If you buy a kid some school supplies

If you buy a kid some school supplies, he's going to be super excited to open them.

When he opens them, they are going to be spread all over the family room floor.

When they are spread all over the floor, you'll tell the kid to put them in his backpack (not a new one because we just bought this one last year, doggone it).

When he puts them in his backpack, they will be all safe and ready for the first day of school (which isn't for another 15 days) until...

The kid decides he needs to take them out of his backpack so he can use the backpack to take with him to SkyZone. You'll tell the kid to put the school supplies back in his backpack and find another bag to take to SkyZone. Then you will leave for work, not being wise enough to tell your spouse that the kid should not, under any circumstances, take his backpack to SkyZone.

So of course, the kid takes his backpack -- filled with $857 worth of school supplies (so I'm might be exaggerating a little) -- to the Boys & Girls Club with him and then to the club's field trip to SkyZone.

And...say it with me...LEAVES. THE. BACKPACK. THERE.

Yes, the backpack that was filled with school supplies. The backpack that was supposed to stay safely on the bedroom floor for another 15 days.

I'm going on a field trip too. To the liquor store.

Soccer field jitters

Robbie had his first soccer practice of the season this week. He had to go straight from after care at school to practice because both Mike and I got hung up at work, which meant he didn't have a soccer ball or cleats with him, neither of which seemed to bother him.

We arrived at the field and I walked him over to the team. The coach knew him from last season when Robbie and his son had been on the same team. I turned to walk away from the field and was kind of surprised to feel my stomach sinking a little bit to leave him there. It's not like I was going far away -- just to the parking lot, only for 60 minutes. But I found myself feeling a little anxious for him and oddly as though I'd left a little piece of my heart out there on the soccer field.

"Please have fun," I thought. "Please make a friend. Please come running to the sideline after practice sweaty-headed and dirty and smiling." And then I began to think about what I would say in case he didn't have fun or make a friend or come off the field smiling. "It's only the first practice. Next time you'll know someone." 

I watched practice from my car and realized that the uneasiness -- all 2 minutes of it -- was all on me. Robbie didn't have one bit of hesitation. He kicked and ran and participated in the drills. I was happy that he was wearing his favorite neon green hoodie, so I could easily pick him out from the crowd of boys.  

How did this happen to me, this anxiety over leaving my 11-year-old at a soccer field while I sat 100 yards away? I never had those fears for Charlie. Maybe that's because when it comes to sports, Charlie has never known a stranger. If there is a ball involved, he is your friend and is game for whatever game you've got. I don't think I've felt that way about Annie. She can be shy when she first meets someone, but she is such a confident spirit that any shyness melts away easily. So why do I fuss about Robbie?

He is my baby. I swore I would never treat my third child any different than I treated the other two. But I do. Not only is he my baby, but he's my spectrum kid. My pervasive-development-disorder-not-otherwise-specified boy. So that means in some instances, he needs kid gloves. But as I sat there watching his neon green hood bobbing up and down the field, I realized this kid has changed. Right under my nervous and watchful eye. He has grown and matured. While I was sitting there praying he would make a friend, he was out there praying he would make a goal.

I guess its time I start letting go a little. Loosening the reins and watching where he will go. And I realize (and my older two will be oh so happy to hear it) that he's also grown up enough to be held to a higher standard. To be expected to pull his weight more than we've required of him in the past. 

I can't promise not to get nervous or overprotective again where Robbie is concerned. But at least maybe not on the soccer field.

In the face of tragedy then and now

I didn't know anything about the explosions at the Boston Marathon until sometime after 4pm yesterday when Charlie was watching ESPN. I knew it had to be big if ESPN was reporting a news story that was suddenly only tangentially related to sports. I sat on the couch, watching the coverage, seeing for the 20th time the old man runner in the red shirt stumble and fall to the ground as the explosion rocked the crowd just a few yards from him. I watched the coverage for maybe 30 or 40 minutes before it dawned on me that Robbie and Charlie were watching along with Mike and me.

