My Son

Oh, my son is so much different from my daughter. Little Paul William will be two this June, but I think he's added five years to my age in the short time he's been living.
Paul is all boy, and a tough one at that. When we get together with Claire's friends from church, he's in the midst of the wrestling boys, holding his own with four year olds.
One of his favorite activities is climbing onto our love seat, pulling off the cushion, and diving headfirst into the ground. He never misses the cushion. I used to hold my breath every time did that, but now I carry on, knowing he'll be fine.
I was on a tall ladder, trimming bushes this week. I kept feeling the ladder shake and looked down to find Paul right under me.
Adam is teaching Claire to ride her bicycle, so she'll pedal down the street, focusing hard. Paul gets on his little motorcycle and scoots until he's flying down the hill with no control.
He has no fear. He will climb any ladder or slide down any slide, no matter how high. He will jump off any ledge, no matter how far down the ground is. Luckily, I have taught him to say, "No, no pool!" which just might save his life. Our pool in the backyard is deep and unfenced, so Claire has grown up constantly being trained to stay away from it. Paul is a curious little booger, so I often catch him right next to it and hold my breath. Usually, though, he's standing next to the pool to point to it and say, "No, no pool!"
We are blessed to have one girl and one boy. Adam and I haven't decided yet whether we will add another, but we're sure that the two we have keep us busy enough right now.

Learning

Before I quit work to be a stay-at-home mom/housewife, I was a teacher. I taught first grade at an elementary school in the Poly area of Fort Worth.
My school was just blocks from the intersection of I-35 and Rosedale, which during the 1990s, was the murder capital of the United States.
Since I've stopped working and am mostly focused on parenting, my eyes have been opened to just how wide the achievement gap is. Claire, almost four, knows more about the world, life, and even school subjects, than many of my first graders did.
I always knew that my students were behind those at the prosperous Tanglewood Elementary, but I never realized how much. When I had Paul and Claire was two, I started noticing. It makes me sad for those less fortunate children in our own city who start out behind and will probably spend their lives catching up.
Claire has been writing her name for almost a year now. She can count to 100 if the numbers are in front of her, or to 30 if she's counting aloud without looking. She knows the insect life-cycle and what a plant needs to grow. She adsorbs anything you teach her and retains whatever goes into her head. (This is not so good when I want her to forget things.)
She is a sponge of information, and whenever I'm teaching her and am amazed at her knowledge, (she read a small book today.) I can't help but feel a little sad for the children whose mothers have to work two jobs to put food on the table and who don't have a computer to print off storybooks or the time to even read to their children.
I know that the majority of teachers are giving above and beyond to teach their students everything they can. I know that the majority of parents do the best they can for their kids and only want them to succeed. I also know that the achievement gap is real. I don't know the answer. Some kids were born to succeed, and some to fail. I believe part of that is just the way the world works. Life just isn't fair.

New pictures

Two weekends ago, we rode Molly the Trolley down to the Stockyards. ($1.50 each way for Adam and me, kids free) They had a free petting zoo and free pony rides. Here I am with a baby goat.

Paul on a pony. I think his was named Ariel.

Claire's pony.

We brought a picnic lunch and ate it on the lawn. Claire finished eating and then greeted all passerbys with "Good afternoon!"

We splurged and dropped $5 for this picture of the kids on Big Jake. Total cost of a day of fun = $11.

Later that day we planted flowers. I just love this photo of Claire's face.

Last week was our niece, Morgan's spring break. We rode the TRE to DFW to pick her up from Grapevine. Here's a lovely pic of Claire on the train.

Paul at the train station wearing his bunny ears.

