Diary of a Reader

Sometime this past fall The Coop stumbled upon the Diary of a Wimpy Kid series. These are insanely popular with the 2nd grade boys. In fact, I believe Cooper's first desire to read them came from wanting to fit in. Whatever it takes to get them reading, is fine by me. After he zipped through the first book his competitive spirit kicked in and he asked for the next one. I complied. Frankly, I bought the entire series right then and there because I had previously never seen him so into reading. What is interesting is what has happened to the cast offs -- the books he finished that he tossed aside, lost under his bed, or just left in a rumpled stack on his nightstand.

Mason picked up the first one on the way to Thanksgiving in Utah. And now he has read them all. I share this not to brag, but to start in on a one-sided conversation on how difficult it is to find captivating, age-appropriate reading material for an advanced reader who is a BOY.

When I realized he how fast he was reading the series, understanding the series, and perhaps comprehending it at a level that even his older brother was not I started to look for other books. First I checked out the Newbery Medal and Honor Books, 1922-Present. There are some seriously good books on this list. Seriously.

Before you get all judgey, please understand that I'm not suggesting that these books should be written differently. I'm just trying to paint for you the picture of my current challenge: to imagine my sweet, lovely, naive, 6-year-old reading these novels.

A Few Examples with Snide Commentary from a Concerned Mother.

I thought I'd have the greatest amount of luck by going WAY back to a simpler time. You know, a time before school shootings, porn stars, and childhood obesity. I examined 1924's winner: The Dark Frigate. First, I should tell you that I had to look up what a frigate is. So for starters, this book is about an English orphan who signs up to sail across the ocean for Newfoundland to avoid being hanged. Off to a great start, eh? As I read the reviews online I was thinking back to the day when I took my sweet boys to see the pirate exhibit at the Denver Museum of Nature and Science and there was an actual shin bone from the youngest pirate in history on display. Their faces were pricelessly terrified and gobstopped. Anyway, the orphan joins a group of pirates on their murderous expeditions. Needless to say, I thought bloody battles on the sea were a bit much. Though, the more I think of it, maybe Mason would love it.  

So, I tried books from the 50s. What did Donna Reed let her boys read? I found The Door in the Wall set in plague-ridden London. Ummm... this makes me nervous. Then I find out the main character is basically abandoned while his father is at war and his mother is serving the Queen. He's taken in by a friar who makes him live in a monastery. Enough, that doesn't work for a 6-year-old living in the suburbs.

What about what won the Newbery the year I was Mason's age. That is how I came to read about Jacob Have I Loved. I already knew this was a "girl" book. But maybe. Then I figured out it was about sisters, one of which lives in the shadow of the other and I was like, "Ummmm NO."

In a last ditch effort to find something on the Newbery list I looked at books that had won after Mason was born. One immediately screamed at me, because I have read it and loved it -- The Graveyard Book. Here's the thing, it starts with a toddler surviving the grisly murder of his entire family. Then the boy is raised by ghosts, in a graveyard. It is so good. You should read it. I'm just not sure my 6-year-old should. But I haven't ruled it out.                  

On to the next idea. I also perused genres for "boys" books. Here's a trend, lots of stories of professional athletes (Mason is NOT interested), and strangely just as many stories of boys who were either slaves or fought in wars. Whether you pick up Swords of Steel, Johnny Tremain, Amos Fortune, Free Man, or Rifles for Watie, you are asking to do a lot of explaining when the reader is 6. I'm just saying, until Martin Luther King Jr. day this past month, my 6-year-old didn't even realize there was a time in our history of inequality based on race. (PS -- I know it's still unequal but my children don't.)

Fast forward to the current century and you find books like James Patterson's Middle School books, Rick Riordan's heroes and olympians series, The Captain Underpants mess of books (don't get me started), and 39 Clues. These are all fine. But, I was hoping for something that was redeeming, intellectual, maybe even didactic. Riordan's books are perhaps the closest to what I was hoping for.

What I settled on were a few of my favorites and I'm still wishing there was an American Girl series for boys. He started Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. Even though Harry is an orphan living with an awful foster family he's about to live in a magical world in a magical school and fly on a broom. So, the fantasy can comfort even if the adventures are intense. It is probably a weak copout to say that being able to shut the book and say, "It's just pretend." is good enough. But for now, it is.

