Dancing with Ourselves

  I have an iTunes playlist called "dance party," which is what we play when the kids want to run around the room dancing and call it a party. (Or just my husband and me, but we'll say it's for the kids.)
  It can be hard to find music that parents enjoy and is OK for kids. It's easy for the whole family to agree that Kidsz Bop albums are annoying. A lot of children's music produced by real musicians is folk music, which is nice, but not the beat-pounding kind of stuff the kids want for their dance party. Music not made specifically for kids too often is profane and sexist, and they'll have to wait until they're teenagers to enjoy that.
  So I have been working hard to collect songs for our dance party list. I'll admit that I don't always check every word they're saying, but nothing jumps out at me as being inappropriate. Sometimes I have some explaining to do (Stacy's Mom), but that's what learning is all about. Here's what I have so far:

Dancing With Myself by Billy Idol
The Middle by Jimmy Eat World
The Hampster Dance Song
I Love Rock 'N Roll by Joan Jett
Hey Ya! (clean version) by OutKast
Friday I'm in Love by The Cure
Girls Just Want to Have Fun by Cyndi Lauper
Kids in America by Kim-Lian (I chose this one over the original by Kim Wilde.)
Butterfly (From "Dance Dance Revolution") by I Love You! Project
I Melt With You by Modern English
Somebody Told Me by The Killers
One Card Short off the Yu-Gi-Oh! soundtrack (oh yeah)
Ravers Fantasy (Rave Mix) by TUNE UP!
Matalij Ja Mustii by Varttina (aka The Binky Song from the PBS kids' show Arthur
Cha Cha Slide (Radio Edit) by Mr. C
Stadium Rave off the SpongeBob SquarePants Yellow Album
Macarena by Los Del Rio (this one really is just for the kids)
Power Rangers (Main Theme) by TV Mania Orchestra
The End of the World by R.E.M.
Head On by The Jesus and Mary Chain
Stacy's Mom by Fountains of Wayne
Beautiful Day by U2
Bohemian Like You by The Dandy Warhols
All Star by Smashmouth
The Rockafeller Skank by Fatboy Slim

  It's a work in progress, so I'd love to hear suggestions. Some of the songs are off the soundtracks that I have in my minivan, Shrek, Shrek 2 and Flushed Away. The only song on those that I always skip over is Wonderful Night by Fatboy Slim. A bad word is bleeped from it, but they only bleep out the first letter and keep the "uck," so it still sounds like they're saying it. Duh.

Make your own disco ball
http://www.techeblog.com/index.php/tech-gadget/video-make-a-disco-ball-from-old-cds

Don't be a Grinch; give Webkinz a break

  There is a problem exploding on the Internet. Take, for example, the following comments found on amazon.com:

"I have tried for the last two days for my 5 year old daughter. How do you explain to her that her Christmas present is basically useless!"

"Now I have an upset child, a worthless toy, and am telling my kids they have to wait three days til someone contacts me ..."

"This situation seems really like a fraudulent marketing activity...sell the item but don't deliver the goods."

  The toy people are talking about are Webkinz plush animals. Along with the toy, you get a secret code to enter on the Webkinz website, and that lets you play games and take care of your virtual pet.

  The problem is, every kid who got one for Christmas tried to register their secret code on the same couple of days. My three kids each got one, and we, too, have been having problems getting online.
  As the comments from amazon.com would indicate, some people have forgotten that the plush animal is a real toy. It's not worthless just because you can't go online. The toys are super cute, well designed, well made. They cost $11 each, a price similar to any stuffed toy.
  This leads me to what I'm often thinking about and writing about: What do we teach our children? It would seem that a lot of people are telling their kids: "This is terrible! We were robbed! Those people are idiots!" And their kids are upset. I think what the kids are really upset about, though, is that they asked for the toy in the first place. They feel responsible, as if they caused the problem. "I asked for this toy, and look how mad it's making mom!"
  What did I tell my kids? "Don't worry about it. We'll just wait until the website is fixed. It's still a really nice toy." And you know what? My kids are fine.
  So I'll flatter myself to offer a little primer on thoughts that make you happy, and those that don't.

Unhappy thoughts
* It's not fair
* Christmas is ruined
* Those people owe me
* I need to complain to someone
* I deserve to play with my new toy right now

Happy thoughts
* They'll fix it pretty soon
* I can still play with my toy
* I have lots of other toys
* I'm not surprised the website crashed. That would be really hard to fix.
* It must be hard to manage when they know the demand will level off so soon after Christmas.
* I'm glad I don't work at Webkins. Can you imagine all those people calling to yell at me?

Part Two
  To the people ruining their kids' Christmases for lack of perspective, I would also offer the following:

And the Grinch, with his grinch-feet ice-cold in the snow,
Stood puzzling and puzzling: "How could it be so?
It came without ribbons! It came without tags!
"It came without packages, boxes or bags!"
And he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore.
Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before!
"Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store.
"Maybe Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more!"

