Almost crossed another item off the Mommy Checklist

When I arrived at child care yesterday to pick up the kids everyone was in a tizzy. I had been out getting my thrice-yearly haircut/highlights and the batteries on my cell phone were dead--where is that charger anyway?--so when the director tried to call me, she couldn't reach me.

So the first words I heard were "there was an accident but he's okay." We went to Opie's classroom and he was his usual smiley, chirpy self. He immediately noticed my haircut. "You got a haircut Mommy! Looks pwetty!" Why yes son, and no more grays! You would never have known there'd been an incident except for the fact that a patch of his own hair, plus the back of one of his ears, was all bloody.

Just a half-hour before, a toy had fallen off a low shelf and gashed open my boy's scalp. It looked nasty but I could see that he was recovering fine. No concussion, no lingering pain, and he was both brilliant and sensitive enough to compliment my hair! Most grown, uninjured men can't manage that.

Among the daycare team recommendations for follow-up were divided. Two votes for "take him for stitches" and two for "he'll be fine." We had to hustle out the door for Jo's gymnastics class; it was her final one for the session otherwise I might've skipped it. There I consulted two more moms, friends whose kids are also in the class. Another split decision.

With the score tied 3-3, I called the after-hours nurse when we got home. Guess what she said? "It's up to you whether you want to take him in." Thanks so much. Finally she offered to page the doctor.

At last, a definitive answer! No office visit, no stitches, not even a bandage. This morning he has a cruddy-looking scab but it's entirely hidden under his hair.

Minor crisis, averted.

Booooop ... crash ... bang

The only thing more annoying than watching someone else play a video game is being forced to listen to someone else play a video game.

That is all.

How not to spend a Saturday morning

I recently took Jo on a little overnight trip (more on this to come soon at The Full Mommy). At one of the shops we visited, I let her pick out a toy for Opie and one for herself. She chose a make-your-own-mermaid craft kit (she loves craft kits--another thing we totally do not have in common).

So from the moment she woke up Saturday she begged to do this thing. Finally we reached a point where Daddy was snowblowing (again), Opie was busy watching "the frog show," and we could concentrate on the sirena.

On the outside of the box: Photos showing a 4-step process, and an age recommendation of 4 years and up.

On the inside of the box: Directions listing FIFTY-TWO steps from start to finish. FIFTY! TWO! About three of which could be performed by my 5-year-old. Basically she watched me gluing itty bitty sequins to my fingers the mermaid's hair, threading atom-sized beads onto invisible fishing wire, and trying not to curse.

Also, do you think she has cast even the most cursory glance at the doll now that is completely besequinned, betailed and bejeweled? I think not.

****

I just finished watching "Ace of Cakes." Ever seen it? Ever wonder why they deliver the cakes by tossing them in the back of a van with no protective wrapping whatsoever? This drives me insane.

As luck would have it

Sometimes people confuse true luck with winning things. While I don’t deny that it’s good fortune to win a lot of contests, prizes or money, I don’t consider this the really GOOD luck.

The really good luck is something that I possess. I don’t often win contests (although I do occasionally). It isn’t often that I get something for nothing. But I’m rich anyway.

Here’s why I’m lucky:

I never had to really study much in school. I could often get an “A” in a class without much effort.

I took risks with my safety in college and lived to tell the tale.

Just when I was about to resign myself to never finding someone to spend my life with, I was asked to be a bridesmaid in a friend’s wedding and met my husband.

Even though I had several risk factors for infertility I was able to get pregnant and have children.

My children have been born healthy and continue to be healthy for the most part.

I have a nice home and many of the things that I want . . . and all of the things that I NEED.

My family supports me in whatever I try to do.

Things just seem to work out for me. Much as I worry about things, everything generally turns out fine.

It may be great to win a lot of money and prizes, (and I certainly wouldn’t turn any of it down!) but if I had to choose one, I’ll choose my type of luck every time.

Heather is mom to 2 young children and is currently baking baby #3. When she’s not counting her blessings she’s writing about life’s minor irritations at her blog Cool Zebras, where you can find the wonderful Mayberry today. To read how lucky the rest of the blog exchange participants are, please click here.

She actually WANTS to do math?

Even before they’re born we try to find similarities between ourselves and our children. He’s a night owl, like his daddy. She never stops kicking; she’s going to be athletic just like me. We peer at their scrunchy newborn faces and look for family resemblances in noses, chins, eyes.

And then—lookalikes or not—they go ahead and prove how different they are every day. Still I’m amazed when my children display talents I never had. Where I was a skinny, weak klutz, my daughter is strong and athletic. My academic strengths were in reading, writing, foreign language; she finds Spanish class “boring.” She can read, but she prefers not to (although, thank goodness, she still likes to listen to read-aloud books).

But give her a page of math problems or tell her to count to 100 and she’s off to the races. Where did this child come from? I don’t know, but I’m pretty excited to find out where she’s going.

(Want to brag about your child? Blog blast today … or just tell me in the comments, because I am almost as proud of your little monkeys as I am of my own.)

A case of flagrant wallpaper abuse

Many years ago my parents lived briefly in a house that contained three of the most hideous rooms I've seen before or since. In a remarkable sin of omission no one took any photos of these rooms before the family fled. So, a propos of absolutely nothing today (perhaps this is my effort to reclaim Wednesday for words), I present three reasons why wallpaper should be a controlled substance:

1. Ahoy, me hearties! This room predated today's pirate craze by at least 20 years. It was a large room of indefinite purpose -- on the same level with the garage and the powder room (coming up next) and nothing else. Family room? Office? Spare bedroom? It was a mystery. Also mysterious was the wallpaper, a blue-and-white pattern of foot-long clipper ships sailing the open seas. The vessels covered every inch of wall and carried right on over onto the matching curtains too. And on the floor, a nice blue shag carpet, of course.

2. Pledge your allegiance. Despite its small size, this half-bath again featured wallpaper with a ridiculously oversize pattern--one that celebrated the greatest hits of American patriotic music by reproducing its most garish sheet music covers, accented with brass trumpets and stern-looking eagles. The fixtures were a brilliant shade of royal blue. (Have you ever seen a royal-blue toilet? I hadn't.)

3. The woodland baby bathroom suite. In the basement, adjacent to an honest-to-god knotty pine-walled rec room with burnt orange shag carpet (and to think, that one didn't even make this top 3 ugly rooms list), was the WBBS. The nearest bedroom was two flights of stairs away from this large, nonsensical bathroom. It had dark wood trim throughout, a sauna, a huge vanity with double sinks and an imposing wooden chair, a big whirlpool tub set two steps up from the floor, and separate shower stall. Oh, and beige carpeting (squick) throughout, including on the steps surrounding the tub. Tying all this together, and inspiring the name, was the wallpaper. It featured nearly life-size, realistically rendered illustrations of baby woodland animals--rabbits, squirrels, and other Bambi contemporaries. Very much like these wallies, but monochromatic. So if, say, you decided to take a soak in the tub, you might be eyeball-to-eyeball with a chipmunk or a raccoon. Relaxing, no?

