Mom, You’re a Hypocrite

That is what my ten year old son said to me as he walked out the door on his way to school one day last week. Ouch, it stung a little. Let me tell you what happened and you can decide if he is right.

In an effort to raise my kids as non-sexist as possible, I encourage them to make choices about toys and whatnot based on what they like, not whether it is made for a boy or a girl. When we go through McDonald’s drivethru for happy meals and the speaker asks, “Boy or girl toys?” I answer with the question, “What are the toys?” After hearing the options the boys decide what they want, and sometimes it is the girl toy.

When the boys lined up behind Masha and Autumn to get their nails painted a couple weeks ago, I gave them several colors to choose from and daddy painted their nails right along with their sisters’. You might even recall that a few years ago I bought my oldest son a pocketbook and he took it to school on and off for a couple weeks.

I know that my boys have gotten chastised by their peers for their gender-bending. While the purse still hangs in the Gecko’s closet, filled with hidden goodies, he no longer takes it out of the house. Jade came home from school after wearing the nail polish and told me that the girls in his class told him that he isn’t supposed to wear nail polish. That night, after boy scouts, I asked him if anyone noticed and he said that a boy laughed at him and called him a girl. His answer? “No, I am still a boy and I am my own person.”

It is hard to let them make their own decisions about this stuff knowing that the odds are they will be made fun of, but it feels worse to force them to comply with our society's unwritten gender rules. Actually, it feels so asinine trying to explain why they can’t wear nail polish or carry a sleek bag with lots of pockets that I would rather they just do what they want.

But then I blew it.

Masha has an awesome winter coat. It is thick, plush actually, with stitching on it that looks swirly. The hood and sleeves are edged with faux fur of the same deep blue color as the rest of the coat. She looks all set to travel to Alaska every time she puts in on. She hates it. She really really hates it and refuses to wear it. I had to swap it out with a lighter-weight suede coat.

On that morning, she once again refused to wear her awesome coat and Jade piped up, “Can I wear it mom? I love her coat.” And I said, “No.” Then I pushed him out the door with his handsome navy and yellow winter coat. Gecko was stuffing his backpack while this was taking place. He was the last one left in the entryway and on his way out he said it: “Mom, you are a hypocrite. Aren’t you the one who is always telling us it doesn’t matter if it was made for a boy or a girl; you can choose what you like?”

My brilliant comeback was, “Just go to school, okay?”

I’m making up for it though. A certain little somebody wants an Easy Bake Oven for Christmas, and he’s getting it.

Awareness ---> Acceptance

It is October, Down syndrome awareness month. With that should come some obligatory posts about how awesome ordinary my girls are. The idea is that if you could become truly aware of what it means to be a person with Down syndrome, you would not treat people who have it any differently than people who don’t.



I’ve never been quite sure how to make that happen, and last night—during the middle of the night while I was supposed to be in deep repose—it dawned on me: I can’t make that happen. That is because we both have a role in this process. It is my job to bring awareness to you and your job to accept people with Down syndrome as fully human, like you are. And I cannot force that.

Yesterday a woman from the Office of People with Disabilities called to share some program information with me. We talked for a bit and it came up that I actually have three daughters with Down syndrome and she said, "You are such a good person." What can I tell her about Down syndrome that would make her understand that I am no more good than any other woman who has five children at home?

A while ago I was at a Pampered Chef party and as I chatted with a stranger, I mentioned my three daughters with Down syndrome. A very serious look came upon her and she said, "Oh, I’m sorry." How do I explain Down syndrome in a way that lets her know there is nothing to be sorry about?

In early September I sat in a meeting with Masha’s Kindergarten team. Her new teacher was visibly nervous. The team asked a lot of questions about behaviors. What could I say to ease their minds?

Sometimes I feel like a walking Down syndrome commercial. Over and over I find myself saying, "They are just like my other kids except they learn more slowly." (Except for Kimani of course, who really is not like anyone else I have ever met, and in her case I am continuously explaining that "this is not what Down syndrome is like. She suffered brain insults as an infant and has neurological damage." But Down syndrome is what they can see on her, so despite my denials, it gets the blame.)

