Big Girl loves popcorn. LOVES it. She doesn’t get it very often because I have completely stopped using microwave popcorn. The reason: The chemical that coats the bags — perfluorooctanoic acid (PFOA) — is a likely carcinogen and will actually be phased out of all microwave popcorn bags completely by 2015. In my way of thinking if something is so dangerous that it’s being phased out, why should I take the chance of using it today, but I digress as usual. (You can read more about PFOA here.) My other alternative — making stovetop popcorn — didn’t work. It was sort of a pain. Popcorn made in a regular pot, in my opinion, always came out chewy and gross. Too much steam, I think.

Anyway, this holiday season I went in search of a popcorn machine with a few criteria:

• It had to be plastic-free
• It had to be simple to use and clean
• It had to be compact so it could be stowed away in my regular pots and pans drawer
• It had to be made anywhere EXCEPT China

I found what I was looking for with the Whirley-Pop Stovetop Popcorn Popper. The unit comes in two pieces: an aluminum pot and a vented lid that has a stirring mechanism. The mechanism is connected to what looks like an upside down T shaped wire that extends from one side of the pot to the other. When you turn the crank, the wire spins, moving the popcorn so it doesn’t burn.

Before using it the first time, the instructions said to season the pot by heating a tablespoon of oil, letting it cool, and wiping it out. When it was time to actually pop popcorn, we followed the directions, adding one to three tablespoons (we added two) in addition to 1/2 cup of popcorn. The process was extremely easy and fun. We heated the pot on medium-high using an electric stove. (FYI: The directions say it works equally as well on a gas range.) As soon as we placed the pot on the stove, we started turning the handle. Soon after, the popcorn started popping. The entire process was done within three minutes — it was actually faster than using microwave popcorn, I think!

When the popcorn was done, we emptied it by lifting up what I call the pour flap and spilling it into a bowl. I was pleasantly surprised to see that every kernel popped, and none of the popcorn was burned. And how did it taste? The steam vents at the top of the lid let just enough steam out and kept just enough in so the popcorn was light, fluffy, and extremely tasty. (Note: We used Trader Joe’s Organic Popcorn kernels.)

Cleanup was a snap. Once the pot cooled down, I took a paper towel and wiped the pot as well as the lid and stirring mechanism. The manufacturer recommends wiping it out either every time or every four or five uses. You can also clean it with warm, soapy water, but the paper towel seemed to work fine for us.

My one complaint is that there’s no way to melt butter other than using the microwave or a separate pot on the stove. (And keep in mind that the manufacturer specifically notes that you should not use butter to pop corn since it can discolor the pot.) Butter aside, I would highly recommend the Whirley-Pop unit to anyone who is a popcorn fanatic or just likes making popcorn more than once or twice a year.

Do you believe this child (me) could be so sneaky?

When I was a little girl I was a spy. I spent most of my childhood listening in stealth mode — to my mom on the phone, to her talking to her friends, to adults. Until this weekend, I thought I knew why.

I’ve blogged about this before. My dad died in Penn Station sitting on an eastbound train. I was two months shy of my sixth birthday. That night we got a knock on the door. It was his friend Mike. He told my mom that he thought there had been an accident in the city, and that my dad was part of it. There were no cell phones or smart phones back then, so information was sketchy. He came inside, and went into my parent’s room to make phone calls. I wanted to know what was up, so I crawled under my parents’ bed and listened. That’s why I heard the news before my mom did: My dad had died of an aneurysm hours before Mike knocked on the door.

I remember crawling quietly from under the bed and going back into the small room I shared with my sister, then two-and-a-half. I was scared and upset, but I still expected my mom to tell me right away. She didn’t, though. Instead, she lied. Everyone around me lied, actually. They lied right to my face for days. Right up until the day of the funeral they were saying he was sick and in the hospital. I guess they just didn’t know how to tell me, so they chose to take the path of least resistance.

It was horrible, playing along. Especially on that first night when my neighbor tried to get me to go to sleep by telling me to save the rest of my ice cream for my daddy. I was crying as he lifted me up to the freezer. My hand shook as I placed it inside. It really is no wonder I had/have the trust issues I do. It’s also why (at least I thought it was why) I snooped from that moment on whenever and wherever I could. You can’t be lied to if you have all the details, right. It’s actually a skill that’s served me very well. I’ve bought houses and boats and paid for private school tuition (my own and my daughter’s) with the money I’ve made being nosy.

