In praise of childhood

Every so often, the reality of how much my kids depend on Glen and me for so much of their happiness and well being hits me right between the eyes (or, upside the head, to be more descriptive). Of course, we parents understand that we're responsible for our kids' nutrition, shelter, clothing, and education. But sometimes I am completely blown away by the knowledge that David and Elizabeth turn to Glen and me for more subtle and less tangible things, such as giggles, praise, love, encouragement, and an overall sense of happiness. That two little people look up to, count on, and trust completely in Glen and me is nothing short of humbling.

Thoughts such as these have dawned on me many times over the past several days while the kids and I have enjoyed some very high-level, hands-on family time while Glen is home during this holiday break. We've been spoiled silly by having daddy home. I can once again turn to my better half to check out the reasons for which the dogs begin randomly barking in the middle of the night. David has a Wii Star Wars Lego buddy to play with. Elizabeth has the one man wrapped fully and completely around her little finger at her disposal. And, being together for the Christmas and New Year holidays has afforded us with many opportunities to see just how special and magical this time of year is to children, and how lucky we are to be able to give David and Elizabeth the nice little life we have.

Take, for example, Christmas morning. It came as no surprise to anyone that David was wide awake at 7:00 a.m., and ready to tackle presents. He bounded into our bedroom and flopped upon our bed in a chipper wake-up call. The sun was shining in the windows, and the house seemed to have just a bit more sparkle to it. The three of us went to get Elizabeth, who was not quite as enthusiastic about interrupting her beauty sleep for presents. "Ten more minutes," she asked. "I'm sleepy!"

We talked her into coming downstairs to see what Santa brought. David was beside himself with excitement. Elizabeth took a few minutes to wake up.

Once Elizabeth came to, the kids dove into their Christmas treasures. The first box that David opened was the Lego Imperial Flag Ship set that he'd been coveting for some time. What you can't quite see in this following picture is just how much David's jaw had dropped to the floor.

Giggles and silliness ensued. Hugs were shared. Delighted squeals could be heard throughout the house, and not just because Spike and Lager had each received a huge raw hide bone from Santa Paws.

 

David surprised his little sister with a Barbie doll he picked out on his very own; the look on her sweet face, knowing that her brother had chosen a special treat for her, was absolutely priceless. And the look on David's face, knowing he'd made Elizabeth so happy, was just as wonderful. See hug below.

We are so, so very lucky that the magic of Christmas continued throughout the day as the kids enjoyed some unstructured play time at home prior to leaving for my mom's house for dinner. Simply being able to give your kids the laid-back pleasure of staying in jammies as long as possible is a delicious treat in itself, and one that every kid should be able to enjoy now and then.

Another example of parental awe: how happy something as simple as a trip to the local park can make two kids. David and Elizabeth were getting slightly, yet understandably, stir crazy in the house today, and after lunch they were ready for a an outing. I proposed the park. We negotiated as to whether to walk or drive, and driving won out. The three of us piled into the car, leaving Glen behind to do some real work as he is, in fact, working from home this week.

Upon our arrival, they rolled out of the car and ran full-throttle toward the jungle gym. Steps and miniature climbing walls and slides and make-believe pirate ships were enough to get their imaginations and giggles flowing.

 The only thing that surprised me was that David suggested that we head back home after only 10-15 minutes. "No way!" I said. "We just got here! This is the perfect time for you guys to run and scream and skip and play and get your sillies out!" Plus, I wanted some unhurried time to simply sit back and watch my kids be kids.

The next thing we knew, 45 minutes had flown by, and my cherubs were requesting a snack. A trip to Some Crust Bakery in Claremont for their legendary dark chocolate chip cookies fit the bill nicely; that is, once we found a parking space in the Claremont Village.

My final example of today's lessons in humility came just about an hour ago, when I heard Elizabeth calling "Mommy!" softly from her room. She wasn't yelling or sounding frantic, but rather seemed to be calling out to see where I was. I tip-toed into her room quietly and said, "you okay, sweetie?"

She nodded her little head. "I just want mommy," she said, reaching out her little hand.

I walked over to her bed and stroked her hair, at which time I noticed that she felt incredibly warm. This was beginning to explain why she was declaring herself so tired at dinnertime, and didn't argue when I recommended a bath, jammies, and bed at 7:00 this evening.

"Oh, sweetie! You're warm! Would you like a little Tylenol?" I asked.

Usually, at this point in conversations such as these, she balks. But tonight, she softly nodded her head. I measured out a teaspoon full, and she knocked it back like a pro. Then she requested that I snuggle with her. I proposed that I first get my own jammies on. "Okay," she said so sweetly.

I rushed through my evening routine, and got back to her room ASAP. She was still awake. Knowing that fluids would be a good idea, I offered her a sippy cup of apple juice, to which she replied, "yes, please, Mommy." I melted. She had me at "Yes, please."

With glass in hand, I returned to her pink room and she took a few hearty sips. Then she motioned for me to join her. I snuggled next to her, and felt her little hand wrap around my neck and her head tuck onto my shoulder as she cuddled in closer. "I'm scared," she said.

"What are you scared of?"

She paused with just a hint of drama. "Monsters," she said emphatically.

"But there are no monsters on the second floor. Do you know why?" I asked. She shook her head.

"Because to get up here they'd first have to come in the house from downstairs and then Spike and Lager would eat them before they got to your room!"

"No," she explained logically, "the police would get them first!"

"You know, you're right," I replied. "So I think with both levels of security, we're pretty safe here."

"I love you, Mommy," she sighed. She began patting my back softly. I melted some more.

I nuzzled my face into her hair, noting that she still felt toasty. We lay together in a safe snuggle, enjoying a few quiet moments. I suggested to her that I go to bed soon, and she tightened her grip on me slightly, saying "I just want you to stay here."

And it was in these few, gentle moments when I was once again dumbstruck by how much my little ones count on me (and their daddy, of course) for safety, comfort, and love. That they voluntarily see us as "go to guys" for such assurances amazing. The realization that they have such trust and faith in us is daunting, yet empowering. Moments such as these, of course, leave me wondering whether I have really earned this degree of trust and faith. Am I really such an important part of their lives that I can or should be counted on to this extent? Me? Really? I'm not worthy.

Moments such as these also remind me, too, of just how fiercely I love David and Elizabeth, how I hope to always be worthy of their love and trust and respect, and how I need to remind myself to cherish these days while they are still small.

