Looking for Mary Jane

No, not that kind of Mary Jane. To be more specific, I should say we were looking for Mary Janes.

It's May, so that means about seven weeks of school are left. Clare's shoes, unfortunately, weren't in this school year for the long haul.

I'd seen it coming. The scuff marks had turned sections of Clare's black shoes into more of a grey-brown-black mess. The soles were worn. Seams were beginning to loosen and the velcro on the straps had worn pretty thin. I would polish them as best as possible so they'd look a little less embarrassing. Although they'd look okay in the morning after a shine, in the afternoon the same scrappy shoes would come home.

Then last Thursday it happened. Clare tore her shoe off and the velcro tore apart. The piece that's supposed to stick to the shoe wasn't stuck to the shoe anymore—it was stuck to the other side of the velcro.

I thought about stapling the velcro back where it should be, but that would have looked too trashy. I though about whether some gaff tape or duct tape might hold it together somehow. It's the universal remedy isn't it? And it definitely would have added some personality to the shoe. I wasn't sure duct tape was the right tool for the job though. And Clare's Catholic school probably woudn't have appreciated my inventiveness. I did try glue and it held well enough for Clare to wear the shoes on Friday. I obviously didn't use the right glue though, because the velcro tore right off again when she pulled the shoe off Friday afternoon.

So, we spent the weekend looking for Catholic school uniform black Mary Janes. There is an official uniform store about thirty miles away, but they're hours are short on the weekends (except at the beginning of the school year) and they wanted fifty bucks for the shoes. I thought we could do better.

Unfortunately, doing better wasn't easy. Finding black dress shoes when most stores are stocking sandals, sneakers and flip flops was a chore. And's what with the high heels on play shoes for girls who haven't even reached size one yet?!

Yesterday—after ordering a pair online that'll take a few days to get here—we finally found some acceptable shoes in a store and bought those too. (I'd say we found them in the last place we looked, but that's kind of a foolish saying—obviously it was the last place we looked because we stopped looking after we found them.)

So Clare is wearing September-new shoes to school today. And, when the online order comes in, she'll have two pairs unless we can return those. At least she'll already have shoes for next year. We just have to keep her feet from growing over the summer. Any ideas how we can do that?

What Kind of Message Are They Sending?

Clare came home from school with this St. Patrick's Day Word Find that they did today.


Does anyone see an extra word in the first line across? Are they trying to say something about the Irish? Or maybe it's a clue for the next fundraiser.

Oh, Me Name Is McNamara

St. Patrick's Day is a relatively quiet Monday for us this year—just like it's been the past few years with Clare around. This day wasn't always quiet for me though. I've been thinking about the fun I had in some past lives that I've now traded for a quiet homelife with family. Here's how I spent some of those past St. Patrick's Days.

Thirty years ago, I would have gone to a parade some weekend around now with my parents in Springfield, Massachusetts, where my Dad was born and grew up. He and his friends would yell at everyone they knew who was marching—which meant that they'd yell either "Murph" or "Sully" about once a minute. We'd also have corned beef and cabbage with my Mom's Italian family—who seemed to like it more than the Irish relatives—and who also seemed somehow to be able to dry out boiled meet. In school—Catholic school at an Italian parish—we'd sing Irish songs. That is—from what I can remember—we'd sing Irish song. The only Irish song the nuns seemed to know, year after year, was McNamara's Band. To this day, I can't stand that song—but it's stuck in my head today. Could you tell?

Twenty years ago, I was in college in Worcester, Massachusetts, at a school where the majority of students were Irish Catholic and which, despite being small, made a few top party school lists in the 80s. Since then it's become more diverse and the party reputation has waned. In fact, it's become so selective that I might not get in if I were applying today. Back then, we'd spend St. Patrick's Day at parties off campus or at a bar where we'd have a few shots of Jameson or Bushmills followed by a few pints of Guinness and then onto cheaper beer. There'd be Irish music (probably never McNamara's Band) or someone might put The Quiet Man in the VCR if we were at a house. In fact, we did this a lot of weekends. So how was St. Patrick's Day different from all those other weekends? We'd start earlier.

Ten years ago, I still lived in Manhattan where I'd usually go to the parade. Some friends and I might even hit a bar right after the parade where we'd mix in with entire families—from grandparents right down to the kids—who were celebrating. It may be the only day of the year that I've seen kids in a bar. We'd sometimes pay a cover charge (which was rare for us) to see an Irish band too. Before their short-lived national fame, Black 47 played at Paddy Reilly's on Second Avenue where we'd jam in with crowds of other twenty-somethings to drink Guinness and pound our drunken fists into the air when Black 47 sang "fight for the plight of the workin' man."

