Another Perfect Weekend of Wonder and Joy

Not to brag, but my family had a perfect weekend.

First, I woke up Friday night smelling something burning--always a terrifying experience. I bolted into the boys room--it wasn't there. I checked the basement. That's where it was coming from. I woke up Justin and took the boys to my parents house while he investigated. The fire department kindly came over. They couldn't find anything, either.

The next day, a furnace guy came over. As soon as he walked in, he said, "That's electrical."

Justin's first thought was that it had to be my fault. See, our dryer broke last week, I've been hanging wet clothes all over the basement so that they can dry in the damp, cold air. Our basement isn't finished, so we have a rudimentary light switch, with some wires running up the bare walls.

"Do you think you might have touched the wires with the wet clothes?" he asked.

"Maybe."

So he changed out that switch.

Meanwhile, determining the dryer to be unfixable, he went out to buy a new used dryer. Now, I was a little tired from being up all night the night before. So I was talking to Justin on my cell phone about the dryer and dropping off a present to Richie, who was at a birthday party I'd forgotten about. While crossing the street in the car, I didn't jog far enough to the left. Instead I grazed the curb and popped a tire.

I needed to make some French food for my uncle's birthday party that night. So the kids and I walked to Aldi's, got the groceries, and acted like the tire incident never happened. Except that I had to tell Justin because he was on the phone with me and heard me say, "Oh, darn," or something like that.

When Justin came home, I was making blue cheese balls. Johnny was making chocolate chip cookies for an extra credit assignment at school.

"Welcome to hell house III," I said.

"How fast were you driving?"

He knows I don't speed in the city. I think it's a jackass thing to do. Kids walk to school in the city. Mothers push strollers while holding toddler's hands in the city. It is no place to speed. So that's my little public service announcement.

"I was going like 10 miles an hour."

"The wheel's all bent."

"Well I barely hit the curb. The tire was probably on the verge of popping anyway."

Justin laughed like he was on the verge of insane laughter.

But life goes on. Justin put a doughnut on the car and we went to the party and had a very nice time. I'd only brought one thing and everybody else had brought thousands of things, so I felt bad. But seeing how I can't hang clothes up to dry or drive, I think I did well for my mental capacity.

When we came home, the burning smell was gone.

Sunday morning, J.J. woke up having a bad asthma attack. Which was the worst part of the weekend. After a few breathing treatments, he was fine. But it bothers me because the reason for the attack was a slight runny nose and cough. We've been doing a bunch of preventative stuff for his asthma, but how do you prevent someone from ever having a cold? You can't.

We went to 7:30 Mass. Well, we missed Mass but had to sell discount cards for Cub Scouts and SCRIP gift cards for the PTA. So we went to the church, where an elderly woman came very close to hitting me with her oxygen tank because I didn't have a Target gift card for $35, only $25. Johnny sold one Cub Scout discount card, so we have 19 to go.

That afternoon, Justin found the reason for the electrical smell, a lightbulb in the garage had burned. J.J. and I cooked all day, because there was a bunch of stuff I had to cook for. J.J. likes cooking--especially breaking eggs. I just hope the recipe called for 1/2 a teaspoon of egg because that's how much made it into the bowl.

Justin hooked up the new dryer, which only cost $100. With the cost of fixing the wheel, which broke while talking about the dryer, it's a little more, but still less than a new dryer.

You probably think I'm being a smart alleck when I say we had a great weekend. But I'm not. Our house didn't burn down. If it had, we would have smelled it and gotten out safely. (There was no smoke, so no alarm went off.) J.J.'s medicine worked, as always. For some kids, it doesn't. I popped a tire, but did not get in a wreck. The church lady stormed off rather than hauling off and hitting me. And finally, the dryer wasn't that expensive.

We flirted with disaster all weekend, but in the end calm prevailed. Now, that's a weekend.

Trends

Yesterday, I was the school lunch lady volunteer. A fourth grader came through the line and was cold from being out at recess.

"We can't wear leggings on Mass day!" she said. "So we freeze!"

"Can you wear tights?" I asked.

She looked at me like I was positively insane.

"Nobody wears tights anymore," she said.

"Really? Nobody?"

"Not unless you're in preschool."

Huh. I had no idea how dumb tights were.

It got me thinking about kids' fashion trends. There are the obvious ones: In the eighties, fingertip-less gloves became popular thanks to Madonna. Actually, no thanks. I practically lost all of my third joints to frost bite that year. Then there was Britney's half shirt, which parents of preteens were thrilled about. And now it's leggings, which is a Hollywood trend, too.

