Ringing in the New Year, Mann-Style

Lots of people have new year's eve traditions. Ours = vicariously globe-trotting with international new year's eve traditions, board games, giggles, family cuddles, bubbly, and kisses at midnight. It's probably not the most exciting thing we could be doing, we definitely missed out on some shenanigans with our crazy friends, but it's exactly what I want: making memories with my kids and starting off the year with the most important people in my life.

Italy. We donned red undies for good luck. Felice Anno Nuevo.

The Philippines. We pulled on polka-dotted socks to honor our Filipino roots. Manigong Bagong Taon!

Denmark. We leapt from the couch, especially for Zia Rikke and Ulla. Godt NytÅr!

Japan. We rang a bell 108 times, each, to chase away 432 troubles. By that point, Riley was half asleep and we had to count for him. But he participated.

We feasted. We had pillow fights. And we all made it to midnight. Enjoy 2012. We certainly will.

We have a few more international traditions to complete this morning. Better get on it.

Confessions of a Less Than Enthusiastic Talent Show Mom

Okay, flame on, folks. I probably deserve it. But when I saw the flyer come home in the backpacks about the School talent show, I flashed back to last year's show: hours of acts, some true talents, some just really enthusiastic kids, and some kids that I will watch no matter what because they are good friends of ours. I had finally supressed one of the songs that gripped mercilessly onto your brain, refusing to be banished no matter how many other songs you crammed into your ears. I won't even mention the title for fear that it will creep back into my head. And, though I grudingly held onto the paper for a day, when neither of my boys mentioned it, I recycled it. Yes, I did stick it through the shredder first - with a smile on my face! Perhaps that was a little over the top.

So, imagine my surprise when my 2nd grader announced, gleefully, when I picked him up from my parents' house this afternoon that he was going to be in the talent show.

No, you're not. We never talked about it and I didn't sign the permission form. It had to be turned in today, Dylan.

The Nonni signed it.

Really?!? Seeking confirmation, I dialed my parents. Mom, did you sign the permission form for Dylan to be in the talent show at school?

No, let me ask your dad. [muffled chatter followed by laughter] Yes, your dad signed it. Dylan was really enthusiastic and walked him over to the sign-up. Did you tell him 'no'?

I sighed. No, I didn't tell him 'no', I just didn't mention it at all.

So the conversation continued.

Mommy, don't worry, it's only nineteen seconds.

No, it's ninety seconds. Do you have a plan?

So, here's what I've gathered: He's going to do a comedy show. He still has to write the script with his little pal. But he doesn't need a costume and he doesn't have to say anything. He's the guy who sits in front of the stage and laughs.

OMG. My kid is the canned laughter!

So, come one evening in January, we will be joining hundreds of other School parents, glued to our chairs, holding our breaths, and clapping as loudly as we can. Unleash the talent!

Embroidered Placecards

One of my friends has already started her Thanksgiving cooking...I figured that I needed to get on the preparation wagon. After his field trip to the Cooper-Molera Adobe when we stepped back in time and ground corn, made tortillas, branded leather, and embroidered, Riley decided that he wanted to embroider the placecards for our Thanksgiving table. So, he paced himself and did one per day. He just finished this afternoon...and now Nonna has enough time to back them to hide his stiches on the flipside. He is so proud of these!

Great job, Riley-ball.

California History

I have lived on the Monterey Peninsula, on and off, for almost three decades. I know that Monterey was the first capital city of California. I have walked by most of the buildings along the path of history countless times. However, the number of things I know about this history-rich area is severely lacking. Sad, I know, especially so since I actually have a degree in U.S. History. But as Riley - and every other fourth grader in the state - delves into the history of California, so will I.

Yesterday I chaperoned his field trip to the Cooper-Molera Adobe. It shares a parking lot with my usual haunt, Trader Joe's; though I am there at least two or three times a week, I have only ventured into that state park-run building and garden two or three times ever. What an amazing experience with docents leading us in branding leather pieces, embroidering flowers on burlap, making sisal rope, and more! Riley has agreed to help me embroider a few things for our Thanksgiving table. It's nice that he seems to be enjoying learning about California history as much as I am.

