How to Make a Fish Robot

My kids love animals and robots, not exactly in that order. And ever since my 10 year-old, Kyle, went to robotics camp, the creation of robots has been a lively topic of conversation. So this morning, as I was attempting to find something unwrinkled in my closet, Seth gave me the rundown on how he would make a fish robot. It was sort of one big, long, hold-your-breath-as-long-as-you-can-and-talk running quote.
"Okay, mom, here's what you have to do:
First, kill a fish.
Then, you pull out all the bones. But you have to be really gentle and careful.
Then, you have to make sure the skin is not ripped.
At the end, you put all the robot parts in. And you have a fish robot!
So, can we go to the pet store now?"
Sounds simple, doesn't it? Perhaps we should alert MIT.

Birthday Snake

Today is Seth and Jesse's eighth birthday, and I consider it an amazing feat that we've all gotten to this point and are still
a) reasonably sane, or at least able to appear that way in most situations
b) able to remember to sign most of the permission slips, remember to send in most of the after-school playdate notes and get 80 percent of the homework and days-off from school correct. (It's really annoying to drop the kids at school, only to discover that that the teachers and staff are all attending a day-long off-site workshop).
c) feeling content once a week or more

Seth, for his birthday gift, desperately wants a pet. He talks about his animal love nonstop. One day it's fish, the next it's a snake. Sometimes he gets onto hamsters or chinchillas. But snake love is a running theme for him.
I keep putting him off, telling him that Daddy and I have to discuss the issue. But this morning, after breakfast, Sethie said, "Now that it's my birthday, let's go get my pet snake." He pointed out the window, to the conveniently located pet shop across the street. "It's lonely in the pet store. And I will love it, love it, love it. I'll even pay for the snake, but you have to buy its tank and food."

We've been loathe to reintroduce live animals into our family, given our frenetic lifestyle and scant space. Fish are easy, but they're not very satisfying to cuddle. Hamsters bite, gerbils are cannibalistic and, well, a dog is just too much of a commitment and a hair-shedder for me.

So maybe later today, we'll go and check that snake out. And perhaps we'll have a new member of the family.

Lather Up

I've been noticing lately how intensely my three boys seem to embrace their passions, from fish to football.
When they care about something, it's deeply and without reserve.
To wit, Kyle has discovered the fine art of soap carving.
Not sure where that one came from, but two days ago, he asked for a bar of soap and a knife and asked if he could whittle. Because I, apparently, am the kind of mother who allows her children to do such ridiculous things, I agreed.
His first piece was Sponge Bob and kind of cute, I must say. Now, he's asked for better soap ("I need it to be really square, Mom") and a pocket knife with which to create, and I'm finding soap chips all over the floor.
I have no idea how long Kyle will follow this particular artistic path—and a very specific path it is—but I have to think that, like origami and Legos, his interest in soap sculptures will come and go over time.
In the meantime, we'll always be able to wash our hands.

Things That Happened During The Latest Snowstorm

1) School was canceled in New York City for only the second time in about five years.
2) My children, upon hearing the news, ran around in circles in the living room, shrieking "whoo hoo!"
3) My husband went to work.
4) My children watched Tom and Jerry, several episodes.
5) I searched for snow boots for an hour before finding them.
6) We went sledding in Central Park; the snow-laden trees made me very happy.
All pretty normal so far, right?

OK, try the next one on for size:
7) Seth put his hand in the toilet and Kyle's BFF, Giancarlo, videotaped it.

Granted, this was quite late in the day, when everyone was snow-weary and a bit wild. The boys were in the midst of making their new adventure/comedy video, the name of which I'm not yet allowed to reveal. But if you go to You Tube in the next few days and type in Fadoodle, you too may get to see the wondrous sight of one of my second-graders plunging his pink little paw into the toilet.

But it's OK. As Kyle explained to me after I screamed out loud post video-viewing, "Don't worry Mom. The toilet was flushed.""

Emotional Rescue

Jesse, one of my almost-eight-year-olds, is by nature a socially precocious kid. He has an innate sense of how to conduct himself with other kids in order to maximize the attention he gets and minimize any teasing or exclusion.
Hence, he's as comfortable with the fifth-graders at school as he is with his fellow second-graders. Just this morning, one of the fifth-graders handed him a big lollypop, for the heck of it.
The Peanut has even befriended some of the teens that sometimes huddle in groups in the back of our school playground.
One day, as he rode the uptown bus with his babysitter, Juana, she heard his name being called through the open window.
"Jesse! Jesse! Hey, yo!"
Jesse scrambled to the window. "Hey! There are my friends!" he exclaimed.
Juana glanced out the window, where a pack of hoodie-wearing teens gathered.
"Jesse, man, how goes it?" one of the kids called out.
Jesse grinned in triumph and turned to the other passengers. "They know me," he explained proudly.
Resounding laughter from the other passengers.
But as socially aware as my little Jesse burger may be, he's equally emotionally self-protective. Take, for example, this small vignette from last week, as he and his buddy K. played baseball on the Wii.
"Well, you know," said Jesse in between swings, "We always get along. That's why we're best friends."
Then, realizing that he'd just let his emotional guard come crashing down, Jesse stopped short.
"Well, kind of best friends," he added.
K smiled. "Of course we're best friends," he told the Peanut.
Jesse let out a deep breathe, clearly one of relief. "Yup, of course."

Anatomy Lesson

Gotta love it when kids ask those unanswerable questions. Today, during a visit to Barnes and Noble with Seth, he spotted a book cover bearing a photo of a skeleton half buried in the dirt.
He stared at it for close to a minute, then leaned into me and whispered, "Mom, do your testicles (not the word he actually used) have bones?"
"No," I answered, then asked the fateful question. "Why?"
He pointed to the skeleton's sacral bone. "Look," he said. "That's a bone."
"That's in the back," I explained, patting his tiny little tush. "Not the front. It's called the tailbone."
Seth stared at the book cover again. "No fair!" he exclaimed. "How come he get to have a tail?"

Little Foodie

While Kyle and Jesse are pretty well diet-restricted by choice (Jesse is on the all-white-food, all-the-time plan, while Kyle sticks with smoothies and pizza), Seth, thank goodness, is at least a wee bit adventurous when it comes to culinary choices. Today, he ordered a green salad (!) for lunch.
Then, we stopped by the local farmer's market, which offers pretty slim pickings in late January. And he fell in love with the smoked duck breast that was being sampled by an upstate farm. He gobbled down 1,2,3...6 samples of the smoky, fatty stuff, turned to me beaming, and said "Mom, it's great! Can we get some?"
Fifteen dollars later, we brought home a (very) small package of the duck breast, which Seth singlehandedly plowed through at dinner.
My foodie in the making. I'm so proud. Now if I can only wean him from the GoGurts and chicken fingers.