Happiness Is...

After reports of sassiness in our beloved daughter from two different non-parental caregivers this week, I came down hard on her.  (You've got to know it's bad if her own grandmother is commenting on it, right?)  When she refused to apologize for talking smart to Miss A. while I was doing yoga at church, I sent her to bed at 7 o'clock and decided to pack away the thousand or so stuffed animals that she plays with daily to be earned back with good behavior.

Thinking this was the harshest thing I could do, I was surprised when she said "I'm going to help you" and joined in the sweep, herding critters from around her room and plunking them in the giant suitcase I was filling.

When that was beyond capacity, she said, "What are we going to do now?"

"We're going to put them in this basket," I told her.

"OK," she said cheerily.

I was puzzled. "You seem almost happy about this," I said.

"I sort of am," she replied.

"Why is that?" I asked.

"I'm not actually sure," she said, smiling.

She was asleep six minutes later, so I have a hunch it was fatigue-induced insanity.

Language Lessons

The kids and I were out on the patio enjoying the summer weather one afternoon when I was inspired to do one of the "mommy"-est things I can think of—I presented a platter of watermelon wedges for us to snack on.

We quickly decimated the sizable stack, with little but a pile of rinds and that last lone wedge that no one ever eats left on the plate. My boy sat staring at it, remarking on the katydids gathering there, and suddenly said, "Here are two that are getting ready to mate."

Keeping my cool, as parenting magazines have instructed me to do in situations involving sexuality, I asked him, "Mate? What's that?"

He thought for a moment and then said, "It's like 'marry' in animal language."

That interpretation bodes well for his teenage years, I hope.

Movin' On Up

For the third time this week, I'm staring down a blank page in Microsoft Word, trying to figure out where to start an article that's due in a hurry.  So I thought I'd get my creative juices flowing here first instead.  (By the way, recently read a blurb from a George Orwell essay in which he said you should never use in your writing a phrase you've heard or read before, so sorry about that "creative juices" bit. Getting creative isn't looking too promising...)

There's not much that's more creative than kindergarten, where learning is play and play is constant.  We went a couple of weeks ago to our baby's kindergarten orientation (yes, both our kids will be in school next year!), and the teacher kicked off the event by musing on independence.  She exhorted us to let our kids do as much for themselves as possible this summer, but then softened a bit, saying that while she'd encourage our little ones to try tying their own shoes or opening their own milk cartons first, she would indeed help them when they needed it.

That's the point at which our girl, from her perch on one of those tiny kindergarten chairs, leaned in my direction and stage-whispered, "It sounds pretty good so far."

Mars and Venus Go Shopping

Earlier this week, I enjoyed a glorious solo trip to the grocery store.  Yes, my standards for "glorious" have dropped slightly since I had children, but those of you who have taken kids under 10 up and down the aisles of Pick 'N Save or Wegmans of Kings know completely what I mean.

As I unloaded my heaping cart, I surveyed at the folks around me doing the same and noticed a fellow in the next check-out line over buying two packages of bologna and an industrial-sized bag of store-brand Berry Puffs cereal.  Pushing my cart out of the store, I saw an older gent carrying a single plastic grocery sack with nothing but a giant can of Maxwell House inside.  I imagined these fellows arriving home to their wives, who would shake their heads and sigh.

Family Connections

My girl and I had the following conversation as we walked toward her brother's school to pick him up one recent afternoon:

Her:  Mama, we can't forget to pick him up because he's our brother.  Well, he's my brother, but he's your son and you're his mama.

Me:  That's right.

Her:  And I'm your daughter and you're my mama.

Me:  Uh huh.

Her:  And you're Daddy's life and he's your husband.

Me:  What?

Her:  You're Daddy's life and he's your husband.

I was pretty hesitant to correct her.

Enjoying the Ride

I am not a shopper. This is difficult for a woman who grew up with three sisters and two close female cousins to admit, but crowds and capitalism both sort of freak me out.

It's also unfortunate for me as a resident of the Fox Cities, or "Wisconsin's Shopping Place," as the local chamber of commerce has dubbed our tiny metropolis. The moniker refers primarily to the attraction that is the Fox River Mall, a monolithic presence along the community's main traffic artery since the '80s, when I was growing up in Green Bay. I made a pilgrimage or two with high school friends then, but only because I had to in order to be cool.

Now I avoid the place like the plague, especially at Christmas. I'll skulk around its fringes early in the morning or late at night, but I steer almost completely clear on the weekends. It's scary for me. Really.

That's why it's surprising that I've been there twice in the last month — once four weeks ago to pick up drapes I'd ordered from JC Penney and to get the kids' hair cut, and again today to retrieve my daughter from a shopping/babysitting excursion with her grandma...and to make good on a promise I'd made those four weeks ago.

You see, I had tried to make heading to market after school on a Friday seem appealing to my kids by extending a carrot — if they behaved while I paid for my window treatments, I'd pony up for a gumball of their choosing from the ridiculous menagerie of flavors outside the Pearle Vision. This really only worked on my daughter, since my son couldn't be coaxed to tolerate shopping under any circumstances — and then my daughter fell asleep in the car prior to our arrival at the mall. So I snuck in and snuck out without visiting Candyland.

But she remembered. And she hasn't let me forget.

So today when we were in the 'hood, I decided to deliver. (Plus I had to make a return at Target, so there was something in it for me, too.) We strolled into the mall proper, both with purses in hand, skipping the candy machines to have a ride on one of the amusements in the mall corridor instead.

At the veritable funland we came upon, there were five rides in a gluttonous array. She quickly decided to plug her coins into the fire truck, but the ride was over all too soon. So she dropped another 50 cents in the ATV and again was left wanting.

We made our way to the train next, and moments after it started its rocking, with her head bobbing to and fro, she said, "You know what I want to ride next, Mommy?"

I, in my wisdom, said, "Just enjoy the ride you're on, honey."

Those words have been ringing in my ears ever since.  Next time we run into each other, repeat them back to me, if you would.

A Few 4-Year-Old Funnies

Despite the fact that Mama was facing a deadline and not in the mood for folly last night, I was persuaded to participate in the "family laugh circle" by an insistent 6-year-old. The four of us placed ourselves strategically on the floor, with each person's head on another's tummy, and let the jokes begin.

The best—and worst—ones came from the youngest member of our clan, whose delivery can make even the utterly illogical hilarious.

"What did 29 say to 21?" she asked. The punchline? "Hey, look out! You're in an air balloon!"

And another: "What did the bear say to its honey?" A short pause, and then: "Hey, honey! Wake up, 'cause I'm gonna eat'cha!"

She's not ready for stand-up yet, but she had a friendly audience in her family.