Dropping the S*Bomb

UNC basketball coach Roy Williams made big news last week after dropping the dreaded f*bomb on live radio. Fortunately, it was after 10 p.m. and my kids were sound asleep. But earlier tonight, I wasn't so lucky.

As the Ravenscroft girls' basketball team played in the state semifinals, LJ and I were following the game on Twitter. I was also texting a friend frequent updates at her request. Late in the game, the Ravens' lead slowly slipped away ... but I kept sending my friend updates.

And as LJ carefully monitored the Twitter feed on my iPhone, I suddenly got buzzed with a new text message, which popped up on my screen in plain view.

It was just one word, but it was a doozy: SH*T.

(And just to be clear, it didn't say SHUT. Or SHOT).

I let out a shriek and quickly covered the text message with my hand. But my reaction piqued LJ's curiosity.

"Mom, what was that buzz? Why did your phone do that and what are you hiding?"

"It's a bad word," I said. "A really bad one I don't want you to see."

He forgot about it momentarily and we went back to following the game on Twitter. But as I switched to text my friend another update, the message thread was still visible ... and so was SH*T.

"Oh, I know that word," said LJ.

"You do? Where did you learn it? That's a pretty bad one," I said.

"I heard it in the movie Marley & Me," he said.

"Yes, I guess it was in there," I said. "I forgot about that."

"Mom, can I just say it once?"

"No."

"Please, I'll just whisper it to you to see if I'm right."

"Okay, whisper it."

And he did -- correct pronunciation and all.

"Now don't ever say that word again. If you ever said that at school, you would get in so much trouble!" I said.

"Don't worry, I won't," he reassured me. "But, Mom, I thought that word was spelled with two Ts."

"No," I said, "It's just one T."

It's ironic because grammarians insist that texting and instant messaging is terrible for our youth from an educational standpoint ... all those abbreviations and misspelled words are causing an erosion of the English language.

Well, that may be true to some extent. But when it comes to teaching kids the correct spelling of SH*T, I for one think texting is the bomb.

At Fever Pitch

Last night I faced a classic parenting dilemma. When is the sniffly-nosed, dreary-eyed, almost-feverish kid too sick to send to school?

After Julianna stayed home from school for two days with a fever and cold, she was still running a 99.9 temperature yesterday afternoon. Her congestion had improved, but it still lingered -- as did her runny nose.

With Jack out of town on business, I worked at home both Monday and Tuesday. Those couple of days spent inside the house -- combined with a lack of physical activity -- had us both bouncing off the walls with pent-up energy. By bedtime last night, Julianna was like a wicked little Energizer bunny who was tormenting LJ just for sport.

So how does a parent, eager to return to normalcy and even more desperate for the light of day, take an unbiased view of the school handbook line that reads, "child should be fever free for 24 hours before returning to school?"

What parent hasn't considered giving their less than healthy child a dose of Tylenol just before school drop-off and saying, "Shhh ... don't tell your teacher, honey!"

(For the record, I have only done that once, and I am NOT proud of it).

Besides, who's to say that my thermometer isn't a degree or two high? Maybe that sweatshirt was making her a little overheated? Isn't it possible all that coughing is just from spring allergies? (Never mind it's still February).

Last night, as I once again faced the no-win decision of whether to send Julianna back to school, I opted to make the most informed and objective choice I possibly could.

I left it in the hands of my hyped-up-on-cold medicine 6-year-old daughter.

"So, how do you feel?"

"I feel great!" Julianna said. And to my relief, she sounded like she really meant it.

With new found confidence, I prodded further. "Really? So you feel better than you did yesterday?"

"Yes, definitely!" she said.

I continued on. "So how bad did you feel yesterday?"

"Well," Julianna said, "I felt like I was going to explode and die!"

Not the answer I was looking for.

If she actually thought she was on the verge of spontaneous combustion just 24 hours earlier, then "feeling better than yesterday" was not a very good measuring stick.

It may not be directly referenced in the school handbook, but I assume that if a teacher suspects a child is about to implode, they will probably send that kid home early -- fever or not.

I quickly changed course and determined that the choice of "school or no school" should be made by a responsible adult. Since none were available, that left the decision up to me. And because she wasn't running a fever at bedtime last night or this morning, I sent Julianna back to school.

