Our first letterboxing attempt

This Sunday, we went out to find The Three Bears. We found none.

The boys were wary of the idea. I tried my best to explain it to them, but of course their young minds began to fill in the blanks and create great imaginary ideas of what it would be like. This worried me. I would like to do this as a way to share my interest in the outdoors and to be able to find our way around some of the little known areas of Dayton once we get there.

It's one thing to say, let's go check out X park. The boys often fight an idea such as that because they have no idea whether there will be something great there or whether it will be another boring place mom drags them to. With Letterboxing, I can say let's go to X park. I hear they have a letter box hidden there. We have a discrete purpose for our travels. Something to focus on.

So I was nervous going out. I also wanted DH to join us for the first excursion so that I could get a lay of the kind of land used in these things. Will it be safe for a woman and kids? Am I risking my kids? What happens if one of them gets tired. I'm certainly not in better shape than my kids are at this point. Maybe I'm setting myself up for a drastic situation. Worry! Worry! Worry!

The boys showed their true colors as we entered Vietnam Veteran's Memorial Park in Billerica. I've driven past this park many times and seen the RC planes flying around, but I have never actually entered the park. The boys were really excited to find the playground at the entrance to the trails. That was enough treasure to keep them happy for the whole day. But they condescended to tag along with mom into the woods to find the real point of our journey.

We followed the directions to the best of our ability. The clues lead you first to Pappa Bear's box. But we were uncertain when the clues told us to stop at the fallen tree with the orange marker after the third tree with an orange marker. Do you start counting the markers at the beginning of the orange trail or at the next marker? We started at the beginning, but I'm not sure that was right because we found no fallen tree with an orange marker. And frankly, that seems like an important piece because in the woods, there are lots of fallen trees.

We tried to use logic but things were just as cloudy. Which rock is Pappa Bear's boulder in a giant stack of boulders. Again, we tried to use logic. But to no avail. The idea of letterboxing is to hide the box in a way that disturbs nature as little as possible. Firstborn thought we needed a shovel. But that would have disturbed nature. I found what I thought was the perfect boulder for Pappa Bear and it would have been a great place to store a letterbox because there was a boulder below it, making it easy to stash a box between and cover it with leaves.

I tried using a stick to swipe under the boulder, but nothing was there. I was relieved that no wildlife came racing out to attack, but dissapointed that no box at least rattled around in there if not came flying out with the swipe of my stick. We tried "under" many big boulders. We dug under the leaves and I explained to the boys that a box should be under the brush, not under the dirt. There must be some sort of natural hole to hide it in and then camoflage it with leaves and sticks.

After about a half hour of looking and Lastborn tagging along saying these woods give me the creeps, we decided to leave Papa Bear's Box behind and see if Mama Bear wanted to visit with us. Apparently, Papa Bear is in a grouchy mood today. We followed a long trail over a hill and past many more stacks of boulders. I pointed out to the boys that these great granite outcroppings are a feature of the northeast and that we would see few of them around Dayton.

They were not impressed. Eddie was still talking about how creepy things were and Ken was still walking way too fast and getting way ahead. Meanwhile, I was trying to read through the clues and not trip over roots and rocks, and the mosquitoes were coming out as the sun seemed to dim more and more by the minutes. Mama Bear's box was supposed to be hidden behind a tree just off the path at the 4th yellow marker. Again, do we start counting at the intersection of the blue and yellow trails or after that one? It might have made a big difference. Because we pursued the only tree that even remotely fit the description of the tree in the clues, and we went behind it but found nothing that looked like a good hiding place. We walked around looking for a hole under the leaves. We moved leaves and twigs looking for a hiding place and we replaced everything so that no one would know we were there. Again, Firstborn wanted a shovel.
I suspect that if we went to the 4th marker and looked for a tree, we would have found a tree with a hole in the back of it, but the mosquitoes were getting hungrier and so were the boys. We gave up after 15 minutes of this and headed back to the car without making an attempt to find baby bear.

I expected the boys would give me a very hard time for our failed outing, but was surprised. They liked the hike even if the woods were creepy. Firstborn was certain that the clues were flawed and I tried to explain to him that we are very new at this and probably missed something.

They seemed even more intrigued after the hike than they were before. Well, Lastborn complained of being tired, which is to be expected considering he had attended a party at a zoo earlier that day and spent the entire time running around like a madman.

I mentioned to them that there are boxes hidden at Union College in Schenectady and that maybe we could go out with cousin J to see if we could find them. First born liked the idea. Lastborn was silent. So I suggested that Lastborn could stay home and I would go with Firstborn and J.

This morning, Lastborn asked if he could go to find the boxes at Union. He was nearly in tears. I told him of course he could. He thought I didn't want him along and I explained that he seemed like he didn't really have a good time. Well, I guess I was wrong.

Maybe it's a good thing that we didn't find our first boxes. I think it made the boys even more interested in finding boxes now that they know they are so well hidden.

Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?

Firstborn is very interested in foul language. He is enticed by the power of it. He wants to know all the words and of course we know he uses them around his 10 year old friends. But I am proud to say that he is usually proud enough to not use foul language around his parents or teachers (except in acrostic poetry).

Boy-next-door is also very curious. He is a bit better at keeping his mouth shut in dangerous situations though. A few months ago, I mentioned to his mother that Firstborn has been collecting nasty words because boy-next-door is "a collector" in Firstborn's terms. I think she felt threatened by this, though no threat was intended because she shot back at me that her son says that Firstborn knows more words for the F word than anyone he knows. This came as a bit of a shock to me at first and then it made sense. Apparently, some of the 4th grade boys were bragging that they knew the F word in Chinese and German and all kinds of other languages. Not that I would trust the veracity of their translations, but it all adds up.

So the other day in the minivan, Firstborn accused Lastborn of using a naughty word. It wasn't a terribly bad word and I explained that to the boys, but I also called Firstborn for throwing his brother in front of the bus like that.

"After all, Firstborn," I told him. Boy-next-door says you know more words for the F word than anyone he knows."

This silenced Firstborn just long enough for Lastborn to shout out, "Like B-E-E-P!"

Took me a moment to figure that one out. I almost had to pull of the road because of the laughter.

The Mario Bros. Boogie.

I've wanted to get Dance Dance Revolution for the kids since we bought them the GameCube a year and a half ago. But it is expensive and DH was convinced that the kids would never use it. The kids were pretty convinced too.

However, report cards came in. They both did relatively well. Lastborn made honor roll and Firstborn would have but for some social pressures that led to some less-than-perfect behavior. However, Firstborn came in second on most-pages-read for the year. Second wouldn't mean much if we wern't so convinced that the kid who came in first cheated.

Yes, he's been turning in his book forms on the last possible day for the last three semesters (Hmm. Are we waiting to see how much firstborn reads before we make up our number?). And this semester, he surpassed Firstborn by only 20 pages . Twenty pages turned in at the last minute. He confessed to Firstborn that he couldn't really tell which books he had read. He reads so many, you know. He has a hard time remembering which ones he has finished. Right. Shady character at 10 years old.

So to celebrate Firstborn's great reading, I purchased the DDR pad and ordered the discontinued DDR Mario Edition from a neighboring store that had it in stock. We had to wait until Tuesday night (3 days!) for it to come in.

Last night, I had Lastborn try it out. He was very reluctant and made me do the dances. Now there's a laugh. But I enjoyed the bit of a workout.

Eventually, Lastborn was addicted and trying every song.

Unfortunately, his little legs are easily tired by the task. It's a bit of a stretch between dance pad buttons. Before long, he was sitting in the middle of the pad smacking the buttons with his hand.

I think the point of the purchase was to get him up and exercising.

Rules are simply guidelines.

Firstborn and next-door boy also played for a while last night. The game is a hit.

Piano Recital

Like the horrible mother I am, I forgot my camera.

Firstborn had his first piano recital. It was nice to see how much ahead he was from the other kids who have started before him. One boy was taking for 2 years and another for 3 and Firstborn was playing ahead of them in the books.

Firstborn also turned out to be quite the clown. When the planned first player was unprepared to play first in the program, Firstborn stepped in. He's not the kind of kid to let a little nervousness stop him and I'd like to encourage that quality in him, so I offered him up to the instructor as first victim, I mean, performer. He gladly stood up for the cause and sat down to play. After all, he had no idea what he was supposed to do and he knew everyone knew that he was a newbie. He messed up a couple of times on his first piece and then played the rest of the program flawlessly, even adding an extra little stylized chord to the end of his last song.

And when he finished his solo pieces, he stood up for the applause, bowed and said, "Thank you. Thank you very much." in his best Elvis.

