I am sad to report that my clearance-priced overstock Lands End swimsuit that I was so excited about did not do magical things for me, as I had hoped. In fact, I don't even like it. I'm going to return it. Sigh.

Problems: I had a hard time determining what size top to buy, and I used the online chat help to ask the opinion of a swimsuit fit specialist. I told her my measurements and she recommended a size, but I did not like the look of it once I got it on. It bunched in weird places around my waist and was tight on top. Perhaps a different size would have been better? I'm not sure.

Also, the top had an orange dot pattern with several different shades on it. The bottoms came in two different shades of orange. I asked the online help service which shade of orange was meant to match the top I had chosen, and she said both would match. But the lighter shade really did not look like it matched to me.

The "swim mini" swimming suit bottom hit my legs at an un-flattering spot, and the regular brief bottoms were the ones that didn't match the top.

Overall, my second-hand Target-brand swimsuit that a friend gave me last year when it didn't fit her anymore is winning out in a which-is-more-attractive battle of the swimsuits right now.

Sad. I had such high hopes for you, Lands End swimsuit! You had the "star" symbol applied to you, which means "flattering for all body types!" And you were such a good deal!

But nothing is a good deal if it doesn't actually look good on you. And I know there's not a swimsuit in the world that's going to take my figure and make it look like a size 2.

"Well, she told me that the reason she didn't want to do it and was being so snotty about it was because it was hard," I explained to Eric. "I mean, I already knew that of course. But I was glad she admitted that was the reason. And so then I told her, 'Well, there are going to be lots of times in your life when things are hard, and you just have to do them anyway, even if it is hard, and you can't cry about it just because it's hard, either.'"

I paused in my recounting of my parenting skillz to my husband and, finally able to get a word in edgewise, he said, "And then did you say, 'By the way, I'm a pot, and you're the kettle?'"

"...Well...no. But yeah. I know. Pot. Calling the kettle black. I know."

It's annoying when your husband doesn't just pretend that you are a perfect goddess with no flaws whatsoever, isn't it?

I know that the very thing I was lecturing my child about--fighting past your difficulties without cracking under the pressure--is not exactly something that's easy for me, either. I guess I'm just hoping that all those things I somehow never managed to learn as a child (not for lack of my parents' trying, just me not getting it), I can somehow manage to instill in my child anyway. Because now that I'm older I know. I know just how difficult it is to go through life with your default mechanism set to: Tears! Tears! Tears! whenever you are faced with something you think you just can't handle. And how stupid you feel when you respond that way. I want her to learn to handle things better than I do.

And so I preach it--oh, I preach it--even when I don't always practice it.

"Cookies and candy are something you should eat only once in awhile," I say when they ask for treats. (says the lady who would happily eat cookies every day if there were any of them here in the house)

"It's not good to spend too much time sitting around just staring at the computer," I say when they ask to play another computer game (says the lady who spends hours of her day sitting at the computer.)

"You do NOT speak to your sister in that tone of voice," I say when I hear a sibling squabble (spoken in a harsh, angry tone.)

Parenting hypocrisy. It's not pretty, is it? But I'm not going to let my standards for my kids slide. And I'm not going to become a perfect person overnight, either. So I guess I just keep on. And try to listen to my own good advice. And maybe someday I'll even live up to it.

You notice a brown squishy substance on your dining room chair. Do you:

a) wipe it up, but not before examining it closely to determine whether it is mushy rotted banana, poop, or plain old mud.

b) scream and run away.

c) eat it.

Someone just threw up on you. You think to yourself:

a) Again? Well, thank goodness I decided to wear the shirt that already had spit-up and ketchup stains on it.

b) Oh my gosh, this is so nasty, I have to get this off me right away. This is the most disgusting thing that has ever happened to me.

c) Hmmm, if everyone else is doing it, maybe I will too.

You are eating dinner. The person sitting next to you turns to you and tells you that he/she feels the need to relieve him/herself and requires your assistance with this process, specifically with the "wiping" maneuver. Do you:

a) Congratulate the person on his or her foresight in perceiving this bodily need, and jump up from your meal to be of service.

b) Inform your dining companion of your disgust and leave the table immediately. You don't have an appetite anymore.

c) Make loud farting noises intended to encourage your friend on his/her upcoming task.