And you? Wallpaper horror stories? Let's hear them.

Calling all you foodie types

I am looking for good food/mom blogs. Not so much for myself, but for a work project. Can you recommend any that you love -- not too gourmet; more about everyday cooking with/for kids who may or may not only eat their pasta without sauce, their apples peeled, their yogurt character-ized, and their pizza only is "someone else bakes it."

Merci bien.

Oh, and any grandmothers and mothers of middle schoolers would be magnifique as well.

Homecoming haiku

Four nights away from
home, husband, kids. Each day seems
longer than the last

In the airport on the way home I walked into the ladies' room behind a little girl and her mom singing the Hannah Montana theme song. Then the girl asked her mom to come in the stall and help her wipe.

Ah yes. I'm almost home.

(Composed on Friday for Haiku Friday but didn't make it to the big screen until today.)

Snowman lineup

(Hers, his, hers)

Life imitates art. Or maybe it's the other way around.

For Wordless Wednesday.

A Ferb-ily family tradition

I'm not sure how this started but we seem to have created a new evening ritual. Every night after the kids are fed, (occasionally) bathed, and PJ'd, we all snuggle in together to watch "Phineas and Ferb." It's on at 7 in our time zone and is less than 15 minutes long so it's the perfect last little thing to do before bed. The kids think it is a big treat to have the TV on after dinner and all four of us find the show hilarious. It's a testament to how a bit of structure encourages creativity, too; there are recurring themes, plot points, and even dialogue in every episode, yet each one is clever and funny.



All day long now we sing this song and imitate the villian, Doofenschmirtz, saying "Ah... Perry the Platypus!" Both kids can do a dead-on impression.

So that makes me smile. And so does Magpie, who gave me a You Make Me Smile award. Awww! Thanks M. I could pass this along to dozens of you, but I single out Lady M for her astonishing ability to post cheerfully every single day; and Christina and Jennifer for Haiku Friday. I love playing along--and reading--as often as I can.

Did we like it?

Like many other little boys (and girls) out there, my son is a fan of the round-headed, overall-clad, fix-it Brit. So we said "yes we can" to an offer from Parent Bloggers Network to check out Bob the Builder's latest DVD release, Bob the Builder On Site: Roads and Bridges. This one-hour show is a complete how-they-do-it explanation, in preschooler-friendly terms, of road- and bridge-building. As Bob spells it all out for his pal Roley and a collection of rabbits and squirrels (yeah, I didn't really get that, either), a combination of animated and live-action videos illustrate the steps.

Get the full review (with bonus Opie photo) at The Full Mommy. And if you like freebies--add the site to your reader! Contributor Leighann has tracked down all kinds of sweet goodies to share. The current giveaway ends today, but more are coming.

In front of God and everyone

I don't normally post about religion, because holy lightning rod; and also, my feelings are nothing if not conflicted. I enjoy the ritual of it all and have found comfort there in times of grief. But if I am honest with myself, I haven't nearly the faith to swallow everything I should to be a true believer. And as a leftie, feminist type, I have Issues with a capital I about many teachings and dictates of the Roman Catholic church.

And yet, you'll find me at Mass nearly every Sunday, goosebumping up when the priest presents a newly baptized baby to the applauding congregation, beaming as if he bore that child himself. You'll notice tears leaking from the corner of my eyes during a soaring hymn. You'll see me volunteering to send valentines to homebound parishioners and organize the Sunday morning nursery co-op. You'll realize I'm sitting alongside almost all of my close friends in this community, the ones who'll watch one child while I chase the other or save a seat for us during coffee hour. On warm-weather days, the kids and I may be at church for two hours or more, including Mass, coffee talk, and a visit to the school's playground.

This year I am sponsoring a good friend as she goes through the RCIA process. I was honored to be asked, but hesitant. Was it really right for me to hold myself up as an example for her? In the end I decided that all I could do was tell her the truth. That I have questions, questions that will probably never be answered; but if she wanted to, we could seek together. And so we have. This Easter she will be baptized and I know I'll be proud to have been a part of this process with her.

I'm still out there wondering, but I know I have company. And that means a lot.

I can has valentinez?

Hope you all had a happy heart day.

xox

Jo, Opie, and the dog

Grand-mommybloggin'

Some of you know that I have another blog on the site I work on. I don't link it here because, you know, I feel that I am the second coming of Dooce. My mother is the most faithful reader of that blog (probably the only reader. Even I am usually bored with it, and it's all about my kids). She checks compulsively for updates, never fails to mention what she's read, and even suggests topics.

So today, when I felt a bit of bloggers' block, I emailed my #1 fan. I usually can't keep track of where she is because she travels all the time, but she does check her Crackberry constantly. Sure enough, she called me from her cell phone within a half hour and reeled off four ideas.

Write about everything you have to prepare before you go out of town.
Too stressful. NEXT!

Write about how you embrace the winter season with the kids.
Ha. Ha ha ha ha. I only embrace the sturgeon-spearing. Pucker up, dino-fish. NEXT!

Write about Valentine's Day and all the learning opportunities that go with it [a lifetime ago Mom was a first-grade teacher].
Reasonable possibility. After Jo rejected my idea for homemade valentines (red construction paper hearts with cut-out pictures from other cards glued on top, and the text "You're cut out to be my valentine"), we bought a couple of packages of licensed-character goodness. She sat right down and addressed and signed them all in one fell swoop. No nagging, bribing, or even coaching. I was very proud. But: If I do this, I'll save it until after the school party, in case that yields any good stories. NEXT!

Write about how you cook with the kids, what they like about it, what they are learning from it.
Ding! I think we have a winner. Yes, I may be a kitchen lame-o but I am raising a boy who has an entire wardrobe of aprons and his very own whisk. Tonight: "Now you can help me mix up this stuff and make meatballs." "I can use my whisk?"

Next time, though, I may just hire Grandma as a ghost-blogger. I can pay her a percentage of my lucrative salary of $0.

Wanderlust-ful

New mama Julie (not to be confused with Other New Mama Julie, or Word-Using Mama Julie, or do I have any other bloggy friends named Julie?) tagged me for a Top-5 meme. I am to tell you 5 things about myself, and then list 5 places in the world I'd like to see (or see again).

I've already revealed many miscellaneous things about myself so I'll just make up my own rules. Here are 5 random things I have been wondering lately:

1. How I manage to entirely fill the dining room table with crap every day between the hours of 8 a.m. and 2 p.m., only to have to clear it off completely by 2:45. Right now: 4 piles of work papers; 1 cloth napkin; 1 binder clip; dirty lunch dishes; a bottle of tea; the phone; a ruler I found on the floor; a photo that fell off the refrigerator; two invitations to events I don't intend to attend; the recipes from last night's soup swap; my planner book. And the laptop.

