A Christmas Tradition Worth Sharing and Keeping

Kids grow up, get married, and start families of their own.  It's at this point, or maybe it actually happens earlier - during the growing up bit - that kids start to become detached from their parents.  Phone conversations become more and more infrequent, y'all see each other even less.  It's kinda understandable, but no less tragic.


Two people who invest so much in you as youngsters - time, money, energy, worry, and love - drive you to soccer games scheduled way too far away from home, drop you off at the movies with your friends (and even return to pick you up despite not getting a "thank you" 2 hours prior!) and "loan" you more money than they probably should, knowing full-well the odds are stacked against them ever seeing it paid back.  Family dinners, always hot (although never the mashed potatoes) and mostly delicious, quarters for the arcade, packs of baseball cards (then) - pay the deposit on your 1st new car, paint the living room of your 1st house, wash/dry/rehang your curtains, trim unruly azaleas (more recently) - never show up empty handed when visiting your kids or refuse to host them for a sleepover so that you and your wife can head to the city to see your favorite band or go out to dinner as a couple (now).  

In a perfect world, we'd never stray very far from those two people, but as is often the case, the world is far from flawless.

It's why my family's Christmas tradition is so special to my parents, myself, my 2 older brothers and, I hope, to our wives and all of our kids.  Every year we assemble as a family at my parent's home to watch football, enjoy my mother's homemade turkey soup (made with turkey leftover from Thanksgiving) and, ultimately, to decorate their Christmas tree.  I'm not sure how many adult kids help to decorate their (able-bodied) parent's tree each year, but we do and it's one of the best days of the holiday season.  We all have our jobs on this day.  The middle son strings the lights.  I, the youngest but tallest, am in charge of the star, a task that now primarily involves me lifting one of the lucky grandchildren up high and hoping we don't fall into the tree together.  My oldest brother, well, no one is quite sure what his job is on this day.  I think it's been years since he actually hung an ornament in their house.  If I remember correctly, he used to hang just one each year, but I'm not sure he does that anymore.  If so, it happens fast when no one is around.  Really though, the bulk of the work has been handed down to the 7 grandkids.  They now carry on the tradition of selecting the best branches to hang the shiny maroon and gold balls, fancy ribbons and teddy bear ornaments.


I'm not sure what the future will hold for this tradition or for us as a family, but I'm thankful for every year we still can all be together decorating a fresh Douglas fir in my parent's living room.  This year, thanks to a tripod I didn't know we owned and a wife who figured out how to use the timer feature on our camera, we managed to pull off a family portrait in front of the tree that's barely visible behind us - which is appropriate because as much as this tradition is about decorating that tree, what it's really about is all of us spending a day together, being merry and showing our young kids (aka the next generation of moms and dads) what it means to love and to be a real family. The tree is just a symbol, the excuse to make all this happen.


It was the 1st time we got such a photograph, hopefully the 1st of many.


Yes, I'm crying as I type all this...as if you didn't know that.

Knock at the door

So, yesterday there is a knock on the door.  The Mrs. is still at work.  Both girls have recently shot down the hall towards the bedrooms.  At the door was a neighborhood boy, who also happens to be a classmate of the Bear's, and his mom.  The Bear is being invited to the boy's 6th birthday party, an event she'll miss because of a prior engagement (Peter Pan at the Arden with my parents).  Before they walk away, I call the Bear to say a quick hello.  In a flash she is standing behind me...wearing nothing but a smile. 

I really thought I had a few years before she comes to the door naked to say hey to a boy.

What The Hell Are We Doing

A Florida teen kills herself because of the shame and embarrassment over a sext (sexy txt message for those keeping score at home).  Seems she sent over a nude photo of herself to a boy she liked.  Not that sending one to a boyfriend is smart, but a self-nude to a dude you merely LIKE - not a good decision.  

What does the behavior say about us as parents and adults, the ones charged with helping kids navigate through the awkwardness and confusion of childhood/puberty.  Are we missing the connections?  The connections between self-respect and our favorite singer's pole dancing performance.  Between the racy covers of Cosmo and the casual, commonplace attitude many young adults have about sex and nudity.  What about the cries of "slut" and "whore" she experienced before she made the choice to end her life?  What is going on with those kids, to verbally abuse a classmate over a poor decision that so many have/are currently making in their own lives. 

