Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

I'm sorry for what happened today, and I'm going to trade you 3 weeks of video games in exchange for still bringing me my presents. I was wrong to be mean to and spit on the teachers. I will never do that again. To earn my video games back I am going to feed the kitties every morning, help clean their litter box, make sure my animals don't fall on the floor, put my clothes away, and make sure my shoes and coat are put away.

I hope that I have done enough toshow you I am sorry and that I will still get the presents you chose for me. I am a good boy most of the time, and I am really really sorry.

Love,

Urban Maxwell

That is the actual email we crafted to Santa on Christmas Eve eve. Fun… What a roller coaster.

When Urban was 2 I bought a book called Parenting Your Strong-Willed Child by Rex Forehand and Nicholas Long. When I purchased it, I had absolutely no idea how much I would end up needing it.

Urban has always been a tour de force. He is the most creative, willful, independent, amazing kid I have ever met. Well, I should say, “…until his brother came along.”

Beringer is “spirited” in a whole different way. Where Urban is big, dramatic and playful; Beringer is focused, methodical and determined. It’s a whole new kind of strong-willed for us. Apparently, it’s time for that 5-week program… again.

Both of the boys are experimenting with their personalities. Beringer is just learning the basics of who he is and what he feels. Urban is testing out what he can do with what he knows he has.

Lately, the experimentation from Urban has led to calls from the school and a lot of my own personal soul searching. How much of his behavior do I take on as my responsibility? I look at the things he is doing in awe and frustration. I wrack my brain trying to figure out where it is coming from.

We have, like most parents, cleansed our language at home, but he still swears like a sailor when he’s raging. Is he learning the words at school? Is he using his rhyming games (“puck, duck, muck, shuck…” “itch, kitch, litch, snitch, pitch…”) to see which words elicit a reaction? Likely a combination of both.

He shouts things at us and see what stings. “DIRTY EYEBALL!” does not get the desired effect. But “FUCKING BITCH!” does. (I assure you, no one in my family uses that language –not even ‘dirty eyeball’. He does not watch TV or movies that use that language. The Lion King certainly does not talk to his father that way.)

So, why is he doing it? He always has reasons, sometimes they are epiphanies, but most of the time they make no sense at all. What I do know is that he is a highly sensitive kid. He feels the emotions and pain of others very deeply. He absorbs it all and doesn’t know what to do with it, and then it explodes out of him in these torrents of nasty words and spittal. It’s disgusting and heart breaking.

The scariest part of all is that it’s like he’s not even there. It’s like he is having an out-of-body experience, and then you say just the right thing, and he’s back and he’s so sorry. He cleans up his mess. He apologizes. He lies down like he’s just expendedeverything he has.

He’s needed a lot of hugs this week. So have I. Last night, I sat in Urban’s room with him on one knee and his arms wrapped around my chest and Beringer on my other knee and his arms wrapped around my neck. We rocked together and hummed. My boys. My beautiful, complicated boys. I love them so much, and I wish that I could take away all the stuff that makes them push over garbage cans in frustration (Beringer) or lie on the floor and wail (Urban). I wish that I could take all that confusion and wash it away with a kiss or a hug or a warm bath.

But for now, we take it one day at a time, and the more frustrated they get, the calmer we must become. The louder they yell, the softer we whisper. The more they push away, the stronger we pull them into a hug. The theory would be that all of this work we are doing now will produce boys who don’t swear and spit and push over garbage cans in later years. We can only hope, right? We can only hope…

Siezed with Guilt

In 2002, Brett and I decided to devote our lives to one another… long before we got married. We made promises to one another in private, to love each other and stay together no matter what. There were no rings or witnesses or legal documents. It is a promise that I hold very dear. We moved in together and decided that we didn’t need to get married, because we were devoted to each other, and didn’t feel a need for legal documentation of that fact. It was perhaps a bit naïve and idealistic.

Then, in July of 2002, things changed. My healthy, strapping partner was out on the weekend of July 4 th playing video games at a friend’s house. It was an activity he often engaged in, and rarely would I see him home before I went to bed. It was when my phone began to ring at 3:00 in the morning, that my heart stopped. I answered, and it was the police. Brett was being transported to a local hospital because he had suffered a seizure. A seizure. For no reason that was ever determined.

In the ensuing years, he would suffer 4 more until, finally, his meds were leveled and he remembered to take them regularly. The last one happened when I was 18 weeks pregnant with Urban – well over 5 years ago. His disorder is under control, and I live with only a vague inkling that something might happen again. Witnessing a loved one go through a seizure is almost more than I can describe. The feeling of helplessness and fear is heart wrenching, to say the very least. There is really nothing you can do.

It was the seizures that ultimately drove us to altar, oddly enough. Romantic, I know, but Brett needed health insurance in order to cover the new expenses that were beginning to pile up. And I needed the peace of mind that came with knowing the hospital staff would share everything to do with his care with me. His wife. Legally.

So, seizures, though they play a big role in our story, have not really been a hot topic for us in a long time. But suddenly I am finding myself thinking about them again – because on Sunday night Beringer, 21 months old, suffered a febrile seizure.

It was 10PM, both boys were asleep, and I was in bed reading. Brett had just come up to tell me about his afternoon with the boys because I had been out with Mom at a Christmas concert and dinner. Suddenly, we heard the most ungodly noise come from Beringer’s room. We looked at each other. “Nightmare?” I shrugged. Brett went back to talking. Then I heard a gasping sound and ran into Beringer’s room. He was seizing on his back in bed, and choking on his own saliva. I snatched him up and flipped him over so that the saliva would fall out of his mouth, and then I took him into the bathroom. There is better light in there. I laid him flat on the bathmat, and I saw that his jaw was locked and he was biting his tongue. So, I gently worked my finger between his teeth. His eyes lulled back in his head and his face was pale blue. Except his cheeks, they were bright red.

Brett and Mom stood at the doorway. Brett, who has experienced 5 seizures, has never actually seen one. We were all so scared. Finally, his body went limp. He was just a ragdoll in my arms. We bundled him up and rushed him to the ER where they told us he had a temperature of almost 105 and that the sudden spike had caused the seizure. He had blood drawn and a chest X-ray. They were thinking meningitis, and talked of a spinal tap. I was so scared.

Brett fretted that he had somehow passed along the “seizure gene” and that now Beringer would be doomed to a life of meds like him. I assured him that I thought no such gene exists. I’m no expert, but it seems unlikely. Still, he felt so guilty and helpless.