Those trends are publicized and marketed. But the mysterious trends are the wierd little ones. They aren't sold anywhere. Nobody makes money off them. They just show up. Like pinch rolling jeans in the 80s and 90s. Where did that get started? And how did it spread throughout the country?

Last year, Katie Holmes wore a pair of pinch-rolled jeans, and fashion bloggers wondered if the trend would make a come back. And everyone was like, "I never wore pinch rolled jeans. I was too cool."

Well, they weren't cool back then. I can tell you that. The cool people pinch rolled their jeans. I have pictures from mixers of kids in pinch rolled jeans and V-neck sweaters. Actually, everybody had the same V-neck sweater. It had stripes along the neck in primary colors. Boys and girls wore it. Always with a turtleneck.

Now, when I see kids, I think, "They dress so much cuter nowadays. The girls have special T-shirts now. They don't have to wear the baggy boy shirts. And whatever happened to acne? Does nobody get it anymore?"

Even the stuff we used to wear--like leggings--look cuter now. Perhaps because they no longer are paired with giant pok-a-dot sweatshirts and enormous hair.

Then again, I remember walking into a Topsy's in grade school wearing Hawaiian shorts (remember jams?), a neon pink shirt, and fruit jewelry, and the woman at the register said the same thing to me. "You kids dress so much cuter nowadays. I never had fruit jewelry."

I guess whatever the trend is, no matter how silly, it looks good because it's new. Even if it's old, it's worn in a new way. Everybody likes bright shiny new things.

That's probably how the pinch rolled jeans got started.

Somebody tried it, and somebody else said, "That's new. How did you do that?"

"Like this."

"Like how?"

"Like this."

"How?"

And then after you'd invested half an hour figuring it out, you decided you might as well wear your jeans like that, too. And so on and so on.

But I am really disappointed to hear that tights are on their way out. I just bought a pair of neon pink ones to go with my fruit jewelry.

If You Do Nothing Else In Life...Sand the Wheel Axles of Your Pinewood Derby Car

In every job, there is one essential thing you must do:

Doctors: First do no harm.

Sales people: Establish relationships.

Writers: Tell a good story.

In the annual Cub Scout Pinewood Derby, it's: Sand the wheel axles.

If only we'd known...

At our first Pinewood Derby, my son John, like every other first grader, thought he was going to win the whole shebang. First of all, his car was a cheetah--orange with black dots. Everybody knows cheetahs are fast. Also, his dad is a carpenter. So they had all the tools for making a souped up miniature car.

Johnny was jumping up and down before the race even started. And then they were off. Well, most of them were...his car stalled on the track.

I cringed and looked his way. He was making every face contortion imaginable to keep from crying.

The boys around him were saying, "Whose car is that? What happened?"

My husband Justin was volunteering. He took the car off the track and put it back on the starting line with some other cars. When they took off, the Cheetah car again stalled.

I was horrified when I saw Justin put the Cheetah car on the track a third time. Were they going to keep sending it down until it made it across the finish line?

I motioned Justin over. "For Lord's sake, how many times are you going to send that God-forsaken car down the track?" I asked, ever the calm, cool, and collected mother.

"They all have to go four times," he said.

After his car stalled a third time and barely squeaked across the line the fourth, Johnny found a corner in the church basement and let a few tears fall...until some wrestling wolf scouts overtook his corner. Then he went back to his friends and choked back tears for the next hour.

Later, the scout leader interviewed some Webelos. He asked, "What advice do you give to younger Cub Scouts about the Pinewood Derby?"

By that time, Johnny and his friends were pile driving each other by the pizza buffet. I, however, was on the edge of my seat.

"Sand the wheel axles," a fourth grader said.

That was the missing piece. Justin and Johnny hadn't sanded the wheel axles. (If you have a new Cub Scout, I can't stress this enough. Poorly sanded wheel axles = tears running down your first grader's face. You must sand and sand and sand. If you are pressed for time and have to leave the car looking like a chunk of lumber, do so, but sand the axles.)

The next year, Justin had been working overtime and he and Johnny didn't start on their car until the night of the weigh-in. At 6 p.m., Justin had out all his power tools. Johnny wanted a Bat Mobile, so they were welding metal, cutting wood, and of course, sanding the wheel axles.

At 7:50 p.m., the scout leader called to remind us that cars had to be weighed in by 8 p.m.

"They're on their way," I said, trying to sound calm and cheery.

