Category Archives: Big Piece of Cake

I’m So Full of It – But I Know Other People Who Make Things Happen…

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After last week’s big announcement about my quest for self actualization in 2011, I find that I have nothing new to report. But hey – it’s only been a week. Barely enough time think about when I should start thinking about planning to do something about my need for personal definition. It’s early days yet.

In the meantime, I thought I’d show you something really great that my IRL friend Tina put together. Tina has a scrapbooking/crafting website (Creations by Tinamarie) that kind of intimidates me since I have never scrapbooked nor crafted. BUT one of her latest “freebies” is something even a lamo like me can manage:


You can print out these cute little cards and have your younger writers fill in the blanks. They practice their handwriting and make you look good to the kind friends and relatives who sent even more noisy plastic to clutter your house! And it’s free. Which will be more fully appreciated when the holiday shopping credit card bill arrives. Visit her HERE for full details.

She also has a giveaway going on for a collaboration with another scrapbooking/crafting genius. The design won’t be released until Friday, but here is the “sneak peek”:


Click HERE for full giveaway details (a winner will be selected tomorrow – so act fast!)

I was going to add something else about the Hood family comings and goings (goings would apply to Chris who left for a business trip on Saturday and won’t return until next Wednesday) – but I just heard screaming from below. I think I may start calling our basement playroom “The Tenth Circle”… Either way, I’d better go check it out. But I’ll be back soon with more brilliance or mediocrity – depending on the context in which you place me.

Full disclosure: I did not receive compensation of any kind for promoting my friend, Tina’s stuff. She’s really cheap like that.

Raise Your Glass for…

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At the start of each new year I think about what I want to do differently this time around. Not necessarily in the way of actual resolution making though. Just a few, “what the hell am I doing with my life?” soliloquies. Only in my head of course – I mean, I don’t hang out on balconies assuming the presence of a sympathetic yet invisible audience. So I say, that is…on my blog.

But back to my initial train of thought.

The great thing about having kids is that they are happy to answer that “who am I?” question for you with their, “me, me, me, me” vocal warm up. Once they start their opening number about wanting it now – SOB! – him doing that again – SHRIEK! – her not doing it AGAIN – SMACK!…I cut them off after the second chorus of CONSTANT WHINING and think, “right, okay – so purpose in life covered.”

For now.

But eventually that purpose gets downsized, and the five extra hands you could currently use are exchanged for two frequently aimless ones. Not useless – just not as much in demand. And the excellent excuse that children once provided for a lack of personal ambition loses it’s relevance. And what then?

Don’t get me wrong – this isn’t some stay at home mom angst I’m addressing here. I was a working mom until two years ago and it was the same story then. I had a job that helped pay the bills – but personal identity was always a hazy spot on the horizon of “maybe someday.” That’s all well and good when you’re in school, in your twenties, and even in your thirties, but at some point you have to say, “wait a minute – I think I’m actually a grown up now…so that means I should probably know what I want to be when I grow up…” And then we get very busy with a project or a committee and cover our ears to la la la la ourselves into a state of sorrytoobusycan’tthinkaboutthatrightnow.

Unless of course you’ve actually figured it all out and have a crystal clear image of who you are, who you want to be, and exactly how you’re going to get there. If so, then please go away and write a book about it or something. I can’t even look at you right now. But hey! Let’s do lunch soon and maybe you can give me some free coaching, okay?

No… I’m nowhere near even beginning to figure this out. But I do plan to carve out some time in my schedule to start thinking about it. Between avoiding reality and drifting aimlessly, I’m fairly booked up. But I think I see an opening sometime in…oh, May of 2020. Just kidding of course. That’s far too ambitious.

Wait! Hobbies! That’s right – I can have fulfilling hobbies. Writing a blog, yoga, gardening, baking, suduko, binge eating, TELEVISION WATCHING… The options are endless. But here’s the problem with that: these options are just hobbies. Hobbies are filler – fun activities that can be dropped when real life dictates. They aren’t a true statement of self. They’re just current interests that require a higher level of goals and achievement to have any serious role in personal identity.

And THAT is really what I think I’m getting at. I won’t always be defined by motherhood and I doubt I’ll ever be defined by a career – but I CAN’T be defined by a hobby either. It needs to be something enduring.

Deciding what that something will be may come easily to some. But not to me. I have a long, rich history of forgoing personal ambition for general daily survival. And I attribute this to the fact that I’ve always been a bit of a late bloomer.