But, the doctors decided it was a viral infection in his lungs that caused the fever. It is possible that he will never have another. We just have to watch. We watched for 2 days. He’s getting better now…

On Monday, we decided Urban’s day should stay as normal as possible with all the drama from the night before, so with 3 hours of sleep, I drove him to school. He had a hard time leaving me. He kept talking about the seizure –about his brother. He called me from school 3x before noon, when I finally broke down and went back to pick him up.

He was a shell of himself. He said over and over that he was sad. His shoulders drooped and there were tears in his eyes. He told me form the backseat that he thought he had caused his brother’s seizure. That he was really scared and sorry.

I almost cried. I assured him that a fever had caused his brother’s seizure – that no person could cause that to happen to another person. “Is Beringer going to have to be on meds now like me and Daddy? Daddy takes meds so he doesn’t have seizures. He takes them every night. Seizures are really hard on your body. It’s what happens when your brain overloads and sends too many messages to your body. I take meds for asthma so I can breathe. Will Beringer have to take meds now?” Sometimes I think Urban’s big brain is more than he should have to handle. He understands too much and fills in the rest with make believe.

Oddly, because Brett’s disorder is so well-controlled, we have not had a direct conversation with Urban about seizures and what to do if someone has one. It appears he picked up all this information from listening to random conversations Brett and I have had over the years. Scary.

I told him that Beringer’s seizure was not like Daddy’s. Beringer’s seizure was caused by a fever because he was sick, and that meant that he would not have to take meds every night like Daddy. Urban felt a little better, I think. But still, he wouldn’t leave the family. He stayed home both days with us. He needed to know where we all were at all times. He is still clingy and tells me repeatedly that he loves me – that I’m his best friend and that we’ll always be together.

I have to admit, I kind of like all the extra love and attention, but I wish it didn’t come for such a worrisome reason. I just don’t know what exactly to say to a little boy who talks like a little man and has thoughts that are way too much for any little boy to process. I want to hug him and make it all better. I want to hug Beringer and make him not sick and have no more seizures. I want to hug Brett and take away all his pain too. Why can’t Mommy-magic really work like that? I wish it did. I would hug them all and, at the very least, take away all the guilt that is eating them up. But, then, it’s the guilt that shows in some twisted way how much we love and cherish each other.

Families are really complicated and weird, but I’m glad I have mine. They are all precious to me, even if they are all just a little bit dinged up.

Getting real.

I'm an overwhelmed mommy.  And, if one were to peruse the internet, it would seem my kind are a dime a dozen.  It seems that the world is flooded with "bad mommies".  If you read the blogs and articles of my ilk you would think that all of us vacillate between these superhuman mommy-machines and self deprecating she-beasts.  Is that who I am?  Really?

I feel that way sometimes, certainly, but it's not really what I signed up for.  My biological clock didn't click loudly at the age of 30 ringing with a chorus of "I MUST PROCREATE SO I HAVE SOMETHING TO COMPLAIN ABOUT AND FAIL MISERABLY AT!"

So, on the days when I am sick of my own voice and I feel like one more tug on my proverbial apron will send me to the loony bin, why is it all I can find to sooth me are other "bad mommies" at their wits' end?  Does it all go back to our formative years?  Those moments in high school where we solidified our girlfriend status by standing in front of the locker room mirror and playing, 'I'm fatter, no, seriously I am totally fat!"  I always sucked at that game.  Maybe that's why, not unlike high school, I have a hard time finding comfort in the "bad mommy" game.

So, why is it so OK to talk about all those annoying, embarrassing mommy gaffs, but less OK to talk about all the tender moments - those moments that make you proud of who you have become and who your children have become?  – The moments that might actually make you feel better about yourself and your situation rather than like you just need a stiff drink.  Although I have often engaged in a good vent, I never really feel any better after.  I just feel all the more worked up.  It's not until I step back and take a breath and look at it with new eyes, that a situation seems workable.

When I enter a mommy-circle, I feel self-conscious and unsure of myself.  My children have turned me into a person that is totally new to me.  Some days I hardly recognize myself, and that has brought me back to the uncertain place of my adolescence, where I don't know what to say.  I don't feel comfortable talking about all the amazing things my kids do, because I don't want to seem like I'm bragging.  But at the same time, I'm not happy sitting around talking about how every decision I make is potentially scarring and destroying my children, or how inept my husband is - because he's not, or how I really just need a bottle or two of wine - daily.

So, I turn to the internet.  I read mommy blogs and wonder, are we all super human mommy machines?  Or are we all self deprecating she-beasts?  I hope that I am neither.  I hope that my family has helped me to become a more powerful and focused version of me - one that can see outside of herself and give freely without giving it all away.  I hope that I am a good mommy.  I hope that when my boys look back they remember dancing to loud music in their rooms and the words to the lullabies I sing every night.  I hope they remember the strength of my hugs and how to drive monsters out from under beds.  And not the time I lost it in the Menards parking lot because they just wouldn't listen, and I was scared because I couldn't find them.  Or maybe I do hope they remember that, but remember that I Really was just scared and desperate and not merely a big angry face and a loud voice.

Not every little decision should be held up to the light and examined.  That is a difficult thing for me - not to overanalyze every step I make and check it for faults.  My children have stripped away all of the touch-ups and mending I have done over the years so that now every ding and scratch in my self shows.  And I try to look down on those dings and be proud because they give me the perspective to help me on my journey.  But it's hard, because I have spent a lot of years making sure no one could see them at all.

Children may not always bring out the best in us, but they do bring out the real.  And I'm working very hard to be proud of the real me - scratches and all.

I am a good mommy.  Somedays I yell.  Somedays I question every move I make.  Somedays I sit down and cry.  Somedays I create amazing memories.  Somedays I do nothing but enjoy the day with two precocious, growing boys.  But everyday I get the opportunity hug and kiss the people who make me the best me I can be.  The real me.  And that's worth it all.  Even when I'm completely overwhelmed.

Urban is at his best when he is focused, creating and has a concrete goal.  It's a good thing to know.  I know when to expect meltdowns, well, most of the time.  But, here's the thing...  It's exhausting.