Robbie asked what happened. We told him there was an explosion. Charlie said it was a bomb and I immediately wanted to protect them both from that thought. Explosion, while bad enough, didn't seem to carry with it the essence of evil that the word "bomb" did. We gathered, held hands and said a "Hail Mary" for those injured and killed. I texted Annie and asked her to say a prayer too. Then I turned off the television, told the kids to do their homework, and went about making dinner.

Nearly 12 years ago, in 2001, we watched on the morning news as the Twin Towers and thousands of lives were sacrificed in New York City. Annie was at preschool. Charlie was only 2 and played with toys as Mike and I sat and watched the events unfold. After about an hour or so, I got up and drove to pick Annie up from preschool. I felt an urgency that we should all be together. We watched hours of coverage, switching to Barney and Madeline videos when it seemed that little eyes and ears were getting too many details, or when Mike and I just had absorbed more than we could handle.

Yesterday as I turned off the TV, I wondered what was best to do. Turn off the television and protect my kids from the day's terrible events? Or leave it on and help them be informed about their world? I didn't worry about how Annie would handle it. But Charlie can be pretty sensitive and I wasn't sure that Robbie would be able to understand what was happening in perspective to his own bubbled life. It turns out we did a little of both. After dinner we watched a little bit of the coverage. And then we turned on Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. There was something therapeutic about watching a show where I knew the good guys were going to win in the end.

We had talked some at dinner about what had happened. And then when I was tucking Robbie into bed, we prayed again for everyone in Boston who was hurt.

"Why would someone just go put a bomb in a place where there were people?," Robbie asked after the prayer was over.

"I think he must have a lot of hate in his heart," I told him.

"I know how that hate might have gotten in his heart," Robbie said. "Maybe he is in school and kids are mean to him and that's why he has hate." Whoa. Deep breath here and a slight prayer that this was an observation, not an empathetic sentiment.

"Maybe," I said. "You know the best way to help people get rid of hateful hearts?," I asked him. "You give them lots of love, even when it feels like you don't want to. We show people God's love and hopefully one day, they open their hearts to that love and have lots of love to share." That seemed to be enough for him. He fell asleep with no more questions.

I'm sure that the questions won't end there, though I'm not sure I will have sufficient answers. It was so much easier 12 years ago to protect my kids by simply turning on Barney. I didn't have to think about how they would be part of that big, ugly, complicated world someday. But now -- as they are all in double digits -- I remind myself that they ARE part of that world. And I'm left wondering how best to help them live and love in it.

Double digits

Today is kind of a big deal at our house, not just because it is both Annie's and Robbie's birthdays. Not just because it's Annie's Sweet 16. Not just because today is Robbie's 10th birthday. But because,  as of 9:51pm tonight, all of my kids will be in double digits.

For some reason, this milestone has caused me to be a little weepy today. I'm not sad that they are getting older. That's what my job as their mom is, right? To raise them to be independent, contributing members of society. Rather, I'm a bit teary-eyed because I am so proud of who they are as people. And not just my birthday kids, but Charlie too.

Annie is funny and dutiful and caring. She is the one other kids turn to when they need an ear to vent to or a shoulder to cry on.

Charlie is my roll with the punches kind of kid. He doesn't know a stranger and is comfortable in almost any situation. He's my tough guy athlete with a sensitive soul.

Robbie. Oh, Robbie. Robbie is the one who keeps me up at night, who I worry about most of all, maybe because he is my baby. But he is goofy and resilient and shows me every day that there is more than one definition of success.

Way back when my life revolved around sippy cups and diaper bags, preschool Valentine parties and mother's day out, I could not have imagined this day of double digits. I'm glad for that. I'm sure my imaginings would have been far off base.

16. 13. 10. All of them, double digits. Thank you, God.

It's good to try new things

In our house, Annie is the theater kid; Charlie is the sports kid; and Robbie is the quirky kid. 