Sadly this didn’t apply to not being the tallest girl in the class and getting my first bra a year before everyone else. It’s just that I was never quite ready for the next big leap into the future that everyone else my age was making. I wasn’t ready for high school. How do you go from PG-13 movie watching sleepovers at the end of August to weekend keg parties in early September? I never did understand that. And I wasn’t ready for college either – leaping again into a real unknown without all those familiar faces to provide even a little bit of security. Then I wasn’t ready to graduate college…to move to a new city…to…well, ANYTHING. And it continues on, even now that I really am grownup.

I was never a misfit or an outcast for this pathological aversion to anything new, but I never quite felt like I was in step with the rest of the world. Time moved more slowly for me and ultimately, I could never truly keep up.

But then we all seem to have our own memories of feeling like we’re on the outside looking in to the way things should be. That’s why again and again people write stories about underdogs. We love them – can’t get enough. Hell – I once even had a BLOG devoted to underdogs. Those stories are OUR story. The one we whisper to each other in shame and then laugh loudly about when we’ve had too much to drink. We take solace in each other’s company and discover that suddenly EVERYONE’S an underdog. We’ve all been eating the same Breakfast Club bagels and had no idea. Not even after SEEING The Breakfast Club. DUH!

But I don’t know that I’m buying it completely – there have got to be some golden children out there… Or at least some deluded enough to believe in their own mythology. And I’m sorry – but they don’t really get it – this feeling of missing beats and falling behind. They’re the ones setting the pace.

Here is where I blast Pink’s Raise Your Glass and say DAMMIT – I DO fit in. I DO have a perfectly fine pace. And I WILL figure out who I’m going to be when I grow up!

I don’t think I’ll dye my hair pink and pierce my nose…but “rock star” was never on my bucket list anyway.

I’ll happily settle for knowing that others out there get it (even if “it” rambles on to the point of incoherence at times). That they’re feeling the same way and pursuing the same dream. That they are looking for what “me” means to them. Not the parent me, the office me, the high school alumni committee me, the PTA volunteer me, the neighbor who feeds your cats while you’re out of town me… The “me” involving no external responsibilities. The totally selfish, I know who am I am and where I want to go and how I want to get there me. The “it’s NOT a hobby!” me. The who I want to be when I grow up me.

I may not find her this year. But I’m committed to making a start. And I think I’m going to do it here.

It’s true – I don’t have the time or money to take a writing class. I don’t even know if I have the talent to justify the time or expense. But I do have an idea or two…and both started here. I’m going to pursue that, and I’d love it if there were maybe one or two or two hundred of you who were around to make me follow up on that commitment. I’m happy to do the same for you.

While I’ll fervently dedicate my whole life to my children – my family – I’m also adding myself to the priority list. 2011 is going to be the year of “me.” And in case you didn’t notice, I added those quotation marks to denote a broader sense of the word. One that absolutely includes any other underdogs who would like to join me.

So in honor of the new year and all of its possibility – the dream of underdogs everywhere to finally catch their stride and know where they fit in – the straight up fact that I need to get off my ass and do something with these ideas already…I’d be honored if you and you and you and oh, especially you, would all join me in a toast to 2011. And raise your glass. For “me.”

I DID IT! – Oh Yeah, and Merry Christmas!

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It wasn’t easy – but I did it. I actually got all three of my children to look semi-normal in a picture in front of our Christmas tree. AND I put it on a card and mailed it.

Remember that review I did for Shutterfly? Here is the finished product:




I did have one other picture that I would have preferred to use, but the composition didn’t work with any of the border layouts I liked. By making this one black and white though, it came together quite nicely.

I do wish that Oliver had a better looking haircut (those bangs!). But it was the first time since he was a year old that he didn’t thrash and scream. So I was going to like whatever they did to him – even if it was a mohawk or “business in the front, party in the back.”

The inside cover picture of Eleanor isn’t a face shot since she just LOVES that dress and you can’t really see it on the front of the card. She would have had some words for me about the “snowflakes” not showing, and I just don’t’ have the energy for it…

As for George – he’s easy. He’s a bad, bad, bad little boy – but he’s very photogenic.

Finally – it would have been nice if the boys were wearing something a little less, um, “Memorial Day picnic” for the picture. But they don’t have anything in long sleeves with a collar. I figured that ubiquitous white polos would be fine.

So that’s it – my first ever holiday card of all three children. And it’s actually pretty good. Best Christmas present ever.

I’ll be taking the next week off to catch up on my blog reading (I think I’m a month behind…)

So Happy Holidays! And I’ll see you in the New Year!

