"Home on the Range" and other songs I butcher.

When you have a blind child the audio portion of your life really becomes dominant. So when I saw that Parent Bloggers Network was having a Sing Out Loud, Sing Out Proud Blog Blast, I was giddy with excitement. OK... so I wasn't giddy. I don't think I've ever actually been giddy in my life. But I did think to my self, "Hey. I just might have something to contribute to this one." That's almost giddy.

The assignment is all about how we, as parents and families, use music and songs to make our day to day lives a bit happier, smoother and educational. Of course, I am immediately reminded of School House Rock from my own childhood. Would any of us today really understand the purpose of a conjunction or (Look. See. Right there I used one! Ha!) know the process of a bill becoming a law if it weren't for Saturday morning television? I certainly didn't pick those tidbits of knowledge up in high school!!! But I digress.

More to the point, how do I get my kids to do what I want them to do without them realising I am winning? By making it fun, of course. And around our house that involves a lot of singing.

I think I began using this technique when Ben was about 8 months old. He had decided he didn't like to wear shoes and socks. Well, really, who does? However, to still those chubby little legs that could move faster than a set of tractor pistons when I was trying to put his shoes on, I'd sing him a little vaudvillesqe ditty. I always picture the WB frog with top hat & cane singing this number:

Give me your footsies.

I need your tootsies.

Give me your footsies, n-o-w!

He would giggle and wiggle and I'd bite his toes. Soon he'd have socks and shoes on with no fighting at all. Mission accomplished.

And one day not so very long ago, when I'd been home with two sick boys for far too long, I rewrote Home On The Range just to save my sanity. Danny and I were rocking in the recliner because he would. not. let. me. put. him. down. And still he was fussing and crying. So I started singing Home On The Range. Soon those well-known lyrics morphed into what has become an old standard around our house. I think you might like it too.

Oh, give me a home where the Davis kids roam
Where the boys, Ben and Daniel, play;
Where seldom is heard an argumentative word
And the boys are not grumpy all day.

Oh, give me a land sans this big pile of sand
That spilled from your shoes to the floor;
Where the boards are not scarred from each little shard
And the yard just outside has still more.

Home, home on the range,
Where the boys, Ben and Daniel, play;
Where seldom is heard an argumentative word
And the boys are not grumpy all day.

I don't really know if it makes them feel better but it works wonders for me.

This post was written for Parent Bloggers Network as an entry for a contest sponsored by Bush's Beans. They are looking for new lyrics for the "Beans, beans, the musical fruit..." song. If you think you can come up with a better version that properly names beans as a vegetable, you could win $5000 and a trip to New York City.

The Santa Gift

Every year from July on when I start buying Christmas presents, I agonize over what to get the kids from Santa. See, it's like this... I live for Christmas. Not for the trees and the tinsel or the music, though that's nice for setting the mood and all. But for me it's the one time of the year that I can fully indulge my gifting addiction. I spend the whole year listening to the people in my life -- trying to pay attention to things they say they want or need, or things they wish they could do - all in search of the perfect gifts. The pinnacle of Christmas for me is to get someone that one perfect gift - maybe the one they didn't even know they wanted and love all the more because of it. If I can hit one person just right each year, I consider my Christmas a great success. I even keep note cards in my wallet for each person I buy for. Alright. You can all take your fingers out of your throats now. I realize I'm sickening. I can't help it.

When it comes to gift giving Santa is Da Man. He makes Christmas. He is the magic of Christmas. So in my house, The Santa Gift (and there is only one per child) is all important. It's the most longed for item - be it big or small. Sometimes it's even an item wished for subconsciously. That Santa is one tricky dude. When I was a child Santa always brought us the one thing that we wanted most every year. This was not necessarily the thing we asked for. My dad had a good ear, too. He and my mom went way out of their way to make sure we Believed.

I remember one year right after we moved to northern California, we were eating dinner when there was a knock on the front door. No one ever used our front door. My sister & I (about 4 & 7) and our parents all looked back & forth at each other wondering who could be at the front door when we heard the jingle of sleigh bells. Oh my! My sister & I were out of our chairs faster than our parents could say "Go see who it is." When we through open the door, there on the front porch was a freshly cut Christmas tree leaning against the house. We about knocked it over trying to get around it to see where the bells had come from. Finally we both broke free of the door and the tree to get a look at the front yard. You'll never believe what we saw! Sleigh tracks! And reindeer paw prints! Awesome! That was my Dad, through and through. He loved Christmas, too.

I think, though, that the best Christmas gift I've ever been given was from my Mom (aka Santa) after my Dad had died. I was a teenager. I don't know what I wanted for Christmas or if I really wanted anything at all except to grow up too fast and get on with my life. Yet I still wanted to hold on to the past that included my Dad. I'm sure it was an extremely trying time for my Mom as a parent. But on Christmas morning when I walked out to the tree, there was The Santa Gift. It was a hope chest. Perfection. I hadn't even realized I wanted one!

