The zoo is always a surreal experience, especially with children. Our world is filled with animals that are truly bizarre looking. What is a Taper? Seriously, do you ever see animal specials on TV about the Taper? I think not. As I was trying to explain to Lucy what a Taper is an elderly woman confidently walked up to me and said “actually, it is a member of the horse family.” Really? The horse family? Because it looks like it should be related to a pig. And what about all those random gazelle/antelope animals? There are thousands of variations of a deer with antlers. It’s as if God ran out of ideas for animals and just went with a variation on a theme. A deer with straight antlers, a deer with curly antlers, a deer with big antlers, a deer with striped antlers, a small deer with big antlers, a big deer with small antlers. I don’t know, it doesn’t make sense to me.

The most exciting part of our trip was the pony rides. I honestly didn’t think Max would go for it, but he surprised us all when he strutted up to the attendant, handed him his token and climbed aboard the pony as if he was ready to ride off into the sunset or hold-up a saloon. Lucy was a bit more hesitant, but once aboard she thought it was pretty cool, although not nearly as cool as the fish tank. If I knew what an impact “Finding Nemo” was going to have on her I would have never let her watch it. Lucy is in a constant state of obsession over fish, sharks and anything aquatic. Wow, the power of Disney. We wrapped up the day with a special visit to the stingray tank where Lucy got to actually TOUCH a stingray. After about ten minutes of this though Lucy announced that she was tired and that it was time to go home, and she was right.

The family traveled to Nacogdoches, TX this weekend. (That’s pronounced, NAC-UH-DOE-CHEZ). Nacogdoches is home to Stephen F. Austin University, and is the oldest town in Texas. Most importantly though it is where Nana and Papa live. David grew up in this sweet and historic town and I love going there on the weekends. It is filled with antique shops, big trucks and old-style southern hospitality. David and I both miss living in a small town. The comfort of knowing people wherever you go, the luxury of being able to arrive anywhere in 5 minutes or less and the wonderful juxtaposition of simple folk and high art that you can only experience in a town like Nacogdoches. But mainly, we miss having grandparents close by that can babysit our kids for free on a moments notice.

This weekend we rolled into town and discovered that many of David’s high school pals were also in town for the annual Americana Music Festival. We took the kids down to the festival during the day, which proved too loud for Max’s liking and not enough flowers for Lucy. Nana and Papa volunteered for “night-duty” and David and I got to cruise adult-style with his high school pals (all of whom are girls, but we’ll save that for a different conversation). We got to hear some great blue-grass music from “The Gourds” and I made friends with a man named Matt and his box of crawfish. I’ve never eaten crawfish before and I must say that you must be a rather ardent carnivore to delight in this meal. In order to eat a crawfish you must first rip the head off and than “suck” the meat out of the tail. It is a delightful fishy, spicy, cajun combination of tasty goodness – but definitely not for the PETA sympathizer in your life.

Nothing makes you feel like an American more than eating a tiny, spicy, lobster out of a cardboard box sitting on a lawn chair in the middle of a grassy field listening to blue-grass music. Yep, I’m adding that night to my list of scenes I hope to see as I die. What a night!!

Teacher’s experience a special season. It occurs twice a year, once prior to the Christmas holiday and once in the spring. This is the Extra Credit Season. It is that magical time of year when students suddenly realize that skipping class on a regular basis and not doing homework inevitably leads to a failing a grade and in an act of desperation start begging for extra credit. The cute thing about this experience is that EACH of them thinks that they are the ONLY one asking for extra credit and as a teacher I should make an exception JUST FOR THEM.

Teaching is a strange profession. Students don’t view you as human but as a masochistic, boring person who has a strange obsession with your subject matter and a desire to fail them at all costs. The odd part of this is that nothing could be farther from the truth. Well, I actually do have a strange obsession with my subject matter. I really DO enjoy reading Paradise Lost and I DO cry every time I read Othello. I am not masochistic and I am not boring. (oh please, please tell me I’m not boring). Okay, maybe I’m just not masochistic — and I definitely don’t want to fail them.

Every semester this season starts the same for me. I’m understanding, I’m accomodating and then by the third or fourth request I’m angry, I’m resentful and by the end of the semester I’m asking myself “why do I teach?” And just when all hope seems lost to me it happens, and it usually goes something like this: “Ms. Morley, I just want you to know that I loved your class and I’ve learned so much in here that I’m going to name my first child after you”. Okay, I made up the part about the first child, but the rest of it is true. And then I start thinking, “Next semester I’m going to do better. Next semester I’ll reach more kids”. That is how Extra Credit Season comes to a close.

