October is fright-full month

Thoughts are whirling around ... so much packed into a single day. And so much still to do.

In addition to it being all-sorts-of-bad-things-Awareness Month, October is a harrowing time for me.

Ittybit has the BIG dentist appointment next week wherein they will dope her up and drill holes in her mouth so they can fill the decay that is forming there. I don't usually bite my nails, but am considering taking up the filty habit just for this nervous-breakdown event.

(I'd appreciate it if you could think of us next Thursday. I'm not above praying to a god I don't believe in (Hypocrite!) if it will have any affect on keeping my little corner of the world safe from complications.)

Today the Champ had his urology appointment to check his hydronephrosis. I had to hold him - kicking and screaming - through a 20-minute ultrasound, and then wait for the doctor's consultation for another 45 minutes, during which he wriggled, wailed and begged to "GO HOME."

The upside of the two-hour scream/wait-fest is that his kidney, "while not substantially better, is certainly no worse." They don't want to see him again until next October.

Of course the two OTHER pieces of good news in this medically trying day happened as we were waiting for them to call his name -- 1. They pronounced it correctly and didn't yell "CIALIS;" and 2. A little boy went up to Silas and pushed him pretty hard. I was ready to deal with Silas striking back, but instead he told the little boy in the BIG BOY voice, "YOU NOT PUSH ME!, OK?"

The kid's answer: "OK!"

And just like that the problem solved without consternation or intervention.

I'm not sure if I really had anything to do with The Champ using his words instead of his fists, but I'm still going to lick my finger and take the point:

SCORE ONE against Domestic Violence.

My 2 cents hasn't been able to buy a candy bar in more than 30 years

I was drawn into a Twitter debate over some bloggers' attendance at a Nestle conference that has bubbled into a bitter brew of a chocolate (that incidentally, my mother never let us eat because of the company's sales practices in Africa), which really has little to do with either of the ongoing wars on breast vs. bottle or the ethics of manufacturer-supported blogging.

At the heart of this issue for me is the company's continued practice of selling infant formula in parts of Africa in apparent conflict with the World Health Organization's and, according to some accounts, it's own guidelines for sales of breast milk substitutes in those countries.

While I agree this issue has been a difficult one that has gone on for decades, and one that sparks great consternation among proponents of breastfeeding and those who support choice in all feeding methods (philosophies I don't believe have to be mutually exclusive), I truly believe this is ultimately a business ethics issue. And as such, consumers have every right to demand answers.

Here's some background information.

Some people think that Nestle has an obligation to provide formula when it is asked by hospitals in third-world countries. How could someone say no? Others think it is promoting its product to doctors and directly to mothers. One thing seems clear, to me, however, Nestle should abide by WHO guidelines in all countries, even those that don't enforce them.

At issue -- besides any overt nafariousness -- is a difference between providing a substitute and a suppliment. With HIV infection and studies changing results on issues such as breastfeeding with tennis match speed, it seems difficult to parse "best practice" for sales of formula preparations. Especially in places where poverty and and santitary conditions are so dire.

Now, some have said that it is wrong to think a company can't be pressured to change, especially now that the wheels of marketing spin as fast as 140 characters gets pecked out on keyboards that are now globally webbed.

Perhaps.

I don't believe things can't change. But changing an unpopular marketing campaign style such as Motrin isn't the same as changing a sales practice that's been in effect for nearly 40 years. I don't think it's nestle's job, nor should anyone seriously expect them to promote breastfeeding in Africa. But if they are really going to "help" Nestle should make a product for Africa that would ensure mothers there have the same security we have when we feed our children formula. Mothers around the world really do want the same thing: We want to watch our babies grow up unaffected by preventable diseases.

I bet each and every one of us would give a little of our expendable income to further that end.

And there's the catch. We shouldn't need to. Breastmilk, for most women, is the best and cheapest alternative. And in impoverished nations, to promote anything else may really be promoting infant mortality.

What we forget is charity that isn't appropriate or safe isn't charitable. And what we lose sight of is that profiting off of someone else's suffering will be and should be viewed with suspicion.

Seriously? I'm listening to Nestle. I'm just not hearing them.

My worry is that they ARE listening to me, but instead of doing the right thing at the expense of profits, they are using what they learn to devise better ways to get away with murder.

Maybe it's time for Nestle to listen to those of us who don't already have its ear.

Not all 'firsts' are warm and fuzzy

Some firsts are cold and stiff, and just plain gruesome.

What are you going to be for halloween?

This is in no way proof that she will, in fact, BE a "beautiful fairy-princess-queen of Odenblogs" for halloween. But thanks to Goodwill prices, it won't matter if it just winds up in the play dress pile.

I also picked up a baby gorilla outfit. It was a bargain, and I can live in hope that he will accompany me this year as Second Banana.

It would be easier, though, especially this year after the GREAT MOVE OF OUGHT NINE, if we could all masquerade as the #1 child's toy of all time: A cardboard box.

Maybe next year.

Strange ...

napping house, originally uploaded by toyfoto.

One of his favorite books is The Napping House ...

And this is the first nap he's taken in our house ...

on a weekend ...

in a long time.

Usually our house is The Napping House where no one is EVER sleeping.

I'm pretty sure I have the plague ...

Or a garden-variety cold.

Meh.

I'm probably going to bundle myself up this weekend and plant myself in the middle of the driveway ... right about where that pretty blue bin is sitting now ... and egg the kids on as they chase each other up and down on their Plasmacars.

If I have any bursts of energy, we may hit up one of these events:

Five Rivers Environmental Center, 56 Game Farm Road in Delmar is hosting its Fall Festival Saturday from noon to 4 p.m. Center naturalists have planned a bunch of fun family activities including guided hikes, hands-on crafts for kids and plant and book sales. Refreshments will also be available. Free. Call 475-0295 for more information.

The Brunswick Community Library is hosting the grand opening of its new facility, located at 4118 Brunswick Road from 10 a.m. to 4. p.m. Saturday. Festivities included stories and crafts for kids, readings and book signings with local authors, food and entertainment as well as a family sing-a-long with Ruth Pelham of the Music Mobile at 1 p.m. for more information, check out the Web site at www.brunswicklibrary.org

Grafton Lakes State Park on Sunday is hosting the 23rd annual Barge Chaser Canoe and Kayak Race. Registration is at 10 a.m. at the Beach Nature Center. Race will begin at 11 a.m. Paddlers of all skills levels are welcome to participate. Two races will be held, a 2.5 mile sprint and a 7 mile paddle and portage. The event is sponsored by Northern New York Paddlers, and participants are encouraged to bring a potluck dish to share.
For more information, call 343-8133.

