Christmas, It's Just A Trip Up 295 and Over The Bridge

The other day, I was snuggling in close to Gracie on the sofa. She looks at me so intent, so sweet and she says, "Mommy? Is Christmas gone forever?" I chuckle to myself a little and answer her the best way that I could think of at that moment and reply, "No, honey. It's not gone forever. It's just not Christmastime now."
"Oh." She says and thinks on that for a moment. She then asks, "Well, when will it be Christmastime again?" I say to her, "Well, it's Spring now. Christmas is in the winter. Christmas is far away."
"Oooooohhhh." she says again. By George, I think she's got it. Her eyes get all wide and I can see that she understands now. "So Christmas is far away. Like New Jersey?"

Mother's Blues

Three years ago, the famiglia de Ravioli really struggled.
We threw our hands up in the air.
We huffed and puffed.
We shook our heads in resignation.
We wondered What in the hell is going on? What did we do wrong? What can we do now?

Connor was struggling and as a result we were struggling too.
I knew before I knew that this was beyond us and we'd have to get help.
And we did.
And things were good.

He finished kindergarten without major incident.
And he is barely receiving any "extra" help or services.

We've seen some old behaviors/issues peak out of old, long forgotten places.

And we've seen some new things come up.

The summer has been rough.

And now he's heading to 1st grade.
Where he'll be expected to sit at a desk.
I well up with tears and feel a sneaking claw of panic grip my throat and chest.

Because we have to start over with a new teacher.
She has to figure out Connor.
He's a complicated fellow.
And yet at the same time, so easy to figure out.
Which makes it even more complex and complicated in the difficult simplicity of his personality.

I panic because a lot of his own family and friends don't understand him.
Do not understand that his lack of physical/eye contact isn't a personal affront.
They don't understand how full his mind is. And how when it gets too full he bursts at the seams.

They don't understand that his desire to hide when entering a new social situation is not
because he doesn't want to see them, it's because his body processes commotion and change
much differently than the rest of us.

My heart still breaks for the kid, my kid, our kid
that many people will not get to know.
Because they leave his aloofness at the door and handle him at arm's length.
Simply because they just
don't understand or try to.
Or pretend to.
But we see the difference between true, genuine love and acceptance
and the feigned.
Parents can tell the difference.
And so can the kids.
He can tell.

And I just want to scream and cry and thrash on the floor and kick people in the shins
because it's just so unfair and damned frustrating.

4 Years and Several Pounds Ago

I gave birth to Gracie.
On July 22, 2004.

My pregnancy caused great stress and I wondered how we would get through.
A double-blow was dealt when I found out that we were having a girl.
I wondered how.

How I would mother a girl.
I knew love and hugs would be involved. That's easy.
But it was all of that other stuff.

Needless to say, it's been fine.
Beyond fine.
I still struggle with the horror of horrors:
Princess crap.
I draw the line at tiaras and clothing with the words princess on it.
But she's a girl.
Through and through.

Despite being my daughter, she is my rock.
She has no idea that there are days when she is what is holding me together.
And I recognize that might not be good.
But all it takes is for her to smile or touch me.
And I know it will all be OK.

She is full of something that I will never possess.
She is what would happen if you mixed the very best parts of Rav and I
but only
made it better.
She is that fantabulous.

I love my daughter.
My girl.
Happy Birthday, my little lovely.

Here is your (latest) favorite song.
May you hold it close. And remember it is so true.

My Latest Obsession

I know I've been sparce.
Beautiful weather has been beckoning the famiglia de Ravioli outside.
And I'm weak.
I'm a sucker for warm, sunny days.
And the smell of Water Babies sunblock on my kids' rounded arms.
All while I hold a sweaty glass bottle in my hand and throw my head back to wash the
cold adult beverage down my dry throat.
This song goes well with all of that.