And now? Now I sit home boiling corned beef for my Mom who couldn't get out this year. Now instead of pounding my fist into the air, I pounded at snow in the front yard with a shovel to try to make it melt faster. Instead of going to the parade, I watched some of it on TV. And instead of watching a nun direct a chorus of Italian kids singing McNamara's Band, I've got it quietly stuck in my head. But instead of waking up with a hangover tomorrow, I'll be waking up to another routine day with Clare's Mom and Clare. This was definitely a trade up.

Friday Talent Round-Up

A Question for Dads

If you went to the Home and School Association meeting at your kids’ school (or PTA or whatever you might have—or just think hypothetically if your kids aren’t in school yet), could you keep a straight face if the president said that a future fundraiser would include “nut bags”?

Someone please tell Clare’s Mom that I’m not the only immature guy who had to bite his tongue when I heard that the kids might be selling nut bags.

We Have a Winner

Clare’s school also raises money from the kids by holding raffles every couple of months—usually around a holiday. For a quarter, the kids can buy one ticket; for a dollar, they get three.

Recently, Clare won one of these raffles. From what she tells me, there’s a huge selection of prizes that she could have picked from. So what did she pick? A Barbie. If there were a full scholarship to Harvard on the table I think Clare would have still picked the Barbie. I guess a girl can never have enough.

How’d You Make Out?

Did anyone get anything good for Valentine’s Day?

Clare’s Mom and I gave Clare a heart-shaped box of cheap candy, but the box had princesses on it so she was happy. She also got a couple new DVDs. Instead of watching them though, she’s been watching a Disney World travel video every day.

From school, Clare came home with a bag full of Valentines and a couple of lollipops. Last year, almost every kid in the class seemed to give a bag of candy—except Clare because we never got the proverbial memo that we were supposed to send anything other than cheap fold-in-half cards. This year, Clare brought bags with candy for every kid—and the other kids didn’t. I guess we’re just out of sync.

At home, Clare’s Mom and I don’t really celebrate Valentine’s Day. We didn’t even buy cards for each other this year. (I’m convinced, by the way, that the most expensive cards in Hallmark are those to “wife” because they play into last minute guilt.) We might have once celebrated Valentine’s Day though—I know that Clare’s original due date was November 14. I guess I did something right at least once, huh?

Have a great weekend, everyone.

The Results Show

A lot of you looked, but only a couple of you guessed. I guess I need something more interesting to draw out the lurkers. Anyway, here for everyone are the answers to last Thursday’s meme where I asked you to find the two facts that I made up among seven true facts.

1. I once jumped a fence to break into a country club in Madrid for a midnight swim with some buddies.

TRUE. I spent the summer in Madrid between my junior and senior years of college. I’m not sure why we did this—the family I was staying with had a pool.

2. I won a karaoke contest at a bar when I was in college but chickened out of collecting the prize and took off when I found out they wanted my full name and I was under 21.

FALSE. I was in quite a few bars before I was 21. (I think the statute of limitations is up on that.) I’ve even sung karaoke a couple times—but pretty poorly and never won any contests.

3. I got left behind after a camping trip with the Boy Scouts and had to ask strangers to drive me to a telephone.

FALSE. I’ve never been camping in my life. I was in the Scouts, but none of us were interested in camping. I thought someone might have been able to guess this one.

4. I’ve performed in drag on stage.

We’ve already seen the two false facts, which means that this one is TRUE. It wasn’t what you’d typically think of as a drag queen show though. (If you typically think of such things.) In college I was in Rodgers and Hammerstein’s South Pacific—a musical about sailors and nurses on a South Pacific island during World War II. I played a wiseass Seabee who wears a grass skirt and coconut bra for a Thanksgiving talent show.

5. I wrote a children’s book and got honorable mention in a statewide competition.

TRUE. It’s a small state; there probably weren’t many entries.

6. I purposefully threw a spelling bee in seventh grade.

TRUE. In sixth grade, I won our school-wide spelling bee and went on to a state competition for Catholic schools. In addition to “secular” words, we also had to spell things like canonization and transubstantiation. For a couple weeks before the state competition, the school principal (a nun) pulled me out of class all day and made me spell words in her office. I hated it. In the competition, I lost on the second or third round by misspelling cemetery. The following year, I purposefully misspelled aspirin in the school competition so I wouldn’t have to go through the whole process again.

