What a crumby life!

What a crumby life!

Alan was happily crunching on popcorn today, enjoying the crinkling of the bag while peeking inside for kernels. Soon enough we had devoured most of the bag leaving Alan to dig further and further to the bottom. Frustrated with the diminishing size of the kernels, he turned the bag upside down, scattering the popcorn onto the porch floor.

I leaned to get the broom behind the front door, but by the time I had turned around, Alan was eating popcorn crumbs off of the dirty floor. This prompted a chat about appropriate places to eat crumbs as well as how we go about cleaning up crumbs.

The world of crumbiness can be tough for a toddler. And it won’t get any easier. Soon he will learn that once you encounter a crumb, usually it’s not a good sign. This is because it means cleaning is in your future, and I only know a handful of people who find crumb-cleaning to be an enjoyable “cathartic” experience. So for most of us, when a crumb incident occurs, you know for sure that you will immediately have to stop what you are doing to conduct an unwanted chore followed by a “don’t cry over spilt milk” sigh of agony.

When a crumb incident occurs in full view, its public nature requires immediate attention. However, not all crumb-related incidents are discovered right away. In fact, many go undetected for days, weeks and even years. For example, the other day, I turned Alan’s diaper bag upside down with the hopes of finding my keys, but instead my head got rained upon by orange goldfish crumbs from a bag that apparently had been opened.

For me, a crumb incident that goes undetected for weeks or months (and hopefully not years) usually means that I am not doing a good enough job vacuuming under the couch cushions. In fact, I have developed a certain methodology for figuring out how long it has been. Here’s a general rule of thumb: the smaller the size of the crumb, the longer those crumbs have been there. A simple touch-test can verify. If you scan your hand under the cushion, and it’s smooth, then no vacuuming is necessary. If it’s granular, then it’s been a few weeks. If it’s a sandy substance combined with coinage, then, it’s been way too long.

Luckily, my mother and mother-in-law are both great crumb-identifiers, and when visiting me, they won’t let crumbs disintegrate into sand. This is especially true of my silverware holder. I can count on the fact that one of them will dump and wash out my storage bin while re-organizing the entire drawer. Thanks to them, I am grateful to have one less mess to clean.

My father on the other hand, is great at identifying crumbs, but isn’t as helpful with part two. We all know that a car is a major eating locale, so crumbs should be expected in a car, right? Well, in my car you will find crumbs in the creases of the seat as well as on the floor (along with an occasional hardened french-fry or crumbled candy wrapper). My dad is famous for brushing the car seat off vehemently before taking a seat. I have also seen him take items (those abandoned candy wrappers), and place them gingerly in the back. Has he ever offered to vacuum/clean my car out?

Like I said, it’s a crumby world out there. We all need to pitch in and keep our perspective. After Alan and I finished sweeping the popcorn off the porch, my neighbors Melanie and Ivan dropped over for a visit. And while I thought that all the popcorn had been swept away, we both caught Alan reaching for that lonely kernel under the table. As he popped it into his little mouth, we both cried out in horror (not really). I think we both understood. At his age, a crumb isn’t going to kill you.

Translating for a Toddler

Here are certain phrases that Alan uses regularly should you ever need a translation.

“Let’s play with pea pods”: This means that Alan wants to go in the back yard to ride his fire truck in our driveway. It was derived from a tree which I have yet to identify which litters my back yard with ugly black pea pods. Sometimes he will say “play with rocks” which has a similar translation but also includes throwing stones.

“Bye-bye bath, hello Burrito”
This is a song created by Roger to signal Alan that it’s time for him to get out of the bath tub. When you wrap Alan in a towel, he looks like a burrito. Because they also bang on the bathroom wall during this routine, Alan now sings it at parades when he hears drummers passing by in marching bands.

“Can I have regular cheese” – this is American cheese as opposed to “stick cheese” which is actually string mozzarella cheese.

