We've just finished the gift-giving portion of the holidays. Everyone seemed happy with their gifts, but I felt compelled to tell you about the three top hits. Despite the plethora of craft kits, play equipment, jewelry, books, and fun accessories, the hands-down favorites were the season 1 DVDs of Gilligan's Island, Wonder Woman, and Little House on the Prarie.
With FirstKid being twelve and SecondKid being nine, I would have expected their top five list to consist of That's So Raven, Hannah Montana, The Avatar, and so forth, but consistently over the past couple of years, they just love the old stuff. They watch Andy Griffith, Happy Days, Shirley Temple, Three's Company, Full House, and so forth. I have to say that as a parent, I am thrilled. These old shows were silly fluff, but they actually entertained you without offensive language or risque topics. We never have to worry about censoring those shows because they just never attempted to be inappropriate.
Now, Little House on the Prarie was a guaranteed hit because the kids had seen it before on cable. They've also read the books, and they just love it. Who wouldn't love Laura's do-good-but-have-fun attitude, or Michael Landon's sensitive tears? Who wouldn't love to hate Nelly Olsen and her mean mom? It also gave a little flavor for the American past. It's all good.
The Wonder Woman choice was inspired by the Halloween costume that SecondKid chose. She just loved the outfit and the idea of being a superhero. She didn't know the details of Wonder Woman's story. Now, however, she adores the show, the character, and the premise. She's learned a little about World War II, to boot. It's a classic good-guy-fights-bad-guy-and-wins-every-time story, and it's even better because the good guy in this is a very strong, very beautiful woman. Despite the plastic push-up bustiere, Wonder Woman is still a good role model.
Finally, Gilligan's Island is such a big hit in the house that it's all that they want to watch. Actually, LabDad adores it, as well, and remembers every episode, too. Yes, this show is kind of just pathetic goofiness with its slapstick humor and predictable story lines, but it is also G-rated. There is no profanity, no nudity, and nothing inappropriate. It's fun and upbeat, and even relies on classic tales for some stories (some Greek myths, etc.). I honestly believe that there is inherent value in something that just plain causes uncontrollable laughter in a child (or adult). Watching Gilligan's Island has become a family activity, and what could be better than laughing your head off with your kids?
I know there are plenty of DVDs out there that have much more value (educational, motivational, moral, etc.), but our three top gifts this year are choices I would make again and again for these rugrats of mine.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Top Five
I've been asked to share what my top five Christmas/holiday songs are. First, I have to tell you that we aren't Christian, so I've always kind of felt...guilty, maybe..for loving Christmas music; adjacent to, maybe, instead of part of, I guess, the holiday festivities. It's kind of a complicated thing, but just know that the bottom line is that I am in no position to review or pass judgement on Christmas music. However, I know what I like.
1. Jingle Bell Rock - I heard this song for the first time in fifth grade when my class did a winter play. We had to learn this song, among a handful of others, and I fell in love with the tune.
2. The Twelve Pains of Christmas - This spoof on the classic had me howling the first time I heard it as a late teen, and it's just about as funny still.
3. Auld Lang Syne - I freely admit that I like the Dan Fogelberg song, although it isn't actually the same song. Still, it's my list and I can like it if I want to.
4. Do You Hear What I Hear - see number 1; I fell in love with it in fifth grade.
5. a tie for the last slot: Put One Foot in Front of the Other from Santa Claus is Coming to Town, and I'm Mr. Heat Miser from The Year Without a Santa Claus - I'll bet I don't even have to explain the reference here, but just in case, these are two of the old claymation classics, and they are so awesome!
So, what about you?
1. Jingle Bell Rock - I heard this song for the first time in fifth grade when my class did a winter play. We had to learn this song, among a handful of others, and I fell in love with the tune.
2. The Twelve Pains of Christmas - This spoof on the classic had me howling the first time I heard it as a late teen, and it's just about as funny still.
3. Auld Lang Syne - I freely admit that I like the Dan Fogelberg song, although it isn't actually the same song. Still, it's my list and I can like it if I want to.
