The Princess Clique: Who's In, Who's Out?

Disclaimer: I'm not really good at this blogging thing. I wrote the following back in March but never got around to editing and posting it. Damn kids and work and life getting in the way... I finally decided to write a new entry, but figured this one was worth posting first.

After my last blog post where I expressed my desire to "break the fourth wall" with a Disney princess, I feel I need to report on whether or not I was successful. I'll be truthful--once I got to Disney World, I didn't even want to dispel "the magic." I totally got sucked in, primarily because of Lauren.

She greeted each princess with awe--even on day seven, by which time we had so many character signatures we had to get a THIRD signature book.

I may have gotten sucked in, but I was still skeptical of those wig-wearing, overly made-up beauty pageant drop-outs. Over the course of the week, I realized the line-up of princesses resembles, in many ways, that "clique" of popular girls you'll find in any high school. So here's my impression of where each princess would fit in the high school hierarchy:

Snow White: the slightly chubby wannabe who just barely made the cheerleading squad and is friends with the popular girls, but not part of their inner circle. At Disney World, you find Snow White greeting guests in seemingly random spots--she does not rank high enough to be in the official "Storybook Princess" greeting area where you find the "big three" (or what USED to be the "big three"--more on that later).

Jasmine: Jasmine is just plain cool. With awesome abs. Everyone likes her because she rocks that skimpy outfit without looking sleazy. She is the closest you can get to a "bad girl" among the Disney princesses.

Ariel: the perpetually bubbly one who is EVERYONE's friend. During lunch, she'll sit with the debate team one day, the cheerleaders the next, and end the week with the thespians. She's definitely one of the "popular" ones, but not in an intimidating way.

Mulan: cool as a cucumber, Mulan doesn't care what anyone else thinks, and that's why people like her. She could care less about being part of the "popular" crowd, and that is exactly why she is part of it. The "popular" girls are in awe of her beauty, intelligence and strength.

Tiana: the new girl in town who falls easily into the popular group with her quick sense of humor, good looks, and sassy attitude. She's the type of girl people want to get to know better.

THE BIG THREE (you'll find them at every princess "character meal" and they greet guests together in a special space at the Magic Kingdom)

Belle: she doesn't have all the material trappings of the other popular girls, but she's cute and smart and loyal to her friends and family. Just plain likable.

Sleeping Beauty: ah, the ice queen. So beautiful that she is part of the popular group by default, when in reality she is not particularly nice. Because of her beauty, she has been handed everything on a silver platter since birth. She now expects that kind of treatment and manages to get it, with a little intimidation directed at those "beneath" her.

Cinderella: "most popular" by a hair, and only because she has held that position for so long. Sure, she's pretty, smart, and has everything else going for her, but she's sort of old news. She doesn't really live up to the hype.

And finally, RAPUNZEL: Quickly overtaking the "most popular" title from Cinderella, thanks to her adorable personality, independent spirit, and the fact that she's pretty in an approachable way. And that hair! Everyone wants to be Rapunzel's friend because she just exudes fun.

So there you have it. My princess line-up. Parents of princess lovers: do you think I got it right?

And I Looked Her in the Eye ...

So we're preparing for what seems like our umpteenth trip to "the happiest place on earth." I like Disney. But I don't LOVE Disney.

It's not because of the ridiculously long lines, or the tired, cranky kids. It's not because of the mediocre, overpriced food, or the cell block-sized "resort" rooms.

It's because of the characters. Namely the ones who do not wear masks, meaning you can look them in the eye.

My goal for this trip is to "break the fourth wall" with a Disney princess.

Before I sound like a cynical, jaded bee-yotch, let me assure you I am not (at least not all the time). I just want to get some little sign that there's a human underneath the layers and layers of foundation, lipstick and fake eyelashes.

I know Disney is all about the fantasy. When you're at "the World," fairies are real and an extremely oversized mouse wearing clown shoes is totally normal. Ariel spends more time out of the water than in it, and Captain Hook isn't so mean after all. It really is "the happiest place on earth."

But the characters canNOT be happy--at least not all the time. Those princesses spend hours greeting whiny kids, many of whom are too scared to even get close enough for a picture. They have to try to engage them in conversation while the parents urge their child to scoot closer, and then mom snaps a zillion photos, trying to get the perfect shot. The princesses must have quite the cheek muscles after smiling that long.

If an adult looks a princess in the eye, she doesn't so much as flinch. She maintains the facade no matter what. I know that is her job, but I really want to see a little wink or even an eye roll--some acknowledgement that underneath the make-up and scratchy dress is a working girl just putting in her time until her shift is over.

I guess I should be thankful there are people out there willing to put up this facade for the millions of wide-eyed kids under the Disney "spell." I know the look on Lauren's face when she met a Disney princess for the first time was truly priceless.

But I still sorta want to see Cinderella "snap." Maybe I really am jaded after all ...

C'mon, Tink, you cannot possibly be happy about those

shiny hose and that ball o' hair on top of your head.

Adventures in Patching

Lauren isn't allowed to become a Girl Scout.

It's not because of the cookies.

Or the possibility I might have to camp outside with her in a tent.

It's because of the badges. The seemingly innocuous little patches of fabric that you adhere to the Girl Scouts' sashes.

I don't know much about them, but I don't need to. I already know I HATE them.

I spent three hours of my Saturday trying to affix a total of five patches to Alex's Cub Scout uniform.

I had conducted an informal Facebook poll to see how others did it without sewing. I was willing to sew a couple stitches, but there was no way in hell I'd sew an entire patch on that shirt.

I should have sewn the stupid patches. I ended up with a combination of worthless, supposedly adhesive substances on his shirt where the patches were SUPPOSED to go. I finally gave up and just sewed the corners of the patches onto the shirt. If I have some free time, maybe I'll add a couple more stitches. Yeah, it will be an empty day in Wegmans before that happens.

I don't know if iron-on patches actually work, but you'd think someone would TRY to make the patches easier to apply. The whole experience convinced me the Boy Scout organization is run by people who don't understand the concept of efficiency, despite what they try to teach the scouts.

