Always Remember That

This is my garden: Or rather, this is the patch of soil that was my garden last summer. It produced millions of tomatoes, dozens of green peppers, a handful of cucumbers, and two puny watermelons. I do not wish to repeat last summer's vegetable bounty, because most of said bounty went to waste. Nor, however, do I want this patch of soil to remain brown and bare throughout the summer, because it's unattractive. So, what do I plant here, in the shrubbery/flowery vein? Keep in mind that I do not have a green thumb. Also, I don't want to spend a lot of money. Also, this area is in full sun most of the day. And it's really hot. And sometimes we get rabbits. Any advice? To thank you in advance, I give you these goofy photos of my children and their homemade parfaits (which Mallory persisted in calling "specialinis").

Phoebe missed two days of school last week; the day she returned, her teacher gave her some "homework": a coloring sheet with an umbrella (because it was "U" week). According to my father-in-law, Phoebe pulled the sheet out of her bookbag on the drive home, sighed heavily, and said, "I don't know when I'm going to fit this into my schedule." Mallory is learning about Communion in her religion class. I was prepping her for a test a few weeks ago; the question I asked was, "Why is the priest able to turn the bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ?" She said, "Because God...well because it's...because Jesus...well, because someone has to do it!" Phoebe fell on the playground on Tuesday; the next day her teacher handed me an "incident report" to sign. Under the section for treatment, instead of checking one of the listed options (bandage, ice pack, antibiotic ointment), her teacher wrote: "Hug....

Mallory wrote this for a President's Day class assignment: If I were President I would go see a movie at my house. I will have 2 desserts every night because almost everyone will give me yummy treats. I will be in the newspaper. It will be really fun. Hey, I'd vote for her.

As I may have mentioned, we joined the Y M C A What did Mallory do when we came home from swimming the first time? Exactly the kind of thing Mallory loves to do: She made a card. Mallory is forever making cards for people -- teachers, friends, families; she also frequently puts together "gift bags" of things that she "doesn't want anymore anyway, so I don't mind if this person has it instead!" We have had to have talks about when it's appropriate to give someone a gift, and what an appropriate gift is. She still doesn't quite get it when I tell her that she cannot, in fact, give a bag of discarded stuffed animals and some lip gloss to a girl she may have played with one time on the playground. "It's never wrong to give someone a present!" she'll say, and I can't think of a way to explain that, in fact, not every gift is received in the spirit that it's intended. I love that she's so generous, I don'...

A few months ago, Phoebe and her classmates were given the opportunity to sign up to "read" a book of their choosing at storytime. I would ask Phoebe periodically if she wanted to sign up, and she kept saying no, which I attributed to her shyness. Then one day she said, "I would sign up to read a book, but I don't know how to read yet!" "Oh, honey, you don't have to know how to read -- you can just tell the story any way you want!" I said. "No you can't," she said. "Of course you can! None of your friends know how to read either -- they're just making up the words." "Really?" she said. "Really," I said. "Wow. Wow! I can do that too!" she said. "Of course you can!" I said. So she signed up the very next day. And she chose her favorite book: I went to watch her, and I don't think anyone in that room besides me realized that she wasn't actually reading. She...

1. I fell down the steps yesterday while leaving work. Ouch. 2. Phoebe was sick, slept all day, was not sleepy at bedtime, and got out of bed to watch Yo Gabba Gabba at 11 pm. 3. Mallory woke up, realized her sister was not in bed, and commenced weeping because she's lonely. "I can't sleep by myself!" she whined. And then said: "Also, I'm really really cold and shivering but I also feel really hot." 4. I realized that the fastest way, at that point, to get both children back to sleep was by agreeing to sleep in their room with them. 5. I woke up about every hour because of children coughing, children sneezing, or children getting up to pee. 6. I woke up for good and could barely move, because I was sore from 1. (above) and because wow, is the kids' bed uncomfortable. 7. Neither child went to school today. 8. I was supposed to leave work early to attend a parent-teacher conference for Phoebe. I wasn't able to do so. The school secret...

...that hiring two people to reduce my workload has, in fact, only added to my workload. ...that if Mallory really wants to decorate her own shirt for St Patrick's Day, I should let her, even though I'm afraid she'll end up looking goofy. ...that I want one of these for Mother's Day, except not with the names Benjamin and Elizabeth, obviously. ...that I should ask my brother if he got horrible headaches from giving up Diet Coke? Because I have, when I've tried to stop drinking it in the past, but I don't know whether it's from caffeine withdrawal (scary) or aspartame withdrawal (even scarier). ...that instead of me explaining to my Brownies' parents how the girls earned the three badges they'll be getting at our Awards Ceremony tonight, I should make the girls explain it themselves. But also, that I should have cheat sheets just in case none of them have a clue. ...that I need to get Mallory another dress uniform, because washing the singl...

