I Wish I Had Expat Kids

When I was eight, my family moved to Belgium.  You knew that about me, right?  No?  Well, we did, and we were there for a little over a year (not the three to five it was supposed to be, but that's a different story).  Honestly?  It was my favorite place I ever lived.

In Belgium (at least at the time), non-citizens weren't allowed to own houses, so we rented a 500 year old farmhouse.  We had a huge backyard with apple and pear trees and lived on a one lane cobblestone road - gloriously named Chemin du Bas Ransbeck in the tiny village of Ohain just outside Waterloo.  I remember the stone floors and the root cellar, the chalkboard on the kitchen wall for the daily shopping list, the lack of screen on the windows because there are no bugs, and the lack of closets in the house.

It was eye opening for an eight year old.  Not every country has closets built into the house?  You have to purchase wardrobes instead?  People go shopping on a daily basis instead of stocking up for the week (that was my mom's favorite - and she never made it to school to pick us up with a loaf of bread intact)?  And wait... they eat horse meat?  That one we discovered when my mom cooked a roast that just wouldn't bake.  It stayed pink/red and never turned brown.  After three hours, she finally threw it out, only to discover later that "cheval" means horse in French.  She was really careful about what she bought after that.

My sister an I attended St. John's, an international school not too far from our house.  It was taught in English, but every student learned French.  I don't mean "studied" or "had a half hour class once or twice a week."  We learned it through songs and slideshows and conversations and more.  Apparently I was pretty fluent by the time we left.  And had I stayed into fourth grade, that's when they added a third language aside from English and French.  And a fourth language followed.  Did I mention that they followed the block schedule even in elementary school so that we studied our subjects in big blocks of time to get through the material without having to rush to get to the next subject?  I found that fascinating, and it was a hard adjustment when I moved back to the States.

I would move back in a heartbeat, but my husband's job isn't made for us to be expats, so the wee ones will never have the same experience I did - driving through Europe on weekends to visit Poland and Spain and West Germany (hey, it was the 80s - there was a West Germany) and more.  I saw so many things that were just normal to me that made a lasting impression.

I'm grateful that Little Miss is in a Spanish immersion program and will have the language - and a little culture - that most Americans don't receive in elementary school.  I'm happy that Mister Man takes a Spanish class once a week to at least expose him to the language.  And one day, I hope we'll be able to spend the summer renting an apartment in Europe so that they can have some of that experience.  Regardless, I'll encourage them to do a study abroad program in college if not in high school.

Because this understanding the rest of the world and where we fit into it ? It's kind of important stuff.  Have you ever lived abroad?  Would you want to - with or without kids?

In the interest of full disclosure, this post is part of the From Left to Write book club where we write posts based on books we read as opposed to traditional book reviews.  I received a copy of "The Headmaster's Wager" by Vincent Lam to facilitate my post, but I was not compensated.  All opinions remain my own.

Future Romance Writer

This morning, as the wee ones were waiting for the bus, I walked into the homework room to straighten things up just a little.  I can usually find one or two pieces of paper that need to be recycled amongst the detritus, and I sneak it out when they aren't looking.  This morning, I found a letter Little Miss wrote to one of her puffles.  And I'm not sure if I'm impressed or a little disturbed.

I do know a little of the back story.  Puffles are little furball stuffed animals the wee ones love from Disney's Club Penguin.  They each have a few of the stuffed animals as souvenirs from our trips to Disney, and they have a ton of fun with them from running "Camp Puffle" to celebrating their birthdays. Recently, Little Miss brought her three Puffles to school and shared them with friends for the night.  Needless to say, I put the kibosh on this as soon as I learned they were out of the house, but one Puffle is still at a child's house for a "two week vacation."  He's supposed to come back today, but I don't have much faith.  That said, it isn't a bad lesson for the wee ones.

So I'm guessing that's where this letter came from.  I promise that since she doesn't watch tv, and I watch any movie with her, I know this isn't something she's picked up elsewhere.  I hope.  I'm going to talk to her tonight to get a sense of where this letter came from.

My Dear Strike,  

Mr. Fun has left the igloo, just like you have left my hands, my heart, my house, my bed, and the other Puffles, toys, and Angry Birds' hearts.  

Sincerely yours,

Little Miss

PS I hope you have fun.  I keep trying to think of happy times with you and Mr. Fun, but I keep seeing the letter from Mr. Fun.  I even draw pictures.