If you could see Masha and Jade together, you would believe me. While they are miles apart in their academic progress, they are evenly matched in their life skills. In fact, though she is six months younger than he, she is more helpful, gets ready for school more independently, and follows routines better. When it comes to fighting over an iPad, they are even-steven, and it is a toss up as to which one will come crying to me. She rides his bike, pulls him on the wagon, chases him down the slides. He reads stories to her, and gets insanely jealous when she gets one of his sight words right during our games of Word War (an M & M prize is at stake here folks.)



Yes, if you could spend an afternoon with my children, you would know what acceptance looks like. When my boys look at their sisters, they don’t see Down syndrome at all... they see only Masha, or Autumn, or Kimani. They see people not a syndrome, and when that happens for you, I will know that I have done my job well enough that you have been able to do yours.

Tell me, could you ever imagine yourself screaming with joy into the face of a person with Down syndrome?

My Latest Parenting Fail

Warning: This post has a gross factor rating of a zillion. If you have a weak stomach or are catching up on blog reading while eating your lunch, turn back now.

Let me set the situation for you. I have been alone with my four youngest children and no vehicle for three days now because my husband has the Gecko away at Boy Scout camp and the van is in the shop.

I am bored. They are bored. The sun is shining but nobody wants to do the same thing outside so we are mostly staying in. Masha and Autumn are stir crazy. They are getting into all kinds of trouble. And they keep bugging me to let them go outside to ride their bikes. So finally, I fling open the doors and let them loose.

The phone rings. My girlfriend and I start chatting, and after a minute or two I realize I don’t hear or see the girls. So I send Jade out to check on them.

Jade, running back into the house, "Mom! Mom! Reba killed something. Reba killed a chipmunk. It's dead. Mom! Come see!"

Me, still on the phone, "Are the girls near it?"

Jade, "Yes!"

Me, running out the door and screaming, “Are they TOUCHING it?!”

Jade, "YES!!!"

When Masha saw me coming, she threw ↓ ↓ ↓ what she was holding in her hand.



Me, horrified, "OH MY FREAKING GOD!"

Masha, scared now... put her hand in her mouth in that self-soothing way she always does.

Me... dropped dead from a gross-out heart attack... no really, I screamed louder, "GET YOUR HAND OUT OF YOUR MOUTH!" and I grabbed her and held her hands away from her face the whole way to the bathroom.

Meanwhile, I yelled to Jade, "Keep Autumn away from that thing."

Once Masha was clean, I went back out to get Autumn.

Jade, looking grim, "She touched it too, mom."

Me, "Oh no no no no no no" as I rushed her to the bathroom sink.

When I went out to get rid of it, I saw that not only had our cat killed that thing, but she had also eaten it... and puked it up.

Yes, my beautiful 6 and 3 year old girls were outside playing with dead, puked up animal parts. Ugh.

Let Them Eat Cake (Pops)

I told you a couple years ago that Jade is a budding chef and since then I have done everything possible to encourage his cooking adventures. I had hoped if he was involved in the cooking he might actually taste or even eat the food we make, but alas that is not usually how it goes. Except for when we make goodies... then he is all about eating... he eats the ingredients as we put them in, slurps the batter off the mixers, spoons, and bowls, licks the frosting knife, and of course smacks up every “accidentally” spilled sprinkle he can find.

So for Christmas I bought him the Wilton Kids Mega Sprinkles Toteand my mom got him the Nordic Ware Cake Pops Baking Panso that we could make chocolate and sprinkle-covered cake pops.



He was very excited about the idea of making cake pops and has been bugging harassing reminding me almost daily that we have to make them. This week three of my five kids had a snow day on Wednesday... what better way to pass the time but making cake pops?

After the fourth go-round with the pan in the oven (for 16 minutes each time) and lots of batter still left in the bowl, I decided that we are definitely buying three more cake pop pans. Then once the house smelled truly delightful and all the candy melts and sprinkles were lined up and ready, I read the part where Gina (of Skinnytaste) says to chill the cake balls for 45 minutes in the fridge. Uh, ok...