I will admit that I have a lot of energy, and I too need a lot of activity to keep me busy and engaged, but planning for Urban's activities has become my only activity, and that makes me cranky.  On Saturday, for instance, here was what we did:
painted three beanie animals - a frog, lizard and fish that he had received as a gift
cut, clipped, drew and colored dozens of shrinky dinks to make a garland
shrunk the shrinky dinks in the oven and strung them together
watched 2 Christmas movies
cleaned the bathroom
cleaned out Beringer's closet
had lunch (Yes, we did all that before lunch)
cleaned out Urban's closet
Packed up things for donation
Watched Gnomeo and Juliet (for a second time in 2 days)
Took a bath

Can you see where this is going?  Yes, I got things ticked of my to do list, but I didn't avoi

Sucktastic

I had a dream over the weekend that I was on my own reality TV show.  Cameras followed me around documenting my life...which seemed to consist of every exasperating moment from the last 5 years...  Like, losing a job, Urban meltdowns, quitting a choir, many, many moments.  And to punctuate each moment, I would look at the camera and say, "See?  SUCKTASTIC."

I woke up kind of confused

HOW TO DRAW: by Urban Maxwell

This is a person.  Clearly.  You can tell it's a person because there are two eyes, a mouth, two arms, two legs and 2 ears.  Just like all people have.

This is another person.  You can tell it's a person because there are 2 eyes, a mouth, 2 arms, 2 legs and 2 ears.  Just like all people have.  But this person wears glasses.  That makes him happy.

This is a cyclops.  You can tell it's a cyclops because he only has one eye.  That's what cyclops means.

This is a cat.  You can tell it's a cat because it has four legs.  Just like all cats have.  Duh.

This is a cow.  You can tell it's a cow because it has four legs and black spots.  Just like all cows have.  It's a girl cow.  You can tell it's a girl cow because it has udders.  Duh.

Becky Homecky

My mom is an awesome cook.  Growing up, she cooked all the time.  She made breakfast each morning and dinner every night.  OK, not every night.  We ate out sometimes too.  But the big meal was always Sunday dinner.  We would always have a roast or turkey or ham and all the fixings.  The house would smell amazing, and those smells will forever pull me back to that warm comfort of childhood.

Now my mom and I are living together again, but this time I'm a mom too.  She doesn't cook much in the new house.  I mean, I was raised with a mom that cooked, so I am now a mom that cooks.  That's kind of weird to say, because I never asked my mom to teach me to cook.  I was more than happy to just let her do it and reap all the benefits.  In fact, I didn't start cooking until I was well into my 20s.  (We're talking closer to 30 than 20, here.)

And do you know what made me learn to cook?  I wish I could say it was the primal instinct of a mother-to-be, but no.  It was the farmer's market.  And not my burning desire to eat fresh or local or even my curiosity about ne, exotic vegetables.  I had a craving for zucchini bread.  Simple.  No biggie.  Just a craving.  I thought, "That can't be that hard.  I'll just pop down to the farmer's market over lunch and pick up a couple of zucchinis."

So, I grabbed my friend, and we went to the market.  I walked up to the first stall with zucchinis and said,  "I'll take two!"  (Those of you familiar with the ways of the the market are likely snickering at my naivete right now.)  They don't really sell things one at a time there.  And, before I knew what was happening, I had two bags overflowing with zucchinis.  Literally.  At least 2 dozen.

My eyes round, I looked at my friend and said, "Do you have any zucchini recipes?"  We both laughed.  At least I had a project for the weekend.

So, I went home and started googling zucchini recipes.  I sent out an email to all my friends inviting them to a zucchini dinner party and started cooking.  I made 2 loaves of zucchini bread, a zucchini chocolate cake and West African Stew.  And by the time I was finished chopping, grating and cooking all of that zucchini – I was obsessed with cooking.  (And by the time eveyone was done eating, they were obsessed with West African Stew and Zucchini Chocolate Cake)

The thing is, though, I never got back around to learning the basics.  I've never baked a turkey.  I rarely make roast.  And ham is more of an addition to soups or stews.  (I make lots of exotic stews and curries.)  I love vegetarian casseroles and meatless meatballs.  I love things that require a lot of chopping and make the kitchen smell of summer gardens and crackle with hot olive oil.

So, now I wonder, what smells will my children remember?  What things will they taste and say, "This is really good, but my mom made it sooooo much better."  What dishes will they crave when they've moved out, and I'll offer them the recipe, but they'll refuse it and say, "I'll just come home so you can make it for me."

Oh, and Mom, you make the best pie.  I can't wait for Thanksgiving.  I can never make pies as yummy as yours.

They're just words

I put a lot of stock in words.  I choose my words carefully.  I collect words so that I will have just the right one when the need arises.  So, recently, I have found the increased use of words in the house both exciting and frustrating.  In the past few weeks our boys have begun to travel the slippery slope of word play in very different ways.

Beringer has turned the vocabulary corner that is my favorite in the development of language.  I love this age of 18 - 30 months when everything is exciting, and words tumble out of their little mouths faster than you can record them.  They repeat everything you say with glee and begin to make their thoughts known.  Beringer has been spouting new words everyday – one morning cheerily chirping, "Mo-NIIING!" and the next responding to a, "thank you" with "weh-o-cum."  It's the best.

Urban, on the other hand, is stumbling into a territory I had hoped we would avoid.  It's linguistic mud, and I detest it.  This is a kid whose vocabulary rivals most 2nd graders I've met (and probably some adults.)  All of a sudden, the only words I hear are these aggressive shouts of "You (insert any word)-head!"  "BUTT!"  "EYEBALLS!"  And EVERYTHING is "DUMB!!"  In the grand scheme of things these words do not seem overtly offensive.  Part of it is the tone with which they're uttered.  Part of it is the incessant repetition.  I'm telling you, even the most patient of parents will snap after a 20 minute chorus of "dumbbutt, dumbhead, butthead, dumb eyeballs in your butthead!"

So, what do we do?  We talk.  We talk and talk and talk.  We talk about how our words shape other peoples' perceptions of us.  How the words we choose can show people we are intelligent, sweet and helpful or aggressive, mean and bullying.  We ask Urban, "What do the words you're choosing say about you?"  (Generally the response we receive is either a growl or a shriek.  Which in some ways is appropriate.)

We have started to use cool-off time.  Now, whenever he uses aggressive talk – yes, that's what we call it.  What else should we call it?  It's not like he's swearing.  They aren't 'bad' words. – he is sent to his room.  We walk him up there and tell him he needs to sit in his room and cool off.  He can come out when he is ready to use nice words and talk like the sweet, intelligent boy that he is.  Some nights, he spends more time in his room than with us.

