"I'm just happy...

I got a castle."

---My son, regarding his belated birthday present from Uncle Tyler, Aunt Lu and cousins Anthony and Nathan.

Not one, but two...

I'm used to my husband receiving packages of historic Japanese artifacts from all over the world.

He was showing me the suit of armor a man had sent from Japan that he had picked up at the post office this morning. We paused from looking at the sweat marks, bloodstains and cuts in the 300-year-old steel, leather and silk do (corselet), to answer a knock at the door.

My husband returned with a strikingly similar box -- exact same size and shipping information. It was a second suit of armor only in better condition. Another gift from the son of his former mentor.

That brings our total of complete suits of Japanese armor to five. I guess you never know when a warring samurai clan might invade Duluth.

The moment

I was holding my son and spinning him around the other day, enjoying his smile and shrieks of laughter.

"Hold onto me forever Mom," he pleaded. His eyes, demanding and earnest, were locked with mine.

Oh, how I wish that I could.

Today, I am thankful for...

• Three pumpkin pies baking in the oven.
• My husband and son calling me downstairs so I don't miss my favorite balloons in Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.
• My mother still visiting from West Virginia.
• My husband's relatives cooking the Thanksgiving meal.

More good books for children

Goodnight Goon by Michael Rex. With its "...skull and a shoe and a pot full of goo. And a hairy old werewolf who was hollering Boo" this petrifying parody of Margaret Wise Brown's Goodnight Moon is sure to make any 6-year-old want to scream, "Goodnight monsters everywhere."

Owl at Home by Arnold Lobel. This book holds two stories that make my son giggle hard enough to fall off the couch. In "Strange Bumps," Owl gets scared of the two bumps that are under the covers at the foot of his bed. And in "Upstairs and Downstairs," Owl comically tries to be both places at once.

DK's Jewish Holidays Cookbook has great traditional recipes, like turkey kreplach and savory cheese sufganiyot, and non-traditional recipes, like matzoh brei and Persian lental salad. And it's designed to get children helping out and cooking in the kitchen.

Turning six

Grandma Edna and K'NEX

It's a banner day when Grandma Edna arrives from West Virginia and you get to open your birthday present, a 20 model set of K'NEX dinosaurs from Uncle Mike, three days early.

Carving the pumpkin

My brave knight

On the drive back from an early trick-or-treat stop at Grandma Diane's house, my son and I discussed strategy for the evening. Should we hit a couple of blocks in our neighborhood? Hit a block in Uncle Thom's neighborhood then ours, like last year? Or go somewhere new?

He opted for new. After hanging the balloon ghost he made with Grandpa Cook on our front porch, we headed to a nearby street known for its chocolate and scary decorations.

Our first stop was a friend's house along the way, then nearly door-to-door in the first block on the chosen street.

Things were going smoothly until we reached the haunted graveyard where a girl holding a plastic machete and severed head invited him in. "I don't want to go there, Mom," he said. We hit the next house then crossed the street to where two costumed girls sat on a porch handing out candy. He kept glancing back at the graveyard.

Let's take another look, I suggested, misinterpreting his glances. This time a witch mixing potions and a hideous clown beckoned. "Mom, I want to go home now," he said. I encouraged him to stop at a couple of houses on the way. But no amount of coaxing could change his mind.

Once we hit our block he was confident again, skipping up to doors of neighbors that he knows. He joked with the couple across the street about the bloody hand in their mailbox being that of our mailman and laughed at a mechanical spider that dropped down when he stepped onto another neighbor's porch.

Lost in the corn maze

The spur-of-the moment call came from my sister-in-law: "Do you want to meet me and the twins up at Engwall's corn maze?"

I conferred with my son who had been on a field trip there with his kindergarten class four days earlier. He was excited at the prospect of going back into the maze and, especially, leading his younger cousins through it.

The weather was sunny and crisp -- a perfect fall day. We arrived, barely on time. My sister-in-law got "bridged" by two ships, one out-going, one in-going. By the time they arrived, my son had checked out the Halloween garden decorations and visited with a former preschool buddy who had moved away.

He eagerly ran to show his younger cousins how to climb up and over the lookout tower and the entrance to the maze. Once inside, total chaos reigned. His cousins wouldn't follow him, choosing to go in divergent directions. His preschool friend joined the crowd. No one, save an occasional adult, followed the paths.

Somehow, we found all the letters in the maze that solved a scramble puzzel but one. It says, "Lost in the corn maze," my son informed us. Good thing he had been there before.

A month full of firsts

Three weeks ago...

• My husband started teaching at a college again,
• My son started kindergarten,
• I opened my school and started teaching Hebrew

...all during the start of the Jewish High Holidays.

We're still recovering from the flurry of activity and stress.

The big day

He was ready 40 minutes ahead of schedule.