But this weekend it became apparent that Big Girl is following in my footsteps. Weird, since she has no reason to have trust issues. I have actually done the opposite with that kid — I tell her the truth no matter what. There are no surprises in the House of Big Girl. My husband and I have disagreed, actually, on the level of information that’s been available to her. Right or wrong, I felt like my way was going to create a trusting child. Someone who always assumes people are telling her the truth. But I digress…so it started last week, I guess. We’re watching TV and we hear a noise. “I think someone’s on the stairs,” says my husband. He gets up and sure enough, Big Girl is sitting there listening to us. Happens two nights in a row. Then it happened again on Saturday night. We had some couple friends over. The talk is a little salty to say the least, and we hear the pitter-patter of little feet.

Yesterday I had a discussion with Big Girl, telling her that I was a snoop, too, when I was little, but that we were not going to tolerate her to:

a) be awake when she should be sleeping
b) listen to conversations without having context
c) be disrespectful of someone else’s privacy

I think she understood. I also told her she could come to me with any questions or requests. That she didn’t have to scrounge around for information. Now we wait and see if the lesson sunk in. It had better because so far, Big Girl’s snooping is really cramping our style.

1. Drew on the bathroom wall with deodorant. Big, round circles, which have yet to fade even with lots of washing and scrubbing.
2. Stuck Big Girl’s DS stylus up her nose. How did I find out? “Mommy, I put this up and it hurt.” You think?!?
3. Hid so silently that I thought she escaped the house, causing me to gain at least five to ten gray hairs. (This was during a game of sanctioned hide-and-seek, BTW.)
4. Leaped out of her crib — the very first time, I might add — breaking her collar bone. What, you’re a new reader and you don’t remember that saga? Have a read.
5. Swiped her Daddy’s credit card right out of his wallet. We found it a few days later in a random playroom bag.
6. Tried to jump into the pool while at Disney World. We’re all walking together. The water looked warm, I guess, so she ran away from us full-speed at the pool. We stopped her just as she was putting her foot over to jump in.
7. Ate Play-Doh. Yes, I know a lot of kids do this, but it was still gross.
8. Colored ALL over my hallway with big, swooping circles of crayons.
9. Stole my keys and hid them in the playroom, causing a huge ruckus. (This happened today!) Sigh.

The part that’s difficult is that all of these infractions happened when I was with her (except for the crayon thing.) She was RIGHT there, and then boom, she was off two seconds later doing something wacky. I could only imagine how much trouble she would get into if I didn’t helicopter parent that little girl.

We had it much, much easier with Big Girl who, in her seven years, has only done two crazy things. The first: One day when she was about two or so I went into to take her out from her nap, and found she had loosened the screw from the crib (!!!), and had it in her mouth. She couldn’t answer me when I asked why she would do something like that.

The other was the day she got her gorgeous, very, very expensive big girl bed. I went in, again after a nap, and found she had taken her dry erase board marker and scribbled all over the headboard. It came off, but it was puzzling nonetheless.

Hope you’re enjoying your Sunday. Me, I am nursing my voice, which is threatening to go away completely. Think good thoughts that it doesn’t because I have a heck of a lot of interviews to do this week.

We did a bunch of stuff to keep busy and have fun. I had Big Girl put on a piano recital for us. We ate breakfast. We played on the computer. We played a board game (my new favorite, Discovery Garden Game by The Wonder Forge. We connected via Ooovoo.com with my sister and her son, who is good friends with my kids. That killed a few hours, but Big Girl got bored. She thought we should go outside. Okay, I thought. Let’s do it. We got all dressed up in our snow pants, hats, gloves, snow boots, and warm socks and headed out.

There are no kids on our block so we decided to walk around the corner to see if anyone was out. (TONS of kids around the corner.) Nope, no one was out. Then the husband of my former Daisy troop co-leader drove by. He stopped and said hi. I asked if his kids were out. Yes, he told me, his wife had his kids outside building a fort. So, despite the fact that I didn’t call ahead of time and wasn’t invited, I made an executive decision. I walked over to say hello.

