cardboard forts are recyclable, remake-able, remarkable FUN!

in a certain sense, we are still on a fort hunt. that is, there's no permanent fort happening at the not-so-new house like there was at the old house (which, these days, is only a playhouse for mildewing leaves and creeping morning glory).

i take that back. if you count the hard plastic house variety, we do have a permanent fort. my fellow blogging mommy gave us their cast-off "log" house (score!). Sweet One has dubbed it her and sister's Little House in the Big City since we've been reading through the Little House books. 

it also has been a fine Blueberry Cafe Drive-Thru, and a trial area for their decorating aesthetics that lean heavily toward floral accents.

but what i've discovered is that my girls' imaginations, for whatever reason, come most alive with indoor forts. and in that arena, our greatest success has been in the temporary fort.

we still occasionally do bedsheet forts in entire rooms.

a pop-up tunnel and square addition often make for handy escape routes and secret passageways for the sneaky Strawberry Pirates.

a large dining table and huge quilts make for quite an excellent cave (especially since we never seem to actually eat in the dining room anyway). LED candles help provide a "fire" for the giggly cave-dwellers.

there's a little nook under my computer station beside a metal filing cabinet that's perfect for magnet play.

but our most fun efforts so far have been with that Toy Hall of Fame fave: the cardboard box.

we turned a large safe box into a cardboard house, complete with sloping roof, door, and mail slot.

(i sent them a welcoming note.)

and then there was my mommy genius moment -- cardboard bed forts. 

we recently bought a new modular couch set. we figured we'd let the girls play with the giant boxes before collapsing them down for recycling. but they were gigantic and taking up way too much space. after eyeing them for a bit, a light bulb went off. they were exactly the width of a twin mattress. 

and the bed fort was born.

i slipped the mattress into the box to hold it in place. Small One wanted to be able to close the "door" flap on hers. for Sweet One, we taped the box so it would stay open, but dangled a sheet over that she could use to close herself up. they decorated and re-decorated with markers and glow-in-the dark stars. it made bed time something to look forward to! Small One named her bed fort her "AlonE SlEEPy" place.

then they got tired and bored one day and proceeded to rip them apart. 

but, hey, that's ok... the recycling bin is where the boxes were destined to go anyway. free fun, and no hard feelings when the toy finally "broke"... well, ok, maybe i felt a twinge of sadness for seeing my awesome idea finally meet its end.

now i'm wondering when we'll see another big cardboard box, and what fort idea it may bring next time...

beyond the fun and pre-engineering skills it brings, i am liking the temporary fort approach for purely mommy reasons too. namely, being content with the simple in the midst of a very busy time in life. 

i love giving my girls imaginative play spaces. when we were looking at buying our current house, part of what drew me were the grand visions in my head of turning the garage attic into a kids' wonderland with twisting tube slide exit... or turning the house attic into a giant playroom with cozy book nook overlooking the Cascade Mountains... clearly, that hasn't happened, and isn't likely too. my imagination often outpaces reality and logistics. ... and they were far-off places. is it really that surprising that my girls' favorite fort places are usually under my feet or only the next room over? i'll miss that desire for nearness when they inevitably hit puberty and seek to make themselves scarce.

those grand attic ideas are still in my head. but the girls are growing up fast. and sometimes dreams are just that -- and that's ok. even as an adult. a cardboard box is a castle, you know.

lines to use when you're crossing the line

i am so far from being the perfect parent. my default responses are to complain and blow up. when my kids most need a calm, controlled, routine-oriented adult is when, of course, it's hardest for me to deliver. many times, i fail miserably. despite my best non-swear word efforts, my 2-year-old is likely learning some of the real ones.

but then there are the times when i am able to pull it together in the moment – to not blow up at The No Factory in front of me, to not throw the fork across the room when i've just asked my children to refrain from the same thing, to not use a four-letter word when a goofy face would work so much better for everyone.

there are some key lines that others have passed on to me that raise the likelihood i'll find success in those moments:

"it's a season in life" my sister-in-law gave me this one. it's a powerful perspective-giver. i've found that even when the young one is kicking and crying, this line gives me the compassion i need to see her as my hurting toddler and not a mini-me out to get mom.

