On the Shelf

Tizzy's always been a climber. 

Once, when he was two, I discovered him balancing on a broom stick that was propped precariously up against the highchair, arms outstretched like a circus performer making his way across a tightrope.

That's why it came as no surprise this morning when I found him perched on top of the bookcase, limbs dangling loosely over it's side.

"This is very dange-urse." He announced, as I walked through the door.

"Yes, yes it is." I replied nonchalantly. 

"I think you should get me down from here."

"No, not today."

"Mama, you can't leave me here! It's mischief... you should get me down."

"Mischief you got into. You get yourself down."

There was a short pause as he thought about this. I went about my business.

"I said it's Dange-urse." He repeated.

"I'm sure it is." I replied, sorting the bills.

Another pause.

"How'm I gonna get down from here?!"

"Probably the same way you got up."

"Mama, my legs are not big - not yet." He proved this by stretching them out towards me, flexing his toes just to make sure I could see how far they were from the floor.

"That's a shame. It's going to be quite a while before they're long enough to reach the ground." I added. "Better try and figure out another way down."

Then I left the room - because I was getting stuff done."

Just as I was getting used to the freedom of having one less child wrapped around my ankle, he carefully stretched his little leg out as far as it would take him and tippy-toed himself onto the trunk below, then jumped down onto to the floor.

It was good while it lasted.

Blogher gave me writers block!

I am just starting to make my way through the pile of business cards that I collected from the Blogher conference, amidst laundry, vacuuming, and playing referee to my children, who are now convinced that they are Pro Wrestlers.

I was fortunate enough to attend Blogher this year, as it was essentially held in my backyard - or rather 30 minutes away, in San Francisco. It was a fabulous opportunity for me as a new blogger; not only for the chance to meet and visit with people who’s blogs I’ve been reading for some time, but for the chance to meet so many amazing bloggers, that I was not yet familiar with.

Since networking is a huge part of what blogging’s about - we cannot exist in a vacuum - I thought I’d share these links with you, so that if you were unable to attend, or were there but met other people, you too could reap the benefit of these fabulous sites. 

In the name of social networking, I’m going to start out by listing some of the social networks I was introduced to.

www.kirtsy.com - Link sharing at it’s finest.

www.adoptic.com - Still in beta form, this is a site worth keeping your eye on.

www.dreamfish.com - also still in beta form - if you believe in green, sustainable, social networking, this is the place for you.

www.experienceproject.com - An online community where people can anonymously share their experiences and make connections with others experiencing the same. Spent some time talking with Vice President Julio Vasconcellos, who was interesting, personable and passionate about this site. 

www.yedda.com - Have questions? Got answers? Go to yedda and share your knowledge.

www.sparkplugging.com - a business network, for those who work from home.

www.5minutesformom.com - What it sounds like, a social network by moms, for moms. This blog site is run by twin sisters. Double Trouble in it’s best sense, these two were EVERYWHERE! Their site is fantastic, and they are masters of promotion, continuously adding content, and providing the best resources for moms. 

www.5minutesformom.com/getnoticed - The place to list your blog with 5 minutes for mom.

www.newmediastrategies.net Online brand promotion and protection technology.

www.socialstudiesblog.com - Social networking for PR professionals.

www.qlubb.com - An online events coordinator that helps you keep track of your events and coordinate with it’s members.

O.K. - I’m out for now. Keep checking back, and I’ll keep sharing. Sign yourself up to the sites that interest you, and I’ll introduce you to some personal blogs over the next few days.

I'm in Charge... I'm in Charge!

So, my bloggin’ buddy Mommy Wizdom, invited me to be “Queen for a Day”... (or week, or month or year) to share with all Ye all, what I would do if I was indeed, “The Queen Supreme!”

Both my mother and husband claim I have a bossy streak; I think I’m actually quite reasonable.

However, if I truly were “Queen of my Castle,” these are the rules that would be mandated and adhered to.

1) The Royal Court would attend the Royal Dining Hall, for each and every meal, which they would gobble up cheerfully, gushing with enthusiasm, and praise for the chef.