7. I've bought flowers for singer and songwriter Jewel.

TRUE. Jewel performed at the last theater I worked at. Typically, a performance contract lists everything that a performer expects to find in the dressing room upon arriving. There was a hospitality staff that took care of these things, and they bought flowers just like Jewel wanted. When Jewel’s manager arrived, she threw the flowers in the trash and told us they didn’t look expensive enough. Because I was going out anyway, I bought new flowers for Jewel.

8. I once had dinner with Lynne Thigpen who starred as “Chief” on Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?, and performed in several other television shows, films, and stage productions.

TRUE. Lynne Thigpen starred in Athol Fugard’s Boesman and Lena at a theater I interned at in the early 1990s. She was a beautiful, friendly woman and spent quite a bit of time talking with the interns. At one post-performance event, she sat with us to eat which probably annoyed some of the patrons who had paid high prices so they could meet and talk with her.

9. I was once invited to a party at Gracie Mansion (the home of the New York City mayor) and got caught by security when a friend and I went looking through the house.

TRUE. This was also in the early 90s when I was working for an arts service organization and David Dinkins was mayor of New York. There was an outdoor party for theater artists and administrators, but the house was open for access to the bathrooms. Because we didn’t see any security around, a friend and I decided to tour the house. Security found us though and asked us to go back outside. I doubt we’d get that far anymore.

There we have it. Whit got one right which makes him the de facto winner I suppose. Congrats, Whit.

Friday Talent Round-Up

January Thaw

It hit sixty degrees this week in New England. Thanks to the temperature and rain, most of our snow is melted. But that’s not really the kind of thaw I’m talking about. It’s more a thaw in my mood. I wouldn’t offically diagnose it seasonal depression, but this time of year usually brings me down. I’m fine through December because of the excitement of the holidays, but by January I’m ready for winter to end and the clocks to spring ahead again. It’s the cold (it was zero a couple mornings last week…that’s about -18 Celsius for the foreigners). It’s the dark mornings at the bus stop at 7 a.m. and the dark afternoons that begin around 5 p.m., even though the days are getting a bit longer already. It’s the dirty snow, the messy roads, the bare trees, the heavy coats and shoes that carry mud into the house. The extra weight from too many holiday dinners, Christmas cookies, and gingerbread and egg nog lattes probably doesn’t help either. In short, I hate January and February. Anyone else like this?

There are a couple highlights to look forward to though. With Clare now in first grade, we’re not taking a vacation this winter, but spring break is less than three months away. I’ve also found a couple other job prospects. My hopes aren’t up about the really good one I wanted, but I suppose it’s possible. Clare’s Mom’s big birthday is less than two weeks away too. I’m still trying to think of something really good (but not too expensive) to do with her and Clare. Any ideas? But be careful, she reads the blog.

The School Strikes Again

Clare’s school has ticked me off again. She came home with a note last night saying that her class is supposed to wear navy blue today for “Skittles Day.” There was no explanation of what Skittles Day is, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a navy blue Skittle anyway. The problem is that Miss Pink and Purple had nothing navy blue to wear—for a while she wouldn’t even wear jeans because they were a boy color. So, yesterday afternoon we took off to find her something. Ever try finding a girl’s shirt in navy blue? And a long sleeve one that’s in the stores in January but can also be worn in January? There was nothing. I tried to trick her into a getting a plain blue shirt that I found in the boys’ section, but she wouldn’t have it. In the end, we went with a short-sleeve blue polo with a long-sleeve white shirt under it. She looks pretty good in it, but can’t schools give more than eighteen hours notice when kids are supposed to wear something special? Is every school like this or just ours?

Orange You Glad…

Clare’s still taking karate and tonight she earns her orange belt. Orange will be her retirement color though. She’s giving up the gi for a tutu. In a couple weeks she’s starting ballet lessons. With the strictness at the school she’ll be going to, there are sure to be some fun blog posts about that. Stay tuned.

D + 1

According to Chris at Rude Cactus and Allisa at Life’s Little Adventures, yesterday was Official Delurker Day. I’m one day off, but if someone can make up Delurker Day then I can make up Delurker Weekend. What the heck, let’s just call it the start of Delurker Week for anyone who doesn’t get to this post until next week.

C’mon, post a comment. It’s a new year, isn’t it time to try new things? And if you delurk and have a blog I’ll make a promise. Comment on my blog and I’ll comment on yours. Who can pass up a deal like that?

