A Question for Music-loving Parents

So Kostyn has definitely found his groove; he bops his head and wiggles his little rump to whatever theme song is on TV. He also has distinct favorite tunes on his various toys that play music, and will push a button or turn a knob over and over until his favorite comes on. Then he gets his groove on.

Unfortunately, he's not finding my acoustic coffeehouse/easy listening rock stuff danceable (Have you ever tried to dance to Tom Waits or David Gray?), and that's largely what I (read: we) listen to during the day.

So today I tried a variety of songs from my iTunes library that move me — without much luck. He turned his nose up at everything from "Starry Eyed Surprise" to "South Bound Suarez." Didn't like old-school MJ, and didn't want to 'get jiggy wit' Will Smith. He didn't even head-bop to Earth, Wind and Fire. The only thing that got his little butt shaking was KC and the Sunshine Band's "Get Down Tonight." Big score with that one.

But as much as I dig the tune, it will get old fast. (Hell, it's already pretty darn old...) So I need your help. Many of you are parents, and many of those parents are music lovers. Are there any kid-friendly tunes/CDs/groups that toddlers love and adults don't hate? I really, really, really have no interest in groups like The Wiggles, but I'm not opposed to trying something if the consensus is "it doesn't suck, and makes my kid happy."

Help!

Random thoughts on a Sunday night

1. Why is it the night before Chris' new job starts and I'm the one feeling nervous, as if tomorrow is the first day of school? He's calm, cool and excited about it. I'm not gonna sleep a wink tonight.

2. ESPN.com's Gamecast is excruciating to watch, but at least it's something. Also, the Bills are 4-0 for the first time in 16 years!! The last time that happened, they went to the Super Bowl. That's as far as I'm willing to take that thought. Cowboys/Giants/Redskins fans...I don't want to hear it.

3. PSU's up to No. 6 after yesterday's wild day of college football and last night's sound beating of Illinois. I'm actually not all that comfortable with us being so high so early, but am admittedly a little giddy that for once in my life, both of my football teams are undefeated a month into the season. Amazing. Also, is it just me or does the Top 25 look totally bizarre? USF is No. 10? I'm getting used to seeing Boise State up there (Shoutout, Allison!), but ... Vanderbilt?

4. This is one of my recent favorite photos, taken last week before the move. Kostyn's latest thing is to wait until our dog, Sadie, is lying down, and then back his little butt over to her and plop down on her back. Sadie is soooo gentle with Kostyn; she just gives me that "Really? It's come to this?" look and lays there. I don't encourage this behavior, mind you, but I did manage to capture it on film.


ETA:
5. Almost forgot .... I'm quoted in the October/November issue of Modern Bride! It's just a small quote, an answer to an etiquette question on page 176, but still ... the fact that they contacted me for an article because I'm a wedding expert is pretty cool!

LIfe is Good

We've been here one full week, and I think we're all finally getting comfortable in our new home. Last night we ordered a pizza from a place up the street and it was the best darn pizza we'd had in about 10 years. Seriously. I know I'll have a hard time finding decent barbecue around here when I have a craving, but hot damn I'm glad to be back among the land of real pizza makers!

After dinner Kostyn and I spent an hour twirling and dancing around the family room to the beat of Chris' drums, and then to the music of his guitars, which are all out in the open now for easy access. Chris is loving that, after the drums spent so long in a closet before the move.

The night was capped off with blizzards bought at the Dairy Queen less than a mile from our house (God I'm in trouble....) and watching Obama come out dead even, if not on top, in a debate that was supposed to be McCain's big night to shine. What a great Friday evening.

Today's agenda has just three things on it: Buy shoes for the Bear, who has been wearing socks and sandals, in a fashion statement circa 1990, since arriving here because he's outgrown his sneakers (I hadn't noticed that since he's been in sandals all summer!); buy ingredients for chili, which we've been waiting to make until it "feels like chili weather"; and watch Penn State crush Illinois tonight.

Let's hope it all goes according to plan......

Well, we're here

It was a tough move, but at least we -- and all our stuff -- are here in Harrisburg and slowly settling in. Kostyn is decidedly shell-shocked, but he's starting to come around a bit. It'll take time for all of us to get used to this new "home."

On the positive side, the temps have been in the mid- to upper 70s each day, and down into the 50s at night. We're sleeping with the windows open and loving it! Modern conveniences we've been missing all these years — like Target and Cold Stone Creamery and a mall and awesome, huge, well-stocked grocery stores — are within 3 miles of our house. And I'm surrounded by Penn Staters again!!!!

Overall, life is good. More to come.....

That's My King!

