Mom signs up for Webkinz

  The facebook.com website was started for college students and later allowed anyone to join, making some students feel as if old people had invaded their territory. I predict that the next barrier to be breached will be webkinz.com, though its intended audience won't be aware that there are adults around.
  Webkinz is the companion website to the popular stuffed animals. The stuffed animals come with codes that allow the owners to play games online and take care of their virtual pets.
  I have been watching my children play these games and sometimes log on as them to play, too. A lot of the games have educational aspects to them, so that's nice. I can impress my kids with the typing game. "Wow, look how fast Mom can type!" Oh yeah, I have talent.
  Playing with the kids' pretend pets was somehow dissatisfying to me. I was starting to want one of my own. Then we figured out how we could sign up as friends to each other and send each other gifts. That did it. I bought myself a turtle that day, earned some pretend money, and sent the kids pretend presents. The brilliant part is, they react to it as if I sent them a real gift.


  I named my turtle "Tortuga," the Spanish word for turtle, because I never tire of trying to teach the kids stuff.

Dancing with the 'Doo

  With the rare exception, I believe kids should choose their own clothes and hairstyles. On Saturday, for the second time, Cookie wanted to wear her Scooby-Doo costume to dance class. For the first time, I had my camera.

  Things were fine until she decided she was going to act like a dog and ignore what the teacher said. I could see through the window, and several times stood up halfway before sitting back down, wondering whether I should yank her out of the class.
  It's a silly thing to wonder about. You know, "If you have to ask ..." It soon became clear that Scooby had danced enough.
  I'm going to sign her up for soccer. I think an activity where she runs around a big field and kicks a ball will suit her better than pretending to be a butterfly and prancing around on her tip-toes.

Where's Neverland when you need it?

My son is 9 years old.
When he was 2, he liked the PBS show "Caillou." The show's song starts out:

      "I'm just a kid who's 4.
      Each day, I grow some more.
      I like exploring.
      I'm Caillou."

Four years old seemed a long ways away then.


  He was an early reader, so when he was 4, he was reading "Calvin and Hobbes" cartoon books. Calvin is 6. Again, that seemed like a long ways off.


  The kids were watching "Arthur" the other day when someone on the show mentioned that Arthur is 8. I stopped what I was doing and said, "He's 8? Wow, you're older than him." All day, I felt like I was shaking off a feeling.


  Now he's reading "Fox Trot" cartoons. It's less than a year until he's the same age as Jason, the 10-year-old computer nerd.



  And don't even get me started on Harry Potter. My poor heart can't take it.





Caillou and Arthur from pbskids.org; "Calvin and Hobbes" by Bill Watterson; "Fox Trot" by Bill Amend; cute kid in red shirt photographed by me; Daniel Radcliffe in Warner Bros. "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone"; Radcliffe in "Details" magazine, August 2007.

A 3-year-old's iron will

  Mommy bloggers will write about how it seems that everyone else has their act together, and they're the only ones who feel like they're coming unglued.
  We're all partly to blame when we upload pictures of our beautiful children doing brilliant things. But today hasn't been a brilliant day. We're having fun and doing stuff, but having some tense times, too.
  For example, I had to carry this wailing child out of the grocery store while getting a cart full of groceries and two other children back to the van.

  I depend on my other kids so much to help me in situations like this, I don't know how I'd cope if they were in school. "Help me push the cart," I said. "OK, Mom," they said, as they always do.
  My youngest daughter was screaming and crying and pitching a fit in the store, my arms were wearing out and my stress level was rising. I set her down when we got out the door.
  "Stand there," I said. "I'm going to take your picture."
  That is Ice Cold, I know. I saw another woman nearby smile sideways at me as I took the picture. I could see that she understood.
  The problem in the store was that we had one of those car-carts, and she got in and out of the car about 15 times before I told her she had to choose: Ride in the car, or get out and walk. We had about five more minutes to spend in the store, and I was unsympathetic when she changed her mind and wanted to ride again. I said I could carry her, but she was not getting back in that car.
  It's interesting to me that I never, ever, ever give in to stuff like this, yet she continues to test me. With my first two kids, they understood quickly that there was no use fussing, and they saw the benefits of having a calm, relaxed mother. They've always been so good.
  I like to imagine how my youngest child's personality will benefit her later in life. She is bold. She is determined. She isn't easily intimidated or persuaded to change her mind. She is resourceful and figures out how to do things by herself.
  These are amazing qualities for a woman, but inconvenient qualities for a 3-year-old's mother.

