The Ice Rink: Nearly Ready for Action

Nothing like a few negative nights to boost the freezing process... But guess what I forgot? You have to freakin' SHOVEL it!

Proud to Have Franken as a Senator

Check out these skills!

FOUR!

Happy Birthday Big!

I won't see you today because I am snowed in at work. They have basically closed the state of Wisconsin, so I, sadly, can't get home.

But I am fondly remembering four years ago this day.

This is the first year you are in school and we were notified that you could bring a little treat or something if you wanted. So, I asked you what you would like to bring to school for your birthday.

You got very excited and started to describe something. Something "round" with "spicy stuff" on top.

Nine immediately interpreted: cinnamon rolls.

"Do they have frosting on top?"

"No."

"Is it sweet?"

"Yes."

And on went our interrogation.

BioMom brought up a picture of cinnamon rolls on her computer, to which you announced that that was not, in fact, what you were talking about.

The next day, BioMom got out of you that what you were describing had purple and green on it as well.

WTF?

Then she got you to say that the item was round -- "like a ball."

Ahhhhh! Donut holes!! What kind of parents are we that our four year old son has no language for a "donut hole"!?!

The purple and green must have been for a birthday on or around the Packer/Vikings game.

So off you went today, donut holes in hand.

Happy Birthday!!!

Here are a few pictures from over the years as you have changed and grown.

3 and 0.999726027

Big turns four years old tomorrow.

JHC.

It is trite to say that our kids are opposites.

I've heard people with seven kids say that all seven are as different from each other as different can be.

But it is so true. And we love each of them so much for their own uniqueness.

He is the rule-breaker, she the law-abidin' citizen. He is the silly to her serious. He is the do-first-ask-later, she is the ask-first, probably-don't-do. He is the physical to her cerebral. He is the gas to her solid. He is the kinetic to her potential. He is the Malcom X to her Dalai Lama. He is the practical to her idealism. His memory is the elephant to her Dory (in the movie Nemo). He is the exhibitionist to her privacy. He is the Felix to her Oscar.

We won't have to worry about her taking drugs in high school, but he'll be the one wondering what his brain would feel like as an egg in a frying pan.

He will be at the University of Wisconsin-Madison studying engineering in 14 years, visiting her at the Iowa Writer's Workshop while on spring break.

And I can tell you that his differences are reverberating throughout our household.

You will be aghast to note how Christmas mornings have gone for us, for the past (literally) nine years.

Maybe you'll think we are evil parents for what I am about to say, but I hope you'll understand and forgive us, and even experience a tinge of empathy. Perhaps you would do the same given the circumstances.

Anyway.

Nine is like BioMom in her law-abiding tendencies. Theirs are not the personalities of bending rules. Once we were at a pool with very exciting looking slides for which one's height had to reach a particular line on the wall in order to qualify to ride. Nine (at that time Five) missed the mark by fractions of an inch. I told her that I would vouch for her and that, in her parent's opinions, she could feel free to go.

Rather than break the official rule, even with her parent's permission, she looked longingly at the slides the rest of the day.

So, ever since I can remember, on Christmas Nine has come into our room, possibly forgetting the fact that the tree downstairs has been, most likely, accosted with present and stockings stuffed with chocolates and other assorted goodies, but willing to, none-the-less, given our urging to wait a bit before rushing downstairs to open presents while we sleep in.

Seriously. She has waited patiently by our bed, often engrossed in this book or that, until we groggily wake, perhaps even brew a cup of joe, before heading to open her presents. . . Often after 9 a.m.!?!

We got a taste of Christmas future, however, on St. Nick's day the other day.

The kids had left their shoes out on the hearth* (I've always wanted to use that word in real life!!!) before going to bed on December 5th.

The next morning at what seemed like five a.m., I awoke to what sounded like a wrecking ball in Big's room and then a herd of buffalo running down the stairs, and then ripping of paper, and then a loud announcement for all to hear about what he found.

He seriously didn't even wait for us! He just headed down and opened the stash he found in his shoes (a Playmobile figurine was left in each of our shoes. BioMom's sister donated her old Playmobile airport and plane but with no little figurines so St. Nick thought he'd rectify the situation. Big noted that the ones that Nine and BioMom got were "girls" whereas the ones for he and I were "boys", which, indeed they were. I couldn't pass up on the cook Viking dude that was available.).

So that's our boy!

*Saint Nicholas had a reputation for secret gift-giving, such as putting coins in the shoes of those who left them out for him, and thus became the model for Santa Claus,

How To Make The Winter Bearable, Part 2

We've been experiencing a few days and nights less than 32 degrees so.... HERE WE GO!!!

The Flood: Part I.

Cousin's Great Idea

So ever since Big was born (nearly FOUR years ago!?!), Nine has been jealous.

Her perceptions consistently view him as having advantages that she doesn't have, even when the evidence points otherwise.

She always says that she wishes she weren't the oldest kid in our family, even after BioMom and I point out the pains of being the youngest (of four in both of our cases) and the advantages of not only being older but also of being the oldest.

She'll admit it. She's not ashamed of her feelings. You know how kids are so amazing that way -- taking things as they come, without judgment.

Sometimes her reactions seem almost violent. Within the first week of him being home she lashed out at me, saying that I did nothing for the family -- "Mom gave birth and I'm the big sister!!"

And my reactions to her feelings have also not always been, well, relationship-enhancing.

I find jealousy to be an ugly human reaction and have only recently have I really delved into my "inner child" so to speak and figured this out and have (finally) found some empathy for it and, consequently, for her.

So, I was talking with Cousin the other day about it something entirely different when I started to make some connections and Cousin offered her ingenious solution.

I was talking about how Nine has so much trouble just picking up after herself, and that sort of thing.

I know that all kids aren't naturally great at it, but as Big is getting older, and, seemingly, more fastidious, her left-behind messes are becoming more apparent to those of us (me) who end up following behind her and picking them up (or nagging incessantly).

Then it dawned on me: maybe she is doing that subconsciously to force us to continue to "care" for her. A way of passively remaining the youngest, by requiring that sort of attention perhaps?

