Fall Cuteness

I'm just sayin'.

Happy Columbus Day!

I have to say, I was skeptical when I first heard we were getting Columbus Day as a holiday this year.

That's one that I've never had before. Even in the days of yore, when I was in school, we didn't consider Columbus Day to be a "holiday." We did activities in school that had to do with Columbus, but that was it. No one dressed up like a boat, or claimed their neighbor's backyard, or anything else.

So we decided to do some things this weekend to truly commemorate Columbus Day in the spirit in which the holiday was intended.

Saturday: The Renaissance Festival.

Columbus discovered America during the Renaissance, right? So what better way to celebrate Columbus Day than with:

Sausage on a stick, or

Chicken on a stick, or

A bread bowl full of chili, just like they had on the Santa Maria!

If food doesn't do it for you, the Renaissance Festival also offers:

Carousels,

Pony rides, and

Face painting. I imagine Columbus felt the same thrill when he stepped off the boat, rode his pony to the carousel, and painted a bug on his face.

But, just like Columbus, we had our share of adversity.

Princess' fairy doll, purchased within 30 seconds of entering the fair, lost a leg after being dropped in the mud repeatedly "on accident."

Dexy, despite being very pleased with his purple dragon, developed a fever that came and went throughout the day.

Deb had to explain to Princess why those men walked around mostly naked.

But, there were bright spots. One of them was getting to introduce the kids to "Uncle" Drew, one of our dear friends. Drew and his wife actually got married at the Renaissance Festival several years ago. Sven and I played the music for their wedding. Drew still works at the Festival as an exotic magician.

Princess did us proud by saying the following things to Drew:

"Boys don't wear dresses, you know. Why are you wearing a dress?"

"Your socks don't match. And your yellows aren't the same."

But, she redeemed herself by being fascinated with his sleight-of-hand. She sat in a corner for several hours on Sunday afternoon, trying to make the alphabet flash card in her hand "disappear" the way Drew did.

We will be returning to the Festival later in the season, when I shall thoughtfully purchase several pieces of jewelry. Until then, I wish all of the weirdos well.

Next installment: our Columbus Day feast at the Rainforest Cafe. Truly, 'tis the season.

Dexy's Double Life

I was picking up Dexy from day care the other day, when I discovered something alarming.

I am the mother of an almost-two-year-old double agent.

I picked up my baby boy, brushed the blond hair out of his clear blue eyes, and watched as he popped his left thumb in his mouth so his right hand could grab a hank of my hair.

"Dexy!" his teacher said in scandalized tones. "I didn't know you suck your thumb!"

Excuse me? This child, who, if the ultrasound pictures are any indication, has been sucking his thumb since before his actual birth, doesn't suck his thumb at school?

That's right. Not even at nap time. He just lays down on his cot and goes right to sleep.

Right.

To.

Sleep.

Apparently, at school, the Dexy who requires two parents, an iPod of oldies, and seventeen carefully selected stuffed animals to fall asleep doesn't exist.

Interesting.

At school, Dexy also:

• Lies quietly when his diaper is changed (as opposed to saying, "No, Mommy! No poop!" and kicking/peeing on the diaper-er)
• Eats very neatly, using his utensils. He's the neatest one in the class, she says. You lie, I said, thinking of the spaghetti stains on my ceiling.
• Reads several major world newspapers and provides translations for some of the day care staff.

Okay, I made that last one up. But, still, I am disturbed. Who is this little boy? My Dexy is still my little baby, not this grown-up toddler about to sprout facial hair and football pads.

Then, I realized it:

He's humoring me.

He's staying my baby for me. No, stay with me on this one: he likes being the baby, he knows I like him being my baby, so where's the harm?

I promise, if he's still sucking his thumb when the facial hair and football pads appear, I'll put a stop to it.

Probably.

A Victim/A Miracle

Today, my blog ventures into the land I swore my blog would never go: politics. Because last night, my family and I were the victim of a crime that touches on a major political issue. Today's blog isn't funny, it's true. You will be back to your regularly scheduled hilarity and hijinks with our next entry.

At approximately 11:30 p.m. on the night of Sunday, September 6, 2009, a person or persons unknown entered a vacant field directly behind our house. These people sounded like they were riding personal recreational vehicles (AKA "Four-Wheelers") and at some point began firing guns.

One of those shots went into the window of our home. The window shattered, showering glass fragments over the entire room, including the bed where our little boy, Dexy, lay sleeping.

If there is any humor to be had in this situation, it is in the fact that Dexy slept through the entire thing.

When we woke up the next morning, there it was: a hole in our window, with a .22-caliber bullet lodged in the window frame.

The deputy who examined the scene said it was probably a deer rifle, the kind anyone here can buy at Wal-mart.

How lucky are we? Dexy is fine. He didn't even get a scratch, even when he walked over the glass to get out of his room. The next time someone wants to debate the existence of God, please let me know.

Our county has written the incident up as "deadly conduct," which means someone was engaging in conduct which could result in death, even if unintended. But the deputy also did not give us much hope that the case would ever be solved.

My opinion is that this was probably some kids, in varying states of inebriation, who decided to shoot off their deer rifles where they believed no one would get hurt.

So here it is: my political statement.

If you can't be a responsible gun owner, you shouldn't own a gun. "Responsible" gun owners to not discharge their firearms in vacant lots directly adjacent to a residential neighborhood. "Responsible" gun owners don't shoot off their guns in full darkness in a vacant lot directly adjacent to a residential neighborhood.

Okay, that's over. I still love and respect you if you disagree, but this is an issue about which I find myself now feeling very passionate.

