dashed dreams

i am a pageant junkie.  if it's televised, i will watch it: miss usa, miss america, miss universe -- i love them all.  the invention of the DVR has only enhanced my pageant love, because it enables me to instantly replay all the cringe-worthy moments.  you might not realize that for the past two years, miss usa has fallen during the evening gown competition in the miss universe pageant.  (and i'm not talking about a small stumble.  i mean a full-fledged plummet to the ground, with her sparkly high heels up in the air above her.)  a dropped baton during the talent competition is always fun to see again.  but the best?  no doubt about it: the interview portion.  i'm not sure i've ever gotten through an entire pageant without having to pause and rewatch least one inane answer.  you'd think these girls would be able to think on their feet after so much training.  but year after year, they seem to know that there is a sara mann in north carolina, eagerly awaiting an absolutely absurd response to a question on some hot-button topic.  (anyone remember when miss teen south carolina, who was asked why a fifth of americans can't find the united states on a world map, responded that we needed to "help the iraq to build up our future"?)

i'm not typically this cynical.  but it doesn't take a trip to the therapist's couch to figure out why i delight in others' misfortune.  one year, when i was probably eight or nine years old, my eyes were wide as i soaked in all the pomp and circumstance of miss america.  it was really one of the highlights of my year -- growing up, we were allowed only one half-hour of television a week, so to be allowed to watch a two-hour special and stay up past our bedtime was a very big deal.  i confided in my parents that my plan, once i was of age, was to be a triple threat in the talent competition: i was going to compose my own song, sing it, and play it on the piano.  there was no way i could lose!  i began thinking about what color gown i'd wear and how i'd fix my hair.

and then, it happened. my father -- my loving, nurturing, supportive father -- dashed my little girl dreams.  "sorry, honey," he told me.  "you've got freckles.  i think there's a rule against having freckles in the pageant business."

just like that, my miss america aspirations came to a screeching halt.  i cried myself to sleep that night.  he doesn't even remember saying it, and, looking back on it, i realize that it was obviously a joke.  but at the time, i was devastated.

and so i grew up to enjoy pageants for an entirely different reason.  they're entertaining in so many other ways, from dissecting the dress choices, to wincing at missed notes (seems everyone thinks they can sing these days), to laughing outloud at the awkward banter between mario lopez and whatever ex-miss america winds up sharing co-hosting duties.  you can bet i'll be tuned in tonight as 53 hopefuls vie for the crown.

and as always, i'll be peering closely, thankful that we invested in our HD television.  for the clarity sure makes it easier for me to search for any trace of freckles.

wordless wednesday

you might remember that my dad wrote his own children's book which was published last year.  (here's the post about it; and here's his website.)  he had his first official book reading a few weeks ago in liam's class.  i wasn't able to be there, but according to the teachers and the kids, he was a huge hit!  the audience was enraptured, and afterwards, they all received their very own copies.

what was especially fitting was the fact that this occurred during P Week.  you see, liam and susanna call my dad Pops, so he served as liam's Preschool show-and-tell contribution.  he brought his book he Personally had Published in Paperback, full of Prose and Poetry ... and all about Patriotism.

Perfection!

football schmootball

i might get a lot of flak for this, but i'm going to go ahead and say it anyway:  i hate football.  crazy, right?  especially in these weeks leading up to the superbowl, when our whole country winds up glued to the tube to watch a bunch of overweight men pummel each other to the ground.  but i have my reasons.  i find it incredibly slow.  i find it hard to understand.  i find it curious that in every other sport i can think of, players are expected to be versatile enough to play both offense and defense -- but not football. shoot, they have a player whose sole responsibility is to kick the ball a handful of times a game.  he makes more money per kick than i make in an entire year as a teacher.  can anyone explain to me how that makes any kind of sense? 

but mostly, i find it barbaric.  so i felt quite validated when a psychiatrist friend of ours sent me the link to malcolm gladwell's (you know, the author of outliers and the tipping point) recent article in the new yorker.  it confirmed everything i believe to be true about the sport.  titled "offensive play", he asserts that the closest thing we've got to professional football these days is -- get this -- dog-fighting.    now, i have to admit that the article is a tad long and over my head sometimes with the football references, but the main point is one i agree with: football is dangerous.