In the meantime I'm going to be reading a lot of youth books to find something that I can safely give this voracious reader. Open to suggestions.

Also, how happy am I that my boys read??!?!?!?

Like Mother, Like Son

I'm a reader. I read and read and read, until I fall asleep over the pages of my favorite books. Our little Mason has the same interest. Learning to read has been great for him. No more fear of the dark. Instead he sits in the incandescence spilling from his table lamp (which he calls a lantern) and reads until his breathing slows, his eyelids close and he drifts off to dreams.

 He's a sweet, quiet boy who I can spend hours and hours with. We have many a shared if dull moment in our days. So for these I will forgive him for this:

On my birthday he looked down at my bare feet and said with great disgust, "Ewwwwww. Look at your feet."

I looked down and said, "What's wrong with them?"

He then regarded them with further distaste and said, "They're old."

It had been a rough week of reconciling my age against my health so I said, "They are old! They are 37 years old. But they're clean."

His voice softened ever so slightly and he said with an air of dawning understanding, "Oooohhhhh, is that why you're so floppy?" Then he slapped my thigh.

Reader of the Day

Our first grade teacher – like many first grade teachers – has a fun tradition of encouraging reading in front of others. She calls this Reader of the Day. Coop has participated in this three times over the past year. One of the performances, I’m sorry to say; I missed because Cooper forgot to tell me about it.

But his most recent was fun to watch. I noticed in him a true confidence that has grown so much since the first time I watched him attempt this task.

This task, however, has got me thinking about public speaking and its value in the elementary classroom. Coop has thrived in this environment. I can’t help but wonder how all the other students feel about it. You know, by other I mean the students with a temperament like my Mason.

I used to be a Speech 101 teaching assistant at Utah State University. I sat through hours and hours of public speeches. Holy Mother Theresa, some of the most boring and equally agonizing hours of my life. You see, I don’t like to see people embarrassed. It gives me stress. Real and true stress.

Every time an international student would take the podium and struggle with both language and nerves I would nearly vomit. And it wasn’t just students with a language barrier. There were students who embodied the euphemism: I’d rather die than deliver a speech to a room full of people. Do you know what happens to people when they are nervous? They make absolutely no sense. None. Try grading jibberish.

Public speaking has never been an issue for me. Ironic since I am actually terribly shy. My husband, however, would rather lick the bottom of his shoe than speak to a group larger than 12. No kidding. I empathize with this because I would rather deliver a child without pain meds than sing karaoke. For reals. In fact I’d even take that kid home and raise it for 18 years before I would agree to sing in front of anyone. Any. One.

What brings you discomfort? And how much? Would you eat a sandwich out of a rubbish bin if it meant you never had to take a math test?

Volunteer

I have no words to express how proud I was of Cooper when he volunteered to read to the kids at Mason's school. So, I'll just show you the pictures.




(Mason was proud, too.)

Book Buddy Venn Diagram

You know what I wish I had? I wish I had a Venn diagram from 1st grade. I'm sure you remember these from school (somewhere between kindergarten and college). Basically two parties pick a topic and then examine their differences and most importantly where their respective data intersects.

Where "favorites" is the category a Venn diagram between myself and say my best friend in kindergarten may have shown we both loved purple, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, and books (30 years later we are still competing to see who can read the most books in a year). But on my side of the graph, favorite song would be something like Lady by Kenny Rogers and her side would have said something like Rock With You by Michael Jackson. She was way cooler.

My first grader recently completed his first Venn diagram. He compared his "favorites" to his book buddy "Kyle". Looking at the diagram I am pretty sure they had to make up similarities to intersect in the middle. Kyle is in 3rd grade and apparently can see rated R movies and listen to Kanye West. In common they have ice cream (mint chocolate chip), insects (praying mantis), and days (Friday).

I wish wish wish I could compare my first grade self to my first grade son. We would not have ice cream in common.

