Who is pretend? Who is not pretend? Jellybean asks this about almost every singer, character in a book and person on TV lately. Her definition of pretend in these instances has just one criterion: Can we visit him/her in the flesh?
It started with "Annie," which is her favorite music. She asked one day if we could go visit Annie at her house. I explained that Annie is just pretend -- there is a girl singing the songs who is pretending to be Annie. Simple enough.
Then, "Can we go to Sesame Street sometime? I want to visit Bert and Ernie." Again, pretend characters in a pretend neighborhood. Comprehension.
L and I read her chapters of The World of Pooh, and she asked, "Can we go to the woods where Pooh lives?" We have woods by our house, so she just assumed he lived there, until I explained that the whole concept is pretend. I cushioned the blow by reminding her that we can "visit" by reading the book.
As I've mentioned before, her preschool is at a local church. The other day, after preschool, I was getting her ready for naptime. We settle into her bed and she asks, "Is Jesus pretend?"
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Quilt problem all stitched up?
Our quilt crisis may be solved. We didn't plan it, it just happened, and it was way simpler than I imagined.
Previously, I had thought we might be able to have Jellybean's heirloom quilt/security blanket repaired by a seamstress or quilter. My quilting neighbor graciously invited me to bring the quilt to a quilting circle. All of the ladies there examined the quilt closely, and the consensus was that it could be repaired, restored and redone, but it wouldn't be the same. For one, it would lose its softness from being hand-sewn and "loved" by so many children (it was L's and his brother's before it was Jellybean's). That would be significant, given that she sleeps with it every minute.
So I was pondering elaborate scenarios like leaving it for the "quilt fairy" to take and having the quilt fairy replace it with a new quilt -- similar to what some people do with their pacifiers. I hadn't come to a decision about the whole thing.
Then, a couple days ago Jellybean woke up in the morning and told me her quilt was wet. Her Pull-Up had leaked (yes, we're having this problem again) onto the quilt a bit. So, I took it away to hand wash it, and of course it wasn't dry by naptime. So I grabbed an organic cotton blanket we have that I LOVE, and had it on Jellybean's bed for naptime. I was ready for a mini-crisis about the blanket and prepared to explain that she'd have it back tomorrow, etc.
Instead, she saw the blanket and exclaimed, "Ooh, look at the new blanket! Ohh, it's so soft..." So, thinking quickly on my feet (for once), I went with it, and told her she used that blanket when she was a baby, just like the quilt, and that it was very nice to sleep with, etc. My sales pitch held her for naptime.
After her nap, I told her that the quilt was getting too worn out and it was time to put it away... I was flinching for her meltdown. Nope. No problems.
So, now I feel like a crazy woman for having worried about what to do this whole time. Then I remind myself that it has only been three days. The other shoe could drop at any minute. However, I never thought she could be in bed without her quilt for three minutes, let alone three whole days!
The quilting ladies will be so happy I've preserved that quilt. And I'm happy to have rescued an heirloom from its steady decline.
Previously, I had thought we might be able to have Jellybean's heirloom quilt/security blanket repaired by a seamstress or quilter. My quilting neighbor graciously invited me to bring the quilt to a quilting circle. All of the ladies there examined the quilt closely, and the consensus was that it could be repaired, restored and redone, but it wouldn't be the same. For one, it would lose its softness from being hand-sewn and "loved" by so many children (it was L's and his brother's before it was Jellybean's). That would be significant, given that she sleeps with it every minute.
So I was pondering elaborate scenarios like leaving it for the "quilt fairy" to take and having the quilt fairy replace it with a new quilt -- similar to what some people do with their pacifiers. I hadn't come to a decision about the whole thing.
Then, a couple days ago Jellybean woke up in the morning and told me her quilt was wet. Her Pull-Up had leaked (yes, we're having this problem again) onto the quilt a bit. So, I took it away to hand wash it, and of course it wasn't dry by naptime. So I grabbed an organic cotton blanket we have that I LOVE, and had it on Jellybean's bed for naptime. I was ready for a mini-crisis about the blanket and prepared to explain that she'd have it back tomorrow, etc.
Instead, she saw the blanket and exclaimed, "Ooh, look at the new blanket! Ohh, it's so soft..." So, thinking quickly on my feet (for once), I went with it, and told her she used that blanket when she was a baby, just like the quilt, and that it was very nice to sleep with, etc. My sales pitch held her for naptime.
After her nap, I told her that the quilt was getting too worn out and it was time to put it away... I was flinching for her meltdown. Nope. No problems.