Tales from the Goodwill

  I went to the Goodwill store yesterday, a favorite pastime, and have three stories to tell.

Part One, in which I have no sense of humor
  I like to think I have a sense of humor. I like to think I don't take things too seriously, that I'm not the Debbie Downer of a party. But there are things that I just don't find funny. Whoopie Cushions. Calling people "retarded." Plastic hillbilly teeth.


  These are for sale in a machine at the Goodwill store. I say again: The Goodwill store, where poor people shop. I told the kids, "There's nothing funny about people being unable to afford good dental care." It's one of those instances where I don't want them to feel their own way through the world. I don't want them to make observations and come to their own conclusions. I want them to agree with their mother, who says plastic hillbilly teeth aren't funny.

Part Two, in which the music I enjoy has been cast off by others
  Much of my music collection these days has Goodwill stickers on the side. I don't even bother to remove the stickers. People are welcome to know where they came from.


  So what did we find this time?
Dueling Banjos. It might surprise you how much little kids like banjo music.
My Fair Lady — Original Broadway Cast. Julie Andrews rocks, in her own way. Our local community theater will be staging this play later this year, and it'll be nice to know the songs.
Joan Osborne. I have her first CD. I'll see whether I like this one.
Karaoke. Always fun.
Walt Disney soundtracks for "Aladdin," "Hercules" and "Hunchback." I suspect the same person donated these. Thanks, whoever you are. When you're driving around town listening to kid music, variety is welcome.
Goo Goo Dolls. I don't know anything about this one. We'll see.
  When I get a lot of CDs like this, I start to feel like the cost is adding up. "Three dollars? Why is the banjo one three dollars? Oh. It's a double-CD set. OK." It's funny how my perspective has changed because I have three kids to feed.

Part Three, in which I buy more books


  I used to be quite prejudiced against abridged books. I have come around to thinking that they're a great way for children to learn the stories so that when they're older, they can read the real books easier and get more out of the experience. If they never read the real books, at least they'll know the characters from the stories and be familiar with different types of stories, etc.
  OK, then there's this. A lot of these books are ones that I never read. Now I can read each of them in a couple hours and feel better about myself. I have given up believing that I'm ever going to get around to reading the real books. I recently read the abridged "Great Expectations." I could tell there was a lot I was missing, and a lot I wasn't missing. Know what I mean?

Snack food reverence

I took this picture of my daughter holding a cupcake at Starbuck's.
The look on her face reminded me of something.










"Virgin and Child" by Rogier van der Weyden (1399/1400 - 1464); Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, Texas. Source: KET Distance Learning

George, why didn't you wait for me?

  Big time movie stars George Clooney and Renee Zellweger came to town today. It's the kind of thing that doesn't happen often in my little, frozen city. The thought of gathering with a crowd of starry-eyed people cheering at some actors seemed like a nice diversion after a long, cold winter.
  For a week, the local newspaper has been saying that after media events at 11 a.m., there would be a public event at 1 p.m. We were downtown for an appointment at 11, got some lunch, and headed over to the event, planning to get there at about a quarter till.
  I could tell something was wrong as we approached the site, and pods of people were huddled here and there, looking at their digital cameras and giggling.
  "Did you see George Clooney?" I asked.
  "Yeah," one giggly lady said. "They're already gone."

  Here I am crying by the sign announcing their arrival.
  The kids weren't disappointed because I didn't tell them where we were going anyway. Since we were outside the children's museum, we decided to go there instead.

  Turns out, the museum is closed on Mondays.

  We decided to go to the train museum.
  Inside, there were chairs set up, velvet ropes and a small stage with two chairs at a table. The place was empty except for one guy cleaning up.
  "Is this where George Clooney sat?" I asked.
  "Yeah," he said. "He was in that chair right there."


