Veggie tales

Hilary, to Maddy: "Are these peas or edamame?"

Maddy: "They're probably not peas because my Mommy gave them to us. Mommies like eda-mommys!"

A race worth walking about.

The girls and I took a trip around Harriton High School today for the first annual "Run For Our Schools." Abby had the courage to join me on the 5k, which we ran along with Amy Lutz, daughter Erika, Keri Fisher and one-year-old Molly in a jogger. Maddy harbored secret (ok, not so secret) dreams of dusting the other kids in the kiddie Track Trot, her enthusiasm reaching the boiling point as she waited for me and Abby to finish our race so that the Track Trot could begin.

In the last mile as Abby and Erika dug deep to keep running to the end, it was agreed among the moms that the experience was sufficiently character-building to be "blog worthy." To which Abby huffed between breaths: "Well, I think it's walk worthy."




Maddy was sure that the small trophy meant for the second place winner of the 5k was instead meant for the winner of the track trot (since they are smaller, of course) and spent the better part of our time on the 5k with Dad Dad, mentally decorating her room with the trophy she was sure to win. She did earn a finishers medal, however.

Is there anything sweeter smelling than a baby?

I came in to kiss the girls goodnight carrying a warm, just-bathed Henry. I sighed, and remarked, "mmmm, Henry smells like a baby...all soap and baby powder." Abby retorted immediately, "he'd smell more like a real baby if he threw up."

AKA one hundred thirty

Maddy proudly announced in the car on the the way to school, "I can count up to one hundred twenty-ten!"

Overheard

Abby is making noise upstairs and generally resisting going to bed; I'm on my way up the stairs to police the situation.

Maddy (to Abby, in a nagging tone): "What about going to sleep do you not understand?"

Maddy (yelled to me downstairs): "Don't worry Mommy, I took care of it for you!"

Motion Devotion

I put Henry down for his nap (on the other side of the crib), and then, after his nap, heard his mobile turning on and off over the monitor. Expecting to find one of his two sisters to have snuck into his room, I tiptoed upstairs to find the very mobile, mobile culprit.....

Maddy's bike riding skills

Went from a few pedal strokes in a straight line, to this in less than a week!

Henry updates

New skills acquired in the past few weeks:
1) Sitting up unassisted
2) Adorable babbling
3) Faucet-like drooling

Hair today, gone tomorrow

In recent months, all I seem to do is nag Abby to brush her hair. She walks around half the time with snarled, out-of-control locks, and by the time I pin her down and brush it out myself, it's a tear-stained ordeal. This morning was the worst, though. She woke up with hair that had practically dread-locked itself. That, I decided, was most certainly that. No more was I going to wonder who looked at her and thought "is that child being raised by wolves?"

Off to the hair salon today, after a half day of school, under the guise of "mommy-daughter day." Also known as, "ambush bob cut." With no trace of shame, I guilt-tripped her into donating her hair to charity, and when that only got me to 75% acquiescence, I threw in an American Girl outfit. She looked at me with narrowed eyes and said, "American Girl doll, and you've got a deal." Sigh. What could I do? I came back, "only if you don't like it."

"Ok, then."

Afterwards, she was delighted. She kept running her fingers through it and couldn't wait to see what it looked like with barrettes, or with a headband, or just tucked behind her ears.

"Do you like it?"

"More than I thought I would! A lot, actually!"

"Great!"

"When do I get my doll?"

And so, I dealt the negotiator's blow: "But you like it."

She was trapped. She knew it. I knew it. The American (Girl) people knew it. I told her she could certainly have an outfit for her existing American Girl doll, and that Daddy and Mommy would discuss another doll.

Something tells me, though, she's got a doll coming.

More tooth-based notes

Found this post-it stuck to my computer this morning; no doubt a particular prior experience made a deeper impression than we thought:

What's special about this picture?

I mean, other than my adorable son?

Any guesses?

How about--this isn't where we put him down. Henry is officially a crawler! Well, a scooter, but still, it's pretty adorable, and he was really proud of himself.

Nifty!

Another Cyclist in the Family!

A shout out to Madeline, who learned to ride a two-wheeler yesterday. She is very, very proud of herself. Further props to her sister, Abigail, who spent quite a bit of her after school time helping her sister commit to not putting her feet down.

What's Not for Dinner in the Garden of Eden

Abby's Sunday School assignment:

Name five things you will take with you to the Garden of Eden.
1) My three blankies
2) A computer
3) A TV
4) My bed
5) My cats

Name five things you will NOT take with you.
1) My Wii
2) Board games
3) Leftovers

Happy Passover, Oregon Style

So we're in Portland, and it's Passover time. I hit the local Whole Foods for my seder essentials. As I'm at the meat counter, I see a sign saying, "complimentary seder bones." Awesome. Back in Philly, this is pretty much par for the course in every supermarket, but I wasn't expecting to find a seder shank bone so easily in Portland. I mean, there are definitely Jews--and Jews love Whole Foods--but I just didn't expect to see that.

So I ask for my brisket, the chicken, and I'll take a free seder bone. The guy looks at me like I have two heads. I look back at him, also two-headedly, because he's standing right behind the sign that says "complimentary seder bones." He goes, "what bone now?" I repeat, "seder bone."

"What?"

"Seder bone."

Blank stare. I gesture to the sign. He reads it, and it clearly Does Not Compute.