….that I want a pair of red shoes. ….to join the Y with the children. We would all benefit from more physical activity. ….to tell you that I have two really fascinating blog posts in mind, that I’ve been meaning to write for a few weeks now, one about Phoebe and one about Mallory, but I haven’t had the time to put them together. ….to limit my time on the computer to 20 minutes after the kids go to bed. I’m on the computer all day at work. I need to make more of the free time that I have. ….that if someone doesn’t buy my dining room furniture soon I’m just going to put it out on the curb. ….that I need to drink more water and less Diet Coke. ….that I want to take a photography class. ….that based on the number of times Mallory sneezed yesterday afternoon, spring is definitely on its way. And that, despite the allergies, I’ve never been so glad that winter is over.

I read two interesting articles yesterday about education and motherhood and choices and the timetable of life. The first mentioned a proposal in the President’s new education bill: Take, for example, the National Center on Education and the Economy’s plan to have eight states experiment with allowing public school students to graduate after tenth grade upon finishing clearly stated requirements, and to then go on to community college. . . . One of the most ironically damaging aspects of the GI Bill in the 1940s was the notion, now so deeply entrenched in the American soul as to seem not an opinion at all, that four years of a liberal arts education at a university is a default experience for people after high school, and that to not do this is opt for, or be saddled with, the lowlier fate of “Not Going To College.” In this era when we so often bemoan the plight of uneducated young men, it is high time we returned to championing vocational education as America used to – and once agai...

You (meaning Chris) build a (really awesome) car for the Powderpuff Derby: You accompany your daughter to a Girl Scout event in which pet rocks are made to (somehow) teach the girls about being kind to animals: On the first weekend in a long time when you have no Girl Scout activities or birthday parties or snowstorms and all you want to do is sit and read a book and watch the Olympic moments you DVR'd, you instead help your children make Chocolate Sporks and greenish slime And then you're a little excited about going back to work in the morning.

“Mouse is a cat,” Mallory said this morning on the drive to school, referring to Mouse the dog . (Confused yet?) “How so?” I asked. “She likes to jump up on tables, like cats do.” “But Mallory, she can’t be a cat,” Phoebe said. “Her parents were both dogs, so she has to be a dog too.” “I know she’s not really a cat,” Mallory said, “but she acts like a cat.” Then she asked: “When did Mouse’s mom and dad get married?” “They’re not married, honey,” I said, “they’re dogs.” “Yeah, but don’t you have to be married to have a baby?” “Well, people do,” I said [not adding: in most cases]. “But dogs don’t get married.” “Then how does the mommy dog get pregnant?” “Well, they mate,” I said. “Ewwww!” the girls shrieked in unison. “It’s what has to happen,” I said. “Gross,” Mallory said. Then: “Where did they go?” “Pardon?” I said. “Where did they go, on their date?” “I didn’t know dogs could go on dates,” Phoebe added. “No, not date . They don’t go on a date, they ma...

Chris’s grandmother – his dad’s mother – died on Friday. She had Alzheimer’s Disease; I think Chris and Amy and their dad probably came to terms with her loss many years ago, when the disease took hold. Strangely enough, without even knowing how ill she was at the time, Chris and Amy had a long conversation about Grandma Francus the night before she died; they told Mallory and Phoebe some funny stories about their visits with her in Chicago when they were kids. Chris has a theory that most people have one set of “fun” grandparents and one set of “proper” grandparents; the Francuses were the fun ones in his family. (The fun ones in mine were the ones with the golf course in their house. Naturally.) It’s sad that our girls never knew Grandma Francus; it’s sad that, as Chris said, “I have no grandparents left now.” I wish I could think of a better ending than the old cliché that she’s now “in a better place.” I’m not even sure if that’s true; but I hope it is, and I hope she rests in p...

Every morning when I take Phoebe to preschool, she asks me to stay for a minute to help her with something -- to hold a stencil while she traces a picture, to read a story, to do a puzzle. On days when this annoys me -- days when we're running a bit late, days when I need to rush off to work -- I remind myself that I only have a few more months of being the mother of a preschooler, and that I should chill out and enjoy these moments while they last. Anyway, this morning she asked me to help her with an alphabet puzzle. "I need something that begins with m," she said, sorting through the pieces, and then she held up one with a question mark on it. "Here we go!" she said. "I don't think that starts with m," I said. "Yes it does!" she said. "Are you sure?" I said. "Yes...for M ystery!" she said. She is apparently going to have to take a screening test to gain admission to Kindergarten. I'm not too worried.