He came back into the room to play some duets with the instructor after intermission. Again, when the audience applauded, he bowed and did his Elvis bit. The audience loved it and one dad shouted out, "Firstborn has left the building." as Firstborn left the room.

He really enjoys his piano classes and his teacher enjoys him. So, it is a great fit.

Fine Dining in Beavercreek, OH

While the house is on the market, I find myself searching the Internet to find info on the communities we are looking at.

Searching for restaurants beavercreek oh returned this gem.

I am so looking forward to this.

Empathy

We have survived the great family milestone of having "the talk" with our eldest son. In fact, we have quite enjoyed it. Explaining to a 10 year old where babies come from can be quite fun if you remember your sense of humor. This age is so delicate. 10 year old boys think everything having to do with this is gross. And Firstborn was no exception. He revels in the fact that he is old enough to know these things, but it will take many months of therapy to get him over the horror of what he knows.

In fact, DH and I have to measure our joy in grossing him out. There's only so much therapy we can afford.

But this weekend, when Firstborn was being a normal mouthy 10 year old, DH made some comment about "I made you once I can get rid of you and make another?"

Firstborn responded with "Oh sick, don't remind me."

DH loved it. When he repeated the story to me, Firstborn had to chime in. "I know what you guys went through. I wouldn't want to put you through that again."

Hmmm. :-)

Books are killing our children

For the past few days, Firstborn has been sucked into the depths of Septimus Heap. He started the first book of the trilogy last summer and was quickly diverted back to Eldest in preparation for the Eragon movie. He wanted to have both books read before the movie came out in case they put some plot bits from Eldest into the movie. I'm loving his interest in reading the book before seeing the movie.

When he finished the first in the Septimus Heap series, we bought him the second because he seemed to enjoy the first quite a lot. By the time he launched himself into the second, we had lost him for good. Every second, this book is opened. He never fully closes it until he passes out at night. He walks around the house, book tucked under his arm, index finger marking his place. He brushes his teeth with brush in one hand, and book under the other arm. He eats with his finger in place. Placing a bookmark in the pages would take too much time from reading the book.

He has given up on our get ready by yourself challenge. The challenge was that if he proved to me he could get ready on his own in the morning with no nagging, he could start playing video games in the morning after he is ready and before school. He doesn't care anymore. He would rather read and be nagged.

That whole thing got me thinking. I know countless mothers who refuse to buy their kids game systems for fear that they will become addicted. I know countless more who routinely take the systems away from their kids because the kids can't control their obsessive desire to play. They can't understand why a child would give up outside playtime for a game system.

I know no mothers who feel the same way about books. It's acceptable in this world to roll your eyes skyward and say "That's just johhny. He loves his books." But no one feels the same way about gaming systems. Yet it is the same reaction I seen in Firstborn with his books. He is obsessed. He can't wait to read. His teacher threatens to take away his books until reading time.

The media has certainly done a good job of demonizing video games. You play too much and you will end up with CTS or tendinitis. You play too much and you'll get a blood clot! Have you ever heard of someone warning against reading in one position because you might get a blood clot? Never. I guess it's OK if a 10 year old dies from a stroke while reading because at least he was using his mind. Right? And believe me, if firstborn doesn't learn to use something other than his finger as a place marker, he is definitely gonna hurt some tendon somewhere.

It is very difficult not to react negatively to our children's obsessive compulsive behaviors. But it can be interesting when you put them into perspective.

Shock the chiropractor

Recently, Lastborn's teacher has begun a campaign to have him put on ADD drugs. Now, she is fully unqualified to do this and she knows just how far she can go in this pursuit. But luckily, so do I. Believe me, if I felt that he needed the drugs, I would put him on them.

However, recognizing that her job is not easy (remember, there is a reason I dubbed him Lastborn in this blog), I am pursuing ways of making her life more wonderful that stop short of placing him on meds. To that end, I attempted to bring him to a wonderful chiropractor. Not that I feel that chiropractic cures everything, but if his wriggling is the result of a sore spine, let's just get that fixed and move on with life.

Lastborn was far from the compliant patient. The whole experience left him so nervous that I was beginning to give those meds a second look.

He would not sit still, he would not listen. Overall, he presented worse than what the teacher was describing. While I joke about Lastborn's behavior, one of the reasons why he is still alive after these last 7 years is because he never acts this way for me.

Of course, a visit like this is bound to provide blog quotes. Isn't it?

The chiropractor had this wonderful life size replica of a spine with little rubber tubes standing in for nerves. Lastborn was fascinated and began asking questions. Was it real? Was it the spine of a snake? Did he remove that spine from one of his patients? The chiropractor was patiently responding to these questions and enjoying the whole interaction until Lastborn popped out the following quote:"

I saw a real spine once and I touched its wiener!

I looked over the table to where the chiropractor was covering his face with his hand, his body jerking slightly with suppressed laughter.

"Something tells me you don't hear that from all your patients." I said.

At that point, he lost all semblance of composure and told me that his wife should really get a look at this one.

That statement left me wondering if maybe he and his wife had a fight that morning and he was just thinking of a rare and unique way of getting her back or if he wanted to just share the "joy" of this rare child.

We'll find out next week. . .

Growing Up, Growing Out?

The problem with a kid like firstborn is that in his efforts to fit in and adapt to his world, data gets lost. On the one hand, this makes my life infinately easier. On the other, it makes his infinately harder.

Firstborn has always been able to come up with adaptive behaviors. So much so that before we had him professionally tested for SI, he didn't look much like an SI kid. And when we did look at behaviors, I would never have marked him as defensive. He seemed more seeking or mixed to me than defensive.

That was one of the wonderful things about testing. I was able to learn that some of his behaviors were covering up a deep defensiveness. Take for example the fact that Firstborn never commented on smells. It's not that he couldn't smell things. Quite on the contrary, he could smell only too well. But his lack of reaction or commenting on smells stemmed from his efforts to ignore something that bothered him.

Another example is in the handwriting arena. I thought he had good handwriting in K and first grade. Indeed, it looked very nice. The problem was, he was gripping the pencil really hard and pressing down really hard in order to numb his fingers so that he wouldn't have to feel the touch of the pencil. Hmmm. The imprint goes through 6 sheets of paper and the edges of the sheet curl up.

As Firstborn grows up, he learns new coping skills. It's easy to think he is growing out of this disorder. His nervous system is catching up or exposure to sensory input is increasing his ability to organize his reactions. I find, however, that I really need to be more aware and open with him, because in some cases, he is simply internalizing his differences and developing conclusions that might not be true.

Take yesterday, for example. One of our first really warm days and both boys were wearing shorts and short sleaved shirts. As a toddler, these transitions would bring one or two rough mornings as Firstborn struggled to organize in his brain the new input of the different clothing. Either he was feeling breezes on his hairs that he could neither ignore or reconcile or he was feeling the touch of fabric on his skin. I have not heard the complaints since he has been able to dress himself, but I do notice a reluctance to change seasons. I figured that the SI issues were the main reason for this, but he insisted that fashion was driving his clothing decisions.

Yesterday though, that cover was blown. He complained about his shorts being too short. They hung just above his knees. Shorter than the current fashion, but not short enough to be mocked by his peers. So I asked him why he thought they were too short.

"It feels funny," he replied. I can feel the wind on my hairs.

So I explained SI to him and why it made him feel funny. My hope is that in understanding what is going on with him, he can logically work his mind around some of the new sensations. I also hope that he will be able to communicate with me when sensory input is bothering him. I told him about when he was a toddler and would throw tantrums pulling his sleeved down to his wrists to avoid the feeling of air on his arms. He thought that was pretty funny.

So while he is growing up, he's not really growing out of SI.

I love freecycle

Fusebeads
Shelf unit
Golf shoes
Quilting material
babyfood jars
coffee cans
magazines on RC airplanes
A church pew


All things that have found a home on Freecycle in the past few months. This weekend especially we have been frantically freecycling. It is amazing what we have a hard time getting rid of. the baby food jars for example. Why we saved 2 boxes full of baby food jars is beyond me. They had 6 years of dust on them. DH was unwilling to part with them at first. But then when he heard the stories the recipients told him about why they were taking the items, he realized that it would be much better to give them away than carefully wrap hundreds of tiny jars for the move. After all, if he really finds he needs baby food jars once we get to Dayton, well, there's always Freecycle!

school projects

I know they mean well, multi-sensory learning and all that. But these projects have got to go. They become like viruses, spreading from one classroom to the next, from one elementary school to the next until they become the district project. And we parents spend our time connecting the contagion path until we find the source of the virus and heap our dislike on that particular teacher.