Cape Cod Kwasaa Kwasaa by Vampire Weekend

Fear

I thought I knew what it was.
I mean, what it really was.
Looking back, I see that I was a fool and that I had very little understanding of the true meaning of the word.
I was a fool to think that the pounding in my chest and the wide-eyed, deer-in-head-lights look equaled fear.
I thought that the whole numb feeling in my limbs was a sign that I was truly afraid.
Afraid, for instance, to be alone in the dark, afraid of what it meant to have a step-parent, afraid of a sub-standard test grade and what consequences were in store when I would come home from school, afraid of being found out.
At the time, it seemed legitimate.
Now I know better.

Something I read brought the visuals back to me.
Reminded me of my fear of losing him - losing either one of them.
It once was a distant thought. Just out of my reach. Something I never thought I'd have to face.
But the fact that one day, he came so close to being gone, rocks me to my core.
The words I read - words belonging to someone else - brought back the images I thought I had somehow managed to forget.
How naive and egotistical of me to think that?
How could I possibly forget?

How could I, his mother, forget that I turned my back, or that I was that stupid, that I would take such a chance with something so precious?

Why on Earth would I think, for a second, that I would be able to block out of my mind the look on his face - the fear and desperation in his eyes?
Or worse yet - what he was probably thinking, during those water-filled moments.
Things like Why is it taking so long? When will she notice that I am submerged and come over and get me?
I imagine that those moments must have felt like an eternity to him.

Is that part of our mother-son bond now?
The fact that we both now know what fear really means?
If so, it is not a glowing testament on my part, as a mother.

I wonder if that is the day my creativity, my words, got left at the side of the pool?
Because looking back, I haven't been the same since that day.
I even feel silly saying that, because I - we - were blessed with a happy ending.
But the guilt, the images, the fear just won't go away.

Writing about this makes me feel guilty.
Self-absorbed
and even throw in a dash of
self-pity.

I feel like writing it out like this, makes it sound as if it is all about me, how I feel, how I can't shake the images that repeat themselves in my mind's eye. How terrified they make me feel. Even now that it has been almost 8 months ago...It's a vicious mental cycle I am in.
Shouldn't it be about him?

I guess I just want him to know I'm better than that horrific moment in our history.
I guess I just want to know I'm better than that horrific moment in our history.

Have It Or You Don't?

Compassion.

This question has been rattling around my brain for a few weeks now & it keeps popping up in unlikely places.

It first came to me as a topic for much heated internal dialogue, after Connor's conference.
(because I'm oh-so neurotic and analytical like that).
His teacher asked us what qualities we like most about Connor.
My answer was his heart - his compassion.
And his teacher agreed and then she said:
That's something you either have or you don't.

I thought this most interesting of a statement.
And quite honestly, it's not something that I ever stopped to really think about before.
It may be elementary, but I've missed out on many things/thoughts that are elementary.

I haven't missed out on it for lack of having it.
That is one thing I can easily say about myself - I am compassionate.
Probably to a fault.

But the idea that people are out there, walking around right now, with no ability or chance of ever having compassion boggles my mind.

I've heard the ever popular
that's how you have sociopaths.

Agreed. I understand that is what makes them so.
But my mind wanders to the possibility that there is more than the lack of compassion at work there.
That the lack of it is a symptom (for lack of a better word).

My bleeding heart self feels that everyone is born with some semblance of compassion, but it is our context, or our nurture, that helps to foster it.
And maybe that is simply just an idealistic way of looking at it.
From the informal "data" that I have collected thus far, I seem to be the only one who thinks this.

I look at my kids - who clearly have compassion for others - and wonder if it is something they have simply learned. And then I wonder how? They have not seen me hand umbrellas out to strangers on a rainy day, they have not been with me when I have handed food out to a stranger.
I realize my compassion extends farther than these two scenarios.
But I wonder if they already had it - and we simply foster it.
Or if it is a completely learned quality/value?

So what say all of you out there?
Do you think compassion is something you either have or you don't?

