Justice is Deaf, Dumb and Blind

Everybody wanted his hat and gloves this morning, which made no sense as the weather is finally warming up, but whatever. I went digging in our "Hat and Gloves" drawer (yes, and I even have it labeled). None of the gloves I found for Ian were the right ones, nor any of the ones I found for Julian, which left me digging and muttering to myself about why we have so many blipping gloves for these two kids.

Anyway, found something that passed muster, we flew out the door, the boys batting each other about the face fighting over who would have command of the elevator buttons.

"Just push the '1' button, Ian!" I said (or rather, shouted) as they were shoving each other away from the console inside the elevator.

"No, I get to push it!" shrieked Julian.

"Who cares who pushes it, Julian!?" I say. Am I crazy to ask this question? Of course, Julian is the one who cares, and a hell of a lot.

"No, I get to push it! I always get to push it!!" He is right about that. We've established certain rituals every morning and it's true that Julian does two very important things: push the '1' button in the elevator and push the button that opens the garage door.

Julian is coming unglued. Ian raises his gloved hands at both Julian and I. "OK, OK, OK. Julian, calm down. You can push the key and open the car door, OK?" Ian smiles at him, the peacemaker, like Reagan nuzzling Gorbachev. Whatever, I just want to make it out of the house and not be late to preschool.

Once everybody's strapped in and I start the car, there's a new problem.

"Mom! Ian won't give me the helicopter!!" screams Julian, tears spurting. Ian is cowering in the other corner of the backseat, jealously guarding a marine attack helicopter wristwatch, a gift from my brother.

"Julian, I'll get you another one."

"No! Mom! THAT is my one!" he yells, clenching his teeth.

"Well, Julian, Ian has it now. It's for both of you."

"No, Mom. No. Uncle Warren gave Ian the Blue Angel plane and he gave to me the helicopter watch. Uncle Warren gave that watch only to ME!"

Jesus, he actually remembers. That is exactly how things happened, but Ian quickly commandeered the helicopter watch and has had custody of it all week. And then there's my brother. Didn't he read the "Snow Day Fake Out?!" Doesn't he know you should never give the boys two different gifts. Same, good. Variety, bad.

What can I say to Julian? He is completely right and his brother has possession of his rightful property. I couldn't think of anything I could say or do that would restore his sense of justice. And for some reason, taking the copter away from Ian didn't seem right either. I had let him have it all week, so I was just as guilty as Ian was.

But you'll never believe who came to my rescue: Calle Ocho. As soon as Julian heard a few uno-dos-tres he forgot all about the copter. I was spared another withdrawal from the mother reservoir of wisdom. Good thing, too, as it feels pretty empty in there these days.

Return of the Jedi

I am the big sister to two boys who grew up in the 70s and 80s. For years, I was menaced by the flotsam and jetsam of Star Wars paraphernalia - AT-ATs as large as small dogs, white and black plastic Stormtroopers whose legs kept popping off and showing up all over the house, C3-PO and Han Solo and Lando Calrissian dolls and even Princess Leia with her cinnamon roll hairdo. We had a Chewbacca plush and an R2-D2 piggy bank. I figured, once we sidled into the 21st century and I grew up and out of the house, I would be well past the saga of the Clone Wars and the New Republic.

But I didn't count on two things: 1) that I would become the mother to two boys and that 2) no business person in their right mind would let the Star Wars franchise fade like those crawling titles into the blackness of deep space.

Yes, Star Wars is back. Like it never left.

The latest toy giveaway at McDonald's is none other than a Darth Vader key chain. Ian got one a few days ago and carries it everywhere, even though he has no keys and doesn't really know much about Star Wars.

"Mom, what's this guy called?"

"He's called Darth Vader."

Silence from Ian's end. His lips are moving slowly and I can tell he's trying out the awkward syntax of Vader's name. I guess it's too early to try Wicket Wystri Warrick out on him (Ewok hero - I admit I got a little help from Wikipedia).

A few more minutes pass and I assume we've left Star Wars behind and changed the subject. "Mom? What's the name of the green koala?"

"What green koala? Where did you see a green koala?"

"You know. The one with this guy in the movie." He holds up his Darth Vader key chain.

Green koala. Green koala. I have no idea what the heck - then it hits me.

"You mean YODA?"

"Yoda?"

"The short guy with the big ears?" I raise my hands and make a flappy ear motion on both sides of my head.

"Yeah! That one! Yoda!"

OMG. I wonder if George Lucas would be bummed out by today's kids thinking Yoda looks like a green koala. With all the money he's making off McDonald's and everyone else, it probably wouldn't keep him up nights.

Bad Luck O' The Knight In Shining Armor

I gave myself a lot of credit this morning for remembering that it's St. Patrick's Day. Then I gave myself even more credit for remembering to dress the boys in green, as requested by their teachers, because it's true that parents need more things to remember in the morning.

But while I was hiking down Ian's green shirt and looking for green socks, he looks at me, suddenly stricken. His normally pouty lips are puffed out even more, his round cheeks are getting hot and red and his eyes are starting to water. Even the faint, Gorbachev-like birthmark between his eyes is starting to turn red, lighting up like the tip of ET's finger. I knew I was in trouble.

"What is it, Ian?"

"Mom," he chokes out, standing in front of me in jeans and a green t-shirt. "Rebecca is going to wear her princess costume and I promised to wear my Batman costume."

Batman? On St. Patty's Day?

"Ian, are you sure you don't want to wear green? All the other kids will have green on."

"No, Mom. I have to wear the Batman costume. With the cape."

"Ian, really? Why?"

He looks up at me, his gray eyes round as silver dollars. He's earnest and soulful all of the sudden.

"Because, Mom. I have to save Princess Rebecca. I promised her."

I mean, what can a Mom say to that? Batman it was.

But I hate to tell you that when we got to school, Princess Rebecca was wearing a bright green t-shirt with sequiny shamrocks on it and blue jeans. Nary a princess getup in sight. She threw her hands over her face when she saw Ian in his Batman costume.

"Oh, Ian. I forgot!!"

Ian turned to me and buried his hooded head into my legs. His little cape was jerking up and down as he started to cry. The black fins darting off his wrist were flicking side to side as he wiped his wet cheeks.

By the time I left him, he had made peace with the disappointment and Shamrock Rebecca was being extra nice to him.

As for me, I'm still trying to recover. I've never been so disappointed to see a shamrock.