Still No.

Matthew:  Can I have some candy?
Me:  No.
Matthew.  But . . . can I have some candy because . . . I'm really hot.
Me:  No.
Cameron:  Well then, can I have some candy because I'm not really hot?

Nuns and Nunchucks

When Cameron opened his Christmas gift from his Grandma and Grandpa (David's parents), he found this book.  Under the book was a game for the Wii.  "What's this?" Cameron asked, showing the stack to David.  David grabbed the book with the game underneath, quickly flipping the book over to look at the back -- which happened to be the back of the Wii game.

"Ohhhh," said David, confused.  "This is a game for the Wii.  About going to church."

Both Cameron and David looked relieved when I separated the two gifts and explained that "The Mass for Children" was actually a book and the Wii game was about the circus.

You gotta wonder why there isn't a "Mass for Children" Wii game though.  It could be a bunch of mini games to teach kids about how to behave at church.  "Press B!  Press B, Cameron!" I'd yell from the couch.  "Sign of Peace!"  Or they could make it compatible with the Wii Fit balance board and have games like, "How Long Can You Kneel?" and "Walk Up for Eucharist Without Stepping on the Heels of the Person in Front of You." 

I can just imagine the shouts of excitement.  "Mommy!  I made it to Expert level on "Opening the Missalette to the Correct Page!" 

You're welcome, Mo Willems.

If my family's Christmas spending is any indication, Mo Willems is a very wealthy man.  Not only did Matthew get his very own Knuffle Bunny, we also pretty much doubled our Mo Willems' book collection.  My new favorite is "Naked Mole Rat Gets Dressed," while Matthew is partial to "Leonardo the Terrible Monster."

And I'm pretty sure that LEGO was already doing okay financially, but we paid our dues there as well.

No, not really.

On Christmas Eve, Cameron was reciting the gifts that the Wise Men brought to baby Jesus.  "One was gold.  And myrrh.  And the other was frank . . . frankin . . . frankincense."

On a whim, I joked, "Do you know what Grandpa Frank's full name is?"

"What?" asked Cameron.

"Frankincense," I replied.

Cameron was not fooled but David turned to me, his eyes wide with surprise.  "Really?" he said, "I didn't know that!"

Santa at Seven

When I put Cameron to bed on Christmas Eve, I told him that our rule is that we don't get up until 7am on Christmas.  This was the rule when I was growing up and at the time I thought it was terribly unfair.  7am!!!  How in the world were we supposed to wait until SEVEN to see if Santa came?!?!  One year, when my sister Stephanie and I shared a room, we woke up well before 7am.  We stood on one side of our bedroom and watched the minutes tick by on the clock.  Each time one minute passed, we took one step towards the door until -- FINALLY! -- the clock read seven and we burst out of the bedroom to wake our lazy parents.

Now that I'm a grown-up, the 7am rule seems quite logical to me. Cameron, it turns out, felt differently about it.  I showed him the clock in his room.  "If you wake up," I told him, "look at this clock before you come wake me up.  You can only wake me up if the first number say 7."

At 2:38am, I woke to see Cameron standing next to me with a huge smile on his face.  "It's seven, Mommy!"

"No, Cameron.  It is 2 in the morning.  Go back to bed."

At 4:30am, he was back and I again sent him back to bed.  At 5:15am, when he insisted that his clock said it was 7am, I told him not to come out of his room until I came and got him.

When, at 7am exactly, I went to get him, he showed me his clock.  "See?" he said.  "I told you!  Every time I woke up, the clock said it was 7!"  It's one of those fancy clocks that also has a thermostat on it and, as it turns out, the temperature was 70 degrees.

Despite my exhaustion, it was a lovely Christmas.  Santa came through for each of the boys, somehow intuiting exactly which Lego set Cameron hoped to receive.  This was his face when he tore of the wrapping paper and saw Lego Space Police Freeze Ray Frenzy.

And Matthew, of course, received his beloved Knuffle Bunny.