When we rounded the corner I saw my former co-leader out there with her two girls — both really sweet kids. Big Girl, who takes the bus with them, was thrilled. She jumped right in and started playing. Me? I grabbed a shovel and started shoveling and chatting. Then the nice woman who lives next door to my former co-leader came out, too bringing her little girl outside to join in the festivities. Nothing exciting happened, but it was comfortable and relaxing. I really enjoyed chatting with everyone and watching the kids play.

Around 2:30 I realized that the baby needed to go down for a nap so I tried rounding up Big Girl. My former co-leader said that the kids were having fun so I should leave her. That she would walk Big Girl home when they decided to go in. And like that Big Girl got an extended playdate. (And I got to carry a screaming and crying two-year-old for three blocks in the snow. “I WANT MY SISTER! MY SISTER HAS TO COME HOME!!! Sheesh.)

Anyway, I realized once I de-stressed from the walk home that I really don’t do that enough — put myself into uncontrolled social situations. But I should. If I would have hesitated, I would have made all of us miss out on a nice afternoon. So what that I wasn’t showered, didn’t have any make-up on, and didn’t call ahead? There should be no rules on a snow day. Hope we get another one really soon!

Big Girl:

How she laughs with her whole body. Not just with her face, but with her shoulders and arms and eyes and belly. It’s like the sun is shining out of every pore.

How she’s my little sponge. Tonight we got a lesson on Martin Luther King Jr.–who he married, why he is important, how he made history. I was impressed to say the least. She just sucks up knowledge and stores it in her brain.

How she’s getting braver. We were on public transportation sitting next to another family with a girl about my Big Girl’s age. Fearlessly, Big Girl leaned over and said, “Hi, where are you from?” The girl didn’t speak English, but still. She’ll be talking to strangers like I do in no time!

How she appreciates the moment. “Mommy, today was in my top ten of all days.” How amazing is that? And how I wish I could be just like her.

Little Girl:

Her funny mannerisms: slip-slop for flip-flop, saying things like, Hey, guys, it’s alllll right.” And how she jokes around so much. Wiping my kiss away with a laugh, playing pranks, getting humor. Speaking of humor…

The fact that poop is so funny. She’s still changing songs to include the word poop, but now she’s pretending to spell different things P O O P. So hysterical.

How she loves Big Girl with all her heart. “That’s my sister. She’s my BEST FRIEND.” And she shows it, too, asking for her during the day, and hugging and comforting her whether Big Girl is coming off the bus or has bumped her head and is crying. Little Girl is always there for her.

How she is also a little sponge. Today we did our learning — name, phone number, birthday, address, age. I started asking opposites and she knew them all! (Except dark. She thought the opposite of dark was sleep. Not such a leap, but still…)

Usually, they shuffle around until the bus comes. Today, as we were sitting there watching, it looked like the kids were feeling very rambunctious. The six or seven kids at the bus stop started an impromptu game of chase. Everyone except for my kid, who just stood there. A stranger seeing it unfold might assume my kid is lazy or uninterested in such games. But me and Little Girl, well, we knew better. Little Girl called it before I did, actually. Watching her sister’s body language she said, “Mommy, why my sister sad? Look, Mommy. She’s so sad. Awww. I love you, sister, I love you!” And in my head I agreed. I could see the shyness and uncertainty taking over Big Girl’s body. She desperately wanted to be running and laughing and playing chase, but she was too afraid. No one had asked her to play. She didn’t feel confident that she would be accepted, (as I know she would have been) so she stood there feeling bad about herself. Thankfully, the bus came a minute or so after the game began, and Big Girl boarded the bus along with everyone else.

As much as that moment squeezed my heart, I didn’t say anything to her when she got home. Not sure what I could say. Gee, Big Girl, I get it. I feel exactly like that sometimes when I’m in social situations. Paralyzed. Terrified. Shy. Afraid to do or say the wrong thing. Afraid that the other “kids” won’t like me. Even though I know that I’m being silly, all those thoughts go through my head. It’s so funny because in a work situation I know I kick a lot of ass. I can (and feel like I just about have) talked to everyone and anyone. I interview people for a living, and the majority of people just spill their guts. I make people comfortable. It’s one of the reasons I am a really great reporter. In fact, I wish I had a dollar for everyone who has told me I’m a great listener; that they felt like they had known me forever. I’m great with strangers in the store, the bowling alley, on the train, on the phone.

