It's a Life Sentence on facebook.
July 10, 2011
July 8, 2011
20 Questions
We commute. Therefore we play twenty questions in the car. A lot. In the beginning it was just silly. Our six-year-old always chose T-Rex. Our four-year-old, Spiderman. And I mean Every. Single. Time. It would have been horrendously boring if it wasn't such a riot.
But now, a year or two later, their minds have expanded they have a whole new wealth of ideas. Now that they're no longer limited to web slinging superheroes and carnivores it's actually gotten tricky.
Today's game with my four-year-old was one for the records.
Son: Okaaaay. I got it!
Me: Is it alive?
Son: Uh, no. I mean yes. Okay, no. No it's definitely not alive. I don't think.
Me: Did it used to be alive?
Son: No.
Me: Is it a toy?
Son:( LONG PAUSE) No.
Me: Is it a place?
Son: No. Do you want me to tell you what it is?
Me: No.
Me: Is it a thing?
Son: Yes. But it's not alive. It is NOT a bird.
Me: Okay. Thanks. Have you seen one before?
Son: Yes.
Me: Here in Chicago.
Son: No. It's not in Chicago.
Me: Is it in another state?
Son: Yes. Do you want a hint?
Me: Sure.
Son: It's red.
Me: Red. Hm, okay. Did we see it in Utah?
Son: Yes. Actually, no. Actually, I'm not so sure about that.
Me: Did we see it in Florida?
Son: Yes.
Me: On Spring Break?
Son: (EXCITED) Yesssss....do you want me to tell you what it is?
Me: No.
Me: Is it a swimming pool?
Son. Nooo. Pools aren't red mommy. Do you want another hint?
Me: No. Not yet.
OLDER SON INTERRUPTING: IT WOULD BE RED IF A SHARK SWAM INTO THE POOL AND ATE EVERYONE IN IT. IT WOULD BE RED BECAUSE THERE WOULD BE BLOOD.
Me: Okay, stop. He already said it's not a pool.
Son. Okay. Do you want a hint?
Me: Yes.
Son: It's a crescent shape.
OLDER SON INTERRUPTING: IS IT THE MOON?
Son: Stop talking to me you can't play cheater! Only mommy can play!!!!
Me: Is it the moon?
Son: No.
Me: Okay, so it's red and it's a crescent.
Son: NOOOOO. I said it's kinda red and it is also kinda a crescent shape.
Me: And it's not a toy?
Son: No.
Me: Was it in Key West?
Son: Let me think.
(REALLY LONG PAUSE)
Son: I'm not sure. Ask me something else.
Me: Is it stone crabs?
Son. No. How many questions do you have left?
Me: Nineteen.
Son. Okay. Ask more. But I can't tell you what other color it is because then you'll weally, weally know what it is!
Me: Oh, it's not just red?
Son: No, but I can't tell you that. You have to guess!
Me: Okay, is it another color than red?
Son: (PAUSE) Yes.
Me: Is it purple?
Son: No.
Me: And it's not in Chicago?
Son: It IS in Chicago. It's in every city. Every state in the whole wide world.
Me. Oh...you said it was not in Chicago.
Son. Yes it IS. It's everywhere.
Son: Do you want me to tell you what it is?
Me: No. Not ye...
Son. It's a WATERMELON!!!!!
Me: Ohhhh. Watermelon. That's a good one.
OLDER SON SCREAMING: WATERMELONS AREN'T CRESCENTS UNLESS YOU TAKE A BITE! YOU SHOULD HAVE PICKED THE MOON! THAT IS CRAZY! MY TURN!
Older Son: Okay, I got it!
Me: Is it alive?
And I thought Hangman was fun.
It's a Life Sentence on Facebook.
But now, a year or two later, their minds have expanded they have a whole new wealth of ideas. Now that they're no longer limited to web slinging superheroes and carnivores it's actually gotten tricky.
Today's game with my four-year-old was one for the records.
Son: Okaaaay. I got it!
Me: Is it alive?
Son: Uh, no. I mean yes. Okay, no. No it's definitely not alive. I don't think.
Me: Did it used to be alive?
Son: No.
Me: Is it a toy?
Son:( LONG PAUSE) No.
Me: Is it a place?
Son: No. Do you want me to tell you what it is?
Me: No.
Me: Is it a thing?
Son: Yes. But it's not alive. It is NOT a bird.
Me: Okay. Thanks. Have you seen one before?
Son: Yes.
Me: Here in Chicago.
Son: No. It's not in Chicago.
Me: Is it in another state?
Son: Yes. Do you want a hint?
Me: Sure.
Son: It's red.
Me: Red. Hm, okay. Did we see it in Utah?
Son: Yes. Actually, no. Actually, I'm not so sure about that.
Me: Did we see it in Florida?
Son: Yes.
Me: On Spring Break?
Son: (EXCITED) Yesssss....do you want me to tell you what it is?
Me: No.
Me: Is it a swimming pool?
Son. Nooo. Pools aren't red mommy. Do you want another hint?
Me: No. Not yet.
