Stephen King Had the Right Idea

My favourite Stephen King quotation is about banned books. His advice is that if someone tells you can't read something, run, don't walk, to your local library and find out for yourself what all the fuss is about.

In honour of Banned Books Week, I'm offering a meme of sorts. Below is the ALA list of the 100 most frequently challenged books, 1990-2000. Bold the ones you've read. And then run, don't walk, to your local library.

Scary Stories (Series) by Alvin Schwartz
Daddy's Roommate by Michael Willhoite
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou
The Chocolate War by Robert Cormier
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
Harry Potter (Series) by J.K. Rowling
Forever by Judy Blume
Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson
Alice (Series) by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor
Heather Has Two Mommies by Leslea Newman
My Brother Sam is Dead by James Lincoln Collier and Christopher Collier
The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
The Giver by Lois Lowry
It's Perfectly Normal by Robie Harris
Goosebumps (Series) by R.L. Stine
A Day No Pigs Would Die by Robert Newton Peck
The Color Purple by Alice Walker
Sex by Madonna
Earth's Children (Series) by Jean M. Auel
The Great Gilly Hopkins by Katherine Paterson
A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle
Go Ask Alice by Anonymous
Fallen Angels by Walter Dean Myers
In the Night Kitchen by Maurice Sendak
The Stupids (Series) by Harry Allard
The Witches by Roald Dahl
The New Joy of Gay Sex by Charles Silverstein
Anastasia Krupnik (Series) by Lois Lowry
The Goats by Brock Cole
Kaffir Boy by Mark Mathabane
Blubber by Judy Blume
Killing Mr. Griffin by Lois Duncan
Halloween ABC by Eve Merriam
We All Fall Down by Robert Cormier
Final Exit by Derek Humphry
The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood
Julie of the Wolves by Jean Craighead George
The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison
What's Happening to my Body? Book for Girls: A Growing-Up Guide for Parents & Daughters by Lynda Madaras
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Beloved by Toni Morrison
The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton
The Pigman by Paul Zindel
Bumps in the Night by Harry Allard
Deenie by Judy Blume
Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes
Annie on my Mind by Nancy Garden
The Boy Who Lost His Face by Louis Sachar
Cross Your Fingers, Spit in Your Hat by Alvin Schwartz
A Light in the Attic by Shel Silverstein
Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
Sleeping Beauty Trilogy by A.N. Roquelaure (Anne Rice)
Asking About Sex and Growing Up by Joanna Cole
Cujo by Stephen King
James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl
The Anarchist Cookbook by William Powell
Boys and Sex by Wardell Pomeroy
Ordinary People by Judith Guest
American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis
What's Happening to my Body? Book for Boys: A Growing-Up Guide for Parents & Sons by Lynda Madaras
Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret by Judy Blume
Crazy Lady by Jane Conly
Athletic Shorts by Chris Crutcher
Fade by Robert Cormier
Guess What? by Mem Fox
The House of Spirits by Isabel Allende
The Face on the Milk Carton by Caroline Cooney
Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut
Lord of the Flies by William Golding
Native Son by Richard Wright
Women on Top: How Real Life Has Changed Women's Fantasies by Nancy Friday
Curses, Hexes and Spells by Daniel Cohen
Jack by A.M. Homes
Bless Me, Ultima by Rudolfo A. Anaya
Where Did I Come From? by Peter Mayle
Carrie by Stephen King
Tiger Eyes by Judy Blume
On My Honor by Marion Dane Bauer
Arizona Kid by Ron Koertge
Family Secrets by Norma Klein
Mommy Laid An Egg by Babette Cole
The Dead Zone by Stephen King
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain
Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison
Always Running by Luis Rodriguez
Private Parts by Howard Stern
Where's Waldo? by Martin Hanford
Summer of My German Soldier by Bette Greene
Little Black Sambo by Helen Bannerman
Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett
Running Loose by Chris Crutcher
Sex Education by Jenny Davis
The Drowning of Stephen Jones by Bette Greene
Girls and Sex by Wardell Pomeroy
How to Eat Fried Worms by Thomas Rockwell
View from the Cherry Tree by Willo Davis Roberts
The Headless Cupid by Zilpha Keatley Snyder
The Terrorist by Caroline Cooney
Jump Ship to Freedom by James Lincoln Collier and Christopher Collier

Hello, My Name Is Kimberly, And I'm A Scholasticaholic

It's here! It's here! It's here!!!!!

I'm positively giddy today. Today, in addition to the half eaten lunch and still ever so exciting agenda, the package I've been waiting for since the start of school was stuffed into Sabrina's backpack.

No, it wasn't her school photo, although that arrived too. This was better.

Today I got my first Scholastic order of the year.

