The Carol

Music can be a powerful force.  Certain songs stop us in our tracks, cause intense flashbacks that are more physical than thoughtful, fill our bodies with overwhelming emotion that threatens to betray our most intimate memories. 

For me that song is a particular Christmas carol, the title of which I will not reveal out of respect for my heart.  I have an almost allergic reaction to this song, meaning that I have no mental control over the feelings it evokes.  If it pops up on the radio while I'm playing with the kids or engaged in a conversation I stand a chance of distracting myself from its power.  But if I hear the song in any venue in which I am obliged to pay attention - a holiday concert, for instance - I'm totally screwed. 

My reaction to said Christmas carol first appeared three years ago.  I had had a pregnancy that year but miscarried at twelve weeks.  I had carried the baby long enough to feel like a mother and to look like a mother-to-be.  My due date was Christmas day. 

Any woman who has lost an unborn child carries in her heart the imprint of a soul only she knew.  
 The experience made me stronger and more fragile and certainly more vulnerable.  Now a Christmas carol triggers an explosion of emotions. 

This year it happened at Symphony Hall at the holiday family concert.  I took my oldest son and we had a grand time and at the end of the show was a sing-a-long - the worst case scenario for surviving my Christmas carol.  As hundreds of families began to sing together, I felt the familiar surge of grief.  But, as my eyes filled with tears, I noticed a second emotion creeping in.  I thought of my son curled by my side who was finally old enough to attend this wonderful concert.  I thought of  my fat, healthy twin toddlers who weighed under five pounds just a year ago.  The song still provoked overwhelming feeling but for the first time the old grief was balanced with simple, powerful gratitude.

happy holidays from our family to yours

Just a Few Thanks

Thank you Friends and Family.  Obviously.  But still top of the list!

Thank you California weather.  You have saved us a fortune on coats and boots.

Thank you Waiters at Favorite Restaurant for always seeming glad to see us.  

Thank you re-runs of Family Ties.  I am finally catching up on missed childhood TV.

Thank you Podcasts for keeping me company during many long nights.  I owe what's left of my intelligence to your creative and informative programs.

Thank you Crayola for your fine non-toxic products especially the yellow crayon for which Bea has a particular taste.

Thank you Disposable Diapers.

Thank you Target for stocking everything under the sun and for your convenient location on my way home from work.  Your brightly lit aisles are an island of sanity.

Thank you Ms. Debbie for being a teacher.

Thank you Coffee.    then      Thank you Beer.

Thank you Children's Tylenol.

Thank you Iphone.  I resisted your sweet embrace until you were forced upon me.  Now I don't remember life before you.

Thank you Walgreens for being open until midnight.  What would we do without your humidifiers and anti-itch ointments?

Thank you husband.  You're a good friend and a good daddy.

Thank you Netflix for providing Peace on Earth and to All a Good Night. . .

Stone Soup

Due to an unfortunate virus, Joe Frank was obliged to miss an important event at Kindergarten today: 

The Making of Stone Soup.

He was so disappointed to miss out that I suggested we make it at home.  Unfortunately, this particular recipe is not part of my usual repertoire.  I knew it had something to do with rocks and something to do with a story but that was the extent of my know-how. (Despite Joe's cryptic impressions of his days at school, he is perpetually frustrated with my lack of knowledge on subjects such as stone soup.)

So I Google-ed it and found a selection of recipes.  Thank you Internet!  You have saved my credibility for another day. 

It does indeed involve a rock.  And it does indeed have a lovely Thanksgiving story (though I'm still fuzzy on those details).  The best part was that Joe Frank ate the healthiest meal he's had in a week, all because he cooked it himself. 

Boiling the rock and browning the onions.

Peeling the Carrots

Simmering the soup with the rock

Parental Confession #12

In the thirty second between removing Alfie's diaper and putting him in his nightly bath, he escaped from the bathroom, pooped on the floor, and peed INTO the toy box.

Did I swear profusely and hurl all the pee toys down the stairs?

Yes I did.

Did I attack my husband with a wet washcloth when he pointed out the error of my ways?

Yes I did.

Sunday morning

This morning I told Joe Frank I was going to sit down, drink coffee and read the Sunday paper while the babies took their nap.   I told him he could do anything he wanted as long as he did it by himself. 

He chose to bring out the MIDI keyboard and play the Christmas music loop for half an hour. 

