Okay, I’m a Lingerer.

When I drop the girls off at school, I dawdle after goodbye kisses, peeking through the sliver of glass on the door that isn’t papered up to keep prying eyes like mine out. My husband likes to approach stealthily when he picks them up, for the pleasure of watching them unawares  - the reverse-linger, if you will - but is usually thwarted by some other little kid shouting: “Zoe! Your daddy’s here!” 

This urge does not strike when I’m actually home with them. After all, here I am frantically blogging in the office while my toddler complains from the porch: “I’m outside all by myseeeeeelf!” I do realize the irony.

Lingering can make you worry. When my preschooler hugs me then walks to the school playground and shoulders drooping further with each step, settles in the sandbox by herself, I fret. Doesn’t she have any friends? I wonder from my perch in the parking lot. (Yes, she’s well liked, her teacher assures me.) On “Water Day,” I linger to watch my two-year-old’s face scrunch up in pleasure as her teacher walks her past the water sprinklers to the water slide. She gets to the top. Oh wait! Paralysis hits and other kids edge past her. (Slide, Maya, slide! You can do it, I cheer silently.)

I can only describe the feeling as a sort of Thrill-Dread. A peek into their secret lives at school, lives that don’t involve me or their dad. The kind of feeling you get when the teacher sends home a picture of your kid smiling for the camera at a birthday party they had for her at school. Wearing a gold cardboard birthday crown. With cupcakes (that you didn’t buy).

I doubt I’m alone in this. Cribsheeters?

It’s been a riveting year in politics so far, and promises to be even more so in coming months. Who better than regular Cribsheet commenter Robin Marty to guest blog on how her baby has changed her politics…

Robin and Violet

You often hear people say that all politics is local.

I’d go one step beyond that, and say all politics is familial. I’ve followed politics as an amused spectator ever since I left college in 1999. I sat up for hours waiting for Florida to get called in 2000, heading to bed believing it was won by Bush and waking up to find it was still too close to call.

By 2003 I fell in love with my first candidate, and by 2004 I felt the first crushing blow of defeat. It was heartbreaking, but it was still mostly intellectual to me — like watching your favorite football team crumble during the playoffs.

I’m one of the few lucky people able to turn a love of Monday-morning-politicking into an actual job, establishing and supporting progressive online news sites. But it took having a child to finally make me understand the importance of participating in my own government.

Suddenly talking about social security turned into whether I would be a burden to my baby when I’m old. Environmental issues weren’t just the cost of recycling or finding alternative energies, it became what sort of world I’m going to leave my daughter.

Whether a public school fails or succeeds, whether a neighborhood thrives, crime, housing, everything becomes personal in a way that it never was before.

In the nearly seven months since my child was born, the world has been recast for me as if I had suddenly put on 3D glasses. (more…)

I have fond memories of those backyard twilight summertime evenings during my childhood in northern Illinois. At dusk I used to lay in the grass on the hill and stare up at the stars. I thought that the cricket serenade the was the sound of the stars twinkling. Made perfect sense to me.

But my fondest memory was that the night sky was punctuated by fireflies. Lazy little day-glo yellow lights randomly blinking in the air. The neighborhood kids and I would run around playing catch and release them until our parents beckoned us in. Some would end up in a Skippy jar with holes punched in the lid and a handful of grass. It truly was the super-coolest nightlight to have in your bedroom. I also remember they made your hands stink, there was always a good handwashing after catching them.

I also have fond memories of sitting on the porch during college (dearly beloved Iowa City). I swear there were clouds of fireflies there. So incredibly cool to kick back and watch them. The perfect serene backdrop to deep conversation and a cold brew.

Now we’re heading back to the grandparents in Illinois (probably there as you read this) and I’m looking forward to watching Ben marvel at the fireflies. They just aren’t around up here. Mosquitos yes, lightning bugs, no. I’ve lived here almost half my life and recall seeing one here and there, but not like the summers “down south”. Has it always been this way?

Here is what I found from the MN DNR site on them here. Says they’re around - but where? Our kids are missing out on some serious summertime joy!

Any armchair entomolgists out there? Where can one find fireflies in Minnesota? Why such a sparse population in the area? Mosquito control? Plants? Predators? What is up?

Just got back fresh from our first road trip with 2 kids. We went to Fargo for my husband’s parents 50th Anniversary party. A lovely weekend full of cousins, aunts and uncles we haven’t seen in ages.

