New Year's Excuses

We all have at least one New Year’s Resolution, and in the coming months we will fabricate a plethora of explanations as to why we have avoided fulfilling our goals.

But no matter what rationalization we come up with, children are truly the experts when it comes to fabricating excuses.  They’re creative, inventive, and sometimes even plausible. 

Here are some of our gems from years past:

Me: “Joyce, why do you keep telling me "No, I won't do ____?" 

Joyce: "I'm all out of yes's."

I come up the stairs to find a balloon stuck to the wall with used green chewing gum.  Why?  

Joyce: "I forgot to throw it in the trash."

Marie, while bouncing frantically on the couch to keep herself awake: "I'm too tired to put on my pajamas!"

Marie, when asked why she knocked loudly on our door early in the morning: "I didn't want to come in and wake you up."

Me: "Joyce, don't throw rocks." 

Five minutes later: "Joyce, I told you not to throw rocks!" 

Joyce: "it's not a rock, it's a mineral."

Maybe we could learn something from their creativity.

The Island of Misfit Toys

It’s Christmas time, and in my household that means watching Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.  One of my favorite parts of the movie is when they visit the Island of Misfit Toys.  I always thought living there sounded like fun, because every inhabitant was so unique no one person stood out because of their peculiarities. 

Like those misfit toys, we all know when we don’t fit in.  We may not consciously be able to put our finger on exactly why, but unless someone is completely blind to the social signals of others, it’s pretty obvious when we don’t quite belong.  Children realize this just as well as adults, but may not be able to articulate why until adolescence or even adulthood.  You quickly learn to perceive what parts of yourself are socially acceptable to reveal, and which would be met with confusion, pity, or just plain incomprehension. 

It can be especially difficult if the group you feel the least rapport with is your own gender.  Anyone who has spent time with me knows that I pick up every interesting bug I come across, and have no problem discussing various stomach churning topics at the dinner table.  Unlike this family, finding a corn snake in our Christmas tree would result in the Best Christmas Ever.  These traits were usually met with a resounding “ew” from most girls, so I found the boys were usually far less grossed out by my entomological fascinations.  The knowledge that you have little in common with the majority of your peers make the few “fits” you do find all the more precious, though not always fully appreciated except in retrospect. 

We never completely grow out of our eccentricities either.  If we’re lucky, we learn to embrace and incorporate our oddities, and find other misfits to colonize an island with.  We are captivated by each other’s cabinet of curiosities, and are remarkably accepting of the peculiarities others bring to exhibit.  In comparison, we really find “normal” people rather boring.  We’re comfortable with who we are, and secure enough to not feel the need to either transform “normal” people into ourselves, or ourselves into “normal” people.

So come visit our island of misfits someday.  

You might fit in better then you think.    

Boys and Girls

“Is it a boy or a girl?” is the second question expectant parents are asked, after the obligatory due date query.  You may be told that boys are easier, and girls are drama queens, or that girls are easier and boys are a mystery.  But everyone has an opinion about what to expect from each gender. 

If you have a girl, her clothes are pink with ruffles; and if you have a boy his clothes have a variety of forest animals appliquéd on the front.  And if you choose not to find out the gender of your child before birth, you are inevitably given yellow and green clothes decorated with an array of zoo animals.

Then the child grows up a bit, and the first system of classification they learn is gender, quickly followed by socially acceptable “girl” and “boy” preferences, from both peers and adults.  When shopping for a child’s present, we do not typically buy a girl a Transformer or a boy a Barbie.  Most girls will happily dress a Barbie in a variety of outfits while the boys stage an epic battle with their Transformers.  But not every child fits that paradigm, and many will even say so.

The majority of people have the same reaction when confronted with a child who doesn’t fit their preconceived blueprint.  It usually involves a double take, then the hopefully unvoiced “what’s wrong with you?” thought, followed by confusion on how to respond.  Children are more perceptive than we give them credit for, and usually know they didn’t say the right lines.  They may backpedal and say they really do like Barbie, or defiantly stick to their original statement that Barbie is dumb and dinosaurs are awesome.

Whatever the child’s response, they are left with two choices:  Act the accepted role, or endure the consequences of improvising.  Each path has its inherent difficulties.  The first may lead to superficial conformity and hollow camaraderie, but quickly becomes too laborious to sustain.  The second is certainly more challenging, perhaps even lonely at times, but the authentic nature of the role makes it far more rewarding.