I've thought long and hard over the years about why a hope chest has remained the most memorable Christmas gift I have ever received. Certainly I've been given bigger, more expensive gifts since then. I've definitely been given gifts I've wanted and needed more. So why does a hope chest hold the coveted spot at the top of the list?

I think it's because of what the hope chest symbolized to me. It was a place to tuck away the memories from the past for safe keeping. Yet also a place to hold my future wishes and dreams. The Santa Gift struck the right cord in where I was at in my life and where I wanted to go - and mostly that my Mom got all that, even if she didn't know she was getting it. The perfection of the gift didn't lie in the trunk itself but the idea behind it.

So every year at Christmas I try to replicate that experience for my boys. It's my turn to be Santa and that's a big responsibility. Will I know the gift when I give it? I may not know when I buy the gift but I surely hope to know when I see my boy's face as he opens it. Perfection.

The Parent Blogger's Network (PBN) is sponsoring a blog blast featuring Excitations. Holy cow! Is Excitations going to be a go-to site for me in the future! Check it out! You're sure to find a perfect Santa Gift just waiting for you.

Ode to a 2000 Toyota Sienna

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
Of a surfboard, two boogie boards,
An ice chest and 3 kids.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most desperate need -
A sleeping toddler in a carseat.
I love thee freely for thy dual sliders
As kids fight for seats.
I love thee purely as I pay thy loan
I love thy stained carpets and dirty windows
So reminiscent of my own childhood.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose with youth.
I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!--- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after trade-in.

Awww. I should probably go visit CarBlabber and tell them all about you, Sienna. Or maybe I'll just pine away and do a blogblast instead.

Livin' Life on TiVo Time

"There's never enough time to do all the nothing you want." -- Bill Watterson

TiVo is simply the greatest invention of our time. I refuse to imagine, or remember even, how unsatisfying my life was BT - Before TiVo. But along with TiVo's awesomeness - the ability to stop time not to mention an intimate knowledge of my innermost TV viewing habits comes a host of new problems.

I have developed a 4-6 hour a day TiVo habit. And that is without child interuptions. How am I supposed to work a full time job and keep up on my Season Passes??? Last night it took me forever to watch Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. It went a little like this...

To set the scene: M is in the garage unloading his truck. D is in his crib with his Pooh on CD playing away. B is in the bathtub.

Yeah! A new Studio 60! Quickly FF thru the intro. Wait. Pause it. Damn, the phone's ringing. Ugh. So glad it's not for me! Try to hand off phone to M. Watch him mouth "Who is it? I'm in the shower." Hand him the phone anyway. Ha! I'm not his secretary. He can field his own phone calls. Now back to Studio 60. Watch the hook segment at the begining of the show. The stage is set for Tom's brother in Iraq to be in trouble. Begin FFing thru next set of commercials. B comes out of the bathroom naked looking for pajamas. Errr. PJs are in the dryer. Pause, again. Run to dryer to get clothes. Head off whining about how he wants short pjs so he won't be hot. Promise he can sleep in whatever he wants. Sprint back to the living room to finish my show before M comes back in. Hit play. Oh no! There's still 42 minutes left. I'll never get that finished before he's back! I better watch fast. Watch next segment with only a minor interuption to get B his dessert. FF thru another commercial block then pause yet again to silence bouncing, jumping toddler in crib. Bottle applied, Pooh turned back on, kisses given. Back to my show. Sit down on couch just as I realize how thirsty I am. Walk back out to garage for bottled water. Hit play. Oh, good. It's only halfway over. Listen to Jordan tell Danny she hasn't felt the baby move in a while. Shit! It's B's bedtime. Pause for the cause. 15 minutes later B is asleep. No noise from D's room. Sweet! Tiptoe back to the livingroom. Crap! M came back in the house and is watching "Deadliest Catch". A TiVo pissing contest takes place. Somehow, I give up & go to the bedroom to finish the show. Remove contacts & put glasses on before bed. Crawl between the sheets. Sigh. Comfy bed. FF to the right part of the show. Just get back into it when D starts crying again. Ignore crying. I'm in bed. Ignore crying some more. Rewind because crying sidetracked me and I didn't catch what happened. Damn, M! Why doesn't he get D? Huff! I'll just do it myself. Pause again. Finally, slip back into bed. Push play. Blessed silence for the last 15 minutes of the program. Look at the clock. It's only been an hour and 47 minutes... good night.

All as an example of Mommy Multi-tasking for Parent Bloggers Network and Light Iris. Go check 'em out.