Have a great weekend, everyone.

What Would Jesus Do?

School was cancelled again today—and just like last Monday the snow and ice had stopped by morning and the roads were pretty clear. At this rate, the kids might even lose some of their spring vacation days. It won’t matter to me because we’ll be a thousand miles away vacationing with Mickey…but I’m just sayin’.

The school ticked me off in another way this past week too. I know what Jesus would probably do, but I’m looking for your opinions.

As I’ve mentioned, Clare goes to Catholic school—that means that she’s bringing fundraisers home about twice a month. (Actually, it seems like public schools are doing a lot of fundraising lately too.) At Clare’s school, we’re expected to contribute a certain amount through fundraising. But we also have the option of foregoing all fundraisers and sales and just writing an extra check. Early in the school year, Clare brought home a note that said “the [school] is giving you choices. You decide what works for you and helps you to either meet your fundraising goal or support our school. The first part of the year is pretty intense but don’t forget, you are not required to participate in all. You make the choice.” (I added the emphasis there.)

Since we don’t want to be bothering family and friends twice a month with requests to buy wrapping paper, chocolate, candy, or whatever the sale of the month is, we decided we’d just write that extra check.

This month, Clare’s school is selling magazine subscriptions. It turns out though that they do have a financial goal for each fundraiser and after the first turn-in date they were only at about thirty percent of that goal. After another turn-in they reached fifty percent. Then the threat came home.

I’m sure they’d think "threat" is a strong word, but that’s how I see it. It’s also a low blow. Last Friday’s note said that the kids are earning “points” for every magazine subscription that they sell. The class with the most points will get an ice cream party and every student who sells at least one subscription will get a dress-down day and not have to wear his or her uniform.

I haven’t called or written to the school yet because I don’t want to be “the complainer,” but I don’t think this is fair. If the school gives me the option of not having to participate in fundraisers, they shouldn’t try to make me feel bad for not selling or buying anything. And they definitely shouldn’t withhold any prizes or benefits from my daughter because of the legitimate choice I made—that’s not fair to her.

What would you do? I’m really interested in knowing whether I’m overreacting.

Gee, Those Kids Looked Like They Were Having Fun

Working in theater, I’ve seen a lot of trash on stage just because friends or friends of friends were involved. Because I’ve been reviewed too, I always try to find something positive or encouraging to say after the show—even if it’s as transparent as “nice set,” “that was really something,” or gee, you guys looked like you were having fun.” (Don’t use that last one after Death of a Salesman, by the way.)

I also never use the same standards for different shows. I expect more from long-running shows on Broadway (where Cats was the worst thing I’ve ever seen) than I do from community theater or a makeshift stage in a warehouse Off Off Off Broadway (where I once saw the writer/director/producer/performer of a show called The Love Death of Clowns stop the performance, sing Is That All There Is?, and tell the audience to go home).

I may have high standards, but I definitely wouldn’t expect too much from a grade school Christmas concert—just cute and entertaining, that’s all I need. Clare’s school’s Christmas show was last Friday night. And boy, was it something.

I know that everyone isn’t religious, but when you spend thousands of dollars to send your kid to Catholic school you expect more than Polar Puppy, Frosty Hand Jive, and Dominic the Donkey. (The Frosty Hand Jive didn’t even include the right hand motions.) You also expect a music teacher who can accompany the kids on piano rather than turn on a karaoke machine. And how about being able to hear the kids? Don’t get me started on the cheap plastic decorations either.

What really bugs me is that I’ve offered to help the school out with shows, but they haven’t taken me up on it. Instead, the same meddlesome moms who seem to control everything else probably have a hand in this too. That’s really something, isn’t it. At least they look like they're having fun.

Friday Talent Round-Up

Shouldn’t There Be a Warning?

Wednesday afternoon I put some fake cobwebs and spiders on our front porch for Halloween. I actually got a little tangled up in the stuff and kept getting it caught on my clothes, in my hair, and even across my face. It wasn’t really fun. That was nothing compared to taking it down though—when I was picking the spiders out I found a real one in there too. There should have been a warning on the bag that I could get freaked out like that.

Saint Who?

Like last year, Clare’s Catholic school had the younger kids wear costumes for All Saints Day yesterday. Last year, we found Clare a saint who was a princess. This year, Clare didn’t get to pick. Because first grade is the largest class with twenty-eight kids, they did An Alphabet of Saints—plus two angels. I’m not clear on whether the letter and saint were assigned or Clare picked it, but she ended up with O. Can’t think of one either? It’s Saint Odilia. I was in Catholic school for about twenty years and I never heard of her. As far I as know though, all saints wear robes and that’s what we went with.