It felt like hours after we had first begun our big adventure when we were finally ready to start dipping. The Gecko chose black candy melts, Jade chose red, and I chose white. I microwaved the candy to get things going and then put the glass cups into a pan of simmering water to keep the chocolate soft. The first thing we realized is that the little cake balls did not want to stay on the sticks and that the chocolate was too thick and heavy for them. We glopped the chocolate on and then watched sadly as the sticks poked through or the cake balls slid down their sticks.









No matter the setbacks, the boys totally enjoyed decorating their cake pops and you can surely tell they are just about ready to debut in Martha Stewart...



And no matter how ugly naturalistic my boys’ pops turned out, rumor has it that they were delicious anyway.



I don’t know if I ever told you this but I loooove to cook, and I am kinda good at it. And totally screwing up cake pops is just not acceptable to me so... today we tried again. This time I thinned the melted chocolate (with a big dollop of Crisco...ewww gross, I know but, a). it works and b). there are grosser things in life to worry about) and I insisted that we wait the minute after dipping and before decorating that Gina suggested (and in our excitement we disregarded last time). Those two little changes made a huge difference in physical as well as aesthetic results as you can see...





And a little birdie told us this batch was scrumptious too...

Minus the Sugarcoating

Every now and again I keep Kimani up late and I snuggle and play with her in the livingroom, and it is wonderful. For the most part she is calm and open to my affections, and she plays, she actually plays with me... in her own divergent sort of way.



Tonight I let her stay up because during her bedtime routine she kept saying "No bed" to her father, and when she manages to speak, she always gets what she wants, provided we are able to give it to her.

Jade was also up and playing with some new Melissa & Doug stacking toys—trucks and trains—in the livingroom. He wanted me to play with him too. So she and I did. Vroom, vroom, I loaded wooden cars onto a wooden trailer while he built a bulldozer. Kimani tore it apart and put some of the pieces in her mouth.

Jade got frustrated and very upset with her. He let out a short angry cry and then accused her to me, "Sometimes I think she is stupid!" I could see it in his face, in his eyes, that he was afraid of what he had said. Maybe he feared getting in trouble, or maybe he worried that he hurt her feelings... either way the words just hung there in the room, and the tears welled up in my eyes.

I didn’t know what to say to him. I hate parenting moments like that... when there is something big, something important, perhaps crucial and I have no idea what to do with it.

Even though I didn’t know what to say, words came out, "Yes, Jade. She is stupid. She cannot think like you can. Her brain was hurt when she was a baby and it made her stupid. But we don’t say it like that because that is mean. It is not her fault. She cannot help it. Can you forgive her for ruining your things?"

He said he could.

(Can the mother forgive Fate for ruining her child? She said she cannot.)

You've Got Homework

Remember way back when you were in school and the most your parents had to do was give you lunch money and sign your report cards? (Unless you got a really bad test score and then they had to sign that too.) Well, sometime between the 70’s and the 90’s someone decided that parents should sign nightly homework sheets, and that my friends was the beginning of Parent Homework.

After that came the reading sheets giving bedtime nighty-night stories a whole new purpose. Though I felt uncomfortable "reporting" the stories I read to my children each day, I went along with it.

And now, 15 years into our school/parenting adventure, we find ourselves with a 1st grader who gets homework that a six year old child cannot complete independently. Our role has changed from providing homework oversight to being active homework participants. One of us has to go through the work with him... reading full length poems, explaining complex instructions, walking him through the questions, and checking off five different parts to the homework each night.

Because Jade’s homework requires about 45 minutes of parent participation, it gets done when and if I have the time to do it... which is not necessarily when he would like to do it. So for the first few weeks we battled over it and 45 minutes went well over an hour. Some nights it didn’t get done, and at the end of the week the packet would have some blank pages.

The first time the teacher sent the packet back and asked that Jade "make up" the blanks, I wrote her a note explaining that what gets done is what gets done and I am not carrying over last week’s homework into this week’s. At our conference I explained my reasoning, and I thought we had an understanding about how homework would go.