  I checked for residual heat but detected none. My wedding band shone in the light. Then I sat in George's chair.

  The kids looked at the trains. They've been there dozens of times, but never when there were two movie stars standing in that spot 15 minutes earlier.

  Since I had my camera out, we stopped by the Vietnam Veterans' exhibit so I could take a picture of my favorite thing in there.

  It's a copy of an ad from the 1950s of someone feeding 7-Up to a baby.

  On the way home, I stopped at the co-op to get milk and chicken for dinner, cause, you know, life goes on.

Birth story haiku

Today I join others in telling my birth stories. The deadline pressure is getting to me, though, so I'm writing them as haiku. I'll post the longer versions someday.

I
Naive first-timer
in pain, insulted, abused.
Eighteen months crying.

II
Different hospital,
doula, birth plan, privacy.
Doctor was too late.

III
No more hospitals.
A midwife comes to my home.
Peaceful, joyous birth.

Easter morning radio show

  Easter morning was like listening to an old-time radio show. I was up kind of late; the kids were up kind of early. The same thing happens on Christmas, of course, and I drag myself out of bed. Wouldn't want to miss Christmas.
  But this morning, the kids were looking for easter baskets and plastic eggs full of candy. I don't really need to be up for that.
  "I found a blue one!"
  "Over there, over there!"
  "I fine geen! Geen one!"
  "Look, look! Under the table!"
  "Wow! Wow!"
  That's what I heard for about 20 minutes. Then they each played with their one new toy. Gameboy got a Bionicle. Cookie got a "Go, Diego, Go!" movie. Princess got a new dress, and I was happy that she was happy that it wasn't a toy.
  She did show me her pink-and-white Easter dress and say, "I wish the Easter Bunny had gotten me a blue one."
  "Why is that?," I asked.
  "Think about it," she firmly said. "Blue and white? They look great together!"
  Of course. Now I see.
  And no, I don't have a picture. This is radio.

A chilly teetotaler

  My husband and I survived together for about 12 years on one bottle of tequila. Our birthdays are three days apart, and we had bought the tequila for a joint birthday party. I like margaritas, but back then, I'd order one when we went out; there wasn't much need for tequila at home.
  As years passed, I had three babies and breastfed them for years. There was even less need of tequila, and so it sat in the pantry.
  Then came Christmas of 2006. My mother-in-law gave me an awesome blender. My husband and I bought some margarita mixer and a new bottle of tequila, since the 12-year-old one only had an inch left at the bottom.
  Over the next year, I bet we went through about 10 bottles of tequila making margaritas.
  I think I'm over it now. What I'm realizing these days is that more than the tequila, what I like is the slushy ice. The tequila makes me feel dehydrated all night, I have trouble sleeping, and I get a slight headache.
  But if I make a slushy with Gatorade mix, I feel better than before. I still shiver from the cold, but will wrap up in a blanket, put on a hat and keep drinking.

Cooking blog for a day
Take this:
And turn it into this:About a-cup-and-a-half of water, tray of ice cubes, half-scoop of Gatorade mix, couple tablespoons of Tang or lemonade mix. Blend it up!
  As with most of my snack kicks, I haven't calculated the calories in one of these drinks. I hope it's not a repeat of the Magic-Shell-coating-ice-cream kick I went on a couple years ago. Those sundaes had about 1,200 calories. Doing the math was all it took to kick that habit.



Unlike during pregnancy, it's OK to drink a little if you're breastfeeding. Read La Leche League's information about breastfeeding and alcohol consumption.

Pirate at the atoll, princess at the fjord

"Are you going to put this on your blog?" the suspicious boy asks.
  It's a stereotype that homeschoolers wear their pajamas all day and dress up like hobbits and such. But it's one of those stereotypes that's true.
  I have gotten a lot of use out of McCalls pattern M2854, which includes children's capes. I made capes for my kids using fleece, which doesn't require finishing the edges. Besides being fun to play in, the capes have been used for actual warmth from time to time.
  Today I had a hobbit, a princess and a horse-rider running around the house. Good times. But things really kicked up a notch when I hung up a new educational poster. Crazy good times.