Next year I’m pushing for Saint Joan—I still want to dress Clare in armor and tie her to a stake.

Whaddaya Mean You Don’t Watch TV All Day?

Clare had a half day of school today. She came home just after noon and asked me what cartoons were on. I told her that I didn’t know since she’s not usually home this early—and that I don’t sit around all day watching cartoons while she’s in school. She was confused—I guess she thought I did.

It’s actually a really nice day out. Good for finally cleaning up the lawn for the (ugh) winter.

Have a great weekend everyone.

Friday Talent Round-Up

Welcome Home, Clare’s Mom

Clare’s Mom comes home today. Clare and I survived the week. We ate out a couple times—that was easier than cooking for just Clare and me. We also drank Hershey syrup straight from the bottle, stayed up late, and ate too much. (In unrelated healthy news, I went to the gym twice this week after not going for months. I'm determined to be in better shape by forty—so I've got seven months.)

I’ll be glad to have Clare’s Mom back. We missed her.

Notes from Watching TV

Clare has taken to ordering up episodes of Higglytown Heroes after dinner. A recent hero was a referee. Dentists and lawyers can’t be too far behind.

Has anyone noticed that on Friday and Saturday nights TV commercials are aimed at young parents and senior citizens? Are advertisers suggesting that these two groups keep the same hours?

We Did Send Her to Catholic School After All

I caught Clare singing to herself this week. It sounded like Farmer in the Dell, but the words weren’t right. When I asked her to sing louder, I realized that she was singing the Ten Commandments to the tune of Farmer in the Dell. And I caught her at Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery. I was too scared to ask her if she even knew what adultery meant.

Search Party

I’ve had a few interesting searches show up in the stats recently. Here are some of my favorites.

Kindergarten outfits: See something you like? Clare will be very excited that she’s a trend setter.

Orgo sucks: No f-ing kidding. It made me realize I didn't want to be a doctor bad enough to have to deal with science.

Education about eyeballs: Nothing to see here. I’m pretty sure you need orgo to be an ophthalmologist too.

Hong Kong Phooey catch phrases: I’ve never mentioned Hong Kong Phooey in the blog, as far as I remember, but it’s cool to be in this search.

European costume parades: Yeah…I’ve been meaning to blog about this too. You’re just a little early. Keep reading.

Monster flounder: This one stymied me at first too. But he’s not such a monstrous little guy.

Staying home gaps in resume man: I hear you, man, I’m dealing with it too.

Email preschoolers: I don’t recommend it. You’ll wait years for an intelligible reply.

Envoy SUV feminine: I hope not. I gave it a boy’s name.

High school musical back round: This is the often-missed scene where the basketball team sings Row Your Boat just before the big game.

Getting away from suburban life: Got any ideas?

Saint Dymphna costume: How about a cloak and a Harp? Yeah, I mean the beer.

And my favorite Google search ever:

Preppy porn: Thank you, J. Crew swimsuit issue.

Have a great weekend, everyone.

Friday (okay…Saturday) Talent Round-Up

Like last week, I missed posting Friday Talent Round Up early on Friday. This week I didn’t even get to it by Friday night. But I have an excuse…really…and it’s not that the dog ate my blog.

Yesterday was a beautiful fall New England day. And by beautiful I mean that the temperature was around 80 degrees. Today we may get to 85. I’m sorry for people who are waiting for cool fall weather, but—unlike the southern and western United States—temperatures in the Northeast in July and August were below normal. This is making up for it. So, my point is, I was outside most of yesterday.

Clare also had a half day of school yesterday. (It’s a first Friday of the month thing in some Catholic schools. Anyone else’s school do that?) When Clare got home, we did some playing, did some shopping, and visited my Mom—who broke bones in both of her hands from a nasty fall last week. She’ll have casts on for at least a month and Clare and I went to sign them yesterday and to see if she needed help with anything.

We were also out last night. Clare’s school had movie night. We packed some dinner, went to the school gym, and watched Hook. I’d give you Clare’s review, but she spent more time off talking to her friends than watching the movie.

Today, we’re headed off to a fair. I normally don’t like these things, but—since it’s going to be near 85 degrees—I guess I can handle being outside. Unless I can convince Clare’s Mom that we should go to the beach instead.