Then Cousin said: Why don't you let her have a day where she gets to be treated like the youngest one?

This was seriously brilliant.

I proposed it to Nine and BioMom and now we've experienced a couple weeks of it. On Saturday, usually, Nine declares it her day. On that day I pick up after her without complaint, and do lots of things for her that I would normally kvetch about and do with great disdain and resentment (Yes... A parent who feels resentful!! You see it here, dear reader!).

On every other day, she is expected to do that stuff for herself.

This is the brilliance of the plan -- she gets to FEEL special, like she has a day off etc. but our actions don't really change much at all. The cost to me on that day is the same as it was on every other day prior to the regime change! But now, NOW, on every OTHER day, I at least have a CHANCE that she'll focus and change her behavior a bit.

Sheer, loving, behavior-enhancing brilliance.

The Lion in Lamb's Clothing

I'm always surprised when I find out that a friend is anti-gay marriage.

I think I just move through the world thinking that people believe the way I do.

Regarding gay marriage, I'm not naive. I'm not a "marriage-only" type of lesbian. I'd be fine with it simply being my civil right. I'm a strong advocate of dividing church and state, and I think that we should have civil and religious aspects to marriage anyway. Furthermore, I'm libertarian enough to let someone with strong religious beliefs that tell them that gay marriage is immoral be.

Live and let live, I say.

So in the past couple of weeks, I've been sort of blind-sighted by first a student and then a friend who told me that they are anti-gay marriage.

Well, the friend said it more respectfully than the student: "That is a conversation that you and I shouldn't have. . . "

And then she went on to tell me that she puts me in a different camp.

Which I didn't understand at all, and then didn't follow up with a question.

It's funny. As liberal and libertarian as I am, I can't really let this one go. Do they really think that I don't deserve the same rights as every other citizen?

How does one get beyond this particular difference?

How To Make The Winter Bearable, Part 1

Build a backyard skating rink!
Why you ask?
Check out Jack Falla's explanation:
The question of why to build a rink has less to do with a career in hockey than with the pure joy of skating and playing. Or, as my daughter Tracey, then eight years old, said one morning when Barbara asked her if she wanted to sign up for figure skating lessons at the town rink: "No. I want to have my own fun. Not somebody else's fun." In the matter of personal recreation and casual sport, we find it more enjoyable to descend the evolutionary ladder, moving away from organization and mass participation toward individuality and spontaneity. A backyard rink is for pick-up hockey games wherein fairness and justice are built-in by the players, not tacked on by striped-shirted authority. It's a safe place for a child to take those first shuffling and hesitant learn-to-skate strides (as a generation of family and neighborhood children have on our rink). It's a place for my solitary early morning skates and for our occasional Saturday night skating parties for family and friends where shinny with a frozen tennis ball is followed by a hot chocolate or a cold beer. We build our rink for the best reason of all. For the fun of it.

2541

So, the other day, Cousin and I were hanging out and listening to 89.3, The Current.

For those of you not in our listening area, I encourage you to tune in to this gem online. The music is just great. A nice mix of old and new, encouraging you, subtly, to listen to stuff that is out of your comfort range.

I was spacing out when Cousin noted the song they were playing (2541) by reminding me that the band (Husker Du) was local to Minneapolis and that the two lead singers, Grant Hart and Bob Mould, were openly gay, and that the song must be referring to some Minneapolis address, and where was it?

We both became a bit obsessed with both its location and the history of the band. I drove up and down the streets near The Wedge looking for twenty-five-forty-one's.

There are at least three in the near-Uptown area.

Only one that I saw was a rental.

Neither Hart nor Mould admit that they were ever together, but the song is romantic and naive and haunting and both happy and sad and it insinuates that they did not part amicably. An online biography claims that "Hart and Mould were also developing a debilitating rivalry. At the end of 1987, the group imploded; according to different sources, Hart either quit or was fired because of his heroin addiction."

Interestingly, a little Cousin-history fits in well here. Their last show was in Kansas City and they were scheduled to play in Omaha the next night. They broke up and, POOF! no show.

Cousin had tickets.

I was SO not as much of a rock star as her in high school.

Blogger Moms: Shills for Swag

I wonder if I talk about how much Big likes beer in this blog, will Surly invite me to their brewery. . .

November 15, 2009 los angeles times http://www.latimes.com
Blogging moms wooed by food firms
As food makers lavish trips and goodies on parenting bloggers, critics see a shrewd marketing ploy.
By P.J. Huffstutter and Jerry Hirsch

'Mommy blogger'
[PICTURE OMITTED]
Andrea Deckard, a stay-at-home mom in Monroe, Ohio, points to a post on her Mommy Snacks blog. Both Frito-Lay and Nestle have brought her to Los Angeles this year to be entertained and learn about their products. (Samantha Grier / Dayton (Ohio) Daily News / September 12, 2008)

Reporting from Los Angeles and Fort Wayne, Ind. - On most days, Andrea Deckard can be found in her home office, digging through stacks of coupons and grocery receipts for money saving tips and recipes that she can share with readers of her Mommy Snacks blog.

That is, when the stay-at-home mom isn't being wined and dined by giant food companies.

Earlier this year, Frito-Lay flew her to Los Angeles to meet celebrities such as model Brooke Burke and the Spice Girls' Mel B, while pitching her on its latest snack ad campaign.

More recently, Nestle paid to put her and 16 other so-called "mommy bloggers" -- and one daddy blogger -- up at the posh Langham Huntington hotel in Pasadena, treated them to a private show at the Magic Castle in Hollywood and sent packages of frozen Omaha Steaks to their families to tide them over while the women were away learning all about the company's latest product lines.

In return, Deckard and her virtual sisterhood filed Twitter posts raving about Nestle's canned pumpkin, Wonka candy and Juicy Juice drinks.

"People have accused us of being corporate shills," said Deckard, a Monroe, Ohio, mother of three whose junkets have also included a free trip to Frito-Lay's Texas headquarters. Deckard, noting that she is up front with her readers about such trips, said they are educational for her and her fans, and "just fun."

