Surprise night

Last night was a night of surprises for AJ and Sydney. And from their perspective, of all the surprises in the history of surprises, this night ranked pretty close to the top. After all, how often do you get a chance to pose with a pirate at a Caribbean themed restaurant...

...and Champ at a Bulldog hockey game, all in one night.

Before I go any further, let's take a closer look at the above photo. Sydney is standing next to Champ. And she wanted to! This is the child who cowered in terror last January when we had a chance to skate with the Bulldogs. The same child who wouldn't sit on the Easter Bunny's lap in April. And now, "this is how four-year-olds do it. They're not scared anymore." she explained, as if it was the most basic concept in the world.

Notice she was carrying "Patch" the stuffed dalmation in the above picture. After a trip through the souvenir shop, he was quickly replaced by a different dog. What better way to commemorate your first game, and such a strong showing of bravey, than with a mini-Champ?

Jeff's been wanting to take AJ to a Bulldog game for a long time. But with the new arena opening last year, and the team winning the national championship, it hasn't been easy to get tickets. Last night, however, the 'Dogs were playing Alaska Anchorage, a team with whom there's no particular rivalry, and so we managed to get tickets.

To make the night even more magical, we started it at Marlee's Caribbean, a restaurant with bigger than life pirate sculptures and, as we learned, a 300-year-old cannon. Jeff and I have eaten there before, and Sydney has been inside with me once when I needed to pick up a gift certificate, but this was AJ's maiden visit. I'm fairly certain we'll never be able to eat there anonymously again. AJ has made friends with the owner, asking all sorts of questions about the age and source of the various decorations.

And then it was on to the real surprise. We were pulling into the DECC parking when AJ finally guessed our destination. And then I pulled out the way-too-big Bulldog jersey Jeff had given him last Christmas, which he has yet to wear, and then night just didn't seem like it could get any better.

Until the game started. It was an awesome game for the kids to see. (Unless you consider they probably will never see such a blow-out victory again, which means no future game will ever seem quite as exciting.) The Bulldogs scored three goals in the first 10 minutes, and a fourth goal before the first period ended. Then it was revealed that Culver's has a special sponsorship/partnership deal, and so if the Bulldogs score five goals in a game, everyone at the game gets a free scoop of frozen custard. Suddenly the student section erupted in a new chant, with AJ happily joining in "We want ice cream!"

I was a little nervous about our seats, specifically about the language the kids might here. We were a level up, but on the same end as the student section. Making it more interesing, we were sitting right behind a guy who - based on his appearance and actions - was either mildly drunk, or had special needs. He was older than me and yet was chanting along with the students, calling out the names of the opposing team as they were being introduced, followed by "You suck!"

But the quick succession of scores turned him into a happy drunk/person with special needs. After each goal, he excitedly turned and high-fived each of us, including Sydney. And in the third period, when the Bulldogs scored goal number five, he turned to AJ and shouted, "You get your ice cream!"

Sydney's attention span, with the help of her two stuffed dogs, lasted until a few minutes into the third period. And my phone kept her busy until the game ended. I now have lots of pictures of the game. I think this is a shot taken right after the refs had to break up a fight.

As for how this experience will affect my children's college choices, AJ seems torn between wanting to play for the Bulldogs, and wanting to play in the pep band. Sydney, meanwhile, announced she doesn't want to play hockey, but she wants to go to school with Champ.

When it comes to surprises, it'll be a while before we can top this.

For those who've served

Today's blog post is an easy one because there's very little for me to write. In some ways it reminds me of the Family Circus cartoons when "Billy" stepped in and drew the strips. Today, I'm letting AJ do the writing. Because really, I couldn't say it any better myself.

Last night I reminded him that today is Veteran's Day. AJ immediately set to work creating a card for his favorite veteran.

Inside, that's Jeff on the left with his hand over his heart saying the Pledge of Allegiance.

In case you can't read the message, here's a close up:

And on the back, "That's Dad firing his gun."

To all the veterans out there and their families, thank you.

And now it's time for me to wake up my patriotic young artist and get him ready for school. He's wearing camouflage pants in recognition of the day.