So, now I feel like a crazy woman for having worried about what to do this whole time. Then I remind myself that it has only been three days. The other shoe could drop at any minute. However, I never thought she could be in bed without her quilt for three minutes, let alone three whole days!
The quilting ladies will be so happy I've preserved that quilt. And I'm happy to have rescued an heirloom from its steady decline.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Garage-sale sociology
Garage sales are part business venture and part social experiment. That is my conclusion after my experience last weekend. Oh, and a whole lot of hard work. But that part isn't as interesting.
The sale is a business venture in that, as I explained to Jellybean, it's like setting up a store that is open for two days. You choose a location (for some, as simple as, garage or yard?), sort and price your merchandise, establish your accounting system and advertise your business. Aside from the location, the rest of those steps are pretty critical in making it successful. But the business end isn't the most interesting component.
To me, the social experiment is the diamond in the rough. Everyone knows that you see interesting people at garage sales. And I'm a sucker for good people-watching, so observing our "customers" was an added benefit for me. I feel like I have a whole new understanding of the people who live in my area -- and the whole country, for that matter.
Some of the people were kind of funny: the wheeler-dealers who will cut the price on anything just because they can, the lonely people who stay at the sale for 45 minutes mostly to have someone to talk to the whole time, the quirky people in altered states who try to stick the price tags on you when they make their purchase, you get the idea. It was great to be doing the sale with my friend, because we could exchange information about those people after they left, like what they bought and the reason we thought they bought what they bought.
Others of our customers seemed all right until you looked below the surface. There were many entire families shopping together -- dad, mom and all the kids -- and it was clear that they were there because garage sales are the source of their clothing and shoes and other necessities. I doubt many families with young kids would choose garage sales as their top weekend morning activity (some would, I'm sure, but I could tell that wasn't the case for many folks we saw). I wanted to secretly give them whatever they needed instead of making them pay.
There was another customer shopping with her little daughter whom I will probably never forget. I can't bring myself to go into detail here, but I will always question whether I should have intervened in an ugly situation. The little girl got a Dora doll, and let's just say I hope that doll will give her some sense of love and security.
As a marketing person, I can't help be most interested in why people bought what they bought, i.e., where the business venture and social experiment intersected. We worked very hard at presentation and making it easy to get to everything we had -- we had so much stuff, we were constantly shifting items around as other things were sold. We had "departments" like clothing, housewares, electronics, etc., so it was easy to find specific things.
The first things we sold? Some drapery panels, a dated duvet cover and several pairs of out-of-style ladies' shoes, including my worn-out Merrells. We had tons of baby gadgets, toys and clothes, yet that is what went first. Eventually, of course, many of those sold as well.
Children's books, old purses and baby hats all surprised us with their popularity. We restocked those for the second day because they had flown off the shelves. Same with used (once) gift bags, which we sold 2 for $1. People loved that.
The things that didn't sell? We thought these were guaranteed to go, and yet we still have them: a computer chair, a baby bouncy seat, Baby Bjorn, portable radio and DVD movies. Our stuff was cheap, so lack of demand must be the culprit.
As interesting as all these things were to Spin Mama the business person, Spin Mama the people-watcher and Spin Mama the marketer, I think it will be a while before I do another garage sale. At the very least, it will be several years (thankfully) before I can accumulate enough stuff to sell. And, even though I have an organized basement, clutter-free closets and fewer material things (ahh!) to add to my meager profits, I still put more effort into this single project than I have into anything in a long time. It's nice to have my life back this week.
The sale is a business venture in that, as I explained to Jellybean, it's like setting up a store that is open for two days. You choose a location (for some, as simple as, garage or yard?), sort and price your merchandise, establish your accounting system and advertise your business. Aside from the location, the rest of those steps are pretty critical in making it successful. But the business end isn't the most interesting component.
To me, the social experiment is the diamond in the rough. Everyone knows that you see interesting people at garage sales. And I'm a sucker for good people-watching, so observing our "customers" was an added benefit for me. I feel like I have a whole new understanding of the people who live in my area -- and the whole country, for that matter.
Some of the people were kind of funny: the wheeler-dealers who will cut the price on anything just because they can, the lonely people who stay at the sale for 45 minutes mostly to have someone to talk to the whole time, the quirky people in altered states who try to stick the price tags on you when they make their purchase, you get the idea. It was great to be doing the sale with my friend, because we could exchange information about those people after they left, like what they bought and the reason we thought they bought what they bought.
