 feet.






















You go, girl. (Also, tell those guys to get out of my shot.)

Igneous, sedimentary, and highly questionable

Has anyone else seen the ads for the new line of Secret deodorants, Scent Expressions? One of the fragrances is Vanilla Chai. I am not kidding. Does anyone out there want their underarms to smell like a nice frothy latte (or arctic apple, for that matter)? I can't stop thinking of that scene in Flirting with Disaster where some guy licked Patricia Arquette's pit "because it's my favorite part of a woman's body."

For a review of a product I do think is worthwhile--a kids' science show called "The Zula Patrol"--please visit The Full Mommy today. While you're there, help a girl out: Amy is bootless and bereft in Binkytown.

Another sunny Tuesday

My September 11 story is here. Six years seems like forever ago but I can recall every minute of that day in sharp detail. I can't let it pass without a moment of remembrance and a prayer for peace -- the peace that means "no more wars" and the peace that means grace and comfort too.

Salvation Army, lock your doors 'cause here I come

God only knows why
This shapeless sack of rayon
Wastes good closet space

I'm only showing it to you because I'm participating in today's Parent Bloggers Network Blog Blast for the new book The Little Black Book of Style, by Nina Garcia of ELLE and Project Runway fame.

I decided it would be too easy to bring out the forest green velvet bridesmaid dress from 1993 or anything maternity. Anyway this particular example is pretty bad on its own. Nina would roll her eyes all the way back into her head if she saw this gem, which I've been toting around since before the first (and I don't mean Bill vs. Hillary) Clinton administration. I wore it for my college graduation party and somewhere there is a picture of me and about 5 of my friends at that occasion. Each one of us is wearing a print dress of this ilk and let me tell you, it's a pretty scary sight.

So. What've you got? It's worth a $250 gift certificate to Coach, so bring it on (anytime before midnight PST). And just for fun, caption it with a haiku!

...to be continued...

Once upon a time, after the evil stepmom had put up a Barbed wire fence around everything, the Empress came and shouted: "I've come to give you A little piece of me mind!"

The evil stepmom, Shelby, came out to see what all the Rambling from this Crazy person was about. The cranky, evil stepmom watched in horror as the insane person began to parade around singing "A Boy Named Sue."

It seemed like forever this insane person would sing and for miles he would parade, all the while twisting and dancing to the song.

It was nothing short of sheer brilliance, though, this Empress, dancing like a wild monkey in an accordian store, waving goodbye to the evil (and I mean very evil) stepmom and heading off to her job as a Kelly Girl on a military base in South Carolina. It was there she was swept off her feet by Officer Gorgeous and signed up to be part of the USO.

It was day by day living with Officer Gorgeous. They went to dances, watched movies, star-gazed, & drank their fountain drinks from the same glass. Then, her Mother, Sister, and Friend came along.....She hadn't seen them for years, and couldn't wait to introduce her new love to them. "This is Officer Gorgeous," she said. "He's really a misplaced midwesterner. We're crazy in love!"

"You must come all the way home with us!" her family cried.

She countered their pleas by saying, "I can't go all the way back to Mayberry, Mom."

Her brother stepped in and said, "Hey, while your Officer Gorgeous has been keeping your fires burning on the homefront, his wife -- yeah, I said wife -- is raising their screaming masses."

"His wife?" shouted the Empress. "He messed with the wrong woman. You better get me out of here now before I smother him with his prized eucalyptus pillow."

Undaunted by Officer Gorgeous's treachery, the Empress set out to taste the world. She believed that life is an ongoing education. Still, she wasn't prepared for the lesson she learned when she arrived in Istanbul that sultry April evening.

*

Thanks for the tag, Patois!

Rules
1. Copy and paste the story, and the rules, on your blog.
2. Find out who you're going to tag. (2-3 people, or more, if you wish)
3. Write one or two sentences to continue the story, and use the titles of the blogs you're tagging or any word(s) associated with them as keywords in the links you include in your part of the story.
4. Remember to tell your taggees that you've tagged them!
5. Feel free to use this and start your own viral link story. I'd very much appreciate a link back to Mother's Home if you do. (Or a tag, if you prefer!)

Bone appetit!