Today passed without incident -- no calls from the teachers or school nurse.

When I picked Julianna up this afternoon I asked her how her day was.

"Terrific!" she said as she bounded to the car.

"So you feel a lot better?" I asked. "You don't feel like you're going to explode and die?"

"No way," she said. "I think I'm gonna live."

And no Tylenol required.

If the Shoe Fits

I can think of nothing more frustrating than shopping for shoes with my children.

Julianna insists that they must have shoelaces (not Velcro). They should also be as shiny, sparkly, and tacky as possible. There is no such thing as "too pink" when it comes to shoes. And if possible, they should also be adorned with ribbons, dangling charms, and fur. (I know, it sounds more like lingerie than shoes).

LJ usually complains that shoes are too tight, not the right color, or don't fasten the way he wants (he still doesn't like to be bothered with shoelaces).

Regardless of which child I'm with, shoe shopping is painful.

Shoe shopping is so miserable that the last time LJ needed a new pair of sneakers, I avoided it for so long that the the plastic frame of the shoe actually wore through the material and was digging into his foot. He was limping around in class, so I had to leave work to run home and get him an old pair to wear at school for the rest of the day. (There goes my Mother of the Year Award).

I can understand why it is difficult for LJ to find a pair of shoes he likes. He has wide feet and most of the shoes he tries on are just too narrow. But I can still recall spending more than an hour in a Stride Rite store at the mall when LJ was 4 years old, fighting tears and tantrums (mine, not his), and trying desperately to find anything he would wear.

We finally did find some, but I think he outgrew that $50 pair of shoes within three weeks. I never went back to that store for fear they would refuse to serve me.

When it comes to Julianna, she is all about beauty before comfort. I have bought at least half a dozen pairs that she insists feel great at the store, only to find out later that they never felt good at all. She just thought they were fancy and had to have them.

And of course, by the time she tells me they don't really fit, we've already cut off the tags and scuffed them up just enough so they can't be returned.

Last weekend, Jack and I spent at least 30 minutes picking out a pair of new soccer cleats with LJ. We even made him run laps in the store to make sure he was comfortable. He had vehemently insisted that he needed new cleats because his old ones were so agonizingly small that he couldn't even get them on.

Tonight, after I laced up LJ's new cleats for his first practice of the season, he stood up and said, "Mom, these are too big, they are slipping in the heel."

Well, you would have thought that LJ had just told me he'd cut his sister's curls off with garden shears. I completely lost it. All my years of shoe shopping frustration came to the boiling point.

It's all a bit of a blur now, but think I was stomping through the house, mumbling words under my breath that would make Roy Williams blush, and shooting LJ a look like, "If you even come near me I will burn lasers through you with my eyes."

I was furious.

But, since I was expecting his coach to pick him up for practice at any moment, I composed myself long enough to find the old cleats in the garage.

When LJ got home from practice, I asked him how his old cleats felt, and he just looked at me like a deer in headlights.

It's kind of like when a wife asks her husband, "Which one of my friends do you think is the prettiest?"

There is no right way to answer that question.

After our little episode tonight, I have decided that Jack is doing all of the shoe shopping for the kids -- without me.

I know it may seem like I'm blowing this whole shoe thing out of proportion. But, let me just ask you this. Please, please try not to judge me for my shopping insanity.

At least not until you've walked a mile in my shoes.

Dresser Monsters and Other Bumps in the Night

I had a hard time getting the kids to sleep last night. Both of them repeatedly got out of bed with the same complaint: "I'm scared!"

LJ heard a mysterious thump somewhere in his room, and decided he could not possibly get back in bed until our dog came to sleep on his floor. Thankfully, at age 10, Viking is happy to oblige any time there is snoozing involved.

Julianna wanted to get a blanket out of her dresser, and when I asked her why she couldn't get it herself, she said, "You know I have a fear of that."

"That" apparently is a fear of opening her dresser in the dark ... just in case a bureau monster is lurking within.

To ease LJ and Julianna to sleep at night, Jack and I acquiesce to a series of bedtime rituals for each child.

The checklist includes things like night lights, hugs, kisses, special stuffed animals, noise machines, and closing drawers and doors.

LJ's list is a little more intricate and often involves multiples of 8 -- his "lucky" number. (It really is quite an impressive mathematical system he's developed).

