Sunday, December 31, 2006
Love at first sight
A few days ago I went to the grocery store for routine weekly shopping: mounds of produce, chicken, tamales, pasta, bottled water, raisins, granola, Amy's pizzas, OJ, milk, yogurt, pesto, tortillas and a six-pack of beer. Nothing out of the ordinary, except the kids weren't in tow (a factoid which I suspect is integral to the rest of the story).
I was rummaging through my purse for keys or reading glasses or something when the check-out clerk mumbled something indecipherable.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Are you old enough to buy beer?"
Some sound that might have resembled laughter sputtered from my lips.
"Um, well, I'm forty-five?"
He looked at me with incredulity.
"Are you serious?!"
"I'm afraid so."
Granted, I was wearing what could pass for college uniform of blue jeans, T-shirt and clogs. My grey roots didn't betray me, having fallen victim to a recent home touch-up. Maybe some credit goes to my newly shaped eyebrows, which I'd carefully copied from Oprah's website after reading that every time she has hers done, the tabloids write that she's had a facelift.
Or maybe the poor guy was just having an off day.
I've always looked younger than my age. (When I was in law school, a pre-pubescent boy mistook me for a fellow middle-schooler and asked me to dance.) During my twenties, I was embarrassed each and every time I was carded. But on Friday, it was all I could do not to kiss the cashier.
I was rummaging through my purse for keys or reading glasses or something when the check-out clerk mumbled something indecipherable.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Are you old enough to buy beer?"
Some sound that might have resembled laughter sputtered from my lips.
"Um, well, I'm forty-five?"
He looked at me with incredulity.
"Are you serious?!"
"I'm afraid so."
Granted, I was wearing what could pass for college uniform of blue jeans, T-shirt and clogs. My grey roots didn't betray me, having fallen victim to a recent home touch-up. Maybe some credit goes to my newly shaped eyebrows, which I'd carefully copied from Oprah's website after reading that every time she has hers done, the tabloids write that she's had a facelift.
Or maybe the poor guy was just having an off day.
I've always looked younger than my age. (When I was in law school, a pre-pubescent boy mistook me for a fellow middle-schooler and asked me to dance.) During my twenties, I was embarrassed each and every time I was carded. But on Friday, it was all I could do not to kiss the cashier.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Problem Solved
"What was your favorite part of school today, Max?"
"We acted out my story."
Each Tuesday and Thursday, one child in Max's class gets to create a story all his own and cast each of the characters. The following day, the Chosen act out the script for their classmates. Whether the characters are princesses or pirates, the exercise teaches that every child is an author. And that good stories contain conflict and resolution.
Max wrote his story a few weeks ago, but its debut was delayed by his illness, then Thanskgiving. Today his drama finally opened off-off-Broadway.
"What was your story about?"
"A giraffe, a bear, an owl and a farmer."
"So what happened?"
"The giraffe got out of his cage and went into the woods. The bear saw the giraffe and scared it. The bear and the owl tried to eat the giraffe, but it ran back to its cage and was safe. Then the farmer went into the woods. The bear and the owl ate the farmer. Then the zookeeper took care of the giraffe."
"Interesting story, Max. So who played the giraffe?"
"Ryan."
"Who played the bear?"
"Dylan."
"Who played the owl?"
"Me."
"And who played the farmer?"
"Andrew."
Now the story took on real meaning. Andrew is Max's oldest friend (though not his best). They've known each other since they were a few months old, having met at a Montessori mom-and-me class. Since then, they've shared school, gymboree, swimming, and gymnastics classes, as well as a multitude of playdates and parties.
Enter Dylan. Dylan joined the boys' school last year and has been an object of Max's affection since she hit campus. But she and Andrew live a stone's throw from each other and are nearly inseparable. They carpool. They play after school and on weekends. Their moms rely on each other for emergency babysitting. And if that weren't enough, they seem to adore each other. Or at least Andrew adores Dylan, and Dylan enjoys being adored. (Quite a powerful position, Dylan has already learned.)
Max wants Dylan. Does he want her because she's fascinating and admirable? Does he want her because she seems so disinterested in him? Does he want her because his buddy has her? Who the heck knows. But make no mistake...he does want her. How do I know?
A recent conversation:
"Mom, I'm feeling a little shy about getting married."
"Why, sweetheart?"
"Well, I've never been to a wedding before."
"That's okay, Max. You'll get to go to plenty of weddings before you have to be in one."
"But I don't know who I want to marry."