Dexy is fine. I am still shaking. When I saw the hole and the glass, I had a moment of the most crippling, debilitating fear I've ever known. I cried, and held Dexy as he squirmed to get out of my arms and play, and thanked God that He was watching out for my kids as they slept.

I know that tomorrow will be a new day, a better day, and that we will be fine.

But I won't be sleeping tonight.

Let the Punishment Fit the Crime

Princess is in trouble.

Apparently, the following exchange took place at school yesterday:

Teacher: Children, you need to be quiet.

Princess: No, YOU need to be quiet!

My child.

Princess met me at school with her head hung down in shame. She wouldn't meet my eyes. When we got to the car and I managed to get her chin up, the corners of her mouth were turned down so low I thought they would meet underneath.

"It was an accident!" she wailed. "I didn't mean to be bad!"

"I'm not happy," I answered, Stern Mommy face in place. I knew I had to play the big card. "Wait until I tell Daddy about this."

"Aaaahhh," Princess wailed from the carseat. "I didn't mean to be bad! It was an accident!"

When we got home, Princess was sent to her room while Sven and I deliberated. We decided on the following punishment:

1. No cupcake. (My cousins sent me home with cupcakes last weekend, it's not like we constantly have cupcakes in the house to withdraw from the children for misbehavior.)

2. Removal of the DVD player from her room for the night. (Yes, she has a portable DVD player that she keeps in her room. I hear you, Mom.)

News of this punishment was greeted with the same level of distress that I imagine would result from a group of Lord of the Rings fans being told that Peter Jackson won't be directing the film version of "The Hobbit." Teeth were gnashed. Hair was pulled. Clothing was rent. She didn't have access to ashes or sackcloth, but you get the idea.

"Thank goodness we had the foresight to shower our children with a ridiculous amount of material objects, so we now have things to take away!" I said to Sven.

"I agree," he said.

Today, she was wonderful. A peach. She apologized to the teacher and played nicely all day. All is well.

Here's the problem:

Removing the DVD player caused her to sleep. Most of the night. She never does that. Now, I don't want to give the DVD player back.

I'll think of something...

80-fication

I have blogged before about my disgust for so-called "educational" television. What does this dreck really teach our kids? That the world is:

• Full of caring anthropomorphic creatures that will instruct them on how to use shapes to build a rocket to Mars so they can save a kitten, and
• Completely tolerant and accepting of everyone, to the point that multi-ethnic groups of people will break into a dance of friendship after successfully reading the word "wiener."

This, of course, is poppycock. Where are the real lessons kids need to learn? You know, lessons like:

• The universe is full of evil half-human supervillains with comical names like "Stinkor."
• Appropriate attire for any occasion includes leg warmers and a hi-leg leotard
• Mr. T can do anything
• For it to count, your primary talent should be emblazoned on your stomach

These lessons are where we all belong: back in the 1980's.

To further my children's education and halt the alarming encroachments Dora the Explorer ("Blinking At You In Many Languages! *blink* *blink* Bueno!!") is making in our household, I recently purchased the following DVD's:

• Rainbow Brite and the Star Stealer
• The Care Bears Movie
• The My Little Pony Movie
• She-Ra, Season 1, Part 1 (the first 32 episodes of this landmark series)

Each of these films sensitively conveys ideas that have been lost to today's generation due to the "misguidedness" of "political correctness" and "sensitivity."

WARNING: SPOILERS OF 25-YEAR-OLD MEDIA AHEAD

Rainbow Brite and the Star Stealer takes a very simple story and conveys it with a depth and maturity not often seen in animation. To summarize: there's a princess who loves shiny things who decides she wants Spectra, the diamond planet, which creates all light in the universe. Shockingly, she is not the heroine. Our heroine is Rainbow Brite, who, after being awakened by her commune of coeducational and multi-ethnic "roommates," sets off to recover Spectra so she can bring spring to Earth. (She knows about the situation because the robot horse told her. Don't question me.) Rainbow Brite takes her horse, Starlight (who speaks in a British accent but sings like Tom Petty) to Spectra, but she is followed by Murky and Lurky, who are her usual enemies because they hate color. Long story short (quiet!): Rainbow Brite saves Spectra and the magic key glows again and spring comes back to earth and the sprites rejoice. (Of course there are sprites. They work in the color mines, which are happy, fanciful mines that produce colored gems and, apparently, marijuana, judging by the sprites' facial expressions.)

Rainbow Brite and the Star Stealer teaches us that greed is very, very bad. A courageous message for a movie based on a collectible toy series that constantly invented new colors just to have new dolls to market.

****

The Care Bears Movie follows three orphans whose names I can't recall. Two of the orphans are brother and sister, and they get sucked up to Care-a-Lot by the Care Bears, who teach them to love again. On earth, Nicholas (okay, I remembered one) finds a magic book that sucks the caring out of him and everyone else. The Care Bears and Care Bear Cousins must leave Care-A-Lot and the Forest of Feelings to defeat the evil book and make Nicholas care again. Starring Mickey Rooney.

The Care Bears Movie teaches us that books are evil. Well played, evil corporate toy merchants.

***

The My Little Pony Movie is so amazing that I couldn't even watch it. It also stars Mickey Rooney.

****

She-Ra, Princess of Power is the most amazing thing in the history of ever. It is a spin-off of the He-Man cartoon series. Those of you who think you remember the 80's, go to Youtube and watch some He-Man and then come back. I'll wait.

{wait}

So He-Man really "transforms," right? He goes from a pageboy-haircut, pink stretch pants-wearing "regular guy" to an oiled-up bodybuilder? Very butch. And did you notice that He-Man's hair and face don't change at all? He just changes his clothes to become He-Man. His own parents don't know him. Here's how that would really work:

**********

Momz: Hey, who are you and what are you doing here?

