Fire up your holiday spirit!

You might be tired of this medley by a capella group, Straight No Chaser (who originally performed together at Indiana University back in the ’90s).  Too bad.  Here it is again.  It’s a fun song sure to get even the Grinchiest of grouches in the holiday spirit!

Definitely check out the band’s web site, if only to read the unlikely success story this group of ten guys had a decade after they stopped singing together in college. Maybe it’ll inspire you to dust off that trumpet from marching band?  

Happy Friday!

Forget the toys! Books rock!

Tick, tick, tick…only days are left for you to finish your Christmas shopping!  If I had my way, everyone would only get books as gifts, so hie thee to a bookstore — preferably your local independent — and consider these titles for your little ones:

Princess Peepers adores her glasses — at least, until the other princesses at school make fun of her.  So she takes off her glasses to prove she doesn’t need them, which of course leads to all kinds of hilarious trouble.  Her biggest challenge?  Getting ready in time for the ball to dance with the prince!  The spunky, bespectacled princess prevails and changes the definition of cool.  This book is a surprising divergence from the usual princess tales, and little girls who adore fancy, sparkly heroes (whether they wear glasses or not) will cheer for Peepers.  (written by Pam Calvert, illustrated by Tuesday Mourning, Marshall Cavendish, 2008)

Mean girls are everywhere, even in elementary school.  In Two of a Kind, author Jacqui Robbins skillfully captures the dynamics between two pairs of best friends — mean, snobby Melanie and Kayla, and kind, eager Anna and Julisa.  When Anna is accepted into the exclusive friendship, she is secretly thrilled, even though she’s sad to leave Julisa behind.   Soon, however, the nastiness of her new friends becomes too much, and she realizes that she was happier with her true friend.  The honest writing never feels didactic, pulling readers into a timeless conflict of playground bullies and their victims.  Illustrator Matt Phelan deliciously captures body language and facial expressions (I love the way the mean girls are so, well, evil, despite their perfect, matching outfits).  (Atheneum, 2009)

In a lovely seasonal tale, Christmas Eve Blizzard (Sylvan Dell, 2005) tells the story of Nicholas, who rescues a cardinal trapped in the snow.  Ignoring the usual holiday fun of wrapping presents or decorating the tree, Nicholas, with the help of his grandfather, focuses instead on caring for the bird, and his efforts yield surprising results.  Written by Andrea Vlahakis, this is a nostalgic, heart-warming tale best read while cuddled under a thick quilt in front of a blazing fire — or wherever your most special reading place is.  As with their other titles, this Sylvan Dell book includes a “Creative Minds” section, which offers information and activities based on the story.  (Illustrations by Emanuel Schongut)

This book made me the hero of Cooper’s first grade class when I read it aloud a few weeks ago.  I mean, the title alone set them into peals of laughter!  How could it not?  While reading this hilarious book by James Stevenson, kids will delight in conspiring with the little pig, Freddy Faffnaffer, to disobey his boss, the grumpy crocodile Mr. Frimdimpny, during the telling of three separate tales.  All the while, readers have discovered Mr. Frimdimpny’s deepest secret — and they get to help put Mr. Frimdimpny in his place by book’s end.  The text is more suitable for older kids, though — the humor is probably a little sophisticated for preschoolers, though they will undoubtedly appreciate the wonderful illustrations. (Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 2004)

(Edited to add author links.  Der.)

The end of the crustacean era

Yesterday we said goodbye to another member of our family.  The remaining hermit crab, Lumpy, went to his (her?) final resting place under the pine tree, alongside Bumpy, who was buried earlier this year.

Poor Lumpy.  Probably died of a broken heart, living a solitary life in the tank.  No one to climb the wall with.  No one to fight with over the crab house.  

Maybe not.  We noticed him looking poorly and grew concerned.  When he stopped moving and seemed limp, we knew something was up.  But our research led us to this conclusion:  the crab was molting.  Aha!  Experts say that it’s crucial to leave a molting crab alone, so that’s what we did.  We hydrated it, changed water, kept it warm.  The process was supposed to take up to 8 weeks.

And it went on and on.  Since there was no smell, we figured it was okay.  (I mean, dead animals smell, come on.)  But 8 weeks came and went, and eventually we decided that poor Lumpy didn’t survive the change.

So yesterday we had his funeral, poor little petrified Lumpy (I mean, stiff, fragile, like an egg shell molded to a crab form.  Every molecule of water completely gone.  Just a little crumbly skeleton.  No one wanted to touch it, because when you did, a leg or claw fell off.).  We buried him shell and all.  