So I never tell my daughters that they shouldn’t be interested in something because of their gender, and rarely tell them they can’t do something they dream of.

But there is one exception they learned the hard way:  

Only boys can go to the potty standing up.  

A Closet Full of Books

Some people have a closet filled with clothes to reflect their every mood.  They have outfits for formal occasions, cocktail parties, business meetings, everyday work attire, a spectrum of casual clothes, exercise clothes, and the ratty old t-shirt we wear to clean the bathrooms.  And we won’t even start on the shoes. 

I am not one of these people.  I often long for the simple components of men’s attire: a tuxedo, suit with tie, dress pants and blazer, khakis and a golf shirt, or shorts and a golf shirt.  Add a half dozen pairs of shoes in brown or black and you’ve got a complete wardrobe.  Women’s clothing lacks this rational formula, and seems to involve every possible accessory.  I will probably never figure out the intricacies of this system, but I consider it an accomplishment that I finally own shoes that are not white or black.

What I do have is a “closet” full of books.  I have funny books and dramatic books, fantastical and realistic, old familiar authors and new exciting finds, and I love them all.  I put the same effort many people pour into planning their wardrobe into planning my books.  Going on vacation means I must be sure to get enough books so that I don’t run out of things to read.  For me, that would be tantamount to forgetting to pack enough underwear (and probably harder to replace).  I found myself seriously considering packing fewer clothes so I had more room for books.

There are books you impulsively pick up and devour quickly as a light snack, others are so decadent they must be savored in small bites.  Some make you laugh out loud, others make you want to cry.  You may identify with the characters so much that they inspire you, or you may be fascinated by how different they are.  You eagerly anticipate the next installment in a series so you can revisit them like old friends, and sometimes find yourself wishing you could introduce people to them.   You may even convince yourself that you are now educated about such obscure topics as Behavioral Economics and Social Neuroscience.    

So, my books will keep flowing on and off of my reading shelf, visiting for a while then returning to their home at the library.  And maybe I will eventually extract my nose from a book long enough to dredge up the recollection that I desperately need to procure something I can actually wear.

Simplicity

Some days we long for "the simple life", especially when ours seems so frenzied and frantic.  Coordinating the family’s schedule makes us long to hire a manager, and we don’t know how we ever lived without smart phones and multiple Google calendars.  We drive our children on a daily safari, trying to pack as much stimulation as possible into their lives lest they miss a possible opportunity.

We have so many possessions we have to rent a storage facility or even buy a bigger house, yet we cling to these things because of their perceived value, turning a blind eye to their true cost. Our children hoard their treasures like a dragon, and getting them to part with their baubles (even if they haven’t noticed them in months!) frequently involves getting singed. 

Even vacations have turned into endurance contests, leaving everyone exhausted and unable to enjoy the family odyssey.  We return home not refreshed and renewed, but even more overwhelmed and exhausted. The knowledge of the imminent trek through the resulting mountains ranges of laundry only adds to our weariness.

Maybe we should take a step back, and peek at what our children find joy in.

Of course some of their ideas are better than others...

The Art of Negotiation

So last week our dishwasher died.  Pretty good timing actually, since for the week we didn’t have one either we had already planned on eating out or only I was in residence.  We finally go pick one up, install it, and promptly go back to our usual couple of loads a day pace. 

And we are left with a box.  A gigantic, pack-up-the-whole-family-and-ship-us-to-Texas size box.   

So Joyce and Marie start brainstorming what to do with it.  And the negotiations begin:

Joyce: “I want it to be a tent, to camp out in.”

Marie: “I want it to be a house, with windows and a chimney.” 

They agree with surprising speed that they will put the box down sideways (so it will be a tent with doors), paint it, and draw windows on it instead of cutting them out.  Next, we cover the outside of the box with a roll of white paper, and bring out the painting supplies.  But before they paint, they argue for at least 10 minutes about what to decorate the house with.  They finally agree to divide up the sides of the box and draw on different ones.

Joyce: “I’m drawing windows on my side.”

Marie: “I’m drawing windows on mine too.” 