(Yes, I edited for clarity.)  So should I be worried?  Or should I just enroll her in the creative writing summer camps and encourage this newfound talent for trashy novel writing?

Halloween: Where Girls Can Be Boys

So apparently it's Halloween week on my blog.  Go figure.  With all the counting down the number of days before it gets here by the wee ones, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised.  They've long outgrown the stage where I can choose their costumes for them, so no more being a lion for two years then passing it to the next child to reuse the costume again.

The wee ones at least haven't changed their mind 18 kajillion times before Halloween itself, so I suppose I should be grateful for that.  This year, we had a ninja and Spiderman.

Spiderman is strong, right?

Yes, Spiderman has a strong personality....

So how long can she dress in a costume of her choice?  And more importantly, what did you (and your kids) dress up as for Halloween?

Four Eyes? Nah, We're Sixteen Eyes!

Little Miss started saying at the end of the last school year that things were fuzzy.  As she admired both my glasses and the ones that Mister Man now wore all the time instead of just for board work, I wasn't surprised.  Don't tell anyone, but when I was a kid, I faked an eye exam just so I could have glasses.  And I could totally see Little Miss doing the same thing.

So I blew her off.

Great mom moment, yes?  Then came June when Venus made a transit across the sun.  Mister Man was beyond thrilled that he had made a special viewer in school.  That afternoon, our whole family trooped outside to take turns with Mister Man's cardboard tube of wonder where we could see the little black dot moving across the sun.

Well, most of us could see it.  Little Miss couldn't find it.  Neither could I, but then I got smart and grabbed my prescription sunglasses, and voila there was Venus!  Little Miss still couldn't find it.  And so I offered her my sunglasses, with one eye nearsighted and the other eye farsighted.  She looked goofy with them on, but she closed one eye and gasped.  Mom!  I can see it!

So apparently she really is nearsighted.  Oops.

So yes, I took her to see an optometrist.  It may have been a month later, but she was busy with summer school and then went out of town for two weeks - I get a pass on that, right?  And she officially needs glasses, just like the rest of us.  The whole family is four-eyed now.

But I think she looks the cutest in her glasses.

Peach Blueberry Crisp - Tasty Tuesday!

Mister Man and my husband had their first Cub Scout den meeting of the year last night.  They headed out for Mister Man's occupational therapy then straight to the meeting... at a pizza restaurant.  Little Miss and I were left at home to fend for ourselves.

You know that means we have to do something special, right?  Our local sushi restaurant is closed on Mondays, so that was out.  We decided to make something special for dessert.  She first tried to explain a muffin that had chocolate on top and jam in the center.  I couldn't figure it out until it finally dawned on me that she was talking about my cherry bliss bites.  The only problem?  I can't really make them dairy free for her.

Her next idea was a crisp, which I readily agreed sounded delicious.  I had peaches that needed to be used, so we decided to make a peach crisp - and while I can and did make this dairy free, the recipe I'm sharing is with butter instead.  To make it dairy free with a yummy and surprising twist, sub out mayonnaise for the butter.  Trust me on that one.

While I had peaches, I didn't have quite enough to fill the dish.  I augmented with frozen blueberries, and oh was that a good choice.  Each time I make something with this combination, blueberry and peach goes together far better than I think it will.

Yes, this is my dish.  Obviously.  It's topped with whipped cream.  Yum.

Peach Blueberry Crisp

Ingredients:
5 peaches, cut into ten to twelve slices, then cut in half vertically to make bit size pieces (enough for 3-4 cups)
2 cups blueberries
1/4 plus 2 T cornstarch
1 t nutmeg, freshly grated
3/4 c flour
1 c oats
2/3 c brown sugar
1 t cinnamon
1 t salt
1/3 c butter, melted

Directions:
Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.

Place the cut peaches and blueberries into a baking dish.  I used a smaller casserole that once belonged to my grandmother - talk about the ultimate comfort food!  You can leave the skins on or remove them.  I like to keep them on when I'm using fresh peaches, but frozen or jarred peaches usually have them removed, and that's fine.  And yes, you can use frozen or jarred (good jarred, please) when peaches aren't in season.

Place the cornstarch and 1/2 t nutmeg atop the fruit, and gently stir until it is all mixed together.

In another bowl, add the flour, brown sugar, oats, cinnamon, salt, and the rest of the nutmeg.  Stir to fully combine.  Add the melted butter and mix with a spatula until it comes together and creates pea or so size chunks.  You don't want to overstir, but ensure you get all the flour and sugar incorporated.

