The wheels on the carpool go round and round

Peanut is taking ballet lessons once a week along with two other girls in her class. The dance studio is about 15 minutes from here so we three moms (sort of like We Three Kings only we don't have to follow stars to get to where we're going thankyouverymuch) take turns driving the girls.

This week, it was my turn to drive so I piled all three five-year-olds, along with Loaf, into my minivan (<--- Yes, that's right Mrs. New Hampshire. M.I.N.I.V.A.N. I'll hum the Jeopardy theme song for a moment while you pick your jaw up off the ground. Do do do do do do do. Do do do do do DO do do do do. Better? Ready to move along, now? Awesome.) and off we went.

Now, I don't know if any of you have ever spent an extended period of time trapped in a car with four girls under six, but if you haven't, let me give you a taste of what you are missing.

1. Jokes. Many many jokes. None of which make any sense. Oh, and they also all have the same punchline. And yet, they laugh HYSTERICALLY at every single one. A sampling:
Why did the banana cross the road? To jump into your eyeball! ::cue enthusiastic laughter::
Why did the goat cross the road? To jump into your eyeball! ::cue enthusiastic laughter::

2. Lots of Very Serious Discussion pertaining to what to wear for Halloween this year complete with detailed explanations of what they, and every member of their family, wore for Halloween last year.

3. More Serious Discussion about what to bring for Show 'n Tell this week.

4. In-depth conversations about the programming sponsored by fine stations such as Nickelodeon and Disney Kids. None of which my kids have any clue about because we became a TV-free home earlier this year (and that's going very well, thanks for asking).

So girl A will say something like, "Isn't that funny when SpongeBob (insert whatever funny thing he does here)?" and girl B will giggle and say, "Oh yes, he is so funny," and Loaf, who has absolutely no freakin' clue what they are talking about will pipe up out of the blue with, "I like macaroni and cheese too," which will be met with utter, complete silence. Oy. Poor Loaf.

5. Detailed analysis of the magic tricks performed by the clown at girl B's birthday party last week. In the end they will all agree that the book she brought with the ever-changing pictures inside really was magic, but that her pet raccoon (named Spaghettihead) was actually a puppet stuffed onto her hand. I see a future in political commentary for all three.

Oh and whatever you do, do NOT try to engage conversation with any of them, including your own child. Doing so will be met with blank stares and total silence. Your own offspring - your very flesh and blood who you gestated and birthed and spend hours upon hours cleaning up after and doting on and snuggling on your lap and reading the same inane stories over and over to - will also likely declare, "Mom, we aren't talking to you." Complete with eyeroll.

But I'm not bitter or anything. Nope, not me. (<--- That is a lie.)

At least I still have Loaf to talk to. For the moment.

Getting an F in dressing 101

Yesterday, I had a client meeting that started at 9:30 in the morning. That doesn't sound too bad, except it is about a two-and-a-half hour drive away and many of the roads there are under construction. So I decided to leave the house at 6:30 a.m. to give myself extra time.

Of course, I couldn't get to sleep for what seemed like forever. Lying there in the dark trying to coax myself into Dreamland, I thought about all the things I should bring, worried about getting lost and of course, thought about what to wear to my big meeting.

In the morning, groggy but anxious for the drive, I selected a black sheath dress with a low slung built-in "belt" that fastens off to one side. As I started dressing, Loaf began crying, so I quickly slipped the dress over my head, zipped it up the side and hurried to her room. Mark was already there, so I returned to the bathroom to finish getting ready.

Makeup done, hair styled, water and snack packed, I walked out the front door. The traffic was minimal and I arrived early, so I sat in my car reviewing notes and listening to NPR for a while. Walking into the conference room, I moved to clip the "Visitor" nametag on my belt. Except, something was off. Instead of being on the front left hip, it was on the back right. What the . . . ?

As subtlety as possible, I reached up to the neckline and ran my fingers around the top of the dress. Yep, you guessed it. The tag was in the front. In my hurry to get dressed, I put the dress on backwards. Doh.