Deb: Mom, it's me.

Momz: Oh, I didn't recognize you. You look like a completely different person.

Deb: I took off my jacket.

Momz: That's it.

**********

He-Man's parents must have either been unimaginably stupid (which some episodes suggest) or just playing along:

*******

Dad: Where's Adam?

Mom: I don't know, he's out playing with his sword.

Adam: (from outside, faintly): I....Have....the POWER!!

Dad: Great. Here he comes.

Mom: Shut up, shut up, get into character...

He-Man (entering): Skeletor is coming!

Dad: Oh, no! Whatever shall we do? It's a good thing you're here, He-Man, instead of someone else who just looks like you but dresses like a female ice skater. (Winces as Mom elbows him)

Mom: But where is my son Adam? Not in front of me half-naked, that's for sure.

He-Man: There's no time, you have to leave before Skeletor gets here!

Mom: All right. There are cookies on the table, dear.

******

She-Ra's friends are even dumber, because Adora, She-Ra's alter-ego, used to be a Horde commander or something, and she showed up to join the rebellion at the same time She-Ra appeared. Coincidence? I think so!

What doesn't She-Ra teach us? Don't trust whisper-voiced shadow demon sorceress ladies? Check. People with metal bones for faces are bad? Check. If an organization voluntarily calls itself "The Horde," it's probably not good? Checkity check.

All still vital lessons for today.

I have the power.

Blogging Through the Pain

I just dropped Princess and Dexy off for their first day of day care for the 2009-2010 school year.

Sven drops the kids off, as a rule. He can do it. I break down in tears every time I have to leave them. The only time I drop them off is if Sven is sick.

Except, of course, I go on the first day.

Dexy was very concerned when we got there. His little brow furrowed, and his cheeks puffed out as he held on to his lower lip, struggling not to cry. He hates to cry when he's scared. Fortunately, the wonderful Miss DeeDee said the magic words ("Would you like some breakfast?") and he went to her. He clung to my neck when I hugged him good-bye, but there were no tears. From him, anyway. I left too quickly for him to see mine. I risked a look back, and he was examining breakfast with Miss DeeDee, his arm around her shoulders, Mommy and Daddy forgotten for the moment.

I should have felt better.

Then, we took Princess to Miss Liz. All of the children over three have breakfast together, so the room was full of much bigger kids who were already noisy and playing. Princess got nervous and began to pull against my hand. We took her to the breakfast table, with her chanting, "Maybe we should do this tomorrow."

Then she saw him.

Tyler.

You remember Tyler, right?

Princess lost all interest in Sven and me. Miss Liz had to prompt, "Say goodbye to Mommy and Daddy," and she threw a casual wave in our direction while smiling invitingly at Tyler.

I'm not sure I care for Tyler.

It took less than 10 minutes. Both children were in day care, seeming secure and happy. I went to the grocery store, thinking about everything I could get done this week, before I have to return to work.

When I stop crying, that is.

Itinerary

The following is my itinerary for our final summer trip, a two-day expedition to San Antonio. I'm pleased to say that I followed this itinerary to the letter.

7:30 a.m.: Wake up, look at clock, realize you wanted to leave at 7:00, shrug, go back to sleep.

8:30 a.m.: Allow Sven to wake the household.

9:00 a.m.: Begin putting children in the car.

9:02 a.m.: Discover the neighborhood cat on our front porch.

9:15 a.m.: Begin putting children in the car.

9:28 a.m.: Pull out of the driveway. Nod wisely when Sven points to the clock and says, "See, we left by 9:30."

9:32 a.m.: Get fuel. Go in to get snacks while Sven drives home to retrieve the Shamu Sports Cup that entitles us to $.99 refills at Sea World.

9:45 a.m.: Sven returns. "We're not going back again," he grumbles. "That's fine," you say. "Did you get the kids' beds?"

9:46 a.m.: Princess says, "Daddy, we don't say 'dammit.'"

9:52 a.m.: Sven gets the kids' beds, you get the DVD player and an assortment of movies the children will hate and cry about.

9:58 a.m.: "See, we left by 10:00."

12:45 p.m.: Stop for lunch at The World's Slowest Chili's.

1:52 p.m.: Back in the car.

2:30 p.m.: Make the obligatory stop at Buc-ee's for fresh fudge and dubious jerky. Sven vows, "We will not get any stuffed animals on this trip."

2:37 p.m.: Leave Buc-ee's with a screaming Princess sobbing, "But I wanted to see the animals!" and Dexy pointing over your shoulder, crying, "Want that! Want that!" But you are stuffed-animal free.

4:03 p.m.: Arrive at Natural Bridge Caverns. Sven and Princess do the cave tour while Dexy and you "mine" for "gemstones" in Texas' Longest Sluice. Don't pretend you're not impressed.

5:30 p.m.: Go to the drive-thru safari. Purchase 4 paper bags of food and get the strict instruction: don't hand feed the animals, keep your hands inside your car.

5:45 p.m.: Sven hand-feeds an antelope. It goes well.

6:00 p.m.: You hand-feed a zebra and pet it on the nose. The zebra, sensing your weakness, puts its entire massive head inside the car. You coolly scream and throw the entire bag of food at the zebra while Dexy (on your lap) looks mildly concerned. The zebra takes the entire bag of food and finally leaves. You keeps your window rolled up for the remainder of the trip.