Marie then walks around to observe Joyce’s progress, “Joyce!  You didn’t draw your windows right, they don’t look like mine!”  And she promptly fixes what she perceives to be the error…

Joyce: “Marie!  Don’t draw on my windows!  I don’t want them to look like yours, I don’t like how yours look!”  Joyce promptly grabs an eraser and tries to undo Marie’s “help,” while complaining loudly that Marie needs to stop drawing on Joyce’s side.  Marie is just bewildered why anyone wouldn’t want her to help make things conform to her picture of perfection.

And the painting finally commences.  They agree on a color each (different of course), receive their brushes, and begin, all the while commenting on how their side is going to look the prettiest.

Marie peeks at Joyce’s side again.

Marie: “Joyce!  You painted over your windows!  Why did you do that?  That isn’t right.  Look at mine, don’t they look better?” 

Joyce, in a very annoyed tone of voice: “No.  I like mine better.”

So they finally finish painting their respective sides, and impatiently stand there and fidget while watching the paint dry.  All the while discussing how and why each one’s work is superior.  

Their plan is to sleep in the box, so they drag pillows and blankets downstairs and arrange everything.  Before we leave for a lovely evening of adult conversation, I inform their babysitter of their plans, and fully expect to come home and have to carry 40-50 lbs of limp sleeping child upstairs to their bunk beds.  But, upon arriving home before I turn into a pumpkin, she informs me that they both decided to sleep in their beds because the house was too spooky (and I’m sure the hard floor had something to do with it too). 

At least they finally agreed on something.

Friendship

Friends:  Everyone has them.  They run the spectrum from casual acquaintances, to family.  Some beloved childhood friends we haven’t seen or heard from in 20 years, some brand new friends we’re still testing the waters with.  But our friends are the threads that make up the tapestry of our lives.

Each one is inextricably interwoven with a different part of our life.  If we’re lucky, maybe their thread meanders through more than just their initial appearance.  But more often, our friends are linked with a certain phase of our lives.  Like baby food, we have different friends for different stages.  We remember the innocent happiness of childhood play, the awkward discomfort of navigating the teenage years, the heady exhilaration of living on our own for the first time, and friends we shared pregnancy and raising our children with. 

If we’re lucky, we’ll get to reconnect with our childhood friends later in life.  We carry unique memories of them, and wonder if they hold a piece of our past in their recollections.  We feel the urge to see them again, reminiscence together and share our treasure chest of memories, both becoming richer for the experience. 

With some friends we pick up right where we left off.  We may not have seen them in months or even years, our life situations may even be drastically different, but we instantly remember why we were such good friends to begin with.  Others we see again, and discover all that we share now is a friendship from the past.  We may want to explore these new people we are, see if we still want to have a relationship, or simply say thanks for the memories and move on with quiet sadness. 

Then there are those friendships marked by such intensity that we can never completely leave them in the past.  They shared such a vital piece of our lives that allowing them to fade away would be like ripping out part of ourselves.  Sure, these tend to be our romantic relationships, but not necessarily.  It could simply be someone we shared an intense experience with, or who supported us in navigating a rocky part of our lives.  But quite truthfully, we can’t map our journey to who we are today without including this person in the directions.

In our children’s early years their social life is dictated by ours: we make mommy (or daddy) friends whose children then make friends with ours.  But then our children start making friends of their own, without consulting us first, and it’s a bit disconcerting to realize that you now have to arrange playdates  for your child with someone you may not have ever talked to of your own accord.  If you’re lucky, the parents hit it off as well as the children do.  If not, well, it’s a good lesson in politeness.  

Reflections

We all see ourselves in our children.  The shape of their mouth, the pattern of baby curls, the dimples so similar to ours.  Even their facial expressions may be picture perfect images of ours at that age.

Then there are the mannerisms.  They start out cute, progress to irritating, and rapidly arrive at maddening.  Children copy what they see, so is it any wonder they quickly learn what makes us tick and ticks us off?  Even taking into account the whole nature vs. nurture debate, we are the source of both.  So it really is all our fault.

We see the good in our children and are positive they inherited these qualities from us.  The unsolicited acts of kindness, thoughtfulness, of course we take pride in our…I mean their…achievements.  They fill us with a sense of accomplishment, the knowledge that we must have done something right.

