Drat! Where did June go?

I meant to get at least three postings in June. Oh well.

The kids and I called Grammy (my Mom) on her birthday on Friday. I took a day off to spend with the kids, so we called in the morning, forgetting (of course) that Mom might actually be working. Gwen sang "Happy Birthday" to you, and had a pleasant chat with her Grammy. Xavier started off on the right foot: "Happy Birthday to you ... um ... (starting over) Happy Birthday to you -- cha! cha! cha! You - uh -- you -- uh, (starting over) Happy Birthday to you -- cha! cha! cha! You, uh, you ..."

It suddenly occurred to me that he was trying to remember the less flattering lyrics to this song (which I believe his sweet, charming sister taught him): Happy birthday to you, You live in a zoo, You smell like a monkey, You look like one too. Fortunately, he lost interest before he got the hang of it and ended the conversation with a wild squeal and ran off.

Mom, now that the truth is out, please don't take offense. We hope you had a wonderful birthday and official retirement day!


Thanks to the train recall, Xavier suddenly has a renewed interest in all things Island of Sodor. Poor Gwen spends hours enduring the antics of that train-smashing wonder, Hurricane Xavier. And I do mean endure -- it is not enough that she play with him, he dictates the plot in its entirety:

Xavier: Donald says, "Get out of my way!" And you said, you said, you said, "But I want to go that way!"

Gwen: "But I want to go that way."

Xavier: Okay, now you drive over here, and you said, you said, you said, "See, I'm going that way!"

Gwen: "See, I'm going that way!"

Needless to day, Gwen can only endure so much of this before she throws her hands up and goes off to do something else. Xavier always cries as if the world has ended, unable to realize that, really, he has been playing by himself all along.



I've also been trying to make the kids more aware of the environment and being "eco-friendly." When we went to the bookstore the other day, I told the kids they could each pick out a toy. Xavier picked out the Thomas the Tank Engine "Recycling Cars" because, as he put it, "They are good for the environment." Well, as much as a toy made out of plastic and wood (and probably leaded paint from China) can be.


Gwen, on the other hand, is now obsessed with bugs. She got a "Bug Habitat" toy as her choice. Never before have I seen a toy that generates so much grief and woe. It has a fake plastic tree with cardboard leaves inside, and it is amazing how quickly once the bug gets in there that it becomes listless and inert, almost as if it is depressed at this sudden shift its environment has taken. It's funny how the makers of this toy think that a frankly fake representation of a natural environment can fool people into thinking it is a "natural" toy, when even bugs, with brains the size of the head of a needle, can recognize the difference in less than a second.

The Habitat also has a weak spot around the hinges, where the opening is a little wider than the air holes. Several of the bugs have attempted to escape through this space, and some of the flatter ones (a firefly and another beetle of similar stature) have succeeded, which has led to many tears. Today a caterpillar managed to commit suicide trying to escape that way, which led not only to tears (on the part of the girl) , but complete loss of appetite for me, the lucky one who got to try to pick those remains out of the hinge with a toothpick. Ugh. Adam says -- in his euphimistic way -- that this will "harden" her to the realities of bug mortality more quickly, so while we may have more tears in the short-term, in the long-term she will be happier. I say, you're better off with the peanut butter jar with holes poked in the lid.



We went to the pet store the other day with my next door neighbor and her kids. We stopped to look at a display of birds that are allowed to wander around a "sandbox" on the counter, and my neighbor commented that she would never have a pet bird (because she didn't like to see them in cages.) No sooner had she said this, when her daughter started chorusing that she wanted a bird. We went to look at the fish ("I want a bird, I want a bird!") , the gerbils and hamsters ("I want a bird, I want a bird!"), the other display of caged birds ("I want a bird, I want a bird!") and back to the fish ("I want a bird, I want a bird!"). She wasn't really being obnoxious about it, and I don't think she really thought she would get a bird, but she's four and I think it was in the forefront of her mind.

My neighbor decided to get a treat for their sick cat, and we got in line for checkout; a line quickly formed behind us. One of the birds in the "counter sandbox" had reached out and picked up a dog toy that had a cardboard tag on it (the bird's real point of interest.)

As my neighbor finished paying, the cashier reached over and snatched the toy from the bird and said, "You can't have that." The bird rose up on its legs on the edge of the counter and spread its wings, squawking angrily. The cashier thrust another toy at the bird, but the bird recoiled from the toy ... and backed off the edge of the counter.

Now, this bird can fly, but it took itself a little by surprise, and flapped its wings wildly, grasping at anything with its feet -- and found my neighbor's daughter's pants.

This, of course, let to complete chaos -- my neighbor's daughter was jumping around, screaming her head off; her brother was also shrieking in terror; my neighbor was frozen in place, her eyes wide, trying to figure out what to do; the bird was squawking and flapping its wings; and Gwen was jumping up and down, yelling, "Fly to me! Fly to me!" The bird let go of my neighbor's daughter's pants and dropped to the floor, where it was rescued by the cashier.

A few minutes later, we were all outside. My neighbor's children were still crying (the daugher was fine, by the way), clutching their mother. My neighbor was babbling to me, "I didn't know what to do, I didn't know whether to hit it, but it wasn't biting her, and --" Gwen was grumbling, "I wish I had a turn."

"Look at the bright side," I said when my neighbor stopped for breath. "At least she probably won't be asking for a bird anymore."