For the record here's the diagram:


And for those of us with poor enough eyesight to not be able to read Cooper's favorites:
Color: Red
Animal: Penguin
Song: Dynamite by Taio Cruze
Football Team: Saints
Ice Cream: Mint Chocolate Chip
Insect: Praying Mantis
Day: Friday
1 Grade Teacher: Toline
Show: SpongBob
Movie: Harry Potter, part 2 (he actually means the second half of the last movie)
Friend: Leighton
Dessert: Donuts

That Extra 10%

I read 47 books toward my goal to finish 52 books in 52 weeks. That means I only met 90% of my goal. Not shabby, but still a little disappointing. In my defense I read longer, more challenging books. But I don't set my goal on page count, I set it on volumes. Complete stories told from beginning to end in as many pages as it takes. I read some really great stories this year.

Here I recommend a few:

The Year of the Flood (MaddAddam Trilogy #2) by Margaret Atwood
Every Last One by Anna Quindlen
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey
Inés of My Soul, by Isabel Allende
Fall of Giants (The Century Trilogy #1) by Ken Follett
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith
I, Claudius by Robert Graves
The Power of One by Bryce Courtenay
Reading Lolita in Tehran Azar Nafisi

If I could recommend just one from the list above it would be Reading Lolita in Tehran. That is a book for readers. It's beautiful, relevant, and generally awesome. Notably it was the first book I finished in 2011 and it still stands in my mind as the best.

Here I discourage you from the following:

The Shack by William P. Young
Anarcho Grow by T.A. Sedlak
4 Months to a 4-Hour Marathon by Dave Kuehls

These are all books that I started, sometimes more than once, and couldn't finish. I did finish the marathon one, however, only to discover later that some of its claims were a bit misleading.

I predict I will read these books in 2012:

Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption by Laura Hillenbrand
Ultramarathon Man: Confessions of an All-Night Runner by Dean Karnazes
Winterdance: The Fine Madness of Running the Iditarod by Gary Paulsen

In 2012 I again hope to finish 52 books. If you are an avid reader and would like to follow what I read please sign-up at goodreads.com. My I.D. is Denver Brunette, I think. If you are an occasional reader and just want a recommendation from time to time, send me an e-mail and ask! No other question brings me greater gladness. For reals.

PHOTO NOTE: Pictured with our New Year's Resolutions. More on this later!

What I Learned

So, here's the straight facts about what I learned when I "went back to school". First of all, you should know I didn't actually go back to school. I signed up for one measly seminar at the local community college. The class was titled, Get Published.

On the first night of class the instructor -- I use this term loosely -- asked each of us why we were taking the class. I lied. I said that people sometimes tell me I should write a book and so I thought I would come and see what all the hubbub was about. The truth is that my mother had an idea for a children's book. She told me the idea. I thought it was a good idea. I have from time to time wondered what it would take to get it into print.

Here is where the truth about the class came out. It was a class about Self Publishing. I am so glad I took this class.

I learned that I likely do not ever want to publish a children's book. And no matter how good my mother's idea is, she will likely never have a book published in the traditional sense. Why? Because she is not already a celebrity and because something like 1000 books are published every day. Every. Day.

Truthfully, the very best book ideas probably never even see the light of day. I am in no way suggesting that I have one of the best ideas. Nor that my mother does. I'm just saying, there are some very talented writers in the world that will never -- not ever -- be published (in the traditional sense of the word). This is sad.

But I know it now and I can put that dream to rest without any regret. Honestly. I feel a huge wave a relief.

Self publishing, on the other hand, is a very real possibility for a lot of talented writers. But those talented writers must be talented marketers of themselves. Tricky.

What I learned is that I just MIGHT like to be a part of the process of publishing some one else's book. Like I might want to help someone edit their manuscript. Or better yet, I'd really just like to receive advance copies of other people's books and write reviews. That's all... free books and criticism. That's more my speed.

Home Economics

It's a lazy Saturday, the snow is pounding down, and thanks to back-to-back gym classes on Thursday and Friday every muscle group in my body hates me. Every.

So, for lack of anything better to do I've read a lot of Facebook statuses today. One in particular jumps out at me, "I'm going to take strategies of Texas Hold'em for women...anybody want to take it with me???" Tempting. Really. But wouldn't it be great if you -- you being any person, not the person wanting to take Texas Hold'em for Women -- could take a Home Economics class that was actually called Shit You Want to be Able to Do After You Don't Live With Your Parents Anymore?