I did some research on the Girl Scout patches, and apparently they are "iron-onable." I'm skeptical, though.

I know parenting is all about making sacrifices. I don't mind the sacrifices that make my kids happy. But Alex could NOT care less about those patches. He's in scouting for the socialization; he doesn't care about earning a patch for mastering how to "whittle" (yeah, that's a word I use everyday ...).

After this experience with the patches, I think I might prefer to go barefoot in a public bathroom.

Get Thee to Kindergarten

It's bittersweet when your child is about to start kindergarten. Many parents get downright sad about it.

"MAH BAAAABY. My little, precious baby is going all by herself to that big scary school, with big scary kids. She has to ride the school bus! She has to find her classroom! What if she gets lost? What if she needs help in the bathroom? What if she doesn't make any friends?"

Yeah, whatever. I'm more than ready to ship Lauren off to elementary school.

Is it because I want her to grow up faster? No, of course not.

Is it because I think she is mature and ready to enter elementary school? I do, but that's not the reason.

Is it because I'm ready to stop writing the big monthly tuition check for her (wonderful) preschool? That would be Brian's answer, but it's not mine.

My real reason? I cannot wait for Lauren to torment her big brother when she sees him in the halls.

That's just part of being siblings, right? The younger one, new to school and the "sibling engagement" rules, spots the older one in the hallway and tries to get his attention and let EVERYONE know they are related.

I have a picture in my mind of Lauren yelling "HI ALEX" and running through hordes of kids in order to give him a huge hug.

(I may have actually already encouraged her to do that.)

His friends will watch as the look on his face changes from annoyance to total disgust.

Because kindergarten teachers keep a short leash on their students, the incident will be short, but so worth it--for Lauren, and for me when my children tell me their different versions of the story.

LAUREN: Mom, I was so excited to see Alex in the hall today that I ran over to give him a big hug! I love going to "big kid" school!

ALEX: MO-OM. Lauren is SO annoying. She always embarrasses me in front of my friends. Could you tell her to just ignore me when she sees me in the hall?

Me: (Will fake paying close attention to the lint on my sweater and pretend I didn't hear them.)

I have a younger brother (hi Grubby!). I really don't remember if he "embarrassed" me in school. I was three grades ahead. I think it is probably a little different when the boy is the older sibling. A younger sister may look up to her big brother more than a younger brother would look up to his big sister. Or maybe I'm stereotyping.

Whatever--I just know that, based on my children's personalities, Lauren will definitely go out of her way to make sure everyone knows that Alex is her big brother. And Alex will likely be embarrassed. Deep down, though, I know he really won't mind.

I Don't Want a Hoochie-Mama Preschooler

My 4 3/4-year-old daughter is quickly outgrowing sizes 6 and 6x. Which means no more brightly colored mix-and-match Carters outfits, or modestly cute shirts with polka dots and stripes instead of "OMG" and "BFF."

I like to shop ahead for the next season. Recently, when scouring the sales racks at Kohl's, I saw this:




It is a girl's size 10. If I had looked a little harder, I could have probably found one closer to my daughter's size. No, thank you, she is not quite ready for a little black dress.

I know Kohl's is not the only store to blame. Justice offers this:
And this:

Neon aside, is this appropriate for an almost-5-year-old? To me, it looks like what teenagers wore in the '80s (gawd, I'm getting old ...). And the fringed shirt is just plain tacky. Maybe if she were auditioning for Jersey Shore ...

Full disclosure: I looked around the Justice website and there WERE a few cute, appropriate things. But they still looked "old." I feel like there are very few options for girls in size 7-14 who are still, well, little girls.

Some may suggest Gymboree, but I'm a little over the coordination out the wazoo. And I swear their color palettes are just a leeetle off--meaning it is near impossible to mix and match with clothing from other stores.

And then there's the Gap. Ah, the Gap. The "meet in the middle" option between dirt-cheap Old Navy and overpriced Banana Republic. Relatively modest yet stylish.

For little kids, it's great. The clothes are super cute and can easily be worn with items from other stores.

The "big girl" styles are okay overall. I'm not going to dress her in this (that's a shirt, by the way--I think it would be better as a dress!):





But overall, the styles are pretty cute. The problem is the sizing. Lauren still has some baby fat. A size-7 t-shirt from GapKids is skintight. And Old Navy is even worse, sizing-wise, because the clothes are so cheap.

Lauren loves clothes. She loves when people comment on her outfits. She is the type of girl who will want the "older" styles, and I'm dreading it.

So, moms of elementary-age girls, what do you do? Where do you find clothing that is modest yet still stylish?

Reclaiming My School Pride

I've never been a rah-rah Penn State person. I don't like football. I own one Penn State sweatshirt and one Penn State t-shirt, purchased not from a store on College Avenue, but from the clearance rack at Target. I went to football games during college, but usually left at half-time (my dad would have disowned me if I did not get season tickets). I don't get what the big deal is about Creamery ice cream. Obviously I'm not the type who claims to bleed blue and white.

But yesterday afternoon, as Joe Paterno's funeral procession passed down Curtin Road, I was never prouder to be a Penn Stater. It was almost like a parade atmosphere during the nearly two hours I waited outside with thousands of other students, alumni, faculty and staff. But as soon as the crowd saw the flashing lights of the cars leading the motorcade, silence fell. With helicopters buzzing overhead, reminding us that more than our local community was mourning this great man, we watched the cars and buses pass. Sue rode in Joe's seat on the team bus, with his grandchildren waving from the back. It was over in minutes, and then everyone went their separate ways, contemplating, I'm sure, what we had just experienced.

I have not published a blog post in six months, first because life got in the way, and then because I didn't want to write my usual blather when my community was in turmoil. I feel very strongly that those of us who currently live in State College have experienced the events of the past 2.5 months differently than anyone else. No offense to Penn State alumni and fans who live elsewhere--it's just that living here means we have experienced everything on a whole other level. We have been criticized. We have been misunderstood. We have had our town overtaken by media who could never understand what it means to be a Penn Stater.