If their demands are not met precisely, LJ and Julianna hold us for mental ransom by whining until, in a fit of exhaustion, we cave like an avalanche.

I feel confident that at least one, if not both of my children, will have a successful career in the field of hostage negotiations.

And although I know in my head that the whole routine is ridiculous and could probably be stopped by putting down my big, bad Mommy foot ... my heart has a soft spot.

I remember what those fears felt like. I was terrified of the dark and slept with both a night light and my closet light on. I too needed a stuffed animal, and "bumps in the night" made my heart skip a beat.

There is something sweet about Julianna believing that Mommy is a like a superhero who is powerful enough to keep the monsters away with just a quick peek under the bed.

And there is something touching about LJ thinking that a half-blind, arthritic yellow Lab is mean enough to protect him with his tail-wagging toughness and wretched doggy breath.

To adults, these fears (and salves) may seem irrational. But to children, they are as real as the Tooth Fairy and Leprechauns.

It won't be long before LJ and Julianna outgrow their nighttime fears, and I'm sure I'll be glad the drama is behind us. But in the meantime, I'll suck it up and make a few extra trips up and down the stairs when they need reassurance.

I know that the teenage years are just around the corner, and when we reach that point, the tables will turn. They won't need me to save them anymore from their imagined monsters, noises, or ghosts.

Instead I'll have to summon my superhero powers to fight off sex, drugs, and rock and roll.

The Dangers of Blogging

I started blogging just over a month ago, and while I have really enjoyed it thus far, I recently discovered its inherent dangers. LJ and Julianna now insist on "helping" me write my posts.

As I was working on my most recent post, Julianna climbed into my lap and said: "Mama, I'm going to help you write your blog!"

I tried to write as she sat with me, but when she started reading aloud every word I typed, my mind started to go blank. And then, when she began to finish my sentences for me, I'd had enough.

We compromised. I let Julianna choose the photos for the post, but I told her she cannot watch me while I write.

LJ has also provided his own brand of assistance. He quickly caught on to the fact that I usually blog based on something he or Julianna says. Keeping that in mind, he is now trying to feed me material for my posts.

LJ and I attended a Ravenscroft vs. North Raleigh Christian Academy basketball game a couple of nights ago. NRCA has one kid who is a terrific shooter and averages around 27 points per game. I told LJ before the game to keep an eye on #2 ... that he can really score.

After #2 drained a couple of jumpers early in the second half, LJ said, completely deadpan: "I see why you were talking about that guy, Mom. I think he's good enough to be the worst player in the NBA."

After I stopped laughing, I told LJ how funny that was. To which he replied: "You need to write about what I said in your blog."

And he wasn't kidding.

He told me the same thing a couple of more times during the second half of the game.

Then, when we got in the car to head home, he told me to use my iPhone to blog about it.

And during the last 36 hours, he has reminded me of it at least a dozen more times.

One positive and unintended consequence of blogging is that I do find myself listening more closely to the kids. I don't want to miss any of their witticisms ... or bombshells for that matter.

When we were fixing Julianna's hair earlier this week, it was full of static and standing on end.

"Mama, I don't know why my curls are so ecstatic this morning!" she said.

In the past, I might have just smiled at her mistake and quickly forgotten it.

But instead, I asked her if I had heard her correctly.

"Yes, Mama! My hair is all ecstatic and crazy -- just look at it!"

So I did. On Julianna's advice, I paused a moment to look at her "ecstatic" hair. But more importantly, I took a moment to listen too.

While blogging with my kids nearby is at times a bit risky, the perils are easily outweighed by the benefits.

All those cute, funny, and memorable moments I've never put down in a scrapbook before? Blogging gives me the perfect place to file them away for safe keeping.

And, besides, it's a lot easier than using scalloped-edge scissors, craft glue, and decorative stickers.

Sibling Rivalry, Sumo Style

It seems that long breaks from school bring out the best and worst in LJ and Julianna's relationship. I spent most of this morning running interference and trying to stop them from playing games like "King of the Bed," "Kiddy Sumo Wrestling," and "Dragging Each Other Around by the Legs."

After four days of winter break, they quickly moved from playing board games to playing bored games. The kind that inevitably end in finger pointing and name calling.

Most of the time the kids get along really well. Of course there are moments when they tease and provoke each other, but I do believe that LJ and Julianna love each other very much (even if LJ would never admit it).