So, where is all this coming from?  A boy at school.  It figures, doesn't it?  This is the first time in Urban's life, though likely not the last, that he is being bullied.  I have witnessed the aggressive tone and physicality of this other boy.  The teachers and I have discussed it.  We've talked to the other boy and to Urban.  So, what else are we supposed to do?

And on the days that Urban has a hard time at school, he gives us an even harder time at home.  He clearly wants attention, but is trying to get it with aggression.  Then, when he gets his time out or a reprimand, he is doubly hurt, because he doesn't want more aggression.  He wants attention.

So, I have been trying to give him more focused Mommy/Urban time.  More hugs.  More goofing around.  More focused story time.  And every time he acts out, I say, "Urban, did you want to get in trouble or did you just want some attention."  He will crawl over into my lap and lay his head on my shoulder.  I say, "you can always come and cuddle Mama.  I will always stop what I'm doing to hug you and listen to you.  I always have time for you."

Then it's better for a while.  But bad habits are hard to break.  They are just too easy.  I just hope this one gets out of his system quickly.  I'd much rather listen to stories than butt-talk.  And, frankly, I am acquiring a chronic word-induced headache.

Though sometimes I describe Urban as his own natural disaster, he has become increasingly obsessed with actual natural disasters.  He wants to know so much about what happens and how.  It started out innocently enough with questions about thunderstorms and lightening.  But soon it developed into an obsession with tornadoes.

We try to talk frankly with him.  We tell him about wall clouds and the different kinds of cloud formations within a storm.  We go online and look at scientific pictures of storms.  For a while he even proclaimed that he was going to be a weatherman.

Then, last spring, he happened to walk into the living room when I was watching coverage of the earthquake and tsunami in Japan.  "What happened?  Why is the ocean in the streets now?  Where did the buildings go?"  He wandered around for days talking about earthquakes and tsunamis and waves crashing into buildings.  He never seemed that scared, just interested and concerned.  We talk about the people effected by the disasters and how other people, heroes, rush to their aid and try to help.

The earthquake fascination faded quickly and "normal" boy obsessions took over again.  Especially lava.  Lots and lots of lava.  It shoots out of his hands, it fills our living room and the bad guys have to jump in it.  Lava is everywhere, it seems.

So, the other night at dinner when he turned to me and asked, "Mama, did people make lava?"  I wasn't surprised, but, as with other questions, I had the brief internal struggle of how much is too much information?  I remember sitting at a parents' conference last year that focused on gifted kids, and they said, "Answer the questions until they stop asking.  Don't over-inform, but don't blow it off either."  So I told him about volcanoes.  Which led to where volcanoes are in the world.  Then to what happens to the lava after it comes out of the volcano.  We ended up talking about tectonic plates and the earth's molten core.

Then, yesterday, he hears the DJs on the radio talking about the earthquake in Turkey.  I have intentionally avoided the coverage to try and avoid all the earthquake talk again, but there it was.  "Mama?  There was another earthquake?  Like the one in Japan?"

"Yes."

"Mama?  Will there be another tsunami?"

"No."  So we talked about how the tectonic plates move to cause the earthquakes.  That there are fault lines all over just like seams on his clothes, and that sometimes the plates shift around and it causes the earth to move.  They aren't always by oceans, so they don't always cause tsunamis.  Sometimes it causes volcanoes to erupt, and most of the time it just causes things to fall off of shelves.

"Mama, if there was an earthquake here, we would run away really fast and you would hold me and keep me safe right?"

Oh, buddy...  I assured him that I would always do my best to keep him safe no matter what.  And we talked about what you should do if there really was an earthquake.  (Which, I assured him, is very unlikely in Minnesota.)

"Mama, I want to see one.  On the videos.  I want to see what an earthquake feels like."

Ummmm....  so, after some internal debate, last night we sat down together on YouTube and watched videos.  We started by watching some beautiful footage of volcanoes and talking about lava and fire and how it makes new land and islands.  Then we watched some footage from the earthquake in Turkey.  He sat quietly for a while.

"OK, Mama, I think I understand.  Can we just watch buildings fall down now?"

So, I pulled up a bunch of building demolition videos, and we ended our night shouting, "AW! COOL!" as skyscrapers fell into piles of controlled rubble.

But I still wonder, how much is too much information?  I want to shelter him from all of the painful and frightening things in the world, but I also want him to understand and feel like he is safe.  I feel like if I can explain things to him so that they are not big scary unknowns, then maybe he won't be so scared.  I hope that's the case, and I guess, that's all I can do...  continue to answer questions and hope.  And give lots of hugs.  There's always hugs...

I WANNA ROCK!

On Saturday we hosted Urban's 5th birthday party.  It was a Rock Star Extravaganza.  It began at the entryway with his personalized rock poster.  I laid it out using a photo taken by the incomparable Cami of Hazel, Brown & Blue Photography.   And Brett printed it large format at work and mounted it to display on an easel at the front door.  I feel like it really set the mood.

We had a table full of all Urban's favorite foods mixed with some Rock Star flavor.  We served dill pickle roll-ups, pepperoni pasta salad with music-note-shaped pasta, Jack Daniel's BBQ chicken sandwiches, chips, puppy chow, chex party mix and to drink - margarita flavored limeade and root beer.

The big activity was our obstacle course.  This year it took on the form of a rock and roll tour.  Brett and I brainstormed all the different stations, and he brought it to life while I got everything set up inside.  It was fabulous!!

First stop was loading the tour bus in "NY".  (It was made out of old moving boxes and spray paint.)

The band piled inside and "drove," followed by our roadies and groupies, Flintstones-style to The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Columbus, OH.  There we took our marketing shots for all of our press engagements.

From OH we travelled northwest to Detroit Rock City to practice throwing guitar picks to our adoring fans.

 (teddy bears in printer boxes and big red coasters) 

From Detroit we moved on to Chicago and practiced our stage dives. (That's a mattress covered with stuffed animals)

Then we travelled through tranquil farmland...

to Minneapolis...  Where we celebrated our return home by bashing in our old "Amp" with our favorite guitars until the sparks flew...

This version of a Piñata has been a staple at our parties for 3 years now.  It has been everything from a box of jungle rations to an evil villian's power supply to now an amplifier.  It is awesome.  You just take a paper grocery sack and slit it up one side and down one edge of the bottom...just enough to allow you to flip it inside out (hiding the store branding).  Then you tape it back together and add the bottom of one more sack to the open top with more tape.  Fill it with candy, glittery confetti and little toys and decorate it to fit your theme... and VOILA! instant and inexpensive piñata fun!