“Wanna play with Free” – Alan’s fleet of vehicles includes a shiny green plastic vehicle which he has named “Free”. We believe the name came from the sign which was attached to the vehicle when Roger grabbed it from a neighbor who had abandoned it on the side of the road. Other names include: Buster, Roamie, Blue Hippo and Popper. (The fire truck has no specific name, but he knows when it’s sleeping.)

"Fly me to the moon" - This one is very important should you be taking Alan to the park. He wants you to sing this Sinatra favorite while you push him on the swing. There is a technique. You have to hold him up high, then sing "fly me to the moon" pausing after each word to build up the anticipation, then as you say "moon", you have to let go and watch him fly.

“I want broken shells” – Macaroni and cheese are a staple in a child’s diet. When I was out of shell pasta, I panicked. I boiled up another type of pasta and told him it was broken shells. Now he requests “broken shells” as well as “tubies” (which he calls boobies), “trees” and “flowers”.

“Go see the lonely fan” – We all know that Alan has a love of fans. The lonely fan is located at the Inquiring Mind Bookstore around the corner. I have yet to figure out why the fan is lonely.

“Go see Tiff” – This means that Alan wants to go to the library. Tiffany works there.

“I’m packing a load” – We thank Pop-Pop for this one. I’m not sure if an explanation is necessary, but Alan primarily says this when he needs a diaper change. But sometimes he says it when he hears us talking about Pop-Pop. (Be careful Pop-Pop, remember how Bootie got her nickname)

Lions and Tigers and Bears (oh my)

Lions and Tigers and Bears (Oh My!)

Well, I actually should change the song to: Coyotes and Foxes and Bears (oh my), because that’s what you will find at the Bear Mountain State Park. So yes all of you doubtful 5-year olds, there are bears after all (see May 25 blog). Plus you’ll find otters, beavers, bobcats and plenty of nature to explore. Under the shade of a tree with a picnic lunch packed by Pam, we watched Alan, Murray and Alex explore the lake and playground. Then off to the merry-go-round where a tentative Alan decided to sit that one out. Next time we’ll try the pool, paddle boats and maybe bring some food to grill. The best part is that you don’t need to fly over the rainbow to enjoy this park. It’s only an hour away from home sweet home.

More Bear Mountain Photos

Sprinkle it (just a little bit)

Should we ever find the means to live in outer space, I will have one major dilemma to overcome. Do you know that it’s impossible to sprinkle salt and pepper onto your baked potato or other food of choice? Due to zero gravity, the salt and pepper would simply float away seasoning the air in a celestial dust of flavor.

This factoid shook something up for me, namely how obsessed I am with the act of “sprinkling”. In an effort to not litter outer space with drifting oregano particles and parmesan cheese flakes, I would have to make major modifications to my method of eating and cooking.

Let’s start with ice cream. The ice cream parlor is one of my favorite sprinkling locations. Back in the day, we only had chopped nuts and the proverbial “sprinkle” to top our sundaes. But now anything that contains sugar is fair game like M&M’s, powered coconut, and chocolate chips. I like how some places have gone the extra step by crushing candy in advance just for your sprinkling pleasure like Snickers and Oreo cookies. New options every day are being created such as yogurt chips, pistachio meat, hulled sesame, caramel shavings and “peachy penguins”, leaving the expert sprinkler with endless enjoyment.

There is something very satisfying about the act of sprinkling. Think about the last time you made pizza. Isn’t the favorite part when you sprinkle the mozzarella cheese over the dough? Or how about the anticipation when you sprinkle cheddar over crispy tortillas knowing that it will soon melt into mouth-watering nachos?

Or maybe it’s how you aren’t tied down to a specific measurement - you can sprinkle as much or as little as you want based upon your style of cooking. For instance, when I’m in an adventurous mood, I’ll sprinkle extra oregano into my tomato sauce. Or when dining alone, I’ll sprinkle in about a half bottle of garlic powder. But no matter how my sauce comes out, there is nothing that beats the finale of a sprinkle of parmesan over the final dish.