So, the kindergarten report: All was well. Drop-off and pick-up, while logistically messy (wait outside! no, wait near the cafeteria! no, go to the classroom!), were emotionally pretty easy. In four hours, Jo and her class squeezed in group time, an art project, a story, and a snack (Scooby-Doo animal crackers--Mrs. B. taught the kids to say "Bone appetit. Let's eat" first), plus trips to the bathroom, playground, library, and cafeteria. She's thoroughly ready to go back for more tomorrow.

So now I turn my attention to my first baby, our 9-year-old dog. Paradoxically (and I'm sure this is familiar to many of you who've made similar moves), she often got more exercise back when we lived in a 1200-square-foot apartment. Then, we had to take her for regular walks. Now, we turn her out into the backyard a few times a day and that's about it. If we're spending time outside, she'll run around and play; but regular walks are, shall we say, irregular.


I've noted before that my attempts to exercise, including long dog-walks, seem to be constantly thwarted by children. So unfair. So it was kind of a stretch for me to tell the good people of Parent Bloggers Network that "Yes! I'm an exerciser! Sign me up for them free shoes!" But follow my logic: If I replace my six-year-old (yeah, six) cross-trainers with new, wonderfully comfortable, designed-for-women walking shoes by Ryka, I will be forced to use them.

Cliffhanger: Did I? What do I think of the shoes? And more importantly, what does my dog think? To find out, please check out my review over at The Full Mommy. There's more good stuff there too: a cool building toy endorsed by our resident preschool teacher, a how-to video for dads, even our top picks for kiddie snacks. Plus, we're welcoming a new reviewer: Mrs. Chicken!

Be still my heart

First day of kindergarten, 2007

Hot saucy hedgehogs

Two conversations that made me go hmmmm.

1. Indoors, having lunch (which isn't PB&Js).

JO: I smell ... Mr. B.!
ME (slightly afraid of the response): Uh... what does Mr. B. smell like?
JO: Peanut butter sandwiches!
OPIE: No! He smells like ... hedgehogs!

2. The bathtub.

JO: Opie is my hot saucy boyfriend and I am his hot saucy girlfriend!
ME: ...
JO (singing): Hot saucy girlfriend! Hot saucy girlfriend!
ME (deciding to go all child psych 101): Hot saucy girlfriend? What does that mean?
JO: It means your girlfriend is in a volcano and she is hot from lava!
ME: I see. And how about "saucy"?
JO: Saucy, like she is covered with tomato sauce!

Mayberry is burning

Yesterday was a pretty average Saturday. My parents were visiting and we walked downtown to the farmer's market and the bakery. We played outside with the neighbor kids. We ate dinner and gave the kids a bath and put on their jammies. Then we walked over to another neighbor's backyard for a performance like this:



The neighbors have a new foreign exchange student and this is her hobby. Performances nightly!

(That's not her -- I didn't want to show up toting a videocamera -- but it's similar to what she did.)

Dear Mr. President

Dear Mr. President,
I understand that you are used to getting your way, in fact have never not gotten what you loudly demand, but I feel there are some things that we should discuss. I’d like to take a minute to review your take on the environment, your foreign policy, and even weapons of mass destruction. Is that OK? Do you have a minute? Good.

Let’s start with the environment. Seriously, what do you have against the landfills? Why do you feel the need to wait until I change your diaper to have a poop? Couldn’t you use the slightly wet diaper that’s already on your tush? No, you wait until I’ve changed you to let loose, forcing me to use yet another diaper. One of these days the landfills are going to overflow and it’ll all be your fault. OK. Maybe my fault a little for not using cloth diapers, but still! You’re the one who wastes perfectly good diapers. (Not to mention the fact that you are wasting away your college tuition. Just sayin’.)

Moving on to my foreign policy issues. How exactly do you decide who will be friend or foe? We walk into a room and you’ll befriend someone and latch on to them for the rest of the day. Everyone else who tries to talk to you or play with you gets the cold shoulder. I have yet to understand what draws you to one person, but not to another. Is it the color of their shirt, or something more abstract? It would really help me if you could give me a hint or two so that I can clue in the people who really want to bond with you.

Maybe it’s a bit of an exaggeration to categorize your gas as a weapon of mass destruction, but when you come into our bed early in the morning, snuggle under the covers, and let one rip, well, let’s just say that you can get us to get up pretty darn fast. I really wish you would refrain from using your secret weapon, especially when we’re in the closed car on a warm day. It’s really uncalled for, I’d even go so far as to say downright evil.

