An Ode to the Children's Librarians

I love you. If I "swung that way" and wasn't already married, I would propose to you--all of you.

I love that you seem genuinely happy to see my kids and to stop and chat with them. If, in reality, my kids annoy the hell out of you, I love that you're fantastic actresses.

I love that you know where the heck the Lauren Child books have gone. They were there for months, then suddenly, Franklin stares out at us from their place on the selves. Franklin doesn't hold a candle to Clarice Bean or Charlie, but a quick stop at your desk sends my children on their little yellow brick road to Lola-land.

I love that you love that hissing cockroach. I sure as hell don't want anything to do with it, but I'm thrilled that there's someone who's willing to show those nasty things to my kids while I'm ALL the way on the other side of the library.

I love that you believe my daughter when she reports that we dropped that book in the drop slot on Thursday, even though the computers still show it as checked out. I also love that you let her tell you all about how we know we brought it back on Thursday because we were there for the water cycle program, but we were a day early because it was really on Friday. So we came back on Friday and made these really cool water cycle crafts. And TheBoy even got to make one even though he's technically not old enough for the program, but they let him do it anyway. And we know we dropped that missing book in the book slot in the back of the building because we like to do that when we have a lot of books to return because it's just easier, so we use that and park in the side lot and walk a little farther to the side door.

After my daughter's big long explanation, you put a trace on the book so we won't be charged. Yet another reason to love you.

I love that not only do you stand up in front of a room full of over 100 people and sing a song which compels children (to the tune of "Merrily We Roll Along") to follow a number of simple tips including, "If you have to go REAL bad, REAL bad, REAL bad; If you have to go REAL bad, sneak out quietly," but you do so loudly, clearly and with no hint of embarrassment.

When my kids ask for your recommendations on teen graphic novels, I love that you check with the teen librarian (I didn't even know there was such a thing) and then you bring every single option back to me to look over first. I can't tell you how thrilled I was that, even though you don't have any kids, you knew to let me have a look first.

And you, the new young one, you have a cool literary-themed name. I think that's cool as hell.

I love that you do so much outreach in the community, both through the library and personally. I've gotten to know some local children's librarians and I'm floored at some of the things they do on their own time and with their own money to help out children in need.

My children make crafts and get the bright red corn syrup all over the tables and you don't even flinch. When I jump up to wipe it up, you assure me that's not necessary. For that, I could kiss you.

I love that, during story time, you can respectfully get a child to sit down, quiet down, stop breaking the blinds, climb down from the rafters, etc. And I also love that, if necessary, you're not afraid to find whoever came with that child to deal with it. I've always been amazed at the awesome balance children's librarians can strike with that. They're friendly and respectful, but not doormats.

You know my son is probably not going to stand up and do any of the dances, but you just let him be. Thank you for not making a big deal out of it.

I love that you offer neat craft ideas.

I love that you have whole stacks of ideas for audio books that we can take out and listen to during road trips. I also love that you were absolutely right about Stockard Channing reading the Ramona books. Those were loved by all during our last long drive.

I ADORE your summer programs. You can't beat free, local and air conditioned in the summer. Add the fact that they're educational and I know you bust your butts to set them up and run them and I'm just about ready to don a cheerleader outfit, grab pom poms (which my kids probably made at a library craft program) and create a cheer in your honor.

You are wonderful and for that, I thank you and because of that, I love you.

Oh Shit! I'm Becoming My Mother.

My mother is very superstitious. She carries all her own old ethnic superstitions as well as others she's collected over the years. I can get behind one or two of them, but most of them just have me shaking my head and moving right along.

So, yesterday, when I noticed someone left the baby's shoes on the table (a HUGE bearer of bad luck according to my mother), I snatched them off and said, "That's bad luck." Wait. What? Who said that?

Girl2 turned to me and said, "You do you realize you sound just like your mother, right?"

Just you wait, child. Just you wait!

Sometimes, Kids Say Logical (and Hysterical) Things.

The other day, we saw our small black dog sporting a bandanna. After a discussion with Dh, we realized the kids were responsible. When we asked them why, Girl1 replied,

"Because he stayed still long enough for us to do it."

What Motivates You?

At Hebrew school, my daughters' class was asked, "Why are you here? What motivates you to come to Hebrew school?"

One girl said, "So my parents can go on dates while I'm here for 2 hours."