Plus, sprinkling allows people to individualize their personal eating experience. At my house, garlic power, oregano and parmesan are regularly left on the table for guests’ sprinkling pleasure. Pizzerias are famous for this. Have you noticed that now they also leave out oregano for you? Starbucks has picked up on the counter-sprinkle option. When you go to pick up your latte, not only can you sprinkle sugar, but nutmeg, cinnamon, chocolate or vanilla.

But at fine restaurants, they do the sprinkling for you. Chefs will sprinkle chives, red peppers or other colorful spices around a completed dish. At first I thought that this was for aesthetic purposes, but if you watch the food channel, you see the great charge that chefs get from making that final sprinkle, as if it's the last stroke of a great painting. Emeril is famous for this and has turned the sprinkle into a household name. “BAM!”

In my home, we have used the “bamming” of the sprinkle to entice my two year old to eat. I found that if you sprinkle cheerios over any new dish, he will eventually try whatever food is put in front of him. Actually, Alan was the inspiration of this blog posting, because today I found him sprinkling cinnamon on the floor followed by a “yum!”. I used this as a “teachable moment” and began sprinkling cinnamon on apples and bananas. (“Bam!”)

The medical field is also capitalizing on the sprinkling effect. Do you know that you can sprinkle fiber onto your food now as well as a spice that will protect you from food-born bacteria like E. coli and salmonella? With researchers and marketers inventing new ways to enjoy sprinkling, I’m sure they’ll come up with a way to defy gravity. So maybe there is hope for me after all in outer space?

I don't believe in bears!

“I don’t believe in bears.” With childhood full of imaginary characters and cartoons, this proclamation by my friend’s daughter caught me a bit off guard. Maybe I’m more prepared for the doubtful Santa believer or the explorer who unearths a stockpile of Easter candy. But as my friend told me how her daughter questioned the existence of bears, I was stumped on how to respond.

"Just take her to the zoo!" I thought. Not so easily done. I recalled my own experience at the zoo last year when the baby cubs were hiding in their den. Was this just a marketing ploy?

"Turn on Animal Planet!" I thought. No, I don’t think this would work. Just because something is on TV these days, doesn’t mean its real – thanks to special effects.

Was this five-year-old on to something?

Hmm. When was the last time I had seen a bear? I must have seen a bear at some point, but my memory was as fuzzy as bear fur. (Or was bear fur stiff and prickly?)

I realized all of the things I couldn’t remember or recall experiencing that are so prevalent in children’s books and/or on television. For example, I have never held a furry yellow chick in the palm of my hand. I have never heard an owl hoot at night. I have never seen kittens born or a baby lamb. I have never swum with the dolphins or sat in the cock pit of an airplane.

While it’s true that one relives childhood through the eyes of their children, there are so many new things that I am looking forward to experiencing with Alan and Roger. And while I may never get the chance to touch bear fur, I sure want to verify that they exist!

Bottoms up!!

So you’ve worked hard all week, and its Thursday afternoon, and you’ve decide to head to the bar at Stella’s for a drink to get an early start to the holiday weekend. You settle into your chair, look up at the game on the TV, and as you go to take that first sip – POP! Then another POP-POP followed by a cackling child. If you were one of the gentlemen sitting at the bar today trying to unwind, my apologies. An outing to meet friends for ice cream was delayed by a morning work commitment, so in an effort to speed things up before the party ended, I let Alan take his “popper for a walk” – which he had been asking to do all week. I don’t know what I was thinking. Even though Stella’s is both a bar and an ice cream parlor, please – don’t ever take your popper with you, even if your child begs! It is a kid-magnet! During “popper sightings” children will drop their ice cream cones and race towards that POP-POP sound. Secondly, don’t ever try to make a joke to those sitting at the bar as your child’s popper speeds by – apparently no one will think it’s cute. Bottoms-up! (Pop-Pop!)

Got a bad case of steamroller blues

Watching Alan swaying to the beat of Steam Roller has always made us roar with laughter. But now he is accompanied by a guitar while singing this James Taylor favorite. He also enjoys singing Old MacDonald and Bingo. I discovered a blister on his finger from strumming so much, so we created a makeshift guitar pick from a little barn door. We’ll have to get him a “real” pick the next time we’re out.