Molly the Trolley

Last week the kids and I discovered Molly the Trolley. From 10 a.m. to 10 p.m. the trolley runs around downtown Fort Worth every 15 minutes and it's free.
Claire was in need of an adventure the other day, so I took the kids down to ride the trolley. We got on in front of the Sheraton and rode around downtown. Of course we had to stop at Marble Slab and Barnes and Noble, so while the transportation was free, the trip cost me $42. Oh well.
Last night we rode Molly again and went to Jamba Juice. The kids love it! This morning, if we can get everyone together, we're going to ride to the Stockyards to see the stampede. The trolley costs $1.50 on Saturday, but the stampede is free and we're bringing a picnic lunch, so we'll have lots of fun for under $10. Pictures coming later!
http://www.mollythetrolley.com/

Chickens!

Paul reaching for Lady Birdie Johnson.

Paul with Lady Birdie Johnson on his shoulder and Wendy C. Nugget on his arm.
Lady Birdie Johnson and Wendy C. Nugget last week.
Put your bird on my shoulder! Claire and Birdie.

When Adam was a kid, his parents bought he and his sisters chickens for Easter. Recently his mom called to tell us the feed store down the street had chickens for sale. She was calling because the newspaper ran an article about a cat that mothers all the baby chicks, ducks, and bunnies at the store. Apparently they all live together happily in a washtub.
Adam decided our kids had to have some, so when I came home from church that afternoon, there was a cardboard box with two chickens in our kitchen. The box obviously wasn't fancy enough for any chickens the Boyettes might raise, so Adam got to work building a coop.
This was only three weeks ago. In the meantime, the chickens have not stopped eating and are growing and maturing at a rapid pace. We've named them Wendy C. Nugget and Lady Birdie Johnson.
Birdie, Claire's chicken, is the larger of the two and is getting in her mature feathers and waddles. She started out as a pretty yellow chick but is turning brown. Nugget, Paul's chicken, has survived well despite predictions that his loving on her would end in death. Nugget started out dark brown and his mature feathers seem to be about the same color.
Before we got the chickens, Adam made an agreement with a coworker that she would take the chickens when they were mature. She lives on a farm and has access to chickeny stuff.
Our dog, Wesley, has not grown tired of the new additions to the family. He whines and barks at them all day and I've caught him licking the coop a few times.
I am growing weary of cleaning the coop, which we keep in the kitchen. I pointed out to Adam yesterday that Birdie's poop is now the same size as Paul's. I'm not very comfortable touching bird poop that is as big as a small human's.
The chickens are a pain and they stink, but it's all worth it for the laughs that we get and the happiness they bring the children. Paul and Claire both love hugging their chickens, petting them, and chasing them around the kitchen when Wesley is outside. (An introduction to Wesley ended in an attempt on Nugget's life.)
Last week Claire re-named her chicken Weenie and loves to have "Weenie-holding time." (Her words, not mine.) I keep encouraging Claire to return to Birdie as a name.
The chickens have about three weeks left at our house and it's sure to be full of poop and laughs.

When Adam posed for this shot, he made sure that Paul wasn't looking so Paul wouldn't repeat this action. He forgot about Claire.

Looking backward while going forward

Last weekend Adam and I drove two cars to his parent's house in Grapevine. He was coming from the barbershop and I was coming from the mechanic. We were on the same highway at the same time, but I was a little bit ahead of him.
I drove the exact speed limit the entire time so he could catch up and I could wave at the kids. He never caught up. I reached our destination and waited there.
The entire time I was driving, I was looking in the rear view mirror. Of course I also looked out through the windshield, but mostly I was looking backward.
Then I realized I couldn't move forward safely or swiftly while I was looking behind me. And then I realized my situation was a parallel to my life.
We all have things in our past that we hope or fear will catch up with us. Maybe it's something good, like a moment whene everything was perfect. Or maybe it's something bad, like an argument that replays over and over in our heads. Either way, we can't move forward if we're constantly looking backward.
Because I slowed down to find Adam, the world whizzed past me. I was stuck in the right hand lane, looking at my rear view mirror and everyone else was looking out their windshield moving on. When you're focusing on the past, the present will pass you by.
It's also dangerous to focus on what's behind you. I could have been in an accident. If something had happened right in front of me, I wouldn't have been prepared to deal with it. Living in the past means you're not prepared to deal with the future.
So for safety reasons, as well as metaphor reasons, I will no longer drive forward while looking backward.