Then we see their darker side peek out.  A snide remark, a selfish act, the refusal to accomplish a necessary task out of sheer laziness.  We think “they must have picked it somewhere,” and look far and wide for where to cast the blame.  The further away the better, lest we bear any accountability.  But somehow, these qualities we find so blameworthy just don’t go away.

Maybe we notice these flaws more often now that we are aware of their existence, but we still strive to avoid the stark realization of where our children get them from: We need look no further than our reflection in the mirror. 

We don’t get to pick which of our behaviors our children will mirror any more than we chose which genes to pass on.  We can't pass them through a sieve, or pick over them like produce at the grocery store.  But our children do notice, and mirror, all those idiosyncrasies we are not even fully aware of (just ask your spouse, he/she probably has a list they can share with you). 

Children certainly do bring our reflections into focus, but it may not be the image we were expecting.  

Maybe we should think about a makeover.

Mom, can I watch TV?

Everyone has a list of favorite shows from their childhood.  We fondly remember trying so hard to wake up early enough to catch it (a fact that totally confounds our children in the age of TiVo), eagerly anticipating our transportation to another world for 30 minutes.  We remember falling off a cliff with Wile E. Coyote, running from the villain of the week with Scooby Doo, and singing “kill the wabbit” to the tune of Ride of the Valkyries with Bugs Bunny.  We wished we could say “go go Gadget Copter” and zoom away to save the world from Dr. Claw.    And really, who didn’t harbor a secret fantasy of being He-Man or She-Ra?

Now 20-30 years later, I’m sure many of us have revisited our childhood passions and brought our children along for the ride.  And somehow these shows that held our rapt attention as children still appeal to our adult selves.  Maybe it’s the universal appeal of seeing Wile E. Coyote blown up for the 100th time, or simply nostalgia for the simple joys and pleasures of childhood.  But there are definitely shows that captivated us as children and made the journey to adulthood with us too. 

Somehow the majority of children’s shows currently on the air seem like they would be buried in the attic and denied three times.  I’m sure the most of us of us have been subjected to our favorite bilingual explorer at least once (and if you haven’t, it only takes about 1 minute of viewing to see where I’m coming from).  Can you really imagine your children pulling out an old DVD of that and introducing their kids to it with anything but dread and embarrassment?

Not that there aren’t modern shows we actually enjoy watching with our children.  Disney/Pixar films come to mind, Phineas and Ferb can be quite entertaining, and Cartoon Network’s new somewhat satirized version of Scooby Doo is often hilarious.  The ability to imbue a program with subject matter, language, dialogue, and comedy that children understand, and yet sprinkle in enough humor that we adults can appreciate it too is a rare skill. 

On one hand, we don’t want to sit through 30 minutes of baby babble by the Teletubbies, yet we are (rightfully so) not ready for our children to be exposed to the more mature themes we find so compelling.  Walking the tightrope between the two to produce an entertaining program is a recipe few chefs have perfected. 

Maybe when our children have children of their own there will still be a few gems left they can enjoy together.

I Am Cool

I am a cool mother.  

Yes, I do drive a minivan, ferry children all over town to various activities, coordinate schedules like a manager, and have at least 3 conversations simultaneously on such diverse topics as our new school schedule, what Transformer toys we have gotten from Burger King, and if we are having dessert today.  

I undoubtedly have days where I’m not as nice as I should be, or have just heard “Mom, can I do ____” one too many times and lose it.  And I definitely have days where I dream of an extended vacation all by myself. 

Despite all those flaws, I do have a few things going for me. 

I climb trees to shake down pecans for the girls to collect.  I point out the dead possum in the road, tromp through the woods to find where it was deposited, and describe in detail the stages of decomposition (Joyce and Marie were very disappointed to find that a scavenger had carried it off a few days later and we wouldn’t get to watch it finish decomposing). 

I let them play in the dirt, and bury each other up to their necks in playground sand.  They have used each other as a canvas to paint on more than once.  I take them to international festivals and make them try different foods, learn how people dress, hear what languages they speak, watch how they dance, and listen to what their music sounds like.  They are regulars at my bellydance shows, and even participate in open dance time.

