Chalk and Cheese Chronicles

Sea-Monkeys are Awesome First Pets

Dog.

Pool.

Stairs.

These are the Top 3 items on my kids' list of the things they want. I had the same items on my list as a child.

I never got the stairs or the pool but the dog came, although many, many years after I first started begging my parents for one.

I'm not of the "I never had that as a child, so why should you?" style of thinking. I'm more of the "I want you to have what I never had,"  parenting style. It's just that now is not the right time for a dog, a pool, or stairs. The dog? Well, maybe someday.

In the meantime, we've got a vibrant colony of Sea-Monkeys! I know, it's not a dog, but Sea-Monkeys make awesome first pets!

My last experience with Sea Monkeys was a disaster. My friend Owen had asked me, his trusted friend and co-worker, to watch over his tank full of Sea-Monkeys in my cube while he was away for a few days.

Things were going well and I was on my way to being the best pet sitter evah - that is, until I dropped them.

It happened in seconds, the rush of water, the panic, the helplessness I felt as nearly the entire population of Owen's Sea-Monkeys went plummeting into my cubicle carpeting. I swear I saw one trapped in a water bubble, giving me the evil eye and hurling curses my way as he sank into the thirsty carpet and vanished.

Oh, the trauma! Then I lied - I lied! - to Owen, shrugging my shoulders at the noticeable decline in Sea-Monkey population. I'd refilled the tiny tank with bottled water, hoping the frisky Sea-Monkey would repopulate before Owen returned.

It wasn't until much later, that I confessed. Not sure if Owen ever forgave me.

So now, here we are with our own Sea-Monkeys. They make me nervous. Where to put them, so they'll be safe? We might knock them over here, we might knock them over there. It's too cold the corner, it's too hot on the windowsill. So much worry.

They're a month old now, our Sea-Monkeys. They were a Christmas present to my son, who is 7. "Look, guys," I said to the newly hatched Sea-Monkeys, "There's your dad!" (knee-slap!) I pointed to my son who looked at me, rolled his eyes and said, "And there's your grandma!"

They were barely visible to the naked eye a month ago, but now there are about a dozen big ones, most of whom have paired up with a mate. Together, they perform water acrobatics through the water, like an x-rated underwater game of crack the whip. There are many mamas-to-be in our tank.

Not a single one of our Sea-Monkeys looks human, or even alien, as they are marketed to look. I think it's a rite of passage to feel that twinge of disappointment when kids realize their Sea-Monkeys' do not carry tridents or play checkers or wear clothes.

Just think, I've given my boys fodder to answer the oft-asked, online security question: What was your first pet? Sea-Monkeys! Isn't that awesome? Now maybe we should give our Sea-Monkeys names, because sometimes, the security question asks, "Name of first pet?"

So the dog, the pool, the stairs still remain on my kids' list of what they most desire. At least now, we've bought ourselves a little time. Sea-Monkeys are more like rock crystal growing kit than they are a dog, but I'm thinking we'll give our Sea-Monkeys canine names, like Marey and Gizmo and Bear.

 

 

 

 

I Make Trouble for the School Office Lady

Somebody is always getting their hands slapped at school. It's not either of my kids, as you might expect.

It's me.

I don't do it on purpose, but I always get caught doing something I shouldn't. 

The first time it happened, I think I had my hand reaching over the counter, trying to fetch a pen. I hadn't realized the flower pot on the counter was actually full of pens whose ends were attached to fake flowers.

I thought they flowers.

The second time it happened, I had walked my sons, my visiting niece and my tiny visiting fur nephew over, just to ask a question. We were all smiles, mouths full of summer popsicles, a tiny leashed dog at our side.

He can't be here, she said, sternly, eyeing our dog. He is not allowed here.

It had been a short trespass, from the sidewalk to this place, which, on weekends and after hours is indeed the stomping grounds to many a neighborhood dog.

I thought it would be ok. Actually, I hadn't even thought about it.

Another time and another time still, I'd forgotten to get an excuse note, from the dentist, from the pediatrician and we had inadvertently tried to slip back in without official papers. This is a pattern I keep repeating.