Carefully pour the topping over the fruit.  Use the spatula to ensure all the fruit is hidden by the topping without pushing it down into the fruit.

Place the crisp into the oven, and bake for 35 minutes, until the top is a beautiful golden brown.  Little Miss and I debated making individual servings in ramekins or a larger crisp.  We decided on the larger crisp, but if you make ramekins, bake them for 25 minutes instead.

Serve with ice cream or whipped cream while still warm.  Or let it cool off and enjoy it at room temperature for breakfast the next day.  Not that I or my husband would ever do that.  Ahem.

Enjoy this and more with Blessed With Grace and Tempt My Tummy Tuesday.  Rachel from A Southern Fairytale has an awesome Mouthwatering Monday linkup that I participate in, too.

The Tooth Fairy Ran Out Of Money

You know how children are somehow your genetic miniatures even in ways that shouldn't be genetic?  The first time Mister Man had ice cream, he picked up the bowl when it was empty and proceeded to lick it clean.  I swear he'd never seen me do that, but yet he somehow innately knew that when something's that awesome, you don't let a drop go to waste.

And then there's Little Miss.  Mister Man will let a tooth be loose forever before it finally falls out when there's barely anything left holding it on, simply because he's afraid of the pain - or he has to have me pull it because there's another tooth growing behind it.  Little Miss?  Not so much.  Suddenly late this spring, her two front teeth were gone.  You saw how I had to fake our Christmas card early, right?

I thought we were done with losing teeth for awhile.  And then in the middle of August, Little Miss announced that she had just lost another tooth.  None of us even knew it was loose.  Just like me, the second she got a loose tooth, she worked it until it fell out.  I now had a peg tooth daughter.

I asked if she had any more teeth loose.  She assured me she didn't, and I settled in to have at least a few weeks where I wouldn't have to worry about another tooth popping out.

The night before school started, Little Miss came downstairs with another tooth in her hand.  I stared at her in disbelief, but she truly had another hole where a tooth should be.  We are, by the way, hiring her out as a human jack o'lantern this Halloween if anyone needs one.

I sent her upstairs to put the tooth under her pillow in the special bag we have, as she does each time.  And then we all went to bed.  She said nothing the next morning, and it took me another day before I realized that the Tooth Fairy had not come.

As soon as she headed off to school, I sped upstairs to check on the status of her tooth.  I lifted the pillow only to find ... nothing.  There was no tooth.  I asked her when she got home what had happened, and she simply shrugged.  That's when I found out that she hadn't put her tiny little baby incisor into anything but instead just laid it under her pillow.

The next day, I did a thorough scouring of her room.

What can I say?  The girl likes to sleep with her toys.  All of them (including the cute cat).  I was lucky that she didn't have her rubber duck collection or Toy Story toys in bed with her, as she usually does.  Unfortunately, under no mattress, nor tucked behind no toy, nor rattling inside no mattress was a tooth found.

So now what?  The tooth is gone.  And the Tooth Fairy rule is that there has to be a tooth for an exchange, right?  The wee ones decided that Little Miss simply lost her teeth too fast and she ran out of money.  What's your theory?

Mom, Are You Friends With Smokers?

The other day, the wee ones and I were out shopping.  As Mister Man returned the cart to the row of carts, Little Miss and I waited for him in the vestibule between the store and the outdoors.  She turned to me, her nose wrinkling, and said, "It stinks in here, Mommy. I can tell lots of people have been smoking by here.  Are you friends with people who smoke?"

I stopped for a minute.  She was right; it did stink.  I personally am not a smoker.  The smell nauseates me, to be perfectly frank.  My dad smoked heavily for years and years, and I used to dream about the day when I owned my own car and house and could tell him he wasn't allowed to smoke there.  Fortunately for all of us, he quit smoking before I graduated college (for good this time), so I never had to have those confrontations.

My goal - for a whole lot of reasons - is for the wee ones to dislike smoking as much as I do and to never have any interest in even trying it.  So far so good, right?  Little Miss hates the smell of smoke.  But this question isn't as straightforward as it seems.

I have this thing about lying to the wee ones.  I just flat out don't like to do it.  It makes me feel wrong, and I don't want them to look at our conversations in three or five years and say "whatever, my mom just tells us what she wants us to think.  She's a hypocrite, and I'm not going to listen."

So I took a deep breath.