Santa Baby

Our pre-Christmas holiday vacation, of sorts, has been a four-day trip to the Bay area. Specifically, the kids and I have been introduced to the new little apartment in Newark, CA, that Glen secured about two weeks ago. This little place is an absolute gem! It's a cozy one-bedroom, one-bath, complete with a fire place, full size washer and dryer, and private enclosed patio. The four of us have been happily bunking together in the bedroom, with Glen and me on his new Ikea bed (say what you will about Ikea furniture; the mattress Glen bought is awesome!), and David and Elizabeth tucked into sleeping bags on the air mattress. Well, okay, an air mattress that has a slow leak, but nonetheless...

Following a matinee viewing of Inland Pacific Ballet's rendition of "The Nutcracker" at Bridges Auditorium Saturday afternoon, we slogged through the Pineapple Express storm that hit southern California that morning, and made it to Newark at about 1:00 a.m. on Sunday morning. Driving on the Grapevine in inclement weather is not for wimps, but I got us safely to Kettleman City, at which point I handed over the steering wheel reigns to Glen. Upon arriving at our new home away from home in the wee hours of the morning, the kids shook off their grogginess and bounded up the stairs to see the digs, which we now call Hastings Compound: North. The stairs, of course, are in outdoor corridors of the apartment, and are cement and metal, so they create quite the echo when stamped upon by little feet. This was the first of many, many, many reminders to them that they had to be quiet for the neighbors in close proximity.

A quick tour of the apartment followed, and then it was time for bath and jammies. Of course, the kids were wide awake, and ready to party at 1:30 a.m.

 Somehow, Glen and I convinced them to hit the sack, and the lure of the air mattress/sleeping bag "slumber party" worked wonders. We all slept in until, oh, 7:00 a.m.

Glen stepped out early in the morning for a run to the local Safeway, and the kids began to explore their new surroundings. Soon after, the doorbell rang. At first I thought Glen had left his keys behind, and so I didn't rush to the door immediately. The bell rang again. I stepped out to the patio, asked who it was, and was answered, "your neighbor downstairs in 128."

This could only mean one thing: noise complaint.

I answered the door and smiled broadly. I was greeted by a very friendly young woman, who said sweetly, "it sounds like you guys got an early start this morning..." She needn't say any more. I informed her that, yes, a seven-year-old and three-year-old had infiltrated the perimeters. I apologized profusely, especially after I learned that our new friend was trying to catch some extra sleep to get rid of a terrible cough. David and Elizabeth stepped out, one-by-one, to see what the excitement was about, and I introduced them to our nice neighbor. I also informed them that we'd successfully woken her up, and that my warnings to be quiet were serious. I bid our new neighbor a good day and quick recovery, and we parted ways.

It occurred to Glen and me that this is, in fact, David and Elizabeth's first experience with apartment living. They've always lived in single family homes, where the only noise pollution we have to worry about is that which disturbs the dogs. So a good portion of our time here has been spent saying, "no running!" "No yelling!" "Stop!" "No stomping!" David has been quite a trouper in trying to police and monitor himself, and he's been great at catching himself before doing something loud. Elizabeth, well ... not so much. The neighbor lady now has a nice poinsettia waiting for her on her front door step.

Sunday afternoon, we drove north to San Francisco to attend Craig and Michael's annual holiday party. Craig and I go way back to high school, and met at a summer theater program for high school students at Cal Poly, Pomona. We've been great pals ever since. When he and Michael - a professional event planner - throw a party, I simply don't miss it. Their soirees are fabulous, and this year was no exception. Not only does Michael do all of the cooking, but this year he hired the very talented Shelly Gerrish (www.capturaphoto.com) to take photos of the guests ... jumping on a trampoline. You sort of had to be there, but suffice it to say that she got some incredible air-born shots of Glen and me, and a few good ones of David and Elizabeth in general silliness. I promise to post these when I get the digital images.

On Monday, Glen returned to the office at Facebook, and left David and Elizabeth and me to our own devices. We avoided bad weather as we drive to Mill Valley in the morning for a visit with Naomi, my dear friend from Scripps, and her two boys, Walker and Paxton, at their beautiful home, which I never tire visiting. On the way back south, we hit one of my favorite haunts: Draeger's market in San Mateo. And that evening, we visited the Oakland Zoo "Zoolights" show with Pam, a Pomona College buddy, and her two boys, Ray and Robbie. Suffice it to say that we all fell asleep quickly that night.


Which leads me - finally - to the story that inspired the title of today's blog. This morning, I began what I thought were fair-minded negotiations for pictures with Santa. Back to an earlier musing on the issue of, "who is this more important for, the kids or the mom?" I decided it would be a swell idea to do a photo with Santa at Newpark Mall, the shopping mall of Glen's youth. David was all for it. Elizabeth, well ... not so much.

Not being above bribery, terms of a settlement were established: a small Lego and Barbie for cooperative kids. The photo shoot was on!

In line for the kids' close up with Kris Kringle, we watched a few dressed up cherubs smile for the camera, and also witnessed one meltdown. Elizabeth seemed to be taking it all in great stride.

Then, it was our turn.

David happily bounded up on the good-hearted Santa's lap, and Elizabeth grabbed my leg. I gently prodded her, whispering, "Barbie!" softly in her ear. We finally got her installed on the good-natured man's lap, but she would have none of it. I reminded her again, "Barbie!"

David chimed right in, and began listing his Christmas requests. "I'd like a Lego, and a Nerf sword, and ..."

"Lego?" Santa said. "You said you wanted a Barbie doll!" Both he and David shared a chuckle.

Elizabeth didn't think this was at all funny. But you could tell that this particular Mr. Claus had seen it all, and somehow we got Elizabeth to look in the general direction of the camera. David grinned ear to ear. Elizabeth, well ... not so much:

I am at peace with this photo, and very much okay with capturing the image of these two crazy kids in all their innocence.

Tomorrow, we brave the evening traffic once again and return back to Hastings Compound: South, and prepare for the Big Day on Saturday. It will be lovely to be home with Spike and Lager, to enjoy Christmas Eve services at the Church of the Ascension in Sierra Madre, and to share the holiday with dear friends.

But, I'll be the first to admit that I will undoubtedly miss this sweet little home away from home, and can't wait for the kids and I to return in February. Glen's Facebook opportunity has afforded us with the added bonus of this sweet retreat, and for this I am so grateful.

FCDS Holiday Sing: Let the Bedlam Begin

For 56 years, David's school, Foothill Country Day School, has heralded the holiday season with an all-school Holiday Sing concert. Traditionally, all of the students gather in the auditorium and sing holiday songs that are representative of many faith traditions. Everyone dresses in their "Sunday best," and the audience of parents, grandparents, siblings, as well as teachers and staff, are treated to the sound of the beautiful voices of more than 150 students.