I'm a huge fan of Scholastic. I don't have many vices, but those colourful catalogues are my drug of choice. I anxiously await their arrival, eager to rifle through the pages and be enticed by all the wonderful books offered at super cheap prices. Before I discovered the online bookclubs, it was a tossup whether Diva Girl would be greeted at the end of the day with "Hi! How was your day?" or "Did you get the bookclub flyers?" Now, I have my choices all picked out long before the order form comes home. It's not the same though. While I enjoy not having to wait for my fix, I do miss circling my choices. There's something about the Scholastic experience that demands sitting down with a pen and marking up the pages, circling every single book you'd like to purchase.

Looking at the overflowing bookshelves scattered throughout our apartment, most of them stocked courtesy of those pages, I have to admit that I tend to buy what I've circled more often than not. My major commitment this year is to buy more non-fiction. Last year I always felt a little guilty when I did have to whittle the order, because the resource books were always the first to be taken off the list. So many great books about the universe, ancient civilizations, math....all sacrificed in name of Arthur, Olivia, and Junie B. Jones.

I'm trying to be better this year, though; to indulge my passion for excellent children's literature and show some self restraint at the same time. Now, the rule is that Sabrina, Regan, and I each get one pick--within reason. I usually choose a board book for Regan, and Brina's choice is subject to negotiation and parental approval. In addition to those books, I order one non-fiction book.

It's a system that's working out so far. Today I pulled outHow Do Dinsaurs Play With Their Friends, How To Tame A Bully, Terry Fox: A Story of Hope, and The Book of Planets.

I may have to invest in a new planet one, though. Afterall, with Pluto's demotion, all the reference books are out of date.

And if I'm getting that, I really should finally get A Poppy is to Remember.

And the new Olivia book.

And something for Hallowe'en.

And.....Well, I'm trying.

I Need to Get Out More

This realization dawned on me this morning as I sat watching Zoboomafoo with Regan.

"Look Mama! They so Cute!"

"Yes, baby, they are."

She's completely absorbed in the ball squishing tigers. Me? I'm have a heated internal debate as to which is the cuter Kratt brother.

Giddy With Power

I don't know what a "sixer" is, but apparently Diva Girl is one.

She assures me that this a Very. Big. Deal. She's in charge of all the Kelpies (Sprites are "so last year"). She gets to delegate the responsibilities, count the dues, and give out the instructions. She even has an assistant.

She's in her glory.

I'm thrilled for her. She's usually so much younger than her peers, emotionally as well as in age. I think it's great that as a second year Brownie she's one of the "Big Girls." And even more fabulous that she's been given some responsibility to go with the status. This is a very good thing for the Diva Girl.

I can't wait to watch her shine.

For the Love Of Coco Chanel, Stop the Madness

When they brought back gaucho pants, I rolled my eyes, but held my tongue in check. I didn't say anything about the leggings with skirt phenomenon. I even remained silent in the face of the horror that is the skinny jean. But now, faced with the ultimate fashion insult from the 80s, I can be silent no more.

THE BUBBLE SKIRT???

Seriously.

I walked into Elizabeth Noel, my favourite "just browsing" boutique. This is the store that makes me fantasize about Diva Girl's prom dress. The dresses run the gamut from sleek and modern to frothy fairytale romance, each one the epitome of class. Audrey Hepburn would shop in this store. Which is why I was shocked to see the satin abomination hanging on the wall behind the cash register. Audrey Hepburn would never, ever, wear a bubble skirt.

The bubble skirt wasn't a good look way back when my high school best friend wore it to the prom. It looked frumpy and silly and more than a little bit like you'd accidentally tucked your dress into your pantyhose and everyone was too polite or embarrassed to tell you about it. I know I sure didn't tell Wendy when she showed up proudly wearing her cutting edge of fashion monstrosity. I'm pretty sure I just focussed on how good her shoes looked.

Age has not improved the bubble skirt. I get that fashion trends are on an ever turning wheel, that there's a cyclical nature to what is considered high style. But while absence may have made certain designers' hearts grow fonder, I'm pretty sure any woman who lived through 1989 is doing an Edvard Munch impression as she contemplates the return of this piece of bunched around the knees lunacy.

Oh well, at least by the time I go back to Elizabeth Noel to begin negotiations with the Diva Girl over her first grown up gown, the bubble skirt will have returned to it's rightful place as an embarrassment stuck in the back of closets of another generation of girls. Poor things. But better their mothers than me.

Sticks and Stones and All That Jazz

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me!"

Yeah. Any kid who has ever been subjected to some serious teasing knows that that is a load of crap. Names hurt. And while they won't break your bones, they can break your spirit.