6:45 p.m.: You do not go to the gift shop. Stuffed animal count: 0

7:00 p.m.: Eat dinner at the Magic Time Machine, where the waitstaff includes Dorothy, Harry Potter, Lara Croft, and Elizabeth Swan. There was also a Naughty Alice in Wonderland, but you're not sure why she was there. The children get balloons.

7:52 p.m.: The Balloon War of 2009 has commenced in the back seat of the car, where Princess insists that she needs to Hold On to Dexy's balloon, Just In Case.

8:30 p.m.: You find your hotel and check in. You immediately begin putting the kids into their swim gear, knowing this will be the best way to get them tired enough to sleep.

9:00 p.m.: You still haven't gotten anyone into swimwear except Sven.

9:20 p.m.: All are now in swimwear and heading down to the pool.

9:24 p.m.: You get into the pool, populated by a polite family finishing a poolside dinner.

9:40 p.m.: The Rowdy McYell family arrives at the pool. They appear to have 28 children, all between the ages of 11 and 14. These children begin to dive into the pool.

9:42 p.m.: You, having been kicked twice by the same child, turn your gaze to the McYell parents, only to see them making out in the deep end of the pool while holding their baby. Not wanting to disturb them, you make Sven, Dexy, and Princess stick to the shallow end of the pool.

9:45 p.m.: The McYell boys begin diving into the shallow end of the pool. Mr. and Mrs. McYell move their makeout session to the center of the pool.

9:46 p.m.: Princess informs you that there is a monster in the pool, so you need to go.

9:52 p.m.: You are back in the room, promising the children a hot bath.

9:53 p.m.: You discover the bathtub lacks a stopper, so there will just be a quick rinse in the shower.

9:55 p.m.: Princess discovers that her left buttock will block the drain, so she takes her bath.

10:10 p.m.: You take your shower.

10:30 p.m.: Children asleep, Sven goes to get garbage bags. You check your blog, e-mail, and Facebook, then play Bejeweled until you are ready to go to sleep.

10:37 p.m.: You are ready to go to sleep.

11:25 p.m.: Sven comes back.

11:45 p.m.: Sven is asleep.

12:30 a.m.: Sister Act is on.

1:30 a.m.: You are asleep.

2:22 a.m.: Dexy comes to your side of the bed, whimpering.

2:25, 2:37, 2:58, 3:12, 3:31, 3:48: Dexy pulls your hair and kicks you.

4:00 a.m.: Dexy is finally still and you go to sleep.

6:00 a.m.: Alarm goes off.

6:10, 6:20, 6:30: Alarm goes off.

7:00 a.m.: You wake, realizing that Sven, Princess, and Dexy are already up and getting dressed. "Getting up today, Lazybones?" Sven teases. You aren't amused.

8:15 a.m.: Check out of the hotel and set off for breakfast.

8:20 a.m.: Denny's.

9:15 a.m.: On the way to Sea World! Yay!

10:00 a.m.: Sea World opens with the playing of the National Anthem. You go immediately to feed the dolphins.

10:15 a.m.: You feed and pet a dolphin!

12:00 p.m.: Shamu show. You, again, sob throughout.

12:48 p.m.: Ice cream.

1:12 p.m.: You proceed to the Sea Lion holding tank and purchase a small paper tub of partially disemboweled fish and squid to feed them.

1:13 p.m.: Your paper tub falls into the pool, necessitating retrieval by two surly Sea World employees wielding a 12-foot net.

1:17 p.m.: You proceed to the World of Penguins.

1:24 p.m.: You, having seen the entire World of Penguins, prepare to leave.

1:25 p.m.: Sven takes Princess back through the World of Penguins, Just To See.

1:27 p.m.: Sven purchases two stuffed animals: a pink penguin for Princess, a crazy rubber-haired penguin for Dexy. (He already bought Princess a Shamu necklace.) Sven hangs his head in shame.

1:58 p.m.: You load the car and leave for home, secure that you have gotten enough use from your Fun Cards to justify buying them.

2:01 p.m.: Sven says, "Don't worry, Princess, we can come back for Labor Day."

Princess and the "F-word"

It happened. Princess said the F-word.

I thought I was prepared for this moment. I knew it was just a matter of time before she picked it up from our fast-and-loose media culture.

But when it came, it came out of nowhere.

"Mommy, are you fat?" Said with a look in her eye that said, "I know the answer, but I need to hear you say it."

What could I say? I have been fat my whole life, so this really shouldn't be an unexpected moment.

And I don't tell you this to get protests or reassurances. I'm fat. If I were 12 inches taller, I would still be fat. I look like those people you see on the news, with their heads cut off, wearing elastic-waist sweat pants and polo shirts, just strolling along in packs to illustrate how fat Americans are becoming. In fact, some of them look good compared to me.

I'm fat. But, I'm also smart, funny, sexy, and, in my own way, quite gorgeous. I consider my weight to be one thing about me, a thing I'd like to change, but just one thing. I think about it sometimes, but I don't let it define me. In fact, there are entire days that I forget that I'm fat. I will attempt to have one of those again sometime very soon...

"Yes, I am," I answered after a brief out-of-body experience that I'm sure she didn't notice.

"Why are you fat?" she asked. Princess is nothing if not forthright.

"Because I eat too much and don't exercise enough," I replied.

"Why not?" she asked.

"Because I'm lazy," I said. "I don't want to be fat. I'm trying to change that."

"I don't like being fat either," she said. Great. I've now got my 3-year-old on the road to an eating disorder.

"Honey, you're not fat," I answered. "You're healthy."

"Healthy. Yeah," she said. "Daddy's not fat."

"He's a little fat," I said, somewhat stung.

"No, he's just really healthy," she answered.

Sven wins again.