And so it was that the 2010 holiday season was kicked off in traditional fashion yesterday evening.

Words cannot begin to describe how giddy with excitement David was. I mean, this almost matched his joy and anticipation of last week's cookie decorating party! But, per the instructions of the wonderful first grade teachers, Mrs. Bone and Mr. Collins, there were a few specific rules to be followed in preparation for the evening's festivities.

1. Students were not to arrive to their respective classrooms any earlier than 7:15 p.m. A handful of parents heard this directive first hand earlier in the afternoon while attending the first graders' holiday party and book exchange. Mr. Collins was very nice, and very clear, about this rule:

"What time are you supposed to be here, boys and girls?"

"SEVEN FIFTEEN!" shouted 35 seven-year olds.

"And if your parents say, 'but I got an email that said we're supposed to be there at 6:30,' what do you tell them?" asked Mr. Collins.

"SEVEN FIFTEEN!" came the choral response.

I didn't blame the teachers one bit for establishing this rule at the get-go. The last thing they needed was 35 wired kids just itching to get on stage and show their stuff. Yes, calm and order were their watchwords.

2. We were notified by the school that the doors to the auditorium would not open before 7:15, about 15 minutes prior to curtain. So there was no need to try to make a mad dash for the door any earlier. It wouldn't work. There would be guards at the door - namely, Mrs. Lawshe, the head of the lower school, and Dr. Taylor, the headmaster. I was okay with that.

So, David and Elizabeth were collected from their respective schools, and we went home for a light meal of chicken nuggets from Carl's Jr. (they like the star-shaped chicken) and Trader Joe's mac-n-cheese. David was jumping all over the place - skipping, leaping, hopping, and twirling about the kitchen, chanting, "I'm so excited! Holiday sing! I'm so excited!" Interspersed with this was his offering to clue me in on each and every song to be sung by the lower school, middle school, and upper school kids. He described in great detail a song that was to be performed by the 6th through 8th grade students. All I could fathom was that it included throwing a lot of presents and was to be sung to the tune, "Carol of the Bells." I was confused, but I went with it.

Dinner consumed, we headed upstairs to put on our "Sunday best." David cut a dashing figure in his sweater, tie, button down shirt and khaki pants. Let me add here that I'm extremely lucky to have the only seven-year-old boy I know who loves wearing a tie.

Elizabet opted for more casual fare, and went with her traditional holiday donut dress; I was hoping she'd wear something with a bit more Christmas colors, but this was a battle I was happy to not pursue.

And, at 6:30 p.m., we were in the car. As we started the three mile drive to David's school, I reminded the kids that we were not to show up to David's classroom before 7:15.

"So, guys, we'll probably be early, but that's okay, because once we get a parking space we can listen to some Christmas music in the car." I'd recently downloaded the two "Big Time Rush" (a Nickelodeon show) Christmas songs, and thought this would help to pass the time nicely.

"I'm so excited! I can't wait! Holidays sing!" my little guy called from the back seat.

The slots in the main parking lot off of Harrison Avenue were already taken, so we grabbed a space on the lower field playground, which is always transformed into overflow parking for such events. Rain was coming down in a steady drizzle by this time, and so I was content to listen to the iPod for a few minutes.

"What song shall we hear first?" I asked.

There was much debating, but the back seat crew finally settled on "Beautiful Christmas" by Big Time Rush. The tune was played and we sang along. That killed approximately five minutes. 6:40. Only 30 minutes to go.


"And, next?" I asked?

That's when I could hear David getting anxious. He hemmed and hawed, and started to do his exasperated breathing.


"Sweetie, what's up? It's not time to go in yet." I reminded him.


"But ... but ... whenever the clock in the car says 7:00 it's always 7:05 in Mr. Collins' room!" he cried.


"You mean, the classroom clock runs five minutes fast?" I asked.


"No! No! It's just that it always says 7:05 when our clock says 7:00!" he replied, making it all sound so logical.


A bit of back and forth ensued, and by this time it was 6:50. We struck a deal. One more song, and then we'd start heading up to the classroom to wait to be let in. Cue Big Time Rush's cover of "All I Want for Christmas (is You)."


Song over, the kids bounded out of the car. I had to remind them that 1) it was raining, 2) it was slippery, and 3) I really didn't want them jumping into puddles while wearing nice clothes ... at least not before the Holiday Sing.


As we got onto campus, I instantly saw that I was not the only parent dragged to school early by overly-eager kids. The courtyard outside the first and second grade classrooms was all abuzz with kids all dressed up with somewhere to go. They ran, they chased, they hopped, and they (literally) climbed the walls.


Arriving at Mr. Collins' room, we found the door to be locked. Smart man! That didn't deter David and his cronies from jiggling the handle, repeatedly and incessantly.

"Why won't this door open?" shouted one young lady.


"Let's go around to the other side!" called out another. Soon, a bevvy of first graders were holding court at both doors to the classroom, willing them to magically open.

A few other moms and I tried to restore a bit of order, and asked our little ones to gather for a few pre-show photos. We were successful, to some extent; that is, when the kids were not jumping, skipping, and (literally) climbing the walls.

 At the magic time of 7:15, the first grade teachers courageously let their excited pupils come in. It was officially pre-show time!

They tried to sit still and be good, but man, it was difficult! Nevertheless, I stared in absolute awe and pride at these beautiful little kids, excited and ready to share the holiday spirit with their school. They were beauties!


Seeing that we could not be of much more help, Elizabeth and I set off to find some seats. By this time, the line to the auditorium snaked through the courtyard, around the first and second grade classroom building, and all the way to the front office. We figured that in terms of getting a seat in which we could even see the top of David's head was pretty much nil.


When the doors opened, we slowly made our way with 300 of our closest friends and entered the auditorium. By this time, Elizabeth insisted on being carried. While I'm always happy to oblige, it's never easy when wearing a skirt and high-heeled boots.


We wandered around a bit, and saw pretty much every seat either taken or saved. I headed toward the front of the auditorium, and laid eyes on two empty seats in the very front row. On the right-hand side of the auditorium, where David instructed me to sit as that would give me the best view of him.


"Excuse me, but are these seats taken?" I asked meekly of a very nice family sitting down.


They all looked at each other and then at me. "Not at all," one gentleman said. "Have a seat." Another Christmas miracle!