Friday Talent Round-Up

Dress Down?

I’ve mentioned before that Clare goes to Catholic school. And Catholic school means uniforms. Every few weeks, though, the school gets a dress down day when kids can wear (within limits of course) anything they like.

This year’s first dress down day was this week. But, instead of jeans or (forgive me for even suggesting it) something that she already has, Clare wore a new dress. So Clare’s Mom and I don’t look like complete wimps who spoil our child, I can clarify that we were buying Clare a new dress for fall anyway—Clare later decided that she had to wear it for dress down day. And we did make her wear shoes she already had—but that’s mostly because we didn’t find any we liked in her size last weekend that were appropriate for a first grader. Why all the heels, fur and glitter on shoes that aren’t even a size one yet?

Clare has also informed me that, since she wore this dress to for dress “down” day once, she can’t wear it to school again. Okay, Princess Diana. But the next dress down outfit has to come out of the closet.

It’s a good thing she wears a uniform most of the year.

Talk Like a Pirate Month?

Clare’s Mom and I have learned—through a few blogs and wonderful store marketing—that it’s never too early to buy a Halloween costume. So we took care of that last weekend too.

This year, for the first time since she was two, Clare isn’t going to be a princess. (Probably because she thinks she’s a princess the other 364 days of the year anyway.) This year, we’ll have a young pirate girl around here. She’s even got a black wig because pirates, apparently, don’t have blond hair. I guess none of us here could be pirates…though I could pass as pirate Redbeard…provided it’s not all growing in gray already.

Clare has tried on the costume a few times already. No pictures yet though. You’ll have to keep reading about six more weeks if you want to see those.

Speaking of Halloween

Just in case you need to get rid of any monsters at your house, I’ve got a website for you.

A few months ago, I posted about monsters in our house. They’ve since left for good (I hope), but someone recently found that post and sent me a link for anti-monster spray.

I’m not getting anything for pushing the product, I just thought it was kind of cool. There’s even a cute game at the site…you know, in case you need anything to keep you at the computer for a few extra minutes.

Have a great weekend, everyone.

Ice Cream and Teasers

Tonight there’s an ice cream social at Clare’s school. Although it sounds very small town old-fashioned and fun, there’s a hidden agenda. Actually a not so hidden agenda. We have to attend this year’s final Home and School Association meeting to get the ice cream. And for anyone who doesn’t like ice cream enough, they’re having the school kids sing at the meeting. So either way, they’re bribing and/or bullying parents into going. This is probably better than the tactics this school would have pulled about thirty years ago though—when the nuns would have sent home a mimeographed notice that children in the third world would die if parents didn’t attend the meeting.

In other news, today is the sixty-third anniversary of D Day. And my sometimes nickname as a kid was D, which my college roommates and grad school friends also caught onto and called me. Keep these facts in mind for tomorrow’s post. You’re going to need them.

Where’s the line for this in the baby book?

Saturday night was huge. A milestone. An event that’s been years coming. This is right up there with the first word, first step, and first fake tummy ache on a school morning.

Are you ready for it? You’ll never guess what it is. Clare’s Mom and I spent our first night away from Clare in over three years! The only person before Saturday to take Clare overnight was Clare’s Mom’s mother, but she died just over three years ago. So this was a pretty important milestone.

Yes, Clare had her first sleepover at her best friend’s house. The girls camped out on the living room floor, probably kept each other up half the night, and both looked like death warmed over the next morning. But enough about Clare—this is a post about us for change.

Clare’s Mom and I went to a silent auction to benefit Clare’s school. There were cocktails, hors d'oeuvres, dinner, silent and live auctions—all while charmingly interacting with adults. We didn’t even mind that we dropped a few hundred dollars on things we didn’t need. It was worth it to spend some time with other school parents that didn’t involve being at McDonald’s or a bowling alley with the kids for a birthday party. (Unfortunately, I was outbid on being mayor for a day. If I had won that, I would have used my power to make the city take down the Seasons Greetings banners that are still hanging downtown. I know a couple other bloggers might have appreciated that too.)

As a bonus to being out, the food was better that we expected and the event was better organized than we thought it would be. The only problem was that they got so many auction items donated that the event went on until about 11:30. After a Saturday spent at swimming lessons, lunch out, haircuts, getting ready, driving Clare to her friend’s house, and getting to the auction, we couldn’t handle anything other than falling asleep when we got home.

At least Clare probably stayed up and had some fun.