Now that you have acquired a Vice President your father and I are quite worried about our little democracy. Aside from the few issues I’ve mentioned above we feel that you’ve been quite a reasonable ruler. We hope that now that there are two of you and two of us you will not take advantage of the situation. If you do we might have to consider impeaching you, or at least taking away your Dora privileges. Consider yourself warned.

Sincerely,
Your mommy

This was a guest post written by Rose at It’s My Life... in honor of this month’s blog exchange.

When I’m not busy working, cooking, or running after my toddler, C, I’m usually hiding in the bathroom thinking up my next blog post or trying to read a chapter or two of the book I’m currently wading through. When I do come up with something witty to write about, you can read it here where your usual blogger extraordinaire is blogging today.

Haiku Friday: Arachnophobia

Dear neighbors, I am
sorry to inform you that
you should RUN FOR IT!






















Thanks to Christina and Jennifer for launching Haiku Friday!

Wearing my Food Sheriff badge with ambivalence

I like to think I am moderate, erring toward healthy, when it comes to my diet and my kids'. I try to make sure we eat a variety of foods, whole grains (yay for whole-wheat Eggo waffles), fruits and veggies, yada yada. Luckily, the kids are not particularly picky. We don't eat a lot of organic stuff because it's not readily available where we live. (I could get it but I am a little too cheap and lazy to do so). But we shop at our farmer's markets as often as we can. I let the kids have candy and other treats sometimes and about once a week or so I give in to their begging for a snow cone after school. Otherwise, I try to limit the amount of processed crapola that they consume and the use of food as a reward.

And I have to say that even this small set of rules is really tiring to enforce. I feel like I am being undermined at every turn. Every time Jo goes to play at one particular friend's house, she has mac-and-cheese, juice, candy, and ice cream for dinner--no thought of any fruit or vegetables, ever.

My husband created the tradition of "cookies, Nukkies and bookies" when it's time for bed. Gee, thanks. Now he's giving out cookies every night regardless of whether the kids ate any dinner or how many other sweets they might have had the rest of the day. When we arrived at my mother-in-law's a few weeks ago, there was a giant box of "fruit" gummies waiting to greet us. Her co-worker had given them to her because the kids were coming to visit ("I wasn't sure if it would be OK, but I didn't know what to do with them"--so displaying them prominently in the living room seemed wise??). I let them have a couple of packs a day but in this as in every scenario, I am forced to be the bad guy just to maintain some semblance of health. I have no problem at all saying no to the kids. I just resent being forced to do so because no one else is paying attention.

I can't imagine trying to insist on a fully organic diet or cutting out processed foods altogether--because we don't live in a bubble, we live in a community. We live with other people who have different beliefs and value systems about food, and since eating is a communal activity much of the time, we have to work this out. How do you do it?

Photo: Legends of America

I'm a schmoozer baby, so why don't you link me

So I never did score one of those Thinking Blogger awards, but I did get two even better ones recently. First, Lady M says I'm a schmoozer (which I like to think means I'm a good bloggy neighbor) and Lara says I'm just plain nice. Big kisses to these two dancing girls for singling me out--I am honored! And celebrating these awards by passing them on sounds like the perfect way to kick off the week ahead.

First, the schmooze, a meme which originated with this post defining a good schmoozer as someone who effortlessly weaves [her] way in and out of the blogosphere, leaving friendly comments, happily making new friends along the way. I am sure that some of these picks are repeats, but I'm going to award the pretty ba-loooo (as Opie says) button to the following:

Jenny, of The Bloggess and Mama Drama: Besides being knock-'em-dead hilarious, Jenny has one of the biggest hearts in the blogosphere.

Magpie: The best cure for NYC-homesickness and a wise and frequent commenter (here and everywhere).

Scribbit: Michelle is always ready to spread cheer through comments, links, and even weekly giveaways.

Second, the nice, which is for those bloggers who are nice people and good blog friends--those who bring good feelings and inspiration. Also for those who are a positive influence on our blogging world.

Movin' Mom: For sharing the real scoop on raising teenagers--leaving me not only scared, but also inspired by her example.