Case in point, the brown bear project in 4th grade. It started as a project where the kids had to write a book using the pattern of Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? A truly annoying storybook that all K teachers read. Only for the 4th grade project, they had to change the words to Washington, DC, Washington, DC, What Do You See? Altogether too much punctuation for one project. The book had to include pictures of at least 10 attractions in DC, at least 5 of which should be hand drawn by the budding genius.

OK, so it's neat. But my son had to do one in 3rd grade too. Revolution, Revolution, What Do You See? Oh come on. Though he did enjoy drawing pictures of bloody battles in which the only color used on the page was red for the blood. I knew the Washington, DC project was coming up because this was one of those projects where one 4th grade teacher starts the idea and they all think it's just so cute, they have to do it in their class too. So now, it's expanding to 3rd grade.

I was just recovering from the Washington, DC book when Lastborn brings home a project they did in 1st grade. Mayflower, Mayflower, What Do You See? Sigh. Can anyone have an original thought?

The next wonderful project to attract my ire is what our school refers to as The Land Form Project. In 3rd grade, each child must study a land form and either make a poster depicting that land form or make a diorama of that land form. My next door neighbor's son got a plain. How exciting. Of course everyone in the class wants to do the volcano; parents included. But only 2 volcanoes are allowed per class or it would soon turn into "The Volcano Project." Firstborn chose caves. He had lots of data to base his report on and really knew his stuff. Of course, with this type of project, it is really hard as a parent, not to take over. It is fun. So Firstborn fought to do the project by himself and, you guessed it, he was one of the only kids who did.

As an aside, these are exactly the types of projects that simply don't get done by kids who's parents are not involved in their schooling. The boy down the road who has had DSS called on him because of excessive missed days of school (in third grade) didn't turn any project in. I can imagine this. He gets no academic help from his parents and he's being asked to do a report for which he knows that most of the kids are turning in a project built by their mom and dad. Why should he even try and how would he know how to begin.

The Land Form Project has pretty much stayed within our school walls, but give it a year or two and it will become a curriculum requirement for 3rd grade.

The latest this year is the Bottle Buddy Project in which the 4th graders must read a biography about an American and write an oral report about the book. Then they must create a model of that person using a 2 litre soda bottle. In our school, they can't buy doll clothes to clothe the bottle, and they can't spend a lot of money on supplies. Firstborn read about Hershey. His bottle buddy will be sitting in front of a giant Hershey kiss and the paper strip from the kiss will have his story summary printed on it. The summary has to be in some way attached to the bottle buddy. This was all his idea, but somehow I am supposed to navigate him through this process without doing any of the work myself. Somehow, Firstborn is supposed to make clothes to fit a 2 litre bottle. And one of the grading points is "does the project look like it was made entirely by the student?" Ha. Let's see what gets turned in.

And yes, The Bottle Buddy project has become a district-wide project. Because, you see, there is so much educational value in dressing a 2 litre bottle.

Correction/retraction

No double entendre was meant in the last post about polishing the wand. Though it is rather funny.

-ology

Firstborn has discovered the -ology books. Dragonology, Wizardology, Piratology, and so on. These are the perfect books for him; a combination of reference and fantasy that every geeky little boy would love. Plus, they have cool gems on the cover and sometimes, pockets and foldouts. All in all, a wonderfully enjoyable read.

The downside is that the reference format in which they are written can be confusing to a 10 year old boy. He believes in dragons. He's sure they exist in Europe and Asia and Canada. And after all the titles Egyptology and Pirateology are further proof since Egyptians and pirates did exist. He did have a dragon egg on his Christmas list. Funny how Santa couldn't find one.

I have a high tolerance for this blurred line as long as he isn't going on and on about his fantasies. I count my blessings that it's just dragons and wizardry he believes in and I share his interest in fantasy literature enough to enjoy the times we can talk about common book interests.

This month, Firstborn was given a copy of the Magic Wandmaker's Guide. Another in the -ology series. This one comes with the equipment used to make a magic wand. Firstborn is thrilled with not only the results of the kit but also the stories. It has made for some fun tales from the minivan. I was driving him home from school the day he got the book. He was pouring over the pages, barely breathing and I asked him if he was excited to make his own wand.

I have to read the whole book first. If I don't, there may be dire consequences. I wouldn't want to age thirty years.

"Huh? I replied."

"Well, the book talks about a guy who didn't read the whole guide and mixed the kinds of wood he used in his wand. The wand caused a fissure in the universe and he aged 30 years in one minute. I wouldn't want that to happen to me."

"Well, certainly. " I replied as if this all made sense.

Then yesterday, I noticed he had the wand while we were waiting for the bus. Firstborn already gets picked on a bit by the kids at school. The last thing we need is for him to show up in his goggles or carrying his wand. So I reminded him he couldn't bring toys to school and asked if he wanted me to bring it back to the house for him.

"No way. No one else can hold my wand. If the wand comes into someone else's hands, their aura can damage it."

He's been fiercely protecting and hiding the wand from his little brother. I'm thinking maybe making a wand case for it might be in order.

Oh. And he wants to know how to polish the wand. Apparently, the power is greater if the tip is polished. Last night he asked me how to polish a wand.

snow day?

A big storm was predicted for today. First it was rain, mixed with snow. The next day it was up to 2 inches in our area. The next it was three to six. The numbers kept increasing till we were hearing that we would get a foot of snow today on the 12th of April.

I have two theories about the weather reporting in the Greater Boston area.

1) They use a football pool method. Each meteorologist picks a random square and one will end up being right or at least close.
2) Our local grocer (DeMoula's Market Basket) pays them to forecast big snowstorms whenever it needs to bring up its profits a bit. Every storm ends up being forecast as "the next blizzard of '78." They all look like fools the day after, but none lose their jobs.

Well we prepared last night. We tried everything we could to make a snow day.

We wore our PJs inside out.
We put a spoon under our pillow.
We did the snow day dance.

And now, for the first time in the blogosphere, you too can see the snow day dance.

Lastborn went first:
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=447209251173810968


Then, Firstborn had his chance:
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=3336139426875483111


But, alas. Not enough snow to close the schools. Lastborn cried. Firstborn has become used to the disappointment. They are both looking forward to "fog days" in Ohio.

The hustle and bustle of 4th grade. An essay

I possitively, absolutely dislike school! I have to wake up at five o'clock. I have to hurry to hockey at five o'clock! and I have school at nine (I usually have to climb the chimney). I guess it kind of qualifies for quality. I can't deny that usually I am pretty funny. It's not the teachers or anything, I just hate school!

Mom's note: while this paragraph doesn't hold well together, you've got to give him credit for the topic and clincher sentences. And how would you fit chimney into that topic if it were you?

Blog on

As always, she says it so much better than I.

http://norling.blogspot.com/2007/03/you-cant-stand-up-to-pee.html

This was an early paragraph by Firstborn.


I can't wait to go to the Great Barrier Reef! I can't wait to see the tentacled species and other animals! What if I discover a new school of fish, because people say that seventy five percent of the worlds' areas are submerged in water and that we've only discovered fifteen percent. What if I could save an endangered species?! I just can't get my mind off going to the coral reef with my brother!

a lastborn moment

Yesterday, I had a lot of house prep tasks on my list. The boys had already spent Good Friday hooked up to their respective electronic devices and I decided it was time to put them to work.
I called them to my bedroom where I explained that if they wanted to be able to buy a big house in Ohio, we would need to do lots to clean up this house so that people would want to spend lots of money on it. This lit up Firstborn's face as predicted. Lastborn was not quite so interested.

I listed off the tasks that they could do for me. Clean their room, put away the folded laundry. Vacuum the stairs, clean out my car... To each Firstborn offered to help. He's earning money for a skateboard and a game device, so he is incented. Lastborn sat quietly until the last job, packaging up the bottles and cans for return, was listed. Silence from both boys. I asked Firstborn again thinking I could divvy up the jobs Firstborn had claimed to make it more even. But he complained that working the bottles and cans made his back hurt.

So, I looked to Lastborn who gave me that, "you're not going to put me to work are you?" look.

Looks like you have bottles and cans then.

He acquiesced and we proceeded to the garage to give the instruction. This is Lastborn's first time on bottle duty. I showed him the trash can where we store the rinsed bottles and cans and I gave him a couple of trash bags and boxes to fill the bottles and cans so we can transport them to the grocery store. He happily began his task and I moved on to a painting job.

A while later I came across him washing his hands. I noticed that the knees on his pants were grimy.

"how did your knees get so dirty," I asked.
"It's a long story," he replied head bowed.

Note to Lastborn: If you want to avoid explaining an incident to your mother, the phrase "It's a long story is not the way to do it. Mom loves long stories.

"come on, tell me. I'd love to hear it."
"No!"

