The Dance Bug is Contagious

This year marks Harper's 4th year of competition dance. She was in third grade when she began, which means Michael was in kindergarten. One day a week my mother-in-law took Harper to dance, which meant that Michael and I took her the other day. Instead of trying to entertain Michael in the dance studio lobby for an hour and a half, I decided to put Michael in the tap class that went on during the middle half-hour. He ended up loving it and has taken tap every year since then. Last year he also joined a "pirate" dance class that was just for boys. 

At the end of last season Michael was asked to try out for the competition team for this year. At first he didn't want anything to do with it - his immediate answer was no. I wasn't interested in forcing Michael to sign up for something that would take up a lot of his time and limit his ability to do other activities; however, I knew his not wanting to do it didn't have anything to do with dance. It had everything to do with not wanting his friends to make fun of him. We encouraged him to take the audition classes and promised we wouldn't make him do it if he ultimately didn't want to.

Michael did take those audition classes, one jazz and one ballet, and he loved them. We didn't end up doing any convincing at all - he was sold. He wanted to dance.

Flash forward to this year... Michael is dancing with the competition group. He's dancing a little over four hours a week. It took him a couple of weeks to get used to doing a quick change into dance tights two days a week after school, but he's got the hang of it now. He loves it, he's excited about it, and he's proud of what he's learning. Every class he working on musicality, strength, balance, and flexibility. I hope he's learning to respect his body, and, perhaps more importantly, the bodies of the dancers around him. 

It remains to be seen whether Michael will enjoy the actual competitions this spring. I have no idea whether he'll want to do it again next year. I know he still doesn't want most of his friends to know about it. But here he is, waiting for his ride to dance a couple of weeks ago:

If he's happy, we're happy.

Rethinking

I quietly, though publicly, embarrassed myself on Twitter today.

I saw a question, posed by an author I follow, asking for suggestions for a picture book that might make a case for moving away from Columbus Day toward Indigenous Peoples’ Day. Right away I responded with a book I’d felt proud to use in my classroom years ago, one that provided an alternative perspective on Columbus’s arrival, one that I felt would open student’s minds to the notion that there are many angles from which to view historic events. Almost immediately another Twitter-user, one who had been tagged in the original tweet, responded with an emphatic, “no, not [the book I’d recommended].”

I was taken aback, at first, and embarrassed. I thought about just deleting my tweet, but stopped, because there may be other librarians/educators out there who had the same thought. So I summoned the courage to apologize and ask, “Why not?”

The person who had tweeted not to use the book I suggested responded, thoughtfully, and as thoroughly as Twitter allows, and explained why the book I mentioned wasn’t a good representation of Native society. She also pointed me toward a critical essay of the book.

I’m going to be honest and say that I never would have realized how problematic that book is. And it has left me uncomfortable and wondering how many more books have issues with their cultural representations that I’m not equipped to recognize.

I looked back to the review sources I typically use when I’m evaluating books to purchase for the middle school library where I work. None of the reviews for this particular book indicate it is as problematic as it is. So, where do I turn? I rarely have the opportunity to read a book before I purchase it, and I certainly haven’t read everything I’ve ever purchased for the library. I have to rely on reviews. If the reviews aren’t going inform me about cultural misrepresentations and I’m not going to pick up on all of them myself I guess I’m bound to make mistakes?

By and large, I have lived a privileged, sheltered life. Being aware of that doesn’t necessarily make it right and it doesn’t work as an excuse for everything I don’t know. I’m overwhelmed by the responsibility of doing better for my children and my students. I’m not sure how to fix it.

I do know that I learned something in my embarrassment today. I’ve added another layer to lens through which I read and evaluate books. I hope I’ve taken a small step toward a bigger awareness.

After 15 Years

Each year, on this dark anniversary, we hear the stories of the heroes of 9/11. We read about the final words loved ones called to say. We hear about bravery, last kisses, love amidst the horror. It is good to remember, and it is good to hear stories that somehow give hope that all is not lost for humanity. And what I'm about to write is not meant to diminish those stories in any way.

For some reason, this year, I find myself thinking about the rest of the stories. I wonder about the people who were not brave. I wonder about the parents who fought with their teenagers before leaving the house in the morning. I wonder about the parents who were impatient with their toddlers, and then never saw them again. I wonder about the couples who didn't kiss each other good-bye, those who parted that morning amidst tension and hurt feelings. I wonder about the people who can't console themselves by thinking, "I said, 'I love you,' before I left." Some people had bad mornings on what turned into their worst day.