— "How the Grinch Stole Christmas," by Dr. Suess

Pictured: Emma the cat, horse whose name I forget, Happy the beagle and Ooo-Ah the monkey.

Scrabble Smackdown

  This will stay high on my list of "I should have taken a picture" for a long time. For Christmas, I got a fancy new Scrabble game, the kind with the spinning board, and last night, my husband and I played a game. The Big News is, for the first time in my life, I used all my letters and got the 50-point bonus.
  The word? TRAINEES.
  I saw that my letters could spell "trainee," and I thought, "Wow, if there were an "s" on the board, I could use all my letters." And there was! I jumped up and down hyperventilating for a moment, not believing my luck. My hands were shaking, my vision blurred.
  When I was a kid, my sisters and I played Scrabble without the real rules. We would take turns making words, but didn't keep score. This led to quick games full of easy words.
  When my husband and I started dating, I learned that there is a different way to play, the real way. He would carefully consider his move. He would take time to add up which word was worth the most points. I literally fell asleep once waiting for him to take his turn. (Fortunately, my new game also came with a timer.)
  It was eye-opening for me to see how much keeping score changes the game. When I play now, I'll sacrifice a good word just to block him from the triple-word spot. I'll make a short word just to get rid of that "x." I play the word that gets the highest score, and not the one that opens up more space for the good of the game. I've gone from Scrabble Sweet to Scrabble Smackdown.
  When I'm playing games with my kids, I often modify the rules, taking into consideration their ability and maturity level. No one likes to play a game that's too hard or frustrating, or one that seems unfair. I drew extra ladders on Chutes and Ladders, and in Candyland, all the candy cards go into a separate discard pile, never to be seen again. Of course, both of those examples are moot because I sold those tedious games in a garage sale. I warned the buyer that we had drawn all over the Chutes and Ladders board. He'll probably sell it later as folk art.
  But back to Scrabble. I have various levels of rule changes. For the 3-year-old, we just practice putting the tiles on the board, taking turns and saying which letter we pulled from the bag. With the 6-year-old, we do the same, but spell words.
  But I'm thinking that with the 9-year-old, it's time to use the real rules. We can even the playing field with a letter-exchange handicap, or add points to his score. Whatever I think of, though, I want him, and all the kids eventually, to learn the rules. Before you know it, they'll be slamming down words such as "gulag," "cypher" and "qat." That'll be so cool.

I think the technical term is "the crud"

  I believe the body-mind connection can help people heal from sickness. This week has shown me that the converse also is true.
  On most days, I'm home with the kids, and they need to be taken care of whether or not I'm sick. So I'll make some hot tea, jump in a hot shower, take some Advil and try not to think about how bad I'm feeling. But this week, my husband took his vacation days to be home for Christmas. And I'm sicker than I have been in years. This can't be a coincidence. I think I'm sick because I can be.
  We were up late on Christmas Eve. We spent some time at the kids' grandma's house, where they ran around crazy and pretty much ignored the buffet dinner. Then we went home and got the kids to bed. My husband and I got to bed about 2 a.m., and I tried to sleep. I was almost there when my 3-year-old woke up crying that she was hungry. I normally would take her downstairs and feed her, but if she saw that Santa had come, there would be no getting her back to sleep.
  She fussed, and I let her get in bed with me and nurse, but I was feeling sick and dehydrated already. It was a rough night, and my husband finally got up with her at about 5 a.m.
  I was the last one awake, at about 7:30. I was the most out-of-it that I have ever been for Christmas morning. I went back to bed by about 10. I was up all afternoon and evening, but went to bed at about 10 p.m. and slept about 12 hours. It happened again today, with me not waking up until about 11:30.
  Have I been saving up my tiredness for the chance to sleep? Have I been keeping myself well until I can allow myself to be sick?
  I have to wonder.

Happy Christmas

  The kids spent a part of their Christmas watching SpongeBob SquarePants at their great-aunt's house. All-you-can-eat cookies and cable TV: That's a special day.

Driving to work in Minnesota

  I had to drive to work today in a snowstorm. As I walked to the garage, I thought the driveway looked intimidating, so I took a picture.

  Then I got stuck in our street and took another picture.

  I had to back up twice and make an engine-gunning run up the hill. It was a little bit scary, but fun, too. "I think I'll document the whole trip," I thought.

  Finally, I shot out onto the main road.

  My house was sheltered from the wind today, and when I got to the first main intersection, I saw the weather was much worse than I realized.

  It was then I first considered the possibility that I might crash into something.

  The plow has been by, piling snow against the parked cars. There are lines painted on the road, but we can't see them. The only traffic rule that matters is not to hit anything. Even stop signs become suggestions, as actually stopping might leave you stuck.

  The wind was really strong here, making drifts across the road.

  As I headed down the hill toward downtown, a policeman was driving an SUV right behind me. This gave me some comfort, but it occurred to me, too, that if I were in an accident, I probably should hide my camera.