The one time I had to pee while there, I'd chosen the wrong restroom. There are two from which to choose, one for kids and one for adults. I had a 50-50 chance and I chose wrong. Of course I did. Embarrassing.

I get the sign in/sign out binder confused with the other binder that's always there. It is a terrifying choice to have to make.

My biggest blunder occurred in the cafeteria. Someone had asked me to warm up a dish for a party we were having. So I headed to the tiny, empty cafeteria kitchen and placed the dish in the microwave. Just as I did, footsteps approached and a voice pleaded, "No, no, no, not there, please don't use that one." I was to use the microwave in the staff room, the voice instructed, after I'd stared back blankly, and asked the proper place to go. Yes, the staff room. I should have known.

These are just a few of the blunders I've committed. I know the list will grow through the years. It's a learn-as-I-go process. I'm sure when my kids are in, say, 5th grade and I arrive to help out at the school fundraising event, I'll do something wrong like move boxes to the wrong location or wear my badge on the wrong side.

I'm like that, you see, the mom who is the bane of the school office lady. I swear I don't try to do everything wrong, it just happens.

Still, I go back for more, volunteering in class and all that, mindful that my every step could lead to another reprimand.

I exasperate the schoool office lady, but I assure you, it's not on purpose!

 

 

 

Cheese Touch!

The little first grade girls were glancing over at me, then snickering. "Do it, " said one. More snickers. I didn't see the crossed fingers until it was too late.

"Cheese touch!" she said quietly, for we were in class, in centers.

When the laughter settled down, I knew I was done for but I wasn't sure why.

"You didn't protect yourself, like this!" said another girl, crossing her fingers.

Against my better judgement (for we were in class), I cheese touched her back but she said, "No, I'm protected" and lifted her arm to show that her fingers were crossed.

Darned grammar school games. What the heck was cheese touch?

Soon after, my own sons started tagging me. Cheese touch! Cheese touch! I have to admit this is the kind of game I would have loved when in grade school.  We played cooties and after we'd touched someone to pass it on, we'd "spray" ourselve for protection. I've been trying to cheese touch my boys, but they always claim they were protected. I even have pictures of my kids that show, if you zoom in, that they've got their finger crossed, just in case. The other day, I displayed my crossed fingers to my friend's 10-year-old daughter who immediatly crossed her fingers and giggled.

Oh, I do think it's funny! Can I be in grade school again? We should do a virtual game of cheese touch, kind of a like a Rick Roll.

It wasn't until today that I found out that the game of cheese touch was made popular in the book series and film, Diary of a Wimpy Kid. I've exposed my boys to a lot of big kid films and books, but surprisingly, I thought to wait the Dairy series out only because my boys don't need to add any more big kid naughty words to their vocabulary.

I've got the cheese touch now. I stink. So beware if I'm near because I just might pass it on...

Original post to Chalk and Cheese Chronicles.

 

The Mystery of the Mystery Spot Stickers

 

I've been been driving behind them for years. In Silicon Valley, they're as popular as those family stickers that people plaster to the rear window of their cars, alerting the world to the size of their families. You might even be sporting one on your car: The Mystery Spot bumper sticker!

It's yellow and alludes to a secretive, mysterious spot tucked away somewhere in the Santa Cruz mountains. Stuck in traffic behind a car whose bumper bears this sticker, you might give it nothing more than a passing glance, but you are being subliminaly messaged to get your hands on a Mystery Spot bumper sticker of your very own.

I have to say, I usually spot Mystery Spot bumper stickers on sensible cars, the kind driven by sensible engineers. (Think: Hondas.) I also noticed one on a car parked in front of my yoga studio. It's to the point where the Silicon Valley version of car bingo ought to include an image of the Mystery Spot bumper sticker. It would make for exciting, fast paced fun.

My friend Vijay even spotted the familiar yellow bumper sticker in Bangalore!

This is Vijay's photo and he has a theory that SV Desis are being brain washed into flashing these ugly yellow bumper stickers after visiting the Mystery Spot. Spread the word, spread the word! Has anyone ever seen an Art of Living bumper sticker co-existing next to a Mystery Spot bumper sticker? Surely, there's such a car.

