My favorite movie EVER

I was 5 years old and couldn't sleep. Outside my bedroom door, I could hear the muffled voices of my parents and the hum of the television.

It was too much for me to resist, for some reason, on that night.

I went out to the living room. Immediately, I saw the plate of Pillsbury cinnamon rolls, a treat we never had, on the coffee table. My eyes were fixed.

I really wanted one.

My parents gave in, and I snuggled onto the couch between them, the frosting too sweet for words.

Five-year-old me couldn't have asked for anything better - until she realized what was on TV.

I didn't know what it was, but just as instantly as my tummy had rumbled for those cinnamon rolls, my mind (my soul) was glued to that television.

On the screen, a teenager was driving a DeLorean at 88 miles per hour through a mall parking lot.

A wild-eyed scientist had just been shot. "Run for it, Marty!" rang in my ears.

Yeah.

This was my introduction to "Back to the Future." And I was head over heels in love.

I still am.

The movie that captured my heart 25 years ago turns 25 years old this year.

To celebrate Marty McFly's trip back in time to 1955 (where he accidentally meddles with his parents' romance), the flux capacitor, Doc Brown ("Great Scott!) and all other things "Back to the Future," Omaha's Film Streams theater is showing the movie for almost two weeks.

Starting tonight.

Yeah. I'm going to need to get a babysitter for this one.

Soon.

And maybe multiple times.

School crushes

He's only 5.

He's only in kindergarten.

Yet, a few days ago, Rye had a note.

From a girl.

I saw him smirking in the backseat after I picked him up from school.

"What are you smiling about?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said, and quickly pretended like he hadn't been staring at the small piece of paper in his hands. In fact, he tried hiding that piece of paper, as if I hadn't already seen it.

I couldn't see what it said, though, and this really got me. Oh, how I wanted to see what was on that tiny rectangle!

I let it go, though. I'm trying to realize that my kids are their own people and they are allowed to have feelings (and all sorts of other things) that they don't have to share with Mommy.

I didn't say I like this very much, but I do realize it's the case.

Later that night, after dinner, Rye was lounging in the living room, watching a movie. I noticed he was holding onto the same small piece of paper.

My curiosity got the best of me.

I pretended to be cleaning up the living room. Really, I just wanted to see what was so important about that note.

On one side, someone had drawn stars and smiley faces. On the other side, someone had colored and written her name:

Chloe.

I smiled.

And I bit my tongue.

Even though I desperately want to know who Chloe is (and what her parents do, if she has blonde hair like Mommy and how this relationship began - recess? gym? hand holding during story time?), I let it go.

I chose instead to be happy for my little boy, that he had a new friend who liked him well enough to draw him a picture.

A picture that made him happy.

Isn't that what we all want ultimately? Happy kids?

Right now, it's enough for me.

Moments to hold onto

I bought the box of Cheerios months ago for my daughter, who is now 15 months old.

She never really wanted any. Yet, still the box sat, largely untouched in the kitchen pantry. She might change her mind, I thought. Better keep it.

When I began packing for our move a couple weeks ago, that box of cereal moved to a Rubbermaid tub on the kitchen floor. Paige has enjoyed the new "toys" that have surfaced on her level in that tub. There, she discovers such treasures as pens, flour, half-eaten bags of tortilla chips, aluminum foil and cereal boxes.

Last night as I finished dinner, Paige was playing in the kitchen.

I heard it first. The sound was a bit like sand being thrown onto the sidewalk or rice being shaken in its container.

I turned my head to see Paige, upended cereal box in hand, several Cheerios on the floor.

I had plenty of time to react. To yell, "No! Paaaige! Don't do that!" (Can you almost hear me saying that?).

But I didn't.

I laughed.

And then she dumped the rest of the cereal out.

All of it. All over the floor.

And as those tiny circles of cereal that I don't blame her for not liking rained down on my floor and scattered throughout the dining room and the kitchen, I laughed even harder.

This moment, for whatever reason, I chose to enjoy. And it wasn't a conscious decision either. It was just what came out.

I loved it.

And as I sat there smiling, watching the crumbs stick to my daughter's feet as she ran across the field of cereal she'd planted on my laminate, her laughter was the sweetest sound I'd ever heard.

I realized that these moments are worth laughing about.

I realized that these moments will be gone too quickly.

I realized that before I know it my babies' evenings will be filled with things like baseball practice and homework and phone calls or (dear God help me) Facebook.

These babies might not always want Mom around to laugh with.

I realized, as I stared at all that cereal, that this was a moment to hold onto. Like that lock of hair from their first haircuts.

To keep in my memory as not a mess to clean up but a time we all laughed together with nothing else alive in that room but each other.