We sat, with Elizabeth happily curled up on my lap. "Mommy, when is the curtain going to open?" she asked at 7:20, 7:25 and 7:28 p.m.


"Pretty soon, sweetie!" I replied.


Like clockwork, Dr. Taylor, the headmaster, came to the stage at 7:30 to officially welcome everyone to this most wonderful of Foothill traditions. On with the show!


Each section of songs were introduced by eighth graders - extremely mature and poised young ladies and gentlemen who were fabulous MCs for the festivities.


Up first, the kindergarten through second grade classes. David was right in the front row, directly in front of us. Somehow, his sweater had mysteriously disappeared, but he still looked handsome in his shirtsleeves and tie.

When David saw us beaming at him from the front row, he grinned ear to ear and even  gave a small wave.

And those kids sang their hearts out! Three songs - "Susie Snowflake," "Hello to all the Children of the World," and "My Two Front Teeth" were performed with gleeful abandon. David, in all his glory, was animated, happy, and clearly into the performance. He concentrated on every word, and glanced my way just every so often. I was a proud mommy, even as David occasionally stuck his hand down his pants. You know, just checking to make sure everything was in place. Like every two minutes.


I leaned over to my new friend and whispered, "which student is yours?"


He pointed me in the direction of his sweet, second grade nephew. "Which one is yours?" he asked.


"The little blond boy in the front row with his hand down his pants," I quietly replied. My new friend nodded understandingly.


The show continued with Hanukkah and Christmas songs from the third through fifth grade classes, and then the sixth, seventh, and eighth graders took the stage. The did a Hanukkah song complete with traditional dancing, and "O Come all ye Faithful" in both English and Latin. Then came the "Carol of the Bells" number that David tried explaining to me earlier. It was a riot! Titled "UPS Carol of the Bells," it was indeed sung to the tune of the traditional carol, but with new words having something to do with harried UPS drivers. Yes, packages flew with abandon as the kids reenacted what must typically be the scene at UPS offices world-wide on the days before Christmas.


The celebration concluded with a rousing rendition of "Have a Happy," and was sung to the school's beloved Eleanore Pierson, one of the founding staff members and parents of the school. Mrs. Pierson celebrated her 90th birthday this year, and as she was escorted to the stage to join in the last song, the room lit up more than ever.

The evening ended with the traditional cookie reception in the gym, and David and Elizabeth munched happily on whatever confection they could get their hands on. Well, almost any.

We bid our Foothill friends a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, and slipped out the door at around 8:30, only to find that our station wagon was temporarily blocked in by another car. In the spirit of the evening, the three of us agreed that we could patiently wait for the car's owners to arrive, and continued to listen to Christmas tunes in the car. This time, there wasn't as much of a rush to be anywhere immediately. We hummed and sang as the rain continued its steady drizzle, and about five minutes later, we were on our way home.

Holiday Cookie Party with First Graders

Let me first start by saying that I was not attempting to evoke fear or trepidation with the title of this blog post. A normal person who happens upon this blog might instantly conjure up images of gingerbread men and royal icing being flown and flung willy-nilly by seven- and eight-year old children, while their parents stand by, helpless and without back up.

This was most certainly NOT the case on Friday night. In fact, a great time was had by adults and kids alike.

A bit of background: Back in October, Glen and I agreed to host Holiday Cooking party at our home as an event that could be purchased at a silent auction at the annual fundraiser for David's school, Foothill Country Day School (FCDS). FCDS is this absolutely amazing place. It is a school for kids from kindergarten through eighth grade, with about 20-40 kids in each class level. This year, David is a first grader, and is having the time of his life.

We wanted to offer up an event (or "experience") that could enjoyed by kids and parents. Our house in La Verne, while only three years old (and pretty darned cute, if I do say so myself), is rather small. The backyard is the size of a postage stamp. But the main rooms downstairs, especially the kitchen and family room (which sort of blend into each other) are pretty much the nucleus of most of our parties. The furniture is kid- and dog-proof, the floors can be mopped, and the dining room table has seen better days. We are not at all daunted by parties, and rarely ask a guest to use a coaster for their drink glass. I'm not even sure we have any coasters. I figured a cookie decorating party would be something that could get everyone into the spirit of the holiday season, and could be a nice celebration of many holiday traditions.

So, Glen and I were so happy to see so many families sign up for our cookie party during the silent auction at the FCDS's fundraiser. Most of the attendees were families of kids in David's grade, and a few in other classes, including the new family we are "hosting" during this, their son's kindergarten/first year at school, as well as another kindergartner whose mom was one of my high school classmates.

The rest of October and half of November flew by, and it occurred to me that it would probably be wise for me to make the cookies in advance. I know that cookies made from the both sugar and gingerbread dough from Pillsbury freezes well, so I loaded up a shopping cart with four large-size logs of each one weekend in early November, and began the methodical process of rolling out and cutting gingerbread men and women, snow men and women, snow flakes, candy canes, angels, Stars of David, and Christmas trees. By the time I was done, I discovered several things:

1. I was not cut out (no pun intended) to be a cookie artist
2. The cheap Stater Bros. brand of sugar cookie dough is much easier to work with than the Pillsbury brand
3. Approximately eight large-size cookies fit into a large rectangular Zip Lock storage container
4. My garage freezer could hold eight aforementioned storage containers, and the kitchen freezer could hold another four or five

The other challenged that I was faced with was how best to make large quantities of royal icing in a timely fashion while ensuring it would not harden and become unusable before the party. Royal icing, by the way, is a type of icing that's frequently used for cookie decorating because it hardens nicely and thus stays put on a cookie. There's an option of making it with either egg whites or with meringue powder (both of which make the icing stiffen). I was determined to "kick it old school," and use home-made icings in pastry bags. Store bought tubes of colored gel would not do for me. No, sirree. After a fair amount of web browsing for royal icing recipes, I drove down to the local cake and candy supply store in San Dimas and found that they sold bags of royal icing mix; all one had to do was add water. I was sold; or, should I say, they sold me five bags.

Friday, December 10, arrived, and it was party day! I took a pre-planned vacation day from work so that I'd have time to pick up some finger foods that could double as light dinner fare, make sure the house looked presentable, and allow for time to make the intimidating icing. Unfortunately, the running of errands took longer than I'd anticipated, and by the time I picked David up from school at 3:00, I could hear the clock ticking. Loudly.

"Mommy! Mommy! I am SO excited for my COOKIE PARTY!!!" David proclaimed as he got into the car. The kid's excitement was absolutely palpable. He was grinning ear to ear. "I told Madison that she could look around the house but she couldn't play with any toys." Yep, a good host in training.