Mr. Random

While getting dressed …

“My mama says yes.”



While eating breakfast …

“My car not working.”



While washing his hands …

“My papa not coming.”



While eating dinner …

“My school bus not coming.”



While participating in story time at the library …

“MY. MAMA’S. WORKING!!!”



While brushing his teeth …

“My dragon not rawr.”


... and just when I was beginning to worry about the not-so-random negativity ...



While taking a bath …

“My poop not working.”


*Whew*

Talking to myself

Some days just feel as if they head off in the wrong direction before you even get out of bed.

That would be today.

Might have been yesterday, too.

Maybe even a bunch of yesterdays, who knows?

*Sigh.*

Catch of the day

catch of the day, originally uploaded by toyfoto.

I'll admit, there are times I'd like to throw him back ...

Still not sleeping through the night (Don't ask).

Only wanting Ice Ceem Sanwiches for breakfast. (It's got some food value, right?)

Then there's the whine. (You know the one.)

The tantrums. (Oh the unpredictable nature of bad moods.)

And the fighting. (ASK! NO!!!)

But not today.

Even though his sister almost missed her school bus because he was chasing her around the driveway on his car (and I wasn't paying close enough attention to the time) ...

And even though I had to chase after him when it was time go to work, all while he screamed in his big-boy outdoor voice, "NO CATCH ME!!!"

I have to admit, it was the best catch of the day.

So this is growing up

Saturday turned out to be a second moving day. Oh, it started out like any average Saturday ...

We sat around and drank coffee while the kids chased the cat around the house and fought over which toys were allowed to be played with and by whom ...

I kvetched about the laundry piling up and the dryer I didn't want ...

We shivered our way down to the village square where we treated ourselves to breakfast, and more bickering by the kids, and finally the farmers' market ...

When we got home and started the usual "OH WE'RE HOME, LET'S START CLEANING," which consists of shuffling junk piles into a more orderly configuration of junk piles ... as the kids shower their toys liberally into the new clearings. ...


But the van -- filled with estate furniture that had been graciously donated to us by his maternal aunt -- called to him: "EMPTY ME."

So in the middle of the day we combed through these new-to-us possessions, and quickly decided to replace our plastic-covered dining chairs, drag a couple of dressers into bedrooms, adopt a few standing lamps and swap TVs; ours for one of a more manageable size.

It was like another moving day with the driveway cluttered with stuff ...

Some staying ...

Some going ...

Some heading into storage for posterity ...

Some heading into storage for some future yard sale ...

Those blue chairs with the vinyl seats that we've been unsticking ourselves from after family meals ... banished, replaced by mismatched but perfectly lovely hardwoods.

My desk ... used for years as our dining room table ... went back to it's position in my office; circle fills the rectangle.

A corner cabinet ... for no other reason than it fits, as if it were built in.

A bench follows two end tables and a drop-leaf game table into the living room.

An embroided chair and a rocker ... too nice to stay downstairs where the cat will sharpen her claws on them ... are carried upstairs ...

I was amazed they all seemed to fit and make the rooms seem bigger.

We moved a Swiss-made precision instrument of a bed into the place that is my office … where the cat and a pile of homeless boxes live for now.

Will my "office" ever really be an office? Is it destined to be a guest bedroom? A cat’s lair? I think I’ll start calling it what it was destined to be: Swiss Army Room.

It may still be found furniture but it feels so much more grown up. After all, it wasn't found on garbage day.

Whatcha doin?

It’s safe to say that we make pilgrimages to see the Bindlestiff Family Cirkus perform. Their variety act certainly earns its vaudevillanous reputation.
Ringmistress Philomena, a tattooed wonder of grace and athleticism (not to mention prominently listed on Jed’s laminated card *cough-ahem-cough*) leads a troupe of world-class entertainers from the bizarre to the prophetic.
Of course the last time we went to see their show we ended up donating a pint of blood to the mosquitoes as we spread out on a blanket on a local historic lawn. We also felt the need to leave the performance at intermission declaring the blood sucking parasites the winner of this round.

This shouldn’t be a problem on Sunday when The Bindlestiffs perform from 2 to 3 p.m. at the Arts Center of the Columbia-Greene Community College, 1.3 miles east of The Rip Van Winkle Bridge in Hudson.

In addition to Philomena’s brilliant and bawdy physical comedy (down boy, it’s toned down for family audiences) the show will also feature Magic Brian, aerialist Harvest Moon, Juggling by Paris the Harlem Wonder, and Kinko the Clown. Live music by El Mystico, Francisco Monroy is also planned.

Tickets are $8 for adults and $6 for students. I’m telling you, it’s cheap at twice the price. For Tickets and information, call: 518-828-4181 extension 3344

LARK FEST …
The hippest street in Downtown Albany closes off to traffic Saturday and opens up to the visual arts, music, poetry, magic acts, dancing and scores of flavorful food vendors. Events get underway at 10:30 and go to 5:30 p.m.
Look for eba’s "The Family Creative Zone," featuring fun craft activities for all ages on upper Hudson Ave. from noon to 4 p.m.

OMG … CHOWDER!
Troy’s third annual Chowder Fest will have River Street awash in creamy-fishy-goodnes as 30 local restaurants participate. Chowders range from Seafood to Vegetable and Manhattan to New England. Ice sculptures, live music and refreshing libations. This year Chowderfest kicks off a week of events celebrating the quadracentennial of Henry Hudson’s navigation of the Hudson River. Bou-yah-baise!

OMG … SOUVKAKI!
Saint Sophia Greek Orthodox Church kicks off its Souvlaki Fest 2009 on Friday. This year’s event starts on Friday with take-out lunch from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m.; full service from 4 to 9 p.m. Saturday 11 a.m. to 8 p.m. Menu includes chicken or pork Souvlaki & Gyro, Greek salad, Spanikopita, spinach pie, Tiropita, cheese pie, Loukoumathes (fried dough with honey), rice pudding, various Greek pastries. Phone orders accepted for pick up. Call 489-4442 for more information.