Until the week when there was only one night it worked out that homework got done. First there was the Frankenstorm, then Halloween, and then momma left town for a few days. When I got home on Sunday night I found Jade’s homework packet in his backpack with a note saying that he was to complete it over the weekend and bring it in on Monday. At first I was annoyed with my husband for not looking in the backpacks on Friday and doing the homework with Jade over the weekend... but then I realized that the real problem is that the homework is not appropriate for a first grader to do on his own. So I wrote a little note explaining our week and said that we would not be making it up during the coming week.

When Jade came home from school on Monday furious, throwing his backpack on the ground and yelling all the way up the driveway, I knew something went very wrong at school. I asked him to talk to me about it and he finally told me that he had to miss recess to stay in and do his homework packet.

That was it for me. I was pissed. If mommy doesn’t do her homework, Jade misses recess? I wrote to his teacher and suggested a positive alternative to Jade missing out on something he loves. She sent me back excerpts from the school’s homework guidelines and suggested I use my "sticker reward" idea at home. I won’t bore you with the back and forth details, but it went on for a while with the teacher insisting that Jade’s homework will get done, if not at home then in school.

Now if the homework could be done independently by a 1st grader, I would agree with that, but it can’t. So I said either he gets homework that he can do on his own, or he does what he can on the packets and loses no positive activity time at school as a consequence of not completing the whole packet.

Queue the meeting with the teacher and principal wherein I learned that they know the work requires adult participation. I was told that the school is providing us with a bonding opportunity, and a way to invest in our child... that there is not enough time in the school day to do all they need to do, so the homework provides a chance to go beyond just practicing math, reading, and spelling. When I said that I don’t think it is appropriate for the school to be pushing into my home with bonding and investment requirements, I got the "You are the crappiest mother in our district" stare.

So I guess instead of family game night, we are going to have family homework night. Come on children, you bring your math sheets and I’ll bring the popcorn. Woot woot, isn’t this fun?

Finally She Opens the Gifts

We finally had the big birthday bash to celebrate our three summer birthdays... Kimani’s in June, the Gecko’s in August, and Jade’s in September. I wanted to do it over the summer when it would be hot and sunny but for every weekend I planned it, there was something else... some reason why it wouldn’t work then.

This past Saturday we had a BBQ, Bouncy House, lots of cake, lots of kids, a pinata, lots of friends... lots of excitement. Too much cake and excitement for Kimani. Just before it was time to open presents she signaled that she had to go potty. My husband took her inside, and she did not come back.

She needed a break he explained to me. She needed a nap. She missed opening her presents, and those who thoughtfully brought them to her missed seeing her open them. I felt really bad about this, so we waited until she was rested and most of the other children were asleep, and we set her up on the couch and let her have at it.

She, for the first time ever, paid attention the whole time. She enjoyed herself. She opened most of the packages with little help. She held and explored each gift. And she was full of smiles the whole time. I wanted her friends could see how much their gifts meant to her...

Happy Birthday Jade

After watching the last video I made of the girls, Jade asked me to make one of him. And so in preparation for today, his birthday, I dug through thousands of pictures and contemplated multiple songs... searching for the ones that would capture his personality.

It made me a little sad to do it. I don’t know, maybe it was seeing six years go by digitally in a couple of hours. Maybe it was because I miss every minute of those yesterdays with him. What I wouldn’t give to hear him reply in his 18 month old voice, “Don’t knooow” to any given question.

Yet while I cherish his past, I am excited for his future because every day with him is, as he would put it, “awesooooome!” Jade is a funny kid, a lover, a performer, and full of roar, as you will see in his video.

The End of Kindergarten

Today is the last day of school. That means it is the last day of Kindergarten for Jade. There isn’t much profound to say about this except that it didn’t make me sad like I expected it to. It simply reminded me that time passes too quickly.

 Here is what Day One looked like



Kindergarten Reflections Interview
What was the best thing that happened in Kindergarten?
Jade: When we had the chicks and I got to hold one.

Who was your favorite person?
Jade: Anna... who is going to a different school (big sad face).

Best school lunch?
Jade: Hotdogs. And the kiwi that I fell in love with. The kiwi is the best. The hotdog is second. Wait... hotdogs and kiwis, that’s the best lunch.

