just wondering

Ooh, little St. Nick

by mayberry on December 6, 2011

So tell me, does St. Nick visit your house? He never came around when I was a kid. We had to wait for Santa to drop by on December 24 like everyone else. But it seems that here in the frozen North where we live, most children are accustomed to a little pre-stocking of the stocking. When they go to bed on December 5, they put out their shoes or socks (I’ve heard both) so that St. Nick can fill them with treats. Apparently we can attribute this to our state’s German immigrant roots, although it should be noted that my mother is twice as German as I am and her mother was born and raised in this state, and yet St. Nick dissed us every year of my childhood.

For our kids, this all started when Jo was in kindergarten. We arrived at school on the morning of December 6 and saw that one of her gym shoes was missing from the shelf above her hook. I started to grill her about how on earth she managed to lose one shoe, but then noticed that every shoe on the shelf was missing its partner. It turned out that St. Nick had grabbed them all, stuffed them with goodies and brought them into the classroom.

From then on, well, it seemed that we would need to open our doors/chimney to the jolly old elf each December 5, because why would he skip over our house only to visit everyone else in town? (This also means we’re four for four on trips to Walgreens at 9 p.m. on that same night. Things that make you go ho-ho-hmmmm.)

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P.S.: I also wrote more about holiday slacking in this guest post at Diets in Review.

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I thought this would be good for wordless Wednesday

by mayberry on May 25, 2011

Because really, the only words I can come up with are “conjoined” and “Duggars” and “ouch” and “WHY?”

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Spot the error

by mayberry on March 24, 2011

It is very, very rare for me to indulge my children when they ask for something frivolous in a store. I don’t want them to get the idea that if they pitch a fit in the checkout line, they’ll get whatever it is they are asking for. So the answer is almost always a cheerful “Nope!”.

I can’t remember why I broke my own rule when it came to this particular item. It was one of the book/stuffed animal combos that Kohl’s offers—usually, $5 or $10 buys you both, and proceeds go to some charity. Apparently I was in a generous mood the day my son spotted this (oh ha ha I didn’t even do that on purpose!).

And that was that. The fuzzy one has now accompanied us on half a dozen trips and must be tucked in beside his boy each night.

I haven’t told you his name yet because that would spoil my next question. What animal do you think he is? Because he’s so well-traveled, he’s been noticed and commented upon by people in airports and elsewhere along the way.

And no one EVER correctly identifies him. And so I ask you (all choices are based on real responses we’ve heard):


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My kingdom for a tooth

by mayberry on February 9, 2011

We had a milestone recently. When you think about it, it’s kind of a gross one, akin to the day when the belly button scab flakes off, or Baby’s First Diaper Blowout.

I’m talking about the bloody, saliva-soaked event we call losing the first baby tooth. Opie had a wiggler recently, and we knew the time was coming. When we went to the craft store to pick up science fair supplies, I told him we could get a little wooden box for him to use as a Tooth Fairy drop box.

Of course, none of the 573 boxes in stock were suitable. Too big, too small, too heart-shaped, too boxy, too windowed. Finally we found a kit to make a small wooden castle. His Highness deemed this acceptable for temporary tooth housing.

We went home, painted, and assembled; Daddy even made a special flag to alert the tooth fairy that there’s a tooth present (kind of like when the Queen is in residence at Buckingham Palace). And the very next day, it was time to try it out!

And now, there’s a tiny tooth stuffed into the pocket of my jeans. Most of Jo’s seem to have gotten lost before they ever made it into her tooth fairy box (ever looked for a 1/4-inch white object in the bottom of a wave pool?). So we’re still wondering …


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Sublime to ridiculous

by mayberry on January 25, 2011

I must preface this by saying I don’t think we eat out all that often. Maybe once a month. And yet:

That right there is 50 plastic cups acquired via kids’ meals at restaurants. Not shown are the two or three more that are in use/in the fridge/in the dishwasher/under the beds/in the car.

I send these things out into the backyard in the summer and hope they won’t come back. I use them to rinse paint brushes and hope they’ll get stained enough to toss. I pack snacks in them for school (because I have 50 matching lids, too, you know) and hope they get forgotten.

AND YET. FIFTY.

Obviously I have a hoarding problem. But they’re not the right kind of plastic to recycle and am I just supposed to throw them away? I guess I spent too many years eating cereal out of margarine tubs. Because getting rid of these perfectly! good! cups! just sounds sinful to me.

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You know what I vant

by mayberry on November 10, 2010

I believe I am a social person–wouldn’t I have to be, to actually look forward to and enjoy a parent meeting at school, as I did last night? But I also require a lot of time alone. A lot, considering the two small children in my care, the husband, the school and community obligations, and so on. I am lucky enough to usually get enough of it, although I sometimes pay dearly in either child care dollars or missed sleep.

I love being at home alone, even though I don’t do anything more exciting than work or read blogs while my children are out at school. It’s just nice when all the interruptions are of my own making, and I get first crack at the refrigerator, and I can talk back to the radio or the Internet if I like.

I love being alone away from home too, especially while traveling. Now that I’ve traveled with kids, I appreciate every minute spent alone in an airport or airplane–minutes I can devote exclusively to my own reading or crossword-puzzling or iced-tea-drinking or even, let’s face it, toileting. Flight delay? If I have reading material and/or Internet access and enough snacks, bring it on. I will sit in this fake leather chair all day. (But could someone turn down the volume on that TV blaring CNN??)

Do you crave alone time more post-kids, if you have them? Do you ever get enough??

