Update: Did the sign get on TV?

  We gave it our best shot to get on TV with our Martin Luther King Jr. quote-on-a-sign. After watching the parade on news reports online, I see that our fatal error was not to be in the very front of the parade. As a journalist, I should have known this. After you get what you need for your report, there's no reason to stay around for the whole parade. It's not the best way to be a reporter, but it happens a lot.
  Our sign did get on TV, but it was the back of the sign. Lesson No. 1: Be in the front of the parade. Lesson No. 2: Put stuff on the back of your sign. You can see my sign in the photo above. Barely.

  My friend Joe got on TV because his son wanted to be in front by the big puppets. I guess his 7-year-old is more media savvy than me. That's Joe in the blue plaid shirt and big beard, in between King and Gandhi. This picture makes me laugh.

Clearly, it's about the sign

  It's Martin King Luther Jr. Day, of course, and there was a march through downtown. It's a chance to teach the kids about history, racism and civil rights — and for us to get on TV.
  For years, I've been too exhausted with little children to get out to something like this, but this year, I was sure I wouldn't end up carrying anybody. And of course, too, a march means we get to make a cool sign. The better the sign, the better the chance to get on TV, right?

  I'm quite the sign critic. This manifests itself mostly when I'm trying to find a garage sale. People will write too much information on their sign, and the type will be too small. "Are they expecting me to get out of the car to read that?" I'll rant while my patient children ignore me. When I've had garage sales, my signs say "SALE" really big with an arrow. Follow the arrows, and you'll find my sale.
  Being fussy as I am, we put some thought into our sign. It was a graphic design lesson as well as history. I found a bunch of King quotes, and the kids picked one.

  "We cannot walk alone" is from the "I have a dream" speech. I told the kids it means all people need each other and should live peacefully together. That's true, but actually, the quote is from the end of a paragraph encouraging black people not to hate white people. We were amused by the literal meaning, too, since we'd be walking as we held it.
  Notice the high-contrast colors, large letters and simple message. It's billboard-ready. TV-ready. The only graphics are the hearts cut into the O's. "It's a subtle message, a secondary message of love," I told the kids. They think I'm making this stuff up. I have a friend who just told me her son switched majors in college to graphic design, and I indelicately told her that just makes me think of all the laid-off graphic designers I know. I can't imagine spending one cent of my money for a child of mine to study graphic design in college, so these kids better lap up my knowledge right now.
  But back to the sign, the only thing missing was handles. There was a slight wind, and it would have been easier to carry the sign if I'd cut hand-holds into the side panels. I'll remember this next year. And when my kids are in college becoming engineers, they'll know this kind of stuff, too. Besides designing bridges and skyscrapers, they can develop an easy-to-hold, wind-resistant parade sign. And they'll know how to design it so you can read it from down the street.

  The scene down the street behind us ...

  and in front of us shows that we did not walk alone.

  But we also did not stay for the speeches. Some other parents snuck out of the assembly at the end of the march, too. They said last year they stayed, and it was too long and boring for the kids. "We want it to be a positive experience for them," they said.
  Couldn't agree more. We finished our walk with a stop to Starbuck's.

  Gameboy took this picture of me with the town's ubiquitous civil-rights puppets. It looks like my sign says "We cannot walk." Always check your pictures when the kids take them.

Good point

  My husband and I are anticipating a morning coming up when we'll have only one car. He leaves for work early, before the rest of us are awake. In the past when we've had one car, we all got up to drive him to work.
  This time, I suggested we leave the 11-year-old sleeping Gameboy in charge of the sleeping crew. They would be alone for about 20 minutes, so I don't think it's worth waking everybody up.
  I told Gameboy and Princess the plan, and they were surprised by the newness of the idea. I explained that everyone will be asleep, I won't be gone long, Gameboy is old enough to be in charge, and most important, we don't have any little children in the house because the youngest, Cookie, is 5.
  Still a little unsure, Princess pointed out, "Yeah, but she can be really annoying."
  I said we'll take that into consideration.

Twilight zone

  I don't think "not killing me" is proof of love. I take that part for granted. Proof of love must go way beyond letting me live. So the gist behind the "Twilight" franchise bothers me. I don't know much about the books or movies, but I'm leery enough that my kids haven't seen them. But that doesn't mean they don't know about them.
  Princess knows how I feel but is not deterred. She thinks the whole thing looks really cool. So when I found a website where you could stick your face in a "New Moon" poster, I made one for her. I thought it was funny. She liked it a little too much.
  It has become a disturbing vision of my future. The picture makes her look like a teenager — a teenager clinging to a boy.

Cookie's gift

  So what book did Cookie get me for Christmas?
  It's called "Ten-second Rainshowers: Poems by Young People," compiled by Sandford Lyne. Of all the books she could have somewhat-randomly picked, she did well. I like children's literature and poetry, but most of all, I like the first page where she wrote her name and "Mom."
  The other day, she came into my room first thing in the morning while I was still in bed. She put the book on my bedside table, smiled and walked back out. I told her I like the book very, very much.
  Here's a sample poem, which I chose in honor of you bloggers:

As I write
these words most
will likely be
forgotten but it took
time of my life
to do it
— Scott Denson, grade 7

Beautiful birthday

  It was a fancy day for Princess' eighth birthday party. We went to a cosmetology school, and the students there gave our guests up-dos and nail polish.
  I was a bit insecure about how the party would go. This would not be fun for me; even as a kid, this wouldn't have been my idea of a fun day. But there is a reason I gave my daughter the blog name Princess, and that reason is, among other things, she loves hairdo parties.

  I was going to group the girls together in a "before" picture, but they arrived at slightly different times and were called in. Here's Princess getting her nails done.

  I thought about warning them ahead of time about how much hair Princess has, but they were unfazed. She looked through a book of wedding hairdos, picked one, and they went to work.

  And here she is, ready to get married, maybe. Married with glitter hairspray.

  As the party approached, my husband quietly asked me whether Cookie was invited, too. I said of course. She has declared herself not to be as "fancy" as her big sister, but she still likes a good party.

  And here she is all dolled up. The whole back of her head is covered in curls. I didn't know her hair could even do that, but of course it can, if you spend an hour curling it!

  The girls had cupcakes and exchanged gifts. They got boas, nail polish, lip gloss and body spray as party favors. It was like something out of a "Fancy Nancy" book.

  I'm quite proud of myself for mailing the invitations, real ones, mind you, made of paper and mailed in the real mail. It was a domestic moment. Mind you, I had to track down the addresses. We have one girl from ballet, one from soccer, two from the theater, one from homeschool chess club and one who's been a friend since they were babies. And little sister. Don't forget little sister.

How about May Day resolutions?

  It's time for my post about not making New Year's resolutions. I read a great story in The Wall Street Journal about brain science proving that New Year's resolutions don't work. I'll just add: "Yeah, what they said."
  We're having a cold snap here in Minnesota. It's 20 below outside, and all I want to do is wrap up in cocoon-like blankets, drink cocoa spiked with something alcoholic and eat cookies while I sit in front of the fireplace. Even if our brains could deal with many great life changes at a time (which they can't, says the aforementioned newspaper article), this would be a bad time of year to try.
  Perhaps I'll be motivated to eat less and exercise more in, like, May. But not now. Not now.