Others of our customers seemed all right until you looked below the surface. There were many entire families shopping together -- dad, mom and all the kids -- and it was clear that they were there because garage sales are the source of their clothing and shoes and other necessities. I doubt many families with young kids would choose garage sales as their top weekend morning activity (some would, I'm sure, but I could tell that wasn't the case for many folks we saw). I wanted to secretly give them whatever they needed instead of making them pay.
There was another customer shopping with her little daughter whom I will probably never forget. I can't bring myself to go into detail here, but I will always question whether I should have intervened in an ugly situation. The little girl got a Dora doll, and let's just say I hope that doll will give her some sense of love and security.
As a marketing person, I can't help be most interested in why people bought what they bought, i.e., where the business venture and social experiment intersected. We worked very hard at presentation and making it easy to get to everything we had -- we had so much stuff, we were constantly shifting items around as other things were sold. We had "departments" like clothing, housewares, electronics, etc., so it was easy to find specific things.
The first things we sold? Some drapery panels, a dated duvet cover and several pairs of out-of-style ladies' shoes, including my worn-out Merrells. We had tons of baby gadgets, toys and clothes, yet that is what went first. Eventually, of course, many of those sold as well.
Children's books, old purses and baby hats all surprised us with their popularity. We restocked those for the second day because they had flown off the shelves. Same with used (once) gift bags, which we sold 2 for $1. People loved that.
The things that didn't sell? We thought these were guaranteed to go, and yet we still have them: a computer chair, a baby bouncy seat, Baby Bjorn, portable radio and DVD movies. Our stuff was cheap, so lack of demand must be the culprit.
As interesting as all these things were to Spin Mama the business person, Spin Mama the people-watcher and Spin Mama the marketer, I think it will be a while before I do another garage sale. At the very least, it will be several years (thankfully) before I can accumulate enough stuff to sell. And, even though I have an organized basement, clutter-free closets and fewer material things (ahh!) to add to my meager profits, I still put more effort into this single project than I have into anything in a long time. It's nice to have my life back this week.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Stuff
My first garage sale is this weekend. The amount of stuff we have accumulated in this house astounds me. And I'm not even a shopper. These are things we deemed "necessary" or something close to necessary to function in life. Insane.
So as I've been sifting through what amounts to almost another entire house in our basement, I've come across all kinds of items. They really are just things, and I rarely miss material items once I get rid of them. I have discovered a bit of a purpose to all this "stuff," though: It jogs the memories.
Without the junk, I wouldn't have thought of all the things I've thought of in the past week, like events of my life flashing before me. I still have -- for the moment, anyway -- some of my old cassette tapes, many from the 80s. It amazed me how just seeing the name of one singer or song could bring to mind old friends and complete scenes and events. Strangely, the same thing occurred with my old purses. I recalled carrying that purse to such-and-such event when such-and-so happened.
I'm selling all the little-baby toys, gadgets (speaking of stuff that wasn't really "necessary" -- all the baby crap astounds me) and baby clothes, since we don't plan on more kids. All except The Orange Crocs and a few other little items, which I'm keeping for posterity. Having been at home with my girls more than I have worked full time since they were born, I feel like I remember vividly all the tidbits from their babyhoods. Of course, that's through a sleep-deprived filter and covering almost four years.
So last night, I was folding baby sleepers and nighties, and I was transported by a total recall of memories from Jellybean's infancy. L usually had post-bath duty in those days because it gave him a special time with her since I was nursing. I remembered how he would always talk to Jellybean in the sweetest way. He told her every night what animal or design was on her pajamas, and he talked to her about how pretty she was and how much he loved her. I was bursting with warm and fuzzy after remembering all this detail last night, and I couldn't wait to tell L about it. His response? "I don't remember that at all." He really didn't, he had erased it all from his mind. I was galled. How dare he forget anything about our babies?
That is why moms are supposed to be the keepers of all childhood stories. Dads are supposed to choose three stories from their kid's childhood -- preferably involving bodily fluids and/or embarrassing moments -- and repeat those same stories for the rest of their life to whomever will listen. I forgive L for his forgetfulness. And I'll allow him to choose his own three stories.
So as I've been sifting through what amounts to almost another entire house in our basement, I've come across all kinds of items. They really are just things, and I rarely miss material items once I get rid of them. I have discovered a bit of a purpose to all this "stuff," though: It jogs the memories.
Without the junk, I wouldn't have thought of all the things I've thought of in the past week, like events of my life flashing before me. I still have -- for the moment, anyway -- some of my old cassette tapes, many from the 80s. It amazed me how just seeing the name of one singer or song could bring to mind old friends and complete scenes and events. Strangely, the same thing occurred with my old purses. I recalled carrying that purse to such-and-such event when such-and-so happened.