Before I dive into this let me just say that when I last checked with my mother, she felt pretty strongly that my generation and every one after that is ill-prepared for life. Specifically she thinks we can't sew, cook, or clean for ourselves. She's probably right. But who's at fault? I have parents who are hard-working folk, mechanically inclined, tremendously talented in domestic matters and yet, I can categorically claim to have taught myself most of the domestic arts I now have any (if little) skill in. I even took Home Economics of various flavors in high school and college. But still I moved into my first place not knowing the first thing about maintaining a home, my own wardrobe, or the shitbox that was my car. (Someday I'm going to share with the world how I drove this car wearing oven mitts, but not today.)

According to my calculations, here's a rough list of the Shit You Want to be Able to Do After You Don't Live With Your Parents Anymore:

1. Bake an exceptional cookie. Whatever your favorite flavor... learn it... and practice often. Knowing a good cookie recipe is essential to your mental health.

2. Know how to plan a meal off the back of a can. Have you ever been on the freeway barreling home from work, or carpool, or the gym and gotten that random call from your significant other that starts with, "What's for dinner?" and ends with, "I don't know, I'll stop at the store on the way home." This is when you pick up a can, look at the back, and proceed to shop for the ingredients needed. In my opinion the most effective recipes are on the back of enchilada sauce cans. I'm just saying.

3. Iron a pair of pants, and a set of synthetic curtains. Don't ask questions, just learn it.

4. How to read a permission slip. I had recent occasion to hunt down a notary at 8 p.m. on a Saturday night because I had neglected to properly read a permission slip. (Also, the permission slips of my day are now referred to as release forms and exculpatory clause contracts.)

5. How to unclog a drain, a toilet, and a gutter. If I have to explain no. 5 you need to move back in with your parents.

This, my friends, is one of the best ideas I've ever had. I may propose this to my local community college. What do you wish you had learned before you moved away from your parents?

Dear Santa,

Santa, we have a problem. Remember Elf? He fell. Now, I know your book says that if we touch him he looses his magic, but I suspect we dropped it right out of him anyways. So, please try to understand our sad predicament.

First we wrapped him in duck-duck, then we tucked him under the Christmas tree. We're now submitting a plea for forgiveness. Try to understand that a 4-yol and a 6-yol really can't keep their hands off a dandy Elf. We can't. We tried, but it didn't work out.

We're really sorry. We're not bad boys, not that bad anyway. Could you find it in your heart to fix Elf before Christmas?

Thanks,

C and M

If You Give a Boy a Party… Tribute to a 4-Year-Old’s Favorite Stories

If you give a boy a party….

And tell him he can invite some friends…

He will likely pick a few who are “just his age…”

They might even bring a sibling and meet you at a place

Where you’ll watch them spend more time picking out what they will paint than painting


And it will remind them that they are hungry

So, good thing you brought some Chik-fil-A nuggets and fruit


Which will make them thirsty, so you’ll pass around some lemonade in big green cups

And that will remind you that you brought a big white cake with a big Buzz Lightyear planted ontop.

This will mean everyone will sing.


And then they’ll open presents.

Which will remind the boy that he’s having a party and he might ask you to have another party tomorrow.


Would you like to see how this boy celebrated 3? How about 2? And I know you want to see him at 1? How about the day he was born?

Lots of Reading, Writing Not So Much

I have been devouring books lately. A book in hand at all times. Which, of course means, I have done nothing else. I've got a dirty house, piles of laundry, and have all but forgotten about my blog. Basically I'm not good for much but book reviews.

First of all if you live under a rock and haven't heard about the Hunger Games series, let me be the first to say... WONDERFUL. And now is the perfect time to read it because you can get your hands on all three of the books and just read one right after the other. I did not do this. I was one of those that has been waiting for the better part of a year for no. 3 to come out (Mockingjay) and had near panic until I got my hands on that sucker. Looking for something to read? Start there.

Next, if you can stomach reading about violence in the form of a crime novel and liberal use of the f-word, you might be interested in the Stieg Larsson series. I started with the Millennium series back in December 2009 at the recommendation of our library "staff picks" table. I was hooked right then and powered through 590 pages. But I am not kidding about the violence. The original title (in Swedish) means Men Who Hate Women. So, tread carefully and don't say I didn't warn you. I stayed up until well past 1 a.m. last night just so I could find out what happened to Lisbeth Salander on the 630th page. Thank goodness the third book in the series is out, because I have to start that immediately.