You hear screaming coming from somewhere nearby. You:

a) Ignore it. They'll work it out for themselves. If they're bleeding, they'll probably come find you.

b) Listen to see if it's your neighbors fighting with each other again, or a true emergency, in which case you call 911.

c) Decide to join in and scream as loudly as you can too.

In the middle of the night, you once again hear screaming coming from somewhere nearby. You:

a) Jump out of bed and stumble down the hall to deal with it. When she has a nightmare, she needs her mommy.

b) Call 911.

c) Decide to join in and scream as loudly as you can too.


Mostly A)s. You are a mom. You daily tolerate all manner of disgustingness, chaos and loud noises without flinching.

Mostly B)s. You are a normal person who does not feel that poo, mud, guck and tears are a normal part of daily living.

Mostly C)s. You are a small child. You LOVE poo, mud, guck and tears and do your best to produce as much of them as possible.

1. I don't care how nice people might say it is to live somewhere like California or Hawaii where it's just one sunny day after another, I love the seasons of the Northwest. Yesterday was the first day it felt like spring, and oh, I can't even describe the glory of it. When the sun returns after the gloom that is a Pacific Northwest winter, we all just go a little crazy around here. It's a palpable, valley-wide mood shift. Everyone bounces around with a big smile on their face, the muddy parks are a-swarm with kids and squirrels and dog-walkers, and every other person you meet tells you, "Enjoy the sunshine! Enjoy the sunshine!"

People probably don't say that in places where they have sunshine every single day.



2. We are doing our best to follow that "enjoy the sunshine" mandate and we visited Albany's newest park, Kinder Park, today. Two thumbs way up to the city on this one. The girls shrieked in delight as soon they saw the massive play structure. It really is awesome. Even I kind of wanted to run around on it. We're talking five different slides, bridges and tunnels, ladders and poles to climb and rings to swing on. Besides that, there are swings, two baseball fields, picnic tables and big grassy lawn. There are also these crazy spinning seats that will make you dizzy in five seconds flat. I thought they were a blast but they scared the girls to death. There's also an intriguing looking trail around the perimeter of the park that we didn't have time to explore. We'll definitely be back to that one.

3. Things I have recently discovered that I love: honey-flavored Greek yogurt, the movie Blues Brothers, the book "The Help" by Kathryn Stockett, and the singer Ingrid Michaelson. Try them out. You won't be sorry. If I were Martha Stewart I would label them Good Things and sell them in my magazine.


4. Speaking of things I love, my friend Heather gave me the best shopping tip ever yesterday: the Lands End website Overstock category. I had heard that Lands End made the best swimsuits ever, but they are really expensive. Like $50 and up. For a swimsuit. And then Heather told me to check out the Overstock section, and holy cow! I bought a tankini top and two different styles of matching bottoms, for a total of $37. If I had bought them new, it would have been $135! Now I'm just anxiously awaiting their arrival. Oh, and also, they had "online chat help" which was extremely fast and truly helpful. I used it twice while browsing, once while determining which bottoms matched with the top I wanted, and once while determining which size would fit me best, and both times the person typing to me on the other end responded quickly and helpfully. And like a human being who spoke English, not a robot. Now, if the swimsuit really is perfection, like it's supposed to be, I'll be a happy camper.

5. The swimsuit I bought is bright orange. It came in blue, too, but A) they were out of my size in the blue--it is the online equivalent of the clearance rack, after all--and B) I think 90% of the swimsuits I have purchased in the last 10 years have been blue. I also have one black one and one green one. Time for something different, perhaps? I think orange will be summery and and fun and bold. Right? Right?

6. Thanks for all your kind comments on my big, vulnerable, "I need to be more real" post the other day. Also, I want to assure you that if I know you in real life, this does not mean that all my interactions with you are fake and insincere and we are not truly friends. Not at all. Just that I sometimes refrain from speaking my mind because I'm a chicken. And I'm trying not to be.