Sabrina is normally a child who sparkles. Her eyes shine, she has a ready grin, and she positively bounces with the excitement of being alive. Lately, though, she walks slowly, with her head down. The isolation is taking its toll on her. Plus, it seems that Heather's stepped things up by adding teasing to the mix. Now, in addtion to whispers of "crybaby," there are taunts of "pipsqueak" and mocking comments about the size of her shoes.

Yesterday she asked if we could move so that she wouldn't have to go to this school anymore. I won't say I haven't considered it as an option. In fact, I'd spent some time online checking out real estate in other school districts just the other day. But having my resistant to change, unwilling to live more than walking distance from her grandparents, daughter ask if we could flee from Heather brought home to me just how bad this has gotten. It also made me realize that moving was not the answer. Sure, it would take Diva Girl out of this girl's range, but there are always going to be Heathers; I could move her, but there's on guarantee that she wouldn't encounter another one at her new school. And it's a given that this one would simply pick a new target and continue along her merry way. Because that's what Heathers do. Unless we make a stand and put an end to them once and for all.

So I made an appointment with the principal. Given the unsatisfactory response I've had from the teacher, I was a little nervous about this meeting. But I've always been impressed by the school culture this principal has created, and we've always had a good working relationship in the past. Plus, our principal is a woman, and I was counting on the fact that she too was once a little girl on the playground would mean that she would understand what I was talking about.

Unlike Mr. G, the principal knew exactly what I was talking about. She listened to my concerns, agreed with me that it was a classic case of girl bullying, and promised to work with me to put an end to it. When I brought my concerns to the teacher, I felt condescended to and dismissed; in my meeting with the principal, I felt acknowledged and supported. The two meetings couldn't have been more different. From taking the problem seriously, to exploring possible reasons why Heather continues to target Sabrina (reasons that didn't focus on blaming the victim), to brainstorming possible solutions, the principal couldn't have been more helpful.

I've always had a lot of respect for this woman. She wears her authority gently, but with an unshakeable confidence. She has an expectation for "her" school, and is willing to put in the effort to foster the positive environment of her vision. She's the kind of principal the primary kids hug and the intermediate kids respect. She's also incredibly down to earth, as evidenced by her advice for how to deal with the teasing: No airy fairy recommendations to rise above it all and turn the other cheek here. Oh no. Her advice? Show Diva Girl how to give as good as she gets. Teach her a couple of replies that will stop Heather and her cronies cold the next time they decide to start mocking her size. She truly is a wise woman.

So, tomorrow when Heather, who wears a ladies size 3, comments on Diva Girl's child size 11 shoes, my girl is going to look her in the eye and respond, "You know, I'd rather be Cinderella than the ugly stepsister." I sort of wish I could be there to see it.

All Clear

I knew there wouldn't be any bad news today, but I was still careful in picking out my outfit for this morning's ultrasound. I learned from the first time not to wear anything I really like to an ultrasound appointment; even though the sticky jelly I ended up covered in washed right out of the dress, every time I looked at it all I could think about were the words, "Twelve Centimetre Tumour." Eighteen months later and I still haven't worn that dress again.

Everything is different now. Regan is a healthy, happy, active toddler, not a critically ill, undiagnosed infant. Instead of distended belly and a gaunt face, she's got chubby little cheeks and the same slender build as her sister. Today she was old enough to understand what was going on, and to be bribed with a sticker; the first time we did this dance, she was too little to be anything but terrified, and all the princess stickers world wouldn't have been enough to convince her to lie still on the gurney. A year and a half ago, the techs were inscrutable, sticking firmly to their "you have to call your doctor" scripts; now, they give me a subtle thumbs up, reassuring me that there's nothing to see here.

A week after her first birthday I was told that Regan had a 12 cm neuroblastoma in her abdomen. The day after that, we began what I was told would be a long odyssey through the world of oncology. Three weeks later, it was over.

We were lucky. Well, as lucky as you can be when your infant has a tumour 1/8 of her total body mass stretching her bowel to the breaking point. But, it wasn't a neuroblastoma. It was benign. Incredibly rare, and still potentially life threatening, but benign. Which meant that after the surgery to take it out, we were free and clear. No chemo. No chemicals, No hard choices.

Our family was changed by those three weeks in March, but it wasn't shattered. While some of the effects of that experience are still being explored--Diva Girl, for example, is just starting to be able to talk about how she was affected by that time--it's not an every day part of our lives anymore. As a mother, it's always in the back of my mind, but luckily it's only at the forefront of my life every six months.--like today.

We can live with that.

Best .Costume. Ever.

I'm not a crafty person. I don't scrapbook, I barely knit, and I only sew under extreme duress. Needless to say, I'm not that whip up the perfect Hallowe'en costume mom. Which is not to say that I've never made The Ladies' costumes, just that I tend to take a minimalist approach that doesn't require pesky details like patterns and sewing machines. I am the MacGyver of Hallowe'en, taking seemingly random objects and fashioning feasible costumes out of them.