Besides, she added, "it's not like I sold my soul for a chocolate bar."

Others aren't so sure. As food companies big and small scramble to woo parents-turned-bloggers, nutrition activists worry that the food industry is funding an advertising campaign for its products without consumers realizing it.

"This is very shrewd marketing," said Barbara Moore, chief executive of Shape Up America, an obesity-fighting nonprofit group. "The expectation that the industry players have is that people they are wining and dining will write about their products positively."

Free-flowing wine and buffet tables laden with crudites are now common features of a company-sponsored function for bloggers. Some companies are even offering free kitchen appliances, vacations, groceries and enough fruity snacks to feed a neighborhood's worth of kids.

The growing trend is fueling legal and social debate over how bloggers disclose what goodies they get. New guidelines unveiled last month by the Federal Trade Commission say bloggers must divulge financial or product compensation they get in exchange for writing about a company's products. The regulations are set to go into effect Dec. 1.

But critics worry that the guidelines are too vague and will hold bloggers to a different, or more stringent, standard than traditional media outlets. They say the FTC isn't being clear about what material needs to be disclosed and doesn't specify how these disclosures must be made.

"They're treating blogging like it's pornography," said Elisa Camahort Page, co-founder of the online community group BlogHer. "They think you'll know unethical blogging when you see it."

Whatever one may think of mommy bloggers, there has never been a better time to be a parent with Internet access. An estimated 42 million women in the U.S. take part in social media services each week, and 55% of them are regularly reading, writing or responding to blogs, according to a 2009 survey by BlogHer.

In some ways, this marketing push has been happening for years: Companies hawking a variety of goods, from diamonds to digital cameras, have been eager to get parent bloggers to write posts that tout their products.

But recently, these bloggers say, food companies have upped the ante, bombarding them with free trips to corporate kitchens and mountains of edible swag.

Starbucks, eager to get working parents drinking its Via instant coffee, sent limousines to shuttle bloggers in New York City for a private lunch with executives. They left with bags stuffed with coffee and offers of bottomless future refills.

Fast-food purveyor Taco Bell flew a group of bloggers from Maryland, Michigan and Missouri to California for a retreat this spring, paid for their lodging and let them spend the day creating new taco and burrito concoctions.

Kraft Foods curried favor with mommy bloggers by bringing some to Los Angeles for the Grilled Cheese Invitational, in an effort to get online parents hungry for cheese.

The rationale is pure economics. The food industry -- from restaurants to supermarkets and manufacturers -- has seen sales slide during the recession and is looking for new ways to reach customers. And the people online they want are parents.

It's a strategy that recalls post-World War II ad campaigns, in which women touted the benefits of certain laundry soaps and the household brands that would make them a domestic goddess.

"They handle the family budget," said Amanda Vega, an industry consultant who specializes in social media and public relations. "People read them and believe them, because they're easy to identify with."

They also rarely are critical. Christine Young, owner of the From Dates to Diapers blog, has a closet full of free baby products she never liked. She hasn't mentioned them in her blog.

They're still there, sitting on the shelves, waiting to be donated.

"My business is not to bash companies," said Young, 32, who lives in the Sacramento area. "My business is to create buzz for the products and services we enjoy."

That philosophy has created a rift in the parental blogosphere, between those who take freebies and those who don't. And companies have learned that backlash over corporate pampering can quickly turn explosive.

The recent Nestle trip was designed to let the bloggers "get a better feel for Nestle" in exchange for consumer input, said organizer Becky Chao, director of the company's Moms With Kids Insights program.

Nestle set up a Twitter tag and created a website with pictures of the invited mom and dad bloggers to encourage them to talk to their readers.

And the company intentionally made its recent event a lavish one "to make the bloggers feel comfortable while they were here, away from their families," Chao said.

But critics of the company countered that the event was a public relations ploy in reaction to an ongoing boycott of Nestle for marketing baby milk formula as a substitute for breast feeding in developing countries.

In fact, before the trip, critics reached out to the bloggers invited to California and urged them to not go.

No one canceled.

As the event got underway, the online conversation quickly turned into an online battlefield. The company's Twitter channel was so inundated with anti-Nestle messages, and nasty accusations aimed at the attendees, that it was essentially shut down. The company, caught off guard, let the parents field questions aimed at executives until finally stepping into the fray.

Afterward, thousands of people joined Facebook groups dedicated to boycotting the company, according to critics of the company.

"I do think they should have done a bit of due diligence in researching the company before choosing to be associated with them and to accept a free trip from them," said Annie Urban, author of the PhD in Parenting blog and the person credited with kicking off the Nestle brouhaha.

"It is one thing to cluelessly pick up a Nestle chocolate bar in the store, but it is another thing altogether to accept an all-expenses-paid trip and agree to have your face and name on a Nestle Family Bloggers page."

As for those who just say no, they fret about their credibility being tainted. Tales of unreported luxury suites and cross-country trips made Liz Gumbinner cringe so much that she helped launch Blog With Integrity. The goal is to rally support for demarcating the line between personal observations and paid posts.

"It's easy to paint everyone as product whores," said Gumbinner, 41, who lives in Brooklyn and has run her Mom101 blog since 2006. "They're not. I think sometimes they're just naive."

Sleep Issues

So I've talked about food issues here, but I haven't discussed (publicly in this manner) much about sleep.

We are sleep-freaks at our house.

So much so, that the neighbors gossip, tease and make fun of us in all sorts of ways.

We don't mind.

A few years ago, for her seventh birthday or so, Nine (then Seven) got an American Girl Doll for her birthday. It was Kit, the depression-era girl who also came with a lovely set of books that introduced at all that cool econ-nerd depression-Era ideas and terms like Keynes, FDR, WPA and the CCC.

At least that's how they sold a $100 doll to me anyway.

We noticed within the first week that her mood, by the end of the day, was deteriorating at an incredibly rapid rate. She was getting crankier and shorter with us by the day.

Then BioMom noticed a correlation between her moods and the rapidity through which she was moving through the book set, despite the fact that we hadn't seen her reading much during the day between school and activities.