Yours, Mine and Never the Twain Shall Meet (Plus a Few Holiday Highlights)

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I don’t think it’s possible for me to not post about my Christmas tree. It’s the highlight of my holiday season and a photo shoot inevitably takes place the morning after it’s trimmed (I always decorate at night – much better for testing the lights).

This year was a little bit different as we had two tree trimming parties. One for the kids’ tree and one for mine. Theirs was a raucous party of willy nilly ornament placement and candy cane stealing. Mine was a more sedate OCD party for one.

It was clear to me that this would be the year for two trees. There was just a little too much talk about holiday decorating as the Christmas DVD watching began to rev up after Thanksgiving. Every day I was getting requests for tinsel and popcorn to string – neither of which work with my my own decorating aesthetic. So I saw the writing on the wall – hieroglyphics of children molesting my pretty little tree with their indiscriminate strewing of festive bling – and I bought a Target tree to suffer their enthusiastic pawing.

Here is their tree:





And here is mine:






I know – the security panel behind it is an eyesore – but it’s the best corner for the tree. I just pretend it’s not there.

Don’t worry – I know that some of you (Christy) prefer the colorful kids’ tree to my more conservative one. My feelings aren’t hurt. I’m very open minded when it comes to personal holiday style. To each his own and all.

Which is exactly why we have two trees in our house and I love them equally. Or more accurately – I love how much my kids love their tree as much as I love mine.

Other holiday highlights include going to visit Santa. After waiting in line for an hour fighting with the boys over the fake snow they insisted on flinging at each other, we walked away with one of the worst pictures ever taken of my children. Oh well – at least they were polite to Santa and didn’t cry or pee on him or anything.

I’ve also reveled in the rare treat of watching my daughter dance around the house in a lovely party dress that isn’t pink OR sparkly. The stars aligned and she picked out a Christmas dress that not only didn’t make me cringe, but that I actually would have picked out for her on my own. Isn’t this adorable? And it’s NAVY of all things:



And of course, nostalgia has reigned as we’ve watched all of the movies from my childhood through the eyes of this new generation. With the exception of Oliver’s eyes during the viewing of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. The abominable snowman scared the bejeezus out of him and he wouldn’t come back into the room until it was over. But I did get a good laugh out of Eleanor’s periodic alerts that “It’s not scary Oliver! It’s CUTE!“

So this has been quite the merry and messy holiday season. Joy is abundant. Hope prevails. Magic is a given. Hope your December has been as festive (and pink and purple) as ours. Look for our holiday greeting on Saturday and in the meantime, much love to you and yours!


Me, Eleanor!

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Hi! It’s me, Eleanor.

I’m back and I’m SO excited because it’s Chriiiist-mmmaaaaas! Do you like to sing? I like to sing “Christmas” like this: CHRIIIIIST-MMMMAAAAS! I love Christmas.

Christmas is when you put ornaments on a tree and bake cookies and Santa comes and puts lots of presents under the tree. We have our own Christmas tree this year because Mommy said we’re not allowed to touch hers. We can only touch the ornaments with one finger. I like to tap, tap, tap on them – but not too hard. You have to be gentle. My boys can’t tap Mommy’s ornaments because they are not gentle. Not even with one finger.

Our tree is very colorful and we have red and blue and yellow and pink and green lights. It is very sparkly. There is a gold star on top and I love the star even though I wanted the stylish pink feathery one we saw at Target. I really want my own girl tree, but Mom said we could only have two. But I love my tree anyway because it has all of my favorite colors on it. It is very stylish to be colorful.


HEY! Did you know that Christmas is on Saturday? It’s not just for girls this year, but another Saturday a few days ago, I went to a birthday party for just girls. It was a Strawberry Shortcake party and we did a “strawberry walk” and I won my own chapstick. It has flowers on it. George did not go to the party because it was only for GIRLS. We ate pink food and got our nails painted any color we wanted.


Mine are pink because it’s my favorite color. I want a Strawberry Shortcake party for my birthday.


My friend Lucy was Strawberry Shortcake for Halloween and she had a hat with a strawberry on it. I was Wonder Woman!


She is a rescuer. George was a Transformer and he says Transformers are very strong. George always says that he has “strong pipes” and then makes a muscle. George’s pipes are very strong, but my legs are very fast. I’m a good rescuer.

Halloween was a long time ago. It was warm outside for the Halloween party. Then it was Thanksgiving and now it is CHRIIIIST-MMMMMAAAAAS!

