An apology? Whoa!

Teenagers can surprise you. They can also drive you crazy. But the good surprises can make it all seem worth it. The other day I was driving home from work and called my teen -- I thought he was at a friend's and was going to offer him a ride. He didn't answer. I dialed again.
"WHAT!" he yelled. "Nice," I said. "Where are you?"
"I'M SLEEPING!" he yelled again, then hung up.
Growl! Alone in my car, I blurted out a few choice words.
I can't stand when people hang up on me. Always struck me as extremely rude to not close the conversation first, even if you're angry. Even when the kids call and beg for something when they know the answer is no, I'll say, "I'm hanging up now. Bye!" Or when they call when I'm in the middle of something, an "I'll call you back in a few minutes" will suffice.
So I stewed for the rest of the ride. Stewed in the grocery store, then got over it before I got home. When I came in, he walked past the kitchen where I was putting groceries away, then he stopped, turned around and came into the kitchen.
"Sorry," he said. "But I was sleeping and all my friends were texting me and then you called. I didn't mean to yell."
Wow. An unrequested apology! We must be doing something right.
"That's OK," I said. "I was just calling to see if you needed a ride."
I missed the opportunity to say, "Now you know how I feel when it's 3:45 on Friday, I'm at my busiest point of the week and you call to ask if you can do something on Saturday and won't take 'Let's talk about it later' as an answer."
But not every situation has to turn into a lesson. Sometimes you just have to appreciate when they do the right thing all on their own, like apologize for something relatively minor, without me having to say anything first.

Grrrrrr

This is a repeat blog, sometimes I think I have to post it up once a month between September and June, but here I go again: When will people learn the rules and the courtesies that go with the "drop-off" line at school? This got me going once again this morning, when I was dropping off my daughter, I had moved up in line, a bunch of cars in front all left and when we moved up, I was second in the line. My daughter took a little longer climbing out of the back seat than the kid in the car in front of us, so that car left about 10 seconds before she was out and the door was shut. As I was about to drive off, another car pulled in front of me.
To that driver: Didn't you notice about 10 cars in line behind me? Is their time less important than yours?
Here's the plan: When you get to the line, get in the back. You pull up as the cars move, and wait your turn. If you're OK with your kid hopping out when you're toward the back of the line, that's OK. Parents of older school kids generally do that, then pull out of the line and go on their merry way. The cars behind pull up -- that's not an opening for a new car. When it flows like that, we can all get our kids to school on time -- the line moves forward with the front few cars leaving at least every 30 seconds.
I've got problems with a few types of drop-off parents, and I've heard quite a few other moms griping about them too. Whether it's rudeness or just plain ignorance, I don't know, but they've caused parents who left in plenty of time to get their kids to school to have a near-miss with the late bell. And here they are:
1 -- The lady above, who cut the entire line. Unless you're running to the hospital with an emergency, get in the back. Going to be late for work? Too bad, you should have left earlier. Worried your child might be late for school? So is everybody you just cut off, and now, by blocking me from pulling out and allowing all of them to pull up, they just might have to worry. You should have left earlier. And in the case of the woman who pulled in front of me today, there were still quite a few minutes left on the clock before the bell was going to ring. That was just plain rude.
2 -- The parents who don't get out of the line until their children are in the door -- even after they're in the fenced-in playground. Now at our school, there are two teachers at the door. They are watching the children. But at least once a week, I see parents who drop off their kids, then just stay in the line, or inch forward, and don't drive off until their kids are inside the door. If you're that worried that something's going to happen between the car and the school, do what plenty of other parents do. Park down the block and walk your children to the door. Worried they'll be late? Leave earlier.
3 -- Parents who drop their kids off before the door is open, then stay there until the teachers open up the door. There are parents monitoring the playground. If you're concerned about your child's safety before the door opens, park down the street and join those parents.
4 -- I don't see this type of parent too often, but as long as I'm whining: The parents who get out of their cars on the drop-off line and walk their child to the door. (This rule goes out the window when you've got to drop off food for a party or birthday -- we'll give you a little grace period then, but you also could just park down the block -- see complaint number 2). This bothered me more at Sunday School -- parents would actually get out, lock their cars and walk their kids all the way to the classroom. There's a whole parking lot there -- use it! The drop-off line, which has since been banned at our Sunday School -- is for dropping off, not parking. At my children's elementary school, one rainy day a parent got out, walked with an umbrella over her already well-protected raincoated children, one by one to the door. I was a few cars behind them, and that night, I ran into a mom who was in line in front of me, and she said she was also ready to scream. She beeped instead.
And that's what I did this morning, to the line cutter. Hope she got the message. If not, would somebody pass it along to her?