These Will Have To Do

Here are just some random images I thought I would share.
Because right now, my mind is too empty and too full.
If that makes any kind of sense.

Jug-gernaut

Early Tuesday morning and I am getting dressed slowly, wearily.
That three day weekend we just had went way too fast.


I'm in a trance-like state.
My eyes are open.
It looks as if I am watching the Today show while I slide on my jeans
and look from left to right as I find my shirt.
But I'm not yet awake.


The kids flutter about.
In and out of the room.
Here and there.
Up and down.
Under foot, over foot.

They are entirely too alert for this ungodly hour
and their presence of mind is just beginning to piss me off when I hear...


Hey, Mom! Look! I just found a really cool catapult.

I groggily turn from the TV to the floor where my eldest sits. As he holds his latest prized possession in his hands. He's moving it all about, trying to figure out how to get it to work.
I begin to chuckle despite myself and I reply with...

That's not a catapult, Connor. That is mommy's bra. Can I please have it so I can finish getting dressed?


He was crestfallen that I had just taken away his means of entertainment.
I'm not sure how I feel about wearing something that he considers large enough to call a catapult.

What's It Lke Inside That Head Of Yours, Connor?

We have conferences next week at Connor's school.
I always look forward to these.
I'm most interested to hear what the teacher has learned about Connor and to hear about his progress.

I'm a smart mom.
I know my kid is a genius.
But a mom just likes to hear it over and over again, ya know?


I know words like
stubborn
inattentive
emotional
might be thrown about.
But that's OK.
It's part of his, um,
genius.
OK?
OK.

In an attempt to get to know each child better, the teacher sent home a paper asking about the kindergarten experience thus far.
The things your child especially likes, dislikes, what they say about school, etc.
And the teacher has asked that we bring it in for our conference.


I sat down and began asking Connor the two that seemed the easiest to answer.
The things he likes best about school
and the things he likes the least.


Some of the things he likes best are:
friend of the day
the green playground
the little blocks
Ms. Morris' hair (the librarian) - and OMG, did my son just say that? I need to check this woman out.
housekeeping


Some of the things he likes the least are:
gym
music
art
the blue playground
crayons AND pencils
group time.


I was intrigued by his answer of group time. So I say to my boy Why don't you like group time?
To which he says - (get ready for this...)

I get all sweaty at group time and it makes my belly hurt.


My dear, sweet, nervous boy.
I know exactly what you mean. When mommy is at school and she has to talk in front of people, she feels the same way bud. The exact.same.way.
You get it honest.
************************************************

Tonight is Halloween.
And I am sorry to say that I left my creativity back in Halloween of '06 and did not make anyone's costume this year.

Tonigth we will do what we have done for the past 2 years.
We will go to our friend's house - B & D.
Their three kids and our two get along famously.
Gracie even declared that N was her boyfriend.
We will order pizza and beg for candy in their neighborhood (it's a much safer 'hood than ours.). In fact ours would qualify for a 'hood status. Theirs does not.

Be safe tonight everyone.
And have a great time!

Teach Your Children Well

Set the scene:
Late Saturday evening, after we all came back home from a grown-up time in Baltimore and the kids having grandparent time. Rav & I begin bedding down for the night.

We were chatting and canoodling and just generally being cutesy before bed.

And Action!
We heard Connor get out of bed and make his way into the bathroom.
We stopped our little flirtation to listen and we heard Connor began to expell his stream.
And as this happened there was an unusual um, tone to it.
We both look at each other and mirrored identical looks and passed identical thoughts:
That doesn't sound good.

Rav jumps up and heads into the hallway to find a stream of pee followed by a puddle.

The stream is making it's way from the doorway of the chilun's bedroom, making a vast arc, and collecting in a pool on the hallway floor.

There is our son, with his pants around his ankles in all his glory.
Really, there was nothing left to do but let him finish at that point.