  I made a bad choice of exits. I slid sideways for a bit, but straightened out and even stopped for the light.

  The end of my story was going to be a picture of me smiling because I made it to work OK, but the ice pellets blowing in the air were stinging my face.

Silver dress

  A few days ago, I wrote about dress shopping with my 6-year-old daughter. It was important to her that she have a special dress for Christmas, and her great-grandmother had given us some money as a gift, specifying that we use it to buy clothes.
  My daughter got two new dresses, but I think she won't be wearing them for Christmas gatherings with family or at church. That's because today, she said she wanted to practice sewing. We got some fabric out of my supplies (naturally, I have a big box of fabric) and chose something shiny.
  We designed it ourselves. We sewed a tube that fits around her, and made a strap for the top. I gathered the center for some added flair, and there you have it: The dress she wants to wear instead.

  This is going the exact opposite of the time I spent a month making my son a Power Rangers costume, and then he decided to go trick-or-treating instead in the costume we got for three dollars at Goodwill.

It's almost here ...

I have a guitar. I have three kids. All we need is the keyboard.

The year according to me

I don't know who these people are, but this is their Christmas photo from 2002.

  I'm a big fan of Christmas letters. I like writing them; I like reading them. It surprises me when people's inner Ebenezer rises to criticize what has become one of my favorite parts of the season.
  The Chicago Tribune ran a story giving Christmas-letter advice. Among the people quoted was Angela Ensminger, an employee of Hallmark Cards Inc. I think the reason a greeting-card company employee would be down on Christmas letters is because for many families, the letter has replaced the card. If I write something unique, print it for my family and friends, and stuff in a cute picture of my kids, what do I need a printed card for?
  The report goes on to single out the website shutterfly.com, which said the collage is its most popular choice for photo cards. Coincidentally (or not, I suppose, if it's so popular), that's exactly what I mailed this year. Immediately after mentioning shutterfly, the article says: "People don't need -- or want -- to know everything you've done throughout the year, from vacations to doctor visits to every eye-glazing second of Little League baseball or soccer finals." I don't see how sending a collage with eight little pictures of my kids is doing all that. "Every eye-glazing second"?
  "You should be brief and humble and sensitive to the fact that a good many people may have had crummy years," Ensminger said. "They don't need page after page of how great yours was."
  OK, Miss Greeting Card Lady. But I don't think most people have entire years that are crummy, and if they did, hearing my bits of good news will hopefully cheer them up.
  Letters are criticized for being too much about the sender. This seems to me like a fair exchange. I write about me. You write about you. Then we'll trade. We could instead try holiday-themed fiction, but I've tried writing fiction, and it's hard.
  The most common cranky advice for Christmas letters seems to be "don't brag." WHAT? I'm a mother! What kind of sicko would I be if I didn't brag about my kids? I realize that other people don't think my kids are so special, and I don't expect them to. Conversely, I don't like other people's kids as much as I like my own. That would be weird.
  For my Christmas letter this year, I referred people to my blog, which I started in August. Even I have a limit on how much I can write about myself.

  I did some Internet searches about "Christmas letters," and the best thing I read was from a scan of an old letter that mentioned a new baby that was born "at least 6 weeks overdue." "He doesn't even act like a newborn," the letter proclaimed. Now how can you hate something like that?

Once-a-year bill? Forget about it!

  I was reading another blogger's story about the annual chore of renewing license-plate tabs. I work with her at a job that involves daily deadlines, which is good for procrastinators. I'm not surprised to see that she struggles to keep up with a once-a-year deadline as much as I do.
  My son still remembers when I got pulled over by a highway patrolman. We were in the middle of town on a city road, far from the highway.
  I was driving my son, then 3, to speech therapy, and also had my oldest daughter, who was less than a year old. We were sitting at a red light; the light turned green; we started to move. The car behind me was tailgating.
  "Sheesh," I thought, "Get off my butt!"
  I didn't notice it was a cop until he turned on his lights.
  "Ooo," I thought, "Someone's in trouble."
  I looked around to notice that I was the only person on the road.
  "What? Me?" I thought, and pulled over the car.
  He had on one of those severely horizontal hats, the kind with the big, round brim. That intimidated me. I'm sure it's why they wear them.
  He asked me if I knew my tabs were more than a month expired. I said, yes, and a very Minnesotan "oh, geez," and that I had put the renewal notice on my fridge and forgot about it.
  Then he looked inside my car to the backseat. I turned my head around, too. In the back were too adorable little children, eyes as big and round as nocturnal monkeys, staring at the man. My daughter had to crane her head around to see because she was still young enough to be sitting backward in her car seat.
  He gave me a warning. I give full credit to the cute kids. I told him I would drive up there that very day and buy the new tabs. I was happy enough to cry, because I didn't have the money to pay a fine. I could hardly afford the fee for the tabs.
  My son talked about this event for years, and still remembers it. "Remember when the policeman stopped you?" "Why did that policeman stop you?" "What did you do to make the policeman stop you?"
  I'm sorry to say I did not learn my lesson. I remain horrible at renewing my license tabs. And unlike my co-worker, who says she's quite sure you have 10 days beyond the expiration date, I'm still under the impression that you have a month.