Funny Stuff

Yesterday Paul picked up a piece of firewood and tried to put it in the fireplace. He saw Adam start a fire last week and wanted to do it himself.
I taught Claire the word "flock" as in birds, but she is now using it every time she sees a large quantity. "Look at that flock of cars!" she said this week.
Paul just walked in wearing a toboggan and one of Claire's dress up shoes.
My grandfather gives Claire all his free address labels from charities. She sticks them all over the house. Yesterday, during a tea party, I was scraping some off of her table. "Why are you doing that?" she wanted to know. I realized then she wanted those stickers there. I thought it was just a mess, but apparently it was interior design.
Every day the kids do something hilarious, and I struggle to document it now. However, I must close this list because apparently it's Curious George's birthday and I must attend the party.

A Child's Pain

Two days ago we were driving to church. I was thinking about the eight tasks I had to complete there and about the bookclub discussion I was about to lead. My to-do list scrolled through my mind when I glanced back at Claire. She looked sad.
All of the sudden, the entire world fell away and the only job I had to do was whatever it took to make her happy.
It turned out that she wasn't sad, only tired. I had forgotten she didn't take her nap that day. Her expression and my response triggered a new line of thinking.
As Jesus' crucifixtion drew closer, he and his Father both knew it. It must have been excruciating for both of them. Obviously Jesus wasn't exactly looking forward to dying on the cross and his Father must have been worrying and trying to figure out another way. When a child is sad or injured, the emotions are magnified in the parent.
I think about what I was prepared to do for Claire because she might have been sad. And then I think about God and what he had the power to do with his Son. They both chose the hard way and 2010 years ago, people are still being blessed because of it.

Fat body and dirty house = happy kid

This morning I tried to workout. Every time I pressed play on the exercise program, Paul screamed and raised his arms at me.
I tried to sweep. Paul grabbed his mini-broom and swept my nice, neat pile all over the kitchen.
Frustrated with that, I tried to sit down and journal to relieve some stress. Paul used that opportunity to use me as a jungle gym.
As I type this, he has climbed in and out of my lap, typed on the keyboard and cried.
I feel like a Mack truck has hit me this morning with the realization that I need to let some frustrations go. I will be overweight, with a dirty house and an empty journal, but I can always fix those things later. Paul won't keep. He'll be in kindergarten before I know it, and I doubt he'll still want to hold me while I exercise.
Now he wants a hat. I better go pay attention.

Long Johns

Friday the temperature was 17 degrees, so of course the entire family put on their long johns. Claire was asking why they were called that. I told her I didn't know why they were called long johns, but I did know that Long John Silver was a pirate and he said, "Arr, Matey!"
Claire informed me that these were not pirate long johns because they were not silver. "They're white with hearts on them," she said.