Rav asks Connor with a hint of exasperation and alarm in his voice
Buddy!? What are you doing?!
To which Connor replies as he begins to sob a little
Gracie told me to do it!!!!

Meanwhile, Gracie is entrenched in slumber.

Rav cleans things up as I sit laughing from the bed.
This did not amuse him at all.
And obviously, it wasn't the bathroom that we heard Connor walking to. Just his doorway which in his dazed state must resemble a toilet.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Sunday we made our way down to see Three Dog Night Dad, Eileen, and my brothers.
Half-way there, Connor says to me
Mom. I didn't know that your brothers were around when Mimi and Pop-Pop were married.

I said They weren't around Connor. I was the only one.
Curiousity grips him firmly and he says
Well how did Uncle Kenny & Uncle Ian become your brothers?

I explained plainly Well. When Mimi & Pop-Pop were done being married, Pop-Pop met Mom-mom and married her.....
and as I begin to explain that my brothers are my brothers because we share the same dad, Connor breaks in with this:

OH!!!! I see. It was a switch-off marry.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Connor comes home from school on a daily basis with a worksheet that is broken down into two parts. The top part has four empty boxes to draw in and the bottom part is where the practice the letter they are working on that day.

Yesterday, the class worked on the letter 'T'.

I saw that he had drawn a turtle.

He had even written our last name, which has two T's in it.

He drew a train.

And the last picture was less recognizeable.

I ask Connor to identify for me the picture he had drawn.

He clucked a little and says It's a toilet!!!

He Double-Fists - With Crayola

A couple of weeks ago, we were out to dinner with the kids and my BFF.
(oh, what a rarity. We just don't do restaurants with both of the kids. Unless it is the diner for breakfast).
I happened to have a box of crayons in Gracie's bag.
And the kids set to work coloring the fronts and backs of every placemat they could get their hands on.

Connor was sitting to the right of me and I looked over at him.
He had a green crayon in one hand
and a red one in the other.

And he began writing his name.
With both hands.
Two letters at the same time.
And his hands were moving in opposite diretions of each other.

His name looked perfect.
There were no mistakes.

My jaw flew open and plopped itself into my bowl of soup.
I asked him to do it again.
And he freaking-fracking did!

Has anyone else ever seen this?
Tonight is open-house at his school and I'm hoping to run into the Occupational Therapist.

On a side note, I tried this out myself.
And I couldn't do it.
Not to mention, it looked terribly sloppy.
Whereas Connor's looked perfect.

Weird?
Or just me?

Apparently I Am The Queen Mum

Last night, I got approximately 1.4 hours of sleep.

I have a cold that is sticking it to me where the sun don't shine.

And it is that reason that I did not sleep last night.

Oh, how I wished that I did not have to shower, get dressed, drive to work and put on a happy face for my cute little preschoolers.

I just wanted to stay in bed.

Scratch that.

It wasn't necessarily that I wanted to stay in bed.

I needed to stay in bed.

Alas, I got dressed and waited for the day to get started.

I was taking care of some last minute curriculum planning this morning when the phone rings.

And it's Rav.

He is on his way to drop Gracie off at my in-laws to be cared for while we work.

Rav says You want to hear something funny?

I think to myself: as long as it's funny a la it's actually Saturday morning and we've all gotten our days screwed up, which means I can go back to bed. That's the only funny I want to hear.

But that would be mean to tell him to shove it.

So I say Yeah, I guess. (which is oh, so much better)

He says So, we're in the car and I say to Gracie 'Who is my most special girl?' And she says, 'ME!!!'. And then I say to her 'Are you my princess?'. To which she replies 'No. No I am not a princess! You can just call me Queen.'

I laugh genuinely and say Oh, no. That is just no good.

Rav says Yeah. I thought I'd just share that with you so we both know what we're up against.

True dat.

Sunday Morning Song of the Moment

I really have been out of the music loop lately. I'm usually on the prowl for little known artists and songs. But so many other things have been keeping me away from it.

