Officially a (Library) Card-Carrying Member

Two years ago, my oldest signed up for and received his first library card. For a child who loves to read and who, since he knew of their existence, treated books reverently, a library card seemed like the logical next step in his relationship with all things literary. 

Two weeks ago, my youngest asked to sign up for and receive her first library card. For a child who has only in the last month developed an interest in reading (thank goodness!) and whose relationship with books was not-so-long-ago disrespectful and violent, a library card seemed risky…kind of like giving a no-limit credit card to 14-year-old. I consider library cards an important childhood milestone though, so letting Hallie apply for one was a risk I was willing to take. 

Before we set out on our adventure (I honestly consider every trip to the library with Hallie comparable to a chapter in a Choose Your Own Adventure book), Hallie practiced writing her name for at least 20 minutes. She knows how to print both "Hallie" and "Ferris" and has for quite a while, but she writes her letters like a typical four-year-old: BIG. Because library cards have only a very small and short line on which card-holders must write their names, Hallie's practice session had more to do with shrinking her letters than it did learning or practicing her letters.

Then we talked about what to expect. I reminded her that she would need to write her full name twice, and that when she did so she would be promising the library to never rip up any take good care of their books and always return them on time. I reminded her that if she lost any of the library's books, she would be responsible for paying the fine with real money because the library no longer accepts dresses as a form of payment. I reminded her that once she had a library card she would be considered a "member" of the library, and that library members must always talk in quiet voices (no yelling or singing loudly), walk (no running), and be patient at the check-out desk. Somewhat surprisingly, Hallie still wanted to "try for" her library card after all of these reminders.

After we selected our books, the kids and I walked up to the counter and asked if we could sign Hallie up for a library card. The librarian looked Hallie up and down (images of Hallie wreaking havoc on the library no doubt swirling around in her head), took a deep breath in through her nose, and asked Hallie if she could write her first and last name. "Yes! Yes, I can!" Hallie replied excitedly. The librarian had no other option than to let Hallie give it a go.

Just like when Will signed up for his library card, the process took a day and a half because 1) the librarian moved slower than molasses and 2) it takes Hallie approximately 36 hours to write her full name twice. I ate two meals, slept for a few hours, and knitted a scarf right there at the counter.

I may jinx myself - and Hallie - by writing this, but...against all odds, my girl rocked it that day. She listened politely to everything the librarian explained to her, neatly printed her name twice, waited patiently while the librarian processed all of the paperwork, and said thank you after receiving her card. Maybe, just maybe, she finally outgrew whatever condition she'd developed that made her act out at the library.

Will, on the other hand, decided that - at least on that day - someone needed to pick up where Hallie'd left off. He could NOT stop "accidentally" bumping into his sister while she was trying to write her name and consequently spent most of the that trip to library in time out. 

Officially a card-carrying member of the BCS Public Library System - quite a milestone for this little girl.

Dad has Green and Mom has Blue: A Valentine's Day Poem from Me to You

To warm up after getting out of the shower on cold, Wisconsin winter mornings, I used to wrap myself up in towels and sit on the floor in front of (but a safe distance away from) our bathroom space heater. Since the warming process took quite a few minutes, I passed the time - six-year-olds get bored, y'all - by going through my parents toiletry drawers in the bathroom vanity. I came across all kinds of interesting devices and products - from razors and shaving brushes to cuticle trimmers and eyelash curlers - that baffled me, but for some reason I found my parents' deodorants most intriguing. It's best not to ask why I felt drawn to parents' deodorants because I have no answer to that question.

They both used Ban deodorant, and while the base containers looked the same, my dad's deodorant had a green top and my mom's deodorant had a blue top. I checked on the status of their deodorants nearly every day, rolling them up and down to see how much product remained and smelling them to determine which scent I preferred. Again, I cannot explain this behavior.

One day my mom found this poem - written on a scrap of notebook paper and folded into a neat little square - on her pillow.

Dad has green,
Mom has blue.
I love you, 
And that is true.

My mom asked me if I'd written the poem, and when I answered in the affirmative, she complimented me on my writing and hung my poem on the refrigerator next to a note I'd written to let her know I'd cleaned my ears "for her" while she'd been at work one evening. (Lucky woman, my mom, to have kids who wash their ears even she's not home.) She never questioned the subject of the poem or asked about Dad's Green or Mom's Blue...I simply assumed she really "got me" as a writer.

