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What? No Presents?!?

I opened the newspaper this morning and instead of pulling out the sudoku and recycling the rest, I decided to actually, you know, read it. I don't know what struck me, really. Other than the fact that the Husband was home this morning, and when he's around I become the invisible parent. So, needless to say, I had a few rare moments to myself, which resulted in some catching up on current events.

And that's when I saw it.

The headline grabbed me: "Birthday Presents Get A Timeout From Parents".

Parents are throwing no-present-but-donate-to-a-charity-instead birthday parties. As in "dear party guest, please do not bring a present to little Johnny's 5th birthday party, he would much prefer a donation to xyz charity".

Seriously?

Do we have to mess with birthday parties too? On top of everything else we're screwing with in our kids lives?

Isn't it enough that we don't let them play freely outside on long summer days calling them in only for meals? (damn predators!)

Isn't it enough that we don't let them lick the beaters covered in chocolate chip cookie dough? (damn you, salmonella!)

[actually, I like to live on the edge and let them eat raw cookie dough - so far so good]

Isn't it enough that we slather them from head to toe with tick-mosquito-uva ray-blockers? (damn you, Lyme, Eastern Equine Encephalitis and skin cancer!)

Do we have to mess with birthday parties, too?

The thinking is that kids have too much stuff and they don't need any more. Their rooms are overflowing with toys they don't play with. Their yards have become resting places for the never-decomposing plastic monstrosities. Their closets are stuffed with enough clothes to outfit the neighborhood.

To combat the toy infestation and to instill a sense of community service, some parents choose to throw lavish (note: lavish) birthday parties where guests are asked to donate to a charity in lieu of a gift.

Which begs the question, is the charity event being held for the parents or the kids?

I mean, whose idea is it really?

And when did birthday parties turn into fundraising events?

Not surprisingly, this trend is not being well received by the birthday boys and girls.

Can you imagine?

Little Johnny waits all year for his 7th birthday party to roll around and when it finally does he finds out his mom told all his friends not to bring presents?

Aren't there other ways to cut back on the 'stuff' and teach kids about giving back to their community?

Here's kind of a radical thought, how about not buying them a whole lot of crap new toys during the rest of the year?

How about making just holidays and birthdays special new-toy giving events again.

I understand the importance of other piece of this trend as well. The part about teaching kids to give back to the community and the world.

I get it.

But let it be their idea.

Better yet, let it be something done as a family.

Sign up for a volunteer opportunity together.

Clean up the neighborhood.

Donate money raised from a lemonade stand.

Just don't mess with their birthdays.

More Kindergartner Thoughts

The following dialogue was taken from a recent dinner table conversation, which I guess is a better place than the bathroom for asking those deep questions that rattle around the mind of a six year old.


Kindergartner: I wonder who the first person here was?

Me: You mean here? At the table? I think it was your brother.

Kindergartner: No I mean Here. Like Earth. Like if a baby was here first who were the parents who borned it? Because everyone has a parent. So then the baby wouldn't be first.

Me: Huh.

[really? we're really having this conversation with our 6 year old over plates of chicken parmigiana?]

Kindergartner: So who was the first person here? And how did they get here?

[apparently, yes, we are]

Daddy: Well, a lot of people have asked that very same question.

Kindergartner: So? What's the answer?

Daddy: Well, people have different answers. It depends on what you believe.

Kindergartner: What do you believe?

Daddy: I believe that we evolved.

Kindergartner: What does evolved mean?

Daddy: It means that we started out as something else and over many many years turned into the humans we are now.

Kindergartner: What?

Daddy: Well, like you know apes? We sort of came from them.

Kindergartner: Monkeys? Like Curious George? We came from George?!?

Me: Have you ever heard of cavemen?

Kindergartner (beats his chest): Me. Tarzan.

Me: Exactly, well, we started out as cavemen a long long long time ago.

Kindergartner: Where did they live?

Me: Caves.

Kindergartner: Did the dinosaurs eat them?

Me: No, dinosaurs weren't alive at the same time as cavemen.

Kindergartner: Did the cavemen kill them?

Me: No, they just became extinct.

Kindergartner: Why?

Me: The climate changed. The just all died. Do you want to talk about cavemen some more?

Kindergartner: Ok, so what did they wear?

Daddy: Animal skins.

Kindergartner: What?!? Animal skins?!

Me: Well, they had to wear things they could find outside.

Kindergarten: Couldn't they have just gone to the store and got something there?

Me: No. They didn't have stores. Or money. Or credit cards. Or cars. Or any fashion sense at all.

Kindergartner: How did they get through the long winters?

Daddy: Well, they hunted. And gathered. They gathered berries!

Kindergartner: Did they hunt dinosaurs?

Me: No, remember the dinosaurs were extinct.

Kindergartner: Oh, yeah. Did they have words?

Daddy: They made up new words when they needed to describe something.

Me: And they drew pictures on their cave walls.

Kindergartner: Where'd they get the paint?!?

Daddy: Well, if you had to find a way to make paint, what would you do?

Kindergartner: Ask mom?