Should I stay or should I go now?

New rule: No more Gameboy on the way to soccer. That's what we decided Saturday when we arrived at the pre-K soccer game on Saturday. Our little guy plays on the co-ed team -- one of his two girlfriends is on his team, the other is on another team we have yet to play. We're still in the pre-cooties stages, and he'll tell you flat out who his two girlfriends are. Little Casanova.
Anyhow, we got to the field, and suddenly, he stopped in his tracks. "I don't wanna play," he said. Augh. I know it was because he was reluctant to put down the Gameboy that he brought into the car. So for the first quarter we had a battle of wills: I said, "Ok, if you don't want to play, we'll just go home and do nothing." That didn't appeal to him either -- he was just caught in one of those mini meltdowns kids have.
We finally got him out onto the field and ... he loved it. Even when he was supposed to be on the sidelines, he'd sneak back on. Great, I thought, first I couldn't get him on the field and now I can't get him off.
It was funny at the end when they were lining up to high-five the other team. My son suddenly started pulling his shirt up over his head. Looked like he was going to pull it off. "Is he going to pull a David Beckham and fling his shirt into the crowd?" asked a nearby dad.
I don't know if soccer's going to be his "thing." My older son loved it, couldn't wait to get to games and practices. My daughters played for about two years each, then lost interest. Too early to tell with my little guy, but I hope he takes to it. We didn't have a big soccer program around here when I was growing up, I would have loved it. When I was in grade school, soccer coaches were ordered to allow girls to try out, and I did along with two other girls. It rivaled my love for basketball. But I only played the one year, a broken foot ended my career.
So I'll live vicariously through my little Casanova Beckham this year -- if he can keep his shirt on.

Counting calories

I was trying to explain the health benefits of not consuming too many desserts to my 8-year-old last night. She wanted dessert. But she already had plenty of snacks during a visit to grandma and grandpa's -- and while my sons are skinny as rails, my daughters are more like me, and will likely be counting calories in the future. I don't have to starve myself, but I do have to pick and choose what I want to treat myself too, and I also keep the scale nearby and my sneakers in the front of the closet.
She had treats that afternoon at her grandmother's house, then last night she wanted a bowl of ice cream. I said she's had enough treats already, and she could have a healthy snack if she wanted. She asked why she couldn't just have more ice cream and I said she'd already had enough calories for the day.
I tried to steer her toward the healthier explanation of watching what you eat -- that eating too much over time can result in long-term health problems when she's older. I didn't want to use the "you don't want to get fat" line, although I did say "you want to stay in shape."
You see nightmare stories of anorexia and bulimia -- the torment of those who battle with an eating disorder and the ordeals their families and friends go through are awful. On the other hand, the numerous health problems that can result from poor diet and no exercise are something we want to avoid too. How do you get your kids to find the middle ground of being aware of their bodies without being obsessed with body image?
I try to cut unnecessary calories by using reduced-fat ice cream, frozen yogurt or ice pops for treats at home and sending in those 100-calorie snack packs or veggies and dressing-dip to school, and encouraging water over juice.
And I'll go to the cafeteria here at lunchtime and eat my usual soup and salad, most likely staring at the lunches being consumed by coworkers with faster metabolisms. I enjoy a good calorie splurge from time to time, and I let my kids have them too. But I limit mine, and I'm trying to teach them to limit theirs too. I just hope I strike the right balance with them.

Think I'll donate through the mail ...

Looking at the lineup for a Ronald McDonald House fundraiser -- Lousypalooza3 -- this Saturday, I imagine the bands are geared toward my teenager than toward me and my buddies. Here's a sampling of the bands: STDs, Sex Zombies, Wretched Ones, F-Bombers, Turnpike Wrecks.
Whohoo, how do I get tickets?
Kinda sad, when you realize the "new" music will likely hold no attraction for you. But that's the way it's been for years, right? And it works in reverse, too. My teen likes some of the older songs -- cracks me up when I hear him singing along to "Baba O'Riley" by The Who. Their "teenage wasteland" times were over long before I was even a teenager. But with some other groups from my era, he gives me a look like, "You actually listened to that?"
I'm reminded of the school scene in the movie "Clueless," in Mr. Hall's class, with Travis the stoner:

TRAVIS: "OK, like, the way I feel about the Rolling Stones is the way my kids are going to feel about Nine Inch Nails, so I really shouldn't torment my Mom anymore, huh?"
MR. HALL: "Yes. Well, it's a little off the subject of Haiti, but tolerance is always a good lesson, even when it comes out of nowhere."