2. If there are any "virtue" names for boys. I encountered a family recently with children named Hope, Grace, and Christian; the mother mentioned that the last one would've been Faith if he'd been a girl. Ever since I have been racking my brain trying to come up with alternative boy names. This is neither an attempt to name a child I'm not having nor a need to make some kind of point about the virtuousness of girls vs. boys. I'm just cat-killin' curious.

3. Why, if you invite me (see #1) to a fundraiser to be held at your home, you don't offer some kind of hint as to who on earth you are and how you know me or got my name.

4. Whether it's far too late to get a babysitter for this weekend, or to get my roots done before my next trip to New York.

5. If winter will ever. Ever, ever. Ever, ever end. (Forecasted for Mayberry for the next 5 days: Snow, clouds, snow, snow, clouds.)

Now, for part two! Oh, the places I'd go. Here are my top picks from the list we compiled last fall (fairly high on the conventional/cheese factor, but too bad; and I also cheated and added some that weren't on the list).

• Hawaii
• Spain
• Turkey
• Iceland
• Patagonia

Oh, and here's another list of 5: The soups I now have chillin' in my freezer. How's that for meme miscellany?

• Vegetable with meatballs
• Chicken chili
• Curried butternut squash
• Wild rice
• Potato-leek

Care to play? Join me in the comments or on your own blog.

Super-easy soup

Since I went ahead and confessed that I am a lousy cook, I thought now would be a good time to post a recipe. Right?

I am going to a Soup Swap on Monday. It's like a cookie exchange, but for soup. Here's what I'm going to bring (there is a contest for best soup name ... if you can think of a better one, I am all ears). I'm making 40 cups of it tonight (8 cups x 5 recipient swappers).

I Think I Can-nellini Bean Soup
Makes: A lot. At least 8 servings depending on who's eating. Probably about 35 servings if you are serving it to a small child.

3 cloves garlic, minced
1 Tbsp olive oil
2 16-oz cans cannellini (white) beans
1 28-oz can diced tomatoes
1 head escarole (or kale I think would also work), chopped
4-5 cups chicken broth (sub veggie broth to make this vegan)
S&P
Shaved parmesan cheese for garnish

1. Heat the olive oil in a big soup pot or dutch oven. Throw in the garlic and saute for a couple of minutes.

2. Dump in everything else.

3. Bring to a boil.

4. Simmer for 20-25 minutes (or whatever. Until you are ready to eat it).

5. Top with shaved parmesan and serve.

See? If you can open a can and boil water you can make this.

My only problem is that my husband doesn't really like soup (weirdo). So I am going to have 40 cups of incoming soup to eat all by myself. Guess what I'll be eating for lunch for the next 40 days!

(When I was a poor editorial assistant, I always brown-bagged except on Fridays. Then I'd treat myself to lunch out. If I was feeling really flush I'd go to the Soup Nazi. I think it cost about $7 a serving [this was way back before the Seinfeld show even aired] but it came with bread, fruit, and a piece of chocolate and damn, this soup was so. good. It was entirely worth the anxiety and abuse and the very very long line.)

Did I mention he loves show tunes?

The Circle of Life

by Opie

For Wordless Wednesday

No longer cheering

My boss just called to tell me she resigned.

My reaction is unprintable here (because I checked off "no profanity" for my BlogHer ads).

Picture a long string of expletives and you will get the idea. I love my boss. I have been reporting to her since I came back from my maternity leave after Jo was born. (I probably wouldn't have even come back if I still had to report to my previous boss, a single man and pompous ass.) A working mom of three herself, she has been my champion while I transitioned back to work, got the hang of pumping, asked to work at home two days a week, moved away, had another baby.

She embraced my proposal to continue to work for her as a telecommuter after we moved to Mayberry, an arrangement we've had now for almost four years. Personally and professionally, she is extremely supportive and protective of her staff. Hands down, she is the best boss I've ever had. She's also a lot of fun--literally someone you'd want to sit down and have a beer with, which I've done often. She's a straight-talking Italian from Jersey and I will miss her very much.

For the foreseeable future I'll be reporting to her boss. She told him to keep me and let me continue what I've been doing, but who knows if he will (or if I'll be able to deal with him). I knew this wouldn't last forever but it still sucks to see it come to an end.

Gooooooo sturgeon!

Ahhh ... it's ice-fishing time again! I saw my first shanty today.

Currently cheering:

• The New York Giants. Of course.
  


• Barack Obama. Of course.
  


• yogabeans!
  


• Mayberry Moment #5: Me to stranger in supermarket parking lot: "Are you Jennifer's husband, by any chance?" After he said yes, I explained that I had gone skiiing with his wife the week before and had ridden in the very car he was driving, in which I had left my sunglasses. Why yes, there they were!
  


• My husband's heroic snow-clearing efforts
  


• My heroic cooking efforts

About which: I roasted my first chicken today. I know that's one of the easiest recipes ever but it was my first time and I am rather proud. Because although I can get by, I am really a pretty lousy cook.

Exhibit A: A few weeks ago I tried to make a steak rub from the Tea Diet* book. As I pawed through the cabinet looking for chili powder, I found some chipotle chili powder. "Must be about the same," methought. Yeah. The same hacking, coughing, sinus-clearing, tongue-numbing kind of thing. Amusingly, my husband rescued the beef by dousing it in ... tea (brewed; he had no idea there were crushed tea leaves in the rub). And a whole whole lot of butter.

The New York Times Sunday magazine yesterday contained an interview with poet laureate Charles Simic. Asked for advice for people looking to be happy, he replied "For starters, learn how to cook." Sigh. It really would be nice to enjoy a task you have to perform day in and day out for your entire life until you become superrich and can hire a cook to be at your beck and call.

(It's a good thing it's no longer NoMeatPoWeek, what with all the mentions of carnivorousness. Really, we only eat meat a few times a week at the most. The kids love tofu, eggs, and cheese and all of those I can make without poisoning anyone. Homemade pizza and Thai Kitchen stir fries are weekly staples, along with veggie pasta and grilled salmon.)

*I forgot to mention here that I am giving away a copy--a nice hardcover copy, not the bound galley I'm keeping for myself!--of the book over at The Full Mommy. Just post a comment by midnight Thursday to enter.

Art by Jann Haworth

Haiku Friday: Ode to the Big Boy Bed

You needed a bed
No one told me that it would
dwarf you like an oak

Seriously, this thing is huge. But the small boy loves it. He helped build it ...

and then dismantle the crib without a second look (saying goodbye to the nuks? not so much).

Big sister is also a big fan. She's been sleeping in that trundle every single night.

Now, for a nice book ...

And then snuggle under the quilt. My mother-in-law had these in her attic for the past 30 years--can you believe it? One of Jeff's aunts made them for him and his brother, but they were rarely used. Having a packrat in the family = priceless!