"i'm feeling very grateful today" this one comes from a blogging momma i admire over at Creative With Kids, who uses this now in response to the question of "how are you doing?" it gets rid of the first reaction (mine: "i'm going insane, thank you") by reminding yourself of the truth.

"get down on kid level" this is a good physical response to use that comes from a tip from A Mom With A Lesson Plan. sometimes i think back to a mad moment, and realize what i must have looked like to my child – a towering madwoman glaring down at her little girl. my daughter is not my enemy! but i sure am making her feel like it. i find that when i get down on the floor with my kids – even below their eye level, so they're the ones looking down at me – i gain better perspective on the situation. most times, things end in a hug when i do this. (and that makes me and them feel better!)

"good enough!" i gave myself this one. i'm a recovering workaholic perfectionist. and i'm slowly starting to really believe that "good enough" is "good enough" and not just another word for failure. perfection is not only impossible, it's downright damaging. if i say these words out loud, i'm telling myself to lower my standards – leave the dirty dishes in the sink (they've already been there 24 hours anyway) and sit down and read a book with the girls.

"i'm sorry" finally, this one comes from my Dad, who was always a great model of what to do when you do screw up. i get down to my kid's level or sit down with them, go over what happened ("i got really angry, didn't i?"), apologize and then share a hug. the fruits of this have already been shown when both my girls on different occasions have volunteered their own "i'm sorry" apologies without prompting.

maybe i'm not such a screw-up after all, right?

Our New Look

by Melissa

Not quite a year ago, I started this blog as an outlet—for my parental frustrations as well as my professional drive to keep writing, writing anything at all. Here's an excerpt from that original "About" page, which shall be kept for posterity:

inevitably, some of the most poignant times – when we remember why parenting is a joy – are when we're all doubled over in giggles over something that would make our single friends look at us with a pitying 'you've gone nuts.' they have no idea that it's the sanest we've felt in a long harried time. remembering the carefree parts of being a child by celebrating them with our own keeps the crazy away.

this blog is a compendium of light-hearted reminders to enjoy our kids and cherish the fleeting years we have with the silly stage – before they turn into sour teenagers.

Not quite a year later, you've noticed a lot of "guest" posts from a dear friend of mine, Jesikah, and as of yesterday, another dear friend, Pavette, who are writers in their own right—as well as super mommas with the healthy dose of humor that's needed for this parenting trip. In other words, they've got the silly = sane philosophy down.

So I'm not waiting for some one-year anniversary of reflection. In the midst of potty training a 2-year-old (oh, how I hate poop), trying to jimmy-rig a clown costume for my 5-year-old (oh, how I hate clowns), and increasingly filling naptime hours with paid work (oh, how I hate bills but love paychecks), I am going to take all the help I can get with this lovely endeavor that I think is worth continuing. And, quite simply, I'm going to call this blog what it already is: a community effort!

Welcome to the new silly = sane, home of Melissa, Jesikah and Pavette—and, who knows, maybe some other contributors down the road! Check out the new About tab up top to learn more about our writers.

Incidentally, all you writing parents out there (and we do mean daddies, too) are always welcome to submit a guest post for consideration. Email me at sillyissane@gmail.com.

talking mice

by Melissa

talking dinosaurs. talking bears. talking frogs. but you know the pinnacle of anthropomorphism is the talking mouse.

there are tons of those skittering creatures out there in children's literature and film. a nice compilation is posted by Rose West, who wonders at why the mouse is so prevalent. i think she puts it beautifully when she says:

Perhaps it is vulnerability. Perhaps children, who are often unable to clearly express themselves, find similarities between themselves and these tiny animals. Perhaps these fictional mice and their ability to talk represent something to children, something like hope.

either way, now into my 30s, i'm still smitten by these whiskered protagonists. and, like doll houses and fairies, it's fun to watch my girls start to engage these pint-size joys as well. both my girls have giggling fits over the mice in Beatrix Potter's "The Tale of Two Bad Mice," thanks to BBC's animated retelling. they also have an affinity for Angelina Ballerina and Lilly.

