tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219936102024-03-06T21:14:21.740-08:00Greetings from WaldoA blog about family, friends and life in beautiful Waldo, a neighborhood in the middle of a city in the middle of the Midwest.Midwest Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16472737188651676625noreply@blogger.comBlogger357125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21993610.post-29994951124491160102011-02-21T06:50:00.000-08:002011-02-21T07:55:23.113-08:00A Face to Face (Book) ConversationThis was my Facebook weekend. Watched The Social Network. I hope Mark Zuckerberg's ex-girlfriend friended him. I guess Eduardo had already friended him. Would he have un-friended him, I wonder? <br /><br />Michael Scott on The Office once responded to the phrase "It's not personal. It's business" with something like, "Business is personal. It's the most personal thing in the world." I thought of that during the scenes between Zuckerberg and Eduardo Saverin in the movie.<br /><br />It's just amazing the catch phrases people stake their happiness on. <br /><br />By the same token, Eduardo didn't seem to have a very personal relationship with the business. Then again, he started out as the sole investor! That's pretty big right there. Well, I guess he ended up with a settlement, so his dad hopefully was proud.<br /><br />Anyway, the next day, I went over to my mom's to add a profile pic and family pictures on her Facebook account. I could say something like, "Oh, no! My mom's on Facebook." Ha! Ha! Saturday Night Live. Except that I, too, am a mom. I have Facebook cousins who are only a couple years older than my son. <br /><br />Idea for Zuckerberg: an option to "Cousin me" instead of just "Friend me." Friending family is great, but it would be fun to "Cousin someone" on Facebook. "Brother or Sister someone" on Facebook. Not only for relatives, but for people you grew up with or feel very close to or say, "What up, 'Cuz" or "Hey, bro" to. <br /><br />I've been encouraging my mom to join Facebook for a long time because it's right up her alley. It's a "social" network. My mom is very social.<br /><br />As her Facebook consultant/mentor, I suggested she add her maiden name to her account, so that high school friends could find her. When she told my dad, he immediately assumed it was her way of reaching out to former boyfriends. My mom said to put that in her info. "I'm interested in reaching out to former boyfriends." See? It's going to be fun to have my mom on Facebook.<br /><br />My mom ordered pizza, and I had the opportunity to have a face-to-face conversation with J.J. People say nobody interacts face-to-face anymore because of things like Facebook, but J.J. and I do.<br /><br />Me: (Daydreaming.)<br /><br />J.J.: Do you want a hint?<br /><br />Me: I'm sorry, did you ask me something?<br /><br />J.J.: Here's a hint: pu pu pu. (In true lawyer fashion, J.J. never asks a question he doesn't know the answer to.)<br /><br />Me: Pepsi? <br /><br />J.J.: No. Pu pu pu. E e e.<br /><br />Me: Pep talk?<br /><br />J.J.: No.<br /><br />Me: The best hint you could give me is to repeat the question.<br /><br />J.J.: What is a flat meat?<br /><br />Me: Oh. Pepperoni.<br /><br />J.J.: Yes. What are some more flat meats?<br /><br />Me: Besides pepperoni, Proscuto. Salami.<br /><br />J.J.: What's salami?<br /><br />Me: It's like pepperoni, only instead of being red, it's pink.<br /><br />J.J.: (Giggling.) Is it only for girls?<br /><br />Me: No, boys can eat salami. Do you think hamburger is a flat meat?<br /><br />J.J.: Hamburger is a half flat meat.<br /><br />Me: Okay. (Trying to think of the word "Braunschweiger.") <br /><br />J.J.: (Losing interest)<br /><br />End of conversation. <br /><br />If you feel like your life has become too digital, I hope you enjoyed this window into what real conversations are all about. I can't believe I couldn't remember "Braunschweiger." Why didn't I just say liverwurst?Midwest Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16472737188651676625noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21993610.post-75529451145750619032011-02-05T11:19:00.000-08:002011-02-05T12:08:07.344-08:00"Like" That's All I Have to SayAhh...a comment.<br /><br />It used to be something you said under your breath. If it was too bombastic for the person standing next to you, what were they going to do, tattle tell on you?<br /><br />Now the comment is for all to see. I'm a shy commenter. Even when it comes to under-the-breath comments. I like people to think I'm a sweet person, not the smart aleck that I truly am. So unless you know me well, or have beer, you'll never hear me comment on much of anything. <br /><br />Add the in-writing component to the equation and I'm paralyzed. Rather than spend an hour figuring out what to say, I just hit "like." <br /><br />I mean, like everybody, I sometimes go overboard and say too much. But in general, I "like."<br /><br />I wish I could "like" emails.<br /><br />Often, I'll read an email and think, "I like the person who sent this email. I like this email. However, I have nothing to say. I wish I could just hit like. Or write, "Grin.""<br /><br />I dislike emoticons (why do they look like Pacman?) but wouldn't object to writing out emotions. "Sly smile." "Wink." "Glaring at you. Just kidding. Sly smile."<br /><br />While I'm reluctant to comment unless it's a complete no-brainer "Congrats!" "Good Luck" "What is wrong with you?" (not the last one) or I actually know what I'm talking about (picture books, sometimes,) I love other people's comments. <br /><br />I like knowing what they think. I like sincere comments. I like smart aleck comments. I like questions. It goes without saying that I don't like mean comments, but those misinterpreted as mean are always interesting. I think this situation would straighten itself out if questionable comments were followed by, "I mean that in an immature, inappropriate way, not a mean way."<br /><br />Then there's YouTube.<br /><br />I like to click on the videos while I'm working for background music. But often I can't resist watching the footage, and of course reading the comments.<br /><br />Old country songs are some of my favorites. Likewise, comments on old country songs are usually pretty good. <br /><br />On Highway Man, for instance, somebody commented, "Why do the other singers have to work normal jobs, like building dams and being a carpenter, and Johnny Cash gets to fly a freaking starship across the sky?" <br /><br />Someone responded, "Because he's Johnny Frickin' Cash. That's why."<br /><br />And the prior responder was like, "Ha Ha ur right."<br /><br />See, we can have nice, civil arguments like this. Even in America.<br /><br />Have you heard the song "Alone Again (Naturally)"? It's the saddest song ever. The guy gets left at the altar and decides to jump from a tower. Plus, his dad dies. His mom is devastated. And then she dies, too. Finally, the guy loses his faith in God.<br /><br />So a lady wrote in the comments: "It always brings me such joy to hear this song."<br /><br />My comment was, "Jeez, lady, I'm glad the worst day of Gilbert O'Sullivan's life brought such a smile to your face."<br /><br />I didn't write that. She sounded like a nice lady. A true optimist! But I did say it under my breath, to Justin. Just like in the old days!Midwest Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16472737188651676625noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21993610.post-86799223549623217362010-12-20T12:40:00.000-08:002010-12-22T12:37:30.589-08:00Merry Christmas, Penguins!Christmas vacation...the kids may be out of school, but me? I'm learning a lot. Being home all day with the boys always brings me closer to understanding the young male mind, and subjects like:<br /><br /><strong>Who Lives at the South Pole</strong><br /><br />J.J.: The only people who live at the South Pole are scientists and penguins.<br /><br />Me: Would we call penguins "people"?<br /><br />J.J. Well, they stand up.<br /><br />Here, I thought he would go with the tuxedo defense. But he hit me with a left hook: They stand up, don't they? Congratulations, son. You just welcomed bears, meercats, and chickens to the human race.<br /><br /><strong>How to Win at Wrestling</strong><br /><br />Richie and Johnny wrestling. <br /><br />Johnny (suddenly): No! No! Nooooooo!<br /><br />Richie: Ha! I farted...and it's still going!<br /><br />Game over.<br /><br />What I truly learned from this is that eight-year-old boys think of farts as capable of "going" somewhere. Like they're wearing little sneakers or something.<br /><br /><strong>How to Smooth Things over with Santa</strong><br /><br />Johnny's letter to Santa final paragraph (after I told him that you can't write a list of demands and call it a letter): How are you? Is it cold there? This year, I'll try to get you cookies, not pears. Love Johnny<br /><br />Ouch! Did we leave pears last year? <br /><br /><strong>How to Find a Monkey Loophole</strong><br /><br />Richie's letter to Santa: Dear Santa, Thank you for the presents last year. I hope you doing well. This is what I want for Christmas: a monkey. It has to be a nice monkey. Hi. How are you? Love, Richie.(See--not a list of demands.)<br /><br />My letter to Santa: Dear Santa, Is there such a thing as a "nice" monkey? I mean some are nice to your face, but deep down? Just a few months ago, a monkey (okay it was a chimpanzee) got loose in Kansas City, and behaved so poorly (chasing people onto their roof and flipping them off) that he came very close to getting sent to Monkey Island. True story. Hi. How are you. Love, Bridget<br /><br />Anyway, Merry Christmas to you and yours. I hope you get cookies not pears (and not monkeys!) And in the New Year, may you stand tall like a penguin, win all your wrestling matches, and never run out of gas.Midwest Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16472737188651676625noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21993610.post-63593716738182993632010-12-20T12:24:00.000-08:002010-12-20T12:52:49.356-08:00Furious No MoreWhile we were getting ready for Mass/Baby Jesus' birthday party on Sunday, J.J. called in: "Mom, Furious is squeeping." (sleeping)<br /><br />You never want to hear those words as the mother of a pet owner. Fish "sleep" belly up. Guinnea Pigs "sleep" on their side.<br /><br />When Richie came over to see his "sleeping" Guinnea pig, he announced what I already knew. Furious was dead.<br /><br />While Richie was given Furious as a birthday present, and fed her and cleaned her cage, J.J. was the one who played with Furious. He planned a birthday party for Furious in November and had the idea to put carrot slices and lettuce in cupcake paper. J.J. built her houses with his blocks and read her books. He claimed that she starred in Home Alone 3 as a pet rat. <br /><br />On the other hand, J.J. blamed his farts on Furious, occassionally lost her under the T.V. console, and, well, sometimes didn't have the best grip on her.<br /><br />Justin and I secretly wondered if Furious saw J.J. as a friend, a father, or an insane dictator. In the end, I think Furious saw J.J. as a little boy. Because of him, she had an exciting life. Of course, I'm not a Guinnea pig mind reader. But I say this because she let him hold her without scratching, and didn't run into the corner when he came to her cage, which she did before she got to know him.<br /><br />And J.J. loved Furious.<br /><br />The saddest part of the whole thing came between the birthday party for Jesus, which Justin left early to dig a hole in the frozen ground, and the funeral, when we laid Furious to rest with a carrot. <br /><br />Furious was still in her cage, and J.J. stood there alone. "Furious, why did you have to die?" he asked. "Why did you have to die, Furious?"