"Now what do I do?" he asked. "You could go play," I suggested, as his eyes registered disbelief. "Or, you could make your bed."

He went bounding upstairs, only to bound back down a couple minutes later. "OK, I made my bed. Is it time to go now?"

Our departure time finally arrived. We walked the two blocks to the bus stop, my son asking "What if" and "How will" questions all the way. My husband and I answered his questions as best we could, steering the conversation toward all the fun, new things he would experience in school. We asked the first-grader at the bus stop for the inside scoop on kindergarten.

As the bus pulled up, my son looked at me, a tear forming in one eye. Holding back my own tears, I smiled, gave him a big hug and kiss and held his hand tight all the way to the steps of the bus.

He climbed aboard.

School supplies

My son and I went shopping for the items on his school supplies list yesterday at Target.

He pushed the cart around, picked out his folders, located the Elmer's School Glue when I couldn't find it and chose the skinny vs. fat markers "because you can color in smaller places with the skinny ones."

He then selected three backpacks, compared their features and thoughtfully ruled each one out until he settled on Spiderman, the one I suspect he wanted in the first place.

When we got home, he modeled his top choice, excitedly pointing out that the new Spiderman Thermos water bottle we bought in West Virginia and the Spiderman lunchbox he's had for two years now will work really well with his new backpack.

Requiem for George

Orange-red Beta
My son's nighttime companion
Silently swimming

Vacation kitsch

It isn't vacation if you haven't...

Posed for goofy photos with Grandma like this one at the SMART Centre Market Science and Dinosaur Store.


Played a round of minature golf with Dad at Grand Vue Park. Mom won, though each of us shot a hole-in-one.


Stopped by a tourist trap, like Sea Shell City. The store was closed, but we got to play on the pirate ship.

Perhaps next year we'll even get to the UP's famed Mystery Spot or Weird Wax Museum.

West Virginia traditions

Some traditions have emerged related to my family's annual trek to West Virginia.

My son gets his growing feet measured and a new pair of tennis shoes, courtesy of Grandma Edna, at Allen's Bootery in Moundsville. And we eat lunch at Coleman's Fish Market in central Wheeling.

I frequented both venues as a child. And they really haven't changed all that much.

The decor at Allen's is the same as it was 40 years ago: the same light blue leather and wooden chairs, the same two-sided display table in the center of the store, and boxes of shoes shelved neatly along the outer walls. You can still buy Stride Rite shoes and Buster Brown socks. And the clerk first measures your foot then brings you the shoes in your correct size that they have in stock.

A long lunch line still snakes up to the fish market counter where you pick up your order of fish sandwiches and coleslaw or fries. Being a predominantly Catholic community, it's always longer on Fridays and during Lent. The menu hasn't varied much, though booths have replaced wooden picnic tables and the once screened dining area has been enclosed in glass.

The midway

While I preferred the company of sheep and miniature horses, my son was enthralled by the colorful, noisy midway.

He was a bit nervous of his first ride on a ferris wheel. But after braving being chained solo into a cage and going up and around, he quickly clambered aboard motorcycles, speedboats, firetrucks and whirling spinners.

All of us, including my 80-year-old mother, enjoyed the merry-go-round, though we were in for a surprise when the low horse she had selected ended the ride in its highest position.

After winning a Spiderman frisbee and inflatable knight's sword, my son was contented to head home from the fair.

A trip to the fair

Encouraged by my cousins, we took our son to the Marshall County Fair.

We ducked out of the brilliant sunshine and sweltering heat, to observe the prize-winning sheep, pigs, cows and horses. Wafts of sweet-smelling hay and manure and the crackling announcement that the pie-eating contest was about to begin, took me back to my days as a cub reporter at the Parkersburg (W.Va.) News.

I covered education, a beat that was slow during the summer. So I got the coveted county fair assignment that year. I went to the fairgrounds each day that week, instructed to find not one but two stories for the next morning's newspaper.

By Saturday, my ingenuity and creativity tapped, I ended up at the tobacco-spitting contest. "Thwack," was the first word of the story I filed that afternoon. The sound had come from the fair queen, who had chosen to participate in the event. The story made the AP wire and was picked up by some of the biggest newspapers in the country, including the Philadelphia Inquirer.

"I had reinforced the hillbilly image of West Virginia and set the state back ages," an Inquirer reader and West Virginia native wrote to my editor in complaint. To this day, I have kept that story.

Seasoned traveler

We made our annual trip to Grandma Edna's house this week. My son handled the two-day, 1,000-mile drive from Minnesota to West Virginia like a seasoned traveler.

He packed his toys and books a few days ahead of time. The morning we left, he made sure we all had our hats, water bottles and the right assortment of snacks.