Mom Ma'am Me: For her actions in both the real and bloggy worlds--just read a few posts and you'll see why.

L.A. Daddy: Because once I idly asked him a question in a comment and he responded with a truckload of useful information (useful for my next life as a pirate). He may be a biker dude but he's a nice one.

Jen of one plus two: For her Just Posts and for the way she's opened my eyes about homelessness and just being an all-around good egg.

Grace of so, what do you do all day?: For having a genius blog title and tagline, for throwing a kick-ass party in the midst of a stomach virus, and for saying she'd read my blog upon meeting me at BlogHer.

LetterB: For being the brains behind Momku which I think is just so fun and cool (and I am sorry that it's too late at night at the end of a long weekend for me to describe it so lazily). I still stand by my thoughts on Twitter, but Momku is an inspired use of the medium.

Will you ever forgive me, poor dented station wagon?

An open letter to my car, and a fervent effort to turn a moment of stupidity into a cool prize from CarBlabber via today's Blog Blast.

I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. Please don't hold a grudge. I need you to take me and the kids to day care, play dates, the flippin' orthodontist, and the grocery store. I know you don't want to go back there, and I wish we didn't have to, but it is inevitable. The bike trailer can only hold so much.

I promise I won't be as dumb as I was that day. It's just that the cart was sitting up on the sidewalk by the store when I pulled up. I took it inside and filled it with liquid crack Honest Tea, diapers, and a few other essentials. It was only natural that when I finished my shopping, I put the cart back where I'd found it. I mean I knew it wasn't properly corraled in one of those iron chutes. I hate it when people leave carts randomly strewn in the parking lot. But I thought I was safe. I thought you were safe.

I promise you I cringed when, just as we were backing out, I saw that cart roll ever-so-slowly, but unavoidably, unstoppably, across the sidewalk and off the curb, slamming right into your rear passenger door. I never meant to hurt you. You were the car we bought because we had a baby. You've served us well for over five years and 70,000 miles. I'm just sorry that karma bit you on the ass side instead of me.

How can I make it up to you?

Grovelingly yours,

Mayberry Mom

Time, wastage of. In three acts.

I. How much of a kickback are these guys getting?

At Jo's last checkup her dentist strongly urged me to take her to the orthodontist for a consultation. It's obvious that five years of thumbsucking have deformed her bite. But I've researched this and every source I've checked says that nothing can or should be done about it until her permanent teeth come in. Still, after futzing around for a couple of months I made an appointment with the ortho. The only one in this area code that takes our insurance is a good 20-minute drive away (which sounds like nothing but around here, we are used to getting everywhere in 5 or 10 minutes).

So today I stop working an hour and a half early, pick up Jo, drive her all the way to the ortho's office, and eventually see the Doogie Howserish practitioner. He spends about two minutes looking at Jo's mouth and then informs me that there is nothing he can or should do until her six-year molars come in. I ask you. Wouldn't the regular dentist be aware of this fact? Why then would he refer my five-year-old to a specialist who, even if he thought that giving her an appliance to correct her habit and her bite was indicated, could not do so because she does not yet have the teeth to anchor it to? What was the point in spending two hours of my day in this manner?

III. Welcome to bureaucracy

I filled out registration forms for kindergarten back in February and turned them in. Why then am I invited to a spaghetti dinner next week, at which I am advised to "pick up registration materials"? Is this like when you give all your information to one customer service representative, and then they transfer you to someone else, who says "let me just get your file up on my screen" and then asks you all the same questions all over again?

III. Police blotter = neverending source of amusement.

"Disturbance, police were dispatched to the 900 block of ABC Road, where a caller reported hearing screaming coming from the house. Upon arriving at the scene, officers discovered that the homeowner was yelling at the navigational system in his 2008 BMW."

I don't know whether to be disturbed by this flagrant misuse of police officer time, or relieved that this is the best the newspaper could come up with for the blotter, or amused at the subtle dig of including the car's luxury pedigree.

Oh my word

After a long day of nonstop playing and learning at child care, my kids--especially Miss "In the school-age room we don't take naps"--usually want nothing more than to veg in front of the TV for awhile. I can't blame them. But I do feel bad parking them in front of the tube after we've been apart all day.