Fighting

Seven years ago, I got into a fight with my parents. I'm not going to rehash it and place blame, but I will tell you that the fight continues today. This morning I was thinking about the last seven years and how my communication with my parents and later, sister, has evolved.
It was the day after Christmas and circumstances led my husband Adam and I to abruptly leave my parents house in Austin. Everyone involved was very upset.
On the way back to Fort Worth, Adam and I thought, talked, and prayed. I was sick to my stomach and was crying off and on. Several accusations had been made and we felt the best way to clear up any confusion and to state our side of the story was to put it in writing. Back then there wasn't a Facebook and we didn't rely on e-mail as much as we do today.
Rather than writing my parents a letter, Adam and I both decided e-mail would be the best avenue of communication. Speaking over the phone would be too emotional and we might be interrupted or distracted. With e-mail, my parents were sure to read what we had to say and think about it.
We wrote our e-letters at Adam's office so we could both see what the other was writing and edit and critique it. We spent a couple hours crafting our words to say exactly what we felt. We sent it, hoping for a resolution within 24 hours. It didn't happen.
Because in-person meetings wouldn't be possible, my parents and I had several phone calls back and forth. Cell phones were just getting more minutes, so I had several discussions with them over cell phone.
A resolution was again not forthcoming, so we took a break. Over the next few years when we saw each other, it was awkward but not angry. Occasionally we would send each other cards, but there wasn't a pattern to it. If we were on good terms, we'd send each other cards. Otherwise, holidays and birthdays went by ignored.
We all decided that communicating via e-mail was the most effective means. Or maybe Adam and I decided and everyone followed suit. Phone calls always ended in anger, but e-mail seemed safe and easy.
When I discovered I was pregnant with Claire, I did call them. I also called when I was in labor. Their visit to the hospital included more fighting, this time with my friends and in-laws, but thankfully Adam and I were completely oblivious to it. I was busy birthing a baby and Adam was busy telling me the score of the Mavs-Suns game.
After that, communication was between my sister and I only, and it was text messages only. There was an occasional phone call, but frankly, I don't generally like talking on the phone. I'm always in the middle of changing a diaper or cooking and have a hard time forming sentences while doing something else.
About that time, I started blogging via MySpace. Unfortunately, that ended in disaster. My sister and or my parents began reading my blogs and had my grandmother call me and ask if I was suffering from depression and in danger.
More e-mails and now text messages later, I was pregnant with Paul. Adam and I thought it would be cute to send everyone an e-mail picture of my pregnancy stick. This would be fast and we could communicate with all sides of the family at the same time. Some thought that was hilarious, but my family apparently took offense.
When Paul was born, I sent an e-mail to everyone in my family and everyone at church whose e-mail address I had. My father replied to everyone a long e-mail, making very public our problems.
Since Paul's birth, I have begun regular posts of stories and pictures on Facebook. Though it might not seem like it, I think hard before every post. I try to keep it all positive and not reveal any private information. When my parents joined, I thought becoming "friends" would be a good first step toward a healthy relationship. They could see pictures of their grandkids and get daily updates. My sister could keep up as well.
I wasn't prepared for several negative posts by my father and sister. I assumed cyberspace was neutral ground. However, once again, they made our problems very public by posting them on my page. I could delete them, but since they wanted to post them, I left them up. I have nothing to hide and will tell the whole story to anyone who wants to know.
So seven years after Adam and I ran out of my parents house, we have gone from fighting in person, to fighting over cell phone, to fighting over text message, to fighting over e-mail to fighting on Facebook. Each step seems to get more technical and more public.
Yesterday I deleted my parents from my "friends." I would have also deleted my sister, but she beat me to it. She also posted on her page that her sister was "being very hateful."
I think it's sad that the fight has lasted so long. I think it's sad that 0ld-fashioned face to face communication isn't an option. I think it's sad that my family has to rely on technology to communicate with each other. I also think it's sad that now people that have never met my parents, and conversely, people that have never met me, know about our private problems.
I don't know what the future will hold, but maybe someone will come up with a technology that heals relationships.

2009 Wrap-Up

What an eventful year! Last year at this time Paul was a mere six months old and just had his first acting gig as the Baby Jesus. Claire was two and a half and still using diapers and sippy cups. We've come a long way.
I've developed several fans of this blog, but the problem with that is that I've been afraid to blog because I want the perfect message. Well, I'm just going to have to poopoo that idea. I think I've had about five perfect ideas and Lord knows I've had a million not so perfect ones. So you, my readers, will have to start sifting, because I'm just going to keep writing.
This holiday season I learned two very important lessons.
1. No matter how much I want to do everything, I cannot. I do get a sense of fulfillment from doing good deeds, but more good deeds does not equal more fulfillment. It's not my job to save the world.
A week before Christmas, I had an emotional collapse under the weight of my commitments. Luckily, a team of people (yes, a team!) allowed me to delegate nearly everything and I was able to enjoy Christmas with less stress. It was eye-opening to me to realize I needed a team of people to carry out the commitments one person had gotten into.
2. People love baked goods just as much as they love that "perfect" gift. Every year Adam and I break our necks shopping in a mad rush, trying to find the right gift for everyone. This year's economic outlook limited our shopping and I chose to bake instead of buy. I received just as much appreciation and excitement from those opening baked goods as I always have. I love cooking, and I don't enjoy shopping, so I'm started a new trend. Next year, no matter what the budget, I'll continue to stay out of the stores and stay in my kitchen.