Way too many questions in this post, I know.  I wish I had answers to even 1 of these difficult situations but I don't, not even close.  I simply continue trying to get my head around the challenges kids/tweens/teens are dealing with these days as I make every effort to raise confident, independent-spirited young ladies.  It's really all I can do - keep my head up and never give up engaging them in conversation, listening to them and showing them love every damn day.  Then, just hope they have the opportunity to learn from the mistakes that are going to come while living a full, interesting life.

Sorry Elmo, She’s Just Not That Into You

My girls don’t go bonkers for TV these days, but when they do it’s not because of Big Bird or Oscar the Grouch. They never ask to watch Sesame Street nor do they turn it on themselves. Sesame Street may have been the one of the most popular children’s television shows, but sadly it’s not the sparkling series it once was anymore.

Even though my daughters have three stuffed Elmo dolls, a Cookie Monster and a Bert doll, Sesame Street is an after-thought in our house. Instead, Word Girl, Caillou, Curious George and Jane and the Dragon are saved on my DVR.

Sesame Street is no longer culturally relevant and the show, with its familiar brand of edutainment, no longer resonates with my kids.  Other than Elmo’s World, the format of Sesame Street is unappealing and slow. The cut-and-paste transitions between segments are clunky, offering kids 15-30 seconds of confusing randomness sandwiched between scenes where the characters are often immobile.  Sesame Street is boring - there I’ve said it.  My girls wander away from the couch if it comes on the tube - and they don’t have short attentions spans!

I wanted my the Bear and Mouse to love Sesame Street just as I did, but now I don’t care. There are plenty of better TV choices - Clifford, Jane and the Dragon and the aforementioned Word Girl - with engaging, linear storylines and devoid of stale, recycled video clips from decades past.

The instructive segments aren’t Sesame Street’s only issue.  If I want my girls to listen to music on a TV show, a staple of the Sesame Street formula, I’m better off turning on Yo Gabba Gabba’s hip selection of alternative rock or old On Demand episodes of Jack’s Big Music Show for the best modern kid’s music out there.  Or better yet, we’ll slip in a live DVD from The Jimmies of Dan Zanes to satisfy their musical hunger.

Maybe someday we’ll visit 123 Sesame Street again, but right we’re having a blast exploring new neighborhoods.

Charting Growth

There are, I imagine, countless ways to chart the growth of a child. There's the classic physical growth chart, hanging on a wall or a door, that a child backs up against while their mom or dad draws a line right above their noggin. We have a Madeline one shaped like the Eiffel Tower. Moving from diapers to pull-ups to underwear is also a big milestone, one I'm hoping the Mouse accomplishes shortly so I can cease spending $8 for 29 pull-ups once a week.

There is another sign of maturity/aging happening in my house today. Well, it's actually going to occur at school, in less than 2 hours. The Bear is buying her 1st school lunch this afternoon. It might seem pedestrian, the idea of not brown bagging it for 1 day, but for the entire month+ that she's been a kindergartner, she has carried her hummus and pitas/egg salad platters/PB&J cracker sandwiches/chicken salad wraps into school while, presumably, other children have ordered the "lunch of the day" or PB&J on white - the 2 daily options at the school cafeteria. All that changes today, and while it may very well mean nothing at all, something tells me this is a sizable step for her.

At some point this morning, she'll have had to announce her lunch intentions to her teacher. Around noontime, she'll use her PIN to pay for her meal - nervously punching up her number on the keypad while her classmates queue behind her. I love that 5-year-olds are learning to memorize and utilize a personal ID number. Considering the volume of passwords and PINs most of us carry around in our mental satchels - this might be the most important thing they'll learn all year.

The lunch of the day for this fine fall Friday is White Pizza, Salad w/ dressing, Pears and a Mini-Donut. Sounds pretty awesome. It's better than anything I'll consume today, that's for sure, but at least I won't have to recall a 5 digit code to pull my food from the fridge.

For Fans of Nick at Nite

Former Disney CEO Michael Eisner has a new production company and it's 1st effort is Glenn Martin, DDS. It's an animated show for kids that was recently added to the popular Nick at Nite primetime block of family programming.

Before you let your kids watch this show about a traveling dentist and his family, read my thoughts on Glenn Martin, DDS published over on iVillage.com.

[photo credit to Nickelodeon]

This is what it sounds like, when Grandma cries

Say hello to Molly.

Molly is the Bear's bear. Not her favorite bear. Well, some days she is.

Molly has been at Grandmom's house for some time, at least the whole summer but probably longer than that.