I know it's probably bad to think of them in such narrow boxes, but that's what their interests and personalities lend themselves to, so that's how it's evolved.

Except that once in a while, someone surprises us. That was exactly the case when Robbie asked a few weeks ago if he could play basketball. This is the kid who has played on two soccer teams, once when he was 5 and once when he was 8. During both seasons, the fastest he ever ran was to the sideline for the post-game snacks. 

Even so, when he asked if he could play basketball, I jumped on it and signed him up for a great learning league at a nearby church.

On Wednesday of this week, I told him that his first practice was today. He said ok, but not with a lot of excitement. Yesterday, I reminded him that basketball practice was this morning. 

"Oh Mom, I changed my mind. I don't want to play basketball."

Too bad. I'd already paid for the (extremely reasonable) league fee. 

This morning as we stepped outside to get in the car for practice, he took a look at the rain and said, "Hmm...I guess basketball is cancelled." Though to his credit, he took it in stride when I assured him that the court is inside and they could play rain or shine. 

Once at the church, things started looking up. He found that a handful of his friends from school were there to play in the league as well. While the kids went through first day evaluation drills so teams could be assigned, I took my place in an adjoining room for the parents meeting. During the meeting, Mike texted to ask how he was doing. He wasn't the only one who was wondering. I was anxious for the meeting to get over so I could peek in and see if Robbie was having a good time. 

Meeting adjourned and I headed for the gym. I was happy to catch a little bit of this action:

Just after I stopped recording, Robbie leaned toward the sideline and yelled over to me "Mom, this is fun!"

I texted the video clip to Mike who texted back, "Wow. He's waaaaaaaaaay better than I thought!"

The next drill kind of put "waaaaaaaaay better" into perspective.

No worries. It's a learning league.

When practice was over and we were headed to the car, my sweaty-headed little quirky kid who isn't my sports kid said, "This was the most fun I've had ever. I've never felt more alive!"

It was a reminder to me that it's good to try new things, to step out of our narrow buckets once in a while. And in that spirit, tomorrow I'm taking Charlie painting.

Better than the Food Network

Here is the scene:

Annie - at theatre rehearsal

Charlie - at soccer practice

Mike - running the carpool between the two

Robbie - outside playing with friends

Me - Lounging on the couch, firing up the DVR to watch the first episode of Next Food Network Star.

I was just settling in, beginning to size up the contestants when the back door flung open and Robbie ran in.

"Mom, can we go to the park?"

What I wanted to say: "What? I just started my show. The house is quiet and I was ready to be quiet in it."

What I did say: "Why do you want to do that?"

"Because it's fun. And my friends are going."

I took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. I knew what I wanted to do, but Robbie never wants to go outside, let alone leave the homestead. So I hit the pause button on my show and said, "Sure."

Twenty minutes later at the park, Robbie had climbed and slid and teetered and swung. And his friends were nowhere to be found. So I suggested we take the nature trail -- which is really a paved path -- and walk over by the creek.

Silly me. I thought he'd be content looking at the creek from the path. Nope, we had to go down to the bank. I thought he would be content tossing rocks into the water. Nope. "Mom, can I get in the water?"

The water level was low and the hope in his voice was high. So this is how we spent the next hour:

 

Wet. Muddy. And so much better than watching the Food Network.

A New Year's Eve classic tale

Some occasions just beg for the telling of the same story over and over again. In our house, New Year's Eve is one of them. Amazingly, I've never told this one here so tonight I thought I'd share.

We have a grocery store near our house that used to have a lobster tank. Every time we went to the store with Robbie there was a certain routine we had to follow. First, a stop at the bakery for the free cookie. Then off to the seafood/meat department to see the lobsters.

Our crustaceanic visit was never long. Just a minute or two to see which lobster was moving that day (not always guaranteed) or which was the biggest. But there was no setting foot into that store without making an appearance at the lobster tank.