I turned my attention to the icing, and got to work. I opened one bag, dumped it into the mixer, and followed the instructions. When it was done mixing, I was dismayed by the small amount of product it yielded. I mean, maybe 2/3 of a cup. I looked at the clock. Four more batches and at least eight more pastry bags to go. I quickly pulled together an improvised batch using powered sugar, butter, corn syrup and water for some additional materials.

"Mommy! Can I put the folding chairs out for you?"my little guy asked enthusiastically as I was ruing the day I'd forsaken the tubes of gel icing.

"You know what, buddy? That would be fantastic!" I briefed him on how I thought the chairs should be put around the tables, and he went right to the task. The kid was amazing. He took full charge of that assignment, and proudly so. In about 10 minutes, he was done. "What can I do now?!? I'll do ANYTHING for you! I am so excited!!"

"See those disposable tablecloths? One goes on each of the tables," I instructed. He hopped to it. They were a tad crooked, but they were on and ready to go!

Eight pastry bags later, two each of red (which was more pink), green, blue and white, and I was starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. The cookies were arranged on plates according to their shapes. It was funny how an hour before I was concerned that there wouldn't be enough cookies to decorate. Heck, there were MORE than enough. It was the amount of icing I was worried about. I had about 10 minutes, so I ran upstairs, changed my shirt and my jeans, ran a comb through my hair, and declared myself presentable.

The first guest arrived just after 6:00, and David could not run fast enough out the front door to meet his classmate. Soon after, a whole bevvy of FCDS kids and their moms and/or dads, and a few younger brothers and sisters, filled the house. The kids seemed so happy to see each other! White aprons were issued to all of the smaller guests, in preparation for the gooey fun that awaited them.

Soon, though, David, rather distracted, went upstairs and started playing his drums. Loudly.

"Excuse me for just a second," I asked one mom with whom I'd been chatting. I went upstairs and walked over to my musician, and whispered sternly into his ear, "This is a cookie party! You get downstairs right now! You have guests!" He complied like a good little guy.

Clearly, it was time to unleash the kids onto their sugary treats. "Okay, everyone, it's time to get our decorating on!" I assured everyone that there was really nothing in the house that I was concerned about getting dirty, stained, or messy. I warned them that all hands would be covered in sticky icing, and that was the fun part. I encouraged them to let their creative juices flow, and to just go with it. And they were off!

Once they chose which cookies they wanted to start with, it was adorable to see how all of the kids wanted to crowd together at just one table. They wanted to all be together. The whole time. Several moms jumped in instantly and helped to start distributing bags of icing, helping the littler kids (a few younger brothers and sisters joined the party), and making sure everyone had an apron. It was silly, loud, laid-back fun. Cookies were decorated with gobs of colorful frosting; decorations were applied in every conceivable way. Works of art were made.

And that all pretty much lasted for about 30 minutes. Then, things got interesting.

"Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Can I please, please, please play my drums?! They want me to play my drums!" my little David pleaded, his big green eyes staring at me in their usual irresistible way. I looked around the room. The cookie decorating was clearly starting to wind down. Kids were starting to make their way upstairs where the bedrooms, pool table and, most importantly, toys are.

"Oh, heck. Go ahead," I said.

"YES!!!" He proclaimed, and bounded up the stairs, with several young ladies hot on his heals.

Pretty soon, some of the moms and I heard the kids calling from upstairs, "David's going to do a concert!"

We all looked at each other, made sure we had our cameras (or camera phones) in hand, and followed the kids upstairs. Upon my arrival, I witnessed no fewer than five kids happily dancing on the pool table (which, for the record, I had no problem with), and David was setting up his drums. Several of his girl classmates were hanging all over him, like he was the newest and most recently discovered member of a boy band. He officially had groupies. It was absolutely priceless, and I admit to being sheepish but proud.

An impromptu concert started, with David's friends circling him and cheering him on, and David pounding out some very nice rhythms on his drums. For a little guy who so often is hit with bouts of unexplained anxiety and worry, this was an amazing moment. His confidence level went through the roof. Cameras flashed, kids danced, and a few screamed like crazed fans.

It was at about that time that Elizabeth and Glen returned home, triumphant from her holiday show at CPCC, where Glen said she was just lovely in her Jingle Bell and Rudolph numbers. Elizabeth looked around at the bedlam taking place upstairs, and had a look on her face that seemed to ask, "what'd I miss?" By that time, a few of David's classmates were in Elizabeth's room playing, and when she entered, they were incredibly sweet and kind to her, and thanked her for sharing her toys and asked them to join her. Such lovely little ladies! Elizabeth was all too happy to jump in with her big brother's friends.

The evening soon began to wind down, and I was graciously treated by the unsolicited (but very much appreciated) help of other moms who stayed for a bit to help clean up. Before I knew it, the folding tables and chairs were collapsed and put into the garage, the floor was vacuumed, the first load of dishes were in the dish washer, and my kitchen sparkled. These gals were pros.

As the final guests left, I was filled with such a sense of warmth, and genuine gratitude for several things:

1. David is surrounded by classmates and friends at FCDS who are amazing kids. They are kind, polite, energetic, and clearly all love being together. I was so touched to witness David being part of this community of young, future leaders. These kids are all awesome. The fact that they were so enthusiastic about David's drumming - which really is just sort of a fun hobby for him - was truly special, and made for an evening for my little guy that he will not soon forget and will long cherish.

2. I had incredible fun spending time with the parents of these great kids - who are fantastic people in their own right! Several of the moms wanted to hear all of the latest news of Glen's new job, and about how the commute was working for us; more importantly everyone seemed to be having a relaxed time just hanging out.

3. Glen and I had somehow managed to pull off two major events on the same evening (the party and Elizabeth's holiday show at school) and were left with two happy and content kids.

4. It is true that Foothill families really do comprise a large family; one of which we are grateful to be a part.

In her element!

And, then, every so often, a nice Christmas miracle happens.

Well, I probably should not be so quick to refer to this evening's events as miraculous, but Elizabeth's ballet performance was just wonderful.

It was her brother who freaked out.

I picked the kids up early from school so as to get them home for dinner prior to leaving for the Claremont Club, where Elizabeth had to be at 5:30 this evening. Prior to all of this, my mom agreed to pick up a couple of Happy Meals at McDonald's (yes, I know; go ahead and say it) and meet us at the house.