Today I am thinking of them.

The Baby My Baby Loves

Back in December, my sister had a delicious baby boy. I'm an auntie!

We love being with my nephew when we visit our family in Wisconsin. We were all, of course, delighted to welcome J to our family. But there is one among us who loves that baby perhaps a little more fiercely than the others. My dear, sweet Michael is over the moon about his cousin J. 

When my sister brought J to visit in May, Michael spent the entire weekend about as close to that baby as was physically possible. When he had to write a personal letter in second-grade, he wrote it to J. My sister sent a letter back as though J had written or dictated it. Michael sleeps with that letter on his nightstand. 

I asked him, not long ago, why he kept the letter there. He said, "Because I love J and when he feels far away I can read it and feel like he's with me." 

I've 99.9% come to peace with the fact that we won't have any more babies in this house, but Michael would have made a most wonderful big brother.

I Don't Pay for Opinions at the Drive-Thru

We've had three days since summer break ended and this morning I took Michael in for a strep test. Welcome back to the Petri dish that is elementary school. Michael's been complaining of a sore throat for a couple of days but doesn't have any other symptoms. However when he woke me up this morning to tell me about it I decided I'd rather call the pediatrician than wait and end up at urgent care tomorrow or possibly missing school Monday.

The rapid test came back negative, so he probably just has some little viral thing going on - fingers crossed that it all passes without too much fanfare.

Michael was crying and shifting into panic mode at the mere mention of the doctor so I told him we'd get a McDonald's Hi-C afterward, as long as he cooperated. Which, ultimately, he did.

It was about a three minute drive from the office to the nearest McDonald's drive-thru, where I ordered Michael a medium (gasp) Hi-C. You guys, I know that I was just handing him a cup full of sugar, but a doctor just stuck a giant Q-tip down his throat, so I think most of you would agree that some sympathy corn syrup wasn't the worse parenting decision I've ever made. And yet, here is the conversation that followed:

Cashier: Is the Hi-C for him? (Gestures to Michael in the back seat)

Me: Yes.

Cashier: A medium?

Me: Yes.

Cashier: I just didn't think you'd want him to have so much this early in the morning.

What?!

I'm sure there are all kinds of cashiers who are judgmental about what people are purchasing, but I'm also pretty sure there is an unwritten social contract that suggests they keep it to themselves.

I Went to See Rachel Platten and Came Home Without My Shoes

Earlier this week we took the children to a Rachel Platten concert, which was just as much fun as you'd expect it to be. But what I want to write about tonight is not what happened at the concert, but what happened on the way home.

We left the venue, it was dark, and we were walking back toward the car. The street we were walking down was a boulevard, with a grassy area in between the traffic moving in either direction. We crossed one part of the boulevard and ended up walking in the grassy median for a bit. I was wearing sandals and, as we walked, a leaf slid between one of my right toes and my sandal. I tried to shake it out, but it just didn't want to move and it was bothering me. I did a quick maneuver, not wanting to hold up people walking behind me, to free the leaf with my thumb. Instead of finding a leaf, my thumb sank into something soft...

You guys, there was poop in my shoe. And then, there was poop all over my thumb.

I'm not proud, but I started yell/shrieking, "It's poop! There's poop on my foot! And on my hand!" And the people around me, my family included, were understandably confused.

The next few minutes, in my mind, were frantic as I tried to fish wipes out of my purse without spreading the poop from my thumb to anything else. By the time we got to the car my hand was clean, but there was still poop in my shoe. I sat, without putting my legs in the car, removed my sandal, and cleaned my foot while the children gagged in the back seat. Once all traces of fecal matter were removed from my actual foot, I still had the problem of poop in my sandal.

You should know two things. One, Matt is driving a fairly new car. Two, the sandals I was wearing were not of the "hose it off" variety. I could not see a way to get the mess and smell out of the soft insole of the sandal.

Matt looked at me and said, "Leave it."

So I did. I left my poop shoe by the side of the road, with its partner, for good measure, and rode home barefoot.

That, my friends, is why I went to see Rachel Platten and came home without my shoes.