One hallmark of their relationship is how much Julianna looks up to her big brother. And she truly relishes the opportunity to be LJ's wingman.

She is the Teller to his Penn ... the Minnie to his Mickey ... the Pippin to his Jordan.

No doubt there is a healthy dose of sibling rivalry between the two. But no matter how many wedgies or wet willies LJ delivers, Julianna grins and bears it with undying devotion.

Today, during a game of Sorry!, LJ tackled Julianna when she knocked his piece back to start. No lie ... he actually clocked her with the full weight of his 76 pounds and left her lying prone and stunned on the carpet.

Her reaction? She popped up and started laughing. And she didn't flinch when, on LJ's next move, he sent her piece right back to start too. She just smiled and said, "Good move, Jack!"

I had the same kind of "need to please" my brother, TJ, who is four years older than me. TJ and I had (and still have) a great relationship, but that doesn't mean that he didn't pick on me from time to time.

LJ and Julianna love to hear the story about when TJ tricked me into eating canned dog food by telling me it was sausage from the pizza our mom was making.

I share that story (and others) with them because I think it's important for them to know that even the most loving brothers and sisters are going to get on each other's nerves.

It's okay that they get frustrated with each other on occasion. What matters is that they weather the storm and settle their differences ... however that may be.

And if settling it for LJ and Julianna means a little more Kiddy Sumo Wrestling, that's just fine by me.

I'm just getting the heck out of the way before they throw down.

College Counseling for Kindergarteners

Today I was in the car with LJ, Julianna, and their friend, Julianna. (I'll refer to her hereafter as Jules to avoid any confusion).

I could hear the girls in the third row of my SUV whispering and giggling (about boys I presume). And then, in a change of topic that was completely random, Julianna announced, "I may or may not go to college when I grow up."

Jules replied: "What are you talking about? You have to go to college or you can't get a job."

"I don't have to go if I don't want to," said Julianna.

"But how are you going to make any money if you don't get a job?" asked Jules.

And then LJ piped in, "DUH!"

LJ's comment quickly squelched the conversation. But why were a 6-year-old and two 8-year-olds even discussing their college plans? And how is it possible that the two second-graders have already determined that college is not a choice, but a requirement?

Well, it's actually not that shocking if you consider the environment in which most of our kids grow up.

We start looking for that competitive edge the moment our kids are conceived.

I remember reading to LJ months before he was born. I took Julianna to Kindermusik classes when she couldn't even crawl. LJ started playing YMCA soccer and basketball when he was 3 years old. And Julianna was on the fast track to being an Olympic gymnast until she broke her collarbone shortly before her fourth birthday.

Seriously. I put my kids through all those things. And while I'm sure it was enriching for them on some level (except for maybe the in utero bedtime stories), it was more about me than it was about them.

Given that I (and many other parents) have programmed my children from an early age to give it their all ... shoot for the stars ... take no prisoners ... it comes as no surprise that pre-teens are now plotting their paths to job security.

And maybe that's okay. It has become so difficult to get into the nation's top colleges that any edge we can give our kids may benefit them in the long run.

If my children need that extra little push to get them to the front of the line, then I'm happy to be the Mom who shoves the kid in front of them out of the way.

But all kidding aside ... let's not fool ourselves. It might be cute right now that Julianna doesn't want to go to college because she "never wants to leave Mommy and Daddy," but it won't be nearly as adorable when she turns 18.

Part of my job as a parent is to guide my children toward that next step ... whether it's college or something else. It's in their best interests - and mine - to encourage them however I can.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to help LJ finish editing his college essays. You wouldn't believe the grammatical errors that kid is making.

Planes, Trains, and Night Lights

As I was scrubbing some pots and pans today, Julianna said (with awe in her voice), "Mama, a long time ago they didn't have dishwashers!"

Her observation prompted a long conversation about all of the modern conveniences we take for granted ... all those our ancestors lived without.

I answered her questions about airplanes, trains, microwaves, cars, refrigerators, televisions, magic markers, light bulbs, CD players, and even tee pees.

Then I asked Julianna to choose just ONE thing she absolutely, positively could not live without.

I thought she would say the computer, her mp3 player, or maybe even the toaster (because you can never underestimate the importance of Daddy's famous cinnamon sugar bread every morning).

