Autumn for the Feebleminded

This morning after I had unloaded all of the children, I started straightening up the house for the arrival of Grandmom and PopPop. I went to the closet to get a roll of paper towels, and there on top of the paper towels was a grocery bag with two boxes of halloween cookies that I had bought for Lauren's classroom Fall Party. I looked at them for a moment, unable to determine what day the party was, what day today was, and what I should do with said boxes of cookies.

I made my way to the calendar where I was unable to determine what day it was. Is today the 23rd? She's got a field trip? Oh, wait, the field trip was last week. What is today? Finally, after a length of time that makes me wonder if I should seek a referral for a CAT scan, I realized that the cookies were due today. I immediately grabbed my keys and headed out the door, because while I knew the party was not in the morning, I was afraid if I didn't remove the cookies from my responsibility I'd forget about them again.

In the car I looked at the clock and began to panic. Where did the morning get to? How was I going to get the house straightened up and take a shower and go buy milk in the time left before I picked up Marty? I went to sign in at the office and after staring at the clock (for a length of time that makes me sure I should seek a referral for a CAT scan) it finally dawned on me that I had not reset the clock in my car for Daylight Savings time. I am not a morning person, and these sorts of mental gymnastics are well beyond my capabilities before noon.

When Lauren arrived home, I asked how the party was, and she told me it was fun. As I emptied her backpack, I took out the pretzels that I had packed her for a snack (unneccessarily it turns out because of the forgotten Fall party) .

Mommy (the joker): Whoa, weren't you hungry? I'm going to put these right back in your bag for tomorrow's snack.

Lauren: Oh, I don't need a snack for tomorrow either. We're going to have the cookies you brought in because my teacher forgot all about them during the party.

It's so gratifying when all the hard work pays off.

Highland Fling

For a recent school assignment, Aislinn had to choose another place (anywhere in the world) that she would like to live. She considered Louisville, Nashville, Italy, and Ireland, but eventually decided on Scotland. I don't know why she chose Scotland, other than the fact that she liked the Scottish dancers that were on a Wiggles Christmas video that we have. That, and she remembered the Richmond Highlands Games and festival that we went to last year (and of course her daddy's obsession with Braveheart may have subconsciously influenced her).

This weekend, we went again. We had overpriced yet delicious fish and chips.



We saw sheep (in pens next to a table where sheepskins were being sold - I guess that's one way to keep those buggers in line).



We watched big men wear skirts and throw things. (Oh, the rage. Apparently blogger has a problem uploading pictures of men wearing skirts and throwing things)

We sat for a performance of Scottish dancers and stood through a performance of Scottish musicians.




Marty took part in the traditional Scottish moon bounce, and the pictures are really cute, but apparently, unavailable for viewing on blogger. the rage. THE RAGE!





We slogged through the mud and had a rolicking good time. See you there next year.

The Cute Boy

Almost every day I feel compelled to ask Marty, "Why are you so cute?" He usually answers, "Because I'm so cute," or "Because I'm a big boy," but still I wonder how so much cuteness could have been crammed into such a cute little package.

Today after his usual ritual of eating breakfast, playing "Wah wah dollhouse" (where I am instructed to make the dollhouse babies cry continually while he has the mom and dad run around and solve all the problems), and watching the Okgo videos on the computer, I asked him if he wanted to make some brownies to send to Daddy for his birthday. He eagerly agreed, hopped up on the stepstool, and began reading the ingredient pictures off of the back of the box. Because I've learned my lesson, we made the chewy kind since they require fewer eggs. This time Marty didn't throw the shell in the bowl though. He cracked it on the counter and then put it right in my hand.

Later, he told me he wanted to watch the "Daddy movie" which is a video of the HP reading books to the kiddies. I said okay, and as I was attempting to put it on, Marty announced, "Yeah, the daddy movie, I want to tell him we made brownies."

I know that somewhere in his little mind he must know that daddy can't hear him, but nevertheless when daddy's face came on the screen and said "Hi guys!" Marty looked right at him and said "Daddy, we made you some brownies." He turned to me with a devilish smirk on his face and then sat down to watch the tape. Later, when the HP was addressing some remarks to the girls Marty said, in his most exasperated voice, "Daddy, the girls are at school."

After the movie he ate his lunch.

Then he decided he wanted to eat the brownies.

He's planning to make some more for Daddy later.

He is so stinking cute.

