The One Where I Get Excited about an Invisible Potty Seat

In case you're tired of reading my soapbox rants and other people's guest posts, you can head on over to Triangle Mamas and see my post about a toilet seat. Really.

Don't say I never gave you anything.

An Open Letter to WRAL's Meterologist

A friend emailed the following letter last night -- it cracked me up, so I asked him if I could post it on my blog today (in lieu of the usual Friday's Five) as his blog is currently on hiatus. Thankfully he said yes (because he's a lawyer type, I couldn't publish without permission for fear of legal action).

The post is all the funnier because of the big, fluffy white flakes currently falling outside my window. Better luck next time, my friend -- last night, I was sure you'd be right!

________

Dear Greg,

I am on to you. It's a twisted little game you got going on, and I will not let it stand. See, Fishel, we've been down this road before, you and me. And as our former president famously said, "Fool me once, shame on — [pauses] - shame on you. Fool me — You can't get fooled again."

Here is the deal. You played this wintry weather scare game on the night of my wife's baby shower. Your dire warnings of 'frozen precipiatation' scared all my native southern friends from venturing outdoors. You made it sound like a flake of snow was akin to the ebola virus. Your 28 years of experience freaking out the natives might get you some street cred with the bread-buying, beer-hoarding locals, but I am not from here and I am hip to your reindeer games.

So, anyway, on that faithful night two years ago, me and my poor wife were just sitting at friend's house, alone, in the dark. No friends to wish our new arrival well. No cute baby clothes. No silly games we have decided here in the 21st are somehow an acceptable way to wish a couple well. And the worst part? The roads were dry. Bone dry. Yancey County dry. Dry enough for even the most southern of my friends to drive safely on.

So this time, Fishel (if that's your real name), I am choosing to ignore your doppler 5000 and your accuweather predictions.

I am going to the Raleigh Times at 11:55 tomorrow. I am going to enjoy my [monthly lunch group]. And when I hear your dire predictions of wintry weather, I will spitefully laugh and ruefully think of my young son and how he was forced to go without shower presents, all because you couldn't get your shower predictions right.

Yours in accurate forecasting,
Damon

Image from WRAL.com.

Remember me? I'm Your Wife...

What with all the ranting last week, I ran out of days to write about the glorious 27 hours I spent with my husband over Thanksgiving weekend.

That's 27 hours alone. No kids. No parents. No work. No deadlines. Just us. Overnight. For the first time in three years.

Crazy, crazy fun.

We left the kids at home with my parents on Friday morning at 9:30 and returned home the next day around noon. Picasso and Warhol at the Nasher in the morning. Pepper's for lunch. Afternoon nap at The Franklin. Dinner at Mediterranean Deli. Movie at The Varsity. The Franklin's special breakfast in bed. Brunch from Sunrise Biscuit Kitchen. Plus some lovely details in between that I won't write about because my parents and my in-laws read my blog (and it's not that kind of blog anyway).

Did I mention it had been three years?

Oh, and my favorite part about staying at The Franklin? The "do not disturb" button right beside the headboard -- you don't even have to get out of bed to hang the tag on your door.

Could it be more perfect?

Thursday Soapbox: The Public's Schools

I have a confession to make: As the mother of a rising kindergartner, there's a tiny part of me that hopes all the "neighborhood schools" candidates get elected to the Wake County Board of Education on Oct. 6. You see, as a mom, I'd really love for my son (and, in a few more years, my daughter) to attend the elementary school in our neighborhood.

What's not to love? We could walk to school in 20 minutes, joining with our friends along the way to form a daily elementary school parade. He would be in school with kids he knows, whose parents I know. He'd be at a "good" school that's safe, familiar, stable and on a traditional calendar. Norman Rockwell himself would probably want to paint a picture of it all.

Even before I became a mom, I couldn't fault the parents who complain about (and then form yet another group to fight) annual reassignments that resulted in instability, uncertainty and sometimes long drives for families around the county. Now that I am a mom, I understand their concerns in a whole new way.

But I know too much. I am more than a mom -- a former teacher, a public education advocate, a citizen, a taxpayer -- and I cannot in good conscience support an approach that will lead to the re-segregation of schools, no matter how lovely my personal scenario might seem through the eyes of motherhood.

As a parent, my job is to do what is in the best interest of my own child. But the teachers, administrators and elected officials in our community? Their job is to do what is in the best interest of ALL children, regardless of what neighborhood they live in or who their parents are.