OLDER SON INTERRUPTING: IT WOULD BE RED IF A SHARK SWAM INTO THE POOL AND ATE EVERYONE IN IT. IT WOULD BE RED BECAUSE THERE WOULD BE BLOOD.
Me: Okay, stop. He already said it's not a pool.
Son. Okay. Do you want a hint?
Me: Yes.
Son: It's a crescent shape.
OLDER SON INTERRUPTING: IS IT THE MOON?
Son: Stop talking to me you can't play cheater! Only mommy can play!!!!
Me: Is it the moon?
Son: No.
Me: Okay, so it's red and it's a crescent.
Son: NOOOOO. I said it's kinda red and it is also kinda a crescent shape.
Me: And it's not a toy?
Son: No.
Me: Was it in Key West?
Son: Let me think.
(REALLY LONG PAUSE)
Son: I'm not sure. Ask me something else.
Me: Is it stone crabs?
Son. No. How many questions do you have left?
Me: Nineteen.
Son. Okay. Ask more. But I can't tell you what other color it is because then you'll weally, weally know what it is!
Me: Oh, it's not just red?
Son: No, but I can't tell you that. You have to guess!
Me: Okay, is it another color than red?
Son: (PAUSE) Yes.
Me: Is it purple?
Son: No.
Me: And it's not in Chicago?
Son: It IS in Chicago. It's in every city. Every state in the whole wide world.
Me. Oh...you said it was not in Chicago.
Son. Yes it IS. It's everywhere.
Son: Do you want me to tell you what it is?
Me: No. Not ye...
Son. It's a WATERMELON!!!!!
Me: Ohhhh. Watermelon. That's a good one.
OLDER SON SCREAMING: WATERMELONS AREN'T CRESCENTS UNLESS YOU TAKE A BITE! YOU SHOULD HAVE PICKED THE MOON! THAT IS CRAZY! MY TURN!
Older Son: Okay, I got it!
Me: Is it alive?
And I thought Hangman was fun.
It's a Life Sentence on Facebook.
June 27, 2011
Toy Story
I can't count how much money we've spent at Toy's R Us, Legoland, Target and Amazon in the past six years. Let's just say we could have fed, housed and put a small country through the Ivy Leagues for the same amount.
We are happy to do it. The way our boys' faces light up when they open up a gift they have been "wanting for years and years and years" (despite the fact they are only six and four-and-a-half) makes it worth it.
Or it did until last week.
This summer, like last, we are spending four weeks at my mom's house in central Illinois so the kids can go to the same swim camp that I went to at their age. It's small town living and a nice, necessary, break from the city. The boys absolutely love it. Nothing is far here and we get around much "quicklier" than we do in the city. They can run around in a backyard for eight hours straight (in tennis shoes, not sandals because they are city kids and they don't like the feel of grass on their skin.) Spend lazy afternoons hunting and analyzing all kinds of bugs we just don't have in the city (thank god!) And ultimately make me realize that my husband and I, and all our relations, may have wasted a small fortune on toys for them.
The other day when they came home from camp they walked in the front door of the house, straight through the house and right back outside the back door. They spent the next hour punishing each other with Super Soaker Water Guns. I mentally patted myself on the back for thinking of this gift and actually remembering to tell my husband before he went toy shopping last week. (It was a birthday week, we don't have weekly toy-shopping trips.) However, the smugness was fleeting.
Soaking wet and tired of pulling the trigger, my oldest (now six) tossed the gun aside and pulled out the garden hose and a small plastic bucket that looked like it had been made at the turn of the century – and not this most recent century. He filled the bucket with water and a little dirt and then "sat" down next to it in that crouched squat that only very young kids and hard-core Yogis can do for extended periods of time. He stared into the murky waters, one arm protectively curled around the edge of the bucket, the other gripping a bug-catcher we picked up from Walgreens last summer.
I didn't pay much attention to what he was doing....for the first 15 minutes, that is. But after 45 minutes, when he was still squatting and staring into the bucket I became curious and asked what he was up to. He was too absorbed with whatever was happening inside that bucket to answer and waved me away. He didn't even look up.
Another 30 minutes passed. He barely moved a muscle. He got up once to check out an ant his brother was inspecting and then he went right back to squat central. Another hour passed.
Any and all attempts I made to ask what he was doing were waved away. I took some pictures, which annoyed him, but didn't distract him enough to move. He spent the rest of the afternoon squatting down in front of that old bucket filled with muddy, grassy water. Just staring into its depths and occasionally poking at it with his bug catcher.
I looked from him into my mom's living room, where it looked like Toys' R Us had projectile vomited all over the floor. It was littered with Legos, Matchbox cars, 1,000 Kapla Blocks (I had my mom get as a 6th birthday present), tiny plastic animals, crayons and coloring pads. Hundreds of dollars of entertainment. And my son was spending hours squatting over an old bucket filled with water.
I took another picture of him and sent it to my husband letting him know that we were no longer going to buy more toys. All we needed was a hose, bucket and some dirt.