4. Do You Hear What I Hear - see number 1; I fell in love with it in fifth grade.
5. a tie for the last slot: Put One Foot in Front of the Other from Santa Claus is Coming to Town, and I'm Mr. Heat Miser from The Year Without a Santa Claus - I'll bet I don't even have to explain the reference here, but just in case, these are two of the old claymation classics, and they are so awesome!
So, what about you?
Sunday, December 3, 2006
So You Think Your Kid Can Dance
FirstKid is in a competitive dance troupe, and so far, she's loved every minute of it. In addition to the two and a half hours of regular technique class (ballet, jazz, tap, and pointe), she also goes to a one hour troupe class each week at which the current routine is taught and drilled. Competitions are held about five times per year, and this weekend was the first competition of this year.
I have to admit that the girls were simply out of their league at this event. While they certainly did their best and they looked good to me, they were far behind the other schools' teams in technical ability, polish, and creativity in choreography. Out of all of the schools of dance participating, they were the only school which got no awards at all. From my parental perspective, it makes no difference to me at all whether they win anything or not. The experience of competing and of learning how dance competitions and conventions work is valuable and exciting; the experience itself is the reward. Apparently, however, I am somewhat alone in my opinion.
The kids were understandably disappointed about their lack of awards, but the moms - oh, the moms. Out of the bunch of moms from our group, I was clearly the only one who didn't care about the awards. The rest were divided into two groups: the ones who complained about the teachers, the school, and the competition itself, and the ones who were wildly angry and ranted about the teachers, the school, and the competition itself. That latter group scared me.
Jane (no real names used) has two daughters who dance. Her older one, Sally, is a very talented ballet dancer who "outgrew" our studio, and moved on to a studio where ballet is taken very, very seriously. Her younger one, Molly, finally "outgrew" our current studio, but for her, it was all about the fact that she wasn't winning competitions with her group. She felt that she was capable of more, and may be correct, but more to the point is that she was not satisfied with the girls in the troupe. They didn't "want it" as much as she did. Whether their dancing reflected it or not, I think Molly would have been happier with them if they had been willing to rant and rave and carry on as much as she did. (Of note is that Molly, while technically doing everything right, is not innately graceful.) More significant to me was that Jane was so upset by every aspect of the weekend. The teachers were pathetic, the routines were pathetic, the school's owner was pathetic... You get the point, I'm sure. The first thing out of her mouth when the girls came out of the awards ceremony (empty-handed) was a comment about their loss, not anything about how well they had done, their effort, etc. Jane ignited a whole box of fireworks of comments and conversations, none of which were healthy or helpful. It really bothered me that she would likely be a role model to some of these girls. I didn't want them to think that it was all about winning, but none of the other moms seemed to mind Jane's behavior.
On the way home, I had a talk with FirstKid. I told her how proud I was of her - of her focus, her commitment, her teamwork, her stamina, and most of all, of her smile which lit up the stage. I was very serious, and FirstKid knew that, but she replied to me, "But Mom, we didn't win anything. We stunk!" I said, "Did you do your best? Did you give it your all? Could you have done anything differently?" She understood, and I was even more proud of her because she did understand. We talked a lot about the divas and drama queens, and FirstKid talked about the moms, too. She and I don't have those special mother/daughter moments as often as we used to, now that she's on the verge on teenager-hood, but this was one of those times. She told me how glad she was that I was the kind of mom who supported her all the time and showed my pride whether she won or lost. I know my kid can dance, but even better, I know she knows what's important. My work here is done.
I have to admit that the girls were simply out of their league at this event. While they certainly did their best and they looked good to me, they were far behind the other schools' teams in technical ability, polish, and creativity in choreography. Out of all of the schools of dance participating, they were the only school which got no awards at all. From my parental perspective, it makes no difference to me at all whether they win anything or not. The experience of competing and of learning how dance competitions and conventions work is valuable and exciting; the experience itself is the reward. Apparently, however, I am somewhat alone in my opinion.
The kids were understandably disappointed about their lack of awards, but the moms - oh, the moms. Out of the bunch of moms from our group, I was clearly the only one who didn't care about the awards. The rest were divided into two groups: the ones who complained about the teachers, the school, and the competition itself, and the ones who were wildly angry and ranted about the teachers, the school, and the competition itself. That latter group scared me.