The more he protests, the more I think, this has to be a good one.

Firstborn gets in on the action.

"Tell me!" he says.
Still Lastborn remains mum.

I leave the room and hear the two of them talking in conspiratorial tones. I wait for the talking to subside and return to the room. Now Firstborn looks really guilty. He says, "I know the story now, but I'm not telling. And it wasn't very long."

I smile, "I knew that. But what happened."
With a mixture of amazement and disgust, Firstborn relays that Lastborn, having emptied the trash barrel as far as his almost 7 year old arms could reach, then tipped the can over and crawled in to get the last ones out. Even a barrel full of rinsed bottles and cans can have some residual soda in it. So the knees were covered with soda and dirt.

Lastborn then announced that this was a very dirty job and he should be on the TV show, Dirty Jobs.

Maybe next time, I will show him how to tip the cans out of the trash bin instead of crawling in. But you can imagine after him seeing the TV show Dirty Jobs with Mike Rowe crawling into all sorts of dirty confined spaces, that this must be what I had in mind.

Add this to the list of possible future careers for Lastborn. At least it's better than starring role in Puppetry of the Penis.

Paragraphia

"I am an apprentice in wizardology. I am best at divination: I can tel how the future of the royal family is, and I am their loyal protector of their future. I am also the prophecy maker. I can tell the future by looking at the stars and ground, and seeing if it is common or not. I am also a loyal friend of Merlin. I am the guardian of the balance between good and evil. I am also good at stuff like potions and charms. I'm always looking for more adventures. I live wherever the wind takes me or the future (north, south, east, and west). The only thing is is that surprisingly, I am only an apprentice. "

It never fails to amaze me how he makes these words fit together. Although I have never heard of checking the future by looking at the ground and when I asked him what the ground looked like when it is common, he could not clearly answer. He kind of rolled his eyes at me like, "Mom. You don't know anything."

And then, just when you are thinking that this young genius is so advanced in his vocabulary, he reminds you that he's just a boy with phrases like "good at stuff like." It's important for a 4th grade boy to be "good at stuff like..."

One of those important stages in life

A couple of weeks ago, Firstborn's teacher pulled me aside from an after school program and told me that Firstborn was having problems seeing the board. So she had sent him to the nurse for a vision screening. He failed.

We made an appointment with my eye doctor and went last night.
Firstborn was quite funny. He was convinced that the eye appointment would require something (like a needle) being stuck in his eye and despite reassurances from both myself and the doctor, he had a very hard time relaxing. But he was still quite funny. He couldn't tear his eyes from his book to start the exam. Obviously, the problem could be defined at that moment as distance vision issues.

As she tried different lenses on him, he would provide a running commentary on how the letters looked. The question, can you see this better or this? didn't seem sufficient. Well the first one, the letters are smaller but clearer. On that one, the letters are in italics. She was impressed that he knew that word. Children of this generation are introduced to Microsoft Word before they are introduced to dictionaries. They know these words.

We found his commentary entertaining.

The result was that his vision is at negative 2. I have no idea what that really means, but he will need to (and want to she assures me) wear glasses all the time. I'm told this is a puberty thing. Boys can lose their vision at about 10 or 11. It came from nowhere. Neither his father or I have problems with distance vision related to anything but advanced age.

Firstborn was very sad about getting glasses before his appointment. He's already having difficulties at school with peers being mean. He saw this as yet another thing to draw negative attention. But after the exam and trying on the different lenses, his attitude has changed. He can see clearly now. I teased him that maybe the reason he doesn't like girls yet is because he can't see how pretty they really are. Of course this "grossed him out."

After the appointment, we tried on glasses. He wanted gold. The saleswoman tried to steer him to something that would blend in to his face and coloring a bit better. Right before we settled on a pair, Firstborn caught sight of some Prada plastic rimmed glasses. Fashion rims with thick arms in a butter cream and tortoise color. I think they were women's glasses, but the sales woman was having a ball with him by then. She let him try them on. He was convinced they were the glasses for him. So she asked him, "but what would your second choice be." So he chose the ones that the saleswoman and I liked.

Then we had to look into goggles (like these, but the red bits are white) since he will be playing soccer in 2 weeks. He loved this clear plastic and white trimmed pair of goggles. He wore them while we did the paperwork. Towards the end of our visit, he asked if he could wear the goggles all the time and just skip the glasses. This is a boy who didn't want to stand out earlier in the day.

So, as we are waiting for the saleswoman to swipe my card, Firstborn begins this story about what he thinks his father should make for an appraiser hat for next years Destination Imagination tournament. It is a typical Firstborn story with lots of detail interjected parenthetically into long sentences, all delivered in a stream of consciousness, without any form of punctuation, at the speed of light. Sort of like that last sentence times 10! Everyone in the office (the staff, the waiting patients, the doctors) stops what they are doing to listen. When he finishes, the sales lady sits down and says, "I can't believe you just said that whole thing without taking a single breath! That was amazing."

She takes my money and we leave. Firstborn is happy because he will be able to see soon. He finds the 1 to two week wait a bit too long. I'm glad he is happy and can see the silver lining in this. I think it helped that I pointed out that all the cool kids at school seem to have glasses. And he pointed out that his one enemy does not. So maybe glasses are cool.

paint colors

Well. I've chosen the color for my new kitchen. We will go with Naive Peach. I really wanted worldly peach, but the real estate agent warned me that it might scare off the buyers.

Where do they come up with these color names. . .

Challenge words

Lastborn got a 100% on his spelling pretest today. So he gets the challenge word list. While I am proud of him, I really don't like the idea of spelling tests being graded in first grade to start with; considering that this is a new concept to them and that the teachers are already pushing the concept of inventive spelling on the kids. Some of the first graders have not mastered phonics enough to read at a rudimentary level, and letter transpositions are still common in first grade. So how are these kids expected to be able to have graded spelling tests already. It's not age appropriate.

So, I would be happy if my child got his perfect paper and then was not asked to take the test again on Friday. That would be enough for me.

But no, in our ever more competitive quest for the perfect genius children, it can't be enough. No. Instead, we must challenge the first graders. Lastborn was given 6 challenge words: Sentences, thunderstorm, freezing, contractions, directions, and cooperative. Tonight, he must look up the definitions of these words and write them down. Thursday, he must put them in alphabetical order and write a sentence for each one.

Now, Lastborn has not yet learned how to use a dictionary, and his skills at alphabetizing words are still a bit weak. The only dictionary we have at home is one that was issued to Firstborn in 3rd grade. While is is more basic than any of my dictionaries, the definitions are still a bit long for a first grader to have to write down. Just teaching him the layout of a written definition was hard enough. He sat down at the dining room table and cried as he asked me what he was supposed to do. Then, when I found the first definition for him, because there was no way he was going to navigate a 400 page book to find a definition, he nearly cried because he didn't even understand what the words defining the word sentences meant.

Let me point out here that the wording on this homework assignment was, "Your child's homework will be Monday night to find the definition of each word and write it down." Refraining from correcting her grammar, let me point out that this sentence implies to me that the work should be done by Lastborn, not me. It also implies that he should be writing down the definition he finds. The definitions in the 3rd grade dictionary are totally not appropriate for a first grader. For example: Sentence - A combination of words which express a though, beginning with a capital letter, ending with a period.

We will also ignore the inaccuracies of this flowery definition to express our horror that our first grade son, who's handwriting is not too bad for a first grader, but is in occupational therapy for handwriting/grip issues would have to write six of these definitions for homework.

Thankfully, halfway through, he figured out how to put the definitions into his own first grade words. Sigh. But will that be enough for Uber Teacher who seems to want to ever increase the challenge provided to her cunning tutees.

Methinks I smell a parent assignment here.

The best party ever

To me, the finest art in these fourth grade paragraphs is how to put these words together into a single plot. It's amazing what Firstborn comes up with. Really.

Remember the best party ever? Yeah, we had some great trout and cherries. The memories are still there too. The food attracted animals and we had a really fun battle against the wolves and monkeys. we battled them with axes, caught them with sacks and put them on shelves. We had the time of our lives.

Adopting dog after foreclosure

Firstborn's spelling paragraph for 2/25/07

Today, I rolled out of bed; It was a special day for me. As long as I do all of my chores, I could adopt a pet. I haven't decided if it would be a canine or a feline, but from life experience it would just give me more pleasure. Then, still in January, I heard a startling discovery. They were trying to foreclose on us! Then I discovered the rare julip plant. I sold it for enough money to quit the foreclosure. I planted an acre more, therefore it will never happen again. I finally decided on a lovable red wolf. Then, an hour later, I got home and slept until another adventure arrives.