At rest stops, he would check the map to see where we had been and where we were headed next. And he practiced the lingo to talk with truckers over his Dad's old CB radio. "Break 1-9, break 1-9." While he could hear an occasional trucker, his radio signal wasn't strong enough to be picked up by them.

Highlights of the journey:

• Lunch and some playtime at the big lakefront playground in Marquette.
• Spotting two sandhill cranes outside the entrance to Seney National Wildlife Refuge.
• Driving across the 5-mile-long Mackinac Bridge.
• Swimming with Mom in the hotel pool in Mackinaw City.
• Passing a convoy of Canadian soldiers on Interstate 75.
• Holding Mom's hand and singing John Denver's "Almost Heaven" (three times) from the time we crossed the Ohio River until we reached Grandma Edna's driveway.
  

Blueberries to the rescue

My son and I enjoyed our first harvest of blueberries this morning.

We had been picking one or two off of the plants in our backyard, testing them for ripeness. But with a busy weekend, we hadn't surveyed the crop for several days.

When I realized I had no fresh fruit in the house for breakfast, I headed out into the backyard with bowl in hand. If not yet blueberries, I can always pick more of my alpine strawberries, I thought.

Thirty plump, ripe berrries were waiting. They were delicious.

Blooming tiger lilies

The power of books

Among the pirate books my son checked out of the library last month was "Real Pirates: The Untold Story of the Whydah."

It's a true story of a slave ship that was captured by pirate captain Sam Bellamy. Heavily laden with treasure, it sank in 1717 during a nor'easter off Cape Cod. Author Barry Clifford discovered the ship in 1984 and wrote a book about the galley and its crew.

Inspired, my son and husband built a model of a ship, adapting it to look like the galley in the book -- right down to its Jolly Roger and British flags and a miniature Captain Bellamy in a red coat.

To my son's disappointment, it has 12 cannons instead of the Whydah's 18. But true to form, it's a sleeker and faster ship than his Daddy's elaborate model of the Constitution. And that makes him happy.

More great books from the library:

• Suprising Sharks (Nicola Davies)
• The Best Book of Pirates (Barnaby Harward)
• The Pirate Cruncher (Jonny Duddle)
• Skippy John Jones in Mummy Trouble (Judy Schachner)
• Big Wolf and Little Wolf: The Little Leaf that Wouldn't Fall (Nadine Brun-Cosme)
• Frog and Toad are Friends (Arnold Lobel)

Important life lessons

My husband was teaching our son how to shell peanuts this morning. What a great occupation for the second day of his summer vacation.

Yesterday he painted the fire pit and cleaned out the grill, then we all went to the beach together.

Blooming peonies

Some things can't wait

As you may recall, my son has been distinguishing the birthdays of some very special people -- his grandmothers Diane and Edna -- with the loss of his baby teeth.

So I was thrilled when he announced last week that a third tooth was loose. After all, his very own mother's birthday is impending. Alas, I am not to be so honored.

Distressed by the blood in his mouth, he frantically called to me this evening. I ushered him upstairs and into the bathroom to take a look. His upper front tooth was barely hanging. I asked him if he wanted me to pull it out. He did. I lost courage and called in his Daddy for reinforcement.

My husband arrived, grimacing as he peered into our son's mouth. He, too, hesitated. My son reached into his mouth and calmly pulled out the tooth himself.

In his bedroom, he handed it to me. "Happy birthday Mom," he said five days early. The tooth, he told his grandmother later, just couldn't wait.

An endorsement

Some things you just have to share, like David's Deli Tuscan Herb bagels. Even my 5-year-old son prefers them to any other bagel. They're available in the frozen food section at local grocery stores.

Thank you, Dr. Seuss

My son can read.

He has known how to spell his name and other basic words like Mom, Dad and cat for more than a year. I've watched him distinguish between words such as on and in. And every once in awhile, he's picked up an object and read off three or four words.

But last night, I was reading There's a Wocket in My Pocket out loud to him. It's due back at the library in a couple of days and can't be renewed because we already had renewed it once, a month ago. We hadn't read the book in quite a while.

He stopped my reading of the book, just as I turned from the page of the boy talking about the friends he had found. "Mom, I can do this," he said excitedly. "Let me do it."

"...Like the TELLAR and the NELLAR and the GELLAR and the DELLAR and the BELLAR and the WELLAR and the ZELLAR in the CELLAR," he read, his fingers underscoring each word as he read it. He turned the page.

..."And the GEELING on the CEILING...

...and the ZOWER in my SHOWER..." He turned the page again.

..."and the ZILLOW on my PILLOW. I don't care if you believe it. That's the kind of house I live in. And I hope we never leave it."

He stumbled once, on the word "that's." Of course, if you were simply listening to the words without knowing he was reading a Dr. Seuss book, you might think he was mispronouncing a lot of them.

6 + 7

I vaguely heard the knock on our bedroom door this morning, then the pad of gentle footsteps across the floor.

