Philly Moms

Defining an Earthquake

 "I don't know what an earthquake is," Middle, my 4-year-old, stated this morning while we were watching Good Morning America.

"I do! Its in my encyclopedia!" responded Big, age 6. He raced off to get it.

Without discussing it, the Huz and I have decided to view some of the coverage of the Earthquake with our children. We've been openly discussing disaster relief and how compassionate (most of) the world has been. Its been a novel lesson of charity for our children.

What we failed to realize was that watching the aftermath didn't clearly explain what had happened. Unbeknownst to us, Saturday night, Big pulled out his children's encyclopedia and Earth science books to research it himself. So when Middle asked about it, Big ran off to grab all of his books. Then he performed a lesson.

I'm a Cop-Call Hater

A solicitor from a Pennsylvania Police fundraiser called me today. Again. They called me 3 times this week. And because I don't have caller ID, I can't guarantee that they only called 3 times.

Each call was from a different solicitor, and a different fund. I'm not sure they know about each other. They probably wouldn't even recognize each other at a commonwealth-wide police meeting. In fact, I recently read that they aren't likely to really be police officers. Or police chiefs. Or fire police. They're professional solicitors. The organization may not even have members of the policeforce as members of its group.

"But I'm not Jewish."

Its understandable, not a surprise, that my 6-year-old is confused. Like so many of his friends, we celebrate "everything."  As a product of an interfaith marriage, he's right to be unsure of his religion. And just like so many of our friends, my husband and I push the subject aside and hope to forget it. What, exactly, will our kids be? Will we Bar Mitzvah our boys? Will they be married by a priest, a pastor, a rabbi...? Will our daughter ever have the Baby Naming our Rabbi has offered?

When the boys were born, they were circ'd in the hospital. The thought of a Bris terrified not just my husband but me as well. And, being Reform, it wasn't necessary in my upbringing.

We drive to Charlotte each year for Passover, and the Sunday following the Easter Bunny hops through, hiding eggs and gifting small toys to welcome spring. In fall, we celebrate the New Year, but go bowling with our Christian friends on our day off of school that recognizes the Holy Days. And in December we light our Menorah Candles with a beautiful Christmas tree highlighting the next room.

When the Shoe Fits

My son, age 6, may have a thing for his shoes. He falls toe over heels for a favorite pair. And wears them. And wears them. And wears them.

His favorite for the past 3 years have been his Jungle Moc Merrells, in brown. We now have 4 pair. His current pair are size 10; his feet, size 11. That's right. He still jams his toes in there.

Yesterday, coupon in hand, we took a small detour along our way to the food court of our local mall. I steered him into Stride Rite, hoping his good mood would lead to happy, nice looking and proper fitting shoe trying behavior. He looked down at his t-ball shoes proclaiming his need for new shoes. New sneakers, of course. Apparently, his sneakers, purchased just 2 months ago, and, at the time, announced to be the coolest and most comfortable shoes ever, were "broken."

Don't call me a Phillies Fan

I'm proud to be a fan of the Philadelphia Phillies today. Despite their loss to the Yankees, they played a good, hard fight. They were a team of pride. A team of courage. And most importantly, a team known for its good sportsmanship and amazing power, on and off the field.

Winning the National League East three years running, that's powerful. Winning the National League Conference two years in a row, that's powerful. Playing as well as they did in the World Series this year and last, that's power. So, they lost. What can't be overlooked is the amazing team that the Phillies are and just how strongly they stand for our city.  They lost to an excellent ball club. The Yankees played hard. They had strength, skill and dedication.

So today and tomorrow, I'll still wear red. My kids' bedrooms still show their Phillies pride. And we look forward to an excellent year next year. A year where we will once again follow the Phils and cheer them on toward victory.

An Open Letter to Baby Gifters

Dear Baby Gifter,

Thank you so very much for the gift you sent to my baby. It is very much appreciated and I'm sure she'll wear it well/enjoy using it/love playing with it.

That said, please take my advice for future baby-gift giving. Having three children, I have definitely had the opportunity to be surprised by gifts. Some have left me speechless.

• Think about the baby you are about to gift. If the baby was born in July, a newborn sized winter coat will not fit her in December.
• Stores offer gift receipts for a reason. It is helpful for the giftee to receive them with the gift.
• Do not cut off the tags.
• It is not rude of a giftee to want to return a gift. It is often a necessity. Double gifts and wrong sizes happen. Be honored that the giftee opened your gift and showed appreciation with a "thank you" note.

Two kids react to the death of their Great-Grandfather

"Boys," called my husband, "Come back to the table! Family meeting time."

"What's up?" asked my 6-year-old, Big.

"Let's wait for your brother," I replied. Middle, the 4-year-old, joined us at the table and my husband motioned for me to begin.