So one year when Robbie was about three years old, New Year's Eve rolled around and Mike and I were trying to think of festive ways to celebrate the occasion at home. We decided it would be fun to have lobster for dinner (and fish sticks for the kids). We couldn't wait to tell Robbie that we were going to pick out a lobster.

The morning of New Year's Eve, we told Robbie we were going to the store to pick out a lobster and asked if he wanted to help. Well, of course he did! So we went to the store, made the obligatory stop at the bakery, and headed to the lobster tank.

We picked out our lobster and asked the guy behind the tank to cook it for us so we could pick it up at dinner time. For the record, that's the only way I'd ever serve lobster in my house -- pre-cooked.

Later that evening, Mike went back to the store to pick up the lobster and bring it home. We put it on a white platter, where it's now-bright red shell stood out. Robbie was so excited. He picked it up and looked at it up close before putting the lobster back on the platter.

About 10 minutes of final dinner prep went by and we sat down to eat. Mike was the first to start in on the lobster, taking a large claw in his grasp and ripping it off the rest of the body.

This was the point at which the screaming of bloody murder started. It wasn't the lobster, who was sufficiently dead and cooked. Instead, the screaming came from Robbie. We tried to assure him it was ok as I took my turn to messily remove another claw, which led to more tortured screaming.

Eventually, Robbie became so inconsolable that I had to take him to his bedroom. It wasn't until the kitchen was quiet again that we figured out what had upset Robbie so badly. Poor kid thought we were bringing home a lobster to be a pet. And then we proceeded to tear it from limb to limb!

And the story has become a New Year's Eve classic, told every year at least once, sometimes more often. Oh, and we've never brought another lobster home again.

Baby birds

Remember the Mama Robin and her eggs sitting in the nest outside our front door? Well, she flew away.

One night she was on the nest, the next day she was gone and we didn't see her for several days, even though there were still eggs in the nest. A week later, there was a Mama Robin in the nest again, though we think it is probably a different bird. This one is more skittish than the previous resident. And soon there were six eggs in the nest.

One day last week, I saw a bunch of motionless fuzz in the nest. Soon, the fuzz was indeed moving. Then chirping. Poor Robbie is so curious, although he seems to have learned his lesson about messing with the nest. So Mike set up a video camera on a tripod to capture some of the avian action. That way Robbie (and the rest of us) could get a bird's eye view -- sorry, couldn't resist -- without disturbing the nest.

Check out baby birds' feeding time!

At least he wasn't naked

We had our carpets cleaned yesterday. Because we're still waiting to get our A/C replaced, the carpet cleaners said it would take 24-48 hours for them to dry. We had furniture piled in the kitchen, the front hall and the bathrooms. We decided to pack up and spend the night in a hotel.

I told the kids to pack the field day clothes they would need for school today. Navy blue shirt for Charlie, light blue for Annie, yellow for Robbie -- the colors assigned by their grade levels. They were so excited for a mini-adventure, they all ran upstairs to pack. Even Robbie packed his own bag.

This is where your Spidey senses should be wigging out, as in "check the bag! check the bag!" Unfortunately, my sensors must have been turned off.

When we woke up in the hotel this morning -- everyone should have made-to-order breakfast before work/school, I pulled out Robbie's clothes to find that he must have pulled his yellow t-shirt out of the dirty clothes. There was not a whole lot I could do about it; I didn't have anything else for him to wear. So I (unsuccessfully) tried to scrub the dirty shoulder clean with a washcloth.

After I dropped them off at school, I stopped in the parking lot to e-mail is teacher:

Subject: I can explain...

Why Robbie looks like he's been shot in the shoulder and bled chocolate milk.

Short story: He picked out his own clothes (apparently from the dirty clothes bin) and I didn't check it until it was too late.

Long story: Wet/drying carpets (had them cleaned) and no A/C, so we decided to head to a hotel. INSERT ABOVE EXPLANATION. When it was time to get up this a.m., I discovered the chocolate milk massacre. I contemplated stopping at WalMart for a new yellow shirt, but I decided in a few hours the look would be the same.