When you have three kids you have to modify your expectations of "peace and quiet".  In a nutshell, the "peace" rarely comes with the "quiet." 

So, if I have to listen to a medley of electronic holiday favorites in order to read my paper, so be it. 

Knife Skills

One of the things I love about our local school system is the cooking and gardening program.  As an effort to fight obesity and educate students about healthy food, the PTA funds weekly classes in which kids plant seeds in school gardens, collect eggs, pick tomatoes, and prepare healthy meals.

The flip side of this wonderful program is that my son came home from Kindergarten and announced he had learned how to use knives (real knives, not butter knives.)

He wanted to prepare the special dish he had learned for dinner tonight.  He was so proud to show me his new knife skills that I couldn't say no.  I mean, I don't want to contradict his teachers and I certainly need to be supportive of school, right?

So, we went to the market and bought pears, persimmons, figs, and pumpkin seeds.  I put off the preparation as long as possible but dinner inevitably arrived so, finally, I reluctantly handed a freshly sharpened paring knife to my five-year-old son.

This must be how it feels to get in the passenger seat with your teenager at the wheel.

Well, I am pleased to say we enjoyed a lovely Autumn fruit dish tonight and my kid still has all ten fingers.

I can't wait to see what he learns next week.  Sky diving, perhaps...

Babyproofing

As a parent, there is no limit to what you can spend for a little peace of mind.  I recently read a negative review for a baby-proofing company in which the parents were upset because they paid $1000 for nothing but a toilet clamp, a couple plug covers,  and a broken baby gate. 

First of all, I didn't know baby-proofing companies were actual businesses. 

Second of all, if someone paid me $1000 to baby-proof their home I would bolt all the furniture to the floor, super glue everything else into place, and lock all the doors. 

A Wise Mother's Perspective

Sage advice from Mika, mother of five (three of them triplets).  This was the conclusion of a post Mika offered in response to another mother's request for advice, which appeared on the online parenting forum Twins by the Bay. 


If my kids go to bed without any major injuries, whether or not they may be still a little hungry, miss the bath (again), and hair tangled up still like characters in the movie, Croods, I told myself that I did a good job.  I just cannot be a super mom, who can clean a house well, cook amazing meals, look over kids homework perfectly, dress them neatly, and discipline my kids to be perfect.  Instead, I thank to the day if no one gets hurt, and everyone go to bed relatively happy.  This is still my daily goal.  
Also, though so busy and hard, I try to capture a brisk moment to tell kids that I love them.  It may be when they come to a kitchen to get a spoon for cereals, or are changing their clothes.  I just whisper to their ears that I really love them, and I am happy that they came to our lives.  Often this helps me remember how I felt when I found out about being pregnant with our trio, how I felt when I first became pregnant with my first son after series of miscarriages, and how happy I was when I became pregnant with my second son after another loss too.  They are giving me the kind of experience so unique to me that everyday feels like a roller coaster ride.  
-Mika

mom of Kai, highschool freshman, why... why....???

Tomo, 5th grader, who loves Math so much so that he forgot about the fact that writing is also important.

Aya, 6 years old, caring, lovely, and amazingly athletic

Koto, 6 tears old, who loves books, princesses, and being love with so many of his class mates.

Naoto, 6 years old, keen man, who loves to explain about the world from his unique observation.

The Economist's Guide to Parenting

Talk about the nitty gritty.......
As heard on Freakonomics Radio:

The Economist's Guide to Parenting

Minivan Rage

As many of you may know, I have a love/hate relationship with my minivan.  Until this week, however, I never realized the animosity it evoked in my fellow drivers.  Aside from the evil looks I received from two separate pedestrians, I was also berated by a young hipster gentleman for making a left turn slightly after the light had changed to red (after patiently waiting my turn in the intersection to avoid oncoming traffic).  Why do Bay Area drivers assume my name is Bitch, by the way?

After a week of such incidents, the experience culminated today as I waited in the passenger seat while my husband ran a quick errand.  There I was enjoying the charming wit of a Nora Ephron memoir and the soothing sounds of a crying baby when I glanced up and noticed a man shouting at me.  He was irate that my minivan was parked in a loading zone.  Normally, I would have agreed with him and been equally appalled at my inconsideration had it not been for the following facts:


#1 This was Sunday.  California drivers may legally park in a yellow loading zone on weekends and during non-business hours.

