TGI Friday!

I actually really hate the term TGI Friday. I hate it almost as much as LOL or LMAO. Nonetheless, TGI Friday! This has been a long week – not in a bad way, just in a long way. The boys’ school had a Scholastic Book Fair this week which I was helping with, which was quite fun as volunteer opportunities go – the other volunteers were wonderful and I liked getting to know them, and it was great helping kids find books that they enjoy. The downside? I am somewhat of a Scholastic book addict. Those catalogues are temptation enough, but being surrounded by those books? It was a recipe for disaster, or, if not actually disaster, than for spending more than was necessary. I am an avid reader, and so I like to buy books for the kids – especially if they show interest in those with an educational component. (“You had me at educational.”)

Unfortunately, the first book that Mark chose when his class came through was one of those horrible Scooby Doo Early Reader mysteries. Damn you, Scooby Doo and your eerie tales which have perfectly reasonable explanations! Damn you and your stupid jokes that make the children want me to read you again and again (as when Shaggy says to a lion, “Quit LION around”. Oh, ha ha HA.) Damn you!

Speaking of rereading books, I am currently rereading The Mists of Avalon. If you haven’t read this book, you should, it’s excellent, even if you are not particularly interested in the Arthurian Legend. Hoo boy, just writing “Arthurian Legend” makes me want to paint a big L on my own forehead. Anyway, it is a great book, one that I read obsessively in my long-vanished youth. Reading it makes me want to become a priestess of Avalon. I would totally smite the guy who created the Scooby Doo Early Reader mysteries.

I NEED HELP! I am supposed to be making a Christmas wish list of books to send to my mother-in-law. I’m supposed to be doing this right this minute. Instead I’m blogging about my Scooby Doo loathing and my fantasy of becoming a medieval priestess. (Note: I would not want to be one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting. I believe my lack of manual dexterity would count against me. All those women seem to do is spin and weave things.) Please, please, please send me book recommendations! What are you reading, what would you recommend? Help!

Is it really only Tuesday?

I’ve been in an absolute flurry of activity the past couple of days, the details of which are much to boring to divulge, but believe me: flurry of activity. I will share with you two major accomplishments from the past couple of days: a) I finished my Christmas shopping, and b) I was in and out of Superstore with everything on my list in only twenty minutes! Much as I dislike shopping, I love grocery shopping, and if you put me in a situation where there are not only groceries, but also cosmetics, vitamins, and Christmas ornaments, I’m sure to get distracted and spend more time and money than is absolutely necessary. Therefore, the twenty minute trip is an accomplishment in my world. By now you’re probably thinking, I thought she wasn’t going to divulge boring details? Ha! You should see how boring the other hundred accomplishments were, that my quick Superstore trip is considered NOT boring.

Have you ever read The Nanny Diaries? There is a great scene in which the nanny visits FAO Schwartz a few days before Christmas, and it is just total chaos with children shrieking and lying on the floor, and a big voice over the loudspeaker “Welcome to our world of toys” and grim-faced parents with a “let’s just get through this” expression. That scene perfectly describes my feelings about the mall. I went to the mall on Saturday night – yes, Saturday night – to finish my Christmas shopping and I felt like I had blasted off and landed on some other planet. The moisture was being sucked out of my skin by the hideous recycled air and children were crying and I was staring at the Hot Wheels Colour Shifters in a befuddled way: sports car or rescue vehicle? But! I’m finished shopping, so hooray.

This week feels long already. I can’t believe it’s only Tuesday. But I heard that “I’d Really Love to See You Tonight” song this morning and it made my day. This is when it really pays to listen to a radio station geared towards old people: the sheer volume of 1970’s light rock love songs. It is a genre – I feel I must mention – that my husband abhors. I may as well stick pins in his eyes, as force him to listen to light rock from the 70’s.