Mitzi wasn’t upset to say good-bye to crab number three.

Next time, she says, she wants a better pet.

How Pillow Pets are ruining Christmas

I’ll be the first to say it — my kids are NOT perfect by any stretch (for examples, see all of my previous posts on this blog).  But they are good (for examples, see all of my previous posts on this blog).

So I shouldn’t have been surprised that when it came time to make Christmas lists, they didn’t ask for much.

• Joanna:  cookies, milk, a Pillow Pet
• Ellie:  a unicorn Little Pony, a Pillow Pet
• Cooper: a skateboard, a punching bag, a Pillow Pet
• Mitzi: skates, a lantern, a Pillow Pet

Seriously, this is all they asked for.  I should be grateful — my wallet sure is.

 Now, here’s the thing.  Pillow Pets are out of stock.  

I had no idea they were such a hot item this season.  Sure, I could pony up $200 per Pet on amazon, but frankly, if I had that kind of money I’d probably be taking my family on a vacation.  Or at the very least, not spend so much time worrying about the price of milk.

So I prod the kids a little.  ”There’s no toy you want?”  ”Nope.”  Mitzi and Cooper huddle to consult each other and say they both want a DS.  I get a cramp in my side from laughing so hard (no, my 7 & 6 year olds are not getting a DS.  I don’t care a whit what other parents do.  I might as well just flush a stack of twenties down the toilet).

That’s all I manage to extract from them during a 45-minute interrogation at dinner last night. Time is ticking.  What to put under the tree?  (Books will be given by grandpa, and my mom has come up with stuff on her own, plus is giving a game to all her grandkids.).  But Santa?  Grandma?  They both need ideas!

It’s good that they are not greedy — given the amount of TV they watch, you’d think they’d be inspired by all those commercials.  No, their needs are few.  Pillow Pets.

And I feel badly.  They believe in Santa.  They believe that they are good and Santa will put presents under the tree, because, well, that’s how it works.  I remind them that they are free to ask for whatever they like, but it doesn’t mean they will get it all.  They never budge. They know what they want and look at me like I’m crazy because I’m asking them so often.  

So can I go ahead and wrap up a bunch of stuff I think they’d like and leave a note?  ”Ho-ho-ho!  I know all you wanted in your heart’s desire was a Pillow Pet, but I ran out, so enjoy this Barbie/light saber/Pretty Pony/stuffed animal, even though you already have a dozen of this item, which means you like it, which is why I am giving it to you!  Ho-ho-ho!”

Yeah, it’s not a big deal.  My dad will post a response (waves to dad) with very wise words about the meaning of Christmas and not being about the presents and it’s about family and love, etc., etc.  And he’ll be right.  Others might point out that I should stop whining and be happy my kids aren’t greedy.  Yup.  They’d be right too.

I still have this sense, though, that for kids Christmas is magical, when anything is possible.  And we adults nurture this belief, knowing how fleeting it really is. We decorate and sing and bake and give all because of the season meaning.  (We capitalize on it as a behavior-management aid — Santa’s watching, don’t be naughty!).  So I think we ought to hold up our end of the bargain.  I’m not for kids getting 37 presents under the tree — frankly, I’m horrified to the point of nausea to hear of parents who spend thousands of dollars each year.  Does a five year old really, really need an Xbox?  I don’t think so.

But, darn it.  I’d really like to give them all that one thing they want.  They didn’t ask for much else.  They deserve it.  

Hmmm…If only I could sew!

Uh, Mom?

A teachable moment

Just before Thanksgiving, all the parents in our school were informed of the existing policy in Massachusetts regarding gift giving for teachers.  In a nutshell,  it’s a violation of the law to give a gift worth more than $50.  It’s a violation for a group of parents to pool their money for a gift valued over $50.  The only exemption to this is if the gift is intended for classroom use, such as books or software, supplies or materials.

Thus began the brouhaha.

Newspaper articles and talk shows focused on this hot-button holiday issue.  Some parents are in an uproar, feeling that they ought to express their gratitude in any way they like.  Teachers don’t make a huge salary, and, some say, the holiday season is a great opportunity to give these hard-working educators a little something they wouldn’t be inclined — or able — to get for themselves.

Others are in favor of supporting the existing regulation.  Some say this annual ritual is akin to slipping the hostess a twenty for a fast seating.  Some claim that parents who, for all intents and purposes, tip their children’s teachers are hoping the teacher rewards the child with better grades or simple favoritism.  Others point out that even with the $50 limit, teacher gifts can get expensive, especially if you have more than one child (hmm…groceries or teacher gifts?).