About a year ago, I took my teen up to the Internet Cafe in Red Bank to see a band some of his friends were in. I joined the parents in the background and enjoyed the show. OK, I didn't make a move to see if there were any CDs available for purchase (or even any freebies) but I also didn't run out holding my ears -- although I was tempted during some of the "screamer" bands, definitely not my style. But just because I don't like them, doesn't mean someone else can't. And there are plenty of songs coming out now from bands that I really like, and some I've even put on my MP3 player.

But, like Travis and Mr. Hall concluded, there's nothing like a little tolerance of others' preferences. And while the names of the bands don't have me scurrying to the fundraiser, I'm sure my almost 17-year-old would love them. And shouldn't every genre be allowed -- and encouraged to have -- an altruistic side?

Spoiled at Six Flags

I've been going to Great Adventure since I was a teen. Didn't go much in my 20s, but with the kids, we started getting season passes. That way, we can go for a few hours and leave, or sometimes I'll just take the younger ones through the safari, although with the price of gas, that'll happen less and less. But Sunday, we took advantage of one of the best things about having those passes: Overcast days. All morning, and a good part of the afternoon, it looked like it could rain. We were busy most of the day, but went out at 5 (park was open till 8) and had little-to-no lines. Even the most popular coasters at 5 had lines less than a half hour. By 6:30, you could walk on just about any one of them. By 7:30, we got on the Batman ride, front row -- there were only seven people on the whole ride.
Taking turns with the kids, my husband and I would alternate going on coasters with our 10-year-old or staying with the younger two in their park areas.
I used to love roller coasters, still do, for the most part. My 10-year-old loves the thrill-rides and she's tall, so she's well past the height restrictions this year. She and my husband went on Kingda Ka, first time for both of them. "Why don't you guys go back and go on, there's not much of a line," my husband said, after the two met us. "Um, No."
I did go on El Toro. It was my second time, and I did the same things each time. 1 -- wondered why I got on, regretting the decision during the very fast lift up and the first turn until -- 2 -- I started screaming/laughing/screaming at that first really huge drop, didn't stop until it slowed before heading back into the gate and -- 3 -- got off and said, "That was great!"
But I probably won't get on those rides much in the summer -- actually, we don't go often in July or August when it's crowded. After you've had the opportunity to get right on, a two- or three-hour line is unacceptable! That's when we'll go and just hang out in the "kiddie" areas, or go see shows. But believe me, we'll get our money's worth from those passes, all the way through October.

Dinks no more!

Awhile back, I posted up the story of my friends Janet and Rich. We affectionately called them "The Dinks" -- Double Income, No Kids. But we also were hoping and praying they'd lose that nickname quickly. They did. Little Stevie (as in Nicks, not Van Zandt) arrived in early April. And she's 6 pounds of adorable got-daddy-wrapped-around-my-tiny-finger-already girl.
After trying conventional and beyond-conventional ways to have a child, my friends started the adoption process, joining up with an agency and then waiting, waiting, waiting until a birth parent spotted their profile and said, "That's who I want to be this baby's mom and dad." We all knew it would happen, and it did, in early April.
We held our breath for a few weeks, waiting for the baby to be born. Janet jumped every time the phone rang. Once I figured I'd call her on her cell phone so she wouldn't jump, but duh, Clare, she gave all her numbers to the agency!
How's this for a dad who's busting at the seams with pride? In an e-mail to friends, Rich first gave Stevie's "stats" on day, time, height, weight, then added this, that made me laugh out loud:
"Likes: pooping, peeing, farting, eating, sleeping (sounds like daddy so far), her binky (pacifier for you non-dads), crying and visitors.
Dislikes: Loud noises, dirty diapers, being cold and Yankee losses. Her favorite color is PINK and she already has her daddy wrapped right around her little finger."
I stopped in on my lunch break to meet her. Picked her up -- it's amazing how light babies are when it's been awhile since you've held one!! And it was noontime, and Janet and Rich were still in their jammies, talking about who did which middle-of-the-night feeding. I remember those days. I remember days never getting out of my jammies!
Parenthood's a wonderful, crazy, fun, exciting, exhausting, sometimes exasperating, but worth-every-second-of-it ride. Welcome aboard, guys!