A touque, a shower puff, and a pair of footy pajamas and viola! A bunny! A poncho, a length of wire ribbon, and a dollar store wand found at the bottom of the dress up box and suddenly you're looking at a medieval queen. You want to be a fairy? No problem; leggings, multiple tutus, some deelyboppers (also courtesy of the dress up box), and a pair of wings and you're all set.

I'm pretty proud of my what my personal brand of laziness, poverty, and creativity have wrought over the years. But the cosutme the Zen Baby is wearing in that photo is my piece de resistance. It's the alien from Alien, bursting out of her gut a la the movie. In additon to being just plain cool, that costume represents a victory of sorts. The day I was told about her tumour, I vowed that Regan would wear that costume for Hallowe'en. I wasn't sure how I would make it, but that wasn't the point; I knew I would figure it out, and that in doing so I would put the beast in her belly in its place.

If Hallowe'en is about confronting monsters and demons, we've been there, done that, and kept our sense of humour along the way. Hallowe'en is also all about magic and seeing the possibilites. And nothing brings that home like whipping together a pirate, a fairy, or a scary monster with a quick glance around the apartment and a little faith and imagination. While The Ladies may not have always had the fanciest costumes in the neighbourhood, I think they've probably had the most fun with them. Which is also what Hallowe'en should be about.

When Birth Order and Pop Culture Collide

Guess who stood on the couch, hands on hips, and surveyed the chaos that was our livingroom floor today:

"Hey! Who made this big mess???"

"Me?"

"No I didn't! Molly did it! Clean it up, Molly!"

Guiding Principles

I never thought while I was filling out the dozens of forms tonight that Brownie registration would turn into a lesson on equal rights. But you seize your teachable moments when they come, and Sabrina asking why she was enrolled in Guiding and not Scouts was nothing if not a teachable moment.

I thought long and hard before I decided to sign my daughter up for Sparks three years ago. First off, I had reservations about signing her up for any sort of structured group activity like this; it's just really not who I am. Once I made the decision, I could have gone with Beavers; it certainly would have made sense since Emmett was a Beaver that year. But for me, and therefore Bree, the Boy Scouts were never really an option.

Part of it was the co-ed aspect. I agree with the Guiding philopsphy that girls need a place where they can be encouraged to shine. I'm not ready to send the Diva to an all girls school, but an all girls club? I think that's a great idea. It might not be important to her self esteem now, but I'm hoping that in her pre-teen and teen years Guiding gives my daughter a place that encourages her to be a strong, positive woman, and to take that confidence out into the co-ed world.

That was only a part of the equation for me, though. And not even the deal breaker. The deal breaker was the different attitudes the Scouts and Guides have towards diversity and equality. I'm not comfortable with the Boy Scouts' approach to "values based education." While I respect the fact that the Boy Scouts and their supporters believe that they are acting in the very best interests of their children and society at large, when a group actively declares that members who, for whatever reason, are unwilling to conform to a specific, narrow view of the world are unwelcome, what they are doing is preaching exclusion and intolerance. And those are values I do not want my daughter internalizing.

So, on our walk home Sabrina and I talked about how people are different. They believe different things about the universe, they love different people, and they are all entitled to a place in this world regardless of their differences. I think that in light of Sabrina's recent difficulties at school, this was a particularly timely conversation to have. As Sabrina put it, "everybody should be allowed to play. That's why I'm in Guides."

Of Heathers and the High Roads

The problem with girl bullying is that the aggression is rarely on display. It's easy to spot the classic bully; while he may be subtle enough not to conduct a playground shakedown in front of the teacher, his actions are rarely left as a matter of perception. He's generally very up front about his motivation and tends to take a hands on approach with his victims. Not so with the Heathers. Unlike Butch, a Heather is rarely up front, and she never gets her hands dirty. Her brand of mean is best accomplished at a distance and under the radar. It depends not on direct confrontation, but on a far more subtle campaign of terror that is based almost completely on perceptions. Whispered insults and secret clubs, not fists, are her weapons of choice, and the damage, while just as real as a black eye, is often far less visible.

When it is, though, it's heartbreaking. I think I would have rather come out from my talk with Mr. G to see a battered and bloody Diva Girl than the beaten, dejected child who was sitting in line, oblivious to the he happy chaos of the playground swirling around her. She's the crybaby, but I was the one near tears as I watched her sit with her head down and her shoulders slumped, desperately trying to keep the hurt in and not care that Heather was making it a point to stand right beside her, deep in conversation with 3 other little girls in their class.