I catch lizards for them to keep as pets.  Joyce loves to tell the story about how we caught Suzie, our Broadhead Skink.  The second lizard, Alex, was caught while Joyce was in theatre class.  Since we had to go directly from class to Chick-fil-a for dinner, the lizard rode along in my purse.  There was a lot of giggling going on at dinner that night, but no one told about our secret passenger.

I bring “overnight pets” home for them.  My usual exercise route takes me past a pond, and I frequently see frogs and toads on the sidewalk.  We enjoy observing them for a day, look them up in a field guide and read about them, then return them to their natural habitat. 

I let them check out books about almost any topic they want at the library.  We have learned about hurricane Katrina, the Bubonic Plague, Vincent Van Gogh (although they couldn’t understand why he cut off his ear), and of course dinosaurs.  We went to a presentation there on medieval arms and armor, with real weapons to play with.  They had great fun practicing with the wooden sword and shield, and wearing real chain mail.  I just had way too much fun playing with the swords. 

I know they don’t realize what atypical mother they have now, but I hope at some point they will comprehend this in retrospect.  

Maybe when they grow up, they will even remember the time we found a snake in the pool. 

And appreciate that instead of running away screaming, I caught it and we kept it as a pet. 

Because I really am cool.

The Mystery of the Writing on the Wall

Some of you may have already seen this, but it’s one of our more memorable incidents and worth sharing again.

Our kitchen has a short wall separating it from the playroom, and a table pushed against it.  That means I can’t see the wall unless I crawl under the table.  I just happened to do this one day, probably retrieving something that dropped.  This is what I saw, written in pen of course.

So of course my first question is “WHO DID THIS?”  Neither would admit to it, so we decided to do some forensic analysis.

Each child had to give a writing sample. 

A perfect match, but not from the one named!  We originally thought it was Joyce, but she was acting confused and upset when we accused her and Marie isn't a very good liar.  Thus the writing sample. We didn't know Marie could write lower case letters, apparently she's been learning at school!  

So Marie wrote on the wall, lied about it, AND tried to frame her sister.  Joyce was ecstatic that she proved her innocence and Marie not only got in trouble for doing it, but also for lying about it and trying to get Joyce in trouble.  We asked Joyce what we should do about Marie.  
Needless to say, Marie did not have a fun rest of the evening. 

Joyce was in such a good mood after that and drew this later in the evening.  I love her depiction of my face and hair, and her innocent smile.  The picture pretty much says it all!

Taking Turns

Siblings don’t take turns nicely.  Not that I have any personal experience, but this simple fact seems to manifest itself in myriad ways in our household.  From using a particular bathroom (even though we have three), to being the first to get a snack, to the much coveted computer time.  It doesn’t matter what the activity is, Joyce and Marie will go on an archaeological dig to excavate their fossilized bone of contention. 

Yet there is one endeavor they take turns at perfectly: playing the role of Jekyll or Hyde.  Jekyll has exquisite manners, uses polite language, shows thoughtfulness for others, and is extremely helpful.  Hyde is rude, demanding, heedless of how her actions affect others, and performs even the smallest requests grudgingly only under duress.    

They must have private conversations about changing roles, helping the understudy learn their part, and coaching them on how best to act for maximum audience provocation.  There is always one of each character, the role swap accomplished swiftly and with unpredictable timing.  Each actress brings a new and unique flavor to either role, no matter how long her hiatus from the character.

Jekyll is always quick to point out Hyde’s faults, while expounding upon her own virtues.  Hyde reacts with sullen pouts, or surly comebacks, laying the responsibility for her bad behavior at Jekyll’s feet.  Who immediately points out how her actions were irreproachable, and Hyde is solely to blame for her own failure to measure up to Jekyll’s perfection.

And round and round they go.  I do wonder if either Joyce or Marie prefers a particular role, or if they relish the variety of morphing into such dissimilar personas.  Maybe they just have to experiment with being the “good child ” or “”bad child.”

I just remind myself every time the roles unexpectedly switch, that at least they’re taking turns at something. 

Payback

Every time your child does something that makes you scream “YOU DID WHAT?!?” you take a deep breath and think “one day they will have children of their own.”  This internal refrain helps you keep your tenuous grip on sanity.  It becomes your mantra during “one of those days” where you can’t imagine what you could have done to deserve this. 