I'm selling all the little-baby toys, gadgets (speaking of stuff that wasn't really "necessary" -- all the baby crap astounds me) and baby clothes, since we don't plan on more kids. All except The Orange Crocs and a few other little items, which I'm keeping for posterity. Having been at home with my girls more than I have worked full time since they were born, I feel like I remember vividly all the tidbits from their babyhoods. Of course, that's through a sleep-deprived filter and covering almost four years.
So last night, I was folding baby sleepers and nighties, and I was transported by a total recall of memories from Jellybean's infancy. L usually had post-bath duty in those days because it gave him a special time with her since I was nursing. I remembered how he would always talk to Jellybean in the sweetest way. He told her every night what animal or design was on her pajamas, and he talked to her about how pretty she was and how much he loved her. I was bursting with warm and fuzzy after remembering all this detail last night, and I couldn't wait to tell L about it. His response? "I don't remember that at all." He really didn't, he had erased it all from his mind. I was galled. How dare he forget anything about our babies?
That is why moms are supposed to be the keepers of all childhood stories. Dads are supposed to choose three stories from their kid's childhood -- preferably involving bodily fluids and/or embarrassing moments -- and repeat those same stories for the rest of their life to whomever will listen. I forgive L for his forgetfulness. And I'll allow him to choose his own three stories.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Equal rights gone wrong
Just when I think I'm doing all right raising my kids, I have found an enormous failing on my part. I am so appalled at some of the things that Jellybean has said lately, I can hardly stand it. Okay, I'm exaggerating a little bit -- but only a little bit.
If you know me, you know that I'm not exactly a doormat, especially when it comes to equality for women. If you don't know me, well, just take my word for it.
Example #1: After seeing a fire truck close up, complete with firefighters and boots and helmets, Jellybean asks me, "Can girls be firefighters too?" Heart ---> floor.
Example #2: The girls were playing with balloons, and the ribbons got all tangled up. I picked up the balloons and tackled the project of untangling the strings. Jellybean says, "Dad is gonna have to do that when he gets home." Excuse me?!
These, from the same girl who already announced her run for president.
L and I run a very equal household. For every task/chore one of us doesn't do, there is something the other one does do. He fixes faucets, I do all the returns to stores. He grills, I bake. Everything else we divide in half: We both cook (arguably, L is better at that than I), we both do laundry, we both clean.
There is hardly anything beyond my capability when I'm with the girls during the day, and Jellybean in particular understands that. (Of course, she doesn't know how many times I've secretly steered her away from a bug so I could have L secretly kill it. I refuse to kill bugs, but I think that falls under the phobia category instead of the gender category.)
I've decided to take these questions and comments in stride. Jellybean is almost 4, and she's trying to figure out her role in the world. Girls can do anything, and I tell her that all the time. Girls should be strong and smart, and both L and I make a point of saying that and pointing out examples of strong girls and smart girls. I'm also trying to DO instead of just SAY (well, except for the bug thing. A phobia, I tell you.).
Hopefully this phase will be short, though, because I swear a little part of me dies every time she wonders aloud what girls are capable of.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
What's in a birthday?
Peanut is now officially a 2-year-old. I can't believe it. It seems like just yesterday I could hold a tiny Peanut in one arm while warding off a 2-year-old Jellybean. Ahh, memories.
Peanut's party isn't until this weekend, but of course we made the official birthday day a special day too. She's a very opinionated sort (don't know where she would get that!), so we gave her choices of things she could do on her birthday. She chose the zoo.
We spent several hours at the zoo, indulging her every whim with the animals she wanted to see. She literally talked to every single animal. "Hi, penguins!" she shouted, "Hi elephants!" Oblivious to everyone around her, using her special Dr. Doolittle powers to communicate. Every choice was hers to make all day long, she went first at everything, and of course at the end of the day there were presents to open. It was quite the special day for a 2-year-old.
L put her to bed that night (her choice again), and as he was reviewing her day with her like we always do, he asked her what her favorite thing was from her day.
Her answer: "Chocolate cupcake!"
So apparently, we could've sat around the house all day doing nothing but watching the grass grow, and as long as she had a chocolate cupcake at some point, she would've been happy. I love having kids that are so easy to please! May it always be this simple.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
A little pair of shoes
Through almost 4 years of having children, there are very few THINGS of theirs that I have loved or cherished enough to want to keep for posterity. Blankets, little outfits and baby toys have all been adorable and fun, but I’m happy to pass them along to other new babies. The orange Crocs, however, have become somewhat of an icon for Peanut.