7. I've got some more things I need to do on the computer before naptime is over, but this day just couldn't GET any more beautiful and so I am ignoring them for now. I need to enjoy the sunshine.

More Quick Takes here.

Yes, it froze last night. Yes, it's only February. But...it's coming. Can you feel it?






When flowers appear on the earth

The morning smells wet
alive, growing beneath my feet
This morning, this air: the freshest I’ve ever breathed
Smelling of dew, of smoke, of a hundred green shoots pushing out of the earth
Little frogs haul themselves out of the muck
Lift every voice and sing to the expectant stars
If I breathe in deep enough, I might inhale the world

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become.

It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.

"The Boy's Uncle made me Real," he said. "That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."

The Rabbit sighed. He thought it would be a long time before this magic called Real happened to him. He longed to become Real, to know what it felt like; and yet the idea of growing shabby and losing his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. He wished that he could become it without these uncomfortable things happening to him.

from "The Velveteen Rabbit," by Margery Williams

My husband has this theory that the true purpose of church is for believers to be wrestling through things together--to ponder the whys and wherefores and mysteries of this life. And that a lot of what goes on in churches these days misses the point of that--because either an opportunity for such conversation simply isn't provided, or the opportunities that are provided (home groups and such) TRY so hard that they end up feeling forced and awkward.

Deep conversations are best when they just grow organically out of deepening relationships, he believes.

And I started to speak up and contradict him. "But friendships don't always just evolve into talking about deeper things," I said. "A lot of them just stay at the same level."

And then I stopped. A LOT of my relationships actually stay at pretty much the surface level. Whereas I know my husband has quite a few friends with which he loves to discuss philosophy, theology, The Meaning of Life.

So I think that's actually saying something about not about the nature of relationships, but the nature of me.

Being liked is very important to me. Being considered Nice is very important to me. When politics, religion, or some other important but possibly controversial subject comes up, I keep my mouth shut. I'm afraid that if I give my honest opinion, people will question me and poke holes in whatever feeble theories I have. I am afraid that if I said what I actually think, my Christian friends would think I am dangerously liberal, and my non-Christian friends would think I am a close-minded fundamentalist.

And so I talk about my kids and my house, my articles for the paper and my husband, the weather and the new shoes I just found on sale. With a good friend I might share some personal struggles or the story of a bad day. If there is anything else under there I keep it to myself.

Now, let's be honest: I don't really know what I think about a lot of things. Opinions? Do I have them? Beliefs? Sometimes vague and not well-expressed.

I'm not quite sure what being more real ought to look like. I'm not going to start blurting out, "Hey! I disagree with you!" every time someone expresses an opinion contrary to my own. But perhaps just having the confidence in myself to say what I think, or share what's really going on with me, instead of just smiling and nodding and being polite. Even if it means the people I'm talking to don't think of me the same way as they did before. Realizing that in order to be real, sometimes uncomfortable things happen to you.

Because I guess I'd rather be disliked for something I really think, than accepted for something I don't.

She's been thinking about that, recently. What she wants to be when she grows up. We visited her uncle last month, who was in the hospital with a broken leg, and she watched with big eyes while the nurse carefully removed the IV port in his arm, whereas her older sister had to hide her face, unable to even watch something so disturbing as someone with a tube in their arm.



The next day, she informed me with an extremely serious face (no one in the world can have such enormous, serious eyes as Lucy can) that she was going to be a doctor when she grew up. "And I will fix people when they have broken legs," she said. "Or broken arms, or broken noses, or broken heads."

"That's a wonderful idea, sweetie," I told her. And later on I told other people, too. "Lucy says she's going to be a doctor when she grows up," I said, proud already of my juvenile overachiever.

A few days ago she came up to me and whispered in my ear.

"Mom...guess what I'm going to be when I grow up?" she said.

"What?" I said, whispering back.

"I'm going to be...." she paused for dramatic effect. "Santa!"

And then she giggled and skipped away.

Santa? Not a doctor?

And then today, as we were discussing party plans for her fourth birthday (it's not for four months, but it's never too early to start party planning, right?) she told me that she wanted a butterfly party.

"Just like I'm going to be when I grow up!" she said.