Chapter Two
  While a can draw parallels between my co-worker and me about being late to pay the fee, my eyes have been opened wide about how she applies her stickers. It's so different from me, you could label it "alternative lifestyle" or something.
  My father drilled it into my head that you must scrape off the old stickers before applying the new ones. He'd use a razor blade. I don't have a razor blade, but I do scrape off the old ones as best I can.
  In addition, I clean the surface before applying the new stickers. I always have some hand-wipers in the van, so I wash the license plate and dry it before carefully, carefully applying the new sticker.
  But she just slaps it on. Wow. And upside-down, too. I can't imagine the anxiety that would have caused me. But to see now that she did it, and the sun still rises and sets, gives me some peace.

Postscript
  Note to my husband: Honey, if you're reading this, I think the tabs on your car are expired. I'll check on that later tonight. Love you. Bye.

And another thing ...
  There's a fine if the police catch you with expired tabs. But when you go to the license office to pay, they don't care. They just take your money and give you the new stickers. As long as you don't get caught, it's OK! I think this factors greatly into my being able to forget about it.

Google photo meme

  I saw this meme on another blog and decided to be artsy and do a collage. It works by doing a google image search for the answer to each question and then picking an image from among the first screen that comes up.

  What is:
  Your age on your next birthday
  A place you'd like to visit
  Your favorite place,
  objects,
  foods,
  animal,
  color;
  Your nickname
  Your birthplace
  A bad habit you can't stop

  I think I'm supposed to supply you with the answers, but I'd rather let the images speak for themselves.

Princess goes dress shopping

  My 6-year-old girl and I went out late last night to buy her a fancy dress for Christmas. We had tried to shop for it when my son was with us, but I could tell the experience was all but killing him.
  Not so for my little girl. Princess tried on dresses for an hour-and-a-half. She kept a running commentary going about waistlines, fabric and sleeve lengths, and for each dress, tried a few ballet moves right there in the dressing room. The store was having a fancy-dresses-half-off sale, so naturally, we bought two.
  The next hour was spent looking for shoes and tights that would match both dresses. At 9:30 p.m., we ate dinner in the mall's food court. She was conspicuously the youngest person there. "Don't worry," I wanted to yell to everyone, "She doesn't have to get up for school in the morning!"
  The dresses are special but still practical. We avoided the ones decorated with Christmas trees and candy canes, and the red ones with white-fur trim. "I would be embarrassed to look like Santa," she said. "He's an old man, and I'm a 6-year-old girl."
  She started crying once. It was getting hard to narrow down her preferences, and big, fat tears welled in her eyes.
  "Hey hey hey," I quickly said, "You can't cry in that dress. You could stain it."
  "Oh, sorry," she said, and stopped crying right away. If we owned the dress, I wouldn't be encouraging her to suppress her emotions so quickly. As it was, we were still deciding.
  After trying several dozen dresses, we narrowed it down to three. One of them had to go. I looked at the tags.
  "Hand wash," I said. "Let's put this one back. The other two are machine washable. They're cheaper, too."
  That was the perfect thing for me to say to make her want that one the most. Sometimes, I don't know when to keep my mouth shut.
  It's hard for her to think about all the dresses she could have had but didn't choose. I told her she needs to think about the two new dresses she has, and forget about all the ones she doesn't. That's good advice for any situation, wouldn't you say?

"WHO DO YOU BAKE FOR?"

  We used a prebaked kit to make a gingerbread house today. It's remarkable how quickly you realize how much work it is to place the little candies. We supplemented the decorations with some Dora the Explorer animal crackers.
  One of our favorite children's books is Gingerbread Baby by Jan Brett. The naughty gingerbread baby runs away from animals and townfolk, and finally is trapped by a quick-thinking boy who whips up a gingerbread house. That boy must be the Jack Bauer of the storybook world, because it took me and my kids more than an hour to do the decorating job you see here. But in less than an hour, the boy in the story gets the idea to bake the gingerbread house, mixes it up, rolls it out, cuts the pieces, bakes them, cools them down, assembles the house and decorates it much fancier than we did.
  Then he sneaks into the woods, captures the gingerbread baby without anyone seeing, and secretly takes it home. The book ends there, but I imagine the boy could get all Lord Farquaad on the gingerbread baby with a glass of milk.

  It might be another week before my husband and I finish watching Season 6 of 24, so I'll be like this for a bit longer.