A glance at underpants

I was speaking with a mom today who has an interesting dilemma. She just moved into a new house, and she has a neighbor who walks outside and to the car with his wife every morning to say goodbye as the wife leaves for work. Problem is, Hubby's always dressed, or undressed I should say, in his boxers. And the wife-leaving-for-work time occurs at the same time this mom's daughter is waiting for the school bus.
This isn't just in warm weather, either. Seems Mr. Neighbor has a bit of Eskimo in him and doesn't mind the chill. But the mom kind of minds. Not only does she feel the need to avert her eyes, but she has her 11-year-old daughter to think about.
"Should I say something? And what?" She is the new person in the neighborhood, and doesn't want to strain neighborly relationships before they've even been set.
One time when she spotted him outside fully clad, she was tempted to yell out, "Hey, I see you DO own some pants!" But some people can't take a joke, and she doesn't know this man well enough to risk it.
What's a mom to do?

The perils of vanity

I've hit a point where the "fine lines" are visible. Maybe not to others, but certainly to me when I get my face right up to the mirror. So I broke down and bought some of those "anti-wrinkle" products. Sure, they're heavy duty moisturizers, but I figure they can't hurt! So I've been dutifully moisturizing with night cream and day cream (with SPF 15!), plus I got some other stuff for under the eyes. I'm not sure if the fine lines are really diminishing, if I'm standing farther away from the mirror or if my eyes are going, but I think it's doing something. Then ....
I got a zit.
?!?!?!?!??????
I don't think I've had a pimple since my teens. At first, when I saw the dot on my chin -- same spot I had to apply cover-up to lo those many years ago -- I did a solo version of the pre-wedding scene of "My Big Fat Greek Wedding." It's a mosquito bite, I told myself. No, that's a zit. Where's Michael Constantine/Gus Portokalos with his spray bottle of Windex?
I guess I overdid it with the moisturizer. Or God's playing a good joke on me ... you want to recapture your youth? Here ya go!
So I'm going to borrow my teen's Clearasil for a few days, but I'll keep the stuff for under my eyes. Never got a zit up there. And I'll keep coloring my hair and explain to friends that I went "prematurely gray." And the wrinkles will still be there, as I'll likely find out when I lean closer to the mirror.
Time marches on. And apparently, sometimes it's a prankster.

My girls and I have a case of "the forgetfuls" this week. Yesterday morning as I was dropping them off at school, my older daughter suddenly realized we both forgot she had band practice. Not a huge deal, I dropped her saxophone off a little later. But we also both forgot that Monday was the day her class went to the school book fair. So there was no check tucked inside her backpack.
She said a lot of kids in her class forgot too, those Monday morning blues. So she's got a check for a later visit.
Driving home last night, I looked at the soccer field, and suddenly realized -- my little guy had a soccer clinic earlier. Oops. Talked to a friend whose daughter is on the same team, they forgot too, but remembered shortly after it started and were able to get there for most of the clinic.
Then this morning, my younger daughter was all prepared for her class trip to the New Jersey Aquarium. I packed her a brown-bag lunch, and tucked an envelope inside with a $10 bill in it so she could buy something at the gift shop. On the drive over to school, I told her it was in there, and to be careful. Well, she must have taken it out to look at it.
And forgot to put it back in. Pulling up to school, she spotted all her friends and got so excited, she ran out with her lunch bag, but without the envelope. Fortunately, the class parent she's assigned to had my cell number and a spare $10 that I'm repaying this evening. That, I can't forget!
I don't know what it is ... maybe it's the culmination of everything -- softball and soccer are starting, ballet is closing in on the end of the season, there's only a few more weeks of Sunday School, and two months from now they'll all be winding down from everything and getting ready for camp. And we've got a million obligations between now and then.
So I'm leaving myself notes all over the place. I really should take advantage of today's electronic devices that help you keep on track of appointments. I don't use them, except the alarms that go off on my cell phone to signal when preschool and grammar school are about to finish the day and children need picking up. Them, I REALLY can't forget.