Things like my first baby heading off to all-day kindergarten.
And this fact has had me reflecting quite a bit about just how fast time flies.

We were visiting parents of some good friends of ours last weekend.
And we began to talk about the kids.
And I said to Mr. & Mrs. S. It seems like it was just five minutes ago we came over here with Connor in his infant car seat.
Really.
It does feel like that was just five minutes ago.
I've been trying to remind myself that our financial situation isn't always going to be like this.
The kids won't be this little that much longer, that I'll be finished school sometime soon, and things will change.

And all of this is good.
All of it.
The hard, the easy, the heart-wrenching, the anticipation.

And the other thing?
I am happy.
We are happy.

And nothing encapsulates all of this for me like the following song.
Mushaboom by Feist

On Yesterdays and Tomorrows

When I think about how to make this world a better place, I instantly look to the generation that is waiting-in-the-wings.
The ones that don't even know that the weight has been placed upon them.
I think about what a load that is for these up-comers to bear. Considering their ages haven't even hit double-digits yet.
That it is completely up to them to rid the world of the nasties.

But that is faulty logic.
We, the adults - the generation of the now, might not be able to fix things but it is up to us to set the examples and to lead accordingly.

I got to thinking about how my compassionate heart became that way. How as much of a spit-fire I can be IRL, I am or try to be, kind. I tend to see things that others might not where other people are concerned.
And I got to thinking about how that came about.
I reflected on the adults in my life that fashioned and molded me. The adults who made the most postive lasting impressions.

You all are probably rolling your eyes and sighing, saying to yourselves Yeah, we know. We know. Your dad and that damned reggae music. Sheesh. Shut your pie-hole, would ya?

And while yes, my dad had the major positive influence on me, my compassion, my kindness, my manners came from my grandmother (my dad's mom).
She was the one that taught me to think of others first.
To always be polite.
To welcome anyone - to try and make them feel at home.
If anything, my grandmother was about propriety. And I don't mean that in a snooty way.
She just strongly felt that you should act a certain way to other people. And that way was always kind and polite.
And many others had their hands in the pot as far as the shaping-of-me went.
There were religious leaders, parishioners of our church, teachers, other relatives, etc.

It certainly wasn't any one person.
There were many.

I see how our society really gears toward the individualistic approach to things and I can't help but to think how sad it is.
And I reflect about how we push our kids to be independent, to not need anyone. Or at least need others as little as possible.
And then how shocked we are when they do find their wings and find their way and gain that independence, we scratch our heads and wonder
Why don't they need us? Why don't they come around?

I think about the gaping hole that would be left behind in my spirit or creative mind had I not been influenced by Mrs. Duncan, my 4th & 5th grade art teacher.
The battered little girl (emotionally) who never asked for hugs, but got them on a daily basis from Mrs. Bridge nee Pokoiski.
Or the feeling of belonging to something bigger at Christ Episcopal Church because of Rev. Lindermann, Mrs. Budd, Mr. & Mrs. Warren, Mr. Mitchell, Mrs. Bright, Mrs. Bonner and all of my friends in my sunday school class.
Or the unconditional love from Aunt Marie, Aunt Vicki, my Dad, Eileen (my stepmom), and my younger brothers and my mom.
The list could go on.

I might be in my metamorphosis stage right now. And I am certainly still working on myself to help better the world. I'm still trying to figure out what that means for me, exactly.
And those people above had a hand in it.
When I feel my heart overflow for someone, it is because of the love and caring that these people have showered on me.

And adults everywhere should be so mindful of the little eyes that look up to us and the little hands that need holding.
While they may be the future
We are the now.

Magic In The Night

**Edited to add a Youtube video**
At the end of a long, hard day I make my way up the steps to take my place next to my beloved.
Nothing feels better than my side of the bed, feeling the warm, electric skin of my man on his side. It's what keeps me hanging on.