<br /><br />He was really waiting for an answer.Midwest Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16472737188651676625noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21993610.post-67240994331258671732010-11-26T13:19:00.001-08:002010-11-26T14:45:29.732-08:00Is Thanksgiving a Hobby or a Job for You?I come from a family of eaters. I mean, we can pack it away. I hope this doesn't offend anybody, but I consider Thanksgiving to be amateur hour for some of my fellow eaters.<br /><br />It was all over Facebook today: I'm still full! I have a food hangover! The tryptophan is making me sleepy. What are they--pilgrims? They're acting like this was their first Thanksgiving.<br /><br />I wish some of these newbies could have seen my dad last night. He is a professional Thanksgiving eater in every sense of the word. While my cousin Brett was leading the family in prayer (by asking our family of 30 to go around and say something we're thankful for) my dad claimed that the public display of thankfulness was "making him nervous" and that he was "under a lot of pressure."<br /><br />Two seconds later, he was seen standing over the stove, eating turkey by the fistfull, grease dripping off his chin. <br /><br />Me, I thank God I learned from the best. You won't see me complain about eating seconds, as though it's a chore. "(Sigh.) I'm so full, but I have to eat a little more potatoes." It is a privilege to eat a little more potatoes! <br /><br />At our house, the leftovers--even the tossed salad--are already gone. So if any of you hobbyists are turkeyed out, please feel free to send some our way. <br /><br />Or perhaps you, yourself, are a professional holiday eater. Here are some qualifications:<br /><br />1. Before hitting the food line, you have a game plan, prioritizing some foods over others. <br /><br />2. Mid-meal, you don't complain about being full. It is a welcome part of the job.<br /><br />3. Afterwards, you thank the cooks profusely. Maybe your aunt Carol doesn't want to bring the green bean casserole--the one with the cream of mushroom soup--for the 12th year in a row. Maybe she wanted to make a fancy asparagus dish. But a little gratitude goes a long way.<br /><br />4. You eagerly discuss the next holiday meal on a full stomach. "Well, it was fun polishing off that turkey. Who's making the chicken tetrazzini for Christmas?"<br /><br />If three or more of these describe you, congrats. You're a pro. But sorry, your leftovers are probably gone. Well, there's always Christmas!<br /><br />Now, I have to go lay down. Admittedly, the tryptophan is making me a little sleepy.Midwest Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16472737188651676625noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21993610.post-55735409499652895292010-11-24T09:13:00.000-08:002010-11-24T10:04:12.334-08:00365 Days in a (Five) Year (Timespan)This is my 365th post. If you've read this from the beginning, you know my plan was to write a post every single day. Nearly five years later, here we are. Five years flying by in a single earth-go-round-the-sun? Yeah, that sounds about right.<br /><br />And yet, so much has changed since then. My plan was to be a professional humor columnist. A fitting goal because, in hindsight, it is so humorous. Business plan: be Erma Bombeck. Um, somebody already had that business plan. It would be like saying, "My business plan is to start Facebook." You can't out-Facebook Facebook. And if you did, you would have to be extremely Facebookish. And I'm just not.<br /><br />But something even better happened. I became a children's book writer.<br /><br />I used to watch people go on business trips and form business friendships and wheel and deal, and I admired it, but I thought, "That's not for me."<br /><br />Well, guess what? I'm planning my first ever business trip, and I can't wait. I'm networking with colleagues, and I love it. I'm even attempting to wheel and deal, which if you know me, you probably think I'm on a unicycle dealing cards, but I'm not. I'm actually trying to be a mover and shaker in my field. (Still not on the unicycle.) I know that I'll fall flat (not from a unicycle) in this endeavor many times because it's not really my nature. But I have to try because I love this job, and I want to be successful in it. <br /><br />This all came about back when Johnny was in his young scientist phase and all we read was nonfiction. I decided to write a nonfiction book. That book, What to Expect When You're Expecting Larvae: a Guide for Insect Parents (and Curious Children) comes out this Spring.<br /><br />Which leads me to the next thing I didn't expect: my young scientist is now in his young football player phase. He has a fantasy team and trash talks and everything. (A situation that has gotten entirely out of hand, by the way, though I did like Richie's zinger: "You have gas but you're in last place." By "gas" he meant, well, you know. But he never got the chance to post it because he doesn't know how to use the computer.<br /><br />Anyway, Johnny doesn't read as much nonfiction now. He reads Goosebumps. <br /><br />But Richie is in his young Abraham Lincoln phase, so we still get to read lots of nonfiction picture books. Also, baseball offers a treasure trove of nonfiction books. (Why are so many writers also baseball fans? I'm sure there is a poetic answer out there somewhere.) <br /><br />J.J. loves sweet picture books, with ducks and what-not, which were also some of my favorites growing up. Maybe I'll write a sweet picture book some day. Perhaps it will actually be made of sugar. Sounds like a new business plan is showing it's diamond-studded face...<br /><br />So that's the end of the story. Now I'm a picture book writer and my kids are all well-adjusted and never fall apart, as don't I. Also we're now rich and are only living a lower-middle class lifestyle to be ironic.<br /><br />Just kidding. As long as there are problems (and there always will be,) as long as there are vulnerabilities and sore subjects and sweet little moments. Nay, as long as laughter rings through the billboard lined streets of Waldo, I'll continue to write this blog. Unless I forget to or am too busy, to quote Shrek. <br /><br />Happy year-or-so anniversary, and thank you for reading this blog!<br /><br />P.S. If you like picture books (or if you used to--I think that covers everyone) be sure to "like" my Facebook page. Fun news, reviews--often in pastel hues--regarding kids books. <br /><br />http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#!/pages/Author-Bridget-Heos/116576161735613<br /><br />Tell your friends, too! (See. Wheeling. Dealing.)Midwest Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16472737188651676625noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21993610.post-15287011423211405382010-11-03T05:56:00.000-07:002010-11-03T06:42:48.329-07:00Halloween from HellWhat began as a Friday "jump-start" to Halloween ended on Saturday morning with me staring at a red splot on our school roster and wondering if it was real or fake blood.<br /><br />First: Teacher conferences. Always an emotional roller coaster, for me at least. When Justin gets the recap from me, he finds them humorous. I do tend to be melodramatic, which I guess can be interpreted as funny. In my heart, it's not funny at all.<br /><br />Not that I have bad kids. Actually, one got a really good report. I won't name names. But the other got sent to his room, thinking he was grounded from Halloween. <br /><br />I did not plant that seed in his head. Getting grounded from Halloween would require something more than potty talk and general goofballery. By now you've probably guessed who got a bad report, but I'm still not naming names.<br /><br />So I grounded him from T.V. Next stop: J.J.'s Halloween parade at school. Precious as always. Then: two birthday parties. One was Richie's friend's party. <br /><br />And the bloodbath began. (Sort of.)<br /><br />Richie's friend's uncle was there from out of town and he had a very unusual camera. I'm drawn to unusual objects like a parrot (plus am in the market for a camera) so I was staring at it. Richie's friend's dad introduced us.<br /><br />Now, I was raised to believe a firm handshake and direct eye contact still mean something in this world. The problem with that is if the person has a huge bandage on his thumb, you don't see it...plus you squeeze the hell out of it. And there was the camera distraction. <br /><br />So I gave the uncle a firm handshake, and he was like, "Ahhhhhhh" and leaned back and shook like he was being electrocuted.<br /><br />My first thought was that it was a Halloween joke. I thought, what a hilarious prank, especially when you're in from out of town and meeting a complete stranger. (Put that in my back pocket for when I'm traveling.) But then I found out it was a real bandage and he had hurt himself pretty badly the day before. There were ambulances involved. Airplanes. Police. I'm not kidding here.<br /><br />I felt horrible. Flash forward to an hour later. I'm rushing to get our trunk ready for Trunk or Treat: Our theme: Day of the Dead Grade School Students. Announcement: "1. Report cards go home today. 2. You're all dead." <br /><br />I was cutting out a cardboard skeleton with a razor knife and thought, "Man, karma. I bet you anything I cut myself."<br /><br />And I did! I sliced the heck out of my thumb. But the show had to go on. So I wrapped it in a cloth and kept decorating the trunk. It took longer than I thought, plus our furnace had broken.<br /><br />So Justin came home and was toying with trivialities (fixing the furnace) when I had a trunk to decorate!<br /><br />Trunk complete, I went to the kitchen and started making grilled cheese. At that point, the kids descended on the kitchen, needing faces painted and wrestling, and sitting on the cabinetry so the doors were going to break off, and my thumb was still bleeding like holy heck. <br /><br />"Justin!!! Can you make Johnny up to be a zombie???!!! Please!!!" I mean what was so important that he couldn't paint a zombie face? Heat? And I kicked everybody out of the kitchen.<br /><br />So I became that mom. The one whose trunk looks cute at the expense of her family. Meanwhile, Justin painted Johnny's face white, his eyes black, and added fake blood. Richie put on his zombie costume, which involved a werewolf mask (What? Werewolves can be zombies.)<br /><br />We made it to Trunk or Treat on time and I won a major award. Which you've probably guessed made me feel pretty lousy after the meltdown. I went up alone to receive it; the boys were running around with their friends. <br /><br />Eventually, Justin took J.J. home, who'd missed his nap earlier. I stayed with the older boys to talk. Justin says I'm always the last to leave anyplace because I talk and talk.<br /><br />Well, cars left and I was still talking, this time to the cleanup crew. In my defense it related to our school chess club; a dramatic chapter of my life that I'm trying to bring to a happy ending. Meanwhile, Johnny went up to dunk a ball on a basketball hoop. He hung on the rim, and the whole thing came crashing down on him. He let go and fell right on his face on the blacktop. He laid there for a minute and I ran over, along with some other moms and dads.