Scene One: A convenience store restroom in Vicksburg, Mississippi, which, it is discovered at the last minute, is out of toilet paper. Me: You're going to have to use paper towels, I guess. Mallory: That's a really bad idea. Me: It's not ideal, I agree, but I don't see a choice. Mallory: No, but listen. Do you remember one day when I was in first grade and they had to close the whole school before lunch because the pipes broke? Me:...Yes, I do remember that. Mallory: Well, it's because someone flushed paper towels down the toilet. Me: Really? Mallory: A LOT of paper towels. To see what would happen. Me: Well, that wasn't very smart. Mallory: Do you want to know who it was that did that? Me: Yes? Maybe? Mallory: Yeah, it was me. But don't tell anyone -- nobody knows that but you. Scene Two: Driving home from a preschool birthday party, at which I discovered that one of Phoebe's classmates had been expelled due to bullying. Me: ...

Mallory: Mommy, I have to do a project on a president. Me: What kind of project? Mallory: I have to choose a president and find out stuff about him. But it can't be Abraham Lincoln or . . . or some other guy. Me: George Washington? Mallory: Yeah, George Washington. Me: So who are you going to pick? Mallory: I think I'll pick Barack Obama. Me: Good choice. Mallory: Or, no, actually I think I'll pick the one...what's his name? The guy who invented something to kill the germs in milk? Me: ...Do you mean Louis Pasteur? Mallory: Yeah, him. Me: Honey, he wasn't a president. Mallory: He wasn't? Me: No...he wasn't even American. Mallory: Huh. Well, I guess Barack Obama is it, then. Me: I guess so.

I did not know this, but Raleigh has an annual Groundhog Day celebration with our very own groundhog, whose name is…Sir Walter Wally. Which is a bit embarrassing. Apparently this year he disagreed with Punxatawney Phil and predicted that our winter is coming to an end. Take that, rest of the country! My watch is broken. I want a new watch, because I hate going watchless. Then again, who really needs a watch anymore? There are clocks on all the various electronic gadgets we carry around with us. (In my bag right now there are three – ipod, e-reader, phone.) So I don’t really need a watch. I just want one. I like this one. It’s an odd choice for me. Since when do I like butterflies? But it’s expensive. (I’ve never paid more than $19.99 for a watch. Which reminds me of a funny story. My mom got me a watch for Christmas one year. Christmas morning, I opened it up and then couldn’t figure out how to set it. I handed it to my dad for help. He looked at it and then said, “Where’s the in...

You are scornful that a mere six inches of snow can shut down the metropolitan area, but when a friend calls and suggests meeting up, your first reaction is “Are you crazy? We can't go out in this!” You wonder what good a snow day is when it falls on a Saturday. You rejoice that your children are finally old enough to go out and play in the snow without you. You grow weary of putting the boots on the children and taking the boots off the children, and finding the mittens, and drying the socks, and zipping the coats. You are unsurprised when the cheapo boots you bought for your oldest daughter turn her socks a vile shade of brown (and leave tracks of dye all over the snow, so that she comes to the door and cries: “There's blood in the snow!”). You admire your daughter's very first snowman. Who is a little...flat...but cute nonetheless. You re-read Wicked and are so engrossed in it that you resent having to put it down to feed your children. You are amazed that you...

In order: the acclamation point; the doubt point; the irony mark; the certitude point; the indignation point; the love point; the interrobang; the authority point; the indignation point again. Because that one's my favorite. No, I did not make these up .

I'm going to see Wicked (the musical) in May with my sister- and mother-in-law. I'm excited; I like musicals. In anticipation, I downloaded the soundtrack a few days ago and have been listening to it continually on my ipod ever since. I read Wicked (the book) back when it first came out, but didn't remember much of the plot. So in order to understand what happens in the gaps between the songs in the musical, I turned to wikipedia for a plot summary. Then I clicked over to the synposis of the book to see how it differed from the musical. Reading about the book made me realize that I had pretty much forgotten all of the book. In fact, to be honest, what I remember about the book was that I found it a bit dull. A bit long. A bit too much about the politics of an imaginary country. A bit too full of unsympathetic characters. And then, I remember, I read the author's next book (a retelling of the Cinderella story) and didn't like it much at all. So I never even cons...