Sabrina wasn't the only one feeling defeated on the playground. My meeting with their teacher left me feeling angry and frustrated. To say Mr. G was less than understanding about the problem would be an understatement. Mr. G "doesn't see a problem." He doesn't see a problem because "Heather and Sabrina really don't interact as far as he can tell." And, to top it all off, he "can't do anything unless Sabrina brings the problem to me herself."

Yeah. Clearly Mr. G was never a little girl. And possibly, given that last statement, never even a kid. Of course you don't see it! That's sort of the point of bullying--it doesn't make it hurt any less just because the scars are on the inside. And of course they don't have anything to do with each other; that's the way this scenario works. The entire point is to have nothing to do with Sabrina--to make her as much of an outsider as possible. Which brings us to point number 3. She's already been labeled the crybaby. Now he wants her to be the tattletale too? And what exactly is she supposed to tattle about? "Jenny won't play with me?" I know what my response to that would be.

I walked out of the school frustrated by the teacher's utter lack of empathy and understanding of the issue, but bouyed by the fact that there was at least one glimmer of hope in this whole mess: Sabrina's budding friendship with Madyson. When I went in, Sabrina and Madyson were together, catching up on their weekends; when I came back out, Bree was on her own and Heather had Madyson. I don't know what happened in the five useless minutes I spent inside discussing the situation with the teacher, but I can guess. Social pressure is a hard thing to stand up to, even when you're an adult. As a child, it can be near impossible. And it's just human nature that when the Alpha in a group invites you in, you accept. I don't blame Madyson for crumbling under the pressure; I blame Heather for applying it.

I've been trying to to teach Diva Girl about taking the high road through this, but when my daughter ran to me and buried her face in my back, clinging to me like a 4 year old on the first day of school, I cracked. As the bell rang, I bent down and whispered, "She's a vicious little snot." It wasn't much, and it certainly wasn't mature of me, but the grin that spread across Sabrina's tear stained face told me that for that moment at least, it was enough. That's all that really matters to me right now.

Whoever Said "Thank Heaven For Little Girls" Never Tried Being Friends With One

I'm in love. After yesterday's date, I'm absolutely smitten. I think she had me at "hello." All bubbly and excited to be hanging out. And when she took Sabrina's hand and started skipping down the street, well, I was gone. I've never had a mom crush before, but I've got it bad for Madyson

She's everything I ever hoped for in a friend for Diva Girl. She's polite, patient, kind, and has a mind of her own. She pleased and thank you'd her way through the three hours she was at our house. Not in an Eddie Haskell kind of way, but in the genuinely well mannered way that I hope my daughter behaves when she's the guest. She included the baby in their games and didn't seem to be begrudging her presence as she did so And she and Sabrina managed to cycle through most of the toys in the playroom--with the odd Arthur break thrown in just to mix things up--without a hint of argument. She was willing to compromise and play what Sabrina wanted at times, but was also able to stand up for herself and insist that they play her games too.

My heart melted as I stood outside the playroom door and listened to them declare their best friendness over a game of Mousetrap. And then it shattered as I overheard Madyson tell Sabrina about what Heather had been up to today.

It seems that Sabrina'sarch-nemesis, we'll call her Heather ( I have before, because it fits), continues to live up to her namesake. It's not enough that she's not friends with Sabrina (not something I want to happen anyway); apparently, no one else is supposed to be friends with her either. At least, that's the impression Madyson got when she and her minions cornered her on the playground and had the following conversation:

Heather: You don't actually like Sabrina, do you?

Madyson: Yes. Sabrina's my friend.

H: Well we hate her. She's a crybaby.

M: I like her. I think she's nice. And funny.

H: Well you don't have to play with her. You can run away from her you know.

M: I want to play with her.

That was it, except for the fact that they spent the rest of recess watching the two girls at play, making their displeasure known.

This is classic girl bullying at its finest. The whispering campaign, the exclusion, the drive towards complete isolation, and the utter unwillingness to confront the victim head on (remember, it was only a couple of days ago that Heather told Sabrina she wanted to be her friend.) are all hallmarks of female bullying.

Now, much though I'm not ok with them calling my daughter names, I've gotta give then the crybaby one. She is a crier. It's something we've been working on, and she's doing a lot better with it, but it's a reputation that she's earned. And one they want her to keep--apparently winding Diva Girl up by teasing her about her small size (she's a head and shoulders smaller than the other kids) is somewhat of a sport at school. I've explained to Sabrina that they're actively trying to make her cry, and she's been doing a great job of just brushing it off this year. But that doesn't make it ok for them to try. And it certainly doesn't mean that this little girl gets to decide that my daughter can't have friends.