Karma TV for Kids

In our house, there's no cable tv, no satellite tv and no TiVo. But what we do have is Karma TV and depending on your family ranking, you either love it or hate it.

Karma TV is for those young viewers like, say, my 5-year-old boys, who don't know the meaning of the word moderation when it comes to television viewing habits. We are pretty much a DVD/Netflix only family. Whatever my children watch via DVD comes to them via the generosity of Karma TV.

Here's how it appears to work - or doesn't work. When my sons are being good, Karma TV works. They push the "on" button and the television illuminates. Good = good = good is how I explain karma to them. When my sons are not on their best behavior, Karma TV shuts down. However many times my boys may push the "on" button, the television stares back at them blankly.

Here's how it really works. We have a little kit called Bye Bye Standby that serves as a master controller for devices, which in our case is the television. Turning the tv off with this controller renders the usual tv remote useless. I have to use it in secret, so it's hidden under a pile of my grandma's vintage linens which I display in the living room. Nobody has noticed it yet.

When I agree to let me boys watch tv, I have to get to the controller before they get to the TV "on" button. "You've been so good, try it, " I'll say, as we both run to our respective remotes. Sometimes, it's tricky, with my trigger happy fingers turning on the television before my boys get to the television "on" button. When this happens, my boys always look around in awe, as if magic has happened. Sometimes, they question me, "How did the tv turn on just like that?" Karma knows you've been good, I say. Though baffled, they leave it at that because I think they're afraid to mess with karma.

When Obama Speaks, a 4-year-old Listens

Ok, so while his brother was busy making Playdoh cookies (on a stick), Chalk Boy listened and watched about 10 minutes of yesterday evening's State of the Union Address. I think he really was listening. When Obama speaks, even a 4-year-old listens. (This is an audio clip which takes about 4 secs to load.)

Original post to Chalk and Cheese Chronicles.

Photo credit Babyjidesign

Elf on the Shelf

Elf on the Shelf here. Just back from a seasonal gig at some crazy Silicon Valley house. I had to monitor two boys, age 4 - twins! The mom picked me up as an impulse buy at her neighborhood toy store. It was a rocky start from the moment she lifted me out of my tidy and quiet little box. She said, "He's so tiny. I thought he'd be bigger."

Hello? I'm an elf, a person of diminutive stature. What was she expecting, a Santa sized elf? Man!

Back at her home, I toppled from the various places she tried to put me. I wanted to scream, Try the shelf! I'm Elf on the Shelf, remember? That first night, I ended up at the top of the Christmas tree from which the view was great except that my eyes are permanently glancing to the right. I need to look like I'm studying the children and not the boring ceiling. Fortunately, it was night time when I first met the children and nobody noticed my wayward gaze. They stared up at me as if I were real. One of them snapped my picture.

The following day, the mom moved me to the top of a heavy picture frame. Again, I had a great view but my eyes were fixated on the window. It hardly gives me credibility with children if I can't make eye contact with them. I made a mental note to stop by Santa's workshop and ask for some posable eyes. Wonder if that would creep the children out if I could follow them with my eyes?

One of the boys stood on tiptoe to get a better look at me. Then he insulted me by asking if I were "just a toy." While I was reeling from that remark, the other boy hurled another one by asking why I didn't have feet or shoes. (Actually, I hadn't noticed and now it does bother me a little.) The mom didn't even bother to make up a story. Do you know what she did? She agreed. She told her son he was right and that it was strange that I didn't have feet. Then she told her Twitter friends about me, the shoeless elf, and a friend wisely replied that elves don't need shoes because they fly! It's obvious my household did not read my book or they would have remembered I fly to the North Pole while the children are sleeping to report on good and bad behavior. I don't need shoes to fly, now do I?

I then spent the next few nights moving all about the house. The mom insisted upon placing me out of reach even though children know that if they touch me, I lose my magic. She even tried placing me atop the vanity mirror in the bathroom but couldn't get me to stay still and moved me out of there, thank God. There was one night when I worried I wouldn't be moved at all until the mom suddenly remembered and jumped out of bed to find me a new spot at 3 in the morning.