Changes

It is a time of transitions, large and small, in our household. 

We changed our TV service today, which was both a small transition and a colossal pain in the rear.

Harper is getting ready to transition to middle school.

Michael is getting ready for his first stint as a bus rider, to be part of a new after school situation, and to go to elementary school without his sister.

I am getting ready to start at a new school. I'm also working on leaving things at my former school in good shape for a new person to take over. As I mentioned before, at the end of the year I didn't know I'd be leaving that library. Things weren't in bad shape on the last day of school, but they weren't left the way I would want a new person to find them, especially if he or she isn't hired yet and school begins in about two weeks. I thought, perhaps, that new librarian might not want to walk into a pile of books that need to be repaired! 

Matt isn't in the middle of any particular transition (other than learning the new TV channel numbers), but he does have to deal with all of us as we adjust.

There will be new teachers, new schedules, a new dance season (5 out of 7 days of the week someone will be at the studio), new homework expectations, new bosses, and new colleagues to get used to.

One of my favorite musicians, Dar Williams, once said, "I don't like change, but I'm good at it." 

I'm trying to be good at it, too. 

Back to School Panic Organizing

In this part of the country we are already staring down the calendar at the first day of school. My children have almost four weeks of summer break left. I go back to work, gulp, three weeks from tomorrow! 

I love the library job I have done for the last two years. It has been a near perfect fit for my skill-set, my interests, and the amount of time and energy I want to give to a job considering the phase our family is in currently. I said, MORE THAN ONCE, at the end of the last school year, how happy I was to be coming back to the same job for the third year in a row. For one reason or another, including a break to be a stay-at-home parent, I haven't worked the same job for more than two years, ever. Unless you count babysitting gigs from my high school days. As much as I love my job, I also love summer break and mourn it as it draws to an end. I miss reading by the pool, waking up later than 6 a.m., impromptu ice cream runs, etc. When I'm at work, I rarely wish I was anywhere else; but when I've had a break from work, the thought of reentering the grind makes me want to hide under my covers, or maybe under a beach towel.

As it happens, I'm not returning to the same job in the fall. I'm still going to be a librarian, but at the other middle school in our district. Applying for that transfer was a difficult decision. Transferring means I will be at the same middle school Harper will attend. She's... not thrilled, but this will infinitely simplify our daily lives. Still, I loved the people I worked with and the space I worked in and I'm sorry I didn't get to say a proper good-bye, as the transfer didn't happen until after the school year had ended. Now, in the little amount of summer I have left, I'm trying to leave my old job space the way I would have wanted to find it as a new person coming to work there. I also need to get oriented in the new space. Needless to say, this year's back to school panic has been magnified.

Every year, when back to school panic mode sets in, I am consumed by an intense need to organize everything in sight. The efforts of this labor will undoubtedly be undone by the second week of school, but seeing order around me helps a little when my psyche is rattled.

And now... evidence of The Back to School Panic Organizing Event of 2016:

Fresh pencils, ready for the homework that will take place at the kitchen table. This shelf used to hold two plastic cups with broken colored pencils and eraser-less #2s. 

The bin holding other art supplies... now featuring items sorted into labeled containers. Micheal helped me test all the markers and every colored pencil has been sharpened. I even cleaned the sticky residue from the outsides and caps of the glue sticks. 

Here you see the ruthlessly weeded toy closet. Half of what was in there has been moved to basement storage or into bags for donation.

This is the magic binder that aims to tame the schedules, lunch menus, directories, and the thousand other pieces of paper that come home from school and activities. This week I emptied it of last school year's papers, which were either filed (report cards, some samples of the children's work, class pictures) or recycled (most of it).

The same binder: it has space for emergency information, allergy information, 6th grade information, 3rd grade information, and a few tabs for various activities. It lives in the kitchen next to the phone. In case you're wondering, there is a three-hole punch in the cabinet, right next to the casserole dishes.

Some of the home organizing spills over into work as well. Here are two of my binders for the upcoming school year. The binders with the plastic cover you can slide paper into might be my most favorite school supply innovation of all time.

Sorting, organizing, labeling - these are my grown up version of sucking my thumb - I find them soothing. To quote Rizzo, "There are worse things I could do..."