Lost and found

  My husband wants me to write an update because we found the lost disk of 24 that I wrote about Dec. 10, when we were theorizing that someone must have stolen it out of his car.
  It was tucked in with the cleaning supplies in the pantry, amidst the spray foam I use when I find a sucker stuck to the carpet and the biodegradable bulk dishwashing soap I buy at the co-op. My husband thinks our 3-year-old must have put the movie there, but I have no doubt that he did it.
  Everyone does this sometimes; you put your keys down in the kitchen as you make a peanut butter sandwich, and later find them sitting in the frying pan on the stovetop. Or you lose your iPod and find it months later when you open the box of your Monopoly game. When I lived by myself in an apartment, I thought someone stole my car once, but then I remembered that I had driven to work, forgot I drove, and walked home. My car was still at work. In my postpartum days, I'd often find things in odd places, such as my purse in the freezer or the milk in the cabinet with the breakfast cereal. (It's no mistake I started this paragraph by saying, "Everyone does this sometimes," because I'd like to believe they do.)
  "I don't want people to think there's a thief out there," my husband said. That's sweet, him thinking that my blog alerts the populace. And it's sweet, too, to think that with our nonexistent DVD-stealer off the wanted list, there are no more thieves out there.
  When she was 1, my youngest daughter stole my glasses while I was washing my face. I tried to ask her real friendly, "Where Momma's glasses?" But she wouldn't talk. I found them in a basket of clean laundry after spending two days wearing an old pair. I don't know if this fits into the "lost" or "stolen" category. Maybe it would depend on her state of mind at the time.

Sorry I missed 'Meet the O'Keefes'

  I was reading a blog that referred to Judge Reinhold movies, and I remembered that he also did a TV show about homeschooling, which I'm sorry to say I never saw. If you wonder where people get their crazy ideas about homeschooling, here's one answer. The WB network described the short-lived 2003 comedy like this:
  MEET THE O’KEEFES - Harry (Judge Reinhold, “Beverly Hills Cop”) and Ellie O’Keefe (Kirsten Nelson) are loving but eccentric parents who’ve home schooled their three children to protect them from the loud and libidinal world. Despite a ban on all things pop culture, teenagers Danny (Joseph Cross, “Jack Frost”) and Lauren (Tania Raymonde, “Malcolm in the Middle”) and younger brother Mark (Matt Weinberg) are growing increasingly curious about what lies beyond the walls of their school/dining room. When Harry finally gives in and agrees to send Danny and Lauren to the local public high school, they get a crash course in how outside world works. Based on the life of series creator and executive producer Mark O’Keefe, the pilot was written by O’Keefe and directed by Andy Ackerman.
  Someone was kind enough to put the script from the pilot online, which you can read here.
  It leaves me rather speechless, to tell the truth.

Party-O

  I bought a song on itunes about a week ago, "Con Te Partiro," which many consider to be the signature song of Italian opera singer Andrea Bocelli. One youtube user thinks it's important to point out that the song is "operatic pop," not opera, because it doesn't appear in an opera, but I'm not that much of a stickler.
  It's a beautiful song. The title translates to "I Will Go With You." I read a translation of the rest of the song, and I don't exactly understand, but I think the singer is, in fact, not going "with you." Also, there's an English version of the song with the title "Time to Say Goodbye," which sounds like the opposite of "I Will Go With You."
  Translation issues aside, I enjoy listening to the song and thinking "I will go with you" at the parts where he's singing that. It's an incredibly romantic notion, speaking to the steadfast, eternal nature of love. I explained my feelings to my husband. "Are you sure he isn't saying 'With You I Will Party-O?'" he asked. "No," I replied, "He's not saying he's going to party-o." Sheesh.
  You already know the ending to this story. Now every time I listen to the song, I'm thinking "party-o" and I start to laugh.
  In real life, which is the more romantic notion? The thought that "Everywhere you go, I'll go with you" or the thought that "I'm going to goof around and make you laugh"?
  An argument could be made either way, I'm sure, but for me, I'd rather spend my time laughing than pining.