I Never Thought We'd Have to Worry that We've Raised the Kids Too Well

Every day Lauren comes home from Kindergarten with tales of one of the boys in her class. He is always in trouble, he never does his work, he gets time outs in Music from the nicest teacher in the school, he can't write his name, etc., etc., etc. Lauren is excellent at telling stories of outrageous behavior in an astonished wide-eyed fashion (typified in the absolute delight and disgust she had in telling me someone had pooped in the pool one summer), so I always kind of enjoy the stories of the bad kid, because I love to watch the expressions on her face as she tells them.

But now they've been in school for seven weeks. Nothing that her teacher has tried has brought more than a temporary improvement in this kid's behavior. Today it occurred to me that the one thing she has tried that has worked is having Lauren sit next to him. I guess she figured that Lauren has so much self-control and focus that she could hold her own against this kid. Plus, Lauren is really sweet and wouldn't be the type to constantly tattle on him or make fun of him. One day she came home and happily told me that she did his work and wrote his name on his paper for him (now she can spell his name but he still can't). Whenever they do "centers" they have to play with the kids from their table, so Lauren always has to play with this kid (well, most of the time he has to sit out during center time with his head down, but anyway).

Is this fair to Lauren? I asked her today if she wished she could sit at another table and take a break from sitting next to this kid every day. She looked at me with such happiness, I felt bad that I hadn't suggested it earlier. I told her that I would talk to her teacher, but she told me that she would ask herself (I warned her that her teacher might say no, and to not immediately go to the nurse if that happened). I told her that if the teacher didn't agree to move her that I would go talk to her.

I feel bad for Lauren's teacher, because obviously this kid should not be in Kindergarten (or maybe needs to be medicated) and yet she has to deal with him plus 20 other kids every day. But I also think it is too much stress on Lauren to have to sit with him all the time just because she can. She deserves a chance to get to know the other kids in her class and to play with other kids who are not raving lunatics. I am all for letting teachers run their own classrooms, but I think if Lauren doesn't get to move at least by the end of this quarter, I'm going to have to storm the school.

Payback

Attention CD manufacturers: If you would like the results of a study that the children are currently conducting in my car, please contact me. They are testing the limits of CD durability and trying to determine if one could actually wear out a CD from too much use. The test subject is the High School Musical soundtrack.

On Saturday at Target, in absolute desperation I bought the soundtrack to the movie Cars. I didn't really care whether the kiddies would like it or not, because I could insist that they listen to it because they liked the movie. Song #3 is "Life is a Highway", unfortunately not the Tom Cochrane version, but good enough. If there was ever a song built to stick in your head it is that one.

And now all 3 are singing it around the house. After these months of having "We're All In This Together" play through my head over and over and over and over again, I have finally turned the tables.

Take that Troy and Gabriella.

Old Time Religion

Our first Easter Sunday in Kentucky, only a month or two after we'd moved, we sat behind an woman who looked exactly like an extra from The Waltons - a caricature of a little old lady with the calico dress, the grey pincurls, sensible shoes, a big ugly purse, and a grumpy mean face. In the middle of mass, when her grandson apparently forgot his place and looked in her purse for something to put in the collection basket, she whacked him on the head but good. For a while I was worried that she was a prototype for all of the people we were going to meet in Kentucky. Fortunately, I was wrong, and most Kentucky people had all of their teeth and no real tendency to wail on the young, in or out of church.

Generally speaking, I don't think of church as a place where you should be causing children to cry (they are happy to do it anyway without any interference from you). That is why I felt especially bad when I brought Lauren to tears today at church. We were walking up to communion, Lauren and Aislinn in front holding hands, and Marty holding my hand but trying to pull me to the front of the line. Apparently one of the times I leaned over to try to reel him back in, I got a button from my jacket trapped in Lauren's hair (we were late, it wasn't combed, sue me). The line was moving at a pretty fast clip and there was a brief moment when I thought I was not going to be able to get the button out and I was going to have to shuffle out of church stooped over and attached to the back of Lauren's head (and trying to shepherd the other two). Miraculously, I managed to free myself (see, church does work) and rub Lauren's head for a second before I got to the head of the line.

Later, as we were leaving, I almost got caught again (I think I will pin the blame for the second incident on Marty as well), so I had her put her hood up until we got out of church.

As we were leaving, I wondered if there were any old ladies there who were pleased that I had brought back the old traditions of weeping and mandatory head covers in church. Maybe some of the nasty looks I get there will be replaced by approving nods next week.