try though i might, however, i cannot get an ounce of interest out of my 5-year-old in Ralph, Abel, Stuart, or Basil. the closest we get to boy-mouse approval is Lilly's chums: Chester, Wilson and Owen. and i think that has more to do with Lilly and a blanket that is yellow. where's the love?

i'm rushing her again, of course. she's only 5! 

i constantly find myself torn between wanting to keep my daughter little and wishing she'd jump to the next stage. 

"oh, i love this one too"
versus
"this was one of mommy's favorites when she was a little girl..."

"tell me again about your imaginary superhero"
versus
"you need to learn to tie these goldurned shoes yourself!" 

she's only 5, and yet already 5. and i keep envisioning what i want for her, rather than viewing the world from her 3-foot-10 perspective—and marveling.

there are amazing moms out there reading full-length chapter books to their kindergartners, who are ready for the next step. my big girl is still interested in picture books (preferably with pictures that are princess-like)—and that's ok. she memorizes the stories with the help of images, then plucks a book off the shelf, finds a cozy corner, and reads to herself, over and over again, page after page, time and again. what a subtle yet wonderful way to instill a love of language and story in a child.

part of the genesis of this blog was to remind myself (and other harried parents of young children) to enjoy these fleeting years. to embrace the silly. in my book-obsessed world, that also means letting go, letting go of this rush to share and slow down enough to follow my daughter's pace—in small, mouse-like steps. 

(if mice wear plastic princess pumps, that is.)

what whiskered friends do you hope to share with your young ones as they grow older? i'm keeping a running list of our favorites (and hopefully future favorites) here.

fine print: this post contains Amazon affiliate links. learn more here.

The Great Screen Time Debate

these thoughts come to us from guest blogger and mommy wonder Jes...

Screens are a constant issue, modern-day monsters that perpetually munch away at time that could be spent doing something else (says the writer who is typing this message onto a screen while checking Facebook – ha!).

OK, so that was a little strong. Nevertheless, let’s be honest, adults. We believe that statement is true for our children, but not really true for us. After all, we exercise regularly, eat our veggies and work hard all week, sacrificing night and day so our little ones can grow up healthy and strong. Yet many of us (myself included) tell our children to go outside and play, give heavy lessons on why we limit screen time, and then as soon as the door is shut we quickly get onto our electronic devices for a quick hit to make it through to the next moment. I ask though, next moment of what? Are screens modern-day wise sages to life that we must always sit before them and bask in their infinite binary wisdom? And why are children the only ones supposed to run outside and play screen free?

You thought this was a message about parenting children didn’t you? Vooohahahaha! It is! No, really it is. Who do you think the children are watching? We know the answer but when confronted by our children, are we prepared to explain ourselves? I have a learned the hard way that through the mighty super powers of observation, children have a way of turning a lesson back on us. Bless their little hearts.

My oldest asked me why he had limited screen time but we were allowed to play on our phones, laptops and such all day long, even at the dinner table (which was the final insult to him). I could have easily given him some variation of "I’m an adult, I can do what I want and when you are an adult, you can make the rules for your life," or, "Do as I say, not as I do." However, I knew if I did, I could not look him in the eyes as it even sounded shallow to my ears simply listening to my thoughts ponder the response.

He was right. It was time to tuck the smart phone away (that yet again made me look dumb which I do believe is its design in the universe), close the laptop and store out of sight, put the remote into the end table drawer so it is not a visual reminder and then ask, what next? Go outside and play! Seriously, when was the last time you played tag or hide and seek? The great outdoors is not reserved only for children, nor is hanging out with neighbors (if you have them). Grab a cup of coffee and knock on your neighbor’s door and see if they can come outside and play, too. Take the children for a walk together, or sit outside and chat while they run around. The fresh air will do you some good, even in the rain. Rain walks are fun -- think of all the endless puddles and splashes!