Well, Little Miss, I said, not sure how this was going to turn out, I'm going to tell you that I'd give you a very different answer now or when you're in high school or college than I would if you were an adult. When you're in high school and college, the people who smoke there tend to define themselves by the fact that they smoke.  They hang around with other people who smoke, and they want their friends to be like them - helping them justify their own choices and feel good about them - by smoking, too.


When you're an adult, smoking may be something you do, but it typically isn't what defines you.  You have so many more interests and hobbies and facets of your personality. (Why yes, I do use unusual words when talking to the wee ones. It helps build their vocabularies.)  You care less whether the people you're friends with do the same things and think the exact same way you do.  If you're a smoker when you're an adult, it's more something you do rather than something that defines you.


I'll be honest with you that I do have a few friends who smoke.  But I don't hang around them when they're smoking.  They don't ask me if I want to smoke.  I don't like the fact that they smoke, but I'm friends with them because they're good people who care about me, and I care about them.


When you're in high school, if you're friends with smokers... it's far more likely that they're going to try to get you to start smoking, too.  And we both know you don't want to smoke because it's gross.  And it's expensive.  And it makes you sick.  If you have friends in high school or college who smoke, the only times they have to smoke are likely to also be the only times you have to hang out with them, so you're going to be around all that smoke, and you'll smell like you smoke, too.


So no, if I were in high school or college, I wouldn't be friends with someone who smokes.  As an adult, I do have some friends who smoke.  Does that make sense, Peanut?

And with big eyes, she looked up at me and nodded.  Smoking is gross.  I hope none of my friends ever do it.  Because then I wouldn't want to be friends with them anymore.


And internally, I heaved a sigh of relief.  At least for now, Little Miss gets it.  And I'll keep reinforcing this message.  I hate having to give her shades of grey answers, but life is like that way too often.  I just hope by the time she has to figure out where in the land of grey she stands, she's mature enough to get it.

How would you have answered this question had it been your child asking it?

All I Want For Christmas (In July) Is My Two Front Teeth

Last year - as in most years since the wee ones were born, I wonder if there is a coincidence there? - I was late getting my Christmas cards out.  I did get them out before Christmas Eve, which is an improvement, but I'm aiming for better this year.

Couple that with the fact that I've always wanted to have a picture of the wee ones where they're missing their two front teeth (because, really, how adorable is that in a child?), and I'm making progress.  You see, Mister Man lost his front teeth in the spring.  I have pictures of him with no front teeth, but none were for the Christmas card.  I pinned all my hopes on Little Miss.  After all, her birthday is earlier in the year than his, so that would help, right?

Wrong.

Little Miss lost her two front teeth, too, nowhere near the Christmas season.  I see no recourse but to take matters into my own hands.  While I debated simply removing their front teeth permanently, I decided their dentist might not like this, nor would my husband.  And my computer skills aren't sufficient to edit them out of the photo I take in December or maybe November if I'm on the ball.

There was only one solution.

So which one do you think I should put in the Christmas card this year?

This Isn't How You Do Mad Libs

When I was growing up, I loved Mad Libs.  I would constantly go through those books filling out all sorts of silly stories with my friends.  We could spend days giggling over what we'd come up with, and we eventually started to write our own Mad Libs to save some money instead of buying the books each time.

We had a blast with them, and I love that Mad Libs are still available today.  I have fun playing them with the wee ones.  Their job is to come up with the words - sometimes with me helping to explain what an adverb is - while I fill them out before we all read them together.

I've had to enact certain rules with the wee ones.  You can't do everything as a Star Wars character or reference.  You can't use the same word more than four times in a single Mad Libs.  You can't use the same word in different ways, e.g., swim, swimmer, swimmingly.  They just don't make for good stories.  Trust me on that one.

We've done them often enough that I should the wee ones knew exactly how they work.  I should have known better, given that my husband has already proven that he knows nothing about Mad Libs.

This came home from summer school this week.  I'm still giggling.

Nan's Grama
Nan has a happy person named Nan.  Nan and Grama like to go to Target with their doll filled with tan sacks of toys.  If they don't have their bats, they feel very sat.  Ohhhh, and she almost got it.  "Sad" is the only word that was the correct word choice from above that actually made sense in the story, yet she somehow chose to use a word that made no sense.  Silly girl!

Big Billy
Big Billy plays a ball in a ball club every day.  He wears his big bat and ball, and puts on his t-shirt. Then he eats a tub of buttered bread, and he's ready to play.  Big Billy is the best base-ball player on the team, because he is as big as a big tv, and he is also very fast.  Go, Billy, go!  No comments needed, right?