<br /><br />Well, he wanted none of that. He was like, "I'm fine. I'm fine." and walked to the car. In fact, he was so adament that he was fine that I was worried. Plus, with his face painted, he looked pale (his face was painted white) and it was hard to see the injury. <br /><br />A mom told me what to look for in terms of a concussion. We went home and washed his face. Then he watched a movie with some friends and I kept checking him and waking him up in the night. <br /><br />The next day, he had a black eye and his arm hurt, but he was okay. I looked up the event organizer's number to call and let her know Johnny was okay, and that's when I saw the drop of blood. Fake? Real from my thumb? Real from Johnny's face? We'll never know. <br /><br />It could have been worse, but this Thanksgiving, I will thank God it's not Halloween. And next Halloween, I'm going to duct tape an orange streamer to the trunk and call it a day.Midwest Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16472737188651676625noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21993610.post-50191083406653252222010-10-20T07:56:00.000-07:002010-10-20T08:54:41.476-07:00Is Life All About Logistics?I haven't posted since summer because of...logistics.<br /><br />Two weeks before school started, I found out that J.J.'s school day had been moved back an entire hour! That complicated things because I teach a few classes at the end of the school day. My chorus became, "I'm trying to work out the logistics."<br /><br />You know when Jon Stewart of The Daily Show does a montage of a silly story that the news media is absolutely obsessed with? Like the Obama girls' lunch menu. Well, if I had been in the background of various people's home videos, that's what it would have looked like:<br /><br />At the block party: "I found out just two weeks before school...it messes up all the logistics."<br /><br />At the soccer game: "Had I known earlier, I would have rearranged my whole schedule...now the logistics are in a tailspin."<br /><br />In the school parking lot: "I'm thinking of sending him to first grade an entire year earlier...just for the sake of logistics."<br /><br />Well, it ended up my mom and a friend are helping me with the situation until next semester, at which point I'll have rearranged my whole schedule. (As all moms know, it takes longer than two weeks to rearrange your whole work schedule.) <br /><br />But logistics had already become my buzz word.<br /><br />"How is school going?" another mom would ask me.<br /><br />"Just trying to work out the logistics," I'd say.<br /><br />I started to think about work in terms of logistics, too. When the recession hit, my marketing work dropped off. But my children's book business picked up. Well, now the recession has hit school library books because funding is down. That has hurt my work-for-hire business. Work-for-hire is great because a publisher commissions you to write the book and pays you a couple months later, as opposed to you writing it, and then taking up to two years to sell it. <br /><br />People would ask how work was going.<br /><br />"Great--just figuring out the logistics of the economy."<br /><br />I'd never used the word "logistics" in my life, and now it was all I ever talked about.<br /><br />Was life all about logistics?<br /><br />I even thought of seeing friends in terms of logistics. If I worked out with one of my friends in the morning, I could see her twice a week...but I had to get back to make breakfast--another logistical nightmare.<br /><br />Not that I didn't see the folly of my thinking. I told my sister-in-law that if this is how I reacted to a scheduling change, God forbid I would ever have a real problem. And yet, that didn't stop me from talking about logistics!<br /><br />Then my friend and I went to a Spin class. Now, I never expected to have a revelation during spin class. I hadn't even ridden a bike since childhood, at which point I fell off it onto my head, got lost for two or three hours, and had the whole neighborhood looking for me. This was in high school, by the way. So I was just hoping not to fall off the stationary bike.<br /><br />Well, the teacher started giving us a pep talk. "You guys are here working out while everybody else is asleep. You're going to have a great day."<br /><br />And I thought, you know, instead of thinking about the "logistics" of our day every morning, I should give the boys a little pep talk. <br /><br />"Look at you boys, wearing your white shirts and ties for Mass day. People better climb on board because you're going places."<br /><br />Then the spin instructor put on a song about how we should all get out of our heads and get into our hearts. <br /><br />And that's when it hit me. Life is not all about logistics unless you make it that way. Life is about taking time for each other. Granted, I have to get the kids to and from school, but I don't have to think about it constantly. Instead, I should focus on asking them how the school year is going for them. (You know, getting the juicy gossip.)<br /><br />And while I do have to find a way to make a living as a children's book writer, that doesn't have to be about logistics, either. I love kids' books and writing kids' books. I also love the people in this business. If I keep enjoying all that, it will lead to new connections. In fact, it already has. I have a lead on a second editor who may hire me for work-for-hire books, and I'm starting to market my picture book, which will hopefully be a good business, too. <br /><br />And marketing something you love is really fun. Not that I know what I'm doing. I started a Facebook page called Author Bridget Heos. I thought it would be dorky if on my regular Facebook page I started only talking about picture books. (Or maybe I could only talk about logistics!) So on top of already asking people to be my friend, I was now also asking them to "like me," too. Also, I appeared to have changed my first name to "Author" and middle name to "Bridget" which isn't dorky at all. <br /><br />When faced with a choice of two dorky things, why do I always choose the dorkiest? Meanwhile, there is probably some cool choice out there which doesn't even occur to me.<br /><br />Anyway, that's why I haven't blogged since this summer. Logistics. And then Illogistics.Midwest Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16472737188651676625noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21993610.post-65123503415897820742010-08-17T18:35:00.000-07:002010-08-18T05:54:05.907-07:00First Day of SchoolEnd of the summer. Kids have been home for two and a half months. Nightly football games. Daily wrestling matches on the living room floor.<br /><br />Now, all the kids are in bed--Richie and Johnny going to bed early voluntarily. Tomorrow they start school--fourth and second grade, and J.J., later in the month, kindergarten. They're listening to the iPod. <br /><br />Seeing them, I think about how, when I babysat in grade school and high school, I imagined how my own family would be. And I think about how, now, my family is much different than I imagined.<br /><br />I thought the pillows would remain on the couch at least 80 percent of the time.<br /><br />I thought they'd curl up and read during the day.<br /><br />I thought they'd fall in love with Walt Disney movies.<br /><br />I thought they'd collect teddybears.<br /><br />I thought I'd be the sweet mom at the grocery store.<br /><br />Instead, they tear the pillows off the couch and block each other with them.<br /><br />They spray the hose at each other during the day, chase each other around the house, and occassionally curl up with a good T.V. show.<br /><br />They love sports movies. Rocky, Rudy, Hoosiers, and Cinderella Man are in our Netflix queue because we are having a bit of an underdog marathon.<br /><br />They collect football cards and silly bands.<br /><br />I grounded them from T.V. for two weeks today in the grocery store because for the past 10 years they've poked and pushed and even wrestled each other in the aisles. And at the end of two and half months, I'd had it with the roughhousing.<br /><br />But during a quiet moment like this, I realize with a knot in my throat: This is nothing like I thought it would be because it is way better.<br /><br />Today, Johnny said of a game they were playing in the neighborhood, "Richie is my go-to quarterback. He has a way better arm than I do."<br /><br />Now, they're sharing the iPod earphones and listening to a lullaby they thought J.J. would like.<br /><br />And I'm thinking, the craziness is part of it. It's a real family, and it's messy, but in the end, we're a good team. <br /><br />I told the boys, "Other teams might come and go, but do you know the one team you'll always be on?"<br /><br />"Us," they said.<br /><br />"Yep. Your family," I said.<br /><br />The boys looked at me like I was going to tell them I was dying or something.<br /> <br />Because I don't typically talk like this. I'm not the type who walks around saying, "I would rip out my right ventrical to make you feel my love." I know people like that, and that's not me.<br /><br />So I said, "Who here hasn't brushed your teeth?" I knew one of them hadn't. I have a sixth sense about that type of thing. And I was right.<br /><br />But I know now that I was wrong earlier this summer, when I thought, "I can't wait til school starts." Now I know that when I flash the photo of them in their blue slacks and red shirts--similar to the Catholic school uniforms I've been seeing on my friends' Facebook pages this week as other schools started, I'll feel the same pangs I always feel.<br /><br />Gosh, what a sob story. Seriously, they'll be home at 12. It's a half day! And Lord knows they need something to do for three-fourths of the year! Best to change the subject. Who here hasn't brushed their teeth?Midwest Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16472737188651676625noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21993610.post-82111265794101392462010-08-13T14:01:00.000-07:002010-08-13T14:02:05.331-07:00File Under: Kids Say the Darnedest1.<br /><br />After I told the boys that a kid we know tried football but likes soccer better...<br />Johnny: Well, my favorite is football.<br />Richie: My favorite is baseball.<br />J.J.: My favorite is bouncy ball.<br /><br /><br /> ***<br /><br />2.<br /><br />J.J.: Mom, when are you going to get married and have a baby?<br />Me: I already got married and had three babies. You're one of them.<br />J.J.: Well, you could marry daddy.<br />Me: Yep that's my husband.<br />What does he think the connection is between the five of us living in this house? College roomies?<br /><br /><br /> ***<br /><br />3.<br /><br />J.J.: Mom, what do you want for your birthday?<br />Me: My dream gift would be an iphone or a new laptop.<br />J.J.: Or a Barbie doll?<br />Me: Yes, a Barbie doll would be great.<br />J.J.: Or a baby doll?<br />Me: Maybe I'll ask for a real baby...<br />J.J.: Maybe daddy could give you one.<br />Me: Um...yes.<br />J.J.: But doesn't God give babies?<br />Me: Yes, babies are gifts from God.<br />J.J., Johnny and Richie: Silence.<br />Me: (Big sigh of relief.)Midwest Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16472737188651676625noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21993610.post-79316414131872533532010-08-11T07:05:00.000-07:002010-08-11T07:50:57.699-07:00What We Did On Our Summer VacationWe just got back from Boston for our annual trip to visit Justin's family and enjoy a town that has no end to the stuff there is to do. Here is what we did:<br /><br />Caught up with friends and family at the annual party under the big white tent! The boys wrestled with friends and family at the same party.<br /><br />Got tears in my eyes as we approached Gilette Stadium. I defy you to love football and not have this reaction. It is the Emerald City of football stadiums.