Much to my surprise, Big Guy was a Fourth of July-type person from the start.
His first celebration came at a local college when he was just shy of his first birthday but already walking. Walking …

Life would be so much easier if Boots had just stuck to the plan four years ago.
He wasn’t supposed to be born until early July. I dreamed of a little Yankee Doodle  baby and smiled …

The problem with lying is keeping your tales straight.
Or, in this case, keeping your tails straight. All day today, Big Guy kept asking  and I kept ad-libbing about the Easter Bunny. It led to one …

I’d screwed up, and Big Guy let me know it.
“Mom!” he exclaimed, pawing through a grocery bag of Valentine bling collected at school. “Look at this. Lollipops and candies. And all I gave the people …

First thing Big Guy wanted to know after he came home with a coveted party invitation in his backpack was what we were going to buy Birthday Girl.
“It says not to bring presents,” I told  …

Feeling myself flailing about a week ago, I sat down and made my anal little lists. Three, which shows exactly how anal I am.

Christmas Day menu
Grocery shopping list
To-do list, with tasks parsed out between Friday …

Dear Santa,
I’m sending this via email because of course I kept procrastinating and never got the letter in the mail. I’m hoping you have your Blackberry, though please don’t check it now. NORAD tells me …

It took Big Guy all of 3.6 seconds to get the truth out of Boots the night after the guys had gone on separate Christmas shopping trips for each other.
There was no need for beating, …

I have lost all deniability in the Claus conspiracy, and if the feds come calling I’m toast. My only hope is they’ll find it in their hearts to delay my arraignment until after Christmas.
Even a …

The New York Times headline last week gave me hope for the holidays: Use statistical analysis to buy presents, it said.
I love statistics, and I love databases. My little geeky heart skipped a beat at …

His name is Rigo, and we ran into him while shopping.
Technically, Big Guy ran into a tree decorated with snowman-shaped tags, and nothing gets a 5-year-old’s attention quicker at Christmas than colored lights and a …

Once in a while, I flat miss it.
I’m so tin-earred about what’s really important in the guys’ world that I blow past something crucial.
And that’s why Boots and I spent Sunday afternoon going from one …

I was 9 when I found out about Santa.
My parents sat the three of us down one summer day and matter-of-factly explained it. I was stunned. Later, I felt sorry for my brother and sister, …

It’s another lesson in “everything old is new again.”
Or maybe it’s another reminder that I have way too much old junk gunking up the house. Cooking junk in particular, an area where my obsessive-compulsive disorder …

It’s grotesquely commercial and no doubt considered a sacrilege in some denominations. I’m just religious enough to fear a lightening strike each year when I bring it out of the garage.
It’s also the first Christmas …

Caramel corn is a good gift with a bad reputation spawned by the turbo tins you see everywhere this time of year. I suspect some of them were manufactured when I was in high school.
People …

I went to Wal-Mart yesterday on an unsuccessful mission to avoid ruining Big Guy’s Christmas.
No one died there, though an associate looked like he was ready to kill me when I asked where to find …

I’m flashing back about 16 years, to when my brother’s youngest was 3 and all she wanted for Christmas was a Mickey Mouse riding toy and a bottle of Pepsi.
Her mom had seen the toy …

I started the Simple Gifts concept last year, on another blog under another name for another reason.
Last year, it was inspired by a fellow blogger on a site I moderated and her post venting …

That Big Guy actually likes me. Sometimes: Even though he frequently flies at me with a boatload of bluff, bluster and bravado — how early that starts — the look on his face when I …

Things I learned from a day at kindergarten:
It’s amazing how quiet 40 5-year-olds can be, with no more warning than the tinkling of a bell like the ones that used at hotel desks. I must …

There’s pecan pie and chestnut stuffing and cranberry-Jello salad with walnuts. Maybe some almonds tossed into a salad to make it more festive. Don’t forget the peanut butter celery for the appetizer tray. Oh, and …

I’m still a relative novice at this kindergarten game, but thanks to Big Guy’s July start, I’ve been doing it long enough now to know Monday is the Day The Backpack Brings Bad News.
Two weeks …

A Halloween that starts under threatening skies — outdoors and in — wouldn’t seem to have much potential.
But it ended with Little Guy moaning on the floor that his tummy hurt and Big Guy weeping …

BREAKING NEWS ALERT: Halloween is Oct. 31
Dang. Why didn’t someone tell me earlier?
OK, here we go again. Implement emergency special-events drill I know so well. Give me credit for at least remembering that Halloween is …

Memories of my youngest niece’s Halloween costume when she was 3 inspired guilt pangs this week.
She was a Dalmatian. It was a stunningly simple project, once my sister-in-law moved heaven and earth to find plain …

Halloween decorating tips from the experts: Big Guy and Little Guy.
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Happy Halloween! Oh, wait. It’s still September

He’s waited, hoped and harangued for more than a month, but Little Guy’s day finally arrived.
“Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!” he exclaimed, his eyes bigger and bluer than usual as he spied the big display outside the …

Offering expert advice.Almost finishedAlmost finishedAh, the smell of pumpkin guts in the evening.Adults should not handle knives without adequate supervision.Inspecting the work.He’s really happy inside.Yes, he’s really kissing it.

Another drawback of year-round school that starts in July: While everyone else frantically chases new shoes and backpacks, that was so two months ago for us.

And with that out of the way, the guys have started trying to fast-forward the calendar to holidays. Which I’d be OK with if they could agree on how far to jump. Ever spend an evening refereeing brotherly bickering with no possible victor?

There is one advantage, though, to a no-fault sibling argument: If you can’t declare a winner, you can’t possibly play favorites.