"What? What about when you grow up?" I said.

"Me! I'm going to be a beautiful butterfly!" she said, a grin lighting up her face.

So...anybody know of any universities that offer a program for medicine/mythical magical gift-giving/flying insect transformation? Because right now, that's what Lucy's got in mind.

Evie has made up her mind to be potty trained. At the age of 21 months old.

Now don't get all excited and start leaving me congratulatory messages yet. She has not actually achieved potty training success yet. She just thinks she has.

It started about a month ago. One day while getting her undressed for her bath, she pointed at the toilet and said, very clearly, "I potty."

I was a little surprised, but I went ahead and stripped off her diaper and sat her on the pot. And she sat there very intently for a long time. And nothing happened.

"Are you done?" I asked after awhile of waiting patiently.

"No. I potty." she said.

And so we sat there some more. And nothing happened and nothing happened and nothing happened and nothing happened. And then I got tired of it and put her in the bathtub anyway.

This has happened a few more times since then. She asks to go potty, I sit her on there, we wait, no action. She is very earnest about it. She looks, for all the world, like she is trying to go potty. But as far as actually doing her business? Still only in the diapers.

I have heard that it was the norm for mothers of earlier generations to potty train their children by 2. I have heard this repeatedly and felt like a failure because my own children were 3 by the time they got the picture, not for lack of trying on my part. As a matter of fact, I actually bought a potty seat when Beth was pre-2-years-old and she even peed in it. But not reliably. And all that happened was that it made potty training drag on that much longer. By the time she was finally having success, I felt like I had been potty-training her for forever. Because I had.

And it was not even a year ago that Child No. 2 finally completed potty training. Now, I'm not saying I wouldn't be abso-friggin-lutely delighted to be done with diapers, but I kind of don't really want to dive into the whole potty training thing right now. Again. I hate potty training. Very very much. If I could outsource potty training to an expert who would just do the whole thing for me...I just might do it.

So lately, when Evie says, "I potty," I've been saying, "Not right now." or even, "Not until you're older."

And then she climbs on the (closed) potty and sits (fully dressed) for a long time, intense look on her face. And then she climbs down and yells "Yay!" and runs off happy. (And I check her diaper, and no, she has not actually done a deed while sitting there).

Part of me hates to deny her when she's so eager to do it. Am I a fool not to cooperate with this?

And the other part of me is skeptical that anything would really come of it. She's still so young! I know that there are whole schools of thought about Infant Potty Training and Elimination Communication and other theories that advocate eschewing diapers right from birth. I am sure they work for some people, but I am not interested in trying it myself.

What I AM interested in is thoughts from others who have potty-trained at a young age. Pre-2 or just about 2. I don't personally know anyone who has done this (unless my friends have been holding out on me with their potty training success stories). I'm talking about real potty training, where the child herself recognizes the need to relieve herself and then either puts herself on the potty or reliably communicates to an adult that she needs to be put on the potty.

Did it actually work? Is it really real? If I work with her faithfully, is it possible that I could be DONE with diapers FOREVER sometime soon?

In my life, I've had some kind of pathetic Valentine's Days (1998, when a bunch of single girlfriends and I all went together to see "Titanic"--the most ridiculously sappy movie EVER--and sobbed on each other's shoulders). And some fun Valentine's Days (a pre-kids Feb. 14 comes to mind...perhaps 2002? when Eric and I stayed home and cooked a fancy dinner together). But I think a most memorable one might be Feb. 14. 1994. Fifteen years ago this Sunday. Eric and I were mid-way through our three-month "going out" phase in high school. I made him a batch of heart-shaped sugar cookies with pink and white and red icing. He made me a cassette tape of a love song. We were both head over heels in infatuation.

At 14, there's no way you know what the future holds. I'm sure I daydreamed about marriage possibilities, and I'm sure Eric was one of them. I don't think any of us really had any idea that we'd end up together.