Then we figured it out.

She was getting up at 4 a.m. to read the darn things!

And that didn't go away. Overtime we had to give in to the horrible fact that we had a (gasp!) morning person on our hands!

Both BioMom and I mourn this difference. We are both late nighters, relishing the spoils of life that occur after sundown, and preferring to sleep later into the day, avoiding the early hours if possible.
She always gets up early, but we can predict with frightening accuracy how good or bad the day will be relative to a reported wake-time that is greater or less-than 6 a.m.

And we know that after a special occasion that warrants a late bedtime (anything after 7:30 or 8) that there will be several days of a 4-5 a.m. wake time: the later she stays up, the earlier she gets up.

This has changed our behavior dramatically over the years. All summer long her friends would be out running through the neighborhood at hours that approached and exceeded double-digits while she was snoozing away in her bed.

We turn down play-date requests after 6 p.m.

We don't usually share babysitters and go out with a couple, unless we can separate the kids at bedtime.

Nine has evened out (getting up between 6:30 and 7:00) recently -- perhaps in her tween years she is preparing for the hibernation that we are hoping for in her teens -- until recently.

What changed?

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

Who can blame her?

The Dad Question (Revisited)

On Mondays I usually pick up Big and Sidekick's little sister from preschool. We are lucky that the younger two go together to the same school and the older two go together to the same K-8 school, so we can share rides.

When I went to pick up Big and Sidekick's little sister today at the end of their preschool day, one of the teachers came up to me to tell me about something that had happened that day.

They had been discussing family origin that day and had paid some attention to Sidekick's little sister who is adopted from China, noting that her parents, her "mom" and "dad" were from China.

The teacher then said that Big had asked where his "dad" came from.

The discussion was awkward and quite poorly planned.

The end of the day at that school is pure chaos, and picking up two little ones only compounds the issue. They are thrilled to be showing me the things they did that day, while simultaneously needing to get a drink, needing to pee, or gathering their things or saying their long and loving goodbyes to their friends while I am focusing on getting the (FOUR!) lunchboxes between the two of them, their backpacks, coats and extraneous (yet incredibly important-to-them as I have learned--the hard way--in the past as in "did you remember to bring home the crown I made in school today?" while I thought to myself "was that thing I threw away on the way to the car a CROWN?!?!?!") daily materials to found in each of their boxes.

I'm trying to focus on what the teacher is telling me while hearing "Baba. Baba. Baba. BABA!!! BABA!!!!! BABA!!!!!" at my ankles and Sidekick's sister reminding me that she needs her lunchbox.

"He asked where his DAD came from."

She repeated as if I hadn't heard.

I stopped and pushed back all of my incredulity at this woman, who I know to be loving and caring and sensitive, for not having the understanding to deal with this in a more nuanced way. We had been at this school before, five years ago now, and many of our lesbian-familied friends had gone there as well, so it is not as though it was the first time they'd dealt with families of our ilk.

I paused with her for a moment and as she was being swept away by the children demanding her attention, I pulled her back to the conversation:

"Please avoid using the term 'Dad'. He doesn't have one. And we will be using the term 'donor' to him. . . "

"When he is ready?" she interrupted.

"Yes. . . . "

She was swept away then and I noted, a little louder to be heard over the end-of-day din "Or just say Irish-German and let it go with that."

It was awkward and strange and, even now that I am thinking about it, they shouldn't really refer to Sidekick's sister's biological parents as her "mom" and "dad". But I was not composed enough to have said all of that at that moment.

All of this made me realize again that we can't just move through the world in an unthinking way. Big hadn't started asking questions yet, so we hadn't really thought about it much. Although he does still, often, insist that I am a boy which, I think is sort of truish, but may be just denial on his part. It made me realize that even in the most liberal, accepting and loving setting that we may have to do some education around this topic.

So I turned to Lesbian Dad and her posts and her lists of resources for some help on this. You'll note that I've added some resources to this blog (to the right of this post) and links to some of her stuff. She also links to Mombian and a particularly well-crafted posts related to kids and schools. Lesbian Dad is truly a great resource for all of us out there and I hope that you look to her when you need some help like I have. I'll be putting together a list for our preschool in the hopes that they'll be better able to accommodate families like ours in the future and better able to address our kids' natural curiosities.

Check out THIS Perspective: Queer Kids of Queer Parents Against Gay Marriage

Queer Kids of Queer Parents Against Gay Marriage

As young queer people raised in queer families and communities, we reject the liberal gay agenda that gives top priority to the fight for marriage equality. The queer families and communities we are proud to have been raised in are nothing like the ones transformed by marriage equality. This agenda fractures our communities, pits us against natural allies, supports unequal power structures, obscures urgent queer concerns, abandons struggle for mutual sustainability inside queer communities and disregards our awesomely fabulous queer history.

Cousin's Mom as Guest Blogger

Your Mom and Aunt Betty read those Little House books aloud to their kids. Did you know that? It may even have been before [your sister] was born. My Mom used to buy the books - one for each - and they'd trade them around between the two of them. I never read any of them. I think [two of Cousin's brothers] glommed on to them through school or maybe the library and read them on their own.

I guess genes must be awfully strong. There are so many times in your blog it reminds me of your Mother. She had a very strong interest in plants, trees, flowers, etc like you do. She knew every bird's song when she'd hear it and could imitate a lot of them, so they'd whistle back and forth and have a conversation.

She and Betty did a lot together with their kids - a lot like you and [Cousin] are doing. How lucky can you get?!?

I loved your thoughts about winter. Even here in Nebraska, I have feelings like that in November and then it's never as bad as I thought it would be.

Love you lots,

Cousin's Mom

The Long Winter

So Nine and I are reading The Long Winter by Laura Ingalls Wilder together.

I've had to get a little proprietary with books with her. A year or so ago, we had started Chasing Vermeer, the first book of the series by Blue Balliet (which Cousin pointed us to -- thank you!) one evening. BioMom and I usually take turns, one putting Nine to bed while the other puts Big to bed.