On Monday night, Molly left Grandmom's house and came back to live with us. Grandmom was shaken. She cried when she saw Molly in our car. She admitted to crying poolside the next day.

I guess it'd help if I fill in some of the blanks here.

Since the Bear was born nearly 5.5 years ago, she's been spending just about every other Friday with her Grandmom (known lovingly as Mom mom). The Bear loved these Fridays. Mom mom loved them as well. It was their time to bond, play, paint nails, swim, go ride a carousel or to the theater, dine out, hang out and snuggle. Great days.

Molly worked her way into this story the day she came to live at Mom mom's. While the Bear spent only 1 of 14 days there, Molly enjoyed the comforts of Mom mom's home every day. A life of leisure for sure. Uninterrupted sleep, long naps, days spent soaking up the breeze from the ceiling fan while reading a book in the rocking chair. A nice life.

This past weekend the Bear found Molly's straw hat. It'd been missing for a while. She discovered it buried inside a shoebox full of mismatched toy pieces, hidden deep within the Bear's closet.

Mom mom cried when Molly said goodbye. In Mom mom's eyes, a piece of the Bear's childhood was ending, as was a piece of her relationship with the Bear. You see, on Monday, August 17th the Bear begins full day, full week Kindergarten. The take-Molly-home move was seen as a symbol of the Bear's realization that those every-other-Fridays are finished. Best to pack up your stuff and move along.

In actuality, the Bear had remembered the recently-found-hat when she saw Molly this week. She brought her home to reunite Molly with the head piece. Such a simple act stirred so much emotion. I must admit, my girl is pretty bright but the I'm-not-going-to-be-back-here-during-the-week-ever-again-so-I'll-take-my-bear-home thing was a stretch.

Even so, the act made concrete the finality of a cherished tradition. Just another sign that childhood lasts only so long. While new traditions can and will be forged, and with them pleasant new memories created, some things can never be replaced or duplicated.

Reflections on the Prior 51 Weeks

What am I on a fiscal calendar? What's up with the year in review in August?
It's been just about 1 year since I left corporate America for a different kind of job. I've been home with my 2 girls since 8/22/08 and we've had our share of fun and of, um, struggles with the arrangement. It certainly hasn't been all peaches and cream, but it was never going to be, nor should anything be perfect all the time. Surrounded by anyone, even those you adore and who adore you, for extended periods of time will occasionally drive ya bats. It's only natural. Right?

I regret very little in life. The mistakes, the wrong turns and such all lead me to where I am today. I'm a firm believer in reflecting and pulling valuable lessons from the raw deals and gaffes in one's journey. As a result, I rarely find myself in a regretful spirit. That said, I regret that over the prior 12 months I didn't spend nearly enough time down on the floor playing ponies, Playmobil people or board games with the girls. Going in to the Stay at Home Dad gig, I told myself and my family that the laptop would stay closed and my attention would be 100% on the kiddies. Looking back now, that statement is laughable. A couple self-employment-business shoes dropped in the last 51 weeks, 1 major one about 4 days after I quit my job (nice timing), both of which had me stressin' quite a bit, and workin' a lot harder to keep things afloat. Those out-of-my-control factors dragged me away from the playtime I'd planned on enjoying.

Additionally, I found that I just don't want to be engaged with my children for 8 hours straight. I can't do it. There I said it. I need Jeffy Time, and a lot of it. I spent many years alone, sans girlfriend and, in actuality, without any real friends. This was a great time in my life. As a result, I cherish my lonely time. I'm completely comfortable seeing movies, bands, watching sports and doing just about anything (or nothing) all by myself. Some of the best moments of the past year involved me writing on the laptop with a This American Life, Spare the Rock, or The Moth podcast playing while the girls frolic together in another room. They've gotten closer as sisters and best friends. I've squeezed in healthy doses of me-time. A win-win. Still, I wish I managed to suck it up and play with 'em more than I did. Those days and moments you just can't get back.

I left corporate America for several reasons but the main one was to be around the kids more often, specifically the Bear. She had just one year left before the school system wrapped it's claws around her for at least the next 13 years. I wanted, and needed, to just have her near me more often. Seeing her for 2-3 hours of awake-time each weekday evening after daycare/pre-k wasn't good enough. So, to that extent, the last year has been awesome. She was certainly near me a good deal, like a shadow at times!

Now the time has come for the Bear to start Kindergarten. 1 week from today I will walk her into homeroom for the 1st time. She is exciting and insists there are no nerves. I'm exciting too, but I feel like I'm going to throw up. Giant sized butterflies? Yeah, a lot of 'em.