Daddy: If you had to find something colorful outside, in nature, to make paint, what would you use?

Kindergartner: Flowers?

Daddy: Yep, or berries.

Kindergartner: Oh, like, blueberries for blue and strawberries for red.

Me: Exactly.

Kindergartner: Oh.

Me: So does that make sense to you? That over time we changed and eventually evolved into the humans we are today.

Kindergartner: Yeah, that makes sense.

Me: Great. You had some excellent questions.

Kindergartner: Yeah. So, I wonder who the first person on Earth was?

Nothing Says 'Happy Easter' Like...

the force of the jedi...

This Is Not A Political Blog

The Kindergartner and I have our deepest conversations while he is sitting on the toilet and I am trapped in the bathroom with him because he doesn't like to be alone while he's taking care of business.

The Kindergartner: "Mom, do you think George Bush is a good President?"

Me: "Um, well, er, I think we've had better Presidents."

Kindergartner: "Like Abraham Lincoln?"

Me: "Yes, like Abraham Lincoln. Lincoln was a fabulous President."

Kindergartner: "I think George Bush only helps people who already have a lot of money. Like he gives people more money when they already have enough. I think."

Me: "Who told you that?"

Kindergartner: "Daddy."

Kindergartner (still sitting on toilet): "When I'm done can I use this?"




Note to self: remove George Bush toilet paper from downstairs bathroom.

Second note to self: resume conversation about current President's idiocy qualifications at more appropriate time, like when six year old is not on toilet.

The Cupcake Lunch

My kids are picky eaters.

The Kindergartner particularly.

And by 'picky' I mean he would choose starvation over allowing his tongue to touch a crumb of something that may disagre with his sensitive palate.

He has been known to throw up a floret of broccoli.

He spent 10 days with us in a foreign country surviving only on cheerios.

He has eaten an everything bagel with cream cheese for lunch everyday for the past, oh, 4 years.

I know it's partially my fault, which is why I often feel that beastly mothering guilt smack me upside the head, and I attempt (again) to get him to try something new (oh, if I had a dime for every time I uttered that phrase).

Unfortunately, Picky Eating Syndrome (PES) runs in my family.

I am sure that if I had undergone genetic testing during my pregnancies the specialists would have warned me, that, yes, I do in fact carry the PES gene.

Scientists are working on a cure, but so far, nothing.

In her own effort to combat PES my mother invented The Cupcake Lunch when we were kids.

[I have no idea if the cupcake lunch initiative was actually her invention or not, but I like to think that it was so if you know otherwise kindly keep it to yourself thankyouverymuch]

The Cupcake Lunch consists of a muffin tin filled with small amounts (this is key: small amounts) of food placed deceivingly lovingly in each compartment. It's all about presentation. The more fun it looks, the less nutritious a kid thinks it is. Smoke and mirrors, people.

I imagine my mom saved these special treats for particularly trying days. Searching for something to feed her picky, crumb-crunching children who, not unlike my own children, survived on toast with butter, noodles with butter, eggnog shakes (my mom's other invention) and the occasional trip to Dairy Queen.

There was only one Cupcake Lunch Rule: the recipient must eat one item out of each muffin compartment. Spitting food into a napkin or feeding it to the dog was not allowed.

We followed The Cupcake Lunch Rule religiously (perhaps a poor choice of words since we were not exactly church-goers, except once in 1977 when we were dragged out of the house one Sunday morning because my mother decided we needed some religion in our lives, to which we all said, "huh?").

Anyway, we never broke The Cupcake Lunch Rule.

We were suckers.

My mother filled our cupcake lunches with a dollop of ice cream, a scattering of chocolate chips, tiny slices of peanut butter and honey sandwiches, grapes, bananas, and perhaps if she was feeling confident in our appetites that day, a few carrot sticks or celery smothered in cream cheese.

It worked.

We ate.

Mom won.


A few weeks ago when I felt that all too familiar smack in the head (damn you, mothering Guilt), I remembered the magic of the almighty Cupcake Lunch.

Why did I not think of this before now?

I did my best to replicate my childhood lunch treats as enthusiastically as I could muster without revealing my desperation (PLEASE. FOR. THE. LOVE. OF. GOD. EAT.)

Oh, they were beside themselves with giddiness. Never had the anticipation of a meal resulted in so much excitement.

I explained The Cupcake Lunch Rule.

Yes! They nodded their heads in agreement. "We Will Try Everything!"

"Yes! We Can!".

We sang!

We danced a Cupcake Lunch jig!

We rejoiced in the hope and promise of The Cupcake Lunch!

I presented the carefully crafted Cupcake Lunch extravaganza, complete with dollops of applesauce, tiny peanut butter sandwiches, wedges of bagel cream cheese sandwiches, grapes, yogurt covered raisins, and, because I was feeling extra confident in their appetites, a few carrot sticks.

Oh, the anticipation! The excitement! The novelty of it all!


I don't think I need to tell you what happened next.

For the first time in Cupcake Lunch family history, The Cupcake Lunch Rule was broken.