<br /><br />Saw a humpback whale and learned what "TAIL BREACH!" means. It's what the captain yells when a whale flips its tail a good way out of the water, and it's something I'm going to yell randomly from now on when something exciting happens in my life.<br /><br />Watched Richie get seasick for the first time. Then immediately afterwords, heard the captain say, "I'm sure you all won't mind if we go six miles further--but the water's going to get rougher because there's a storm at sea." Richie was like, "Noooooooo!" And then a second later, we realized the Dramamine was in the bag I was holding and that Richie had just thrown up in.<br /><br />Played T.V. tag with my nephew Brendan and J.J. Every time, they chose Dinosaur Train or Polar Express and the clue was, "trains." It was like stealing candy from a baby. To be fair, I chose Sesame Street every time.<br /><br />Toured Paul Revere's house in the North End of Boston. Learned that when it was built, it was a mansion, but by the time the Reveres bought it, it was middle class. Keeping up with the Joneses is nothing new!<br /><br />Ate pizza in the North End. Started to agonize over our restaurant decision before realizing you can't really go wrong with pizza in Boston. <br /><br />Ate lobster rolls at the beach. Justin's mom's clam chowder at the party. Homemade blackberry bread in the morning. Boneless pork from a Chinese restaurant. And pretty much everything within a one-mile radius of my face. Tail breach!<br /><br />Spent an evening at the beach and, as the sun set behind us, watched the water and sky become the same shade of gray until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. But I was too busy eating lobster rolls to notice until we walked to the car. <br /><br />Watched the Red Sox at Fenway Park. So loud and so cool. A guy actually climbs a ladder to change the score on the Green Monster. Johnny's interpretation: They change the score from inside the Green Monster and the guy on the ladder paid for a special ticket. (The lawsuit waiting to happen ticket??) And then somebody hit a homerun over the green monster and it hit a car! Tail breach! Richie was sure that would be on the highlights of Sports Center.<br /><br />Met a lady on the street in the North End and at the candlepin bowling alley who had three sons, too. I can't tell you how many times I meet mothers of three grown boys. <br /><br />Found out Justin's brother Johnny and his wife Erin are having another boy! Justin's parents will still have all-boy grandkids!<br /><br />Got a 73 at candlepin bowling--with bumpers! (Richie beat me with a 75.) I think it's a lot harder than "big ball bowling" as they call normal bowling in Boston. (Because there, candlepin, which has softball size balls and narrower pins, is more popular. As an aside, Justin was a child candlepin champion. Tail breach!) I love candlepin!<br /><br />Made tie-dye shirts at a pool party and watched the big boys have a slam dunk contest off the diving board. Realized my oldest son is now one of the big boys...or almost. He was like, "I was doing dives and 360s; they were doing back flips and 460s." <br /><br />Listened to the boys' uncle ask them, upon seeing that they were watch iCarly, "What are you, a bunch of cheerleadahs? Where are your pom poms?" I love how people in Boston talk.<br /><br />Had a living room sleepover with all the Boston and Rhode Island cousins.<br /> <br />And that's only the half of it. J.J. cried his eyes out the night before we left. Johnny was like, "Could we move to Boston for one year?" I said that as soon as I made my first million, I was going to buy a summer place for us in the Back Bay. Well, my first 10 million.Midwest Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16472737188651676625noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21993610.post-11226277802001591102010-07-27T13:08:00.000-07:002010-07-27T14:20:05.773-07:00Zoo Day!We went to the zoo today--The boys, my niece Francie and I. We were supposed to go a couple other times, but one day it looked like rain, the other, Johnny had football camp. I said, "Watch--the day we go, it will be the hottest day of the year." <br /><br />Saving the zoo for the hottest day is kind of a tradition. As the temp crept toward the triple digits at around 1:30 p.m., I turned to Johnny and said, "You have to go to the zoo on the hottest day of the year, or else you lose your edge, and once you lose your edge, it's gone forever."<br /><br />"Yeah," he said, laughing. "Wait, what does that mean?"<br /><br />"Your competitive edge," I said. "When you lose it, it's gone."<br /><br />"Yeah," he said, clearly thinking I had lost something.<br /><br />Hot days are actually a great time to go to the zoo. I remember it used to mean the animals were off hiding in the shade, but now it seems like the shade is close to the viewing area. Lions were laying right up against the glass, and chimpanzees were grooming each other right by where we could sit. <br /><br />On the information sign, it said chimpanzees have five or so behaviors, such as teaching the young how to hunt for termites, but the only thing I've ever seen them do is groom each other. A mother's work is never done. As soon as she's finished biting bugs off the baby's bottom, and moves onto the rest of the body, it's time to remove more bugs from the bottom. <br /><br />I'm so glad humans had the common sense to lose our body fur. Seriously, removing bugs from my children only takes about .00000001 percent of my overall time, and only when we've been to a farm. Which gives me the free time to do important things like write a mommy blog.<br /><br />I love taking J.J. and my niece to the zoo. <br /><br />J.J.: "What's your name, seal? Seal, seal, what's your name?" <br /><br />(He was talking to a sea lion. It must be frustrating to hear visitors talk when you're a zookeeper. They're probably like, FYI, the animal kingdom is not limited to monkeys, seals, and babies of bigger animals you're more familiar with. For the last time, servals aren't baby cheetahs! Learn the names, people, learn the names.)<br /><br />Johnny: The seal can't talk, J.J.<br /><br />J.J.: Oh.<br /><br />Later, Francie: Hi, elephant. Elephant! Hi.<br /><br />J.J.: The elephant can't talk, Francie.<br /><br />Francie: Bye, elephant. <br /><br />Francie said hi to all the animals. (Just because they can't talk, doesn't mean you can't talk to them!)When we came to the rhinoceros, she said, "Hi, dinosaur." <br /><br />J.J. said, "That's not a dinosaur, it's a wino."<br /><br />The best was when she came to the gorilla. She said, "Hi, granddad!"<br /><br />It was like a scene from Inherit the Wind.<br /><br />We were all laughing about that when the gorilla ran up and pounded on the window.<br /><br />I was like, "Oh, no, he thought we were laughing at him." <br /><br />I would never laugh at a gorilla! Chimps, yes. They just make the funniest faces at each other, and you're like, "What does that mean?" You soon find out they were asking if they could groom each other. What a surprise!<br /><br />It was almost too hot to walk to the exit, but we made it. There, we saw that the sea lion show was going on. The sea lion hugged the zoo keeper, jumped through hoops, dove from great heights, and even played Frisbee. J.J. kept laughing and looking at me. I know what he was thinking, "Are you sure seals don't talk? Because it looks like this guy can do anything he puts his mind to!"<br /><br />J.J. was right. That sea lion certainly hadn't lost his competitive edge! Which is why he has his own pool, front and center of the zoo.<br /><br />All the kids agreed they were the sea lion. (Don't you love how kids always say who they are? And it's always the best one. I was at Karate Kid, and during the final Kung Fu tournament, the kid next to me nudged me, and pointed to Dre. "I'm him. Not that one. That one," he said. <br /><br />I thought, "Yeah, obviously you're not going to be the mean kid who's about ready to get his butt kicked and dishonor his family.")<br /><br />Anyway, they were all the sea lion because he got the most attention, the most fish, and the pool. <br /><br />On the way home, I said, "What a great day to go to the zoo."<br /><br />"Yeah," Richie said. "And it would have been a great day to go to the pool, too."<br /><br />Good thing we're all sea lions. We don't have to choose!Midwest Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16472737188651676625noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21993610.post-58893628267771545922010-07-05T21:41:00.000-07:002010-07-05T22:25:11.045-07:00I Love This PoolAt the city pool again. This time, with waterguns. I'd like to take a moment to describe our city pool, or mi amour, as I sometimes call it when I'm being French. Is that French? I think that's French. <br /><br />The cheapest city pool around (Our Pool) happens to be in the toniest city in Johnson County, aside from Mission Hills, which I'm pretty sure only has a country club. For obvious reasons (they don't make their Shirley Temples right,) Justin and I opted not to join "the club." So we go to this awesome city pool in this awesome city in Kansas. Sometimes, when all the lawn chairs are taken, I lay in the grass and pretend I actually live in this city. And the lifeguards are like, "Oh what in the ever living hell are the mothers smoking now?" <br /><br />I'm smoking the air in your city, lifeguards. Because I love it that much.<br /><br />Well, this year, one of our lifeguards has a tattoo. I was like, "When the lifeguards in Toni Town start getting tattoos, I start buying stock in tattoos."<br /><br />Okay: so, the waterguns. They're a gray area at our pool. They're not "outlawed," but they're frowned upon. Usually, kids with waterguns get kicked out of the shallow pool and into the big pool, where the lifeguards defy them to tread water while operating a modern watergun. (Have you seen these things? Pretty awesome. But requiring two hands.)<br /><br />Today was overcast and cool, so the shallow pool was pretty empty. Richie came into the pool with his watergun. He started shooting at this kid who--for reasons I couldn't understand at the time, let Richie shoot him. I was like, "Are you crazy, kid?" I mean, a kid might join a watergun fight without a watergun, but it's either with the intention of engaging in hand-to-hand combat (splashing) or tricking the other kid out of his gun. Richie actually handed this kid the gun and he handed it back. <br /><br />Nearby, Richie saw a gentleman who looked to be in his 80s with a tattoo of...I couldn't see what...on his bicep. The only tattoos I take seriously are a. on people 70 or over and b. on the bicep. These people got tattoos when they actually meant something. Nowadays, everybody has a tattoo. Therefore, no one does. <br /><br />So Richie shoots this guy in the chest. <br /><br />The guy gets a funny glint in his eye. Is he going to tell him to get some manners? Is he going to make a joke? <br /><br />I said, "Richie! Don't shoot grownups or babies!" <br /><br />Meanwhile, the guy disappears. He comes back with one of those big waterguns that's made of foam. He starts spraying Richie. I mean full combat. He's sneaking behind mothers in tankinis and coming out full barrel. (At one point he had two waterguns that he was shooting at the same time.) Richie loved it. He was like, "He's got waterguns now, mom. That means he's no longer a grownup."<br /><br />I looked at the tatoo again: a cannon, I think. I was like, "Of course. Only Richie would pick a watergun fight with a sailor."<br /><br />Then the guy's granddaughter started attacking. She was shooting water straight into Richie's ear. The guy turned to me and said, happily, "She usually doesn't like watergun fights!"