Campers (#tbt)

I was fortunate enough to have various camping experiences growing up and for years I've been wanting to share that kind of experience with my children. Unfortunately I hadn't done any actual camping since I was a camp counselor - a couple of decades ago. Even then, there were things about camping that I never had to figure out for myself. For example, the camp cook packed all our food for us, all we had to do was pull out the list of what we needed for each meal and cook it! 

As much as I wanted to take the children camping, there were a couple of things holding me back:

1) Camping requires a fair amount of stuff - very little of which we already owned.

2) The fact that I was the only person in our family with any tent camping experience whatsoever. 

My first major problem was solved when I found a good deal on a tent, back in September of 2014. 

We finally broke it in last July, camping for just one night at a KOA not too far from our house. I chose the KOA because it was relatively cheap - if the weather had dictated cancellation of our trip, we wouldn't have been out too much money. I also chose it for newly renovated bathrooms - I knew that too rustic or distant a bathroom was likely to scare my people off of camping forever. 

So off we went, we survived, and we even had a good time. 

The KOA was close and the bathrooms were nice. It also had a pool, which was beneficial since it can be HOT in Ohio in July. The disadvantages of the KOA were that it was crowded, a little noisy at night, and there wasn't a ton of room to hike or explore. If we'd spent two nights there I think we would have had to leave the campground to find things to do.

Then there was this:

That's the essence of camping for me. When it gets dark and quiet(er) and you sit around your campfire...there's an intimacy among the faces in the flickering light. Never mind that building and maintaining the fire ended up being a little more difficult than I remember! 

We are going camping again soon. Not at a KOA this time. We're trying something a tad more primitive and we're going for two nights. I'm optimistic. 

I want my children to have memories of camping and I believe they will. I don't think they'll remember sweating while we put up a tent, or a fire that doesn't want to start, or mosquito bites. I hope they'll remember the peacefulness that comes from being a little unplugged, the faces of their family by the light of a fire, seeing the stars, telling stories, and just being together.

The Internet is Strange

I just had an unexpected trip down memory lane.

There is a moisturizer I like to use on my face that has become difficult to find. It finally occurred to me today that I could look on drugstore.com. After finding it and attempting to check out, I realized I already had an account on the site. I couldn't, however, imagine what I'd purchased from drugstore.com in the past.

When I checked out I noticed that a message said they would add the items to my "list" for future ordering.

It turns out the old items I ordered were still on my list. It was actually just one item, ordered in June of 2007.  Want to guess what it was?

(I'll leave a little space here, in case you're actually guessing...)






It was:

(Keep scrolling.)




A box of pregnancy tests - the very ones that told me Michael was on the way.

That was not something I expected to think about today.

Beverly Cleary

About two weeks ago Beverly Cleary turned 100 years old. This little nugget may have escaped you. Unless, of course, you are routinely part of activities in an early elementary school sort of setting. Or maybe if you're slightly obsessed with children's literature.

I wanted to write a post about Beverly Cleary on her actual birthday, but it wasn't meant to be. Mostly because I was truly unable to think about her celebrating 100 years without getting a lump in my throat and having the letters on the screen go blurry. You see, I adore Beverly Cleary.

I can understand that maybe, just maybe, her books are right for everyone. But I think it is a rare soul who isn't at least a little charmed by Ramona Quimby and her family; or a child who hasn't smiled at a toy motorcycle, thinking of Mr. Ralph S. Mouse. It's hard to not be impressed with someone who could write stories that still resonate as she turns 100, many of which were published more than 50 years ago.

I'm not exaggerating when I say that Beverly Cleary's books have touched all parts of my life.

Ramona came into my life in first grade, when our librarian read us Ramona the Pest. Over the years I heard other Beverly Cleary books read aloud, either by our librarian or by my classroom teachers. By second grade I was reading and rereading every Beverly Cleary book available in our teeny-tiny library. They were the old fashioned library versions, bound in pebbly orange or pea green covers. When book orders came into my life I ordered as many Beverly Cleary books as possible, wanting my very own copies to read and read again. As I child I identified with rule-follower Beezus, but got such a thrill reading about the scrapes Ramona got into. Thanks to Beverly Cleary I was able to vicariously experience the rush of pulling another child's hair, refusing to do school work, or - gasp - coloring in a library book!

Time passed and I became a student teacher and shared the Beverly Cleary's Muggie Maggie with a group of second graders as they began the daunting task of learning to write in cursive.