I hope that all of you are enjoying your holidays as well!  I'm off to build a Lego set!

All About Mii

We recently received a very generous and unexpected gift -- a Wii Fit.  The boys especially are thrilled, despite our rule that the Wii is only played (by the boys -- shhh!) on the weekends.  When you start playing the Wii, you create a Mii -- a character that has your name and looks like you.  During a game -- be it biking or hula hooping -- you see the other Mii characters on the sidelines or competing with you.  This has provided endless entertainment for the boys.

- Unbeknownst to me, Cameron created a Mii that looks like his best friend from school -- I'll call him Calvin.  Now, when the boys are playing the Wii, I often hear them shout, "There's Calvin!" or "Whoa, Calvin just passed me.  He's a really fast runner!"

- Bolstered by his success, Cameron went on to create another Mii -- a girl with pigtails.  "Who is that?" I asked.  "Oh," he replied, "that's Grandma Linda.  When she was a girl."

- The other day, the boys asked me to do a biking challenge.  As I was pedaling along, steering with my Wii remote, I passed Matthew's Mii.  The real Matthew turned to me accusingly and said, "Hey!  Why didn't you wave at me, Mama?"

- In games with lots of characters, the Wii provides random Mii's and the cast is pretty diverse.  In games with fewer characters, the Mii roles are filled exclusively by the Mii's your family has created.  One day, Cameron was doing a Kung Fu class.  The extra characters were me, David, Calvin and Grandma Linda girl.  Part way through the class, Cameron stopped and turned to me with a look of disgust on his face.  "Hey!" he shouted.  "Why are all the people in this class WHITE?!?"  As a result, I am working on creating Mii's of our African American friends!

Guys and Dolls

My boys have always had baby dolls.  I never really thought much of it until a couple of weeks ago.  Matthew and I were watching Cameron at TaeKwanDo and Matthew was holding Payo, one of his dolls.  Another mom leaned over and said, "That's so cute.  I was going to get my little boy a doll but my husband was like, 'No way is my son playing with dolls!'"  I thought that that type of sentiment had gone out of style in, oh, say, the 70's, so I was a bit surprised. 

Later, I was telling a friend about this encounter and she said, "You bought dolls for your boys?  Why?"

Why?  Why not?  Kids like to play with baby dolls, right?

Soon I was asking every mom of boys I know and finding out that, unbeknownst to me, I am a bit of a renegade for giving my boys dolls.  The common response seems to be, "Well, if he was interested in dolls maybe I'd get him one, but he's never expressed an interest."

But, see, Matthew hadn't really expressed an interest in dolls or anything else at his first Christmas and he still got this:

And the next Christmas he didn't ask for a doll, either, but it turns out that he loves Payo.

This year is going to be a little different though, as Matthew has clearly expressed his desire for Santa to bring a Knuffle Bunny.  But I think Payo and K.B. are gonna be pretty tight.  Because whether or not he ever expressed an interest, Matthew is a boy who loves his babies.

Who's Dat?

Matthew is still fascinated by his "Family Book."  We stopped by the adoption agency the other day and he had it with him.  I chatted with a social worker briefly, handed off some stuff for J. and started gathering the boys to leave.  "I have dis," announced Matthew, holding his book out to the social worker. 

"Oh," she said kindly, "how nice!"  We flipped through a few pages, and pointed out photos of interest. 

I pointed to a photo of J.  "Who's this?" I said to Matthew.  He peered up at the social worker through his eyelashes, smiling shyly.  We waited a few seconds, then said our goodbyes. 

As we walked out, Matthew turned and shouted, with a big smile on his face, "That's J!"

The only person Matthew appears to have any difficulty in recognizing in the book is . . . me!  As we looked through the book a few days ago, he pointed out the people in this photo:

"Dat's Maffew," he said.  "And dat's Didi kissing Maffew.  And dat's . . . Grandma Linda!"

"No, Matthew," I said, "that's mama!"