In the new year, I hope to do less and enjoy more. It's hard for me to learn of needs and not break my neck to fulfill them, so we'll see how long I can sit on my hands and stop volunteering. I'm not Martha Stewart or Mother Theresa, so I will try to accept my limitations.

I'm a shellfish!

I was reading a story to Claire about the different types of fish in the ocean and found I related to the shellfish. The book said a shellfish has a hard outside to protect its soft, beautiful, fragile inside. A shellfish keeps its shell open but shuts immediately if it senses danger.
The book Shellfish Aren't Fish by Alan Fowler is me in a nutshell.
No, I don't live in the bottom of the ocean, but I have many similarities with the shellfish. Clams and oysters have ugly outsides, but beautiful pearl on the inside of their shell. While some people might be impressed with my outside, I believe all my best attributes are inside.
Rather than focusing on hair and makeup, I always focus on relationships and helping people out. I, too, keep my mind and spirit open, but close myself off when I sense ugliness.
The shellfish opens itself back up when danger passes it, but unfortunately, I am not that brave. Once I close up, it takes time and effort to open back up.
"Every mollusk makes its own shell. So in a way, a mollusk's home--its shell-- is a part of the animal."
Isn't that true about humans? I believe we, too, make our own shells that become part of our self.
"Sometimes a grain of sand gets inside a bivalve's shell. When it rubs against the animal's soft body, the bivalve coats it with a smooth material called mother-of-pearl."
So when something small gets inside the oyster and irritates it, the oyster turns it into something beautiful. That is something I would like to do.

Balance and Candy Corn

When I called my elderly friend Jo for a visit recently, I wrote down her grocery list. I've been buying her groceries with my own for years, but since Paul came along, it's been a little more difficult. I have to take two kids to the store every time I go. That means four hands that have to be supervised the entire time.
Also, I only go once every two weeks because of the economic crunch from my lack of income. Add to that the task of feeding two hungry kids at least five times a day and you have a basket full of groceries, exhuastion, and stress.
Because of the enormity of the shopping experience, I have started buying Jo's groceries on a separate trip. It's usually a short list, so I just run in her small local grocer and grab the items on the way to her house for a visit.
So this week she needed coffee, creamer, milk, and candy corn. Her store was sold out of Halloween merchandise. This meant I had to drag the kids to another store to buy what she wanted.
I know helping the elderly is right, but after consulting some friends, I'm going to have to put a limit on it. The message of the church is to give more, but sometimes I feel like I over-give.
I am often sent on wild goose chases for my grandfather or Jo. Either my grandfather's sight is failing, which is likely, or his local Wal-Mart is cutting their stock every time he goes. Each time I visit him he tells me about some grocery item that his store "doesn't sell anymore." For a while I wrote these items down and tried to buy them at my store, but they were never the right item.
"No, not that kind of tomatoes. There's onions in the can," or "No, that can is too big. I just can't use it."
I am now imposing a one store limit. If I can't find what is requested at the first store, then I just have to visit with empty hands. That might actually be better anyway because it would take the focus of my visit off of the groceries and onto the people.
I want to help because it's right and I enjoy it. The chase for candy corn will now stop so I can take a load off and focus on the other loads I carry.