I’m going to be talking about New Year’s resolutions these next two weeks. And so I will state my first resolution: To get over my fear, and be able to live the line that Tom Cruise (playing Joel Goodson in Risky Business) immortalized. “Sometimes, you just have to say…”

Okay, so we get home, have pancakes, yogurt, and strawberries for dinner (hubby is in the city with friends), and we’re all calmer and quieter. We read books, and both kids were in bed by 7:45. And both went to bed smiling and happy. I started reading my next book club book, The Lost Girls, and turned in around midnight.

Saturday was a whirlwind of activity. We went to see the Gazillion Bubble Show in New York City. The kids had a BALL. Both Little and Big. And I thought it was pretty amazing, too. The bubble tricks were impressive. Both girls were laughing and smiling and jumping up and down in their seats. Loved the theater, which is small and cozy enough so there really aren’t any bad seats in the house. And the laser show was incredible. I found myself asking how the heck the performer, Deni Yang, was able to do what he was doing. (Basically controlling lasers with his hands. Very neat trick!)

After the show we ate dinner at a brand new pizza place on the corner of 50th and 10th. (Amazing pizza!) And then we drove home. The cool part of this was that we got stuck in heavy traffic on the way in and we didn’t think we were going to make it. And we did.

On the way home we stopped at what Little Girl calls, “Poooky House!,” a house that is decorated with witches, several of them live and walking around. We stood there with probably 50 of our neighbors oohing and ahhing over the witches, who came down to the crowd and handed out apples. Then hubby and I went to a costume party dressed as babies, complete with one-piece, feetie pajamas.

Halloween was Halloween. Candy. Trick or treating. My father-in-law came in to help out tomorrow when my husband has his surgery. Oh, yeah. My husband is getting a fourth operation this week. I’m trying to stay upbeat.

Anyway, hope everyone had a good weekend…

My daughter's brazen bully/friend's note.

The notebook lay open on the counter. I didn’t recognize Big Girl’s scrawl so I picked it up for a closer look. There, on the page, was the following:

“Bring it tomorrow and you said if you don’t I could punch you thank you good night.”

WTF?!?

I called Big Girl into the kitchen. What was this, I wanted to know. Nervously, she explained that one of the little girls in her class told her to bring a specific toy to school. And if she didn’t, she was going to punch Big Girl.

“First off, don’t let anyone punch you. That is not okay,” I told her. Then I explained that she had to stick up for herself if she could. “You tell her no, it is not going to happen. That friends don’t punch friends for any reason.” (They only whip them with licorice — sorry, inside joke.) But my daughter wasn’t convinced she could do that.

I honestly forgot about it with the activities of yesterday: work, a book club meeting, Little Girl being tipped over in a shopping cart (that’s a whole other blog post). But Big Girl didn’t. It was the first thing she asked me this morning. “Mommy, can I bring the telescope to school because A. says she’s going to punch me if I don’t.” I explained that no, she couldn’t do that. She would get in trouble for bringing toys to school, but more important you can’t just give in to what is essentially a bully’s request. Instead, I told her, I would tell the wanna-be puncher that she wasn’t allowed to bring it to school. I wrote a note:

Dear A.,

We don’t punch our friends! If you want to play with the telescope, come for a playdate.

–Karen (Big Girl’s mom)

Big Girl was thrilled. We headed over to the bus, and I heard that little girl asking my Big Girl if she had brought the item in question. No, my daughter told her. And then she handed her the note.

I know that little girl. I like that little girl. I’m hoping a funny, direct message from someone I hope she knows and likes will drive the point home: We don’t threaten other children. It’s not nice. Still, it will be interesting to see what Big Girl tells me when she gets home.

Did I do the right thing? What would you have done. I am flying by the seat of my pants right now.

The minute she said the kid’s name, I knew who it was. My stomach dropped a little bit. I looked across the table at one of the other kids who was listening. A kid who is also a little husky. She looked a little uncomfortable. Then I looked back at my storyteller, a little girl, who I really, really like. A nice kid. And I said, “Want to hear a story? Well, you know that little boy? He’s my friend’s son, and he’s really, really nice. Have you ever spoken to him?” The little girl looked at me, told me that she had never spoken to him, and then she said one word. “Ooops.”

