the tooth shall set you free

susanna lost her second tooth a few weeks back and began peppering us with questions that only the tooth fairy herself could answer.  (and yes, i know i'm the most terrible mother of a second child, whose first lost tooth didn't even garner a passing mention in the blog ... suffice it to say that it happened sometime in late summer and it thankfully did not involve me in the least.)

so i suggested to susanna that she write down her most pressing question and leave a note for the tooth fairy beside the pirate doll that was holding her lost tooth.  (to rub more salt in the wound, not only have i been remiss in sharing such an important milestone, but we also at some point have lost the special ballerina doll that is supposed to hold susanna's lost teeth, and have had to resort to borrowing liam's pirate instead.)

here is susanna's inquiry:

"Dear Tooth Fairy, What do you do with the tooth? 
Love, Susanna" (punctuation mine)

 and this is what she found tucked next to her special two dollar bill:

what i'm thankful for

this was the conversation on the way to school one morning last week.

susanna: i don't think i really need you to walk me to my classroom anymore, liam.

me: you mean like he did the first few days of school, when i asked him to?

susanna: i mean like he has been ever since i started.

me (with an incredulous look in the rearview mirror): liam, have you really been walking susanna to her classroom for three months now?

liam: well, i didn't want her getting scared.  that hallway has lots of kids in it and they're mostly older than her.

me (tearing up a little, i admit): well, you can stop doing it now if you want to.  i think susanna's saying that she can handle things on her own. 

there's a pause while susanna apparently mulls things over.

susanna: well, maybe i'll be lonely.  so can you keep going with me, liam?

liam: sure.

the kids clambered out of the car, just like they always do, slinging their backpacks onto their shoulders and heading up the sidewalk to the entrance of the school, side by side, just like they always do.  but that morning, i held up the carpool line for just a few extra moments to soak it all in.

indecision

i swear i must be the most indecisive person on the planet.  well, maybe not the most indecisive, but i'm pretty far up there.  no -- i take that back.  i actually do think i'm the most indecisive.

but in all honesty, i hardly ever make a choice that i don't later question.  was there a better option?  should i have waited?  did i act too soon?  did i get too many, or not enough?  and so on.  (and on, and on.)  i've always hoped that this is one (of many) personality traits that skips a generation, but tonight, i saw genetics rear its ugly head in our daughter.

"what book should we read now?" susanna asked me as we were nestled into her bed for storytime.

"why don't you go over to your bookshelf and surprise me," i suggested.  we had just finished the most awful story ever written -- something about barbie surfer girl turning into a mermaid -- and i knew that no matter what she came back with, it had to be a vast improvement.

she stood facing her bookshelf, studying the spines intently.  she finally returned to the bed with three paperbacks and asked me which one i wanted to read.

"sweetheart, it's your decision," i told her.  (and let's be honest.  it's not that i necessarily wanted her to exercise her decision-making skills; i just couldn't make up my mind.)

"i know what to do!" she replied.  "i'll do eeny-meeny-miney-mo."  so she lined up the three books atop of her bright pink quilt and poised her finger in the air to begin, but then faltered.

"this is NOT going to work!" she sighed, exasperated.

"what's wrong now?"  i asked.

"i can't decide which one to start with."

love notes

it's amazing the effect kindergarten can have on a child in a mere nine weeks.  susanna has gone from a timid, apprehensive little girl who came home from her staggered entry day (the day when smaller groups of kindergartners go for a few hours to be evaluated prior to the beginning of school) crying, to a confident, excited student who bounds out of the car at dropoff and never looks back. she adores everything about kindergarten and loves to regale us with stories of her days.

her metamorphosis is not only in her demeanor, but also in her learning.  she now has an incredible grasp of numbers and is reading simple books fairly independently.  but her favorite thing to do now is to write.  she'll grab anything nearby -- a marker and a napkin, or a colored pencil and a notepad -- and sit down to document whatever's on her mind.  i have to admit that it sometimes tries my patience just a tad when it's the end of the day and i'm scrambling in the kitchen to get dinner ready and am being bombarded with questions like, "how do you spell 'excited'?" and "how do you spell 'bicycle'?", so i just try to remember that this interest in writing is a really incredible thing.  (even if i still sigh inwardly from time to time.)