There are plenty of arguments on all sides of the debate around "supporting diverse schools" or "supporting neighborhood schools" (which aren't mutually exclusive in theory, but generally are opposites in practice). I don't have the time or energy or clarity of thought to wade through them all. But here are few things that, from research and personal experience, I know to be true:

• Schools with high concentrations of poverty have a harder time being successful than schools with fewer low-income students. It's not some kind of hogwash about having poor kids sit next to rich kids so they can learn better. It's simply that students living in poverty, no matter how smart they are, come with additional challenges (like being hungry or not having adequate health care or having a single parent who can't be home much because she's working two jobs) that schools must try to address.
  
  
• Schools with high concentrations of poverty tend to have higher rates of teacher turnover because they're tougher places to teach. That usually means more teachers with less experience and a general instability within the school culture, which means that teachers suffer and students suffer. And that's all students in the school, not just the poor ones. Studies suggest that students in poor and minority schools are twice as likely to have an inexperienced teacher and are 61 percent more likely to be assigned an uncertified teacher.
  
  
• Advocates for a "neighborhood schools" approach who claim that additional funding will be given to schools in poor neighborhoods to help them overcome their challenges are full of crap. Particularly in today's world of slashed budgets, the money won't be there -- or if it does come, it won't last long. And, unless you're Geoffrey Canada in the Harlem Children's Zone, it won't be enough to make a difference.
  
  
• Wake County's diversity policy is imperfect -- and I think the district sometimes does a poor job of implementing the policy, leaving families feeling ignored and snubbed -- but maintaining integrated schools is the right goal. The district is not "out to get" anyone and derives no pleasure from disrupting parents' vision of how school should be. They are simply wrestling with making the best decisions they can in support of the nearly 140,000 students in the district.
  

As for the election on Oct. 6, unfortunately I don't get to vote because I don't live in one of the districts on this year's ballot. If you are eligible to vote, I certainly don't presume to tell you who to vote for and am not endorsing any candidates. But I hope that, regardless of where you live, you'll consider that, as parents, we have the luxury making decisions based on our own children. Our school districts must consider all the children at once.

* * *

I may have to write on this topic again -- I've been struggling with this post for weeks and am still not satisfied. It's a complicated issue and I'm inclined to wander off on a million different tangents. In the meantime, if you'd like more information, read Making Choices, a report I co-wrote in 2003 when I worked at Wake Education Partnership, or Striking a Balance, a 2008 report from the same organization. And feel free to comment, argue, debate -- just be polite about it.

It's Not American Idol, But You Still Get to Vote

It's a busy week at Juni and Pip's house -- lots to do before we leave on a week's vacation (see photo for a preview of what we'll be doing), so not much time for the ol' blog. I'm hoping to have more time to write at the beach, so look for some new posts next week.

In the meantime, head over to Triangle TRACKS (Tools, Resources and Activities for Carolina Kids) for their Blog Carnival. My post about the Code Brown in Pippi's crib is the second one down -- the top three posts that generate the most discussion (in the form of comments or questions) will be awarded their own promotional box (with a link to the RSS feed) on the Triangle TRACKS home page for two weeks.

There are eight blogs posted, so help me out by leaving a comment -- and then read the other posts and all the interesting info from Triangle TRACKS. Oddly enough, there's another post involving poop. Winners will be announced on Sept. 4.

If you got here from Triangle Tracks, welcome and thanks for reading! And I promise that not all my posts involve my children's fecal incidents -- look around for book and music recommendations, stories about food, and general musings about how life changes.

Pizza Nostalgia

Even though Thomas Wolfe, himself a Tar Heel, said you can't go home again, I always like to try anyway when it comes to Chapel Hill. I spent four years there as an undergrad, then returned five years later for graduate school.

Over the years, one restaurant retained my unfailing loyalty:
Pepper's Pizza.

A couple weeks ago I had a work-related meeting in Chapel Hill, so I took the opportunity to head to the Hill early and treat myself to lunch at Pepper's. It's been a few years since I had eaten there, and I knew that the restaurant had changed locations, moving up Franklin Street a few spaces from its original site (shown here). I was nervous, hopeful, a little skeptical -- but I needed to know if it was still My Pepper's.

As I enjoyed my lunch (my "usual": diet coke, side salad no peppers no onions with ranch dressing, and a slice with zucchini and feta) which was thank goodness exactly wonderfully like it had always been, I had to laugh about how much things have changed.