Eventually I had my own classes full of fresh-faced first graders and together we read many Beverly Cleary titles. Often the Ralph stories and always Ramona the Brave. While the emotional core of the stories hold up very well, there are a few references that need some explaining, which always ended in interesting conversations with my students. In one of the books there is an incident in which Henry Huggins' dog, Ribsy, gets locked in the Quimby's bathroom. One year I was teaching at a fairly affluent school and none of the children could figure out why it mattered that the dog was in stuck in there and no one else could enter. It never occurred to them that a house might have only one bathroom! When I told them that Matt and I lived in a house with one bathroom (true at the time), one of the students gasped and said, "Mrs. M, are you poor?!" I will never forget the horrified look on her face. I hope she remembers some of the conversation that followed.

The greatest joy, however, has probably been introducing Beverly Cleary's books to my own children. The relatively obscure Ellen Tebbits is the title that has taken up a special place in Harper's heart. Michael, being of prime Beverly Cleary enjoying age, is still figuring out which one will be his favorite.

It's a safe bet that I'll be sending some titles along to my nephew in a few years. And sooner or later, some other lucky child is going to rediscover the stash of Beverly Cleary books on my shelves and they will delight another generation.

I've pulled some of my favorite videos and articles from the days leading up to, and including, Mrs. Cleary's birthday and I'm going to link to them here. If you are even half as fond of her as I am, do your self a favor and enjoy them:

The Today Show interview:
http://www.today.com/video/children-s-author-beverly-cleary-on-turning-100-i-didn-t-do-it-on-purpose-652185155745

7 Things You Didn't Know from pbs.org:
http://www.pbs.org/newshour/art/7-things-you-didnt-know-about-beverly-cleary/

11 Things You Didn't Know from Woman's Day:
http://www.womansday.com/life/entertainment/g2314/beverly-cleary-facts/

100 Years Surrounded by Books form The Washington Post:
https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/kidspost/author-beverly-cleary-struggled-to-find-books-she-loved/2016/04/11/abc6a8d8-fa8e-11e5-80e4-c381214de1a3_story.html

To Beverly Cleary with love, from other children's authors:
https://www.washingtonpost.com/video/entertainment/to-beverly-cleary-with-love-from-other-childrens-authors/2016/04/11/604b9624-fdaf-11e5-813a-90ab563f0dde_video.html
(I lost it when Judy Blume spoke...)

Beverly Cleary turning 100 from npr:
http://www.npr.org/2016/04/11/473558659/beverly-cleary-is-turning-100-but-she-has-always-thought-like-a-kid

And then this 1/2 hour jewel from Oregon Public Broadcasting:
http://www.opb.org/television/video/cove-oregon-art-beat-discovering-beverly-cleary/

Thank you, Beverly Cleary, for your wonderful contributions to the world of children's literature. My life, and that of so many others, is richer for it.

A Word of Advice

It is the way of life that we are like our parents in some ways and unlike them in others. When I was growing up, it was very important to my mother that our house be clean. Now I'm not saying I love living in filth, but sparkling floors and mirrors have taken a back seat to many other priorities in my life. However, I am a lot like my mother in that I prefer to be things to be organized and picked up/put away. I won't lose sleep over a few dust bunnies, but having stuff everywhere drives me crazy.

As I mentioned in my previous post, we have an ongoing battle over the state of Harper's bedroom. If there is one thing I wish she would learn over any other, it's this:

Start by making your bed.

I think a made bed is to a bedroom as clear counters are to a kitchen. It gives the illusions of cleanliness and tidiness. I know that I feel better about life when my bed is made (which is 95% of days) and when the kitchen counters are clear (sadly, more like 40% of the time).

Dear children - even if there are piles of books and dirty socks beneath your bed, even if there are more items of clothing beneath your hangers than on them, for the love of all that is good and holy, please make your beds!

Mom, out.

On the Verge

Dear Harper,

I never managed a birthday letter the year you turned 10. Lest you be too upset, you should remember that Michael turned 7 and didn't get a letter either. I'm not sure why I didn't get around to it last year. A combination, perhaps, of us being wrapped up in our busy days and the fact that it is getting more difficult to write about the two of you in a way that feels respectful. With each passing year I'm more acutely aware that you made read these words someday, and that it will matter what I've said.