I posted this on here a few years ago and just came across a link to it in the office email I'm going through before I have to surrender my sweet desktop Mac and accompanying work email account tomorrow.

It had been a long time since I listened to it, and thought it was worth posting again. It's from a sermon delivered in Detroit in 1976 by Dr. S.M. Lockridge, a preacher from San Diego, Calif. It fills me with a kind of peace and pride (for lack of a better word) that is hard to describe. Maybe some of you feel it, too.

If anyone needs me, I'll be on Facebook

My friends Sheila and Kim just joined Facebook. When I questioned them about it, curious, Sheila warned me to run in the other direction (while also dishing about all the people from our past who she found on the site). Kim urged me to join. I did. And it's the biggest time-sucking, gossipy high school train wreck that you simply can't look away from. It's a true guilty pleasure, completely eye-opening yet totally vapid at the same time. It's like bad reality TV that you sit on the couch and watch for hours.

Plus I'm a monster procrastinator, so with all the things going on in my life right now -- with all the last-minute errands I should be running, boxes I should be packing, resumes I should be sending, and tearful goodbyes I should be orchestrating -- it's been the perfect escape.

Seriously, the next time you find yourself hopelessly busy with real life, register on this thing and look me up. I'll be there...

Denial: Over

I am no longer capable of burying my head in the South Carolina sand and denying that in five days I'm packing all my earthly belongings in a giant U-Haul and haulin' it across several state lines. My house officially looks half-empty. Half-lived in. It's a state in flux. And it's exciting and disconcerting all at the same time.

My son doesn't know what to think of all this chaos. He has had a lot of fun pushing empty boxes around the living room, but he's really not too happy with how distracted Mommy and Daddy are lately. Tonight I was doing some work in my office/guest room, which is now basically stripped bare except for this computer, and Kostyn walked in and looked up at the wall that used to have Chris' guitars hanging on it. Kostyn normally points to one and signs "Help" (well, his version of "help," which looks suspiciously like his version of "more") and I get one down and put it on the floor for him to strum.

When he saw that bare wall tonight, he threw up his arms in this exasperated, "The guitars are gone, too!?" motion, looked at me disapprovingly, and walked out. It was sad, and hysterically funny.

Denial is also over because I've begun to say goodbye to my friends here. I had breakfast with my pal Tripp on Saturday morning. Tripp, a retired lieutenant colonel in the Marine Corps, and I crossed paths several years ago when we were both volunteering with the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life. We joined forces and eventually were co-chairmen of the local 12-hour, overnight event one year, raising $165,000 for the ACS and getting very, very overtired in the process.

I've since worked with Tripp at Special Olympics track and field events, too, which are always a blast. Last year, when he and another caring soul started up the Lowcountry Autism Foundation to help families dealing with autism, he asked me to be a board member. I was loving being a full-time mom but missing the part of my life that volunteering with ACS and hospice had filled, so I happily accepted.

Tripp taught me a lot about the essence of giving, and how much you get in return when you give. For me, he will always be the shining example of community service, and I will miss him and his outlook so much.

I've since said goodbye to a handful of others who are close to my heart, and each one has enriched my life here. So far, no tears though. For some reason (denial creeping back in???) I'm sure we will see one another again. And that comforts me.

CBS News Raw: Matt Damon doesn't like Sarah Palin

It's true, I have a hopeless Hollywood crush on Matt Damon. Did I need another reason to swoon? No. Did I just get one? Oh yeah.

(To be fair, I've done the research and it appears Palin never actually tried to ban books from the library while mayor of Wasilla (pop. 600 or so), but she did bring up the scenario more than once at city council meetings directed at the head librarian. Seems the librarian stuck to her guns and said she'd be dead-set against it, townspeople rallied around the librarian, and Palin never officially pursued it. BUT SHE WANTED TO.)

Goodbye, farewell, amen

A preview of my last column for The Island Packet, running Sunday. For some reason I'm still not emotional about all this "leaving" stuff. Wonder when it will hit me. Probably when I'm sitting in Harrisburg, shivering, penniless, unemployed and alone.

By Robyn Passante
I hate farewell columns; they’re cliche and self-indulgent.

I find myself writing one anyway.

About a year ago I emptied my desk at The Island Packet newsroom and left the building for good as a full-time employee. I’d been there eight years, and it took three boxes and a few tears to haul away my stuff. I was happy about my decision to stay home with my newborn son, but sad at the prospect of leaving the job and co-workers I loved. Fortunately, I was given a part-time writing and editing position from home, which kept me in the loop and in the paper, and for that I’m most grateful.

Those three boxes sat largely untouched in a closet until recently, when it was deemed necessary to properly condense and pack them for my family’s impending move to Pennsylvania.

