No wonder

I find the Washington Post's raw analysis of the median net worth of our House of Representatives compared to the common man's interesting. To view them, click here.

Tis the season

I rushed out of synagogue to attend my son's "holiday" concert yesterday. "I'm going to go listen to my son sing "We Are Santa's Elves," I apologized to a congregant who had just arrived. "That's OK," he said. "In New York, we used to joke that it was the Jews who knew all the words and kept all of the Christmas carols in tune."

I arrived early, securing a seat in the fifth row. I saw on the program that my son's class was third in line to sing and planned an early exit. Then I remembered that one of my fourth-grade Hebrew school students had asked if I was going to the concert. Her class came on right after my son's. "No problem," I thought, just a bit more time.

The third-graders were second in line to sing. I picked out a boy from my son's bus stop. Then I spotted another of my religious school students in the group. I ran through a mental checklist of my students, realizing I should probably stay to hear the kindergarteners too, the next to the last group.

I sat bemused by the irony of being a Jewish school principal proudly listening to her Jewish students sing Christmas songs.

Finally the fifth graders! Knowing my only fifth graders go to schools in Two Harbors and western Duluth, I confidentally stood up to make my "early" exit. Wouldn't you know it. They were the group singing the only Hanukkah song.

Today I am thankful for...

• Two pumpkin pies baking in the oven.


• My son calling me and my husband downstairs to see our favorite balloons in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade.


• Frozen grapes harvested from our backyard that we ate at breakfast this morning.


• My son's continued enjoyment of his birthday Legos.


• My husband's completion of his new book I now must edit.


• My dear friend and layoff buddy getting a fulltime job with benefits.


• My in-laws cooking the Thanksgiving dinner.

The soup ladle

A dear friend of ours, died recently.

My husband and I met Shirley in the "winter" of her life, although we have known her many years now. She was 90.

A co-worker was helping her sons clean out her home. He returned with several professional stainless steel soup ladles that were going to be thrown out. Shirley and her husband had run a catering service years ago. He asked me if I would like one of the ladles.

I accepted it, although I secretly had been wishing that somehow they would magically find the plastic lid to my small stainless steel RevereWare bowl that had gotten lost in her kitchen during a book club potluck a few years back.

"I've already got a soup ladle," I rued, still missing the lid to the bowl I had used to transport food everywhere.

But sure enough, as I dished up the minestrone I made for my son's birthday party dinner last night, I needed a second ladle. And I thought of our friend Shirley.

I know I will be missing her often.

Daddy's amazing bargain (or good fortune)

My son's birthday was Friday. He turned 7.

Two weeks ago, my husband won -- with just one $2 raffle ticket -- the "Lego Mania" basketful of Lego kits at Congdon Park Foundation's annual auction.

We already had some smaller gifts bought, but hadn't yet decided on what Sam's "big" present would be. The basket completed our shopping.

When we presented his big gift at his birthday party last night, my son's eyes grew wide in amazement. His Dad had been telling him that he spent $2 on his birthday gift. "How'd you do that, Dad?" my son questioned after looking at the 13 boxes and bags of Legos.

Since waking at 6, he has spent the morning building and playing with one of the smaller "Alien Conquest" sets and closely examining the others. "This must have been a really good deal," he said to me, guessing that one of the Lego boxes must be worth at least $5. I pointed to the $29.95 pricetag on the box.

His eyes grew wide. "Dad, how did you do that?" he asked again, laughing.

Ahhhhh?

There's nothing like sinking into a tub full of hot water to relax and get away from the stress of motherhood -- until you realize you poured in your son's bubble bath instead of your own.

The lost hour

My husband decided, without checking any definitive source, that last night was the night we turn our clocks back an hour. So he did.

We went to bed at our regular time, looking forward to an extra hour of sleep and to waking to daylight instead of darkness.

This morning, while I was enjoying my cappucino and reading to my son, my husband discovered Daylight Savings Time doesn't end until next Sunday. Unbeknownst to me, he began changing the numerous clocks throughout the house ahead an hour.

I checked the pendulum clock in the hallway and still had plenty of time before breakfast. So my son and I finished the book we were reading. Entering the kitchen, I glanced at the clock on the microwave. How'd that happen? I wondered, stepping up the pace to cooking breakfast.

Sitting down to hashbrowns, scrambled eggs, toast and apples, I glanced at the clock above the sink in the kitchen. I was confused by the hour I had just regained.

"I haven't gotten to that one," my husband explained.