Of course, the space is new -- much brighter and less grunge than the old space, with four televisions mounted on the walls. The wait staff still looked college-town-quirky, but none of the employees had multi-colored hair, large tattoos or excessive piercings. And even the music was different -- instead of head-banging alternative noise, I actually heard "Walking on Sunshine" (although, to be fair, that is one of my all-time favorite songs -- seriously, click the link and thank me later for putting that feel-good tune in your head and a skip in your step).

But what had really changed? Me.

Instead of walking up to Franklin from class or the dorm with a group of friends, I drove to the parking garage and ate alone with a magazine (and enjoyed it! how else would I get to read The New Yorker in peace?). Instead of wearing jeans and a t-shirt with birks, I was in suit trousers, dressy top, pearls and heels -- professional attire for my meeting, of course. After lunch, when the waitress shooed me back to my table (apparently you don't pay at the counter in Fancy Pepper's), I handed her my AmEx card instead of a wad of change and bills out of the pocket on my backpack.

But the salad was still the right balance of lettuce, tomatoes and mozzarella with just the right amount of dressing. And the pizza still has that perfect-not-too-thick-not-too-thin crust with just enough sauce, thinly sliced veggies and salty feta cheese. And the diet coke, refilled at exactly the right moment, still comes with that delightful pebbly ice.

So I decided I'm okay with the changes at Pepper's because the food is what matters most. And I'm more than okay with the changes in me because it's a good life I've got here -- even if I did look a bit dorky at lunch.

Photo from UrbanSpoon.com.

Did I Mention I'm a Famous Blogger?

Just in case you weren't watching NBC17's "This Week on MyNC" program at 6:30 a.m. on Saturday (or at 9 a.m. or 11:30 p.m. on Sunday), you can go here to see what you missed (click on the 8/15/09 program).

The show includes a television version of 30Threads, which featured... you guessed it, my very famous tree letter post! As a friend's daughter once said, "I am SO celebrity."

Turns out writing "open letters" is this week's blogging trend. The post mentioned after mine is another Triangle Mamas blogger -- go TM!

You can skip ahead to about 15:07 for the blog segment, but you should also watch the whole show to learn about the very cool Backpack Buddies program. And thanks to Ginny for publicly defending my love of trees.

Lost in Marbles

As Pippi strolled past me with her miniature grocery cart, I waved to her and she tossed me a big flirty grin. Then I turned back to Junius, who was fixing a plastic breakfast of eggs, bacon and spaghetti with meatballs.

After a moment, I noticed that Pippi hadn't circled back to us when she got to the corner, so I stood up to check on her. That's when I realized there was no corner, just another opening that connected to the rest of the play area. And Pippi was nowhere to be seen.

It was a busy Saturday morning at Marbles Kids Museum, the kind of day when I would have preferred to go to the pool and avoid the crowds. But Junius had asked so nicely and I was tired of always saying no. So we went, just the three of us.

My eyes darted around the chaotic space, searching for her shaggy little head among all the other toddlers -- how do you find someone so short in a crowd? I raced around the loop twice before grabbing Junius by the hand for fear that he might disappear, too. After a third frantic circle, Juni struggling to keep up with me, I could feel myself starting to panic.

Surely she was in here somewhere, I tried to rationalize. But what if she'd followed someone out of the gate and they hadn't noticed? How far could she wander without being stopped? What if someone had taken her?

We dashed to the information desk, telling the woman there that I'd lost my child. I started spouting out details, which she relayed through her earpiece to the other staff members -- 18 months old, sandy hair, pink shoes, flowered dress. As I described her, she sounded like any one of a million little people playing in the museum. I wrestled with my lungs to make my breathing stay at a normal rate.

After making Junius promise he would stay at the desk, I darted back into the play area to search again. Another staffer met me there, saying, "I think someone found her." I looked up, expecting to see her crying for me, searching as desperately for her mommy as I had been for her.

But she was playing happily at the little cash register, just a few feet from where I'd been sitting for our pretend meal. She must have been two steps behind me the whole time I was searching for her, not even knowing that she was lost.

When I scooped her up, thanking the staff and heading to the desk to retrieve Junius, it felt like she'd been missing for hours. In reality, it had been less than five minutes -- but it was the longest one of my children had been lost, and it was more than enough time to leave me shaking and exhausted.