Why Nancy is a genius

  My 3-year-old daughter has been working with an intern at her speech therapy sessions. He does a great job listening to her, being patient with her and getting silly with her. But the other day, I watched through a two-way mirror as he let himself get roped into a match of wills with her.
  This is something his supervisor, Nancy, wouldn't let happen. I have known her for a long time, and I think she's a genius. For years, she has worked every day with children who have communication disorders, which might include autism, apraxia, Down Syndrome, Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, and speech delays such as my daughter's. Because the children are trying to learn something that is very difficult for them, they get frustrated.
  How does Nancy deal with this? Acting! Rather than forcing a child to comply, she tricks them.
  One weapon is to act surprised. "You don't want to play this game? Oh! Well, I thought we would have fun playing this game."
  Another weapon is to keep on playing. "All right, then, I'm going to play it for awhile, and you let me know if you want to play, too."
  Then there's nonchalant. "No, I don't really want to go over there. I'm going to stay in here. You want to sit by the door? OK. Well, I'll just stay over here and wait for you."
  Whatever the strategy, however, she stays flexible. And while she provides firm direction, she always leaves a little room to change her plans without framing it as if the child has won the battle.
  It's probably the most valuable thing she can teach her interns, and it's an important lesson for parents, too.
  The match-of-wills problem started with something that my daughter was supposed to help clean up. Instead, she wanted to get out a puzzle. The intern put his hand on the puzzle the keep the lid on, and she put her hand on it to open it. They sat there for a few moments staring at each other, heels dug in the sand, and I thought, "Oh no. There's no way he can win this one." In a standoff like this, the grown-up can't win. Here's why:
  The adult has other things he or she wants to do. The child doesn't. In this case, the intern wanted to continue therapy. He was aware that people were watching him, too. But what about my daughter? The only — the only — thing she cared about was opening the puzzle box. I think it's hard for an adult to imagine the strength of a 3-year-old's single-minded focus on minutiae.
  For a speech therapist, part of the challenge, of course, is keeping the reluctant child happy enough to continue playing. It's through games that they work on speech sounds. If I were at home, I could take away the puzzle, clean up the previous game myself, and tell her, "No more playing now. You're not listening to Mom." Then I'd walk away, ignoring any fits I left in my wake. That's not a useful option at speech therapy.
  Nancy rescued the situation by going into the room and cleaning up the mess and singing the "clean-up song." She was acting as if my daughter was helping. She made a big show of how much she appreciated the intern's help cleaning up. It distracted my daughter and got her to forget that she was trying to win a fight. I felt like I should be taking notes; mentally, I guess I was.

Cold day at the zoo

  While my son was in a homeschool class at the zoo today, the girls and I paid a visit to some animals. We petted a corn snake.



  Inside, it looks like we're overdressed. However,

step outside, and the big, pink parka makes sense.
  Many of the animals at the zoo are from cold climates, and they seem to like the weather. I've never seen the snow leopard so close before. Here it is biting its tail

and looking regal.

  The photos would be better without the cage. That's always the thing with zoos, isn't it? They breed endangered animals and educate the public, giving us the opportunity to see creatures we never would see otherwise. But they make me feel sad, too.
  I should have thought to take a picture of the snowy owl. We looked and looked for it only to realize, finally, that it was sitting right in front of us in the snow. I jumped back. Good camouflage.
  My son's class today was about deserts. I think that's funny, considering how cold it is outside. Not all deserts are hot, of course. The thing that makes a desert is the dryness. In that case, the funny thing is that he's learning about deserts while there's two feet of snow on the ground.
  Trivia of the day: A camel can drink 30 gallons of water at a time.

Four stolen hours

  This weekend my husband rented a movie, and we can't find it anywhere. We didn't even get to watch it.
  Our best guess is that someone stole it out of his car while it sat, unlocked, in the parking lot of ShopKo.
  When I was younger, something like this would have really bothered me. I would have worried about the expense. I would have felt victimized. I would have felt like something really bad happened to us.
  But as years pass, things happen to you sometimes that really are bad. By comparison, having a rental movie stolen out of your car doesn't even register as a blip on the scale of Bad Things.
  The movie was in a video-store case, so you couldn't tell what it was. I imagine the thief might have thought it was the Bourne Ultimatum, which came out this week, or some other cool, new movie.
  Well, I'd say it is something cool, but somehow, stealing Season 6 Disk 2 of 24, starring Keifer Sutherland, seems pretty stupid. It has been on TV. For it to make sense, you'd have to at least get Disk 1.
  The video store manager said we can take until Wednesday to replace the disk, or pay for them to buy a new one. So my husband bought the whole season for about $35, and we're going to watch Disk 2 tonight. We don't watch the show on TV because we prefer to watch it in marathon sessions with the ability to pause to go get snacks. Tonight it's slushy margaritas and jalepeno Cheetos.
  If you haven't seen 24, I'll say that it's not for everyone. If you don't like to see people getting tortured, even for pretend, then skip it. But if you enjoy hunkering down for a violent, super-hero type thing, where once an episode or so, someone yells, "WHO DO YOU WORK FOR?", then maybe you'll like it, too.

The fleeting songs of angels

  My daughter was a singing angel in church today. I have a photo that displays why I think she really is an angel, and another photo that displays why I want a new camera.
  The event feels like one of life's mileposts, a kid dressed like an angel singing in church.
  I try to remember times like this when I'm tired and frustrated, wishing for more time to myself. I had a great-aunt who, every time she wrote to me, warned me that my children will grow up faster than I want.
  A while back, a mother said to me, "Someday, your house will be cleaner than you want it to be."
  I wouldn't go that far. From where I sit, I can see about 200 crayons spread across the floor. But I agree with the general point.
  For the next few years, we'll be in the "angel singing in church" phase, and then it will be gone.

The steaming lake

The air temperature is below zero, but the lake hasn't frozen. Steam rises from it like a hot beverage in a chilly room. It's Lake Superior, the world's biggest freshwater lake, providing us with a science experiment that didn't cost a thing.