STAR GAZING
Grafton Lakes State Park will host a star watch with Albany-area astronomers Saturday evening beginning at 7:30 p.m. The tour of the night sky is free and will be held at the Deerfield Pavilion. Call 279-1193 for more information.

OTHER EVENTS THAT ARE DESTINED TO SAVE THE PLANET

Columbia County Farm Festival gets underway at Golden Harvest Farms, Route 9 in Valatie, Saturday at 10 a.m. The event features a chance to mix and mingle with local growers, as well as a good old-fashioned hoe-down with The Wickers Band and square dancing beginning at 3:30 p.m. While you’re at Golden Harvest, mosey on over to the distillery and check out how they make their chic-chic apple vodka, Core. It’s pretty interesting. $5 per car.

Not quite as sex-ay as tattooed circus stars and boutique vodka, but we all know recycling is the new black. Advanced Recycling Inc. will have its second electronics "take-back" event at the Rhinebeck Fairgrounds Friday through Sunday from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. all three days.

The first electronics recycling event collected 69,000 pounds of spent electronics from the Hudson Valley region, and organizers hope to collect 100,000 pounds at this event. Individuals can load their cars with broken TVs, computers, phones, stereos or whatever fresh batteries won’t cure. No pre-registration necessary; $10 per car. Businesses and schools will have to call ahead, however, and will have to pay based on inventory. For more information, call Laurie Rich at 845-876-6330.

MARK YOUR CALENDAR
Olana will host “Artlandish,” Sunday, Sept. 27 from 1 to 4 p.m. In this workshop, visitors will create art in the landscape in the way Frederic Church himself created his Hudson River School masterpieces by sketching in the landscape and finishing in the studio. Paper, pencils and clipboards will be available at the Education Center for those venturing out into the landscape, and colored pencils, oil pastels and watercolors will be available upon your return. The workshop is free, put participants should be prepared to leave a photo ID at the center until art materials are returned.

Nature! It's all over me - get it off!

alien life form, originally uploaded by toyfoto.

I know I should feel relieved that no one got stung ... seeing as how this hornets' nest was within a few feet of the place I've been parking my car (not to mention loading and unloading the kids) at the new house.

But the fact that we potentially killed off thousands of its inhabitants with only two cans of some wasp-be-gone type pesticide makes me feel a little remorseful.

Big Love

son, originally uploaded by toyfoto.

Dear Champ,

You're not a baby anymore.

But you're not a big boy yet, either.

Every morning as we prepare for your sister's school bus to pick her up, you talk about how TODAY is the day it will take you, too.

You have your "pack back," which contains your lunchbox. Those are the things, you presume, you need to gain admission to the giant yellow bus.

The first day good-old-#13 shut its doors and chugged on without you inside broke your heart. An hour of tears followed the snub.

No "Big Boy Adbentures," including a special trip to the toy store for a new racer, could right the slight.

You were prepared the next day, though I think you secretly thought the backpack and its sandwich fare would change the outcome. Nevertheless, when it didn't you didn't let it rattle you. You screamed "goodbye" to your sister, whom we had trouble seeking through the smoked glass windows of the bus, and waved your arms so hard I was afraid you might slip from mine.

She was in there. You were out here. It was O.K.

As we walked back to the house, you convinced yourself the new mantra we've been chanting - "When you're bigger" - would likely be tomorrow.

"I'n bigger now?"

"Not yet, buddy."

"O. ..... K. ...."

Every day seems to bring the alternating emotions of resolve and dispair. On days with heavy tears we stop at the Post Office so you can push the key into the lock, give it a turn and open the door to our mailbox. Close. Turn. Extract.

Again?

It's a simple diversion. Why not. And so we stood there and turned the brass key back and forth. No more mail. Ah ... No mail.

Before long we are back in the car and going along the route of our usual routine.

You question everything you see:

"That My school bus?

"Tomorrow I go on school bus?

"Garbage truck?

"Horsies! WOOK HORSES, MOM!"

We stop as the red lights of another school bus flash in front of us.

"Tomorrow I go on THAT school bus? THAT my school bus?"

"No, honey. You're still a little boy. When you're a big boy then you'll go on a school bus."

Then you smile your crooked smile ... one eye squinted shut: "O ..... K. ..... Tomorrow I'n goning big boy adbenture .. on school bus."

It occurs to me, that as much as I would like to protect you from certain heartbreak, I just hope you can always feel this way: That tomorrow will always offer another chance.

Love and sideways grins,
Mama

Metaphorically speaking

If this is what happens after only one week and one day of kindergarten ...

MOMMY: "How was your day at school? Did you play with any new friends?"

ITTYBIT: "It was O.K. I played with Amy and Alexis ... but mostly Alexis. It’s sad."

MOMMY: "What’s going on with Amy?"

ITTYBIT: "We’re becoming unwrapped."

MOMMY: "What do you mean,'unwrapped'?"

ITTYBIT: *Big sigh* MOM! "You know how you start out like this?



Well, pretty soon you’re like this!



And then, after a while, you just end up like this!



You just get unwrapped."

... what will first grade be like?

The Tao of business

drinking her profits, originally uploaded by toyfoto.

"One firm's nepotism is another's cheap labor."

She fired him.

Twice.

It didn't really matter.

She had no intention of paying him.

Seeing the light

On this day three years ago I wrote a letter to my daughter about the day our country changed.

September 11, 2001.

I wrote about what I was doing on that day when I learned two planes had crashed into The World Trade Center. I wrote about how I felt and what I witnessed in the days following the attacks. I wrote about the fear that gripped each and every one of us.

I read that letter every year on this date.

And each year, I see how little use that fear has been to us.

Moreover, I’ve come to a more somber understanding of what that fear has taken away from us as a nation.

And I remember what was so miraculous about humanity -- a word that’s meaning in our collective lexicon holds more imperfection lately than kindness – on that day.

On that day we only saw suffering, we didn’t see race or creed or color. We looked for ways to help instead of ways to insulate. We looked at each other and instead of seeing all the things that make us different we noticed all the things we share. Empathy enveloped everything we said or did.

It saddens me that we tend to exhibit this rather significant part of our inner souls only in the aftermath of tragedy, and only briefly. The things that sustain us the rest of the time are competition, greed and fear. It doesn’t have to be this way.

We can learn to be brave just as we’ve been taught to be afraid.