<br /><br />So that's what he was thinking when he got that glint in his eye: "I'm going to go get my granddaughter's watergun. Yes!"<br /><br />A little while later, the guy took his grandson over to the big pool, and Johnny and Richie continued the fight with the kid who I had thought was crazy. (Have you noticed that--to avoid getting shot with a watergun--kids go underwater? Interesting.) Well, as it turned out, every time the kid picked up the watergun, his mom went ballistic. She marched over from her lawnchair and sat him in time out. Johnny thought that she thought her son would wander off with the watergun and not be able to find us when it was time to leave. I think maybe she didn't let her kids play with toy guns. Which is great--I get that. But it made me feel bad for thinking her kid was crazy.<br /><br />Anyway, a little later, I was trying to teach Johnny how to swim. (I mean, he knows how to swim, but he weaves his legs back and forth like an alligator in distress.) The same guy comes over and starts giving him pointers. He was wearing a Navy baseball cap. (I guess my Nancy Drew sleuthing skills are sharp as ever.) He said he was a Navy instructor, which touched my heart because my grandpa was an Air Force instructor. This guy had prequalified Navy Seals. <br /><br />"Did you notice that he was an awesome watergun fighter, Richie?" I later asked. <br /><br />"Yeah!" Richie said enthusiastically.<br /><br />"Well, that's why."<br /><br />Not that people shoot each other with waterguns in the Navy, but you know what I mean.<br /><br />See, I love our city pool.Midwest Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16472737188651676625noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21993610.post-4336464724085201482010-07-05T07:48:00.000-07:002010-07-05T08:27:18.173-07:00Freedom FestThe Fourth of July isn't the same without traveling to Boston, which is what we usually do, for a giant tent party with family and friends. This year, we're going to Boston later in the summer. <br /><br />Meanwhile, here in Kansas City, the boys paid tribute to the Americans who have built our country brick by brick...by rebuilding our patio brick by brick. This is Justin's declaration of independence from weeds. He's using a special kind of sand guaranteed to prevent weeds until we sell out house. I don't know how the weeds know when we are going to sell our house...because I sure don't. But apparently it is going to happen at some point. <br /><br />Justin also declared independence from mowing the grass...by teaching Johnny how to operate the lawn mower. I almost cried when I looked out the window and saw my oldest wearing a football t-shirt with the sleeves cut out and pushing a lawn mower. When he came inside, he was beaming. "It wasn't at all like I thought it would be, mom," he said dreamily. Did Justin pull a Tom Sawyer on him or what?<br /><br />That night, we were going to see fireworks at something called the Star Spangled Spectacular (Question: How do Independence Day events manage to make the tenets and symbols of our great nation sound dorky as hell: Freedom Fest, Star Spangled Spectacular, Red White and Boom. Come on. How about: F.U. England. We're Doing Our Own Thing Now. That's just one of many festivals I'm considering getting started.)<br /><br />Unfortuantely, it rained, so we didn't go to the fireworks. Instead, I regaled the children by reading the Declaration of Independence, which the newspaper had printed. (Newspaper=freedom from ignorance. I still believe that, even though they are going through hard times.) I only read the first paragraph to Richie and J.J. I figured that was all they could handle--well, J.J. anyway. <br /><br />Earlier in the evening, J.J.'s Nana explained to him that it was America's birthday. He was like, "It's <em>your</em> birthday?" Um, J.J., is your Nana's name America? Jeez. Talk about needing freedom from ignorance. <br /><br />I made Johnny read the whole thing, which he absolutely loved. Some moms buy their kids bottle rockets. I say, set your mind on fire, son, not your head. (The lawn mower makes me nervous enough.)<br /><br />Today, Justin got rained out from work, so they are back to laying bricks. Which the boys actually do like. Justin is a fun boss. He even let the boys bid out the job. He is big on teaching them to bid out jobs. Johnny got a job in the fall raking our neighbor's yard--$20 front and back. Well, the leaves fell faster than he could rake, and soon, he had twice the work. I went over to help him, wanting the lesson to be, "Hard work pays off." <br /><br />Justin said, "I'm too old to rake people's leaves. Johnny needs to learn to bid higher." For him, the lesson was, "Charge a realistic price." In the end, our nice neighbor saw that the job was bigger than Johnny had thought and paid him $20 for the front yard. He did the backyard by himself. I don't know what the lesson was. Maybe: It's nice to have nice neighbors.<br /><br />Anyway, while they're outside, I'm going to write a book about crocodiles and alligators. So, goodbye now. Or should I say, See 'ya later alligator.Midwest Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16472737188651676625noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21993610.post-56223828279043250412010-06-29T06:31:00.000-07:002010-06-30T05:03:21.104-07:00Daze of SummerHow would I describe summer vs. the rest of the year? First of all: I love summer. It's my chance to spend time with my boys that doesn't include homework and signing a bunch of stuff.<br /><br />I get that homework is important. Especially if my boys are to fullfill their promise to me that one will be a doctor/dentist, another, a lawyer/mad scientist/local business owner who sponsors a 3&2 team, and the third a "surprise me." Guess who chose that one? (Hint: starts with an R.) <br /><br />In terms of dealing with people, however, who would you choose? A. People who have spent all day swimming/playing whiffle ball/eating ice cream products. B. People who have been bossed around and forced to do paperwork in tiny desks all day. Again, I get it. If they always do "A" they'll turn into donkeys. I'm just sayin': I would choose A.<br /><br />Furthermore, summer is one reason I chose to be a children's book writer, instead of a...I would have said banker, but there's really no sure thing anymore, is there? You might as well feed it all to the birds.<br /><br />So I'm not complaining. Just making a statement. There is a certain <em>daaaze</em> that goes along with summer, as opposed to working while the kids are in school. I would compare it to being a hunter-gatherer vs. a farmer. <br /><br />Farmers mold their world by planting crops and raising animals. Hunter-gatherers live off the land as it already exists. Winter mama molds her world by doing such things as generating business, doing work, following up on paychecks. Summer mama's to-do list says, "Apply sunscreen. Do it again. Do it again. Do it again. Do it again." <br /><br />All humans used to be hunter-gatherers until the agricultural revolution. Then, a wave of farming swept the world, and people laid down roots, planned ahead, met certain goals. <br /><br />Now, if I had heard about this new way of life, I would have said, "That sounds like a lot of work. Why don't you guys do <em>that</em>, and I'll chill out here on the savannah. Your descendents can come back in a few thousand years and write magazine articles about how my people don't plan ahead...which is why we never got around to drilling for oil in the ocean or building nuclear bombs. I'm going to take a nap now. Have fun with your corn." <br /><br />But at the time, everybody thought this was a great idea. In a way, it was. We got culture. I love culture, don't you? Books and what-not. Culture is so great. I have several cultural deadlines coming up that I will do momentarily. While my kids are quietly...dripping popsicles on the furniture and losing Furious behind the toy box.<br /><br />Not that we're at home that much. That's the difference between being a summer mom and a year-round stay at home mom, like I was when the kids were little. The sunny months are so much better! Mainly, we go to the pool and eat. Swimming makes these children hungry! Speaking of corn, you can't have enough popcorn lying around when you are at the pool! <br /><br />Here's something else I thank the agricultural revolution for: mass-produced coffee. I had given up coffee for green tea over the winter. Coffee was keeping me up at night. In the summer, however, I can pour coffee directly onto my eyeballs with no adverse affects. The sun bakes it out of me--even with my dorky-ass mom visor. (During the summer, I use big words like "dorky-ass," and "punk-ass," and "sorry-ass." Hardly ever front of the children though. That would be bad parenting-ass.) <br /><br />The bottom-line: I love summer--I'm so lucky to get to have a summer, but staying home with kids and meeting deadlines don't mix. The boys and I are about living off the land--the land being the swimming pool and Aldi's. Deadlines are about planning and meeting goals.<br /><br />So when I say, "No problem," about a deadline, I'm thinking, "Winter me is all over it. Summer me, on the other hand, is trying to find my son's camouflaged flip-flop. Why in the swamp-ass hell did I purchase something camouflaged for a son who can't find his nose on a map of his own face?!" <br /><br />If you are reading this and have given me a deadline, however, I really am all over it. Right...(push "publish post") now!Midwest Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16472737188651676625noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21993610.post-11353181374561119082010-06-25T07:17:00.000-07:002010-06-25T08:19:03.198-07:00So, So FuriousLast summer, a blog I like, Fuse #8 Production, posted the top 100 picture books, based on readers' votes. I can't find the original post, but here is the list on Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/shelf/show/fuse-8-top-100-picture-books.<br /><br />We read most of them last summer and into the fall. It was perfect timing because Johnny was still reading picture books. Now, he's too old...for now. See, you're never too old for picture books, or too young, but sometimes you're too in between.<br /><br />Anyway, it was interesting to see what my sons' favorites were. I'm basing this not on votes, but on 1. how many times they wanted it reread and 2. the look in their eyes that said, "I'm not here; I'm there. The book is my religion. It's my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It's my lucky everything." You know the look. Actually these are separate criteria, so here were their favorites, based on one and two:<br /><br />J.J.: 1. Scaredy Squirrel by Melanie Watt. 2. Little Blue and Little Yellow, by Leo Lionni.<br />Richie: 1. Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales by John Scieszka. 2. The Story of Babar by Jean de Brunhoff and Our Animal Friends at Maple Hill Farm by Alice Provensen. <br />Johnny: 1. None. 2. Madeline by Ludwig Bemelmans and Eloise by Kay Thompson.<br /><br />I thought of this list yesterday because of Richie's reaction to the animals in Our Animal Friends. He said, in an imagination-induced daze, "I never knew you could have that many animals as pets!" Then: "Can I have a pet pig?"<br /><br />"Sure!" I said, caught up in the excitement. "You don't mind if we get a pig, do you Justin?"<br /><br />He had just walked into the room and was like, "What the hell just happened in here? I thought you were reading a book." <br /><br />He asked, "A pig?"