#2  There was an open parking spot directly in front of me.  Rather than parking in this available and equally convenient spot, Mr. Friendly chose to double part next to it, block all traffic, and yell at me. 

I would have affably moved the car had he simply asked.  I told him as much (though I tried to disarm his temper with my charm, it came out rather sarcastic).

Is it truly the minivan?  Do all drivers assume I'm some dimwitted, alcoholic soccer mom?

Well, as I drove around the block waiting for my husband to realize the car was not where he'd parked it, all the emotions I suppress on a daily basis in order to juggle three small kids and a career on no sleep suddenly convened and focused like the beam of a laser on that son-of-a-bitch who dared to assume that I was simply lazy and entitled and lounging in loading zones in my fancy minivan reading Nora Ephron on a Sunday afternoon.

The moral, if there is one, is lay off those mothers in their minivans.

Good to Know...

Apparently, it is quite simple for a person with very small fingers to pry all the keys off a Macbook Pro. 
Should you find yourself in such a predicament, you may consult the diagram below for reassembly.  In the event that you are missing keys once your keyboard is properly restored, you may consult your baby's diaper.

On the rare occasion that I venture into public without my two adorable babies, I am briefly offended that no one pays any attention to me.

Parental Confession #11

You know that scene in The Princess Bride when Buttercup dreams that she attends her coronation as queen and, as she proceeds amongst her royal subjects, the crone appears yelling "boooooo, boooooo! Bow down to filth and dirt!"  In the dream, the crone condemns Buttercup for not being worthy of her position and in so doing justifies her deepest insecurities and self doubts.

Well, I had the pleasure of that experience this afternoon.

After picking up my son from the bus stop, we stopped off at the coffee shop for tea and milk before heading to my studio for an afternoon of lessons, homework, and iPod fun.  We were short on time, Joe was tired, and we found a parking spot directly in front of the coffee shop door so I told him he could wait in the car, which of course I locked and left the window cracked.  I was in and out in under three minutes but, as I unlocked the door and handed Joe his milk I heard,

"Exuuuuuuse me.  Is that your car?  The one with the child in it?!"

Oh, man.

I turned to face a formidably heavy set woman with a cell phone.  For the benefit of everyone within a block's radius she began to scream,

"You're lucky I didn't call the police!  Leaving your child in the car!  You're a f@#*ing, horrible, lazy mother!!! I'm just about to call the police!!!"

This is when I jumped in the car and got out of there but, just in case you're ready to go viral with this, let me explain that it is NOT illegal to leave a child Joe's age in the car unless the weather is extremely hot (it was 65 degrees) and you leave the keys in the ignition. 

Despite knowing in my heart I am not a f@#*ing, horrible, lazy mother, I still struggled not to cry and shake through the rest of the afternoon.  How did that scary beast of a person know I had recently been questioning my capacity to be a patient, loving parent?  How did she know I struggled daily to get through the day without yelling too much, or ignoring anyone, or letting my kids run into the wall and get too many bruises?

From the moment a woman is visibly pregnant, there will be those who feel compelled to judge her competence as a parent.

The greater challenge is not to judge ourselves. 

Parenting Tip # 5

Don't use cloth diapers on laundry day.
Sure, they're great for the environment, but nothing spoils the high of fresh laundry like a big pile of crap.

Parental Tip #4

Two Words:  HOMEMADE  PINATA

The key here is to build a pinata for no particular occasion other than the fact that your hyper five-year-old is bored again and you have an entire afternoon to fill.  Actually, this project will occupy multiple afternoons since it has to dry and be decorated.

When the pinata is complete, fill it with the leftover Halloween candy you've been hiding in the freezer all year (to protect your loved ones from tummy aches and cavities).  After that, put it on the top shelf of the bookcase to "keep it for a holiday".  Then, just when your five-year-old has forgotten about it and is ready to move out because living with you is too boring, you can say,

"Hello, what have we here?  Why, it's a pinata filled with candy.  You know, normally these are for very special occasions but, what the hell, let's bust this baby open right now".

Congratulations.  You have just achieved Mom of the Year.

Daddy loves all his children equally but harbors a special affinity for  Root Baby.

Parental Tip #3

You don't have to shop at Walmart in order to brand your child.  Target offers a wide selection of clothing featuring your child's favorite characters -  guaranteed to illicit judgement from the good mothers of Berkeley.