Living in fear is not really living life to its fullest.

So for me, on this inauspicious day, I will celebrate the ways we took care of each other eight years ago, and the way we faced fear with stone faces. It serves as proof we still have true bravery within us.

Random Question Thursday

What's the best thing about fall?

The question should have been what's NOT to love about fall ...

I love that here in the northeast of the good ol' U.S. of A. fall means the return of sweater weather, the temperature that best suits my clothes.

The world looks like it's on fire with its bright reds, yellows and oranges. The blue even looks bluer as the days get shorter.

The sound of Canada geese winging their way south.

There's the leaf piles and the apple picking.

And back-to-school shopping. ... Seriously, what red-blooded American doesn't just feel a little better with a fresh box of crayons and some super fast sneakers?

Day One (and a half)

The main reason I DID NOT cry when she got on the bus this morning, alone, headed to her first full day of kindergarten ...

There is only one person allowed to cry at any given time in our household. This time it was Silas' turn.

Poor guy just wanted to ride the bus.

Tomorrow it's going to be worse, too. He seems to think they'd let him on if he only had his backpack.

Something tells me this won't be the first time I see this look

Dear Ittybit,

How many ways can a parent fail their child on the first day of school?

Why don't we count ...

1. Bus for kindergartners makes a special trip on the first day. ... One hour AFTER the usual time. Stepping on the early bus only to have to climb right back down will cause tears.

2. That bus tag that has your name, address, phone number and route number? The one every other kid has pinned to their clothes? Should have been pinned to your dress not lost in the mess we call our house.

3. You will need to pack a healthy snack each and every day ... BUT NOT ON THE FIRST DAY. Everyone eats graham crackers and milk on the first day.

4. Uhm ... lunch money?

5. Where is that piece of paper from the dentist's office confirming that you are a patient? (Probably hanging out with the bus tag in the mess we call a house).

6. Oh look, there's all these cute pictures of your classmates on the bulletin board. ... We needed to provide a photograph from home? Where did they ask for that? Oh, right there ... where it says put extra clothes in shoe box to store in cubby. At least I remembered the shoe box. Perhaps tomorrow I will remember the clothes.

7. Forms ... morfs ... smorfs? What form was that? Oh, right ... the health one.

8. Homework folder? Whoops. Wrong one.

9. Oh. ... the scissors were communal? Shouldn't have put your name on them, huh? Oh riiiiight. ... says so right there with the photo and extra clothes shoe box.

10. Tearing up in class to the point of vision problems after reading (in class) the little note from your teachers, tucked inside a sandwich baggie containing a little pink cotton ball:

"To Our Dearest Kindergarten Parents,

We just wanted to give you a little gift as you leave your "little growing edge of the world" with us for the first time tomorrow so you will not go away empty handed.

As you hold this cotton ball in your hand tomorrow, the softness will help you recall the gentle spirit of your child. After you have wiped your tears, make your self a warm cup of tea. Put your feet up and relax. Remember that together we will work along side your child this year to help him/her grow to his/her fullest capabilities.

Thank you for entrusting your child with us for the upcoming school year. We promise to do our best every day to be your child's companions in learning and exploring this bright new world he/she has just stepped into ... the wonderful world of "I can!"

Sincerely,

Kate and Nicole

Please know, Ittybit, I don't usually cry at sappy form letters. (Evidently I don't read them either.)

Love,

Mommy

Public Service Announcement

This is the sixth to last time I'm going to say this:

LOCK YOUR CARS, PEOPLE.

LOCK 'EM!

LOCK!

THEM!

Don't even leave a window-crack space between glass and metal.

If you don't lock your cars, someone (who undoubtedly HATES you) will throw the largest hand-me-down toys you've ever seen inside, making your kids look hamster sized by comparison.

The slap heard round the world

Almost every word Deborah Copaken Kogan writes in her Huffington Post essay about the slap heard round the world has me shaking my head in agreement.

But a few have me just shaking my head.

Something about calling unwanted or unsolicited advice "agression" just doesn't sit well.

To be honest, watching the internet implode with anger and stunned disbelief that a stranger (in a Walmart) would actually lay hands on an unrelated child (in a Walmart) seems like watching another train wreck from the safety of the wrong side of the tracks.

Perhaps I am the cold, hard byotch I sometimes worry myself to be.

When I heard that story, after I fretted for the child and placed myself in her mother's shoes and mentally hugged her, I wondered if the man was having some kind of medical malfunction and not merely exhibiting the manifestations of a life lived with the meanness of a junkyard dog.

Surely he must be having a stroke. Or is presenting with Alzheimer's disease. Anything that would explain such abhorrent behavior.

But her essay wasn't really about him. It was about everyone who would talk to a stranger negatively about their children or their parenting skills.

Even the annectdote Kogan related in her essay - that of a stranger telling her that her son was on an beach and in a hole, genuinely (it would seem) concerned that the boy could be carried away if a tsunami-like wave were to somehow make its way to the place far from the surf they were sitting - seemed to only reinforce the judgemental snark we wish to stop perpetuating.

I know, it's not fair. People are asshats. They shouldn't just say every damn thing that comes into their head. (I promise I'll shut up after writing this out). We are all guilty of wanting that perfect retort that will demote the pompus fool to the under portion of the bridge most fitting for their troll-ness.

I mean, afterall. ... What would I do in the situation?

Same thing.

When Ittybit was born, in December, we took her everywhere despite it being the coldest winter I could remember. Numerous people chided us for "taking a baby out in such cold." The anger and indignation of being challenged rose in us. A slap in the face.

I slapped back.

"Thank you for your concern, but you can go shit in your hat and pull it down over your ears."

I think it may have been the first time my husband gleefully told people he comes from Minnesota, where he spent a few of his less-than-memorable teenage years, and where no one would ever leave home if they were waiting for timid winter weather. Otherwise he tells people he's from Maine, where he was born.

I had even convinced myself that when The Champ came around - a summer birth - at least we'd avoid the same type of earboxing.

But no. As I stepped out on the street one August afternoon, a sleeping infant in a sling and a preschooler in tow, a man sneered at me about how it was a crime to have a baby out in such heat.

I shrugged and gave him that pained expression that translates into "what-am-I-going to-do? I-have-to-get-groceries." And I let it go.