The Granola Monologues

So when my sister asked me if there would be running water at my wedding, it occurred to me that others may perceive me as being sort of crunchy. It’s true that my nails have only been manicured and polished once, that my pair of Birkenstocks traveled to Magic Meadow, and that the new gray streaks in my hair have given me nothing but delight. But it wasn’t until this month that I discovered the meaning of being a true “granola”.

When a friend told me that she made her own granola, my envy bubbled into enthusiasm along with an invitation to my kitchen. A granola baking lesson turned into a neighborhood playdate with moms, toddlers and preschoolers scurrying around the table as my friend began stirring the oats, molasses, nuts and cinnamon in a large metal bowl dented from a decade of baking.

Others probably have known this for years, but it wasn’t until I witnessed granola baking in a 350 degree oven (mixed every 5 minutes to prevent burning), that I understood why some people (to remain nameless) have called me a “Granola”. It’s not that I prefer a healthy homemade breakfast with dried fruit, or that I wish to push a political agenda, it’s simply because granola – looks like dirt.

Now, I don’t take offense to this. I am clean. Well, at least I am dirt-less (except when Alan and I visit the park). So maybe I’m associated with the cliché of being down-to-earth, because I have dirt under my nails and have been wearing the same ripped jeans for ten years. Or maybe it’s metaphorical in that I value informality, like when a friend helps themselves to a drink in my frig.

But here’s a dirty little secret. I’m not a Granola, at least not 100%. If you dig further into what it means to be a “granola”, then it’s just not me.

First, I do value materialistic possessions, with running water being at the top of the list. I am a self proclaimed “couch hoarder” (I have 3 couches and 2 love seats). I also enjoy the fine dining experience, one that includes having each plate individually served to you like they do at the Culinary Institute.

I’m also very superficial. I can spend hours flipping through the glossy pages of People Magazine sipping a $4.00 café latte at Starbucks thinking about what it might be like to walk down a red carpet in a sequined dress. I can even hold a three hour conversation about the latest celebrity gossip. Also, the environmental concern factor, while an important component of granolahood, is not one that I can live up to. Unless I use the stringent cleaning supplies that knock you over in a cloud of ammonia, I don’t feel like I am getting my grubby surfaces clean.

So if the unintended result of making granola was “to examine the complexities of identity as it relates to external and internal perceptions,” so be it. But for now, let’s just enjoy a bowl of granola and call it a day!

POST SCRIPT:
Reference to Wikipedia definitions:

GRANOLA is also used as a slang term (metonym) describing a person who is hippie-like, a modern bohemian, environmentalist, or leftist in outlook[1].

DOWN TO EARTH is an English idiom meaning 'practical and realistic': a down-to-earth person.[1]

Guys and Dolls

Yesterday, I wrote about Alan's fixation with the matchbox cars which were left on our porch, and my obsessive worries about their safe return (see previous blog). Turns out, those cars did not belong to Aiden. Aiden had taken them home, and when his father discovered them, he left them on our porch. They belonged to Sophia (age 4) who had also paid us a visit that morning.

I experienced a gender bias, making an assumption that they belonged to a little boy. Shame on me!!!

Whether you play with cars or dance with cars, I shouldn’t have jumped to this conclusion. Though we don’t own any dolls, Alan plays with stuffed animals, changes “their dipe”, and feeds them. All nurturing qualities that I want to encourage.

It made me think real hard about what I would do if Alan swiped a doll from another child’s home. Would I be so quick to buy a replacement like the impulse I had yesterday with the cars?

Post Script: When I slipped the cars into Sophia's mom's bag today, I learned that the cars are not Sophia's. Mystery continues....

Dancing with the Cars

Yesterday, after Alan’s afternoon nap, we retreated to the porch to play for a while. No sooner had we stepped off the front door step, did he discover three new matchbox cars which were lined up in a row on the ground – one red, one blue, one green. Hmmm. Must have been left by Aiden (age 3) and Roan (age 1) this morning when they stopped over. Alan gleefully said “Oh Wow-We”, and scooped them up into his little hands.

