Introducing "Allyn" the Fish

Boredom is a dangerous thing around here. We pass the time by getting a fish.

A New Interpretation of Nap-Time

Private Karela, Admiral Czerkies

I thought for sure that I was starting to rise through the ranks as a mother of two. I can get them both dressed and out of the house by 7:30 a.m. I can wipe a mobile hiney (Viv won't sit still!) while simultaneously reading a book to my three year old. And until last night, I thought for sure I was well on my way to receive a parenting gold star. I met Laura and her brood at one of those indoor play places out in Wheaton. It's a large open space filled with mats and cushions, ropes and bungees, slides and trampolines. The place had only two faults...1. They allow children and 2. The beverage options are of the non-alcoholic variety. I stood in the middle of this warehouse of giggles and primary colors in a whirl of activity. All I could see of Ella was a trail of pony tails. She did not stop. I thought for sure I was going to be interviewed by John Walsh from America's Most Wanted. Kidnapping was no doubt inevitable because every few minutes I would lose sight of her. My eyes frantically searching and always finding their way to Laura who knew exactly where she was. Did I mention she also was keeping tabs on her four very mobile children too? Laura was on top of the juice boxes and knew when it was time to take Ella to the bathroom. I might as well have been drooling in the corner. In a nutshell, I'm a clearly a novice. I can't tell you how nice it is to have a friend that is in control; one that makes you believe everything is going to be alright. As for my parenting stripes...I'm thinking I need to learn a few things before resubmitting my application.

For the Love of HuMANNity

Through the grapevine, I've heard nightmares from friends in other communities about the veritable "sorority rush" that happens when moms vie for the most coveted volunteer positions at their kid's schools. Market Day Mom? You are an embarrassment. Lunch room duty? Ditto. Room-mothers and the Welcome Picnic Committee? You've reached the pinnacle of the involved mom strata. I was convinced that Oak Park did not participate in such social hierarchies. We raise chickens in our backyard and throw competitions over whose kid's clothes are more recycled. But last week, as I'm racing home with the girls to start our weekend, I remembered that our local school, Horace Mann Elementary, was hosting a bake-sale with all proceeds going directly to the people of Japan. So here I find myself sticking out like a sore thumb in the Marc Jacobs spring collection just blocks from my house. These moms, the ones that head up the school's service committee, "MANN-kind", would make Gisele Bundchen look like a total slob. I tugged at my Old Navy trousers and in the blink of an eye whisked back to Glen Crest Junior High wondering what lunch table I'd be able to sit at. I grabbed a bag of baked goods so that I could stop myself before I relived another moment from 1988...so what if I got depantsed at that popular girl's party and ended up spending the evening sewing up my leggings because they were torn up the middle? Fast forward to present. I walk back to my car, festooned with bumper blemishes from years of city parking. I saw the stacks of client files in the front seat of my four-wheel file cabinet...stacks that give the impression that the owner of the car is homeless...but nonetheless represent a lot of hard work, faith and fights for social justice. And for that moment I realized they could keep their Range Rovers and their OPI manicures. For that moment I was really proud of the type of woman Ella and Viv call Mom. She may not be in the most fashionable clothes, she may leave the house with wet hair...like every day. But I'm a GDI. Sorority rush was never my thing. Besides, I have two years until kindergarten. Plenty of time to work on my wardrobe.

Domo Arigato Little Roboto

Willing it to be Spring

Exploring and lounging at the Arboretum with the ever-present bag of Cheerios.

Would Kill for Those Lashes

Kid in Cart

She burst out in tears soon after this picture was taken. No doubt mortified that her mother can't put her damn camera down. Next time I promise not to conduct an impromptu photo session on a Saturday morning at Target.

Costco Excursion

It's been another stimulating weekend here in Oak Park. Please enjoy some more photos of kids in carts.
*I love how Viv looks like she is barely tolerating the entire situation...especially in that last one. It's as if she's thinking "Valium anyone?".

Yum...hair.

Fieldtrip to the Field

20 minutes - Amount of time it took us to put on our coats, pack a backpack and empty our bladders before leaving the house.
25 minutes - Drive time to the Field Museum
10 minutes - Spent getting lost, lost again and then finally finding our bearings in the underground parking garage
5 minutes - The amount of time we were in the museum before Ella asks for a snack.
2 minutes - The amount of time we actually spent looking at exhibits before interest wained and hearty requests for a second round of snacks commenced
90 minutes - About the time it took for me to question this whole venture. Guess I have a thick skull.