Fortunately, it's a nice dress. It's fully lined, so there weren't any seams in the front that would reveal the tag's stitching. Further, I was in a roomful of men, and we all know how observant they are when it comes to women's clothing. But funny how the tag didn't bother me at all on my three-hour drive, but as soon as I was aware of it, it picked and scratched at the front of my neck the entire meeting. I guess that's what you get for not paying attention to what you're doing.

Tree-hugging nerd

Ever since we moved to our house in March 2001, I’ve kept a bird feeder. It wasn’t really my idea – it was there, hanging in the weeping cherry tree right outside the huge picture windows in out breakfast nook when we moved in.

The previous owners had filled it with birdseed the morning of our closing and as I stood in the kitchen on our first day stripping that God-awful ivy themed wallpaper from the walls a myriad of beautiful, colorful birds came and went throughout the afternoon. More than once I stood in the window transfixed. I was hooked. As soon as the food in the feeder ran low, I went out and bought our own bag of birdseed and I’ve diligently filled the feeder each day since.

Not long after buying the seed, I bought my first field guide. There were so many birds visiting the feeder each day and I could only name a few varieties without help. The day it arrived I eagerly tore open the package and rushed to the kitchen window and it didn’t take long for me to learn the names of the species that visited the feeder: White-Breasted Nuthatch. Tufted Titmouse. Purple Finch. Rusty-Capped Sparrow. Downy Woodpecker.

The nerd tendencies took control and soon I was keeping a running list in the front of the book of each new species I saw. Yellow-Shafted Flicker. Eastern Bluebird. Red-Bellied Woodpecker. Mourning Dove.

So in early February when I received an e-mail informing me of the Great Backyard Bird Count I instantly signed up. For the past four days I’ve stood at that window for 15 minutes a day counting birds. (My banner day was Sunday when I counted 54 birds from 12 different species).

I know, I know. Why add another thing to my always-too-long to-do list?

Well, for one, the count helps answer many questions including:
* How will this winter's snow and cold temperatures influence bird populations?
* How are bird diseases, such as West Nile virus, affecting birds in different regions?
* What kinds of differences in bird diversity are apparent in cities versus suburban, rural, and natural areas?
* Are any birds undergoing worrisome declines that point to the need for conservation attention?

And, it was cool in a nerdy kind of way. Loaf sat on my lap pointing and saying “brrr” and “tweet twee,” while Peanut stood nearby happily exclaiming, “Look at all those birds, Mommy! Can I go catch one and put it in my room?”

Conservation and environmental causes are important to Mark and me and we hope our children grow up to feel the same way. Probably the most important way to get them interested is by exhibiting good behavior ourselves. I hope the past four days were a start.

The latest in manicure fashion

Yes, I am totally the coolest person ever. Really. Only the truly cool wear the center of a Sesame Street bandage permanently glued to their thumbnail like this:



Here's how you can be cool too:

1. While cutting up a bagel into 60 pieces so your toddler can eat it without choking to death, start talking to your other child and let the knife carelessly slip across the top of your thumbnail, slicing it partway across the nail bed.

2. Walk around like this for several days, continuously catching the edge of your partly severed thumbnail on various objects and each time screeching out in pain like you are on fire.

3. Decide to try to hold thumbnail together by wearing bandage around it 24/7.

4. When bandage keeps coming off at most inopportune moments, vow to fix severed nail bed by gluing it together. Use Gorilla Glue and wrap bandage around it while glue is still wet.

5. Realize, several hours later, that Glue seems to have permanently adhered bandage to your thumbnail. For full horrific effect, use Sesame Street bandage with giant Elmo face on it. ACK!

6. Try to gently pull bandage remnant off thumbnail, but realize no way is that bad boy coming off without taking the entire top of your partly severed thumbnail with it.

7. Give up and embrace the nasty, getting-more-brown-by-the-day bandage vowing to love it until it finally grows out, which in your estimation, could be weeks.

8. Do your best to be all, "I want this here; all the cool kids are doing it," when people ask you about it.