I'm not a reactionary parent, but I'll be speaking to Teacher McDreamy on Monday. This has been going on since kindergarten, and it's time for it to end. We did the ""just be nice to her and she'll come around." We moved on through "just ignore her." and have dabbled in "stand up to her and she'll back down." Through it all, Heather has continued on her campaign of emotional torture. In Kindergarten, it was teasing that Sabrina wouldn't be going Grade 1 beacuse she was too little--a claim that had my gullible girl in tears more than once. Grade One was the year that Heather decided no one should attend Sabrina's birthday party--and only 2 of the 6 invitees actually showed up. Grade Two was quite simply hellacious. A daughter who was heartbroken, picked on, and desperate for social interaction.

I don't believe this situation is going to get better. I don't believe this little girl is going to change. I don't believe, even if Sabrina has finally found friends of her own and the strength to put Heather in her place, that this little girl should get away with what she's done. And I don't intend to let her.

Good Manners Are Always Important

Zen Baby and I are walking down the street, catching up on some errands while the Diva Girl continues her social networking at school. Suddenly, a bus pulls up beside us and lets loose a spray of exhaust.

"Mama, that bus farted!" Regan exclaims, loud enough for every other person on the sidewalk to hear.

"Say "'Scuse me," bus! Say "'Scuse me!"

It's Always Something

Well, apparently all my maternal agonizing was just a bunch of self indulgent blubbering. Sabrina not only has friends, she has a very busy social calendar. On the way home from school, she was invited over to Kirsty's and Allie's house (sadly, those aren't silly pseudonyms--the sisters really all named Kirsty and Allie). Then, when we got home, Madyson called, also seeking a playdate. This whilrwind of activity is an exciting new world for a seven year old who spent much of last year hanging out with her baby sister.

Speaking of The Toddler Formerly Known As Zen, she is not impressed with her sister's newfound popularity. In fact, she's flat out jealous in the way that only a 2 year old can be. The playdate wasn't much of an issue...if you don't call wheeling a screaming, struggling toddler home as she demands to "Pway wif my fwends too!!!!!" no big deal. The phone call though....The phone call brought tantrums at our house to a whole new level (and we've seen some doozies.) It got so bad that poor little Diva Girl had to cut her phonecall short because she couldn't hear over all the screaming. It's not like the two third graders had so much to talk about, but that's really not the point.

Apparently, the point is that Sabrina getting over her social issues and actually making friends is going to open up a whole set of issues to deal with. But, ain't that always the way with parenthood?

(Oh, Teacher McDreamy is married. Just in case you were wondering.)

Cautiously Optimisitc

Watching the playground dynamics this morning was an exercise in maternal heartbreak. I stood there, powerless, watching Sabrina once again on the outside of the crowd. I suppose it could have been worse; focussed as she was on rooting through her backpack she didn't seem to notice that literally every other girl in her class was engaged in a rowdy game of Kings Court just a few feet away. But I did. And as she ran off to play alone on the climbers I wondered again, why doesn't she get it? Why doesn't she seem able to see or negotiate the playground politics.

If Bree were a shy kid, a quiet kid, a kid who did not thrive on social activitiy, I'd understand. I'd even encourage her loneresque ways. Lord knows that I'm no social butterfly. But the problem is, that Sabrina is. She loves people and generally hates to be alone. She's never happier than when she has someone to talk to and play with. Which is why I don't understand why she has such a problem figuring out the social dynamics of the schoolyard.

Much though I'd like it to be, it can't all be Heather's fault. I certainly think Miss Queen Bee has contributed to the problem, but I'm willing to acknowledge that she's not really the root of it all. Sabrina doesn't seem to "get" social codes. Today is a prime example: Every other girl in her class was playing a game together, and yet instead of joining in and making a place for herself in the group, she chose to stay away. She chose to cast herself as an outsider, even though I know that is the role she hates most. And I realize that it was possibly because the thought of being rejected was just too much to bear (an idea that breaks my heart), but I don't think that was it. I think it honestly didn't occur to her that to make connections with these girls, she should play king's court, even though she would rather be on the climber. Clearly that's something we're going to have to work on more.

There was one victory in the day, though. After yesterday's "Maybe I'll be your friend" bombshell, Sabrina and I had yet another talk about what friendship is really all about. Today, my Diva Girl told the Queen Bee that she could be her friend or she could not be her friend, but maybe wasn't an option. I'm really, really proud of her; last year, she would have simply fallen in line with Heather's attitude and done anything she could think of to win her over. Even more surprising, Heather has apparently decided to be her friend, and spent all three recesses playing with her today. I'll admit, I don't like Heather, but I'm glad for my daughter's sake. But I'm still gonna wait and see what tomorrow brings before I start jumping on any bandwagons.

What the Day Brought

I'm not sure who was more exicted this morning on the walk to school--The newly minted third grader or her mommy. Sabrina skipped along the side of the road, happy to be returning to school and speculating about the day ahead--who would her teacher be, which kids would be in her class, how many As would she get? We also reviewed some friendship ground rules: Friends are people who like you and want to spend time with you. You cannot force this on people. If someone doesn't want to play with you, instead of getting upset or chasing her, you should just find someone else to hang out with.