I love the way he always seems to slip his "life experiences in there."

What's in Ohio

For months now, when I mention to someone the upcoming move to Ohio, the response always seems to be an incredulous cry of "but what's in Ohio?"

Yes, it's true that people on the East coast seem to think the world is flat and all falls off the edge on the other side of the eastern mountain ranges. Somehow, across this vast abyss of the central US lies California and maybe the coffee houses of Seattle. But other than that, it's just a great empty pit.

In the past, my response has always been "corn."

To me, that about sums it up. I have no experience in the flatlands. I've been as close as the western faces of the Alleghenies, and across the Abyss to California, but the heartland is still a mystery to me with only my father's childhood stories of the storms visible from miles away across the flat expanse to fill in the blanks. That and various stories of the dust bowl that do nothing to build the romantic image of the flatlands.

But now, after watching HGTV, I have hope. There is something in Ohio besides corn (to which I and my youngest son have an allergy). And no, I'm not talking about the giant basket thought I'm sure it's quite breathtaking. I'm not talking about the huge amusement park in northern Ohio either. It's duct tape! That's right. Duct tape. In Avon Ohio, the duct tape capital of the world.

So now, when someone asks "what's in Ohio?" I can respond confidently,

"Duct tape!"

All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth...

Lastborn has finally lost his first upper front tooth. Because he already had a large gap between his front teeth, the resultant gap looks even larger. In fact, it looks a bit like someone knocked out his whole upper row.

Given the smirk he always tends to wear, the image of this being the result of a knuckle sandwich is even more believable.

Not only does he look quite toothless, but the gap is strongly affecting his speech. His pronunciation is very different. He seems to be tripping over his lips. And he as begun to stutter again . This time, not only on the beginnings of words, but also on the endings.

Oh. And we keep forgetting to put the tooth under his pillow so the fairy can stop by. Must remember tonight.

A spoon under the pillow

We are collectors of snow day superstitions.

When a snow storm is approaching the northeastern US, we perform as many superstitious acts as we can think of in hopes of having a snow day. It has become family tradition and we love it.

Yesterday, we learned of sleeping with a spoon under your pillow. And so we added this new superstition to our bedtime routine last night.

So now, at bedtime on the night before a possible snow storm we:

• Put our pajamas on inside out (even I participated in this one)
• Do the snow day dance (each child has their own self-choreographed dance, but daddy is not allowed because he would just shake his bootie and the boys find that a bit scarey)
• Put a spoon under our pillow before climbing into bed.

I must say, the dances are hilarious. I must grab my camera the next time we are expecting a snow day to capture these on file. Firstborn has an elaborate grouping of manic moves followed by break dancing klutz style.

Lastborn walks like an egyptian.

It would have been horrible if the schools were not closed this morning. But, keeping with family tradition, everyone piled into bed with DH and me and we watched the school closings scroll across the screen. Oh. There's Billerica! That's a good sign. And Lowell, they're right across the street from us! That's a good sign. Lastborn is a pretty good reader, but usually doesn't chant off the names with Firstborn and me because they go by too fast. However, he did read off No. Reading. Only, he read it as the verb to read and the word no.

"Oh! No reading! That's good. I hate to read."

An additional fun memory for our Valentine's day storm.

We've spent a quiet day at home with the fire burning in the fire place and the kids with their noses firmly stuffed into the screens of their game boys.

Firstborn did go out to play in the snow for a few minutes, but ended up with a shirtful of the powdery stuff and had to come in to warm up his swollen, red cheeks.

It's not your typical Boston area storm. Usually, it's warmer here for a storm. No snowmen or snowball fights with this stuff.

Why we don't attend mass

When everyone turns to shake hands and say, "Peace be with you," Lastborn puts out his index finger and says, "Pull my finger."

Sigh (giggle, giggle)

What I did last night

Thanks to Pam at beancounter, I have a nice video of what I did last night.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d9QwK5EHSmg

Only, it's not so funny with a 19 year old cat. She just can't fight like she used to, and only a couple of pitiful wails accompanied the event.

Spazzy is not doing well. She can't clean herself any more and as a result, has developed a number of matted places in her fur. I have started to brush her out on a regular basis; something I never had to do for her in 19 years.

Yesterday, she started walking funny too. Looks like arthritis in her hips. I would not be surprised if she might be getting fractures in her bones now too. She is very old and has been treated for a thyroid tumor for the past two years. She has been the picture of health otherwise, but I know her time will come soon.

Of course DH is constantly measuring her to see how much sedative would do her in for good.

But every time she climbs into my lap, she starts her motor and purrs so loudly, I can't hear the TV. She's a very happy, if old and feeble, kitty.

The end is near

Another installment in the 4th grade spelling-word essay series.

What if we were wrong about how we live? I think that it was actually the shockwave from a meteor that made enough oxygen to last a few millenia. What if it was released like a kind of invisible, magical pollen. What if their prehistoric remains do it too? I at least know that some new creature will be emerging soon. I have seen it, the end is coming soon. For generations we have lived in this striking world, but now I hesitate to do everything and misunderstand alot. My tip is to expect the unexpected and unusual.

A tribute to a little girl

When I started this website, I wanted to use it as a place where I could share with the world the joys of parenthood. I wanted to write down for all times my impression of the ever-changing people who inhabit my home.

We often hear, they are only little for such a short time. But what does that really mean. Every once in a while, an event will trigger a memory of my firstborn in his very early years. I have forgotten so much of what he was then. He has changed in so many ways; his appearance, his voice, his size and his attitudes. He has learned to deal with so many things in life that he found so difficult when he was 2 and 3. Well of course. We expect that. His life would be so much harder if he still acted like a 3 year old (all the time instead of the passing bouts of 3 year old that we get now).

When I get these momentary pictures of his life back then, I hope that I can remember them forever. They are so precious. But they leave in a matter of days and his current being overwhelms all of what I thought so briefly.

With Lastborn, I have more connection to his past. His smile is so radiant it takes over the whole room. So, when I look at pictures of him from 2 or 3 years ago, the moment comes back to me like crystal; sharp and smooth and without fault.

It helps that I have had the time to savor Lastborn. I was not away at work for 8 hours of his waking days like I was for Firstborns first 3.5 years. It also helps that his personality is so huge and interactive, screaming for recognition. Firstborn dealt with life internally, in his mind and heart with little interaction with us or anyone else for that matter. It was his way and it worked for him.

I'm not up to the task of describing them to someone else though. I think I can write stories for myself, but I don't know if I am up to writing them for others.

This comes up after visiting one of my favorite blogs. Dear Elena is written by a man who lost his daughter (the same age as firstborn) to meningitis last year. I was first drawn to his blog because of the age of Elena at her death and because a child the same age died of meningitis the same month near us. The speed of this infection is daunting, and the subject probably seems like a downer to some, but what he has created in this blog is a miracle. Some posts deal with his and his wife's handling of the healing process that comes from losing a child, and some of his posts are vivid memories of who Elena was. They don't sugar coat her life or make the writer look like the perfect parent. They don't dwell on mistakes he made as a father or how he wishes he could have her back. Instead, they memorialize, in verbal snapshots, a short but full life of a girl who was loved very much.

As I read his posts, Elena comes alive for me just like those memories of Firstborn that snap into my mind at times when I am unprepared to capture them. I'm there in his home watching Elena speed through the house on her turtle giggling and smiling with a look of determination on her face just like I'm there when my Firstborn describes his plans for capturing the toothfairy and becoming a millionaire.

I don't visit Dear Elena often because it is too hard for me. I always get tearful after a visit. But I am comforted to know how her family is doing and I am enriched by the stories of her life.

Boston thinks it's big time

It's so terribly embarrasing.

Last night when I returned home from my night out with the girls, the babysitter and her father were sitting on my couch with big grins on their faces watching the Fox 25 news.

Big doings in Boston today. There was a big bomb scare. We're very important you know. The whole world would like to bomb Boston. Just think of the damage they could do in this major metropolitan city. All the history would be ruined you know.

It turns out, Turner Broadcasting, parent company of Cartoon Network, intiated a guerrilla marketing scheme 2 weeks ago posting a number of magnetic light boards on various popular Boston sites. Each light board sported the outline of a character from the Cartoon Network show Aqua Teen Hunger Force. A Mooninite.

OK. So someone called in and said they saw a suspicious device on a city bridge. Yes, red lights go off. So they arrived at the scene, gingerly picked the device off the bridge, and then (while still on the bridge) shot it with a water cannon. So much for keeping the bridge safe. One would think that a bomb squad looking at the remains of this poor mooninite light board would be able to discern that it probably wasn't a bomb. But no! Instead, the terrorism force in Boston starts running around like madmen looking for others. Destroying some until one was moved to a location out of the direct sunlight and a younger officer recognized that the lights formed this cartoon character. That was about noon. Meanwhile, the subway was closed, hiways were closed , and some hysteria had descended on Boston. But even after police discovered and reported to the mayor that this might be a hoax, the mayor still held on to his belief that ever-important Boston was possibly under attack.