So this is it. 5 weekdays left to enjoy my non-school-age daughter. This post is going nowhere. I cannot stop crying. Wish us luck.

Lawn Mower + Box Cutter + Glitter

= hours upon hours of imagination-expanding f...f...FUN!

Months back I scoffed at the idea of spending $100+ on a stupid cardboard box. In that piece I advocated spending a little extra to get a new refrigerator, which always comes with a complimentary, sturdy box. I totally forgot that a lawn mower is generally cheaper than a fridge and also comes with an over-sized cardboard edifice.

A couple weeks ago I bought a new push mower and viola! into our lives came a gigantic plaything that we quickly turned into a one room fun house. The kids' new digs has an archway entrance and 3 windows. The girls stickered/glittered/bedazzled it up in no time. We didn't just stop there...oh no. Another, flattened box became the front porch, complete with cat, flower and butterflies stickers. The Mrs. actually uttered the sentence "the Bear is in the Zoe chair, on the front porch"...1 week in and it's part of our household vernacular!

Another much smaller box has been transformed into a baby doll's humble abode...or as I like to call it the in-law suite.

Ice cream shop, the world's first drive-thru carwash (like a drive-thru bank, only with pretend hoses and soap cannons) - the mower box has already been many, many things.

A couple days ago, our composter arrived in...you guessed it! - a huge box. We're now building a mini-apartment complex (or shanty town, depending on your perspective) with the old porch becoming a roof.

Yeah, it's got some upside-down product pics and big white UPC stickers but it's still better than a $100 cardboard box...with no new lawn mower.

Get Your Hormones Away From My Kids

Join OWTK and thousands of other parents in signing a petition to insist that schools abandon their practice of buying factory farm/hormone laden milk. Encourage Congress, via federal nutrition programs, to make wiser milk purchasing decisions for our children, opting instead for hormone free, organic milk products.

A grass fed cow is a happy cow, one which gives us and our kids tasty, healthy, artificial-hormone free milk.

Sign the petition to expel hormones from school milk!

Swine Flu - How Concerned Should Parents Be?

I didn't stock up on bottled water or buy a power generator before Y2K. I made no plans to carry a rifle and hunt for my own food beginning on 1/1/2000.

As a rule, I tend to not freak out when stuff like Bird Flu, SARS or what-have-you dominates the news but this Swine Flu thing has already changed one of my plans. I was going to take the girls to an indoor bounce/gym place today, as it's rainy and kinda cold here in SE Pennsylvania, but news this morning of the 1st U.S. death attributed to the flu has me unsettled.

Maybe it's because the first victim was a 23 month old child, and my youngest just turned 23 months yesterday. Maybe it's because I'm getting old and such things are more likely to get me spooked. I don't know, but I'm going to pass on the chance to send my girls into germ-zone with, potentially, dozens of other kids sporting snot dripping down across their lips and fingers. While no one is exactly sure how this strain of flu came to be or is being transmitted, it seems that folks-in-know agree that it's being moved around rather easily.

The question is: at what point does this thing start to really alter our decision making as parents. Do we avoid the mall (generally a good idea anyway, for numerous other reasons)? Do we not opt for the bacon cheeseburger at dinner until H1N1 blows over? Keep kids home from daycare/school? Can I still enjoy pork roll with my cheesy-scrambled eggs? Okay, so my breakfast meat is not life altering, but seriously is anyone going out of their way to protect themselves, and more importantly, their little ones from Swine Flu?

Fortunately, we have just 8 days of Pre-K left before summer break (and fortunately the kids will be home all summer, not in a camp or in a daycare situation). So should this get worse, should cases of the flu start to spread to all 50 states, we can fortify ourselves to a certain extent.

What preventative steps is your family taking at this point? If none, what would it take before you consider some?

Square Foot Gardening with Kids

Two Sundays ago the Mrs, the Bear and I built our own raised veggie garden. It's a 3x6 rectangle and 10 inches deep. This isn't our first trip down vegetable road. We failed miserably last year, our patch being overtaken by weeds and bugs. We didn't understand much about how to make it work (for example, we used existing, and as it turns out, rotten soil) and anytime it got too hot outside, we passed on the weeding chore.

This year, with a fresh raised bed of "clean" compost/manure and with me and the girls home everyday in the summer, that problem shouldn't be a problem.