There are some bad people out there in the world, this town included. But they do not represent Penn State as a whole. The people lining the streets yesterday represent Penn State. And I was proud to be one of them.

She's Crossed the Line

The tables have turned. Six months ago I never imagined my 8-year-old son with premature pre-teen angst would be "the pleasant one," but it's true. My divalicious 4-year-old has crossed the line from sassy-cute to sassy-bratty.

Declarations that have recently crossed her lips:

When asked why she was acting so bratty: I don't like ANYthing ANYone is saying.

While riding in the car with a chattering Alex: I don't want to hear ANY sounds!

When I dare to smile at something she says: Stop laughing at me!

When told it was a "school day": I do NOT like school, so I'm NOT going (no offense, Ms. Brooke!).

When presented with a meal composed of something she did not specifically request: I do NOT like [insert random food item], so I'm not eating it. [Random food item] is gross.

I know other parents say their 4-year-olds--especially girls--are sassy, but I truly believe Lauren takes it to another level. She goes from this:

To this:

in a matter of seconds.

I told Brian I thought Lauren had been acting particularly bratty recently. He said he hadn't noticed. That's because she's a total daddy's girl. Actually, she sucks up to all the males in the family. The other day, my dad got her a cute wall hanging that says "girly girl." He had shown it to me, but not to her (because, not surprisingly, she was cranky at the time). I just went ahead and hung it on her door. The next morning, she grumbled about the sign to me, saying she didn't like it, until I told her that Pop had gotten it for her. Suddenly she loved it. Watch out, future suitors. Lauren will play you like a violin.

Despite her increasing brattiness, Lauren is still almost always willing to put on a "dance show." The bigger the audience, the better. However, she has very high expectations of her audience. She gets upset if you don't clap loudly enough. If she asks someone to introduce her from "offstage," and you are not enthusiastic enough with the introduction, you're gonna hear about it. Fortunately her, uh, interesting dance moves--that somehow demonstrate both a sense of rhythm and a scary sense of what's sexy--make her "shows" enjoyable despite her diva-like behavior.

I'm pretty sure I'm better at appropriately reprimanding and then ignoring outbursts with my second child. I'm also pretty sure this is just a phase. I still see enough sincere sweetness in my little diva to know she is not permanently headed down the "mean girl" route. Although I'm not 100% certain ...

Not Just Any Princess

Thirty feet. Fifty AMP. Electricity/water/sewage. Modern facilities. Pets allowed. Trailer plus vehicle. Wooded site.

Another language? A secret code? Until recently, I had no idea what the terms above meant when used together (okay, I had no idea what 50 AMP meant in any context ...). But not anymore. Over the past couple months, I have tenatively embarked on a hobby that I never in a million years thought I would even consider. I am, after all, a princess. But now I'm not just any princess--I am The Camping Princess.

My little "code" above should be familiar to the campers--especially RV campers--out there. I do not know if I am ready to put myself in the category of--gulp--campers yet, but I have recently found myself scouring the Web for campgrounds where we could take--and easily entertain--the kids for a weekend. I don't think my requirements are that high--I simply require more than pretty natural surroundings, because otherwise my kids will be plugged into their various electronic devices while "enjoying" nature. We're not exactly a hiking and bird-watching family.

We had a perfect first family camping trip in the RV, which we affectionately call "Betty." Brian had taken the kids camping a couple times, but I did not join them (I had to take care of the dogs!). We joined two other families at a somewhat-local amusement park with an adjacent campground. There were plenty of other people around, there was plenty to do, the kids had playmates, the ADULTS had playmates--it was all good.

A couple weeks later, our family went to Lake Raystown, which had been highly recommended to me by avid campers. The weekend got off to a very rocky start, due to lack of cell phone service in the "wild" (damn Verizon). Brian was driving separately in the RV because of a late meeting. The kids and I arrived around 8 p.m. and anticipated Brian would arrive by 9 p.m. At about 9:45, after we had roamed around the gift shop for the umpteenth time, I was ready to get in my car and look for our RV toppled over along the side of the road. But then Brian came careening into the parking lot (as much as an RV can "careen") with the dogs yapping inside. My heart rate returned to normal.

Because we reserved a campsite relatively late in the season, our spot was awful, with a somewhat steep incline down to our fire pit. It didn't matter much where the fire pit was, though. When the kids decided they wanted s'mores, we made them in the microwave. Like I said, we're far from hard core.

There was plenty to do at Raystown, but after two nights I was DONE (well, "finished," if you want to get nit-picky about word choice). The kids' behavior was less than ideal, probably because they were stuck with each other and their parents for two days straight; it was hot; and a 35-foot RV may be large by RV standards, but not by "normal" standards. I told Brian I was finished with camping until Labor Day.

So now, two-thirds of the way through summer vacation (eek!) and with two somewhat-major camping trips under my belt, I can say I am "okay" with camping. In an RV. With electricity, running water, and lots of activities nearby. After all, The Camping Princess can spend only so much time lounging in her air-conditioned abode, eating microwaved s'mores.

Blood Before Dawn

The sun was just rising over her sleepy college town. She hobbled away from the incident, blood dripping from her wounds. She was so dirty she was not even sure where she was hurt--she just knew there was blood, and a lot of it. The birds were chirping, but no one else was awake yet. She needed help, but had nowhere to go.

After walking for a bit she started to feel stronger, and she began to run. She finally reached a seedy motel and went inside. The bored front desk clerk barely glanced at her as she entered, frantic look on her dirty face and the blood now dry on her wounds. She needed to get to a bathroom, and then she would figure out what to do next. Finally a kind soul directed her to the nearest ladies' room. She cringed when she saw the blood on the door frame, and then realized it was hers. She looked in the mirror to assess the damage ...