But she didn't choose any of those things, and her answer surprised me.

She said: "I would choose my night light. Because I can't fall asleep without it."

The childlike simplicity of Julianna's answer caught me off guard and got me thinking about which one creature comfort I would choose above all others.

And I quickly narrowed it down ... to around 10 things (hey, YOU try choosing just one).

Two of the highest-ranking items on my top 10 list were indoor plumbing (no explanation needed) and a clothes dryer ... because I once went a week without one and my clothes felt like cardboard.

Why is it that my 6-year-old daughter is so much easier to please than I am? Why is a night light all she really needs to make her happy?

Is it that I'm getting old?
Julianna would say yes.

Maybe I'm just high-maintenance?
My parents would say yes.

Could it be I'm just plain spoiled?
My husband would take the fifth.

So how can I help Julianna and LJ avoid the same fate? How do I help my children stay relatively easy-to-please -- so much so that all they really need is a metaphorical night light?

Well, my hunch is that it may already be too late to save them.

As LJ and I were watching the NBA Slam Dunk contest on our DVR tonight (another thing that made my top 10 list of "must haves,"), he saw one of the basketball stars flash his expensive-looking cell phone at the TV camera.

LJ stood up, pointed at the screen and screamed: "So what! Who cares? Why would I be jealous of that? My Mom has an iPhone!"

Did I mention that made my list too?

Forever in Blue Jeans

Julianna's Kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Rodruan, pulled me aside this morning - big smile on her face - and said the words every parent dreads: "I just have to tell you what your daughter said about you!"

My heart went into my throat and my mind began racing. What had I done? How bad was it? Had my sweet little girl sold me down the river?

I instantly flashed back to when LJ was 3 years old and his pre-school teacher said the exact same thing to me.

In LJ's case, he had declared to both of his teachers: "My mom is lazy!"

There was a perfectly good explanation why he said that ... it had to do with a conversation he and I had about the way I made grilled cheese sandwiches. (Strange but true). I don't think his teachers bought my excuse. They had a great laugh over it and I was mortified.

I realize that teachers hear gems like that all the time. They spend as many hours with our children as we do. They probably know all sorts of "secrets" about our families and undoubtedly hear daily tales of our bad habits and ill-tempered outbursts.

Kids are pretty transparent with their emotions and in a safe haven like school, those feelings and experiences often bubble to the surface. I'm guessing that show-and-tell in Kindergarten can quickly become an impromptu therapy session.

So, today, when I heard those frightening words again from Julianna's teacher, I couldn't help but be nervous.

According to Mrs. Rodruan, the kids were drawing pictures of what they would look like when they turned 100 years old.

As Julianna created her likeness, she explained to Mrs. Rodruan that, when she turns 100, she will wear only wear blue jeans because "when I get old that's all I will want to wear -- like my Mommy."

Pfffffffftttt...

That's the sound of the wind being taken out of my sails.

It wasn't the blue jeans part that stung. That part is absolutely true. But old?

I needed clarity. Does she really see me as old?

I know I'm not the coolest mom in the world, but I like to think that at the very least, my kids see me as "young at heart."

Tonight, I gave Julianna a chance to redeem herself ... or at least give my ego a little boost.

"Tell me about the picture you drew at school, Julianna. What did your picture of you at 100 years old look like?"

"Well," she said, "I had gray hair. And I was wearing pants. Actually they were jeans."

I am a glutton for punishment, so I poked the stick at the hornet's nest and asked her, "Why jeans?"

"Because old people like you wear blue jeans all the time."

Pfffffffftttt...

Whatever little bit of air was left in my sails was now gone.

My daughter does indeed see me as old. Her perception is my reality.

But instead of focusing on the negative, I should really look on the bright side. I suppose it could have been much, much worse.

She could have called me old and lazy.

Tar Heel Born

On the way home from school about a month ago, LJ asked me, "Mom, who is Coach Shoo-crew-skee?"

"You mean Duke's coach?" I asked.

"Yeah ... him," sneered LJ. "I can't stand that guy!"

LJ can't pronounce his name, but at age 8, he already has a healthy disrespect for Coach K and his team.

I don't think LJ could even pick Coach K out of a lineup with Sidney Lowe and Roy Williams, but that's beside the point.