Are you feeling the panic yet? The fear of what might happen if you don’t have your phone on you while you interact with the world? I did. I felt genuine fear and tried to rationalize it with thoughts of emergencies, great photo ops for Facebook and even (shock, awe) the idea I could be bored. But it only lasted for a moment. The next moment brought joy, relationship and wonder. I completely forgot about my electronic devices. I now make it a habit to leave my phone in the car or at home when doing something fun with my children outside, even while at the park. They deserve my undivided attention and I need to have true focus, rather than split entertainment.

I challenge you all to tuck away the phones, laptops and tablets and go outside and play. When you're in the house, sitting around unsure what to do, reach for ideas rather than electronic devices. Our ancestors led perfectly happy lives without the aid of phones and computers. Let’s make them proud! (Not to mention to reinforce the values we are trying to instill in our children during this digital revolution.)

Let’s be the leaders in modeling screen-free outdoor play. Can I get an amen?



attribution: smartphone image

Banishing the Mommy dark place in a dark world

The news from Connecticut is tragic. There's no overstating that. I know I'm not alone as a parent in having my mind "go there," imagining what it would be like -- what it must be like for those grieving parents now -- to lose a child through such senseless violence.

Even before kids, my mind often wandered to the Land of What If. I would envision myself either kicking the arse off any would-be baddie, or ending up dead and mourned in the valiant effort thereof. When I became a mom, the Land of What If became a darker place, a less heroic place -- and a much harder place to avoid. No more novels involving abused or lost children. No TV crime dramas. Normally a cover-to-cover newspaper reader, I'm now more selective.

Our house was burglarized some weeks back. The girls and I were home in bed at the time. And instead of the heroic arse-whooping of my daydreams, my reality saw me fumbling to find my effing glasses and later watching as my 5-year-old gave a statement to the police. I barely slept that first night. The rest of the week, I was afraid to leave my daughter at school but equally afraid of kissing her goodnight and leaving the room. I felt something I hadn't felt before ... that I honestly never imagined my cynical, facts-based, get-'er-done sense of self feeling (even in the Land of What If) ... potent fear. Too close a call.

I felt in my heart what I've always known in my head -- that we do not have control over our lives.

And then Sandy Hook. The lens on life can rapidly narrow to one dark spot after something like that, casting everything else in shadow, as if there really is an inevitable downward trajectory to our collective history. We grieve for the parents who have lost children, because we know how much we treasure our own. I was reminded how precious my girls are after the burglary, and I'm reminded again after this school shooting.

The real world contains little of the heroic drama that our daydreams conjure, although we look for heroes and laud them (as we should). The real world continues where the daydreams end with a quick credit role, as we seek control by reviewing family safety plans, debating reforms to gun control and fumbling over deficient mental health care (as we should). Neither heroism nor bureaucracy dispels the cold finality of death, but they do help bring back some light. Life goes on. We focus on the beauty around us in the here and now, avoiding the black hole of the Land of What If and the equally black hole of wall-to-wall coverage of the Real World.

So I thank the police who responded. We install a security system. I get to know my neighbors better. I hide the pictures in this morning's newspaper from my girls. And I turn off this stupid computer and go have a dance party in the kitchen with them.

These folks say it better:
How Can We Find Hope in a Time of Tragedy? from Creative With Kids
Another mother's thoughts from a different tragedy over a year ago, smaller in scale by media standards but no less heartbreaking

the ugly doll

we went over the top this year with our Christmas tree. literally. our new house has nine-and-a-half-foot ceilings, so we figured we'd maximize that glory and go big! we ended up going a bit too big and hacked off about three feet of the trunk to make it fit. she is a beauty, though.

the place where we bought the tree had a "gift shop" of mostly second-hand goods and other things the owner has found at wholesale for resale. we let the girls each pick something from the 25-cent box. Little One picked out a miniature horse on wheels. we found a lovely giraffe collectible for a friend's daughter's first Christmas. and Sweet One picked out an older doll from some timeworn dollhouse set.

