February 19, 2008

Hey! You Do Too Much!

A couple of years ago there was a boy on one of my sons’ teams, and he was playing every sport offered that season. Often on Saturdays he’d go straight from the soccer game to his baseball game, and that still left lacrosse to do. He was a reasonably good athlete but his last name wasn’t Manning or Agassi so I couldn’t understand the pressure to practice and play three sports while trying to learn to add and subtract.

Then again, maybe I’m lazy. If each of my boys got to play unlimited sports, my fanny would never leave the minivan except to sit on hard metal bleachers or wash uniforms.

The Voice of Reason says the excess of activity is not limited to boys. The girls have softball, soccer, cheerleading, and she’s been fielding calls nightly from parents wanting her oldest to join yet another team. She’s refused.

Generally I limit the boys to one sport and one instrument per season.  This winter, however,  we banned winter sports entirely and it’s been the most enjoyable basketball season I never sat through. We didn’t have to attend games late on Friday nights or early on Saturday mornings. We were free to go to Auburn on weekends without coaches telling us where to be and what to do. We were constrained only by the guitar and drum schedules, which have been in place for years now and aren’t affected at the last minute by the weather.

How much is too much? Do people overschedule their children where you live? Are you guilty of doing so? If so, why, and what will it take to stop the madness? Or wait– are we in the minority for doing only a sport and an instrument?

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Three years ago in My Tiny Kingdom: You Vamp! 

February 14, 2008

Albert Einstein Needs Love, Too

Valentine’s Box by Drew

Will you feed this hungry scientist with loving comments?

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One year ago in My Tiny Kingdom: Nervous Life With Males

February 13, 2008

What Is Love, Anyway?

I overheard a woman at Jazzercise saying that her husband can’t stand Valentine’s Day. He also hates to say “I love you.”

His theory is that she ought to know he loves her– they’re married, right?

Well, that isn’t necessarily so. I know plenty of men who have cheated on their wives or abused them, physically or verbally. Marriage doesn’t always equal love.

That’s probably not this man’s situation. Perhaps he grew up in a family that didn’t show much affection, and it’s hard for him to bare his soul and say something gooey. Maybe they do care desperately for each other but just forget to say so.

If there’s anything Bill and I have learned over the last decade, it’s the importance of letting people know you care, out loud and often. When I visited my mom in the ICU after her ovarian cancer surgery, she was breathing with the aid of an oxygen mask and her lips were chapped. I found some Vaseline and put it on her lips and then left the tube on her bedside table so the nurse could reapply it later and keep her comfortable.

“Love you,” I told her as I left. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

I returned, and she died shortly after I arrived.

When I think back to her final days, I’m so thankful for those last words I can hardly stand it. Thank God I have that memory to cling to.

You don’t have to say “I love you.” You you can show it, too.

Bill and I do both. We say “I love you” plenty often. We don’t mind being gooey, or googly eyed, or touchy-feely.

But Bill goes further than simply telling me how he feels. He buys all the boys’ athletic equipment, including shoes, because he knows the choices and prices make me dizzy. He compliments my cooking and my ass. He brings me coffee in bed on the mornings he’s not exercising, and he tries to remember to cut his toenails in the bathroom instead of in the bed.

I thank Bill for doing the little things, like taking out the trash. When I see a recipe containing blue cheese, port or mushrooms, I cook it, because those are some of his favorite ingredients. I try to look him in the eyes and give him a smooch when he comes home from work, even if I’m juggling three pans on the stove, so he feels properly greeted.

These aren’t big gestures, but I believe they’re important. I could get hit by a bus tomorrow, and if that happens I want to die knowing that Bill was never in doubt about my feelings for him.

(As I was writing this column, I asked Bill to help me brainstorm ways we show our love other than saying “I love you.” He pondered the issue while buying groceries and cooking dinner so that I could get some writing done. Later we huddled up and exchanged notes. The exercise left us laughing, but feeling even more like a team. It turns out I’m much like a golden retriever, always supportive and fiercely loyal. If you mess with my husband, you’ve messed with me, and it’s going to take a while to get back in my good graces.

You might want to try the exercise with someone– it’s bound to brighten your day.)

What do you and your spouse/kids/partner/friends do to show you care? How important is it to you that someone says “I love you?”
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Listen to Howard Jones ask what love is. Which is cooler- the classic 80’s hair or his magic hands?

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Today’s was a really gooey post! Read this for some crankiness:Two years ago in My Tiny Kingdom: Return of the Babysitter Stealer

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Also welcome: tips on Wordpress + Youtube.  They don’t play together well.  I’ve lost my touch on making them compatible, and the Extreme Video plugin is giving me a fatal error.  Oh no!

February 11, 2008

Grammys Glamore Style

Bill turned on the Grammys in the middle of the show, forgetting the golden rule of Grammy Watching with kids: Thou shalt watch the Grammys only on Tivo, as musical acts are apt to gyrate clad only in underwear and bras in the name of art.

When he tuned in, Kanye West was in the middle of his performance. He wore a vest with glowing stripes and white sunglasses and had “Mama” etched into his buzzcut. Daft Punk was in the background providing electronica– they looked like astronauts playing pong. Pink smoke shot into the air.

Bill was confused by the TV scene, had never heard of Kanye and wondered what aliens had to do with the music.

He didn’t have much time to speculate.

The twins got their new Bibles during the late service at church today, and Drew was settled on the sofa engrossed in the story of Passover and peppering Bill with theological questions.