Being Grateful

My elderly friend Jo lives alone with her dog, Sir Charles Lowe Throckmorton. She calls him Charlie for short, but we all know he's royalty.
Jo is almost completely blind, has constant dental and dietary problems, but you would never know it. She is the happiest, most grateful person you've ever met.
We used to live next door to Jo. One of my first memories of her is after we moved in we were talking to her and she stopped abruptly. "Let's get something straight," she said. Adam and I both froze. I was worried we had somehow offended her and she was about to put us in our places. She put us in our places, but not in the way we were expecting.
"My name is Jo," she said.
We had been calling her Mrs. Throckmorton. And thus was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Before work, I would go to her house and have a cup of coffee. I would walk our dog Wesley and her dog, Bucky, around the block and then sit down in her front yard for coffee and conversation.
I started purchasing her groceries with ours. Because she's blind, she obviously can't drive or see items on the shelves. She gets around her home because she's lived there since the 1950s and knows exactly where everything is.
Seven years later, I'm still buying Jo's groceries, she still makes me coffee when I come over, and she's still exactly the same wonderful lady she's always been.
Jo is the most grateful person you will ever meet. Whenever I bring her something I've baked, she eats it and exclaims, "Now I don't want anything better than that!" Or if I give her a gift, she replies, "This does my heart good." She is genuinely grateful for anything she receives, from a paper clip to a something big, like Adam trimming her trees. Her thanksgiving is always at the same level. I once teased Adam that she would thank me for a dirty diaper, and one day she did.
When Claire was a baby she once had a gigantic poopy diaper at Jo's house. I apologized for having to place it in her trash, and Jo said to me, "It does my heart good to have something of Claire here at the house."
I wish I was more grateful for the things I have, even poopy diapers.

Blowing Bubbles

One of Claire's favorite pastimes is blowing bubbles. We like to sit on the deck and she, Paul, and our dog, Wesley, chase them until they pop.
When I was pregnant with Paul, I was still working and had little play time with Claire. I also had the same laundry, cooking, and cleaning responsibilities I do today. To make sure I had time play and was still able to make dinner, I would sit outside with Claire and a kitchen timer. We would blow bubbles for ten minutes and then I'd go work for ten minutes and repeat.
Yesterday Claire pointed to my kitchen timer and reminded me of that time. She also reminded me of how fast time goes with little children. Just 12 months ago Paul was a tiny baby, Claire was still wearing diapers, and I was getting up at every hour of the night, getting my days and nights confused.
Right this minute, Claire is playing with a naked Ken doll and offering dance instructions to Paul, who is dancing while holding a blanket and a balloon. She still says "Hold you!" when she wants to be held, and Paul still snuggles, a little.
But like the bubbles that last for only a short time, I know this time will be gone as well. I'm trying to focus on every opportunity I can to enjoy my kids and play with them. In a world of e-mails, cell phones, errands, and church meetings, it's hard. I know there will be more bubbles of opportunity but as my kids get older, the bubbles will pop, so I need to catch them while I can.

Being a Badass

Recently, the kids and I were on TV as we protested the proposed closing of our favorite library. We went to the city council and we marched in a protest march. We were on so many channels that being on TV started being mundane.
I got word that the city council had withdrawn it's proposal to close the library, so even though it won't be official until they adopt the budget tomorrow, I know our library will stay open. It's an empowering feeling, and I've been using it.
Since the march I've become confrontational where I've felt it might do some good.
At the park by our house, I saw a group of four teenagers sharing something they were smoking that smelled suspicious. They also were all drinking out of the same Sprite bottle. We've had an increase of grafitti at the park and the school that shares the park's land was having a PTA event. I decided to fight back. I approached them with my stroller, three-year old, and tiny dog and asked them to leave. I told them I didn't know what they were doing, and I didn't want to know, but that was a park for kids and they needed to take their business elsewhere. Three of them left immediately, but one stood her ground. I called the police, but before they could get there, the lone girl ran off as well. Unfortunately my glasses aren't strong enough to let me read license plates 50 ft. in front of me, so they got away.
Adam said I did a good deed, and that we should stand up for our neighborhood. I was upset because I'm not used to confronting people, and all that mess ended up taking the time I was going to go swimming with the kids. So I got the punks out of the park, but my kids suffered. I'm still debating whether that was worth it.
The next day Adam's godparents were in town and I took his godmother, Kaa, to Costco. We were enjoying the Costco feast, where you can sample food on every aisle. The last sample before the checkout was some fountain of youth in a wine bottle, non-alcoholic juices to make you look younger. Kaa tried it and nearly spit it out. "This is awful!" she said. "I can't believe anyone would buy this!" The lady who was offering the samples scoffed and said under her breath, "You wouldn't buy it, because you don't understand what it is for." I thought that was rude, but continued on our way. Unfortunately, the employee was an older woman who needed to drink more of the juice she was sampling. She also needed some hearing aids. When another employee approached her to relieve her of her duties, she started complaining to him in a loud voice, "Stupid people, don't understand what this juice is about..." I know she was trying to speak quietly, but she wasn't successful. I whirled around and approached her. "She is not stupid," I said, referring to Kaa. "You work in customer service, and you should not be calling your potential customers stupid!" The old lady backed down and said she called Kaa silly. "No, I heard exactly what you said." She apologized, and I was about to call her manager and complain, but Kaa didn't want me to. She said she felt sorry for anyone who had to sell something that tasted so awful.
Then I started feeling guilty about chewing out an old lady. I think I'll go back to being good-ole-easy-going me.