By 5 PM, they had finally gotten word from Turner that this was a marketing scheme and they admitted to the public that they could all relax. But they still arrested the two young men responsible for sticking these magnetic light boards onto metal surfaces around town.

They want to sue Turner.

They are bragging about their ability to handle a terrorist situation.

OK. So let's take a look at this objectively.

1) It took you 2 weeks to discover these signs. Very observant.
2) These signs are up in some 10 other cities in the US. No one in these cities is running around crying "the sky is falling."
3) If someone wanted to use inocuous magnetic light boards as bomb devices, wouldn't they want to bomb where they could do more damage? Say NYC? DC? LA?

Boston, you are not a big city. Stop trying to look like one.

And let these guys out of prison. They were just trying to get a paycheck. If you want to embarras yourself by sueing Turner. Go ahead. Luckily I don't pay taxes in Boston, so it won't be my problem. But I'm warning you. You will come off looking silly.

Question of the week.

Firstborn: Mom? What's your favorite property of oxygen.
Mom: Um. It keeps me alive?


Fun having a budding chemist in the family.

creative uses of speech

Firstborn was playing Paper Mario.

A new character was added to the game play; Madame Fleurry. The character is a personified cloud, a 40 something diva with exagerated curves and full red lips as any middle aged diva cloud would look.

Lastborn exclaimed "gross" when he saw her. I wanted to find out what bothered him about the new character. I thought he feared the big lipped character would want to kiss all the other characters. This would be gross to a 6 yo.

"She has big boobies," he replied instead.

I was surprised with the answer and wondered what about well endowed women was so bothersome to him. So displacing my disgust at his word choice, I asked, "What's so bad about big boobies. I have big boobies. Am I gross?

"No," he replied. "You don't have big boobies like that. Her big boobies look like but cheeks stuck to her chest."

Well there you have it. But cheeks on the chest are gross. Makes perfect sense to me.

Paragraphia II

Another installment in the paragraph assignment saga.

Do you know what my job is? I have to protect the last of the worlds roaming mythological beasts, (but not three headed dogs). I have to create shelters for them. I have to cure the few that are wounded. I have to earn their kinship. I have to return order between beast and man. Finally, I have to stop this tear-down-the-rainforest business. Have you guessed what my job is yet? If you haven't, it is with the Secret and Ancient Society of Dragonologists (S.A.S.D.).

Paragraphia

An installment in a series of paragraphs Firstborn must write weekly. These paragraphs use 15 of his 25 weekly spelling words.

One night my mother volunteered to work at a kennel. The scent of dogs bored her, but she was a responsible instructor. She found a pair of hungry raccoons through a thick board and sent them flying because they were trying to eat the dogs. Then, the next day she found a young student truly trying to loosen a wool coat. She helped him, and he smoothened the wool and gave it to her. She did many things to help around the campus like that and soon she had so many items she did not need to get paid. Then she sold them all and became a billionaire, except she did not sell the wool. The goods led her to a route of good fortune and responsibility.

cooties

My friend, C, volunteers in Lastborn's classroom. Her son is also in the class. The other day, she said she passed Lastborn in the hall as the class was going to a special.

She waved to him, and he looked up at her with a big mischievous smile and said, "You have cooties!" and then passed by.

That's my son!

Toilet Humor

In a family of boys, there's bound to be some toilet humor. OK. A lot of toilet humor. I have not only come to accept this fact, but I have embraced it having learned at the knee of my father some of the best phrases and jokes to fit these situations.

So tonight when they were giggling over some bodily function, I could not help but tease them about boy humor.

Mom: I know exactly how to make both of you laugh.
Firstborn: How's that.
Mom: I just have to say but! or fart!
Lastborn: Or poop
Mom: That's right, or pee!
Firstborn: or pudding!

Things I never thought I would hear my kids say

This from 6 year old Lastborn:

Lastborn was sitting in Grandpa's livingroom with his cousins Thanksgiving weekend. Now cousin E is rather boy crazy and an expert in pop culture. We gave her a copy of Narnia for her belated (very) birthday present. This happens to be one of Lastborn's favorite movies as well.

Of course Cousin E was telling all the kids assembled about who played what role, what their favorite foods were, where they went to school and which one was "hot."
All of this commentary going on throughout the movie.

I was setting the table for Thanksgiving dinner when I heard from mouth of my 6 year old son. "Scander is so NOT hot!"

No. I'm not worried that my son is rating the hotness of a male child star.
No. I don't think he really knows what hot means.
Yes. I do believe my 6 year old son has already learned how to press the buttons of his 12 year old cousin.
Yes. I am proud.

New feature

Each week, Firstborn must turn 15 of his spelling words into an 8 sentence paragraph. Given the same assignment, I would probably slog through with some unimaginative drivel. Given the same rules, Firstborn has shown great imagination and humor. The best part is that most of his themes use a family member. Unfortunately, not thinking ahead, I threw out the ones about Grandpa the fastest runner and my very funny uncle Lindsay. I promise, I will share all future themes with the blog. Some are not great, but others leave DH and I crying with the humor. Let's hope that now that I've started this quagmire, he will supply me with more fun ones. I won't tell him, so he won't feel any artificial pressure.

Once upon a time, there was a girl named snow black. On a flight of stairs she found eight pence. She was hungry. So she went to the market to buy some gum. Then, to her surprise, she found seven hungry dwarves. So she decided to buy some gum for them, too. Then she took the seven dwarves home. Then she went to bed herself. The end.

That was his first. Since then, he has had to work on capitalization and punctuation more. Exactly 8 sentences. And thought I don't remember what the words of the week were, exactly 15 spelling words. They do get better.

More tales from the mini-van

Lastborn: I know what I want my birthday party to be.
Mom: What?
Lastborn: A disco party!
Mom: A disco party? Do you know what disco is?
Lastborn: yah. I do!
Mom: So, What's disco.
Lastborn: It's when they have all the lights.
Mom: You mean like the mirrored ball reflecting lights all over the dancers?
Lastborn: yah! And then I get to do this...
He holds his index finger out, crosses his arm over his chest and then uncrosses his arm and points his finger out to the side staying alive style.
Mom: This means you will have to have puffy hair and a leisure suit.
Lastborn: yah! He says laughing.
Mom: Do you know what a leisure suite is?
Lastborn: No.

Hmm. Something about this disco party sounds fun. It would surely be the talk of the first grade.

Casey

Halloween 2006

Firstborn was given the assignment of listing all the types of spiders he can remember.

He included the California Barking Spider.

He didn't get any credit for it. Can you believe?

Really bad advertising ideas

DH laughs every time he hears this tag line:

"Have a happy period."

Just proof that the advertising industry is male dominated.


But then, the other day, I'm watching kids TV and saw this barb commercial.

Makes me wish my nieces were still into barb. Just the thing to add to the collection. Yes, I did buy the peeing cat for them years ago, but the pooping dog. . . Well I would have to think about that one.

Sharing

This is a picture I took last fall of some of the bracelets I have been making using bead crochet. I didn't expect to take so long to put them up. These ones were mostly for teachers, nieces and sisters for Christmas.

It's a hobby that keeps me very busy. I'll have to gather up some of the others I have finished since Christmas 05. Most of those were for me. I think I only completed one for someone else. They are lots of fun and very portable.

Hideous Monster

Friday, I had oral surgery. Saturday, I had Weight Watchers. Not a good mix. but because I missed last week's weigh in, I decided I would have DH drive me there, I would just weigh in, pay my price and leave. We brought the kids along and they waited in the car.

Often in my life when faced with injuries or surgery like this, I get a glance into what it must be like to be someone else. For example, when I worked in a dress factory owned by an Italian immigrant and no one in the place spoke English all day, I got an idea of what it must be like being a foreigner in another country. When I broke my leg many years ago, I got an idea of what it must be like to have a handicap. You suddenly realize that all the things we have put into place for the handicapped are often woefully insufficient. Like the handicapped parking spaces at work. It was nice that they were close, but I couldn't open the entry doors once I got to the building because they were so heavy, I needed both feet planted firmly on the ground to open them.

This time, I got an idea of what it must be like having a facial deformity. Everyone stared at my face. OK so it looked like I had a giant jaw breaker stuffed into my cheek. And the bruising on the jaw bone probably wasn't pretty either. Those who didn't stare, looked so self-conscious in their attempts to not stare as to make the situation even more uncomfortable. How could one not feel like some sort of hideous monster under these circumstances.