He's never going to understand my seething rage. It's not going to change his genuine concern. I know my baby is in no danger. I know I'm doing the best I can. I know I make mistakes. I know I am a good mother. Inhale. Exhale.

So now, instead of slapping back, I make it a point to smile at the women who have their babies out in the cold or in the heat. I mention how beautiful their children are as they cry or tantrum at the checkout. I tell them some days I'm there, too, and that I understand.

I don't need to rage against the injustice as much as I wish to offer a hand of support - a hand I know one day may be slapped away.

You know the drill ...

packback, originally uploaded by toyfoto.

The alarm goes off.

You dash from your beds.

Pull on your clothes.

Race down the hall.

Checking this way and that to see if you have everyone.

And ....

... the big yellow school bus that haunts you in your dreams passes your house just as you and the kids are tripping down the steps in untied shoes.

That's the kind of drill we had this morning as the family was lollygaging over breakfast or tossing pieces of crumpled up paper toward the cat.

I'd noticed the time and realized had it been a "school day" we would have 15 minutes to pull our stuff together and make the trek to the end of the driveway to meet the bus.

The drill sargeant in me was awakened.

*clap, clap* LET'S! GO!

Get your bag. Find your shoes. We've got five minutes.

LET'S GO - LET'S GO - LET'S GO!

It was almost exciting. Almost.

Ittybit smiled at me with an uncertain look that noted she might be having fun, or she might just be sizing her old mother up for a canvas jacket with arms that tie in the back.

The test was also for me. I grabbed her new backpack and her new lunch box (both entirely empty but with their pricetags attatched) and streched them around her shoulders. Looking her over and grabbing The Champ, who was now chanting "LESS GO! LESS GO! LESS GO!" with more enthusiam than a Bear's fan at a stadium game.

It's exactly 8:17 a.m. when we open the door and step out onto the porch ... a mere 500 feet from the bus stop. Two minutes late.

I can almost see the yellow blur and smell the fumes blow past us.

Sadly, The Champ couldn't understand why we were turning around and shutting the door. Having no idea that this was merely a drill, all he knew was that he never even saw the bright, yellow bus.

So he did the only thing a toddler could do in such a situation: He burst into tears. Body shaking, inconsolable tears.

And for the next 12 or 13 years, I imagine, this scene is going to play out over and over again.

Every morning.

Like clockwork.

Irrefutable proof our resident mice aren't long for the world

They aren't that smaaaaat.

They can, however, move things around. The many-times gnawed cob prong was discovered under the kitchen sink where it had been relocated from the utencil drawer (I know: Eeeeewwww).

So I conclude if our mice were children we'd likely be saving for Andover Trucking School instead of Harvard.

Finding Out

She's getting bolder. She still lets us hold her any which way but "prefurred," and she's more likely to run away from the children when they lunge for her now (although I'm not entirely ruling out a desire to be chased by "teacup" humans), but she's explored every square inch of the house and she seems much more interested in the door to the big, big world.

And she's fast. Speed of sound fast.

Sigh. It's just a matter of time before she'll disappear out the door.

For her sake, I just hope she's smart enough to stay away from the road.

For our sake, I hope she doesn't find greener pastures.

Spike that

Well summer almost gone. I know this because the two local fairs I’ve attended over the years are in a neck-and-neck race to usher it out.

I’m thinking I’ll just take this whole weekend off so I can rest up for the dueling fairs' arrival next week. It's for the best. It'll give me a chance to practice my aim with pointy projectiles and to stretch my stomach so’s I can eat my weight in fried dough.

The Schaghticoke Fair, Routes 67 and 40 - Schaghticoke, starts Wednesday and runs through Labor Day. It’s the only fair I ever attended that boasted an amazing, ferocious, secretary-robot on the midway. I half expected her to geek a chicken. Ah … memories. Attractions include agriculture exhibits, music, entertainment, animals, rides, food, grandstand and stage shows. Motor coach parking available. Admission is $10, children 13 and under free. Week-long pass for admission is $30. Advance sale tickets at Price Chopper are $8 with advantage card. Visit www.schaghticokefair.com for schedules and events.

The Columbia Couty Fair, Routes 66 and 203 - Chatham, kicks off Wednesday and continues through Labor Day. I’ll never forget the year I entered my dog in a 4-H obedience show (I was 11) and some jokester from the livestock barns sicked his goat on my dog. Alls I’m saying is it was a good thing my dog was so well behaved. Fun, fun, fun. Attractions include Painted Rodeo, demolition derbies, monster truck pull. There’s plenty of rides and attractions for the kids including talent competitions and various food eating contests. If your kid has a thing for watermelon, this is the place to be at the tail’s end of summer. Tickets are $10 at the fair gate except on Sunday when tickets are $12. Advance sale tickets are available at local Price Chopper stores and will save you $2 for daily admissions and $4 on Sunday. Visit www.columbiafair.com for a complete listing of schedules and events.

Random Question Thursday ...

salvation on a string, originally uploaded by toyfoto.

Remember these? Well, it's happy hour at Random Question Thursday.

Name you're poison.

Ordinarily, mine's Guinness Stout. On special occasions, when there's nothing to do, no place to go and no kids around ...

I'll take a margarita.

On the rocks.

With salt.

So, what'll it be?"

What I know about kittens (will probably do me no good when she's a cat in 20 to 30 weeks)

So …

We now live with a cat.

Strike that. KITTEN.

Ittybit is emphatic I call it a “K-I-T-T-E-U-S-J-I-N, or however you spell it.”

And because I know some of you (especially those lovely and articulate readers, who took the time to send their amazingly helpful advice about cat kitten husbandry) are interested to know how we’re all making out with the new resident, I’ve compiled an annotated list of my new understanding of the “Felion” persuasion:

As directed by the shelter, we positioned Ariel’s food bowls and litter box in a “safe room,” which was explained as a room that the kitten could roam and leave at will but that the dog couldn’t access.

Now this may be a little indelicate, but I really don’t know how the kitten managed to get her pee and poo into the litter box seeing as how her privacy was limited to inner thought while Ittybit carried her around the room the whole time using creative holds that contorted the poor animal into uncomfortable looking positions. The fact that she never once tried to wriggle away or scratch the three-and-a-half-foot tormentor is a testament to her temperament and key to my first observation: Kittens are weird.