And the drama ends there. I was running early this morning, tripped on a bad section of sidewalk, and scraped my chin and my right knee. It's not pretty, but I'll survive. The "incident" happened before 6:30 a.m. I was near the Waffle Shop on West College, but it wasn't open yet (and I don't think they would have appreciated me getting blood in the public restoom in their dining establishment). I did have my cell phone with me, but because I was able to continue running with no pain (I ignored my throbbing chin), I soldiered on.

The "seedy motel" was the Quality Inn across from the Waffle Shop on North Atherton. Not exactly seedy, although the front desk clerk really just gave me a quick glance, despite the blood covering my arms from wiping my chin. Fortunately a guest at the motel directed me to a restroom. So I cleaned up myself and the doorframe, and ran the remaining two miles back to my car. And then I went to the grocery store. Couldn't pass up the opportunity to go grocery shopping by myself in an almost-empty store! My first stop in the store was the band-aid section. And yes, I pulled one out of the box and applied it before paying. Possibly my biggest crime.

So when I got home at about 8:15 a.m., I had already taken Alex to the airport (he is going on a trip with his grandparents), run 7.5 miles, suffered a mild but very bloody injury to my chin, and gone grocery shopping for the week. I am awesome.

Not Just Any Camping Top 10

Haven't posted in awhile, but I have a good one for you today:

Top 10 Ways You Know You're Camping in a PARTICULARLY Rural State Park

10. The signs in your cabin are full of grammatical errors.

9. Mullets and "tails" are still in style.

8. You don't have to worry about anyone stealing your hummus.

7. You DO have to worry about the assorted raccoons, groundhogs, chipmunks and squirrels that live under your cabin, not to mention the mice that live inside it.

6. You see men with enviable (for certain women) B cups.

5. You see women with tatoos that have stretched so much you can no longer tell what they are.

4. You have to drive miles to get cell phone service.

3. You can entertain yourself by counting the number of dead chipmunks in a one-mile stretch.

2. The only fruit-like item sold at the concession stand is strawberry ice cream.

And the number 1 way you know you're camping in a particularly rural state park:

1. You hear a father lovingly refer to his child as "Butt Crack."

OMG. What am I going to do with her?

I started a couple blog posts over the past few months, but did not deem any of them funny enough for public consumption. I'm not sure if it's because my kids were boring or my writing was boring. Anyway, I figured I could elicit a few chuckles with a post about my "mean girl" in the making.

My little Lulu Belle used to be sweet about 90 percent of the time. That percentage is decreasing at the same rate gas prices are increasing. I used to only joke that she was a "mean girl" in the making, but now I am getting seriously concerned.

I had been deluding myself into believing that Lauren was really only bratty at home. A couple weeks ago her preschool teacher told me Lauren said outright that she did not like a particular little girl and therefore did not want to play with her anymore. When her teacher told her that wasn't very nice, Lauren said she meant she did not like the apple posted on the bulletin board. I'm not sure if I should be proud of her quick although illogical thinking or embarrassed about her behavior.

Earlier this month I returned home from a quick overnight trip sans children, armed with a few small souvenirs. I presented Lauren with what I considered an adorable pink and white polka-dotted bunny. When I handed it to her, she scrunched up her nose and said, "I don't like this very much." I stared at her, willing myself not to yell, and then just grabbed the bunny and said I would keep it myself. So of course she changed her mind, suddenly fell in love with the bunny, and forced herself to cry big, fat crocodile tears until I gave it back.

I was sure--well, about 90 percent sure--that Lauren would not pull "I don't like this very much" with any other gift-givers. I was wrong. She said the exact same thing to her dance teacher when presented with a cute little ladybug toy as an end-of-semester trinket. My mom was the lucky one who had to deal with that incident. When I asked Lauren later what had happened, she said something about just not liking part of the ladybug. Whatever, kid. We're on to you.

Recently we were having lunch with some visiting friends. Lauren and my friend's daughter both got a mac and cheese kid's meal that included a yogurt tube. Lauren got strawberry and the other little girl got blueberry, but she didn't like blueberry. Lauren was unwilling to trade, even though she likes both flavors. I opted not to push the issue. Lauren, however, had to keep talking about her strawberry yogurt. She asked her friend if she liked strawberry or blueberry. I thought that might mean she was willing to trade. I was wrong, again. Lauren just wanted to drive home the fact that she was the one with the strawberry yogurt. The brat. Or maybe I should say "the sweet little girl doing something bratty."

Lauren's vocabulary is, well, advanced. Not in the sense of using sophisticated or scientific terms, but more in the sense of sounding like a teenager. Every conversation is peppered with "awesome," "that's SO cool" and even "OMG." When she sees her friends outside of school, they hug and squeal. At this point it makes me chuckle, but I know my mild amusement at her "valley girl-esque" behavior will not continue.

Especially if "OMG" is directed at me. That will NOT be awesome. Wish me luck. If her sassy attitude now is any indication of what is coming during her teen years, I am DOOMED.

Vomit, Fever, Sore Throat, Oh My!

The other day I did something I thought I would never do again--stand by while my companion vomited in the bushes. My companion was Alex, and he vomited chocolate milk shake into the bushes by my office. Sorry if I just ruined your lunch.

Alex had a fever on Monday and was just generally blah. Maybe a bit more than "blah" because he threw up. Fortunately the bug passed through him quickly--or so I thought. He went to school the next day seeming close to 100 percent. He had not eaten much the day before, but I really thought the vomiting incident was more a gagging thing than a vomiting thing, if you know what I mean. He has always had an "impressive" gag reflex that he exercises when he does not want to eat green veggies or, God forbid, an entire banana.

Anyway, I sent him to school. As of 12:30, I had not received a call from the nurse, so I assumed he was okay. Then the call came. Alex had thrown up in the classroom--per the nurse--and was waiting for me to pick him up.

I scramble to pack up some work to do at home and rush to his school. Where I find him sitting in the main office, WHISTLING. What sick kid whistles? And then comes home and plays the Wii for two hours? At least I was able to get some work done.