The next day was a repeat. Toys were glanced at but largely ignored en route from the front door to the back door which my oldest son slammed open and shut before refilling another bucket with some mud and water. He added a few ants, grabbed his bug catcher and crouched down again to sit and watch. This time his little brother joined in the fun, making "Icky Chocolate Poop Soup" with basically the same ingredients: an old bucket, water, dirt, grass and bugs. Sand shovels were used as whisks as my little prep cook stirred and stared. Another afternoon passed.
I cleaned up the toys inside, taking apart the elaborate block structure I had been told to leave alone five days earlier. But I was tired of stepping over it. Half-finished Legos were set aside. Cars extracted from under the couch. I expected full blown rage over the dismantled block structure. I shouldn't have worried. They didn't notice.
I'll admit that at first I was a little annoyed that they weren't playing with all the toys I had brought down for them. I had driven myself somewhat crazy trying to make sure that I had filled my car with anything and everything they might want to do while we were downstate.
Turns out it wasn't necessary. The only thing I really needed to do was call my mom and make sure there was no drought prohibiting people from turning on the water.
Seeing my boys so mesmerized with something so simple actually made me happy. It took me back to my own childhood. Not that I was content with just a stick and a ball, please I'm not that old. We had toys and dolls and Star Wars action figures and Legos and, well, you name it, we had it. We just didn't have as much stuff as my boys have today.
But the thing is, I don't really remember the toys. Aside from the stuff my mom kept and pulls out for my own boys today, I just don't remember playing with toys that much, although I know I did. What I remember is the time I spent outside at home and at my own grandpa's house in Alabama. Kicking open huge ant houses and watching the millions of little critters scurry around dizzingly trying to regroup. Discovering the bunny rabbits who had babies by the garden. Watching the fish swim in their pond. Worms covering the sidewalks after it rained. The simple things. That is what left an indelible mark on my memory. It has nothing to do with toys or stuff.
Don't get me wrong. I'm thrilled that my husband and I can give our kids so much. But the reality is that none of it really matters. None of these things will be what they carry with them in their minds when they grow up. It's the memories they make with the odd shovel and pail of water that really count. And money can't buy that.
We live in the city and so I sometimes worry that my boys won't have the chance to make those same memories. Sure, we are surrounded by parks and playgrounds and big grassy areas for our boys to run and play in. But they all require an "Outing." Bags are packed up, water bottles are filled and nerves are tested being out of bathroom range. Being able to spend hours squatting over a muddy bucket just doesn't happen at home because Mommy has to get home to make dinner.
And so it's rare that the boys can experience the simple pleasure of just running around in a backyard, chasing "flierflies"until they can't even see each other anymore through the dark. And so down here, this summer, their joy is evident. And contagious.
I realize that by bringing my boys down to a small town for the summer I'm actually able to give them the biggest gifts of all. Nature. Freedom. And space.
And, of course, bugs.
So perhaps for the next three months our investment in all the toys we've bought will not payoff. But I don't care. Come January we will see huge returns as temperatures once again plunge into the "Wait, Why Don't We Live in Southern California?" zone.
Until then, it's a loss I'm happy to take.
It's a Life Sentence on Facebook.
We are happy to do it. The way our boys' faces light up when they open up a gift they have been "wanting for years and years and years" (despite the fact they are only six and four-and-a-half) makes it worth it.
Or it did until last week.
This summer, like last, we are spending four weeks at my mom's house in central Illinois so the kids can go to the same swim camp that I went to at their age. It's small town living and a nice, necessary, break from the city. The boys absolutely love it. Nothing is far here and we get around much "quicklier" than we do in the city. They can run around in a backyard for eight hours straight (in tennis shoes, not sandals because they are city kids and they don't like the feel of grass on their skin.) Spend lazy afternoons hunting and analyzing all kinds of bugs we just don't have in the city (thank god!) And ultimately make me realize that my husband and I, and all our relations, may have wasted a small fortune on toys for them.
The other day when they came home from camp they walked in the front door of the house, straight through the house and right back outside the back door. They spent the next hour punishing each other with Super Soaker Water Guns. I mentally patted myself on the back for thinking of this gift and actually remembering to tell my husband before he went toy shopping last week. (It was a birthday week, we don't have weekly toy-shopping trips.) However, the smugness was fleeting.
Soaking wet and tired of pulling the trigger, my oldest (now six) tossed the gun aside and pulled out the garden hose and a small plastic bucket that looked like it had been made at the turn of the century – and not this most recent century. He filled the bucket with water and a little dirt and then "sat" down next to it in that crouched squat that only very young kids and hard-core Yogis can do for extended periods of time. He stared into the murky waters, one arm protectively curled around the edge of the bucket, the other gripping a bug-catcher we picked up from Walgreens last summer.
I didn't pay much attention to what he was doing....for the first 15 minutes, that is. But after 45 minutes, when he was still squatting and staring into the bucket I became curious and asked what he was up to. He was too absorbed with whatever was happening inside that bucket to answer and waved me away. He didn't even look up.
Another 30 minutes passed. He barely moved a muscle. He got up once to check out an ant his brother was inspecting and then he went right back to squat central. Another hour passed.
Any and all attempts I made to ask what he was doing were waved away. I took some pictures, which annoyed him, but didn't distract him enough to move. He spent the rest of the afternoon squatting down in front of that old bucket filled with muddy, grassy water. Just staring into its depths and occasionally poking at it with his bug catcher.