LJ is what I call a Tar Heel born.

I, on the other hand, am a Tar Heel bred.

I was a big-time Tar Heel hater as a kid -- even through my early teenage years. Once, I actually cheered for Russia over UNC in an exhibition game.

And that was all because of my older brother, TJ. At some point in my childhood, TJ came home from school announced that he wanted us to be N.C. State fans. His reason? Because everyone else at school was a Carolina fan.

So I too grew up as an avid Wolfpack fan ... one of my first sports memories is running through our house screaming with joy when the Cardiac Pack capped their miracle run in 1983.

It wasn't until I decided to go to college at UNC that I began to bleed a different color.

It took me nearly 18 years to become a Tar Heel, so I wasn't taking any chances with LJ and Julianna. There was no doubt that my kids would be Tar Heels from the day they were born -- like it or not.

Jack and I started brainwashing the kids while they were still confined to the crib. LJ's first bedtime story was The Dean's List. Julianna's first teddy bear was adorned with the UNC logo.

And little known fact ... but the "J" in LJ actually stands for "Jordan."

Whatever we did in the early days, it seems to have worked like magic.

As evidenced from our home videos, Julianna is well on her way to being a Tar Heel cheerleader. And LJ takes to heart every Carolina loss (football, basketball, fencing ... it doesn't matter).

In LJ's closest hangs a mint condition UNC t-shirt from last year's Final Four. Even though he insisted that we buy it for him, he refuses to put it on.

When I finally asked him why he wouldn't wear it, he folded his arms and frowned.

"That shirt is embarrassing, Mom, and I am not wearing it," he said.

"What are you talking about?" I responded. "It was a huge accomplishment to make it that far. Going to the Final Four is not embarrassing."

"But UNC didn't actually win the Final Four," said LJ. "So I am not wearing that. I'm only wearing a National Championship shirt."

Point taken.

Now that's what I call a fan.















Raising 'em up.

A Religious Experience

Last weekend, we traveled to Atlanta for my cousin Micah's Bar Mitzvah. Although I am Jewish, this was the kids' first visit to a synagogue. Since it was our family's first time attending a Jewish service together, it was truly a religious experience for us all.

Shortly after I turned 13, I was also a Bat Mitzvah, and I have fond memories of the entire experience -- from the service itself to the endless stream of parties that followed.

But, of course, that was 20+ years ago. This is now, and everything (including a Bar Mitzvah service), must be considered from the perspective of a mom ... who has two human pogo sticks ... who believe it is sheer torture to remain in one place ... for more than 30 seconds at a time.

I decided to mentally prepare LJ and Julianna for sitting through the two-hour service by briefly explaining to them what a Bar Mitzvah is.

Then, I told the kids they would need to wear "nice" clothes to temple. (For LJ, wearing a collared shirt is torture akin to sitting still). I also told Julianna she would need to wear a dress.

"Great," she said. "I will wear my fanciest dress!"

"Which one is your fanciest dress?" I asked.

"My green one ... my Christmas dress!"

I sat silent as I considered what to say next.

Fortunately, LJ took care of that for me.

"Christmas is a Christian holiday, Julianna ... you can't wear that dress to temple."

Excellent, I thought ... he GETS it!

"Temple is Jewish," said LJ. "You have to wear your Chanukah dress there."

Then again, maybe not.

On Saturday morning, we headed to the Bar Mitzvah. And I should note that during the 15-minute drive to the temple, LJ must have asked us at least four times, "Are we going to the ancient temple?"

Once we arrived at the modern-day Temple Sinai -- in our fancy dresses and collared shirts -- we lingered in the lobby as we waited for my parents to arrive. LJ picked up a program for the service and started glancing through it. Julianna, ever the social butterfly, immediately approached an usher who stood by the entrance to the synagogue.

"Hi," she told him. "I don't really know if I'm Christian or Jewish."

Oy ve!

I mumbled something about me being Jewish and her father being Christian, but I doubt the usher heard me because he had to be laughing out loud on the inside.

"That's okay," he said to Julianna. "Are you happy?"

"Yes, I'm happy," she said.

"Well, that's all that matters. As long as you are happy, it doesn't matter."

Excellent advice for Julianna, to be sure.

Embarrassing for me nonetheless.