Elizabeth's school was my first stop, and her eyes lit up when she saw me. I love it when that happens!

"Mommy!" she proclaimed! I think she was ready to hit the road because her jacket was already on.

Then we went to get David at Foothill. Upon entering the computer class where he spends his Thursday afternoons, I called out to him, and he hopped on over to us. Elizabeth ran to him. He ran to her. If it had been in slow motion, it would have been a scene right out of a cheesy romance movie. But this was much cuter. Elizabeth jumped into his arms, David picked her up and swung her around, and attempted to carry her out of the computer lab.

David must have told his friends and teachers about Elizabeth's ballet performance, because one of his girl classmates said, "is she doing ballet?" And then Mrs. Clark mentioned that they all heard about the ballet show and that David would be leaving early.

The three of us piled into the car and headed for home. About five minutes later, Mom arrived with McDonald's in hand, and we munched in the kitchen. By 5:10, the four of us got back into the car.

When we got to the Club, I reminded David, "Sweetie, your job with Grandma Josie is to find us some good seats near the stage, okay?"

"Okay," he said. My mom sort of nodded in approval.

"But I wanna stay with Grandma Josie!" Elizabeth demanded as David and Mom headed for the tent area where the show was to be held and I nudged her toward the main building of the Club.

After a few seconds of coaxing, Elizabeth agreed to come with me. I set Mom and David off on their chair finding mission.

As soon as Elizabeth saw her lovely teacher, Miss Jessika, she lit up! We raced to the women's locker room and dressed her in her pink tights, leotard and ballet slippers. Then came the tutu. Miss Jessika and I convinced Elizabeth that it would be okay for both of us to do her hair, so as to save a bit of time.

Elizabeth's hair fell into place beautifully, and she looked like a real ballerina. A few quick photos were snapped via the phone in my camera, and I gave her a hug and kiss for luck. She waved bye-bye. I was off to find the rest of my tribe.

I got to the tent and found Mom and David at the dessert buffet table. David was piling cookies onto his plate. Mom gave me an exhausted look.

David looked quite concerned. "Mommy, why are the microphones on the stage so high?" He was referring to the microphones that had been arranged to capture the acoustics of the choir that would be singing.

"Maybe they are really tall musicians," I answered.

"But it doesn't look right!" he whined.

Mom interjected, "he's been whining and crying and wanting his mother ever since you left."

"David, what's up, buddy? C'mon!" I implored him.

"I just ... I just ... I just don't think this tent looks like a stage."

Not being able to do a whole lot about that, we grabbed the seats that mom had saved ... second row from the back. David was temporarily satiated with Christmas cookies, and lots of them. We agreed that once the ballerinas were on stage I'd sneak up closer for a few quick photos and come right back.

First, a kids' choir performed 4-5 songs; they were delightful. During this time, I saw Elizabeth being led into the tent area with the other little girls; she was happily holding on to the hand of another adult volunteer (who turned out to be Miss Jessika's own mom!) and sat politely with the others as they waited for their cue. David kept trying to get Elizabeth to notice him/us. He waved. He called out. He jumped. I asked him again to get a grip.

Elizabeth did turn around briefly and saw her brother; rather than flip out and demand to sit with us, she waved happily, and turned back around and watched the choir with her friends.

Then, the 3-4 year old ballerinas were called to the stage. Music from The Nutcracker Suite began. And the magic happened.

Elizabeth and two other girls were the first to be invited to show their two brief dance routines. Elizabeth was masterful at the part where they blow kisses and curtsy. In fact, she liked it so much, that when it was time for the next three kids to come up, Elizabeth stayed up there, looking out into the audience and smiling at her adoring fans.

At the end, each little girl was invited to show a few dance moves of her own choosing. Elizabeth showed a few arm positions and bends that were reminiscent of modern dance. Twyla Tharp would have been proud! I am completely biased but not at all ashamed to say that this girl was lovely!

I ran back to our seats after Elizabeth and friends were done, and the the three of us set off to find our starlet.

Now, some divas demand fresh flowers, Evian water, and specific brands of peeled grapes be waiting for them in their dressing rooms. All Elizabeth requested, as we got into the car to go home, was a few chocolate chip cookies from McDonald's. Wish granted!

My attempts to catch some video were not successful, but I did capture a few good shots of Elizabeth before and after the show, which are included in tonight's posting.

My two sweeties are now snuggled in for the night, having another impromptu sleepover in David's room.

An added bonus for this evening: Glen comes home for the weekend tonight!

I love Christmastime!

Prima Ballerina

Every so often, I am reminded that there are some things in life that I consider to be earth-shatteringly important, and are really only sort of "so-so" or "ho-hum" to my kids.

Take, for example, Elizabeth's upcoming ballet performance at the Claremont Club. She has been taking weekly "Princess Ballet" classes with other little girls ages 3-5 (or so). She seems to just love it; I mean, what little girl doesn't enjoy skipping, twirling, jumping, and just being otherwise cute and adorable in a girly sort of way? Sign Elizabeth right up ... she loves this stuff! She's into the leotards, the ballet tights, and even the fluffy, pink tutu that she is to wear at the holiday show that is annually produced at the Club.

This afternoon was the one and only dress rehearsal for what is to be a pretty low-key performance of a toddler version of "Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy." I picked Elizabeth up from day care a bit early so that we'd be on time for her 3:00 call. We changed her into her pink leotard and tights while still at school. I could tell, though, that something was amiss. In the middle of her wardrobe change, she proclaimed, "I'm scared!"

"Oh, that's why we have rehearsals, sweetie! And mommy will be right there the whole time. Let's see how this goes."

Then, she began to freak out about the tights. "Those are slippery!" she proclaimed, noting that the tights I had just pulled on her legs were the type with feet (not without). "You'll have your ballet shoes, and you won't slip. Heck, I'll even carry you, honey," I promised.

We made it to the car which, by the way, has a busted steering pump as of this morning. I navigated the buggy to the Claremont Club, and after a few moments we found the right meeting location. I could tell we were in the right place given the sea of pink tutus that were whirling about the tent set up on the lower tennis courts.

Miss Jessika, their beautiful ballet teacher, has the patience of a saint, and  happily called for all of her ballerinas to come to the stage. Elizabeth wouldn't budge from my lap. I coaxed. I pleaded. I begged. I slightly threatened. I negotiated. She continued to just say, "I want mommy!"

No amount of convincing her that I would never be more than 10 feet from her worked. Miss Jessika cajoled Elizabeth to the stage, but Elizabeth plopped her tutu-ed fanny right at the edge of the stage, close to where she could keep an eye on me the whole time.