The next day comes. There is a two-hour delay due to snow. Alex seems fine. Even sets up a disco party in his bedroom (lights and all). Then he tries to brush his teeth. It's 10 minutes before we need to leave. And he gags. In 30 minutes we are at the doctor instead of our respective school/work locations.

So he has strep throat. Lovely. Fortunately the doctor says he can return to school the next day, because it would be approximately 24 hours since he started the antibiotic. I had no idea strep throat did not always involve a sore throat. I had it once, and my throat KILLED me. Strep can manifest itself as a headache, fever or tummy ache. Sometimes causes vomiting. And you can also get strep in places like your rectum. You needed to know that, right? (I hope you stopped eating your lunch by now.)

Anyway, Alex bounced back quickly. He has been good about taking his medicine. He is back to his smart-ass self. He's still milking this illness, though. Yesterday morning he requested ice cream for breakfast. Sorry, kid. Your "free ride" is over.

Snips and Snails and ... Sports

My son has been acting disgustingly ... male lately. Not in an endearing little boy way, but in a full-grown man way. Think obsession with sports and video games, dirty socks all over the floor, and an inability to clear his plate from the dinner table. I won't even go into what his bathroom looks like.

Last Saturday I returned home from running some errands with Lauren to find Alex and Brian camped out on the couch, bags of M&Ms and pretzels between them and fast food wrappers on the floor. They were alternately screaming at the TV (the Penn State bowl game was on) and stuffing food in their mouths. It was just so ... male. Until Lauren stripped down to her skivvies, like she always does, and started playing with her princess dolls. However, they didn't even notice her until she dared obstruct their view of the TV.

A few days later, I overheard my two "men" discussing the Sugar Bowl. Brian: "Arkansas threw a pass and then [blah, blah, blah]." Alex, who fell asleep before the game was over: "Really? What did the ref say? [blah, blah, blah]." I'm not sure how to feel about Alex's obsession with sports. He would go to a Penn State sporting event every day if he could. His knowledge of football, basketball, and volleyball, not to mention soccer and wrestling, is really quite impressive. He holds his own in sports conversations with adults. He also has a very "adult" way of yelling at refs when they make what he considers a bad call. No ref is safe from the "wrath" of Alex. If the refs could hear him, they would not believe his comments were coming from an 8-year-old.

At the risk of getting all scholarly on my half-dozen blog readers, I will admit I am wondering how I ended up with two children who exhibit just about every gender stereotype. Lauren even more than Alex, actually (Alex is afraid of 3D movies and roller coasters--decidely "un-male" things of which to be afraid). At the risk of sounding cliche, I suppose it's the ol' "nature vs. nuture" debate. I think a bit of "chicken and the egg" comes into play, too. Does a little boy develop an interest in football because his parents take him to games from a young age? Does he like football because that's what all his friends play on the playground? Or is this particular little boy just "wired" to love sports?

I'll save my discussion of "sugar and spice and everything nice" for another post, although here's a thought: since when did "everything nice" include Disney Princesses? I have yet to meet a little girl who doesn't love them.* I doubt I'm the only parent who resisted introducing her daughter to those questionable role models, and then gave in when it became clear that obsession has a mind of its own.

Anyway. Boys. Sports. Inability to clean up after themselves. Discuss in the comments.

*I know there are plenty of little girls who do not love Disney Princesses. They must just live in a different kingdom than my own princess.

The 12 Problems of Christmas

I am SO over the holidays. The music, the treats, the fake cheer, the kids at home ALL DAY LONG. Bring on 2011 and the general population's return to everyday surliness.

Since my kids' Christmas break started, I have posted a daily Facebook status spoofing "The 12 Days of Christmas," and I thought it would be appropriate to extend that theme to my blog. So I present to you, "The 12 Problems of Christmas":

1. Christmas break. Kids at home for 11 days. Need I say more?
2. Last-minute gift-buying, wrapping, hiding, transporting, etc. I frequently slip a little something for myself into the cart to alleviate the stress.
3. Food preparation for your holiday "feast" when you have already eaten so many Christmas cookies that your jeans no longer fit.
4. Going to the madhouse, a.k.a. grocery store, in the days leading up to Christmas.
5. Holiday music. Sure, many of the songs are beautiful, but when you've been hearing them since November 1, they get a little old.
6. Getting the kids to bed on Christmas Eve. And then making 100 percent certain they are asleep before "playing Santa."
7. Tacky holiday decorations. Blow-up life-size Santas and the like. Although if I found a blow-up dreidel, I would be tempted to buy it.
8. Christmas sweaters. Santa, reindeer, gingerbread men, etc. do not belong, in any way, shape or form, on an adult clothing item.
9. Santa. Yes, I have a problem with the fat, jolly man with monochromatic fashion sense. I just can't get behind all the trickery required to keep the story alive (although I do it anyway). And besides, why should he get all the credit? I work hard to make Christmas happen for my kids and I want some of the credit, gosh darn it (even some credit from my husband would be nice ...).
10. Gifts for teachers and non-family members. It's not the gift that's the problem--it's remembering who "needs" a gift and making sure that person gets the gift before Christmas 2011.
11. Christmas treats. Unless you have amazing self-control or absolutely no sweet tooth, these are definitely a problem.
12. New toys. New toy packaging. Playing with all the new toys when all you want to do is lock yourself in your bedroom and count down the days until school resumes.

I am really not a scrooge--honest. I get into the holiday spirit as much as any central Pennsylvania Jewish girl. I enjoy spending time with my family, although this loooong "vacation" reminds me why I am not a stay-at-home mom. I am admittedly not good at "playing," although I do get a kick out of watching Lauren innocently put naked prince and princess dolls into compromising positions. Did you know how flexible Cinderella is? I also get super-exited (probably too excited) about the after-Christmas sales. I'm probably one of the few Jewish women out at the crack of dawn on December 26, snatching up holiday-themed tableware and miscellaneous half-price crap. It comes in handy when I'm dealing with #10 above.