Yes, we are going to repaint, by the way. I'm thinking a warmish khaki but that was before I got the quilts. Suggestions welcome (I'd also love to do something fun with that dormer/slope thingie--what's that called? There's one on the opposite side of the room too).

It's a gosling! A pinkie?

A boy!

Anyway, the babygoosemouse is here!

Congratulations and lots of love to the whole family.

I may be a freak, but I'm a skinnier freak

Call me a freak, but I do not like coffee. Never have and at this point, don't think I ever will. And for the longest time, I had no interest in tea either. This was very disturbing to most people I encountered in my college and post-college days.

THEM: "What do you mean you don't drink coffee? Or tea?"
ME: "Well. I don't drink coffee ... or tea."

This was difficult for them to grasp. Occasionally I would say that I drank hot cocoa just to get them off my back.

Eventually I did start drinking tea. It was either the trip to Ireland or the first Starbucks chai latte that did it, or possibly a really sore throat. I've since moved beyond the milk and sugar, and can and do drink tea straight up.

In fact, I usually drink 4 to 6 cups a day. So a book called The Ultimate Tea Diet? Was right up my alley, even though I am not dieting, have never dieted, and generally do not believe in diets.

Get the full review at The Full Mommy!

Evidence that I am descended from hillbillies

Since Aimee posted her goofy musical picture, I am going to post mine. In one of those blogospheric coincidences, I just received it the other day.

That's my grandfather on jug, my uncle Steve on washboard, my dad (and his mustache) on banjo, and some other dude on bass.

Anyone else have a musical skeleton in the closet/family tree? Bring it!

Thank goodness for Sheila

I'm still cold but I spent the better part of the weekend embracing the weather instead of fighting it. We took the kids sledding on Sunday. My friend Sheila is a class-A rounder-upper and event planner and she put together a cross-country ski outing on Saturday. I hauled out the skis that I haven't used since my childfree days (they still fit! yeehaw) and we spent the afternoon gliding through a nature preserve. As we were setting out on the trail a fresh-mouthed 8-year-old asked me if I had ever been on skis before. I refrained from answering "Yeah, before you were born, ya little twerp" or from otherwise letting her comment crush my groove.

My best/worst ski outing (I'm still talking about cross-country here -- all of my downhill outings have been "worst." I am not cut out for that), mentioned briefly here, was in Moosehead Lake, Maine. The lodge we stayed at had yurt-to-yurt trails so the idea was, you ski around all day and then sleep in a yurt at night (your belongings having been magically transported there by snowmobile, about which more later). I soon learned that a canvas tent, even one equipped with a wood-burning stove, was not really ideal for a February night in Maine.

The trails, however, were amazing and so was the people-watching in the lodge. Snowy trails attract two diametrically opposed groups: the cross-country skiers and the snowmobilers. The skiers wear natural fibers (corduroy knickers and knee-high wool socks: hot!), eat granola, and probably listen to NPR. The snowmobilers wear space-age synthetics in space-age colors and I'm guessing they like the country music. Seeing these two groups mix (or at least occupy the same room) is a fascinating character study.

*

Segue on the word "character": my lovely cousin's mother-in-law just died. Doesn't she sound like a remarkable person? I'd never met her, and really hadn't known much about her (Ozarkian jigs! Fishing! B29 bombers!). I'm sorry I'll never get the chance now.

Photo from the Utah Ski Archives via fasterskier.com

Can't ... post ... brain ... frozen

This post from last year pretty well sums it up (I see I reached the breaking point a few weeks later in '07 than I have in '08).

I knew what I was getting into when we moved here. When Jeff was considering taking the job that brought us to Mayberry, his company flew us here for a recruiting visit. In January. The temperature never rose above 5 degrees F the whole time we were here and I think there was about a foot of snow on the ground.

It was also the first weekend away, alone, we'd had since we became parents nearly two years before. We ate nice meals, we shopped leisurely, we drove around and looked at houses 3 times the size of our apartment that we could actually afford to buy. We went to a chamber music concert. We stayed in a really nice hotel. Need I say more?

Those wily recruiters. Look where it got me.

Late to the party because of the party

What with all the hoo-ha over the teeny weeny peenies, I missed observing a couple of other important events in the blogosphere and the world. Luckily, I can count on all of the rest of you to pick up the slack:

Jessica and Julie P. wrote movingly about Martin Luther King, Jr.

Alex wrote about Blogging for Choice Day.

Dozens of you wrote to support WhyMommy on her big day, and she came through with flying colors.

And that is worth celebrating -- yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

Aww! His first pee fountain!

In honor of the impending arrival of mothergoosemouse's little boy blue: A story.

The minute you give birth to an infant of the male persuasion you learn (and you are informed about three dozen times a day, anyway) that their boy parts are to be covered at all times. Something about exposure to the open air makes their little firehoses want to perform.

During one of Opie's very first diaper changes on his very first day home from the hospital, my mother was doing the honors while Jo and I looked on adoringly. Because, you know, it takes two adults and a preschooler to change one teeny weenie newborn. Of course, since it had been over 30 years since Grandma had unwrapped a boy diaper, she forgot the Take Cover rule. Opie sensed an opportunity and let fly with a targeted stream. He managed to hit:

• the pack-n-play
• the living room wall
• the living room floor
• and his sister's face
• (her hair too)

So Julie, be sure to stock up on the cloth diapers and use them to cover the danger zone any time the little guy is mid-change. Tacy and CJ, I advise you to keep your distance.

xoxoxoxo from Jo, Opie, Jeff and me!

*

It's a baby shower and you are invited! Grab a button and post anytime today in honor of one of the blogosphere's favorite writers ... and the biggest surprise of her life.

(And there are prizes involved, to boot.)

You-gotta-be-kidding below zero

Jeff goes to the big game

The ticket was free, but he easily spent its face value on cold-weather gear. Let's hope he makes it back with all his fingers and toes.

Haiku Friday: Little pitchers

Just thought you should know
I know something you think I
don't. Kids have big mouths

*

Twice in the past few days, while I haunted the coatroom, kindergartners have blurted out info that I'm guessing their parents would rather not have bruited about. One was a child who said that her mom might be sending her to parochial school soon. The other was a boy who told me that his parents were considering a move ... not such a big deal except that his mother is a teacher at the school, possibly even Jo's teacher next year. (Him: "They're thinking of moving to the place with the first Montessori school." Me: " ... Italy?" Him: [vzzzzhhh sound of words flying over his head].)

Word to the wise: Don't say anything about anything in front of your kid.

*

All from yesterday:

Opie, to day care director: I'm going to see Dr. B___. He takes care of my whole body!
Opie, to doctor: I am getting a big boy bed. I am not going to get out!
Opie, to neighbor: My big boy bed is upstairs. It is a tiger cage!
Opie, to teacher: When you come to my house to a football game party you will need a ticket. [Note: There is no such party]

Dollhouse attacker returns

JO'S ROOM (AP) -- Several members of the Doll family were found clinging to their second-story windows this weekend, after an apparent repeat attack by the giant baby that has previously wreaked havoc on their home.

