keen on routine

as we drove to school yesterday, i alerted liam as to why it might just be shaping up to be the Best Day Ever. "you have FIVE great things to look forward to today!" i exclaimed. sure enough, it piqued his curiosity, as well as susanna's. they asked me what the five monumental, life-changing events might be. "first, you get to tell your class about mr. bear's visit," i reminded him. (mr. bear is a traveling stuffed animal who goes home for one week at a time with each student.) clutched in his hand was an elaborate four-page report documenting mr. bear's stay, complete with photographs showcasing a trip to the library, making chocolate chip cookies, and swinging on the playset. "second, you are the snack person this week! we packed the cookies you and mr. bear made, as well as cheddar cheese and crackers." they continued to listen with rapt attention. "third, sutton is coming home with you after school for lunch and a playdate. fourth, you have soccer practice with coach scott. and fifth," i said, rounding out the day's agenda, "the weather is so nice that we'll stay at the playground afterwards and play with all your soccer friends!" and that was the extent of the excitement -- at least in my eyes. the rest of the day would be the same as yesterday and the day before that. the conversation wasn't over, however. susanna seemed to pick up where i had left off. "and sixth," she added, "we come home and have dinner!" "and seventh," liam responded, "we clean up our toys!" susanna: "and eighth, we take a warm bath!" liam: "and ninth, we put on our jammies!" susanna: "and tenth, we brush our teeth!" liam: "and eleventh, we read stories!" susanna: "and twelfth, we say our prayers!" liam: "and thirteenth, we turn off the lights and go to sleep!" and then there was silence. satisfied, content silence from the backseat, as they had run through the entire plan for march 30th and had reached the day's conclusion in their minds. while i waited at the same traffic light for the, oh, 152nd time since school began in september, i was struck at how routine our days were. i wondered, for a brief moment, if our lives were too predictable. too monotonous. too boring. "wow, mommy," liam said. "that does sound like a great day!" susanna echoed the sentiment, clapping in her carseat as if we had just found out we'd won the lottery. and then it struck me -- with routine comes a sense of security. and really, isn't that one of chris's and my main goals for our children? to provide them with the strongest sense of security possible? honestly, isn't security one of the most basic needs of everyone on the planet? the light turned green, and i continued down the route towards preschool that i swear i could do in my sleep. i adjusted my steering ever so slightly to avoid the pothole that i knew was coming up on the right side of the lane. the kids sang along to the sesame street CD, in slot #4 of my car's CD changer as it has been for months. and we began our day. safe and secure.

running man

chris said he wanted to cross one thing off his "bucket list", so today, he ran his first half-marathon. on the soaked streets of raleigh on a nasty, wet morning. with a sinus infection that kept him home from work two days ago and that was still causing a deep rattle in his chest. by himself, after two friends had to drop out. and, poor guy, without even a cheering squad. (we both decided that dragging the kids out in the weather mess in a double stroller among thousands of people wasn't exactly optimal.) he finished about two minutes ahead of his goal time, which is impressive considering he never really altered his schedule to fully train for it. the kids and i are so proud of him! what an amazing accomplishment! he came home with a few things: a shiny medal for participating, a race t-shirt, a half-eaten bagel, some warm gatorade ... and the knowledge that not only was this his first half-marathon, but that it would also be his last. people had warned him that once he did the first one, he'd be hooked. "those people are crazy," he muttered, as he attempted to stretch out a foot cramp before heading up to bed tonight at 8 p.m. i can't wait to see what's next on his bucket list. don't you think that that "give something shiny to my wife for our tenth anniversary" would be a nice addition? (and no, the half-marathon medal isn't quite what i have in mind.)

the dog DIDN'T do it

super, our sweet boxer, lay curled up at our feet while liam and i worked on an art activity in the family room yesterday. a less-than-desirable aroma soon wafted my way. as the owner of a breed that's world-renowned for its flatulence, i naturally assumed that the pooch was the culprit, so i nudged her towards the kitchen, hoping to clear the air a bit. "yowzers, super!" i exclaimed, waving my hand in front of my nose. "that wasn't super -- it was me!" liam asserted, pleased as punch with himself. "i tooted!" i rolled my eyes, laughing. "my goodness, liam. you're stinky!" he shook his head. "i don't stink, because i'm a boy," he stated. "girls are the stinky ones. boys smell like ROSES." now it was time for me to really laugh. "there's actually a poem with that theme," i told him, trying my hardest to remember the lines. "it talks about how girls are made of sugar and spice ... and how boys are made of snails and puppy dog tails ..." i trailed off, unable to conjure up the exact wording. "anyway, the point is that girls –" but before i could even finish the sentence, liam was out of the room and racing up the stairs. seconds later, he returned, armed with his huge volume of mother goose. he handed me the book and said, "turn to page 100, mommy." wordlessly, i followed his instructions. just as he said, there, on page 100, was the nursery rhyme -- and, much to my surprise, he was right. there are several things wrong with this scenario, and i'm not quite sure what troubles me more. for one, liam metamorphosed into a pint-sized attorney before my very eyes, producing exhibit A to contradict my testimony as if i were on the witness stand. (i almost expected to hear a triumphant "the defense rests!" as he slammed the book closed.) second, despite having thirty fewer years of reading experience, my four-year old already has a better hold on mother goose than i do. and third, liam apparently believes that girls are the stinky ones. blasphemy! but upon further reflection, i decided that the most troubling aspect was none of the above. to me, the biggest problem is that he confessed to the crime in the first place. i mean, seriously. if you're going to admit to all of your, um, emissions ... then what's the point of even having a dog?