wait a minute. what? the girl who is pining for a Yellow-Dressed Barbie Doll With Yellow Birthstone Jewelry New In Package On Sale But Sold Out is passing up shiny trinkets for this ugly doll? it's the kind of doll even a Goodwill shopper passes up.

i take a closer look at this thing to see what i'm missing. it's a grandmotherly doll whose white hair is Einstein-like (if Einstein had grown his hair even longer, that is). the paint is flaking off her white pumps, and she could use a facial. there are green paint splotches on her body and dress. the outfit is dowdy and falling apart. she looks tired, worn, and unwanted. yet our daughter wanted her more than anything else in that box. she loves the thing. this ugly little doll is already the center of many stories (she is currently taking a nap in the wardrobe with a quarter).

i get so caught up this time of year with coveting what i don't have — even if i don't particularly want it. this extends especially to my kids. i want to buy them everything they could ever want, even if i'm not a huge fan (we are up to our eyeballs in princesses, y'all). we typically don't buy the girls much for Christmas anyway. so many relatives are generous enough, and quite frankly it's not in the budget to do much more than a book, CD and a few added dollar-store craft items. but i waste time every Sunday morning paging mindlessly through all the toy catalogs anyway. it reminds me of being a kid, circling everything i wanted in the advertisements to give my parents. (nowadays, of course, we just click to add it to the wish list on Amazon.) i knew even as a kid that it was ridiculous to want or expect some of those toys.

i've been reminded in more ways than one recently that simpler is better, that the mundane can be extravagant, that imagination is golden. my kids ask for things for the same reasons i want to buy them: because of those glossy advertisements and packaging that make everything seem so shiny and desirable (we're like raccoons, seriously). then i see how excited the girls get over a cardboard box, over cushy star ornaments from the '80s, over draping ourselves in sheets and falling to the ground like melting snowmen...

our tree is a bit sparse at the bottom. not in branches, but ornaments. Little One has commandeered all the stuffed fabric stars for carrying around in a basket and throwing across the room at random intervals. she's also prohibited all "candy cones" from the branches — these are the property of her basket as well. Sweet One has enlisted the help of all the angels she can reach in her stories. the Martha Stewart-brand bows i carefully staggered are crunched and invariably not where i left them.

it is, of course, the most gorgeous tree we've had yet.

Hi, My Name is Mt. Momsuvious

it's PMS WEEK here at silly = sane. today, we share a laugh with Jes, whose thoughts on patience are applicable to every day of the month! ... also, quick apologies for the tardiness of recent posts. i am currently without home computer. now, on with the words...

I think Pat Benatar has it right when she wails love is a battlefield. If we are not declaring “for the love of Pete” in exasperation over one more crazy thing – like telling our child for the sixth time to get their shoes on – then we are urgently trying to channel the saintly love of Mother Teresa to remind us that our children are worthy of our humanitarian support.

There is that moment, though, when a volcano explodes inside your brain and you think, “I can’t take this anymore,” sending your normal down-to-earth, easy-going demeanor into a fit of screams that would intimidate a drill sergeant. The children instantly do exactly what you’ve been trying to get them to do, all along causing another rush of rage in its wake. Seriously, is it not infuriating when you get to the point of yelling that your children finally listen?

I know the experts say the key to effective parenting is to remain calm. but when Mother Teresa fails to inspire our help and compassion, we need to find another solution. Otherwise, we may find ourselves in an anger management support group one day saying, “Hi, my name is Mt. Momsuvious.”

Recently I heard my boys’ teacher explain that when adults often lose patience with their children, they have lost understanding. I have contemplated that single sentence for a few weeks now and it has inspired me to stop and observe the dynamics rather than react to them.

I watched my children for a few days and noted my trigger points and then I asked myself, is this a control issue or is there a real roadblock to success? My findings were rather sad. Most of my trigger points are organizational and approach issues that are ALL on me! Not a defeatist by nature, I decided it was time for positive change.