He looked at me suspiciously and then replied slowly, "Nooooo.  Dat's Grandma Linda."

A few pages later we reached this photo, from the finalization in court.  "Der's Maffew with Daddy!" he cried, pointing.  "And dat's the judge!  And Didi!  Oh, and Auntie Stephanie is dere, too!"

Oh well, it's close enough.

Dear Santa, Please Bring Me a Dictionary

Me:  Okay boys.  Daddy isn't going to be home before bedtime, so I'm really going to need your cooperation tonight.

Matthew:  What?  What's ka-nop-er-ation?

Enjoying the Weather

Snow.  It's cold.  It's wet.  And when you have two little boys, it's FUN!

We Couldn't Have That

This cold weather is a real drag.  I've been trying to remember how to keep kids busy when it is too cold to play outside and little by little it's coming back to me.  The biggest challenge is finding activities that interest both boys.  To that end, we've been doing LOTS of science experiments and art projects.  And from time to time, I choose an activity that I think will be fun for Cameron and then I spend an hour trying to keep Matthew away from said activity.  Shrinky Dinks, Perler beads and number mazes fall into this category. 

Most recently, I bought Cameron a beginner's needlepoint kit.  He was surprisingly enthusiastic about it and has spent quite a bit of time working on it over the past few days. 

Yesterday, I pulled out the beginner's needlepoint that I made when I was about his age.  "Ooooh!" he admired.  "You did a good job mommy!"  He flipped the frame over, where it is obvious that instead of threading the yarn under the stitches to secure it, I tied big knots.  Hey, it was a BEGINNER kit, okay? 

He didn't say anything but later, when it was time to end the blue yarn and start a new color he said, "Mommy?  Can you make sure that you do it right?  And cut the extra yarn really short so the end isn't sticking out.  Because when I have kids, I don't want them to look at this and think, 'Boy, Daddy didn't do a very good job on his needlepoint!'"

He did not learn this from me.

This morning, Matthew spilled a bowl of dry cereal on the floor.  "Uh-oh!" he cried.  "I spill da ce-we-al!  Dat's okay, I clean it up!"  And to my amazement, he went and got his broom and dustpan.  (Yes, we have child size cleaning tools, purchased when I optimistically imagined my children cheerily cleaning up their own messes.)

"Thank you, Matthew!" I said.  "I like it when you clean up your mess!"

"You welcome," he replied and he efficiently swept all the spilled cereal under the fridge.  "All done!"

Matthew's Favorite Book

For two years now, I've been planning to make Matthew a book of his adoption story.  I delayed and delayed, searching for just the right words, just the right pictures.  And then, a couple of weeks ago, I just decided to do it.  And I did.  All of a sudden, I knew what I wanted the book to say and I wrote it and ordered it! 

Yesterday, the finished product arrived in the mail.  Matthew and I sat down together on the couch to read it and he was fascinated.  He pointed to each picture, asking "Who's dat?" and delighting when the answer was "Baby Matthew!" 

When Cameron got home from school, Matthew hurried to get the book and show it to him.  "Family book," he explained.  "It about baby Matthew.  And it about J."  And it is -- it is the story of Matthew's birth, his adoption and his families. 

At bedtime, Matthew asked me to read "the J. book" and, when I finished, asked me to read it again. 

This morning, Matthew got the book down off the shelf, called for Cameron, and then both boys sat on my lap while I read the book.  This time, Matthew imitated himself in each photo.  "I looking at Daddy like this," he said, dropping his mouth open and staring up just like baby Matthew was doing in the photo.  "I sleeping, like this," he said, closing his eyes just like baby Matthew did. 

Cameron was also interested, excitedly saying, "I remember that!" as he looked at the photos of meeting Matthew at the hospital, bringing him home and going to court.  We read the book three times in a row. And I can't wait to read it again tonight!

And a Pony

Matthew's response to Santa in past years has ranged from complete indifference

 to sheer terror. 