About mid-morning, I logged into my e-mail and realized I'd missed a few messages from the night before. Including one from the teacher that said:


Field day dress: Green shirt

Wonderful! Not only did he go to school in a dirty t-shirt, but also in the wrong color. I'm so not winning Mother-of-the-Year this year. I replied with the same sentiment to the teacher who said "I was laughing at your earlier e-mail and I wasn't about to tell you 'green.'"

Have I mentioned I love this teacher?!

I snapped this picture of Robbie after school today. All that mess on the sleeve? Yep. It was there this morning. Luckily for both of us, he didn't seem to mind.

Top this!

Robbie is a kid of happy extremes. When he loves something, he REALLY loves it. His first obsession was dinosaurs. From the time he was about 2 years old until he was around 6, he could not get enough dinosaurs. He knew their long and complicated names, which ones were meat eaters and which ones preferred leafy greens.

He still likes dinos, but not at the level of obsession. The next object of his heart's desire was Legos. He could spend hours building Legos. Truthfully, I think that will bring him joy for a lifetime (if his dad is any indication).

But Robbie's latest obsession is not dinosaurs or Legos. It's not drawing or painting, though both are certainly a big part of his waking hours. It's not riding his bike. Nope, what Robbie is REALLY into these days is BOX TOPS.

These things:

It started because of a box tops collection contest at school. I didn't realize there was a contest going on until I came home and found little rectangles cut out of a few boxes of cereal in the pantry. Then I noticed Robbie going through the pantry and the fridge, inspecting every box and bottle, occasionally yelling out "BOX TOPS!"

Of course, Mike then (because he's a nicer parent than I am) made sure to shop for box-top-bearing food the next time he was at the grocery store. Robbie has a baggie at home with 6 or 7 box tops in it, waiting to be turned in to his teacher after Spring Break.

But he hit the motherload -- make that grandmotherload -- when we came to my parents' house for a visit yesterday. While Annie and Charlie went with my mom and dad to a volleyball game, Robbie and I headed back to their house for a little R&R. I asked him what he wanted for dinner. He said, "Cereal," and turned to open the pantry. 

"BOX TOPS! BOX TOPS!" It turns out that Grandma's pantry was well-stocked with box tops. I told him he had to wait until Grandma came home so he could ask her if he could cut out the box tops from packages of food that were still waiting to be eaten. 

When I told my mom about Robbie's discovery, she said "Oh, I have a whole box of box tops I've been collecting just because." So this morning, Grandma rocked Robbie's world when she pulled out the box o' box tops and told him he could have them. 

Of course, when Grandma removes a box top, she does what most sane people do and just tears it out loosely. Robbie, however, is quite particular about the shape of his box tops. God bless my mom who sat there with Robbie and cut each box top into a perfect rectangle. They put all the box tops into a baggie and sealed it up for the trip home.

Wanting to make sure to leave no box unturned, Robbie hunted through the fridge and the lazy Susan and turned up at least three more box tops Grandma somehow missed. We sorted the box tops into piles of 10 and counted Robbie's bounty. 133 box tops! 

He can't wait to take them to school on Monday. Thanks Grandma!

Roots and wings

There's a saying that you've probably seen on some cheesy wooden plaque at Cracker Barrel that goes, "Our parents give us two things. The first is roots, the other wings." I'm having a roots and wings kind of moment today. Except that I'm feeling one different sentiment for two different people.

Today is February 13. The date upon which Annie and Robbie made their entrances into the world -- in 1997 and 2003, respectively. So today they are turning 14 and 8 and I am left completely believing the cliche that they grow up so fast.

It's for Annie that I'm feeling the exhilaration of wings.

I am just marveling at the person she is becoming. She has found her niche in art and theater. She's off to high school in the fall. She cares for other people's children -- and her brothers -- so well that I sometimes forget she is really still a young girl herself. She is far more confident in herself than I was at her age. She's also stubborn and mouthy at times; I mean she IS a teenage girl. I find myself wanting give her space to enjoy this time in her life, to stretch her wings and figure out where it is she wants to fly and how it feels to do that.