Best time of the day?
Jade: Outdoor recess!

What is the most important thing you learned in Kindergarten?
Jade: I know what 10 plus 9 is.
Mom: What is it?
Jade: Um, let me think. 19! It is 19! because 20 minus 1 is.
Mom: That’s how you figured it out?
Jade: Yup.

Any advice for a little kid going into Kindergarten next year?
Jade: Yeah, keep your hands to yourself. And I would tell them to walk inside the white lines so that they would be ready and know everything.

And this was today...

Where Are Your Reindeer?

You all know how I tell my kids the truth that there is no Santa right? Well apparently I wasn’t quite so clear about it.

Last night while we were getting ready to take our annual drive through the lights in the park which culminates in a visit with Santa, I reminded the boys that there was no need to tell anybody there that Santa is really mommy. Jade gave me the interrogating eye and said, "Mommy how can you get all around the world with no reindeer?" "Um, I am just your Santa. All children have their own people who bring them gifts. There is no real Santa that has reindeer and delivers presents to everybody." Jade responded, "I don’t believe you."

Who the heck does he believe? The t.v.? The kids at school? The guy dressed up in the park playhouse? Whatever.

So here are the results of our crazy visit with Santa. By the way, I sat on his lap too and told him I have been good, and asked him for a nanny.



Can you tell my Irish twins (Masha and Jade) are a complete and total handful?

Can you guess who wanted nothing to do with Santa?


Merry Christmas to you all!

"Mommy, You Forgot..."

Let me set the stage for this one...

It is early Monday morning. The rain is coming down and I have four children to get up and ready for school and camp. At 8:10 my boys have to be over at the middle school to catch a bus that takes them up the mountain to Swamp camp, and my girls have to be waiting at home for the bus that takes them to school. My husband is in Michigan and my mom is unavailable to help so my best girlfriend is at my house to stay with the girls while I drive the boys to the bus.

This is my first attempt at getting four children ready by 8:00 am to leave the house for the day. I am packing lunches, doing ponytails, putting on sneakers... We are all ready to go on time and I think I have it all under control.

I drive like a mad woman to the middle school since this is the first day and who knows if the bus will be early. There are several minivans in the school parking lot and no bus yet, so I breathe a sigh of relief.

And then Jade pipes up from the backseat, “Mommy, you forgot that I have to go poo-poo when I get up in the morning.”

OMG, seriously? Instant panic attack.

He continues, “You also forgot that I go pee too.” I have a good excuse for this one. His pull-up was soaked when I got him up and I asked him if he needed to pee more and he said no. So much for taking the word of a four year old.

“Do you think you can hold it for a little while until the bus gets you to camp?”

“No mommy, I have to go poop NOW.”

There is a chance the school is unlocked and that I might locate a bathroom and get this done before the bus comes and goes... but that is doubtful. I explain to Jade that maybe for today he will come back home with me and start camp tomorrow.

He starts freaking out and I am afraid he is going to poo his pants right then and there.

Then I remember a hilarious story my mom told me about having to poo in a bag while waiting in a parking lot to board a deep sea fishing boat. I grab the tube of Wet Ones and hop in the back of the van. Surely somewhere in this mess there is a suitable bag.

We start off by just peeing in a cup, which fills up way more than I expected causing a second wave panic attack. A half inch from the top, he stops. Whew. And then, yup, I had him poop in a paper bag. Just after he was all set back in his seat, the bus pulled up.

Tomorrow I promise I will remember to put Jade on the potty whether he says he has to go or not.

The Things I Do For You

It is a risky thing being a blogger. You put yourself out there for all the world to see, analyze, judge, decide to follow or not... You say things to whoever is willing to read you, and sometimes you get hurt, anonymously of course.

Around here, there is more than just my emotions and reputation at stake... because while I am busy writing (for your pleasure and edification) my son Jade is busy concocting...



His grandparents bought him a cookbook for Christmas and now he fancies himself a gourmet chef. This morning when I came up from my basement office for a drink refill and to check on him, I found him standing on a chair pulled up to the stove, stirring a pot full of everything he could reach.