For example, morning routines had become an issue with all three children in school and I found the biggest hurdle were the final moments of getting out the door to seat belts fastened, and it all revolved around transition from free time to “go” time. Now if my children want time in the morning to play or even watch a TV show (if time allows) before they jump in the van, they must have eaten breakfast, brushed their teeth and hair, gotten dressed complete with shoes and jackets on and placed their lunch snacks in their bags. Once everyone in the house has reached this goal (great way for natural peer pressure to stay on track), then there is time for open play or a cartoon. Getting into the van is no longer a stressful event. They are ready to go! No transition from play/cartoon to putting on shoes and jackets followed by stress affecting their ability to get into the van.

I encourage you to think about pressure points in your home that cause your normally peaceful
personality to explode and what you have done to gain understanding… and do share! Tips from fellow parents are a constant source of inspiration and encouragement! Your idea and solution may be exactly what another parent needs.



want to read more quality writing on momma rage? head on over to Creative With Kids, where Alissa has been keeping up an immensely helpful series on parental anger. my favorite post is Evolution of a Mama Tantrum - and How to STOP One.
credit love: the photos making up our Mt. Momsuvious image come from the public domain and "The Look" by Trinity, both via Flickr.

what the hell is pms anyway?

it's PMS WEEK here at silly = sane, but what exactly does that mean?

the acronym is for "pre-menstrual syndrome," as i'm sure you already know. but i'm going to re-define that as "pre-menstural symptoms." that word "syndrome" bugs me. it implies i'm somehow abnormal or have a disease. dude, my body is just getting ready to dump some unused eggs and give that fat ol' uterine lining a natural lipo, ok? that said, the effects of those working biological gears are pretty real... and pretty amazing, if you think about it.

that is, when i'm not scared out of my skinny jeans by what the hell my body is doing.

what you feel leading up to "that time of the month" may be different than for me. maybe for you it's just a craving for salt and an annoying whitehead, while for me it also brings real concern that my subcutaneous tissue is about to trade places with my epidermis. in fact, there are upwards of 150 symptoms associated with PMS, which basically renders the medical term useless as a medical term. a recent "controversial" research review took a critical look at the actual studies out there concerning PMS. it found there wasn't enough good research to definitively say PMS affects anyone with a uterus, and what good studies were out there (sample size and methodology and all that jazz) gave conflicting results. (find a Cliff's Notes version here.) it's a good reality check; we can't write off every bad mood as "oh, it's just PMS" (lame). i do think it reflects this inane and insane propensity to medicalize every nut and bolt of a woman's life, especially when it comes to the biology of poppin' out bay-bez. but, all that said, for me and most other moms i know, PMS is certainly not overblown. and while we shouldn't feel like we're inherently horrible for having estrogen, we also shouldn't let it be an excuse to spit obscenities at our loved ones.

so... here are some pointers for making a very real hurdle easier to clear:

• planning   it's called a cycle for a reason. there's a measure of predictability here that can work in our favor. if you don't already, map your moods and mark the days so you can find your own pattern and have a better idea of what's coming down the road. which leads us to...
• period   knowing what your body is doing, and why, makes it easier to handle the changes that come with that cycle – good (libido), bad (depression) or inconsequential (the zit will eventually go away). go back to sex ed if you need to with a Google search. which leads us to...
• perspective   as with colic and potty training, "this too shall pass." knowing that the negative stuff is temporary makes it easier to work through the tough emotions. and maybe even laugh in the midst of the worst days... and maybe not.

if you have daughters, use these times as teaching moments too. it's still going to shock her when it all starts going down. but there are some foundational things we can do now for our girls. i've got quite a few years yet before my girls hit puberty (something i'm thankful for... and my husband even more so). so you moms and dads with girls who have "entered womanhood" need to chime in here. but here are some things i think we can help our young girls learn to do now that will help them later:

• put words to their feelings
• pay attention to what their body is telling them
• be confident about who they are

as parents we need to get rid of this veil of shame that seems to surround lady parts. it's not "down there." it's a vagina. (come on, you can say it!) and yes, there was blood in the toilet after mommy went potty. but it's normal and shows my body is working as designed. (and, yes, it is yucky, too.)

what do you think? what does PMS mean to you? what are the toughest symptoms you deal with? what helps you get through that phase of the cycle? did things get worse after having children? what about you moms of boys? what do you tell your future men?



credit where credit is due: the red background for the title image comes courtesy Patrick Hoesly via Flickr.

