Author Mo Willems at Stamford Ferguson Library on Saturday, Nov. 7th

For anyone who's ever read any of the deceptively simple, Pigeon series books from acclaimed and award0-winning author Mo Willems, you'll know what a treat this will be. Willems will be speaking at the main branch of Ferguson on Saturday, November 7th. His talk will be for parents and kids in grade K and up. Whatever you do, don't miss it. I have heard him speak before and he's hysterical -- and don't forget to bring the kids, too! This event is free and open to the public.

Stamford News: Boy Held Up for His Halloween Candy

Yep, you read that correctly, an 11-year-old was held up by a BB-gun-weilding 12-year-old demanding the kid's Halloween candy.  Really makes you proud, doesn't it.  Getting past the sheer bizarre nature and absurdity, there really is a sad story in here, the least of it being that a kid got a hold of a BB gun and was using it to torture other kids in the neighborhood.  Isolation, lack of parental supervision, the need to bully others with violence, it's all there right for everyone to see.  Really makes you sad, not sure if a whole truckload of Snickers at this point will help this kid, if only that's all that it would take.

Did You Vote Yet?

Voting is always a blast; I usually have at least one kid with me and tend to make a spectacle of myself.  Today, my kids (and my neighbor son) each took a donut from the voting volunteer snack table despite my best efforts to intercept it.  I did my civic duty, was about to leave when one of the elderly volunteers congratulated my kids for "having such a pretty mother."  They gave the man a blank stare and I beamed.  So what if the compliment was from a sight-impaired elderly gentleman; I don't care.  Leaving the school gymnasium, I had to interrogate a Girl Scout for sticking her tongue out at my neighbor son.  (I still bought two boxes of Samoas, though.)
But, I digress, as Al Capone said, "Vote early and vote often," and yes, I'm fully aware of that overused cliche, but I only get to use it once a year.  I felt pretty good and informed about my voting choices this year.  I went to hear mayoral candidate David Martin speak last week and he seemed really engaged, passionate, well-informed and just plain smart.  With his Missouri-bred accent, it was kind of a cross between a local politics discussion and Prairie Home Companion.  (Michael Pavia was also impressive, well-spoken and polished and let's face it, for an older guy, he's a hottie.  But, still, there's something about that born and bred and never left Stamford parochial view of the world that's just, well, parochial.)  So, David Martin's got my vote -- now, I'm waiting to see who the rest of Stamford voted for.
So, what are you waiting for -- go out and vote -- this is Connecticut, the polls close at 8!

Happy Birthday to My Double-Digit!

Happy birthday to my oldest, who turns 10 today! I'm still in a little shock that I have a 10-year-old. On the one hand, it's seems like forever and forever that we have had him; on the other hand, it's like a brief blip in time since I had him. It's amazing to watch him grow and mature and become more and more his own person. He still makes farting jokes, but is quietly observant and sensitive and everyday takes on more adult sensibilities. I know that every parent goes through this, but the moment when you realize that your kid is less a little boy/girl and more an actual person is kind of bizarre. I guess it came to be the other week when my son wanted to stay up to watch the season premiere of "The Office" -- and laughed along at all the jokes. (Ok, so I guess that's it not exactly a Hallmark moment, but it was pretty cool, I have to say.)
So, happy birthday, baby -- many, many more -- looking forward to watching many more season premiers with you!

Return of the Soccer Mom

My oldest son seems to have abandoned soccer altogether, much to my dismay. In my humble and completely unbiased opinion, he was really good at it. All those times dragging him (I mean, taking him) to practices and games since he was four have been replaced with the dull and yet completely maddening baseball and the all-consuming and terrifying football. My daughter tried a season or two of soccer, but it wasn't for her (requests from her coach to actually run to the ball were met with crossed arms and Travis Bickle-like stares, "You talkin' to me?")
But, alas, there is still hope. My younger son seems to enjoy the game still. He could never be described as aggressive, but that's ok, he's playing and participating and sometimes that's all that matters. I know that, I'm a rationale person. So, that's the attitude that I am going into this season. At this point, I should know better. I've been through the Town of Recreation sports experience before and I should be capable of handling this situation by now. I am going to attend the practices and games with a renewed, more serene attitude -- they're not playing for the championship, after all. I can sit in my collapsible folding chair and enjoy the fresh air and the admire the trees begin to turn. I will watch and cheer for all the players on the team and even cheer for the other team (after all, a good shot is a good shot, right). I don't even have to catch the entire game, letting my husband enjoy the game in solitude.
So, that was my position this weekend when I went to my son's son. I arrived near the end, sat down without even asking for the score and just watched. Then it happened, I started watch -- the other kids, the coaches on the other side, the parents, the ball -- my own kid. My toes started to tap, my legs started to shake, my heart rate started to increase and I had to get up. Before I knew it, I was at the edge of the sidelines yelling instructions. My son did his gallopy-run-thing that was more skipping than running and the arms were flapping a little bit and he was more than happy to let the more aggressive players get to the ball first . I had to intervene, I couldn't let him wallow out there without even saying anything. And then all the things that I have hated hearing throughout the years just came out, "Get in front of the ball, "Turn it around," "Protect the goal," and yes, the ever-annoying, "Use your legs to run" came spewing from my mouth. At one point, my son looked up from the field, saw me and all I could make out from his eyes was something like, "Oh, God, she's here after all." It wasn't pretty. After a few minutes, the game mercifully ended and I folded up my chair -- my son ecstatic because he got a juicebox from the coach.
So much for my zen-like sports mom attitude. Later that evening my husband quietly suggested that perhaps I better stay at home next week. You know, maybe he's got a point there. I have a few dozen apples I need to do something with.