A Division of Labor

Sven and I have a good marriage. We love each other, we get along, we enjoy each other's company, and we have a lot in common. We've been together for 15 years. I'm starting to believe it will last.

When it comes to household chores, neither of us is what you would call "tidy." Or even "bearable." We each have our strengths (ability to ignore messes for a very long time) and our weaknesses (ability to complain about messes we have been ignoring for a very long time).

Sven and I each work, full-time, outside the home. We are both teachers. During the school year very little in the way of home maintenance is done. I keep everyone in clean clothes. Sven keeps the yard in compliance with the homeowner's association rules. We each do our part to make sure there is something to eat, though I confess more often than not that means Sven picks up the take-out and I throw away the containers.

During the summer, though, we "catch up" on a number of pesky chores that we simply don't have time for ordinarily, like sweeping, mopping, organizing, vacuuming, dusting, editing, and conditioning. Sven and I do a fairly good job of sharing the labor equally. There are a few "my" jobs (folding the laundry, tidying the living room) and some "his" jobs (lawn care, carpet cleaning), but dishes, laundry, cooking, and basic cleaning are shared responsibilities.

Which leads me to my question today: if there is a chore that has separate components, is it necessary for the same person to do each part of the chore? If not, should the workers collaborate to make sure the initial part of the chore is complete in a manner acceptable to the person completing subsequent parts of the chore?

Example: Dishes.

Sven and I have different philosophies when it comes to dishes. For instance, I load the silverware tray with the "business ends" poking up, so the part that touches the food gets clean. I also put a variety of utensils in each slot, because they can't stick together if there's only one spoon, one fork, one knife, etc. Sven says he doesn't like that, because it's harder to unload. While I can respect that, I'd rather the dishes get clean. Furthermore, Sven always manages to load the dishwasher in some crazy ninja way that prevents me from unrolling the bottom rack without dragging out the top one, meaning I have to unload the whole darned thing if I want a frying pan from the bottom left. Which I should do anyway. Don't judge me.

So who gets priority? The person who loads, or the person who unloads?

But the more important question: why do I care? In a sound, happy marriage, where I love my husband and he loves me, and we have two beautiful kids and adequate money coming in, two working cars and a nice house, why was I ready to scream at Sven today because he only washed spoons and knives and left all of the forks in the sink?

Is it human nature to look for conflict? Do we naturally look for the problems? Or is it just me?

I didn't mention it to Sven. (Yes, dear, I realize I'm mentioning it now, but only in an abstract, hypothetical way, not a critical one. You do the dishes just fine and I love you very much.) I unloaded the dishes, then loaded the dishwasher my way and started it. But I wondered: is this how those couples end up on Dr. Phil? You know, the ones where the man goes out and has an affair because his wife wouldn't ever let him fold the towels, because he "didn't do it right?" How many ways are there to fold towels?

Princess and Dexy are getting to the point that they are helping around the house. Dexy does it because he loves to help. He understands throwing things in the garbage, and does it so enthusiastically that we have to dig through our garbage to find forks, bowls, bills, and toys before taking it out. Princess is beginning to help because I'm making her. I stand over her for 10 minutes so she can do a job that takes me 30 seconds, but I tell myself I'm building her character.

But, it makes me happy that I really don't care how she puts the toys away, as long as it gets done. Maybe I'm making progress. I'm going to cancel that appointment with Dr. Phil...

Welcome to the Jungle

We have a new favorite place.

The Rainforest Cafe.

Experience what it is like to spend money in an authentic rainforest setting, if rainforests were plastic and full of robots!

Since many of my readers are not blessed to reside in a state containing this amazing dining concept, such as the Great State of Texas ("Waiting for Alaska to Melt"), I should explain.

Imagine, if you will, a fairly expensive casual dining restaurant, combined with a fairly expensive toy store, combined with Chuck-E-Cheese. Then give it all an "environmental" theme, and voila! (French, meaning "poof"): you have the Rainforest Cafe.

Tasteful, no?

We generally eat at the one in Galveston, TX:

We began going when Princess was just a little tot. Now that we have Dexy, going to Rainforest Cafe (what the kids call "The Jungle") is an exciting and costly adventure.

When one enters the Rainforest Cafe, one does not merely enter a "restaurant." One enters a "restaurant with a toy store." Helpfully, the hostess stand is located in the middle of the toy store, for your spending convenience. Heaven help you if there is a wait. I mean it. You could easily spend $100 just waiting to eat, at least at the one in Galveston: they have a special, Rainforest-themed Build-A-Bear Workshop right there!

Thank goodness. I can't tell you how neglectful as I parent I have felt, without a custom-stuffed rhinoceros wearing a safari outfit and combat boots.

One does not get seated at the Rainforest Cafe by a hostess, one has a "tour guide." One is not waited on, one has a "safari guide" to "lead you" through the "adventure" and "refill" your "Sprite."

If you are a savvy and frugal individual, like myself, you will fork over the $15 to join the Rainforest Club (but I confess I got the membership for $10 because it was "on special."). This membership card gets you a free appetizer (or 10% off adult entrees), 10% off in the toy store, and preferred seating. Our cheese sticks are now free. Nothing else is.

Kids' entrees are $5.99. That is huge, comparatively. The only other place I can think of where we spend that much is Outback Steakhouse, when Princess wants a steak. (Steak and calamari are her two faves.) Soft drinks are $2.50. The adult hamburger plate is $8.99, cheese $.50 extra, french fries $.99 extra. Really. So, doing the math, our meal yesterday:

Cheese sticks: free

Dexy's Jurassic Chicken Bites: $5.99

Princess' Sliders: $5.99

Sven's Burger: $8.99

Cheese: $.50

Fries: $.99

Deb's Burger: $8.99

Cheese: $.50

Drinks: $5.00

Really, $37.45 isn't that bad, right? For a nice meal out at a fun place? Right?