"He's even bigger now, but I know it was the same baby," said Mrs. Doll, who was unhurt in the incident but remains traumatized by the sight of her two youngest children teetering halfway out of the master bedroom window. "I could just tell by the steely glint in his eye, and the pudgy fingers that so cruelly grabbed my children and husband and stuck them in all the window frames."

Firefighters rescued the Doll family and doctors say they will suffer no long-term effects. The family vows to remain in the home, despite the threat of yet another giant baby attack. "If we leave, it's like the baby wins," said Mr. Doll.

"At least this time he left our pets alone."

Buck you, Gym

We made a pilgrimage to the mall yesterday to exchange all our ill-fitting/disdained ("I don't like turtlenecks, Mommy. I will never wear those ever") stuff. We came out pretty much even at Macy's but somehow at Gymboree I exchanged three old items for four new items and ending up spending $50! (Time for another WTF haiku.)

Now here's the thing -- because all the gift receipts went missing in the Christmas frenzy, my mother-in-law just gave me all the regular Gymboree receipts. I have three of them and each one is about a foot and a half long, because she was buying for three kids on behalf of four different adults.

It's also GymBucks time. I have an insane number of GymBucks now: 250. That means I could buy $500 worth of overpriced clothes for the low price of $250.

My kids don't need $250 worth of clothes. They don't need 25 cents worth of clothes. I am no good at shopping ahead for upcoming seasons either (I rarely buy them clothes, period--their grandmas are so very generous). I know the sane thing would be to just throw the coupons out but it feels too much like throwing away actual money. I also know this is quite possibly the most bourgeois problem I could describe. But, what should I do ... can I sell these things on eBay? Donate them somewhere? Would it be worth buying a bunch of stuff then reselling it online or at a consignment store? Do you want them? Halp.

My position may be softening ... slightly

I posted whinily about extracurricular activities a few months ago, but I confess that the last two days have me considering a change of heart.

Yesterday, Opie started swimming. It's been months since I've enrolled him in a class because he was very iffy about participating before (unlike big sister, who's always been a happy little goldfish/kipper/shrimp). This time, he loved it. I felt a little weird with this nearly 3-year-old in a pool full of infants, but he had a blast. He sang, he blew bubbles, he kicked, he scooped his little hands, he counted "one ... two ... FREE!" and jumped in fearlessly. Sometimes he even counted "onetwofreefourfivesissebbenainineten" and then jumped. The first thing he said to his teacher this morning, just before regaling her with the Motorboat song, was "I went swimming!"

It's allllmost worth having to shower him in the squicky locker room afterward.

Then today, Jo had a 90-minute art class and I spent the whole time reading magazines and drinking tea (Opie was still at school). Tomorrow's her turn for swimming, and since I don't have to go in the pool with her, I'm counting on more tea and more magazines. Now that's what I had in mind when I shelled out for these activities.

Of course, after I got home today (with both kids in tow and hours of child-juggling and dinner-preparing ahead of me) I realized I had intended to devote the afternoon to some research for a freelance job. Oops. Monday it is, then.

(Mostly unrelated photo: from the Georgia Aquarium last spring.)

Reporting for duty

Have you ever served on a jury? I think everyone should. When you live in Manhattan, you get a summons every two years on the dot. Luckily, mine was for a criminal case (civil case = snore) and I didn't yet have any kids or big job responsibilities. This was back in the days when jury duty meant a lot more "sitting around in the courthouse reading magazines waiting for your name to be called" and a lot less "call this automated voice to see if we need you."

So I got put onto a case. The perp was an alleged drug dealer. A bike cop--why that detail sticks with me, I don't know--watched him holding fort inside a pizza place (or a pizzeria, as true New Yorkers always call them) over the course of several hours. The cop described customers entering, money changing hands, and each customer being apprehended, a few blocks away, with drugs in hand. The bike cop summoned a squad car and the dealer was arrested, given a quick pat-down, handcuffed, and put into the car for a ride to the station.

Once at the station, the car was thoroughly searched and a bag of drugs was found under the seat in the back. The question was, could we the jury be certain enough that the dealer had ditched his goods there to convict him? Or was it, as his lawyer argued, possible that they belonged to some other person who'd ridden in that car that day?

What struck me most, then and now, was how seriously we all took our job. We were a real cross-section of New Yorkers (well, we lacked some corporate titans and skinny socialites but we were at least of all ages, races, and education levels). It was a really straightforward case but we took our time discussing its merits and debating the guilt of the accused. The best part was when we considered whether the man could have sneaked his stash under the seat of the squad car while handcuffed. A tiny old lady volunteered that she had tested this out at home by putting on her own handcuffs and stuffing something under the cushion of her couch!

We voted to convict and I still remember how my heart pounded as I affirmed my vote aloud in the courtroom. I knew it was the right decision (the judge, in thanking us for our service, agreed as much) but it still felt scary to be in a position to send someone to jail. It took me a week to breathe normally again.

*

I posted at The Full Mommy about our holiday hits and misses -- click over to find out what we liked and didn't.

*

What are you reading tomorrow? I have too much to choose from: Sunday's New York Times, a pile of magazines, this month's book club assignment (Jane Austen's Persuasion), or my next PBN review title. It might depend on the weather. If it snows, as is predicted, I think Persuasion is the way to go. And if I read it with a cup of tea, I'm killing two birds with one stone.

Haiku Friday: WTF edition

tiny angry zit
embedded in an eyebrow
how can I zap you?

crib escape artist
why do you choose the highest
end to crawl over?

daughter has cough drops
in pocket? fill out this form
in quadruplicate

feeds kids organic
diet, but leaves vacant car
running for an hour

need server for work
first email says it's down, next
one says it's stolen

Creative number-crunching

My brother is an artist who makes works out of data. He has been recording his latitude and longitude every hour on the hour for the past decade and has created several artworks based on this information. He's also plotted the approximate location of every member of our immediately family, plus his wife, my husband, and now our children, for the past 10 years as well, and created works from them too (one is pictured).

So every January he asks me where we've been the previous year. I just tallied it all up for him.

I took 13 overnight trips this year:
6 with the whole family
3 with one child
3 with friends
1 with my husband
1 alone

That's 45 nights away and 34 airplane flight segments, but only 4 hotel stays. Five were business trips, but all of those also included good friends and good food so I feel guilty even calling them business trips (not guilty enough not to submit a T&E, though. Somebody had to pay for the Internet access at the W).

I went to New York four times, Chicago three times, and my husband's hometown three times. I went to two places I'd never been before (Atlanta and Minneapolis). I went to two places I've lived before (New York and my parents' town).