"No way!"

  My 3-year-old, who's in speech therapy, has been working on putting two words together in a phrase. This has led to her new, humorous way to say no, which is "no way."
  Example conversations:
  "Do you want peanut butter on your toast?"
  "No way!"
  "Do you know where Dad is?"
  "No way!"
  "Do you want help putting on your boots?"
  "No way!"
  She's also starting to ask "why" a lot. To a young child, asking why to everything is enough to hold up their end of the conversation. I enjoy the mental challenge of answering the question numerous times in a row. It's like I've won a debate if she finally says, "Oh."
  Another thing she did today, I would call emotional blackmail. We made Christmas cookie cutouts, and she got to eat one. She chose a drum, ate it, and then wanted to eat a heart. I said no, she had a fit, and I told her she could go cry and yell in her room.
  She went upstairs, but before she slammed the door, she screamed down to us one of the most complex things she has ever said: "Me. Not. Happy! Eat Heart, HAPPY!"
  It's nice to see she's making progress.

Buttons and Bows

  I wonder what percentage of households have a big jar filled with old buttons. At my house, it's a given. I'll start by saving the buttons off old clothes, then add to the collection at rummage sales and the Goodwill store. "Ooo, look at this bag of buttons! It's only a dollar!"
  I know some of you can relate, so here's an idea for how to use them. Today, we made wreath ornaments using pipe cleaners and buttons. This requires no glue, no paint and no glitter, yeah!
  I found this idea in a craft book from the library. It's The Best Christmas Crafts Ever by Kathy Ross. I don't agree that it's the best. About half of the crafts are too weird for me, for example an ornament that's a plastic cap from a pop bottle with a big bubble-wrap bubble shoved in it. Many of them are too abstract: "If you squint hard and use your imagination, it looks like a reindeer head." There also are too many that rely on using an old knit glove.
  On the positive side, Kathy Ross' books have numerous craft projects that young children can actually make. I don't enjoy projects that I have to make for them because the directions are too hard. With most crafts, if you remove the sentiment that the child made it himself, what are you left with? I'll leave that snarky question unanswered.
  To make the wreaths, take a pipe cleaner and put buttons on it. We also put a jingle bell on each, and a little craft-store bow. Leave about an inch empty on each end, then wrap the ends around each other to complete the circle. Voila!

  Pictured left to right: 3-year-old girl, 6-year-old girl, 9-year-old boy and mom. Notice how mine is the most lacking in creativity.

Digital camera surprises, No. 1

  I had to get new batteries for my camera, and when I turned it on today, I had two photos that I had forgotten about. "Oh yeah," I thought, "I was going to write something about that."

  Short Pants

  My kids were all looking at something while I sat on a bench behind them. I noticed that all three had on pants that were about four inches too short.

  Snow Angel

  A week before we got a foot of snow on the ground, my son made a very good snow angel. In case you don't know, the hard part is getting up without messing up the shape.

  Bowling Day

  Today was homeschoolers bowling day, and here we are. The 3-year-old is asserting her independence by not looking at me when I said to. You gotta pick your battles. Until I get a better digital camera, we're going to have a lot of photos of the kids standing still and looking at me.

Why I decided to homeschool

  Homeschoolers don't ask each other why they decided to homeschool. We understand that it's a long, possibly tedious, answer. We understand that it's complicated; it's personal; and if we talk too long about it, we'll sound defensive or angry. It's also irrelevant. I have my reasons; I'm sure you have your reasons. What does it matter to me why?
  Although the question doesn't come from other homeschoolers, it's a question that homeschoolers get asked a lot. If you're like me, your answer depends on who is asking.

  Inquisitor: Retired school teacher
  My answer: You know, schools are in such a tight spot right now. Class sizes are growing, and resources are dwindling. I enjoy homeschooling because I can individualize their lessons and closely monitor their progress.

  Inquisitor: Friend you had before either of you had kids, and who isn't homeschooling
  My answer: I just enjoy it. Isn't it great that we're all free to make the choices that work best for our families?

  Inquisitor: Member of extended family
  My answer: Homeschooling is going well. Their test scores are great, and there's an active community of homeschoolers in the area for us to get together for socialization.

  Inquisitor: A person who hates homeschoolers and thinks that isn't obvious by the way he or she asked the question
  My answer: Oh, it's not because I hate schools, I know the schools here are great! You know, homeschooling is working for us now, but I always keep an open mind. You never know what the future might bring, and it might work out later that we send them to school.

  Inquisitor: Person who is just trying to sniff out whether you're homeschooling for religious reasons
  My answer: It's not for religious reasons.