We had so much fun at this rock star party.  Urban was ecstatic to finally wear his Dee Snider costume and really took on the persona as well!  (God help us)  

There was lots of singing and dancing and air guitar playing.  I couldn't be happier with how it all turned out.

Thanks to all who attended!

Let me (I mean them) eat cake

It was Urban's 5th birthday yesterday.  Which means, of course, we are staring down the barrel of a big party.  It takes the shape of a RockStar Party that will take place tomorrow afternoon.  I am going low key with this one, though, and the planning has been minimal – at least by my standards.  I decided not to even make the cake this year!  (It's the first year I haven't.)  And I feel kind of guilty about it, actually.

Urban's first birthday was themed Urban: Little Angle/Little Devil.  So I made an angle food cake and a devil's food cake.  Basic but delicious.  He, of course, chose the devil's food for his smash cake.  (Sorry, I can't find the pictures.  Bad mommy...)

Anyway, here is Urban's second cake from his "Halloween" themed birthday:

Yep, it's a zombie cake.  Two layers with gummy worms and oreo dirt.  The slanty #2 candle was the "tombstone".  Little did we know how much he would grow to love zombies. He is a vampire bat inthis picture, in case you're curious.

Urban's 3rd birthday was jungle themed.  He dressed as a tiger for this one.

And his cakes were an elephant with little tiger and monkey cupcakes:

For #4 we had a superhero theme.  The family dressed as the Fantastic Four (as seen in a previous post) so he had "burst" cakes.

Then Beringer had his first birthday, which we themed "Spaghetti" and I made this cake:

Yes, it is cake.  With chocolate cookie meatballs, frosting noodles and strawberry marinara.

I think I'm just caked out.  I don't know.  Maybe I just need a break. but this year I decided to go to Target Bakery and see what happens.  Obviously, I haven't tasted it yet, but it sure looks good!

At least it fits right in with the theme, and I won't have that stress starting at 5AM the day of the party baking and frosting a cake while trying to make all the other party food.

I love a party.  Seriously.  I live for entertaining.  But it's all about the moderation – that perfect balance of store bought and homemade.  I just couldn't do the cake this year.  Do you think Urban will even notice?

Now, how do I get past my other stressor?  All the random crap... I mean awesome presents...  that will be moving into my house tomorrow night!  Birthdays are a purger's nightmare.

to be continued...

What soup is for

Yesterday the fam and I had a warm fuzzy family day.  We visited MN Harvest Apple Orchard. The boys were thrilled.  It's about a half hour drive from home, so they got a nice snooze in the car.  We piled out and immediately went to visit Earl and donkey and his friends the sheep and the goat.  We bought our 1 Peck bag and loaded onto a wagon pulled by a "REAL TRACTOR!" to head out to orchards.

Urban was ecstatic and Beringer couldn't take his eyes off the tractor.

The irony of this excursion is that I am allergic to apples, so I bundled up against over-spray and was relegated to the post of picture taker (I will not even pretend to be a photographer).  The boys ate at least as many apples as went into the bag and couldn't decide which variety was their favorite.  (We have a hodge-podge of four different kinds at home now.)

Then, after we picked our peck, we headed over to Jim's Apple Stand for some fun that doesn't make me break out in hives...shopping!  We hauled home some apple smoked bacon, farm fresh honey, dandelion jelly (which is frickin' delish!), fig and strawberry preserves and assorted candies.

So, after a long day of animals, the great outdoors, lots of apples and lots of candy; everyone was ready for a low-key dinner.  I decided it was time for soup.  I wanted something that would be warm and comforting and maybe a little stomach settling too.  And, I LOVE SOUP.  It is my favorite this to both eat and make.  So, I decided on a version of Chinese 7 Happiness soup.  I, of course, did not have all the lovely ingredients it called for, so I winged it.

Here is what it consisted of:

64oz    chicken stock
1-2 T   chopped fresh ginger (I had some frozen from another recipe)
1/4 t     chopped garlic
2 chicken breasts sliced thinly
1/2 c    thinly sliced carrots
1/2 c    thinly sliced celery
1/2 c    thinly sliced onions
1 can   sliced water chestnuts
1 pkg  vermicelli rice noodles

I simmered all ingredients except the noodles and the water chestnuts for about 20 minutes, then added the noodles and chestnuts and simmered another 10.

It was hot and hearty with all the noodles – exactly what I was looking for.  And the best part is that all 5 members of the family tucked into this soup with gusto.  Urban exclaimed it's "deliciousness" and asked for seconds!  (This is the kid who will only eat the number of bites you dictate per meal.)  Beringer was covered in soup from head to toe because once he ate out all the chunks, he picked up the bowl and slurped the broth!  Everyone was warm and happy.

It made me so excited, because good, quiet conversation and a lot of slurping – that is what soup is for.

Swept away

The illustration of the power of a good book in 3 pictures:

READ

SLEEP

DREAM

Calling all Mommies

Moms Like Us is looking for Moms in the Twin Cities area to participate in a Mom panel.  The current topics are either "Traveling with Kids" or "Kids and sports".  Contact me if you or someone you know are interested!

Alpha House

So, long long ago when I was still dating, I had this "Golden Rule" for myself when it came to mate selection.  "There can never be two superstars in a relationship."  I made this rule because, having a big personality myself, I am attracted to other people with big personalities.  But, having subsequently dated some of them, I came to find out that I am strictly noncompetitive and therefore exhausted every time I had to play the, "Look at me!" game.

So, following my own rule, I settled down with a decidedly strong, intelligent, but un-superstar type man.  He is quirky in all the right ways for me, social enough to join me on my myriad exploits, but not so limelight hungry that we spend all of our time elbowing each other out of the shot.

Then we had Urban.  Urban is a superstar.  Just ask him.  He came from the womb with jazz hands and a wink, I swear.  I love every bit of it, don't get me wrong.  He is my #1 source of entertainment most days, but it completely changes the dynamics of a relationship.  Then we had Beringer.  He's quieter, but don't underestimate him.  He's in charge.  Always.

Brett and I suddenly found ourselves embroiled in power struggles – with each other, with Urban, with Beringer, sometimes with our own parents.  I have come to realize that not only is it difficult to have more than one superstar in a relationship, it is equally difficult to find yourself surrounded by Alphas.