As an aside, Big is usually slightly more difficult to put to bed and, well, let's just say that the reading material is somewhat less interesting. That is not to say that the one who gets Nine has won the lottery or anything, Big is a hoot to put to bed, it's just different, that's all.

So anyway, it was at least a day or so until I got back to her and Chasing Vermeer, only to find that she had bolted ahead without me and eighty or so pages later, the plot was now beyond my comprehension.

Now I make her piggy-swear that our books are OUR books.

So, we're reading The Long Winter together now.

I have only read parts of these books both in my own experience as a kid, and now, as Nine has dabbled in them (not consecutively) both in her own personal pursuit and through school requirements. So I had definitely not spent any real time with Ingalls Wilder as an author, nor had I really watched the show more than a little bit here and there as a kid.

Grandma and Grandpa had bought us tickets to see the Little House on the Prairie the musical a few weeks ago (their daughter -BioMom's eldest sister- was involved with a charity that linked a silent auction/dinner with the show, so we were a few intended beneficiaries of their generosity). Melissa Gilbert was playing Ma, so it was extra special for us.

And got me thinking, as I was watching the show and sort of beginning to nod off: What the hell is this about?

Then BioMom whispered into my ear: I bet if you haven't read these stories, that this wouldn't make much sense.

Not being from Minnesota, I tend to spend a bit more time hunkering down for what I perceive as the impending seven months that are about to descend on us. I have been known to put the lawn chairs in in September, purchase too many pairs of gloves, sweaters and snow pants, and tune up the snow blower a bit too eagerly.

There is something about the winter here that you have to wrap your head around.

Particularly among those who have just moved from Washington DC (I still perceive myself to have JUST moved from there despite the fact that it is coming on ten years that I have now resided in this hearty country).

Growing up in Nebraska, too, is a far cry from this. Even my own experiences in Willa Cather country, and seeing the Louis and Clark trail could not prepare me to spell prairie correctly on the first try or know the difference in the temperature based on the sound of snow cracking under my feet as BioMom does.

So, I thought, why not read A Long Winter?

So we started.

And I read this about Laura and Carrie tramping through the prairie to town:

At first it was fun. It was rather like going into the jungle-picture in Pa's big green book. Laura pushed ahead between the thick clumps of grass-stems that gave way rustling and closed again behind Carrie. The millions of coarse grass-stems and their slender long leaves were greeny-gold and golden-green in their own shade. The earth was crackled with dryness underfoot, but a faint smell of damp lay under the hot smell of the grass. Just above Laura's head the grass-tops swished int eh wind, but down at their roots was a stillness, broken only where Laura and Carrie went wading through it.

And then this:

Laura looked at Pa and she knew he was listening too. The silence was as terrible as cold is. It was stronger than any sound. It could stop the water's lapping and the thin, faint ringing in Laura's ears. The silence was no sound, no movement, no thing; that was its terror. Laura's heart jumped and jumped, trying to get away from it.

And fell in love with its brilliance.

When I announced, however, my desire to work my way through the books consecutively, Nine sighed audibly.

I did not know I was on my own until she handed me a new "our book": So B. It by Sarah Weeks that she got from the library.

And the Batfamily

Captured on film in the height of their domesticity.

Fighting Crime in Gotham City

Batman, captured on film, seen speeding through the streets of Gotham City, 31 October, 2009.

Scholastic Books Update

They REVERSED their policy! Here's to buyer power!

Hypothesis: Sexism and Congratulations on New Baby!

Let me know if you think I'm right about this.

There is research from around the world that parents tend to favor having boys. For example, we know that parents are more likely to have a second or third child if their first and second are girls.*

Recently, a friend of mine had her 20 week sonogram to find out the sex of her baby.

It is a girl!!

Around the office I heard lots of congratulatory remarks, one of which I have heard before but only now made this connection. Here's the remark:

It doesn't matter what the sex is, as long as its healthy!

I am wondering if people are more likely to say this when they hear from the prospective parent that it is a girl.

What do you think?

*Here is some relevant research:
Dahl, Gordon B. and Enrico Moretti. 2008. “The Demand for Sons.” Review of Economic Studies, 75(4): 1085-1120.

Emerson, Patrick M. and André P. Souza. 2007. “Child Labor, School Attendance, and Intrahousehold Gender Bias in Brazil.” World Bank Economic Review, 21(2): 301-316.

Duflo, Esther. 2003. “Grandmothers and Granddaughters: Old-Age Pensions and Intrahousehold Allocation in South Africa.” World Bank Economic Review, 17(1): 1-25.

DRAT!

So yesterday at preschool a teacher was reading a book to a group of kids.

She got to the word DRAT! when she paused, and pondered, aloud, whether or not the kids knew of that word.

I bet that you all don't know what this word means! Do any of you know this word?

One child, whose name will be left out of this post for reasons of confidentiality (suffice it to say that he is one big kid) responded:

Is it like JESUS CHRIST!!!?

National Writing Day

Circumstances beyond my control have enabled me to, at least in part, write over the anniversary of my mom's death (Oct 20, 1978).

First, my cousin had her first, a boy, 23 years later.

Second, I am now able to participate in National Writing Day!

Check out their gallery of writing!

Scholastic censors book because main character has same-sex parents

Scholastic has decided to censor Lauren Myracle’s new book Luv Ya Bunches (Abrams/Amulet, 2009) because they say it failed to “meet its vetting process because it contains offensive language and same-sex parents of one the main characters.”

Bushwacking for Beavers!

While Upnorth (I'm adopting this as one word not unlike how Newyorkers might say Upstate), we found this awesome beaver dam while on a hike!

The beavers had, incredibly, created an entire pond that, apparently, wasn't there before. You could see signs for blue diamond cross-country ski trails nailed to trees that were flooded by the water. Here's a picture of the den from a different perspective. The above picture was what I will call in front and below it, while the below picture was above and, sort of, behind it.



Here's the den.

There was beaver scat everywhere which we couldn't help but pick at with sticks only to find bones, bugs and all other sorts of goodies that had been through the beaver's digestive system. Big and Nine were enthralled.

