Superfudge by Judy Blume - A Book Review Every Parent Should Read

Last night innocence was almost lost... a moment in childhood was teetering on the edge of the cliff, but I yanked it back in the nick of time.

A few months ago, I bought tickets for Pipsqueak and I to see the play, "Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing" based on Judy Blume's book. I read her the book beforehand, so she would have a better idea of what was going on. We loved the book and the play.

Last month, I was looking through the Scholastic Books flier and saw a set of sequels to the book, "Superfudge", "Double Fudge" and "Fudge-a-mania". I ordered them and we started reading "Superfudge" soon after it arrived. The main character is Peter, who is now in sixth grade. His younger brother, Fudge, is the real star. He's 7 years younger and is starting kindergarten in this book.

All is well until Chapter 10, entitled "Santa Who?" Two pages into the chapter, I'm reading along when Peter says, "When I got home that afternoon, I cornered my mother. 'I don't think it's a good idea...'" At this point my eyes shot ahead of my mouth because I sensed what could be coming and I saw the words... "for you to let him go on believing in Santa." I had to think fast! I needed to buy some time. I'm getting over a cold, so I started coughing, feigned a frog in my throat and said I had to get water.

I took the book to the bathroom with me and sped read ahead while continuing to fake cough, clear my throat and drink water. In the upcoming paragraphs, Judy Blume was going to blow the whole Santa myth right out of the water! How could she do that? There should be a warning on the book cover or at the top of the chapter! If I known ahead of time, I could have skipped the whole chapter without it being missed. In her defense, the book is about a sixth grader, but with funny Fudge being the scene stealer, I can't believe Pipsqueak is the only 6-almost-7 year old that enjoys the series. As soon as I find a way to contact Ms. Blume, she's going to get a piece of my mind, but my first order of business was to warn you, my dear readers.

So here I was in the bathroom trying to figure out how to preserve the excitement of Christmas for what I hope will be years to come. I decided to skip some paragraphs, re-write a few sentences, and pray she didn't notice. She can read now, and most nights she points out parts she wants to read. Thankfully, I had painted her fingernails bright blue with a top coat of glitter earlier, so this night she was more interested in looking at her fingernails. I pulled it off, finished the chapter without her noticing it was a bit disjointed, kissed her goodnight and left her room with my hands shaking.

We, as parents, have enough worries and fears without our bedtime stories becoming myth busters. And now I must make an appointment with my colorist to cover the gray hairs that I got last night. Perhaps I'll send Judy Blume the bill.

The Final Post of 2008

I can't believe how little I posted in December. It was a whirlwind of activity and preparations for Christmas. I got so sick of the phrase "before Christmas". It seemed like it was part of everything I did, as in, "I've got to get these cards out before Christmas," "I need to remember to drop off my car payment before Christmas," and "I hope I don't have a nervous breakdown before Christmas."

Everything worked out... the house looked beautiful, the silver sparkled, the food was sumptuous, the children were happy, and I survived. Were there any problems? You betcha. The @#*! air mattresses wouldn't stay inflated fully. On one, I didn't have the cap threaded properly, so that was easily remedied. The other one, I was using a makeshift cap (an artist's gum eraser jammed in the hole) because someone threw out the cap thinking it was a soda bottle cap. I'm also thinking I won't make lamb shanks again. The flavor of lamb chops is better, and you don't have this huge chunk of meat on the bone sitting on your plate reminding you of something King Henry VII might have eaten.

Usually, I feel sad when Christmas is over, but this year, not so much. I feel relief and peace. Next year, I need to do less or start earlier. I've been enjoying the past week, spending time with Sweetie and Pipsqueak, playing with our new toys, cooking, and sleeping a little later. Maybe the melancholy will set in as I pack away all the decorations.

I'll be back next week/next year with lots more cooking, thrifting, crafting, parenting and Vermont life. For now, Happy New Year to all of you and your families. Thanks for visiting and reading these past few months. I've enjoyed getting to know you through your comments and your blogs.

Making My List and Checking It Twice

Usually my Christmas shopping is done by now, but it isn't. I could blame it on various viruses, the economy, or our busy schedule, but the fact of the matter is I just haven't been motivated. A page turn of the calendar has amazing motivational capability.

Yesterday, I got organized with what I have purchased, ordered a few things online that I knew I couldn't get around here, and did a little wrapping. Today, I've been making a list for tomorrow... the Final Assault.

Our shopping metropolis is about a half hour away, and has grown beyond the capacity of the roads, intersections and traffic signals. It's bad enough going there on a weekday in the middle of the day. A weekend during holiday season requires medication before and a stiff drink after. I won't do it! Tomorrow, I'm going in with a battle plan including stores and what will be purchased there. The plan will not require crossing traffic at any time. I will travel up one side of the miasma and down the other, after which I will exit, hopefully never to return during 2008. (I'm probably not going to be able to fulfill that hope since I'll need something... batteries, medicine, light bulbs... something innocuous.)

Tomorrow night, I hope to be crossing "shopping" off the task list and breathing a sigh of relief. In the meantime, I will keep chanting my mantra for the month, " I will not lose the joy. I will not lose the joy. I will not lose the joy." Thanks for that, Sandy!

Tree Cutting Tradition

Each year, almost before Thanksgiving dinner has fully digested, we swing into Christmas gear with the annual Christmas tree cutting and picnic. Some formally local friends now living in Connecticut join us.

We convene at Christmas Trees of Vermont, a farm in Springfield, Vermont, where we get to choose from over 40,000 frasier firs, each one full and shaped to perfection. They also have pre-cut trees, wreaths, visits with Santa Claus, and free hot chocolate.

Before going out on the hunt, we sustain ourselves with a sumptuous picnic, complete with freshly polished silver, lace tablecloth and real china and glassware. We start with Old-Fashioneds served in stirrup cups (cider for the Pipsqueak). Then it's on to turkey sandwiches wrapped in parchment paper and tied with string, Cape Cod potato chips and freshly baked Toll House cookies. Pipsqueak carried hers in the family heirloom provisions kit which her grandmother carried on fox hunts. You can see it attached to her belt. The leather case has a silver sandwich box and a glass and silver flask.

It was a beautiful day (not too cold, not too windy) so we dawdled over our picnic and tree choice, just enjoying the outdoors and taking a walk. We're not always that lucky; there have been bitterly cold days and once when it was so windy, we had to hold things down on the table.

Pipsqueak helped with the sawing, the tractors pick up our tree so we don't have to carry it the half mile back to the car, and then they bail it up nice and tidy, which makes it easy to load and unload from the top of the car and get in the house.

In case your wondering how to make our cocktails, here's the recipe...

Old-Fashioned

In a rocks glass, muddle 3 dashes of bitters, 1 t water, and 1 sugar cube, using a muddler or the back of a teaspoon. Add 1 orange slice and 2 maraschino cherries and muddle with other ingredients. Almost fill glass with ice cubes and add 3 oz. bourbon (we use Wild Turkey).

Cheers!