We do the weekly farmer's market thing and always talk to the gals about where our food comes from (ie: not a factory) but the at-home veggie space is bound to literally bring the lessons home. That is the fun part for me, to see them get excited when the lettuce pokes it's leafy head up from the dirt and the rest of the crop begins to materialize before their eyes.

The Mrs. designed the space to provide 18 one foot squares. A variety of tomatoes will back up to a homemade trellis constructed of electrical conduit piping with rebar at the base for reinforcement. A simple netting will be tied to it allowing the viney veggies to climb skyward. Bell peppers, cauliflower, broccoli, cucumber, potato, carrot, squash, green beans and lettuce seeds have moved into their new square foot digs, with the Bear doing the honors (I took care of the onions). Tomato plants will be purchased at the market this week. The Mouse got to put the Popsicle stick identifiers in each square. The materials, not including the cow poop, compost, etc. ran us about $50.

That $50 that should come back to us once I can stop buying expensive organic vegetables that are flown in from Argentina, California and god knows where else. It'll be sweet to be able to walk out back and grab whatever looks ready and cook it that evening.

Thingamababy Nailed It!

Thingamababy is a great blog almost every day, but today the site has published the perfect parental blog post. Go read Thingamababy right now.

Baseball with Kids in 2009

How far we've come. What was once this country's greatest of past times has become, for a gaggle of red-blooded American youngsters, nothing more than an antiquated nuisance.

It was the sound of baseball that first captivated me. Throughout much of the 80's and 90's I'd practically snuggle up with my radio each night, the empty non-silence of a thousand barely audible conversations fusing into a mesh of white noise, all set behind the call of the game and insightful, yet sparse, color commentary. There is a beauty to radio in general, but specifically to baseball on the AM dial. The crack of the bat and chatter of the crowd devoid of pictures leaves the sport to the announcers and to the listeners imagination. For most children growing up in my father's era and before, baseball existed exclusively in this manner. Without TV and money to see a game in person, the radio, the box scores and your own mind is where baseball lived...and flourished.

This simple love of a complex game was passed on to me as a child and, more than anything else, it's what I continue cherish most about sport. It's why I decided to take my father to a couple of ballgames for his 70th birthday. A father and son, in the sun watching, and discussing, baseball. Nothing could've been more perfect.

More and more it seems that love of baseball - live and on radio - is being ignored by, let alone passed on to, this current generation of techno-dork kids.

It seems that every single time I attend a live baseball game, be it last year in Philly or just last month in Clearwater, I see kids playing handheld video games while a real game unfolds on the field beneath them. I can't help but be filled with a certain kind of mellow rage when I witness a dad and his son (or daughter) together watching the boys of summer only to have the dad ignoring the kid and the kid ignoring the real life action happening before his eyes, well, before his eyes if those eyes weren't staring down into an imaginary world on a 3 inch screen.

There is absolutely no excuse for a video game at a ballgame. If a child has no interest in sport that child should stay the hell home. A parent's role, two of them anyway, is to hand certain things down from generation to generation and to teach children something about this world. Baseball provides the perfect outlet for both functions. There is nothing more ingrained in our culture (at least our male culture) then the sport of ball under the spring and summer sun and there is no sport filled with more details, facts, statistics and strategy than baseball. The opportunity to teach kids about keeping score, outfield positioning, pitch setup and the double switch (among hundreds of other subtleties) is being lost every day in ballparks across the country.

No self respecting parent should allow such activity while attending a ballgame.
It is outrageous!

Wonder why it's acceptable. Maybe because these kids see their parents texting, working on their blackberry and also doing everything they can to avoid the relaxing pleasure of enjoying a ballgame Sure, I love my iPhone and will occasional check my email during a game, but it'll be between innings and very quickly. Nothing can come between me, the game and, if my daughters are with me, the whispered descriptions of a few interesting things taking place on the green grass below. I want to share that time with my kids. I want to share baseball with them. I want to experience life together as a family, immersed in conversation, learning about each other and learning about a game that can teach us so much about life - patience, individual battles and accomplishments within a team environment, thinking a few steps ahead and numerous other cool things.

That others do not share my opinion, and continue to drag their kids and their gaming devices into the ballpark, confuses and angers me. If you allow a child to carry a video game into a ballpark and you're unable to spend 2 hrs with your kid(s), with or without a baseball game taking place in front of you, devoid of technological distractions then you are a failure as a parent. There is no other way around it.

