5 Ways to Make Attending Your Local Parade More Enjoyable

1. Choose your path to the parade route wisely. If you know a small kitten just got crushed by a driver a couple hours before, and that its leg is pretty much ripped off, and flies are swarming its body, and you can sort of see some of its innards, you may want to steer clear. If it means you have to walk completely out of your way, it might be worth it. 

It's bad enough that you have to see it, but then the rest of the walk, as you pass shady tree after shady tree that's already taken by other eager parade-goers, you're going to have to answer a lot of questions about kittens and the afterlife, scientific questions about decomposing bodies, and practical questions about who disposes of roadkill and how. You'll also probably get to wax poetical for awhile about the owner of the kitten and how he or she will probably need therapy. And your kid might also explain to you that kittens can't see when they're born, which might be a possible explanation why one might wander into traffic.

On a positive note, at least nobody will be complaining about being thirsty at this point in the day.

2. Whatever time you think would be an appropriate time to go find a prime parade-watching seat...go earlier. Choose a reasonable time to leave your house and walk to the parade route. But don't leave at that time. The early bird and the worm, people. You snooze, you lose. 

In fact, if you want shade, you'd better scope out your spot before there's even any shade yet. Better yet, bring some caution tape and put it under your prime location like it's reserved for the King and Queen of your town. Make it look official. And do it the night before the parade. 

3. Insure that somebody throws some candy to your kids. When you sit in the sweltering sun for 45 long minutes while they hold ziplock baggies, ready to retrieve any and all candy that people in fire trucks and on ambulances and in various modes of transportation will obviously want to throw at them (because why wouldn't they want to throw candy at your adorable chidren?), be prepared to be disappointed. Because guess what? Even the mayor will probably just throw one measley Lifesaver mint at your two children, and if you're particularly lucky, like we are, hopefully that mint will hit the pavement like a crystal bowl plummeting off of a tall tower, breaking into a million pieces, and then it can be shared. 

But what you should probably do is pack some tootise rolls (something that won't melt in 182 degree heat) and throw them at your kids yourself. If you throw them up in the air right, maybe they'll think that somebody threw them off the tractor that just went by--the one driven by the guy who is often drunk at the local restaurant, and who's dressed head to toe in camoflage. 

4. Bring a personal fan. This might be useful when a guy with white hair, whiskers, and a sizeable beer gut finds a buddy to talk to and parks himself right next to your obviously small children 10 minutes before the parade is about to start, and proceeds to smoke what has to be an entire carton of cigarettes. Your fan might help you blow some of the smoke away from you and toward the people who didn't bring your disappointed kids any candy. Plus, you can blow your fan on your kids when they start whining about being hot and thirsty.

If this doesn't work, you could bring up the topic of lung cancer really loudly.

Mace is a third, less friendly option. 

5. Bathe afterwards. Seriously. You stink. And this is what you smell like: sweat; probably other bodily odors, too; cigarette smoke; bug spray; possibly alcohol (the stench of that is everywhere, too); probably charcoal; hot dogs; and sunblock. You smell like America. Of course, you don't smell a thing like candy.

Don't bathe yet, though...because you still have a few hours to go until the fireworks. Happy 4th.

Oh, and try not to pass the dead kitten on your way home, okay?

The Lies We Tell Our Children

As Vacation Bible School Epic Bible Adventures teacher extraordinaire this week, I've had the coveted opportunity to LIE to children about many, many different things...ALL. WEEK. LONG. And I'm not inventing lessons here, people. I'm following the script put out by the official VBS company.

Lovers of controversy, I am not making any commentary on religion in this post. I believe in the Bible stories and themes, though they lose some authenticity and some accuracy in the 15 minute retelling, I guess. 

It's just that all through the lessons, you're directed to lie to kids in the process.

And they love it. In fact, the lies leave them begging for more. 

Think of the Tooth Fairy. The Easter Bunny. (Even my 7 year old isn't buying that one. "A tall bunny that brings eggs? Really, Mom? REALLY?" Yet she's as willing as anybody else to pretend he's real on Easter morning when there's chocolate involved.) Apparently, ever since baby Jesus was laid in the manger and Santa began making his first trip around the world in 2 hours, we've been lying to children and they've been loving it. 

Why do we love to lie to children so much? And why do they love to be lied to?

And now I'm doing it willingly in church. To make church more fun, I guess? 

Here's when I was most amazed--perhaps appalled--by the children's willingness to believe lies. We put on a skit where Esther bursts into the room and explains how stressed out she is that she has to go talk to her husband, the king, and admit that she's a Jew,  and then ask him not to kill the rest of her people. There was this dramatic build-up, and I'd set up a "throne room" in the closet across the hall, where the choir robes are. 

At least our "throne" looked better than this one. A little.

I kid you not. I put a "throne" next to a bunch of robes in a storage closet. I put some plastic swords on it and around it. I hung a plastic crown on one side of the chair, hung a purple shepherd's robe over the back of the chair like a sash, and put a plastic scepter in the seat of the chair. I put 2 flicker candles on the sides of the chair. (The VBS people LOVE flicker candles like they're their BFF.) This was our royal throne room.

We took the kids out to see the throne, had them look inside and tell Esther what they saw, describe the plastic swords, etc. Esther pretended to freak out and be nervous about the king being there, her getting killed on the spot, etc.

My point, restated: our throne room looked like a chair, some cheesy plastic swords, and some choir robes. Oh, and flicker candle magic.

By the end of the lesson, "Esther" left me and all the kids in the classroom and went alone to admit her secret to the "king," and we were pretending he was in the choir robe closet...you know, ruling the people (and, if he'd really been in there at all, pushing choir robes off his head). It had all the drama of "As the World Turns" meets "Days of Our Lives." Anyway, the kids were on the edges of their seats. 