One by one, the other ballerinas tried out their very short little routine.  I felt pangs of both anxiety and guilt as I silently willed Elizabeth to snap out of her funk and get dancing. Miss Jessika even carried Elizabeth around with her for a few moments, hoping that Elizabeth would get acclimated to the stage, the lights, and the view of the audience from the front of the room.

No dice. My ballerina was not going to perform/practice today, and that was all there was to it.

Needless to say, like every stereotypical stage mother, I got angry and impatient with her. Once practice was over, I took her over to the side of the room/tent/performance area and got her back into her street clothes, telling her how I was so very, very disappointed in her and how I would never have gotten away with such behavior at her age, and how if she doesn't want to do the show tomorrow she should tell me, and how I was going to tell Grandma Josie not to bother to come ... and ... and ...

She cried and cried.

And I felt like a creep.

All the while I was venting my frustrations on her, a small voice in the back of my head kept asking me the obvious question: Is this so important? Really? Who cares if she goes on stage and has a meltdown? Pretty much all three year olds do, and still they are the HIT of any dance recital or show that they are in.

I looked at my dainty little girl in front of me, who only wanted more hugs and kisses and kept saying, "I'm sorry mommy. I'm so sorry." In my arms I had the epitome of absolute perfection wrapped up in a small child. And I'm getting on her case because she was guilty of only being a little girl. She's just a little girl.

We got back into car and headed back to her school. I took several deep breaths. "Elizabeth," I said, "how will we wear your hair tomorrow night?"

"In a BUN!" she happily exclaimed!

"Right, and do you want mommy to do your hair or Miss Jessika?"

"Miss Jessika!"

"And did you see the pretty crown you get to wear in your hair with your costume?"

"Lemme see!"

I agreed that she could see the small tiarra if she briefly showed me some of her ballet moves once we got to school. There, in the parking lot of the Claremont Presbyterian Children's Center, Elizabeth did a twirl, a curtsey, and blew kisses (at least three of the five steps in the routine). I smiled at the beauty that is my daughter, and showed my little angel the crown she is so worthy of.

So, I go back to my original question of: who is this most important for, anyway? The kid? Or the parents? I cringe at the thought of parents on the sidelines of their kids sporting events, screaming at them for any ball not caught, yard not run, goal not made, etc. I have always sworn to never, ever be like that with my kids. And yet, today, I jumped right in to "Mommy Behaving Badly" mode.

My challenge is to be okay with my beautiful three year old's stage debut being however it is she needs it to be. It's not for me. It's for her. I have to remember that I'm just there to be her biggest fan on the face of the earth. Pictures of her recital - the good, the bad, and the silly - will hopefully be posted to this blog soon.

Hello, latte, my old friend

Glen and I have often joked in the past that the timing of David and Elizabeth's illnesses can be almost 100% correlated with Glen's travel plans. I mean, these kids have the preciseness of an atomic clock: when Glen leaves town, someone comes down with a bug.

And so it was the case this morning, when Elizabeth came downstairs and suddenly proclaimed, "Mommy! My tummy feels funny!"

I asked her, "are you okay?" not being too sure of what was really ailing her.

"I'm NOT sick!" she declared adamantly, and with a stamp of her little foot for emphasis. And then, in a blink of an eye, her hand went up to her mouth. The international signal of, "I'm about to hurl."

"Ah! I know just what to do. Come here, sweetie. Come with me to the bathroom," I emplored her. She whined just a little, but was interrupted by the mysterious, icky-tasting substance that suddenly entered her mouth. She complied with my instructions to aim for the toilet bowl, and did so like a pro. Sorry to be graphic, but it was instantly clear that the offending culprit was last night's chocolate ice cream.

"Yucky!" she cried, as she wiped her hand. I asked David to fetch me a dish towel from the kitchen, which he was all too happy to do. I cleaned off her face and her hands, and explained to her the practicality and convenience of barfing into the toilet. "See? When I flush, it all goes away!"

She was unimpressed, but glad to have that episode over. She settled in for a brief cuddle, and declined my offers of toast and water. I was very glad to know that my wonderful friend (and second mom) Jorgelina, who has known me since before even I was born, would be coming by today to lend me a hand around the house.

"I think you should stay home today with Jorgelina, sweetie," I explained, and added, "we should probably skip ballet tonight, too."

"Okay, " she replied. "I stay home with Jorgie."

I looked up to see a very forlorn David, staring at his feet. "What's wrong, buddy?" I asked, still sitting on the bathroom floor.

"I want to stay home, too" he said tragically. "I want to stay home with Elizabeth and Jorgie. And you know why?"

Well, of course I knew why; what kid doesn't jump at the chance to play hookie from school? But I played along. "No, why?"

"Because I want to share my Lego with her!" he said, clearly as a delayed response to yesterday's explanation of why he can't play with her Lego sets if she can't play with his.

"Sweetie, now that you're in first grade, you have to go to school. They're expecting you. I know you want to stay home, but I'm sorry. I really am."

Soon after, Jorgelina arrived, and was more than happy to have Elizabeth be her little companion at home. David tried once more seize the opportunity and and appeal to my sympathies. It didn't work.

David and I then piled into the car, and I backed out of the garage and headed to Foothill Country Day School. We were running just a tad behind, but it looked like we'd make it there by the 8:15 start time.

As we drove along, David continued gently plead his case. "Mommy, if Elizabeth stays home today, and has to take a nap, I would take a nap with her!"

Now, here I'll admit that this statement was a bit unusual; David hates taking naps. Well, heck, so does Elizabeth, but once she's down for the count, she's out! I replied, "that is so incredibly sweet, David. As big brothers go, you're the best in the business." I then explained to him that while I think her tummy was upset due to last night's dessert, if there was a chance that she had a bug, I really didn't want him to be that close to her and risk him catching the same germs.

"Yeah, cuddling in bed would be really close, huh?" he said sweetly.

We pulled up to the circle driveway of Foothill with one minute to spare before class started. Still at the curb greeting the students was one teacher and our headmaster. I pulled up, rolled down the window, and said to the two gentlemen, "we're bringing up the rear!"

"Well, somebody has to!" Mr. Clark said. "You're right on time."

Once David was safely installed at school, it occurred to me that I hadn't had breakfast. Having just witnessed a three-year-old's tummy trouble, I was not too hungry. So, I pointed the car in the direction of the Claremont Village, and began considering my options. McDonalds? No; oddly enough, a diet Coke didn't sound good to me. Some Crust Bakery? Um ... tempting, but I wasn't hankering a huge Danish pastry. And, then I saw the green sign with the all-to-familiar Siren inside. Starbucks. That was it.