A Sucky Spring Day

Wednesday, March 25th 2009 sucked.

The plans weren't grandiose.

We were heading out to Hershey, PA (the sweetest place on Earth, or so they say) for a day of activities inside Chocolate World. The folks from the Zoo were scheduled to be there with baby animals. Hershey Garden(ers) would be on hand with botanical crafts for the kids. The day would be highlighted by a 45-minute puppet show. All that in addition to the faux-factory Choco-tour that is both free and fun - always a delightful combo.

After dinner in town somewhere, we were to head to the Hershey Bears game. Hockey is the Mouse's favorite sport to watch on TV. The game would mark her 1st live sporting event.

Sounds cool, no?

Well, I'm a big doofus and I screwed up the whole day, from the jump. I misread the Hershey website, for starters. All of that fun stuff comprised a one day only event, to mark the start of Spring. That day was not Wednesday March 25th 2009. Silly me thought it was daily stuff starting in Spring. Big difference.

The first thing we did upon entering the Hershey Attraction zone was to buy the hockey tickets. Dumb move. And I should've figured as much. The game wasn't going to sell out. There was no need to plunk down those dollars at midday. We never saw the game. After pulling into Chocolate World at 12:45pm, a cool 6 hours and 15 minutes before the puck would drop, we three discovered that there was ZERO chance of us merrily filling that time. Sure, we could have taken the free factory tour 65 times, but even that would get old after a couple dozen rides. Instead we went to the Hershey Gardens, using our reciprocal Winterthur membership to get in free. We were the only idiots out there in the Children's Gardens on a chilly, dark-ish, rather blustery March day. That was fun for about 30 minutes. After staring at 3:30 on the car's digital display for about 5 minutes and thinking about the next 3.5 hours until game time, we pulled out and headed for home.

Add a big dose of super-annoyed-at-himself-Dad, a dash of disgruntled kids and the looming 1 hour 15 minute ride home ahead of us and I had a recipe for disaster. The Mouse wasn't jolly, for much of the day, and wasn't getting happier strapped down in the backseat. The Bear did all she could to help, all day long, but it wasn't enough for her sister or, unfortunately, for me.
I screamed WAY too much.
No one wanted to be around me and I shared the sentiment.
The worst "Stay at Home Day" ever, hands down.

The only upside, and it was a minor one in the grand scheme of things? I stopped at the Skechers outlet store in Lancaster on the way home. Retail therapy. There I found, not my exact shoe, but a close replica that was comfy and affordable enough. Shit, I already wasted $20 on a hockey game we weren't going to see and $15 worth of gas. What's $55 ($15 cheaper than in stores but more expensive than on Amazon! It just keeps on getting better!!! Why did I even look) on a much needed pair of wheels for me. See, I only possess 1 pair of proper shoes (not counting my 1 pair of sandals and 1 pair of sneakers) at a time. I wear them out, until holes appear, and then reluctantly begin the search for new ones, knowing full well that they've since stopped making the style I've grown to adore. The models change, but they're always Skechers - that's the constant. At the outlet, they offered a buy 1 get the 2nd pair 1/2 off deal, so I got two of the same shoe - one black, one brown. This way, I won't need new shoes for 3-4 years!

We also saw a ton of cows, some hens, sheep and a smattering of equine on the ride back. I found an Amish free range chicken farm whilst driving around looking for even more animals than the ones visible from Rt. 30. There we bought a dozen brown eggs for $1.25 (that's cheap!)

Those were the "Happy Accidents" after a miserable afternoon. Such is the title of Billy Jonas' wonderfully uplifting new record. A few of the songs have really connected with The Bear and I, but it's the title track that has lead to the best conversations. In the song, Mr. Jonas discusses a few examples of greatness which originally stemmed from failure or mistakes, such as Penicillin (full Billy Jonas CD review tomorrow). There are always lessons in life, everyday something new happens to us or near us or is witnessed. Kids and adults both can glean something from words/actions/situations. Yesterday showed me a lot, much of it I already knew but often we need to see our flaws get SO bad before we act (think: dude who has heart attack before starting to eat better). Yesterday might have been my parenting triple bypass. I know I must change some things about myself in order for my kids to not hate me as they get older. That is the path I'm on right now and it's a very sobering image of life in later years, alone.

****OWTK GIVEAWAY REMINDER*****
You have until the end of the day today, Friday 3/27 to enter the HEXBUGS Giveaway! Do so now!