No Use Crying Over Spilled Pins, or Peas, or Rice, or Popcorn

Kids are messy. I get that. However, simultaneously tonight at dinner time Aislinn spilled a bowl of peas in the kitchen and Lauren spilled a box of straight pins in the dining room. Is there a better one-two punch of things that you don't want to feel underfoot?

I decided to go for the straight pins first since the girls were determined to help me clean up, one pin at a time. If I hadn't ordered them into their chairs to eat (and what a quiet, empty-plate producing dinnertime it was since for lunch the three of them split 2 Target soft pretzels and some sugar-free lemonade (Good Parenting Chapter 11)) they would have spent the next two hours picking up the pins one by one, repeatedly poking themselves and crying in the process.

From my vantage point under Lauren's chair, I got a live demonstration of how the floor in the dining room gets so messy so quickly. There was no huge avalanche of food from above. Instead, slowly, the rice and peas began to descend from the table to the floor, maybe one grain or one pea for every three spoonfuls scooped up and eaten. Everytime one hit the floor I noticed it, because my peripheral vision is sharply attuned to small moving objects that could be bugs. By the time I had picked up all the pins, and had gone over the rug with a flashlight, and then finally, had reluctantly run my hand over the area, Aislinn was done eating and asked for seconds.

I took her plate straight to the oven and stepped right on the spilled peas.

Later, we all sat down to watch a movie together and Marty wanted to turn out the lights like a movie theater. When the lights were out, he asked for popcorn. I was so tired he could have asked for and received the keys to the car at that point. So we had popcorn, because it is only fair to make the living room rug a mess if the dining room rug is a mess.

And so they are. Any conscientious objectors from the local cricket population can feel free to come get some alternative eats tonight from our rugs, provided that they retreat to the closets by sunrise.

The closets, not the toilets.

Is There a Husband in the House?

This afternoon while I was putting Marty's shoes and socks on, the girls ran outside to play. Moments later, they started yelling that one of the pumpkins was broken. I figured it was the work of the disgusting squirrels that live around here, but unfortunately it wasn't.

I have read articles describing the impending Halloween pumpkin shortage. Apparently the weather conditions are ripe for pumpkin rot. What I did not know is that I brought pumpkin rot home from the pumpkin patch with me. I have occasionally glanced at the pumpkins from afar to make sure that the squirrels haven't been eating them, but little did I know what was brewing.

Today, one of the pumpkins that had been sitting so decoratively on a chair, spontaneously erupted, disintegrating into pieces and dripping goo onto the ground below the chair. I now realize that a picture of that would have been more effective at demonstrating the disgusting disgustingness of the incident, but my first instinct was to knock the pumpkin onto the ground and hose off the chair (SAVE THE CHAIR!!! SAVE!THE!CHAIR!!!).



Ew.

And P-U

And if there was ever a time to resurrect the phrase: Gag me with a spoon



I got a shovel from the shed and scooped the pumpkin and several square yards of dirt into a trash bag (I've always wanted a moat by the house) that is now sitting by the curb awaiting Monday's pickup. I'm hoping that no fanged animals have a hankering for rotting pumpkin, because if something tears the bag open, I'll have no choice but to hire professional power washers to blow that thing down the street.

House Full of Geniuses

One of my least favorite tasks of motherhood (not as bad as pushing swings, but close) is spelling. At least once a day, one or more of the kiddies yells to me "How do you spell Thursday?" or whatever day it is, or whatever they are looking at, or whatever word they think they've heard before but can't pronounce. It is crucial that they position themselves just right, so they can hear me but not be sure if they have heard me correctly. Then we can have this witty repartee:

Kiddie: How do you spell telephone?

Mommy: T

Kiddie: D or T?

Mommy: T

Mommy: T did you hear me?

Kiddie (in a borderline hostile fashion): I GOT T!! What's next?

Mommy: E

Kiddie: D???

Eventually I order them to bring their paper and pencil to me so that they can hear what I'm saying. At this point, rather than get up, they stop looking for perfection and just write down what they think I'm saying.

Last Christmas I got both girls dictionaries, hoping that soon I'd be able to tell them to look up the words they couldn't spell, and we could have this conversation:

Kiddie: How do you spell telephone?

Mommy: Look it up in your dictionary.

Kiddie: Did you say pick up a fairy?

Mommy: NO

Kiddie: O?

Sometimes however, the spelling is cute. When Lauren was three, she heard Aislinn asking me to spell things, so she would ask for spellings too, even though she couldn't write many (if any) letters. We'd have this conversation:

Lauren: Mommy, how do you spell pretty?