Another said, "So my mom can clean without us in her way."

My daughters both said, "So we can teach our parents because they've forgotten all the Hebrew they ever learned."

At the end of class they added, "And so we can read Torah."

Nice save, kids. And hey, thanks for not throwing us under the bus like your friends did with their parents.

The World Is Wonderfully Bizarre (or at least our closet is)

Remember that little girl who taped a note to her closet for us to find? Well, curiosity (and my daughters) got the better of me. I found that little girl (now an adult) and have been chatting with her a little bit.

Get this: Her husband is in the military and she has twin girls.

Should I remind you that MY husband was in the military and we have twin girls?

Isn't the world wonderfully bizarre sometimes? I love it!

In the course of our chatting, I've learned some of the stories of this house. See, this is why I prefer older houses to new ones. Old homes have souls. They have stories to tell.

True, sometimes it may not seem so romantic. Sometimes, old homes just have issues that leave you muttering under your breath.

Why in the hell is that wall there? Who thought eggplant purple was a good color for a bathroom? In what world was a tree a good idea right there? Those bears on the wallpaper are terrifying. How in the world did the last owners sleep with scary bears glaring at them every night?

For every ugly wall color, baffling shrub placement or murderous bears on wall borders, there's a story. These are stories that new owners may never know, but that those who made them will never forget. From now on, whenever I find myself wanting to ask, "Why in the world did they do THAT," I think I'm going to simply announce, "I bet there's a story behind that."

Parents Say the Darnest Things

I actually said this to my kids the other day and as soon as it left my mouth, I thought, "I need to blog that."

My bum is probably not the ideal spot for P.J. Sparkles' birthday party.

Attention Target Cashiers

Dear Cashier,

I think I love you. If I wasn't already married (and it physically impossible since you too are female), I would like to marry you and have your babies.

The other day, my friend and I came to your line with our herd of kids. One of hers was not having a good day and was screaming while confined in the shopping cart (it is NOT a buggy. Shut up). Other employees stared wide-eyed with that look of terror. They may think I didn't see the relief in their faces when we passed them by, but they are WRONG.

You, however, gave no such look. You smiled sweetly and spoke to the screaming child. You spoke TO him, you didn't yell at him or mutter under your breath. You were pleasant the entire time.

When I came up next, you chatted with my kids too. Not only that, but you recognized that my eldest children are twins. For that alone, I could have kissed you. You didn't squint your eyes judgmentally and ask, "How far apart are they, anyway," in that, "Don't you know what causes that," tone of voice.

When you rang up my clearance item (yes, I did manage to shop at Target and only buy one thing. I know! I was shocked too), it came up as even less than labeled.

So, dear cashier, for those many reasons, I think I have fallen in love with you. When I handed you my $1.32, I believe I also handed you my heart. Please handle with care.

Sincerely,

Reiza

and the multitude of children

Jokes From My Son

My son has taken to telling me jokes. Here are two he shared this weekend.

First, a bit of background. My daughters love that stupid, "Why did the lady throw the butter/clock out the window" joke.

My son asked, "Why did the man stand under the window when the lady was throwing butter out?" The answer was, "Because he was hungry."

TheBoy also asked, "Why did the man get in his car and drive away from the house where the old lady was throwing butter out the window?" The answer, of course, was, "Because he wanted to get far away from the crazy lady throwing things out the window."

Fathers Say the Darnest Things.

Dh takes TheBoy to the bathroom every night before we go to bed. For those who don't have boys, I will explain that there's some penis tapping/shaking which occurs after such an event. The other night, I heard dh exclaim, "That's enough. It's not a guitar."

The next sound I heard was my own snorts of laughter.

Biology: Ur Doing It Rong

For your Bio 101 lesson of the day, I want to explain genetics.

The child's adorable little dimple is NOT from you Great Aunt Olga. You cannot attribute the brown hair to the child's mother's brother. Well, you could, but then you'd be wrong.

DNA comes from the parents. Dad's brother had nothing to do with the creation of this child (well, at least we all hope). So no, that little girl did NOT get her straight hair from Uncle Isaac (unless there's something we don't know). She and Uncle Isaac may very well have inherited the gene that determines hair type from the same source, though, but there is no possible way he passed it along to her SINCE HE PLAYED NO PART IN HER CONCEPTION.