i came across an interesting article a few months ago that really resonated with me, titled "how to talk to little girls".  i'm embarrassed to admit how difficult it has been to change my habits since reading it -- i had no idea how much i, and everyone i know, emphasize little girls' appearances over their far more important traits.  (please take the time to check out the article here to fully understand what i'm trying to say.)  

so all that she's mastering in kindergarten has dovetailed nicely with my new goal of recognizing her achievements as much as i possibly can.  my favorite projects of hers are the ones she does completely on her own, partly because she's showing more and more independence, and partly because of the pleasant surprises they are to us -- gifts, really -- when she proudly displays her work that we had no idea she was even doing.  yesterday she grabbed my hand and said, "come, mommy!  i made some treasures for you to see!"  and in the kitchen, i found four little post-it notes affixed to various drawers and cabinets, and one more upstairs near super's bed.

but i was happiest to see the fifth one.  it wasn't "i love my princess dress" or "i love my pretty hair".  it was far more important.  one that, as her parent, i will continue to remind her, and emphasize with her, and instill in her.  one i hope she'll continue to say, and believe, for the rest of her life.

a quite wordy wednesday

so here's the situation: i'm sitting downstairs, by myself, in a quiet house when everyone else is asleep.  i'm at the computer (where i always am these days, trudging through work) and i begin to hear noises outside.  i try to convince myself that it's just leaves rustling in the yard, and not some masked escaped convict prowling around the place, ready to murder me.  i start to ponder strategies: do i scream?  do i make a mad dash to the kitchen to grab a steak knife?  are the steak knives in the drawer, or all still sitting in the unloaded dishwasher?  would a paring knife be a better choice? or perhaps a pair of scissors that happen to be next to me at my desk ... or a nail file ... and then i begin to think back on the self-defense class i took in college to satisfy my p.e. requirement.  i wonder where the white karate-like robe i had to buy for that class wound up, fifteen years later. 

then i hear noises that are even closer, snap out of my reverie, and finally stand up and peek over the window that overlooks my desk.  and there, directly on the other side of the window -- literally three feet away from me, with merely a brick wall separating us -- is the nastiest raccoon i've ever laid eyes on. and not only is he nasty, but he is FAT.  and why is he fat?  because he's perched in the middle of super's bowl, chowing down on the dog food she left behind after dinner, which i'm starting to realize has been going on for months now by the looks of his size XXL behind. 

i'd like to say that i was brave and took care of the problem myself.  instead, i somehow ran upstairs with my toes curled in my slippers, aroused my poor husband out of a deep sleep, and made him take care of the thing.  which he did simply by flashing the porch light and rattling the door knob a few times.  (my hero.)

but that vile creature didn't sprint off the porch.  no, he just kind of casually glanced up at us, hauled his fat hiney out of the bowl, and sauntered out through the ripped screen on the porch door.  (chris must have repaired that thing a dozen times, and always, within twenty-four hours it's back to being ripped again.  we've been blaming super all this time.  falsely accused AND robbed of her food to boot -- poor pooch.)   i'm surprised the raccoon could squeeze his body through the slats after gorging himself on the iams, but he did, and then had the audacity to linger on the steps, obviously waiting for us to leave him alone so he could return to the scene of the crime and lick the bowl clean.

anyway, rather than focus on this disgusting chain of events, i'll choose to share pictures of our recent family outing to a pumpkin farm.  you'll see that the farm has added tons of things to do, from slingshots to cornhole to zip lines to tractor rides.  we had so much fun; so, you see?  there are even more things that i like about halloween than just the steady supply of candy.

come to think of it, i better make sure there isn't any candy sitting on the back porch.  with the dog food, the raccoon's a nuisance.  but if that thing were to get into my butterfingers, well, i might just have to go buy myself a rifle and become the redneck woman i was born to be.  no one messes with my the kids' chocolate.

corn maze

rolling around

liam hit the target with his very first try

ours went maybe two feet

 zip line!  that thing was fast

each "car" had a different name -- how fitting that the last one available was Susie Q (chris's nickname for susanna)

and, as they say, a good time was had by all

the H word

"why don't we have decorations on OUR house for halloween?" i hear from the back seat, as we drive through the neighborhood with the kids (apparently) marveling at the yards and homes of people far more festive than i am.