My First Grade Author

The wee ones are in summer school this year.  Unfortunately – and to her great chagrin – Little Miss did not get into the art class she wanted.  By the time we discovered this, the only classes open were reading and math.  I chose reading for her since her spelling and writing and behind in English since she’s in a Spanish immersion school.  She was not happy.  And yes, she let me know about it.  Personally, I can’t wait for the teen years.

That said, she brought home a series of papers last Friday of some of the work she’d done in class.  Looking through them, there were the usual worksheets on reading comprehension and vocabulary and the like where you have to circle or write the correct answer.  And then I found the writing prompts she worked on.

Honestly?  I’m still giggling.  I love seeing how her mind works, and it’s so interesting to see how she takes the language that the adults in her life use and then incorporates it into her writing.  Love. It.

When I was a baby (note that she’ll go her own way and crossed out the “young in” to better fit the story she wanted to tell) when I was in the hospital my brother took off my hat and he said – Your not supposde (sic) to wear a hat inside.

Yep, true story.  First time he met her when she was mere hours old, he came in and immediately ripped that crocheted hat off her head while she was laying in my arms, bouncing her head up and down a bit and causing a brief panic while we ensured that there was no damage to her fragile neck and head.  Apparently our rule about not wearing hats indoors had sunk in a little too well.

When I was young in Disneyland (really Disney World, we’ve never been to Disneyland, but I’ll go with it) we went on splash mountain and it has a big drop it was about 50 ft tall(.) I was not a happy camper(.) when we got off I asked who,s (sic – note there are no apostrophes in Spanish, something that didn’t dawn on me until I tried to explain them to her this spring) idea was that – mine said mi (sic – mi = my in Spanish) brother

When I was young in Six Flags we went on a ride and there was a big drop and on the way down I didn’t look(.) so happy. When we got off I said (notice the Spanish question marks) Who’s (sic) idea was that? I asked? Mine said my brother

Note: She hates the flume type rides.  She refuses to go on them.  This was her second experience (see the previous note), and I’m still not sure how they all talked her into going on it.  And her young?  That was last summer. 

When I was young in first grade we had a holloween (sic) party

Ummm and?  That’s really the best she can do?  I’m shocked that her teacher let her get away with that to be honest with you, but apparently summer school is (as it should be) a little more relaxed.  And you do all realize that she only finished first grade a couple weeks ago, right?  Apparently she has a different perspective on aging than I do.

This is another of her assignments that is going in the memory box so we can look back at it years from now and smile.  It’s cute, but it’s more than that – for me, it’s great feedback that yes, the reading (and writing) class was the right one to sign her up for this time around!  Fortunately, she’s decided she loves it, too.

What were your children’s favorite stories that they wrote or told?

The Tooth Fairy Rides A Motorcycle

Little Miss is officially without her two front teeth. She lost the first one on Thursday at school, and the second one came out last night. She's quite proud, and I have to admit that she's pretty cute without them. The morning after her first front tooth, she proudly announced that the Tooth Fairy had given her a quarter from Arizona, and she was thrilled.

Last night? Ahem.

I have to admit that I was once again down all weekend with a migraine. In fact, the only reason I even knew that Little Miss had lost a tooth was because she came (quietly) into the bedroom to tell me that she'd lost it and proudly display her grisly trophy. My husband, thankfully, took charge and insisted on finding a different state quarter for her. He went through his change bottle and discovered one from South Dakota that he put aside for her.

This morning, she announced that the tooth fairy didn't come.

Oh, that's too bad, Sweetie, I consoled her, while mentally wringing my poor husband's neck. What do you think happened?
Oh, she announced with no hesitation at all. Mister Man already told me that it was too windy for her to get her on her motorcycle. She has to wait until it's safe to ride it before she can come.

Huh. Who knew.

This afternoon, I made a quick visit upstairs to her room to verify the location of the tooth. It was under her pillow, as usual, and it again had a note included with it. I'm pretty sure the Tooth Fairy is going to tell her that she can't grant the power to fly, but ummmm how exactly do I bring this up with her to find out why she needs to fly and who and how she is challenging (which is what I think the note says.

So how did you kids - or how do you - show their imaginative skills?

The Most Inappropriate Birthday Card Ever

I don't tend to buy many birthday cards. Kid birthday cards always seem so trite to me, so instead the wee ones make them - and they love doing it. They know now that when we have a party, they get to take a piece of paper, fold it in half and create something that is meaningful to the child whose birthday they're attending.