Then there's Robbie. He has me clinging to roots.

Before we had a "baby of the family," I always thought it was ridiculous that parents seemed to treat the youngest of the bunch with so much ease and tolerance. But now I find myself fighting an internal struggle to stay firm and keep my expectations high. Annie and Charlie will tell you that I'm failing. I can't help it. He IS my baby. I secretly love that he climbs in bed with us in the middle of the night. I melt when he comes to me and asks if I will cuddle with him on the couch in front of a movie. So he doesn't tie his own shoes or ride a two-wheeler, yet. That means that he still needs me.

Yes, I am proud of the roots that we've helped Annie dig deep into the soil of who she is. And I do find joy in the wings of independence that Robbie is testing little by little. But mostly, I'm grateful for the opportunity to be here for the ride.

Bucket filler

At the beginning of each school year, the kids' school reads a book about being a bucket filler -- being helpful and kind, essentially filling someone else's bucket. The converse is being a bucket dipper, definitely frowned upon.

To encourage bucket filling behaviors, teachers and staff can "catch" students in acts of helpfulness and issue them an orange "bucket filler" slip of paper. The student then gets to take the paper to the school office, where they are thanked for their behavior and the paper is put into a bucket where all the records of kindness for that week are kept. Then on Fridays, four or five names are drawn from the office's bucket and those students are recognized after Mass.

Robbie has been obsessed with bucket fillers. For several weeks, he's come home from school and said something along these lines:

"Mom, I let Ty in front of me in the lunch line today. Was that a bucket filler?" 

"Mom, Hannah dropped her crayons today and I helped her pick them up. Was that a bucket filler?"

Then I explain to him that you don't have get the orange slip of paper for something to be a bucket filler, that if you do something that makes someone else feel good and you probably feel good about helping, that's indeed a bucket filler. But he was waiting for the paper.

The wait was over yesterday. Robbie got a bucket filler slip for helping a friend who dropped something. He was so excited. So today, I went to school for Mass and to see if he would be one of those recognized after Mass. 

OK -- really, I went to the office to see if I could ensure that his name would be called at Mass because I knew how much it would mean to him. But when I got there, the names had already been drawn and his was one of them (I think maybe his teacher had something to do with that.), so it was legit.

After Mass was over, the student council president (an 8th grade boy who was filling in for the principal),  began announcing the bucket filler honorees. The first student came forward, shook the student council president's hand, and accepted a small charm. Then Robbie's name was called. 

I watched as he jumped up as though he'd just been called to come on down to Contestant's Row on The Price is Right. He ran down the aisle to the front of the church, where the student council president stood waiting to shake his hand. Instead, Robbie ran right up to him, wrapped his arms around the kid's waist and gave him a big, joyful hug. 

I know I'm biased and all, but it was so cute! In fact, it went a long way to fill my bucket today.

untitled

Syrup is on the shirt, dripping off the table, sticking to the floor.
"I was just having a snack, Mom."

Week-old, old-school metal lunchbox is crunched beyond usability.
"I was trying to make it fit, Mom."

Dog is off and running, leash-free, through the neighborhood.
"I didn't mean to, Mom."

Possible titles for this post:

• 7-year-old for sale
• Lovable deep down
• Where is the Margarita Fairy when you need her?

Got any other suggestions?

No kissing

Robbie and Annie have always been especially close. I like to think it's because they share a birthday. However, in recent weeks, he has had a short fuse when it comes to his sister. He doesn't want her to hug him. Saying he's cute is an offense worthy of severe punishment.

Personal boundaries must have been on Robbie's mind tonight at church. He leaned over to me and asked me how to spell "kissing." I told him and watched as he started to write something on a piece of paper. Here was his finished product:

When I showed it to Annie, she -- of course -- leaned over and kissed him on the head. In retaliation, he reached up to my ear and whispered, "Tell Annie she is grounded from Justin Bieber for the rest of the day!"