Sigh. I don’t know if Santa will bring me any presents this year. I fight A LOT. With George. And Oliver. My boys make me very mad sometimes. And then I stamp my feet and say HUMPF! And Mommy says that Santa is watching and doesn’t like my attitude. But when I tell her I don’t think he’s going to bring me presents she says of course he will because he knows I try to be a very good girl. Sometimes I don’t try so hard.


Santa wants us to wear hats outside because it’s cold. But I think I’m not into hats right now. My mom and I have fights about my hat. Once I said that I don’t care about Christmas. Then Mom said that she’d let Santa know. So I said “don’t” since I was just kidding. I LOVE Christmas.

HEY! Do you want to see my new Christmas dress? It has snowflakes on it. And it’s very good for twirling. Do you want to see my famous jette? That’s my ballerina hop. I put on my silver shoes with flowers on them to wear with my dress and practice my ballerina moves. I wanted to wear my sparkly gem sandals – but Mom couldn’t find them.


My silver flower shoes are getting small and I have a bluster on my heel. It hurts sometimes because it is an open wound. That’s why I need a princess bandaid.


When I wear my Christmas dress, I have to wear my princess crown. It is very silver and sparkly and I also have a magic wand. I can do tricks with it. What animal would you like to be? I’m a magic fairy!

I like to magic things, but sometimes my wand doesn’t work. I can’t fix everything. Like my cough. I have to take cough medicine at night because I am very, very sick when I sleep. I cough and cough and cough and my throat hurts. Sometimes my voice hurts because I have a frog in my mouth and it bit me. When my mouth hurts I don’t like to brush my teeth. The toothpaste is too spicy. But I really like the pink medicine. Pink is my favorite.

So, I guess I’m growing some freckles. Mommy says she can count five on my nose. I can’t count her freckles because there are too many. Oliver is growing freckles too. But not George. He wants Mommy to count his freckles but he doesn’t have any so she has to pretend and looks at me with squinty eyes to tell me not to say that George doesn’t have any freckles. Even though he doesn’t. Sometimes I tell him anyway. Santa doesn’t like that either.

But I really really really really really really really really want a Barbie with her own brush and purse. And that’s a lot of reallys. Santa told me that he’d bring me one last time we went to see him at the mall. The line to see him was very long. But we were very good. Until the end when we knocked over the rope and I hit my head and cried.

I asked my Mom what she wanted from Santa and she said that Santa doesn’t bring presents to grownups. So I said that grownups must be really bad. They have to buy each other presents instead.

I want to give my Mom and Dad presents, but – sigh – I don’t know how to get them. We really need to give them something special to put under the tree. But I don’t know what it would be.

WAIT – I know. We can make the PERFECT CRAFT! That would be nice. I think that would make my Mommy very happy. And that makes me happy because I really really really really really really really love my Mommy.

HEY! I think that Santa is going to bring me presents after all!

Okay – I’m going to hide under the couch now. BYE!

OH! And Merry CHRIIIIIIST-MMMAAAAS!

George is Driving Me Crazy AND He’s Now Addicted to Weed

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I think I may have mentioned in the past that George can be a bad, bad, bad little boy. He ignores direct commands and often smiles in response to scolding. He gets into EVERYTHING and has recently targeted anything that Eleanor considers “special to her.”

I can’t even tell you how many times I had to look for a little plastic raccoon from her Disney Princess game today (Side note: Will someone please let me know which princess had a raccoon familiar? Maybe Snow White during her sojourn in the woods?) George kept grabbing it and running away. I thought Eleanor might have a nervous breakdown the third time it happened. And I thought I might have a nervous breakdown if I overheard just one more occurrence of evil giggling in response to her wails of despair.

Last Sunday when I picked up my three from the kids’ gym at the YMCA, I was informed by a woman on duty that George was cute, but he was “a handful.” Oh really – ya’ think? Exactly why am I going to the gym on a Sunday? Because they offer two hours of FREE CHILDCARE for my devil spawn son.

Okay, okay – he’s not that bad. But he really is exhausting. I don’t have to get into the screaming (it’s been well covered here I think), the intensity that could shatter glass through vibration alone, or the irrational need to finish every sentence no matter what catastrophe just occurred (“George – stop screaming – you can tell me about your Spiderman bandaid AFTER I put out the grease fire.”) And the naughtiness that started developing last year has now come to full fruition. He’s officially a bad, bad, bad little boy. Even if he is cute.