This year, Matthew marched right up to Santa.  "And what do you want for Christmas, little boy?"

"I wanna Knuffle Bunny and a Lego set," Matthew answered with confidence.

"And how about you?" Santa asked Cameron. 

In line, Cameron had been overcome with nervousness.  "Help me remember what to say, Mommy," he had whispered to me, as he rehearsed.  "A Lego set.  The Empire Strikes Back movie.  A robot starter kit.  OK.  A Lego set.  The Empire Strikes Back.  Robot starter kit."  Now, faced with Santa himself, Cameron took a deep breath and went for it.  "I would like TWO Lego sets.  And The Empire Strikes Back.  And a robot kit."

Apparently Cameron is hoping that the big guy decides to break the "three presents from Santa" rule.

The Obvious Solution

"Me and Colin are going to make a time machine," Cameron announced.

"Really?"  I replied.  "What time do you want to go to first?"

"2007," he answered promptly.

2007? I thought, mystified.  "Why 2007?"

"Well, remember that old Lego magazine that Grandpa gave me?"

"Yes."

"It was in 2007.  And it said that in 2007 they were putting solid gold C3PO Lego minifigures in Lego boxes!  So we're going to go back to 2007 and try to find one of them.  Oh! And can you come with us?  Because I think it might be a good idea to have a grown-up along."

I suppose I could tell the kid about EBay, but why ruin his fun?

I Love This American Life (or, "Ira Glass, Why Don't You Love Me?")

So, I recently learned that there is a blog called Letters to Ira Glass and This American Life acknowledged it on their Facebook page.  And I was all, "Whhaaaat?" because I sent Ira a short little note about how much I love TAL and what did I get in return?  Nothing.  That's right!  Nothing!  I mean, it makes no sense.  So I'm thinking, is blogging the only way to get TAL's attention?  Fine, Ira.  If you need me to publicly declare my adoration of TAL, I will.

But first, a brief note to my readers.  The following is not a story about Matthew or Cameron, or about my parenting foibles. If that's what you're looking for, check back later.  I've got plenty of foibles to share. 

Next, allow me to explain that I have taken what writers refer to as "liberties" in the following piece.  I've used such literary devices as sarcasm and exaggeration.  So, please.  There is no need to leave me a comment saying, "I am appalled that you would compare your love of TAL to being a Creative Memories consultant.  I am a Creative Memories consultant and you clearly have no appreciation of the importance of preserving memories or of color-coordinated sticker and paper packs!"  Unless you happen to be Ira Glass and you are also a Creative Memories consultant.  In which case, Ira, I'd like to host a scrapbooking party. 'Cause I was totally just joking.  I love acid-free stickers.

So, without further ado, my tribute to TAL.

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This must be what it is like to be a born-again Christian. Or a Creative Memories consultant. You’ve found something so amazing – you know, eternal salvation, or acid-free stickers – and it’s so life-changing that you want everyone else to know about it. And it’s frustrating. It’s so frustrating when you can’t get people to listen. When you explain and people are still just like, “I don’t believe in organized religion,” or “I keep my photos in a shoe box.”

For me, it’s This American Life. I’m constantly trying to recruit friends and family, even strangers, to listen, largely unsuccessfully. “It’s on Chicago Public Radio,” I say. “Or you can download the podcast on iTunes!” It’s so easy to work it into a conversation. You know, somebody is talking about how crappy the economy is and I casually say, “I know. Speaking of, you should totally listen to TAL Episode 355: ‘The Giant Pool of Money.’” Or I’m at the park, chatting with another mom? And the kids are playing on the swings. And maybe one of them points out a squirrel in a nearby tree? And I say, “Yes sweetie, it’s a squirrel.” And then naturally I ask the other mom if she’s by chance heard TAL Episode 115, Act Two: ‘Squirrel Cop?’ And that, of course, makes me think of TAL Episode 319: ‘The Call Was Coming From the Basement.’ Specifically Act One in which a woman is on a walk near her house and is attacked by a rabid raccoon? “Have you heard that one?” I say. And I just can’t figure out why, why this mom is in such a rush to get her kids to the car before I can even give her the web site so she can listen to “Squirrel Cop” online.