2) The Courtly Bath House would be visited regularly; No wigs and white powder accepted as slovenly substitutes.

3) Toys would be lovingly played with, picked up and treated with care. 

4) Beds would be made daily without a reminder, and Thrones would be sat in properly, NOT used as springboards and trampolines by the Royal Jesters. 

5) Princes would fall asleep promptly at 7. No whining for wine or other palatial beverages they felt somehow entitled to.

6) Said Princes would sleep through the night. The Queen needs her beauty rest.

7) The Palace would be immaculate, with sparkling floors and jewell encrusted door knobs. 

8) The Queen need not be aware of how it got that way. She wouldn’t much care, as she’d be too distracted eating Chocolate covered Bon-Bon’s while watching “The Royal Wedding.” 

9) There would be an abundance of glass slippers, and ball gowns, pedicures and spa treatments. 

10) The Castle would come equipped with spring loaded doors, to prevent them from slamming. As a result, all occupants would live Happily Ever After.

As it stands, my Royal Court is still making me pay for my recent soiree. As I write this, Prince Tizzy has escaped from his napping dungeon. When I stated he must return or face grave punishment, he laughed and exclaimed “Grave Punishment? That’s funny mama...Grave Punishment!”

So it’s back to my humble peasant life, where I sing to the animals while sowing wheat and baking bread.

If you too would like to Rule the World, it’s not too late. Swing on by to MommyWizdom and sign on up for the fun.

Sing Me a Song Mr. Piano Man

Zip’s having growing pains. 

He stomps around and throws himself into a fit of rage, shaking and trembling as he tells us what he “Does NOT” want to do!

At night he howls at bedtime. Sobbing and inconsolable, he declares he is, “Not Tired!” “NOT!”

He woke us all up at 3 a.m. this morning, unable to decide between his and our beds. Nothing would do, there was no consoling him. Finally he demanded a diaper change, only to present us with a perfectly dry diaper.

“You’re diaper is dry honey.”

“Is NOT dry diaper. IS NOT!”

I brought him into the bathroom and offered up the toilet, into which he peed. 

“That’s wonderful Zip. Wonderful!” I applauded. “You’re becoming such a big boy. Such a big boy. If you start doing this every time, you won’t need diapers at all!”

He climbed back into bed and went to sleep with a smile on his face.

This morning, we were in the kitchen, when we heard him banging away on his Schroeder piano.

*pling-pling-bang-pling-pling* ”I’m a big boy now!  Blah de maw maw...” *pling-plang* ”Not a baby no moooore...! No, no more! Not a baby...” *pling-BANG-BANG-BANG* “Nah-mi-nah-mi-nah... Big boy, Big boy...!” *pling-plang* ”NOT BABY NO MORE!!!” *BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!!!*

I spent last weekend hangin' with my imaginary friends!

BlogHer ’08.  What can I say?  It was kind of like one of those dreams where you go back to high school and you’re either buck naked or running down the hall in slow motion trying to get to your final exam on time, when it suddenly dawns on you that you haven’t gone to class all semester! 

I’m usually having the finals dream, because that was my high school experience, but, this time, I did do my homework, I really did. So naked - it’s hard not to feel exposed when greeting people that you’ve only ever met online. But, at the same time, it’s absolutely electrifying to connect with real people, offline, away from our computer screens, and truly get to know each other for the actual, live people that we are, for... real. And this, I think is the heart and soul of the BlogHer Conference.

I’ve been mulling for days over how to best wrap up my experience, but I’m still reeling from the enormity of it all. I’m more of a memoirs person. I’ll be able to tell you all about it in twenty years. 

The break out sessions were great. They were interesting and informative, and answered the questions I’d had coming in as a new blogger. The biggest and most delightful surprise of the whole weekend, was the amazingly diverse group of people that I spent time with. From all the wonderful Mommys (and the handful of Daddys), to the techies, the educators, marketing specialists, foodies, sex writers, and All That and More Writer’s, what made the conference truly special was the social networking. To be in a room with 1000 plus people, who all use the same creative medium with which to share their passions, was truly remarkable.