Louie's Grill

Our very favorite greasy spoon is getting a face-lift after fifty years. Layers of syrup and bacon grease are currently being excavated. We patiently wait until summer for the big reveal.

Getting Off the Treadmill

Last weekend, while attending a conference on emotional development in early childhood, I chatted up a local kindergarten teacher. (Just reading that first sentence made me realize I need to get a life). Our small talk ended up leaving quite an impression on me as a professional and as a mother. The take away: Not only are today's five year olds expected to graduate kindergarten proficient readers...but they must also add and subtract up through twenty...through twenty! This information really made me pause. The kindergarten I remember was a place where kids learned how good juice and graham crackers could taste after a rousing game of Red Rover and that any "accident" in your pants was social suicide.
So when the opportunity arose tonight to view "The Race to Nowhere", a small independent film critiquing America's educational system, I was like, sign me up. The observer of cultural trends/clinical social worker/geeked-out-parent (official title?) in me was doing back flips. After viewing the film, I thought more about our educational system. One that rewards good test scores over analytical thinking, rote learning over group and social skills and conformity over innovation.
It begs the question...how can we be developing future problem solvers, out of the box thinkers, when the box itself is so narrowly defined it's suffocating our youth? How will our future doctors, teachers, community leaders respond to any issue off the "script"; in a world without training wheels? We as parents, community members and professionals need to decide if there is any worth in promoting happy, motivated and creative beings. Individuals who see learning as invigorating not stifling.
I think part of the issue is the amounts of homework that amass during a typical school day. With today's kids reporting five to six hours a night of homework, who has time for family dinners? Who has time to explore their passions? Who has time to develop an identity (one of the most crucial developmental tasks for a young teenager)? The school's reach needs to be limited to the dismissal bell. To further this point, recent research has suggested that the amount of homework prescribed has very little correlation to academic achievement.
So what does this all mean for me and my family? Now I've not turned into one of those people that think that grades are MEAN and that everyone should get a gold star. But I do think this movie has encouraged me to examine my definition of "success". To be involved (when the time comes) in my children's school and advocate for less homework. To allow time for Ella and Vivian to identify and explore the things they love and not assign their passions for them. I also am learning to embrace the bell curve; knowing that not everyone can be in the the top two percent. It seems like we live in a world where kids are either signed up for Kindergarten Calculus Camp or are drowning in therapies to correct their inadequacies. Don't average kiddos exist anymore? So when I start to freak out about Ella and her extracurriculars or Vivian and her GPA, I will remind myself that Steve Jobs, Michael Dell, Jan Fields (COO of McDonalds) and Bill Gates were all college drop outs. Proof that happiness and success cannot be predicted by GPAs or SAT scores.
Reader Warning: I have "Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother" on hold at the local library. A differing perspective from a Chinese-American mother and Yale professor that suggests that western parents anticipate weakness from their children. After reading, I will likely negate this entire argument and launch into some lengthy diatribe on how we are raising big wusses. The girls will then promptly be enrolled in violin lessons. Until then, Viv can continue to eat her socks and I suppose Ella is allowed to spin in circles (just not in a way that suggests Autism). Your Dad and I love you both and applaud your endeavors.

Chicken Soup for the Soul

We have been without a weekend for the last two months and I am going through horrible withdrawal. Any plans we did have were thwarted by throngs of viruses that assaulted all four of us without mercy. I don't think Vivian can remember a life that didn't involve her mother advancing with a nasal aspirator and saline spray. Above are pictures from the time we did venture out of the house in search of quality chicken noodle soup. Chinatown did not disappoint.

Grandma Dorothy

She would have been 100 years old this past Thursday but she has a spirit and a sense of humor that will last well beyond her years. There are times that I look into Vivian's chocolate brown eyes and a swear I see a piece of her. Other times I imagine how "tickled" she would be by her granddaughter Ella's antics. "Tickled" was Grandma's word. She was creative, hilarious and a rule-breaker. Here she is in Michigan City in a white bathing suit (the first to grace it's shores). What gall...I love it.