"Well, you've got lots of time to decide."
"But I do like Dylan...."
Dylan, who seems to be taken for now. And so Max's subconscious threw them together on stage, where he managed, with Dylan's participation, to dispatch Andrew.
"Did you find a way to get rid of Andrew?"
"Yep."
"So you could have Dylan all to yourself?
Max nodded and smiled.
"We acted out my story."
Each Tuesday and Thursday, one child in Max's class gets to create a story all his own and cast each of the characters. The following day, the Chosen act out the script for their classmates. Whether the characters are princesses or pirates, the exercise teaches that every child is an author. And that good stories contain conflict and resolution.
Max wrote his story a few weeks ago, but its debut was delayed by his illness, then Thanskgiving. Today his drama finally opened off-off-Broadway.
"What was your story about?"
"A giraffe, a bear, an owl and a farmer."
"So what happened?"
"The giraffe got out of his cage and went into the woods. The bear saw the giraffe and scared it. The bear and the owl tried to eat the giraffe, but it ran back to its cage and was safe. Then the farmer went into the woods. The bear and the owl ate the farmer. Then the zookeeper took care of the giraffe."
"Interesting story, Max. So who played the giraffe?"
"Ryan."
"Who played the bear?"
"Dylan."
"Who played the owl?"
"Me."
"And who played the farmer?"
"Andrew."
Now the story took on real meaning. Andrew is Max's oldest friend (though not his best). They've known each other since they were a few months old, having met at a Montessori mom-and-me class. Since then, they've shared school, gymboree, swimming, and gymnastics classes, as well as a multitude of playdates and parties.
Enter Dylan. Dylan joined the boys' school last year and has been an object of Max's affection since she hit campus. But she and Andrew live a stone's throw from each other and are nearly inseparable. They carpool. They play after school and on weekends. Their moms rely on each other for emergency babysitting. And if that weren't enough, they seem to adore each other. Or at least Andrew adores Dylan, and Dylan enjoys being adored. (Quite a powerful position, Dylan has already learned.)
Max wants Dylan. Does he want her because she's fascinating and admirable? Does he want her because she seems so disinterested in him? Does he want her because his buddy has her? Who the heck knows. But make no mistake...he does want her. How do I know?
A recent conversation:
"Mom, I'm feeling a little shy about getting married."
"Why, sweetheart?"
"Well, I've never been to a wedding before."
"That's okay, Max. You'll get to go to plenty of weddings before you have to be in one."
"But I don't know who I want to marry."
"Well, you've got lots of time to decide."
"But I do like Dylan...."
Dylan, who seems to be taken for now. And so Max's subconscious threw them together on stage, where he managed, with Dylan's participation, to dispatch Andrew.
"Did you find a way to get rid of Andrew?"
"Yep."
"So you could have Dylan all to yourself?
Max nodded and smiled.
Friday, December 08, 2006
Helpful
At one of the wonderful parenting seminars I attended at the kids' school, our instructor explained that as a normal part of their development, children cycle through periods of equilibrium and disequilibrium at approximately six month intervals. When one of my kids has been testy for days on end, I'm reassured that biologically speaking, this too shall pass. Once you've added more than one chick to the nest, though, family dynamics get a lot more complicated, in part because your children's developmental trajectories oscillate like overlapping sine waves. In our house, Max is riding the crest of cooperation that accompanies age five just as Boo is descending into the valley of darkness that is age three and a half. I try to comcentrate on Max's spirit of helpfulness.
I recently found myself in the W.C. without a shred T.P. I decided to enlist Max in my dilemma.
"Hey, Max, could you go into your bathroom and bring me a roll of toilet paper?"
"Sure, mom."
He appeared moments later holding a pristine roll of paper towels. I imagined his thought process as he searched the cabinet beneath his sink.
White? Check.
Paper? Check.
On a roll? Check.
Never mind the 11" by 11" quilted squares. And then he dispensed a dollop of five-year old wisdom:
"Now don't use too much!"
I recently found myself in the W.C. without a shred T.P. I decided to enlist Max in my dilemma.
"Hey, Max, could you go into your bathroom and bring me a roll of toilet paper?"
"Sure, mom."
He appeared moments later holding a pristine roll of paper towels. I imagined his thought process as he searched the cabinet beneath his sink.
White? Check.
Paper? Check.
On a roll? Check.
Never mind the 11" by 11" quilted squares. And then he dispensed a dollop of five-year old wisdom:
"Now don't use too much!"