I’ve been blogging for less than six months, but I’ve been reading blogs for the last several years. It was a real pleasure to finally meet some of the women who’ve been so inspirational to me and to feel so welcomed by all of them.

Crystal, who I’ve long admired from afar, my blessings to your father. May you all stay strong during this challenging time. But also, Congratulations on your exciting news! You really have earned it. Polly, our BART ride home on Friday night confirmed to me that, yes, we are just a few BART stops away from an organized play date.  Liz, whenever I’m homesick for the Big Apple, I know I can visit your site and be right back there with you. Kristen, you have an amazing propensity for glancing at a name tag, and making a person feel like you’ve known them forever. Thank you both for taking the time to stop and talk shop. Lindsay, you are as talented and entertaining in person as you are online. Next year I’m not missing that burger party!

And to these lovely ladies who abducted me, tied me up, and threw me in a cab, I don’t know when I’ve last laughed so hard. I’ll have midnight brunch with all y'all any ole time. Thank you RSG and Lelo for saving me when my coach turned into a pumpkin, it would have been a long cold night sleeping all alone on a park bench down on Market street.

My kids think I was at a Sesame Street conference!

While I'd love to just sit right down and talk about where I really spent the weekend, I'm back to making pancakes, feeding worms, keeping my two year old from biting, and making sure the doors don't fall off their hinges.

What I can say, is that Blogher was amazing, my senses are completely saturated, and I will be back tomorrow when my kids are at school.

See you then!

The Two Baby Brother's

                               Zip and Uncle Miles at Auntie Nessa's  wedding!

                                                      Photo by Cousin Jeffie Price

The wedding was perfect in every way. Congratulations Auntie Nessa and Uncle Erich!

The Whizz Kid

Five months pregnant and needing to pee, I rushed into the downstairs coffee bar at Whole Foods. Surprised to find it newly remodeled, I scanned the café frantically for the Ladies room doing a little pregnant jig. Ah! There it was. I rushed in, entered the stall, and found relief.

Midstream, I heard the door open, and through the gap in the cubicle, could just make out the details of a plaid woolen shirt passing by.

"Is this, in fact, the Ladies room?" I asked myself.

I realized that, in my haste, I hadn't looked at the sign on the door, just located the familiar blue circle on it, and rushed in. All I'd seen of the dimly lit facility was its slick black tile walls and orchid on the counter. I was stumped, it was a pleasant, but perfectly androgynous restroom.

The door opened, and someone new walked in. Seeing as there was only one stall, I was afraid I couldn't just wait for them both to leave, so I found my composure, gathered my belongings, and exited the stall.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one man, standing adjacent to a black porcelain urinal, which I did not recall from when I'd first walked in. The man in the plaid shirt glared at me as he exited the Men's Room, and then stomped furiously past me towards the stairs, as if I was some heritic who'd violated the ancient tribal codes by trespassing upon the sacred male lair.

The café, which had been empty when I arrived, was now teeming with customers. A young woman in a perfectly pressed suit and stylish hair stared at me in disgust, as if I'd been conducting an orgy in the bathroom, presumably for those with pregnancy fetishes, all while she ordered her coffee. I tried to smile, but only grimaced as I walked past her, smoothing my wrinkled maternity shirt over my belly.

I walked over to the stairs where the plaid shirted man was waiting for me.  I let out a suppressed giggle and said, "Heh-heh... pregnant, couldn't hold it."

"You didn't wash your hands!" He scolded.

Flustered and surprised, I replied something along the lines of wanting to respect the privacy of the man at the urinal.

"That's no excuse. You should ALWAYS wash your hands!" he boomed.

I entertained thoughts of him following me through the produce aisle shouting, "Don't buy the peaches people!  She didn't wash her HANDS!!!"