"Mom," my son said from beside my side of the bed, "Could you hold up six fingers?" I drowsily complied. He stood there a moment, counting to 13. "Thanks," he said. More footsteps across the floor. The door closed.

The scene soon repeated itself, with him asking me to hold up a different number of fingers.

I asked my husband what time it was. It was around 6 a.m. My husband informed me that our son had aroused him earlier to ask if he could go downstairs and get his Cars math workbook.

He knocked on our door several more times over the next half hour, each time asking me to hold up a different number of fingers and adding some of his own fingers to come up with a different sum. Each time he left the room, he told me I could put my fingers down.

Just call me sleeping human abacus.

More garden haiku

Alpine strawberries
ripening in the sunshine.
Soon to be eaten.

Garden haiku

Squash, tomatoes, beans
now planted in my garden,
awaiting summer.

Another milestone

My son's last day of preschool is today.

He's all ready to move on to kindergarten this fall, actually sooner if he could. I, on the other hand, awoke this morning feeling like a part of me is dying.

My son has attended Summit School since he was 11 months old, the first three years fulltime except for summers which his Daddy has off. The past two years, he has attended only two days a week due to the fact I no longer work fulltime.

The morning was a blur of activity, including the additional packing of picnic lunches for both of us, filling out a form allowing the release of contact information to his other classmates, and coping with a last-minute haircut he decided to give himself while I cooked breakfast. Get ready or you'll miss your last day of school, I told him several times, trying to speed up the process of him getting dressed, putting on shoes and combing his hair.

On the drive to school, my son and I talked about the fact that today will be his last day in Miss Stacy's class (a teacher he's had the past two years) and that he'll no longer have French or physical education with Mr. Jean.

"What if I miss it?" my son asked as we slowly walked up the front steps to the school. We can always come back and visit, I said reassuringly, my heart heavy with his sadness. But then I realized, he was only talking about getting to school in time for his last day not about never coming back.

Refreshing respite

My exercise buddy and I hiked up to Fifth Falls in Gooseberry Falls State Park today.

We climbed on the basalt rocks at the base of the falls, listening to the pounding of the rushing water and feeling its cool, refreshing spray on our skin. We spied a bit of ice still tucked in a cave in the rock wall on the shaded side of the river. Our side, gently sloping hillside primarily covered in pines and cedars, was in full sun.

I turned away from the falls to take in the view downstream. I could see the fallen tree beside the river where we had sat and ate our lunch -- fresh veggies and hummus on pita and juicy tangerines.

I silently walked to the edge of rock hanging over the cascading river. I closed my eyes, raised up on my toes, stretched out my arms and imagined what cliff divers feel like before they take the plunge. My exercise buddy broke my moment of reverie, imploring me not to jump.

I took a deep breath, then laughing, explained what I had been visualizing.

Music to my ears

My son was arguing with me over who got to go first in the game of chess we were about to play.

"You're older than me," he said, asserting that the youngest player always goes first. "You're like 16 or 14, and I'm 5 and 1/2."

Play ball!

My son played in his first t-ball game tonight. It was a tied game, although technically, his team scored 18 runs while the other team scored 14. Every player crossed home base twice.

Happy Birthday Grandma Edna

My son lost his second tooth tonight, on his Grandma Edna's 80th birthday.

He bumped into me while we were dancing to the theme song of Peter Gunn.

If you recall from an earlier post, he lost his first tooth at his Grandma Diane's birthday party a couple of weeks ago.

Apparently, he wanted to make both of his grandmothers' birthdays special.

I better go check our calendar for the date of Grandma Lee's birthday. (She's our neighbor next door.)

Dr. Seuss and PC

Since the advent of Dr. Seuss week at my son's preschool in March, my son has been checking out from the library every available Dr. Seuss book that we don't already own.

I've long been a fan of Dr. Seuss. As a first-grader, I checked out Fox in Socks from my elementary school library so many times that my teacher had a talk with my mother to suggest I try some other books. My husband bequeathed to our son his extensive collection of Seuss "Bright and Early," "Beginner" and "I Can Read Books" from when he taught elementary school. And numerous friends and relatives have gifted our son with such Dr. Seuss classics as The Lorax, Thidwick the Big-Hearted Moose, Yertle the Turtle and Horton Hears a Who.

Still, I was surprised by the number of Seuss books I hadn't ever heard of: The King's Stilts, The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins, I Had Trouble Getting to Solla Sollew, I can Lick 30 Tigers Today!, McElligot's Pool. Although, after having read some, I'm not surprised they aren't as widely circulated today.

"With helpers who all wear their eyes at a slant"

"And, speaking of birds, there's the Russian Palooski,

Whose headski is redski and belly is blueski,"

-- If I Ran the Zoo

Obviously, a reflection of a different era in political correctness.