I’ve given a lot of thought to where I’m going wrong. My husband suggests, gently, that I might come on too strong. Which is just so wrong because I am totally right. How can you come on too strong when you are speaking the truth? I mean, maybe he’d have a point if I was trying to convince people to host a Pampered Chef Party or something. But I’m not – this is serious. I am trying to get these people to tune in to the greatest radio show EVER. See the light, people!

OK, I’ll agree that perhaps my approach could use some fine tuning. Some finesse. So, confessing to my mother-in-law that I am maybe a teensy-weensy bit in love with Ira Glass wasn’t the right tactic to endear her to TAL. Lesson learned!

And I suppose it is possible that my friends talk behind my back about my . . . I hesitate to use the word obsession . . . enthusiasm for the Starlee Kine ‘Break-up’ episode and my subsequent fantasy in which Starlee and I become an adorable Laverne and Shirley-esque duo. Which is crazy, I know, because both Starlee and I are more Shirley than Laverne. Can you be an adorable duo if you’re both Shirley? But talk about crazy -- I mean, of course Starlee and I would make a super adorable duo! We don’t need a Laverne! And if my friends don’t get that? Well, their loss. I mean, honestly, I don’t think Starlee would be all that interesting in their endless gabbing about Desperate Housewives either.

And timing . . . I’m starting to appreciate the importance of timing. Because my uncle? He seemed a little irritated when I interrupted his Christmas Eve blessing to mention that when he was all “give us the strength, dear Jesus, to resist Satan’s temptations” that it totally made me think of the TAL classic, ‘SantaLand Diaries,’ where David Sedaris points out that Santa is an anagram of Satan. But, to be truthful, I don’t think my uncle is really sophisticated enough to appreciate David Sedaris. He’s more of a Rush Limbaugh kind of guy and went all “liberal media conspiracy” on me when he realized that I was quoting a gay man from public radio.

That’s okay. I’m not alone, and that gives me comfort. There are other true believers out there. I know this. I mean, Ira Glass himself was the one who said, “By popular demand, This American Life returns to the big screen for an ENCORE presentation on Thursday, May 7th.” That’s right. Popular. And I am part of the popular crowd.

So, when I score a ticket to see This American Life ENCORE I revel in the knowledge that I will be surrounded by people just like me. People who get Ira. Well, not like I do. It’s clear that Ira and I have something special. But people who know that Dan Savage isn’t just that s*x columnist guy. People who wonder, as the end of each episode nears, what Our Boss Mister Torey Malatia is going to say this time. My people.

At the theatre, I hand my ticket to a freckled teenager. “What movie are you seeing?” he asks, despite the fact that it is printed on the ticket that he is fumbling to tear.

“This American Life.”

“Whaattt? I’ve never even heard of that. Who’s in it?” he says.

Since I’m pretty sure Ira, Starlee and Dan’s names aren’t going to ring any bells for this poor kid, I think back to my failed recruitment efforts and decide that education is my best bet. Patiently, I begin. “Well, it’s on public radio and they did a live show. And it’s being shown in movie theatres . . .”

But before I can even begin to evangelize him, he gives a bored, “Yeah, I have noooo idea what you’re talking about,” and hands me my ticket stub. “Theatre 16, all the way at the end on your right.”
What can I do? I walk toward Theatre 16. And I sit down with eleven other TAL fans. And I blush at how cute Ira is in those glasses. And I am filled with anger and anxiety as Mike Birbiglia describes the drunk driver who hit him and the incompetent cop who filed the police report. And Starlee, oh Starlee . . . how I laughed when she described the group therapy where she used a Wiffle bat to beat a pillow representing her mother! And I’m not so alone any more. I’m invigorated, refreshed, renewed. And when I leave the theatre, I stop the bewildered ticket taker because I’m just sure that I’m going to get it right this time. “So, listen, there’s this TAL episode . . .”