Fast forward 25 years, to me standing in my parents' kitchen, chuckling at the poem and the note that still hang in a place of honor on their refrigerator. My mom asked what I found so funny, and I commented on how strange it was that I'd chosen deodorant as the topic for my first poem. She gave me a puzzled look, and I pointed to the poem. "I wrote this about your deodorants," I reminded her.

"What?", she questioned, clearly not at all in the know.

I ran upstairs to my parents' bathroom and rifled through their vanity drawers until I found their deodorants. Yes, the packaging has changed slightly over the years - all Ban deodorants are light green now - but the colors associated with the previous packaging are still used to distinguish scent. When I pulled out the two sticks I noted that the front of my dad's deodorant had a green stripe on it and the front of my mom's deodorant had a blue stripe on it.

I handed my mom the two deodorants and pointed out the blue and green stripes. "Dad has green and Mom has blue," I explained. She burst out laughing, and admitted to never having had any idea what the heck I'd been referring to in my poem so many years earlier.

The morals of the story are many. First, inspiration can be found anywhere you're willing to look. Second, I am terrible at poetry. Third, even terrible poetry stands the test of time.

Happy Valentine's Day, friends. I love you and that is true.

Valentine's Day is also my parents' anniversary and my sister-in-law's birthday. Happy anniversary, Mom and Dad, and happy birthday, Chandi!

Worth Watching (and Reading) Wednesday

Each week I come across two or three testimonials, stories, articles, compilations, memes, pictures, and/or videos that speak to me. Depending on the content, I may email the links to my family members and friends, share them on Facebook, or post them to Pinterest or Instagram. I try to spread the information, inspiration, and humor, but in a way that doesn't make my friends delete my emails before reading them or block me from their news feeds.

This past week, however, nearly everything I stumbled upon on Facebook, Youtube, and the internet had an impact on me. I laughed out loud, smiled through my tears, and reflected on how my words and actions might be perceived by those who don't know me well. I needed a boost, and the universe gave me one by placing certain words and pictures directly in front of me.

And so in case you find yourself in need of an emotional pick-me-up, a mental reset, an authentic laugh, or reassurance that the kindness and generosity are still all around us, check out a few of the links below. I promise you won't be disappointed.

We've all been there:
Dear New Girl at the Gym

Texas A&M demonstrates once again why it deserves it's reputation as a class act:
An Honorable Scholarship

When penguins slip and fall on the ice they make much cuter noises than I do: 
Adorable Penguin Wipeout

They are "stepping in, every single day, and altering the trajectory of our world":
Teach On, Warriors

Hope for all those who fear the peanut:
Fighting Back Against Peanut Allergies

I could watch performances like this one all day:
Drum Line Rock

Jimmy Fallon joins Danny, Jesse, and Joey for a creepy but perfectly executed Full House family reunion: 
Full House Reunion

Incredibly important words for all parent volunteers to read: 
When Elite Parents Volunteer

Though you've likely watched quite a few good commercials this week (thank you, Budweiser, for making me cry AGAIN), you may not have seen this fantastic one - titled "All is Right" - by Footlocker:
Footlocker Commerical

Enough Already

I think most of us have grown tired of winter. Many Southern states - most of which receive very little precipitation and even less snow throughout January, February, and March - have dealt with multiple ice and snow storms for which they find themselves dangerously unprepared. Many Northern states, even those that regularly operate with a "business as usual" mentality throughout the winter months, have reached their breaking points: schools have used all of their allotted (plus taken many more) snow/cold days, cities have exhausted their salt and sand supplies, and emergency responders have stretched their personnel, physical, and financial resources to their breaking point. Uncle, Mother Nature. UNCLE.

I find it almost comical that winter didn't bother me much when winter looked and felt like...winter. Until we moved to Texas, I understood and accepted that starting in late October and until late March, I wore a coat. I wore boots. I wore a hat, mittens, and a scarf. I bundled my babies before I took them outside. I started the car long before I actually had to pull out of the driveway. I shoveled snow before and after work. I paid an exorbitant heating bill every month.

But now, midway through my fourth (?!) Texas winter, I expect mild temperatures and clear skies. I expect the schools to remain open and my kids to go outside for recess. I expect light jackets and a fire in the fireplace on cool evenings to be enough. (And to be honest, I kind of feel like we deserve all that, given that our July, August, and September temperatures reach highs documented otherwise only on the sun.)