Jane (no real names used) has two daughters who dance. Her older one, Sally, is a very talented ballet dancer who "outgrew" our studio, and moved on to a studio where ballet is taken very, very seriously. Her younger one, Molly, finally "outgrew" our current studio, but for her, it was all about the fact that she wasn't winning competitions with her group. She felt that she was capable of more, and may be correct, but more to the point is that she was not satisfied with the girls in the troupe. They didn't "want it" as much as she did. Whether their dancing reflected it or not, I think Molly would have been happier with them if they had been willing to rant and rave and carry on as much as she did. (Of note is that Molly, while technically doing everything right, is not innately graceful.) More significant to me was that Jane was so upset by every aspect of the weekend. The teachers were pathetic, the routines were pathetic, the school's owner was pathetic... You get the point, I'm sure. The first thing out of her mouth when the girls came out of the awards ceremony (empty-handed) was a comment about their loss, not anything about how well they had done, their effort, etc. Jane ignited a whole box of fireworks of comments and conversations, none of which were healthy or helpful. It really bothered me that she would likely be a role model to some of these girls. I didn't want them to think that it was all about winning, but none of the other moms seemed to mind Jane's behavior.
On the way home, I had a talk with FirstKid. I told her how proud I was of her - of her focus, her commitment, her teamwork, her stamina, and most of all, of her smile which lit up the stage. I was very serious, and FirstKid knew that, but she replied to me, "But Mom, we didn't win anything. We stunk!" I said, "Did you do your best? Did you give it your all? Could you have done anything differently?" She understood, and I was even more proud of her because she did understand. We talked a lot about the divas and drama queens, and FirstKid talked about the moms, too. She and I don't have those special mother/daughter moments as often as we used to, now that she's on the verge on teenager-hood, but this was one of those times. She told me how glad she was that I was the kind of mom who supported her all the time and showed my pride whether she won or lost. I know my kid can dance, but even better, I know she knows what's important. My work here is done.
Friday, November 24, 2006
Make-up!
Remember the Muppet Show and the guy yelling, "Make-up!" every week? I do. It was always funny in that context. In regard to my own tween, it's not exactly as funny.
FirstKid is twelve and in her second year of middle school. She is a foo-foo kind of kid to begin with, but also is, in some ways, in a hurry to grow up. She tells me she sees her school peers wearing tons of make-up every day to school, and she is correct. I've checked it out, and indeed, many girls her age are wearing make-up. However, just because all the other kids' moms let them wear make-up doesn't mean I'll let mine.
I freely admit that I'm old-fashioned. LabDad is, as well, so at least we have a united front at home. I don't swear, gamble, or drink. I don't care for tattoos or odd piercings. It's just how I am. Jackie O was my fashion icon - a black dress and a strand of pearls, and I'm done. That being said, I'd love to say that I'm all for self-expression and diversity, but really, I'm not as open-minded as I ought to be.
Interestingly, over the past few months, a strange thing has happened. When seventh grade hit, FirstKid was all about make-up, accessories, the "right" shirts and jeans. Then, as party and Bar Mitzvah season hit and she found herself invited to a whole lot of fancy affairs, she made sure that the upscale dresses and heels were perfect. She started the season with the usual begging, that she really wanted to wear it, she is old enough, all of other girls are wearing it, and so forth. I admit to giving in, just for the really fancy events, and FirstKid did go easy on the goods: mascara, eye liner, light shadow, and tinted lip gloss. Somehow, though, over the past month, the party make-up has all but disappeared, and the daily routine is just mascara (she has blonde eyelashes, so I sort of understand).
Just when you think you have it all figured out, the rules change.
FirstKid is twelve and in her second year of middle school. She is a foo-foo kind of kid to begin with, but also is, in some ways, in a hurry to grow up. She tells me she sees her school peers wearing tons of make-up every day to school, and she is correct. I've checked it out, and indeed, many girls her age are wearing make-up. However, just because all the other kids' moms let them wear make-up doesn't mean I'll let mine.
I freely admit that I'm old-fashioned. LabDad is, as well, so at least we have a united front at home. I don't swear, gamble, or drink. I don't care for tattoos or odd piercings. It's just how I am. Jackie O was my fashion icon - a black dress and a strand of pearls, and I'm done. That being said, I'd love to say that I'm all for self-expression and diversity, but really, I'm not as open-minded as I ought to be.