But until I can get my hands on that horror, I'm going to let my soul rest with a new author and her debut novel -- Under the Same Moon by Kelli M. Donley. So, stay tuned for that review. I am sure it will be uplifting, that I have the book in my hands is a true triumph. If you want this book, order it on Amazon or wait until I donate it to my local library.

PS -- I've been sewing, and filling up the Etsy shop for the holidays. Get your requests in now. Also, Cutie Petutie Originals has a whole new batch of blankets. Check 'em out.

Beside Myself

I am absolutely angry. That's right, bent out of shape! I lost my phone. More accurately, I left it behind in a gym class and when I returned to get it less than an hour later it was gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Like stolen gone. Grrrrrrr...

Despite telling myself that whoever took it needed it far more than I did, I'm livid. If you know me, you know that when I get mad I am fierce. In the midst of researching new phone options I was struck down by what went missing with my palm-sized technology. My lists.

Not just any lists but two of my very favorite, most treasured lists. The lists of books to read (that have not yet made it onto my master list at goodreads.com) and my list of kidisms (that have not yet made it onto the blog). I had transcribed a 20-minute conversation that Cooper had with a pretty girl at the park -- which is so so so funny. And now it is gone.

First things first. If you haven't been able to reach me as of late, that is why. I have NO idea how civilization sustained itself without smartphones. This experiment in being out-of-touch has made me over-the-top disorganized, frenzied with useless running back and forth to use landlines and desktops, and maniacally ignorant of the world around me.

Next, if you need to get ahold of me, tough. The phone I want is backordered for weeks.

Lastly, I have learned, a smartphone isn't all it's chalked up to be. And when I have a new one in hand -- oh you know it is just a matter of time -- I will leave it at home more often. Namely, trips to the pool without phones are blissful. I won't be taking that bad boy to the gym, ever again. I think I burned more calories this week without it. And I absolutely am making dinnertime a phone-free zone.

PS -- If you have a book suggestion for my new and improved book list, leave a comment here.

You Won't Believe Me

Supposedly there is a certain serenity to be savored in an uncongested home. But I have a "stacks of stuff" decorating theme. Not slob, per se, but nothing has a place. Or rather, I believe I'm the only one who knows all the places. And so I think you can see where this line of reasoning is going.

My husband has another opinion. And while we disagree on where the fault lies, one thing we do agree on is that we all feel better when the house is in order. I've been trying to do that. Frankly, I don't have much to show for my efforts.

While I promised myself I would not idle away time online until I had the clutter under control -- I had to stop in to share a funny.

Cooper is reading. We are fortunate to have benefactors with boys just older than ours who live just up the street. They send us their used books and puzzles. The newest installment is very fancy -- I must add -- and we are enjoying them very much. I especially like the included parent guides that help you conduct effective comprehension tests for your child. Anyway... one of the questions instructed, "Make up a sentence of your own using the word clap." Clap, more accurately applause, was a word from the story.

Cooper wasted no time and said, "I caught the clap."

Honestly.

PHOTO NOTE: Children shown here, googling, "What is gonorrhea?"

Something is Holding me Back

We have some serious chores to do around here. Spring cleaning on the order of room by room clearance. But something is holding me back. More than sheer laziness. There's a nagging little voice that is saying, "Don't pull the summer clothes out, it could still snow." There's also another little whisper saying, "We might need those snow boots next weekend." While I was taking pictures of tulips, grape hyacinth, and narcissus this weekend, it was just last week that I was shaking the snow off of them.

It's driving me crazy.


So I have piles of coupons waiting to be thrown away, but not until they expire, of course. About 200 reciepts are hastily bunched up by the shredder -- but not yet disposed of because I'm worried about needing to return a few things. A drop cloth is strewn from the threshold of our remodeled bathroom to the top of the staircase because I need to paint, but I haven't done it quite yet. A stellar stash of party gifts is stacked on my sideboard waiting for a party on Tuesday. The bag of knitting is patiently waiting for me next to my bed, but I can't work on it because I'm at a point in my pattern where I am good and stumped. A week's worth of clean, pressed and beautiful clothes are parsed out at the end of my closet waiting to be packed for a trip to Vegas -- but I don't leave for another two weeks. My stack of to-be-read books is near toppling over and the library just called to say they are holding two more.