Mommy: P

Lauren: Got it.

The "Got it" always cracked me up, because even if she didn't know how to write, she knew that was what to say after each letter. Whenever she chose a word like "mommy" she would sigh with exasperation "I already HAVE AN M."

Now Lauren is 5, cruising through kindergarten, and while very testy when asked to write lower case letters, she can write pretty well:

"GOOD MORNING TODAY IS THURSDAY WE GO TO LIBRARY TODAY IS FOGGY AND COLD"

And now Marty has gotten in on the spelling game. Perhaps because he is still napping and has a little more energy than the sisters, rather than yelling from the other room, he runs back to me from the easel before asking for letters. But whenever he gets back to the easel, he calls out "Got it!"

(telephone, high chair, mommy (sigh, "I already HAVE AN M!"),pancake)

Apropos of nothing: Not that anyone will be able to feel my pain (other than perhaps my sister Erin who is surrounded by antiquated children's books) while I was spelling these words for him I was reading "Unicorn Magic" to the girls. A horrifying library book that is not only stupid and horribly illustrated, but also really, really, really, long.

The Pumpkin Patch

I can only remember one trip to a pumpkin patch as a child. It is not a happy or an unhappy memory, I just remember I was there, it was a little muddy, and I was carrying a pumpkin. I have a vague recollection that it was kindergarten so I can't say whether I don't remember all the other fun available at the pumpkin patch, or if there was no other fun available.

At the Johnson's Farm pumpkin patch in Delaware you can:

Take a funny picture.



Find your way through a pallet maze.




Collect clothespins in the pallet maze for a prize (or in our case, walk right by the clothespins until other people tell you to collect them, and then have each of five kids start collecting pins in a different part of the maze so that it takes over an hour to figure out how many pins you need, who has which ones and to finally find all 10 pins for all 5 kids).



And pick out a pumpkin.





Quickly in the case of Marty who hit the road without a word once his work was done.



You can also play in a big swimming pool of corn kernels (sorry, no pictures).



I know we didn't do that where I grew up.

What This House Needs Is Someone Who Wakes Up Early

This morning for the first time since the HP left, we all overslept and missed the bus. We didn't miss the bus in a "Oh my God! The bus! THE BUS!!! RUN! RUUUNNNN!!!" sort of way, but in a "We'll never make the bus, I'll drive you to school today (sigh)" sort of way.

I woke up at 6:30 this morning, looked at the clock, attempted to identify the child next to me ("Hmm, soccer shirt, must be Aislinn - no she's was wearing pink pajamas, must be Lauren") and promptly fell back asleep. I was having a most annoying dream where some punk kid with a huge box of crayons was coloring all over a brand new playground. My sister Erin said we should go get the principal, so we walked like a half mile back to the school to get him, and then headed back to the playground where the punk kid was now throwing sand and gave me a look like "There is not one thing you can say that will make me feel bad about what I'm doing or that I haven't heard a million times before." Suddenly, in the background I began to hear Marty singing a song from High School Musical, and thankfully, it woke me up (Is it really fair that I have dreams about an antagonizing punk kid I don't even know? Although I'm glad I didn't dream about one of my kids giving me that look...). Now the clock said 7:53.

The bus can come any time between 8:10 and 8:25, but I decided not to push it. I wanted the kids to have enough time to complete their morning routine of not eating their breakfast, not drinking their milk, and not being able to find their shoes. I dropped them off with 8 minutes to spare, and even with their slowest stride, I think they probably made it to their classrooms on time.

Some people might think another 5 hour car trip today would be a bad idea, given the level of exhaustion in our house. Luckily, I am not one of those people.

Cutting and Being Old

Since this blog is meant to preserve the highlights of the kiddies' childhoods and since I described the major event of the day over on the other blog, I am going to take this opportunity to transcribe and immortalize Marty's first musical composition, which has made a resurgence of late. If you have to ask about the meaning of these lyrics, you are obviously not as deep as the buddy boy. This song should be sung with excessive amounts of jumping and knee slapping:

The tiger went to Mommy
The tiger went to Lauren
The tiger went to Aislinn
The tiger went to me

Cutting and being old
Cutting and being old
Cutting and being old

To the back and a scow now now
To the back and a scow now now

Cutting and being old
CUTTING and BE-ING OLD!
CUTTING and BE-ING OLD!