As a souvenir we took a particularly gnawed-on trunk that must weigh at least eight pounds. You can see from this picture that it was gnawed on at both ends AND in the middle. Big carried it in to school today for show-and-tell!

Do You Have Food Rules?

Cousin pointed this out to me, a blog about a New York Times article by Michael Pollan on your food Do's and Dont's, inviting people to write in their own (sometimes bizarre) rules about food.

I'm sure I always had food rules, but they have certainly manifested themselves with kids around.

Like when it is 8:30 a.m. and they want a candy bar?

Or when they want their fourth bowl of cereal or sixth plate of spaghetti?

For me, food usually falls into one of two categories. It is either a) a means to an end: my stomach is yelling at me so I put something in there to quiet it down or I am wanting to go on a long bike ride and need energy or b) it is an event: Coffee over a book looking out a window, homemade blueberry pie on vacation, or a cheese-filled burger at the local Jucy-Lucy joint.

Same Age, Similar Pose

They might look similar, but whoa. They don't ACT the same.

Stealing Time Up North

We were lucky enough this weekend to be able to head up to Ely (pron: "elee" for all of you non-Minnesotans) again for a long weekend at Camp Du Nord.





As was the case last summer, it was so incredibly peaceful and connecting and spiritual to be able to get away that far north, to focus on each other and to enjoy nature. The camp is located on an incredible lake (Burnside) to its east and amazing hiking and skiing trails to its west, all along the Boundary Waters Canoe Area.



I was completely regretting our reservations on Thursday, the day we made the 4.5 hour trek to the Northland because I had traveled to and from the SOUTHERN part of the state that very day, and the kids both had colds.



On the way up, Big sneezed into his arm and exclaimed "I have some bless-you on my shirt!!"



Once we were there, though, I remembered why we had done it. There is just something about taking time away from your home and your regularly scheduled activities that creates a space to open up, relax, and focus.

It's not just that though. The camp surrounds you with like-minded-people who are there to do the same, and that shared experience creates something bigger than the sum of its parts.



The camp also inadvertently teaches the kids values that we just can't do all on our own. The camp is run by an incredibly committed staff that go out of their way to make your stay special, and we found out on the last day that, due to budgetary reasons, they volunteered their time for the entire weekend.

It was amazing to tell Nine this after she had kvetched her way through the end-of-weekend cleanup process at which she balked at doing the recycling, earning her the job of cleaning up the bathroom as well, which she clearly thought that she was above.

Alas.

There is always time to teach humility, and if we can't do it, life certainly will.

First Woman to Win the Nobel Prize in Economics!

Here are some links to blogs and other commentaries on Elinor Ostrom's Nobel Prize:

Econospeak

The American Academy of Political and Social Science

Greg Mankiw

Free Potatoes

This morning Nine and I were enjoying our breakfast at Starbucks before school when we met a plant geneticist.

I love meeting interesting people, so we started talking. He was passionate about potatoes and explained that he does for potatoes what other geneticists do for apples in creating the lovely varieties that we all enjoy like Honeycrisp.

I asked him what the potato equivalent to the Honeycrisp was, and he ran out to his truck and brought in a bag of P1995_R18 (or some such reference number) potatoes which he subsequently cut open to show me the beautiful red outside and combined yellow inside which he reported was high in vitamins C and A as well as potassium.

Then he gave me the whole bag!

I then had to inform him that I would be talking about potatoes in my ECO308 class this week as the classic example of the so-called Giffen Good!

If you'd like a free potato or two, stop by the econ office.

If they are a true Giffen good, I suspect people will demand fewer of them as the price falls to zero.

Chalk One Up to the Obvious Category

Lesbians are more likely to be kicked out of military due to the don't ask don't tell policy.

Interesting Graph

Here is an interesting graph about support for gay marriage by age and state via Taggert over at A Random Walk.
The age relationship is obvious, particularly to those of us who interact with the (ahem) younger crowd (as in: You're gay? So what?) but I'd like to see how the authors ordered the states. Obviously it moves from liberal to conservative at some level, but by what measure?

Cry-Ahh-Aye-Ahh-IN

So yesterday was a first in my career.

A student left my office crying, and continued to cry while sitting in the first row in class.

I felt bad when it happened.

And it is certainly my fault in part.

Mostly though, I felt bad, because my reaction to said student, which I will describe below, felt super familiar. Like, maybe I react like that to the kids. Often. A reaction the likes of "JESUS CHRIST HOW COULD YOU BE SO INANE?" OR "COULD YOU POSSIBLY WASTE ANY MORE OF MY TIME??"

THAT is why I felt bad.

Like SHIT. Do I make my kids want to cry when they act like, well, like children?

Not specifically because he (yes, I said "he") was crying... But that, and the fact that this had never happened to me, certainly contributed.

So here's what happened.

This class is our department's intermediate microeconomic theory class. It ends up filling up with mostly seniors who, until now, didn't know they wanted to be econ majors and only just now decided to go ahead with it because, well, frankly, they only need two or three more classes.

So, already, you can see, that the courses are not exactly populated with forward thinkers or planners of any kind.

And, for those of you, kind readers, who are NOT recovering econ majors or the like, this class is (or should be) notoriously difficult. It (should) require the student to take (and use) a very basic amount of calculus, extensive algebra, and their noggin. Meaning: there should be problems that require higher level thinking that maybe, just maybe, builds on stuff they have learned in previous classes (!).

I know, I know. I expect too much.

We don't do this very well in our department. And by "this" I mean build a major. We end up being mainly a service to the college of business, offering introductory macro and micro classes to those business students who need the classes to fill in their general education requirements on the way to their accounting or finance certifications.

This is all to say that the students here don't really see economics as a viable major until they are well on their way out. And that is to say that whereas in other universities and colleges, students take these intermediate classes in their sophomore years and then can actually USE the material in their applied courses (like labor or international, for example).

So, I'm in a pickle from the beginning as to what to do with the class and how to pitch it to students who haven't taken a derivative or solved for a variable in three years.

So here we are, fall 2009.

The students have a problem set that WAS due last week, but because I'm a softy, I gave them an extra week.