And so when Mother Nature throws Wisconsin-like winter weather and stormy skies my way, the anxiety sets in. When the schools close or delay, or when my kids - especially Will, who desperately needs to physically exhaust himself multiple times each day - aren't allowed to go outside for recess, I get grumpy.

For some reason the weather I loved as a Wisconsin, Iowa, and Michigan resident makes me not very nice here in Texas. I think I need therapy.

This is what the first half of January in Texas looked like:

I may have worn pants and a light jacket on the day pictured above, but the weather was plenty warm enough for the kiddos to thoroughly enjoy the day's rain shower, accompanying street streams, and a good, old fashioned noodle battle.

And this is what the second half of January/first half of February looked like:

Temperatures in the low 20's with wind chills in the teens. Snow accumulation and sheets of ice on the roadways. (Made worse, of course, by the fact that in Texas, no one owns a shovel and the cities have no plows or sand/salt trucks.) Terrible back-ups on the highways and deadly accidents. No recess, school delays, and school closings.

Oh, the anxiety. Oh, the grumpiness. Last Thursday morning a snow and ice storm that should have triggered a snow day but somehow didn't (even Tom and I, who know how to drive in bad weather and on snowy, icy roads, thought school should have at least been delayed for two hours) made my morning awful. I was sitting in my car in the HEB parking lot - long story short, Hallie and I stopped to buy her a Lunchable because her backpack and lunchbox were in Tom's car - and I confessed to Hallie (poor thing, having to moonlight as her mama's therapist) that I felt like I was going to lose it. Sweet little girl, she smiled and replied, "it'll be OK, Mama. Just drive slowly on the ice and stay away from idiots on the road."

It's possible I may have called a few inexperienced (with winter weather driving) drivers "idiots" throughout the past couple of weeks…

She then added, "and today is the best day EVER because I get to go to school AND have a Lunchable for lunch!"

I'm trying really hard not to let all this winter/weather nonsense get to me, and comments like those from my Hal Gal certainly help buoy me when I feel myself sinking. So do afternoons spent enjoying hot chocolate around the kitchen table and watching my boy brave the winter weather like a true Northerner.

But that doesn't mean we're not ready for spring. Enough already, Mother Nature. ENOUGH.

High Five for Friday (2.7.14)

1. She did it!

Last Friday Hallie Claire decided she was ready to get her ears pierced. As soon as she'd made her decision, she marched right up to the counter, placed her "order" ("I'd like to get my ears pierced, please"), and never looked back. Well, she looked back a little - through tears - after the first ear…but she pulled herself together and eventually walked about of Claire's with bee-ee-u-tee-ful "diamonds" in both ears. You can read the full story and see more pictures here.

2. I recently discovered one of the benefits - if you can call moving slower and therefore making oneself easier to trap a benefit - of "winter lizards" over "summer lizards"!

After trapping trespassing summer lizards under buckets, I immediately begin the lengthy and elaborate process of transferring them back to their native out-of-doors. These little critters are so fast and frantic that I worry they might, with a burst of adrenaline that produces super-lizard speed and strength, escape from my bucket trap and become loose in the house once again. (Erin's worst nightmare = lizard/snake/scorpion/frog in the house but exact whereabouts unknown.) But because winter lizards move with a lethargy seen previously only in school-aged children being dragged out of bed on Monday mornings, I feel safe leaving them trapped under my bucket until Tom gets home from work.

Well, I feel safe leaving them trapped under my bucket once it's secured with a game that weighs half as much as Hallie.

High five for not having to suck this pokey little lizard up into the vacuum cleaner!

3. I finally found an art-related activity that Will enjoys…glue gunning!

Will had to create a craft project - using 100 items found around the house - for his 100th day of school. As usual, Will teared up with frustration when he received this assignment because, more than anything in world, he hates art. I tried desperately to come up with an idea Will could at least tolerate, and had nearly given up hope when he finally agreed to my suggestion that he attach M&Ms to a gumball machine cut-out…using a glue gun.

Yes, he complained during the tracing and cutting and glue-sticking phases of the project, but when I handed him the glue gun he worked enthusiastically until the 100th M&M had been attached. From this point forward, any and all art-related work assigned to my first grader will involve glue first, all other supplies second.