"Remember last week when we talked about Pop-pop M, that he was old and getting 'old-sick'?" I started. The boys nodded. "Well, remember how I told you he may die soon?" Another nod. "Well, he died a few days ago."

"He died?" asked Middle.

"Yes. And I've been a little sad. I think you know that, right?" More nods. "But its okay to be sad because I know I'll miss him. But I have good memories of him, right?"

"Yeah, like, when we were in Maine and he broke his hip and we visited him at the hospital," said Middle.

"Right! That is a memory of Pop-pop."  He smiled. I looked to my 6-year-old. His head was on the table.

Zero Tolerance

"You've got to be kidding me!" I shouted at my computer. Really? I thought. A 6-year-old suspended from school for bringing utensils? I'm all for protecting our kids from potential harm, but a 6-year-old?! On a 45-day suspension?! My kid's six. And if I were in Zachary's mom's shoes I'd be a mess. Especially because, like Zachary, my 6-year-old loves school. And it would have been a total mistake if he had brought an eating utensil with a pocket knife and can opener to school. 

But wait. My 6-year-old wouldn't have a pocket knife to bring to school. Because I know better. Should he ever join Boy Scouts, should we go camping and he need a knife... he may come in contact with one. But I know better than to place a contraption with a sharp knife in the hands of a child without me standing right next to him.

And even if he did find one, my child would know better than to bring a knife to school. Even if he's totally excited about it. Because I would have told him as soon as he came across the fancy little thing that it is not to be played with, touched, or even looked at without me or Daddy around. It is, afterall, a knife.

So, now, I'm not feeling such sympathy for the parent. A parent who, post Columbine and Virginia Tech, feels its "okay" to place a pocket knife in the hands of a child and not supervise it, is a parent who needs a lesson. A big one.

In 2000, while teaching my suburban, affluent 2nd graders, little Amanda pulled me aside. She whispered to me that she needed to talk. Once in the privacy of the hallway, she informed me that Kenny (age 7) had a knife in his backpack. A big one. Amanda returned to the classroom. A few minutes later, with the guidance counselor by my side, I invited Kenny to come out to the hallway. Kindly, I asked him if he had a knife in his backpack. Through tears, Kenny admitted that he did have one. It was his Grandfather's, brought over from Russia. And he was so excited about it that he brought it to school to show his friends. He told me: "I forgot that I'm not supposed to bring it in." We asked him to show it to us. And out he pulled a heavy, sharp, big knife with a large wooden handle. Cleverly wrapped in paper towels.

Painting the town red

Philadelphia is a team town. A winning team town. I don't know many Philadelphians who would argue. We crave success. We thrive on it. Its about time that we have it.

Phinally, as we all know, Philadelphia won big last year. The Phillies turned a football town into a baseball dream. Their ride to the world series brought together a diverse community with competitive enthusiasm. Phancy P's decorated storefronts and bumpers.  Everyone suddenly owned red team t-shirts. And with their win, Philadelphia Phinally won a world championship. The '08 Phillies were our celebration, our pride, our connection.

And here we are again. Three years in a row the Phils are the National League East Champs. And everyone--great uncles to babies wants in on the action.  

Last year I was one of those moms. The mom who ran to Wawa to stock up on Inky's showing our win. The mom who waited in line at Modell's for extra Utley T's so the kids could wear them every single day.  The mom who waited with the teens camping out for the latest shipment to arrive, just to raid the championship boxes, getting the Ts the boys wanted.

West Chester/Brandywine I-don't-know-Y

I don't get it. The YMCA has a Commitment to America consisting of four parts. The final being "Every individual will strengthen their spiritual, mental and physical well-being." 

About 3-4 years ago I toured the West Chester branch of the Brandywine Valley YMCA. It was old, cramped, didn't seem overly user-friendly and the kids area left quite a bit to be desired. My "tour guide", recognizing my concerns, enthusiastically showed off the plans to build a new YMCA a bit out of town. The original building in West Chester was scheduled to close in 6-9 months and the club would move to the luxurious Goshen building.

I toured ACAC and joined there instead.

When the "new Y" finally opened last fall, ACAC saw a small exodus. Several of my friends switched over to the "new Y'. Many dwindled back to ACAC. Most complained it was overcrowded, the pool area wasn't friendly to non-swimmers, and the kids area was still overcrowded. For most, it looked great on paper.

But the biggest complaint was that they didn't shut down the "old Y." Instead, it was being used as a child-care center. And then classes began to be taught there. Classes like Karate. For kids. Members whispered about wasting their money. They joined the Y to have childcare for their kids, while they work out and other children attend classes. Instead they were being forced to the old building in town, with no childcare room. And little place to work out or attend classes.