Parental Confession #10

The hardest thing about parenting for me is the noise, both physically and psychologically.  Incidentally, this is also the hardest aspect of teaching violin. 

Parenting Tip #2

Do not over-contemplate the color pink.  It is just a color.

Quotable

A few choice lines from Joe Frank, who is 5 and has excess energy:

Wo-ka-bang, Chi-ka-bang!

also:

Hucka-bucka-YEAH!
Hucka-bucka-YEAH!

The First Day of School

Today Joe Frank started Kindergarten.

Yesterday I attended an orientation given by the Kindergarten teachers.  At this meeting specific instructions were given to all parents on how to conduct ourselves on the first day of school.  We were to bring our Kindergarteners to the enclosed Kindergarten playground, kiss them goodbye, and leave.  Coffee and pastries were provided in the school library in an attempt to lure us away.  This procedure was designed to create order and flow on the first day of Kindergarten.  At the meeting, all parents nodded in agreement that such a plan was sound and sage.

This morning on the Kindergarten playground it was pure mayhem.  Mostly due to the overwhelming number of adults crammed into the small enclosed play area clinging to their five-year-olds for security.

A devout rule-follower, I vowed to drop off Joe Frank and head to the library for coffee and pastries.  Everything went okay at first.  Eric and I got there early, walked Joe to the playground, procured his name tag from Ms. Debbie, and said goodbye.  We were just leaving the gate and heading down the sidewalk to the car when I heard, "Mommmmmmmy!"

And there was Joe Frank, clinging to the chain-linked fence and sobbing.

So, despite our best efforts to be obedient parents who help the teachers make the first day flow, we hung out on the playground amidst total chaos and clung to our baby boy.

To our credit, we were not one of the parents who followed their child into the school and loitered in the back of the classroom. . .

We were subtly hiding in the bushes.

 

Parental Confession #8

Tonight instead of picking up all the toys and clothes and food flung all over the floor, I sat on the couch and watched several episodes of Family Ties.

I found this to be very liberating.

Parental Confession #7

Pretty sure Bea ate a coupon today.  Ironically, it was for baby-proofing products.

Parental Confession #6

Today, while I was doing the laundry, Alfie ate the corner off a cardboard box. 
At least he's using all those new teeth...

Parenting Tip #1

Throw a bowl of Cherrios on the floor and let your baby graze.  This will provide minutes of entertainment.

Vacation

Every once in a while an event occurs in the life of my child that triggers a long-forgotten memory from my own childhood.  My son, who is five, recently returned from a five-day trip with his grandparents.  They had taken him to a time-share condo about three hours away where he was thrilled to sleep on an actual Murphy bed hidden in the wall.  His vacation was filled with all the delights a five-year-old could wish for - amusement parks, movies, trips to the lake, and an actual arcade.  As he gushed to me about the trip, I recalled a similar experience from my own buried memories.

When I was about the same age as my son, I flew on an airplane to Florida.  It was my very first plane ride, which may be why I remember the occasion.  We were traveling south with my grandparents to vacation in their condo on the beach.

The condo was located in a simple high-rise about half a block from the beach, which I avoided.  I was convinced the ocean floor dropped off into the abyss exactly three feet into the waves. 

The condo itself was decorated in shades of peach.  My five-year-old brain documented the interior as the set of the Golden Girls - white wicker furniture and floral cushions.  My sister and I shared a bedroom furnished with twin beds and sporting a seashell motif.

Off the shuffle board court, I spent most of my time on the floor of the tiny parapet balcony playing with Legos while Grandpa hovered above me in a lawn chair enjoying the sea breeze.  One afternoon, a piece escaped under the balcony railing and landed one floor down on the sidewalk below.  A man happened to be passing and Grandpa called down,

"Hey Mac!  Toss that thing up here, will ya?"

The man reached down, retrieved the Lego and flung it up to Grandpa who caught it in one hand.

"Thanks, fella", Grandpa said to the man.

I don't actually recall the exact terms of endearment Grandpa used but the effect was imprinted on my five-year-old vacation brain.  I thought that was so cool - Grandpa's ease with this stranger and the way he caught a Lego flung up from such an immense distance (again, one floor). 

And now here's my son constructing his own memories, which will soon become buried in a lifetime of experiences.  Whatever he recalls, I am confident his memories of his first vacation with Nana and Opa will warm his heart.