“I’m making nail stew for Gecko’s birthday,” he told me cheerfully.

(Nail stew... my bad. Jade will not let anyone clip his fingernails so a while ago I made up a story about needing them for fingernail stew. He graciously allowed his father to cut one off for me to use in my stew. Gecko called me out on it insisting I was lying about eating fingernails... so I popped it in my mouth and quickly swallowed it down with a “Ha, I am NOT a liar.” Now Jade brings me his nails whenever one breaks or his father has at it with the clippers.)



Want the recipe? Water, ice cubes, potato chips, corn toasties, butter, balsamic vinegar, agave, coffee, cinnamon, salt, half an Oreo, two eggs, and Cheerios. Oh, and a handful of freshly cut little boy fingernails.

So far I have evaded having to taste test it. Although he did. (Thankfully it was before the addition of the eggs.) He spit that mouthful right back into the pot with a grimace, and then told me it was delicious. But come tomorrow morning I am going to have to lie to him... He is going to want to know where the nail stew went and I cannot tell him that I threw it out. That would hurt his feelings. It might permanently damage the budding cook inside of him. I am going to have to say I got very hungry and ate it all up during the night.

I’ll bet you had no idea of the things I have to do to spend time with you reader.

Little Boys and Fireworks

Yesterday I blew up the baby pool. Well, I started to, and then felt woozy so I went to the neighbor’s and borrowed an air pump. I couldn’t wait to get in the pool with Kimani.



What a cute little pool... the roof makes hanging out in it bearable for Kimani. I was looking forward to delightful days with the little ones splashing around... and chewing on it.



And then my husband spent the evening igniting fireworks while the boys ran around with sparklers. “Stay away from the pool!” I warned once, twice, at least five times.

Have you ever seen two little boys jacked up on explosives? No? Well, let me show you what the results look like...

In The Moment

“Be in the moment,” Anonymous said, and I listened.

So now maybe this...



will remind me of this...

Santa and the Hypocritical Blogger

We took the kids to see the Lights in the Park display... a dazzling spectacle of over 125 holiday scenes made up of Christmas lights. The kids loved it and I have to say it was positively impressive this year.

After the drive, we visited the craft show and had some treats. Can you guess who was there? Uh huh, Santa. Can you guess who let her kids sit on his lap? Yup, yours truly. I even let my husband snap pictures of my hypocrisy for your viewing pleasure.



Seriously though, I am fascinated by how they still want to check him out even though they know the real deal (in fact Gecko even announced it to Santa who promptly responded that he landed a spot on the naughty list for it.) Should I have denied their request to chat with him with a loud, “No way, he might be a pervert! It isn’t safe to take candy from strangers”? Perhaps, but instead I opted for the stranger-danger after talk.

Clearly the “in it/of it” thing is still a little blurry for me.

Holy Ho Ho Ho

Sorry to break the news to you but there is no Santa Claus, and no flying reindeer either. I’ll wait while you run for the tissue box. (And by the way, please don’t call the North Pole to tattle on me for this post... I don’t want coal in my stocking.)

My kids have been told from the beginning that there is no such thing as an all-knowing Santa Claus who sneaks into our house and leaves presents under our tree. They know that the guy in the mall is just that... a guy dressed up to represent another guy from long ago named Nicholas who gave away his wealth to those in need, particularly children. They know that Santa Claus is just a fun made up character who hands out candy canes from his throne in the mall. Before you lament my poor children for their scrooge of a mother, know this: it doesn’t matter that they know Santa isn’t real because apparently the Santa Claus myth is so deeply ingrained in our culture that my three year old does not even believe me when I remind him of the truth...

Jade and I were in the store a couple weeks ago playing with Thomas trains. He was having a wonderful time and got quite upset when I told him it was time to say goodbye to Thomas. He threw an all out, thrashing, screaming, waterworks fit right there in aisle 8 of A.C. Moore. I told him it was okay because he would be getting Thomas for Christmas in a few weeks, that “Momma Santa” would give it to him. “No he won’t,” he wailed, “He’s mean.” After a bit of back and forth about whether or not this particular train would be under the tree on Christmas morning I got terribly exasperated and shouted, “Jade, remember? I AM SANTA CLAUS! And I KNOW you are getting this for Christmas!” He looked at me through his tears and yelled back, “You are not Santa.” And so it went, with me tossing my dear child over my shoulder and heading for the door.