Now this temperament thing may or may not be related to my second observation: This kitten seems to be a little dog-like. Not only did she come when called, she also tends to roll on her recently spayed belly to have it rubbed. The weirdest part was when she did this to the dog. As Maddy chased her around the house once she’d ventured out of her safe zone, instead of booking it to the Switzerland that is my office, she flopped on her back and surrendered.

My third observation has to be related to her age – 16 weeks – or her walnut-sized brain: Kittens are unable to stop forward momentum. All I’m saying about this finding is “Thank heavens for widow screens.”

The fourth observation, which should be filed away in the "Be Careful of What You Wish For" category: Kittens are the most vampire-like of all household pets. Nocturnal schmockturnal. We know this because Ittybit was insistent on letting the cat sleep in her room, and, after giving the kitty the grand tour of toys, expected the little fuzz butt to settle down and sleep. She did not, however, expect to be attacked under the covers by a tiny fur ball hunting imaginary vermin in the great snowy plain of an oversized summer duvet cover. The little miss was somewhat dismayed by the fact that once invited her little monster wouldn’t leave until banished behind a closed door.

I can honestly say, at that point, I worried about the honeymoon being over.

All was forgiven though when Ittybit woke up in the morning and was met at the top of the stairs by her kitten of the undead, still wide awake and ready for action but now looking a little worse for wear as her entire head had been slobbered in dog-drool love.

Which lead me to another realization about the so-called cat and dog relationship.

In just 24-hours Maddy has gone from being a dog’s dog to a cat’s dog. Not only did she drool copious amounts of slimy, sloppy love onto the feline’s head, but she also herded off a visiting dog whose intentions toward her new kitten were unclear.

Of course when Ariel sat still so ittybit could dry her off with a towel, the only thing I really need to know about cats I learned on day one: Kittens are weird.

Breakfast of ex-champions

yogurt moustache, originally uploaded by toyfoto.

MAMA: What do you want for breakfast?

CHAMP: Beckfas?

MAMA: Would you like eggs?

CHAMP: No.

MAMA: Cereal?

CHAMP: NO!

MAMA Toast and peanut butter?

CHAMP: NO! ASH NO!

MAMA: Well, you have to eat something for breakfast. What will you eat?

CHAMP: Wan eyespeam sameeech. Wan eyes PEEM sameeech!

DADDY: What does he want?

ITTYBIT He wants an ice cream sandwich.

DADDY: I want one, too.

MAMA: Well, we're all out. How about one of these yogurts in a tube? That's the closest thing I have to ice cream.

CHAMP: O.K.

MAMA: *after snipping the edge and handing it over, the boy takes the tiniest of all licks and hands it back.

CHAMP: Wan shup. Wan shup.

MAMA: What?

ITTYBIT: He wants it in a cup. He likes drinking it out of a cup.

DADDY: Yeah. He doesn't like to get his hands all sticky.

Vermont charm, in some instances, could actually be a curse

Isn’t it strange how RARELY we ask questions of situations that start out as "something-seems-fishy" and later turn into a "should-have-known-better" tale?

Like, when you call the motel to book reservations the day before your arrival to a family reunion – knowing ALL OTHER AREA HOTELS are mostly filled up – you NEVER question why they have rooms and why those rooms are $79. You just thank your good fortune and remember your dad laughing about how the prices had gone up.

Oh sure, some red-flags may wave around a bit when the reservations clerk just repeats what you say -- adding a “yes, yes” over and over -- without really confirming anything. But you wave them off.

There was that weirdness with the Web site saying all rooms were booked when you checked it to get directions. But you write that off as just a technical glitch. You’re old enough to reason computers are fallible and Web sites aren’t always updated by the squirrel you imagine is spinning the wheel that powers Internets.

Why would you think there’s anything amiss, really?

It’s not as if anyone even remotely suggested we should “pardon our appearance while we undergo construction.”

So when we roll up after dark on that Saturday night to find a small cement mixer still churning as a few workers huddle near a hibachi at the end of the line of rooms, the exteriors of which where all exposed to the studs, and dirt piles parked in all the prime slots – you might say we were all a little surprised.

But we laughed. It’s not that bad. It's only for one night and we only get to hang out with family and folks once a year.

Of course, as the night wears on, we each reported our rooms’ individual quirks: card locks that don’t work, toilets that didn’t flush, water that never got warm let alone hot.

We laughed some more.

Aside from a few stains here and there, and the popcorn with which the kids seeded the floor, the place seems clean enough. The kids didn't care: they reported the place to be AWESOME.

And it was kind of awesome if you are referring to its lack of amenities: It has no tiny refrigerators, no working ice machine -- there isn’t even a pot of over warmed coffee let alone a continental breakfast. It had people living there who were hand-digging a foundation simultaneously as we popped the tops of our second Trout River Red.

In the morning we’re still laughing, although it is softer now that we’re sporting check-out-time hangovers, throbbing even more deeply from lack of caffeine and lingering a smell we never could put our fingers on.

As we toss the last of our bags in the trunks of our cars, we looked up at the place we’d enjoyed watching the kissing cousins, and the whirling dervish cousins vow to stay up all night as we imbibed and chatted, and noticed that the balcony to its nearest end really didn’t … end, that is. No wall. No railing. It just stopped.

The laughing stopped.

Then, just when you think you can’t really be surprised again, someone overhears the cleaning woman ask for an antibiotic as she had just stepped on a nail.

Everyone took a deep breath.

There's nothing really funny about the possibities we now seem to have narrowly escaped. Then someone mentions how great the place is going to be next year when it offers, walls, floors, a full breakfast and WiFi.

And we can't help it. We have to laugh.

Morning commute

humid morning, originally uploaded by toyfoto.

I sat behind the wheel at the crossing, car in park, waiting for the train to pass. The boy in the back seat was happily eating his breakfast and watching the morning's entertainment: A freight train.

I couldn't believe how humid it's been. The windshield had a thick film, compounded by the riewview mirror fogging over.

Should have gone another way, I think momentarily. We'll be late again. There are so many other roads we could have taken.

On days like this it pains me to find the negative so easily. I am quick to fret and worry over every decision, every delay, every misstep.

I look up. And through a fogged lens into toddler eyes, I see things more clearly:

"Train. Passing. Mom? Train? Chooo-choooooooooo! YAY!!!"



RAIN, RAIN GO AWAY ....