After discovering Will's love for glue-gunning, I hid my glue gun and the glue sticks just in case he should feel the urge to work in the middle of the night or when I'm not home and end up gluing the refrigerator shut or himself to the toilet seat.

4. This pic made me laugh out loud - I love my hometown for the beer, the cheese, and the weather.

5. And last but not least, I'll leave you with my favorite photo montage of the week: 25 Types of People You See at the Gym, courtesy of eBaum's World. As a regular gym-goer, I have seen more than half of the activities and people captured in these photos in real life. I haven't seen Batman on the treadmill though, and I really want to see Batman on the treadmill...

Let's Go Ride a Bike

Will first tried to ride his bike without training wheels the weekend after his fifth birthday. Though at one point Tom let go of the bike and Will stayed upright for a second or two, Will never actually rode that day. Instead, and staying true to his well-established track record of not accomplishing any goal or reaching any milestone until he is as emotionally and mentally ready as he is physically ready, Will ended the attempt in a heap on the grass with tears streaming down his face.

At his request, Tom and I put Will's bike away and made no reference to it for weeks.

A few months later, a friend of mine lent Will her daughter's balance bike. Will rode the balance bike around on our patio for six weeks, at which point - at about five-and-a-half-years old - he announced he felt ready to try his two-wheeler again. Tom and my dad took Will to the end of our street, which because of its gradual slope is a perfect place for beginning bike riders to start out, gave him a push, and let him fly. He rode like the wind - much faster than I felt comfortable with, given his lack of biking (and braking!) experience - and never looked back.

I'd heard previously about the benefits of balance bikes, but watching Will go from terrified, non-rider to confident, independent rider after less than six weeks of just playing around on one convinced me. We put Hallie's two-wheeler with training wheels in the attic and gave her a balance bike. And just like Will, in a few short weeks she could coast on the balance bike for the equivalent of a block and I knew she was ready.

Nerves nearly got the best of her at first, but after her daddy talked her down off the ledge she agreed to give it a try as long as promised not to let go.

As you can probably see in these pictures, from that very first moment she rode her bike on her own. She wouldn't admit it, nor did she believe Tom when he repeated the phrase, "you're doing it all by your big girl self!" over and over again, so he continued to hold onto her bike as she rode up and down the street in front of our house.

Eventually we rode up to the park, where she finally granted him permission him let go. (Riding on the grass made her feel a little more confident as she knew it would hurt less if she fell.)

The next day she rode without Tom's help but with Will's enthusiastic support on the cement for the first time.

This all went down about a month ago, and since then Hallie's progressed to riding around our entire, very large block without stopping. Needless to say, Tom, Will, and I are tremendously proud of her.

The problem lies in the fact that Hallie learned to ride without training wheels at a considerably younger mental age than Will. At five-and-a-half, Will could understand brakes and traffic and signaling. At four-and-a-half, Hallie understand nothing except staying upright. She doesn't quite grasp braking, assumes all traffic will stop for her, and won't let go of her handle bars. She rides like a blind bat out of hell and with an awareness of nothing except the pavement in front of her.

The only solution we've come up with so far is for either Tom or me to run - and I mean RUN - right next to her so that we can grab her handlebars as she approaches corners and intersections. Both Tom and I consider learning how to brake a top priority and are working with her every weekend because, let's be honest, while this temporary solution works, keeping up with an adrenaline-charged, four-year-old bike rider on foot is exhausting.

I smile when I think about both of our kiddos accomplishing this feat and how their reaching this milestone is now woven into the fabric of our Texas experience. But perhaps my favorite part of all this was watching how patiently and kindly Tom helped each child overcome their fears, develop a sense of confidence, and eventually take flight. He deserves every ounce of pride he so obviously feels.

Will

Hallie

Bertie Bott's Bean Bonanza

12 years ago I stumbled upon a new kind of candy while perusing the aisles at Target. Based on one of the treats fictional characters Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger purchase at Honeydukes Sweetshop, Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans look like Jelly Belly candies (and are made by the Jelly Belly company) but taste like your worst nightmares. Yes, approximately half of the beans, with flavors like banana, blueberry, and watermelon, go down smoothly. But the rest of the beans taste like dirt, booger, soap, and dog food and just might make you vomit. Oh, wait…there's a bean for that too.

Let's pause for a moment to consider what must go into creating a piece of candy that tastes like vomit...