Keyed in on technology

Sydney's current fascination with all things Barbie has led to an interesting discovery, and a whole new world of games. Adept as she is with my iPhone, it's no surprise that she's comfortable with technology. But it was still fun to see how capable she was when she sat down in front of a computer.

It's interesting to watch and see how games become learning opportunities. Sydney is starting to learn letters in preschool. She's not particularly good at writing them (what four-year-old is?) but she's getting better at recognizing them - especially the letters in her name, which means she's able to type S-Y-D-N-E-Y.

Sure, there's a bit of hunting and pecking going on as she scans the keyboard for the right letter. She gets that from her dad. (I'm throwing that in to see if he really reads this.)

Last weekend, I started looking online for Christmas gift ideas and comparing prices. Mattel's website linked to Barbie.com, and there I found all sorts of online games and videos, all of which - of course - featured Barbie, her sisters (she now has two younger sisters besides just Skipper, I've learned) and other characters that all true Barbie lovers simply have to have.

Some of the games ask you to type in your first name so you can then be greeted by Barbie, "Hi Sydney..."

My preschool techno whiz struggled a bit at first on the games requiring her to use a mouse. Her hands are just too small. Again and again I tried to help position her fingers to click the correct button. Then I remembered Jeff purchased a mini-mouse long ago to go with the lap top. I dug it out, plugged it in and Sydney's been happily playing games ever since. Babysitting Chelsea (Barbie's youngest sister), choreographing a dance for Ballerina Barbie, and designing fairy princess Barbie dresses and accessories - Sydney's attempting to master them all. She even has AJ hooked on the Barbie career game. (Make the pizza just right and get five stars. AJ's competitive streak simply cannot accept that his pizza has earned a mere four stars.)

One of my clients sells specialty keyboards and mice designed for kids (color-coded keys for consonants, vowels, numbers, punctuation marks, etc.) I'd thought about getting one for AJ last year. Now that I have two kids interested, I'm thinking one of those sets just may have to join whatever Barbies I find - under the Christmas tree.

Ulterior motive

Hmmm... call me suspicious, but on a Sunday afternoon when a certain six-year-old boy is given the choice of staying home and playing with Dad, or going grocery shopping with Mom, and he chooses grocery shopping... I have to wonder what he's hoping we'll buy.

I made it clear we were going only to the grocery store. That's it. No surprise trips to a fast food restaurant or store with toys. No stopping at Red Box. We're getting groceries, and then we're coming home. 

And still he wanted to join me.

So during the drive to Cub, I cut to the chase. "What are you hoping to get? Why did you want to go grocery shopping?"

His answer stunned me. And perhaps scammed me.

"Remember last time when we went to Super One and Sydney and I made bad choices?" He asked.

(Yes, I definitely remember. Quick trip after work... everybody's tired and hungry but we couldn't put it off because we needed a couple things to make dinner... not a pleasant shopping experience.)

AJ continued, "I wanted to show you I could make good choices."

He should have stopped there.

"Sydney's the one who made me do bad choices. She always makes me so mad!"

"So you wanted to come shopping with me to prove you're better behaved than your sister?" I asked.

"Yeah!"

We reached the store and all went well. He grabbed a mini-cart and I grabbed a big one and off we went. Anything that AJ particularly likes went in his cart, the rest in mine. I pointed out that it looked like all he ate was sugar, and so we moved the apples into his cart.

He only slipped up once. Those 75-cent Little Debbie's donuts are so hard to resist. The face he gave me as he pleaded (hammy moment re-created below for the camera) cracked me up.

Yes, he got the donuts. The entertainment value alone earned him the treat. Several other shoppers saw it and also smirked. It's nice to have one-on-one time with just AJ. We don't get to do that nearly enough.

And for the record, I don't use nicey-nice terms like "good choices" and "bad choices". (Unless I'm asking the dog a rhetorical question as he's shredding kleenex or destroying yet another child's toy.) That's elementary teacher lingo that AJ has brought home.

When a tire check becomes a reality check

This isn't going to be one of my typical blog posts, so if you're expecting to read a cute/funny story about something my kids said or did, sorry, you'll have to wait a day. Last night, fate (God) threw a series of events my way that forced me to take a close look at my abilities and attitudes. And quite honestly, I don't like what I saw.