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Teaching the essentials

by mayberry on October 14, 2010

Jo took her first few cello lessons in a borrowed classroom in an elementary school (not her own school). The teacher (not her music teacher, the one whose classroom it is normally) had tacked up a poster listing “The Essential 55: Rules for Discovering the Successful Student in Every Child.” Since this poster was right above Jo’s head while I observed her lesson, I had time to peruse the rules. They started out making a lot of sense: things like “follow along when we read together in class,” “you must complete your homework every day” and “when a substitute teacher is present, all class rules still apply.”

Then things started to go off the rails and I kind of stopped paying attention to my kid’s lesson.

#31: “In a hotel room, leave a tip for the hotel workers who clean your room”

#43: “On escalators, stand to the right and walk to the left”

#46: “No talking in a movie theater during the movie”

Huh? Turns out these are from a book of the same name by “award-winning educator” Ron Clark, which gets polarizing reviews at Amazon.com. I haven’t read it, but I am mystified as to why learning to leave a tip for a hotel housekeeper will make my child a successful student. A polite person, maybe–even a considerate one. But will it help her grasp an academic concept or practice a necessary skill? I certainly hope she won’t be staying in any hotel rooms without me anytime soon.

I know that many students arrive in the classroom sadly lacking in manners. I think it’s fair for a teacher to want to teach them the basics of etiquette (even though I think it’s unfair that they have to, since it means parents aren’t doing their jobs). But is this teacher overstepping his bounds? Or just … odd? Or making a joke? I started out thinking it was hilarious, but now I’ve moved on into “sad.”

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Isn’t this like a thank-you note for a thank-you note?

by mayberry on September 3, 2010

Raise your hand if you return borrowed containers with something in them. I only found out about this etiquette rule in the last year or so. I either never heard of it when I was growing up, or I didn’t pay attention at the time (sorry, Mom). Is it really a thing? Well, anyway, now that I’ve heard it, I feel compelled to DO it. So when a friend reads a whiny FB update and drops off a vase of flowers to cheer me up, I return the vase with flowers clipped from my yard … only to see the exact same flowers growing in her yard anyway.

And when we host our neighbors for dinner, and they bring a dessert that requires a couple of Tupperware containers, and then they tell us to keep the leftovers … I end up hanging on to their containers for several extra days until I can get around to making cookies or granola or something to go in the containers so I can return them. And now they have to eat whatever I gave them AND they have to wash the container again.

I’m just not quite seeing the logic of this system, is what I’m saying. What do you say (and do)?

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Pay now or pay later

by mayberry on August 27, 2010

This summer my kid tried out a new sport (at an informal, walk-on type of camp) and liked it. We were told the beginning team was less of a financial commitment than the more elite teams, and no try-outs were required. The team would practice in a town close to us; the camp was about a 45-minute drive away.

Email from me to coach: My child enjoyed the camp and wants to join the team. Could you give me the contact info for the parent rep so I can make the arrangements?

Email from coach to me, several hours later: That’s great! Please call me at …

Me (thinking): sigh … I have to pick up the phone?

The next day, dial.  Exchange pleasantries.

Coach: OK, I’ll email you back with the parent rep’s email address!

Me (thinking): You’ve got to be kidding me.

I dutifully email the parent rep.

Me: My child enjoyed the camp and wants to join the team. Could you send me the paperwork (my address is below) and let me know where to send my payment?

Parent rep reply: That’s great! Please call me at …

Me: *headdesk*

When I called the parent rep, I learned that the team doesn’t have enough players to be eligible for competitions. BUT, I can enroll the kid in a “class” which would:

  • cost the same
  • meet in the faraway venue at 8 a.m. on Saturday mornings
  • require us to join a club, which in turn would require paying dues and performing mandatory “volunteer” hours
  • allow the kid to learn some of the skills of the sport or risk “falling more and more behind” (seriously, she said it)

My husband thinks this is a no-brainer. No team. Enroll in a local, group lesson in a similar sport instead, saving money and sparing a good deal of inconvenience. Next spring, let the kid try out for the team and hope for the best. I’m inclined to agree, since the squeeze I got from the parent rep was uncomfortable (not to mention the air of bait-and-switch around this entire experience; e.g., the summer camp was originally billed as free, and then suddenly turned out to cost $10/hour).

But the kid really likes the sport, and I get the sense that holding your nose and dealing with this kind of stuff is common in youth sports. We could postpone the hysteria, but only temporarily (and would they penalize the child later for the parent’s crime of not enrolling earlier?). I am torn.

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Stuff this in your shoebox

by mayberry on May 7, 2010

Silly is funny. Subtle is funny. Snarky is funny. Even puns can be funny.

But saying, even as a joke, that adoptive parents are lying alcoholics (and social workers are downright dumb)?

Not funny.

Not ever funny, which is why I don’t understand how Hallmark could print this card, or how anyone would ever buy it (except me. I bought it so I could show you).

Are you kidding me, “tiny little division of Hallmark“? You may be tiny, but this is hugely offensive. And I’m okay with pointed humor. I regularly send someecards.

I wasn’t adopted as a child. I’m not an adoptive parent, although there’s a chance I might be one someday. I’m not a social worker, but I believe them to be, for the most part, extremely caring and hard-working people who do often thankless work. A adoption social worker’s job is to make sure children find safe, loving homes. They ask tough questions because they have to. And because they represent children who don’t have a voice of their own, they deserve to hear the truth–which is what the vast majority of adoptive parents will tell them.

The image on the card also implies that this is a single woman trying to become a parent through adoption. Add another group to those that could and should be horrified by this card.

Tell me if you think I’m making too big of a deal about this. But words matter, and these words are unacceptable.

I did register my disgust with Hallmark, by the way.  I sat on this post for awhile waiting for an answer. If one arrives, I’ll let you know.

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