Zombie Children in the Boredom Apocalypse

we wish you a very happy, sugar-charged (and, of course, silly) Halloween with our first guest post from Jes to the silly = sane blog. read and enjoy... and watch out for the vacant stare...

“Mom, I’m bored” is probably the scariest phrase I hear all day. On the outside it may not seem very frightening, but what happens to a child when they have entered the boredom zone is the stuff of horror films.

My usually imaginative, witty and active child literally turns into a mindless zombie. All thought, reasoning and feeling has fled their bodies and I am left with an uncooperative empty shell of kid who doesn’t even have the muscle strength to stand up and walk away from a couch. Instead, they usually roll off the couch with a sigh of exasperation followed by a whine that makes the nerves in my ear drum turn bionic, amplifying all negative thoughts and feelings all around me.

I am now properly set on edge and ready to do battle.

1 - 2 - 3 - leaf jump!

we recently moved, and our new street is fronted by gorgeous big'ol trees – i don't know what kind, other than the kind that dump mountains of leaves on our yard! at our old place, i don't think we used our rake more than once or twice. i've already beat that pace in the past week with this place. i filled our yard-waste bin to capacity – and that was just the grassy strip between the road and the sidewalk. and those trees? they're still packed with deciduous time-bombs. yowzas. this Pacific Northwest gal is starting to feel her Midwest DNA kick in.

so after naptime today, which was a dry day, the girls and i logged a first for us: a leaf pile!

now, i know a lot of you are like me (why else would you be here?), and so you'll forgive my first thought: "oh crap, now i'm going to have to rake it all up again." followed soon thereafter by, "gasp! she's kicking them everywhere!" and "oops, is that a rotting plum?"

but i did good. this is a rite of passage for any kid – even an Evergreen State kid, goldurn it – and so help me i bit my tongue and dove right in (literally). ... and then got a bunch of leaves in my face and hair from Sweet One there.

it was fun. we had dirty knees, sticky hands, dusty cheeks and were plucking pine needles out of our hair. we're going to do it again on the next relatively dry day. since the yard-waste bin was already full, the pile is still there (for now, anyway). and you know what? after our rain walk a few days ago, maybe we'll do it even if it rains.

life's too short to stay clean!

teddy bears with soul

"Beauty in the Pollution" by geezaweezer

ohhhh, my friends. we have found garbage-dump-teddy-bear nirvana. wha?

well, if you started with this blog from the beginning, then you may know our family's love for caspar babypants. those of a certain generation recall the band The Presidents of the United States of America (mmmm, peaches). this is the lead's kiddie alter ego. it weds the silliness of PUSA with the sentiment of PPDA (parents on poopy diaper alert). our not-yet-2-year-old equates "babypants!" with music. hop in the car, strap her in the seat, and before we get to the end of the alley it's "babypants? babypants? ba-by-pants?!?"

far and away our favorite song is "$9.99." (although you can buy it for 50 cents ... 50 measly cents, y'all!) i could explain, but with the artist's permission we're just going to share it here:

color me annoyed

my daughter is in love with princesses – Disney princesses to be specific. i think color has a lot to do with it. marketing to young children means tickling their order-obsessed sensibilities, and color is one of the first to manifest itself (along with, of course, gender). even at a young age, my Sweet One was a stickler about putting the green cup with the green bowl and the orange cup with the orange bowl... Disney has picked up on that. Cinderella is associated with blue. Aurora is pink. Tiana is green. Rapunzel is purple. and perhaps the only reason Belle is my daughter's favorite princess is because Belle is associated with yellow, her favorite color. each princess has her place on the color wheel – that is, when they're not wearing white for their inevitable wedding...

shout-out: 'Star Wars' edition

it's time to give a shout-out to a couple bloggers i admire and follow the cinematic tangent on which they lead me.

this all started with Jennifer Bardsley who makes me laugh every time i read her I Brake For Moms blog. but the one i'm still giggling over is her "I brake for Wookiees" post. Jennifer writes about the lack of maternal role models in the popular movies. "Maybe the reason that boys love 'Star Wars' so much is because George Lucas has imagined a universe where mothers are not necessary," she writes. but if you had to pick a galactic mommy, who would it be?