Caution: Slippery When Dry

On Friday as I was attempting to clean up the house before our trip, I cleaned off the dining room table and then dusted it/removed the petrified layer of fingerprints and food particles with my handy bottle of Pledge. After I vacuumed the rug, I bent to down to attempt to pry some dried rice out of the nap of the carpet. That was when I noticed some marks on the hardwood floor right next to the carpet, likely the remnants of a dropped sippy cup that sprayed just a few drops of chocolate milk around.

Why oh why didn't I follow my usual pattern of ignoring messes that are not large and troubling? Instead, I thought to myself, "I've got some wood cleaner right here. This floor is wood - it'll work right?"

Oh did it work. Now instead of a floor I have an ice rink along the dining room rug, a major spot of thorofare through the front of the house. As I continued to straighten up, every time I walked past that part of the room, I slipped like Fred Flintstone, throwing my arms up to keep my balance. Eventually I came to the realization that normal people want their tables smooth and shiny, but not their floors. Nowhere on the Pledge can do they recommend using it on floors, but in my defense, nowhere do they discourage it either.

Of course, after 10 or 12 of these episodes, it occurred to me that while the smack of my backside hitting the floor might be quite comical, the sickening smack of one of the kiddies' heads hitting the hardwood would not be so funny. I tried washing the floor with soap, but that did not make it any better. Eventually I had to go out and pick up the kiddies and leave for the weekend, so I decided I would try to come up with another solution over the weekend.

Unfortunately, I forgot all about the slick spot until we got home late Monday, when I slipped on my first pass through the dining room. Usually the kiddies are efficient at making messes, but so far, no spills (on that part of the room anyway). So for safety's sake, I have pulled a hallway rug up next to the dining room rug to cover the slippery spot. The kiddies think this is a brilliant decorating move. Visitors (not that we have many) will likely think that I am a dolt, and so I will be required to recount this ridiculous story of my inability to properly utilize cleaning products.

When oh when will I learn my lesson? Housework is never a good idea.

Blackwater River to Crest Today

Now here's a little news story I never saw this weekend in Delaware:

Schools are closed in Isle of Wight County today, where the rain-swollen Blackwater River has been flooding homes and roads.

The river kept a section of U-S Route 460 between Windsor and Zuni impassable yesterday after the region got up to ten inches of rain on Friday and Saturday. The road is expected to be closed there again today.

Numerous secondary roads also were closed in Smithfield and Suffolk and the counties of James City, Southampton, Surry and Sussex.

The Associated Press
WFLS News
Date published: 10/9/2006

Here is our route from The Chesapeake Bay Tunnel Bridge toward home sweet home:



That black line coming in from the top right is the bridge, and then we work our way through the tangle of Hampton Roads (the origin and purpose of that name for that area has been on my "look this up" list since we moved here over a year ago), eventually out onto 13/58/460, split to 58/460, and finally onto 460 itself. Those of you with a magnifying glass may be able to see from this map that our route takes us right through Zuni and Windsor.

I saw one flashing sign on my way home. The first half of the message was:

RTE 460 CLOSED BTWN ZUNI AND IVOR

The second half of the message was:

USE ALT ROUTES.

Not exactly a wealth of information. I suppose a normal person would have pulled over into a gas station, opened a map, plotted an alternate route, and found her way home. Unfortunately, I am not normal. My first thought was, "That sign may have been flashing there for days. I'm going to go see if 460 is really closed." When I merged onto 460, I thought I might be right, since there was nothing at the exit indicating that a road closure was right down the road. Then I thought, "Maybe they had some sort of Columbus Day parade and now the road is reopened."

I know, I'm an idiot. I was desperate to get home the quickest way, and that is why I convinced myself that somehow the road would magically reopen. But I would like to point out that if the flashing information sign had said that the road was flooded, I probably would have believed it. They had that information, why couldn't they just provide it to me? I used to be a scientist dagnabbit. I have a compulsive need to investigate.

Anyway, when we got to route 258 in Windsor, we were instructed by another sign to go south to route 58, but we were still not provided with any information about why the road was closed. I eventually took 58W to 95N and back home, and both of those roads are smooth and speedy, so I can't really complain about the actual driving part. However, here are some of the consequences:

Aislinn had to do her homework on her lap by dome light. The paragraph that she was supposed to write about this week's story did not get done. Her teacher will probably wonder why I requested and yet ignored her homework assignments for today.