So when I can, I at least hunker down and watch with them. Recently, thanks to the Parent Bloggers Network, we got a sneak preview of an upcoming PBS Kids show: Word World. Its clever premise is that the six main characters, as well as many of the places and things in their environment, are made up of letters. Check out the cute puppy and house above to see what I mean.

To learn what we thought of the show, visit my brand-new review blog, The Full Mommy! I've joined forces with six other fabulous bloggers and together we are going to keep you posted on the latest and greatest (and not-so-greatest) products we've discovered. Please come visit!

And also: As you've guessed, the ninjas are the lie, photographic evidence notwithstanding. 'Cause they don't have masks or throwing stars. But I still keep my distance.

I was dead serious about the ninjas

Gratitude, edition 2

After these trips I need to remind myself how lucky I am. That despite four days of being force-fed like a foie-gras goose, and despite a particularly obnoxious freak-out by our utterly tactless sister-in-law, we are blessed. One for each day:

1. Listening to conversations like this:

"His name was Rinaldi, he's married to, you know, that Nardelli girl."
"No, i'm thinking of one who's married to a Bertucci."
"Is it the one with the twins?"
"What was his name? Dominic? Frank? No, was it Nick?"
"Who did that Alunni marry, was it a Crespi?"

Seriously. Like being in the back room at the Bada Bing, only with 80-year-old women.

2. Very smooth travel. Scary smooth. And that's including the two-hour delay on our very last leg. The kids were amazing. Jo kept busy for hours with movies on DVD plus an extremely dopey Precious Moments coloring/activity book she received as a gift. Opie played with a 25-cent plastic airplane and on one car trip, a tiny flashlight.

3. Besides their awesomeness at traveling, their overall awesomeness.
a) Opie, on seeing an airplane (one of hundreds): "Ooh. It's PWETTY."

b) New art from Jo (mama elephant with baby):














4. Three cousins, one slip-and-slide.













Back soon to discuss truths and lies.

Off like a dirty shirt

We're on our way outta town. Not to eat grapefruit in France or show off our undies in Disneyworld or even stalk Elmo at Sesame Place, though. No, we're headed to the home of the Steamtown Mall, the Anthracite Heritage Museum, the St. Ubaldo Day Festival, and the (sadly fictional) Dunder Mifflin, Inc. (oh I'm glad I googled that, otherwise I would have missed out on Dwight's advice on protecting yourself from ninjas). Did you know that Avoca "International" Airport (serving Scranton-Wilkes Barre) does not stock any "Office" goodies? Don't you think that is a terribly missed opportunity?

Anyway. Heading out tomorrow to visit the mother-in-law, grandmother-in-law, great aunt-in-law, and other assorted -in-laws. Somehow my suggestion "Why don't you take the kids to visit your mother while I'm at BlogHer" became "Why don't we all go see my mother for a nice long visit for her birthday." I am nothing if not dutiful (snort) so we leave tomorrow. Plus the tickets were hundreds of dollars less for this particular weekend (why do you tease me, Northworst Airlines?).

I didn't line up any guest posters, so here is a round of "two truths and a lie" to keep you busy.

1. There are ninjas in the park by my house every Tuesday and Thursday evening.
2. Put together, my grandmother-in-law's maiden and married names contain 8 syllables.
3. When I was a kid, our local airport (not in Mayberry) had two gates ("in" and "out") and the waiting area was a few folding chairs in a trailer.

Take your guesses in the comments, and post your own truths and lies if you're game.

And the livin' is easy

Come on, vamonos!

My daughter listened to a great deal of Spanish in her first two years of life. We lived in a predominantly Spanish neighborhood in New Jersey and the child care center we chose for her was run by a Spanish-speaking family, staffed mostly by Spanish-speaking teachers and attended by Spanish-speaking children. While we didn’t select the center specifically for language learning, I always believed it was a pretty nice fringe benefit.

I didn’t realize how nice, though, until I read The Bilingual Edge by Kendall King, Ph.D., and Alison Mackey, Ph.D. (received courtesy the Parent Bloggers Network). In this thorough, persuasive book, King and Mackey spell out (as their subtitle explains) the “why, when, and how” of teaching your child a second language.