When I gifted him his very first box of beans, Tom's excitement mirrored Will's when he received his Nintendo 3DS from Santa last Christmas. Tom had no idea the beans even existed, but as soon as he laid eyes on the box's Flavor Guide the wheels in his head began to spin. Just weeks later, Tom unveiled his first and most basic version of "The Bean Game" to friends at a campus party.

The rules were simple. Without looking, player #1 dumped one bean from the box into his hand. (If more than one bean escaped the box, player #1 put all but one of the beans back inside, again without looking. The punishment for looking was eating a second bean on that turn.) Then, player #1 compared his bean to the pictures in the Flavor Guide and announced the flavor to the group. Tasty flavors like lemon drop, tutti fruitti, and cinnamon were met with "awww, man!" and "lucky!", while disgusting flavors like sardine, grass, and earwax were met with "YES!!", "AWESOME!", and "I've never been so happy in all my life!". To wish a vomit bean on your opponents was part of the game, and let's just say that Tom played the game well.

After player #1 finished eating his bean, he passed the box to person on his left. The process repeated itself until all of the beans had been eaten.

You're probably thinking, what kind of deranged idiot would play such an distasteful (pun intended) game?! You'd be surprised. Over the years, Tom charmed hundreds of people - parents, grandparents, siblings, cousins, friends, enemies, wedding guests, and strangers at bars - into participating in The Bean Game.

Tom also uses a version of The Bean Game as a wager when betting against his brothers, sister, friends, and wife. My alma mater football team beat your alma mater football team? You eat a bean. I beat you at Uno? You eat a bean. I skunked you in Cribbage? You eat a bean. He may be a gentleman from time to time, but never when it comes to The Bean Game.

This particular game of Uno-turned-Bean Game became so disgusting
that I had to "chase" my beans with mini donuts. See that tub of donuts
in front of me? By the time the game concluded I'd eaten Every. Single.
One. That's nearly as gross as (or grosser than?) eating vomit beans.

Over time Tom adapted The Bean Game to accommodate changes in bean manufacturing and to fulfill his desire to make the game more challenging. One of the newer rules, for example, is "no face, no chase", meaning that if a player makes a face or needs a chaser after eating a bad bean, they have to eat a second bean. Thank goodness "no face, no chase" was not yet in place during the above-mentioned Uno game.

Poor Will lost to Tom at Cribbage. Here he's trying not to let his daddy
see the tears in his eyes as he struggles to swallow his dog food bean.

The Bean Game plays favorites. Certain individuals - Tom's sister, Jenna, in particular - suffer tremendously, while Tom almost always emerges from the game unscathed. This unfair advantage becomes obvious to all who play with Tom, and over the years many have suspected him of somehow altering the game so that his taste buds receive the least amount of punishment. As payback, we've tried a number of different tactics - like hiding beans in his birthday cupcakes - to get him to accidentally eat a vomit bean. All have proved unsuccessful.

Tom somehow ate around the beans we'd hidden in his cupcake.

Tom, annoyingly confident as he prepares to eat his bean...

…and annoyingly jubilant after realizing it tasted like strawberry jam.

Over Christmas break Tom made a bet with his friend Tim about the Iowa Hawkeyes vs. LSU Tigers bowl game. If the Hawkeyes won, Tim would eat five beans; if the Tigers won, Tom would eat five beans. I rooted for the Hawkeyes with all my heart, but a tiny piece of me rejoiced when the Tigers came out on top because I really wanted Tom to have to eat five - hopefully bad - beans.

The fateful five.

Preparing for bean #2 (bean #1 tasted like banana). Please excuse Tom's
too-tight shirt - it's mine, and I can't quite remember why he was wearing it.

Dog food, baby.

After all these years, The Bean Game finally turned its back on its creator. And that's alright, because I think The Bean Game's creator is about ready to pass the torch to the next generation.

After years of watching the game play out and perfecting his own "poker face", Will's ready to take the helm. He skunked his Grandpa while playing Cribbage and insisted that Grandpa eat a bean, and then a couple of weeks ago we introduced a few of his friends to the beans. He may be a gentleman from time to time - he may even hold an umbrella over her head and carry her backpack from time to time - but when Kaylee agreed to play The Bean Game Will couldn't resist yelling "no face, no chase!" while she chewed her booger bean. Like father, like son.