Barong Tagalog

For the first Arts Night at the boys's school, the instructions for the second grade boys: "traditional dress of any country or white shirt, navy pants."

Dylan wanted to be an Oklahoma cowboy. I told him that's not international, despite what Daddy and I joke about.... Then he wanted to wear his kangaroo hat because it's from Australia; I told him that that's not traditional. The poor kid was almost in tears.

I mentioned the Barong Tagalog that we had borrowed from Aunt Pia for other events. It's a traditional Filipino shirt for men and boys, letting him know that his is made of silk, but that in the Philippines the barongs are sometimes made out of pineapple fibers.

I have to recount this story from the first time Dylan ever wore a barong and am keeping my fingers crossed that once he sees it tonight, he'll agree to wear it for tomorrow evening's music performance. That would make my life so much easier.

In any case, Dylan was asking why he had to wear the barong.

Riley assured me that he could explain it. He said, "it's because we're HALF Filipino, Dylan."

Dylan, standing there in his underwear, was holding up his arm to arm, then arm to leg, looking very confused.

Finally he said, "Which half is Filipino, Riley? I look all one kind."

Captain Wombat is...a Weaponless Viking?!?

As a crew that dresses up multiple times a year, for various themed parties, our costume bins - yes, plural - overfloweth with good stuff. From horned Viking hats to fluffy feather boas and from pirate eye patches to Smurf hats, we have it all. But, still, choosing a Halloween costume is always torturous, complicated by the restrictions that the School places on the day: no masks, no weapons, and only facepaints that the kids can apply themselves. Can you say "disaster"?

Dylan, dubbed Captain Wombat by his teacher, decided that he wanted to be the dingo from the book Wombat Stew. He planned to carry his stuffed wombat in a soup pot; we glued some white fur onto an orange t-shirt and an orange tail made with a kitchen towel onto a pair of old sweatpants. He found a fuzzy little half mask in the costume bins. Maybe it's a lion. Who knows? But it's the right color and he likes it. Revisit the school rules: no mask.

Tears, lots of tears. Riley suggested we make a headband with orange ears. I told Dylan that he could paint whiskers on his face. No, he wailed, I need my dingo mask to make the costume be correct. Oh, brother!

So, he's abadoning the dingo costume for school altogether, but will be sporting the whole outfit - with mask! - at our Halloween camping trip this weekend.

But for his school celebration, he decided to be a Viking. Then I reminded him that he couldn't bring a sword. Remember the no weapons rule. More tears. He concluded that "if a Viking lost his sword, he would just stab his enemy with his horns." So, now he's okay being a resourceful, weaponless Viking. Fantastic!

Lesson Learned the Hard Way

Here's a parenting lesson I'm learning the hard way: when your child wins a gift certificate to a restaurant you wouldn't normally go to, just go. Go quickly. Because when you look for the thing two years later - and it's expired - you now have to go and you have to pay for it. Horrible.

That was the case with Dylan and his gift certificate to Chili's. Dylan received the gift certificate in kindergarten. One of my good friends, who Dylan calls Uncle Brian, had promised to take him to Chili's to use the certficiate since I wouldn't take him. It's been two years and we had still never picked a day for it. Finally we picked a day and, as I mentioned before, the certificate was expired. But when you tell a 7-year-old you're going to take him somewhere, you have to do it. Oh, and to add to the horror, Brian promised to take them to McDonald's for dessert. Seriously.

So we went. The funniest response to my reporting that I actually went to Chili's and McDonald's: "I thought your account was hacked." If only that were the case. Here I am with my vanilla soft serve...at the drive-through because Brian said he wouldn't set foot into McDonald's. He'll promise my kid an ice cream cone from there, but won't leave the comfort of his vehicle!

There you have it. My account was not hacked. I did, in fact, eat at those establishments. The cocktail was weak, the food salty, really salty. And the funny thing is that I have eaten all over the world, from questionable food carts on beaches in third world countries and my body has never reacted like this; twenty minutes after we ate, Riley, Dylan, and I were running for the bathroom, almost as if our bodies were yelling 'reject! reject!' Jake laughed, saying, "I guess my body remembers eating food like this."

All I have to say is: if the school hadn't done away with giving out gift certficiates to Chili's as a reward for never being tardy, I would make sure that we were late at least once!