He gets his manager, and the two of them profusely apologize because they suspect they're being rude to me (I assure them they're not--the confusion was mutual) but they have no idea what their own sign means and they're more than happy to oblige but need me to tell them what it is they are supposedly offering. I say, "am I correct in concluding I'm the first person to take advantage of the free seder bones?" They laugh and so confirm. I try to describe what it is I get every year at Safeway or Whole Foods back in Philly: a little bone from a lamb. In my head I can see it. A shank bone, scraped clean, and cut into pieces so you can get 4-5 seder plates out of one bone. Look, it's free. So I do my best to describe it and they say they can do it, absolutely, let them look around. I tell them I'll do my shopping and come back to the counter.

About 5 minutes later, the meat guy comes to find me, and hands me three brown paper-wrapped packages: the brisket, the chicken, and something....else. It's labeled "no charge." It's suspiciously large, but I'm way too afraid to reopen this issue. I thank him for all his help, take it home and open it up and....it's a whole lamb shank. Like, 4 pounds of lamb, on the bone.

God will be pleased. Or, "dinner is served."

Delaware. I'm in Delaware.

At dinner tonight, Abby excitedly described a game that she and her friend at school had made up. This friend had brought in a collection of quarters. They would lay the quarters out, heads up, and turn them over. Whatever state was on the back, that's what state you would pretend to be in, until your next turn. According to Abby:

"Sometimes, though, you'd turn over a quarter and nothing would be there," from which I gleaned that some quarters were regular old "eagle back" quarters.

"So we made the game that then you'd be in nowheresland, or lalaland. Or Delaware."

PROGRESS REPORT

Name BRIAN HIRSCH Date SEPT. 10, 1980
Subject PHYSICAL EDUCATION

Brian's work in physical education has been of a commendable nature. He has shown diligence and conscientiousness in his classwork and homework assignments. I am looking forward to working with Brian this year.

(signed)
Carol Green
Teacher

Feet (a poem)

I give you this undated poem from my childhood, circa 1980.

Feet

I woke up when the sun was bright,
and sleepy as I was,
got out of bed.

Oh! Gosh!
something smells,
it's the smelly sock,
I wore yesterday.

Hey, it's dark,
and soft in here;
I think it's the shoe,
that's red, white, and blue.

Pain!
Weight on my soles,
this hurts so much,
I can take no more.

Off and on,
and on and off,
this weight on my soles, toes,
and the ball of my foot.
This pain I can't bear any more.

Ah! It's dinner,
I can tell,
I hear a murmur of somethin' swell.

Munch, Munch,
that is all they do,
eat and eat until they're blue!

Weight again,
hey, we're going up stairs,
at last that oye, gooye,
stinky smell from this sock,
is coming right off,
it's nine o'clock.

Wait,
It's dark,
I'm gonna' die.
Black is all I ever see.

The foot went to sleep,
and got up the next day.
No, he didn't die,
not that little ol' guy.

Happy Hallmark Holiday, everybody!

We never really did much of anything for Valentine's Day. It just wasn't one of those days that registered too highly on my Scale of Important Holidays. And until recently both kids were at the synagogue for school where Valentines Day is ignored entirely for religious reasons. So that was that. But ever since Abby started public school, she's been getting into it. The class has a party, they exchange cards, and it always takes me by surprise, as in "oh, it's that time of year again?"

On Wednesday, I got a taste of what Abby's Scale of Important Holidays is like: she tried to get out of going to ballet by saying, "oh mom, it's almost Valentines Day! I can help you at home getting ready." Um, exactly what have you ever seen me do with regard to Valentines Day other than buy half-price candy on February 15? She actually thought that the Friday and Monday off she has from school was because of Valentine's Day, not President's Day Weekend. Needless to say, she went to ballet class that day.

What's been adorable, however, is that she has spent two days making this Valentines Day Scavenger Hunt in our house. I am not allowed to know what's going on with it, but certain things of mine are mysteriously missing. I guess we'll play tonight and that will be good because Maddy will get her winter jacket back, wherever it is right now.

Update: All Brian's girls got flowers today! Aren't they beautiful? The flowers are nice, too!

When children get their hands on dictionaries.

Each day Abby has a different activity with regard to the week's spelling words.

Yesterday, the activity she chose was to write a sentence describing the meaning for each. Well, one of her words was "foyer." She didn't ask me what "foyer" meant, but let's just say I strongly suspect some kind of reference device was employed before she proferred this sentence for her teacher's perusal:

"Foyer is an anteroom or lobby, especially of a theater."

I'm more upset than you think I am.

So I was putting Abby and Maddy to bed last night. At one minute before bedtime (literally), Abby said, "you know, it's still a minute before bedtime. Would you read me a book?" It was kind of hard to argue with that logic, so I said yes, a short book. Abby dutifully went and got one ridiculously short Disney Princess™ book. I asked her to get something more appropriate for her age and reading level, and she said, "but there's not enough time!" The little nut had me--give in on principle if you want a better book. Ugh. So, we read the little book.

Meanwhile, Madeline is in the bathroom brushing her teeth but her Princess Spidey Sense still manages to detect the hint of Disney (™) in the air, and starts to scream, "you have to wait for meeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!"

Um, no, we don't--not when you're late because you were too slow at getting ready for bed. So I keep reading. She hears this, and starts to cry. By the time she finishes with her teeth, she is in full-on bawl, and comes into the room and says, rather acerbically, "why didn't you wait for me? You have to wait for me. You always wait for me." I respond, "well, no, I don't. You were late to bed because you were goofing around. Had you gotten ready on time like I asked, you'd have been able to hear the story." Gotcha, punk.

That goes over about how you'd expect, so with no more story being read (I had finished with Abby by now), she lies down in bed, whimpering. The show is pretty entertaining, and by now I am fighting back a chuckle. I think she noticed; she said to me, still in cry/whimper, "you know, I'm more upset than you think I am."