Sunday, November 20, 2011

Testing 1,2,3 ...

He's testing me and his dad a lot these days.

He says he's not going to Hebrew School ... and waits for a response, lolling idly on the sofa.  We ignore.

A few minutes later, he refuses to come put on his rain boots.  I give up on those -- that's an argument I can afford to lose -- and coax him into his room, where I put him in a cozy sweater and rain jacket.

A few minutes later, at the door, it's "I hate this day," and "I'm not going."  This time, he loses a sticker on his ready-for-school-on-time chart, and stickers mean something:  once you earn 20, you get a dollar to put in your piggy bank and save up for toys. 

He throws a mini-tantrum.  Then, when Dad gets stern, he starts to laugh.

Dad has had it.  So have I.  It's been testing, testing, testing ever since he's been awake, and it's not even 9 a.m.

Sunday, November 6, 2011

Stealing The Halloween Candy: It's Proust's Fault!

I confess.

I did it.

After the kids were abed, I made my way to the plastic jack-o-lantern buckets on the kitchen counter, and dumped out both kids' hauls on the floor, on the pretext of sorting through any loose, unwrapped candy or candy they could choke on. 

Looking at the bounty before me, childhood memories flooding back, mouth starting to water, suddenly craving artificial-tasting, factory-made, non-artisan treats, I lost all willpower.  Within seconds, I'd unwrapped and devoured my first Fun-Size Nestle's Crunch bar in perhaps a decade.  The Mounds Bar, we're probably talking 25 years.  And this wasn't my first transgression.  At the Halloween party, I ate one of the ghost-shaped cookies too -- smothered in orange frosting.

It's not that I haven't eaten any candy in years.  

Thursday, November 3, 2011