In November you turned 11. 11. I still can't quite get my head around it; how much more grown up you seem suddenly. You in a kind of stuck-in-the-middle age. Too old for many things that appeal to little kids, but not quite old enough for all the adult (or even young adult) movies, television shows, and books. You desperately want to be big. In so many ways I see you maturing and feel some of the, "I'm the adult, you are the child," lines starting to soften and blur.

The other day I accidentally used a word I wouldn't normally use around you and when I apologized you gave me a look and said, "It's not anything I haven't heard before Mom, I'm in fifth grade." And I know that's true. I have distinct memories of experimenting with creative vocabulary with my friends when I was even younger than you are now.

There have been several big changes in your life this year and for the most part you seem to have handled them with grace. Your commitment to dance increased dramatically. Most weeks you are at the studio for about eleven hours and you are probably getting a little less sleep than is optimal. The main side effect of this seems to be that you have absolutely no time whatsoever for cleaning up and your room is in a state of nearly perpetual chaos. While this drives me crazy, it doesn't seem to bother you in the least. I'm hopeful that you won't actually grow up to be a hoarder.

You've got attitude for miles, which is no surprise, as you've been finely honing the skills of eye-rolling and stomping for a couple of years. Your attitude has grown as you've aged and I know I'd be foolish to expect that to plateau soon.

Fortunately your attitude isn't the only quality that has been magnified as you've gotten older. You have also grown in empathy, responsibility, and determination. In most endeavors you continue to be fiercely independent, wanting as little help from us as possible. You are starting to feel a little nervous about heading to middle school next year, but I have a feeling the qualities you've been cultivating are going to serve you well.

I would be remiss not to mention the two activities you have grown to feel passionately about, aside from dance. You are learning to play volleyball, which I'll admit is exciting to me. There is something special about watching your child pick up a sport or activity that you once loved. The other activity that has newly been a big part of your life is playing in the Orff Ensemble at your elementary school. You've enjoyed learning the different instruments involved and are definitely developing a passion for playing music. It will be very interesting to see what kinds of choices you make in the next couple of years.

Whatever you choose to do, I hope you always realize that we love you and we're proud of you. I never could have imagined, when you were just a tiny baby, how much joy and passion you would bring to all of our lives. So many things are going to change in the next year or two - we will do our very best to be there for you and love you through all of it.

Love,
Mom

Indulge Me

Since I haven't posted regularly in a while, I thought it would be good to do a little update from the home front. While I wasn't posting here, the children, as children are wont to do, continued to grow and age. 

Michael is now 7 1/2 and in second grade. On the list of new things he is trying this fall - bowling in a league and playing tennis. According to him he is pretty fantastic at both. His feet are still larger than Harper's and I think by this time next year he has a decent chance of being taller than her as well.

Harper is now almost 11, gulp, and in fifth grade; which makes this her last year of elementary school. She is enjoying queen of the campus status - it's fun to be a fifth grader. One of this year's fifth grade perks was a spirit week just for fifth graders. Below was Harper's self-assembled outfit for Wacky Wednesday:

The picture was actually taken after she wore that outfit to school all day. I don't know if the confidence I see is evident to everyone, but it is such a part of who Harper is. I am fairly certain I wouldn't have felt comfortable sporting that get-up to school in fifth grade, or maybe ever. Harper's still dancing up a storm and excited to be part of the school Orff Ensemble, another privilege reserved for fifth graders only.

In case anyone is wondering, I still haven't found Michael's DS.

Roller Coaster

This past year and some change has been a whirlwind. The current school year is shaping up to be more of the same. Matt and I are both working full-time and the children are both involved in lots of activities. Just like so many other families. We have times where we're all happy and enjoying each other's company and then we have days where we're all yelling and 3/4 of us are in tears. I keep feeling like someday I'll catch up, while at the same time I don't even know what that really means.

Once again, there's no breaking news here. I think we are in a particularly difficult stage of life right now. One of these days it might stop feeling so difficult and we'll coast for a while and then one day later things will feel just this side of impossible again. Sometimes I think that means we're doing something wrong. Other times I think it is just the way things are - that the truth is that life is difficult. And usually the trick to feeling some happiness is recognizing the moments of peace and contentment when they come, not hoping for it to be like that all of the time. I know that Glennon has already covered the whole, "Life is brutiful," statement, but I am really feeling it right now.