I didn't tell you about dessert.

The Volcano.

Topped with a sparkler, this mountain of brownie, ice cream, whipped cream, fudge, and caramel sauce is a $12.99 flaming mountain of fun. We must get the volcano whenever we go to the jungle. There is no hope of Princess (or now, Dexy) forgetting about it, because the servers (excuse me, "Safari Guides") parade each one through the restaurant bellowing, "VOL-CA-NOOOOO!"

It also doesn't help that now, whenever we go to any restaurant, Princess plaintively asks for the Volcano. She had the waitress at Applebee's in tears with her trembling lower lip and orphaned-waif eyes.

With the addition of the dessert and tax, our bill came to $54 and change. Before we hit the toy store.

Ah, summer.

Here's The Pitch

Cast:

Deb: A comfortably plush yet devastatingly attractive working mom, trying to make it as a writer.

Princess: Deb's writing partner

Billiam: A slick Hollywood producer

Scene: Billiam's office at Award Winning Studio

{Deb and Princess are here to make a pitch for a new family film. They enter Billiam's office.}

Deb: Thank you so much for taking the time to see us.

Billiam (stunned at her beauty): Please, sit down. (They all sit.) All right, I'm listening.

Deb: What we have for you today is the ultimate family movie. It's very special.

Billiam (intrigued): What's the pitch?

Deb: I'm going to pass this to my writing partner, Princess. She comes up with all of the ideas. Go ahead, Princess.

Princess: There's a dinosaur and my friends the Backyardigans have to leave our house and go up in a tornado because the Red Bull was chasing the unicorns and I said "You don't do that!" and I chased the Red Bull to the chocolate factory and I was a good girl and I peed on the potty and the Little Einsteins showed me a snapping turtle and you have to sing a high note or they'll get you when Charlotte makes a word in her web and she drinks blood.

Billiam: Go on.

Princess: Well, Spongebob and Patrick and the Backyardigans and Imagination Movers all came to my birthday party and the big boy got stuck in the pipe because he was too greedy when the dogs ate the spaghetti the boy dog gave the girl dog the meatball and the princess didn't want to live in the castle she wanted to stay in the forest but the lion had to be the king and then we all dance like this: (Princess flails and spins on the floor.) And that's all.

Billiam: (Silence.)

Princess: (whispers) Mommy, why isn't he talking?

Deb: He's blown away. Let him absorb, baby.

Billiam: If you can put a mermaid in, we have a deal.

Deb: Yay!

Princess: I want a peanut butter sandwich.

{Fin.}

The above post is based on a story Princess told me this morning.

-Deb

Idiosyncrasies

My little family is wonderfully quirky.

Take my little Princess, for instance:

Princess is a very picky eater. Some things are typical "little-kid" picky things: she doesn't like "binchtables," she hates watermelon...all of these I can accept. But Princess takes picky to a new level.

She only eats the "good parts" of the food.

When she eats a peanut butter sandwich, she will return to me two absolutely clean pieces of bread carried in hands festooned with peanut butter.

When she eats a corn dog, the "shuckings" will be piled neatly on the plate with no trace of the hot dog that was in the center. (This is actually okay with me, as I continue to believe that the corn dog is actually a prank gone too far.)

She only eats the buttered side of her toast.

She sucks every noodle clean of alfredo sauce.

All of this I can accept and live with. But I can no longer be silent on the matter of kolaches.

A kolache, for those of you so unfortunate as to reside outside the land of Texas ("Land of the Free and Home of the Armed") or any other Bavarian-influenced cultural center, is a filled pastry. Here in Southeast Texas, the kolache is a savory pastry primarily consumed for breakfast and sold in most doughnut shops.

Imagine the kolache thusly: a warm, buttery yeast roll baked around savory cheese (which may or may not contain jalapenos) and sausage. (I know some people think kolaches can have ham or bacon, but I ignore them in public. I also know some people prefer their kolaches cheese-less, or "dry," and for them I believe jail time is warranted. Furthermore, real kolaches are only available at Snowflake Donut in Baytown, because they label their "hot" ones with a piece of jalapeno baked into the top of the roll, so you know what you're getting instead of the "surprise" hot ones that slip into your purchase elsewhere. But I digest.)

Princess only eats the "hot dog" out of her kolache, leaving the amazingly good and crusty bread and the savory warm cheese discarded on her plate like so much corn dog shuckings. This, of course, makes it necessary for Mommy to consume said leavings, lest they "go to waste."

The kicker: last night at dinner, Princess consumed her weight in calamari. Apparently there's no "yucky part" to deep-fried squid.

As for Dexy:

He will eat anything in the world, as long as it's not on his own plate. You can picture him easily, huge smile on his face, flitting from plate to plate, taking the choicest morsels, stuffing them in his face, and running like the wind. He is very protective of his own plate, though. The other day, Dexy took a Cheeto from Princess' plate (ignoring the pile on his own) and, chortling, ran off to eat it. Princess very calmly got up, went to Dexy's plate, and took two. Dexy cried for 30 minutes at the affront to his authority.

Dexy didn't care for the calamari. He did consume all of the bread.

As for Sven and me, our quirk is a simple one, but one that has been with us throughout the decade-plus of our relationship. I call it the Law of Groceries:

If both of us go to the grocery store and make a purchase designed to allow us to eat at home for a time period greater than one day, we cannot eat at home that day. It's just that simple.