Meanwhile, all holy heck was breaking loose in our house. The bat wings kept falling off. The wheels kept falling off. The wet paint was coming off. Finally, Justin squeezed the whole thing together, like a guy smashing a can in his fist. He held the spray paint over his hand and spray painted the car and his hand. He carried the vehicle over to the church basement, with his whole hand painted Bat Mobile black.

My sister-in-law says life is all about managing expectations. So I told my son the night of the race, "You know, honey, not every car makes it across the finish line. You had a great time making the car with your dad. If it finishes the race, that's icing on the cake."

"Yeah," he said. "But we sanded the wheel axles this year."

Having seen the wheels fall off moments before Justin spray painted the car/his hand, I was skeptical.

Well, guess what happened? They won first place.

Afterwards, Johnny kept saying, "Mom, I can't believe you didn't think we were going to win."

Then he looked at his Dad as if to say, "What was she worried about? We sanded the axles: Problem solved."

This year, Richie and Johnny both had cars in the Pinewood Derby. They were model Cub Scouts and finished everything the night before the weigh-in.

I asked Justin if he'd give Richie the talk about how not all cars make it across the finish line.

"I don't need to," he said. "Richie's car is fast."

Apparently, I was the only one in the family scarred for life by the Unsanded Wheel Axle Incident.

Once again, the boys were right. Richie won his age group and got third overall, and Johnny got second.

Because of my reaction the first year, Justin thinks I'm a ultra-competitive Pinewood Derby mother who will settle for nothing less than first place.

Afterwards, he said. "First and second place. Are you happy, honey?"

"I'm just happy they made it across the finish line," I said.

"I know," he said. "But Richie came close to winning it all. And Johnny did, too." I could see the wheels in his head turning.

I may be happy with the cars crossing the finish line, thanks to the miracle of wheel axle sanding (and I'll admit that I don't even know what that means.) But the boys have left that worry in the dust. For them, the Pinewood Derby means crossing the finish line first. Sanding the wheel axles is only the beginning. They're talking about wedges, the right placement of weights, etc., etc.

They may be in it to win it, but I'll settle for their hearts not being broken. I guess for moms, that's the essential part of our jobs.

Book Fair: Market Research

I volunteered at the book fair at the boys' school this week. This is a fun job and also good research for my children's writing.

Here is what my research found:

Preschoolers--especially preschool girls--chose books based on their favorite T.V. show. I already knew this because J.J. threw a temper fit when I told him to choose a book for his book fair that wasn't on T.V. Then I realized the concept meant nothing to him. J.J. isn't a big T.V. viewer, especially now that Johnny and Richie have given up cartoons for ESPN (much to Justin's delight). So I could tell he was wondering, "When is this stuff on T.V.? All I ever see is sports." Finally I let him choose one T.V. book and one non-T.V. book.

My problem with T.V. books is not that they're terrible. There are a few good T.V. related books out there. (The Monster at the End of This Book is a great one.) And it's not that I don't understand the appeal of a familiar face. Growing up, one of my favorite books was a Walt Disney storybook that basically summarized my favorite movies.

Don't get me wrong. There are some terrible T.V. books out there.

I was reading a book to a three year old at the book fair. She was so excited about it because it was based on her favorite T.V. show. Obviously I wasn't going to kill the joy of buying a book--any book. But I was thinking, "Sweetheart, you don't have to buy this book. You could write it."

My problem with T.V. books is that there are so many great kids' picture books out there. (The boys' and my favorites right now are Scaredy Squirrel by Melanie Watt, and Spoon and Little Pea, both by Amy Krouse Rosenthal.) So it seems a shame to buy a story you've already seen on T.V.

There were some great picture books at the book fair. Watching the kids choose a T.V. book instead was like seeing them choose McDonald's orange drink over an actual orange. Or an adult pick up T.V. Guide instead of National Geographic. You feel like saying, "Are you kidding me? There's a Neanderthal on the cover. Have you no interest as to whether or not that's your grandfather?" And then I would go over to the rack and pick up People: Style Watch. (I've already read the Neanderthal issue.)

Oh, well. I guess a little orange drink never hurt anyone, as long as we get our Vitamin C, too.

I let my kids read whatever they can get their hands on. Because I don't want them to associate "reading" with "bossy mother." But then I "make them" listen to the great picture books out there. And they end up loving those more. I'm sure the kids at the book fair read good books at home and school, too.