Tivo? Not in the 70s

I got one of those "remember how things were in the 70s" type of e-mails that made me a little nostalgic. It talked of how when "The Wizard of Oz" came on -- and only once a year -- your whole family would settle in with blankets and your mom would make a big bowl of popcorn.
Wow. That was so true.
OK, I have to admit I love today's technology and abundance of videos that allow us access to our favorite movies or shows whenever we want to see them. But the Wizard thing really struck me: It was something we so looked forward to, you couldn't hit "pause" when you needed a potty break or to get something from the kitchen, you just ran as fast as you could to get there and back to your blanket in time to see the flying monkeys take off.
It made that time, and those shows, kind of special. I remember a couple of years in a row that "West Side Story" and "Brian's Song" came on at the same time and we had to decide which one we were going to watch. Tough call. I was secretly in love with James Caan as a kid, but I loved "West Side Story."
Forget the "I'll watch it in the TV room and you watch it in the den" stuff. The only other TV we had was a teeny tiny black and white TV we kept upstairs for when somebody was sick.
And remember the 4:30 movie on channel 7? I always anxiously awaited Vincent Price week. I think the weirdest movie I couldn't wait to see every year was something called "Crowhaven Farm" with Hope Lange. Freaked me out, but I'd watch it again each year.
I had swim team practice one year on the only night "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" was airing and was extremely upset my mom wouldn't let me skip practice that night. Now it's on a dozen times a day in December, plus we probably have it on video too.
We still do family nights with certain movies, and I do appreciate the ability to hit "pause" when somebody needs a break. And there's no way my kids would understand why I have a tinge of nostalgia for that part of the old days.
But it did give those certain classic movies that we loved so much a little extra specialness.

With the waste and corruption so rampant in New Jersey, sometimes you just want to pack up and get out. The Union City schools audit hitting the news this week has me floored beyond belief. Their 39 school bus drivers (the city is only 1.2 square miles) each got cell phones that cost the district -- and us, the state pays about 75 percent of its school costs -- $345 a month.
And the bus drivers' contract includes six hours of overtime EACH MONTH just to charge those cell phones. Just to plug them in! And One bus driver took in about $73,000 in overtime one year.
Unbelievable. Their mayor, Brian Stack, also a state senator, appoints the school board.
When you see this blatant waste of our money, and you look at your tax bill, is it any wonder why it's getting so high? The governor says he's going to make some painful cuts. Please. The waste in this one school district alone would probably equal what he's going to save if he cuts out the Department of Agriculture or closes state parks.
Nice priorities.

Take me out to the ballgame

Took the family to the BlueClaws game last night. The kids have been there on camp trips and outings with other groups, but it was my first time. Won't be my last. What a blast!
They really do know how to keep it family-oriented. It was a good game, but miserable weather. A lot of people left early because it was nasty. But a group of people who toughed it out kept the rest of us entertained. I'm still laughing. There were a few guys sitting behind home plate who would get up and dance when the music played between innings. One of them got into a mock-shouting match with a guy sitting up in one of the boxes. I don't know how it started, but when I came outside and started listening, the guy from the box was yelling down, "I'm gonna come down there and give you a hug!" and the guy down below said, "No, I'm gonna hug you!" Then from above, "I love you, man." From below, "Not as much as I love you." Then, I almost fell over laughing, the guy from the box yelled down, "You had me at Hello!" Everybody was cracking up at this point. A little while later, someone from another box yelled something out, and the guy behind home plate yelled something back to him. The first guy then yelled down, "Hey Hey Hey! What's this? Are you cheating on me? Who's that guy? I thought we really had something here!"
It didn't last long, so it didn't get obnoxious, just a minute or two. Had it gone on incessantly, I'm sure we would've grown tired of it, and probably even annoyed. But it was just enough.
Walking out, I ran into Laurie, a fellow mom from our local school, and she had been sitting a few rows behind the guys at home plate. We were talking about them, and Laurie said she didn't know where the shouting would end up. When you first heard them, almost sounded like they were having an argument, until you listened to what they were saying. It was all in good fun. "I was surprised, they kept it clean," Laurie said.
Someone else told me that's a big thing at the stadium -- they want it kept clean, a place where you can bring your little kids and not have them exposed to some of the raunchy and even nasty behavior you can see at some pro sporting events.
I appreciate it. And the price. I got into a discussion on how nice the place was with the dad from a family of seven next to us, and he said, "How much would it cost to take your family to a pro game? Hundreds of dollars." He's right. Tickets for my whole family are probably less than one ticket to a pro game.
We'll be back. When the weather's a little better, anyway.