“Why did God say he’d kill the first-born child?” “What if the family put blood on the door but God didn’t see it?” “What if the oldest sons were twins and were born at the exact same time– would they both be killed?” “Do the Jews buy a live lamb when they celebrate Passover today?”

Bill tried to answer the questions, but Porter had decided that the parakeets, Feathers and Texas Ranger, needed exercise and would benefit from hearing music, so he’d carried them into the den to let them walk around on the carpet. Texas Ranger kept flying into the corner, or onto the curtain, and occasionally onto Bill’s stomach, which interfered with Bill’s attempts to recall Biblical history.

Finn was engrossed in the music and was unhappy with the chirping and Biblical talk interfering with a proper Grammy experience. He came downstairs where I was writing and complained that Grammy protocol was not being observed:

• the program had not been started from the beginning with all spectators having retrieved snacks and drinks and taken care of toilet visits prior to the show;
• there was extraneous talking having to do with Biblical topics, not music;
• Birds should not be allowed at the Grammy viewing: Porter was trying to corral Feathers and Texas Ranger, but kept crawling under the coffee table and back and forth in front of the tv in order to do so, blocking the view.

I came upstairs and banished the birds, rewound the show, and we proceeded to watch, free from flying parakeets.  Theological debates were minimized.

It did take Porter a while to capture the birds, but it was exciting to watch, sort of like an in-house Discovery Channel.

Herewith, our show notes.

Alicia Keys:

Bill: She’s got some pipes.

Finn: Man, I always thought she had big boobs, but those are like little starter breasts.

Anne: Some of us would consider them ample finishing breasts.

Bill: I think she just needs a bra.

The Time:

Bill: (singing) o-e-o-e-o!

Drew: Where do you buy a gold suit like that?

Porter: Yeah, that’s never a choice I see at the store.

Anne: (doing the jungle dance)

Bill and Anne: o-e-o-e-o!

Beatles tribute:

Drew: I thought Ringo was dead.

Porter: What the BEEP? He’s a LIVE Beatle.

Day in the Life by Cirque:

Porter: Why is that lady hanging from the ceiling?

Finn: She looks like she’s being pummeled by King Kong.

Bill: Not soon enough.

Drew: Why do the people in the Bible keep killing goats and lambs?

Kanye West:

Anne: Didn’t y’all already see this? (starts to hit fast forward)

Finn: Stop! I didn’t see Daft Punk!

(all watch as pyramid opens and astronauts “play” computers)

Bill: This is weird.

Fergie:

Bill: There’s my girl!

Finn: (groan)

Foo Fighters:

Anne and Boys: Yea!

Bill: Did they say “Food Fighters?” This should be interesting.

Finn: Dad, you don’t know anything about music, do you?

Porter: I think a better name would be the Foo Doo Fighters. I might write them a letter.

Anne: Dave Grohl is just darling.

Brad Paisley:

Anne: Bill, he’s married to the girl who was Steve Martin’s daughter in Father of the Bride.

Bill: Does that have anything to do with music?

Anne: No, just a fun fact.

Porter: Whoa– that guitar rocks! It’s like a leopard.

Finn: It’s like, totally obnoxious.

Drew: Mom, did it take Noah 120 years to build the ark?

Anne: I have no idea. Let’s talk music now and Bible later.

Aretha Franklin:

Porter: What is she wearing?

Anne: A yellow tent. She’s pretty large, but a very famous singer.  You should listen.

Finn: Fat ladies can really belt it out.

Feist:

Anne: I am unimpressed and do not understand the hype.

Porter: She skipped a number when she was counting.

Drew: She would be a terrible shepherd. They have to keep track of every sheep.

Bill: I’m going to bed.

Rhianna:

Finn: She’s smokin’.

Anne: She wore a rockin’ blue dress when she came in. I think it would look great on me.

Amy Winehouse:

Anne: I hope she sings “Back To Black.”

Finn: Are you sure she’s not high?

Anne: No, but she’s clapping in time to the music, so the odds are in her favor. Maybe she’s just weak.

(rewinds and replays)

(kids snoring)

(Elvis snoring)

The awards may not be over, but the Glamores are done!

What did you love/hate about the awards?

How about Kanye and Amy?

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Two years ago in My Tiny Kingdom: The Missing Macho Valentines

February 7, 2008

An Aural Treat

I recorded and posted three more podcasts yesterday, although I had a bit of a snotty nose. The new shows are Bad Bride, All About Me, and Bow Chicka Wow Wow. Show notes can be found here.

For those of you who are tuning in, I’m wondering whether I’m recording these at a high enough level. I’d appreciate feedback. Everyone should be able to click and use the pickle player on the left sidebar.

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In other news, Drew and Porter came home from school today and announced who the most popular girl and boy in the third grade are. There was no contest; it seems that two nine-year-olds have throngs of people following them wherever they go.

I was apprehensive after the proclamation was made. I feared that the discussion of “popular” might lead to an analysis of who is least popular, and that’s never a productive conversation.

Instead, we discussed the fact that the boy, thankfully, is kind and polite, which probably accounts for his popularity. It’s always a conundrum trying to explain to your kids why an asshole is worshiped by everyone else.

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The latest expletive in our house:

Drew grabs Porter’s milk at the dinner table and drinks it all.

Porter yells, “What the beep?”

Pros: Not actually cussing. Hilarious to hear, as Porter makes the “beep” sound like a true censorship beep.

Cons: Everyone mentally fills in a cuss word for the beep.

Ban it or let it ride? I need help with this one. After all the years of hearing “penishead” and “fartbreath” being bandied about, “beep” is extremely refreshing.

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One year ago in My Tiny Kingdom: Where All Our Money Went