With a houseful of aunties, (Peter has 4 sisters) and extended family I swear I didn’t get to hold baby Vivian for more than a minute all weekend. She is 7 months now and at her prime of “peak squishability.”  She barely ever touched the ground - she was fussed over and passed around the entire time.

Although we knew they were always in good hands somewhere. Both Peter and I spent a lot of time going, “Wait a minute, where are our children? Anyone seen a blonde boy about this tall run by? And, where is my baby?”

Ben, all rough and tumble 2.5 year old boy arrived with a black eye just in time for a weekend of photo opportunities. (He slipped and fell against Vivian’s high chair two days prior). Poor guy. But he had a blast playing with his cousins and “wedding crashing” the reception across the hall from our event.

Sleeping in a strange environment was hard on him. We should have anticipated that. Naps were out of the question for with so much excitement and people he needed to entertain. We also haven’t quite made the crib to bed switch - so his new Lightning McQueen airbed/sleeping bag did little to keep the squirming sleeper in place. At one point in the night we found his feet sticking out from under our bed. Next we found him curled in a corner on the carpet. The crib to bed transition happens this week at home. Even though we’ll have guardrails on his bed, I still wonder where we’ll find him each morning.

It was good to have everyone come together under one roof again as everyone has scattered across the country. All in all - a whirlwind weekend full of laughter and conversation, group photo sessions, reminiscing and a LOT of coffee. 

One of my favorite things to do on Saturday mornings lately is taking the kidlets for a long, meandering, stroller walk around our neighborhood. I set out with a little cash in my pocket and we’ll walk around until we stumble upon random garage sales.

A little lightbulb went off when I returned home from last Saturday’s round of treasure hunting and looked at my finds.  I realized - “I’m buying these toys for me more than for my kids. My kids are merely a smokescreen for me to buy nostalgic toys that I want.”

Case in point: Mrs. Beasley. 

Mrs. Beasley

I picked her up this past weekend for 50 cents. Neither of my kids will probably ever know who she is.  (Buffy’s doll from Family Affair for those of you under 35).  I have yet to see an episode of “Family Affair” with Buffy & Jody and the original “manny” Mr. French on Nick @ Nite. Her pullstring voice box doesn’t work, her spectacles are missing and she’s slightly soiled. But she was part of the toy collection of my youth.

Come to think of it.  Honestly I don’t have fond memories of her. She really was my sister’s doll. I remember my brother Doug told me to go get the mail one afternoon. I ran out to the mailbox, opened it up, and there was Mrs. Beasley’s decapitated head (a la The Godfather) staring back at me. Traumatizing! But hey she was only 50 cents.

Now, my husband wants her out of the house - he thinks she’s beyond creepy in a “Chuckie” kind of way. Peter put a kitchen knife in Mrs. Beasley’s hand to illustrate his point.  He was right. Mrs. Beasley’s wide blue eyed stare and sweetly sinister smile is indeed creepy.  Especially when wielding a paring knife. (and if she’s supposed to be an old lady doll, she’s got some serious Botox going on).

Fisher Price Little People

Then there was the vintage Fisher Price Little People garage sale bonanza of 2007. We found a driveway full of schoolhouses with magnetic letters, barns that go “moo”, the boat, the garage,  and on and on, all with the little wooden people.

The curvaceous blue mom with the plastic yellow bun hair and the goth black lipstick, the bully boy with freckles and the side turned baseball cap, the smushed face dog with plastic black ears. I chose the barn that goes “moooo” when you open the door. So nostalgic for me but merely a garage for Ben’s trains now. But at least he plays with it.

Dressy Bessy 

This doll is utilitarian and educational.  Potential playability. Very interactive and educational. You can learn how to tie, zip, buckle, button, snap and lace. Or untie, unzip, unbuckle, unbutton, unsnap, or unlace as the case may be.  She was also 50 cents and decidedly not creepy. How could I not buy her? …Now if I could only find her brother, Dapper Dan.

sidenote: Guess what I found out on Google? My creepy 50 cent Mrs. Beasley is going for up to $210 on a nostalgic toy site.  Who knew? Another piece of trivia I found - Mrs. Beasley’s voice was Cheryl Ladd one of Farrah’s many Charlie’s Angels replacements. Again. Who knew?

Okay so what nostalgic toys or games have you bought for your kids but realized they were really for you? And do they play with them?