Whatever side you’re on, the fuss shows a general dim view of teachers.  On the whole, teachers don’t get into the business to make money or reap the benefit of seasonal generosity.  If they do, they couldn’t have been too bright in the first place and ought to be dismissed for that singular act of stupidity.  No, most teachers start their careers with at least a minimal sense of service, a desire to help make a difference in the lives of children.  How that changes over many years in the system is anyone’s guess, and maybe these are the educators who enjoy the festival of tipping.

But I would venture that most teachers are as touched by a child’s hand-made card as they are by a gift card to Bertucci’s or a bag of Lindor truffles (or a Coach bag, if you happen to teach in that kind of town).

Time for me to ‘fess up.  In my first year of teaching I was employed by a small Catholic school in southwestern Connecticut.  My salary was a whopping $18,000 a year.  Yup.  This wasn’t 50 years ago.  More like 15.  But I was 24, living with my parents, and happy to be doing a job I loved, at a school I enjoyed immensely. The parents were painfully aware of our piteable salaries, and Christmas gifts rolled in. I mean, seriously.  It was a little embarrassing to pack my car at the end of the day.  Most were tokens, ornaments or plants or a bag of chocolate.  I was touched by the effort, and every year when I decorate my tree I remember which child gave what decoration, and I wonder where that child is today as an adult, whether they yet have children of their own.  That year, the parents en masse collected funds and gave each teacher a cash bonus of $500.  Seriously.  That was fantastic.  $18K doesn’t take you very far, even living at home.  But it only  happened once, and I never expected it then or ever.  A couple of years later, when I worked at a private school on the South Shore of Massachusetts, the gifts were fewer, but equally heart-felt.  I loved that surly middle school students would sit down to pen a thank you note and offer a”Happy Holidays!”, even if their parents made them.  I know, I’m a dork, but I still have some of those cards in a box in the basement.

I really believe teachers don’t need more, don’t expect more.  It’s the parents who get in a bunch about it, and interestingly, it’s the parents in wealthier communities who find this issue to be most disturbing.   Parents with vacation homes who give the gift of a week of skiing.   Seats to a Sox game.  A spa weekend in the Berkshires.  It seems more like an effort to one-up the neighbors than to say a simple thank you to someone who is doing a good job.  Maybe some do expect preferential treatment for their kids, maybe they don’t.   I can’t say.  But I do wonder how the teacher feels, what his or her perception is of that parent’s expectations, how the teacher must wonder what others think whenever the child of a overly-extravagant gift-giver happens to get an A.

This is a teachable moment for parents and children alike.  What message do we want to send our kids in this already stuff-crazy season? 

I’m an English teacher, so I turn to a book.  The definition of a gift = “something voluntarily transferred by one person to another without compensation”  (Webster’s New Collegiate Dictionary).

The best gift a child can give to her teacher is an honest thank you.  Instead of shopping or collecting money or making collages and scrapbooks, maybe we parents should spend that time with our kids and talk about why we appreciate our teachers, why teachers are worth far more than the world pays them.  Maybe we parents should, in a giant surge of grassroots activism, gather our huge numbers and spend our time changing the way teachers are compensated for a job that society deems thankless but for this one time a year.

Teachers don’t need chocolate or gift cards.   Show thanks with support and advocacy.  Let that be the lesson for the kids.  Put your money where your mouth is.

Not $50.  Priceless.

Open Studio/Storytelling at Boston area studio

Just a quick post for you Boston-area parents.  

Gorse Mill Studios is having its holiday open house with open studios and holiday art sale.   This weekend professional storyteller Cindy Rivka Marsh will be performing shows appropriate for all age levels.   On Friday, December 4 at 7pm she will perform “What We Make,” stories that portray the importance of creativity. On Saturday, December 5 at 11am,1pm, and 3pm, she will tell ‘Animal Tales,’ folktales from many cultures. And on Sunday, December 6 at 1pm and 3pm, Cindy will perform ‘Hanukkah Lights,’ stories for the upcoming holiday.

Looks like a lot of fun!

Location: 31 Thorpe Road, Needham, MA, 02494  Phone:781-449-7768 Date: Friday, December 4, 2009 - Sunday, December 6, 2009 Hours: 12/4 6 p.m. – 9 p.m., 12/5 10 a.m. – 4 p.m., 12/6 12 noon – 4 p.m. Ages: Infants, Toddlers, Kids, Teens, Adults In/Outdoor: Indoor Cost: Free

Directions to 31 Thorpe Road, Needham, MA, 02494:  Rte 128 North or South to Highland Ave., Needham; Highland to left on Webster St.; Webster to left on Thorpe Rd.