This kid means business.

*******

Don't forget to join me in the 4th Frog Fab 40 Fest where you can help celebrate my birthday by helping someone else. Between now and Friday, do one random act of kindness for someone else and let me know about it. I'll share all my "gifts" in one wrap-up post. Get the details here.

Robbie's turn

I never really bought into the "baby of the family" psychology where parents talk about treating the youngest different because he or she is "the baby." That is until I had my own baby of the family.

I think there is something about trying to hold on to that bit of childlike innocence. And when you're parenting the first or second child (at least in my case), there's a sense of enjoying it, yes, but also a bit of getting through it. Wishing they were old enough to get dressed themselves or fix breakfast or take a shower.

But with the baby, there's a realization that this is IT. This is the last kid I'll get to read bedtime stories to. This is the last kid who will want to climb in my bed and cuddle up. And finally, I get that whole "baby of the family" thing and why it's so different.

Which of course, brings me to Robbie. In the past week, I've found myself just chuckling about him. One day last week was dress down day at school. Robbie was so excited, he picked out his own outfit, right down to the socks:

Then there was the day that I woke him up for school and he looked at me and said, "Mom, can you just snuggle with me?" Who could say no to that?!

When I tell Robbie to do something he doesn't want to do, like take the sheets off his bed or put away the silverware, he says "No thank you." At least he's polite about it.

Much of Robbie's time this week (well, every week!) has been taken up with Legos. Another morning this week, he said "Mom, I had a great dream. I dreamed a nice lion was helping me build a Lego castle!"

He got a Lego catalog in the mail and has "read" it at least 50 times. No joke. Every night at bedtime, that's what he wants to read. He takes it in the car in the mornings on the way to school and asks me to put it in the house when I get back home. And of course, he took it to "share" (show-n-tell) on Friday. As I type, he's downstairs working on building the Prince of Persia castle in the catalog out of the Legos he already has.

And lately his favorite thing has been to engage me in a "tickle fight!" I do most of the tickling, but we both laugh plenty.

I won't say that Robbie has me wrapped around his finger, just maybe a little bit curved.

It was so nice...

of the school to hold a dance on the occasion of Annie's 13th birthday!

Ok, so Annie's birthday isn't until tomorrow (February 13). And maybe the school didn't plan the dance in honor of the occasion. But it did work out nicely that we could have a sleepover where the main activity is the dance.

Most of the girls came over before the dance to get ready.

How many 13 year old girls can you fit into one bathroom? (Answer: 6)


A little fuel for dancing the night away.


All set!

Speaking of nice, it was so nice...of Annie to share her birthday with her little brother -- not just tonight, but 7 years ago when he also arrived on February 13. Six years and 39 minutes after his big sister.

Make room for Robbie!


Playing the meddlesome little brother role quite well.

I'm hoping to have him asleep in bed before the girls get home. I figure to Annie that might be the best birthday present ever. Other than getting a little brother, that is.

G is for groceries...and grateful

If you're one of my Facebook friends, then you might know that I had to go to the grocery store today because Annie argued that she couldn't make a breakfast out of carrots and hot dog buns. While I agree w/my friend Shelley that Annie just needs to be more culinarily creative, I did sit down to make out a menu and a shopping list.

I was feeling a little guilty (look! another G word) that I didn't have any coupons to take with me, but I decided to just plow ahead. I did at least plan to go to Meijer where I have found the groceries to be cheaper than at the two stores that are actually closer to my house. And I looked over the weekly ad, so I could plan my menu around the sales.

Once I was ready to go, I asked Robbie if he would come with me. I'm not sure what made me do that. I generally have a rule that I go grocery shopping alone -- keeps those impulse purchases to a minimum. But, I must have been thinking that having only two kids at home while I was gone would keep the peace a little better. So I asked Robbie to join me and amazingly he said yes. He's really a homebody and pretty much always will choose "stay home" when given the option.