And unlike his older brother, he is an instant acolyte to any older boy who crosses his path. Luckily, we have a lot of good kids on our block. But I’m sorry – four year olds are not supposed to roam the neighborhood at will. Especially not on a scooter.

The scooter obsession (and yes – it really is an obsession, as part and parcel of the intensity that I often think will cause him to burst into flames right before my eyes) started last year when he was three. We got them all scooters in the Spring. And while Oliver and Eleanor liked them well enough, George made it his mission to ride a scooter as well as the seven year olds streaking past our door on their way down the hill. And he actually did it. He was dedicated. He practiced and practiced and by the end of the month could speed down our hill and make the hairpin turn to continue to the end of the cul de sac. It was pretty impressive.


It was also annoying. While his obsessive streak helped him do something that we would never have thought possible, it also guaranteed a constant stream of requests, pleas, demands to “go play scootering.” But it appears that this is just the way George (literally) rolls. It’s in or out, all or nothing, do or die.

Of course it’s now freezing outside so we’re not using the scooters much anymore. So all addictive behaviors are now focused on indoor play. For a while it was painting, which while preferable to me, added even more paper to the already out of control pile of his “workings.” Then there were the Uno cards (which he calls “Oh No” cards) that he insisted on strewing all over the floors of every room. And most recently we’ve had had to contend with colored pencils that he drags everywhere. I finally convinced him to carry them in a bag after describing gruesome scenarios involving falling, tender flesh and sharp objects. But seriously – colored pencils? He’s so weird…


The only thing that will ever trump his predilection for hoarding random objects of interest is his new passion for games. And I don’t mean Candy Land (although he’s driven me nuts with other board games in the past). It started with Chris’ iPhone. My husband doesn’t always have much foresight when it comes to entertaining his children. Letting George play a game on his phone may have seemed like an easy way to stop the screaming, but it also unleashed a whole new brand of crazy. He would never have done such a thing if he thought he’d be spending entire weekends hiding from a mini-tyrant who won’t stop asking, “Daddy – can I play games on your phone? Daddy – can I play games on your phone? Daddy – can I play games on your phone? Daddy – can I…” George is relentless.

We own a Wii that I got for Chris as an anniversary gift a couple of years ago. But it quickly disappeared to a high shelf after George jammed it with pennies and it had to be sent out for repairs. It was then only taken down when the children were in bed for the night, and I don’t think I had ever even tried to turn it on. Recently though, the son of a friend has become rather obsessed (in a George kind of way) with Wii games. I decided to learn how to set it up so that I could provide entertainment for him when he was visiting. And of course, the other kids loved it and wanted to play too.

But no one ever loves anything as much as George loves things. And he LOVES the Wii. He doesn’t really know how to do everything all on his own, but for his age and minimal exposure to technology, he’s learning fast. There have been a few times that he’s navigated through menus I didn’t know existed. I did say that he was dedicated…

So George has a new addiction. And “Daddy – can I play games on your phone,” has been replaced by, “Can I play WEED? Let’s play WEED. I want to play WEED!” Yeah – no matter how many times I correct him, he insists on calling the Wii, “the Weed.” Which makes for many “just move along quickly and don’t make eye contact with anyone” moments when Eleanor selects public places to announce “George REALLY likes Weed.“

I expect that George will always be driving me crazy with something…but I do admire his enthusiasm and general stick-to-it-iveness. He knows what he wants and he goes for it. It makes me think that almost anything is possible if you really want it enough. If you’re willing to put your whole self into attaining a goal. If you have the confidence to really believe that you can make things happen. This is a quality that I should try to cultivate in myself.

So as much as I may want to lock him in his room or spank him or just sit on him to keep him from wreaking any further havoc on the world at large, I just can’t help but be a little dazzled by my incandescent blaze of a boy. He’s a handful – yes. And he may even be the death of me. But after all all of the empty threats, reasoning, yelling, excessive punishments, begging…I usually just end up grabbing him and covering his impish smile with as many kisses as he’ll endure. Because as bad as he can be – he really is DAMN cute.

Repost: THE COOKIES!

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Happy Holidays to you! (see below for update)

A long time ago, my friend Nancy and I offered to make desserts for a holiday party we were attending. She suggested that we use a cookie recipe she got from the Italian grandmother of one of her childhood friends.

We made the cookies, and then life as I knew it changed forever (as far as cookies go, that is).

We continued to make these cookies every holiday season after that. Even now that we’ve lived in different states for many years (and for a while on different coasts), we still maintain this holiday cookie baking tradition. As far as we know, the cookies don’t even have an official name. We call them Italian Christmas Cookies – but that’s not really accurate. They are not supposed to be holiday specific – we just choose to reserve them for holiday baking.