But, I think that if could I pay a surprise visit to my 14-year-old self, I would whisper in her ear, "You know that guy you just gave the cookies to? You're going to marry him!" Maybe I'd show her the bottom shelf of the cupboard where I keep all my baking pans and random kitchen paraphernelia. Because there in the back is the heart-shaped cookie tin I presented to Eric that day. He kept it even after all the cookies were eaten, and when we got married he still had it. And now it sits there next to my bundt pan and my pie plates. Just a little reminder of a teenage romance.

I think my 14-year-old self would have been happy.

Because using your own hands to create something delicious is not just about tasty goodies...it's about love.


"And though my great-grandmother's life was good and long and well-lived, you could see that my mother would love to lift the cloth again, to have that sweet warm smell of yeast and the work of hands rise up to her."

Click here to read the rest of this excellent post at 5 Minutes for Parenting about baking and Valentine's Day and love.

...for quick takes, and yet a few completely unrelated topics are really all I've got for you at the moment. Have I lost the capability for actually expounding upon a theme? I don't think so. But I have no theme to expound upon today, so here goes:

• I have been attempting to write poetry using actual meter and rhyme, rather than free verse. And it's really hard. To express your thoughts within those constraints is so much more challenging than just spilling it out onto paper in whatever way pleases you. How did Shakespeare DO it? For that matter, how does Dr. Seuss do it? When you read a Dr. Seuss book, his words just fall into the perfect, infectious rhythm automatically, no forcedness to it at all.
• Does it say something about me that when I pause for a moment to think of really masterful poets, the first one that comes to mind is Dr. Seuss?
• The CSN stores giveaway winner has now also received her bucket o'Fiddlestix. Nina, a mom of three boys and one little girl, has this to say: I got em. They came on Saturday. Awesome, they totally saved the day. My boys really enjoyed them. They make some great swords, lol! Thanks! So, once again, if you're looking for a fun, creative toy that has the side benefit of easily being used a weapon, Fiddlestix are for you.



Evie: the master of the universe, at least in her opinion.



• When Evie means to say that something belongs to her (and she thinks that pretty much everything she lays eyes on is her rightful possession), rather than saying "mine," she says, "mines." It's really funny and cute (or at least to her doting mother it is), and it also makes total sense--we say his, hers, yours, ours. All the other possessive pronouns end in the letter S. Why not mines?
  

1. An update on my compost bin. Because I know rotting vegetation is such a fascinating topic to you all. I have been faithfully adding "browns" (yard trimmings and dry leaves) and "greens" (kitchen scraps) and mixing them together and adding moisture. But so far, it does not seem to be heating up. The degeneration process is supposed to produce heat, which turns your mixture of scraps into nice, lovely compost. That has not been happening, which from what I understand means I need more nitrogen in my mixture. And there I was walking along in BiMart two days ago when I found a product entitled "Compost Maker" which contains lots of nitrogen and claims it will help my compost heat up. It's made out of dried chicken poop and ground-up animal bones and it smells nasty but I mixed it in yesterday. Hopefully it does the trick.

2. Evie now likes to tell knock-knock jokes. And she's not even 2. What can I say? She has a father and two older sisters who delight in telling jokes around the dinner table, most of which make zero sense. So far, here is Evie's standard joke telling method:

Evie, yelling repeatedly at ever-increasing volumes: "Dock-dock!" "Dock-dock!" "Dock-dock!"

Some family member finally gets tired of it and answers her: "Who's there?"

Evie, pleased that she's getting the attention she deserves, smiles smugly and says: "Ball."

Tired family member: "Ball who?"

Evie: "Shoo-sy!" *laughs wildly at her own joke.*

Tired family member: Ball Lucy? That's your joke? Ball Lucy?

This is her one joke, and she obviously made it up herself, and when she's in the mood, she will *not stop* repeating it over and over. And eventually, you just have to laugh. Because she really is stinkin' funny. Even though her joke makes no sense.

3. I made this pear crisp from the Pioneer Woman Cooks yesterday and it was dee-lightful., And, I think it tasted even better after the last little remnant sat in the fridge overnight and I ate it with coffee for breakfast this morning. I mean, it has fruit, right? Totally healthy. Totally.