And I also learned there's a whole world out there left to see. Miles to go in '08 (or at least San Francisco). See you there ... or somewhere.

What do gay cars, crazy architectural renderings, and I have in common?

So the Blog Exchange assignment is "Best of 2007." I think my partner is on the road so I'm going to put up my post right here, but you can click the BE link to find several more good reads on the topic.

Now. What exactly was the Best of 2007? I can't talk about the best movies because I think I saw two new releases this year (both of them on pay-per-view on my couch). TV shows? You've probably already heard of "Project Runway." Music? You did see my music meme post, right? Books ... did I mention I read The Count of Monte Cristo this year? I did? Also it wasn't published in 2007. Never mind.

In fact, I think every "best of 2007" list in the world has already been done. Top PR blunders, best gay cars, top new organisms, sexiest athlete wives, most interesting webcams, craziest architectural renderings, and 15 different accountings of top buzzwords.

What could I add to this genre?

• Best ways to entertain a little boy in an airport? (#1: dry, crumbly muffin.)


• Best family history find? (#1: The annotated Barbie clothes dresser).


• Blurriest ice shanty pictures? (#1: Mayberry's shantytown).


• Best unintended innuendo at the doctor's office? (#1: Your T&A Journey.)


• Top toilet interviews? (#1: Jo's video, of course.)

Best ways to end 2007? A party with 12 adults, 9 kids, 2 babies, and a platter of blueberry martini jello shots. Happy New Year to all my friends and family, online and off. Here's to 2008!

Photo: Quentin Jones, theage.com.au.

Damn straight, Dorothy

I'm back from our Christmas odyssey and I have to say, it kind of sucked. Although I didn't face lost loved ones, illness, major family dysfunction, or insane travel snafus, the small annoyances piled up until I couldn't pick out which one was worst.

Was it the 15-hour outbound journey, including a six-and-a-half-hour layover in Detroit?

Or was it the snide comments about my children's hygiene/my parenting? (what? no daily baths? wearing pajamas MORE THAN ONCE?)

Was it having to wrap all the Santa gifts at midnight on Christmas Eve because all the cousin's presents were wrapped, and would it make sense for hers to be wrapped and our kids' to be unwrapped? Of course not.

Was it our niece getting two of the items on Jo's wish list and Jo getting none (because they were too heavy to be shipped halfway across the country and then back, just so they could be under the right tree on the right day)?

Maybe it was the ridiculously archaic ideas about hospitality and etiquette that resulted in my being offered food every 10 minutes, like it or not; to the point where I maturely respond by refusing to accept anything, then sneak into the kitchen later to help my own damn self. And that also result in far more discomfort among the part of guests than if you would just stop TRYING SO HARD.

Or! Was it spending literally hours every night putting one or the other child to bed, a parenting chore I loathe anywhere, but especially away from home. Waiting for them to fall asleep is like watching paint dry. In a white room. With no windows.

Hmm ... Maybe the worst was counting the minutes until we could go home, only to be delayed a full 24 hours by a snowstorm. At that point I -- who rarely cries, unless watching a particularly sappy TV commercial -- shed several fat salty tears.

Actually, I know what was the worst. It was knowing how childish I was being. That while I was being facetious with my list of rules, deep down I still have a very hard time letting go of those childhood traditions and realizing that Christmas can go on without them. It might not be the same Christmas, but it can still be a good one. After all, I still got to share it with the ones who are at the very tip-top of my list.

Yep, this one's a keeper

These two are, actually.



Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night! See you next week.

Christmas rules and regulations.

NB: I will be checking this list twice.

1. The tree: must be live, with delicate lights and non-generic ornaments. See details.
   


2. The outdoor decorations: must be composed of white lights and natural materials only. Nothing that requires a motor.
   
   
3. The cards: must show at least some small effort beyond stuffing, licking, and stamping.



4. The wish list: must contain ideas and suggestions, but not be so specific as to stifle all creativity on the part of the gift-giver.
   


5. The cookies: Must include thumbprints with frosting. Never jelly.
   


6. The schedule: Gifts must be opened on Christmas morning. Not Christmas Eve. Except one or two just to take the edge off.
   


7. The stockings: Must contain an orange. What can I say? It's a rule.
   


8. The gift-opening: Must occur in sequence from youngest opener to oldest, one gift at a time so all can be properly displayed and admired.
   


9. The traveling: Must be of the grandparents to the grandchildren, and not the other way around.
   a. Exception 1: presence of great-grandparents over the age of 85.
   b. Exception 2: Hawaii.
   


10. The menu: Must not include turkey. What do you think this is, Thanksgiving or something?
    


11. The clothing: Must not be thematic, unless worn by a small child.
    


12. The songs: Must be sung loudly and with gusto, preferably while seated alongside Harry Connick, Jr., at the piano.
    


13. The weather: Must be white. Sparkly, even.

Nothing says Christmas like a big frosty mug

Jo did a worksheet at school about the five senses, with a Christmas theme. "At Christmas I see...", "At Christmas I hear...", and so on. My favorite was "At Christmas I taste... rut biey." Mmm! I know I always enjoy a nice A&W with my roast beast.

And now: The 2007 Holiday Photo Outtakes Post.

Merry Christmas from your friends at the Headbangers' Ball!

When I'm done with this candy cane, I'm coming for you, Blondie

What he doesn't realize is that I've rigged up my extra super strong vacuum cleaner inside that fireplace. Perfect for sucking up little brothers.

As soon as he loosens his grip on that candy wrapper, he's out of here.

And then he was gone, leaving behind only a cheap ukulele. Happy holidays!

Good Thing

Happy discoveries this weekend:

• Ginger Beef with Kale from the 1/08 issue of Martha Stewart Living (not online yet, apparently). Easy and tasty, if slightly too spicy for the kids.
  
• Halloween with Morris and Boris. Jo brought this home from the school library and apparently it is the funniest thing Opie has ever seen. He busts a gut every time we read it.
  
• Kodakgallery.com will print your holiday cards and then you can pick them up at a local store. Saved my procrastinating butt.
  
• "Mommy! Look! The snow is sparkling!"

And, to boot: I am guest-posting today at the calm before the stork. Click over to find out whether or not I was calm in my pre-stork days.

Hoot w00t!

An embarrassingly long time ago, the lovely G. from so, what do you do all day? bestowed me with this cute guy. The fine print reads "for esteemed blog mentors and the otherwise inspirational." Moi? Thank you!

Now, to pass it along. I'm sure you've heard this from me ad nauseam, but I'm sure I never would've started blogging without my good friend Julie to hold my hand.

All of my fellow Full Mommies -- Amy, Binky, Jodi, Lady M., Lara, Leighann, Mona, Mrs. Chicken, and Tammie -- have inspired me in one way or another (or several) as we collaborate on that project. To be frank, I started that blog because I needed a place to stash my reviews, and invited others to join me so I wouldn't be lonely. But they've done so much more than keep me company. Thanks, all.