Cleaning up, Cleaning Out

My house is a constant explosion of toys, books, and laundry. Dirty laundry is confined to laundry baskets, and dirty dishes usually are confined to the sink, so my house isn't as dirty as it is cluttered.
I'm always worried about it. I have a hard time "living in the now" when there's always a load of dishes or clothes to wash, toys to pick up, a meal to cook, errands to run, etc. I know my kids are growing up faster than I can keep up with them, but I have so much guilt about keeping up with dishes/laundry/cooking/shopping/correspondence/visiting old folks, I have a hard time focusing on any one thing.
Last week I decided to focus on cleaning, and maybe that would make me feel better.
Claire has about 1,000 books. Some people are always buying their kids toys, but I always buy mine books. We have baskets of books all over the house to encourage reading. Both kids love reading, but Claire had so many books that we couldn't read them all. I sat on her floor for several hours and went through each book and toy. We kept everything she wanted and immediately boxed everything she didn't.
The books we took to Half Price Books. Claire proudly sold them back and recieved $10 in exchange. I told her she could purchase two books with her money and put the rest in her bank. I was touched when she decided one of her books would be for Paul. So she got to purchase two books, had $2 left over, and put that in her bank. I got to condense her library into one bookcase. No more baskets of books to drive me nuts.
With her toys, we took them to Goodwill. I explained to her that some children don't have any toys and we'll give them to Goodwill and they will give them to the kids that need them. She was totally fine with this. We turned in two bags of toys and condensed all the rest into her toy boxes and kitchen. She was happy to give away some of her toys, and I felt like a load had been lifted off of me. It's been a week now and her room is still neat. She hasn't mourned the loss of any of her toys or books.
I realized that I was more attached to all her "stuff" than she was. Kids get over stuff pretty easily. I found that out again when she lost her favorite stuffed dog at Albertson's on Friday. I advised her not to bring it in the store in case she lost it, but left the decision up to her. The dog did get lost, either because of her or because Paul pitched it overboard; I'm not sure. But I was sad about it; almost crying when I realized it was gone. Claire didn't shed a tear or throw a fit. Instead, she requested that I print off a picture on the computer so she could play with a new dog. I found a picture of Clifford, printed it out, and she put it on a leash. She feeds that piece of paper and drags it around the house on a real dog leash.
It's amazing what my kids teach me on a daily basis. Let go of "stuff." Have fun with what you've got.

Things I've Done Wrong

Many think I am the perfect parent. As calm, collected, and pristine as I may seem, it's not true. (Laughing yet?) I do the best I can, but I've screwed up, too. Try to avoid these errors with your own kids.