The First Rule of Kindergarten...

Clare’s school sent a letter home reminding parents that any concerns we might have about the school should be addressed to the school directly and not discussed with other parents. It was worded actually as more than just a reminder…it was a warning.

The first rule of kindergarten...is you do not talk about kindergarten.

Okay…so it didn’t say that…but the implication was there. Apparently some parents were whining or complaining about something or other without going right to the school with their issues. The complaints must have gotten back to the school eventually and the school wants to deal with these issues before the gossip gets out of control. There’s no harm in that. But why then a letter strongly worded to attempt to control parents’ speech?

The second rule of kindergarten...is you DO NOT talk about kindergarten.

I’ve mentioned before that Clare goes to Catholic school and the only nun there is in the administration. And from the conversations that I’ve had with this nun so far, she’s a very friendly and caring person. And Clare’s teacher is wonderful too; Clare actually wants to say hello to her if we see her out of school. But there are things about private Catholic school that can get frustrating—at least two fundraisers a month, the strictness with uniforms and schedules, the out of school activities, the calls to volunteer for fairs and dinners and bingo, the calls to be involved in parent associations. I think that what really happened here was that a few parents probably did get out of control with their complaints or gossip and the school responded with a poorly worded letter. I suppose that some conflict is inevitable. Clare’s Mom and I have even discussed getting more involved to try to influence how some activities are run, but we’re not sure we want to put up with all of the personalities involved either. Still, with eight years ahead of Clare in this school, properly concerned parents are sure to question something or even have a run-in with someone at some point.

The Fight Club reference falls apart if we expect that fights will end if we yell stop, that only two people will be involved in any fight and there will only be one fight at a time, and of course I don’t expect that no shirt no shoes rule. But fights might go on as long as they have to…and unfortunately maybe that last rule applies too.

The eighth and final rule...if this is your first time in kindergarten, you have to fight.

Eyeballs on a Plate, Triscuits in the Box

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Eyeballs.”

“Eyeballs? Eyeballs who?”

“Eyeballs on a plate.” And then Clare laughed wildly from the back seat while we were driving today.

I started laughing too and spitting out Diet Coke because I knew exactly where Clare had gotten this joke.

The “knock knock” joke is one of Clare’s favorites right now, but she doesn’t always tell them in the “traditional” sense. She just makes the punchline odd phrases that she’s heard. So where did she hear “eyeballs on a plate?” Let me explain.

In the back of the church where Clare goes to Catholic school, there’s a statue of Saint Lucy. When I went to this school about thirty years ago, a nun told us the story of this saint who’s oddly holding two eyeballs on a plate in front of her. What inquisitive kid wouldn’t wonder at some point during eight years of education why the heck this woman is holding eyeballs on a plate. Well, according to the nun, Saint Lucy had vowed a life of chastity but was being pursued by a young man who wouldn’t give up. Finally, Lucy asked him what it was that he liked about her. His first answer was her eyes…so she poked them out and served them to him on plate. (Most guys have had some experience with a girlfriend who turns out to be crazy in some sense…unfortunately most girls aren’t this obvious about showing it anymore.) Later, the story went, Lucy’s eyes grew back. (According to the Patron Saints Index online, however, Lucy’s eyes were torn out during torture…I’m not sure which story is more gruesome.)

Obviously either some kid in Clare’s kindergarten class had asked about the statue already or the teacher voluntarily pointed it out. In either case, even though there aren’t nuns teaching at this school anymore, I can already tell that Clare’s experience in Catholic school is going to be a lot like mine. Great education...but we're in for a wild ride.

Prayer Bear...or Spy Bear?

When I was in first grade at Catholic grammar school—the same one that Clare goes to now—the nuns sent home a note that they would be visiting each student’s family at home. I don’t specifically remember much of what happened when my teacher and the school principal came to visit one afternoon, but I do remember that we sat unnaturally in the living room making small talk with nuns while trying to pretend that we weren’t uncomfortable. We sat upright in chairs and softly said things like “Please, have a seat” and “Thank you, Mother” and “How very nice of you to visit with us this wonderful day.” In my blurred remembrance of that afternoon I think I even envision tea and crumpets in the room. When the nuns left, I was back to myself—thrown on the floor in front of the television and yelling, “What can I eat before dinner? I’m starving to death!”