I looked from him into my mom's living room, where it looked like Toys' R Us had projectile vomited all over the floor. It was littered with Legos, Matchbox cars, 1,000 Kapla Blocks (I had my mom get as a 6th birthday present), tiny plastic animals, crayons and coloring pads. Hundreds of dollars of entertainment. And my son was spending hours squatting over an old bucket filled with water.
I took another picture of him and sent it to my husband letting him know that we were no longer going to buy more toys. All we needed was a hose, bucket and some dirt.
The next day was a repeat. Toys were glanced at but largely ignored en route from the front door to the back door which my oldest son slammed open and shut before refilling another bucket with some mud and water. He added a few ants, grabbed his bug catcher and crouched down again to sit and watch. This time his little brother joined in the fun, making "Icky Chocolate Poop Soup" with basically the same ingredients: an old bucket, water, dirt, grass and bugs. Sand shovels were used as whisks as my little prep cook stirred and stared. Another afternoon passed.
I cleaned up the toys inside, taking apart the elaborate block structure I had been told to leave alone five days earlier. But I was tired of stepping over it. Half-finished Legos were set aside. Cars extracted from under the couch. I expected full blown rage over the dismantled block structure. I shouldn't have worried. They didn't notice.
I'll admit that at first I was a little annoyed that they weren't playing with all the toys I had brought down for them. I had driven myself somewhat crazy trying to make sure that I had filled my car with anything and everything they might want to do while we were downstate.
Turns out it wasn't necessary. The only thing I really needed to do was call my mom and make sure there was no drought prohibiting people from turning on the water.
Seeing my boys so mesmerized with something so simple actually made me happy. It took me back to my own childhood. Not that I was content with just a stick and a ball, please I'm not that old. We had toys and dolls and Star Wars action figures and Legos and, well, you name it, we had it. We just didn't have as much stuff as my boys have today.
But the thing is, I don't really remember the toys. Aside from the stuff my mom kept and pulls out for my own boys today, I just don't remember playing with toys that much, although I know I did. What I remember is the time I spent outside at home and at my own grandpa's house in Alabama. Kicking open huge ant houses and watching the millions of little critters scurry around dizzingly trying to regroup. Discovering the bunny rabbits who had babies by the garden. Watching the fish swim in their pond. Worms covering the sidewalks after it rained. The simple things. That is what left an indelible mark on my memory. It has nothing to do with toys or stuff.
Don't get me wrong. I'm thrilled that my husband and I can give our kids so much. But the reality is that none of it really matters. None of these things will be what they carry with them in their minds when they grow up. It's the memories they make with the odd shovel and pail of water that really count. And money can't buy that.
We live in the city and so I sometimes worry that my boys won't have the chance to make those same memories. Sure, we are surrounded by parks and playgrounds and big grassy areas for our boys to run and play in. But they all require an "Outing." Bags are packed up, water bottles are filled and nerves are tested being out of bathroom range. Being able to spend hours squatting over a muddy bucket just doesn't happen at home because Mommy has to get home to make dinner.
And so it's rare that the boys can experience the simple pleasure of just running around in a backyard, chasing "flierflies"until they can't even see each other anymore through the dark. And so down here, this summer, their joy is evident. And contagious.
I realize that by bringing my boys down to a small town for the summer I'm actually able to give them the biggest gifts of all. Nature. Freedom. And space.
And, of course, bugs.
So perhaps for the next three months our investment in all the toys we've bought will not payoff. But I don't care. Come January we will see huge returns as temperatures once again plunge into the "Wait, Why Don't We Live in Southern California?" zone.
Until then, it's a loss I'm happy to take.
It's a Life Sentence on Facebook.
June 11, 2011
Doggone it.
You know you are the only female in the house when everyone – except you – leaves the dinner table in the middle of eating to go see "a poop that's shaped like a hot dog."
It's a Life Sentence on Facebook.
It's a Life Sentence on Facebook.
June 3, 2011
Say Cheese
After eating about a dozen mini soy corn dogs and a bowl of peas and corn (to ease my guilt about the corn dogs), my boys announced that they were starving and wanted to know what they could have for a snack.
I asked what they wanted.
It was unanimous. Cheese.
So I pulled out a wedge of cheese I had just bought from Trader Joe's. Spanish Manchego.
They'd never had it so I gave each boy a cautious slice.
My oldest boy shoved the whole thing in his mouth and starting moaning immediately.
"Mommy, this is soooooooo good. Mmmmmm. Mmm. Mmm. Mmm!!"
My little one was more tentative. He watched his big brother to make sure he didn't keel over or start frothing at the mouth.
Then he took a bite roughly the size of a fraction of an atom – a pretty generous bite for him. He cautiously moved it around on his tongue looking skeptical.
Then he made his decision.