which is why i have said from the time liam was born that he WILL NOT play football.  in fact, i think it went something like this in the delivery room:

doctor: "chris, would you like to make the announcement?"
chris (emotional, gazing at his son for the first time):  "it's a BOY!"
sara:  "he will not play football."

and i think for a while, chris probably thought, hmm, isn't she cute when she gets riled up about silly things?  i'm sure she'll change her mind.  (or, more likely, hmm, isn't she the most annoying person on the face of the planet when she gets riled up about silly things?  i'm sure she'll change her mind.)

but he's starting to realize that i couldn't be more serious.  and if i have to adopt the approach of a mother of an adult friend of ours, who somehow, despite being an extremely organized and successful professor, just happened to "miss" the deadline for football registration each year (wink wink), i will do so.  but over my dead body is my sweet son going to don a helmet and shoulder pads and walk out onto that field with the risk of being smacked down with a concussion only to wind up sitting at a bar decades later unable to remember large portions of his life all because his momma didn't stand her ground.  (think i'm exagerrating?  read the article.)

and if that oh-no-i-missed-the-deadline plan doesn't work, and if chris, athlete extraordinaire, just tries to fight me on this, i've got a back-up plan.  a surefire way to convince him that liam would be much happier on the soccer field, or tennis court, or basketball team.

i'll just threaten to enter susanna in pageants.

wordless wednesday

so i've got an idea.  i'm thinking that adult dentistry needs to change its approach.  instead of cold, sterile waiting rooms that do nothing to soften the blow of impending drillings and fillings, they need fishies hanging from the ceiling.  toothbrushes with disney characters on them.  cool sunglasses to wear under the bright lights.  bubblegum-flavored latex gloves.  and, of course, a treasure chest where patients can pick a new jibbitz for their crocs or a beautiful plastic pink ring. 

maybe then, instead of grumbling and complaining about their check-ups, adults would walk around afterwards just as susanna did today, opening wide to complete strangers at the grocery and asking, "want to look at my princess teeth?"

stretching the tooth

after hanging on for dear life for far too long, liam's second loose tooth is now history. as we were getting it ready to leave for the tooth fairy on sunday night, he said, "i sure hope she leaves me $199.  that way i could buy a wii."

we braced ourselves for the inevitable disappointment the next morning, but liam managed to look on the bright side of things. "she left me a two dollar bill!" he exclaimed, running into our bedroom. "only 197 more dollars to go!" he immediately walked over to the mirror and opened his mouth wide.

"hmm," he said, after assessing the contents and turning back towards us. "i think i need a lot more teeth."

super seeker

last thursday found me squatted on the floor in the dark of our coat closet.  and as i rocked back and forth on my heels in the silence, i came to a startling revelation that super is actually quite the expert at something besides stinking up our house.

so let me explain, and in my typical fashion, i'll make a short story long.  i try to get the kids outside every day -- nothing better than fresh air, and goodness knows they need to exert some energy -- but i have my limits.  my limit that particular thursday was 28 degrees.  the day before it had been a balmy 31 degrees, and i had spent 15 minutes bundling up the kids in about a zillion layers before we all traipsed out into the backyard.  liam and i attempted to play football, which is comical even under normal circumstances since i've never quite learned how to catch or throw the dadgum thing.  but that day was especially pointless, since his hat (well, chris's hat, since my kids both have absolutely enormous heads that no children's hats will fit) kept sliding down his forehead blocking his vision, and my wool mittens prevented me from getting any sort of grasp on the ball.  meanwhile, susanna was stumbling around the playset like a mummy, trying to heave her twice-as-large body onto a swing and becoming increasingly frustrated when she could never quite make it.  we lasted all of five minutes before we were all miserable, and i herded the troops back into the kitchen with the promise of hot chocolate and marshmallows.

so anyway.  the following day when it was even colder, none of us were interested in repeating our outdoor adventure, so i had to come up with some ways to burn off steam inside.  chris and his creative self had invented "Critter Races", where the kids place their favorite stuffed animal on their heads and try to walk the length of our upstairs hallway without dropping it.  after dozens of relays, we then did our own version of calinsthetics, with jumping jacks and running in place, and after that moved on to Dance Party Mann Style, where they showed off their own signature moves to the soundtrack of "glee" (which pains chris to no end, but since he's at work, there's not much he can do about it.)  hullabaloo was also a great diversion for a while. and then we wrapped up our P.E. hour with a few rounds of good ol' hide-and-seek.