Capt. Obvious vs. Super Sillypants

"The superhero in me
is tired" by Brett Jordan

"what are you doing, Mom?" she asks.

i am putting Mickey Mouse chicken nuggets in the microwave to cook for lunch. again. by this point, it should be pretty apparent what Mom is doing – to the 1 1/2-year-old much less the 5-year-old asking the question. in previous days, i would answer her with the same. but today, with an "you've got to be kidding me" pause before slapping the microwave door shut, i decide i'm tired of playing Capt. Obvious to Ms. Rhetorical Q. Princess.

"i'm making cardboard."

there's a pause while she searches my face to see if i'm for real. then her face lights up with the joke. "hee hee hee! that's silly, Mom." yes, yes it is. and so was your question, Obvious Girl!

absolutely perfect

"Chrysanthemum did not think her name was absolutely perfect. She knew it!" — Chrysanthemum, by Kevin Henkes (2007, Greenwillow Books)

background from schnitzgeli1

part of the fun of being a parent is giving your children nicknames. i used to think they were just ways to be silly. and they are that! but they're a bit more. having a nonsense name (or ten) for our child is one more way on a long list of ways that we savor "knowing" them – knowing them like no one else ever will or can. i always loved when my dad called me Peanut. you could feel the love in his voice, the love of familiarity – but also something more. father's day is coming up, and i'm reminded i'm still his Peanut. having kids of my own, i understand this feeling from the other side now.

the nonsense name i go to the most with both my girls is SweetPea. but depending on the occasion, there are many more. Bushel Britches. Pumpkin Britches. Cutey Pants. Poopy Drawers. (hm, i'm sensing a theme here.) Sunshine and Baby for daughter no. 2, and Big Girl and Sweet One for daughter no. 1.

yet if given names carry a momentous weight – "this is the name by which you will forever be known (probably) because we put it on your social security card, dangnabit!" – then nicknames are the less formal way of pulling rank. "your friends may call you Cady. but you'll always be Bushel Britches to us, and there's nothing you can do about it." there are echoes of parental authority here, smoothed over with goofiness. as moms and dads, we really can't help ourselves. when we look at our kid and get that feeling of "otherness" mixed with the longing to hold on, it's the act of naming we turn to. not so much to have a sense of control as to give a name to the overflowing love we feel for such a tiny human and to communicate in our clumsy way an emotion they won't understand until they are parents themselves.

or am i being too liberal arts-ish?

epilogue: came across this classroom discussion guide for Chrysanthemum. worthwhile questions for parents and children to extend the reading experience, too. anything by Kevin Henkes is worth a read, by the way. Owen is another familiar favorite of ours.

about this blog

“Children have one kind of silliness, as you know, and grown-ups have another kind.” ― C.S. Lewis

or, if you prefer

“Are you suggesting coconuts migrate?” ― Graham Chapman, Monty Python and the Holy Grail

anyone with young children knows how much of a marathon it can be sometimes to stay emotionally afloat, especially during those frantic moments when you think, 'here we go, it's finally happening, i am going certifiably nuts.' doesn't matter if you're with them all day or for two hours in the evening, if you're a mom or a dad or a second-mom-grandma, in a hormonal whirlwind or simply tired, there comes a point where you see only a tempest of clatter rather than any soft glow of cuteness.

inevitably, some of the most poignant times – when we remember why parenting is a joy – are when we're all doubled over in giggles over something that would make our single friends look at us with a pitying 'you've gone nuts.' they have no idea that it's the sanest we've felt in a long harried time. remembering the carefree parts of being a child by celebrating them with our own keeps the crazy away.