The steps lead me to my peaceful spot.
And as I ascend, ghosts of the day travel them with me.
Countless trips up and down them by clopping kid feet.
It reverberates and haunts - these apparitions that flash by and through me as I make my way up to the spot that is calling me.
I can hear the echo of a giggle or a jump from the last step to the living room floor.
But I know my kids are safe and sound asleep in their beds.

My kids.
My kids.
My kids.

They are kids.
As much as I hold on to the last shred of baby that they may still carry hidden.
It's the baby in them that only I can see, as their mom.
Their mom.
Their mom.
Their mom.

Sometimes I long to hold their little tiny baby butts in my arms.
To feel that soft, hard lump on my forearm.
To smell their baby smell.
To touch their baby cheeks.

I reach the top of the steps and all these thoughts float and disappear into the air with the ghosts of the day.
And I stand in front of two doors.
One is my refuge.
And one is full of magic.

The magic of what happens in the night when peace washes over these kids. My kids.
The magic that transforms them from the kids they are becoming
and shines a light onto the babies that are still there on the inside and by some trick you can still see only when they sleep.

It is a secret that I've kept and have now unearthed.
The magic that I see in the night.
To revisit that babyhood.
For only a minute before I bed down next to my love.
The love and the man that helped create that magic.

The Art of Calling 'Em Like You See 'Em

My daughter has recently become very interested in other little girls.

So when she sees them when we're out at the store, waiting to pick Connor up from school, or walking by our house she waves enthusiastically and says hello.

Seems rather harmless, right?

It even seems a bit nice.

I should be proud that my little girl is so friendly.

I am. Really.

Until.....

The other night the famiglia de Ravioli was heading out to pick up a dress that my BFF's daughter was lending me for that wedding we attended on Saturday.

We were walking out the door and as we are doing so, Gracie spots two girls walking down the sidewalk in front of our house.

Like the sweet little darling she is, she is waving at them like there is no tomorrow and saying Hi!!!! (she's so enthusiastic about this)

The older of the two girls (in her teens) smiles, laughs and says Hi.

Gracie is so enthusiastic, remember.

She is still waving and saying hi.

But she hasn't heard a response from the younger girl. Only the older girl.

The younger girl is wearing a black eye patch.

We've seen her before in the neighborhood and she is always wearing the eye patch.

So Gracie in all of her waving enthusiasm says

Hi!!!!!

Hi, pirate!!!!!

I quickly scoot her over to the car, where I commence doubling over and try to stifle fits of laughter.

Because it was so wrong.

And she didn't mean to be.

But she was.

Rav caught on to what happened (he's a quick one, my man).

And we're both caught in a fit of laughter that is probably considered inappropriate.

But what are we to do?

The kids catch on to what we are laughing at.

And the entire way down to my BFF's house we hear from the back seat, in unison

Hi!!!!!

Hi, pirate!!!!

The Sweet Sounds of Morning Conversation

Me: (laying in bed, stretching, yawning) I got absolutely no f*cking sleep last night.


Rav: (laying in bed, stretching, yawning) I think I slept OK. Until that little bitch Dora woke me up! The TV was on all night and I didn't hear a thing, but I heard that sh*t at 6:00 a.m. and popped right up.


Me: (now laughing) Me too!!! I had finally fallen asleep and that f*cking song woke me up out of a dead sleep.


Rav: (now getting pissy and singing) F*cking "Dora, Dora, Dora the Explorer!"......"I'm the map, I'm the map, I'm the map. If there's a place you gotta go, I'm the one you need to know. I'm the map". F*cking Dora. I hate that little b*tch.



Me: (laughing uncontrollably and thinking to myself that this would make great blog fodder).



It's the little stuff, you know? The little stuff like cursing like sailors at 6:20 a.m.

It truly is the sign of a great day ahead.