Rite of passage (part 2)

He was eating cheese ravioli at Valentini's. Mid-bite, he reached into his mouth. "Mom! Look," he said, proudly pulling out the small white tooth.

No pain. No tears. And the fresh gap in my son's mouth didn't deter him from finishing his ravioli or enjoying a piece of birthday cake.

Grandma Diane's birthday dinner was enhanced. Tooth in hand, we walked slowly around the table and showed all of the aunts, uncles and cousins -- as well as the waitress.

I carefully slipped the tooth into a zippered pocket in my purse. When we got home, his dad helped him put the tooth into an envelope and place it under his pillow.

Sometime during the night, the tooth fairy came. She took the tooth and left behind a $1 bill.

An excellent story

My husband recently introduced my son and me to Mary Norton's 1952 classic, "The Borrowers."

The first book in a series about a family of little people who "borrow" things from "human beans" was one of his favorites as a child. It quickly has became one of ours.

In "The Borrowers," we are introduced to young Arrietty Clock, her father Pod and mother Homily. The Clocks live under the floorboards near -- what else? -- the grandfather clock.

The drama builds when Pod gets "seen" by a boy upstairs. The Clocks decide it's important to teach their 14-year-old daughter about the ways of borrowers and the world above. But Arrietty defies the protocals of being a borrower and actually develops a relationship with the human boy upstairs.

"Just get out of there," my son, unable to stand the suspense, cried out as I read about the first time Arrietty was seen. His alarm and relief at key moments of discovery and resolution were visible as we read the book.

Some other good books we recently brought home from the library:

• One Tiny Turtle (Nicola Davies)
• Big Blue Whale (Nicola Davies)
• Mouse Soup (Arnold Lobel)
• Duck Soup (Jackie Urbanovic)
  

My sentiments exactly

An incident occurred today.

It certainly wasn't of the caliber or scope of the Vietnam War, but it called to mind lyrics from Neil Young's and Stephen Stills' anti-war anthem, "For What It's Worth."

"You step out of line, the man come and take you away."

A respite

My son and I spent a couple of days at Cragun's Resort in Brainerd.

We accompanied my husband, who was there to coach his Knowledge Bowl team in the state finals. (They finished with fifth-place medals and an invitation to the nationals.)

Meanwhile, my son rode his bike outside for the first time along a lakeside path that leads to the beach playground and outdoor swimming pool. We explored the grounds, swung on the swings, walked out on the dock, and collected snail shells and acorns. In the evening, we swam and "played shark" in the indoor swimming pool, checked out the hot tub and watched a little of Casper on TV.




Even though my husband was busy, we had plenty of company. My son and I drove there with my exercise buddy whose son is on the team. And we hung out with two children and a friend whose wife was a judge.

It was a fun and relaxing break -- except for the wood tick I found crawling on my ankle.

Rite of passage

My son and I discovered this week that his bottom front tooth is loose.

He's a little bit anxious about the prospect of losing his first tooth. Is it going to hurt? How will his new tooth arrive? What happens if it falls out when he's in ___ (insert just about any place here)?

He's also very excited. His loose tooth puts him in the competition with fellow preschoolers who have lost or are losing their teeth. And there's the wondering about what the tooth fairy will bring.

I have started doing some research on the matter. From some other moms I learned that the tooth fairy still leaves coins -- anything from quarters to gold dollars. And she's gotten messier than when I was a kid, sometimes leaving behind a trail of fairy dust.

I also learned that, according to Parents magazine, for many children, loosing a tooth is a bigger milestone than learning to read, write or ride a bike. I can believe that. At least once a week I hear a report from my son about another friend who has lost a tooth.

As with most of my son's milestones, I'm not ready for this rite of passage. "I'm not going to be your little boy anymore," my son said. "Now, I'll be your big boy."

Way cool

It happens every year.

Some birds think our porch posts would make a nice nesting spot.

They usually begin building on the post that's closest to our front door, then quickly abandon that nest and move to the other post. Eventually they abandon that nest too and end up on our neighbor's porch, which is longer, offers better shelter from the wind and receives less traffic.

I first noticed a mess of dried grass and dirt that had fallen onto our porch steps. My eyes proceeded upward to see dried grass and twigs hanging precariously from the post. Looking toward the other post, I spied a more developed nest. I showed my son, took some photos, then left things alone for a few days.


When I was certain the birds had moved on to more secure accommodations, I asked my husband to take down the nests. Our son was convinced they would be good to take to preschool on his sharing day.

We put the more developed nest into a plastic container so he could show it to his classmates.

It was a hit. The kids thought it was "really cool" and smelled "kind of gross."