"Mommy, I LOVE it. I love, love, love, love it SO much! This is my most favorite cheese ever! Thank you for buying this for us! I love it so much I can eat the whole thing, and I won't even share with anyone because I'm so hungry for this cheese. I can eat every single bite and then still want more and do you know what? I am sad there are only three more days of school because do you know what mommy? I want this in my lunchbox every day. Promise me okay? Every day until school is done. And do you know what? I bet that mousies would even like this cheese - don't you think this is what mousies would like? Because I do. I like it so much, so much mommy. Do you know what? I know I like it more than you because I love cheese the mostest of all my favorite foods! (of which there are approximately two) Can I have more mommy please because do you know what? This is the best cheese I've ever had and, wait...who has more cheese me or J because he doesn't like it as much as me and so I should have more – I should always, always have more of the things I love – like this cheese. And treats. Do you know what? I want you to buy some more tomorrow. Okay? Will you mommy? Will you? Mommy, stop, is that next piece for me? Make that next piece be for me, okay? I weally, weally hope it's for me because I am so hungry for more of this cheese..."
He paused to take a breath and another nibble.
While he chewed I said "Well, I'm really glad you like it so much."
He looked at me and nodded and then slid off his chair leaving a huge pile of "The Best Cheese Ever" on the table.
"Yeah," he said. "But not that much."
It's a Life Sentence on Facebook.
I asked what they wanted.
It was unanimous. Cheese.
So I pulled out a wedge of cheese I had just bought from Trader Joe's. Spanish Manchego.
They'd never had it so I gave each boy a cautious slice.
My oldest boy shoved the whole thing in his mouth and starting moaning immediately.
"Mommy, this is soooooooo good. Mmmmmm. Mmm. Mmm. Mmm!!"
My little one was more tentative. He watched his big brother to make sure he didn't keel over or start frothing at the mouth.
Then he took a bite roughly the size of a fraction of an atom – a pretty generous bite for him. He cautiously moved it around on his tongue looking skeptical.
Then he made his decision.
"Mommy, I LOVE it. I love, love, love, love it SO much! This is my most favorite cheese ever! Thank you for buying this for us! I love it so much I can eat the whole thing, and I won't even share with anyone because I'm so hungry for this cheese. I can eat every single bite and then still want more and do you know what? I am sad there are only three more days of school because do you know what mommy? I want this in my lunchbox every day. Promise me okay? Every day until school is done. And do you know what? I bet that mousies would even like this cheese - don't you think this is what mousies would like? Because I do. I like it so much, so much mommy. Do you know what? I know I like it more than you because I love cheese the mostest of all my favorite foods! (of which there are approximately two) Can I have more mommy please because do you know what? This is the best cheese I've ever had and, wait...who has more cheese me or J because he doesn't like it as much as me and so I should have more – I should always, always have more of the things I love – like this cheese. And treats. Do you know what? I want you to buy some more tomorrow. Okay? Will you mommy? Will you? Mommy, stop, is that next piece for me? Make that next piece be for me, okay? I weally, weally hope it's for me because I am so hungry for more of this cheese..."
He paused to take a breath and another nibble.
While he chewed I said "Well, I'm really glad you like it so much."
He looked at me and nodded and then slid off his chair leaving a huge pile of "The Best Cheese Ever" on the table.
"Yeah," he said. "But not that much."
It's a Life Sentence on Facebook.
May 29, 2011
Radio Heads
After listening to Take it Easy, Moonshadow and Ring of Fire almost every day for the past two years, I decided it's time my boys discovered The Radio. They needed variety and I needed something to keep me from driving into a telephone pole.
The concept of The Radio has been difficult for them to grasp. Not being able to listen to exactly what they want exactly when they want does not mesh with the iGeneration. Their faces scrunch up at every song they don't recognize, which is almost every song ever written aside from the three I've listed above.
The radio DJs also perplex them. They assume that "these people" are obviously within earshot and can hear us. "Mommy," they plead. "Tell those people to stop talking. Tell them you want The Eagles."
I am thankful "those people" in The Radio can't hear us. Because I don't want the Eagles. Ever again. I want Springsteen, Willie Nile and CCR. And admittedly some country.
And so through The Radio my guys have discovered a wealth of new music. Namely Taylor Swift. They've heard her songs a few times and now ask for her every morning when we get in the car, when we get on The Drive, when we pass Soldier Field and as we pull into the school lot. And every three seconds in between.
I was starting to think The Radio was a bad idea after all when I stumbled upon 100.3's Rewind. Of course I've listened to it before, but that was decades ago before I completely succumbed to my Bruce addiction.
Rewind 100.3 is all about the 80s, which as far as my boys know, happened a few million years before the Mesozic era. T-Rex roamed the earth in a Pet Shop Boys t-shirt.
Granted, I've heard these songs more times that I've heard myself exhale. And yes, some (most) of them might cause seizures. But a lot of them are still great. And all of them, good, bad and just irritating, take me straight back to my teens. It doesn't matter that I haven't heard these songs in 20 years. Music isn't like math – it actually sticks in your brain. (Especially the songs you want to forget.) And so without missing a beat I'm singing every single word to every single song as if it was only yesterday that I was sitting in my room with my cassette player positioned perfectly in front of my radio, impatiently waiting for Holding out for a Hero to come on so I could record it and then play it over and over until I knew ever single word by heart and my parents were considering putting me up for adoption.