If Only They Would Listen to My Wisdom

Following the wild success of my open letter to a tree (and a big thanks to my friends who commented on 30Threads, defending me against "Lance"), I was considering going to an all-open-letter blog format. Then I realized that had already been done -- and I'm not going to try to compete with Sarah Vowell and John Hodgman. But so many little annoying things happened while I was running errands on Monday that I feel compelled to employ the device a few more times, so here goes.

* * *

Dear Woman in the Parking Lot at Bed, Bath & Beyond,

I will try not to judge you and your passenger for parking in a handicapped space, then walking easily into the Party City store. It's entirely possible that, although you are both ambulatory, one or both of you has a less visible illness that makes walking difficult over certain distances. Your passenger's very short hair suggested she may be recovering from treatment, so it's easy to give you the benefit of the doubt.

However, it's harder for me to be sympathetic when you're smoking a cigarette while wearing a cancer survivor t-shirt from Relay for Life. Perhaps you've missed the whole surgeon general thing for the past 40 years, but it seems like now would be a good time to quit with the cancer sticks.

Best wishes for continued health,
C

* * *

Dear Mom of One at Harris Teeter,

Congratulations on having such a well-behaved toddler at the grocery store. And congrats for your new one on the way -- what an exciting time for you!

One of the things you'll learn after you have two children on the outside of you is the critical nature of the double-seated grocery cart. It is difficult to corral two children in the grocery store unless you can buckle them in and keep them entertained (thus protecting all those products on bottom shelves cleverly covered in Pixar characters). That's precisely the beauty of those rocket-ship-race-car carts -- both kids fit and each one gets a steering wheel.

So given that Harris Teeter has a VERY limited number of these carts (like, two) and given that you still only have one child who can actually access said cart, please be considerate and leave them for people with two children. We desperately need them.

Thanks,
C (the mom who was giving you the stink eye while her son pushed one of those customer-in-training carts running into shelves and customers all over the store)

* * *

Dear Woman in the Parking Lot at Harris Teeter,

I'm so glad you were driving slow enough and watching closely enough to see the elderly man backing his land yacht out in front of you. That's a tricky parking lot, so I commend your attention to safety.

I also think you were right to toot your horn to alert him that you were coming, in hopes that he would stop and let you pass before continuing his slow and steady move into traffic.

However, continuously holding your hand on the horn for the duration of his very slow and steady move into traffic when he clearly was not intimidated by (or perhaps could not hear) your honking and when he was posing no great threat to your vehicle or other drivers and when my small children were stuck beside your bleating car waiting for me to unload my groceries into the trunk was truly excessive. Please go home and take a nap (or a valium).

Kindest regards,
C

* * *

Phew. Don't know about you, but I feel so much better now. And I promise to leave the open letter mechanism alone for awhile.

My Most Famous Post

Congratulations to all (seven) of you for reading this blog! You'll be able to say you knew me way back when.

Turns out, I am a totally famous blogger now. Over the weekend, my post on Triangle Mamas got picked up by 30 Threads, a site that highlights Triangle blogs and media.

In case you haven't clicked over to Triangle Mamas in awhile, you should go now and read my open letter to a tree (the post linked as #5 on 30 Threads), as well as posts from other area moms. And I should clarify that I am a) not opposed to trees in general, b) not suggesting they cut down the fully-grown trees that provide a tiny bit of shade at the amphitheater and c) not going to take a preschooler to a show two hours early just to stake out a good spot.

While you read, I'll be sitting at home waiting for all the mommy-blog marketers to start contacting me. Just hope it's someone other than tree removal and landscaping services.

What would happen if I just put my hand here?

Last weekend we took Junius to see the N.C. Symphony's Summerfest concert with Cirque de la Symphonie. It was a big night out for the three of us -- we left Pippi at home with a friend from the babysitting co-op because we knew she'd a) never sit still for the concert and b) need to go to bed about the time the show was starting.

The amphitheater was packed when we arrived and got more crowded as the night went on. But despite the lack of space and lack of a clear view (more on that in another post), we had a nice time eating our picnic and watching the show.

If you're not familiar with Cirque de la Symphonie, it's kind of like Cirque de Soleil in front of a symphony -- acrobats, dancers, jugglers, and the like. The performers are mind-bogglingly (did I just invent an adverb?) strong and graceful, dangling from the ceiling on ribbons and hoops or balancing on tiny stools and each other.

So here are my questions: After you've done all the strength training and gymnastics training and so on, how do you make the leap to saying to your friend...

"Just hold still --
I'm going to do an upside-down one-armed push-up on your head."