This past Sunday, we had a birthday party, and each of the wee ones created a card. They've been doing this for long enough that I don't check the cards, especially when we're in a hurry. They know how to make them, and they generally do a pretty good job - once I remind them to write who the card is from, that is.

Little Miss created this card. I didn't see it until after the present was opened. I will be revising my policy going forward to include mandatory review by Mommy prior to "completion" of the cards.

Spelling/grammatical corrections have been made for my sanity.
"Dear X,
Happy birthday. Hey I've got a joke for you. How do you tell when when a moth farts? He flies straight for a second. I've got another one: What smells like banana noses(?) and is yellow? Monkey vomit. What would you (do) if you charged you? Pay him cash. (little balloon) I'm out of cash; will you take a credit card?"

Ok, so it's a little funny. But where my sweet little six year old girl came up with those jokes.... Oh I'm not looking forward to the teenage years. Any suggestions for me?

This Girl Is a Problem Solver

The wee ones are ... special. They make me giggle. Sometimes it's intentional, and sometimes, it's definitely not. We have a small issue with the wee ones forgetting to change their und*rgarments. They used to. And I swear I've taught them to do so every single day, but somehow it's not sticking.

I discovered that there was an issue when doing laundry. While I had a plethora of socks from the wee ones (more socks than I thought possible given how many days it had been since I'd done laundry, actually), the same didn't hold true for all items of their clothing. The next time I did laundry, I found the same problem. At that point, I had a discussion with the wee ones who simply looked at me blankly and stated that they didn't understand the need to change their und*rgarments every day. I looked blankly at them, considering they insist I watch their pjs every single day and they put clean clothes into the laundry basket on a regular basis.

Huh.

We have a new routine in the mornings where I knock on their doors to ensure that und*ergarments are being changed. I'd say about 80% of the time, they have forgotten. Sometimes they tell me they have changed, but fortunately, I can tell when they're not quite telling the truth. This morning, Little Miss assured me that she had had clean und*ergarments. After having just busted Mister Man, I was a little suspicious.

Me: Can you show me your dirty und*rgarments in your laundry basket? (knowing that I'd just done laundry)
Little Miss: Well, no. Last night, I didn't wear any und*rgarments so I'd definitely remember to put on clean ones when I woke up in the morning.

Well. Of course. In case you're wondering, I currently have another load of laundry running, and it does include the pjs she wore last night.

What's your best creative solution?

This Is The Meaning Of Girl Scouts

I was a Girl Scout growing up. Or I was for a couple years anyway in middle grade school. My mom was my leader, and I remember singing a lot (and I do mean a lot of songs). It's where I first learned the word "repertoire" in fact. We did a little of the camping, but not much. And of course, we sold Girl Scout cookies.

Except that I don't really remember selling them. I don't recall going door to door, although perhaps I did. I'm guessing my dad sold many of them at his work, and the rest went to relatives. That said, I don't recall earning any great badges for my cookie selling or doing anything super great. This year, Little Miss is selling Girl Scout cookies for the first time.

Or at least, her troop was going to sell cookies if someone aside from the current leaders would step up to be cookie mom. There are twelve girls in our troop, and two leaders. With the explanation that being Cookie Mom would require simply taking the money from the girls and distributing cookies once they were delivered, I figured it wouldn't be too bad. Plus, by agreeing to be Cookie Mom, I could say I'd done my part for the troop. I waited a week, then sent an email saying I'd do it if no one else had signed up yet - fully expecting that someone else would have already stepped forward.

Nope, the other moms apparently didn't have the giant "sucker" attached to their foreheads the way I do. I am officially the Cookie Mom. Which meant I had to do a background check. And that I had to do a ton of online training. And that I had to attend a two hour in person training meeting. And that I was in charge of setting the goals. And that I was to set up our troop's online tracking since orders are now all done online. And that I had to organize and run our cookie booths. And that I had to determine and order the proper incentives. And that I had to chase down all the permission slips from the moms that are required for the girls to sell.

Oops.

The work is actually not too bad, although I wish that I had known about it upfront. The Cookie Program - it's no longer selling cookies - is way different from when I was a Girl Scout! The intent, while still to make money, is to have the girls learn responsibility and entrepreneurship and sales skills and more. I have to say, they're actually doing a better job with Little Miss than I thought - she's figuring out in her head how much each order costs, calculating change, and the like.