"Oh the weather outside is frightful . . .

But the toys are soooo delightful."

After an unseasonably warm November, cold December has hit us hard.  Instead of playing on the swingset or riding bikes, we're suddenly inside and trying to find a way to keep two active little boys busy.  We've read books, cut out paper snowflakes, baked cranberry bread and, of course, watched football.

Luckily, great-grandma and great-grandpa have also delighted the boys with a few packages in the mail.  Remember how thrilling it is when you are a kid and there is something in the mailbox with YOUR name on it?  It's even better when it's got your name on it and it's a set of "hawkie-tawkies" as Matthew calls these.

Cameron received an electric set with ONE HUNDRED projects in it.  After David taught him how to follow the instructions, he went to town and is now saying things like, "Mommy?  Could you hand me that toggle switch?"  I have no doubt that he'll finish the one hundred projects many times over before the end of winter.

And we've started a new tradition.  Each night we set up a course in our hallway and play a few rounds of Fun Golf.  Cameron and I are on the "Circus Seals" team and Daddy and Matthew have chosen the moniker "Da Magnificents."  Cameron keeps score and it sounds something like this.  "OK, that took me five strokes.  So that means we get . . . six thousand points.  And Matthew took fifteen strokes, so he gets zero."  We've also scored "infinity" several times and, in case you didn't know, you win Fun Golf by getting the most points.

Once in a while, if we're feeling really crazy, we bundle up and actually go outside.  But only if we are feeling really stir crazy and we make a nice big batch of Matthew-safe hot cocoa first!

Chaos wins again

Matthew is a football fanatic.  This morning, he was watching the last few minutes of the Texas-Nebraska game which we had recorded for him.  "With one minute and forty-four seconds left," said the commentator, "chaos reigns!"
"Mama!" Matthew shouted, "Chaos just got four!"

Truth in Advertising

Cameron spends hour upon hour reviewing the Lego catalog.  He can easily tell you the names of the different models, which mini-figures they come with and which new models are coming in 2010.  He does, however, seem oblivious to price.  Frequently I have had to tell him, "No, Cameron, I don't think you'll be getting the Power Miners Rock Crushing Battle Droid Driller of Death.  Why?  Because it cost $199.99."

The other day a new Lego catalog arrived in the mail.  On the cover it said, "Purchases over $100 SHIP FREE!"  "Look at this!!!" Cameron gasped.

"Oh, right.  Free shipping," I answered.

Cameron began frantically flipping through the catalog.  "Okay.  I'm going to get this.  And this.  And this.  Can we order it now?"

"What?"

"It says 'Offer ends December 14,' so we better order it all now!" said Cameron.  "Oooh, and I'm going to get this . . . "

"Um, Cameron?  We're not getting any of those."

"WHAATTT?  Why not?  They're FREE!" he responded.  "And they even ship them to you!"

He was deeply disappointed when I explained that "ships free" meant that ONLY the shipping was free.

The First Question

I don't write directly about adoption here very frequently.  Although it is a constant in our lives, much of our daily life has nothing to do with adoption.  Drinking aftershave, shoving raisins up your nose, getting cr8ive with the markers. . . that's kid stuff, not adoption stuff!  Plus, we consider alot of our "adoption stuff" private stuff, so we don't share it here. 

But, it also occurs to me that many of my readers (Three regulars -- hi mom! -- and at least two Google searches gone wrong a day! Go me!) don't know much about adoption.  Like this:  I am Matthew's mom.  Matthew also has another mom.  I am totally okay with this.  I want Matthew to know and love his other mom, too.  So we try, reaaaallllyyyy hard, to show that to Matthew.  We talk openly about his adoption and about his first family, we answer questions from Cameron and other inquisitive preschoolers, we wait for the questions from Matthew. We have lots of role models and co-conspirators, from our real-life friends in our transracial adoption group to open adoption bloggers like Dawn.