a day in the life

it has been raining such an obnoxious amount here that words can barely do it justice. case in point: i was summoned to the window yesterday by both liam and susanna, who were excitedly pointing at something through the glass. "come here, mommy! look!" i joined them, expecting to see a bird's nest, or a rabbit hopping through the grass, or perhaps even a cool-looking truck in the street. but it was something far simpler than even those possibilities. "SUNSHINE!" they yelled, jumping up and down with delight. we then took the first opportunity in literally five days to get outdoors. we drove to our favorite playground, which was full of kids and moms with the exact same idea as we had (and more than just a small dose of cabin fever.) it's a great park, with swings, slides, a soccer field nearby, and even a babbling brook with a bridge crossing it. i was talking with another mom in the only way any two women can carry on a conversation at a playground: unfocused and distracted, unable to have more than two or three exchanges before being interrupted and then trying to remember what in the world we had been talking about before the interruption. i had one eye on liam, who was hanging from the monkey bars, and another in the opposite direction on susanna, as she chased a friend down the slide. the next thing i know, my darling son is standing on the ground with his shorts around his ankles, his little white hiney facing me and all the world to see. from the position of his hands, i instantly knew his intentions. i raced over to him in the knick of time, whisking his shorts back up to his waist with an incredulous, "what in the world are you doing?!" to which he replied, "i needed to pee-pee." oh. of course. what a silly thing to ask. after having a quick lesson on a more appropriate reaction to the need to empty one's bladder in the middle of a public place, we began to make our way to gather susanna and head on home, as we'd been there for quite a while already. her friend was still on the slide, but she was not. i began to scan the area, looking for my daughter, who was dressed in the sweetest little outfit, complete with coordinating hairbow and brand-new matching green mary janes. (one of the benefits of having a prisspot for a child is that she manages to stay pristinely clean no matter where she goes.) she wasn't on the swings, wasn't on a bench, and wasn't at a picnic table stealing another child's snack, as she has been known to do. so i expanded my search. before i worry any of my faithful readers unnecessarily, rest assured that an unspoken rule at this playground is that any mother will look out for any child, no matter if she knows the child or not. if a preschooler begins to wander off towards the soccer field in the search of four-leaf clovers, any parent will call him back without a second thought. if a child happens to take a tumble, within seconds she has five sets of arms to scoop her up, and probably with antiseptic in one hand and a band-aid in the other. so i knew she couldn't be far, and was most certainly under another mom's close supervision -- but i couldn't quite figure out what mischief she was into. and then i heard a mom yell up from the creek bank, "are you looking for a little girl with green mary janes? she's down here with us!" what the mom should have said was, "are you looking for a little girl who had the most adorable green mary janes on, but that are now a permanent shade of mud brown?" for when i followed the voice, i found my sweet princess -- the one who clamors for lipstick and nail polish and glittery sandals, who detests having even the tiniest bit of dirt on her hands -- ankle-deep in the creek. she was crouched over a pile of mossy rocks, wrestling them free from the sand and tossing them into the murky water with a small crowd of similarly-minded children, all of whom, by this point, were soaked. of course, the glaring difference was that they were all dressed for the occasion, wearing tattered playclothes and rainboots. but she didn't seem to notice, as she grinned up at me, attempting to smooth her hair out of her eyes with a filthy hand. i hated to extract her from her newfound fun -- the shoes were ruined at this point, so what was another article of clothing thrown into the mix? -- but i had that slight problem of a son who was in desperate need of a toilet, and now apparently for more than just one bodily function. i didn't even want to think about what he might do if we didn't reach a bathroom. it was time to go. chris called me on our way home to see what we were up to. i smiled, recognizing that even the most ordinary of afternoons could so quickly turn into something unexpected with our two children. i glanced at them in the rear-view mirror as they stuck their hands out the open windows with flushed and happy faces. "our afternoon at the park," i lovingly sighed, "was definitely no walk in the park."

