A Tall Girl's Adventures in a Tiny World

Sweet Boy declared about a month ago that he was not going to do Halloween this year. Hmph, thought we, his perplexed parents. No dress-up? No trick-or-treat? No parade and party at school? Nope, nope, and nope. For about two weeks we tried to talk him into it -- brainstorming costume ideas (SpongeBob, Peter Pan, Superman, robot, ghost, puppy, anything!), discussing favorite candies, talking about the difference between make-believe and real. Nope. He didn't want to do it. And there's something I'm learning about my son: When he sets his mind to something, that's it. So we finally let it go. We told him he didn't have to do Halloween, but ew made it clear he couldn't decide at the last minute that he wanted a costume and send us scrambling. We made sure he understood he would miss out on the preschool parade and party, and he wouldn't get any candy from trick-or-treating. That's ok, Mom and Dad, I don't like Halloween. Hmph, again said we. I was nerv...

Sweet Boy and I were riding in the car last week with both cats wailing in the back seat. We were on our way to the animal shelter for annual shots, when the discussion turned to the cat we had put to sleep before SB was born. "Simon the Cat is dead now?" Sweet Boy asked. "Yes, baby, he's dead now, but he had a good life." And I'm sure you can see where the conversation went from here: SB: Mommy, are you going to die someday? [Oh. Lord. Help me. This is the conversation I've been dreading since I found out I was pregnant 5+ years ago! Take a breath, Mom, you can handle this...] Me: Yes, honey, I'll die someday. But not until I'm much older and you're much older and we have a very long happy life together. [Whew. Maybe that's enough...please let's talk about all the animals we'll see today...] SB: OK. When you're old? Really old, like Great Gramma? Me: Yes, honey, really old. Probably even older than Great Gramma. [Which is an...

The headline on one of the most ridiculous NYT articles I have ever seen reads: "For some parents, shouting is the new spanking." Interesting that this appears in the Fashion & Style section of the Times , but whatever. I'll read on...only to discover that now, according to this nonsense article, we need to add yelling to the list of things we should not be doing as parents. Okie doke. That's reasonable. There are a number of choice quotes in this piece, but here are a few of my favorite: "Parental yelling today may be partly a releasing of stress for multitasking, overachieving adults, parenting experts say." (Translation: Focus all your energy on your child, not on running your household, volunteering at church, or your outside-the-home job.) "Psychologists and psychiatrists generally say yelling should be avoided. It’s at best ineffective (the more you do it the more the child tunes it out) and at worse damaging to a child’s sense of well-being...

One of my favorite traditions at the end of my work-at-home days is to power down the computer and go for a walk around the neighborhood with my Sweet Boy. It's a time for both of us to decompress and reconnect, to notice the simple things that make us smile, to hold hands and breathe deeply. During the fall, it's also a time to collect pine cones, ooh-and-ahh and the "burning trees" maxing out their colors, listen to the high school marching band warming up on the other side of the hill. Today Sweet Boy took his scooter out with us on our walk. This scooter is way too small for him, the kind with the two wheels on the back, but I can tell he feels much more comfortable on it than on his (much hated) bicycle. He's mastered this little scooter, and he's proud of himself when he rides it. And he feels like a big kid on it, like the grade school kids who skateboard up and down our street. About halfway around the block we encountered three boys from the neighborh...

Once again we sat with baited breath (and maxed-out bladder) at an ultrasound appointment, only to discover that our unborn child is a modest little stinkerpants. Here's the exact conversation as the procedure wound down, at the big drum-rolling climax of the scene: U/S tech: OK, let's find out if this is a pink baby or blue...hmm...here's the legs...here's the rump...here's between the legs...ummm...this is the umbilical cord...umm...hmm... Me: What do you think, Bachman? Do you see a winky? Chris: Um, I don't see what you're even talking about. U/S tech: Well, here's the left leg, here's the right leg, here's the butt...jeez, this kid is in a bad spot... Me: [Wincing as the tech digs that little wand into my belly to cajole baby out of its cozy spot] I don't see a winky...is it a...? Chris: No, wait, I see it...what's that? U/S tech: I'm gonna say girl...but wait...no...what's that? Me: I don't see anything. Chris: What is t...

There's a lot that goes on while one is expecting that is, in fact, unexpected. For instance, there are times you sneeze and come close to peeing your pants...hmm, unexpected. Or sometimes you step on the scale and find you've gained five pounds in a week, even though you've been nauseous and sleeping most of that time...also unexpected. Bad skin is unexpected, since everyone talks about glowing and whatnot. And widening feet is fairly odd and unexpected. But my favorite unexpected moments come when you break the news that you're knocked up to friends, family, and colleagues. Here is just a sampling of my favorite reactions to the big news, collected from both my pregnancies: Are you sure Chris is the father? (asked by one of my husband's female colleagues at a Christmas party...fabulous) Will you breastfeed? (asked by a male coworker during my first pregnancy, while standing with a group of people at a lunch function) Why? Oh, thank God, I was afraid you'd neve...