Don't even ask me about the sewing room. The producers of Hoarders: Buried Alive are knocking at my door. Help me.

Letting Go

Does anyone else have a hard time throwing out the coloring books? Filled to the brim with scribbles on every page, I still struggle to throw away the artwork of my boys. I think of the hours I've enjoyed watching them color and compare pictures. Not to mention the hours they've asked me to sit beside them and pick up a crayon of my own.

I can't help but think this is a diary of sort. They can't yet express themselves with words and sentences... but pictures deliver. With a few snapshots to capture some of the cutest pages, I'm sending this stack to the recycling bin. But, it's still a little hard to let go.

I Know That Word

For a time -- and still to this day -- I dabble in the idea that I may like to teach. Education issues fascinate me. Once upon my education I remember hearing about The Perry Preschool study. You may have heard about it, too. It was considered a landmark study which examined the effects of high-quality early care and education on low-income three- and four-year-olds. Most riveting to me at the time I first heard about it was a story associated with the study's approach to testing. This group was one of the first to show evidence that educational testing was cultural. Do you know how?

The toothbrush in the refrigerator. When testers showed preschoolers in the study pictures of household objects and asked them to pair the pictures with related pictures they stumbled upon something I considered insane. While high-performing students outside the study would pair milk with the refrigerator, many children in the study paired the toothbrush with the refrigerator. After much questioning and classroom and in-home observation they learned that these children's mothers kept their toothbrushes in the refrigerator to guard them from cockroaches. Blech.

It unnerved me.

Considered a mistake in the classroom, the wrong answers were actually right. Culturally the children were making a reasonable and sensible pairing. So I had to chuckle when my child's teacher pulled me aside to let me know Cooper was doing really well in word recognition and had learned to identify many words by sight. But there was one word he consistently missed.

He aced worksheets that listed Apple, Nordstrom, Costco, McDonald's, Target, 24-Hour Fitness, and King Soopers. But show him Safeway and he would answer, "Starbucks." The teacher just couldn't figure it out.

Ashamed as I am, I have to confess it's the Bobo factor. You've seen them (and by them I mean me) sipping vente, skinny mistos, texting from smart phones, and listening to NPR while driving (no texting while driving) a fairly clean SUV to Williams and Sonoma to shop for $24 cherry pitters. The bourgeois bohemians -- or Bobos.

Every time I've ever pulled into Safeway's parking lot -- with kids in tow -- it's been to, "grab Starbucks" from the instore barista not grocery shop. Amusing stereotypes aside, my children are experiencing the cultural consequences of the information age.

PS -- Right now my husband is probably reading this and gagging. Sorry babe.

Bragadocious

In this quarter we have planned a few -- maybe too many -- activities for our kids. Everything from Swimming Lessons to an afternoon with 5 professional musicians. Because we run from lesson to lesson, I've had to come up with creative ways to help them get their homework done. I'm not the first mom to do this. In fact I observed mother after mother reviewing homework in the lobby of the recreation center and knew we needed a similar solution.



One of the lessons that gets the least attention is Spanish lessons. Until I remembered I had a stockpile of flashcards. I also made some additional ones on Study Buddies (which are my absolute favorite studying tool) and tucked the whole lot in a tote bag with their pencils and workbooks from school. When we're on the road driving somewhere I can shout to the backseat English words and quiz them on the Spanish equivalent.

They are giving it a college try...

Julia: Flower! Who knows the Spanish word for flower?

Mason: Ground!

Julia: No.... close.

Cooper: Rug!

Julia: Come on guys... it sounds like flower, too.

Both: Flor! (Sounds like Floor.)

We're still working on Spanish. Good thing next month is tennis and the Mother/Son Pirate Quest.



PHOTO NOTE: Pictures from swimming lessons -- which have been going a lot better since we discovered (and treated) Mason had an ear infection and Cooper had a sinus infection.

What Does This Mean?

After a few hours of tearing into paper, throwing boxes around, and enjoying the bounty of Christmas morning I looked up and sighed, "This place is a mess."

Cooper replied, "Mom, that's what Christmas is all about ... long pause ... and being good." That last part was added pretty sheepishly.


I'm wondering if there is a record for uninterrupted, non-structured play? We're going on 15 hours and there is no predictable end.