I kept talking. “I’ll bet if you spoke to him you would see how very nice he is. By the way, just because someone is fat doesn’t mean they are smelly or stupid. Everyone is unique. Everyone has their gifts. I know [NAME], and he’s a great kid. You’d really like him.” And then I shut up and went back to doing the project.

I told Big Girl the story tonight at bedtime. I asked her how the heavier little girl probably felt when she heard the first girl call someone else names because he happens to be heavier. “Bad,” she said. I asked her what she thought of the story. “It was bad. I know [NAME]. He is really nice. I’m glad he didn’t hear that story. If I was there I would have told Storyteller that I know that boy, and he’s nice.” I told her I was, too, and that I was very proud of her for thinking of my friend’s son’s feelings. And that if she learns one thing from me I hope it’s that starting rumors is never a good thing. And then, after I explained what a rumor was, I switched the topic.

I hope by not making a huge deal about it, and just telling it like it is I touched one of the kids who heard the story. I hope my original storyteller will remember what I said and give someone a chance before making another snap judgment. I hope Big Girl really will have the courage and compassion to stick up for someone someday. I hope the chubby girl across the table from Storyteller heard what I said, and didn’t feel too bad hearing her make assumptions about someone who is overweight.

Okay, let’s hear it. Did I handle this right? Wrong? What would you have said or done? Honestly, this working with kids thing is really challenging sometimes.

About two minutes into our wait the kid starts losing it. Granted, her mother is stressed, and she’s probably feeding off that. Still, she’s running around the studio waiting room. She’s whining really loudly about how she wants to go home. She’s hitting her mother. She’s trying to open the mother’s purse to get money because she’s thirsty, she says. She’s making such a spectacle that Little Girl was staring. She even asked me, “Why that girl yelling, Mommy? She sad?”

The mother, in her embarrassment, is doing everything in her power to placate the kid. Explaining that they will drink when they get home. Trying to distract her. Threatening, cajoling, sweet-talking. I felt for the mother. I did. Then, in desperation, she pulls a bottle of Coke out of her pocket. I instantly stopped feeling bad for her.

“Here, drink this,” she tells the little girl. The kid tells the mother she doesn’t like soda. The mother keeps foisting it on her. The kid, giving into her thirst, finally grabs it and starts chugging. And I do mean chugging. The kid must have been really, really thirsty. The mother warns her not to drink so much and tries to grab the bottle back. “You’re drinking too much. You’re not going to be able to eat your dinner,” she tells the kid. I couldn’t help it. “Forget dinner,” I said. “She’s not going to be able to SLEEP.”

I walked out of that place with a headache and a heavy heart. The mother made a bunch of wrong moves, IMHO. I can’t understand why she handed a three-year-old a bottle of caffeinated Coke. Just sad. As some people have commented, she should have taken the kid to the car rather than losing it and giving in to whatever the kid asked for.

Okay, so the title of this blog is Little Kid Freak Outs — Outs, as in multiple freak outs. Today, I went to a local library’s book sale. Little Girl is being her adorable self. Talking, finding books she “loves.” (“This my favorite, Mommy. Oh, my goodness, Mommy, look what I find!”) She was putting a smile on every person’s face in the joint. A woman stopped to compliment me on what a beautiful, smart, sunny child I had. She’s so happy, she said. Little Girl, not pleased to be ignored by me, decided she was going to show me how displeased she was. She started knocking over the books. Then she lay down on the floor and started kicking them. Then, when I tried to put her on a time out, she reached out and hit my arm. At that point, I picked her up, screaming, I might add, and carried her to the car. She was done. No second chances. She screamed the entire way home since, as we were leaving, her little friend arrived. Once she realized that she wasn’t getting her playdate the screaming got even louder.

When I got to my driveway she threw herself on the concrete and refused to walk into the house. I calmly picked her up, carrying her into her crib. She had to eat lunch, but I needed a time-out by that time. Once I removed myself for a bit I went back and took her out of the crib, helped her soothe herself, and brought her downstairs for lunch. She finished eating, and went down for a nap.

Yes, freak outs happen, but I think I handled my freak out better than the other mom because I created instant consequences, and enforced them. I hope, after some time, that Little Girl will get the point that poor behavior choices result in not having fun. The other little girl? Well, she just learned that if she hits her mother, eventually she’s going to get soda. Not the best message in my book.