Speaking of my husband, poor dear, he is very upset these days. I don’t know if you live with a New England Patriots fan, or maybe you are a New England Patriots fan yourself, but they lost to the Colts on Sunday night. It was, as my husband said, the game of the year, and they lost. My husband is still somewhat scarred from Superbowl 38 (I think it was 38?) and so Sunday’s loss has made him VERY UPSET. If you see a Patriots fan, give them a hug. They need it.

So, enough random thoughts for one day. I have a flurry of activity to keep up! But don’t worry! I’ll save only the exciting, juicy, Superstore-like details for you.

Will I be pretty, will I be rich?

One thing I find very entertaining about children – especially small children – are their career goals. Very small children have somewhat abstract ideas about what they will be when they grow up; I clearly remember wishing to be a flower. And now I have a flower profile picture on my blog! Profound. Anyway, both of my boys went through a prolonged period in which their burning ambition was to drive a garbage truck; I don’t want to sound snobbish here, we all know the importance of sanitation workers and the difficult job that they do, but I was kind of glad when that phase passed. As of today, Jake’s career ambition, strangely, is to be a mountain climber. Does that mean he wants to be a vagabond? Or maybe he will be a mountain climber and write books, like that guy who wrote Into Thin Air. If so, cool. Mark alternates between a path of paleontology and being a “business man”. We went to visit my husband at the office one day, and Mark stretched out on his swivel chair and said luxuriantly, “Is this where you make all the money, Dad?”. I could just imagine what he thought the world of work was like. I guess it was not unlike my experience in grad school, where I thought that with my economics degrees I would somehow change the world for the better, and then I ended up working as a quantitative analyst in natural gas option trading. Totally NOT changing the world for the better, but an interesting job nonetheless.

Anyway, the kindergarten is doing a Community Helpers unit at school, better known in my day as “What will I do when I grow up?”, and I was helping in the classroom. I had a group of four to cycle through the various work centers and in a slow moment at the dentist center (an awesome craft of painting a yellow paper tooth white with the help of toothbrushes and a mixture of corn syrup and white paint) I asked my group what they wanted to be when they grew up. The group consisted of two sweet and well-behaved girls, a disruptive and somewhat hyper boy, and a boy who the teacher euphemistically informed me “requires extra assistance with the activities”. One girl, predictably, wanted to be a ballerina, the other wanted to be a mom. I was a little surprised; I didn’t know girls said they wanted to be moms anymore. Nonetheless, I praised their decisions with enthusiasm. Disruptive and Somewhat Hyper Boy told me he wanted to be a cop and shoot all the bad guys! Bang bang bang! I answered that police officers are very important Community Helpers. Then I asked the Boy Who Requires Extra Assistance what he wanted to be. His answer: a princess. I was, momentarily, speechless. He looked up at me, smiling, waiting for the positive commentary I had given his classmates. One of the girls said “He can’t be a princess! He’s a boy!” – to which I rallied, and said that anyone can be anything they want to be when they grow up, if they work at it.

It’s something I tell the boys all the time, but I don’t entirely believe it. I mean, if you work really hard at something AND you have some degree of aptitude, then yes, you can be what you want to be. But really, no matter what amount of effort I put into it, no matter how hard I work, there are some career options that are forever closed to me: becoming a supermodel, say, or an Olympic shotputter, or a NASA scientist, or anything at all requiring artistic ability. I could, as the hockey players say, give it 110%, and I would still achieve minimal, if any, success in those fields.

But who wants to quash the kindergartener spirit? Certainly not me. Even if the Boy Who Requires Extra Assistance wants to be a princess, well, it’s probably only marginally less likely to occur than his classmate becoming a ballerina. So I guess we all can dream.

Poppies

I wrote the following last year on Remembrance Day. My husband’s friend is heading to Afghanistan in March, for a riskier assignment. My oldest son is now enthralled with the military. He is obsessed with all things army. He is five. It breaks my heart on many levels. I want to instill respect and honour in my boys, but I struggle with discussions about war and the role of the military. I cannot watch any war footage without noting how very young the soldiers are. I am, as always on November 11, remembering.

