Two Rules

Taz loves to watch Spiderman cartoons. But not for the reason you would think.

That is to say, he does like them because Spiderman is a superhero, and there is lots of fighting with supervillains; however, his favorite part -- the real reason he likes Spiderman cartoons above all other superhero cartoons -- is the kissing.

I know. He's four. Yet every single time he thinks a kissing scene is coming he gets this shy little smile and tries to cover my eyes. Yup. I said my eyes, as if I'm the one who shouldn't be looking.

I ask him why he likes the kissing parts so much. He says, "I just do." Then that cute little embarrassed smile spreads across his face and I suddenly feel the need to remind him that kissing anybody besides mommy and daddy is NOT ALLOWED.

Now I realize this calls into question whose fault the whole kissing incident from school actually was, but I am still convinced he was telling me the truth; although, this does explain why he wasn't as upset about it as I thought he would be.

He does seem to know that it's a private matter though. Today he told me (as we were watching the Spiderman cartoons together) that if the kissing came on I was only supposed to work on my computer.

"There are two rules, Mom. Rule number one is 'You can't look.' Rule number two is 'I can.'" And just so there wouldn't be any lapses in my following of those rules, every time he anticipated a kissing scene, he would push my face toward my computer screen.

A little Romeo. Scary. :(

I Used Nice Words, But It Was Too Late

It seemed like a normal day when I finished up practice and headed to the day care to pick up Taz. He said he had a bad day, but he hadn't gotten in trouble (Something I always have to ask when I pick him up). We climbed into the car and drove over to the after school care room to get the other two kids.

When we walked in the door, the supervising teacher asked me if Taz had told me what happened today. Nope.

Apparently a little girl kissed him.

On the mouth.

Yeah.

The teacher wasn't sure who started it, so I had to do a little bit of interrogation, mommy-style. Which is, of course, asking him the same question over and over in different ways to see if his story changes. He's four. He hasn't figured out my system yet. (Mwa-ha-ha!)

This was his story, and for the record, it never changed:

"I was just watching a movie, and she kissed me. I said, 'Please stop.' And I used nice words, but it was too late because she already did it. But we both got in trouble before I could tell on her."

Of course, I had to tease him, because who could resist such an opportunity. I said, "Taliah isn't going to like it that Rilyn kissed you."

He looked at me for a second and said, "Let's not tell her."

Christmas Movies

One of my favorite things about Christmas is getting to watch all the Christmas movies. Hallmark always has a bunch I've never seen -- much to my husband's chagrin, he has to move upstairs to the other television. And, of course, there are the old standbys we have on DVD, so we can watch them every year.

The kids love the old Christmas classics like "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" and "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer". We've already watched "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" and "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" (animated version) twice this weekend.

My all-time favorite Christmas movie is "It's a Wonderful Life". It just doesn't seem like Christmas until I've watched it. What is your favoirte Christmas movie tradition?

Black Friday

I'm not much of a shopper, especially not on Black Friday. I tried it once. Got up early. Waited in a line. When the doors opened, I went to the toy section to find one of fifteen Little People airports for $15. By the time I got there, they were all gone.

Yeah.

I don't like getting up early in the first place, so the fact that I went through all that for nothing -- well, let's just say, that was the last time I did that. That was in 2001.

So, why am I writing about a day I have been boycotting for the last ten years?

*insert giant cheese-eating grin here*

My book comes out that day! Just got my cover art proof today. And even though I rarely exhibit physical evidence of excitement, I'm doing a little happy dance right now. And I don't mind saying, Hooray for Black Friday!

Brake Down

In a small town in northeast Montana, located squarely on a reservation, I spent my childhood years between six and eight. I'm guessing I was seven at the time -- too big for my little bike, and too small for my mom's -- but I loved to ride.

The day I discovered I could reach the pedals on my mother's bicycle while sitting on the seat, marked the day I was "grown up" -- nevermind that I couldn't reach the ground from that position. I couldn't tell you whether or not I had her permission, but it sort of seems that I did, so I took off on a cruise around the block encircling the Northside Elementary School, which lay just across the street from the church my dad pastored.

The block in question was situated on a hill, which was steep enough to have to stand up on the pedals to get enough push, but not steep enough to give up and walk the bike to the top. The ride on the way back down was fast enough to give a little thrill, but not so fast I'd go flying out of control as long as I rode the brakes at the appropriate times -- I was never much of a daredevil.

I must have made the round trip three or four times, gaining confidence with each passing lap. Of course, confidence leads to over-confidence, and over-confidence leads to carelessness -- and in a child riding a bicycle far too big for her frame, that is a dangerous formula.

My last time around, on the down hill stretch, I laid off the brake. I was grown up after all, and I could handle a little more speed. I sat back and coasted, gaining momentum with every revolution of the wheel, and soon I was going too fast -- the rush of excitement turned to panic. My frantic efforts to brake my speed were ineffectual -- my mother's bike had only hand brakes, and my hands were the small and weak hands of a seven-year-old child. The rushing air slapped my face, taking my breath away and making a scream impossible.

As the bicycle and I flew down the hill out of control, the church came rushing to meet me. I would be at the glass entry doors any second, but the building itself was my only hope to stop the mad cascade to the bottom of the hill and into the busy highway below.

Somehow I managed to aim for the church, and as the tires leapt the ramped curb, I turned the wheel ever so slightly and slammed full force into the rock wall, narrowly missing going through the glass doors. My inertia sent me flailing forward, but the slanted bar on the bike broke my momentum, and I came crashing down on my pelvic bone. The seat behind me dug into my back as I ricocheted off the bar and slid down to the ground.

The front wheel was badly bent, and the bicycle was no longer usable after that day, but my mom didn't yell at me. She bandaged my wounded back and my wounded pride while she comforted me on the couch until my whimpering subsided.

To this day the scar on my back can bear witness to exactly how high the bicycle seat reached when I stood my full height from the ground, the day I rode my mother's bike.

That's All There Is

There is an episode of Friends in which Rachel found out about a pros and cons list Ross had made about dating her. Anybody remember that one? He is trying to decide between Julie and Rachel and he lists all these things about Rachel: She's spoiled; She has big calves; She's just a waitress, etc. When Rachel finally starts talking to Ross again, she says, "Imagine the worst things you think about yourself and the person you care most about uses them as reasons not to be [friends] with you."

I'm going to risk being transparent right now. There are things about myself that I am sensitive about. Most of the time I can joke about them in order to cover how they make me feel, but sometimes... (yeah, I occasionally have feelings) Sometimes somebody says something about one of those things, and it just goes straight to my heart (yeah, I've got one of those too).

No, I'm not "just a waitress", and I actually have freakishly skinny legs. I'm definitely not spoiled. Rachel's issues aren't mine. Instead people say I am hard to read; I am unapproachable and intimidating; or (my personal favorite) I seem to have no personality.

You know what? I am quiet, reserved, and I can hide emotion like nobody's business -- especially if I think it's nobody's business. But I don't think it's fair to assume that that is all there is to me. If you're going to reject me, please at least...

Nevermind. If you're going to reject me like that, you probably weren't worth crying over anyway.