The kids were very well behaved during the Bar Mitzvah service. Micah did a wonderful job, and I think the children learned a few things about their mom's ancestry.

That night, we all attended an amazing party at Turner Field with great food, a terrific DJ, and much to LJ's delight, an open bar (He is not usually allowed to have soda, so the unlimited refills were a special treat).

During our road trip back to Raleigh, I asked the kids what they most enjoyed most about the Bar Mitzvah weekend.

"The scrolls," Julianna said, referring to the Torah. "I liked the scrolls."

LJ, on the other hand, was still relishing his sugar rush from Turner Field.

"The drinks at the party," he said.

"How many Sprites did you have anyway?" I asked him.

"Actually I had Shirley Temples -- four of them," he responded.

"Wow -- then I guess you had your fill, didn't you?" I said.

"Yes, Mom, I did," he said.

"Surely," he smirked, "I had enough temples."

Dishing it Out

A couple of weeks ago, Jack and I decided it was time for the kids to have daily chores. And not just the "stop hitting your brother" and "no more pulling your sister's hair" kind of chores.

In our fantasy world, LJ and Julianna would obediently and happily complete their assigned duties. They would never complain and would rarely need prompting.

In other words, the exact opposite of when I was a kid.

I was around Julianna's age when I was given daily chores. By far, my least favorite chore was unloading the dishwasher. To this day I still dread it and I will do anything to avoid it.

In fact, I hate it so much that sometimes, after opening up a clean dishwasher, I will cringe, close it, and pretend I didn't see that it needed unloading.

Keeping in mind my own history of chore misery, I was determined to make this a "fun" experience for my own kids -- this would not mimic the same drudgery in my own childhood.

Jack made a colorful chart to hang on the fridge so the kids could check off their daily progress. (I guess, for some reason, we thought this would make it more enticing).

We decided to start small, build momentum with sure success, and gradually add chores to the list until our kids were ironing our clothes, making our coffee, and scrubbing the toilets on a daily basis.

After considering a long list of possibilities, Jack and I decided that LJ's chores would be:

• Feed Viking dinner every night
• Put dirty clothes in the laundry basket every day
• Clear dishes from the table after all snacks and meals

Julianna's chores include:

• Put dirty clothes in the laundry basket every day
• Clear dishes from the table after all snacks and meals
• Help unload the dishwasher at least 3 times per week

Yes, you read that correctly. I assigned Julianna the exact same chore I hated so much as a child.

Not surprisingly, our efforts at raising responsible, helpful kids have already backfired.

After LJ breezed through the first week of his chores, he seemed stunned when Jack printed out a new, empty chart to hang on the fridge.

"What do you mean there's a new chart?? I thought we only had to do this for ONE week."

More proof from LJ that Rome, indeed, was not built in a day.

For Julianna's part, she was genuinely excited the first couple of times she helped unload the dishwasher. In fact, she wondered aloud why she only had to do it three times a week.

By day four, she audibly groaned when I requested her help putting away the dishes.

Then, while helping me, she dropped a bowl on the floor.

No harm, no foul ... but LJ couldn't resist chiming in.

"Julianna knows that if she drops something and breaks it, she won't have to unload the dishes anymore."

Julianna insisted that wasn't her motive, but perhaps LJ was right. Maybe she was subconsciously trying to get out of her dishwasher duties.

Tonight, her protest was far less subtle.

"Mama, I really don't like unloading the dishwasher. I'd like to choose something else. Yes, I'll start making my bed every day instead. That would be better."

I told her no. She would have to stick with the dishwasher. And I haven't relented ... yet.

But I suppose it serves me right that Julianna is just as unenthusiastic about unloading the dishwasher as I am.

After all, as my mom has always said ... don't dish it out if you can't take it.

Super Commericals? My Kids Weigh In

The common marketing logic is that puppies and babies sell. In fact, since the pets.com sock puppet made its debut in 2000, it seems like every other commercial includes a talking animal or a stock-trading baby.

As the Steelers were preparing to handle the Cardinals in Super Bowl XLIII, I was wondering how my kids would rate the commercials ... puppies, babies, and all.

I know that kids under age 10 aren't the target audience, per se, but children look at the world through a different lens. So what do they see when it comes to the big game? What kind of impact do those $100K per second, $3 million, 30-second spots have on America's future spenders?