Interestingly, over the past few months, a strange thing has happened. When seventh grade hit, FirstKid was all about make-up, accessories, the "right" shirts and jeans. Then, as party and Bar Mitzvah season hit and she found herself invited to a whole lot of fancy affairs, she made sure that the upscale dresses and heels were perfect. She started the season with the usual begging, that she really wanted to wear it, she is old enough, all of other girls are wearing it, and so forth. I admit to giving in, just for the really fancy events, and FirstKid did go easy on the goods: mascara, eye liner, light shadow, and tinted lip gloss. Somehow, though, over the past month, the party make-up has all but disappeared, and the daily routine is just mascara (she has blonde eyelashes, so I sort of understand).
Just when you think you have it all figured out, the rules change.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Turducken
I have a good friend who recently made a point of worrying about her fascination with certain words, and her subsequent brief episodes of obsession with them. While I, too, find myself fascinated with certain words and/or hung up on them, I believe my own obsession is more with the word's meaning itself. To illustrate this point, I would have you consider "turducken."
The local supermarket advertised in its pre-Thanksgiving flyer that it would be selling turducken. What exactly is turducken, you ask, as did I? It is a "roast" comprised of pieces of turkey, duck, and chicken, along with nuts and assorted filler stuff. Apparently, it is a desirable item. Or so they lead us to believe.
I guess the first scary part was that, upon seeing the ad, my husband said, "Oh, I want to try that." At first, I thought he was joking. Then he went on to discuss how it sounded like a good choice for a family meal. I suppose that the idea should not have been so objectionable to me. After all, I like turkey, I like duck, and I like chicken. Why, then, was I so skeeved out by this turducken idea?
I do not like turducken, dear,
I do not like it there or here.
I do not like those pieces parts,
That look like squid and smell like farts.
I like my poultry with a face,
Having grown in farming space.
I like a dinner that was killed,
Not mashed together from what spilled.
Turducken is, then, not for me,
So take that roast and let me be!
I tried to be rational, and the one word that kept coming to mind was "Spam." Now, to be truthful, I have never actually eaten Spam. I have seen it up close, and I have been with people while they were eating it. I even occasionally eat ham myself, so it isn't the main ingredient that's a problem. The thing is, though, that I am totally and completely grossed out by Spam. It's an irrational opinion, yet it is real. Okay, so is Spam the reason that I find turducken to be so disgusting?
I don't have an answer, in theory, but by next weekend, I hope to have a report on the real life experience of having turducken in the house.
The local supermarket advertised in its pre-Thanksgiving flyer that it would be selling turducken. What exactly is turducken, you ask, as did I? It is a "roast" comprised of pieces of turkey, duck, and chicken, along with nuts and assorted filler stuff. Apparently, it is a desirable item. Or so they lead us to believe.
I guess the first scary part was that, upon seeing the ad, my husband said, "Oh, I want to try that." At first, I thought he was joking. Then he went on to discuss how it sounded like a good choice for a family meal. I suppose that the idea should not have been so objectionable to me. After all, I like turkey, I like duck, and I like chicken. Why, then, was I so skeeved out by this turducken idea?
I do not like turducken, dear,
I do not like it there or here.
I do not like those pieces parts,
That look like squid and smell like farts.
I like my poultry with a face,
Having grown in farming space.
I like a dinner that was killed,
Not mashed together from what spilled.
Turducken is, then, not for me,
So take that roast and let me be!
I tried to be rational, and the one word that kept coming to mind was "Spam." Now, to be truthful, I have never actually eaten Spam. I have seen it up close, and I have been with people while they were eating it. I even occasionally eat ham myself, so it isn't the main ingredient that's a problem. The thing is, though, that I am totally and completely grossed out by Spam. It's an irrational opinion, yet it is real. Okay, so is Spam the reason that I find turducken to be so disgusting?
I don't have an answer, in theory, but by next weekend, I hope to have a report on the real life experience of having turducken in the house.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Tweens
And I thought raising a puppy was challenging...