I don’t want to discuss the politics of war, not today. I don’t want to discuss egos, power struggles, or strange ulterior motives. I don’t want to discuss how looking at the young, young faces in war footage makes me sad or how images of rows of white crosses makes me feel physically ill. I am fully cognizant about how wars begin and about both sides of the story. My husband has a dear friend in the military who has already completed one tour of duty in Afghanistan and may be sent for another. But that is not what I want to discuss.

What I was thinking about today is that I have two boys. If they were growing up in a different era, say an era of conscription, maybe I would have none. Or maybe I would still have two boys, but they would be scarred for life, mentally or physically. Maybe I would be waiting months for a letter, only to get a censored one with little information. Maybe the boys would be suffering in ways I can’t even imagine, for reasons that start small but grow to be bigger than life. When I see the wreaths being laid by the mothers and families of the fallen, that is what I think of.

The boys came home from preschool with their poppy crafts and lots of questions. I tried to answer with honesty, yet who wants to be too honest with children that age? How do you discuss war with children who don’t comprehend why so-and-so hit another kid in their class or so-and-so called someone else a stupid-head? I used words like bravery, respect, standing up for what you believe in, but the explanations are too vague even for such young children.

When I see an elderly man in a parking lot, getting out of his car with a veteran license plate, I swallow hard and think about the mother who cried with joy when her son came home.

Clutter

You know when you wake up in the morning, and you realize that you are actually drowning in clutter, that your entire household is one big clutter pile; this despite the fact that all the clutter is contained in cute little baskets, because now instead of being drowning in clutter, you are drowning in baskets that are filled with clutter, and you just can’t stand it one more minute? That is how it was with me yesterday. As far as I can tell, there are only two options at this juncture: a) buy a bigger house and fill it with even more clutter, or b) stay in the existing house and get rid of the clutter. I guess there is also a third option, c) maintain the status quo, but yesterday, that seemed like a death sentence. Death by clutter, I guess.

And so, armed with a pot of coffee I decided to attack our house. I went through those cluttered baskets and made three piles: donate, recycle, and garbage. Here is the sad part: the garbage pile was the largest of all. The thing is, we don’t buy our children many toys, but they seem to have a lot of toys from birthdays, Christmas, indulgent grandparents. Some of them last a long time, but a lot break easily and are not recyclable. This is what I was dealing with yesterday: a giant garbage bag full of broken plastic toys that are destined for a landfill.

It makes me sick. You know what else makes me sick? The article I read the other day about a six-year-old girl’s birthday party and the myriad of gifts that she received. The author – a fairly famous author – detailed the FORTY expensive gifts she had received and expensive loot bags that were given out at her party. In the end, the author weighed in that there was a possibility that kids receiving so much stuff could become spoiled and unappreciative, but hey, what’s a birthday without a ton of presents?

It’s not like I want my kids to be all Little House on the Prairie, being ecstatic that they received a pair of mittens and their very own tin cup in their stocking, so now they don’t have to share a cup between two people anymore, how amazing, and also, a stick of candy! WOW! But I do want them to appreciate the things that they have and although they certainly get nowhere near forty gifts on any occasion, they do have a lot of toys. With Christmas coming up we are talking a lot about charity, about giving, but still I worry about them being spoiled and unappreciative. I especially worried about that today, Mark’s balloon that he was blowing up burst, and he fell into a fit of sulking because we had no more balloons in the house, and why didn’t we have more balloons, and HE REALLY WANTED A BALLOON. The house is filled with games, books, puzzles, toys, but HIS LIFE WAS OVER BECAUSE WE DIDN’T HAVE ANY BALLOONS. I really struggle with this kind of thing, with instilling appreciation and values, and sometimes it just feels like I’m not doing it right.

Besides the fact that our household just contributed a giant bag of plastic crap to the local landfill. It makes me sick.