Thanks to the folks

I've tried in the last few years to pester my parents less and less in kid-transportation issues -- between my kids and my brother's, there's a lot of stuff to be done, and they did all this when we were kids, it's our job now. I rearranged my work duties so I'm able to pick the kids up from school and get them to the sitter. My parents take the girls one day and my little guy another -- that's their choice and the kids really look forward to their day there, the girls even get their own time with them, as one has a dance class and the other has piano on that day, both in my parents' town, so they each get time alone with them.
Two recent out-of-town trips by my parents and my mother-in-law helped remind me how lucky I am to have them and gave me such sympathy for single parents or people who don't have family nearby. When my husband and mother-in-law were in Panama visiting family there, I took the week off, but had a dentist visit midweek. I planned on dropping the kids off with my parents for the hour and a half, but found out the day before that they had a funeral to go to at the same time. It was a busy day at the sitter's, and one of my daughters had a friend over for the day, so I divided and conquered -- two kids went to the sitter, two kids came with me, I didn't want to saddle them with all four at the last minute.
Last week my folks went out of town on their usual day with the girls -- and I had forgotten to make arrangements ahead of time for my girls' activities that my parents usually get them to. My husband and I had to scramble figuring out how to get this one to dance and that one to piano. I was able to get my sitter to take one of them to her class and fortunately my husband got off work early and did the rest of the transporting. Without my folks and mother in law -- who many times has stayed with the kids at the drop of a hat when unexpected work delays kept us both at our jobs after the sitter closes -- I'm not sure what I'd do.
They're the best.

My baby's growing up

My little guy's not so little anymore. As much of a relief as it is when they get beyond formula, then diapers, then get into school, those transitions always leave me with a little tinge of sadness. At this stage of the game, I'm done having children, and watching my last grow out of "babyhood" is bittersweet. His conversation level is so different, his sense of humor is developing and changing, he's becoming a bit of a practical joker.
He's starting to play soccer. He talks about taking karate. He's starting to read and trying to write. When my older children went through these stages, I still had a baby in the house. Now, the only additions we're looking forward to is some fish in the tank that's sat empty since my son poured something into the water two years ago, somehow getting into the room that we usually had gated off. I'm not sure what it was, I think he poured all the food and water treatment -- the stuff you're only supposed to use a drop or two of -- in the tank. I found all the fish floating upside down and decided to wait till he was old enough to understand not to pour random stuff into the tank.
We have to stop ourselves from calling him Baby. We all do, my girls call him that too. They've heard me say, "OK, Baby," or "C'mon Baby," -- I actually say it to them too, they're all my babies, and instead of saying "honey" or "sweetie" or, of course, simply using their names, "Baby" makes it into conversations every once in awhile. But the girls have picked it up with their brother, and now he's 4, and closing in on 5. I've got to get them to break that habit before school.
My day care provider noticed a change too, and one day, when I was dropping him off, he looked into the room, where mostly 2 and 3 year olds were, and the lower lip came out. "I've seen that look before," said Mrs. K. "He's outgrowing us. They hit a point around this age when they're ready to move on."
He is, almost. He'll be all the way there by the time kindergarten starts. I'm ready too, I guess. But he's still my baby, and so are the others. And I'll probably still slip and call them all "Baby" from time to time.

How many Webkinz is too many?

I took my daughters to Shore Things, a little shop in Avon this weekend, unfortunately we went there on Sunday when it was closed. I wanted to point out some dresses for their dolls that they could see through the window. As we pulled up, though, it wasn't the dresses that caught their eye. "Hey," said my older daughter. "HEY," she said again. I looked at where her eyes were fixed, and there were the Webkinz pets displayed in the window. Now she already has eight. Her sister and her brother have seven. How many do you need?
I know kids who have 20-plus. When I stopped in this shop one day last week, I got in a Webkinz conversation with the owner and she said one recent customer said she had 50 Webkinz. FIFTY? Is there any room on that kid's bed for the kid?
I have to admit, I love the Webkinz too. I've blogged on this before -- I'll often go online after the kids are asleep and build up my little guy's Kinzcash account by playing some of the games. (Goober's Lab is my favorite right now). And I know plenty of other moms who do the same thing. And I have to credit Webkinz for my 4-year-old's computer literacy, and he types in his own name and password. He can go on many of the games and either point and click or use the arrow keys like a pro. He started with Mr. Lion. Then he got Mr. Leopard. Then Mr. Bulldog. At that point, he stopped using Mr. before the names, and we got Google the google. Hoppy2 the kangaroo. Reindeer Season the reindeer (I still think that one sounds like he's going hunting) and, I have no idea where he got this one, Nancy the pony.
I wonder how long their fascination with the Webkinz pets will last. My now-teen collected Beanie Babies when he was little. He later sold them all at a garage sale for next to nothing. My daughters are crazy about their Webkinz, and although the little guy is crazy about his too, his favorite is still Mr. Lion, his very first. I'll bring my daughters back to that store to look at those dresses again, but I think I'll do it on a day when I can leave my little guy at home. Where they understand, "No," he'll have a rougher time tearing himself away from that display.