Said kid comes into my office several times for help on this. I'm usually rushed, and so I'm sure I have an air about me that says something to the effect of, this better be important, even though I don't mean to, and he comes in my office hours so I should be available to him blah blah blah.

Anyway. Yesterday it dawns on me that maybe I should have a little rudimentary calculus tutorial for him (and the rest of them in, literally, the hour following my office hours). So I get into it. Really basic stuff like -- if f(x) = a + bX, then the derivative f'(x) is b. That sort of stuff.

So get this, I finish that up and he says something to the effect of, why are you waisting our time???

So I literally pause, and start in on attempting to describe my day to him. Any of you out there with kids and a commute gets exactly what I'm getting at here. I'm all dude, I have two kids and X amount of free time, and can't you see me eating my lunch (which consists of literally a piece of chicken left over from last night's dinner. No bread or lettuce or condiments or anything of the like because I didn't have time to pack it this morning because I was herding cattle trying to get myself and my daughter out of the house before 7 a.m. and, by the way, I think I turned in this class' textbook into the book drop at the library because I was so out of my mind, and rather than being particularly concerned about that, I'm more concerned about the added task on my list because I'll have to go to the library later this week to retrieve said textbook) right here in front of you because I literally have three classes in a row after this god-awful session of office hours and five minutes between classes??????

Okay, we move on.

We move on to DIRECTLY applying a problem FROM THE HOMEWORK set that looks EXACTLY like the one described above that he DIDN'T know how to take the derivative of MOMENTS before.

So then, we get to what is legitimately the hardest problem on the problem set (#4) which basically asks them to recall knowledge from previous classes and do a lot of detailed algebra.

I get going and get to a logical point to pause and check to see if they are with me.

He gets a little, what we say in our house, tone with the following comment: When you were doing this problem for me last week you got a COMPLETELY different answer than the one you just did.

I about explode.

Nine may as well have dumped soggy garbage over my newly handwashed floor.

I'm thinking: IF YOU WERE HERE LAST WEEK ON THIS PROBLEM WHY AM I DOING IT AGAIN???? TALK ABOUT WASTE OF EFFING TIME?!?!

I pause, then, trying not to be defensive, I look at his notes and compare to the work I had just done. I mean, dude, I can make a mistake. But what I find is this, the two "radically different" answers:

P* = (a-c)/(d+b) versus P* = -(c-a)/(b+d)

It's like the flip side of a coin, or looking at a word in a mirror. They're just the negatives of each other.

I must have sounded enormously frustrated as I (probably not very gently) pointed this out to him, possibly as though it were the most obvious thing in the world and, again, with an undertone of who-is-wasting-whose-time now sort of thing.

I paused again. Quickly reversed the problem so that it matched his notes and sent him on his way, only to find tears coming down his cheeks in class.

Time Flies

It's the fourth week of the semester already.

That's what I love and hate about the fall. September is always the month to love and hate: back to school. Then you blink and it is Halloween. BioMom and I just ran down the October calendar and it is all bar crawls, high school reunions, football games, niece's plays, and Halloween parties.

And then POOF, it'll be Thanksgiving and then another POOF and I'll be knee-deep in finals.

Big is finally warming up to school, although he continues to protest each-and-every morning. We're just thankful to our neighbor's tom-boy whom he adores and is actually willing to get into the car with in the morning without holding hands and feet out so that one cannot even fold his body into his carseat.

Although today he asked in a panic "WHERE IS [Sidekick's Sister] going??? Where am I going with [Sidekick's Sister]????????!!!!???"

I went do a little new-parent Montessori overview last week and learned that they love him there.

Him? My [Big]?

Yes! He is WONDERFUL. He has a really warm and compassionate heart.

[Big]? You know my son is [Big], right?

Yes! He is so talkative! You must talk with him all the time!

This I knew. He talks non-stop.

But the hitting. . . Does he hit here? Is he, um, aggressive at all?

[Big]? No! Never. He is wonderful.

Meanwhile, I am experiencing my first semester in 3 and 1/2 years in which I have two entire days in which to actually work.

I'm teaching tomorrow and not only are the lectures prepped, but I've graded the problem set that was turned in on Thursday, entered the grades, AND started learning about TWO new potential research topics.

WTF? I have a professional self?

Okay off for now. I'm listening to Big and Sidekick's Sister playing in the living room. I think I'll always miss that one-year-old Big, but (whew) it is nice to be relieved of the serious life-or-death parenting.

First Day Photos

These are a bit late as we are now in the third week of school, but Nine bounced into fourth grade while Big reluctantly, clingingly and sometimes even angrily went to preschool.

Dadism

Apologies for the lack of posts. School started for 75 percent of us and that has really gotten the better of my creative energy.

The other night though, a late night conversation with Nine could not NOT be comment on in this forum.

She was talking with BioMom and said that kids at school were asking her what it was like to not have a dad, and if she missed it.

BioMom asked her how she responded and she said that she had (quote) never really considered it.

!

She explained that her life is just her life and that she doesn't know about having a dad so how could she miss or not miss it?

And then she went on to say that if she thinks about it at all, it is not like she thinks of having a different person in her life, more that she thinks about me being a man, or a dad.

That was the first time I really made the connection between being GLBT and being the spawn of a GLBT person.

Heretofore, I really thought that the two experiences were, strangely, quite different. I mean, chances are that kids of GLBT people are not (usually) GLBT themselves. There may be an analogous 'coming out' process as in "oh, by the way, my parents are gay" but even that is (I expect) a distinctly different experience than "oh, by the way, I am gay." Not harder or easier, just different.

So, this was a bit of a surprise to me. Maybe just a surprise because I hadn't expected it, I don't know. But it reminded me of those first feelings I had, possibly in the early teenage years, when I began to recognize a pattern in the sex of the people that were showing up in my nascent fantasy life.

One of my immediate reactions to this was that if I were a boy (at that time) life would be a whole lot easier.

We will see what all this brings but so far Nine seems incredibly put together about herself and her life. Her friends seem to trust her enough to ask questions and we're lucky that so far she feels trusting enough to ask us questions.