  There are hundreds of reasons why parents choose to homeschool. But I think that most decisions people make are made for one reason. There's one thing that tipped the scales. After the decision is made, if it's a good one, numerous affirmations will arise and you think, "Yep, I'm glad I decided to do that!" After awhile, these affirmations become reasons, and you can forget what the real reason was.
  I'm thinking of this today because someone who doesn't fit any of the above categories, and who has no children, has asked me, "Why did you decide to homeschool?" The question feels different this time, sincere, even quaint.
  I have been trying to think of an answer, trying to think of what to write, because, in case you couldn't tell, none of the above answers are for real. Not really.
  Usually when I write something, I'll think about it and a "line" will form in my mind. I'll formulate one point, then the next, try to wrap it all together with a thesis statement and conclusion. You know what I mean. But thinking about this topic, trying to answer this question, my mind feels like a spider web. Where do I begin? How could I possibly explain?
  Let's try this: For starters, imagine you decide to have children, and you're anticipating how your life is going to change. You're trying to imagine how your life will be from now on, and what kind of life you can give your children.
  You think: What if I didn't have to get up at 6 a.m. to get the kids to school on time? What if I didn't have to nag them to get their homework done? What if my kids didn't have to feel bad because they're slow to learn something? What if they really loved something and were allowed to learn about it all day? What if they got to wear whatever clothes they wanted and didn't come home from school crying because someone made fun of them? What if they got to choose who to spend time with, got to pick their friends, just like grownups do? What if our family got to go on vacation whenever we wanted? What if we spent our days having fun, goofing around and learning about stuff? What if my kids spent the majority of their time with the people who love them the most?
  Wouldn't that be awesome?
  My answer is yes. And that is why I homeschool.

Postcard from a quitter

  Before we got married, my then-boyfriend and I went on a rockin' vacation to Mount Rushmore. Our main objective was to drive around and eat snack foods purchased at gas stations. This was a good objective for driving across Minnesota and the Dakotas because there's a whole lot of nothing in between the somethings. Besides Rushmore, the only thing I really planned to see was Bear Butte, which I insisted on calling Bare Butt the whole trip. The butte is a sacred site for many American Indians, so I shouldn't be making jokes. Can I respect the sanctity and still chuckle at the English-French name?
  We did make it to Bear Butte and Mount Rushmore, and as I enjoy doing, I bought some postcards. I especially like sending postcards to people who didn't know I was going anywhere. "What a surprise for them," I'll think, spreading joy in the world.
  We got back to my truck (yeah, no minivan yet), ready to leave, and I said I was going to write my postcards first. I had six. "What, you mean now?" my then-boyfriend asked. He thought I would write them later at a hotel room, when I had time to think about it and work on them.
  For him, writing six postcards would be difficult. What do you say? How do you express it? But for me, you write:

The one on the left looks like you!
I hope to be carved up there someday.
We're having a great time. Jealous?
Sorry you're stuck back at home and we're partying with the presidents.
I thought there were only three up there. My mistake!
and
I'm in South Dakota! Surprise!

  They were just postcards to say "hi," so I didn't dig very deep. But the memory stands out for me as when I first started thinking of myself as a writer. It is when I realized that not everyone enjoys writing postcards.
  That was 14 years ago, and all that time, I have been strutting around, thinking of what a writer I am, but doing very little writing. I have enjoyed starting a blog because there are no editors or deadlines. Very few people may read what I write, but I'm the boss of it all; it's a fair trade.
  Still thinking I'm a writer, I signed up for the National Novel Writing Month challenge to write a 50,000-word novel in one month. Now I have to adjust my self-image a little, because there's no way I'm that kind of writer.
  For one thing, a novel is supposed to be fiction. That means it can't be about myself and things that happen with me and my kids. But really, what else can I think about these days? I'm self-absorbed and very busy. As I worked to write my novel, I would be distracted by thinking about how I could be sleeping instead. I was distracted by ideas I had to write on my blog. I felt my blood pressure rise with impatience as I realized that I didn't care to make up a story.
  I wrote 2,760 words and then quit. I should stick to postcards.
  In honor of my attempt, however, I will leave you with two excellent excerpts.

Early on, still trying hard:
  As the sky grew darker and the air caught a chill, Amanda stuck her hands in her jacket pockets and found a roll of mints. Hungry, she popped one in her mouth and chewed it. She ate three more and saved the rest.
  The bit of food stirred her hunger, but she decided that hunger was something she could ignore. She just wanted to keep walking, away from her family and into the quiet dark.

Later, getting annoyed with the whole thing:
  And that's when the leprechauns came out and started to dance around the woman.
  "Wow," she thought, "this is really weird to be surrounded by all these leprechauns. And if I were to spell 'leprechaun,' I'd probably get it wrong."
  "Come with us," one of them said, "to our underground lair."
  "Leprechauns have lairs?" Amanda asked.
  "Duh," he said, "where did you think we lived?"
  So Amanda and the leprechaun, along with his four friends, walked about 10 yards to the rotted bottom of a large tree. The leprechaun jumped into the hole at the bottom, and the other four little men waited for her to be next.
  "I'm not sure about this," she said. "I'm busy running away from my life."