Later that night, Brad and I went out to eat at San Francisco's Fog City Diner. While we waited for our order, I told him about the bathroom incident, the telling of which, being pregnant and all, made me need to pee again.

"Be careful," he said in a mock serious voice as I excused myself.

Now, you should know that Fog City's bathroom sign is clever, but confusing. On the door to the Men's Room is a picture of a man pointing to a sign reading "Ladies." Got that? In real life, the direction that the man in the picture is pointing to does in fact lead to the Ladies Room on the right. I examined this situation very carefully before proceeding.

However, again while I was taking care of business, I heard the door to the bathroom open.  I chuckled to myself at the likelihood that I could make the same mistake twice.  Nope, that was impossible, I'd been very careful.

So, I finished up, opened the door, and turned to wash my hands only to find a tall, tan man standing at the sink in front of me.

I started to laugh. "This IS the Women's Room, isn't it?" I asked.

Deeply flushed, the man stammered, "Uh... I not-a speak-a-the English!"

Al Dente

Zip Bites.

He bites very hard.

He's bitten Tizzy three times this week and has left dark purple welts along his arm.

Brad, who was kicked out of Montessori school at the age of four, for biting his teacher's ankle while pretending to be a dog, is justly concerned about this.

"Zip you've got to stop biting or you'll be kicked out ot school!"

Zip smiles at him and nods his head, "Mmm-hmm."

"Do you bite kids at school?"

"Yeee-aah"

"Tizzy, has Zip been biting people at school?"

"No."

"He just bites you?"

"Yeah."

"That's terrible! Zip, you have to know better. That's just not acceptable!"

"You know better, don't you Tizzy?"

"OH YES!"

"You'd never bite anyone would you?"

"OH NO!" (Shakes head emphatically)

"If somebody HITS me, THEN, I bite them!"

Stranger Danger

In Tae Kwon Do, the kids were being asked if they knew how to tell the difference between a good stranger and a bad stranger.

There were several answers that a good stranger looked good, a bad stranger looked bad, and a bad stranger could also look scary. Then one kid burst out with "A bad stranger wears a ski mask!"

We all agreed that with our current weather conditions, 111 degrees F. yesterday, 103 degrees F. today,  a stranger in a ski mask would at the very least be Strange.

Dumpster Days!

When I was nine, we had a neighbor who really knew how to make the most of trash! He owned a major recycling company, and would regularly load us neighborhood kids up in his pickup, and take us to dive the dumpsters in back of Lucky’s.

Dumpster-diving? With a bunch of kids?!

Yes, I know this might sound shocking to many, but let me tell you, it was a blast. 

Once, he sent us all home with boxes filled with perfectly undamaged, but also unlabeled, canned goods. At the time, I was attending a one-room schoolhouse in the woods with only 28 students, K-8, and, as we kids tromped through the creek in our mud boots, we would have lively discussions about what we’d found in our newly opened cans the night before, and the odd dinners that had ensued. 

Another time, he filled the truck with cases of generic beer, which kept our parents refreshed during summer re-runs of Dallas as we all hung in suspense over who shot JR. 

The best for us, however, was the time when the dumpsters were overflowing with candy bars. Snicker’s, 3-Musketeer bars, and M&M’s were ours for the having. It was better than Halloween, because these were all full-sized bars. None of us cared that the dates were expired. Free chocolate. It all tasted good by our standards.

The diving was short-lived. The Lucky’s manager was on to us and, within a few months, had padlocked the bins. I remember some discussion about it becoming illegal and assumed until now that it was.  

Apparently, it is not, and, beyond the millions of Americans who depend upon the practice for their survival, there’s a huge dumpster-diving movement growing in the West. 

While dumpster-diving has a relatively bad reputation, we should actually be grateful to those who do it. With Americans alone generating nearly 230 Million tons of garbage a year—roughly 4-1/2 pounds a day—we have to start rethinking the way we look at trash. Skeptics say that divers need  to buck up and pay for their goods like the rest of us, but what they fail to realize is, that it is precisely because consumers demand stores stocked with unblemished produce and morning fresh bread that so much goes to waste. Dumpster divers are simply reviving goods that have already been rejected and would have otherwise ended up in our landfill. 