Get crafty
Mabee Farm Historic Site, 1080 Main Street (Route 5S), Rotterdam Junction is the site of and arts and crafts festival Saturday from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. The event features local handmade crafts pottery, wood crafting, folk art, jams, handwoven items, floor cloths, candles, jewelry, fine arts, painted furniture, artisan demonstrations, music and more. Admission is free. Food and boat rides on the Wofford along the Mohawk River are also available for a fee.

BUT IF YOU STAY, WE'LL FIND A WAY ....

Oh, go fly a kite!
Got wind? On Saturday from 2:30 to 4:30 p.m. build an indoor kite and learn what makes it fly at the Schenectady Museum & Suits-Bueche Planetarium's FETCH! Lab. The FETCH Lab runs weekly, hands-on activities similar to the ones on the popular PBS television show. Free with museum admission. Visit www.schenectadymusuem.org for more information.

Just Purrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrfect!

Soooo ... Jed and the kids went to the shelter ...

filled out some forms ...

listed everyone we've ever known as character references ...

and released the veterinary records for our dear-departed Maggie as well as our still drinking from the toilet, sweet-old-incontient Maddy.

And today we got the call that we've been approved ...

to adopt a cat.

Well ... a kitten actually.

This black furry blur is Ariel



and she will be coming to live with us on Monday.

That is the name she was given at the shelter (probably why our cat person and appointed caretaker of said feline fell instantly in love) and Ittybit has no intention of changing it. I, of course, will be calling her 'Tempest,' as I'm sure she will be a tiny, whirling dervish only William Shakespeare could have conjured.

She's a playful one.

Now, friends, I am not a cat person. I like them well enough, but they seem to only tolerate my presence. (This could be a cat feature, I don't know.) I have owned ONE cat in my adult life and I believe it ran away to join the circus (or was shoplifted during a town-wide yard sale, whichever is a more plausable explanation for his wandering ways) about six weeks after I had him neutered and immunized). In fact my experience with cats is that they all seem to find a place that suits their needs -- say fish served nighthly at the neighbors' house.

So, aside from the fact that we've decided this shall be a house-bound cat with all her natural nails (because the proceedure to remove said implements of slicing torture seems cruel and with our luck she'll be wily enough to get out into the world whenever she wants to anyway) what else should we know that will make everyone's life easier? Especially the newest member.

Think: Geriatric, incontinent dog who's sweet but never lived with a cat before.

Think: Litterbox placement/maintenance.

Think: Training her to flush the toilet (I've seen Meet the Fockers) or make toast (after she washes her paws, of course).

We'll take any advice if it will make the house purr.

Think: Purrrrrrr.

Having reservations

Dear Ittybit,

The summer is scooting by.

I hadn’t been paying attention as most mornings have been encased in a cold crust and me in the desire to stay under the winter covers. The down comforter on my bed has been employed for a fourth season instead of stowed, and there are days I think I could employ another part time.

You never seem to notice the weather. You seem impervious to its grasp. Only when the possibility of cooling ice cream or warming cocoa are in the offering do you pay it any mind.

But the heat arrived, finally, and with it the breathless realization of humidity and humility: School will start for you and with it comes a whole new life for all of us.

Not that we ever took off mid-week to go berry picking or to climb a hill and peer off into the distance from its apex, but now the potential to just get away is monitored by many someones else … principals and teachers and so forth. The eyes of the state are upon us now that you shall have to attend and be counted.

I'm not worried. Not really.

I know you will be brilliant. I know you will rise to any height should you want to reach it.

As any mother does, I worry that others won’t understand you or that they’ll hurt your feelings. I worry that you will lose the confidence and the fearlessness you’ve shown to my ever growing amazement.

As most mothers do, I look for comparisons. I measure my untrained observation of you against my untrained observation in others.

I look around at other girls your age and, still, you stand out to me. Your wit; your observations; your calm, measured approach to investigating new things strikes me as unique though I know all mothers must see this in their children. All mothers marvel. It’s what we do.

We also doubt and get defensive. We project our tepid experiences and lie in wait for their return. I am awake late at night wondering about all the things I will not be able to control; all the things I should not try to control.

I tell myself that my job is not to fix things for you, but to show you how to fix them for yourself. And to teaching how to accept and move on when what is broken seems beyond repair.

I was reminded of all of this as I tried to keep your brother from raiding the cake plates at a birthday party while you girls sat in a circle playing “pass the pressie.”

The object of the game was to pass a present among you until the music stopped. The girl holding the package would carefully unwrap it revealing another later of pretty paper. Three times the music played and stopped as the giggling became quiet and nervous. One girl was saying how she never won anything. Another agreed.

I found myself looking in any direction but where the laughter was keeping time with the tune. I just couldn’t watch.

I didn’t want you to lose. But I didn’t want you to win, either.

That is my dilemma.

What to do?

While in Maine, I had an opportunity to take a surfing lesson for mothers and instead of happily rushing into the water I stood back, angry and indignant. The only reason I felt compelled to do this, I raged, was to prove myself to you, who would be standing in the sand, cheering me on.

It wasn’t proving anything to me.

I have no interest in surfing. I have less interest in balancing on a wave or wearing the seal-like suit that would keep my somewhat warm in the chill of an Atlantic morning. But I said I would go through gritted teeth. I’d committed to looking like a fool and envisioned myself chasing a board through the waves.

As I stood by the surfshop counter, looking in any direction but the clerk's, I almost didn’t hear her ask for the reservation I didn’t have.

Face saved by the reservations I didn’t have, but ego bruised by the reservations I did have.

What to do?

I want to calm the waves of this growing storm; to remind you that life does seem unfair at times; that you will feel the sharp words of others digging into the soft flesh of your innocent chatter. But you will undoubtedly gouge your indignation into some poor soul’s inner core, and you will be the guilty party.

But what is life but a series of highs and lows? An exploration into the unknown.

And then I realize that my job isn’t really to calm the waves, it’s to help you learn to ride them.


Love and reservations,

Mommy

Alone time

alone time, originally uploaded by toyfoto.

The homecoming was almost effortless despite having involved a seven-hour round-trip commute.

She threw herself into my arms and banged heads with her brother, who was already clinging in my embrace like a monkey. She didn't seem put out that she couldn't have a hug that was entirely her own.