Max: Daddy, No shoesies
David: You’re not wearing any shoes?
Max: No!
David: All day?! You’re not going to wear shoes all day?
Max: No! No!
David: What are you, a conscientious shoe objector?
(snare & cymbal hit)

Heather Armstrong of Dooce.com, is my idol, my inspiration and the reason why I blog at all. I’ve been reading her blog for about 4 years now. I will never achieve her level of success – few will — but I really admire what she has created. This is a great article about her in the WSJ. Congratulations Heather! You deserve it!

Me: Lucy, what do you want to do when you grow up?
Lucy: bake cakes
Me: Really? What kind of cakes?
Lucy: Merry cakes
Me: Hmm, like birthday cakes or wedding cakes?
Lucy: Tall cakes
Me: I see
David: Max, did you say you want to move to Alaska and hunt wild bear?
Max: Uh-huh

I’ve realized that I have become a lazy parent. Something happens to you when you have your second child. You realize that all those things that you thought were SOOO IMPORTANT in your first child now seem strangely optional.

I was quite the schedule Nazi with Lucy. Breakfast was at 7:00, nap was at 1:00, snack was at 3:00, dinner was at 5:30 and bed time at 8:00. And woe is he/she who tried to disrupt my schedule. The funny thing about this is that Lucy did well with this because well, she’s her mother. A type-A, OCD, structured, rule-following project management type who falls into hysterics if anybody messes with the repetition of her life. My mother actually wrote in my baby book “likes routine and would wear the same clothes everyday if allowed.” I think the line in Lucy’s baby book will be “loves routine and would eat the same food everyday if allowed.”

Max is different. And so I find myself letting things “go” that I never would have allowed with Lucy. First and foremost is bed time. Somehow between David working late and daylight savings time the kids bedtime has gone from 8:00 to 9:00. I’ve always insisted that Lucy sleep in her own bed but now she comes into bed with us every night at 1:00 a.m. and sleeps there the rest of the night.

The mommy-diet has kicked in as well. Now, I find myself eating leftover strawberries, green beans, PB&J sandwiches, and macaroni and cheese as I clear the table. In fact, I’ve stopped making my own lunch and just eat off the kids plates.

The list really just goes on from there. They don’t brush their teeth everyday, they don’t ALWAYS wash their hands, I let them eat food off the floor, Max frequently spends the day with a variety of food and snot on his face. And yes, I buy them an ICEE at Target EVERY TIME we go.

This is the thing though, once Max came along I had to really decide how I wanted to spend my energy and arguing over an hour difference in bedtime and wiping snot off Max’s face just no longer seemed crucial. Lord! I hope nobody reports me to CPS.

I cannot grow anything. My history of plant life carnage is long and torrid. I kill absolutely everything. I’m incapable of keeping a plant alive. The last plant that flourished at my hands was some kind of fern that I had in my dorm room in college and I think that was because I had it sitting on top of the heater next to a window. It received a magical combination of constant warmth, sun and beer. On our first year anniversary David and I bought a rubber plant as a symbol of our growing and eternal love for each other. I killed it within two years. I’m glad to report that our marriage has fared much better. I love to cook and so have been determined to grow my own herbs. I’m on my seventh year of trying and I still have not managed to keep any herb plants alive past June. Suffice it to say I am to plants what Britney Spears is to good mothering.

This year I wanted the kids to have the joy of growing their own food. I tried to set expectations very low by explaining that plants take a very, very long time to grow and sometimes we never actually get any food out of them. So, I stuck to things that I thought would be easy. We planted strawberries, tomatoes, basil and cilantro. (That’s right, still trying to grow my own herbs.) Things started strong and then we got a late-spring freeze that I wasn’t expecting and my basil leaves turned black and my tomato leaves got a wee bit brown. I soldiered on and surprisingly one day we found A singular strawberry growing. Well, we have vigilantly watched, protected and nursed that one wee strawberry along and finally today it seemed ripe for the pickin’. Lucy proudly picked the strawberry, we washed the strawberry and we ate the strawberry. It was tart. I would like to exclaim to the world that I, Beth Morley, can indeed grow something!