In a way Big Guy won, because he wanted to skip to Christmas and we just happened to have an tiny tree in the garage. He lugged the tree to the living room, where they trimmed it with Hot Wheels

“I won’t say it’s always unfair to be sick on your birthday.

I’ve had my share of sick birthdays, the most notable being my 24th. My roommate had made shrimp scampi — this was before my seafood allergy had fully emerged. I took one look and hurled.

That was my fault, though. I don’t think Big Guy had near as many whiskey sours yesterday as I’d had the night before my 24th, so that makes what happened to him today officially unfair.

Unofficially, it makes it frightening. It’s the third time Big Guy’s lost his lunch when lunch has been hamburger or steak. And the third time wins him a doctor’s appointment. I’m praying it’s not another food allergy.

The day started out bright and sunny, as a birthday should be. Not that today was Big Guy’s actual birthday, but it was

“It’s after midnight the day before … er, make the day of … Big Guy’s alleged birthday. So what am I doing — why, waiting for the cake to come out of the oven.

I’m not even going to rant at myself this time for procrastinating, because I do it before every holiday, from Valentine’s Day to Halloween, plus birthdays to boot. My intentions always are good but, well, you know.

Instead, I’m going to complain about the three-day Big Guy Fest. Not complain, actually, as much as laugh at myself for the crazy lengths I wind up going to. It blows away my tough-gal image. Steel-coated marshmallow, I am.

Day 1: Family party at Pizza Hot, as Big Guy calls it. A few friends from school invited as

Little Guy rushed to me last weekend, tears streaming and voice frantic. Only one thing can cause that kind of trauma with him.

“”Mommy, want a Thomas toy!”" he pleaded.

“”Which Thomas toy, babes? You have a lot.”"

“”The one in Daddy’s car!”"Oh-oh. Little Guy had discovered his birthday present.

“”There’s no Thomas toy in Daddy’s car. Why would Daddy have Thomas?”"

Big Guy to the rescue. “”Yes there is, Mom. I saw it. It’s a Thomas toy, really!”"

His brother having affirmed his judgment, Little Guy rushed for the door toward the treasure of which he was being deprived. I grabbed Big Guy, knelt and whispered in his ear. “”It’s his birthday present. You need to keep it secret.”"

Big Guy’s eyes lit up. This was his chance at glory. Big people were trusting him with a secret — as if I had

Working moms have strange fantasies. My most recent: Big Guy’s “dream” fifth birthday party.

Working moms who’ve been at this for a while also learn when it’s time to let go of fantasies that the reality of the 24-hour day render impractical. Times like this, when I have to make these choices, make me a little sad. But I acknowledge what a snappish grump I become when I’m overstressed and overscheduled, and I swore long ago to quit doing that to the guys and myself.

The party was to have been a Batman theme, of course. The gala would have opened with me as Poison Ivy welcoming the guests, then playing a DVD in which “”Batman”" asked Big Guy and his friends to help save him from my evil clutches.

Through

Originally publish Oct. 28, 2007, thehive.modbee.com

When I was a kid, a neighbor who handed out a few marquee candies could win admiration and extra smiles for an entire year M&Ms, Snickers and Reese cups always were high on the list.

As a parent of an allergic kid, I can spot that terrible trio the second we step onto someone’s drive way. At least I’ve learned not to cringe.

Another Halloween, more candy to confiscate.

I’m lucky in a way that Big Guy has been allergic to peanut and egg from virtually the beginning. He’s never eaten Snickers, Reese cups or Three Musketeers, so he doesn’t miss them. He’s used to me sorting his candy the second we get home, so that’s no big deal either.

And there’s always been enough left to keep him

Big Guy’s been excitick since he saw the DayGlo orange envelope clipped to his sign-in sheet at school last week. Even not-quite-5-year-olds can figure out that bad news never comes wrapped in DayGlo orange, so he couldn’t wait to rip it open.

“It’s a pirate!” he gasped as he gazed at the card inside. “What does it say? What does it say?”

“It says C is having a birthday party next Saturday, and you’re invited,” I told him.

He flopped to the floor, eyes rolling, tongue lulling in what’s become his latest “I’m so excitick I can’t stand it” pose.

“A birthday party! C’s birthday party! WOW!”

For Big Guy, the significance of the event is far bigger than a celebration for a friend reaching legal kindergarten age. It also will mark an important social debut – his first non-relative birthday party.

And for me, it’s another chance to relive vicariously in the land of unbridled joy.

‘Twas the week before Christmas when all through the land, the pressure was mounting – almost more than I could stand.

The guys were all nestled, all snug in their beds, while visions of disaster danced in my head.

Had a brief bout of holiday hyperventilation today, brought on by last-minute shopping trips. Yes, trips, as in two. One with each guy, to pick out presents for the other.

Big Guy finally has accepted my basic tenant: You don’t get to shop for your own gifts. He still has a little trouble buying its corollary — you don’t get to know what they are until you unwrap them — but his resistance is fading.

Little Guy wasn’t buying any of it, though, as he saw Mean Old Mom

Dad tried to get a grocery-store tree past Big Guy this year, figuring he’d combine the ATM stop and the purchase. But Big Guy was having none of it.

“No, no, no. We have to go to the Christmas tree stand,” Big Guy insisted. “Kissmas tee, Kissmas tee,” Little Guy chorused.

They got their way, because on issues that really matter, I do that when I can. And to a 4-year-old and 2-year-old, Christmas trees are near the top of the really matter list.

I’ve always put up Christmas trees, even in the years I lived alone. There’s such peace in relaxing in the still of a cold night - often a snowy night back then – and gazing at lights.

Back then, it was white lights only. And