Decorating: check

The stockings have been hung by the chimney. With care, even! So I'm feeling (a little) better about this whole Christmas thing. On Saturday we acquired and decorated the tree and put Santa in his rightful place. On Sunday we dragged the whole fam damily to the mall for a gift shopping blitz and accomplished quite a bit.

Jo picked out a really elegant nightgown for my mom. She had her little change purse with her, containing her entire life savings, and wanted to buy the bright red socks that matched the night-shirt. "How do I make fifteen dollars?" she asked. "You'd need sixty quarters," I said. She consulted her purse. "How else do I make fifteen dollars?" I hated to break it to her: "Well ... you would have to have one hundred and fifty dimes." As her other grandma would say, the poor lamb. Fifteen dollars might as well have been a million. I offered to buy the socks and all was well.

...until we returned home that evening, and realized the little pink change purse was gone. Cue waterworks. We checked all our pockets and bags -- nothing. We distracted Jo, coaxed her and Opie into the bathtub and then into bed. But more than an hour and a half after she'd fallen asleep (when I was deep into my online shopping session, getting everything I hadn't picked up at the mall) she woke up and burst into tears, brokenhearted at her loss. I couldn't do anything to calm her and she eventually cried herself to sleep.

But! Happy ending! It only took two phone calls the next day to locate the precious purse, carefully stowed in a locked drawer at Williams-Sonoma. Jeff picked it up and couldn't resist buying this as well. So much for present overload.

Unrelated (well, draw your own conclusions): Care to comment?

Found gems haiku

Surely there must be
Someone on my gift list for
Whom I can buy this?

*

Local newspaper
Champion of the townsfolk
Exposes "deadbeat"

--Inspired by this item in our paper's "From the archives" column:

1882: A man was in [Mayberry] to solicit advertisements for a card he said would
be displayed in all the railroad depots in the state. Inasmuch as he tried to
bargain at the newspaper office for only 150 of the cards, we are led in the
interests of honesty to declare him a deadbeat.

Gender ... politics ... innnnnn ... space!

I'm ashamed to admit this. A few days ago, Jo announced that she wanted to have a playdate with a boy in her class. And for some reason, I was a little freaked out at the idea of a boy-girl playdate. I have no idea where this came from because she has at least three other pals, who happen to be boys, who she's been playing with for years; I would never blink at a request to play with any of them.

Still, like a loser I tried to stall her a bit on this particular playdate request. I asked her what she and D. would play with if he came over. Right away she mentioned her telescope, her art supplies, and her puppet theatre. And almost as quickly I came to my senses and said "OK, I'll call D's mom."

We haven't had the playdate yet, but Jo's idea to show off her telescope is perfect. We've loved playing with this toy (received for review via Parent Bloggers Network) and I'm sure D. will too. Get the full scoop at the Full Mommy.

And is anyone else as intimidated as I am about calling other parents for playdates? Instant transportation back to 4th grade and fearing that no one likes me. It didn't help when one of the first kids we called this year didn't respond for about three solid weeks. She finally did, but not before the damage had already been done to my psyche.

We're seriously, totally obsessed over here

OPIE: No, my name is not Opie.

MOM: It's not? What is it?

OPIE: It's ... Nothing! [laughs maniacally]

JO: Why don't you say your name is ... Zac!

OPIE: Yeah! Zac!

JO: Zac Efron!

OPIE: No, TROY Efron!

J & O: [die laughing]

*All hail Aimee for the awesome photoshoppage.

Things for which I am not (in the slightest) ready

1. Hosting book club tonight.*

2. It goes without saying, but if I don't say it then this will just be a blank page: Christmas. My score is: Presents 4 (of, I don't know, 40?), Cards 0, Wrapping 0, Decorating 0, Cooking/Baking HA HA HA.

3. Winter. Who is hoarding all the girls' size 6 snowpants? I have dragged two kids to three stores already (that means past all the ridiculously huge displays of TOYS TOYS TOYS) trying to find some. Please God don't make me go to Wal-Hell. I might come out with something inflatable for my front lawn by mistake.

4. [screeek! Sharp turn toward the sentimental!] A 5-year-old girl who, during a stage production of High School Musical, alternately stood in front of her seat shaking her booty ... and cuddled up to me with her thumb in her mouth.

*Actually, scratch that. I have read the book, and I have four bottles of wine and a box of brownie mix. I'm good.

Rock around the Christmas tree

For a musician's daughter, I have done a woeful job of exposing my children to music. We have a few CDs that we play in the car on endless repeat and that is nearly it. Once in awhile we rock out in the laundry room or have an after-dinner dance party, but I confess we are just not a household where tunes are always spinning in the background.

So the new That Baby DVD I recently reviewed (along with its companion, That Baby CD) has been a welcome addition. For the full review, as always, please click over to The Full Mommy. This one could definitely fill a few slots on your holiday shopping list--and there's a coupon code available too.

Yup. There's no place like it.

I will freely admit that I am a creature of habit. A homebody, a Cancer, a don't-rock-the-boat, status quo kind of girl. So these trips throw me entirely out of whack. I love to go, to get back to New York. It's like visiting the old me, tasting what my life would have been like if we'd stayed. But as the days go by (and this past trip was a long one), I start to itch for my real life, my current one, with its precise routines and familiar comforts.

Now that I'm home, my first task is to restore those routines, that order. My first day back, I had an awful, nauseating headache, along with a pile of urgent work that couldn't wait another day. And not being able to stop and unpack, reorganize, dig through the towering stack of mail, reply to any but the most essential emails -- was almost physically painful.

Today I'm feeling better. My stomach is back to normal, my suitcase is empty and I've done four loads of laundry. My to-do list still unspools behind me a mile long (do not remind me how many shopping days are left until Christmas, I beg you) but just being home is, for now, enough.

Product review features Quentin Tarantino

As my kids get older and busier (okay fine ... as I get older and shed brain cells) I have come to the grim realization that my method of scribbling a few notes on a wall calendar and hoping for the best is no longer cutting it. I've forgotten important events, double-booked playdates, and missed RSVPs far more times than I really care to admit. So what do I do?

Enter Day Runner's new family matters line of goodies, which parachuted in to save my butt. Read the full review at the Full Mommy to find out more and learn how Mr. Tarantino plays a part. And happy Friday! I'll be reading all 744 of your posts as soon as I can block out some free time on my new calendar.

That's my little rainbow boy

OPIE: Where TJ's two moms? [TJ is the neighbor kid.]
ME: One of them is right over there.
OPIE: Where TJ's TWO moms?
ME: She is at work.
OPIE: Okay. *wanders off*

File this away for next year

Crisp apple-scented roast turkey with cider-Calvados gravy

I've had it twice this month (actually, six or seven times, if you count the leftovers) and it is SO. GOOD.