But they did enjoy the chocolate chips.

My Week

One ruptured ear drum.

Two infected ears.

Twice a day doses of amoxycillin.

Three runny noses.

Two scratchy throats.

An achy, feverish husband with the stay-home-from-work-flu.

A teacher-conferences day off from school (why do there seem to be more days off than days on?).

Two attempted trips to snow-covered-and-still-closed-until-spring playgrounds.

One trip to the mall instead.

One scary looking mall Easter Bunny.

Who Camden high fived anyway.

Eleven minutes studying hermit crabs at the pet store.

Twenty-three minutes playing the free Mall Wii.

One long bickering-filled car ride home.

Two cranky boys.

One cranky mama.

One hour of an Animal Planet wolf special.

Pancakes for dinner.

Wagers made on who will be sick next.

An impending road trip tomorrow.

Still no sign of spring.

Think He's Trying To Tell Us Something?

Like turn up the heat, maybe?

Ta Da!

So, whatchya think?

Thanks to Kimberly at Temporary? Insanity, I have a new blog design.

Finally.

I'll be spending this week rearranging and redecorating my new space (so don't click on those little links on the top just yet, but for now I am happy to present Life's new and improved Tulip Design to remind of us that, yes, spring is on the way.

(Thank you, Kimberly. You are awesome)

I Didn't Know

There was an email waiting for me in my inbox this morning from a friend. This friend, who I reconnected with last spring.

After stumbling across his profile on one of those social networking sites, I nervously took a chance and sent him an email last April after having been out of touch for the last 10 years.

His reply came almost immediately.

To say our lives have taken different paths would be an understatement. Nevertheless, our banter back and forth was remarkably easy and comfortable. I could hear his voice as I read his emails as if it was 1989 again and we were driving around our one-traffic-light-town with the windows down and Madonna on the radio. We caught each other up on highlights that had occurred over the last 10 years, we gossiped about high school friends and we lamented at how fast the time had gone by. He even sent my kids a package of gifts a few weeks after we got back in touch.

I opened his email this morning and found a request for donations as he prepares to run the Susan G. Koman race for the cure in a few months.

As I read the email I wondered which one of his friends has (or had) breast cancer.

But then I kept reading.

He is running the race for his mother who lost her battle with breast cancer 27 years ago. Twenty-seven years ago. He writes that even now, when he stops to think about her, he tears up and becomes a 9 year old boy wanting answers. Wanting his mom. And that his wish is for the money he raises to save just one family from losing their mother.

I clicked and entered my credit card information almost immediately, but I feel terrible that I didn't know.

Why didn't I know his mother died when he was nine?

Why didn't he ever tell me?

Why didn't I ever ask?

I wonder what else I don't know about the people I think I know.

Feelin' A Whole Lot of Love

Many thanks to Mrs. Chicken for bestowing upon me The Perfect Post Award for February.

Here's to all of us who need an escape from the dinner table, whether it be to the library, a bar, a grocery store or a friend's house.

Thank you for the award and the bling, Mrs. Chicken!



-------------------------------

In other breaking news, I've been nominated for Hottest Mommy Blogger by Ophelia Rising.

Wowza. Never have I felt so much bloggy love before.

Thank you, my friend.

Oh, and, um, you know, if you happen to be over at the blogger choice awards site and feel like voting for me, then, um, yeah, that would be totally cool with me.

Friends

Yesterday afternoon we drove north to join up with some old friends.

The six of us met when we were in our early twenties, just out of college and trying to find our way in and around first jobs, rents, 401Ks, and everything else that goes along with new found independence.

Eventually we all married, moved from DC to New England and started families.

Every so often (when we can all coordinate family schedules) we reconnect.

Yesterday was one of those days.

There is something comforting about being around people who have known you for many years. They share the past with you, which makes your memories all the more real.

And they knew you Before Kids.

Before the furrowed brow and laugh lines.

Before 10pm bedtimes and daycare pickups and home renovations.

They knew you when you could stay out on a Tuesday night until 2am drinking cold beer by the pitcher and still have a productive day at work the next morning.

They knew you when you were Fun. Not the once-a-week-date-night fun you are now, but the smoking-weed-out-of-a-lipstick-pipe-in-the-back-of-an-alley Fun you were then.

The kind of Fun that exists when your biggest worry is deciding which bar to meet your friends at for happy hour. Or whether to get pizza or Chinese.


So yesterday we sat all of our kids (five boys!) in front of a few movies while the six of us caught up.

Of course, the conversation has changed over the last 12 years.

Instead of Indian Poker nights with cards slapped on our foreheads, we now resemble a Thirty-Something reunion show only we haven't aged quite as gracefully as I imagine Michael, Elliot, Hope and Nancy probably have. The chatter around the table jumped from daycares to NPR reports to friends with a tragically sick child to dreaming about the day when we are babysitter-free.

Nonetheless, there we were, with a few grey hairs, a few extra pounds and a few more wrinkles, sitting around our friends' remodeled kitchen eating good food, drinking good wine and laughing.

The way we did when we were 25.

Cheers, my friends.