On The Eve of Hysteria

There is something about Christmas Eve that is more special than Christmas. When we stand on the brink of expectations, excitement, and even a bit of anxiety, there is much to treasure and cherish. There is a field of imagination yet to be mined and our minds dig right in and try to. That's the magic of it.

By the following day, we've had what we're going to have and it's over. Only to be wished and planned upon for another year.

At my home right now... we're wavering in between the Eve and the Day. It's warm inside, but cold and snowy outside. The boys are asleep in their beds. Santa has done his (and her) job. And only my busy fingers are flitting over the keyboard searching for memories and thoughts that remind me of some of my favorite years.

At about this time some 16 years ago I charged into my parents' home after a night out with friends to find Santa had done his (and her) job for the night. The house was dark but already I could see the bounty of what would be Christmas morning and my heart broke a little bit. It was the first time I had seen the workings of Eve into Day. Of course I suspected there was a little more to the process than a jolly fellow falling down the chimney. But I'd never peeked behind the curtain. And part of me still wishes I never had.

Rewind even deeper and Christmas Eve would have meant a tiring night of cousins, second cousins, and a bunch of uncles and sweet but alien aunts. Because Christmas Eve was always the night of my Great Grandmother's party cum talent show. There must have been 100 of us -- seriously -- from all over the country in her little farm house. We'd feast on homemade popcorn balls and candy while waiting for our turn in front of or at the piano. And then Santa would come -- who looked a lot like one of my great uncles -- and we'd each get a gift. Something my great grandmother would have sewn for us. Usually a slip with lots of lace, and always longer than any of my dresses and skirts. (I guess she knew what kind of girl I was going to become and was trying to send early hints.)

On the way home my brothers and I would slump in the backseat, sick on candy canes and hot from our party clothes, and fall asleep. But by the time we were home, none of us could sleep in our own beds. You might think this lasted until we were 7. But I distinctly remember staying up well past 4 a.m. on at least one Christmas Eve when I was in junior high.

I'm not sure how my parents decided what traditions we would follow. How they weeded through their respective families' customs to find their own is a mystery to me. I look at my own little foursome and I wonder what I should do. I thought I wanted to have and keep lots and lots of Christmas books. And now it's starting to seem like a storage issue to me, rather than a heartfelt tradition. I thought I wanted to keep the same stockings for my family year after year. But every time I see new trims and patterns, and baubles I want to remake the ones I've already created. (Plus, nothing fits in Cooper's.) I thought I wanted to be insulated from obligation and plans on Christmas Eve and Christmas day. But I felt a little lonely this evening.

One thing is for sure. I don't have to figure it out in one night, or one year, or ever. It's the most fluid holiday I've ever experienced. The only thing I'm hellbent on preserving is the magic. So, for my children I wish...

May you never see the strings that orchestrate the puppet show and may Christmas EVE live in your mind forever.

PHOTO NOTE: My Great Grandmother (when she was a child).

No, No, Don't Tell Me...

Teaching your children to rhyme is an amusing avocation. Of course, as with so many topics, we take it to the next level. After exhaustive research and several trips to the library we have both boys practicing reading and identifying words that have similar endings.

This has resulted in many hours of the boys spitting out made up words and phrases that they think are hysterical; but leave the rest of us scratching our heads.

One of our tools -- the trusty literary masterpiece, HOP ON POP by Dr. Seuss -- is the source of grand entertainment. Both boys enjoy when we read and point to each word individually. They mutter the words as we go along and pretend to read -- actually Cooper is actually starting to read some of the words, too.

This particular book uses both words and pictures to illustrate the rhyming words and their meanings. In one series of rhymes a fat, furry bear wearing white, 3-fingered gloves fumbles through the task of sitting on various, inappropriate things.

PAT
SAT
Pat sat on a hat.
(There is a picture of Pat sitting on a hat that is sitting in a chair.)

This page produces roars of laughter.

PAT
CAT
Pat sat on cat.
(Another picture, this time of Pat sitting on a cat who is sitting in a very smart looking Parsons' chair.)

Again, loads of giggles.

PAT
BAT
Pat sat on ....

And here Mason interrupted and yelled, "A BASEBALL HITTER!"

We're still working on rhyming.