As Alan began to create a relationship with these cars, I started to rehearse in my mind the various options for when the grim episode for their return would come upon us. No doubt that their owners would be arriving momentarily to retrieve them. I imagined a weepy child with his mother racing back to the porch, and Alan refusing to let go. I shook this off by telling Alan that the new cars were Aiden’s. I did this annoyingly every 5 minutes hoping to instill the delicate game of sharing. I tried distracting him with busses and trains, and silly songs that we sing, but his focus was relentless. As the afternoon progressed, these cars became increasingly important to him. He "made eggies" with them. He took them "up hills". He clapped them together to make music.

During dinner, the cars went “bye-bye”, and I hoped he would move on to one of the other scores of vehicles that are scattered throughout our house. This would give me time to call Aiden’s mom to discuss (and/or collude) for their return. But things got passed me, and after dinner, Alan kept on asking for “Aiden’s cars”. I caved and reunited Alan with "Aiden’s cars".

But then he did the funniest thing. With one car in each hand, he said to me, "dance with cars", and began swaying his hips and arms while singing "do-do-do". At that moment, something switched inside me, and I decided that I would just enjoy watching Alan play with these cars instead of being fixated on returning them. We would deal with the rest tomorrow. MORE TO FOLLOW ON WHAT HAPPENED THE NEXT DAY…….

Entertainment Wrestling "Hits" Home

This blog entry is in response to a May 4th Daily Freeman article which highlighted a new “entertainment wresting” business in Ulster. It worries me that we have adult role models promoting entertainment wrestling to children in our community including the Ulster Town Supervisor and the mother of an 8 year old child.

To quote the May 4th Freeman article:

- "“The hits need to look and sound real to the audience while inflicting little or no harm to the person taking the blows.”

- “The best part I love about wrestling is when I get my butt kicked, to tell you the truth, because you got it make it look good.”

- “In entertainment wrestling, the athletes are either a "face" (a good guy) or a "heel" (a bad guy)”

- “The opponent needs to sell the move and act hurt or the audience will never buy it.”

These quotes demonstrate that they are attempting to make “entertainment wrestling” appear real. Who are they targeting? Adults already understand that this is scripted, but who are they attempting to make this real for?

But the Ulster Town Supervisor seems to feel differently. He says, "With the advent of gangs and drugs, I think it's important that kids have a program and something to do.”

I can think of a hundreds of educational, social and athletic activities offered in Ulster County that promote positive and peaceful alternatives.

Cooper the Dog

Last week, when I walked into the children’s room of our library, there was an 85 pound Black Labrador retriever comfortably curled on the floor wanting me to rub his tummy. Taken back by this unlikely patron, our librarian assured me that Cooper was here for a reason, and invited Alan to pet him.

I learned that Cooper is serving as a reading companion as part of the Reading Education Assistance Dog program (R.E.A.D.). After choosing their favorite book, children plopped onto a cozy red bean bag chair with Cooper and his handler by their side. While the children read, Cooper listened intently.

The dog’s owner, Carol Meyer, told me that Cooper is an ideal reading companion, because he is a great listener and provides a non-judgmental and relaxing environment that fosters an interest in books. He was trained by the Delta Society, a non-profit organization that believes in promoting the benefits of animal-person relationships in the fields of education and health.

Now each time we head for the library, Alan asks for Cooper. Good thing he plans on returning several times this summer, or else I may have to make a visit to the pet store!

I wonder if gold fish make good reading companions?

My two-year old is skateboarding

Normally I wouldn’t let a two-year-old skateboard around the house, but when Alan said the word “skateboard” after making a clever discovery behind my bedroom door, I couldn’t resist. It’s actually a red Ikea table with wheels too big for its size, like paws on a puppy. And as he rolls it down the hallway, it sounds like the skateboarders he says hello to from our porch, the ones who amuse him with a smirk as their wheels slam the hard concrete.