The first thing I tossed were most of my South Carolina Press Association award plaques. It’s not that they were unappreciated, just unneccessary (and bulky!). It seemed drastic at first, to have worked hard for something that just gets thrown in the garbage. But the awards are on my resume, and I don’t need a few blocks of wood to remind me that some fellow journalists judging my work liked what they read.

I did, however, keep a T-shirt made for me by an angry reader — the strangest “gift” I’ve ever received. The shirt was in response to a profile I wrote about a local doctor who helped recovery workers at Ground Zero in the days after Sept. 11. The reader came storming into The Packet a few days after my story ran on the front page, waving a T-shirt he’d had screen-printed with my cover story, obscured by an expletive in bold block letters running across it.

This gentleman had a bone to pick with the doctor and didn’t think he should have been given such a positive spotlight. But I had proof of my story’s integrity in the form of a VHS tape with shaky footage of a soot-covered Ground Zero and the Burger King-turned-first aid station where that doctor had spent several days serving others.

Still, the shirt was the most creative way a reader has ever expressed a dissenting opinion to one of my stories, and I kept it because not only does it amuse me, it reminds me there is always another layer to any story subject.

Of the many notes and cards I’d stored in a stack, I saved but two: Both of them inter-office birthday cards signed by my fellow newsroom employees, both bearing the names of journalists who have died. Former copy editor Sharon McIntire and former business editor Rex Buntain were not close friends of mine, but they contributed to the witty banter and fine journalism that fill the newsroom day in and day out. Those simple signatures remind me of the fragility of life, that none of us are here forever, and that our time better be well-spent.

I tossed all the annual performance evaluations I’d saved for no reason, along with other forms of flattery I’d so vainly kept. But I’ll never forget the words from one particular message I received, left on my office voicemail by a reader mad about one of my stories. (I wish I could remember which one.) “The work you do is only bad,” the anonymous caller had said. “You will never amount to anything. I wish you no luck in life.”

The fact that the written word can invoke such passion is a testament to what I do for a living, and a warning about the weight of those words on people’s lives. I wish I’d been at my desk to answer his call and learn more about his perspective.

The clippings of cartoons about deadlines and quotes about how much words matter didn’t really seem to matter anymore. Most of the trinkets I’d displayed on my desk also were thrown away. But the framed picture of the May River — taken by Bluffton photographer Greg Smith and given to me by Greg’s wife, Janet, my mentor and friend — was wrapped and packed for the move. While I’m trudging through snow under perpetually gray skies in southeastern Pennsylvania this winter, that photo will be a pleasant (if not painful) reminder of the beauty and climate I left behind.

One other keepsake that made the cut was a small bottle of holy water given to me by my friends at Holy Resurrection Greek Orthodox Church. I’m still not sure what I’m supposed to do with holy water, but it seems like the sort of thing that might come in handy. Plus it reminds me of the generosity of so many parishioners and clergy I interviewed along my journey here.

I sorted and tossed and reminisced until three boxes had become one, with room to spare.
From piles of memories and hard work, just two items were deemed important enough to be kept in hand for next week’s move.

The first was the grainy sonogram picture of our son that had hung on my cubicle wall. It was the first glimpse we’d gotten of his angelic face, and still brought a tear to my eye. I put it next to a similar one taken two weeks ago of his younger sibling, whom we won’t meet until early March. Those two images are the real reason for our move, one that gets us closer to family.

The second treasured item was a photocopy of a quote from James Baldwin that had moved me a year ago and did so now, perhaps more than ever. (What could be more cliche than ending with a quote?)

“Any real change implies the breakup of the world as one has always known it, the loss of all that gave one identity, the end of safety. And at such a moment, unable to see and not daring to imagine what the future will bring forth, one clings to what one knew, or thought one knew; to what one possessed or dreamed that one possessed.

“Yet it is only when one is able, without bitterness or self-pity, to surrender a dream one has long cherished, or a privilege one has long possessed, that one is set free — that one has set oneself free — for higher dreams, for greater privileges.”

Thanks to The Packet’s readers for allowing my occasional self-indulgence in this space. And thanks to everyone over the years who gave me a piece of their lives, and their minds, so that I might share it with our community. I hope I did right by you.

Touchdown!


Kostyn watched some football last year, but let's be honest: It wasn't so much "watched" as it was "happened to be in the room, staring at the ceiling fan, when Penn State was playing on TV."

This year we knew he'd be old enough to do that thing that parents do to their toddlers: Teach them ridiculous grown-up gestures (not those gestures) that adults find amusing, like high-fiving and giving a "thumb's up."