  They looked in wonder at the geography terms, and the poster became like the map in the beginning of a fantasy novel. You know how you can trace the paths of Frodo or Eragon or Aslan? Like that.
  "I'm going to the mesa!" one of them would proclaim, and then run from the room. "I'm going to the island" another would announce. Even the 3-year-old was doing it, although she kept going to the "bolcano."
  The game is best played with swords and pouches for your pirate coins. Our pouches came from the Ikea store. A proper pirate-booty pouch is the pièce de résistance for numerous pretending games, even ones that accidentally teach geography.

(We have enough pirate money to fill a galleon, but all I could scrape together for this photo was four coins. My babies are sleeping now, though, and I'm not going to wake them up to ask where the treasure is so Mommy can photograph it for her blog. I'm tempted, though.)

Up early on the first day of spring

  I have to get the kids to a class at a local nature center this morning. I'm not usually up with the sun. I like to give it a chance to warm up the air before I get out of bed.
  I miss some pretty sunrises, I suppose. This morning, the sun was just sitting there, right above the trees on the east side of the yard.

  Our driveway is an icy disaster. We got at least 6 inches of snow the other day, which warmed up to slush, and now froze into icy ruts. My husband and I haven't talked about it, but I know we're thinking the same thing, "That's gotta melt soon. Why bother trying to clear it now?"
  It probably will be awhile before it does melt. Our house sits in its own biome. My friends will have tulips popping up, and I'll still have two feet of snow in the yard. It's true, you'll see. I'll plan on taking pictures to document my dismay.

Strike up the band

  I played the flute in school from fifth grade through tenth. Years ago, I sold my flute, but after some ebay shopping, I'm the proud owner once again.
  I don't know what kind of flute teacher I'll be. It seems that music teachers approach the task as if everyone might become a professional musician. If you want to be that good, there's a lot to learn. But what about the rest of us? Can you learn a little and just have fun? Is that allowed?
  This occurred to me at our monthly homeschool folk dancing lessons. There is a band that comes from a local charter high school to play on fiddles, guitars and a few other folk instruments. Most of the students have learned to read music from other teachers, but the teacher for their string band is teaching them to play by ear, in the tradition of folk music.
  What a fun option. Study a fingering chart enough to learn the notes, and then just play what you like. If you want to play harder stuff, then study more. If you know a few simple songs and are OK with that, fine.
  My 6-year-old spent half an hour just looked at the beautiful, shiny instrument, examining the keys and springs. I had her practice blowing into the head piece. I bought Telemann's Twelve Fantasies for Flute on itunes. We'll see how inspired she gets.

St. Patrick's Day snow

  The scene in my backyard this morning. I'm tired of this.

Orthodontist sets us straight

  We got good news at the orthodontist today. My son had an appointment for an evaluation. I was worried. All you hear about with braces is "Three Thousand Dollars."
  It used to be that one of his top front teeth bit down in front of his bottom teeth, and the other one bit down behind it. I've known about this problem for more than a year, but haven't looked at his teeth that closely for a long time. Miraculously, I looked at his teeth this morning, and both his top front teeth now bite down in front of his bottom teeth. Somehow, that issue has resolved itself.
  The other issue is crowding, but the orthodontist said our priority right now is to wiggle his four stubborn loose teeth to see how it affects everything when they fall out. We're probably going to have to get one of them pulled, but it's already loose, so that shouldn't be too bad.
  I am filled with admiration for the orthodontist. I had feared that he would be like a dentist we went to once, who tried to instill insecurity in order for us to get cosmetic procedures. Quite the opposite, however, he said he has seen teeth in better shape get braces, and teeth in worse shape not get braces. He was helpful and relaxed, and does not charge for consultations.
  My husband and I talked about it, and we don't think it's necessary for everyone to have perfect, movie-star teeth. But we want to take good care of our kids, and if any one of them has teeth that are too messed up, we'll get them straightened. We just don't know how we would pay for it.
  I'm waiting for someone to pinch me. Maybe my son won't need braces. Pinch me; I'm awake, right?