good grief

in many ways, liam seems like he was somehow plucked straight out of a lost era. if you ask him what his favorite toys are, he'll rattle off his top three: cars, balls, and marbles. his favorite movie? mary poppins. favorite author? dr. seuss. favorite television show? sesame street. and his favorite weekend ritual? to linger over the comics at sunday morning breakfast, focusing on the antics of the peanuts gang. in fact, his number one imaginary friend is none other than charlie brown. this morning, however, there were no peanuts to be had. sadly, the raleigh newspaper informed its readers recently that in an effort to save money, it was cutting "peanuts" from its lineup. so, instead, i found liam rather morosely perusing the used car section. he couldn't understand why linus and lucy weren't staring up at him from the funny pages, ready to brighten his day and cause that infectious laugh that puts us all in a good mood as we head out the door to church. how do you explain to a four-year old that our country is in such bad shape that our newspaper can't even afford to entertain us with one of the most beloved comic strips of all time? in the words of another disgruntled reader in the op/ed pages, that's not a recession. it's a depression. charlie brown couldn't have said it any better himself ... good grief!

murphy

murphy must have been a father. what other than parenthood would have provided him the inspiration for his law? case in point: eight days ago, while we were over at my parents' house for dinner, the kids decided it would be a grand idea to chase each other around the basement. we'd hear a "you can't catch me!" or "ready, set, go!" and then or hearty peal of laughter. but after a few minutes of shrieks of glee, we heard the inevitable -- a THUD, followed by five seconds of silence, and then quite dramatic sobbing. by the time we raced down there, susanna was sprawled on the floor, directly below a very menacing door frame that had apparently just popped out of nowhere. [thankfully, she was totally fine. after a brief interlude of cuddling and soothing and drying of tears, she was bouncing up and down, ready to go again.] had murphy been there, he assuredly would have created this as an addendum to his law: if your two-year old daughter is going to run head-first into a door, causing a two-inch welt to immediately protrude from her forehead and subsequently turn a lovely shade of purple, and then a few days later brown, and then a few days later mustard yellow ... well, she'll do it just in time for her school pictures. and if murphy were really on top of his game, he'd ensure that these pictures not only included individual shots that her parents could just opt not to buy, but also a class photo with her nine classmates and two teachers dutifully smiling at the camera. yes, murphy would make sure to point out that if your child collides into a stationary object with such force that she has two slightly black eyes more than a week later, then you better be prepared for this lovely image to be documented in other people's picture frames for years and years to come.

making a point

MEMORANDUM TO: NCAA basketball division FROM: sara mann RE: scheduling in future years, please try to be cognizant of particular dates when arranging conference tournaments. i am having a difficult enough time as it is, caring for two small children while my husband has left the state for five nights/six days. (he has gathered with fraternity brothers in chattanooga to watch his alma mater, davidson, secure its conference championship.) must you have timed it so that i lose an hour's sleep on saturday night as well? and then force me to deal with the effects on sunday, as i single-handedly attempt to have us all dressed and out the door in time for church before one of my children is normally even awake? have you no compassion at all? daylight savings time begins in 2010 on march 14. if the southern conference tournament takes place that weekend, you will be hearing from my attorney. you have been warned.

"i live in the greatest country"

what do you do if you want to read a book that doesn't exist? that's exactly what happened about a year ago. we were living with my parents at the time, waiting for our house in asheville to sell, and the kids loved to crawl into their grandparents' laps to read a story. after going through countless tales of elmo and diego and dora, my dad asked me to pick up a children's book at the library on patriotism -- something that would help teach the kids why they should love this country, and what it means to be an american. the problem was, i couldn't find one.

so my father did his research. and he finally determined that the reason i couldn't find one was that no one had ever written one. so, back to my original question ... what do you do if you want a book that doesn't exist? for my dad, the answer was obvious: you write one yourself. you go through countless drafts, tweaking a word here, a phrase there -- all to make it readable, enjoyable, and educational at the same time for young children. then you secure the rights to photographs to go in the book. you hire a cover illustrator. you title it i live in the greatest country!. and then you have it published. check it out at http://www.patriotkidsusa.com/, and then, if you're so inclined, buy one. (it's also available on amazon and a few other sites, but they charge shipping.) happy reading!

over it.

it's march. daylight savings time begins this weekend, daffodils are blooming in the yard, and we've already had several 70-degree days when the kids were outside in shorts. needless to say, i'm over the snow. what surprised me is that apparently, the kids are too. we awoke this morning to a few inches and no school, and i kind of dreaded taking them out in it. it wasn't the good kind of fluffy snow; it was the wet, slushy kind of nasty snow. i was prepared to bundle us all up anyway, but thankfully they showed absolutely no interest, probably because they could see the grass blades sticking up and the mud puddles near the front door. so, instead, this is what we did ... we built a fort in the family room. we made homemade playdough, colored it all sorts of funny colors, and played with it. we baked chocolate chip cookies. we used birdseed, peanut butter, and the pinecones we collected yesterday and made birdfeeders to hang from the trees. (and then expected the birds to immediately come flocking to it and were disappointed when they didn't. and then tried to yell at them with a personal invitation, which didn't seem to work either. see picture.) we had a vacuum vs. dustbuster race to see who could suck up the most birdseed off the kitchen floor. we got out every single pot and pan and metal cooking utensil and marched around the house as the mann family band. and then it was 10:05 a.m.