So now Christmas is over, my kids are happy with their "haul," and I've gotten my shopping fix. Time to move on. The countdown to summer has begun.

His Stage Name Would Be Alejandro

If any male strip clubs are looking for an 8-year-old exotic dancer, Alex is a shoo-in for the job. That boy can SHAKE it, and I don't know whether I should be amused or horrified. He gyrates his slim hips in a way that would make grown women blush, and shakes his bootie like there's no tomorrow. You'd think he had dancing in his blood, but his parents can barely do the "Electric Slide."

No one on my side of the family can dance--at all. I cringe at the memory of the few times my family members have taken to the dance floor. It's not pretty. Brian can't really dance, either, although he has more rhythm than I do. We actually took ballroom dance together during our senior year of college in preparation for our wedding. However, Brian dropped the course part-way through the semester because he did not want it to hurt his GPA. I ended up with an A-, which ruined what would have been a 4.0 for my final semester of college.

Anyway, back to the bootie-shaking. Since Lauren was old enough to understand the concept, she and Alex have been putting on "shows." They used to be totally innocent affairs, with them donning funny outfits and swaying to Disney movie music. Sometimes Alex would put on some Blue Band music and pound on makeshift drums while Lauren shook some pom-poms.

But since the disco party, the dancing has taken a different turn. Maybe the disco ball is to blame. Or the CD I made of what I THOUGHT was totally appropriate dance music.

Now the shows include Alex--usually in just his underwear--standing on a stool and dancing so, uh ... intensely you'd think he was trying to get the ladies to stuff dollar bills in his tightie whities. I have not seen anyone dance like that since I crashed my mom's 40th birthday party just in time for the surprise "pizza delivery man" who was delivering more than pizza.

Alex's favorite dance tunes are the "Macarena" and "I Like to Move It" (from Madagascar). He will dance to both songs over and over again, adding new "moves" each time. Such as twirling a small towel above his head while he swivels his hips. That move, admittedly, is what brought exotic dancers to mind. Rest assured that Alex will NOT be replicating that move with his undies.

While Alex is gyrating, Lauren can often be found singing softly into a microphone or doing what we like to call her "interpretive dancing." Her moves are more reminiscent of ice dancing. She also likes to prance around on her tippy toes. Totally innocent, thank goodness. Although if she continues to watch her brother, that will not always be the case.

Fortunately Alex has a few years before he will be attending school dances, so he has time to tone down his moves. For now, I have decided to be amused--not horrified. How can you NOT chuckle at a scrawny 8-year-old movin' and groovin' without a care in the world? Maybe he'll be able to teach ME something!

Silly Things

I ran the inaugural Hershey Half-Marathon on Sunday, my first "half-mary." It was a well-organized race and actually lots of fun, if running 13.1 miles could ever be considered fun. A portion of Hersheypark was opened on Saturday evening just for runners and their families, which was a great perk of participating. Alex and I decided to hit the nearby outlets before going into the park, so Brian and Lauren were on their own. And Lauren had not used the bathroom in several hours ...

Which brings me to the real subject of this post: men's and women's anatomy. That got your attention, right?

Being the good dad that he is, Brian often assumes "potty duty" with Lauren. No parent LIKES taking his or her preschooler to the bathroom, so Brian and I trade off when we are together. On Saturday evening, Brian was the only option. So into the men's room they went, where he helped Lauren use the toilet. Then it was his turn, so he instructed her to stand behind him, against the stall's door. At 3, she is obviously not old enough to wait for us outside the stall, especially somewhere like Hersheypark. Also because she is 3, she is curious about body parts. I cannot bring myself to type, word-for-word, what she said while waiting for her daddy. She referred to a "thing" that her daddy "pulls." Enough said.

Brian did not get around to telling me this until after the half-marathon. If he had told me before, I would have had something to laugh about while running down a barren country road in the face of what felt like gale-force winds.

Lauren's curiosity about body parts continued this morning. I had just gotten out of the shower and was getting dressed. She pointed at me and said "that's silly." "What's silly?" I asked, hoping she was referring to my belly button. But she was pointing a little lower. Oy. I stammered something about how your body changes as you get older. Then she shifted the conversation to the upper body. "When I grow up, will I wear something under my shirt like you do?" she asked. "Yes," I told her. She then proceeded to puff out her chest and say, "I'm going to be huge!"

Sorry, babe. Genetics are not in your favor.

So now I'm struggling with the introduction of the correct anatomical terms. I HAVE used them with her before, but I guess she does not remember. She still uses "bum" to refer to her entire nether regions. If I teach her the "P" word (sorry, I just can't type it in my blog), she is likely to say it--loudly--at inappropriate times. This is a kid who, when she sees someone in the ladies' room with short hair, blatantly asks if she is a boy or a girl (because in the world of princesses, long hair = girl and short hair = boy).

I know that I should start introducing the correct terms now. She will likely go through a phase when she uses them frequently and inappropriately, but she will eventually understand when and how those terms should be used.

Or maybe I'll wait just a little bit longer. This makes for great blog fodder!

Party On!

Alex turned 8 last week. In the blog world, that means I'm supposed to write a sappy birthday post, reminiscing about his chubby baby cheeks, cutely mispronounced first words, preschool antics, etc. Forget that. We had what was essentially a three-day birthday party, and it rocked. You get to hear about that instead.

It all started with his disco party on Friday night. Six months ago, Alex became obsessed with disco balls. I have no idea where he had seen or heard about them, but he decided he wanted one--immediately. I got him one, with the stipulation that he would have a disco party for his 8th birthday, whether he was still into disco or not (I do not have a Donna Summer alter ego that would make a disco ball an otherwise logical purchase).

Fortunately, Alex was still down with the disco party. We invited nearly 20 friends to a dance party at our house. Yes, I am crazy. Every time we have a birthday party at our house, we swear we will never do it again. But the mighty dollar sign always wins out--we did not want to pay to rent a facility that may or may not have been appropriate for an 8-year-old's disco party.

Don't all discos have a fish tank?