How is that possible?  Isn't the dynamic of the pack for one person to be alpha and the rest fall in somewhere behind?  I guess it is proof positive that people are not pack animals.  My house is full of alphas in every shade, temperament and disposition.

I am a producer alpha.  I like to research, plan, execute and bask in the praise all on my own.  I am very social and family oriented, but I take on all the work myself.  I make work for myself.  It leads to martyrism if I'm not careful.  It leads to burnout often.

Brett is a rules alpha.  He knows the rules.  He sets rules and he discovers rules when he doesn't know them.  He will let you know if you don't follow the rules.  He's really good at rules and order.  And it helps us run a consistent household.  It makes things reliable and easier to understand for everyone, but it can also lead to long lectures and rigidity if he's not careful.

Urban is an imperial alpha.  He basks in the glow of praise and attention.  He is sharp and witty and eager to impress you, but he also expects you to do everything for him.  He wants to be served.  And he wants you to become one of his legions.  He has this aura – people are drawn to him like a magnet, but it can lead to an inflated ego and spoiled attitude if we're not careful.

Beringer is a my-do alpha.  He does everything himself.  He does not want or need your help.  It annoys him to have to ask for help for anything.  And he really could care less if you think it's good or bad.  He doesn't need your praise.  He has a confidence that comes from somewhere deep inside of him.  So just follow along and keep your mouth shut.  I'm sure you can already see the problems with this.  He's one and a half.

So, what do you do in a house full of Alphas?  Some days we walk on egg shells.  We quietly dodge each other and go about our own business, but on better days, we take turns.  We pass the baton of power from hand to hand allowing each person to fulfill their need for it.  There are days that are exhausting and loud with conflict.  It's hard when everyone wants to be in charge.  It's harder when everyone is good at being in charge, but no on does it the same way (the right way, right?).  But on the days that we cooperate – the days that we acknowledge each others' alpha-ness – those days are amazing and full of fun and adventure and laughter and spotlights and just the right amount of rules.  Those days I love living in my Alpha House.

Just say yes

I have a problem.  It's this:  I find it hard to say "no."  I will admit that part of it lies in not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings, but really, as a mother, you get over that one pretty quickly.  My actual verbalization of the word has gone up about a thousand-fold since giving birth.  However, when it comes to offers from adults, I find it very difficult to say that little word.

Here's the thing though, I like adventure.  Not the jumping off high things or wrastlin' dangerous creatures kind, but the I've-never-done-THAT-before kind.  I like to challenge myself to see if I can.  I like to have one more story to pull out at a dinner party.  And, I will fully admit it, I like that look people get when they utter some of my favorite words, "You did what?"  It's why I make cheese and join show choirs.

So, when I was faced a couple weeks back with two opportunities on the same day, I didn't blink.  I just said, "OK."  It's not everyday that you get offered a chance to present an award at the Upper Midwest Emmy Awards AND appear in a web-based TV show in the same day!  So, I wrote out my schedule, hired a sitter, prepped my family and readied myself as best I could for one of the most random days of my life.

It started with Moms Like Us.  I was sitting at my desk, minding my own business on a Friday afternoon when one of the merchandise coordinators at work came into my cube and asked me to follow him into the studio.  There I met Elizabeth, the creative mind behind Moms Like Us.  She told me about this show she is doing in a talk-show style that would be "by moms for moms".  Each show will include a mom-panel discussing a pertinent issue with an expert in the field.  Elizabeth had just discovered she was one mom short of a full panel and needed a quick replacement.

"Well," I said, already feeling pretentious, "I have Emmys rehearsal at 4, so as long as I'm done by then, I can do it."

"Emmys?"

"yeah."

"We'll have you out of here by 3, is that good?"

"OK, I'm in."

I showed up at noon, and they had already gone through a panel taping for another episode.  The panel I was on was discussing nutrition – a topic I love.  We sat down in the kitchen at the office, made all our introductions and briefly discussed our topic.  The group was amazing!  The moms and the expert that I got to be with were all very nice, easy to talk to and had lots of great advice.  Once the camera men were ready, we all trouped into the studio and made ourselves comfy on a big sectional.  They wired us up with mikes and we talked.  Elizabeth would pose a question, Tracy, the expert, would give an answer and then each of us moms would chime in tips and tricks for things like getting your kids to eat veggies or healthy snacks on-the-go.

Here I am on the panel (this is a cameras off behind-the-scenes moment) :

I really like the concept of the show too.  Besides the panel discussion, there are profiles of "amazing moms" - momtrepreneurs and moms who do cool stuff.  There's also Gramma's Corner to get the perspective of "the older generation."

As soon as the episodes are posted online, I will post direct links, or check back on the link above.  Also, check it out on Facebook.

After taping was over and we had all agreed to meet again to make cheese and drink wine together, I headed downtown to The State Theater for rehearsal of my big Emmy moment.  (This all came about earlier in the week when our president at work was not able to make it.  They looked for a replacement and landed on me.  What the heck?  I'm up for anything!)  I was so excited just to get the opportunity to be backstage at the State!  It was my first experience with a teleprompter, and after 7 runs through because of others' missed video cues, I was ready to go.

Brett was my willing date.  We got dolled up.  Then hit our favorite Indian Restaurant, The Dancing Ganesha, for dinner.  And then, fully stuffed, headed to the theater.  We couldn't stop talking about how surreal it was to be "going to the Emmys."  OK, I know, it's the Upper Midwest Emmys, but still!  We sat in the back of the theater so that I could dash out about an hour in – after my "cue."

I presented with the president of NATSA, and she presented me (OK, my employer) with a community service plaque.

I then spent the next 10 or so minutes on stage with her, introducing two community service winners – one who helped to enact "Hannah's Law" which requires all daycare workers in MN to know CPR and the other who helped a young African boy get surgery to correct his severely crossed eyes.  It was very moving and a really cool experience.

After I left the stage, Brett and I took our leave and went and got some dessert.

"Well, what did you think?"

"It's not the weirdest thing you've gotten us into."

Sometimes saying yes leads to a lot of fun and some really good memories.

And that's why we should never get takeout.

Last night we got home and Grampa was in the back yard working on the tree house.  My boys are really lucky to have a grampa that is A) willing to build a treehouse and B) skilled enough to actually do it.  And the tree house is coming along nicely.  We have a platform, two walls, a baby swing and a rope swing.