Or "I think I can spin three *more* hoops..."


Or "I'm sure I could wrap these sheets
around my wrists and fly..."

For more photos and a video to get the full effect, go here. In the meantime, I'll be training with Junius and Pippi for the next tour. I'm pretty sure I can juggle both of them at the same time.

What a difference a year makes

"This is a disaster," I remember thinking to myself. "What have we done?"

Boxes were crammed into the kitchen making it impossible to get to the sink or any of the countertops. Mattresses and bed parts leaned against the bedroom walls, leaving nowhere to sleep. The couch was piled high with bags of toys, pillows and blankets. The maze of stuff throughout the house rendered even the floor impossible to reach.

Exhausted, I took Junius (then almost 3) and Pippi (then 4 months) across the street and knocked on our neighbors' door. We had just met that afternoon, but I was desperate for a soft place to sit -- and there was no such location in the new house.

"Would it be okay if we came in so I could nurse?" I asked her, when she opened the door. She graciously invited us in, as I realized she was also nursing her 5-month-old son.

Pippi had her dinner, then we went back to our house so the rest of us could eat. The same neighbor had thoughtfully brought over not only food that required no cooking, but also paper plates, plastic utensils and napkins.

I'm not sure whether it was the kindness of a stranger (soon to be friend) or the chaotic mess around me or the thought that we'd left behind a perfectly nice, clean, unpacked, already-decorated house, but all I wanted to do was cry myself to sleep. Except that I couldn't find any tissues. Or my bed.

That was one year ago this weekend.

Seems like a lifetime ago. Seems like only yesterday.

Although the house is still a chaotic mess (mostly due to two small children and some remodeling projects), we're much more settled in than we were that day. We've done lots of work upstairs (and by "we," I mostly mean my husband and other skilled people) to make it our own. And with "old" and "new" friends surrounding us -- including that kind neighbor across the street -- this is where we are setting down roots for our family. No longer the "new house"...

This is home.

Giveaway at Triangle Mamas

Although I'm not really cool enough to have interesting giveaways on my blog, it turns out that I'm writing for another blog that is totally cool enough.

Head on over to Triangle Mamas, where you can register to win Animal Planet's Emergency Vets, a new game for the Nintendo DS that lets children play as a veterinarian in 15 vet mini-games. They can care for 30 different animal species cleaning teeth, grooming them, and even examining x-rays to diagnose problems. And best of all, you don't actually have to let 30 animals in your house in order for them to practice their vet skills.

And while you're there, you can read a few posts by me and some great local bloggers about non-giveaway topics.

Entries will be accepted until 11:00 p.m. on July 16, 2009.

My Life (2003-2008, Abridged)

Here's my attempt to edit five years into 50 words:

Four years after falling in love with our first house and our Raleigh neighbors, my husband, son and I moved away for a job.

Eleven months later, we moved back, with a new baby.

When our friends appeared as the moving truck arrived, we knew we'd made the right decision.

Now it's your turn.

Friday's Five: Farmer's Market

One of my favorite things about living in Raleigh is having easy access to the State Farmer's Market. Lots of communities have local markets, but the one here is big and open seven days a week. You can find all sorts of things there, from flowers to fruit to framing to flags, and everything inbetween (whatever that might be).

I like to go on Sunday mornings after church -- it's not too crowded yet, although not all the vendors are open then either. If you've got time to spend, you can shop for veggies, wander through the crafts and then eat at one of the restaurants (our favorite is the seafood market -- get the shrimp sandwich and a side of fries).

The Farmer's Market is great year-round (and not just for pumpkins and Christmas trees), but here are five of my favorite foods you can get now (or at least soon):

1. Strawberries -- Go ahead and buy the big basket. Eat some now (yogurt and granola, anyone?) and freeze some for later (perfect in smoothies).
   
2. Peach salsa -- They also sell pineapple salsa and other tasty flavors, but the peach is the best and it's not too spicy.
   
3. Sweet potatoes -- The state vegetable (what? you didn't know?) is so much better here than in stores. Wonderful flavor and beautiful orange color.
   
4. Collards -- Good for you and taste good, too. Just don't boil them into oblivion. Slice them into strips with a little salt, water and olive oil, and cook until they're not crunchy but not soggy either (about 20 minutes).
   
5. Peaches -- Not in yet, but they are oh-so-yummy. Ask for samples, but be sure to bring the wipes with you. You and your kids will be sticky.