She just wanted to go home. She wanted to see her house and her toys. She missed her good old friend The Moose Channel; and practically salivated at the memory of her father explaining TV ON DEMAND. Although she didn't believe me when I told her I didn't know how to get "Max and Ruby" at midnight, she accepted the fact that I wouldn't even try.

She was so tired she practically fell asleep in the single flight of stairs.

The boy was tired, too.

In the morning she asked to have "some alone time," which meant she wanted to play with her toys without having to protect them from her brother's grabby fists.

I told her I could only occupy him for about 20 minutes before he'd want to play with her.

I ran water into the BIG tub.

I only had to occupy him for three minutes ... long enough for the lure of boiling jets to call her back upstairs, where they pretended to be pirates setting sail in a wooden salad boat.

On this morning there is nothing more satisfying than a tiny salad bowl filled with imagination.

Simple pleasures

I’ve been in a shopping frenzy since mid July as I’ve run a thrice-weekly circuit between Home Depot and Target to procure items of questionable need as a response to the great Moving/Vacation/Going-to-Kindergarten Shop-o-rama Extravaganza!

I have bought a veritable dime store of ordinary things in the past six weeks: Storage containers, soap dishes, new caddies for a cluster of new cleaning products for under the kitchen sink; there were toothbrush holders and shower rods, curtains and hangers for bathrooms; and dish drainers, dish stackers and baskets for the kitchen cabinets.

Even in vacation the pesky purchasing persisted: I bought tubes and tubes of sun block, products for mosquito massacre and more toys and beach playthings than we had room in the car to return with.

Of course the school supplies put the non-dairy topping on the cake: Washable markers, Twistable crayons, hard-covered binders, oversized book bags and even a blanket for napping.

There is more – of everything – than any family of four could possibly need, so I’ll spare you the details. But as always, I just feel like an overdone chicken every time I spend money: Kind of crisp yet rubbery.

Isn't it strange how rarely things you are compelled to buy produce the satisfaction of simple pleasure? Things such as dropping a couple of bucks into a machine at the do-it-yourself car wash and vacuuming a car floor you haven’t seen for the detritus in three years just surprise you later with an unexpected satisfaction. You almost forget about the missing pocket change and the nine minutes of grunty-grubby work trying to snake that hose around to the backseat passanger side of your sedan until you slide into the vehicle at the end of the workday and are reminded by a clean carpet. You smile. It was the best two bucks you've spent in a long, long time.

A weekend of simple pleasures
There are few triggers in life that bring a person back to their childhood as weird as a pig roast. But there you have it … a succulent, whole pig turning on a spit does it to me every time.

When I was a kid my parents were close friends with some Irish folks –- not unlike ourselves -- but who raised pigs. Whenever one died as a result of an accident (usually the runt) they’d call all their friends and have a pig roast. It was quite a spectacle: I remember “The Third Man,” showing in the living room, William Kennedy holding court in the den, and a belly dancer, in full regalia, gyrating on the porch. Those days may be gone but pig roasts are still with us.

On Saturday at 1 p.m., the Tsatsawassa Protective Fire Company, serving Brainard, East Nassau and surrounding areas, will host its 21st annual pig roast at the firehouse grounds located off Routes 20 and 66. Refreshments, including hotdogs and hamburgers, start as 1 p.m. as firehouse staff roast the pig, which is served at 5 p.m. Tickets are $20 for adults and $10 for children ages 5 to 12, and include food throughout the day. The event is the company’s major fundraiser for the year. A raffle for gift certificates from area merchants will also be held.

Tickets for the roast are still available, however you better get there early. For more information, call 766-3815.

Farm to table
If you’ve spent the summer pushing a wonky-wheeled cart through a super(air-cooled)market, why not get out this weekend and meet some of the people who actually make the food you eat? Farmer’s markets are pulling in their best produce now and every community seems to have one.

Troy Farmer’s Market in Riverfront Park is one of the best in the area, featuring more than 50 local farmers, bakers and artisans sell the freshest local vegetables, fruits, meats, breads, cheeses, baked goods and handmade goods, such as soaps, pottery and crafts. The even is held every Saturday from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m.


Under the stars
Handy Boys Enterprise in Millerton has established “A Night Under The Stars,” an outdoor movie shown on a large, inflatable screen, at 8:45 p.m. every Saturday night at Eddie Collins Ball Field, between Millerton and Irondale along Route 22. Saturday’s feature film is Madagascar 2. It's an easy and cheap night out. Just bring yourselves, a picnic and a blanket and lawn chairs. The stars (both literal and figurative) will be provided free.

To each her own

My mother saw this photograph and said it look nothing like the Ittybit she knows.

To me it's her, heart and soul.

It's the spitting image of the child I see on a daily basis (or the child I had seen daily up until this past week, as she's been staying with her Maine grandmother for a few extra days of vay-cay-sh-a-mun.)

I miss her. I knew I would.

What I didn't realize was how quiet it would be without her around.

How different the reality is from the respite.

Now I find it strange how quiet can seem nice for a while before it just gets on a person's nerves.

A lot of pirates are away from home on their birthdays

... but few have such loyal mates.



Happy Birthday, Jeddie.

I'd like to thank Ralph Nader ...

sparklers, originally uploaded by toyfoto.

Even though he had nothing to do with federal laws regulating the safety of children's sleepwear in the early part of the 1970s, particularly as it pertained to flamability. (Car safety was important, too.)

I'd also like to thank the state of Maine for keeping sparklers legal despite the fact that they are not always "safe."

Most of all, however, I'd like to thank Ama Linda who brought the two together. She not only saved her daughter's 70s-era night gown for the possibility that one of her grandchildren would someday get use of it again, but she also has the same love of flickering fireworks as her grandtots.

Just TRY and get a kid to look 'neutral' as you point a camera at them

I dare you Passport agency rule makers.

No, I double dog dare you.

One, short

We returned from our week in Maine last night having left Annabel with her grandmother for another five days of fun in the sun.

Figures: Halfway home it started to rain.

The hugeness of leaving my baby for a week really crept up on me.

Even though we've talked to her no less than five times in the last eight hours, it just feels weird without her here.

Kinda like that how it feels when you loose a tooth and your tongue keeps finding the empty socket where your tooth had been.

Which Annabel told us all about this morning.

The tooth - a big, front one - fell out right before swim class.

Thanks to her uncle Dobbs for photo documentation!