Go see Pixar’s Wall-E and think about a world overflowing with waste, and, while you may not want to devote your own evenings to diving, for more reading about those who do visit here, and here, and here.

New Food Mondays: The Salad Days!

Once again, the mercury is rising and it’s just too hot to cook. 

I’ve never been beholden to dinner for dinner, or breakfast for breakfast. I’ve eaten spaghetti in the morning and pancakes at night, so when the temperatures are soaring, what’s most refreshing to me is a fresh fruit and cheese plate.

4 slices roasted garlic sourdough - toasted

2 slices Brie

4 slices Havarti dill

3 slices Havarti

2 slices low sodium turkey

handful of carrots

handful of cherries

bushel of grapes 

sliced pineapple

Throw in some chocolate chip cookies, a few chocolate Lacies, Marcona almonds, a movie and enjoy!

Too decadent?

O.K. Here’s for the grown ups amongst us.

Crunchy green lettuce such as baby gems, hearts of Romaine, or butter lettuce

a handful of shelled peas

sliced carrots

sliced zucchini

sliced cherry tomatoes

grilled chicken 

sliced avocado

Kalamata olives

Marcona almonds

Dress with the dressing of your choice... I prefer a light vinaigrette.

Bon Appetite!

With tuppence for paper and strings, you can have your own set of wings. *

Last night we flew kites with Tizzy’s spirit brother, A-the Great. 

It seems the boys have truly been in each others’ lives since before they were born. I’ve been friends with his mom since we were fifteen, but I’d lost touch with her when I was  about twenty. 33 weeks pregnant for Tizzy, I was schlepping through Whole Foods, when I heard from behind, “Look’s like we’ve been up to the same thing lately.” 

I turned and our bellies nearly collided. We reconnected, had time for one lunch out, and then we had our babies, one day apart, in the same hospital. We often joke that they orchestrated that run-in while they were still floatin’ about in Never-Never-Land, to ensure their lifetime friendship.  

At three weeks old, they officially met. They were fast friends, in a newborn kind of way. We’d lay them on their sides, propped up with blanket bolsters, and they’d wave their tiny arms about, and then they’d fall asleep. 

His mother and I formed our own Mommy group of sorts. We’d converge in our living room’s weekly, in our yoga pants, and just stare at our babies all day long. Frequently they’d arrive at our house as Brad was leaving for work, and still be there when he came home at night.

We’ve seen each other through deaths and births, household moves and rainy day blues.

Four and a half years, and the boys are as tight as ever. With preschool and alternate schedules, we don’t see each other with such frequency. The boys have been missing each other and it hasn’t gone unnoticed. So last night we loaded everyone into the car for a long overdue night of flying of kite’s.

As our timing would have it, we both pulled into the parking lot at the same time. The boys were grinning ear to ear and could hardly be contained long enough to release them from their seats. A big hug and they were off. 

While the grown ups untangled kite strings and got the beasts up into the sky, the boys rolled down the grassy hill sides, crashing into each other and screaming with delight. They would chase each other in circles around the path, commence at the drinking fountain, climb back up the hill to us, and start all over again. The kite’s were a nice backdrop, but they were the main attraction.

After everyone had their fill, we loaded them back in our cars with promises of grilled cheese and ice cream. As we made our way to the diner, they’d squeal with delight when we’d meet up at stop lights, where they’d laugh and blow kisses.

At the diner, the three boys piled into a booth, marveled at the toy filled table tops and, held each other in passionate embraces in between bites. To top off the evening, they shared an enormous Sundae, covered in whipped-cream and sprinkles. It was the quietest they’d been all evening as their three spoons clinked in unison, savoring every last bite. 

Smiles were abundant, and spread to neighboring tables, as we all stopped to watch them partake in this childhood extravaganza. 

Once they were done, Tizzy who knows how to recognize a happy ending, jumped out of his seat, threw open his arms for one last hug, and said Good-night.