4. Gardening folks: it is downright warm and sunny in Oregon today, and my daffodils are almost blooming, and I'm starting to think about what I should plant in my garden this spring. I don't have a lot of room, but I have a lot of different things I'd like to try. I know I've heard some vegetables referred to as "cold weather" crops. Can I possibly plant some type of vegetable in the early spring, let it go through its cycle of growth and maturity, and then have it be done by, say, May or June? In time for me to plant a late-summer crop like tomatoes or zucchini in it's place?

5. This early spring-ish weather is also getting me excited about my running again. I went out this morning and I didn't even get rained on. Unbelievable! My first race of 2010 is in seven weeks, and I can't wait. Fifteen years ago when I was in high school and truly believed I was just incapable of running, and went home from school and whined to my parents the day my P.E. teacher actually made us run a mile about how hard it was...well, I never would have believed that I'd be voluntarily paying money to go out and run for miles with a bunch of other people. But I am. What a difference a decade makes.

6. Of course, if I could go back and be the same weight I was at 14 with the absolutely minimal physical activity I participated in at that time...I might take it. Although I do like running now, I started it out of necessity, not for the joy of the sport, that's for sure.

7. I can't even tell you how long it's taken me to write this post. Way longer than it should have, judging by the quality of these random thoughts. But even though I got down the box of markers and stickers and special coloring books we don't use every day, in hopes that it would keep them occupied for awhile, my two older children just can't stop coming in here, asking for a drink, wanting to show me their creation, crying because they bonked their finger on a chair.

I know, I know. I need to stop being all bi-polar and make up my mind. One minute it's making me sad that my daughter doesn't need me any more. The next minute I just want them to stop needing me. Just for an hour or two, that's all I ask.

When I was a kid, my mom used to say "I am changing my name. My name is not MOM anymore." And at the time I thought that was so melodramatic of her. But now I know. So often--like now--I just feel like if one more person says, "Mommy! Mommy!" one more time my head will explode. Or fall off. Or some other melodramatic thing.

But of course it doesn't. Which is good, because the baby is now awake from her nap and wailing "Mommy" from her crib.

Just wait. Next week I'll probably be all sniffly again about how fast they're growing up. But for today, I could go for a little bit of independence.

Lots and lots more quick takes, probably much more interesting than these, can be found at Conversion Diary.

It's getting perilously close, you know. The being a grown-up.

I like to think that at times when I'm out and about without my children, when I've got a stylish outfit on, when my hair is just right, that I can still fake youth. I could still be a college student, right? A grad student, perhaps? I'm not a grown-up, yet. Because if I really were all grown up, then I'd have to admit that what I am is sort of already decided.

I'm a mom. A wife. A lady who folds laundry and makes dinner and pays the bills, usually on time. Fits in a little writing at home for the local newspaper. Too busy to do much more than that.

But that's not all I am in my head. The little girl inside of me still wants to be a real writer. You know, like making a living off of things I thought up.

Of course, to do that, I'd have to actually spend some time doing creative writing instead of all the non-creative tasks that seem to fill my days. As my friend Rebekah reminded me via her blog the other day, writers write. That's all it is. You're not a writer if you're not doing any writing. And this article on "Finding Time to Write" drove the point home.

So good-bye for now. I've got 20 minutes before I need to get started on some dinner preparations. Time to write.

If you are looking for a toy that your kids can use to create just about anything they can imagine--and you don't mind that it comes in a set of 104 pieces that you'll probably find all over your house all the time--then check out the Fiddlestix set from Toys and Games Online.

I'd been expecting the set since a representative from CSN stores contacted me about doing a review for them, and when Beth eagerly ripped open the box they came in, the first thing she said was, "Tinkertoys! Just what I've always wanted!"

That's because the Fiddlestix are clearly, umm...inspired by the classic wooden toys that have been around since 1914. I'm sure that there are differences, but they are similar enough that everyone who sees them (myself included) can't help but call them Tinkertoys, even though they are supposedly called Fiddlestix. 'Nuff said.

Within minutes of opening the box, 104 little wooden dowels and circles were dumped out all over the living room and the girls were sticking them together in all kinds of combinations. I think the first thing they made was drumsticks--and then up-ended the cylindrical container and used its metal bottom for a drum. We also had little sets of wheels rolling all over and underfoot everywhere, and very soon one or the other of them attached a triangle to the end of a stick, christened it a spear, and began attacking people with it.