Lookie! Woo hoo! Got the king's scepter, and that means I won't get boiled in oil. And now...let me do my soap opera stare before the next commercial break.

  "Esther" returned to the classsroom at the end of the lesson with the plastic scepter and told everybody that the king was going to listen to her. We clapped, and then I sent them to snack, crafts, games...wherever. I'm sure some of the more clever kids snuck a look in the choir robe closet on their way out.

3 nights later, the kids were STILL asking me what the king looked like, if he had shown up in the "throne room," what he'd decided. The last night, right before the group of 5th graders left, one kid stopped and asked why the king didn't show up to make his appearance before Bible school was over. They were genuinely disappointed not to meet the choir robe king but, like Santa, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy, he'd made a quick exit out of the building without being spotted by anybody.

Today, my 4 year old, Olivia, told me this elaborate story about something she'd done, and I looked at her carefully and said, "Olivia, did you just tell me a lie?" She responded, "Oh, no, Mommy. That's called PRETENDING. That's what I was doing."

I guess there's a fine line between pretending and telling a lie. 

Is it pretending if all the kids choose to believe there's a king who's about to come out of the closet at church? (This sentence makes me smile just typing it.)

Moral dilemma: When is it okay to lie to your children? Is it ever okay? 

photo credit: enelem via photopin cc photo credit: Javier Kohen via photopin cc

Daddy is Yin, Father is Yang

A daddy lets his kids lurk late.

He teaches them to romp in the mud,

to slide into home plate in the rain.

He shows them how to use a sleeve as a napkin.

He induces giggles.

He tickles. He wrestles.

He growls like a bear, but never means it.

He lets them win.

He agrees to a movie night (again), serves ham sandwiches on paper plates for dinner,

lets them eat in front of the TV, leaves a pile of crumbs on the counter. 

He brings home everyone’s favorite candies, dishes out gallons of ice cream,

covers it with chocolate sauce…asks if they want more when they’re finished.

He carries them on his broad shoulders and lets them ride him like the world’s most amazing pony.

A daddy is physical, indulgent, and funny.

A father keeps his kids in line.

He teaches them to take care of their bicycles by bringing them inside,
to save their money and plan out how to spend it.
He shows them how to water the garden.
He provides.
He is responsible. He reminds others of their responsibilities.
He expects a lot, and he gets it. He growls like a bear, and we all know he means it.
He lets them experience natural consequences.
He worries about sump pumps and electrical outlets, leaky roofs and broken hot water heaters,
teaches his children character through his model, and knows “discipline” means “to teach”.
If he has to, he can even put his little girl’s hair into a ponytail, even when he’s never done one before—
because she has ballet or ball at 5, and mommy just isn’t available to do it this time.
He thinks about retirement and having a college fund for each kid, tries his best to make sacrifices so he can be present at ballgames, recitals, and “Doughnuts With Dad” at the elementary school.
He carries the weight of the family on his broad shoulders, lets them lean on him when they need to.
A father is diligent, reliable, and loving.

Rare is the man

who strikes that careful balance between the two,  
who can balance yin and yang.
Rare is the man who is both “daddy” and “father”.

Happy Father's Day to my husband, the "father" and "daddy" to my children, to my own dad, and to my father-in-law. Each of these men find their own balance between "daddy" and "father", and each does it his own way. I admire them all.

photo credit: Gruenemann via photopin cc

8000 Things NOT To Do: How Does Your Garden Grow?

This post is part of a series of posts entitled, “I Don’t Know What To Do, But Here are 8000 Things NOT To Do.” This is what my husband suggested as a title for my blog, so I believe it must be a fitting title for this series of posts. I will add to the series as relevant events occur. And believe me—they will. 

Here is one more thing NOT to do:

Today we planted a garden. 

 

Yes, it’s the end of May—sort of late for planting a garden. But Rosemary’s New Year’s Resolution (you can read about mine here) was to plant a garden, and we’ve been busy with ball and ballet and work and life and stuff, and it’s rained a lot, and sometimes it has been cold outside, and we had “technical issues” with our tiller, and had to find time to make a trip to Lowes, and…well,  anyway, the fledgling plants and seeds are out there in the dirt. 

The Day We (Finally) Threw Away the Halloween Candy

Today, my husband and I made a critical decision. We threw away the Halloween candy.

It's been taking up precious realty on the top of our piano since...well, October 31.

I guess we should've let the Easter Bunny take it away when he brought fresh loot, but we didn't. Instead, we left it on top of the piano, high up where short people and thieving dogs forget to look. Out of sight, out of mind. Occasionally, someone would look at the top of the piano and say, "Hey, can I have some Halloween candy? Just one piece?" Usually we'd say, "No way. Are you kidding me? That is Halloween candy. Do you know how long that's been sitting there?" Sometimes, very occasionally, we'd say, "Why don't you go find your (Valentine's Day candy / Easter candy / candy from church / candy from that birthday party), instead?" The Halloween pumpkins would just sit up there with their bellies full. I can't say that I know why.

Practice Makes More Practice

Today was a big day for the moms of the preschool set in our part of the world. It was the day of the Mother's Day Luncheon. You can see my groovy pin, designed by Olivia, and an awesome "flower" made from a green hand print--custom made for me, and in my favorite color. It's covered in glitter, even though you can't see that. The children put on a program and entertained us moms with several songs, including "Happy Mother's Day to You". We brought the food, of course. Because that's what moms do. We bring the food. Plus, if my child made the menu, we'd all end up eating a gallon of ice cream with sprinkles for lunch. I'm not entirely opposed to the idea, but I might feel some mommy guilt afterwards...