For quite a while now, Matthew has been able to tell you whose belly he grew in -- J's.  And he's been able to say that J. is his birth mama.  But that's about it.  No questions.  After all, he's two!
Then, a few weeks ago, I was rushing around the house.  "Matthew," I said, "we need to hurry!  Let's get your shoes on!  If we leave right now, we can drop off a letter for J. before we pick Cameron up from school!"  We hurried into the car and drove to the adoption agency.  Our adoption is currently semi-open, and we send letters and photos to Matthew's birth mom, J., through the adoption agency.  We pulled into the parking lot and I unbuckled Matthew.  "Look Matthew!  Here's the letter for J.!  Let's go drop it off!" I said.

We went inside, chatted briefly with the staff and then hustled back to the car to go get Cameron.  As we drove off, Matthew's voice came from the backseat.  "Where's the other mama?" he said.

"What?"

"Where's the OTHER mama?" he repeated.

"Ohhh!  You mean your other mama, J.?" I asked.  Slowly, I realized that when I was saying we were going to drop off a letter for J., Matthew must have been imagining that we'd be handing the letter directly to J.  It was the first time that I actually thought that Matthew understood that J. is a real person, not just a story we tell.

"Yeah, the other mama.  I want the other mama."

"I know, Matthew.  I know you want the other mama.  I'm sorry that you didn't get to see J.  She doesn't live here.  But J. is going to get our letter. She likes to hear about you, Matthew.  And she likes to see pictures of you.  Because she loves you so much."

"Yeah.  I want the other mama.  Oh!  And I want the Didi.  Go get Didi?"

"Yep.  Let's go get Didi."

So, Matthew's first question about adoption ends as quickly as it begins.  And we keep on talking.  And we keep on answering the questions as they come.  And, in the midst of it, we keep on being a family.  And blogging about raisins and aftershave.

Thankful for Legos

Last week, Cameron brought home a book he had made at school.  On each page was a sentence that began "I am thankful for," and space to fill in your answer as well as to draw a picture.  Cameron's answer was "Legos," unless the sentence absolutely prohibited the use of the word.  For example, the sentence "I am thankful for the ____ I eat," was begrudgingly completed with the word "food."  However, "I am thankful for the ____ I wear," was joyfully completed with the word "Lego" and a self-portrait of Cameron wearing his Halloween costume.

So, when we learned that the Henry Ford Museum in Detroit was hosting a Lego Castle Exhibit, it was quickly put on our schedule. 

Grandma Linda accompanied us and snapped photos as the boys launched a Lego catapault at a Lego wall, jousted, admired Lego creations and pretended to be a stern Lego dungeon guard. 

By far Cameron's favorite activity, however, was . . . building with Legos.  Sort of like he does at home all the time.

The exhibit also had a building area for toddlers which Matthew appreciated until the fun was too much for him and he opted to nap on David's shoulder.

This was fortuitous because it was more difficult for David to hit on the Lego ladies with a sleeping toddler in tow.  David just can't seem to resist those big, dark eyes, the strong, sqaure jaw and the skin like a ripe banana.  Oh baby!

After we had thoroughly and completely explored the Lego display, we decided to check out the rest of the museum.  The place is huge and we couldn't even come close to looking at everything, but there were a few must see exhibits. The exhibit about the civil rights movement was fascinating and even included the actual bus in which Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat. 

Matthew could not be roused for a family photo, but did wake up while we sat in the bus and listened as Rosa Parks' voice told her story.  We even snapped a photo in the historic seat, although Matthew did not seem to grasp the significance.  Two year olds, what are you gonna do?

Lastly, I'm including this photo of me as a housewife thrilled by the possibility of a stylish and affordable Dymaxion home.  Cameron thought this was hilarious and is quite insistent that all of you would want to see it, too!

At the end of the day, I am pretty sure that Cameron would agree we are thankful for Grandma Linda.  And Legos.