we certainly do not live in a mansion, so really, no round of hide-and-seek should take more than a minute or two.  i've even further reduced their hiding place options by insisting they KEEP AWAY FROM THOSE WINDOW PANELS THAT COST A SMALL FORTUNE WHICH I DO NOT WANT RIPPED DOWN FROM THE WALL OR SOILED BY GRUBBY FINGERS.

but somehow, it still takes my children forever to seek, which brings me back to the beginning of this post.  there i was in my crouched position in the dark hall coat closet, my ankles growing numb as the minutes ticked by.  and while i heard the kids squealing with laughter as they moved from room to room, i realized that there's one member of this family who is actually pretty darn good at this game: super.  the entire time i was hiding, super stood mere inches away from me on the other side of the door, sniffing at it and whining and totally blowing my cover.  (not that the kids even noticed.)

so while other people have dogs who can hunt, or fetch the paper, or do cute parlor tricks, we've got the Hide and Seek Master.  but have i shared this nugget of information with the kids?  heck no.  this is my little secret.  super is my ace in the hole.  these frigid temperatures might linger on through march, and i need all the help i can get.

wordless wednesday

proceeding with the second verse of her song proved to be too exhausting a task.

(eat your heart out, simon.)

give a mann a fish ...

a friend recently remarked that because of all of her children's activities and her husband's late work schedule, they always wound up eating dinner in shifts.  "i guess that's the way the world is these days," she sighed.  "i mean, does anyone ever have family dinners any more?"

"we do," i replied.  "every night."  and we do.  there are a few evenings that prove challenging (5:45 basketball practices and 6:00 choir rehearsals, natch) but even still, we make a point to sit down, all four of us together, and eat.  and while these meals might not be the most gourmet and are certainly not the the most relaxed -- i have yet to not get up at least twice to pour more milk, or pick up a dropped utensil, or retrieve a beverage i left on the counter -- it is quality family time.

but a casual observer might think otherwise.  it all begins with the "what's for dinner?" question that one of the kids will invariably ask at some point during the day.  and i know what's coming -- unless my response is pizza or mac and cheese, i'm met with, "i don't like that."  as in, "i don't like pork."  or, "i don't like chili."  or, "i don't like fish."

to be honest, though, it doesn't bother me.  i really don't care that that they turn their nose up at most of what i cook, probably because i was such a picky eater myself growing up.  i know that they'll eventually come around -- can anyone subsist on mac and cheese and pizza their whole life? -- and until then, i'll keep plugging away, serving them the same food that i serve chris and myself.  i make sure there's at least one thing on their plate that they will eat, but if everything else is untouched, well, so be it.  my philosophy?  there's always breakfast the following morning.

we had a minor breakthrough last night, however.  i made tilapia broiled with a buttery parmesan crust and put a few bites on both kids' plates.  we sat down and became engrossed in some conversation, and before we knew it, liam's plate was clean.  "you did it!" i exclaimed.  he looked confused. "you ate your fish!"

he looked even more confused.  "oh.  i ate fish?  was it that white stuff that was right here?"  he pointed to the spot on his plate where it had been.  i nodded.  "see?" chris said.  "you just have to try things.  you'll be surprised at how good they are!" liam smiled, obviously proud of himself.

i could tell he was already mulling over his dessert options, but i couldn't pass up the opportunity to capitalize on this new development.  "would you like some more?" i eagerly offered, preparing another bite on my fork and holding it out for him.

he looked at it and shook his head. "no thank you," he said.  "remember?  i don't like fish."

wordless wednesday

carseats
+
bulky winter coats
=
MISERY for all involved.

how many days until spring???

loving it

i love my children.  truly.  madly.  deeply. 

of course, there are many other things i love.  foremost in my mind at the current moment is the fact that i love the end of a three-week christmas break.  i love a quiet house after preschool drop-off when i can actually read the newspaper and my Bible study and drink my coffee -- even if only for twenty minutes, before job and household responsibilities come calling.  i love the sound of pure, blissful, sweet silence.

truly.  madly.  deeply.