Anyway, back to the party. Almost everyone we invited was able to come. A few even dressed up, as the invitation requested. Kudos to the mom who managed to find platform shoes for her 9-year-old son. The kids were wild from the start. Not in a bad way--just in a high-energy way. I roped them in with the limbo, followed by a dancing competition. We ate some pizza, and after that, it was pretty much a free-for-all. Sorry, neighbors. It was 75 degrees at 8 p.m. on a late September night, and there was no way I was keeping the kids cooped up inside. There was some air guitar on our play set's "stage." Running with glow sticks. A lot of "Macarena" action on our patio, followed by an impromptu performance by Alex and his two backup dancers. We did not even get around to serving cake until almost 8:30, when the party was supposed to end (cake made by me--cue pat on the back). None of the kids wanted to leave. That makes me a cool mom, right?

I think Alex likes being the center of attention. He is certainly not shy ...

... no, not shy at all ...

The next day, we hosted our first tailgate in our RV (ultimately christened "Betty"). Despite being a bit "hungover," Alex played the perfect host, decked out in a Penn State apron and Santa hat (because, as he will tell anyone, he is WEIRD). Little cheerleaders cheered, Alex and his buddies tossed a football, and lots of adults ate way more than necessary. Alex got to blow out a candle on another cake (again made by me!) before heading off to the game.

The real excitement during the game was in the RV, not the stadium. Well, at least for a group of 3-year-olds. Lauren and her friends decided to have what she called an "underwear party" and proceeded to strip down to their skivvies and spend two hours jumping on the bed. That gave me a chance not to watch the game, but rather play endless games of Solitaire on my iPad, an undertaking I find infinitely more enjoyable than football (sorry, Dad).

There was more eating and football-tossing after the game, and then I embarked on my twelve hours of "freedom," because both kids spent Saturday night in the RV with Brian. I spent eight of those hours sleeping and two of them running 12 miles.

Alex's actual birthday was on Sunday. By that point, admittedly, I could not believe we were still celebrating. An 8-year-old, however, especially a party-hardy one like mine, was not going to let the actual day go by without doing something special. We went out for dinner and then to my parents' house to open gifts. Gift-opening was preceded by more "Macarena"-ing with some interesting gyrations that Alex may regret later, thanks to the video capabilities of the trusty iPhone. And then more cake (I can't take the credit for this one). In a sweet display of his lingering "little boy-ness," Alex was ecstatic about the battery-operated Disney monorail playset that he received from my parents.

And finally, the weekend was over. I'm confident Alex's 8th birthday is one he will remember for some time to come, from the glittering disco ball (still) hung in our basement to the crab cakes he requested but did not eat for his birthday dinner. During his first week as an 8-year-old, I have not had to call him "Alexander Joseph Marshall" once. I'd say his year is off to a good start.

Bessie the Behemoth

Well, hello, blog. It's been awhile. That's because I have been busy with a capital B, squeezing in some end-of-summer fun. Trips to amusement parks. A weekend jaunt to the Big Apple. Back-to-school shopping. I could tell many stories about Lauren's diva-esque behavior or Alex's ongoing angst, but instead I'm going to focus on something that has been front and center in my family's life--mainly because it's 35 feet long and parked in our front yard.

That 35-foot-long entity would be an RV. "Recreational Vehicle," for those who aren't hip to the acronym. It is Brian's "baby." I will provide food for tailgates and VERY occasionally sleep in it, but that's about it. Brian plans to do the state park circuit with the kids while they still get excited about the prospect of camping with their dad.

I admit I was more than a bit surprised when Brian told me he wanted to buy an RV. He called me at work one day--keep in mind our workday conversations typically focus on kid pick-up logistics--and after some pleasantries, said he wanted to ask me something. O-kaay. And then he dropped the bomb. He had been interested in purchasing an RV for about a year and found one that he wanted to check out. After a moment of speechlessness--unusual for me--I questioned the reasonableness of making this kind of major purchase. I told him I had been hoping we could save up to go to Europe next summer for our 15th wedding anniversary. Without missing a beat, he said we could still go overseas. So I said he could get his RV.

He and Alex spent several weeks traveling around Pennsylvania looking at various used models. In typical Brian fashion, he had done extensive research, and knew exactly what he wanted. He ended up purchasing a 1996 Bounder. That probably does not mean much to you--it certainly does not mean anything to me. It seems like he made a good choice. The interior "decor" (does an RV have a "decor"?) is not too bad, and overall the vehicle is in really good shape. It sleeps five, although there are seat belts for seven people. Meaning Brian can take an RV-load of kids camping and then sleep in a tent outside.

Never in a million years did I think I would own an RV. I am, for the most part, a princess. Not in the "I am snooty and people must wait on me" sense, but in the "I am not outdoors-y" sense. In my mind, having an RV implies that you like being outside. I don't mind it, but I get bored just sitting around, breathing the fresh air. Recycled air in a mall is fine with me. In fact, in an attempt to show my willingness to occasionally participate in camping trips, I asked Brian to look for campgrounds near outlet malls (yes, they exist).

Along similar lines, I don't mind hiking, but I would rather end the hike at a hotel, where other people do the cleaning and cooking, rather than an RV, where you have the same "chores" you have at home. Camping does not seem like a vacation to me. Sure, you escape from some parts of your everyday life, but you're also crammed into a small space with certain people--in other words, your kids--who know how to get on your last nerve. That's why I need to be able to escape to a mall.

Brian and the kids already spent one night in the RV, along with two of our neighbors. They had a great time. No, Brian did not lead them in songs around the campfire. He was able to get a wi-fi connection in the "master bedroom," so he hung out there while the kids played Old Maid and Go Fish. I fulfilled my motherly duties by bringing them homemade zucchini bread in the morning.

We are planning our inaugural tailgate in the behemoth (Bessie the Behemoth? I think the RV needs a name ...) on September 25. Until then, it will most likely remain parked in our front yard, inviting lots of snide comments from our neighbors. Although they won't admit it, they're probably jealous.