Apple Picking 2009

So, yesterday, September 26th, was Johnny Appleseed's birthday (I only know this because I read a lot of kids books and American folktales are some of my favorites.) I thought that yesterday was the perfect day to take the kids apple-picking; the weather was perfect -- not too hot (when the bees are on the move) with a hint of fall crispness. From the onset, I know what I'm getting into -- for the privilege of a good photo opportunity, I get to pay top dollar for a bunch of apples -- and I have to do the work myself (yep, ShopRite has apples for $.99/pound -- I could do better at the local grocery store). I know that going into it, what I hadn't counted on was the mondo-bizarreness of the other applepickers. To give you a taste of the experience:

• Group of extended family members stopping at one of the trees to take pictures, about 10 people standing around gleefully posing for pictures, oblivious to the fact that four or five of the younger members of the family clan were hell-bent on viciously stomping and squashing all the apples that had fallen to the ground. The fact that we were walking by didn't put a crimp in their fun; the whole ground was like one huge smashed apple. Gross.

• While walking to the car, I looked across the aisle to the next row of trees and noticed a young couple in their '20s holding hands, smiling euphorically and skipping among the trees, carrying all their apples in their eco-friendly shopping bags. I got a little nostalgic (aw, young love, aren't they so cute and all that) until I caught a huge whiff of the scent of young love, which would be Cannibas in this case. Lovely -- I take my kids for a family outing and two lovebirds are toking up in the trees. Scary part was that they were driving right behind us in the parking lot.

Also while making our exit, I noticed a youngish mom pulling down her shirt and furtively pulling out one of her breasts and showing her teen daughter something in the bra vicinty. I can't even go there, we were almost to the car and I just had to flee -- no gift shop, no apple cider, no applecider donuts, no ridiculously overpriced pumpkins and gourds -- just hightailing it out of there.
So, we have tons of apples -- I know that the kids will eat most of them. The rest of them will be made into various apple items (pies, pancakes, fritters, whatever). As for next year, I think that we may leave our applepicking days behind, so please don't laugh when you see in the produce aisle next year taking snapshots.

Boycott Marriott Hotels!!

This is one of the most most, egregious, backwards and despicable"blame the victim" tactics that I have ever heard of. Yesterday's Stamford Advocate published an article about the Marriott Hotel's (owned by the Meyer Jabara Hotel Corp.) legal maneuvers to blame the October 2006 rape on the -- get this -- victim's own negligence! From the article, A downtown hotel being sued by a woman raped at gunpoint in its parking garage is claiming she was careless, negligent and "failed to exercise due care for her own safety and the safety of her children and proper use of her senses and facilities," according to court documents.
What?!? I actually read the opening paragraphs a few times to make sure that I was reading it correctly. How in the world can this happen in the U.S. in 2009? Words can not even begin to describe my disgust here; I became physically nauseous when I read this. I am outraged -- and everyone else should be, too! Please forward the Facebook group, Boycott Marriott Hotels for Not Supporting Sexual Assault Victims to everyone you know -- and get the word out!! Boycott Marriott and make our voice known that the victim won't be assualted again!!

So Long, John Hughes

For those of you out there who were teens in the 1980's, the passing of John Hughes really makes you sit down and think for a while. Yep, his movies were a little on the cartoonish, extreme and silly side (the kids were always too smart for their own good, the grown-ups were always polyester-wearing buffoons), but that didn't matter. That's what high school felt like, didn't it -- the place was mobbed with characters and caricatures and you felt like you were the only one who understood it all. John Hughes got it -- he understood all the caste systems and cliques and the feeling of not ever really feeling like you fit in anywhere.
I'll always remember seeing "Breakfast Club" -- from the first scene, I was hooked -- I was where I belonged. The movie quoted David Bowie -- could there be anything else better? "Pretty in Pink" changed my world forever -- I immediately went out and cut my hair in a short bob and started shopping in the local vintage clothing shops. (Although, I still don't get what in the world Andie ever saw in Blane -- Ducky was far hipper and more interesting.)
To me, the movies are still fresh, funny and moving. Maybe it's only the nostalgia aspect that makes me love these movies so much, but I think that it was the message: "It's OK if you're a geek/nerd/spaz/outsiders/whatever term you choose to use -- there's more of us than them and someday it won't be so bad."
So, what's your favorite John Hughes movie? Which character do you identify with?

Warms a Mother's Heart

The other day, I was at my desk in the office listening to the messages on the answering machine. I wrote down the message from a plumber (yes, a plumber who actually returns phone calls), when I actually took a good look at the piece of paper that I was writing on, specifically the words on the paper. Was this some sort of a passive act of revenge, a desperate cry for help, a lazy act of petulance (I mean, libeling your own mom and leaving the evidence right near the home computer -- that's pretty weak). Not sure...
On the up side, there weren't any spelling errors.

We the People...

Happy Post-4th everyone! Hope that you've recovered from all your holiday parties, cookouts, binges and barbecues. In all the 4th-fuss (not to mention Sarah Palin's bombshell announcement -- the sly little fox, trying to sneak out the day before the holiday thinking that everyone would be too drunk to notice), it's easy to forget the whole reason behind the holiday -- a piece of paper. This piece of paper is the country's charter and it's a damn-well-written treatise -- full of lofty goals and aspirations. I forgot how beautifully-written the Declaration of Independence actually is -- take a read when you get a chance -- talk about goosebumps.