<br /><br />"Not a hog, but a small pig," I said. I turned to Richie. "I think they have something called a 'pocket pig,' which can fit in your pocket. They either have it or they're developing it. Or we could get a pot-bellied pig. They're small. Would a pot bellied pig be all right?" I asked Justin.<br /><br />"Sure," he said. It's the same answer I get when I suggest we move to Florida or travel the country in an RV. He knows that I have ADHD and only follow through on writing projects. He was thinking, "You can write about small pigs all you want, honey."<br /><br />Well, guess what? Yesterday, Richie got a pig!<br /><br />A Guinea pig. <br /><br />He'd been wanting a pet of his own for two years. Johnny used to have a frog and a turtle. Then there were the snails, which died tragically of overpopulation. <br /><br />Richie had his heart set on a parrot. But we are not pirates. Plus, Justin doesn't like birds. Plus, aren't parrots expensive? They're bossy, I know that. I once accompanied my brother to feed our neighbor's parrots, and they were like, "Turn on Nick at Night! Where's Lois? Get the lights. Blah Blah Blah." <br /><br />"Parrots cost $5,000" I said.<br /><br />Richie began to lean toward something furry. <br /><br />On his birthday, we went to see Shrek: Forever After. I rented out the entire movie theater, Daddy Warbucks-style, or at least that's what I told Richie. We really were the only ones in the theater!<br /><br />Then we went to Petsmart. My mom and I had both given Richie gift certificates for his birthday.<br /><br />First Richie looked at dumbo rats. I'm not a rat person, per se, but I have to admit, one of these guys was cute. He was pawing at the glass as if to say, "Pick me! Pick me!" Then the Petsmart worker opened the cage and they all started running around, and all I could think was Willard. Plus, my mom would die if she had aided and abetted the purchase of a rat. Because then, somewhere, someone would say, "A rat has been sold. Excellent. Now we can breed more rats!" And his name would be Willard, horror, etc.<br /><br />It came down to Russian hamsters v. Guinea pigs. We learned that hamsters are crazy hyper and fun to watch on their little wheels. But they're quick to get away when you hold them Then Richie held a Guinea pig. She held perfectly still. I knew he had found the pig of his dreams. <br /><br />"What are you going to name her?" I asked.<br /><br />"Furious," he said. "Because his eyes are red." (Richie is in denial that Furious is a girl.)<br /><br />Her eyes are red because she's an albino, but yeah, okay, I can see why you would think the timid little fur ball was on the verge of insane Guinea pig anger. If you were an eight-year-old boy, that is.<br /><br />We got furious a cage, bedding, water bottle, food, special hay, and an oatmeal canister hiding place. <br /><br />J.J. asked, "Why doesn't Furious have a T.V.?"<br /><br />"Maybe she prefers to read," I said.<br /><br />"No, he wants a T.V.," J.J. said. So he drew pictures on Post-its and stuck them on the cage. I'm not sure why that constituted a T.V. and not an art exhibit. I guess it speaks to the cultural experiences I've offered my children. In my defense, Sesame Street is a work of art, in my book. And iCarly is not too bad, either.<br /><br />Well, Furious might be watching T.V., but my boys aren't. They're allowed to watch T.V. before 8 a.m.and after 4 p.m. This works better for us than limiting their viewing time to one hour because I can't keep track of time. Today, the boys woke up at 7 a.m. but didn't turn on T.V. Instead, they sat backwards on the couch and watched The Furious Show. <br /><br />"He's drinking his water! He's hiding! He's eating hay! He's knocking things over! Wow he's so smart!"<br /><br />Richie held him several times. True to his name (now I think of him as a him, too,) he nuzzled softly against Richie's chest and let him pet him. What an angry young Guinea pig!<br /><br />I took Richie's picture with him. Then Richie, the wildlife photographer, took several pictures of Furious in his cage. The big question is: Did Furious sleep last night? When we left him in the living room, he was awake in his oatmeal canister. When I woke up this morning, he was awake outside the oatmeal canister. Maybe we'll have to hook up a secret camera. Then we really will be able to watch him on T.V.!<br /><br />Happy bday Richie.Midwest Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16472737188651676625noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21993610.post-69948951627494228862010-06-22T06:14:00.000-07:002010-06-22T06:14:37.500-07:00WrestlemaniaAs you know, I'm J.J.'s celebrity handler at the pool. His new friend, Preston, also has a handler, a babysitter who wears a blue, what we used to call "tank" swimsuit and cop sunglasses. <br /><br />Preston asked J.J.: "Do you have a dad?"<br /><br />"Yeah," J.J. said.<br /><br />"Well, where is he?"<br /><br />"He's at work, Preston," his babysitter said.<br /><br />"My dad is really, really scary," J.J. said.<br /><br />I laughed nervously. "His dad is not scary at all," I assured officer babysitter.<br /><br />"No, I said, 'my dad's really, really <em>hairy</em>,'" J.J. said.<br /><br />"Oh, well, that's true," I said.<br /><br />Richie went to his first day of wrestling camp at a school called Rockhurst. Richie is always getting wrestled by Johnny and J.J. and he doesn't like it, which leads to fights. I figured, maybe if Richie knew what he was doing, he would like wrestling, and my boys could be happy barbarians all day long.<br /><br />Last night, I told Justin that Richie had gone to wrestling camp.<br /><br />"Did you learn to jump off the high rope and body slam guys?" Justin asked.<br /><br />"This is real wrestling," Richie said. "Not T.V."<br /><br />Richie described a move called the knife, which involved legs, and that's all I understood of it.<br /><br />J.J. said that he had also been to wrestling camp. He showed us his move, which was to hold up his fists, jump and land on somebody. He must have gone to T.V. wrestling camp.<br /><br />"My wrestling camp was at Nockhurst," J.J. said. I thought that sounded suspiciously like Rockhurst--and knockwurst. <br /><br />Seeing my skepticism he said, "No, I mean it was at... (trying to make up a school name)...Frickin'"<br /><br />"You went to Frickin' wrestling camp?" I asked.<br /> <br />He nodded and showed me his wrestling move again. Sometimes I think J.J. is not being totally honest with me.Midwest Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16472737188651676625noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21993610.post-2981203769485983392010-06-19T12:23:00.000-07:002010-06-19T12:23:44.139-07:00Spider-dad, Spider-dadJ.J.'s party was a success. A mom from J.J.'s school came to the party with her four cute kids, who each brought a present. She was like the guardian angel of people not RSVP-ing! One was a slip n' slide, so the kids played in the plastic pool and on the slip n' slide, and did play dough. Then, while they ate their cupcakes, Spider-man came. <br /><br />His pants were about six inches too short and he was wearing brown loafers.<br /><br />He came out saying, with a thick Boston accent, "What is this, a birthday party? Psha Psha (shooting webs from his wrist.)" <br /><br />J.J. looked shocked--even a little scared. Then he yelled, "Daddy?!"<br /><br />He looked on the verge of laughter and tears.<br /><br />The other kids were nonplussed. "Are you really Spider-man?" they asked skeptically.<br /><br />So I had to say, "Spider-man was busy fighting bad guys so daddy came instead. Wasn't that nice?"<br /><br />J.J. nodded and started laughing and shaking his head, as if to say, "Oh, mom and dad, if only I could peer into the tangled webs your brains sometime."<br /><br />Justin said he should have disguised his voice. I can't imagine the overall impression that would have given, what with the loafers.<br /><br />But will we try the same thing in July for the cousins party? Yes. Only with a shorter and less well-known Spiderman.Midwest Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16472737188651676625noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21993610.post-33476165596279608442010-06-17T14:06:00.001-07:002010-06-19T12:06:02.242-07:00Muscle Beach...meet Muscle PoolFor some people, summer is about the beach. In Kansas City, it's all about the city pool. I once asked a friend in Boston if people went to city pools there. "Poor people do," she said. Well, poor people go to the city pool here, too, (how do you think our family gets in?) But so does everybody else. I mean everybody. It's a total madhouse.<br /><br />J.J. doesn't know how to swim yet. So I follow him around everywhere. It's awkward this year because he's made some pool friends, and I tag along with them like some kind of celebrity handler.<br /><br />Today, his friend Ryan--who was in the goldfish swim class with J.J. and apparently learned how to swim (what a concept! J.J. should try that some time.) was doing somersaults in the water.<br /><br />"How old are you?" I asked, impressed.<br /><br />"I'm five and three quarters," he said.<br /><br />"I'm five and I have four quarters," J.J. said.<br /><br />It was true--he did have four quarters. My kids' summer--if not their entire lives--are dedicated to memorizing the prices at snack bars--and scraping up just enough money to ruin their teeth. But J.J. is not five.<br /><br />He's turning five in July. It was my brilliant plan to have his party one month early so that I could send invitations to school. (The school doesn't have a roster that I know of, so I don't have addresses.) Well, nobody RSVP'd. Way to keep it classy, J.J.'s friends' parents!<br /><br />So I figured, we'll have his party at the regular time, when his cousins from Atlanta will be in town. Then, yesterday, one mom RSVP'd. She offered to bring her three other kids, too. Bam! Instant party. <br /><br />I don't want to blow my wad on this party, since we're having the cousins in July, so I'm going to make play dough, copy Spiderman coloring sheets off the computer, make red cupcakes, and make Justin dress up as Spiderman. Keeping it classy, as always.<br /><br />J.J. has luckily forgotten all about passing out 20 invitations at school. He only remembers giving one to his elusive school bus friend, Jamaicai, who I'm beginning to think is J.J.'s snuffalufagus. I told J.J. that Jamaicai might be spending his summer in Texas. I have no reason to think that. But my yoga teacher's kids are spending their summer in Texas, and it's a big state, so you never know. I should have said Jamaica, though. Duh.<br /><br />Anyway, J.J. now has no idea how old he is, only that he gets to have two birthday parties this summer. Yay!<br /><br />Richie, meanwhile, really does have a birthday coming up and we're celebrating...you guessed it, at the city pool. Then he gets to have a slumber party. This is the boys' big eight year old treat. The pool is key--you have to wear these children out. I'm hoping they don't wear goggles, as chlorine can do wonders for kids wanting to close their eyes when they get home.<br /><br />I'm realizing that this post is not about Muscle Beach/Pool after all. Here is what I was going to say. At football camp, Johnny's coach said the boys should relax afterwards. He said, "Your shoulders are starting to get big, so go show them off to the girls at the pool."<br /><br />Johnny took that comment at face value. We were riding in the car the other day and he said to Richie, "Dude, my arms are enormous next to yours." Just what every younger brother wants to hear.