Urban loves the rope swing.  Had I know that hanging a big rope from a tree would produce so many hours of quiet, I would have done it years ago.  Of course, years ago he probably would have killed himself on it, but that's beside the point.

Anyway, we hung out outside for a while as Grampa finished up.  Urban swung on his rope and sawed some random pieces of wood, then helped Grampa carry tools back to his car.  When we went in the house, I asked my mom what sounded good for dinner.  Chinese takeout was the answer.  To be more specific, David Fong's Chinese takeout.  So, I went upstairs and changed clothes and Mom called in our order.  Urban decided he really wanted to come with me.  He enjoys riding along to the Chinese takeout places.  He likes to compare shades of red and the size of the fishes in the tanks.  He also has a lot of comments about the various smells emitted from said locations.

On our way we stopped and picked up some 7Up to have with dinner.  I decided he could have a treat of soda for no real reason at al – just fun.  We pulled up to David Fong's around 6PM and discovered there was but a single parking spot left. - at the complete opposite end of the lot from the pick up door.  We trudged across the lot and through doors.  Urban was impressed by the smells, the fish were the biggest he's ever seen and the red interior was suitably dark per his tastes.  David Fong's is a winner in Urban's eyes.

We left and returned home immediately sitting down at the table to eat.  The food was fantastic.  Urban cleaned his plate.  Beringer had 3rds and Mom and I were delighted with the sauces and meats.  All in all, Grade A takeout.  We all sat back full and content.  Then, I looked at the boys – dripping with chow mein sauce and sticky with rice bits – and shooed them straight into the tub.  We scrubbed and splashed and played, and soon it was 7:00.

I got Beringer out and let Urban play a while longer while I sang baby-boy to sleep.  I came back and got Urban out of the tub and into his jammies.

"Do I have to go to bed now?!!"  he whined.

"No.  You still have half an hour.  What do you want to do?"

"Play pink monsters."  Urban has inherited Brett's collection of little plastic wrestling figures called M.U.S.C.L.E. Men.  They have been endless hours of creative fun for Urban.  He lovingly calls them his Little Pink Monsters.

So, downstairs we went.  I built intricate towers out of Jenga blocks and Urban populated them with Little Pink Monsters.  We played for a solid half hour, then I said, "Urban, we have 5 minutes until we brush teeth."

The room fell silent.  He face turned an alarming shade of red and he screamed, "MAMA!  NO!  I DON'T WANT TO BE DONE!  I HAVEN'T PLAYED AT ALL!!  THIS IS WHY WE SHOULD NEVER GET TAKEOUT!  YOU SHOULD JUST COOK AT OUR HOUSE!!!  STUPID TAKEOUT!!"

Whoa.  Really?

I tried to reason with him – Cooking takes just as long or longer.  We had a nice dinner.  It tasted good.  Pretty much whatever I could think of in the moment I blurted out at him, but he was having none of it.  He just glared at me.  Me and my dumb Chinese takeout.

Oh well.  What's one more night of bedtime freak outs in the grand scheme of things, right?  And it was worth it.

Confucius say:  "When anger rises, think of the consequences."  

I am fully willing to accept these consequences for some seriously delicious egg foo young.

It's been a while

Sorry for the length of silence, friends.  I guess I lost some motivation, but a lot has happened...

I got my new hair:

It's short and red.  I can wear it straight or curly.  I like it.  Even with the comments of "Lucy, I'm home!" that I've received.

I also made it into the top ten for the dreaded talent show.  I was floored.  I thought for sure I would get out of doing it.  I was up against some really cute kids!  So, I ran out a bought myself a new outfit that was appropriate for musical theater performance and began to slowly crumble into freak out mode.

I spent a week shaking and panicking.  It was pretty awful.  The only thing that really calmed me was thinking, "Why am I doing this?"  My answer was for the boys.  I know it sounds weird.  But I really decided to do it to show them two things.  First, it's fun.  It's fun to share your talents.  It's fun to perform and be on stage.  (Even if I totally didn't see that in the throes of my stage fright.)  And, second, it's OK to be afraid, but you need to do what you can to stand up to those fears.  And conquering your fears is what makes you a winner - not a ribbon or a cash prize.

So, I did it.  It was me, a group of tappers who were also ARRP members, and a bunch of kids in high school.  I felt great.  I almost blew the speakers out with my "projection" but I was really proud of myself.

And now, on the heels of my talent show debut, I will be handing out a humanitarian award at this year's Upper Midwest Emmy Awards this weekend!  Too fun.  Another reason to dress up and this time I don't have to sing!  (And I get a teleprompter.)  Yes!

Last weekend my family and I went to the MN Renaissance Festival.  We don't go religiously, nor do we own the period garb to really do it "right."  But we do love to go, and we like to participate on some level.  I, personally, adore dressing up, as I have discussed in previous posts.  But I have this deep internal struggle with following the crowd.  It's really less of a struggle and more of a complete neurosis.  Even in a place where weird is embraced, I can't look like everyone else by dressing in the full costume.  Sometimes, I will wear the breast-bunching wench-wear on top and low-slung jeans on the bottom (ok, that was before kids) and sometimes, like last weekend, I will wear my own clothing put together in a way that implies Ren Fest, but could still go to the mall without too many stares.

But the boys?  The boys we dress to the nines.

Urban donned his shining armor and Beringer became a dragon.  (He's on Brett's back in this picture.)



Here is what I learned this year at the Renaissance Festival:

Lesson #1:  There are still genuinely kind people in this world.  

When we first arrived, the court of the realm was seated on a platform greeting people – the queen, king and courtiers – Urban, of course, wanted to meet them.  We walked up to their platform and waited in line behind all the little girls oohing and ahhing over the queen.

While we waited, some of the courtiers began talking to Urban.  Urban is not afraid of strangers.  So, he chatted with them about knight stuff until it was his turn.  I whispered to him as he approached the "throne" that he needed to bow before the queen.  He did.  She smiled and gave him a gold coin.  He was thrilled.  Then the king looked down and said, "Sir, knight!  You are clearly a brave and noble night, for you have brought us a dragon!  But, where is your sword and shield?"  (I had told Urban he had to leave these at home because I didn't want to drag them around all day.)  but Urban replied, "I haven't earned them yet."