Coffee disaster, coffee delicious

  I woke up today wanting a cup of coffee. It's not something I have on most days, having given up caffeine for years of pregnancy and breastfeeding. I figure it's best for me not to regain an addiction I gave up.
  But it's nice to have some sometimes. My plan was not fancy. I wanted to fill a mug half with water, half with milk and add some instant coffee. Not fancy.
  I opened the fridge to find no milk. Bummer. But in the door of the fridge was a forgotten can of Reddi Wip. I can't remember why we have it.
  So here's my genius plan. I filled the mug half with water, half with Reddi Wip and microwaved it. The Reddi Wip melted down. I added more. It melted down. I added more. It was getting cold, so I heated it up some more and added the coffee powder.
  The result was a foamy, delicious drink that was very much like lattes I have had a restaurants.
  "But Beverly," you might ask. "Didn't you just drink a mug half full of cream?"
  Yes I did. Yes — I — did.

The day the police came knocking

  You may have read the story about a mom in Chicago who was arrested for leaving her 2-year-old in the car alone for a few minutes. The charges were dropped on Thursday.
  I'm so happy for the woman, who I firmly believe did nothing wrong. And now I'm going to tell my story about someone calling the police on me.
  It was a mild day in autumn — the weather report is relevant.
  I wanted to get some ice cream. I wanted to do it quickly, and didn't want to drag my 2-year-old girl into the store when she was so close to nap time.
  I left her with her brother and sister, who were almost 5 and almost 8 years old. The van was locked, and the kids were in the back, behind tinted windows.
  I ran into the store, got the ice cream and came back. We drove home, and I got my 2-year-old down for her nap.
  About 10 minutes later, there was a loud, forceful, repeated knock on the door.
  "Who pounds on someone's door like that?" I wondered as I ran to answer it before they woke up my daughter. I saw who it was and thought, "Oh. I guess THAT'S who pounds on the door like that."
  It was a police officer.
  He asked whether I had just been at the store. For a second, I thought I was winning a citizenship award or something because while I was getting the ice cream, I also found someone's credit card on the floor and turned it over to the cashier.
  But no.
  "We got a report of an infant left alone in a vehicle," he said.
  "No sir," I said. "She's not a baby. I left my 2-year-old in my van, but she wasn't alone. Her 5-year-old sister and 8-year-old brother were with her." (I was pushing their ages a few weeks. My bad.)
  "You just run in for a minute?" he said.
  I said yes.
  "Yeah, my partner has kids. He says he does that all the time."
  Thanks, partner.
  I'm pretty sure I had the right demeanor for an interaction like this. I realized right away that I needed to be humble and say "yes, sir" and "no, sir." I took his concern seriously.
  The police officer left, and I asked the kids if anyone had been looking into the car.
  "Oh, yeah," Princess piped up. "There was this lady wearing black, and she looked really close into the car, and then she was talking on her phone."
  "Did she try to open the door?" I asked.
  "No."
  "Where did she go? I was only gone a couple minutes."
  "I don't know."
  OK. So this woman is so worried as to call the police, but she doesn't stick around to make sure nothing happens to the child she thinks is in danger? She calls the police with my license plate and then leavees. I was back so quickly that the police had to track me down at home.
  I have heard stories of people stealing a car that was left unlocked and running, only to discover that there were kids in the car, too. But I have never heard of a case where someone broke into a locked car to steal a child.
  I have heard stories of children dying in a hot car, or getting frostbite in a cold car. But the weather was fine that day.
  I don't know what the law says about at what age a child can be left alone. I'm sure plenty of parents feel safe leaving an 8-year-old in charge for a few minutes. My 2-year-old didn't have any food or small toys to choke on.
  When I ran in for ice cream, my estimation of the risk I was putting my children in was zero. The only — only — thing that a person could imagine happening was that someone would break in to get at the kids. If I'm going to be afraid of that, then I really can't ever let the kids out of my sight. No playing in the yard, no running in the woods, no getting your own books at the library.
  Like all moms, of course I worry that something bad could happen. I pray that it doesn't. But there is no amount of fear I could live in that would guarantee my kids will always be safe from everything.
  Mostly, what I guess I'm saying is, if that woman in the parking lot was really worried, she should have stayed a few minutes to see if I was coming back.
  Instead, she just wanted to narc me out and feel superior. That's not how to help mothers of young children. That's not how to help society.