<br /><br />Then, he actually saw a girl in his class at the pool the other day. I think he likes this girl, because for a while, he was working her name into distantly related conversations. Well, he wouldn't even look at her! Finally, I convinced him to say hi out of politeness. And out of me handpicking her for my future daughter-in-law. (She's very sweet.)<br /><br />That's all I have about muscles. I should probably change the title of this post...Midwest Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16472737188651676625noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21993610.post-35993917820163080532010-06-11T08:52:00.000-07:002010-06-11T08:58:53.442-07:00Running RoutesJohnny went to football camp and won a quarterback award (for some drills they'd done.) That night, he wanted to practice. He asked if we had a target he could throw the ball at. <br /><br />"No, that won't work," Justin said. "You have to throw to somebody in motion. Mom will run routes for you."<br /><br />I was just taking a bite out of my second giant chicken salad croissant, and gave him a look. <br /><br />"What? I can't because of my knee," he said.<br /><br />"I just think you've found a way to dovetail your dreams of having a quarterback son and a skinny wife," I said.<br /><br />But after finishing my dinner, I laced up my tennis shoes and we went over to the school playground, which is next to a busy street. I've run routes with Johnny before, but I'm the one who throws it. This is normal. The mom or dad passes the ball and the kid catches it. Whoever is running the routes is the one practicing. So it looked like I'd told my son, "Hey, I'm joining a lady football team. Come run me some drills." <br /><br />As I ran a post across the field, a couple of cars honked. Yeah, I get it, my ship has sailed. Ha. Ha. Or never come into port, actually. <br /><br />Once we started, though, I got into it. I was like, "You can throw this far, Johnny. You just need to train your eyes. See, you did it!" For my part, I was jumping and diving for balls--training my body to think it was invincible. (I found out the next day it isn't.)<br /><br />Soon, some Boy Scouts came outside. I was like, oh, great. Now I'll really feel like a fool. But they looked to be in high school and were playing on the swings, so I figured we were in the same boat.<br /><br />The next night, Johnny tried to throw J.J. routes, but he doesn't know how to catch the ball. In parochial league, they have a weight limit for who can carry the ball, and at age four, J.J. is approaching it, so he probably won't need to learn that particular skill set. But it would be nice if Johnny could teach him. Then Johnny could be the quarterback and his brothers (not his mother), the receivers. Even though it was fun diving for those footballs.Midwest Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16472737188651676625noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21993610.post-16464459813222225802010-05-26T11:11:00.000-07:002010-05-26T11:43:28.335-07:00Early SummerGoggles. Check.<br />Sunscreen. Check.<br />Swim trunks. Check.<br />Sidewalk chalk. Check.<br />Heat and humidity. Check check.<br /><br />Summer came a little early this year, and I say: Welcome. I'll take the high eighties and 100 percent humidity any May over a lingering winter. <br /><br />Johnny and Richie get out on Friday, and J.J., next Friday. J.J. has kindergarten graduation on Tuesday. He's not in kindergarten, but has been talking about this since April. I don't know what happens at kindergarten graduation (we didn't celebrate stupid stuff like that when I was a kid) but based on his excitement, it must be a hoedown hootenany of a good time.<br /><br />Even though J.J. is in preschool, he has kindergarteners in his class. Once they graduate, he'll be a kindergartener, which is the real reason for his excitement, I think.<br /><br />Every day, he goes to school thinking it is the big day. I picture him waiting, thinking, "After snack...no, after lunch...no, after nap...no, tomorrow!" I've told him it's next Tuesday, but what do I know? I'm a dumb 34 year old, whereas he is four and brilliant. <br /><br />Since J.J. is almost in kindergarten, Justin and I are cracking down on fits. We cracked down earlier with Johnny and Richie, but now we are old and lazy. I know J.J. doesn't throw them at school (or I'm sure his teacher would have mentioned it by now!) But at home: yes. He wanted to wear blue shorts--not tan! Where are his sunglasses! Who stole his chapstick! (Whenever my kids lose something, somebody clearly pilfered it. As if we have a roving thief living in our house.) <br /><br />Well, from now on, he goes straight to time out when he throws a fit. So there. Now who's the brilliant four year old? I am.<br /><br />If you recall, last summer, I sent Johnny and Richie to summer camp every day, which Johnny protested by calling "summer school." Richie was put in cheese sandwich debtor's prison because I sent the lunch money in the wrong envelope. This year, I said they could stay home, but they need to occupy themselves. Johnny wants to mow lawns, but Justin wants him to be one year older. I told my dad it would be nice if things were like the old days, and they could sell The Saturday Evening Post, like my Papa did as a kid. My dad said it would be even better if they could work in a coal mine in which the ceiling was too short for grownups, so kids had to work it. Or there's always chimney sweeping.<br /><br />I'm sure they'll stay busy. Between whiffle ball and Harry Potter, what's not to love about summer boredom? Plus, I'll be here, and I'm a lot of fun. Hey kids, who wants to do a science experiment?<br /><br />I only have one book to write this summer--about alligator and crocodile babies--A light load. My first picture book comes out in one year. Save the date! Just kidding. I don't even know what the date will be. I am working on the mystery book idea. I've read three kids' mysteries. Just 97 to go. Then I can write my own, theoretically. Happy early summer!Midwest Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16472737188651676625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21993610.post-83752775685369820102010-05-01T14:34:00.000-07:002010-05-01T15:27:35.030-07:00BrazilI was working in J.J.'s school garden yesterday and a mother asked me what country I was from. She said it sounded like I had an accent. I guess my fake Madonna accent is really paying off! Actually, people have said this before, so I think I must have a speech impediment that sounds like an accent. (Like when my brother couldn't say his r's, his therapist asked if he was from the East Coast. He said he had cousins in New Jersey, so that explained that.)<br /><br />The speech impediment, I'm assuming, is from the birthmark on my tongue, which is real, not something I'm making up to sound crazy. I had the option of having it removed as a kid, but when the doctor described a lazer beam shooting my tongue, I thought, "What if they miss their mark and I lose my whole tongue? Can you eat without a tongue?" Plus, I didn't have a high incentive to have it removed. Kids rarely made fun of me, much to my dismay. Once a girl called me Dragon Girl, and I laid into her so hard, I couldn't wait for it to happen again. Alas...nobody else broached the subject. Then, when I worked at the food court in college, some students would ask me to show them my tongue, but I told them it wasn't that kind of place. It was more of a sandwich/pizza/grill/Chinese food/frozen yogurt place.<br /><br />I felt neutral about having an accent. But what the mother said next, I really liked. She said, "I think that you're from Brazil."<br /><br />"Thank you!" I gushed, breathlessly. I've been waiting my whole life for someone to say that. I picture Brazilians to be exotic people who wear bikinis all day. (Though she was probably referring to a Brazilian woman who wears yoga pants all day with the intention of going to yoga but instead tries to think of a children's book series that will make her rich.)<br /><br />I started convincing myself that I really was Brazilian. "No wonder I don't fit in in America," I said to myself. "No wonder I don't quite 'get' the culture or 'speak' the language. I'm from Brazil."<br /><br />Now, whenever I feel like I'm different or say the wrong thing, I'm going to say, "Well, it's hard being a recent immigrant to this country. It will take a while to get used to customs such as working outside the home/caring about our yard/being on the ball in terms of Cub Scouts. That's not how we do things in Brazil."<br /><br />In honesty, I have no idea how things are done in Brazil. Like my brother who acquired his speech impediment by having cousins in New Jersey, I've acquired my knowledge of Brazil from our neighbor, who traveled to Brazil, and described it by shaking her shoulders and saying, "It's so spicy!"<br /><br />Brazil is just my metaphor for the feeling we all have of "not being from around here" even if you've lived somewhere your whole life. Everybody feels this way, which means, in truth, we are all coming from the same place. Do you like how I so subtly beat you over the head with that metaphor? I just don't want to present myself as some kind of Brazil expert because I also once ate at a Brazilian restaurant in St. Louis.<br /><br />Anyway, back to the children's book series. As you know, I write picture books and children's nonfiction. Johnny had a friend over a while ago who said, "Mrs. Heos, you should write a series. That's where the real money is."<br /><br />"You're right," I said. <br /><br />He follows up everytime he comes over. "Have you written that series yet? If you write that series, maybe you could afford to live in my neighborhood." (They live on the other side of Wornall.)<br /><br />"What should I write about?" I asked. I mean, I'll write on demand. I do it all the time with my work for hire stuff. <br /><br />He said I should write about he and Johnny and their friends, who solve real crimes. The Hardy Boys, in other words. Only instead of being brothers, they're friends. How fun would that be: to be a crime fighter in a book?<br /><br />I wish I <em>could</em> write a mystery. I love reading mysteries. Usually, if you're a writer and you read enough of something, you can write that something. But that hasn't been the case with me and mysteries. <br /><br />I haven't read kids' mysteries, though, except for my brother's copy of Encyclopedia Brown #14 and some Nancy Drews. I guess my knowledge of children's mysteries amounts to my knowledge of Brazil. That settles it. I will read more children's mysteries in an attempt to get rich. Then maybe we'll move to Brazil.Midwest Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16472737188651676625noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21993610.post-82998542050880789282010-04-19T17:30:00.000-07:002010-04-21T07:00:36.972-07:00Thank God for FootballJ.J. loves art. Every day, he comes home and colors and cuts stuff out and tapes it to other stuff. He's never been too into playing sports with the older boys. That's fine. Maybe he'll get into sports later, like Johnny did, or maybe not. <br /><br />I will say life is easier for Johnny since he started liking sports. <br /><br />He said the other day, "I've been noticing I get a lot more respect these days."<br /><br />"Why's that?" I asked, knowing the answer. I remember all too well those nights in first grade when Johnny would go to sleep crying about what some of the kids said to him during kickball (because he couldn't catch a ball to save his life.) This happened frequently enough that kickball, which I do not even consider to be a real sport, was ruining our lives. And I knew that once Johnny discovered football in second grade, and became obsessed with it, he suddenly became coordinated. <br /><br />"I think it's because I'm better at sports now," he said. <br /><br />"How do you feel about that?" I asked. <br /><br />"I like it," he said.