The why is pretty obvious; who would argue that knowing a second language doesn’t broaden career opportunities, or open our minds to other people and cultures? While I felt the authors went a bit overboard in justifying why they wrote the book, I found it fascinating to learn that “people with advanced knowledge of more than one language seem to be more creative….Something about knowing more than one language seems to make children both more creative and what researchers describe as more mentally flexible.”

Some of the when facts were new to me. I’ve always believed the conventional wisdom that the younger the child, the more easily she will pick up a second language. I took rudimentary French lessons as a child, and later became very proficient in the language; native speakers often commented on my excellent pronunciation. I credit my early exposure (not any innate talent) for this. King and Mackey, while agreeing that young children can learn two or three languages easily and simultaneously, also stress that it’s never too late for a child—or an adult—to learn a new language. Younger children have the advantage of discerning different sounds more easily, and they aren’t afraid to make mistakes when they talk. But older children can still become very proficient, provided they receive explicit instruction (vs. the osmosis approach you might take with a baby or toddler) and lots of encouragement.

The how chapters in the book are strongest, outlining dozens of different methods families can use to raise a bilingual child—joining a playgroup, hiring a nanny, singing songs together, language immersion schools. The authors take a stand (backed, as is everything in the book, by research studies) against teaching via “edutainment.” In other words, Dora no es buen profesor. Kids, especially the youngest ones, learn only from meaningful interactions with parents, caregivers, and other children; while they may pick up a word or two from Dora, Boots, or Elmo, real language learning requires a human touch. Interestingly, though, school-age kids do benefit from TV shows or computer games designed to teach language—as long as it’s a supplement to more hands-on instruction.

Jo’s kindergarten curriculum will include Spanish instruction, which I’m pleased about—not just because I want her to learn the language, but because it shows that her school places a value on foreign language learning. Opie will receive some Spanish lessons at our day care center starting this fall as well. It won’t be like the old days in New Jersey, but he’ll at least have some exposure. The book has convinced me, though, that if I want them to become more proficient, I’ll need to do my part at home. Simply reading books or singing songs in Spanish regularly will help, as will trying to include more Spanish in our conversations (maybe by speaking only Spanish during dinner once a week, for example). This works for me because I still remember some of my high school Spanish, but if you don’t, no te preocupes (don’t worry): King and Mackey have plenty of sage advice for you too.

What I liked: The book is comprehensive—these authors have thought of everything, from how to decide what language to teach, what to do if kids (or grandparents) resist, how to choose a tutor, and more. They cite research studies to support their claims, but don’t slip into academic jargon. They also include an appendix stuffed with helpful resources.

What I didn’t: These two needed to lay off the exclamation points. Call me a quibbler, but as a writer and editor it’s been slammed (that’s a little copy-editing in-joke for you) into my head for years that you only use an exclamation point (aka a slam) with extreme caution. The authors spent too much time in the early chapters defending their need to write the book, which only undercut their argument. And the few exercises scattered throughout seemed like little more than filler—they weren’t necessary.

Who it’s for: Any parent who wants to raise a child proficient in more than one language—and the authors make a strong case that that means any parent, period. No matter your child’s age or your family’s background or circumstances, you’ll find applicable, actionable suggestions here.

If I were a-twittering

I don't Twitter. But if I did, here's what you'd get.

*

I need to find a productive use for hickory nuts. There are approximately 14 bazillion of them in my backyard.

*

What Opie is doing now: Eating an apple only slightly smaller than his own head.

*

How is it that no matter what I am doing all morning, I always eat lunch precisely at 12:45 p.m.?

*

I want my free Harry Potter book! WHERE IS IT?

*

So. You see you're not missing much. And when I look at other people's Twitter pages, I am seriously underwhelmed. Especially with the posts that are in response to someone else's post -- it's like listening in on half of a phone conversation.

But as I asked Aimee today (because she seems like an early-adopting kind of gal), is it Twitter that's the problem, or me? I read this provocative "blogging is dead" post and it pretty well freaked me out. I don't see the appeal of any of the social networking sites. I'm busy enough reading the 100 blogs I follow (to the exclusion of exercise, cleaning, reading real books, etc.). I certainly don't feel the need to wonder "Hey, what else is out there -- let me see what's on the front page of Digg today."

Does this make me old? Or un-visionary? In danger of losing my job someday (remember I am basically a content provider for a decidedly Web-1.0 kind of site) because I can't move with the times? I wonder.