The cookies have become famous among people that know us and know of us (and are usually referred to as “the cookies”). And the coveted recipe has been gladly provided to anyone who requests it. We are also famous for our generosity.

I mentioned these cookies recently in one of my posts and wasn’t surprised to receive requests for the recipe. Instead of e-mailing it out upon request, I thought I’d just post it on my blog. So in honor of the season of giving, I’m giving you…the gift…of Italian Christmas cookies. I know! Last week it was Redneck Neighbor, this week it’s cookies, every week it’s December giveaways… What can I say? I’m a giver.

But back to those cookies…

Italian Ricotta Cookies

Preheat oven to 350 degrees

Combine the following in a bowl (in order):

1 stick (8 tbs) and 1 tbs butter
*Note: Cream butter before adding other ingredients.

1 cup ricotta cheese

1 tsp vanilla

1 egg

1 cup sugar

2 cups flour

½ tsp salt

½ tsp baking soda


Arrange tsp size drops on cookie sheets (space 2 inches apart)


Bake for about 10 minutes
*Notes: The original recipe states 15 minutes. But it came from an old Italian lady who was probably working with a 1950s oven, so I doubt more than 10 minutes is necessary. I’ve found that my cookies are done in 6-8 minutes. They can burn easily so make sure to check them early. Since all ovens are different, I suggest doing a test batch of a few cookies the first time you try the recipe. They should remain pale on top but will be firmer to the touch when done. If you notice them browning a little – they are definitely done.

Makes approximately 48 2-inch cookies


Icing (optional – but HIGHLY recommended)

Warm 1 tbs and 1 tsp of skim milk in a sauce pan

Add 1 cup of confectioners sugar and ¼ tsp vanilla



Once the mixture has thinned (should be thin enough to drizzle over cookies), it is ready to use.


*Notes on icing: This icing dries very quickly, so you have to use it immediately. I’ve had the best results when I’ve kept the saucepan over a very low heat and held cookies over the pan to ice them.


Just watch your fingers. Molten sugar can give you a nasty burn. Also try to be exact about the measurements – whenever I add a little extra milk, the results are disastrous. If it’s too thin it won’t dry. Finally – I usually make a double batch of icing for each single batch of cookies. I’ve never been able to stretch the original icing recipe enough to ice all 48 cookies.



Enjoy!

UPDATE: I attempted to make these on Sunday and something went horribly wrong. They were flat-ish and tasted a little salty. Not bad necessarily – but definitely not right! Since I followed the directions carefully, I knew I didn’t confuse ingredients or amounts. But then I remembered that I had a similar experience with some buttermilk biscuits I tried to make a couple of weeks ago (disclaimer: this all makes me sound like some expert baker – but the biscuits are super easy to make – I should blog about them…) With a little deduction through comparing common ingredients, I’ve decided that I need new baking soda (apparently it doesn’t last for fifty years – who knew!?) So if you have anything like this happen while attempting the recipe above, check your baking soda expiration date!

Wherein I Decide That It’s Actually Oliver Who Wears the Pants

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Sometimes I think I worry too much about Oliver. Or not so much that I worry…but that I just always assume he’s going to be the odd man out. Not without reason of course – my son is one weird little dude. I personally like this about him, but I’m also aware of the fact that “weird” isn’t a sought after quality in elementary school friends.

The fact that he’s in Kindergarten makes everything a little bit easier. He’s given some leeway as being a “little kid” and the other Kindergartners are still kind of goofy in their own ways, regardless of how much more typical they are. So Oliver continues to fly under the radar, doing his own thing his own way, and isn’t largely concerned with how he may be perceived.

That’s another thing I like about Oliver. He’s his own man. So other kids are moving on from their old preschool interests and now run around playing “Star Wars”? Whatevs – he’s still happy with his Thomas Trains. They think trains are for babies? Good – more trains for him. He’s not abandoning his ardent love of those cheeky little engines just because someone else tells him that’s so 2009. He has staying power.

He is also so incredibly comfortable in his own skin. I’ve mentioned before that he’s a very big kid. Five years old and over 60 lbs, he’s as tall as some of the second graders. And he is solid. I was also pretty tall for my age and a fairly sturdy little girl, but this always made me feel awkward. Like I was just a little too much. I felt heavier and weighted down by my size. But Oliver is sure footed and agile. He uses this sense of weightiness as an anchor. He stands firm and holds his ground. A physical quality that matches his personality.