The Day My Heart Went Walking Outside Of My Body

About an hour ago, we dropped our first-born off for his first day of all-day kindergarten. As much as I have been looking forward to this, I was the only tearful mom in the school lobby. I couldn't hold back the tears off happiness for my boy's new adventure, the longing of days now gone by, worry, and trepidation from starting something new. This is the first real step in the separation that begins between momma and her cub. It is necessary and hard.

But it is good too. Deep down I am happy.
My heart aches a little for the profound silence in the house.
But it is good.

My main goal is to have my children fly - to soar. And they are getting there.
His feet are just barely off of the ground. But they are. And I am proud and happy.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Making the decision to have a child - it's momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking outside of your body. ~ Elizabeth Stone

Beware: kids next door are the nasty neighbors

Today I was getting dressed to head into my new/old work to get the room set-up for Open House next week.
And while I was getting dressed I had the TV tuned in to the Today Show (I don't even know why I torture myself with it anymore).
And when I happened to turn it on, the segment that was on was about Tips To Avoid Nasty Neighbors or some such nonsense when you are in the market of buying a new home.
Some of the "tips" made sense. Most of them seemed utterly ridiculous. And some tips were missed all together.
Some of the no-no's were:
-don't buy a house that is on a garbage route (um, hello. aren't we all on a garbage route?)
-don't buy a house that is next door to a Halfway House (this bothered me)
-don't buy a house near a 4 way stop/intersection
-don't buy a house near a bus stop

Some of the one's I think were missed were:
-don't buy a house near train tracks
-don't buy a house near a nuclear power plant
-don't buy a house near an airport
-don't buy a house on an ambulance route
-don't buy a house near a highway/freeway/or road
-don't buy a house near a foghorn
-don't buy a house near a firestation
***note*** some of these are my being irritated and sarcastic

But what really bothered me was that the woman who was being interviewed made the suggestion that you go and ride by the house you are looking at during rush hour so that you can see who the screaming moms are. And you can see which houses use a basketball hoop, a skateboard ramp, and/or trampoline.

What is the deal? Why are you targeting "screaming moms" and kids?

Look, I understand kids are noisy.
And so are their parents.
I understand people wanting a peaceful place to live.
And if you can believe this or not, people with kids even want a peaceful place to live.

Is it seriously offensive to hear kids at play?
Is that really such an awful sound?
Are we becoming so serious and uptight of a society that we can handle hearing a lawn mower symphony at 8:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning, but can't handle the giggles of kids who are bouncing on a trampoline?
I would certainly rather hear the sounds of police and ambulance sirens than hear kids playing basketball.
Woudln't you? (again, with the sarcasm)

Like I said, I totally understand kids can be a royal pain in the ass.
They make noise.
Is that such a news flash?
But I almost feel that people with kids are being lumped into the not in my backyard, not in my neighborhood pot.

Sunday Morning Song of the Moment

As you know, I've been struggling for content. And a silly little story came to mind that I thought I would share.
Picture it.
Delaware.
2007.
In an elementary classroom about 20 families squeeze in the hot, cramped art room.
Some sit down at tables.
Some stand around the perimeter of the room.
They are all there to take interest in pre-reading for their soon-to-be kindergartners.
As the princpal addresses the families, the famiglia de Ravioli is hanging in the back.
The kids in seats at the table.
The parents propping themselves up against the counter.
The kids are behaving.
The parents are listening.
And then their daughter......she makes her presence known.
Their daughter dressed in her little pink and purple plaid halter dress and her Janna's.
She couldn't look more like a little girl if she tried.
She is sitting primly in her seat, staring straight ahead at full attention, listening to the principal.
And then. Then.
She busted one.
A loud one.
She turns to her parents, who despite themselves and their daughter are giggling and laughing up a storm, she beams a beautiful smile and says Ooops! I tooted!!
Yes, Jess. I even detected a mighty wind. As mighty as it could be coming from a 3 year old.

And that brings me to the song for this week.
It's pretty standard.
But it always makes me happy to hear it.
Enjoy!