And not just for me – family members and friends have been talking about The Orange Crocs since Peanut donned them last summer. In fact, one of my neighbors just mentioned them the other day, as in, “I still think shoes don’t get any cuter than Peanut’s orange Crocs.”
The acquisition of The Orange Crocs is not the reason they have become iconic. I sent L on a spur-of-the-moment errand on a warm day in May to try to find some “Croc-offs” for Peanut. I wanted Croc-offs because I didn’t want to pay the full price for the real Crocs, when Peanut was still in that phase of outgrowing clothes every week. L came home with orange real Crocs, saying he couldn’t find any Croc-offs in her size (a plausible story). They were orange because that was the only pair there was.
When I saw The Orange Crocs for the first time, I reverted to pre-motherhood and actually did the high-pitched “awww, how cute!” That is how sweet they were. Little did I know at the time, The Orange Crocs would have that effect on every single person who saw them from then on.
Peanut also was uncharacteristically drawn to them. She had just turned 1, but that girl knew some influential shoes when she saw them. She insisted on wearing The Orange Crocs all the time, and she cried when we took them off.
The Orange Crocs went lots of places last summer: the backyard, countless parks, Lake Huron, Lake Michigan, the pool. Peanut put a lot of miles on them. And everywhere she went, people talked to her about her shoes. She could barely say “shoes,” but she was lovin’ the attention hers brought. From old men to tween girls, people literally stopped in their tracks to say, “Look at her Crocs!” or “I love your shoes!” And we would hear the conversation continue as we passed on by, “Have you ever seen Crocs that little?” and “Those are the cutest Crocs I’ve ever seen.”
It was a sad day last fall when the weather got too cold for The Orange Crocs. I knew they wouldn’t fit her again, and I knew that no pair of Crocs, no matter how little, could ever compare to The Orange Crocs. They embodied the spirit that was my 1-year-old summertime Peanut.
I have put The Orange Crocs in a closet. I don’t know if I can bring myself to sell them at the garage sale I’m planning. In the meantime, this summer she is wearing purple hand-me-down Crocs from Jellybean. She loves the penguin Jibbitz she got for Christmas, and she still refuses to take them off, but that hasn’t stopped her from asking about The Orange Crocs.
And not just for me – family members and friends have been talking about The Orange Crocs since Peanut donned them last summer. In fact, one of my neighbors just mentioned them the other day, as in, “I still think shoes don’t get any cuter than Peanut’s orange Crocs.”
The acquisition of The Orange Crocs is not the reason they have become iconic. I sent L on a spur-of-the-moment errand on a warm day in May to try to find some “Croc-offs” for Peanut. I wanted Croc-offs because I didn’t want to pay the full price for the real Crocs, when Peanut was still in that phase of outgrowing clothes every week. L came home with orange real Crocs, saying he couldn’t find any Croc-offs in her size (a plausible story). They were orange because that was the only pair there was.
When I saw The Orange Crocs for the first time, I reverted to pre-motherhood and actually did the high-pitched “awww, how cute!” That is how sweet they were. Little did I know at the time, The Orange Crocs would have that effect on every single person who saw them from then on.
Peanut also was uncharacteristically drawn to them. She had just turned 1, but that girl knew some influential shoes when she saw them. She insisted on wearing The Orange Crocs all the time, and she cried when we took them off.
The Orange Crocs went lots of places last summer: the backyard, countless parks, Lake Huron, Lake Michigan, the pool. Peanut put a lot of miles on them. And everywhere she went, people talked to her about her shoes. She could barely say “shoes,” but she was lovin’ the attention hers brought. From old men to tween girls, people literally stopped in their tracks to say, “Look at her Crocs!” or “I love your shoes!” And we would hear the conversation continue as we passed on by, “Have you ever seen Crocs that little?” and “Those are the cutest Crocs I’ve ever seen.”
It was a sad day last fall when the weather got too cold for The Orange Crocs. I knew they wouldn’t fit her again, and I knew that no pair of Crocs, no matter how little, could ever compare to The Orange Crocs. They embodied the spirit that was my 1-year-old summertime Peanut.
I have put The Orange Crocs in a closet. I don’t know if I can bring myself to sell them at the garage sale I’m planning. In the meantime, this summer she is wearing purple hand-me-down Crocs from Jellybean. She loves the penguin Jibbitz she got for Christmas, and she still refuses to take them off, but that hasn’t stopped her from asking about The Orange Crocs.
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