Bread of affliction

On the 6th day of Passover, one begins to get creative about what one puts on matzoh:

• Charoset
• Horseradish
• Fake butter
• Egg salad (made from boiled eggs left over from first-night seder)
• Peanut butter and jelly
• Hummus

Beaming with pride

I read to my son's preschool class this week.

My son and I selected one of his current library books, "Big Wolf and Little Wolf," a selection we had to renew because he likes it so much.

Earlier that morning, he had me read the book to him. He coached me on just how I should hold the book so that his classmates would be able to see all of the pictures. Midway through, he told me I could stop practicing holding up the book and just read to him. Apparently, I'm a quick learner.

When we arrived at school, the students excitedly gathered around me in a circle on the floor. I talked a little bit about why we chose the book and made a plug for the Duluth Public Library. Then I proceeded to read the story.

Absorbed in reading, showing the pictures so everyone could see them, answering the children's questions and responding to their comments about what was happening in the book, I didn't have much of a chance to monitor my son's reactions.

When I finally did, I was startled to see a big smile and a face beaming with pride.

Hosting the Passover seder

Selective memory can be a beautiful thing.

First-night seder is an involved event -- ritual foods eaten during a prescribed course of blessings, actions, readings and the retelling of the Jews' flight from slavery in Egypt, along with an elegant four-course meal that's followed by more blessings, more readings and a lot of singing.

Not only does the food need to be kosher, but kosher for Passover, meaning nothing with leavening or grain that ferments.

We've hosted first-night seder before and know what a big undertaking it can be, even when your guests are bringing most of the meal.

I also suscribe to the philosophy that you can always fit a few more guests around your table.

So I didn't flinch when our Passover guest list grew to 19. No problem. We already planned to borrow our friends' low-to-the-floor 8-foot by 4-foot gaming table so we could recline during the seder. Factor in our dining room table for guests who couldn't sit on the floor and there would be plenty of room.

But two tables meant two seder plates, two sets of serving dishes and 16 (3 guests didn't show) small plates for the requisite seder foods. By the time our soup course was finished, my dishwasher was full.

The main entree was served buffet-style from the kitchen; dessert from the dining room built-in. Both required 16 more plates, 16 sets of silverware, 16 water glasses, 16 wine or juice glasses, and water pitchers for each table, not to mention the stockpot for matzoh ball soup and other pots and pans used to heat the food our guests brought.

First-night seder equates to a ton of dishes -- three dishwasher loads, four-plus dish drainers full of the delicate or bulky items that don't go in the dishwasher. A day-and-a-half after the festive meal, I finally am done doing dishes.

As I put my recipes and cookbooks away, I found a list of past seder menus. I actually hosted two consecutive seders -- in 2006 and 2007. My selective memory really must have been selective in 2006.

By the way, I'm off now to vacuum matzoh crumbs from the dining room and living room. And there's still that behemoth table and a few platters to return.

Growing up

Yesterday we visited the school my son will attend next year.

We toured the classrooms, met his future principal, kindergarten teachers, school nurse and secretary, and even boarded a school bus.

His Dad and I beamed as he aced his kindergarten readiness test by printing his name, knowing all of the ABCs, counting from 1 to 20, identifying shapes, and coming up with words that rhymed with cat and fish. The only question that stumped him was what he wanted to be called in school. He haltingly said the short version of his first name, looking at me for assurance that he was answering correctly.

He seemed most impressed by the live gerbils and stuffed Dr. Seuss characters in one kindergarten classroom, the playground and the library, where he immediately spied a Goosebumps book we hadn't read yet. He was disappointed that he couldn't yet check out the book and bring it home.

He was pretty quiet as we drove home. I can tell he's processing the visit. "Mom, what happens if I miss the bus?" he asked first thing this morning. "What do you do in a gymnasium?" came the next question as were in transit from the grocery store.

Once in a lifetime

A bald eagle visited our neighborhood this morning.

My husband awakened me from dream sleep. You've got to come downstairs and see this, he said, excitedly reporting the details. "It's once in a lifetime," he stressed, noticing that I had barely moved.

I opened one eye to a slit and managed to make my way downstairs. I peered out the back door window, trying to open both eyes at the same time. I noted that it was at least a full hour before my son usually awakens.

The eagle was perched atop a tall pine tree. Crows were cawing and dive-bombing at the majestic bird, trying to shoo it away from their tree. It flew nonchalantly to another tall pine on just a bit higher ground. It stayed there for a couple of hours, plenty of time for all of us to focus the binoculars and get a good look.

More best books for children

My son and I enjoyed several children's books from the library this past month. The one that delighted us the most is Big Wolf and Little Wolf by Nadine Brun-Cosme, with illustrations by Olivier Tallec.

It's a fairly new book about the budding relationship between a big wolf and the little wolf who comes uninvited into his space one afternoon and decides to stay awhile. When the two part, the big wolf is left with a heart-breaking longingness that makes my son and me sigh sadly.