If any of you are into Twitter or Facebook or Sk*rt or (...), I'd love to know why they're meaningful to you. Am I missing something?

Flirting with disaster

In addition to my self-appointed efficiency expert mantle, I've decided that I (and all parents really) can also claim the title Incident Prevention Specialist.

At the end of every workday, rushing to finish one last thing before I put away my laptop and pick up the kids, I contemplate leaving the laptop plugged in and sitting on the table. Then the IPS corner of my brain starts shouting: What if someone trips over the cord and yanks the laptop onto the floor (notice I don't care if any human sustains an injury; my only concern is for my precious rainbow-adorned laptop)? What if somebody spills milk into the keyboard? What if I have to spend a half-hour deflecting requests to "play a gaaaaaaaaaaame on the ca-puter, Mommy, pleeeeeeeeease?" I take the 48 seconds to unplug the laptop, move it to an out-of-sight, out-of-mind location, clear the junk off the table and leave. Incident, prevented.

Later, I notice with horror that there is only one more ice cream sandwich in the freezer. There are two children, and because the freezer is at floor level they can open it up anytime they want. I immediately eat the ice cream sandwich or at least hide it under a bag of frozen broccoli. Incident, prevented.

Preparing for an outing, I give the kids healthy snacks to eat in the car so I can stave off requests for unhealthy ones later (or I--oops!--neglect to bring any money so that I can't buy any junk). I plan my route so I won't pass the snow-cone place or the Dairy Queen or even the pool. I bring a stroller, aka traveling toddler cage. (Yes, I do know how to say "no." Trust me, I do it often. But it's nicer just avoiding the whinefests whenever possible.)

It's like a chess game dealing with these wily kids. You always have to think at least 5 moves ahead. Or else there might be an Incident.

Does anyone else find this disturbing?

It's a new toy from Fisher-Price called the Smart Cycle. It's a "stationary bike, a learning center, and an arcade game system" all squashed into one freakish amalgam. Am I crazy to think you'd be a hell of a lot better off spending your $100 on an actual, not-stationary bike and some, I don't know, books? Just a thought.

I'm surprised the piano didn't move itself

All this talk about the political candidates reminds me of a little story. Gather 'round, kids!

Back when I was a magazine editor, I worked for a smallish publication with an accordingly small staff. This meant we had to do everything ourselves, including stuff way out of our/my league. Once a year we put out a big story, one of those lists that are designed to garner lots of media attention and may or may not be based on fact. It was our version of the swimsuit issue (and in our case, it really was based on a tremendous amount of research and hard work--which I know because in later years I oversaw that project too).

To get the maximum bang out of this particular buck, we always had an event to promote our story when it was published. And somehow in 1996 I wound up in charge of this thing. Me, the young, green editor with less than zero event-planning experience. Me, the totally conflict-avoidant delicate young thing. Taking the lead on this breakfast honoring lots of multi-billion-dollar companies, attended by all our own corporate VIPs and advertisers. And the guest of honor: was the current vice president of the United States, Al Gore. Who also happened to be running for re-election at the time.

At one of the pre-party walk-throughs, someone from the campaign was there to check out all the arrangements. She was a fast-talking, take-no-guff, totally stereotypical New Yorker. She barked orders about security (yes ma'am, there would be bomb-sniffing dogs) and press access and what he'd say and how long he'd stay. She told us exactly how the room should be set up, and that included moving a grand piano across the room (because otherwise it would interfere with the TV cameras' shots).

The banquet manager gently demurred on moving the piano, explaining that doing so would require extra staff time and also a charge for retuning the instrument. Our magazine was so poor that we used 5-inch floppy disks and didn't have voice mail--I had an ancient answering machine with a cassette tape so old that callers would frequently inquire whether I was landing helicopters on my desk. So keeping costs down was absolutely essential.

For a few seconds I tried to broker a compromise with the scary campaign lady, sputtering out lame alternatives as quickly as I could come up with them. She, of course, was having none of it. Almost immediately, she wheeled to face me and yelled "He's the vice president of the free world! MOVE THE PIANO!"

So yeah. We moved it. I voted for Clinton/Gore that year anyway. But I'm still kind of afraid of that campaign staffer.