Now that I have shared this information with the world, there will be no reason I will have to refrain from smacking someone the next time one of my father-in-law's sisters says something like, "Oh, she gets that dimple from her great aunt." Knowing, after all, is half the battle (the other half is BEATING SENSE INTO PEOPLE).

While we're on the topic of biology, let Professor Reiza tell you that, in the case of twins, the mother is the only one who determines that. Don't go patting dad on the back for doing anything spectacular. It was mom who either released two eggs or provided conditions in which a single egg could split. Also, you can save yourself the trouble of inquiring as to whether or not twins run in the dad's family. See above. Although, a father can pass down that genetic tendency to his daughters if his mother had fraternal twins. However, if his father's mother had twins, then nope, no deal.

My favorite response to, "Do twins run in your family," is, "Now they do."

Professor Reiza would also like to remind you that, when the answer to, "How far apart are they," is "One minute," chances are that they're twins. Please don't stare at the parents with your brow furrowed completely unable to comprehend that any children could possibly be a minute apart. Please don't follow that question up with, "Are they sisters/brothers/cousins/guinea pigs?" And in the case of flustered parents of twins of any age (particularly newborn), please refrain from distracting them to ask questions of any type (particularly stupid ones). Smile at them. Nod. Then GET THE HELL OUT OF THEIR WAY.

Now you know. Go forth and share your knowledge with the world. Class dismissed.

My wish for the New Year

There are many things I hope 2010 brings those I love. I figured I'd take the opportunity to share them with you all.

In 2010, I hope...

• The stupid people stay far away from you.

• That if a few of those stupid people wander into your path (or if they live in your house, so you have no other choice), I hope you have a really big stick, a great aim and a complete lack of remorse.

• Should you be unable to beat the stupid people senseless, I hope you have the perfect comeback for their stupidity and that, after you slap them with that witty retort, they either change their ways and stop being stupid or they read this and FOLLOW THE FREAKING RULES.

• That your children are absolute angels

• And that if that last one doesn't happen and you're in public, I hope there's enough room to distance yourself from them so that no one realizes they're yours.

• If they disregard that angel part and you're not in public, I hope you have a padded sound-proof room to shove them into until they CALM THE FUCK DOWN.

• You have TWO padded sound-proof rooms so that you have the option of locking yourself in one if need be.

• Someone finds the secret for yummy calorie-free (kosher) alcohol and chocolate.

• Someone perfects that whole, "Beam me up, Scotty" machine.

• You laugh at an endless supply of truly funny lolcats.

• That your kids continue to supply you with an array of funny phrases.

• That when your kids say those funny things, they do so quietly and FAR away from church/shul.

• That the vast majority of your days are wonderful and you have one bad (but not awful) day a month so that you can always truly appreciate those great days.

• Those around you always let you know how awesome you are.

• That you continue to rock on with your bad-ass self.

Useful Insomnia, Just Add NaBloPoMo.

I've found a previously unidentified use for this NaBloPoMo challenge. When one drinks far too much coffee in the evening and then tosses and turns in bed in a state that in no way resembles sleep, one can use that time to wrack one's brain for blog topics.

Through my mind last night raced various ideas--some I've been planning to blog about for months and some that just came to me in that moment where all I wanted was TO GET SOME FREAKING SLEEP.

Let's see if I have enough coffee left in the house so that I can counter-act that lack of sleep with enough energy to actually write those posts.

I swear, my husband controls Twitter WITH HIS MIND.

My husband wants a new t.v. For those who have been following, you may remember that we don't have a television. We have what was once a television, but is now a glorified monitor. We cancelled cable to save money (and oh howdy, have we!) before the digital switch and, since then we've had nothing but blue screens. We weren't interested in a converter box because we fell out of the habit of watching television and we like it that way.

We do have game systems hooked up to there, though and my brilliant husband found PlayOn which allows us to stream Hulu and files saved on our computers through those game systems on to our t.v. which really isn't a t.v. anymore.

He made lots of trade-ins and sales on Craig's List so that he could afford a PS3. Now, he's dying for a new t.v. on which to play and watch movies. Our monitor which was once a t.v. is pretty old and very frill-less (which should be obvious from the fact that it wasn't capable of handling the digital switch). He's been doing his research and has found some great deals. When asked what we should do for each other for Chanukah, he informed me that all he really wants is a new t.v.