Needless to say boys were impressed with my wealth of lyrical knowledge.
The Bangles. OMD. Bryan Adams. Journey. Rick Springfield. Even Corey Hart (sad, I know). And of course, REO Speedwagon. I remember it all. This week, Take it on the Run came on and I almost got into a wreck I was so excited. As the band from my hometown began singing "Heard it from a friend whoooo..." I cranked the volume way up – much louder than anyone should legally be allowed to play REO Speedwagon.
Next, in a stroke of luck, Toni Basil's Hey Mickey came on. I hadn't heard that song since 7th grade. (And to be honest I couldn't care less if I ever hear it again.) But the fact that my boys got to hear it....just that once....was fantastic.
Rewind played all the songs I'd loved. And the ones I hated (The Clash).
My boys were mesmerized by the synthesizers, the techo-beats and those distinctly 80-style drums that are solely responsible the success of Tylenol.
They listened silently, soaking up the songs from my past. Little heads bobbing rhythmically with approval.
Without saying a word they told me they liked these brand new songs that I grew up on decades ago. And I was thrilled. Because I realized this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I have no doubt that in another few years I won't be able to effectively sell them on how great Jack & Diane is...much less Meatloaf. So I'm enjoying their enthusiasm while it lasts.
And because it is all on The Radio, I simply can not play the same songs over and over and over and over and over and over again. No matter how much they beg or or scream at "those people" hidden in my dashboard.
The best part? They momentarily stopped harassing me about Taylor Swift and Don Henley.
And that really was music to my ears.
It's a Life Sentence on Facebook.
The concept of The Radio has been difficult for them to grasp. Not being able to listen to exactly what they want exactly when they want does not mesh with the iGeneration. Their faces scrunch up at every song they don't recognize, which is almost every song ever written aside from the three I've listed above.
The radio DJs also perplex them. They assume that "these people" are obviously within earshot and can hear us. "Mommy," they plead. "Tell those people to stop talking. Tell them you want The Eagles."
I am thankful "those people" in The Radio can't hear us. Because I don't want the Eagles. Ever again. I want Springsteen, Willie Nile and CCR. And admittedly some country.
And so through The Radio my guys have discovered a wealth of new music. Namely Taylor Swift. They've heard her songs a few times and now ask for her every morning when we get in the car, when we get on The Drive, when we pass Soldier Field and as we pull into the school lot. And every three seconds in between.
I was starting to think The Radio was a bad idea after all when I stumbled upon 100.3's Rewind. Of course I've listened to it before, but that was decades ago before I completely succumbed to my Bruce addiction.
Rewind 100.3 is all about the 80s, which as far as my boys know, happened a few million years before the Mesozic era. T-Rex roamed the earth in a Pet Shop Boys t-shirt.
Granted, I've heard these songs more times that I've heard myself exhale. And yes, some (most) of them might cause seizures. But a lot of them are still great. And all of them, good, bad and just irritating, take me straight back to my teens. It doesn't matter that I haven't heard these songs in 20 years. Music isn't like math – it actually sticks in your brain. (Especially the songs you want to forget.) And so without missing a beat I'm singing every single word to every single song as if it was only yesterday that I was sitting in my room with my cassette player positioned perfectly in front of my radio, impatiently waiting for Holding out for a Hero to come on so I could record it and then play it over and over until I knew ever single word by heart and my parents were considering putting me up for adoption.
Needless to say boys were impressed with my wealth of lyrical knowledge.
The Bangles. OMD. Bryan Adams. Journey. Rick Springfield. Even Corey Hart (sad, I know). And of course, REO Speedwagon. I remember it all. This week, Take it on the Run came on and I almost got into a wreck I was so excited. As the band from my hometown began singing "Heard it from a friend whoooo..." I cranked the volume way up – much louder than anyone should legally be allowed to play REO Speedwagon.
Next, in a stroke of luck, Toni Basil's Hey Mickey came on. I hadn't heard that song since 7th grade. (And to be honest I couldn't care less if I ever hear it again.) But the fact that my boys got to hear it....just that once....was fantastic.
Rewind played all the songs I'd loved. And the ones I hated (The Clash).
My boys were mesmerized by the synthesizers, the techo-beats and those distinctly 80-style drums that are solely responsible the success of Tylenol.
They listened silently, soaking up the songs from my past. Little heads bobbing rhythmically with approval.
Without saying a word they told me they liked these brand new songs that I grew up on decades ago. And I was thrilled. Because I realized this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I have no doubt that in another few years I won't be able to effectively sell them on how great Jack & Diane is...much less Meatloaf. So I'm enjoying their enthusiasm while it lasts.
And because it is all on The Radio, I simply can not play the same songs over and over and over and over and over and over again. No matter how much they beg or or scream at "those people" hidden in my dashboard.
The best part? They momentarily stopped harassing me about Taylor Swift and Don Henley.
And that really was music to my ears.
It's a Life Sentence on Facebook.
May 14, 2011
Lions and tigers and terrorists, oh my.
Since I've turned into my mother I listen to a lot of talk radio. Actually, I have become an AM fanatic. Confused Springsteen CDs lay unused in cases on the floor of my car. (Unplayed yes, but not forgotten.)