* Title extracted from Robert B. Sherman's Let's Go Fly a Kite

Marvelous Zip

Zip is a cross between a hog throwing lumber jack and a soft bowl of pudding. 

When he doesn’t get his way, he stomps and growls, and charges like a bull. He’s reached the height where his head can hit me square in the belly and rock me back on my heels. Yesterday, for simply looking at him sideways, he bit down hard on Tizzy, leaving dark purple welts upon his elbow, and while we tend to encourage non-violent resolution, we certainly couldn’t blame him when Tizzy reacted arms-a-swinging. 

He skip-stomps around, hands flippy flopping at his side, and has a thunderous laugh that’s a marvel in relation to his size. He’s a thrill seekin’ hell raiser, and has mischief written all over his smile.

But, he’s also soft as a lamb, nestling himself under the crook of my arm, head perched on my lap, gazing at me with pool blue eyes. He’s a regular old softy and highly sentimental. On any given evening, he can be found rounding up his bedtime entourage, a ratty worn kitten named Floor, a dirty faced baby doll named Flower, a newborn’s baseball cap with an embroidered fire truck that he carries like a luvy. He’s been known to sleep with a soccer ball, has tried to sleep with a yoga ball, and still cries after a long lost football, which, he whispers to me, makes him sad.

He’s passionate about animals. He regularly asks after my mom’s cat Zack, counting the days before he can lay belly down on her porch whispering sweet nothing’s into Zack’s ready ears. 

The other day, he paused mid jump and turned to me to say “Wait! Da birds is singing!” 

When we were at my mother’s house for my birthday, he stopped during his walk to turn to a squirrel and say “Hi swirrel, I’m a walkin’ to my Prisha’s. I’m a gonna have some cake, and change my poop! Bye swirrel” 

He’s growing every day, his body stretching itself out of its round baby form, into a tall, sturdy boy. Racing about in the daytime, but still beckoning me to “Sickle me”, a cross between sit with and tickle me, when the sun goes down at night.

Happy 4th!

                                                                                          

The Joys

4th of July is upon us. 

Tomorrow we will parade down the street with our neighbors. The kids will decorate their bikes and ride the 8th of a mile that is our street. The parents will accompany them wearing Suessical hats, and star spangled flip flops, and the rest of the neighborhood will wave flags and shake pompom's, cheering us on from lawn chairs perched at the edge of their driveways.

We will all converge in the middle of the street to share a pancake breakfast, while the kids race around on their scooter's, bits of eggs and sausage being popped into their mouths as they whiz passed their mother's and father's. And just as they're about to burst with anticipation, the local firemen will arrive in a big red fire truck and pass out jr. firemen's badges as the kids swarm the truck like honey bee's swarming a big red chrysanthemum.

A couple years back, we lost a family of four to their native Australia, just as their lovely daughters were of age to babysit. It was a sad day for us all. They still visit periodically and we all pine, as their daughters smother our children with kisses and attend to them dotingly. It's enough to make us want to move down under! 

But while they were here, they introduced us Yank's to Honey Joys and Fourth of July will never be the same without them.

You too may want to make Honey Joys a part of your Fourth. Here is my version,  modified from the aussie Kellogg's recipe:

4 cups flake cereal

6 Tablespoons butter

1/3 cup sugar

1 Tablespoon honey

 

I prefer to use Nature's Path Heritage Flakes which is full of hearty grains like quinoa and kamut, spelt, millet, barley and oats. While my husband thinks these treats are nothing more than glorified frosted flakes, I figure if you're going to be serving a glorified frosted flake, you might as well boost it with some nutritional substance. I also think they taste better and have a heartier crunch and if it's all my children eat tomorrow, I'll know they've got some solid grains to hold them.

Combine the butter, sugar and honey in a small saucepan, and cook over medium heat until melted and bubbling. In a large bowl, pour the butter / sugar mixture over the cereal and stir until the cereal is coated. Transfer the sugared cereal into papered cupcake tins and bake at 300 F for 10 minutes. Let cool before serving.