1. Saying "yes" to crap.
At stores, Claire is constantly begging for food, toys, etc. I tell her "No. No. No. I'm sorry, no." I don't give into her every whim, but occasionally, if the toy/snack/piece of crap is affordable and she's been stellar, I say "yes." But between what I buy and what she receives from others, our house is overflowing with toys. I was thinking yesterday that I need to teach Claire about value. She occasionally picks up her toys, but usually I go behind her and do it. So if I only allow bigger toys/toys with less parts in our house, I might have a lot less to pick up. I'm not sure this theory will work.

2. Saying "The trash man's going to get you!"
When Claire was two, way before Paul was born, I getting Claire dressed one morning when the trash man drove down our street. Obviously the truck has lots of beeps, buzzes, and mechanical sounds. Claire asked what the noise was, and I told her, "It's the trash man. He's going to come get you!" at which point I tickled her and we played. I did this one time and to this day she is afraid of the trashman.

3. Mexicom
One day I thought I'd be a smart mom and teach Claire that a stop sign is a hexagon. We drove around that morning and pointed them out. Claire couldn't pronounce "hexagon," and called them "mexicoms." It wasn't until that evening when I bragged to Adam about Claire's new knowledge that he told me a stop sign is actually an octagon. I'm still trying to correct that, and Claire still says, "No, it's a mexicom."

Political Activism

We love our library. Every Wednesday morning at 10:30 you can find the Wacky Boyettes at the Wedgwood Branch of the Fort Worth Public Library. The children's librarian, Vidya, (known to Claire as Miss Video) leads the kids in songs and stories and crafts. Claire and Paul both love it.
If you've ever seen Claire at church, you can picture her at the library. She feels right at home, runs up to different librarians to say "hi," hides in the bookshelves, shows off the stuffed animal of the day, and generally makes herself comfortable. Paul likes to dance to the music and pull books off shelves.
We're regulars at the library and consider the librarians our friends. So when we heard that the Fort Worth City Council had proposed shutting down our library, we were horrified. Sure, there's another library close by, but it's too big and crowded. If Claire hid in the shelves there, I'd never find her. We like our little library.
We immediately fired off a letter to city council and the mayor. They responded, thanking us for our comments and promising to do the best they could. Adam and I talked and we felt that wasn't enough. I wanted to go speak to the council in person but didn't want to take the kids. Adam had a different idea.
"You should take the kids, because they are patrons, too," he said. "Every time they disturb the meeting, the council will be reminded why you are there and maybe that will make a difference."
So yesterday we tried it. We got to city hall at 9:30 a.m. The meeting was supposed to start at 10, so we signed in as speakers and sat down to wait. A 30-minute wait is manageable; I brought Barbie and Ken and snacks. Everyone thought the kids were precious.
Thirty minutes dragged on to an hour. We went into the meeting and everyone still thought the kids were adorable. We sat quietly and looked at books while the council went through the agenda, approving resolutions and listening to presentations about various topics.
Thirty minutes after that, Paul was done. He wanted to walk around. His cuteness was waning. Claire had brought her giant magic wand from the circus and was waving it around and tapping people with it. Her cuteness, also, was waning.
We waited in the lobby, calmed down, went back into the meeting, got fussy, left, came back, left, came back; I lost track of the time. I finally told the police officer my name and asked her to come get me when it was our time to speak. At this point some people were sympathetic and some people were irritated. City council meetings aren't for kids.
When it was our turn, we made a grand entrance. Claire pranced down the aisles tapping people with her wand and entertaining the audience. Paul tried to speak into the microphone. I tried to be serious. The mayor thought it would be a great idea to pass down his gavel for the kids to play with. I just set it to the side.
I did get to say my piece and I think they listened. It ended up being a good idea to bring the kids because it was definitely memorable for all involved. Apparently we even made the news and appeared on two different channels last night. Unfortunately we missed both showings.
Some people would be horrified at the idea of taking two small children to such a serious event, and I have to admit I was at times. Adam and I both believe that sometimes our presence is more important than our decorum. I hope that turns out to be the case here. We'll know if they keep our library open.