These past few weeks there's been a lot of talk on the radio about how to discuss - or more accurately avoid discussing - bin Laden's untimely demise (as in a decade late) with very young kids. Some people firmly believe you should shield kids from it. And on one level I get this concern. September 11th was horrific and not nearly as fun to talk about at dinner as say the ever-changing rules of Freeze Tag. And so we've sidestepped this topic in our house for now.
But when it comes to talking about the monster behind 9/11, or any other "bad guy" I don't see the point in shying away from it. I simply don't believe it's too much for little kids to grasp. In fact, I believe they inherently understand the concept of good vs. evil. They are exposed to it everywhere.
When I was seven I was thisclose (actually probably closer than that) to being snatched from my front yard by a dark-haired man with black mustache, black cap, black gloves, black leather jacket and blue convertible with a black top. I was waiting outside my house for my ride to a public session at the ice rink (because skating every morning before school, after school, weekends and summers apparently wasn't enough) when this Hannibal Lecter-type pulled up to our curb and asked if I wanted a ride. I firmly said no, which was, according to him, the wrong answer. So he got out of the car and chased me from the curb to my front door. He was literally about to grab my arm and whisk me away when my mom heard me screaming and pounding on the door and stepped outside. Hannibal turned and ran. The cops came. I never knew if he was caught or just found another victim. But I do know that a second later and I'd have been a goner. Because even though I didn't ask him, I'm pretty certain he never intended to drive me to the rink.
For those who can't stand the suspense, I never made it skating that day.
I remember every single detail about that moment. It left me with the most permanent scar I have from my childhood. (And I wiped out on the ice a lot.)
And so when I talk to my kids about safety, I don't have the most gentle approach. I go beyond just drilling them to never talk to strangers. I make sure they realize that if they ever get into a car with anyone they will never, ever, ever see mommy or daddy again. I've talked explicitly about what has happened to me and to kids who weren't as lucky as I was. I describe evil.
And it affects them. They get quiet and they get scared. But despite the emotions this brings up, I can see them processing the information and storing it away for that "just-in-case" moment that we all hope never comes.
The result is that they know what to do should someone approach them on a playground and say they have a cute puppy, candy (yes, even cotton candy) or the real Batman hidden in their car. They know it's okay to be rude to strangers. To kick a man (no not your brother) in his groin if he grabbed their arm. They know they are not EVER allowed to get into a car with anyone, even a friend's parent who they know well, unless I have explicitly alerted them, their teachers, the entire Parent's Association, Obama, all higher-ups in the CIA and the UN about this change in pick-up and branded it onto their tiny foreheads just to be sure.
I've drilled this in so well that I worry the boys might put up a fight should my husband pick them up as a surprise one day.
Before anyone calls DCFS on me, let me say that I'm conscious of what I'm doing and concerned about protecting their fragile psyches. I don't tell them these stories at bedtime or even weekly. I don't make them sit and watch horror stories on Dateline. In fact, just the opposite. I turn off the TV the minute one of these stories airs. Because while I want them to know the reality of these bad guys, I want them to hear it from me. Not Matt Lauer, who I am pretty sure won't be there to comfort them in the middle of the night when they wake up screaming from a bad dream. (Which, by the way, they've never had after one of our talks.)
Am I permanently scarring them by being so direct? One hundred percent, positively, absolutely NOT.
I hope.
I mean sure their necks may be a tad sore from looking over their shoulders so much but otherwise I fully expect they will go on to lead productive - and safe - lives. Although they are still in their single digits and I have no doubt I'll be blamed for this and a multitude of other sins once puberty hits.
So my point is, should they ask more questions about bin Laden, I'll tell them.
And years from now should they attack me for scaring them this way, I'll know exactly what to do; Run screaming from the room yelling, "fire!"
These past few weeks there's been a lot of talk on the radio about how to discuss - or more accurately avoid discussing - bin Laden's untimely demise (as in a decade late) with very young kids. Some people firmly believe you should shield kids from it. And on one level I get this concern. September 11th was horrific and not nearly as fun to talk about at dinner as say the ever-changing rules of Freeze Tag. And so we've sidestepped this topic in our house for now.
But when it comes to talking about the monster behind 9/11, or any other "bad guy" I don't see the point in shying away from it. I simply don't believe it's too much for little kids to grasp. In fact, I believe they inherently understand the concept of good vs. evil. They are exposed to it everywhere.
Some examples:
Batman = good. Joker = evil.
Superman = good. Lex Luthor = evil.
Dorothy = good. Wicked Witch = evil.
72 and sunny = good. Blizzard = evil.
The Eagles "Take it Easy" = good. The Eagles "Take it Easy" for the 50,000,000th time = evil.
The Eagles "Take it Easy" = good. The Eagles "Take it Easy" for the 50,000,000th time = evil.
The nurse who gently gave you your first bath after delivery = good. The mohel who circumcised you eight days later = necessary evil.
Mommy giving you fruit = good. Daddy giving you jelly beans which rip the sealants off your teeth even after the dentist made it perfectly clear umpteen thousand times that you absolutely cannot eat tacky, chewy foods and treats = well, you get my point.