Tween Dora - More Crap for Our Oversexed Society

'Twas only a matter of time. Eventually the masterminds behind Dora the Explorer would realize that there's even more money to be made if they sex her up, move her to a hipper 'hood and focus her attention on high fashion and accessorizing (you know, the things girls are SUPPOSED to care about the most). Here you see the silhouette of the new Dora, this mysterious big-head-Bratz-esque image is all that's been revealed thus far.
Oh, and the target market for new Dora - girls ages 5 and up! Awesome!

In my wildest dreams, the launch of Tween Dora would cause a seismic shift in the parenting world. We as a nation of smart grown-ups finally become alarmed enough to see the Dora franchise for what it truly is - a big, fat marketing gimmick to rip dollars away from us and homogenize our brilliant, imaginative young people effectively turning them into numb, average adults. In this dream, the Dora machine suffers greatly at this startling parental revelation and Dora's corporate pimps are forced to backtrack, and quickly (think: "New Coke"). The outrage from actively-engaged parents, none of whom want their amazing 5, 6, 7 year old girls to suddenly follow their bi-lingual on-screen adventurous tomboy into an empty world where the mirror is king (or queen, in this case), is so honest and overwhelming that Dora's keepers issue an apology for adding yet another shallow, body-image obsessed tart into the world.

More likely, parents already outfitting their youngsters with Dora sneakers, Dora backpacks and Dora underwear will embrace her Tweenage version. They'll see her as the natural progression for their darling princess as she grows up the RIGHT WAY - the way young ladies must be in our modern, advanced society. You know the profile, right? Ultra-short shorts with SASSY/JUICY/SWEET scripted on their asses. TXT MSGing all night, locked away in their rooms alone. Girls being girls we're sold, er, told.

Well, I call bullshit on that. Women, young or not, need not be beholden to the passing gaze of the opposite gender, the learned self-hatred at the hands of rags like Cosmo, or the hipness of a certain shade of lip gloss. And girls most certainly do not need to spend countless hours of their formative years digitally changing "the look" of a damn doll.

If you're concerned parent of a Dora loving kiddo, sign the petition to Say No to Dora's makeover. Then spend a moment looking at some toys/dolls that are appropriate for a young, imaginative girl - there are plenty of 'em, believe it or not - check this out.

My Children are Squatters

It would be a gross exaggeration to call myself a walking-zombie, a term reserved for, and rightfully so, those with severe and serious sleep maladies...or those with a severe and serious drinking problem. That doesn't discount my own nighttime issues. Our marital bed is anything but blissful right now and here's why: The Mouse is ushered into our king sized quarters every night, anywhere between midnight and 3am. The details of those 25 foot (roundtrip) journeys are especially sketchy, but it's common for her transportation to be, ummm, me. She cries, I react sleepily, and moments later the little turd is cozying up between her parents. But wait! It gets better!! The Bear will then, at a completely unknown point in the evening but always post-Mouse, wander in and wander up on the other side of The Mrs.

My children are, essentially, squatters.

Then there is the cat who insists on occupying the bottom corner of my side of the bed. My 6 foot 4 inch frame curls into a semi-fetal position whilst I wriggle and wrestle for precious real estate. It's a nocturnal battle I consistently lose. With Mouse on my upper right and Tilly at my bottom left, they effectively high/low me each night. The result is that I, a habitual nighttime flip flopper since childhood, is virtually pegged in place. Worse than any tired vision of monsters or a boogeyman, my sleep situation is a real nightmare.

All this has taught me that I really need my sleep. A rotten 8 hours or so makes it, this I am learning, rather cumbersome to perform my daily tasks at an appreciably normal (for me) level. Once upon a time I could perform my daily duties on little or no sleep, back in my rock-n-roll days in Philly. Nowadays, I spend my time moving, thinking and reacting more slowly than ever all while aching from head to toe thanks to my limited allotment of space in bed. I'm also short-tempered and rather miserable to be around. It's quite a contrast to the sharp witted and, usually, sharp-minded nature of yours truly.

I always look forward to trips and hotels stays but in these tired times any chance I get to spend a night away from home is cherished. Yeah, I missed the fam, but that 1 night I spent in NYC for the Toy Fair was glorious. A King size bed all to myself...for the whole night!!! Whoa!

Reading and Cooking

The two weeks without Pro Football between championship weekend and the Super Bowl, along with the sport's absence for the next 7 months has helped me disconnect from the television. Outside the televised twice-weekly Mich. St. hoops game and the occasional great matchup like last night's Duke v. UNC contest, I've pretty much quit it (but baseball is almost here!)

