A List

At this time of year, I suspect you are making lists. What food to buy. What food to cook. What food to give away. It's a very simple season, really.

Anyway we have our lists, too. At bedtime, Mason became quite focused in reciting a list of his own.

"I don't like salad...."

"orrrrrrrr totatoes...."

"or cheese that is old."

Try as I might, I've been trying to make sense of this list. Salad? No surprises. And totatoes? Well, that could be either tomatoes or potatoes. I haven't seen him consume a large portion of either, unless it has been in the form of salsa and french fries, respectively. But old cheese!?!?!? Who doesn't like old cheese.

I hope you can make sense of your lists this time of year. Please, please, please remember to make a list that is meaningful, reasonable, and full of service. You'll be better for it. Now, let's see... what did I do with that list I made this morning?
PHOTO NOTE: Mason swimming in "cheese".

A Child of the World

What do you say when your 5-year-old asks, "Mom, do you know what strike a pose means?"

A Date with Mom

I don't go to extreme efforts to spend days out with only one of my children -- a date if you will. Call me lazy. But recently Cooper literally begged to have a day with me. It was a day in which I had planned to do a million things, things I knew he would be none to pleased to escort me during. But I relented, after a great deal of negotiating and issuing of threats and rules.

It went something like this:

I'm serious, Cooper. No whining, crying, quitting early, or acting like you don't want to be doing what I have to do today.

OK. Really, Mommy, I just want to go with you.

Really?

Really. I will be good.

Then following the post office errand we can go lunch, but that is the only fun thing we are going to do all day and I don't want you to give me any guff.

No mom, I didn't bring the guff, I promise.

He's so sweet. I love him. But after that, I had to look up guff. –noun Informal.

1. empty or foolish talk; nonsense.
2. insolent talk.

Basically he was right. He didn't bring the guff.

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.

The Gift

Are you a huffer? A honker? A holiday whiner? You know who you are. You stand in line and get exasperated when there are others waiting in front of you, or when it is the checkers first day on the job. If the person in front of you dares pay with exact change you utter profanities under your breath. You come unglued when the long line of cars waiting to turn left is preventing you to turn right. This is your least favorite time of year. Or at least you’re acting like it.

But why? Are you superior to the person waiting in front of you? Are you smarter than the checker? Have you ever been a checker? Are you a better driver? Is your car nicer? And if so, so what!

Now take a step back and think about the people you love. Around those who you never loose your temper. Are you buying them gifts this year? Have you picked the perfect gift? Do you ever look at your long list and wonder how you’ll afford to buy gifts for all those folks? What if there was a better gift? And you could give it to everyone you know, and a few of those who you do not.

What if your neighbor knocked on your door and said, “Can you help me? Just for a second.” Would you agree and willingly follow them into the backyard to tie trash bags, or rake leaves, or scoop dog poop. Probably.

Most of us, when asked, help.

I bet if the checker thought he/she could ask for your help they would. They’d sweetly look into your eyes and say, “Could you please do me a favor? This is my first day and I was wondering if you’d let me practice on you.” You’d agree to it. But the checker doesn’t ask. And though you know it’s his or her first day, you stand in line, stamp your foot, huff and sigh, and may even utter obscenities under your breath.

If you could hear the conversations inside someone else’s car you might hear, “Oh shoot, didn’t even see you there. I’m sorry.” But you can’t hear that driver. Instead you get hot under the collar and honk your horn, maybe even pull your own car up on his/her ass and stare ‘em down. Cla-sssssy.

This year, the hottest gift is not Zhu Zhu pets and ‘New Moon’ Barbie Dolls. It is giving up huffing, sighing, impatiently tapping toes, and generally being a horse’s arse. It goes with everything and it’s always in style. What’s more, it fits in everyone’s budget.

PS -- The best stocking stuffer? Gratitude. Spread the word.


PHOTO NOTE: Our kids giving the babysitter a heart attack. Heart shaped post it notes with sweet words written on them: You are beautiful. You are smart. We love your smile. Thanks for taking care of us.

Thank You for all the Hoopla

December is singular in its strangeness. Unlike the eleven months preceding it, It's like a gigantic deadline we're all waiting for to realize, "Oh my goodness the year is almost over and I've yet to have fun." Then we frantically plan parties, activities, and get-together all over the place. In our camp it gets especially frenzied because there are quite a few December birthdays to spread around.

But I have to say Thank You to all the folks who remember December is for having fun. Not just when it's your birthday, or someone else's, or you know... the BIG holiday. It really is your last fling before buckling down for the coming year. You know, that new year when you'll actually loose weight, actually finish updates to the house, actually get organized, actually save more money. Pah-leez. That doesn't sound like fun. But eggnog and good conversation does. So do it. (Actually I'd rather like the bottom of my foot than drink eggnog, but you get the picture.)

We're also grateful to all the people who remember us in December and send us stuff. I even love the parade of ridiculous Christmas cards. Call me sentimental, but I like correspondence. And in this past year, I've remembered how much I really like it. There have been two people who have reignited our appreciation for opening the mailbox this year. Our family -- you just would not believe the spectacular surprises that have shown up throughout the year from our loved ones. And a stranger. Well, she was a stranger until July of this year. Just some sewing compatriot who I spied on via the blog world... you know, like the rest of you. And then I met her. And she sent me a note -- just because -- via the mail. The mail. Antiquated, surprisingly sentimental mode of communication. Try it sometime. Or, at the very least, send a handwritten holiday card. It will make someone's day. (And you might just remember what your penmanship looks like.)

PS -- Speaking of deadlines... I'm busy. I've been sewing Christmas presents and such. No. time. to write.

PHOTO NOTE: I know it looks like Mason is naked in this photo, but he is not.

Gro-ossss

I told you....