<br /><br />Well, I guess he would. But I thought he might think the kids were being a little shallow. <br /><br />"I think kids should be nice to people whether they're good at sports or not," I said. "I think those are your real friends."<br /><br />"Yeah," he said. "They are." But I guess there's no reason not to enjoy the respect of your...fake friends? No, I mean kids change. A mean kid one year can be a sweetheart the next. And it's a lot to ask of kids to think like grownups...and grownups who have their priorities straight, at that.<br /><br />There will come a day when the kids in his class will respect people for different reasons...like being involved in the community or standing up for the little guy, or taking on the big guy, or raising a nice family, or being good at anything, not just sports, or simply not being a jerk. But I guess in third grade it comes down to whether you can field a kickball. (Again, not a real sport.)<br /><br />I'd be stressed out about J.J. except that now I know that everything changes with kids from year to year...and also every class is different. J.J. might like sports later or he might have a class who doesn't care. To tell you the truth, none of this has even crossed my mind until now, when I'm writing about it.<br /><br />But in spite of not really liking sports, J.J. always asks us to sign him up for flag football. Last year, he'd get the ball and run, and look back and laugh as if to say "Which of you kids wants to tackle me? Don't make me run the length of the whole dang field!" <br /><br />Not that his goofiness stood out. There were kids tackling their own teamates, trying to strip the ball off their own coach, carrying lawn chairs onto the field...<br /><br />Now it's Spring flag football season, and J.J. had his first game Monday night. His team was maroon and the other team, purple. The color blind kids were s.o.l. <br /><br />On the first play, J.J. was on defense. After the ball was snapped, he picked out the biggest old boy on the purple team, ran across the field, tore off his flag, and held it up for the ref and all the world to see. The only problem was: that kid didn't have the ball.<br /><br />Later, Richie said that boy, DeJon, was J.J.'s evil twin. (In Richie's world, if you look remotely like somebody else, you are their evil twin.) J.J. said, "Yeah, I'm evil to DeJon because he said a bad word to me."<br /><br />I hadn't seen DeJon say a word to anyone all night. <br /><br />"What word was it?" I asked, skeptically. <br /><br />"Butt," J.J. said. <br /><br />Of course, it was. Of all the bad words for a kid to allegedly say, it would have to be "butt." <br /><br />Johnny said, "He probably said, 'I'm going to kick your---"<br /><br />"Shhh. How did he say it?" I asked. <br /><br />"He opened his mouth and moved his tongue like this:" (He mouthed the word butt.) <br /><br />Jeez. I know how human beings form words. I meant did he say, "Butthead," "Move your butt," or just a random, "Butt." Oh whatever, it's not like he even said it. <br /><br />Another play, the coach told J.J. to get the ball. J.J. ran over to the kid, made eye contact, and took it out of his hands. The kid relinquished it like a kid giving the ball to a ref after the whistle. Still, in my heart of hearts, J.J. stripped the ball. <br /><br />Then he actually got a flag...and a touchdown. Well, good. He can play football. That will soften the blow during kickball "season" at school. <br /><br />Of course, the whole thing leaves me retrospective. Why didn't we sign Johnny up for flag football at J.J.'s age? Why did we waste so much time on soccer? (Not that there's anything wrong with soccer, but kicking sports were a problem.) Richie was fine with soccer. In school, he had to write a book, complete with a dedication and bio. He wrote, "I'm Richie. I like to play sports. It is my thing to play sports. I'm good at it. I play with my big brother. He's nine. I'm seven." He didn't end up writing the actual book, but he did dedicate the blank pages to J.J., which was nice. The point is, when it comes to sports--or anything really--Richie fits in where he gets in, to quote Snoop Dog.<br /><br />Well, maybe the kickball tragedy of first grade taught Johnny some important lessons. First, it stinks to have people give you a hard time for something you can't help. Coordination arrives in it's own sweet time, or in some cases, is a complete no show. And second, you should respect people for whatever they're good at, whether it's kickball or art or just being nice. <br /><br />But for now, I think the lesson Johnny took away from the whole thing is: "I'm glad I figured out how to play football so I could finally get some respect." <br /><br />And I'm okay with that less hippie-ish lesson.<br /><br />Last summer, Johnny went to a football camp, and the coach said, "Thank your mothers for bringing you to camp and thank God for football."<br /><br />"Amen," I said. "Amen."Midwest Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16472737188651676625noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21993610.post-89219502421084749232010-04-02T13:53:00.000-07:002010-04-02T14:23:48.993-07:00What Boys Think AboutThe other day, I was in the library with a group of first grade boys. A fifth grade boy walked through the room and climbed the stairs. Just before he reached the landing, he turned around and said, "I could beat all of you at basketball."<br /><br />They stared at him like, "Well, duh. Seeings how you're four years older than us."<br /><br />Then he clarified. "I meant I could beat all of you at the same time. My team won the city championships."<br /><br />The first graders started saying, "No. We'd beat you up. We'd punch you."<br /><br />I guess they'd be playing Moms & Pops rules. Moms & Pops is a tournament in which mainly the dads play each other according to what class their oldest kid is in. My brother says it gives dads the opportunity the moms have through the PTA to form lifetime enemies. It rarely comes to blows. But there are some friendly headlocks and elbows to the eyeballs. It's Justin's favorite weekend of the year.<br /><br />The basketball statement got me thinking about the things that occupy young boys' minds. The things that, 20 years from now, won't even be a blip on their radar.<br /><br />Things like the logistics of opposite.<br /><br />"There is no such thing as opposite day," I heard Johnny argue with his friend the other day. "Because if you say it's opposite day, it is not opposite day."<br /><br />Twenty years from now, Wednesday will roll around and their boss will say, "There's a meeting today at 4:30."<br /><br />And it won't even cross their minds to say, "Too bad it's opposite day!"<br /><br />Also in 20 years, they'll no longer know, within half an inch, how tall their friends' dads are. In the car today, we drove by a parking lot with six foot three clearance. Johnny's friend said, "My dad could make that by one inch. Your dad's head would be touching the ceiling."<br /><br />Remember when you used to know exactly how tall your friends' dads were? Kids wore it like a badge of honor. <br /><br />"My dad is five foot eleven." <br />"My dad is five foot eleven and a half."<br />"My dad is five foot seven but he once lifted a car." (Short but strong was just as good as tall.) <br /><br />You might still know, off the top of your head, how tall your oldest friends' dads are. But I bet you don't know--or have even thought to ask--how tall your colleagues' dads are. Or your neighbors' dads. Maybe it's because, as a kid, you knew your friends' height might mirror their parents' height. Now, not only are your friends finished growing, but you also don't give a hollering hoot how tall they are. It's something that only concerns kids. <br /><br />Here's the thing with the basketball comment, though. I've never seen Justin announce to a room of people, "I could beat all of you in basketball. Not one at a time. But all at once. I'm the champion of the city. Beyond that, have a great weekend and enjoy your cocktails."<br /><br />But sometimes, maybe he's thinking it.Midwest Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16472737188651676625noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21993610.post-43789399129218864702010-03-31T11:49:00.000-07:002010-03-31T15:33:56.969-07:00Living the High Life in St. LouisWe went to San Lucas for Spring Break. I mean San Louis. I mean St. Louis! They sure sound alike! We didn't go to a beach, but we did go to the coolest place ever: the City Museum. <br /><br />I've been trying to describe this to people and it comes out sounding like a McDonald's Playland. It's not like that at all! It's five stories of wire tubing, which you crawl through and then all the sudden you're in a burned out airplane, eye to eye with a real bird. Later, you slide down a slide that is so steep it's practically inverted. <br /><br />Naturally, I was wearing flats. You know how, when you're up high, you think about how you could easily lose a shoe. That would be scary because you'd think, "Am I falling or is it just my shoe? Is my foot in that shoe?" The whole line of thought leaves your stomach in your throat. There were times where I had to convince myself getting to the end of the tube was a matter of life and death. <br /><br />At one point, I turned to Justin and said, "This is the stuff nightmares are made of."<br /><br />But it was a really cool nightmare, you know? <br /><br />Johnny said, "I feel like we're some kids that found an abandoned place and turned it into this." It's the kind of place where you imagine stuff like that.<br /><br />While in St. Louis, I also, ahem, met up with my agent. Did you know I have an agent? For my children's books. I feel funny mentioning it here because ever since I became a writer, I've gotten used to bad news. The good thing about bad news is it can be entertaining for others. Nobody likes to read about how you had breakfast with your, ahem, agent. When I got an agent, Richie asked, "Is she a secret agent?" So I guess that's why I've been keeping it a secret...at least as far as the blog is concerned. <br /><br />In truth, she has sold three of my picture books (two written, one to-be written!) I don't believe it, either. It feels like something that's happening to someone else. In fact, if this is something that's happening to you and I'm passing it off as something that's happening to me, please let me know before I get carried away. <br /><br />Hmm, why have I never done that before? You all seem to have interesting jobs. Successful. Purposeful. Why have I never pretended to have one of your jobs? And now it's too late because I have a job of my own. Guess I missed that boat.<br /><br />Agent or no agent, children's book writing is a tough way to make a living. The good news is: Everybody's so nice! It's like you're in a business where your colleagues all happen to be your former kindergarten teacher. That's how nice they are. Which is great because I'm not exactly a tough cookie. I mean, occassionally I am. But as a rule, I'm more of an ice cream sandwich. <br /><br />I've always wished I'd walk by somebody and they'd say, "There goes one tough broad." But that's never happened. So this business suits me just fine, and the meeting went great. <br /><br />The picture books will come out next Spring...it takes a while!Midwest Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16472737188651676625noreply@blogger.com2