 

Just when you think parenting is finally getting easier, you realize one of your children is actually missing.

Your Confessions

My family shows well.  Our five-year-old Joe Frank is polite and easy going at school and in the homes of his friends.   Our baby twins Bea and Alfie rarely cry at the super market and their double cuteness charms just about anyone they encounter.  My husband Eric and I generally present ourselves as relaxed, flexible parents who rarely raise our voices to our seemingly obedient and pleasant children.    

However.  Should someone stumble upon our lovely little family at around 9:30 pm during the nightly bedtime routine, or rather fiasco, they would get a glimpse of the harsh but very genuine reality of raising a family.  Hungry, tired, dirty parents trying to feed, clean, and tuck into bed hungry, tired, dirty kids; racing the clock so they will be well rested for the next day and we will be able to crash before midnight.  Welcome to the danger zone: a volatile combination of fatigue, time constraints and repressed emotions.  This is when children push all the buttons at the same time, with seemingly no regard for the beasts their parents are fighting to restrain within themselves.  Pushed to the brink of control, we parents lose the grip on rational, constructive parenting skills and let fly those horrible one-liners that we immediately regret.  You know what I mean:  the words we are sure will land our precious children in therapy.

Each family has its own version of the danger zone.  For many people, the volatile time of day is morning- getting dressed, fed and out the door in time for school.  For others, it’s any time any place. Whatever the time of day, the scenario usually involves the typical factors of fatigue, time constraints and repressed emotions, both for the child and the parent.

As I said, most of my family’s less-than-ideal parenting moments occur at bedtime. 

The other night amidst two screaming babies and a wired five-year-old who just would not listen to my words, I yelled,

“Are you really so stupid that you can’t see I’m about to kill you!?”

Appalled but not altogether surprised by my own horrible expressions, I began fishing for quotes from other parents. Rather than feeling embarrassed about the horrible things they’ve said to their children, most people expressed relief in confessing their parental sins as well as camaraderie in realizing almost all parents harbor an inner beast.   I was so thrilled by the wave of conversation my little project evoked that I am resolved to create a larger forum – perhaps a blog devoted entirely to parental confessions!  After all, we all need to vent that repressed badness we harbor all day long. . . . .

Some of the most memorable quotes went as follows:

“I am going to rip your face off!  I mean, you get a time out”.

“If you throw that in the toilet, I will throw you out the window”.

“What you just did is retarded and you’re stupid”.

"Well, you're the worst little boys in the world!"  (In response to "I hate you!" from one son and "You're the worst mother in the world" from the other (uttered almost simultaneously):

“Yes, we’re almost there! Shut up!” 

"You're sleeping outside tonight".

For many parents, it’s not what you say, so much as how you say it.  Polite requests uttered in demonic voices seemed to be a technique of choice.

Then there are the actions or rather reactions.  A friend of mine who is one of the most patient mothers I know recently shared this story:

I remember one time when my son was probably 3, when I got so frustrated with him as he grabbed all his books off the bookshelves and threw them on the floor (I don't remember if it was just for fun, or if he was having a tantrum) that I came into the room, yelled "let me help you!" and violently shook the bookshelf so that most of the books crashed off onto the floor. What a monster, me! (Is it a coincidence that monster and mother have so many letters in common?).

The vast majority of parents I interviewed admitted saying horrible things to their children, then immediately deleting the words from their memory.  If you cannot recall right now but feel the need to confess in the future, or just wish to reassure yourself that you are a normal parent, stay tuned for a future forum dedicated especially to you: the overstressed, good parent who occasionally vents through words instead of actually killing your children. 

What if the Virgin Mary had had twins?

A Poem

Once upon a time there was a goose.

And then it bonks into the tree.

And then it dies. 

And then a skeleton steps out of it.

And then it crashed into a train.

and then a ghost steps out of it.

The end. 

 

 

-Joe Frank age 5

On Confessions...

Hello fellow mothers and fathers,

I am working on a little blog/essay project and I need to gather some data.  I'm hoping to collect a lengthy list of completely useless, misdirected, and unproductive one liners we shout at our little angels in those moments of utter frustration and tempers lost.  These are the things we can't believe come out of our mouths and which we are sure will send our children straight to therapy as adults.  They may be insults, threats, or gruesome inappropriate analogies. 

Once I assemble a comprehensive list, I will then ask several child professionals to translate the quotes into well-thought-out, appropriate, responsible phrases. 