So obviously, a good time was had by all.

You may think I'm being sarcastic, but actually I put all of the above activities--drum-banging, spear-poking, wheel-rolling--into the categories of "good old-fashioned fun" and "just kids being kids." They were having a ball, making a big mess and lots of noise, and no one was actually being seriously injured. They were engaging their minds creatively, using the simple shapes to represent other objects. I think all of that is great. Oh, and also it came wrapped in bubble wrap, and they had a ball playing with that too.




One of the sticks broke soon after they started playing. I'm not sure what happened--an especially vigorous spear attack, perhaps. But Eric thinks he can fix it with wood glue, and I have stepped on the toys multiple times since then and none of the other ones have broken, so I'd call that a fluke. They seem fairly sturdy.

The set comes with a big fold-out page full of pictures of different complicated creations you can make out of the Fiddlestix. Helicopters, windmills, that kind of thing. Beth wanted me to help her build a swingset. Which I did, following the pictures with decent success I think. Although it was a little more crooked than the one in the picture, and at one point Beth said, "I wish Daddy was helping me build this." What, like an engineer is going to be better at building things than a writer? What is she thinking? But in the end, we had a swingset, and it didn't even fall apart when she picked it up and carried it across the room to play with. Soon she had enlisted more adult help and had a toy slide and a toy teeter-totter for her Fiddlestix playground as well. The whole family got involved and it was a lot of fun.




Now, building any of the more complicated creations without adult help is pretty much beyond the skill set of my 5-year-old, 3-year-old and 1-year-old at this point. The big, multi-piece construction is just a little more than they've figured out yet. Plus, you actually have to push pretty hard to get some of the pegs to fit in the little holes. Since I haven't sat down with them to help them make anything else since then, their Fiddlestix playtime has been limited to weapon-creating and drumming. Also to stuffing the container full of whatever random toys they can fit in it, and then dumping it out all over the house.



So all-in-all they are having a grand time with the Fiddlestix, and I think they're the kind of toy that will grow with my children. Even my 1-year-old can bang with drumsticks, but as the kids get older they can figure out how to build more complex things with them. I love that it's a simple toy, no electronic bells and whistles that makes playtime into a spectator sport. It engages their brains as they figure out how to fit different pieces together and as they imagine what kinds of things they can make.

Toys and Games Online sells this set for $21.99. If you have kids who like to build things, or if you are looking for a simple, creative toy with a lot of possibilities for innovation, I think these would be a worthy buy. I don't think the giveaway winner has received her set of Fiddlestix yet, but when she does, if she has any feedback on them I'll share it here as well.

They called her name before we were even halfway across the schoolyard.

"Beth! Hey Beth!" one of them cried. Then the others took up the call, and the gaggle of little girls dashed over to us and threw their arms around my oldest daughter.

I was glad to see her running to meet them. Two months ago, even when some of the other kindergarteners had stopped waiting by the classroom door with their mothers every morning in favor of running around under the watchful eyes of the playground ladies, Beth didn't want to go. Every morning, even in the cold and the rain, she wanted me and her sisters with her, waiting by her side until the teacher opened the door. Only then, after a round or two of kisses and hugs, she was able to cheerfully bid us farewell and start her day.

"Don't you want to play on the playground with the other kids?" I would ask her.

"No," she would say, clinging to my hand. "I just want you, Mama."

And so I stayed.

Over the last few weeks, though, she has several times chosen playground time over waiting with me, but only after I walked over with her and gave her an encouraging hug or two before saying good-bye.

And then came today. When her friends called her name she ran to them, ponytail bouncing along behind her head. They swarmed around her, and as a group they raced to the swings.

"Are you just going to play out here then?" I called after her. "Do you want me to stay?"

She didn't come running back to give me a hug and kiss.

"Beth?" I called.

She turned to give me a grin, and then she was off. With a running leap, an over the shoulder wave, a toss of her head.

Beautiful and happy and gone.