I have two daughters. FirstKid is 12 and SecondKid is 9. While I absolutely adore them both, FirstKid is not only higher maintenance in general, but she's also at THAT AGE. She is a true "tween" now - that scary stage that is between childhood and real teenagerhood. She secretly plays with dolls with the one remaining friend who also secretly still loves dolls; she likes to snuggle in bed with Mom and Dad every once in a while; and she is still slightly afraid of the dark. At the same time, she likes to babysit; she loves being independent and shopping with her friends at the mall; and she carries a cell phone. The trouble lays not in the process of metamorphosis, but in the attitude the caterpillar gives to Mom and Dad on a daily basis.
Tween Rules:
1. Mom and Dad know nothing, and they know less if my friends are around.
2. Mom and Dad only understand me if I yell all answers.
3. If Mom and Dad like it, I shouldn't wear it.
4. If Mom says no, ask Dad and pretend it's a new thought.
5. Treat all siblings as poorly as possible.
6. Disagree with or correct Mom and Dad at all times.
7. A huge after school snack will not ruin my appetite for dinner.
8. Television helps schoolwork.
9. Mom and Dad have to drive me wherever I want to go, whenever I ask, and immediately.
10. If I forget to take to school something like my trombone, it's Mom or Dad's job to drive it to school for me.
I gave birth to a delightful blonde baby who was full of smiles and loved to talk. My current housemate likes to correct every action I perform, is negative most of the time, and is impossible to squeeze for information. When did she make her cocoon? When did she poke a hole from which to look around and check the world out?
SecondKid is still in the delightful, obedient, helpful stage. I can only hope it lasts before that nasty caterpillar does its thing again. Of course, by then, my butterfly will hopefully be flying around, finding different ways each day to fill her life with joy.
I have two daughters. FirstKid is 12 and SecondKid is 9. While I absolutely adore them both, FirstKid is not only higher maintenance in general, but she's also at THAT AGE. She is a true "tween" now - that scary stage that is between childhood and real teenagerhood. She secretly plays with dolls with the one remaining friend who also secretly still loves dolls; she likes to snuggle in bed with Mom and Dad every once in a while; and she is still slightly afraid of the dark. At the same time, she likes to babysit; she loves being independent and shopping with her friends at the mall; and she carries a cell phone. The trouble lays not in the process of metamorphosis, but in the attitude the caterpillar gives to Mom and Dad on a daily basis.
Tween Rules:
1. Mom and Dad know nothing, and they know less if my friends are around.
2. Mom and Dad only understand me if I yell all answers.
3. If Mom and Dad like it, I shouldn't wear it.
4. If Mom says no, ask Dad and pretend it's a new thought.
5. Treat all siblings as poorly as possible.
6. Disagree with or correct Mom and Dad at all times.
7. A huge after school snack will not ruin my appetite for dinner.
8. Television helps schoolwork.
9. Mom and Dad have to drive me wherever I want to go, whenever I ask, and immediately.
10. If I forget to take to school something like my trombone, it's Mom or Dad's job to drive it to school for me.
I gave birth to a delightful blonde baby who was full of smiles and loved to talk. My current housemate likes to correct every action I perform, is negative most of the time, and is impossible to squeeze for information. When did she make her cocoon? When did she poke a hole from which to look around and check the world out?
SecondKid is still in the delightful, obedient, helpful stage. I can only hope it lasts before that nasty caterpillar does its thing again. Of course, by then, my butterfly will hopefully be flying around, finding different ways each day to fill her life with joy.
Monday, November 20, 2006
This is my first REAL post, and since I have this cool title to my blog, I'll start with black labs. The honest truth is that I fell madly in love at age eight.
(Sung to the tune of "Copa Cabana")
His name was Pepper
He was a blockhead
With no leash upon his neck
He was really smart as heck
His owner brought him
Each week to practice
I rubbed his back and face and chin
Then my girlish head would spin
I knew I loved that pup
And when I grew up
I just had to have a lab
I had that canine "kup" (that's Yiddish for head or mindset)
Okay, okay, I'm just being silly. It is the truth, though, that I fell for a dog named Pepper at choir practice. His owner never had him on a leash because he didn't need one. He obeyed. He sat quietly. He endured children including me. He was smart and friendly and I began my fantasy of owning a black lab of my own some day. Six weeks after my husband and I bought our first house, we had a baby girl - an AKC registered female named Cricket. She was the sweetest thing - probably the dumbest, as well, but sweetest. I say she was dumb because if she was in the bathroom which had two doors and one was shut, she couldn't find her way out. On the other hand, she figured out how to work the step-on mechanism on the trash compactor and used it as a self-serve snack machine.