And so do kids.
And so do kids.
When public enemy #1 was killed last week it was the only topic on every station in the world – except maybe the BBC which was still busy debating the royal nail polish. Our kids got wind of this news and naturally had questions. Well, okay, just one question. But to be fair, they were in the middle of an intense game of some kind involving Matchbox cars and our couch cushions so they had a lot on their plate. Still, I think my husband handled it brilliantly.
Boys: "How bad was he (bin Laden)?"
Husband: "Well, you know Lex Luthor?"
Kids: "Uh huh."
Husband: "Well he was way worse than Lex Luthor."
(Silence as the kids tried to comprehend this. You could see the shock on their faces followed quickly by doubt. No way anyone could be worse than Lex Luthor. I mean, he wanted to knock part of California into the ocean so he could get more coastline property. And that's just mean.)
Kids: "For real?"
Husband: "For real."
That satisfied them for the time being and that's fine. But if they had wanted to know more, I would have told them.
When talking about these "bad guys" I opt for full disclosure. I tell them almost everything. Of course I tell our boys that most people are inherently good. But because of the bad ones out there, I want them to be ever vigilant. And to be vigilant they have to first be aware. And to be aware they must first listen. Which means I have to squeeze these conversations into the car rides to and from school when they are literally strapped down and I know they can hear me even if their tiny hands are pressed firmly over their ears.
I know some people will disagree with this tactic and that's fine. Still, this is one thing I simply don't struggle with. (And believe me I struggle with everything.) But here I have my reasons.
When I was seven I was thisclose (actually probably closer than that) to being snatched from my front yard by a dark-haired man with black mustache, black cap, black gloves, black leather jacket and blue convertible with a black top. I was waiting outside my house for my ride to a public session at the ice rink (because skating every morning before school, after school, weekends and summers apparently wasn't enough) when this Hannibal Lecter-type pulled up to our curb and asked if I wanted a ride. I firmly said no, which was, according to him, the wrong answer. So he got out of the car and chased me from the curb to my front door. He was literally about to grab my arm and whisk me away when my mom heard me screaming and pounding on the door and stepped outside. Hannibal turned and ran. The cops came. I never knew if he was caught or just found another victim. But I do know that a second later and I'd have been a goner. Because even though I didn't ask him, I'm pretty certain he never intended to drive me to the rink.
For those who can't stand the suspense, I never made it skating that day.
I remember every single detail about that moment. It left me with the most permanent scar I have from my childhood. (And I wiped out on the ice a lot.)
And so when I talk to my kids about safety, I don't have the most gentle approach. I go beyond just drilling them to never talk to strangers. I make sure they realize that if they ever get into a car with anyone they will never, ever, ever see mommy or daddy again. I've talked explicitly about what has happened to me and to kids who weren't as lucky as I was. I describe evil.
And it affects them. They get quiet and they get scared. But despite the emotions this brings up, I can see them processing the information and storing it away for that "just-in-case" moment that we all hope never comes.
The result is that they know what to do should someone approach them on a playground and say they have a cute puppy, candy (yes, even cotton candy) or the real Batman hidden in their car. They know it's okay to be rude to strangers. To kick a man (no not your brother) in his groin if he grabbed their arm. They know they are not EVER allowed to get into a car with anyone, even a friend's parent who they know well, unless I have explicitly alerted them, their teachers, the entire Parent's Association, Obama, all higher-ups in the CIA and the UN about this change in pick-up and branded it onto their tiny foreheads just to be sure.
I've drilled this in so well that I worry the boys might put up a fight should my husband pick them up as a surprise one day.
Yes it's a fear tactic. No it's not for everyone. But it does work. Maybe a little too well, I admit. My kids are not wallflowers by any means. They are very outgoing and social. But there are times when I'm introducing them to someone new and I can tell they are struggling with whether or not it's okay to say hello. I don't know if it's shyness or fear.
I must admit, I hope it's fear. But I believe a healthy dose of fear and distrust can help keep your limbs intact.
Before anyone calls DCFS on me, let me say that I'm conscious of what I'm doing and concerned about protecting their fragile psyches. I don't tell them these stories at bedtime or even weekly. I don't make them sit and watch horror stories on Dateline. In fact, just the opposite. I turn off the TV the minute one of these stories airs. Because while I want them to know the reality of these bad guys, I want them to hear it from me. Not Matt Lauer, who I am pretty sure won't be there to comfort them in the middle of the night when they wake up screaming from a bad dream. (Which, by the way, they've never had after one of our talks.)
Am I permanently scarring them by being so direct? One hundred percent, positively, absolutely NOT.
I hope.
I mean sure their necks may be a tad sore from looking over their shoulders so much but otherwise I fully expect they will go on to lead productive - and safe - lives. Although they are still in their single digits and I have no doubt I'll be blamed for this and a multitude of other sins once puberty hits.
So my point is, should they ask more questions about bin Laden, I'll tell them.
And years from now should they attack me for scaring them this way, I'll know exactly what to do; Run screaming from the room yelling, "fire!"
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