A couple of times, I was day dreaming when I heard my name being screamed. The mom was a little upset, "The Elf saw that! He'll tell Santa and you'll get no presents!" Wow - someone was really having naughty behavior that day and I almost didn't catch it.

Sometimes the mother couldn't get the story straight and said, "Santa is watching." Well, that's sort of true. He's watching, but only with the help of the elf minions who work down in the trenches. Without us, Santa wouldn't know a thing. He'd give presents to the naughty and coal to the nice if it weren't for us.

There was one day when the boys were being particularly naughty and I started to feel sorry for the mother. She tries with them, she really does but sometimes those boys are just out of control. I noticed that the mom says things in desperation, trying to evoke good behavior. I almost laughed when she told her kids that not only was I watching, but so, too, were Santa, Santa's cameras, the Grinch, the Gruffalo (who the heck is he?) and someone called karma. As if we all work as a team - yeah, right. I've never even met the Grinch.

I was kept busy writing down names on my list. Both boys leaped from the naughty column to the nice column and back again. On days when the boys were cranky from hunger or fatigue, my presence would only result in a temporary reform in their behavior. Sometimes, the boys would look up at me, consider their actions and go right back to doing what it was they weren't supposed to be doing. Other times, especially in the freshness of morning, the boys would immediately halt the offending behavior and apologize with sincerity.

The best part of the day was always in the morning when the children would wake up and come looking for me. I almost giggled out loud from my perch next to the children's beds when they ran out of the room without noticing me. I would play hide-n-go seek all day if I could.

I hitched a ride back to the North Pole with Santa when he came to bring presents to the boys I'd been monitoring. While I'd love to boast that my presence greatly improved behavior, I'll admit that I only helped things out some of the time. Then why did Santa come? Well, I actually grew to love the little boys in my temporary home and so I, um, cheated. I used a pencil when making my lists and let's just say I did a bit of erasing while on the job. Every child deserves presents.

Original post to Chalk and Cheese Chronicles. Akemi intends to go to Michaels to pick up some little shoes and some stick on googly eyes for the elf when he returns before Christmas next year.

The Space Shuttle via Mad Libs

Ever since our boys started getting into the knock knock joke mode, my husband has been wanting to show them the humor of Mad Libs. He just thinks it's so funny. I did, too, back when I was eight. Our boys are newly minted 4-year-olds with a newly acquired potty mouth vocabulary, a bonus lesson from preschool.

Yesterday, my husband took one boy out for the afternoon and they returned with two books, The Original #1 Mad Libs and a paperback book called Silly Jokes & Giggles. Ok, I admit to having thumbed through these books a few times, but I just don't think my boys are ready. A 4-year-old child kind of needs some life experience to get this type of humor. Case in point:

What do you get when you cross three tenors and April 1st? Answer: April Fool's Day! (Hmm, don't exactly think a young 4-year old will find the humor in this one)

What cereal is a favorite with young magicians? Answer: Trix! (Do they sell that at Trader Joe's?)

We had a bit better luck with the Mad Libs. Of course, we had to simplify, simplify! Rather than saying, "Give me a noun!", we said, "give me a person, place or thing" but that turned out to be too many choices, so we said, "name a person" or "name a place" and that worked out much better. But the payoff wasn't worth the tedious task of sitting through all the questions, so we cut it short and read what we'd completed and got a few laughs.

So may I present our first ever 3/4 completed page of Mad Libs, culled from the vocabulary of 4-year-olds.

In 1981, the U.S. launched the first real space GRANDMA.
It was named Columbia and was piloted by two brave GRAMMY B's.
They had practiced RUNNING for two years and were expert DINOSAURS and PLANTS.
Columbia took off from SAN FRANCISCO using its powerful first-stage CUP and soared off into the BIG blue ANIMALS.
At an altitude of ONE feet, it went into orbit around a CLOUD.
For people watching from Earth, it was a NICE sight to BURP!

We got lucky that the story ended with a funny word like BURP. I'm dreading the day when my boys refuse to fill in the Mad Libs blanks with anything other than the word POOP. POOP is actually a good word for Mad Libs in that it's a noun (poop is everywhere), a verb (I'm pooping), and of course an exclamation, "POOP!" 

Original post to Chalk and Cheese Chronicles.