Valentines' Day Hater, Sort Of

That's right. That's me, a self-proclaimed Valentines' Day hater. Sort of. If my husband walked through the door on Valentines' Day with a dozen red roses and a box of chocolates, well, let's just say, it'd be a mistake he'd only make once.

I know there are other haters out there. And I know there are people out there who don't understand why I harbor such animosity for such a fluffy, feel-good holiday.

It boils down to two things. One: I was a florist in college and the parade of bouquet-seekers - typically men - coming in on February 14th at 5 o'clock left a bitter taste in my mouth. I'd like a dozen red roses, please. I wanted to scream, "Be creative!!! I have some crimson kangaroo paws over here. How 'bout some tulips?" Do you have any baby's breath to go with the roses? And ferns? And a card?  No. No. And no. Would a little originality hurt?! C'mon, guys.

Two: Why February 14th? Why only one day a year? What about the other 364 days?!? You know, I actually blame the women for perpetuating this. Ladies, if your man tells you how much you mean to him all year long, give the man a break. Don't make him buy you flowers on the one day when the usual 300% markup on flowers jumps to a 600% - or more. Don't insist on chocolates or jewelry. I mean, those things are nice, really nice. But they are even more fantastic when he's getting them because he thought of you on a Tuesday in the middle of August...not on the day that Hallmark wants to up their sales.











I am not a complete 'grinch' or whatever the Valentines' Day equivalent is.

Every year that the boys have been in school, I spend hours with them, making cards and treats for their classmates. We usually make some cutesy little homemade card with a themed homemade treat. One year, Riley wanted to make these pink-feathered flamingos he had seen in one of my craft magazines that hang on a pencil; I burned my arm on the glue gun, more than once, but I smiled through it because he was so proud of those cards.

Last year we made gingerbread owls with cards that asked "Whhhhhooooooo wants to be your Valentine? I dooooooooo." We had to make gluten-free owls, nut-free owls, and even one dairy-free owl to accommodate the allergies in the classes. But, again, I did it all with a smile because the boys were so excited about their cards...after one edit. Dylan refused to sign the first cards because I had printed "Love, ___________." All he had to do was sign his name and write their names at the top. He looked at me and said, "Mom, I can't sign that. I don't love her. That's a lie."

This year, thankfully, I get a pass on the school cards. The Mann Clan will still be celebrating, enjoying each other's company, imbibing, and indulging. But we do that anyway...all year long.

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!