Keeping them focused

How do you keep your kids interested in activities you'd like them to stay with? I remember when my oldest and I took karate together. At first we couldn't wait to get there, then when it was more routine, we would almost make ourselves go, but were always glad when we got there and when we were done. Then for awhile, scheduling prevented him from going on the nights when he was used to training with adults, and he could only train with the kids. Even though he was a kid himself, he was used to the adult classes and in time he lost interest completely. I was sad to see him stop, but we have a great portrait of us, wearing our uniforms, displayed in our living room. Always makes me smile.
My daughter was so excited to take saxophone lessons at school, then vacations and other last-minute class changes had her miss a bunch of lessons, and she started losing interest in it too. But I had an agreement with her -- you sign up, you sign up for the year, you rethink it next year. After about a month of no lessons, I could see her grudgingly bringing the sax to school a few times, but then her interest picked up a little again as lessons resumed. Then the band teacher told her she'd be performing with the older kids in the band for one song in their spring concert. You would have thought he awarded her the title of Queen of the School. She's excited about going to practice after school again, and wakes up earlier than she ever does on the days that they have before-school concert practice.
Some friends of mine told me how their daughter, now in her 20s, took sax lessons when she was in grade school. They both remember the one song she played over and over again: "Hot Cross Buns." And they both get big smiles when they recall it. I asked what they did with the saxophone when she was no longer interested and was surprised to find out they still have it.
While I hope my daughter turns into a female Clarence Clemons, if she doesn't, I imagine I'll have her sax and case tucked into the back of the closet in years ahead, waiting to pass it along to a grandchild. I don't yet know what song she'll be performing in the spring concert this year ... I'm waiting to be surprised. But I'm sure I'll remember 15 or 20 years from now, and it'll give me a big smile, just like my friends remember "Hot Cross Buns."

I may wear the skirt, but I sign the checks.

I'm still amazed when I'm faced with examples that the men-are-always-head-of-household attitudes still linger out in the world. I mean, I'm all for dividing up your chores for what suits you ... if hard work and house repairs are better for the guy, so be it. Although yard work and house repairs are what I did last week, and laundry is what my husband was doing this week. Normally, if the lawn needs mowing, he does it. And normally, if there's a pile of towels, I'm the one who will think, "Hmm, that needs to be washed." But with two parents working, most people I know have gotten away from the "man's work" and "woman's work" assignments of yesteryear. For example, I'm the one who does all the bills and taxes and paperwork in the family, and many of my friends do as well. So it floors me when that type of sexism rears its head. I was paying bills recently, and was struck again how one of my utility bills is in my husband's name. He moved into my place when we married, and before we bought our house. After we got married, I called to change my last name on those household bills, and most are still in my name, although one -- an account I had for years before I was married, was changed to his name. He hasn't written a single check to them in the nearly 12 years we've been married, but they've decided he's the one to do business with. I'm not sure how it came about -- I was very careful to make sure they all knew I was not changing the account or its history, only the last name.
Same thing happened when I went to get a mortgage. I was the one with the longer time at one job, the better credit, the better financial rating, and the one who was doing the mortgage hunting in the first place. I figured my name should be the primary one because of that -- I'm also the primary person on our income tax returns -- he's "spouse." One company I spoke to over the phone asked my husband's first name, and I remember specifically telling them that I was to be the primary person on the loan. They assured me it was just a formality, then they sent all their literature addressed to him alone. They didn't get our business.
My favorite episode was when I went to buy my car. My car. Not a family car, he had his own. My car. And it was my third time shopping for and buying a new car. I did all my homework, looked at several different makes, did Consumers Reports research and chose what I wanted and what type engine and what features I was ready to keep or give up. And I'd heard all the "What will it take for us to get you to drive that car" bull and the "I could get in trouble for this" lines before. I went into a dealership and worked with the salesman and their financial people until I got close to what I was prepared to pay, and what they said was the best price they could give me. I left a retainer check but didn't finalize the deal. (I won't say which place ... it's been seven years and the one ignoramus I later met may not even be there anymore, and everyone else at this place has been wonderful.)
I met someone who worked for another dealer and stopped in and negotiated a better price for the same car with the same features. Went back to the first dealer and asked for my check back. The salesman asked me what I negotiated elsewhere, then told the financial guy that I wanted my check back, that I had a better deal. That guy asked me why I didn't continue to work with them instead, and I said, "You told me that was absolute rock bottom that you would give me." His response, now this was in 2000, mind you, blew me away: "No it wasn't --- we were just waiting for your husband to come in so we could crunch the numbers with him."
Say what? My jaw dropped, and I'm sure they saw the steam coming from my ears because someone else jumped up and settled it quickly by saying they could beat the other dealer's price. Like I said, I do all the finances, my husband couldn't "crunch the numbers" with a sledgehammer. That's not his strength, and I'm still amazed that in this day and age, somebody would have assumed they have to do business with the man of the house.