I left work and headed for the ice arena where AJ was having hockey practice. Jeff had arranged to go in to work a little late, so he could stay with the kids until I got there. As I drove down I-35, a few minutes into my trip, the low tire pressure alert suddenly lit up. I pulled off the freeway at the next exit and made it to a gas station. Sure enough, a walk-around revealed my front passenger tire was low. I used a tire pressure gauge and "free air" from the gas station and attempted to fill the tire, but knew it was a lost cause. I could hear a low hiss and could tell the tire had lost air just in the time since I'd first looked at it.

I tried calling Jeff's work cell. No luck. Next I tried his personal cell. Same result. The hockey arena is a loud place, I figured he just didn't hear it ring. Resourceful gal that I am, I started calling other hockey moms whose numbers were in my phone, figuring one of them could find Jeff and Sydney in the arena and tell him to call me. I started with Crystal – no answer. Rosie – she answered, but it turns out her son just switched to a different team so she wasn't at the arena. She gave me Kirsten's number to call – no answer. Michelle – she was at a different arena for her daughter's practice, but volunteered to call some other moms she knew. She called back a few minutes later to say she'd had no luck, and then reminded me of the horrible cell phone reception at the Carlton arena. No wonder I couldn't reach anyone.

As I'd been making the calls, I worked at clearing the cluttered trunk. I managed to get the spare tire out myself. The jack, however, was another matter. It would not budge!

I turned to Facebook for help, asking if any friends happened to be in West Duluth who could help.

I pride myself on my resourcefulness. When I was a reporter, it was a talent to know who to call (or who to call who can help you figure out who to call) to get the answers needed. It dawned on me last night that it's a pretty limited skill. Because it still leaves me dependent on someone else's willingness to help.

I continued struggling with the jack, finally looking at the owner's manual for help. It sure seemed like I was doing everything right. I figured it was just rusty and too tightly wedged in its spot.

Right about the time I friend responded that she could come help with the tire, Jeff called to say he was on his way.

That was about the same time I discovered an embarrassingly obvious bolt that had been holding the jack in place. Unscrew that and it's amazing how easy it was to remove the jack. Next challenge – where to position the jack. I hate feeling like a stupid, helpless female!

It was right then that a man approached me – an extremely fat, relatively unattractive man wearing a mechanic's style blue shirt. Because of his size, it was hard to tell if he was my age, or maybe a little younger. "What are you trying to do?" he asked.

"Trying to get a head start before my husband shows up," I answered.

Without another word, the man got down on his hands and knees, and started loosening the caps covering the bolts on the tire. Next he put the jack in place and started cranking. He actually apologized as he worked because if he'd been driving his other truck, he'd have had better tools.

Trying to make small talk, I commented, "I'm guessing by your shirt that this is something you do as part of your day job."

My guess was close. He told me was a service tech at a local lawn and sport company. (A store Jeff has been boycotting due to bad service on our lawn mower a few years ago. After last night, I'm suggesting we give the store another chance.) The man... it was hard to read the embroidered patch on his shirt while he worked, but I think it said Todd or Tony... went on to explain he'd gone to college for automotive repair, but then started working at a golf course, and that evolved into his current job.

By now he had the car elevated and was loosening the bolts on the tire. Seeing him put his full weight into the job, and seeing how the car jerked as he moved, I have no doubt I'd have been incapable of doing the job myself even if I had known what to do.

As I continued watching him work, it struck me that this is a man I likely would have ignored had I passed him on the street. Perhaps I would have given him a smile just to prove I wasn't a snob, but it would have been a patronizing smile at best. And I wonder if he knew that. Why did he feel compelled to tell me he'd gone to college? Did I seem condescending even as I stood and watched him do this incredible gesture?

The tire came off, revealing the nasty culprit. It wasn't the broken glass in the main intersection of Esko, as I'd suspected.

The man started attaching the spare. Right about then, Jeff arrived with the kids. The man reached up and shook Jeff's hand, and then continued to work, finishing his task – my task that he voluntarily took on – a minute or two later.

He refused to let me pay him even as a token gesture. Both Jeff and I thanked him. And then he left.