Owl Moon by Jane Yolen inspired us to reserve a time near the next full moon to go out owling with Daddy in Hartley Field.

And Queen Esther Saves her People by Rita Golden Gelman and Jewish Holiday Games for Little Hands by Ruth Esrig Brinn need to be remembered for their usefulness in putting on the Purim carnival at religious school.

The big hill

My son's ski lessons have gone well this winter. He can snowplow to a stop, bomb the non-skier's section of the hill without falling, turn through a cone and slow down or turn to avoid running into another skier. He has increased the number of runs he makes during each lesson. And, he's still having a lot of fun.

Yesterday, the ski program's director turned to me and told me he thought my son was ready to ride up on the chairlift and ski down the big hill. "Mom's not ready," I said, but agreed we would ask my son to gauge his interest.

His eyes got wide and a hoarse "yes" came out of his mouth when asked if he wanted to ride up on the chairlift. He was paired with a "highly responsible" ski cadet "who's great with the youngest skiers."

I feigned excitement and waved him on his way. The director, who also happens to be my son's great uncle, took one look at me and said, "I can ride up behind them and ski down the hill with them. Why don't I do that."

I began talking with another parent at the bottom of the hill while I waited for my son. Engrossed in conversation, I failed to see him come down the slope on the other side of the lift then turn into the line and go back up for a second run.

I saw him on his second run. Falling several times, but all smiles, he hit the last patch of the hill -- the non-skier's section -- confidently resting his hands on his knees and snowplowing to a stop directly in front of me.

Budding birder

I accompanied my son's preschool class on a snowshoe outing at Hartley Nature Center yesterday.

In addition to strapping on snowshoes and traversing across field, woods and pond to hear and see some birds, one highlight was the guest appearance of a black-capped chickadee in the nature center's classroom.

Their guide amazingly succeeded in getting all of the children to keep still, while she gently removed the captured bird from a white muslin bag. She placed its feet between her fingers and made her way slowly around the room, holding the delicate bird just inches in front of each child's face.

It weighs about as much as two pennies, she told them, as she answered a myriad of unasked questions of the group. Another guide showed how the trap, in which they had caught the bird earlier that morning, worked.

Then everyone stepped outside as their guide released the bird. It flew into some tall trees.

My son excitedly recounted the event to my layoff buddy who stopped by our house later in the day. He couldn't remember the name of the bird. "But wait," he cried and went upstairs.

He returned with "The Big Golden Book of Backyard Birds," paging through his book until he found a picture.

Bad guys

I wanted my son to be Haman for Purim. He's the bad guy who wears a black tri-cornered hat after which the pastry hamantaschen is fashioned. Everytime his name is mentioned on Purim, people boo, hiss and rattle their groggers.

I brought home the hat and black tunic from our religious school's costume bin and excitedly showed them to my son. He burst into tears at the suggestion that he dress up as Haman.

"Mommy, I don't want to be the bad guy," he cried, tears of despair running down both cheeks. "I really, really don't want to be the bad guy."

"We can talk about this tomorrow," I reassured him, as bedtime was drawing near. Next morning, my son plaintively called me into his room. "Mom," he said, from his bed. "I just don't want to be the bad guy."

Looking at the clock, I realized I had about 35 minutes to pull together an alternate costume and get myself dressed before I headed off to synagogue to set up for the carnival. My husband would need to manage this one.

I dug into my son's outgrown clothing box and last year's Halloween costumes and came out with some options, then handed the affair over to my husband. I opted to dress myself as the evil Haman.

When my son arrived at the Purim carnival, he proudly showed me his pirate costume. With his black eye patch, bandana, torn clothing and sword, I couldn't help but marvel at how good of a bad guy he made.

Really good music

My son's snowshoe outing at Hartley Nature Center was canceled this morning because of the subzero temperatures. I was all set to accompany his preschool class as a chaperone. The news disappointed both of us.

We found a good substitute in sitting in our sun-filled living room, listening to some really good music and perusing my son's collection of Spiderman and other super heroes books.

Peas on the Butterknife is a compilation of songs by Chequamegon Bay-area musician Bruce Burnside, who plays very sweet banjo and mandolin. As a native West Virginian who has heard some of the best old-time fiddle and banjo music at that state's Folk Festival, I found Burnside's music, especially his Civil War tunes, sending me into a deep reverie about home.

As my son transitioned from super heroes to looking up in his father's Lake Superior Rocks and Minerals Guide the rocks he has collected, my reverie was broken. Ah, the joys of being a mother. It's time to read about basalt and epidote.

No Easy Readers for this boy

"Mom," my son yelled excitedly as I was making my way downstairs this morning, "I can read this!"

I expected to see him holding Dr. Seuss' "Fox in Socks" book a friend was reading to him last night. Instead, he was holding my lastest book, a New York Times bestseller by Anita Diamant.