"because, kids, i hate halloween."

"MOM!" comes the swift admonition of the profanity police.  "you said the 'h' word!"

"you're right.  sorry.  i detest halloween."

and i'm not kidding.  i really don't like halloween.  i never have.  i don't like the ghosts and the goblins and the witches and the vampires and the monsters and the other nasty things kids dress up as, which can be downright scary, even to a 36-year old.  i don't like eerie music and fake fog and black cats and tombstones that litter people's yards in the attempt to, i don't know, get into the holiday spirit.  and i will never understand why the same people who hire housecleaners to get rid of their cobwebs, then go out to a craft store and buy materials to PUT cobwebs on their bushes and front porches.  (side note: i don't mind so much the pumpkins and haystacks and candy corn, so we do have a few decorations out.  i'm not a total halloween scrooge -- although as soon as november 1st hits, they're boxed up and back in the attic.)

you know what else i hate strongly dislike?  halloween costumes.  this i can link directly to my childhood, with a mother who never really got into the whole halloween thing herself.  i swear every year on the afternoon of october 31st, my younger sister and i would be racking our brains, trying to come up with something that could suffice as a costume.  we'd go find mom, who would shrug her shoulders and suggest that we go down to the basement to see what we could find.  inevitably we'd wind up trudging up the stairs holding the same rabbit costumes we had worn for the previous three years that were hand-me-downs from my dad's business partner's children.  the final year i wore my rabbit costume it wouldn't button in the back and the legs ended shortly below my knees, and that's how i knew i had officially participated in my last trick-or-treating.

another thing i hate strongly dislike: halloween catalogs.  my kids will spend hours poring over the costume section, oohing and aahing at every page. after declaring several different options his favorite, liam finally settled on wanting to be an Angry Bird this year.  i took one look at the price tag of $49.99 and became an Angry Woman.  (i did give in, somewhat, and bought a super mario costume at target for him.  i've actually never spent a dime on a halloween costume -- he was a soccer player last year and a baseball player the year before, both with uniforms he already owned, and we've borrowed the rest -- so i'm figuring an average of $2.50/year isn't too bad.  especially considering the fact that susanna was a carolina cheerleader, sporting the uniform she received as a christmas present last year.  from, come to think of it, my parents.  i suppose my mom has finally provided a halloween costume for someone.)

but none of this compares to how much i hate strongly dislike the kind of trick-or-treating we had last night.  normally, trick-or-treating is one of the small highlights of the season for me; i actually enjoy canvassing our neighborhood and seeing all the children on the sidewalks and watching liam and susanna's eyes light up as their plastic pumpkins grow increasingly heavy with candy.  but last night was not that kind of night.  it was FREEZING.  and it was POURING.  within two minutes of leaving the house, we were soaked.  i was dreaming of a hot bath and a glass of red wine before i'd even reached our mailbox.

at the end of the night, soaked to the bone -- but with smiles still on their faces. (mine was forced)

but the one good thing that came out of this dreadful day is sitting on my kitchen counter right now:  the five pounds of candy the kids collected just by walking down two streets.  each person who answered the door was so surprised/impressed/relieved to have trick-or-treaters that they wound up dumping their bowls into the kids' pumpkins.  and i'm extremely pleased to report that their loot isn't full of the junk like now-and-laters and good-and-plentys and organic gummy bears that inevitably wind up in the trash in early december.  this is five pounds of snickers and milky ways and twix and reeses, people!  kit kats and M&Ms and almond joys, all of which just so happen to be in the house all day, with me, while everyone else is gone.

so maybe halloween isn't so bad after all.