The time spent away from the tube has been rather fruitful. I've polished off 4 books, including Adam Gopnik's terrific ode to New York City life w/ a family (a tome I started TWO Christmases ago - yeah, I can be a painfully slow reader when distracted) as well as his first, Paris to the Moon. I then dipped into one of the 4 volumes I bought The Mrs. this past holiday season, none of which she has touched yet. She is still attempting to read all the Harry Potter books from the library then re-watch all the films. I selected The Sharper Your Knife, the Less You Cry, a memoir of one woman's path from corporate life to Le Cordon Blue in Paris. I relate to her life's trajectory, save for the part about being female, moving to Paris, and enrolling in cooking school. It's a quick, fun read for at-home cooks and/or anyone who has ever had the audacity to dream of something radically different from their current situation. Lastly, I turned the last page of the 33 1/3 series book chronicling the making of "Gentlemen" by The Afghan Whigs, my favorite band of all time. That is the album I credit with changing my life's course. I was 17 years old when that sordid, gut-wrenching break up album was released and I was forever impacted by their sound, emotion and direct connection to Sub Pop/indie rock (despite "Gentlemen" being their major label debut). Music, from that moment on, became my life's passion.

Inspired in part by Kathleen Flinn's journey, I set out to make the most obvious of all French-ish dishes (well, bowls actually) - French Onion Soup. I love the soup yet never attempted it at home. This has been a thorn in the side of The Mrs. who purchased for me a set of cool onion soup crocks (quite dusty) for me years ago along with a wedge of good Gruyere (long since trashed).

It was a rare moment, a lazy Sunday morning, that I had the kitchen, in reality most of the house, to myself. I had Andrew Bird's lovely new record playing on the laptop as I chopped onion, measured out flour, dry sherry and the rest of the ingredients. I had my full mise en place working. It was magical not to rush or find spices or be opening cans of broth only seconds before they were needed. While the onions were sweating, I had a peach/raspberry/apple sauce for the girls going on the stove then into the Cuisinart. I felt legitimate. I cannot even explain what I mean by that. Simply put, 'twas a great morning.

Do do's Laundry

This morning marks the first self-directed load of laundry for the Bear, or "Do do" as she is called by her lil' sis. She is excited to be 'grown up' enough for the chore (hehe) and now the Mrs. and I are considering other tasks she can own for herself. Cooking is out, as is transportation. Making of the bed every morning, check. Straightening up of her domain every evening, check. Massaging of her dear father's feet on occasion, probably not.

Naturally, this leads to the $5 question of free or hired help. That is to say, should we start giving the Bear an allowance? I say yes, mainly 'cause it's cute and the Bear loves to carry her change purse in her dress pockets when we head out, with the vague hope of purchasing something. Unless we travel to a distant town known as 1955, she ain't getting much for her 3 quarters, 2 dimes, 1 nickel and 3 pennies. With an income stream she might just be able to buy something and, even better, she'll be forced to make decisions between impulse purchases and saving for a special big ticket item.

The Mrs. takes a more pragmatic stance. The Bear isn't asking to be put on payroll, why offer it...plus it's not like we're flush with cash these days.

Free labor wins...for now!

So Many Toys So Little Time

Well, plenty of time actually but the too-many-toys bit is right-on. The girls and I are seemingly paralyzed by the sheer volume of new stuff to play with. Our collective attention span has diminished greatly since Christmas Day. We move from new thing to new thing at a breakneck speed, not our typically style, and I'm not enjoying it at all. We've had a more time to do this routine this week as the girls' school is closed for holiday break, a fact I didn't realize until I pulled into their empty parking lot Tuesday morning. Maybe I should pay closer attention to those school calendars we get every month.

On the gift front, we had a few misses this year - or should I say that Santa did. After just one try the My Horse and Me game for the Wii, something I thought the Bear would really like, seems kinda like a dud. The reviews were almost unanimously glowing. Maybe it'll be a slow grower. The Gary Gadget Computer game for my Mac laptop is alright, but nothing great. The new Playdoh equipment reaffirmed my general hatred of plastic toys. The modestly-sized Breyer Horse set didn't hold the Bear's interest for long and the one fence for jumping keeps collapsing despite our best efforts to keep it upright. While Christmas Day itself was pretty cool, the days following have been less than stellar.

Happy New Year y'all. Until '09...