(Why twice? Because two weeks before Thanksgiving, my husband, apparently weakened by the presence of so much fowl in the supermarket, decided he needed to roast a turkey. So he did. It was excellent. Yes, he rocks in many ways ... but that also meant that there was an entire weekend in there where I had to be on 100% kid detail because he was up to his elbows in poultry. It was worth it though.)

Don't skip the gravy, either. It's the best part.

And here is Jo's summary of the trip, entitled "Jo New York Book."

A Turkey Dinner on Thanksgiving.
And a Tea Party.
And a Dinosaur Museum.
And spin on the Whee Chair.
And P.J.'s Secret Hideout Place With Toys.
And make a Paper Penguin.

Hope you all had a terrifically tryptophanic weekend.

Over the river and through the woods

... to a loft in Brooklyn we go.

This is one of two turkeys Jo made this year. The other one was the classic "write what you're thankful for on the feathers" turkey. Her responses were frankly run-of-the-mill: My mommy, ice cream, my daddy, chocolate, my brother, my puppy. I was more entertained by some of her classmates' responses: police and "fire figh," Jesus and God, and especially (all on one bird) bricks, vans, and wheels. Yes. This is a kid who's thinking things through.

Happy Thanksgiving! See you next week.

Life-us interruptus

"Approximately 156" is the number of:

a) diapers I change in a month
b) times this fall we have raked our yard
c) pieces of Halloween candy still lurking in our pantry
d) times per day I am interrupted by my children

If you guessed D, you win (and I suspect your tally is similar). By 2 p.m. Saturday, my vaunted patience had long since been exhausted by the constant demands--many of them perfectly reasonable and age-appropriate--which interrupted my shower/pee/meal/sentence spoken/sentence read/chore attempted. I spent the next several hours snapping at everyone in my path for the slightest infraction. It really wasn't fun.

Sunday was better because I fled the house in protest to go shopping. Only to be interrupted by my husband reporting that he "didn't know" the snacks in the plastic bag hidden on top of the fridge were to be used for class snack this week.

Sigh.

At least they are funny.

1. OPIE, to JEFF, who is trying to set an example for a certain reluctant potty-trainer: Are you going pee with your penis?

2. JO: Wakes up at 4 a.m. and comes into our room. But first, she makes her bed, complete with artful arrangement of two stuffed animals resting on her pillow.

I provided tissues

Roger: strange old coot
Jowls, limp, cranky attitude
Eyes crossed, heart mighty

When we lived in the city, like real city people we had a dogwalker. He came once a day to dispense biscuits and walkies to the dog and lots of opinions to the humans. That's if we happened to cross paths, which we'd do our best to avoid. Roger was one of those people who'd just plunk down on a kitchen chair and rattle on about who knows what, oblivious to any signs that we were ready for him to move along. It was only the other "animal children" on his route that kept him from staying parked for hours. Once I came home from work early to take something to the post office and discovered he hadn't yet arrived. As I gathered my things I heard him huffing up the front stairs of our building. Like a total coward I actually sneaked out the back door just to avoid being waylaid.

Still, he found other ways to dispense his wisdom. Three-minute long voicemail messages, say; or his daily notes reporting exactly what happened during the walk. Not just what the dog produced, but anything they saw or people they met. Once there was a page-long tale of a "Young Girl" who accused Roger of not picking up after our dog. He defended himself by pointing out that the "feces" she had indicated were not fresh, since they were no longer warm. To prove this, he wrote, he made her touch them ("I provided tissues," he noted). I'm sure the Young Girl was sorry she ever tangled with Rog.

If only I'd saved more of those notes (or had a blog back then). We did preserve the final missive. Here it is, with only a few identifying details changed.

Well here we are! Down to the final walk. These past four (almost) walking F. have been good. She will be missed. The years go by as quickly as a wink. It was good to work with you & I tried my best.

Of course I knew Jeff from the times at [his former address] when he would take care of [a friend's dog/fellow Roger client] & I would travel down to walk the canine

Please enjoy the new page of your collective lives in [Mayberry]. I am very happy for you also especially Jo who will have a chance to attend good Public schools when she is ready.

Until we meet again

Roger

I do wonder about him still. If he's still shuttling up and down the Boulevard with his animal children, living with his cats, complaining about his landlord, his neighbors, and most of humankind. I hope so.

18 miles of books

New York's famous bookstore, The Strand, is celebrating its 80th anniversary with The Strand 80, a list of its customers' 80 favorite books. I've read over 50 of them (yes! go double literature major) and several are among my personal favorites. I discussed it a bit with a friend and she pointed out these are not necessarily meant to be classics -- they are popular picks. Of course, many are undisputed classics (Les Miserables, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Crime and Punishment, Homer's Odyssey). Others might more commonly be called pop-culture phenomena (The Da Vinci Code, Harry Potter).

That led us to wonder, though: What makes a classic? Obviously a work that can stand the test of time is often called a classic. If you can read a book written 50, 100, 200 or more years ago and find that it resonates with you today, then that's classic. There have to be more criteria than that, though. What do you think?

By the way, there is exactly one picture book on the list: Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak.

Go on, I dare you

When The Dangerous Book for Boys came out earlier this year, I was unmoved by the "but what about the girls?" outrage. Maybe because the kid population in my household is evenly split between the pink team and the blue team, so I have my own little stereotype experiment under my nose every day; but I don't have a problem with a book declaring itself "for boys."

Still, it seemed like an awesome resource, so I was pleased to review The Daring Book for Girls by Andrea J. Buchanan and Miriam Peskowitz. Much like the boy book, it's really less about danger and daring than about those tidbits of information, instruction, and inspiration that your girl might not pick up in school or at the playground -- but that are really cool for her to know.

For the full review, visit the Full Mommy!

Merry Christmas! Have a rock and some sticks!

I confess to being overly laidback about the toy recalls up to this point. So far, the only recalled products we have are several of the Thomas trains and accessories. We opted not to return them, out of laziness since our kids don't put anything (except thumbs and pacifiers, sigh) in their mouths anymore.

But this week's news that the CPSC only has one person testing toys (link via WhyMommy), and that a hugely popular toy may be laced with a date-rape drug? OK, that got my attention. So I'm participating in today's blog blast on toy safety, a joint effort of the Parent Bloggers Network and the Consumers Union.

As it is, I am constantly looking for ways to discourage relatives from giving my kids so much stuff (I know, cry me a river). I rarely buy my children anything (for special occasions or just because) because their grandparents and other family members are so generous. I mean, one sent a big box full of stuff for Halloween! Wasn't the door-to-door begging enough?

I hope I can use this toy disaster as a way to encourage the family to buy fewer, but more meaningful (and, hello, safer) gifts for us all. We already have far, far more than we need. At the same time, I know that giving is just as much about the giver as the receiver. I don't want to deny the grandmas the great pleasure they get from shopping for the kids.

Do you face this issue? What do you do about it?