Last night, we went to Sam's Club and stocked up on our "bulk" food needs. 50 bags of Cheetos, 48 bags of M&M's, and Q-tips. On the way out, we were ambushed by the Sample Lady who had prepared a chicken-and-four-cheese ravioli with fresh pesto. It was not only delicious, Dexy loved it, so we told ourselves, "Let's get it and we can have it for dinner when we get home." It would be quick, just heat-and-eat, really. I even bought some French bread to do some garlic toast (or Crustini, or whatever they're calling them now).

We spent between $3-400 at Sam's. On the way home, we were congratulating ourselves on how much money we'd save in the long run, that we had enough to make lunches at home for weeks and dinner at home for days, we'd even gotten breakfast foods the kids liked! Yes, no more eating out for us, no sir. Not for a long time.

Then we hit traffic.

By the time we got home, we literally left the car running while Sven and I hurriedly put the groceries away, then headed to Antonio's Italian Restaurant. The children were hungry enough to be well-behaved, and other than the guilt oozing from our pores at spending $50 on a meal out when we had just spent over $300 on groceries, a wonderful time was had by all.

We did skip dessert. I can sacrifice.

Sometimes.

Beginning of Summer: How Things Change

During the school year, Sven and I have precious little time to parent. We leave the house before 7:00 a.m. (if we're on time) and the earliest I get the kids is 3:45. A more typical day has me getting there at 4:30 or even later. By the time we get them home and feed them, there's not much left. Each child has devised a way to combat this: Princess stays up all night, and Dexy only sleeps when he's in our bed. We figure it's only fair; they want to spend time with us at night since they can't during the day.

Enter summer. For 10-12 straight bewildering weeks, Sven and I are both stay at home parents. You can see the euphoria in the eyes of my children. Mommy and Daddy at our mercy 24 hours a day! Again, each has devised a particular way to take advantage of the additional Mommy/Daddy time.

Dexy is injuring himself to get kisses. I watched him yesterday slowly lower himself to the floor (picture big toddler belly and fat toddler legs), put his head on the linoleum, and gently bonk his head. He stood up, rubbing his head, and his eyes found me.

"Ouch," he moaned, sounding not at all like E.T.

"Oh, sweet baby," I crooned. "Do you need a kiss?" Eyes solemn, he nodded, presenting his golden little head for me to kiss. He has now thus "injured" himself approximately once every fifteen minutes for the past two days. I am now typing this one handed, since Dexy is in my left arm, a fistful of my hair and his own thumb providing comfort.

Princess, on the other hand, is alternating between really excellent behavior and tantrum-throwing brattiness. Sven has decided to deal with this by spending more time with her (yay!) and teaching her to be more like him (yay?). So far her innate femininity has conquered his attempt to get her to befriend the backyard junebugs (my least favorite outdoor summer flying non-biting insect) and wear t-shirts and shorts. On the other hand, she can name several different species of sharks and dinosaurs and demonstrated the correct way to throw a punch tonight.

We are so very grateful for the loves my kids have in common:

1. Swimming

2. Backyardigans (For Kristina: The Backyardigans is a show on Nickelodeon featuring three improbably-colored, incorrectly scaled animal kids (see image below) who imagine themselves in different situations each week. They dance and sing in different styles every week, familiarizing children with genres such as rap, zydeco, and Gilbert and Sullivan. Seriously. I love this show.)

3. Spongebob

4. Shrieking

5. Inappropriate TV (The Simpsons, Family Guy, Futurama, CNN)

The first part of every vacation is spent reasserting our dominance. Princess meets every command with "No" and Dexy just grins and runs away. I know it will be a rough couple of days, but a wonderful summer awaits us.

Really.

I hope.

Summer, ah summer...

I am a public school teacher. I teach music for grades K-5. At work, I try to adhere to the high standards of my profession. (See figure below.)

Friday was our last day. Now is the time when I get to "let my hair down," so to speak. Until 2005, my lifestyle changed drastically each summer. (See figure below.)

What happened in 2005 to change this relaxed, Transylvanian lifestyle? (See figure below.)

And again, in 2007, my wings were clipped even further. (See figure below.)

Farewell to the days of sleeping until 10:00 a.m., eating microwave popcorn or cold pizza for breakfast, and wearing the same clothes all day. I became a mom. We all know where this ends. (See figure below.)

But, being the kind of upbeat, go-get-'em gal that I am, I prefer to list the positive things that being a mom has added to my summer:

1. I am no longer in danger of missing a single episode of Spongebob Squarepants. I strongly identify with Patrick. He's good people. (See figure below.)

2. I now officially have an excuse to buy clay, chalk, watercolors, felt, and glue. It's for the children.

3. I now officially have an excuse to eat peanut butter every day. Sven can roll his eyes all he wants.

4. I now officially have an excuse to have a membership to the zoo, and can visit weekly, if I so desire. (See figure below.)

5. Kool-Aid.

I think I got a great deal.

Adventures In Surgery

Today, my little baby Dexy, my boy, my prince, had surgery.

Yes, it was outpatient surgery, "minor" surgery, if you will, but that begs the question: is any surgery performed on your 18-month-old son and heir "minor?" I would say not.

Dexy suffers, as many children do, from inadequate eustachian tube development. (His ear canal-thingy is too short.) This causes him to get fluid buildup behind his eardrum, which causes him to lose hearing and delays speech development. It also makes him more likely to get ear infections. To remedy this situation, the doctors cut tiny holes in the eardrum, drain the fluid, and place eensy weensy tubes in the holes to allow future fluid buildup to drain. (See image below):

If you're anything like me, hearing this caused you to nod wisely, then hyperventilate and pass out. They intend to CUT MY SON'S EARDRUM to fix some piddly little ear infection? Really? After all of the literature you've given me telling me how I will go to jail for child endangerment if I use a Q-tip in his ear, you're going to CUT MY SON'S EARDRUM to fix his ears?