I'm famous, part II

The Today Show chose to post my blog about filling Rye's backpack on their Web site!

It was published there yesterday. My thanks to BlogHer for pitching it to them.

Please check the post out and consider leaving a comment.

Copy and paste: http://community.todaymoms.com/_news/2010/08/30/4993456-hes-starting-kindergarten-what-i-really-want-to-put-in-his-backpack

Or click here.

I could get used to this.

What else should I write that others will really like? I'm taking suggestions. :)

I shouldn't need a husband to buy beer

I just needed strawberries.

So I stopped at Hy-Vee, on my way to get my little all-grown-up-all-of-a-sudden boy from school.

I went in, skipped the shopping cart and found the strawberries (for Paige and Rye). I also decided to get fruit snacks (a treat for Rye) and Corona Light (a treat for me).

My hands full, I went to the cashier with the shortest line. I was happy she was older, so we wouldn't have to bother with a manager coming over to scan my beer and take my money.

The woman in front of me was paying when I came up and set my items on the conveyor belt. She had a daughter about Paige's age in the cart who I suppose was cute. But she wasn't as cute as my kid, and the cashier was ALL OVER HER.

Even after the woman had paid and was on her way, the cashier who I was waiting patiently for wanted to know the little girl's name.

Come on, I was thinking. I have three things. Just let me pay for them. I don't even need a bag. I checked the time on my cell phone. 17 minutes until school was out.

Finally, the cashier pulled herself away, saying, "She's a CUTIE!"

I sort of nodded.

Ring me up, I pleaded silently.

I pulled out my credit card, ready to swipe it through the machine when she read my total.

The cashier rang up the strawberries and the fruit snacks and paused when she got to the Corona. She leaned over the counter in between us and looked at my left hand.

Then she looked at me.

"I'm going to card you. Do you have your ID?"

Yes, I did, of course.

"I'm 30 years old," I said, and handed her my license.

She scanned the beer and gave me back my license. I slid my credit card and put it away.

I was in a hurry to go. The cashier held onto my beer.

"Do you need one of these?" she asked. She was holding Hy-Vee's Wedding Essentials magazine.

Are you kidding me? I thought. Uh, no, I don't need your magazine filled with overpriced bridal gowns, flowers that only die and rings that cost way too much. I'm completely over centerpieces and tuxes and glasses etched with the couple's name, too. And if you had any clue what the last year of my life has been like, lady, I sure hope you wouldn't be flashing that magazine in my face.

"Nope, I sure don't," I said. "I just got divorced."

Now, give me my groceries and let me leave, I wanted to add.

She smiled sadly at me, judging me, it seemed, and finally let me go.

Tip number one, Hy-Vee cashiers: A ring on my left finger doesn't prove I'm old enough to buy beer. If you're going to card a customer, please base that decision on her face, not her marital status.

Number two: Please, please don't assume a ringless finger means a woman wants to think about marriage. Trust me: Brides will find your magazine if they want it.

Just scan my groceries, and take my money.

That's all I need you to do.

There are plenty of others in this world to make me feel bad about things. I don't need you added to that list.

I'm famous

I'm on the front page of BlogHer today!

Check me out there, and leave a comment please! Thank them for posting me. It's called SYNDICATION.

I'm excited.

Click here to read me there.

He was fine

I told you he would be.

I knew he would be.

Still, I had to see it for myself. I had to see him come striding out of those doors after the first day of kindergarten ended yesterday with a smile on his face, a sort of pride in his step.

About lunchtime, I started counting down until I could go get him. One hour and 15 minutes.

It wasn't soon enough.

I'd done fine dropping him off. I'd actually loved the whole process. We all woke up as usual, had breakfast and got dressed. I was careful about making his lunch. I wanted it to be perfect.

I made sure he knew how to open the plastic sandwich bags I'd put his peanut butter and jelly sandwich and sliced strawberries in.

I made sure I packed the right kind of fruit snacks. I discreetly cut a small piece of construction paper into a heart, decorated it with an Iron Man sticker and wrote, "Rye, I love you! MOM." I stuck it in his lunchbox, too.

It was the second thing he told me when I picked him up from school. It was a, "Hey, you surprised me with that, Mom! How'd you slip that one by me?!" sort of comment. I loved that he loved it.

The first thing he told me: "We had TWO recesses today!"

That's my boy.

Before the end of the day, I learned he and the other kindergartners had been loud at lunch, a boy in his class named Simon had gotten hurt but no one knew what happened, his teacher had read a story about going to kindergarten and he'd had graham crackers for a mid-morning snack. Oh, and they counted to 10.

But he didn't learn anything new. Not yet, he says.

Still, he made it. He did it. He was fine. He liked it.

Kindergarten schmindergarten.

And you were worried.