So the first time Penn State scored on Saturday, Chris and I both instinctively yelled and threw our arms in the air, signaling "touchdown." Kostyn found this startling, then deeply amusing. So we jumped on it, repeating "Touchdown! Touchdown! Touchdown!" to see if he'd mimick. He did.

The next time they scored, I was in the bedroom but Chris continued the lesson, raising his arms and yelling emphatically, "Touchdown!" Kostyn, of course, followed suit with a smile.

The third time they scored (all in the same quarter ... let's face it, this was not a formidable opponent we were facing), I was in the kitchen preparing Kostyn's dinner. Since Chris was in the other room, out of earshot from the TV, I instinctively yelled, "Touchdown Lions!" so he'd know we made it back into the endzone. Then I remembered our little football fan, and turned to see what Kostyn was doing behind me. He was making the signal I hadn't that time, with the biggest grin on his face. So darn cute.

It's gonna be a fun season. "First down!" is next on the list....

Oh, the irony postscripts

There are two:
1. Kostyn slept basically through the night three nights in a row!! The night of Palin's speech was the first. Unfortunately, last night we were up with him seven times between us, but I think that has more to do with the cold he seems to be developing than anything else. Poor sniffly soul. Hope he sleeps better tonight. (Hope we all do!)

2. People have asked me, since I mentioned it, what I thought of Palin's speech. I think Will Bunch of the Philadelphia Daily News summed it up best for me (his commentary follows... and if you're sick of my political opinions, and I know some of you dear Red Staters must be, feel free to skip this one).:

Palin's speech to nowhere

Sarah Palin delivered a great speech tonight -- for her party, for John McCain, for herself, for what she set out to accomplish. This was America's first real glimpse at the Alaska governor, and what we saw was a boffo politician who speaks in a plaintive prairie voice that channels America's Heartland like a chilling breeze rippling a field of wheat, who knows how to tell a joke, how to bring down the house and bring a tear to a few eyes. She is proud of her family, as she should be, and there is much to admire in her own "personal journey of discovery" (don't we all have these, by the way?) including her efforts to raise her son Trig. It is indeed nice to think that there would be an advocate for such children inside the corridors of the White House, although I'd surely like to hear what -- if anything -- she's done for special needs kids as governor of Alaska.

But...it was a great speech -- written for someone else, a male in fact, days before the Palin selection was even a gleam in John McCain's eye, but a great speech nonetheless. The pundits are fawning over it as I write this -- Tom Brokaw said she could not have been "more winning and more engaging" -- and in a world that is dominated by horse race journalism I can understand why, because I agree that Palin's one-of-a-kind story has given her long shot running mate a decent chance now of pulling this one out at the finish line.

It's a good metaphor, a horse race, because in the end it finishes right near where it started -- just as it will be for America if John McCain and Sarah Palin are sworn in on Jan. 20, 2009. Yes, it was a great speech politically, and a great night for her family, but an empty speech for America -- and for America's families. It was defined by its lowest moment, Palin's shameless lie about "the Bridge to Nowhere."

This was a Speech to Nowhere.

It was a Speech to Nowhere when Palin said that "I told the Congress 'Thanks but no thanks' on that Bridge to Nowhere," because that was a lie, and the worst kind of lie in American politics, a blatant falsehood that showed utter contempt for the American people that Palin pledged to serve, assuming we are too stupid to look up or know that truth, that she pushed for those funds in Congress and while she got great political mileage out of announcing that she was killing the project, she still has not returned the funds to the American people.

It was a Speech to Nowhere because Palin also boasted seconds before that other lie of fighting against wasteful earmarks in Congress, even though she pushed for and accepted $27 million of such grants when she was mayor of Wasilla.

It was a Speech to Nowhere because Palin said that "we've got lots" of oil and gas in this country, and while one supposes that all depends upon what your definition of the words "lots" is, the production of oil in the United States has been irrevocably on the decline since 1970, and with her words she showed this nation that she and John McCain will perpetrate the dangerous myths that began with Ronald Reagan at his acceptance speech in 1980, that sunny optimism is the solution to all our energy woes, and not a posture that put energy research on a war footing, or requires moral leadership on conservation, mass transit, or any other common sense answers whatsoever.

It was a Speech to Nowhere because Palin boasted that "I stood up to the special interests, and the lobbyists, and the Big Oil companies," and the audience cheered -- after eight brutal years of the same crowd's cheering for two oilmen in the White House who fiddled while $4-a-gallon gas burned and while American men and women died in a needless war fought on top of an oilfield, and while lobbyist friends like Jack Abramoff and Ralph Reed got rich at the same time.