Still, it touched my heart to see some of the preschoolers buy non-T.V. books...Where the Wild Things Are, one about Fire Engines... Well done, younguns. Congrats on not selling out to the man.

At the book fair, kids in second and third grade were past the T.V. book phase, for the most part. Now they're reading Diary of a Wimpy Kid. I love these books. Some moms told their kids they weren't allowed to buy them because they're inappropriate. They're also laugh-out-loud funny. Perhaps the two go hand-in-hand. It always makes me laugh when people say, "inappropriate humor." Isn't that a little reduntant?

Not that you have to be inappropriate to be funny, but it definitely helps. (I personally think Diary of a Wimpy Kid is pretty innocent, but if I did think they were inappropriate, I would still let my kids read them.) I'll admit, I'm pretty lenient when it comes to my kids and humor. I'll sacrifice wholesomeness for a good laugh any day. It's the best medicine, so it's really a matter of good family health.

Let's see...what else.

Sports, science, and monster books were big with the elementary boys. As a nonfiction writer, this was good news to me.

Ghost stories, fantasy, and pets/baby animals were popular with elementary girls.

Chick lit was popular with junior high girls.

Pokers were popular with junior high boys.

Pokers are sticks with little hands on the end, which allow children to poke each other from a distance. Very, very popular among junior high boys.

That concluded my market research. It was a small study group and I didn't exactly take copious notes, but career wise, I learned a lot. I learned that I should write a book based on a T.V. show that is based on a doll, or a book about pokers. "Poker: The Armpit Saga" would be a hot seller...if it came with a free poker, that is.

Extracurriculars Create Extra Worries...But Important Lessons, Too

Sending kids off to school is easy. It's the extracurriculars that get you.

For me, the pitfall is: How many should you let them do?

I wish I was the kind of mom who, when faced with a new activity for her kids, would say, "Absolutely not. You have enough going on as it is." Instead, I always say, "That sounds like opportunity knocking. You should do that!"

Richie is a joiner. He wants to take guitar lessons! He wants to learn tennis! He wants to play golf! He wants to join Cub Scouts! Flag football! 3&2 Baseball! The other day he asked if he could raise pot-bellied pigs, and I think there's a club for that, too (4H).

I can relate. I also joined everything as a kid. I wanted to do Ballet! Gymnastics! Swimming! Modern dance!

And I wanted to do each five nights a week. I dreamed of being fanatical about an activity. I wanted to be the kid who woke up at 4 a.m. to go to gymnastics and then ended up quitting school and moving to Russia because that's where they have the meanest coaches who would cast you into the snow if you messed up your back flip.

When I'd hear stories like these on the Olympics, I'd actually get jealous. Why couldn't I be the one with that insane coach? I wondered. That could be me standing on the podium with a broken ankle and skin as thick as a sailor's.

In truth, it couldn't have been. For one thing, I don't like being yelled at. It hurts my feelings. Also, talent-wise, I never got past the cartwheel. And no Olympic gymnast worth her salt does a cartwheel-only routine. Lastly, I couldn't become obsessed with gymnastics when there were so many other things to try. Acting! Volleyball! Irish Step Dancing!

Johnny, on the other hand, likes to throw himself into one thing: football. He wanted to quit Cub Scouts to focus on it, but I wouldn't let him. I wanted him to stick with his pack. Then I made him join a new club because--you guessed it--opportunity knocked. Now, he's over-booked and I'm officially crazy-extracurricular mom.

If we lived on a block where tons of kids ran free, the kids ideally wouldn't do anything. They would just frolick outside with the other younguns. Such is not the case. So this summer, I tried to orchestrate a spontaneous activity. Some kids came over and played Whiffle ball on Wednesdays while the parents sat and talked. It was supposed to be like an old-fashioned pickup game except that I scheduled it. This is the world we live in.

Overscheduling is just one extracurricular concern. Parents worry about all sorts of things in clubs and sports. That an intense coach will take the fun out of playing. Or that supercompetitive parents will. Or not getting enough playing time will. On the flip side, I heard a mom complain that a coach was playing the kids too equally. She thought that not winning was taking the fun out of playing. Coaches (who are usually parents themselves) have other worries altogether, such as dealing with the parents.

I've worried about some of these things, too. But now I see that my expectations were out of wack. I viewed extracurriculars as an extention of school, but they're not.

At school, learning new things, playing well with others, and doing your best have the highest value.

Extracurriculars, on the other hand, are the Wild West. The coaches and parents and players might start out focusing on learning, best effort, and teamwork, but in the heat of the moment, the focus often shifts to winning.