All three kiddies had to have another meal at Old McDonalds because starvation hit when we were still an hour out (but would have been home if not for the detour).

I had to listen to the High School Musical soundtrack, both in the CD player and live in the backseat more times than I care to remember (and I sit here with a glass of wine, attempting to dull the pain).

The kiddies were shoved into bed with a cursory teeth brushing and no books so that no bodily harm would come to any of us.

With a day of travelling and an hour delay at bedtime, tomorrow does not look like an easy morning.

You may wonder where I found a map with all of those helpful lines pointing our way home. It actually came from this map:


FEMA, we may have a problem.

Lockdown

Yesterday the girls wanted to go visit their new best friends, two sisters who are in first and third grade. They are fun kids and their parents are normal people, so I was happy to let them go, but Marty wanted to go too. I know he is too little to go to other people's houses without me, but Newsweek had just arrived, so I thought maybe I could let him go and I would follow about 10 minutes after I had read an article or two.

I said to Aislinn, "If Marty wants to come home, bring him back. And by bring him back I mean hold his hand and walk him to this door and do not leave him until I have him." She agreed and the three of them walked off hand-in-hand. I stood at the kitchen counter, watching them out the window and reading Newsweek over the sink. I fully planned to go right out after them, but after a few minutes I looked up and saw all three of our kiddies plus the two new best friends headed back toward our house.

Aislinn: He just left! He sneaked downstairs and went right out the door, but when we heard the door we ran after him.

Marty: I just wanted you to come play with me at the girls' house.

I let the girls return to their playdate and attempted to tell Marty why he cannot wander the streets of Fort Lee by himself. It is hard to make a convincing argument since there are rarely any cars and never any strangers, but still I hounded him enough that he told me to "Stop saying the angry words to me."

A while later we had the following exchange:

Marty: Mommy, I want to go back and play with the girls.

Mommy: Okay, Marty. I just need to grab some Halloween clothes that I'm going to give to K and L's little sister. I'll be right there. Wait for me.

Screen Door: Creak, slam

I ran out to the front and could see through the window that he was already across the street and heading for the neighbors. I'm sure this is the point where many people would say "I would have smacked him," but I will never be one of those people. He is still small enough that I could keep him inside by keeping the heavy door shut, but I didn't shut the door, so it's my fault too that he got outside. Plus, the concept of not leaving the house without me is brand new (well it's not actually brand new, but it hasn't really come up before since we are normally and at times quite literally attached at the hip), so I don't think I can expect immediate and flawless adherence to the rule.

Tonight after dinner:

Marty: I'm going to play outside

Mommy: No, Marty, it's too late

Screen Door: Creak, slam.

Mommy: Marty! What did I just tell you about going outside without me?

Marty, from his perch on his little fire truck: Mommy, I just wanted to play outside (how can you be so unreasonable?)

And so the lectures will continue.

And so the lockdown will begin.

Good Nutrition

EDY’S DIBS ICE CREAM BITES IN THE MUNCHABLE FLAVOR OF VANILLA WITH NESTLÉ CRUNCH COATING

Nutritional facts ( Amount per 26 Pieces)
Calories: 380
Calories from Fat: 250
Total Fat: 28 g
Saturated Fat: 20 g
Trans Fat: 0 (g)
Cholesterol: 25 (mg)
Sodium: 90 (mg)
Total Carbohydrates: 29 (g)
Dietary Fiber: 0 (g)
Sugars: 24 (g)
Protein: 3 (g)
Calcium: 8 %

CAULIFLOWER
Nutrition facts (1/8 medium head)
Total Calories: 18
Protein: 2 g
Carbohydrate: 3 g
Total Fat: 0 g
Dietary Fiber: 2 g
Sodium: 45 mg
Vitamin C: 110% U.S. RDA
Calcium: 2%
Iron: 2%

Since the kiddies are willing to eat equal amounts of both (with equal enthusiasm), can I call it even?

Autumn Musings

Marty: It's a beautiful day today

Mommy: You're right.

Marty: And autumn is here.

Mommy: Yep

Marty: That means fall.

Mommy: You're right.

Marty: The leaves are turning orange.

As he gazes up to the sky and realizes that all of our leaves are still green, he shows a quick flash of anger, realizing that he has been duped by all the autumn/fall crap people have been feeding him.

Marty (recovering): One time Miss Hiring and Miss Wolfie (his imaginary preschool teachers) saw a worm eating a brown leaf and it turned green.

Mommy: Really?

Marty: Yes. It's autumn.