How to Cook a Seven-Minute Turkey

This year I’m making Thanksgiving dinner at home — it’ll be just me, Ray, and the kids.  I guess he was concerned that the turkey wouldn’t come out as well as Muggy’s, because Cooper came home from school with this recipe for me:

 

I had been a little worried, but now I’m good to go.  My favorite part is that other than turkey, the primary ingredient is butter.  That’s my boy!  I wonder what I’m supposed to do for steps 6-8?

Gobble, gobble, gobble!

Help Save New Moon Magazine

Yesterday, the realization that my oldest child is turning eight finally solidified in my overtaxed brain.  My former almost-nine-pound baby is nearing my height and almost fits into my shoes, which, admittedly, given my height isn’t that amazing, really, but she is growing up.  No doubt about it.

We were at the Y for free swim, and met up with friends after their weekly lesson for a few minutes of play.  Moms chatted, kids cavorted.  Mitzi and our friends’ younger son are in the same grade; his brother, a year older.  I was a little surprised when the older boy was the one who swam up, looking for my daughter.  The pair goofed around, and it struck me that the play had a very small, almost undetectable edge of flirtatiousness to it, the sweet kind that only young children can have when they think no one is looking.  It was clearly innocent, fun, and nothing of real note.  But watching the silliness and the splashing, I was reminded of the sort of playfighting that occurs between teens who like each other (come on, you remember those days), and it was then I understood for the first time that the reality of growing up loomed before us, closer than maybe we’d realized.

I’ve been thinking of this all day, how I need to start being aware of the changes on the horizon, the ways I hope to model positive behavior, and the means by which Mitzi (and her siblings to follow) enter and evaluate the world around them.  Suddenly, the casualness with which they occasionally watch certain Disney Channel seems less benign.  

Not that I’m leaning toward overprotectiveness, but certainly I need to consider what messages my kids, especially my daughters, receive from the world around them.

So it was with dismay that I learned of the financial struggles of New Moon Girls Magazine.  If you haven’t yet seen this periodical, check it out (www.newmoon.com).  It’s an advertising-free publication, written almost exclusively by girls — a gem amid other teen fare.  Not that I have anything against those others — I remember being young and begging for subscriptions to 16, Seventeen, whatever.  

But now I’m the mom, and now there are different choices.  New Moon strives to offer girls ages 8-14 an alternative to magazines primarily concerned with diets, beauty tips, celebrity profiles, and fashion updates.  I came across New Moon in my writing research and was, frankly, surprised by the high quality of the writing by children.  New Moon doesn’t ignore the concerns of girls in this age group — rather, those concerns are discussed without pandering to the idea that a girl is only as good as her looks, and a BFF is only as true as her Facebook profile.

Sadly, those qualities don’t help a magazine do well in today’s economy.  Without increased sales, New Moon will fold at the end of the year.  Luckily, those sales amount to only about 250 subscriptions a month, a paltry amount when you consider the numbers of girls eager for a voice in their confusing world.

So my sales plug of the day — check this mag out.  Buy your daughter a subscription.  Or a neice.  Or a friend’s daughter.  Or buy one for your library.  You could sponsor a membership for low-income girls who have fewer options of experience and exposure than their more well-off peers.  Tell your kids’ teachers about New Moon — as a teacher I would’ve loved another place to encourage my budding writers to send their well-penned articles and essays, not to mention the opportunity to show real kids’ writing to my students.

Mitzi is turning 8 in January, just after Christmas.  And I’m pretty sure that for one of these celebrations she’s going to get a year of New Moon to enjoy.   It’s not going to alter the challenges ahead of us, but maybe it’s a start.  

What about you?

Where are you going? Where have you been?

Don’t ask me where I’ve been.  I can’t remember.  For the last month I’ve been struggling with just about every aspect of my life, juggling, balancing, trying to fit together all the pieces of this jigsaw puzzle that is my life.  

And, mostly, I’ve been attending a dark, brooding, pity-party as I hopelessly criticize myself for being less-than in most of the things I’m trying to do.  When I try to be a good writer, my parenting falls short.  When I try to be a good parent, my writing goes to the back burner.  When I try to keep up with the daily minutae of laundry, dishes, holidays, and housecleaning, my husband waves at me from a distance and I’m reminded that I used to date that guy and he might be still interested in my attention every now and again.

Oh, and I turned 40.