Fortunately, I'm married to one of the most level-headed men in the world, Sven (see image below):

Sven wisely reminded me that the doctor knew what he was talking about (since, technically, a degree in music doesn't make me an expert on the ear), and we had this same procedure done on Princess over two years ago, and she's fine.

All would have been well, except the doctor continued his sentence. They also planned to remove my son's androids. (See image below):

Androids are part of the "useless system," a group of organs that exist solely to become infected so that surgeons can practice procedures that end in "-ectomy." In addition to the androids, this little-studied group of organs includes the tonsils, the appendix, the spleen, the glossary, the nostril hair, the bibliography, the third nipple, and Perez Hilton (see image below):

{Edit: I have just been informed by Sven that the doctor actually removed Dexy's adenoids, as pictured below:

This means his androids are still intact, exploring strange new worlds, seeking out new life and new civilizations, boldly going where no one has gone before. I apologize for the confusion.}

As I have learned in recent years, part of the price one pays for quality medical care is time. To prove you are really serious about obtaining whatever procedure you have been instructed to receive, you are required to arrive a ridiculous amount of time before the procedure and sit, useless, quivering with tension, until the idea of cutting open your eardrum seems pleasant. The amount of time you will spend waiting is directly proportional to the seriousness of the procedure. We were instructed to report at 7:15 for Dexy's scheduled 9:15 procedure, an outpatient surgery that actually took about 30 minutes to perform. We then had to wait in recovery until Dexy's doctor had time to discharge us, so we actually left the hospital around 12:30. I consider us lucky. If they had decided to remove his tonsils, we would have been required to report sometime in March.

But seriously, the hospital (see image below) was great.

Texas Children's Hospital is truly top-notch. Our doctor, who I will call Dr. Donuts, was a gentleman and very reassuring. Proving to me that we made the right choice, he called us at home around 9:00 to make sure Dexy was doing well. That makes up for at least 4 hours of useless waiting.

Also wonderful was the small toy Sven purchased at the hospital gift shop to "cheer the kid up." (See image below):

(When I say "small," I am lying. This stuffed dog is substantially larger than Dexy. He refused to let it go once he regained consciousness, meaning I carried him, clutching this giant dog, through the hospital and to the car in Houston humidity. Also ironic is that this dog was purchased at the insistence of Sven, who gives me the fish eye every time I buy something for the kids, because "we don't have room for any more stuff." I called him a softie, to his face, and he didn't deny it.)

The surgery went well. Unfortunately, the doctor found that the adenoids were larger than he expected, and the infection around them was more severe than the thought, so Dexy was in quite a bit more pain than is typical for these sorts of procedures, necessitating additional morphine. Also, the adenoid removal makes his breath smell like nothing I've ever encountered, and that is saying something. However, in signature Dexy style, he has been playing and babbling some tonight and has consumed respectable amounts of applesauce, vanilla ice cream, and macaroni & cheese.

It has been quite a day. I'm off to bed, next to my snoring, stinky little prince. Our hope is that in a few short days we will have a healthier, happier Dexy, and thus a healthier, happier family. Have a great summer, everybody.

I Like Mondays: End of Year

Here are the five reasons I like Mondays this week:

1. Today is the last Monday of the 2008-2009 school year. Yes, I am still teaching this week. Today some of my very special students earned a Cheeto party. The scent of corn, powdered cheese, and puberty is a pervasive, compelling odor that I'm sure to be scrubbing from my nostrils in the days to come.

2. Though I am suffering from one of the all-time great sinus infections this world has ever known, I have found a smell that breaks through to my long-abused odor receptors: corn, powdered cheese, and puberty. Ahhh.

3. Dexy is having surgery this week. I am intermittently crying and shaking at the prospect, but I'm being assured by parents, doctors, teachers, virtual friends, and strangers on the street that his health will improve greatly once the surgery is over. (Dexy is having tubes placed in both ears and his adenoids are being removed.) His surgery will be Wednesday morning, please think of us!

4. The MTV Movie Awards contained what I felt to be the appropriate amount of Robert Pattinson exposure. And who knew Jim Carrey could still be funny? Surprises all around! Except for the awards, of course- everybody knew who was going to win.

5. Princess helped her daddy make supper last night. Macaroni and cheese. Kraft. Blue box. Classic. Princess helped pour in the macaroni, stir up the "cheese," and ate FOUR BOWLS of her handiwork. Sven, showing amazing initiative, heard on the radio that one way to encourage picky eaters to eat more was to have them help prepare the food. Miss Picky ate enough for Sven to declare the experiment a rousing success.

For her part, Princess told her daddy, "This is the best macaroni and cheese I ever had!"

Swish!

Photos: The Quiet Sophistication of My Family

The one thing I'm most proud of when I take my kids out in public is the air of quiet sophistication we project. Take our recent trip to The Aquarium, a restaurant on the Kemah boardwalk:

This is Dexy, shrieking his pleasure in the fish tanks. Very subtle.

This is Princess, confiding in me that she believes the fish may eat her. Note the sophisticated pursing of the lips and the delicately widened eyes.

Dexy giving Sven subtle clues that he wants another bite.

I know you can't tell from this picture, but Princess had the spaghetti.

Sure, I'm a sophisticated kind of guy, but I like my french fries moist, cold, and hanging on my lip. Just like you.

And we're spent. Home to take a sophisticated nap after Mommy changes our sophisticated diaper.

Fin.