Hair's the thing

I spent an inordinate amount of time yesterday looking for the hair of a Lego guy - actually a Lego gal. Willie, aka the Screaming Girl, is Paul's latest favorite toy. I'm not really sure if her name is really Willie or if that's something Paul conjured. She is a Lego figure with two faces - one happy and one screaming in fright. Willie, part of an Indiana Jones Lego set, sports a platinum-blond hairdo that you can rotate to reveal the face of your choosing. The problem: her hair is prone to popping off or being removed and then lost. Further complicating matters is the fact that Paul likes to bring her everywhere he goes. In his few short days of owning her, we have already had many close calls of losing the hair forever.

That brings me to yesterday. Paulie had brought Willie on a walk with us. I brought Paul in the house and had seen Willie's hair on the kitchen floor. I made a mental note to pick it up. I told Paul not to leave his sunglasses on the floor. I put said sunglasses in his room. I ran out to retrieve Gus. Paul told me Willie's hair was missing. These are the facts of the case.

I must have retraced my steps three or four times. It was driving me crazy. I had just seen the hair. I literally crawled around on the kitchen floor looking for it. There it is! I thought once. But alas, it was only a nugget of Kix. I retraced my steps. Had I had a mommy moment and somehow dropped it in the refrigerator when I went to get the one daily Diet Coke I allow myself to get through the long afternoon? I wouldn't put it past myself. No, not there. Not in either bathroom. Not in the wagon or on the driveway. I checked all these places, though I was sure I had seen it on the kitchen floor. I pictured myself breaking the news to Paul in a sober tone, detective-style: "I'm sorry, son. However, statistics show that the longer the hair's been missing, the less likely you are to find it."

Then a break in the case, or so I thought: I found on the living room floor Willie's tiny tiara. Surely the tiara must be close to the hair! No, Paul said he had removed the tiara. I had all but given up hope. Would the Lego company send me a replacement set of hair? I didn't think so. Dejectedly, I went to change Gus's diaper. That's when I saw it. Willie's 'do was sitting next to Paul's sunglasses. It was a mommy moment after all.

Happiness is restored in my household once again. Until the next time we lose the hair. Yes, it's a strange, strange world I inhabit.

A peek into Ben's world

I've often wished I could be a fly on a wall in Ben's classroom, able to observe what he's like in his little corner of the world. Yesterday morning Mark and I got that chance. Ben's kindergarten class hosted a parents' day. With parents and grandparents lined up in chairs on the perimeter of the room, it wasn't an authentic fly-on-the-wall experience. Nevertheless, Mark and I had a great time watching Ben in his element.

The purpose of the day was to show the parents the literacy program the class follows. It's called the Daily 5, and it works to facilitate independent reading through activities like read to self, read to others, guided reading, and writing work. The class started with the daily news. Ben was selected to be the author. The author for the day writes a sentence - anything that interests him or her. Mark and I watched with delight as Ben began. "I like to play Wii with my dad," he wrote. "Oh, no," Mark whispered. "Now everyone's going to think that's all I do with him." No worries, Dad. Among our many mistakes, we must be doing something right, because Ben's sentence looked perfect - all the words spelled right and clearly, and good "finger spacing" to boot!

I often fret about Ben's little tics. He chews on the neck and sleeves of his shirt, he often can't sit still, and we remind him, "Hands!" about 20 times a day when we catch him with his hands someplace they shouldn't be. A veteran elementary school teacher, my mom has assured me all of this is normal. I was relieved to learn yesterday that she was right. Five- and 6-year-olds have startlingly similar mannerisms. They all danced around and seemed to have a hard time keeping their hands to themselves. It's an unusual experience having to sit silently and leaving the discipline to someone else. "Ben, stop bothering that boy!" I found myself wanting to say.

Too soon, it was time to go. Before leaving, the parents and kids enjoyed some refreshments. I giggled as I watched the kids pile their plates high with five or six treat selections, and I relished this little time I was able to spend with my son who is both ordinary and extraordinary. I am a lucky mama indeed.