Oh wait, someone will be happy to tell you.  Just pick up the phone and call your parents.  They’ll probably have a extensive list, lovingly preserved in your baby picture album.  They’ll listen to you rant and rave about your children, while unsuccessfully muffling their laughter during your phone call.

To illustrate, a scene from our household:

Joyce, while loudly stomping up the stairs: "I HATE putting up my clothes! Why can't I leave them in the basket? Why do I have to put them in my dresser?"

I remember having this EXACT conversation with my mother on numerous occasions, until an embarrassingly old age.  I would let my clothes pile up in the laundry room until the dryer couldn’t be opened due to the towering stack.  I didn’t see the point of either folding them or hanging them up, since I was just going to wear them again so they would get dirty, right? 

I’m sure my mother had her internal monologue going during those conversations.  Well, she was right.  I did have children of my own, and now it’s her turn to muffle her laughter during phone calls.  

I just hope I can manage to contain my glee when it's my turn.

Introducing Marie

I was definitely a tomboy.  I spent my days running around outside climbing trees and hunting bugs.  My clothes had the rips and stains to prove it.  Each branch in my climbing tree was a horse, my favorite toy my Bug Bottle.  I had to be coerced into dress clothes, and promptly shed them like a snake whose skin was too tight.  I constantly had my nose in a book, and I lived in my imagination more often then reality.

I liked to play with the boys; the girls just weren’t that interesting to me.  They were too concerned with messing up their clothes to climb the trees, grossed out by the bugs, or just wanted to talk about “girl stuff” I found mind-numbingly boring.  Not that I didn’t have female friends, of course I did.  But, the majority of my friends were boys.  I just got along with them better, found them more interesting.  And it didn’t end when I got older: my first date was seeing the re-release of Star Wars.   

So, all that is to say I was definitely NOT a girly-girl.  I would wear jeans and sneakers most days, little to no makeup, and occasionally remember to brush my hair.   The idea of needing more then two pairs of dress shoes (summer and winter of course) was totally foreign to me. 

I’ve gotten better as I’ve grown up.  I no longer have to be coerced into pretty clothes; I actually kind of like getting all dressed up for something, or even no reason at all.  I paint my toenails a bright color, wear at least some makeup more often then not, and try to coordinate my earrings with what I’m wearing.  I occasionally drool over totally impractical shoes, and actually own dress shoes that aren’t black or white.   For the first time ever I have more shoes then my husband.  I spent the last year letting my hair grow out before finally deciding what to do with it.

For me, doing “girl stuff” takes work.  I’ve had to make a conscious effort, learn how to do some of it from scratch, sometimes even with a recipe.  Putting together an outfit is a major undertaking, accessorizing like trying to solve a complex equation.  In some ways I haven’t changed though.  I still always have my nose in a book. 

Then along came Marie.  Who had meltdowns when components of the outfit she pictured in her mind were not all clean.  She throws together combinations of colors and patterns that you think will look terrible, but she manages to make look like a perfectly planned ensemble.   She accessorizes.  Hair bows, hair bands, necklaces, bracelets, they all coordinate. 

She wants to buy endless pairs of shoes: sandals, Crocs, ballet flats, high boots, short boots, rain boots, high heels (which we nixed, much to her displeasure), and the grudgingly accepted pair of sneakers (which still must have sparkles of some sort).  Unfortunately for Marie, her feet are long and narrow, so only expensive shoes will fit.  I have the feeling she will have quite a shoe collection as an adult.  I’m just waiting for her to ask when she can wear makeup.

To Marie all the “girl stuff” comes naturally.  In fact, I have taken her shopping with me when I had to buy things for a fancy party.  She picked out the shoes and wrap, and I was complimented on both.  She even helps her Dad pick out his tie occasionally. 

I’ll end with Marie’s thoughts on the subject.  They pretty much say it all.

"Mommy, it's hard work being pretty like me." 

"Every day I have to look in the mirror to make sure my outfit is perfect."

And my favorite…

Marie, looking at a $900 clutch purse covered with Swarovski crystals: "Mommy, we have to buy it, it's the perfect size for me!"

Introducing Joyce

Joyce can best be described in a quote from the children’s book Tacky the Penguin: “Tacky was an odd bird, but a nice bird to have around.” 