While Sabrina might not have good friends on the playground, I do. And after a long summer spent mostly away from home, I realized that I could hardly wait to reconnect with them. It was a bittersweet, though; as I rounded the parking lot it hit me: many mothers would be waiting inside the gates, but Susan would not. Remembering that, and how much I always looked forward to her smiling face and down to earth take on life--an island of serene calm in the schoolyard chaos--made me miss her all over again. Sabrina also missed Emmett, who for better and worse has been her constant playground companion since kindergarten, but in the end the excitment of old friends and a new classroom proved to be successful distractions for both of us.

She got "The New Guy, " which means that for the first time ever, Diva Girl will have a male teacher. I'm kinda excited about that. (Get your minds out of the gutter! Not that way! Besides, he's probably married.) Not that I think that, with her 4 uncles and very active and involved grandfather, Sabrina is lacking in positive male role models, but I think this could be a very positive thing for my emotional, complicated little girl. Judging by the way she bounded out of class at the end of the day, and how often I was treated to insights about life according to Mr. G, I think Sabrina's feeling pretty good about it too.

More than the "gotcha" system or the presence of Rainbow Magic books in the classroom library, the big news of the day was they got agendas! This is a VERY! BIG! DEAL! apparently. We'll see how excited she is about it when I'm signing her homework.

Finally, Heather, the Queen Bee who spent last year making it her personal mission to torment Sabrina, is in her class. I wasn't pleased about that, but I decided to use it as a teachable moment. Instead of allowing her dismiss this girl outright, I went against every maternal instinct I had and encouraged Sabrina to give her chance to prove herself. Partly I was hoping that Heather had matured over the summer (and that without her chief minion, who moved at the end of last year, she'd be far more willing to play nicely). Partly I just didn't want to teach my 7 year old to be so cynical that she would reject a genuine offer of friendship. Imagine how thrilled I was when, nearly as exciting as the agenda, was the news that Heather said she might be Sabrina's friend. If she's not too busy with every other girl in the class.

Last Minute Wishes

Diva Girl is flitting between her toast, the television, and her new outfit, unable to settle down to one particular thing. I keep shooing her peanutbutter sticky fingers away from her clothes, but I don't think that's the source of the butterflies in my stomach.

I want this year to be good to my baby. I want to send her off on a wonderful adventure every morning, confident that her wild, difficult spirit is being nurtured and fulfilled. I'm not too concerned about the academic stuff; she's a smart kid, and she'll figure it out. The social scene, however, terrifies me. Sabrina doesn't really have a stellar track record in that area and, more than anything, I just don't want her to have another year like last year. A year spent chasing the "popular" girls, kowtowing to them in the hopes that they will take pity on her and let her play.

It's not like she doesn't make friends. The past two years, she's formed very close friendships with little girls in her class. Little girls who inevitably move away sometime in October. This year, all I really want is for that girl, whoever she is, to stick around and be my daughter's friend. More than a straight A report card or some sort of sporting accomplishment, what I want for this year is for Sabrina to find a best friend.

Well, time to go see what the day brings.

It Must Be All Those Pointy Crayons

There are few days that hold as much anticipation and sheer possibility as the first day of a new school year. Christmas maybe, or the beginning of a long awaited vacation; but niether of these have the fresh start aspect of that magical day in September. I've mentioned before that for me, tomorrow marks the start of my new year.

I don't make resolutions in January. I don't change my life. I don't vow to start fresh. Even though my birthday is little more than a week after New Year's, I just don't feel like the middle of winter is a time of fresh starts. By the time the new year rolls around, I'm already well entrenched in the daily grind, and just don't feel inspired to make changes.

At this time of year, on the other hand, I'm filled to brimming with potential and possibility. I have plans aplenty. I vow to become organizied. To get a handle on the stuff--both physical and ephemeral--that clutters my life. I make resolutions--This year I'll get up earlier instead of getting the panicked rush out the door down to a science. I'll be the mom who returns the field trip form the day after it comes home, and never have to scrounge in my pockets on the playground because I forgot it was bake sale day.

It won't last, of course. Sure, for the first few weeks I'll make lunches the night before, careful to tuck a treat or note into the box. We'll lay out clothes, too, all the better to establish a new and organized routine. I'll set the alarm for 7, and we'll be up in time for a leisurely breakfast and some cartoons before we head out the door. I'll check the backpack every night and create some sort of "system" for the paper. There will be lists and schedules. But gradually, the "system" will become "lose things in a swirling vortex of paper covering my desk." I'll start hitting the snooze button, and eventually stop setting the alarm altogether, setting the stage for the mad dash to school--an event in which I am an olympic contender. The clutter will creep back in, and possibility will be ground down in the face of reality.