When I returned to my family in the car, I mentioned to my husband the hideous monster thing. The boys were listening.

When we got home and I settled myself into the comfy chair for some percoset and ice, I noticed Lastborn staring at me with his head cocked to the side. This was the first time he had looked at me since the surgery. Ever seen that shampoo commercial about mothers feeling invisible? Yep. That's me.

So I asked Lastborn, "Do I look like a hideous monster to you?"
"No," he said tentatively. "I don't see it."
Then he walked around the chair and looked at my normal side. He walked back to my right side and said. "Now I see it. Yes, you do look like a hideous monster." Then he laughed.

That became our joke all weekend. Mommy's a hideous monster.

Suddenly, on Sunday night, I wondered if his teacher was going to hear about the hideous monster that Lastborn lives with. Time for some damage control.

Moments of brilliance, moments of . . .

The children get up at an unGodly early hour every morning. Saturday night I had moved to the couch because of yet another insomniac night. Don't worry. It's not stress. More likely the raging hormones of perimenopause. So when the boys got up, they woke me with their early morning stirrings.

Firstborn, laid claim to the gamecube of course.

Lastborn searched the room for a comfortable chair so that he could watch Firstborn work his magic with Pokemon coliseum; always the ardent fan of all things Pokemon and all things Firstborn.

Flash back to Saturday, when DH and I in a rare fit of energy had decided to clean things out a bit in long-term preparation for putting the house on the market. DH carried the old glider rocking chair that is missing a bolt from someplace that I have never been able to identify. Having not been comfortable with said missing yet mysterious bolt for over a year now, I decided the chair should just be tossed. After all, no more babies to rock, and after a year, taking bets on who will be in the chair when it falls apart is no longer funny. With that chair removed, the room looks uneven. So I take the brown naugahide office chair that has been shoved in a space near the TV and place it where the rocker was. DH wants to throw this chair out because it is ugly, office like and just doesn't fit the room (his words). Ah but I have a piece of fabric in the basement that would cover it nicely. So while DH brings the kids out for a movie, I whip together a slip cover for the ugly chair and voila! We have an organized living room.

The catch? This was the chair Lastborn usually uses to watch Firstborn play gamecube. He drapes his body over it in a dubiously comfortable position with legs dangling over one hard wooden arm and head resting on the other.

So lastborn notices that his chair is gone but doesn't remark. He instead climbs into his chair (which he doesn't know is his chair because of the slip cover) and remarks, "This rocking chair doesn't feel right."

So what gave it away. This rocking chair doesn't rock? The old rocker would rock so violently when he climbed in that it would end up tipping over on top of him. Yet another reason to get rid of it. I could understand "Where is the rocking chair." I could understand "We got a new chair?" But not "This rocking chair doesn't feel right." Hmmm.

Later that morning he surprised me with genius though. When I lay on the couch, he likes to sit on top of me. Mostly, to sit on my hip. He perches up there like a bird surveying the room. Finding that the rocking chair was not rocking, he decided to climb ontop of me while I futilely attempted to sleep through their early morning play. As he positioned himself on my hip, he announced, "I'm a pain in the but!" Then he laughed and asked, "does it hurt your but when I sit on you?" "A little," I replied.

"See?" he answered. "I'm a pain in the but. Literally!"

Now. How many 6 year olds do you know who know the word literally and can use it correctly in a sentence?

People watching at Lakemont Park

Anytime we go to a public place I wonder if my children notice the interesting people. Especially a park like Lakemont. It's not big enough that you get lost in the crowd. The more eccentric definitely stand out and despite going on different rides, you will see the same faces again and again.

When a person is truly eccentric, opportunities for comments from the rugrats abound. Take for example, the cross dresser. I'm sure once I use that term, you have a vision in your head of pink lacyruffles on a ball gown with oversized pink pumps, lots of makeup and accessories. But no, this one was a bit more difficult to suss out.

He was wearing a pair of shorts that were not too feminine. Maybe like the gym shorts boys used to wear in the 70s. A yellow T-shirt that said something about Girl Scouts, and white sneakers with white socks. Not too much to work with there. It was the wig that was the first clue. Not only was it a bit askew, but it was also a really badly done wig. Just a hair too long and coiffed for a man unless he was still stuck in the 70s. He was walking with another man early in the day. So for a bit I thought he might be an older woman who just wasn't graced with very good looks.

Later, I saw sideburns peeking out the edges of the wig.

Then later, I noticed pink nail polish. So now I'm thinking... female. OK. My mind can get around this, but still, I'm a bit uneasy with that human need to classify and organized everyone and everything neatly into categories that make sense.

When my family stopped for a bathroom break, all questions were answered. He stepped into the men's room just before DH and the boys entered. The room was full, so DH waited outside with the boys for the crowd to clear a bit. Eccentric man exited the men's room Firstborn (yes, that's right, Firstborn this time) yells out, "A girl in the mens room?" Then he mutters under his breath, "That's just not right."

The funny part was that he did it in his best Boston accent. Guhhl. Of course, for Firstborn, this is no accent. He can't produce Rs. The difference is that in Boston, there are no finial Rs. In Firstborn land, there are no Rs at all.

The other funny part was that Firstborn thought this was really a girl. His level of disgust was totally on a 9year old, girls are gross sort of level.

Frankly, I thought we had grown out of this unedited commentary stage shortly after he turned 5 and shouted out in a McDonald's one day, "Mommy, that lady is fatter than you!" While pointing of course.

But no. The week was indeed graced with yet another unedited outburst from the firstborn child.

At another McDonald's on the trip back home (yes, I'm seeing a fast food pattern here), I brought the kids outside to run in a grassy area near the parking lot. At the end of running time, I gathered them together to help DH carry the food to the car, but I had to stop them at the curb and say, "Wait! This lady is trying to pull out." To which Firstborn responds loudly and with great expression, "That's a lady?"

His explanation later was that he didn't know that women drove SUVs. I know. Weak, but give him credit. He's only 9.

Lakemont Park and Pepinos

On Wednesday, we headed to Altoona to check out Lakemont Park. Lakemont is a small local amusement park like our own local Canobie Lake. Turns out Wednesday is dollar day! One dollar to get in and one to ride all rides for free! What a deal. This fact made Hershey Park at the end of the week a bit harder to take at $45/ticket.

The park was great with at least two wooden roller coasters and a real feel of the turn of the century. Lastborn proved to be a real trooper on all the rides. Nothing scared him. And firstborn is a veteran amusement park rider.

Mom did join the kids on the bumper cars. Too bad Lastborn is about 2 inches too short to reach the "gas pedal." We had to share the ride and there was little room for him to reach the steering wheel. So we ended up arguing about who was steering. He sort of gets the knack of steering. About half the time he bothers to direct the car. The other half of the time, he just lets it go where it will. It was an eerie premonition of teaching him how to drive.

Must not grab the steering wheel.
Must not hit the invisible break.

We might even survive those days.

We ended the day at the Island Water Park. The lines on the water slides and water rides were too long, so we headed to the wading pool. This pool is great with fountains and other squirting devices and a big pirate ship to climb on and slide down. Even 9 year old Firstborn found fun in this kiddie pool. The changing facilities and lockers were great too. Mom sat under a willow tree and chilled out a bit while the men hit the pool.

While there, I watched at least 4 paddleboats with riders of various ages, steer into the banks of the lake under the branches of the willow tree and then struggle to extricate themselves. That was entertaining in itself.

After the park, we joined our friends A and D in Altoona for a meal at Pepino's. MMMMMMMM.

Poor A hurt her foot in a freak wheel chair accident. It was sad to see her hobble around, but we were glad she was off work and could spend time with us.

We didn't get back to the camp site until 9PM. The rugrats were asleep in the car and had to be carried in.

Horseshoe Curve

On Thursday, we drove the half hour to Altoona for a day of Railroading.

First on the agenda was the horseshoe curve and the tunnels. We wanted to see them before the threatening skies turned black. We were at Horseshoe Curve when Firstborn was a baby, but of course, he doesn't remember. As we arrived at the park, a large train was rounding the curve. We drove through one of the tunnels under the railroad. They are hand crafted with hand cut stone and they are so perfect. The kids, of course, were not too thrilled as we adults were.

After eating a quick hamburg and watching more trains pass through the curve we rode the funicular up the hill to the elevation of the curve itself.

From up on that height, you can see out to the valley below and the Altoona reservoirs and canal. The system was built years ago to both carry water to the city and to filter the water through the rocky debris on the bottom of the aqueduct. The reservoir sits at an elevation above the city collecting runoff from the Alleghany mountains around it. Gravity feeds the water down the aqueduct (just like in roman times) into the city.