And I'm left feeling grateful. And horrible.

I've been taught, and I've taught my kids, that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover. Years ago I had the chance to interview a World War II veteran who'd earned the Congressional Medal of Honor. The man was well into his 80s at the time. His body was frail and it was obvious he wasn't as mentally sharp as he used to be. But the story of what he'd once done, which he was very humble about, was amazing. I remember wondering to myself how many times have I passed a senior citizen, grumbling because they're in my way and driving too slowly, never giving a thought to the human being they are, the accomplishments they've achieved and the contributions they've made.

How many times have I passed someone and, based solely on their appearance, deemed them less important than me. Would I have stopped to help someone like Todd/Tony? I'm ashamed to admit I probably wouldn't.

But not any more. If only it were as easy to change bad habits as it was for a kind stranger to change the tire on my car. Wish me luck!

Spa night

Once again, it's not what you say, it's how you say it. Bath time is often a struggle. It starts with the battle between AJ and Sydney of which one has to go first. Then the whining starts, "Do I have to wash my hair?"

And of course, once they're in the tub, "I'm not ready to get out yet."

Complicating things this weekend, we'd rented Cars 2 from Red Box. AJ was excited to watch it, but I knew it would scare Sydney. 

Enter Mommy the Spin Doctor. Time for some magic. It's not bath night. No. It was time for some princess pampering.

"Sydney, I think tonight should be Spa Night," I told her.

"What's spa night?" She bit on the bait.

"We are going to take a bubble bath, and make your hair smell nice, and then we're going to put nail polish on."

Suddenly, bath time couldn't come quickly enough!

I won't pretend that all went smoothly. She still didn't want to wash her hair, and she gave three false "I'm ready to get out" lines before she was really ready to get out. (Which was fine with me because it gave me more time to read my book.)

But at last she was dried off and wrapped in a robe. Because what else would you wear for Spa Night?

Strawberry-scented de-tangler came first. I haven't decided yet if I like it. It definitely minimizes the snarls, and thus the complaints from Sydney. But it creates all new power struggles. She wants to spray it herself. But of course she isn't coordinated enough to hold the spray bottle a few inches from her head, point it in the correct direction and spray. Also, it tends to make her hair look greasy, which increases the number of weekly battles to wash her hair. All for a few less snarls and a fake strawberry smell, which Sydney thinks is great.

But we didn't stop with the hair. Oh, no! Next it was nail polish time. Sydney picked sparkly pink for her toe nails and light purple for her fingernails. And while I enjoyed a glass of wine, she sipped some chocolate milk.

Adapting her best, regal sounding accent (if she'd had a tea cup in hand, her pinky finger would have been in proper position), she announced, "This is wonderful."

Ah, the life of a princess. And it never occurred to her that she'd just taken the first bath.

Doctor's orders

What we have here is a failure to communicate. Sydney came to me Friday, wanting to play doctor, but she needed my help.

"Mom, I can't find my blue thing."

"What blue thing?"

"My blue thing for playing doctor."

"Besides being blue, what does it look like?"

"It's round, like a rectangle."

"Rectangles aren't round. How can it be round like a rectangle?"

"I don't know. I can't find it."

I started naming her favorite things to use when playing doctor. "Is it the stethescope? The band aid? The shotter? The doctor jacket? The thing to look in eyes?"

Each time she shook her head no.

I tried to distract her, suggesting another activity. "Would you like to play with the dentist Play-doh set instead?"

"Okay, but I need the blue thing."

Honey, I'm sorry I can't help you if I don't know what we're looking for."

"It's the blue thing I write on."

Ah ha! "You mean the clipboard?"

"Yes, the clipboard. I need the clipboard."

Well, you were right about the rectangle shape, but it's not round."

"I know. I was just kidding."

We have yet to find the blue clipboard. But luckily, Mommy just so happens to have several clipboards that she's picked up at promotional expos through work, and so I brought a couple home for her. The red one with a heart was her top choice. And so this morning, at last, the check-up began.

And then it quickly ended. Why? Because it's far more fun to draw doctors than pretend to be a doctor. "It's Doctor Day!" Sydney proudly declared after surveying her masterpiece.

I sum it up as a healthy dose of normal life.