Sing for Your Supper

I recently guilted some friends into celebrating my birthday with me by explaining that I really needed a night out with people who did not say "duh, Mom" or try to eat spaghetti with their fingers. Well, I don't think I REALLY guilted them into it. It seems like they participated willingly--even though the evening included karaoke!

Yes, karaoke. The lone public performance opportunity for those whose stage is usually a shower stall or car interior. The butt of jokes among those who only go to bars to hear "real" singers. Now I certainly do not sing (even my kids have asked me not to), but I knew some of my friends were good singers and had fun at a previous karaoke birthday celebration. So I hinted around, and several ladies were up for the challenge.

After a nice dinner, we headed over to a bar that I'm pretty sure none of us would have entered if not for karaoke. It's not skanky, exactly, but there is certainly nothing "hip" about it. It's attached to a bowling alley and a "no tell motel." And it used to be known for country line dancing.

I was the last one in our group of six to enter. And I got carded. Nice birthday present for a 36-year-old, although I think the ID checks were random. We found a table (there were plenty) and a heavily-mascara-ed waitress came over to take our order (I don't know how she could keep her eyes open, she was wearing so much eye makeup). My friends ordered some drinks and it immediately became apparent we are moms. Someone spilled a bit of her beverage on the table, and all of us immediately jumped up with a wad of napkins. At least no one pulled out the Wet Ones.

At one point in the evening a guy in his mid-twenties sat down at our table and asked if anyone would be willing to sing back-up for a Meatloaf song. My friends were willing, and I concluded the girlfriend had deemed us "safe" because we were clearly older. Oh, well, I don't want to be in my mid-twenties again anyway.

So karaoke at this establishment attracted some very interesting characters. I looked around when we first got there and had trouble believing anyone would be willing to get up on stage and sing. I was wrong.

First up was a pretty young woman who went by the unfortunate moniker of "Awesome Possum." Yes, possum--not blossom. And she could not sing much better than a possum. She was too busy making googly eyes at the DJ, who was an interesting character himself (more on that later).

Next was the plain Jane who apologized up front for not being there in awhile because she had her wisdom teeth removed. I don't think anyone cared. But if her perceived fan club made her feel better, more power to her.

Now on to the men. A couple nondescript guys took their turns, and then this gentleman took the stage.

He was followed by a middle-age skinny dude with greasy hair, whose mumbling I guess was supposed to be singing. He was photo-worthy, but I was a little self-conscious about taking pictures of all these random people. Soon after, the DJ took the stage. He had crooned a couple songs throughout the evening, but one in particular stood out. I took a picture of the lyrics (which were clearly visible to everyone on the screen behind him), but I'm too embarrassed to post them here--they were that bad. The song seemed to be about a part of a man's anatomy frequently referred to with a slang term that rhymes with "halls." The lyrics also included words such as "chocolate" and "salty." Enough said.

After that performance, this Cinderella had to make her exit. It was a fun evening, and not one I will soon forget. I got home so late that everyone at my house was asleep--and that's a big deal for someone known for dozing off on the couch at 7:30 p.m. Thanks to my friends for indulging me in my karaoke birthday celebration!

P.S. Check out this list of "new" song titles available for karaoke. Katy Perry, Lady Gaga ... Les Mis? MICHAEL BOLTON?!?!

Good, Not-So-Clean Fun

Over the past week, I made not one, not two, but THREE trips to the hallowed grounds of the county fair in my hometown. Where fatty fried confections, big hair and ill-fitting clothing rein supreme, and the language is both colorful and grammatically incorrect.

The fair draws all the locals and many former locals who can't resist the allure of odoriferous animal barns, greasy grub and has-been musical acts. I would be content with one quick visit just to make sure nothing has changed too much, but the other three members of my family have turned into wanna-be "carnies." My husband has passed his love of all things fair to our kids, and they couldn't get enough of it this year. I was there three times, but Alex and Brian were there FIVE times. Poor Lauren--she made only four trips to the fair.

We always go on Sunday, the first day, because admission is free. We were back the next night for the infamous fair parade. The most interesting character might have been the parade watcher in a yarmulke. The town's Jewish population was pretty much cut in half when my parents moved away, so I think he was lost.

Having young kids makes you look at a parade in a whole new light (at least for the first two hours--this parade is LONG). From tiny baton twirlers to teenage sports teams, from harem pant-clad Shriners to men in kilts, the parade is just good, not-so-clean fun.

With many of the "marchers" tossing candy, Alex had fun scrambling for Tootsie Rolls and Dubble Bubble. Lauren, of course, loved all the "royalty"--the fair queen and her court, dairy princesses, Little Miss "Small Town" and more.

My crew was back at the fair the next day, for "kids' day." I will admit I'm not sure what makes that day special, but for as long as I can remember, Tuesday has been kids' day. They got there in time to catch the noon horse races. I was okay with missing that.

On Friday, Brian returned with Alex for the horse pull. Once again, I don't feel like I missed out. I made sure they returned in time for me to take Alex to a local production of Hairspray. I figured that somewhat made up for the other forms of "culture" he had experienced during the week.

This year, for the first time, the local Y held a race in conjunction with the fair. Brian and I run in races occasionally and thought this one might be fun. It was. It was also funNY, because the advertised 5k (3.1 miles) was only 2.8 miles. And part of the course was even on a track! The pièce de résistance was the ribbon I earned for placing first in my age group. Instead of having my time listed on the back, it listed the race start time. I'm happy to have a permanent reminder that the race started at 8:30 a.m.

And the county fair will always serve as a reminder of my "past." A good past, in retrospect, although as a teenager, I couldn't wait to move away. Today, as an adult and a parent with some life experiences under her belt, I can recognize that small town life isn't so bad. I won't be moving back to my hometown anytime soon, but I'm happy to expose my kids to the sights and sounds of my own childhood. As long as they promise to avoid the fried Twinkies and furry talking monkeys.

See you at the fair next year!