I'm going to fast forward to many years later (I'll post on the middle years at a later date.), a year after Cricket passed away and we were a family with a palpable hole in it. We heard that a direct descendant of the original Pepper was pregnant and expecting a litter of all blacks soon. Well, we just HAD to have one of Pepper's great-great-great...grandpups, and shortly found ourselves bringing home an eight week old, fifteen pound bundle of joy whom we reverently named Pepper.
Pepper is presently a 95 lb. GORGEOUS boy. He has a perfect block head, big paws, and a picturesque physique worthy of a calendar. While he has outgrown the obligatory mischievous puppyhood, he still has a few moments when he deserves the "I can't control myself" sign hung on him as he faces the wall in the corner. He cannot resist eating flip-flops; he nibbles trash novels; he gets high off of dirty sweat socks. On the other hand, he almost never barks, he freezes when he sees a squirrel or cat (like when the kids play the statue game), and he doesn't drink from the toilet. He is always in a good mood, and always has a wiggle for visitors. Regrettably, he is not a kissy dog, but he does prefer closeness, and his snuggle on the couch is worthy of attention. At two and a half years old, Pepper is the near perfect model of a suburban dog.
I'll tell you more later, but for now, suffice to say that I am truly in love with this beast.
(Sung to the tune of "Copa Cabana")
His name was Pepper
He was a blockhead
With no leash upon his neck
He was really smart as heck
His owner brought him
Each week to practice
I rubbed his back and face and chin
Then my girlish head would spin
I knew I loved that pup
And when I grew up
I just had to have a lab
I had that canine "kup" (that's Yiddish for head or mindset)
Okay, okay, I'm just being silly. It is the truth, though, that I fell for a dog named Pepper at choir practice. His owner never had him on a leash because he didn't need one. He obeyed. He sat quietly. He endured children including me. He was smart and friendly and I began my fantasy of owning a black lab of my own some day. Six weeks after my husband and I bought our first house, we had a baby girl - an AKC registered female named Cricket. She was the sweetest thing - probably the dumbest, as well, but sweetest. I say she was dumb because if she was in the bathroom which had two doors and one was shut, she couldn't find her way out. On the other hand, she figured out how to work the step-on mechanism on the trash compactor and used it as a self-serve snack machine.
I'm going to fast forward to many years later (I'll post on the middle years at a later date.), a year after Cricket passed away and we were a family with a palpable hole in it. We heard that a direct descendant of the original Pepper was pregnant and expecting a litter of all blacks soon. Well, we just HAD to have one of Pepper's great-great-great...grandpups, and shortly found ourselves bringing home an eight week old, fifteen pound bundle of joy whom we reverently named Pepper.
Pepper is presently a 95 lb. GORGEOUS boy. He has a perfect block head, big paws, and a picturesque physique worthy of a calendar. While he has outgrown the obligatory mischievous puppyhood, he still has a few moments when he deserves the "I can't control myself" sign hung on him as he faces the wall in the corner. He cannot resist eating flip-flops; he nibbles trash novels; he gets high off of dirty sweat socks. On the other hand, he almost never barks, he freezes when he sees a squirrel or cat (like when the kids play the statue game), and he doesn't drink from the toilet. He is always in a good mood, and always has a wiggle for visitors. Regrettably, he is not a kissy dog, but he does prefer closeness, and his snuggle on the couch is worthy of attention. At two and a half years old, Pepper is the near perfect model of a suburban dog.
I'll tell you more later, but for now, suffice to say that I am truly in love with this beast.
Look out, bloggers, 'cuz here I come!
I've been secretly wanting to create my own blog for a while now, but it took a friend's gentle shove to get me to do it. I feel as if I just moved into a gigantic empty house - the potential is so exciting! I have to stop writing now, just to see what this looks like. I'll be right back.
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