I get it. I keep score. I like to win.

Ironically, I think focusing on winning teaches kids the opposite: Even when it looks like winning is everything, it's not.

The fact of the matter is: You win some and you lose some. You lose some you should have won, and you win some you should have lost. And sometimes, you're just up against better players. But the best is when you win because you learned new things, gave your best, and were a good teammate. Life teaches us over and over that if you do these three things, you've already won. On the best days, games teach us that, too.

On other days, they just teach us to stop overbooking our children. I have to remember that opportunity isn't always knocking. Sometimes it's ding dong ditching.

Football with the Boys

I only know one football play. Flea flicker. Maybe two. Is the Statue of Liberty play where you pretend to throw the ball but instead somebody (hopefully on your own team) takes it and runs with it? If so, I know that one, too.

Johnny and Richie, on the other hand, know thousands.

So when I'm the quarterback in our front yard, I let them make the plays. The trouble is, I have a hard time following what they're saying. To me, it sounds like, "When you say, 'Down set,' I'm going to go over here and then go over there, then marry a mare, then dairy a dare, then harry a hair..."

I just nod. Then I throw it wherever they seem to be. Usually I'm wrong.

Johnny will say, "Remember? I was going to fake the catch at the sidewalk but really catch it at the bushes."

"But when you got to the sidewalk you said to throw it."

"I said that to throw off the defense."

"I thought you were throwing off the defense by pretending to throw off the defense." I can never remember which he's doing.

With Richie it's a little easier. In the huddle, he covers his mouth with his hands, I guess to prevent the defense (Johnny) from reading his lips. This makes him totally inaudible. Luckily, he makes a series of hand motions that I can usually understand. I'm guessing that Johnny can, too. But I have to say, Richie's verbal fakeouts work pretty well.

The other day, he ran behind me, saying in a John Madden announcer voice, "He fakes the handoff!" He actually faked me out and I almost didn't give him the ball, but he grabbed it and ran for a touchdown.

I call that play The Quarterback Has No Clue.

The Cheese Game

Last year, when the Chiefs were having a building year, we were offered four tickets to go to the game--twice. This usually doesn't happen, but we were glad it did. (Even though we're hoping the Chiefs are so good this year that nobody gives away tickets.)

So the other day, in the car, Johnny asked, "Do you think we'll go to a Chiefs game again this year?"

"A Chees game?" Richie asked.

Now, for the boys, "Chiefs" and "Chees" sound the same. F's on the end of words are silent. I remember Johnny's teacher, when he was three, said he had a speech impediment, and I thought, "Don't all three year olds? That's why they're preschoolers instead of news anchormen." But the r's and f's are still a challenge.

Richie said, "I've never been to a Chees game."

"Yeah you have," Johnny said. "We went last year."

"I know what a Chees game is," Richie said. "But I've never been to one."

Finally, I realized he was saying "Cheese Game."

"What is a Cheese Game?" I asked.

"It's where they roll the cheese down the hill and eat it," Richie said.

Figuring he had guessed what a cheese game would entail if there was such a thing, I nodded and said, "That sounds delicious."

Then Johnny said, "Yeah, but it's really dangerous."

"Yeah," Richie agreed. "Really dangerous."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because the hill is steep," Richie said.

"Sometimes they fall and break their bones," Johnny added.

"This year the hill was steeper than ever," Richie said.

I was dumbfounded. There is apparently a game that my sons watch every year that involves cheese and broken bones, and this was the first I was hearing of it.

Usually, because the boys like to chat, I know what they're interested in. For instance, I know that the Steelers have won the most Super Bowls. That Pikachu isn't that great of a Pokemon. He's famous because he's Ash's pokemon. I know that, in J.J.'s class, one boy is spending time in time out, much to J.J.'s delight. (Why do preschoolers get so excited when other preschoolers get in trouble? I guess it's just good gossip.)

But now comes a Cheese game I only heard about by chance. I guess, as the kids get older, there will be lots of things they watch or hear about that are a mystery to me. They'll share a culture with their friends, not their parents, which is how all kids are. But this one I had to see for myself. I asked Richie for more details.

He said, "The Chees Roll is as big as the Super Bowl. Even babies go. Even though there are a lot of injuries."

He didn't know where it happened, but I assumed England.

The injuries seemed to be what stuck out the most in Richie's mind. After finding the Annual Gloucestershire Cheese Rolling and Wake on YouTube, I understood why. You can see it here.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OpzEF0D2xfE