Thus, I decided to conduct a very, very unscientific experiment with LJ and Julianna. I asked them rate the Super Bowl commercials on a scale from 1 to 10 (10 being the best).

Mind you, this experiment was not without its trials and tribulations. At one point, LJ saw a commercial that disturbed him so much (the Castrol grease monkey chimp kissing the guy), that he declared: "Now that one makes me want to stop watching commercials and only watch the game!"

Nevertheless, we made it through the first half with the kids viewing and rating every single ad.

So, what was the verdict? Which ads did the kids love the most? Below are LJ's and Julianna's ratings.

Note: Only the first half commercials were rated because second half is past their bedtime!

Super Bowl XLIII Commercials
LJ's & Julianna's Top 10

1. Doritos - Crystal Ball
2. E*trade - Talking Baby
3. Pedigree - Crazy Pets
4. Pepsi Max - I'm Good
5. Budweiser - Clydesdales Stick
6. Firestone - Taters
7. Cheetos - Chester the Cheetah
8. Movie Trailer - Land of the Lost
9. Bud Light - Meeting
10. Audi - Chase

You'll notice a theme in my kids' top choices. Their favorites, in every instance, included:

• bodily harm and/or property damage (Doritos; Pepsi Max; Firestone; Land of the Lost; Bud Light; Audi)
  
  OR
  
  
• talking animals/babies (E*trade, Pedigree; Budweiser; Cheetos)

I'm not really sure what all of this means for LJ's and Julianna's future spending habits. But one thing is painfully clear about their tastes in advertising (and my parenting abilities).

My children love to see people get hurt, stuff get blown up, and smart-ass animals and kids.

Now isn't that just super?

As the World Turns

In the pile of Saturday's mail were our Ravenscroft re-enrollment agreements for the 2009-10 school year. It's funny because even though I know my kids are doing fine in school, I always feel an odd sense of pride and relief when I get that letter saying "we still want your kids."

And I've heard other parents say the same. It's like we need to be reassured that our kids are actually as great as we think they are.

As I flipped through the agreements, my mouth dropped open when I looked at LJ's. There, typed in bold ink, were the words "3rd grade."

Somehow, seeing that on a formal document just took the wind out of me. Third grade just sounds so old. So grown up.

Then, after I got over the shock, I experienced a moment of panic.

I remember from my experiences as a babysitter and a big sister that the first day of third grade marks the exact moment at which your child become smarter, funnier, and more worldly than than you.

Or so they think.

It's like third grade is the tidal wave and I am the shore. I can see it coming, but I am powerless to stop it.

On Aug. 19, 2009, the first day of third grade, LJ will embark on an era of bossiness and know-it-all superiority that can only be surpassed by me.

Yes, it's true. I gave my third-grade teacher at Ravenscroft, Mrs. Bobbitt, a run for her money.

Although I challenged Mrs. Bobbitt unmercifully throughout that school year, the time I remember most vividly is when I stayed home sick on a Monday.

When I returned the next day and we were in "circle time" reviewing the calendar, Mrs. Bobbitt marked off Tuesday.

I promptly raised my hand and confidently stated: "Mrs. Bobbitt, today is Monday, not Tuesday. You marked off the wrong day."

"No, Penny. Today is Tuesday. This is correct."

"No, Mrs. Bobbitt. You are wrong. Today is Monday."

"No, Penny. Today is Tuesday. And just because you missed a day of school doesn't mean the world stopped for you."

Whoa.

In front of my friends, Mrs. Bobbitt had put me properly back in my place. And rightly so.

Her words obviously had an impact on me as they have stayed with me to this day.

So here I am as a parent, 25 years later, with LJ racing full speed ahead toward third grade ... and I'm tiptoeing on eggshells. Of course, in my heart, I know that LJ will do just fine.

The mere fact that he has never been wrong will serve him well as he navigates the sometimes choppy waters of third grade.

I can only hope that if -- on the off chance -- LJ ever gets out of line as a third-grader, he will be lucky enough to have a teacher like Mrs. Bobbitt. One to remind him that things are not always what they seem.

The world will not, in fact, stop spinning on its axis just for LJ ... it's merely the sun, moon, and stars that shine because of him.


First day of Kindergarten (2006). Where does the time go?



















Julianna's first day of pre-Kindergarten at Ravenscroft. She stayed home sick.