Since I graduated from that school twenty-some years ago a few things have changed. (From a quick tour though, I suspect that the library books haven’t changed and the primary reference is the 1967 World Book Encyclopedia which tells us that someday man may go to the moon and that the transformations of Vatican II may not last.) Now, however, there’s only one nun, who is vice-principal, and none are teaching. There are no afternoon visits with families. Instead, they send home Prayer Bear.

Clare stepped off the bus one day this week with a large blue bag looking like she’d brought somebody’s laundry home. I asked, “What’s in the bag?” and she told me, “It’s Prayer Bear!” Right away, I knew what we were in store for and Clare had to tell me to stop laughing.

Prayer Bear came with a “journal” that explained on the first page that he had come to visit for the night and that we should record what he did with us…not forgetting to say bedtime prayers. So, instead of coming into our home and observing what went on, the school sent a spy and was forcing us to testify against ourselves. The bonus of this system though was that Prayer Bear’s journal told us everything that he’d done at everyone else’s house too…so we could compare our lives to theirs…find out whose family was normal and whose was kind of freakish.

Clare’s Mom and I read Prayer Bear’s journal before we decided what we would write. Clare, of course, wanted to tell the truth and largely we did…Prayer Bear played outside with Clare for a while, played dolls and babies inside, tried on a Halloween costume so Clare could take his picture (up above there), watched us eat dinner and get ready for bed. This wasn’t so different from what any other family had written. All of our entries, however, seemed to have some unnatural vibe to them. In everyone’s family, it seems, we always say “Please” and “Thank you, Mother” and “How very nice of Prayer Bear to visit with us this wonderful day.”

Costume Parade

“Are you wearing your costume to kindergarten this week for Halloween?” my Mom asked Clare earlier in the week.

It was a simple enough question, but Clare didn’t have an easy answer. No, Clare wasn’t wearing her Halloween Tinkerbell costume. And no, she wasn’t wearing a costume to school for Halloween. But yes, she was wearing a costume to school this week…but not one of the several Disney princess costumes she has. (She asked last night, by the way, if she could change costumes and go out for more candy.) Clare goes to Catholic school so we needed to put together a costume of a saint for All Saints Day.

We tried to steer Clare toward Saint Clare who would be the obvious. Patron saint of television, Clare could have even carried an old Sony Watchman that I have somewhere in the basement. Or she could have been Saint Cecilia based on her middle name. Cecilia is the patron saint of music, and Clare could have carried a toy xylophone, a Simon and Garfunkel CD, or even an old guitar that I have in the basement. (As an aside, I’ve been trying to get rid of some old things that I have in the basement.) I also thought that Joan of Arc would be a good idea—a girl dressed up in armor and tied to a stake could have been fun at church. But girly princess that she is, Clare wouldn’t go for the armor. I also suggested that Clare carry an arch and go as St. Louis. She didn’t get it.

It seems that Clare’s teacher had mentioned St. Elizabeth as an example in class. Clare latched onto that name and came home telling Clare’s Mom and me about Elizabeth. She wasn’t open to any other suggestions. Now if you’ve gone to Catholic school (or paid attention during catechism classes or at mass around Christmas time) you’d know that the first Elizabeth to spring to mind is the mother of John the Baptist and is best known for “becoming pregnant very late in life.” I wasn’t about to go find a first-century-pregnant-old-lady costume, so we hit the internet in search of an easier-to-throw-together Elizabeth.

Enter Elizabeth of Hungary. It couldn’t have been better. The woman was a princess. The name kept Clare happy and the costume was easy to find—regal cape and princess crown and we were done.

This morning, my Mom and I went to watch the All Saints Day pageant at school. Most of the other kids must have gone with the classroom examples too—the place was filled with Marys, Teresas, Peters, Francises, and Patricks. It looked like an historic convention of bishops, friars, monks and nuns. There were some interesting ideas though—like a Santa suit for Saint Nicholas, a Saint Dymphna who, according to some kindergartener, dressed exactly like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, and a handful of Saint Georges, who is said to have killed a dragon. There were even a couple parents oddly dressed like saints—unless they dress like European peasants every day. But standing right next to Clare…there was another girl in a crown. So much for trying to have an original idea.

Still Here

It's been over four months since my last post (Clare's Mom put up the post in May)...and the one year anniversary of this blog passed just two days ago. But I'm still here. Updates and explanations of how I hope to get this blog back in order (as well as other things) will be coming shortly.

Clare will be starting kindergarten very soon...at Catholic school. Since Clare's Mom and I are also both veterans of Catholic education it should make for some interesting blogging.

Take care, everyone. I'll be catching up on your blogs very soon too.