And when I say Oliver is “comfortable in his own skin” I mean that quite literally. He likes to wear as little clothing as possible. Coats are constricting and only to be tolerated in the coldest of temperatures. He has little patience for layers. They are peeled off as quickly as they were applied. And once inside, clothes are hardly necessary. Really – what purpose do they serve when not protecting you from the elements?

Other children run in after school kicking off their shoes and flinging aside coats, seemingly deaf to their parents’ reminders to please put that in the closet. My son does this as well, but he takes it a step further by adding his pants to the trail of outerwear.

Oliver doesn’t wear pants at home. In fact, he doesn’t wear pants in any home where he feels at home. It’s not uncommon for me to walk into a room at a play date and find my pantsless son building lego towers or lounging in front of a TV. Doesn’t matter if all the other kids are fully dressed. To each his own, you know. It’s not that he’s rude – he’s just comfortable. His state of undress is really just a testament to your superb hospitality. Kudos – you hostess with the mostess, you!

I’ve come to accept this little quirk in the same way that I surrender to my daughter’s insistence on wearing nothing but pink. It’s not my preference…but I respect their choices as long as they’re not hurting anyone else (maybe just my eyes).

At the end of the day, I’m just thrilled if Oliver is at least wearing underpants.

Aside from his current trajectory toward being “the naked guy” at college parties, Oliver is quite well behaved. He’s a nice boy and very accepting of others. Feel free to take off your pants at his house too. He doesn’t judge. He likes other kids as a general rule and will only be put off by unpleasant behavior. Even then, he doesn’t take offense – he just moves on. It’s like he has this innate sense of there being plenty of room for everyone. If you give him some space, he’ll give you yours. And in such a “my team/your team” world, I find this both brave and wise. I hope he always has the strength of character and confidence required to maintain that approach to life.

So yes – he’s a special needs kid. He’s different. He’s maybe even a little weird. But he’s fine.

The other day at the YMCA, I glanced down at the kids area to see Oliver standing still while other children raced around him. I kept watching and realized that he wasn’t just standing still, he was frozen on the spot. His arms were stiff at his sides and his knees were locked. He stared straight ahead and looked as if he was trying not to blink. He stayed this way for long enough that even I, the head cheerleader for Team Different thought, “what fuck is that?” Time stood still as Oliver stayed still. Blurred shapes of playing children swirled around him, but I only had eyes for my son the statue. I thought, “what are you doing? Come on – just move already before the others notice. Walk. Play. Be normal. Please.”

Then a small figure disengaged from the only vaguely perceived melee around Oliver and tapped him on the shoulder. Just like that my son came back to life and ran out of view. And I suddenly understood. Oliver wasn’t playing some strange game of his own, oblivious to everyone around him and their potential scorn. He was playing Freeze Tag. They all were. He was part of the game. One of them.

Talk about not seeing the forest for the trees… Oliver isn’t always alone. Sometimes he really is part of the group. And sometimes he’s not, but it doesn’t matter because he’s always exactly where he wants to be. There is always a place for him.

I never need to worry about Oliver. He’s not oblivious to the world around him. He just makes his own decisions about when and where he wants to engage with it. He’s come a long way in the past few years, and the truth is, he has a long way to go. But I have more faith in him than I do in almost anyone else in my life. He is my constant and he is true to himself. I have no doubt that he will always find his place in life. One where he is happiest, regardless of what anyone else thinks about it. He is now and will hopefully always be his own man. With the support of his family and friends and without any fear of ever truly being alone. With or without pants.

L Starts with Eleanor

21 Replies


My name is Eleanor. That’s El-Leh-Nor. Not Eh-Nor or Ah-Nor. My brothers always say it wrong so I tell them they are wrong. It’s EL-Leh-Nor. That’s me.

I am four. I go to preschool. I am very happy when it’s a preschool day. When I wake up on preschool day mornings I ask my mom, “do you know what day it is?” And then I say, “it’s PRESCHOOL day!” But if she tries to answer before I say it I make her stop because only I say that. I love preschool.

Hey! Do you want to put on my makeup? I have makeup for lips and pink cheeks, and I also have a puff. Do you have a puff? It makes sparkles. I use it every day and I am very sparkly. George is not allowed to wear makeup because he broke Mommy’s makeup and she got really mad and said he could never put on makeup anymore because he was very naughty. I am very careful with my makeup. I love sparkles.