This has all stemmed from the progress and lack thereof we are making with Joe Frank.  His genius preschool teacher is helping us all work on language to express feelings of aggression and frustration toward certain twin babies who are apparently a permanent fixture in our lives.  Sometimes it works, sometimes it does not but I am fascinated by the possibilities of words.

I assure you that your contributions to this project will be completely anonymous.

To get you started, let me share one of my most recent remarks, which I am oh so proud of:

To Joe Frank during the nightly bedtime charade while the babies both scream and he continues to throw things at their heads:

"Are you really so stupid that you can't see I'm about to kill you!?"

Eloquent, tender, loving.  What can I say...

I hope this inspires you to share.  I think we all assume these quotes were adequately provoked so there will be no judgement whatsoever. 

Thanks for your help!   love Sarah

ps. I'd better get some responses or I will have to move where nobody knows me...

Flashback

There is something vintage about this photograph.  I can't quite put my finger on it but it reminds me of so many pictures from the 50's.  Dad on a Sunday morning- he worked hard all week and now he just wants to read his paper.  Those pesky kids are thrilled to still be in their jammies at 11:00.

Nothing can make one feel as ignorant as a baby that won't go to sleep....

Nighttime Management

The other night the twins woke me up five separate times to nurse.  About 5:00 AM, I was just drifting off to sleep when I opened my eyes to find Joe Frank's face about six inches from my own.

"Mommy," he whispered, "when is it going to be morning?"

"Not for a while yet, sweetheart.  Please go back to bed."

TRANSLATION: "!@#  &*%  #  !@#$%  ^&*, sweetheart.  &^*(!  #$v% ^&*(  $%  !@#"

Parental Confession #5

I clunked the twins' heads together.  

Don't worry- they're fine.... This type of accident typically occurs when they decide they need to breastfeed at exactly the same time.  Just for the record, the clunking is due to the difficulty of positioning two babies for nursing, not because I'm trying to knock the idea out of their heads...

Parental Confession #4

I cannot drive my minivan.  

A minivan is a necessary evil when one must transport three or more children in car seats.  When we learned we were expecting twins, my parents-in-law generously donated their minivan to our cause.  As grateful as I am, I cannot maneuver this monstrosity.  In three months time my previously impeccable driving record has been demolished.  At a recent Twins By the Bay meeting I managed to get the thing wedged into a parking space so tightly I could not get it out (luckily a very pregnant woman with nerves of steel managed to do this for me).   Then, on my first day back at work, I backed the thing right into a parked car, cracking the bumper.  I never even saw it.  (Yes, I left a note.)

I'm not even sure I'm legally eligible to drive a car this large.  I am four feet, eleven and a half inches tall and, technically speaking, I think you have to be five feet to legally drive (my license says I'm an even five feet).  In fact, according to the state of California, a person my size should still be in a car seat.  I should definitely not be driving a minivan...

Parental Confession #3

Today I fell asleep pushing the stroller.

 

Mastering Curious George

I am now as proficient at reading Curious George as I once was at learning concertos. Seriously. Anyone can sight read a children's story but, once you have read the same story every single night for several months, you start to own it. The words, memorized, come alive as you begin to perform the story as if you were on the Shakespearean stage. You tell the story as if you wrote it. And that, in essence, is why we musicians practice so much.

Parental Confession #2

I taught my son to make voodoo dolls. Well, not intentionally but here's what happened: In an attempt to make my son feel excited and secure about becoming a big brother (we are expecting twins soon), I have been engaging him in a number of projects. Specifically, big boy projects that babies are not allowed to do. One of his favorites is sewing. I thought it would make him feel really grown up and official to have his very own pin cushion and, because I am actually Martha Stewart, we decided to make one. To find inspiration we visited my favorite website in the whole wide world: Etsy.com . There we discovered the cutest little pattern for an owl shaped pin cushion. So, we set to work. Joe Frank cut out the pattern (this may have been the first mistake)and he helped me sew the thing up on the sewing machine (he likes to crank the needle wheel by hand. It's slow going but eventually gets the job done). Then we ironed on some felt eyes and Joe stuffed the thing and voila! The cutest little owl you've ever seen! Then. We stuck the pins in and it got a little weird...

Parental Confession #1

Son of Ass: Term coined by our four-year-old son based on a conglomeration of my vocabulary.