Behold the Uprising!

Right now I am locked in an office. 

Outside I hear furniture crashing, plates clattering, screaming.

My children have declared full fledged mutiny. 

Two hours ago I had them fed, bathed, I was reading them stories. Brad’s at a fundraiser and won’t be home ‘til late. They were going to bed, and I was going to eat ice cream and watch Weeds.

Zip’s going through a “phase” and I’m consequently losing my mind. We tuck him in, and what’s that? There he is again. He’s a willful child. Just follows us out of the room. There are lot’s of great tips on getting kids down. They don’t account for real children.

Tonight I tried lying down in my bed with him. He played with my hair, kicked my ribs, then straddled me, took my face in his hands and crossed his eyes at me. I tried to ignore him, but sleep he did not.

In the mean time, Tizzy, in an attempt to be helpful, managed to smear poop all over the  toilet, across the bathroom door and all over himself before asking to be wiped.

I cleaned him up, as well as the bathroom, steered him toward his room, and there was Zip, bright eyed and bushy tailed. 

I got them in their beds. Made threats of lost privileges and said goodnight.  Out they came. I took away Tizzy’s Tae Kwon Do belt. (It’s very treasured.) I took away Zip’s movie privileges. (Equally dear to him.) Out they came.

That’s when I locked myself in the office. 

I hear them zooming around the living room, dumping out Legos, jumping on the couch, and shrieking. 

“Let’s go outside!”

I hear the door rattle but don’t hear it open.

Eventually Tiz’ settles down in his room and plays with his trucks.

Zip recognizes my absence. He pulls on the door. It’s locked. He loops around the house and tries the other door. It’s also locked. He’s furious. I let him yell it out. 

When he was a baby, he used to have to cry himself to sleep. Holding him just made him more anxious. He’d have a good cry, wind down with a sigh, and then he would sleep. He’s unconfined now, no longer in a crib. He wants structure, but he’s a fiery child and bursts past our parental firewalls. 

So, tonight I let him rage. I let him burn down the embers. When he wears himself out and he asks for help, I open the door, and I carry him to his bed, and he’s too tired to protest. I kiss him goodnight. 

He sighs, he turns over, and he falls off to sleep.

Trash to Treasure Tuesdays: Meet me at the General Store

For a weekend, when I was ten, I entertained the idea that my father might build me a playhouse. He built houses all week and spent weekends working on ours. I was certain he was up for the task. 

At first, I imagined a simple square room with a cot and a flower pot. Perhaps a braided rug on the floor next to a table and some chairs... and a microwave... A T.V.  And... Wait! make that TWO rooms!... with TWIN BEDS! 

This was my fantasy... I could dream a little dream. In no time, I had the blueprints all mapped out. I was going to be the luckiest girl in the world.

This reverie I did not share with my dad, because I’m sure the conversation would have gone something like this...

“You want a playhouse? Pick up a hammer and meet me in the basement! I’ll show you real work, and then we’ll talk playhouses!”

Now along the lines of daydreams, can you imagine a little something like this in your backyard?

What’s that you say? With today’s milk and gas prices, you can’t quite afford the remodel?

O.K., here’s my suggestion. You don’t need sophisticated construction skills, just an old bookcase, some empty boxes, and plenty of trash.  Badda-Bing, Badda-Boom!  You’ve got yourself a general store. (OK, so it’s not a little home away from home, but it’s a start!)

This toy is self replenishing. Need a new cereal box? There's plenty where that came from. Need more currency? New cards with "Your name here" arrive daily. From your mailbox to his, teach your little whippersnapper the value of a dollar by supplying him with all the coupons a guy could need. 

I mean really, when all is said and done, do you really want your kids moving back after a month in their first smelly apartment saying, "You know, I think I'd rather live in my playhouse."

O.K....o.k.... you want the playhouse? You got the dough? It's true you're supporting the arts. For something truly unique, check these babies out. And here, and here!