So off we went, my little helper and I, armed with nothing but a grocery list. And do you know, we had a wonderful time! The store was not very crowded. We started out choosing a few pairs of waterproof gloves at 40% off and a $5 pair of slippers for Robbie's icy cold morning feet. Then it was off to the grocery department.

Robbie asked if we could stop to look at the fish -- the live ones swimming, not the dead ones in the meat case. So we did. We then headed to the dairy department, where we picked out cheese and yogurt and cinnamon rolls for breakfast one day this week. Robbie was so fun to be with. No whining, no pleading, no running off without me. When I turned down his cereal selections (Cocoa Puffs and Lucky Charms), but offered that he could pick out a box of fruit snacks, he was fine with that.

He did get a little weary, but didn't whine about it. Instead he asked, "Mom, is our cart full yet?" I'm sure some of you will think that I'm making way too big a deal about grocery shopping, but it was one of those experiences where I just felt so grateful to be there with that child, to be sharing a simple yet lovely time with a kid who often leaves me exasperated.

When, finally, our cart was indeed full, we took our place in line. As I unloaded the groceries onto the belt, an older woman came up to me, reached out a few pieces of paper in her hand and asked if I could use them. I looked and they were 3 coupons for 5% off the total grocery order -- and you could combine up to 4 of them at once. So instead of having no coupon savings, as I thought I would when we left the house, I ended up saving $40. All thanks to the kindness of a stranger.

So yes, G is for groceries...and for very grateful.

2nd first day of kindergarten

Today was Robbie's first day of his second year of kindergarten. When we told him in July that he'd be repeating kindergarten, he took it pretty well. But last night, when I was laying down with him at bedtime, we were talking about the first day of school, he said, "I really wish I was going to first grade."

Ouch. I know, he'll thank us for this someday.

Then on the way to his classroom this morning, he saw one of his little buddies from last year. "Are you in Miss F's class?" Robbie asked his friend. The little boy looked at him, perplexed and I worried that Robbie would be lonely for his old friends.

Once in the classroom, he found his locker, hung up his backpack, gave me a quick kiss and went to find a spot on the carpet. I watched as he circled the group of kids already sitting on the floor. He seemed to be looking for someone he knew. I could feel my cheeks getting hot and my eyes watering as I watched him seek a place to fit in.

"Please, God, let him make friends," I prayed.

Eyeing a couple of boys he does know, he walked toward the back of the group and squeezed in next to one of them. What I wanted to do at that point was go over, pick him up and ask for a "hug and a kiss and a big squeeze," which is kind of our thing.

But I knew it was time to go -- and to let go. To let him settle in to this familiar, yet new, classroom. To give him a chance to show the new kindergarteners the ropes and to build some confidence in the process.

So I turned to leave, choking back tears that I hadn't expected to be there and hoping this was the first day of a great year.

What is this country coming to?

I very rarely watch the television news and tonight I was reminded why. It's mostly bad, or at the least, disheartening news. Tonight I was shocked at the news that tomorrow the Sears Tower in Chicago will be renamed the "what-you-talkin'-about" Willis Tower.

What's next?

The Taco Bell?

Mount Prudential?

(You know, a piece of the rock?)

Where is our sense of history? Our sense of nostalgia and tradition? Is a big fat paycheck really worth tossing aside a well-recognized and treasured moniker?

Hmmm...

Wonder how much I could get for re-naming this one "Oscar Mayer?"

Say what?

A few little snippets from my gang:

Annie
Annie: "Mom, I decline that I don't love you."

Me: "What did you say?

Annie: "I choose to decline I don't love you."

Me: "What?!"

Annie: "Oh, I'm trying to say I love you."

Double negatives are hard to get...

Charlie
Yesterday, Dungy was meowing wildly at the bottom of the stairs.

Me: "Dungy, what? You have food. You have water. What more could you want?"

Charlie (listening from the kitchen table): "Love."

Robbie
Obviously doing some deep thinking, this morning Robbie asked me "Does God use the Force?"