Now I am going to do some dance moves. I am a good dancer. I really want to take ballet class, but sometimes I think that I’ll never be a ballerina and this makes me so sad that I start to cry. And then I get very, very upset and I think that I need to go to my room and be alone. And George can’t come in because only girls can come in and I want to be alone. George is not a girl, he is just one of the brothers. We had our birthday in October but we’re still twins.

Hey! Do you want to play princess bingo? First we do all of the pink and then all of the blue and then all of the yellow and then all of the green. I am always pink. My favorite colors are pink and red and white. George likes blue and Oliver likes green. But I really want the pink booster seat with the butterflies on it because it’s a girl seat and George wants a blue one. But my mom says that we don’t need new booster seats. But I really want it. And then I get mad and I say, “mom – you are making me mad!” And then I stamp up to my room and slam the door and I say that I want to be ALONE. And sometimes I cry.

I am very mad because my mommy is not listening to me. And I’ll never be a ballerina… I say that she is arguing with me and she says she is just telling me the way it is. My mommy’s name is Kate. K-k-k K starts with Kate! Just like K starts with key and king. They match.

Hey! do you want to see my dance moves. Tell me what song you want. Okay how about twinkle twinkle. Now how about jingle bells? Do you want rock star? Okay – let me put the money in the slot…there, now stop talking and watch (and NO laughing):

So WHAT – I’m still a rock star
I got my rock moves and I don’t need you
And guess WHAT – I’m having more fun
And now that we’re done and gonna show you
TONIGHT
I’m ALRIGHT
I’m just FINE
And you’re a tool – so
So WHAT – I’m having more fun…

[ten minutes later]

Do you think Jonas likes rock star? Jonas is my friend. My friends are Lucy, Kara and Delaney. And Jonas and Matthew. Jonas is a good friend. I think he will love my new dress.

Now it’s time for the FASHION SHOW!

Do you like Barbie? My favorite book is Barbie: My Journal. Barbie’s friends are Nikki, Teresa, Summer and Raquelle. I have a Barbie game but George can’t touch it. It’s only for GIRLS. Once George was reading my Barbie book and I tried to take it back and it RIPPED. I got so mad and my mom said that that’s what happens when you grab and I got very upset because it was ALL MY FAULT! My mommy fixed it with tape because it was just a small corner. Then I told my mom that she is my special girl.

Hey! Do you want to see my pretties? I have a lot of pretties for my hair. I also have some jewelry but I don’t like to wear it today. I say I’ll wear it tomorrow. But not the bracelet. It smells like mommy’s keys. This smells like gold. I don’t like the smell of gold. I do like the swings at the playground, but when I get off the swings, my hands smell golden. I don’t like that.

They don’t have swings at the Y. We go to the Y so mommy can exercise. That’s spelled Y-M-C-A. That’s how you spell Y. Oliver doesn’t go to the Y with us anymore because he is in Kindergarten. He is five. He is a brother like George. My boys are Oliver and George, but Daddy and I call them the payasos.

Hey! I know what we can do! We can have a tea party. I got a tea set for my birthday in October and George got a light saber. I got a light saber too and sometimes I like to play light sabers but usually I just like to have tea parties. Those brothers are not allowed to play with my tea set. It is not for payasos. It’s very special to me. Do you want sugar? Do you want milk? Do you want cream? Do you want lemon? I’ll mix it up. You have the yellow cup because I always have the pink cup. Pink is my favorite color. P starts with pink! I am very good speller. Eleanor is spelled E-L. That means L. E does not start with Eleanor. L starts with Eleanor.

Now I have to practice my twirling for the talent show. BYE!

Because…

24 Replies

“Why do you always ask me my name?”

Because he’s trying to communicate with you. He knows your name, but he wants to ask you a question. To have a conversation with you.

“Why do you always try to talk to me like that on the bus? It doesn’t make sense.”

Because he understands what he’s trying to say and hopes that you will too. He wants to be your friend. And to him, this is what is sounds like when friends talk to each other.

“Why are you speaking another language? I don’t speak that language.”

Because it’s the one he created when he couldn’t speak ours. He’s learning ours, but he’s far more fluent in this one. Nobody else speaks this language. It’s entirely his. And that can get lonely.

He never asks me my name. He doesn’t have to try so hard to communicate with me. I always listen to what he’s trying to say and I understand. I don’t speak his language, but I don’t have to.


Because I speak the universal language that mothers have with their children. He never feels lonely with me.

As much as want him to be able to communicate with the world, I hope he never forgets our own language. This is the language of my heart.