The art of seeing

  My 6-year-old girl is always drawing. She carries a sketchbook with her and draws things she sees, things she imagines; she's inventing her own form of writing.
  The other day she showed me the top picture.
  "I was trying to draw Gameboy's frog," she said. "You see, I tried to make the yellow skin underneath."
  She was shaking her head. She knew something about it didn't look right.
  I told her that it's hard to draw something from your imagination. I suggested she get the stuffed frog to look at and try drawing it again.
  When she showed me the second drawing, the bottom picture, I was amazed by the difference.
  I showed my husband when he got home from work. He has a B.A. in Fine Arts, so he can speak with some authority on the matter. He said that drawing the frog from her imagination first would help her pay closer attention to the object once it was in front of her. For example, she knew that the underside was yellow, but how do you draw the underside of something? Notice, too, that in her imagination, the frog had eyelashes.
  Too many people think that drawing is a talent that you either have or you don't. It's true that some people are gifted, but anyone can study how to draw and get better at it. Don't just say you can't do it; practice!


  Enthusiasm can run wild, however. Last fall, I was cleaning out Happy Meal boxes from the backseat of my minivan, and I saw this in front of my daughter's seat. I gasped, but didn't say anything about it for a long time. Finally, I said to her out of the blue, "Don't write on the seats in the van. You can draw in your notebook." Her eyes froze in a fixed spot and she said, "OK."
  Enough said, really. It's not as if anyone but her sees the back of that seat. I admire her art, and some minor vandalism comes with the territory.

Legos trump fashion

  I was at the Goodwill store, naturally, and saw a plastic box peeking out from the bottom of the toy shelf.
  "Are those Legos?" I thought. "No way!"
  Way.
  It's a plastic storage box full of Legos. The price was $20, so it's not like they were free, but if you've ever bought Legos, you know they're crazy expensive. And just the storage box would be 10 dollars. I told my son we might pick out enough Lego pieces to sell on ebay for $20 and keep the rest.

  The easiest way to do this would be to sell the people. They sell for about one dollar each. But, of course, it's fun to have lots of people, so they're probably the last pieces we'd sell. You can see some Harry Potter people, Star Wars characters and assorted tough guys. This picture doesn't show them all.

  It didn't take them long to get organized. This team here is going to battle Star Wars robots that we already had.

  The other awesome Goodwill find was a new pair of Mom Jeans for four dollars.
  I totally deserve Mom Jeans if I'll spend $20 for a box of Legos and only $4 on a pair of pants. But I have three kids to feed, ballet lessons to pay for, and my son has an appointment with an orthodontist on Monday.
  Go ahead, laugh at me for having a waistband up to my armpits. I don't mind.

40 degrees

  The snow won't be completely gone for a couple more months, but when it hits 40 degrees after a long, cold winter, it feels tropical.
  This is the only kind of sunbathing I do:



  Gameboy made a snowman all by himself. I think what he enjoyed most was that, because he built it by himself, it was OK for him to smash it back into the ground.
  There was some time to admire it before that happened.



  I wonder whether Cookie remembers that it's possible for water to be liquid outside. She discovered some puddles and reveled in the splashing.

  Princess didn't want to play in the snow, but I made her come outside. She sat on the porch in the sunshine while I took out the garbage. Coming back down the driveway, I saw she had changed her mind and put on some shoes. They were dress shoes, and she tiptoed through the slushy snow. I thought to myself, "That girl is going to move to New York City the first chance she gets."

  I took Cookie for a walk through the woods to get a picture of a tree the woodpeckers have been pecking.


  But she couldn't stop talking about something else she saw. During the 15-minute hike, she must have said it 100 times, sometimes loud, sometimes under her breath, but it was always in a disapproving, chastising tone:


"Deer poop."

Homeschool Commando

  "Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger denounced a state appeals court ruling that severely restricts homeschooling and promised Friday to change the law if necessary to guarantee that parents are able to educate their children at home."

— The San Francisco Chronicle, March 8, 2008.

  Read the whole story here.

  Previous article, in case you hadn't heard.