Plus, I'm one who is actually making her go out and sell. My husband isn't taking the order form into work, and even the Cookie Club (where you can send emails for people to make online "cookie promises") is something I'm making her do. She had to dictate the email to me and tell me which of my friends I should send it to. Since she's only in first grade, I figured it was fair for me to help her with that part.

The door to door selling? That's all her though. I'll go with her and stand on the sidewalk, but she has to approach each house and do the selling. Surprisingly, she loves it. In fact, after about the tenth house, she turned to me and told me that she loved it even better than Halloween. Yes, my heart swelled. I'm happy to see her figure this out, especially when people turn her down and she has to manage her disappointment. That's a huge life lesson, too.

There is a new part of the Girl Scout cookie program that wasn't around when I was younger, too. They now do "gifts of caring" where people can purchase cookies to donate. The girls have the option to donate them virtually to troops both overseas and stationed in the States (meaning they never see the cookies but they get shipped directly from the warehouse) or to choose a local organization. Our girls - first graders, mind you - insisted that we find a local charity. They wanted to feel the cookies in their hands and actually drop them off.

The troop leaders and I worked with the girls to come up with four different ideas of local places we could donate. After hearing discussions for and against each of them - arguments proposed by the girls themselves - they decided their cookies are going to the Ronald McDonald House in Chicago. They love the idea of helping children like themselves and their families who are going through some tough times. Several of the girls know families who have stayed in the RMH previously, making it even more personal.

What really tipped the scales for the girls, however, was the opportunity to actually make a meal in the house for the families that are staying there. They are going to use some of the money they raise through the cookie program to purchase ingredients to cook there. I love the fact that the girls are wanting to go above and beyond the minimum of "just" sending cookies to troops - and let me clarify that I think that's a great program and a great way to do it - because they want to be able to do something else special for the charity benefiting from their boxes of cookies.

Yeah, I'm a little proud of these first graders. They've already figured out what it means to be a Girl Scout!

PS While no, this is not a solicitation for you to purchase cookies, if you would like to help the girls provide more cookies to the RMH in Chicago (ahem or for yourself), please let me know ASAP.

Third Time's The Charm?

Today was Little Miss's holiday program. Nope, not a Christmas program - in fact, not one song sung mentioned Christmas or Santa or anything along those lines, although one song was a Hanukkah song, which made me giggle. The notes home from the teachers request that we send out children in their Sunday best - though with no need to buy new clothes - and the assurance that they would not play outside and thus risk harm to their spotless outfits.

Last year was a challenge. In Chicago, it had snowed a lot and the children had to wear snowpants and boots just to get to school. I had dress Little Miss in a Christmas dress and carefully styled her hair.

As I watched the other grades come on stage and perform, I patiently waited for Little Miss to appear. So many of the children had beautiful outfits and gorgeously dressed hair. I was jealous of the sparse hair Little Miss still had in kindergarten, but at least she'd look good with what she had. As her class trooped onto the stage, I heard my mother gasp next to me.

WHY is she wearing those shoes? my mother demanded in an angry whisper. I could only shake my head and shrug. Oops? I think I had told her to pack her change of shoes in her backpack but hadn't been clear on which shoes those should be. She was still cute.

This year, things were to be different. I offered Little Miss a choice of two different dresses she could wear, and she chose a cute red one with Christmas trees and such on it. I had her go back upstairs and find a headband to make her hair look cute, then brushed it for her again. I went so far as to send her hairbrush with her to school so she could brush it again before the performance - like my hair, hers tends to look like it's never seen a brush five minutes after brushing. Though it hasn't truly snowed in Chicago yet, it did pour rain yesterday, so I sent Little Miss to school in her "show boots" and ensured that her party shoes were in her backpack. I reminded her to change into them once she got to school. I swear I did.

Unfortunately, I think my mom repeated herself word for word. Well, almost word for word. I'm pretty sure she switched out "boots" for "shoes" since well, she is wearing boots this year.

On the plus side, she wasn't the only one wearing boots, I noticed. And there was a part in the song where she had to do a rolling motion that I think explains a nightmare she woke up with a few weeks ago.

There's always next year, right?

Bye-Bye Pull-Ups!

I've written frequently, fifteen posts to be specific, about potty training. Specifically I've written a ton about Little Miss and our potty training issues and challenges. Part of it is simply that Little Miss has a lot of personality.