Still, every September I'm filled with an overwhelming optimism, a feeling that all things are possible. And really, looking at all those pristine notebooks and shiny markers, how could anyone feel otherwise.

Calendar Girl

I've been having trouble keeping track of the days; without the structure of the school, the days all sort of bleed into one another. Our time right now is measured in two week increments--the length of a session of swim lessons at the pool. Weekends are marked only by the fact that The Ladies will have, at least for the length of a church service, traded their rapidly wearing out swimsuits for actual clothing.

I don't know why I bothered with a summer wardrobe for either of them; Sabrina spends nearly every waking moment in her perpetually damp bathingsuit, and Regan rarely wears anything over her diaper. While they carvort in a blissful state of near nudity, I've adopted a wardrobe that largely consists of drawstring pants and tee shirts worn over--you guessed it!--a swimsuit.

Now, though, things are about to change. Swim lessons are finished, the pool is closed, and the weather has started to cool. All signs that summer is over and that it's time to get back to real life.

I know that school starts in a mere two days, but I'm having a hard time believing it. Even though all the school supplies have been purchased and the all important first day of school outfit is hanging in a place of honour, it just doesn't feel like this season is coming to an end. It's not that I feel like summer hasnot gone on long enough; it's more like we've been living this life outside of real time for so long, real time doesn't exist anymore.

I look at the new backpack stuffed with freshly sharpened pencils and unopened tissue boxes and I know that on Tuesday morning the alarm will go off and we'll be abruptly returned to the real world. But, looking at my sunkissed daughters taking one last opportunity to prance around in those well worn swimsuits, I don't really believe it. Of course, that could just be because I'm in denial about the idea of going back to wearing pants with zippers.

Maybe I Should Consider This For Hallowe'en?

You Are Elektra

There's really no superhero with more style than you. Because who could beat being sexy assasin ninja?

Well That's Reassuring

You Are 40% Sociopath

From time to time, you may be a bit troubled and a bit too charming for your own good. It's likely that you're not a sociopath... just quite smart and a bit out of the mainstream!

A Legitimate Complaint

Remember when I got a little defensive about my friend's father getting bent out of shape over a flippant remark I made? Yeah. Well, seems like the shoe is on the other foot now.

This week I took an amazing PD course on Tribes. It was a truly great experience, both in what I took away from it and in the way it was run. You know how most training courses consist of you sitting there, bored to tears and doodling on your notepad while the course leader painstakingly reads you each and every overhead--all of which have been photocopied directly form the manual you were issued? This course was nothing like that. It was a practical, dynamic, hands on introduction to the Tribes philosophy and strategies. I left it engerized, inspired, and offended.

I know that the facilitator didn't mean to offend me with her comments. I realize that she was just trying to break the ice and put everyone at ease. But still, I think her statement that, while we didn't need to expose our deepest, most personal moments in our life maps, if we weren't "ashamed of the third divorce or that illegitimate child" we should feel free to share. Everyone else laughed when she said it. Me? I cringed.

And then I asked myself, "Did she really just say illegitimate? Did she really just imply that having a child out of wedlock, in the year 2006, is something to be ashamed of???" Yeah. She did. Was I being oversensitive? Reading too much into what she had clearly meant as a lighthearted joke? Should I just keep my mouth shut, smile, and not make waves? Afterall, this was my workplace--a Catholic schoolboard no less.

Not bloody likely.

I refuse to be made to feel ashamed of being a parent; I refuse to apologize for the existence of my daughters. I'm very proud of my children, and, frankly, of my status as a solo mom. I don't feel that my family is any less "legitimate" than any other family simply because its makeup is, shall we say, "nonnuclear." I don't like the implication that I should feel that way, which is really the underlying message of that "joke."

And, from my children's perspectives, in 2006 should your parents' marital status really be one of the criteria on which your worth as a person is judged? What does which side of the blanket you were born on have to do with the content of your character? While slightly more PC than, oh, say, "Bastard," "illegitmate" is still an offensive term, and should be confronted as such.

I didn't make a scene, but I did take a quiet moment to let the facilitator know that I found her comment to be deeply offensive. She was mortified and deeply apologetic. She assured me that she won't be making that particular joke anymore; I assured her that I didn't believe she'd been intentionally offensive. So many people do, which is why I think it's important to confront this sort of thougtlessness. To speak up, politely and with empathy, to invite people to question their language and the underlying attitudes that their word choices imply.

All in all, it was a positive conversation--one that acknowledged that every person has a story, and we need to be careful of devaluing those stories through thoughtless words that promote outdated attitudes that are best left back in the Nineteenth Century, not brought forward into the Twentyfirst.