Joyce is incredibly enthusiastic about her latest obsession.  She researches and learns about a plethora of subjects, and will be delighted to educate you too.  Dinosaurs are the current fad, and she can not only identify them but also pronounce their scientific names accurately and give you a life history of each species.  In fact, when she got to meet a paleontologist recently, he complimented her on her pronunciation, and said he had never met a 6 year old who knew so much about dinosaurs. 

The blog title and quote come from Joyce.  Because she wants dinosaur EVERYTHING.  We have lunch boxes, water bottles, and of course plenty of t-shirts.  But no underpants.  She doesn’t understand why there aren’t packs of dinosaur underpants hanging on the rack next to the fairies and princesses.  I’ve googled it and looked on Etsy, but dinosaur underpants for girls just don’t exist.


Joyce has a summer project now.

One highlight of her infatuation is a character she invented called SG.  It stands for Super Giganotosaurus, and she is a dinosaur superhero.  She has a family and a whole group of dinosaur friends.  Joyce has mental pictures of how all of them look and they frequently show up in her drawings.  So this summer, Joyce will provide the artwork, I will provide the scanner and iron on transfers, and we will make her some dinosaur underpants.

This is a typical occurrence in life with Joyce.  We often joke that she is my clone because she resembles me so much, but it’s not just her looks.  She is a self-proclaimed tomboy, loves bugs and the outdoors, and doesn’t mind getting dirty while playing.  She has told me that she prefers playing with boys, because girls just want to talk about boring stuff.  She gets lost in her imaginary worlds she creates, and is always a memorable element of any cast she performs with.  Coercing her into dress clothes is an ordeal, and she doesn’t understand why she can’t just wear her old crocs instead of dress shoes.

Joyce doesn't just think outside the box---she doesn’t even know a box exists.  Sometimes this can be challenging when living in a world where coloring inside the lines is expected and free drawing frowned upon.  Occasionally, I wish she would just be like everyone else, but never at the expense of her imagination and creativity.  She just wouldn’t be Joyce without her sometimes inconvenient individuality. 

Joyce can also be incredibly sweet and thoughtful to her friends, and doesn’t comprehend why someone would do something mean.  She is unreserved with her affection for others, even if she hasn’t seen them in months or years.  So, I am thankful to have such a unique, imaginative, and creative daughter.


Even if I do have to make her dinosaur underpants.

Sisters

I am an only child married to an only child.  We both have zero experience with siblings.  As a child I remember observing my friends with siblings, and being rather puzzled.  To me, it was like observing a new and interesting insect community; it somehow worked, but I couldn’t even begin figure out the dynamics. 

15-20 years later I still don’t get it.  Best friends one minute, worst enemies the next.  One day playing happily for hours, the next they can hardly stand to be in the same house.  Children are refreshingly honest about how they feel about someone, and mine are no exception. 

Some of my favorite quotes:

J: "I want a baby sister."
Me: "What is M?"
J: "She's my little sister.  I'm tired of my little sister. I want a new one, a baby.  I want to name her E like me (her middle name). Can you please grow me one in your tummy?”" 
Me: "But J, even if you got a baby sister we'd still have to keep M." 
J (in a very disgusted tone): "Oh. Why?"

J is giving M an "art lesson," i.e. J telling her what to draw and how to draw it.  
J: “You hoo, M, PAY ATTENTION" 
M: "But J, I don't WANT to draw that!"

M (in a whiney pouting tone): "J, you just don't listen to me all weekend!" 
J (in an equally whiney exasperated tone): "But M, you just don't let me do whatever I want with you!"

J: sings a cartoon jingle about 10 times. 
M: "Stop!" 
Me: "J stop that. You're driving us all nuts." 
J: "But Mom, I WANT to drive my sister nuts!"

Yet they miss each other when they are off at their separate schools each day.  M runs towards J with arms outstretched when she steps off the bus.  Sometimes the gesture is reciprocated, sometimes not.  J recently spent time at home during track-out while M still had preschool, and constantly asked if it was time to pick up M yet. 

Sisters: best friends, worst enemies, can’t live with them, can’t live without them.

I still don’t get it. 

Introduction

Kids say what they think.  Exactly what they think at that particular moment, at full volume, never mind the social niceties.  And sometimes, that makes us think too.  

My friends have been telling me for months that I should start a blog, so here it goes.  Because sometimes, children really do make you use your mind instead of just lose it.