Though Little Miss has been potty trained during the day since she was two and a half. Nighttime though has been a completely different issue. She simply hasn't stayed dry, as many tactics as we've tried. She's now well past her sixth birthday and still wearing Pull-Ups that are soaked through each morning. Honestly, she just doesn't care. And I decided that it's not a big deal. At some point, kids in school will let her know that it's just not ok to still be in Pull-Ups, and what child goes to college with Pull-Ups? Until that day, she stays in Pull-Ups because I've seen the consequences of leaving them off and done far too much laundry because of it.

Recently, I had a meeting to go to that I couldn't escape. It was an evening meeting, and my husband was coaching, so a sitter was on her way to my house. I had to get the wee ones into bed before she arrived and would have just enough time to do so. As I was finishing up with Mister Man, Little Miss ran up to me.

Mommy, I'm out of Pull-Ups! she exclaimed excitedly, expecting me to have them magically reappear in her drawer, I'm guessing.

Sweetie, I have to leave in five minutes. I can't do anything for you. I have a meeting tonight, and your sitter will be here in five minutes. Remember how we've talked about how you need to tell me when you're starting to get low on Pull-Ups (one of the problems with an older child in Pull-Ups is that said child independently gets them for herself) instead of when you're out? You're sort of stuck tonight, I explained as gently as I could while internally bemoaning the additional laundry I would have to do the next morning.

But Mommy, I have no Pull-Ups left, she repeatedly, perhaps thinking my answer would change.

Sorry, Peanut. You're going to have no choice tonight. I can't get Pull-Ups tonight because the stores will be closed by the time I get home. You must stay dry tonight. Got it?

Ok, Mommy, she smiled at me sweetly.

And amazingly, she was dry the next morning. For the first time, my waking her up at 10:30pm had an impact. I heaved a sigh of relief. She had no school that day, so after we dropped Mister Man at his school, I headed to Costco with her to run some errands.

Ok, Peanut, I explained as we walked into Costco, we can get Pull-Ups now so that you have them to wear tonight.

She looked at me like I'd grown a third head. Mommy, I'm done with Pull-Ups. I don't need them anymore, she snorted at me disdainfully.

I looked at her and shook my head. I suppose I'll take one night of potential laundry in the hopes that I won't have to buy another $30 pack of Pull-Ups. And you know what? She was right. She stayed dry. We continued to wake her up an hour or two after bedtime for several weeks afterwards to ensure that we could help her get into the habit. Though we had two nights where she didn't make it to the potty recently, she's now begun to wake herself up to go.

And I think we're finally done with Pull-Ups. And yes, this is the post that I've been putting off writing because I'm afraid to jinx myself. And if I have sheets to wash tomorrow, I know who to blame.

She's Got A Lively Imagination

I'm lucky that my parents live very close to us and have a great relationship with the wee ones. They do the vast majority of our babysitting, and when they don't see the wee ones "often enough" in their minds, they beg to come over and hang with them. It isn't all sunshine and roses - we have some boundary issues - but it's a huge relief when I have two children who need to go two different places and only one adult is available. Thus, my mom picks Little Miss up every week at school to take her to gymnastics.

My mom being my mom has a hard time following the rules. She doesn't just go inside the school to the hallway and wait there patiently with the other mothers. Unfortunately, Little Miss's classroom is just around the corner from where the parents wait, and if you peek around the corner, you can see into her classroom - and watch them pack up their backpacks from their lockers in the hallway at the end of the day. Needless to say, this is frowned upon, as it's distracting to the students. My mom doesn't care; she just wants to see her granddaughter, regardless of the rules.

I discovered how much an issue this was when my mom accused me one day of planting stories with Little Miss. I looked at her blankly, truly having no idea what she was talking about, but she didn't believes me and insisted that I must have told Little Miss what to say. I hadn't. My dear child simply has an interesting and vivid imagination.

Little Miss told my mom that she had to stop peeking around the corner at her. Why? Because it isn't allowed. And not only that, but the school has cameras to watch for people doing this, and if you get caught, the police will come to take you to jail. Little Miss didn't want her grandma to go to jail. And no, I have never once used the threat of police or jail or anything like that to scare her into behaving. I have absolutely no idea where she came up with the story, but she knows now that Grandma doesn't believe her and figured out that it was a made up story.

Little Miss still had a solution, however.

I know you miss me at school. I miss you, too. Here is a picture of me so that you can keep me close to you. I love you, too!

(Forgive her spelling, as she's in first grade and being taught only in Spanish, so her English spelling isn't where we would expect it otherwise.)

Seriously? How precious is that. Hilarious. Highly entertaining. Gonna give me grey hair as she moves into the preteen and teen years, but precious nonetheless.