My life is good. So, so good. And it's hard, too.

I think what I'm really looking for is to know that this isn't just hard for us. Anyone?

It's Not Exactly Breaking News

After a six-month blog hiatus, I'm sure no one is suffering the delusion that we've got it all together over here. However, just in case you need some convincing, it's confession time...

Several months ago I confiscated Michael's Nintendo DS, most likely because he refused to put it away (for the thousandth time). I put it somewhere he would not find it. I've now been actively looking for it for at least two weeks and have no earthly idea where it could be.

In The Closet

When my children were born my grandmother sent them lovely Vermont Teddy Bears. At some point Harper's bear lost its stuffing, but I believe it is possible to send them to the Teddy Bear Hospital, or some such place, for repair. It's a mystery to this day, how that bear lost his stuffing; however, he is no longer the only bear with a story.

Tonight, as I was putting Michael's clean clothes in his closet I found his bear... wearing a pull up. Upon closer inspection, I realized the pull up was wet. What? I totally thought that bear was house trained!

A quick sniff-test revealed that the pull up was wet with relatively harmless water. I also discovered a bean bag stuffed in the back of the pull up... teddy bear poo?

Said bear is now airing out (along with the wet bean bag). I'm going to try to get some answers from him tomorrow. I have a sneaking suspicion that if the bear can't tell his story, Michael may be able to clear things up for me.

Seven!

Seven years old. First grade. Time flies.

Photos by Danielle of Chocolate Pudding Moments

Title With a Clever Dance Phrase if I Knew More Dance Phrases

So the dance competition season is in full swing again. When Harper started this thing last year I had completely mixed feelings, but I've come to really enjoy our dance studio family. At the beginning of the month the studio put on a showcase for friends and family to preview the girls' dances before the first competition. I adore both of Harper's group dances this year - a sassy, fun jazz number and a beautiful contemporary piece. 

I was able to grab some wonderful photos from Facebook and play with them a little. The first two are edited so I'm not sharing anyone else's children's faces online. The third one is just for fun:

Some of the girls are also in a large production number called, "Fly Girls." It's dancers from each of the competitive levels, wearing late 80's/early 90's garb and dancing to songs like, "Too Legit to Quit." I am not sure I've ever watched anything that makes me smile as much as that dance.

Dance requires a commitment that is moderately insane - and we're at the light end of it, I know. This past weekend Harper and I drove to a competition on rural roads, through several inches of snow. I cannot think of many things that would have convinced me to go out on that kind of day; but the show, as they say, must go on. With Michael becoming more involved in his own activities, Harper and I will probably head out to dance on our own more often this year than we did last year. Having a little one-on-one time with her is a nice bonus. 

You never know what your children will end up loving, obsessing over. I think you will know when they've found something that truly makes them happy.

Interrupted

It's a snow day!

Last winter was crazy cold and snowy - I don't remember the exact break down but I believe we had several weeks without a full week of school. Things have generally been a little more calm this year. A nice thing about working in the district where my children go to school is that snow days cause me exactly zero job-related stress.

We've had a couple of days off this year. The first or second week in January we only went to school Monday, Wednesday, Friday. The one for today came as kind of a surprise, but we'll take it. Monday we were off for Presidents' Day. Tuesday we had a two-hour delay, and today's two-hour delay turned into no school. Who knows what Thursday and Friday will bring, but we are supposed to have crazy cold temperatures, so maybe some more sleeping in?

Today we finished a game of Disney Monopoly that was a hold-over from our last snow day. We just put everyone's money and properties into labeled baggies, and took pictures of where our pieces were on the board...

(Technology is quite awesome at times.)

This afternoon I took a nap while Harper taught Michael about Terabithia ("But not the sad parts, Mom.") and they built Terabithia in our family room. Then they fought over having to clean it up, as per usual. Oh - are you still stuck on that part where I took a nap? Parents of babies - life gets easier in so many ways. Harder in others, of course, but don't worry about that now. 

I know things fell apart about mid-way through the daily blogging in November. I'm certainly not trying to blog daily, at this point, but I've been itching to get back to this space. Having our regular routine interrupted by a snow day was helpful.

What are you doing with your day, snow or otherwise?