"The Red Tent," he read, pointing to each word as he said it.

Keeping secrets

My son awoke early today.

He was excited about sneaking down into the kitchen with his Daddy to cook breakfast for me. The meal was beautiful -- pink pancakes with cranberries topped with maple syrup and red, white and pink candy hearts.

It was delivered with a huge Tinkerbell valentine, one of those ones where the image shifts, and Russell Stover chocolates in a small heart-shaped box covered with red roses. He was very particular about which box of chocolates they buy for me.

My son had worked hard at keeping these plans a secret from me all week. Actually, he had two secrets to keep. He and I had written and produced our own Goosebumps book called "Night of the Beating Heart" as a present for his Daddy.

While the pancakes were cooking, my son came upstairs to announce that I couldn't get out of bed yet. I protested, saying I wanted to get Daddy's presents out of the closet so we could read the book to him when we went downstairs.

"We're not going downstairs, Mom," he whispered to me. "We're having breakfast in bed."

Even more best books for children

I gave my son a copy of Chris Monroe's "Monkey with a Tool Belt" for his 5th birthday in November. He enjoyed it so much, I picked up her second book, "Monkey with a Tool Belt and the Noisy Problem" for him for Hanukkah.

My son loves the book's main character, Chico Bon Bon, and shares stories about him -- from the books and ones he makes up on his own -- with his own stuffed monkey, Loggy. He will sit for many minutes, examining all the tools on Chico's tool belt or tracing the path the organ grinder took when he kidnapped Chico or when Chico escaped to a bus stop.

He's puzzled by how someone as smart as Chico Bon Bon could be lured into a trap by a plastic banana split or why the organ grinder uses a vacuum cleaner when he makes dinner. And he loves to imitate sounds like, "Arooga, boom boom, clang, clang."

I love how, in each book, Chico comes up with a detailed 12-step plan to solve the problem at hand, and that includes using many tools and some math.

I highly recommend both books, especially for 5-year-old boys and their moms and dads.

And a couple more memorable books from recent library visits: Stone Soup as retold by Jon Muth and The Garden of Abdul Gasazi (Chris Van Allsburg). As with any of Van Allsburg's books, the story is entrancing and the illustrations superb.

Mashed potatoes and 3-D movies

My 5-year-old son experiences a number of firsts, which we duly celebrate, mark on calendars, write about in Web postings, and retell of to relatives and friends.

But as I near the half-century mark, I'm surprised by the number of firsts I still experience. Just this past week, I added seeing my first movie in 3-D and making mashed potatoes to my list of life experiences.

So how have I managed to never have made mashed potatoes in all my 48 years? I was pondering this with my exercise buddy the other day. I believe I know why.

When I watched my mother make mashed potatoes as a little girl, it was always at that critical time when she was trying to get all of the food ready and onto the table -- as well as get everyone to the table -- before the food cooled.

My questions of how much milk or butter to put in the potatoes would be answered by a frustrated-sounding, "You just know." And she never seemed satisfied -- "too lumpy" or "too runny" or "not enough salt," she would say -- as she critiqued the finished product. I and the rest of my family gobbled them up, oblivious.

But I grew up believing making mashed potatoes was one of the hardest things to do. When I hosted Thanksgiving dinners and guests asked what they could bring or do, I always offered for someone else to make the mashed potatoes. I satisfied my own mashed potato cravings with baked potatoes smothered in butter.

Last month, as I was mashing potatoes for knishes, I realized how close I was to making real mashed potatoes. It didn't seem that difficult. So I made some this week. The verdict: slightly lumpy and not enough salt.

Simple winter pleasures

Sipping hot chocolate and Irish cream on your exercise buddy's warm couch after a half-hearted, half-hour icy walk on the Lakewalk.

Editor please

My husband received this fortune in his fortune cookie today:

"Be patient! The Great Wall didn't got build in one day."

We've been pondering the deeper meaning here, but so far can only conclude it's either an editing error or translation error.

"Pride and Prejudice" revisited

Do you ever wonder what happened to Mr. Darcy and Eliza Bennet after they married? At the library, I discovered the book "Pemberley, or Pride and Prejudice Continued."

Author Emma Tennant does a fair job representing Jane Austen's beloved characters in a scenario that brings the entire Bennet, Darcy, Bingley and de Bourgh families together for the first Christmas since the weddings.

It's full of family rivalries, jealousies, misunderstandings, and of course, Mr. Darcy's propensity toward pride and the new Mrs. Darcy's propensity toward prejudice.

If you're a diehard Austen fan, you may not want to bother. But if you have a desire to continue the saga and are willing to grant the author some leniency, I recommend the book.

Of course, I have "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies" and "Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters", both recent gifts to me, awaiting.