As you can see, we are not Santa sanitizers... I mean, his name does come up and we do tell the kids when they want something to put it in on their Christmas lists for Santa, wink wink. But we were very clear with them from the first time they saw the guy who he is and who he is not.



Christian parents get all weird on me when I say we don’t do the Santa hoax in our house... Really what harm is there in perpetuating the Santa Claus myth?

First of all it is a lie. A big lie. A big big big lie that gets bigger and more detailed as your kids grow in sophistication. And last I checked God still wasn’t into lying.

Second, it confers God’s characteristics... omniscience, the right to judge, supernatural abilities... onto a dead guy who through his unwavering generosity got sainted and made into a cultural icon. (And no, Santa is not an allegorical God and even if he were, the second commandment might be an issue ;-) It is also kind of hard to convince your children that the Jesus (they can’t see) part of Christmas is still true after they find out the Santa (they see everywhere) isn’t.

Next, it seriously detracts from the real meaning of Christmas. A visit from Santa becomes more important (and certainly more exciting) than the greatest birthday celebration of all.

And last... it goes against everything we teach our kids about strangers... Yes, Jade go hop on that strange guy’s lap and take candy from him... he’ll be sneaking into our house later this week...

So why do we do it and why do we get so upset when someone suggests that maybe we shouldn’t? That is not a rhetorical question... if you know the answer, tell me. Do you think Mary would have pulled the Santa lie on Jesus... “Guess what Jesus... you've been such a good boy that for your birthday this year, some made up magical guy in a red suit is going to fly in on a sleigh pulled by magical reindeer to drop off your birthday presents while you are sleeping... isn’t that nice?”


Get your own Jesus and Santa figurine.

The Joy of Boys

It is barely 7 a.m. and I am still sleepy. Gecko is eating breakfast in the kitchen, getting ready for school. Little Jade is in the living-room running around still in the buff...

Gecko, yelling loudly: “Hey Jade, if you play tag with your penis, it always wins! Because it is attached to you!”

Jade, yelling back just as loud: “My penis isn’t attacking me!”

Boys are such funny creatures, aren’t they? Do you think Mary ever had to deal with this hilarity?

Umm, Yum Yum Yum

I like to watch my children eat. Not candy or cake, no not sticky or dried-up things.

I like to watch them eat strawberries, watermelon, and icy popsicles. Their little bodies maneuvering however necessary to get a tasty chunk captured and stuffed into place. The juice dripping over lips and down chins. Their eyes lighting up, perhaps fueled with the frenetic energy generated by their taste buds.



I feel great pleasure as I watch.

Sometimes it is a guilty pleasure as I can’t help but think how many children in the world have hardly even a bowl of rice to eat each day while my children eat fresh fruits, vegetables, and treats.



Sometimes it is a confused pleasure as I wonder why I am obsessed with watching them as they devour morsels of egg salad sandwiches and spoonfuls of peanut butter. There is always a bit of the food that gets waylaid and ends up decorating their faces like some artist’s masterpiece. I don’t remind them to wipe it off.

Sometimes it is a horrified pleasure as I watch them use two hands to speed up the process, and elbows to protect their treasure from one another, like junkies.



When my oldest son was just three he used words like delicious, scrumptious, delectable, succulent, tasty, and luscious, and of course, yummy. It became a bit of a game coming up with a string of adjectives whenever he ate something enjoyable.



I think the draw for me might be because my children like to eat. They don’t worry about getting food on their fingers or chins. They aren’t distracted by making meal time conversation. They don’t feel compelled to avoid choosing the biggest berry out of politeness. They aren’t trained yet to eat the things they like the least first.



I realize I am making them sound a bit like wild dogs pouncing greedily on their prey but... Well, maybe so. Maybe it is the naturalness of it that I am so enthralled by.


Picture credit... I don't know who the artist is but my friend Dan bought this painting. I'll bet his wife is thrilled.