Now a system of pipes, plumbing and water treatment facilities provide water to the city, but the infrastructure for the aqueducts still seems to be functional.

The only problem was that the whole time we were up on the hill, no trains came through. So, after a half hour or so, when Lastborn was threatening to say something to embarrass us, we headed back down on the funicular. We sent DH and the boys down the stairs. As we got ready to leave, another large train came through and I was able to snap a picture of it.

my shot of the train on the curve from below in the parking lot

Then on to the Altoona Railroading Museum. This is a great museum for train buffs of any age. Exhibits on railroading, the Pennsylvania RR company (the Pensy), and the growth and lifestyle in Altoona during the heyday of railroading are all put together into interactive and interesting exhibits. The museum is full of quotes by locals who lived in the city at that time. A kids room includes a big track and trains for the kids to play with , art supplies, a conductor's uniform and other toys.

Outside the museum, real rail road cars sit ready for climbing around. These aren't just empty shells of cars. There's a dining car and a sleeper car and an engine. They are not so much a climbing structure as they are further exhibits. But the climbing wasn't lost on the boys either.

Though the day A was a great hostess and shared her enthusiasm for the museum and her town.

At the end of the day, we took a different back road to the camp, led by A and D. They drove past Amish farms and old churches. Our kids got to see an Amish farmer drive his rig past us. Then we stopped at his farm. They own a furniture factory and D was hoping we could see some of the furniture. But the store was closed for the day. The kids did get to see some Amish kids working at their chores in the field. Of course this was a great opportunity to show the kids how nice they have it.

Dinner was at Grubb's Diner in Huntingdon. Much better food than the name would imply. Once we convinced the kids that they didn't really serve grubs, their attitudes improved.

Chocolate's not so sweet

Friday. At last we get to Hershey. I'd been looking forward to this event on the trip all year. In fact, I had hoped to join my December Mom's friends for a trip to Hershey in August. But it just wasn't meant to be and I couldn't fit it in my summer schedule.

The trip would have taken 2.5 hours from Raystown lake had we not gotten lost in Harrisburg. Google was totally wrong on those directions. We had to stop to ask for directions at a gas station. Word to the wise traveler. Stopping for directions at a gas station is no longer the recommended solution to getting lost. When was the last time you were able to speak English with a gas station employee. This guy was clueless. When I asked him how to get to Hershey and he said he had never heard of it, I knew we were in trouble. How can you live in the US and not know Hershey? Better yet, How can you live less than 5 miles from Hershey Park and have never heard of it. Obviously, this man had not been in the country for a week yet. Either that or he was simply a very sick individual who doesn't like chocolate.

So I bought a map and we figured it out. The parking was the first surprise. We were arriving shortly after the park opened and yet, we had to park back in Harrisburg. Nice of mister Hershey to provide a tram though.

The chocolate tour at Chocolate World was wonderful. First you walk through halls with exhibits about how chocolate is farmed, harvested, dried and shipped. Then you walk onto a rotating floor to climb on board the Hershey kiss shaped cars (that's a rather loose interpretation of the shape of a kiss, but I think that's what they had in mind). The cars are on a conveyer belt and they travel around the "factory" while three singing cows deliver an R&B melody about how wonderful Hershey chocolate is. Through the exhibit you get to see some pretty convincing (though too clean) factory images of chocolate being ground and cooked and mashed and mixed. Then conveyer belts of different candy packages. Perfect to make you crave Hershey chocolates. The boys liked it. The parents liked it. Unfortunately, the picture of us in our Hershey kiss car was a bit too washed out. Don't know why, all the other digital photos that they took looked fine. Ours was not though, so we didn't buy it.

On to the amusement park. We had an $8 off coupon. Too bad because it only counts towards adults. A couple sold us two kids passes outside the park. They had extras and were charging us a few dollars less, so we saved on that. But the starting adult price is $45. After Lakemont and their $2 admission price, we were suffering sticker shock.

Going to Hershey convinced me that I don't need to spend the money to go to Disney. Personally, I hate rides. Most of the rides at Hershey said, "This ride is not recommended for persons of a larger size." I am large, but do I fit the generality of "persons of a larger size?" I'm personally not going to test this theory. I rode one coaster that totally freaked me out. I had visions of my "larger size" causing the rollers holding the car on the track to fail and then the whole car would come flying off the track bringing the other 3 cars of innocent people flying with me. Oh the carnage! My white face and look of horror just terrified Firstborn who kept looking back at me saying "Mommy! Are you allright? None of the rides scared him, but the look on his mother's face when she rode one ride terrified him.

The one cute thing at the park was the way they classified the rides. Each height range was assigned a candy type. Lastborn was a reeces cup and Firstborn was a jolly rancher candy. We could then go on any ride that allowed their candy types. Lastborn was allowed on more rides than I would prefer he go on, but he set his sights for the roller soaker. We journeyed up to the water park and they got in line. Luckily, I insisted that the boys take off their shirts and shoes because just standing in line for the ride, you get soaked. DH chose to leave his shirt and shoes on but ended up taking them off and carrying them by the time he got on the ride. The silly man.

The line was 1.5 hours long when they started but it took a total of 2 hours to get to the ride. 1) they had mechanical difficulties with one of the cars. 2) they kept letting handicapped people into the line to ride. If you get a handicapped pass at these parks, you get to ride without waiting in line. It's a nice feature, but added a half hour to the wait for the rest of the people in line.

Thankfully, Lastborn loved the ride. He got squirted by people on the ground and the ride showered him with water. He got to dump water on the people below. All in all a great time.

It was almost 7 by the time they finished that ride and we had to find some dinner and get home. If the lines weren't so long and the park layout so confusing, it would have been a great time. But in 80 degrees with high humidity, it was too much walking and too much waiting in line. We were all in a bad mood by the end of the day. But not a bad enough mood to drop lots of money at the gift shop.

While waiting for Firstborn and DH to finish a ride that for which lastborn was too short, we played one of the midway games. Shoot a target with a water gun to push an object up a pole. You race with other park visitors. On the second round we won a stuffed animal. Lastborn chose the blue dolphin saying it would be his pokemon. Later that night, he and Firstborn decided it looks like Kyoger. So that became it's name.

On the way home, Lastborn was saying the dolphin's name was Kyoger John Scalzi. He thinks that everyone's middle name is John. But Lastborn, your middle name is Rudolph.
No it's not. It's John.
No. John is Firstborn's middle name.
Mine too.
No. Your middle name is Rudolph, like your grandfather's.
You mean Rudolph is a real name?
Yes. It's a real name and it's your Grandpa Scalzi's name.

He was silent for a while.

OK. So his name is Kyoger Rudolph Scalzi, but we'll call him Blue.

Our trip home

Saturday came and we packed up the cabin for the trip home. Although we slept until 7:30, we were still able to get ourselves on the road by 8:30.

We first stopped in Altoona to visit our friends. We sent the boys out to the back yard for some much-needed running time while we chatted and D cooked breakfast. Two Amish men showed up at their house because D was treating one for back problems. A and DH and I stayed in the kitchen out of their way. Unfortunately, the rugrats got bored and decided to join us in the house. We shooed them to the kitchen and asked them to behave while D worked with the Amish man. Lastborn being Lastborn, just couldn't do that though. He seems to have this need to blurt out nasty things when he is nervous. On noticing that there were two men, in strange clothing with strange haircuts, he stepped into the dining room and shouted into the living room, "Who are those guys?"

He's such a charmer.

We hit the road much later than we wanted to because it was so nice to spend time with A and D. The boys behaved very well for the most part. 10 hours is a gruelling drive for a 9 year old and a 6 year old. Firstborn told Lastborn Poke-mon stories and they watched a video of Pirates of the Caribbean. They played nicely with Lastborn's stuffed dolphin Kyoger. The funniest thing was when Lastborn announced to his dolphin. I'm your human Daddy, but you need a human mommy. I'll marry a supermodel. Seems he's noticed on TV that men dream of marrying a supermodel. It's amazing how early these messages are being instilled into their little brains. A little conversation after this led him to admit that Mommy must have been a supermodel when Daddy met her.

We made it home by 9PM put the rugrats to bed and started laundry.

The cat was very happy to make it home.

Floor potato

After running errands, I returned to the house to find Lastborn still sitting on the floor in his underwear watching TV. Dad was in charge.

You're such a couch potato, I declared.
I'm not a couch potato! He responded.
But you are. I reiterated.
I'm not even on the couch! And then laughing, I must be a floor potato

Argument over.