"Ah," says the king, "Well, I believe you have.  Come with me."  He gets off the platform and, followed by two "guards," takes our whole family (Auntie Chris and Grandma Mary were with us too) to the weaponry shop nearby.  (They were wooden weapons.)  I'll be honest, I became a bit tense at this point thinking 'what is he going to get Urban's heart set on that I will then have to buy??'

They walked around the shop together, the king and Urban, and chose a long sword ($20) and a hand painted shield ($38).  My heart was beating faster as I did the math.  Then the king walked up to the shop keeper and said, "This all goes on the king's bill."  And promptly lays the cash on the counter.

He then turns to Urban and, using his own sword, knights Urban, saying, "Sir Urban, you are clearly already a powerful knight, for look at all your servants!"  (laughs from the crowd that has gathered)  He then tells him that he must be brave and noble and kind, never fight with his brother and always listen to his mom.  He then gave Urban the King's Coin – a large gold coin with his face imprinted on it – and took a long sip from his cup.

We were in total shock.  And Urban, over the noise of the crowd said, "Thank you King.  You are a really good king."The king smiled and patted Urban's helmet.

As we left, we overheard the young boy who was working at the shop say, "Why would you just buy all the stuff for someone you don't know?"

To which the King replied, "Sometimes you just do things for people and expect nothing in return."

Amazing.  He is a good king.





Lesson #2:  There is still magic in the world.

There is nothing more magical than seeing a place like the Renaissance Festival through the eyes of a child.  Everything is real.  There are fairies and nymphs and dragons.  They all exist.  You believe.  These are not tax accountants and hair dressers in elaborate costumes.  These are real enchanted creatures.  And they can give you magical protection spells and whisper things in your ear.

Lesson #3:  No one gets more attention than a baby dragon.

We were constantly being stopped – Brett and I passed Beringer back and forth between us all day – and told we had a dragon on our backs.  People took pictures of him and cooed over him constantly.  Beringer ate it up.

Lesson #4: It may be a short ride, but it's still an elephant.

Urban decided early in the day that he wanted to ride an elephant.  We worked our way slowly through the festival, constantly promising that we would get him back to ride one.  Finally, as we were all winding down, we got back to the elephant area.  We knew this would be our last event of the day.  Urban, his cousin Mason, and Brett waited in the long line.  Brett hoped that he could just put the boys on and then wait to pick them up again.  Mary and I waited at the fence with Beringer so he could see the elephants.  

"KITTY! KITTY!" Beringer shouted as they lumbered by.  

"No, that's an elephant."  

"DOG! DOG!  RUFF! RUFF! RUFF!"  

"Really, baby, it's an elephant.  See?  She has a big trunk and grey wrinkly skin?  Elephant."  "THPPPTTTT..."

Well, it turned out that the boys were too little to ride by themselves.  So, Brett had to pay to ride with them.  $13 later they had completed their 1 minute meander around the small circle and were disembarking.  Urban came down the stairs with a big frown on his face.  

"That was a really short ride.  I wanted to ride longer."  He whined.  Brett crouched down next to him, hugged him, wiped away his tears and said, "I know, buddy, I wanted to ride longer too, but, in the end, you still got to ride an elephant."

So true.

Lesson #4: Nothing beats a day of family fun and a fantastical escape from reality.

Call Dee Snyder

Last night after I got Beringer to bed, Urban asked if I would go down tot he toy room and play with him.  I cheerfully said, "yes."  Although, in my mind, I was cringing a little.  Usually, as this scenario unfolds, it involves me sitting numbly holding a monster figure while Urban beats the crap out of all the others.  "This one is a bad guy, Mama.  This one is the boss guy.  I'm going to get him for you, Mama."  And on and on and on...

Last night, as we descended the stairs, he said, "Let's play the food game."  OK.  I love the food game.  3 years ago, when Urban was 2, he began showing interest in helping me in the kitchen.  So, I made it my mission that summer to find him a Fischer Price play kitchen at a garage sale.  As luck would have it, we came across one in very good condition that came with food and some utensils too!  And, as a bonus, it was not all shades of pink!  So, we paid the $20 asking price, disassembled it and jammed it into the Scion.  As soon as we got it set up at home, Urban commenced "cooking."  And what was the first thing he made me?  A red plastic fish on a tiny plate.  "Sushi!" he said, in his pre-full-sentence exclamation.  Ever since that first "dish," his creations have become more elaborate and creative.  I absolutely LOVE this game.

So, last night I sat in my designated diner's chair and pretended to eat a 4 course meal beginning with honey and donut soup with green grape garnish, followed by a waffle cheeseburger slider, a main dish of hotdog, sweet corn and banana, and then dessert – lime sorbet on a sugar cone.  It was quite an imaginary feast.  As I was finishing my sorbet, the plastic phone in the kitchen "rang".

It was Dada, apparently.  Urban informed me that I should, "Sit down.  You're better not gonna believe this.  Dada is DRIVING the BUS home, and he's bringing us kangaroos!  I get the orange one,a nd you get the purple one!"  This was followed by a lot of dancing and 'woo-hoos'.  Then, the phone "rang" again.  This time, it was Grampa Tom.

"Oh.  My.  Gosh.  Mama.  Sit down."  (I was already sitting.)  "Grampa Tom says that we need to go meet him at a concert!  And that I can get on stage and SING!  You better call Dee Snyder and tell him I'm coming."

I stifled a laugh as I was handed a second toy phone to make this very important call.  Then his phone rang again.  (Somehow I never hear the ring, he must have it on vibrate...)  Anyway, this time, it was Kelly Clarkson.  She was calling to give us directions to the show.

Urban grabbed my hand – his phone in the other – and started dragging me all over the house to find the concert.  At one point, as we entered a third room and it was apparently "not there," he rolled his eyes dramatically, covered the mouthpiece of the phone and whispered, "She's not very good with directions."

Finally, we ended up in Mom's living room on the main floor.  This was the venue.  Urban ran into a little alcove, strutted out with his hands held aloft in the rock and roll salute and said, "Hello!  I'm Dee Snyder, and...  I WANNA ROCK!!!!"

He then began a 15 minute performance of "We're Not Gonna Take It" ending in him encouraging me to join him in the chorus from my place in the "audience".  The crowd went wild.  (OK, I went wild.)  When we finished, he spun around, fists in the air, and shouted, "THANK YOU, XERXES AVENUE!"  And retreated back into the alcove.

It was the most fun I have had in YEARS.  Thank you, Urban, for the amazing concert.  You, quite literally, rock.