Baby, it's cold out there

Are boys anti-coats and girls anti-shoes these days? I don't mind the strange fashion stuff my teenager prefers -- he's not too bad with the boxers sticking up out of his jeans until the jeans drop too low, then I yell "Eyeww!" until he pulls them up. But every generation has its own fads.
But he's got a thing about coats, and has for years. Unless it's below zero, my teen won't wear a coat -- and now that it's officially spring, he doesn't even want to wear a sweatshirt. But I've seen girls he hangs out with -- and other teenage girls I've seen around over the winter -- are constantly wearing flip-flops, even in freezing weather. He asked me to pick up a stranded friend of his one bitter day, she was waiting at a train station and as soon as she got in the car, she started whining about how cold her feet were. Well, duh! It's well below freezing and your feet are bare!
At 6 this morning, I went downstairs to take my teen to the bus stop. He was all set to go, but was missing the usual hoodie over his T-shirt. A few minutes earlier I heard him do the morning "weather check" where he opens and closes the kitchen door, and knowing that it was still in the 30s, I said, "Where's your sweatshirt?" "I don't need one, besides, I've got like three in my locker," he said. "It's in the 30s" I said. "NO, I checked, it's like in the 60s." "Then you can walk," I responded. Stomping and muttering about being treated like a 10-year-old, he reluctantly got a sweatshirt and we headed to the car.
Like a 10-year-old? Ha! That reminded me of a day I wanted to shoot him. He was in fifth grade, the first year he actually walked to school on his own -- until then if I didn't take him he rode with neighbors. That year, sometimes he would wait to get a ride with his sister, other times he'd just take off 10 minutes earlier than I would be able to get the rest of the kids bundled up and into the car.
On this one memorable morning, it was bitter, bitter cold. He came downstairs in a sweatshirt. "You need a winter coat, it's freezing outside," I told him. "I'm fine!" he yelled as he grabbed his backpack and flew out the door. I ran to the door and yelled, "Get back here and put on a coat!" But he was already up the block, yelling, "I'm fine!" He got in trouble that night, with me saying, "If I tell you to wear a coat, you wear a coat."
At Walgreens this morning, I was chatting about the nice, but cool weather with the woman ringing up my purchases and mentioned how I had a teenager who wanted to go to school in a t-shirt. "Boy?" she asked. "Yup," I answered. "I know," she empathized. "I have a boy, and he NEVER wants to wear a coat."
Maybe it is a boy-coat vs. girl-shoe thing. I figure I have until it hits the high 40s until I give up the coat battle, but at least I got him into something at 6 this morning. He muttered when he was 10, he's still muttering now. But at least he's warm.
And thank God he wears shoes. I hope this winter-flip-flop-fad passes before my daughters get to that age.

My little Game-Boy

I hate to admit this, but sometimes those Nintendo games are sanity-savers on short car rides. My many trips in the car with my three younger children last week taught me that. My daughters got Nintendo DS games for Christmas, and my little guy likes to watch over their shoulders when they play, and gets frustrated if someone plays next to him in the car and he can't see what they're doing.
Then an old Gameboy Advanced game that they lost interest in resurfaced and he scarfed it up last week. I thought he was too young for it, but nope, once you read the "prologue" to him, he takes it on, and even starts "speaking" for the characters as he's doing whatever kids do with Nintendo games.
I'm lost, even on their "Rated E for Everyone" games. I tried playing something called "Monkey Ball" once, where I think I was supposed to steer the monkey inside the ball along some type of track, but I kept running off the side, disappearing into oblivion. After a few lost monkeys, I gave up.
But last week, with no second adult to keep the peace in our many jaunts, that third Nintendo game came in handy. I found it in the massive cleanup of the house, along with the charger, and got it ready to go, then sprang it on my little guy. It worked. Now, instead of complaining that he can't see the games his sisters are playing, he kept busy on his own.
Their interest in those games doesn't last long -- and in trips longer than 10 minutes we eventually opt for other group car games, like "Yellow car," or looking for different license plates, and the ever popular find-the-letters-of-the-alphabet-in-order in signs along the road. And I also found some Mad Libs for them in my purging of the house, so that's our next long-trip game.
But for the runs up to the mall or to the grocery store, where my daughters come running out with their games, now the little guy can steer his monkey along the track too, better than I ever could. And I have a peaceful ride to get us all there safely.