14 Days: The Downside of Living with a Young Woman

These pictures, via Cousin of her "Days-Until-School Paper Chain", exemplify our current, collective mood.


Upon seeing Cousin's paper chain, her husband said to her that it was "dissapointing."

In her shock disbelief, she wondered "to whom" to herself.

Then she asked him to explain what he meant, and he said something to the effect of it being dissapointing that their summer is almost over.

I'm with her. I mean, how long can a summer last?

We've done nearly everything that the Twin Cities can offer and they are sick of it all: NOT THE [amazing and extraordinary, filled with super slides, a sandbox and popsicles] WATERPARK AGAIN!!!!

But my exhaustion stems from a different source.

BioMom did a bit of internet searching last night about mood swings in nine-year olds and found the following:

Sara, age 9, had always been a thoughtful and cooperative child. Suddenly she seemed like a different person. She began talking back and flat-out ignoring her mom's attempts to get her to finish her homework, get off the phone, or do anything else. Her mom was bewildered and a little frightened. Who was this rude stranger who was impersonating her sweet-tempered daughter?

What to Expect
Increasingly, preteens are exposed to stress and demands that can lead to moods and behaviors guaranteed to challenge any parent's patience. But because moods actually reflect a state of mind or feeling, it can be hard to identify them as such. What you see instead are the symptoms: being self-absorbed, stubborn, forgetful, or grumpy. It's not always easy, then, to respond in helpful ways.

Moods tend to take hold when your child feels either put out or put upon. When events don't go as planned or as hoped, or your child feels neglected, it's only natural that he may feel humiliated, angry, jealous, or even powerless, and as a result, want to retreat inside himself for a time. The bad behavior that often follows is usually an attempt to regain ground and restore self-respect. You are often the target because your child knows you won't reject him for the behavior, even if you may not like it.

Ugh. This describes our Nine to a tee! I've found myself lately thinking that with us, her brother and her friends, it is her way or the highway. . . And getting REALLY frustrated with her.

This on top of her seemingly careless absentmindedness, one cannot help but imagine it all purposeful.

What do they suggest?

3 Ways to Respond

* Be understanding. Although it can be hard not to take your child's bad mood personally, remind yourself that she may not have intended to upset you.

* Get to the bottom of it. Rather than becoming annoyed or overly cheerful, acknowledge your child's bad mood and ask her about it. Say, "You seem a bit quiet/touchy. It's not like you. Has something happened?" If your child is younger and declines your overtures, encourage her to open up. But if your child is older, realize she might prefer her privacy. You might say, "That's fine, but if you decide differently, I'm here to listen."

* Give more time and attention. It's tempting to steer clear of your child when she's in a bad mood, but that's when she needs your love and acceptance the most.

Zuckers

We had the best trip to New York City.

More pictures to come, but if you're there, go here for the best bagels ever.

Balloons: Can Helium Improve My Attitude as Well?

So this summer has been the Summer of Cousin.

For those of you that stay home with children 24-7, you know how simultaneously wonderful and challenging it can be.

I have been relishing, for example, this phase that Big is in where the following types of exchanges happen:

Me: Hey [Big], do you want to ride your bike up to the park and go swimming?

Big: Sure! [In this easy-breezy sort of way that tells me that he's just really up for anything I suggest].

In stark contrast is his sister who, just today, sitting in front of a cupcake, afire with a cute little specialized candle balancing atop the melting frosting, awaiting a blow-out from BioMom who turned #*@&Q*(& [number classified] today, with a face that was more cranky than a college student with a hangover sitting in front of a popquiz.

I don't think I have EVER heard "sure" come out of her mouth unless I had said something to the effect of, "hey, could you go answer the door? I think it is Nick Jonas!" and only because I followed that up with "And he is carrying a bag from Sebastian Joe's that looks suspiciously like several pints of ice cream!"

ONLY THEN, I suspect, would a casual "sure!" slip out of her mouth.

The one thing that has transmogrified all of this into the best-summer-ever is that I have been able to commiserate with Cousin in all of this summer-parenting-business.

Oh, and the vodka gimlets mentioned in a previous post.

They have certainly improved my attitude.

In any case, Cousin and I are of the same parenting ilk.

Maybe it was because we were both raised by cranky, overworked, underpaid, prewar parents.

So the other day, Cousin related this story to me, that made me have some hope in our ability to empathize with our young, bored, over-privileged children.

They had gone to Trader Joe's which, for children, is, I suspect, like going to any other grocery story (the culinary equivalent to adult-speak in Peanuts: Bwah bwah bwaa ba bwaah) except that the check out line promises the choice of any color helium-filled balloon.

Big, at his best, will often ask for two: one for him and one for his sister.

Cousin's eldest is a boy of seven who is usually quite composed and mature in a first-kid-living-up-to-parents'-too-high-expectations sort of way. Sure, he is goofy and silly and all that, but he doesn't seem seven.

So they got all the way home, two balloons intact when, upon trying to untwist them in order to transport them from car to home, one escaped out the open door, Cousin jumping and reaching after the slippery ribbon as it curled up into the sky.

Her boy broke down in unexpected tears.

That's when, as Cousin retold the story, I heard level of empathy out of her that I hadn't heard in a while, we parents of the end-of-summer dulldroms.

She said to me "I don't know if he was just exhausted and at his wit's end, or if accidentally letting go and losing your balloon is just that sad, regardless of your age."

Isn't that cute?

I guess there is hope for us yet to make it through to the start of school without wringing their necks (too much).

The Codependent Reader

So, it turns out that I am a codependent reader.

During Angela's Ashes, I was always STARVING.

I could go on (Cousin wrote an unpublishable sentence here that I had to erase, but you get the idea).

So, upon the recommendation of Cousin's mom, I'm reading Julie & Julia. Contrary to what you might think though, I am NOT interested in eating my way through Mastering the Art of French Cooking. The aspic chapter was enough enough to make me throw up a little in my mouth.

Instead though, I have taken up the author's penchant for vodka gimlets.

And, just like Julia and Eric, to be true, too many vodka gimlets.