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.
by mayberry on November 14, 2011
A brief summary of what we’ve been up to, in photos:
by mayberry on October 26, 2011
As Jo gets more serious about skating, I add new skills too. First it was the hair styling (actual email received a few weeks ago: “Please do not cut your skater’s hair until competition season is over. Bangs are especially hard to work with!”) and the fact that “if you’re not puking, you’re skating.” Then it was understanding how to buy ice time, via a contract with the figure skating club. For the record, my best bet was to buy 26 hours of time at once, calculated on a per-minute basis.
Most recently, I took a lesson how to be a music monitor during said ice time. Someone asked me “Is that like a DJ?” and I said yes, only without the turntables and those giant headphones. And also, cold. Basically, you sit in one of those boxes next to the ice and put CDs into the player. On the ice, 15 or so girls are either practicing individually or working one-on-one with a coach. They line up their CDs of program music and the monitor plays them, in order. Except sometimes, a coach comes in with a “pro call” and bumps to the front of the line. (There is a list of about 20 rules for music playing, so you can understand why I was totally nervous the first time). And then some other times, whichever skater whose turn it is doesn’t want their music after all. So between each CD, the monitor has to stick her head out of the box and bellow, “JULIA!” or “MADDIE!” or “KATIE!” once or ten times until the girl says Yes, please play my CD, or No, not now, thanks.
Related: Why is it kind of intimidating dealing with teenage girls? They are perfectly nice, but I did not like that bellowing part of the job.
Also related: Proper attire is essential for music monitors. This means fingerless gloves, and also apparently eyeglasses so you can realize that there are not one, but TWO space heaters in your little box, in case you would like to maybe turn them on?
by mayberry on September 11, 2011
The children at my kids’ school observed the anniversary of 9/11 by making and decorating “peace pinwheels” and placing them in front of the building. They still know little of what happened that day, and less of what it meant then and means now. There will be time for that later.
9/11/2010
9/11/2008
9/11/2006
by mayberry on September 7, 2011
Dear Wednesday weather,
WTG!
Warmly,
MM
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Dear people who left a flat-screen TV on the curb,
Really? You broke it already? If so, let me Google that for you.
Your hippie friend,
MM
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Dear leathery jogger,
Maybe look into some sunscreen? Or perhaps it’s too late.
With concern,
MM
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Dear aggrieved driver,
I have the same right as you do to be on this road. So back off.
Sincerely,
The mom on the bike
P.S. Here’s a thought: Contact your alderman and demand more bike lanes. Then we both win.
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Dear Rails to Trails,
You are awesome.
Thankfully,
MM
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Dear lake,
You are pretty. But you also, um, smell. Something you ate?
Your friend,
MM
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Dear roundabout,
Remember when you scarred me for life? Good times!
Still a little mad,
MM
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Dear me,
I’m glad you talked me (you? myself? I?) into a bike ride instead of the treadmill today.
Love,
You know who
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Dear Mom,
I’m so glad you retired so you would have time to make peach jam and bring me a jar so I could have it on some toast after my bike ride.
Love,
Your favorite daughter and grammar expert
by mayberry on September 1, 2011
Two pictures:
Two announcements:
“Wow, I did not expect the kindergartners to be SO small.” (This from the first grader.)
“The second day of school is always the best. Because it’s usually a Friday.” (Also the first grader. They are so wise.)
by mayberry on August 11, 2011
Sometimes, you really do get a PR pitch that is right on the money. I wrote about that on my review page today. You should check it out because you could win a prize of your very own.
I’ve also been meaning to tell you about a nice email I received after my cranky post about how I like to do my OWN crosswords, independently. The people behind CRUX Crosswords for iPad gave me a code so I could check out their app. It is a nice collection of crossword puzzles from many sources, from my beloved New York Times to the Onion’s AV Club. You still need a membership to access some of these (that darn Times), but if you already have one, you can enter your info here and get puzzles through the app. It was just awfully nice to receive a totally no-pressure email from someone who really had read my post and acted accordingly.
This would all be a great segue into a BlogHer wrapup post, but since this isn’t 2009 there aren’t many stories to tell of either bloggers or brands behaving badly … at least, as far as I know. I saw lots of good friends, met some new people (still going through the cards and following/subscribing; I will get to you soon, I promise!), attended some sessions and parties, enjoyed the San Diego weather. I wrote about my brush with fame (Bob Harper!) at my fitness site. I missed a few things that I later regretted, and a few people who couldn’t be there.
As always, my favorite favorite thing was the Voices of the Year community keynote–and I love this post about it, and all of BlogHer11, from Liz at Mom-101, “You get what you give.” It’s a smart takeaway for all of us.
by mayberry on August 3, 2011
This about sums up how I feel about leaving for BlogHer tomorrow–or really, the whole summer:
Like maybe I bit off more than I can chew.
by mayberry on July 22, 2011
I. Yesterday morning Jo didn’t eat her cereal. When I asked her why, she said it smelled “like Little Dude’s cage and tasted funny.” Little Dude is the class mouse, who recently came to stay with us while his regular summer caretakers were on vacation.
(He only escaped from his rolly ball and almost got lost in our laundry room once!)
(Honestly? I kind of miss having him here. As long as you stayed downwind, it was fun to check in on him and see what he was doing. Usually, he was building himself burrows and hiding places with cedar shavings.)
(However, I was also relieved to see him go, because he’s at least two years old, and how long do pet mice live anyway?)
II. Opie made one of those paper cootie-catcher/fortune-tellers at camp. These are the fortunes in it:
- You will be a superstar.
- You are a superhero.
- You will have a trampoline.
- You will turn into a mouse.
by mayberry on July 19, 2011
Last week I got a notice that I had missed delivery of a package and needed to go to the post office to sign for it. Now, the Mayberry post office is home to several career postal workers that come straight out of central casting, what with the Fargo-ish accents and the chit-chatting and the grumbling about people exiting the parking lot improperly and the attempts to sell local sports team memorabilia along with the stamps.
So I present my postcard to one of these guys and he goes off to fetch my package. It turns out to be a smallish but chunky envelope, hand-addressed, with a return address in Israel–a person, not a business. Naturally this is intriguing to me, since I don’t know anyone in Israel, nor have I ordered anything from there. It’s possibly even more intriguing to the post office clerk. So much so that he suggests I wait until I am a few blocks away to open the envelope.
You’ll be glad to know my pretty earrings (a birthday gift) didn’t burn or maim me when I took them out of their envelope.