As I walked into the cafe, I was greeted by the wonderful aromas of coffee, sweets, and warmth. I was instantly taken back to my years at Truman College in Chicago, when my co-workers and I would happily make a daily pilgrimage to the Starbucks across the street. Such visits were especially welcome during the snowy winter months. Clearly, there wasn't any snow in Claremont this morning, but this particular visit to the Starbucks on Yale Ave. brought me peace, happiness, and a tall latte.

Doggie Chase

A good third of our relatively small backyard is dedicated to the sole use and enjoyment of our dogs, Spike and Lager. Spike, a 15-year-old Bichon Frise, and Lager, a nine-year-old yellow Labrador, have plenty of room in which to run, romp, pee, and poop with abandon, while remaining safely away from cars, pedestrians, and other temptations.

I guess that wasn't good enough for them yesterday.

To be more fair, perhaps I should say that, in fact, they saw an opportunity and seized it with their furry little paws.

We have a wooden gate that opens the side yard (where the dogs hang out) to our front yard in our little gated community in La Verne. We're usually very, very diligent about making sure the gate is closed, latch is in place, and the perimeters are secure so as to avoid doggie mischief. We've been known to add an extra carabiner to the latch for good measure. This is because we know our dogs: Spike and Lager are almost always up for a good reason to explore their neighborhood.

Take, for instance, the time (over seven years ago), when the dogs escaped from the yard of our house we were renting in Claremont. At that time, our house was caddy-corner from the home of the president of Scripps College, who was also my immediate supervisor. I was about five months pregnant with David. Sitting in my former office at Scripps College one morning, I received a phone call from the president's assistant, Linda.

"Do you have two dogs?" she asked me.

I wasn't sure I liked where this line of questioning was going. Should I deny it? Claim ignorance? Fess up?

"Um, why yes! Why do you ask?"

"Well, there's a little white dog and a big yellow dog who are trying to get into Nancy's (the president) house right now."

My stomach fell to my toes, as I muttered, "oh, no."

"And the caterers are trying to deliver lunch to her house for a meeting of the Council of Presidents. Maybe you should come over."

"I'm on it," I said, and hung up the phone, all the while imagining Lager looking at the president of Pomona College, and asking him, "you gonna finish that steak?"

My dear friend and co-worker, Carolina, agreed (heck, volunteered/insisted on) to come with me, and we raced to my car and drove the three blocks to the president's house. Sure enough, there were Spike and Lager, perched happily on Nancy's front door step. To be more specific, Spike was sort of on the look out, and Lager was near the front door. Luckily for everyone, Tom, the sainted head of the food services department at Scripps, had a hold of Lager's collar and was laughing uncontrollably while having his arm almost yanked out of its socket by a 95-pound horse.

"This guy is great!" Tom declared, half laughing and half gasping for air. "And, man, is he big!"

The president's two dogs, Brando and Delilah, were none to happy to smell and hear intruders at the gate, and were barking from inside like it was going out of style. I saw my life flash before my eyes as I imagined Nancy walking up to her house and witnessing the bedlam. She loved dogs, but with the other Claremont Colleges presidents about to arrive, I would have received the tongue lashing of my life.

"LAGER! SPIKE! GET IN THE CAR! NOW!" I hollered. "RIGHT NOW. COME. HERE. RIGHT. NOW!"

Lager, not knowing how much trouble he was in, was delighted to see me and bounded toward the car. Getting him into the back of my old Jeep was easy enough; Spike, after being picked up, was glad to be carried to his coach.

We drove back to my house, and Carolina and I carefully grabbed one dog each and steered them toward our back yard. Of course, Spike, the little guy, thought this would be a great time to freak out and bite Carolina on the ankle.

But, I digress. Let me focus on the most recent episodes of Spike and Lager's excellent adventures. When we arrived home after David's drum lessons yesterday evening, the kids plopped down their bags and lunch pails, and David quickly went to his assigned task of letting the dogs out. He then prepared to scoop out their food into their respective bowls. He's awesome about this, by the way.

A few minutes passed, and I said, "David, sweetie ... would you mind letting the dogs back in?"

"Sure!" he said, and jumped off the bar stool and proceeded to the garage.

A moment passed. David returned to the kitchen and said, "Mommy, I don't hear the dogs. I think they got out."

"Really?"

"Well, the gate was sort of open, but I just closed it."

"The wood gate?"

"Yeah."

Great. Just great. Dinner was on the stove/in the microwave, it was about 40 degrees outside, and I wasn't wearing any shoes.

I went to the pantry, grabbed a bag of Snausages, and said to David, "hang out here. I'll be right back."

"Can I come with you?"

"No." I didn't want any witnesses.

I stepped out the front door, only to find Spike, looking sweet and innocent, at the end of the driveway. He looked at me, looked at the bag of doggie treats, and headed my way. "Good boy!" I bribed, as he merrily went into the house, Snausage in mouth.

Next, to hunt down the hound. "Lager! Look at what I have here!" I yelled, rattling the treat bag.

From many yards away, he heard the siren song of a Snausage, and came bounding toward me, screeching to a halt when I commanded, "SIT!"

Miraculously, he sat. He looked at the Snausage, and then back at me, and then back at the Snausage. We walked home together, and all was well. Piece o' cake.

Before we went to bed, both David and I separately checked the wood gate to ensure that it was clamped shut. Even when Spike sounded his 1:00 a.m. alarm, requesting permission for a bio break, I was awake enough to check the gate once more.

So, imagine my surprise when David went to let the dogs back in this morning, and again announced, "I think they escaped again."

"Uh, oh. Really?"

"Yeah. I just shut the gate."

So, now I'm convinced that we have a gate ghost who is messing with me.

"Okay, little man. You know the drill. I'll be right back."

"Can I come with you?"

"No."

This morning's hunt took a bit more doing; Spike was two houses away, but came gladly for a treat. It took me a few minutes to spot Lager, who was about six houses down, having already caused the neighborhood dogs to sound their alarms.

He saw me, and again bounded toward me, but first made a detour into the open garage of our neighbors, Barry and Lisa. Lisa had just stepped into her garage, only to be greeted by a hyperactive Labrador who wanted to give her a big hug. I apologized, lured Lager with another high-cholesterol treat, and walked calmly with him home.

As soon as I get home today, the carabiner is going back on the latch.