So I haven’t been blogging.  Mostly because I’m often sick of listening to my own thoughts, I don’t feel like I have much to share with anyone else.

I’m back on the upswing.  I’ve submitted a number of pieces in a range of genres, and hope that at least one generates a positive answer.  I cleaned the house once or twice.  My parents came from out of state for a short but joyful visit.  I had some teacher conferences and my kids are doing very well in school.  I can fit into my old jeans.  And despite the ever-present financial concerns, we still have a house and food on the table, even if it is usually pasta with butter and cheese.

Part of the problem is that I hold myself to very high standards.  Oh, sure, I could log on daily and blather on about this or that, but it’s just not in me.  Somehow I have to make everything I write here “column worthy” — that is, if I wouldn’t have sent it to my old Herald editor, it’s not good enough to publish here.  A crisp, pithy 500 words on something meaningful, whether personal or global.  Precise language, whether poetic or staccato; an identifiable arc with personal insights and external meanings intertwined.   A bit of me, exposed, for the general masses to critique.

Not too daunting, is it?  No wonder my fingers freeze over the keyboard every time I log on here.

In my fiction writing I have defrosted myself by accepting that I am free to write the biggest pile of crap that I can, because all writers know that the real stuff comes in revision (even while we hope that as we struggle with the first draft it’s not all entirely a load of poo).  

The same is true for my life.  While I haven’t lowered my standards or truncated my expectations, I think I’m going to make a bigger commitment to myself and to this blog.  My world is messy and complicated.  Why should this piece of it be any different?

A Mom’s World continues to spin.  Hang on.

(ps — 500 words exactly.  Quality?  You decide.)

The road to hell, paved with good intentions….

File this under Unbefreakinlievable.

In case you missed it, an Arizona couple is suing Wal-Mart after a store employee in the photo lab developed some of the couple’s family pictures and determined that a few bathtime photos of their three young daughters were pornographic.  The pictures were passed on to local authorities.  Despite the determination by doctors and social workers that nothing was wrong, the investigation continued.  Kids were removed from home for a month.  Couple was required to register as sex offenders.  Mother suspended from job for the duration of the investigation — one year.  After that time, a judge threw the case out.  Because, after all, nothing was wrong.  (Read the story as reported on Good Morning America on Monday.) 

Pardon my language, but WTF?

What parent hasn’t taken a picture of their own uber-cute child in a bubble bath?  Or snug in a towel following said ritual of hygiene?  Or taken a picture of a loved one hugging a child — wrapped in a towel or in a bathing suit or summer shorts?  

To view innocent pictures as perverted speaks volumes to the mindset of that employee who set into motion the wheels of this ridiculous train.  

The couple is outraged, emotionally shattered, and drained.  And what of the agony of those children?  What scars will they carry from this ordeal?  And will Wal-Mart and the local police or that original so-well-intentioned employee be there to mend the wounds?

We all can appreciate our society’s efforts to protect its most innocent members, but this is another example of when those efforts spin out of control.

Like this couple, we try to teach our children to be proud of their bodies, whatever the form that body is.  In a world where sharp focus on one’s appearance leads to devastating consequences like anorexia, bulimia, obesity (and us with three daughters!) self-confidence is paramount.  Love your self, your mind, your body.   To learn that lesson, to nurture and develop as best as you can, you’ve got to know yourself, your mind, your body.

Most kids love to be naked.  Our job as parents is to teach them that there is a time and a place for everything, and the family home, especially the bathroom, is where showing a little skin is okay.  Do we avert our eyes in shame when drying off a toddler after her bath?  Should we remove ourselves from the room altogether and hope for the best?  And if a parent snaps a picture of an irresistibly adorable moment (when naked child chooses to accessorize with a tiara and bedroom slippers but nothing else, or when he piles a two-foot bubble hat onto his head while still in the bath), if a mom or dad captures these moments — for their sweetness or plain hilarity – as the priceless memories  that they are, that’s our business as parents.

Thank you, world, for helping us keep the kids safe when we venture outdoors.  But unless you have some hard evidence that something is actually amiss, keep your Victorian noses out of my home.

(In a not entirely related vein, far more concerning is the exploitation of children for profit that our society seem to be applauding rather than questioning — the recent trend of kids, well, their parents, really, making a buck as precocious adults.  Check out Lauren Beckham Falcone’s recent column on the topic.  And hey, Arizona Wal-Mart staff, you might want to spend a little more time investigating a popular activity in your neck of the woods — preschool beauty pageants.  Nah, not at all as troubling as a naked tush.  My mistake.)