Night Walker

Remember how noises of the night freak me out? After I'd put the boys to bed and even fallen asleep myself, I was startled awake by a weird thunk. Something was prowling around in my house!

I grabbed a knitting needle and tip-toed out to the kitchen (the general direction of the noise). I was fully poised to take down the intruder (or at the very least cable knit him) when I found my 3-year-old sacked out on the tile floor. Either he snuck out of bed and played until he dropped to the floor with exhaustion, OR he was sleep walking.

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.

By Any Other Name

In a conversation with the boys I tried to explain to Mason that I picked his name. He was trying to tell me that when he was a baby he had another name -- No Sam (more on that later). And I was sticking my ground that I was responsible for his suitable moniker.


Finally I told him, "When you were a baby you had no name at all. You were just a blob of pink flesh, so I named you. And that's that."


When his big brother heard this he abruptly interrupted and in serious consternation gasped and said, "Why didn't you name me General Grievous?!?!?"

Why indeed.


If your child named him or herself, what would the birth certificate say?

On The Strange Side

Our neighborhood is infested with girls. We've made some very good friends and our boys even like playing with girls -- although they will not admit it. Even if a lollipop is at stake.

I catch them sometimes, however, enjoying the estrogen. And like other pictures I've taken, this one of Mason will be used at a later date to collect on some serious blackmail.

PS -- Those are press-on fingernails with the Disney princesses on them. O.M.G.

Team Costume

When I tell you I took my kids to a Mother/Son Pirate party at our local rec center, I know you will not be surprised. So let's skip over that melodramatic part about how our family is prone to theatrics and costumes and what not.


The event was mildly fun. By mildly fun I mean that it was a little like going to a birthday party with 100 people. More aptly put, it had the potential to be riotous if I had been in charge. Frankly, next year I just might be. But the most noticeable emotion on my children's faces was they were among peers. Their team, if you will.


And for my part. It was insanely relaxing to be in public and not have the only child in costume. That being said, I was the only mom with a Jack Sparrow and an Indiana Jones. We just wouldn't be us if we weren't standing out, rebelling, or being a stick in the mud. You know.


Who's on your team?

Personally, I'm in favor of the coffee-loving, sewing addicted, learning-to-knit, car-pooling, loves-a-good-massage, incessantly photographing, needlessly blogging bookworms.

When The Tables Turned

So we've been absent on the blog lately. I know I mentioned sickness has descended on everyone. We're pulling out of it. But one last picture I want to keep is of my little one.

He is a cockroach. I'm telling you, despite being 5 weeks early and spending time in NICU has had no serious health problems. Once he left that hospital he really never looked back.

His brother, on the other hand, has had one thing after another and is on a pretty regular regiment of medications delivered through the nebulizer.

It was a surprise for me, then, when Mason needed to have nebulizer treatments of his own this past week. But, having seen it done by his older brother, Mason found absolutely nothing about it remarkable. He just snapped that mask on and got on with it.

Got me thinking about influences. Our children can do what they see and watch. I figure my kids will be excellent toilet bowl cleaners. It also explains why Cooper tonight asked me to teach him how to sew.

From Mason, With Love

I suppose there were 36 of these heart stickers, pilfered and repurposed from his valentines. Ahem.