So, when I opened my mail and saw, "LCD TV Deals (TheLCDTVDeals) is now following your tweets on Twitter," I stuck my head out of the office and yelled, "This is YOUR fault." He was baffled and asked me, "How?" Honestly, I have no freaking clue, but this has to be his fault somehow. My best guess is that he's somehow controlling Twitter WITH HIS MIND.

That's it. That's gotta be it. There really is no other explanation, right? Who's with me? Anyone?

courtesy of the Custom Receipt Maker

An open letter to the world in regards to this huge circus of people I call a family

Dear world,

Yes, I know I have children. Yes, I know I have more than the 2.3 that has become the norm. Yes, I really do dare to step outside my home with said children. You've noticed. I know. What you may not have noticed, however, is we want, we adore and we are responsible for and with our children.

I'm sure you didn't notice that. How could you? You were far too busy gasping from shock at the sight of our gaggle of children. That sharp inhale of copious amounts of oxygen must have left you light-headed to the point where you missed that entirely. I realize the sight of four children is simply shocking. I apologize for not always having an extra person with me to catch the fainting folks who are so stunned at the sight of our gigantic reality-show-sized family.

I'll make you a deal. I'll try to be more considerate if you try to be less of a moron. What say you, world? Do we have a deal?

Sincerely,
Reiza (and the huge family you think should be featured on TLC)

Photo courtesy of Awkward Family Photos. I suspect this is how my family appears to most folks.

How TheBoy Became My Favorite

Today, dh joked with TheBoy about his hair.

"You look like Spock," dh told TheBoy.
"No I don't," he shot back.
I told TheBoy, "You're gorgeous. Tell Daddy, 'I'm gorgeous.' Go on. Tell him."
My son then announced, "Mommy's gorgeous."

Need a good laugh?

Go read this. I'm crying from laughing so hard. Stupid people may piss me off, but brilliant people brighten my day. Brilliant sarcastic people are my very own ray of sunshine.

Head over to Deb on the Rocks and read about her e-mail battle of the wits. It's not too long, but it is hysterical.

Keyword Analysis

While looking through my stats, I realized that someone found their way here in an attempt to discover, "Reasons why children shove things in nose."

Oh, hun, I have NO FREAKING IDEA, but yeah, I feel your pain.

Yet another fortune cookie of abstinence (aka: The Chinese Place Hates Me)

In addition to exclusively breastfeeding, we are now using condoms AND I'm temping in the morning in an effort to prevent pregnancy. Why are we going through all this trouble when getting pregnant has never been easy for us? Because a fortune cookie scared my husband. It could have been warning of a lottery-ticket-bearing Oompa Loompa*, but no, my husband feared it referred to a baby.

If you recall, there was a night last month (which turned into a whole freaking week because it terrified my husband so) where I didn't get any because of a stupid fortune cookie. At the time, I grumbled a little bit, but mostly laughed. Ha ha. That's funny how that can be interpreted to fit our current situation. By the end of that week, though, I wasn't laughing quite as loudly. It's just a freaking cookie. Get the hell over here!

A few days ago, we went to the same Chinese place and once again, we got fortunes. Girl1 and I both eyed the same fortune cookie, but she got it first. When she read the fortune out loud, my husband said, "Oh no. That one was meant for you."




Oh hell! So now, I'm beginning to seriously wonder if that restaurant has it out for me. Dude, WTF? And no, my husband has not touched me since that fortune.

Then, this morning, we opened the front door to find a box. It's yet another great big box o'WTF from my mom (see #9). It's a package, for my daughter--the one who actually opened that fortune cookie. Never in my life have I been so thrilled to get a random box of insane stuff that we neither want nor need. I don't know if that package will prove lucky for my daughter, but hopefully, it will for me. A big box of useless unnecessary stuff has fulfilled the pastry prophecy therefore leaving us free to enjoy some indoor sports. Game on!

*I'm borrowing the lottery-ticket-holding Oompa Loompa from someone on twitter, but I can't remember who said it. If you know, please post her name in the comments.

Husbands say the darnest thingsregarding our childhood animated heroes

My husband complained about our collection of kid videos (yes, VHS tapes. The DVD player is being fickle). He made some comment about the choices being terrible. To which, I replied, "Jem is NOT terrible." He then said, "I don't like her, even if she is truly outrageous."