It was a Speech to Nowhere because Palin had the nerve to talk at length about John McCain's "torturous interrogations" in the very same speech when she all but condoned the continuation of similar, abhorrent practices that have been directed for eight years by our own U.S. leaders, when she stated that Democrats are "worried that someone won't read them [terrorism suspects] their rights."

It was a Speech to Nowhere because Palin belittled "community organizers" -- thousands of Americans who work long hours for little pay in some of the toughest neighborhoods, trying to assist the American Dream that even the poorest among us can pull themselves out of the muck with a helping hand. Palin and other GOP speakers have turned a noble job into a dirty word tonight -- shame on you! Listen to what CNN's Roland Martin said after Palin's speech was over.

My two parents are sitting home in Houston, Texas and they are both community organizers and the GOP and Sarah Palin might have well have said "being community organizers doesn't matter" to my parents face. I'm disgusted. Community organizers keep people in their homes, keep their lights on, keep food in the fridge.

It was a Speech to Nowhere because it made no mention of the men that Sarah Palin and John McCain are running to replace -- their names are Dick Cheney and George W. Bush, in case you've forgotten this week -- and no acknowledgment that as many as 80 percent of Americans believe this country is on the wrong track, or that you can't solve a nation's problems when you deny they exist.

It was a Speech to Nowhere because...well, I urge everyone to read the text, without Palin's sharp delivery or her adoring fans in the crowd and in the press box, and tell me where there is any kind of policy at all -- except for the short boilerplate passage on energy -- or any mention of the issues that concern everyday Americans, including the No. 1 issue of the economy. Show me the part where this "grand slam" of a speech touches on how citizens can afford health care or sending their kids to college.

But more than anything else, it was a Speech to Nowhere because for all the acclaim, the great bulk of it was devoted to one thing, and that is the one thing that millions of Americans are talking about in 2008 when we talk about "change" -- to the ugliest kind of "pit bull" politics, to use Palin's words, that tear down the other side with cheap ad hominem attacks, surrounded by a cloud of half-truths (uh, those "Greek columns"...did you actually even watch Obama's speech? Because there weren't any) and ridiculous innuendo about "parting the waters," which means nothing but fires up a big hockey rink full of Dittoheads. These kind of vicious attacks -- without having the grace to acknowledge that, despite some real differences on issues with Obama, that he has already accomplished something impressive that says something positive about America and the progress we've made -- were utterly lacking in class. And this is what Tom Brokaw considers "winning" -- have we really sunk that low as a nation? The people of America want and deserve a real debate, not trash talk from the basketball point guard who was once called "Sarah Barracuda."

I hope America wakes up tomorrow and realizes that Sarah Palin's words were rousing -- and completely empty, that they offered no road map (let alone bridge) for America other than more of the bogus partisan name-calling that has gotten us into the mess that we're in now.

Actually, let me rephrase that.

I hope America wakes up tomorrow.

Oh, the irony

Sept. 3 milestone: At 15 months and 1 day old, Kostyn finally sleeps "through the night." (I'm certain it was a fluke.)

So how did his mother spend this miraculous hours-long stretch of blissful silence? Did she get that long-dreamed-about full night's sleep?

No. I stayed up too late watching Sarah Palin's speech on CNN, and then I writhed around on the couch until 3 a.m. with a sudden, raging stomachache (merely coincidental, I'm sure. I don't get that worked up about politics, people).

So, including the two hours of sleep from 6-8 a.m. that Chris, that dear angel, allowed me to get by getting up with KO at 6, I got a whopping five hours of sleep.

What's the average amount of nightly sleep I've gotten since June 2, 2007? Five hours.

There is no justice in parenthood.

Basil Boy

I feel like I haven't posted much about KO lately. He's a riot; every day is more fun than the last. These days, he's into marching. Loves to kick up his knees and march around the couch. He's also into pointing out his various body parts, and is so proud to do it. Here he is showing off his belly button. (Don't ask what he's doing with his tongue. I have no idea.)


He's at that age where they just soak up everything around them, they're so curious about life. And he's got a good memory, too. If we're reading a picture book and I point out a new animal or object that I've never named before, the next time we read the book I'll ask him to find that object and he's great at remembering and pointing it right out. He's into matching things too, like turning every puzzle piece or Tupperware bowl on its side, or searching his blocks to find two with identical pictures, and pairing them up. It's fun to watch.

He's also clearly Italian. The other night I was having him "help" me make a pizza. Sitting in his high chair next to the counter, I'd let him knead the dough, let him sniff the garlic powder, oregano and basil, and munch on some mozzarella. I closed the bottle of dried basil and gave it to him to shake (loves shaking things that make noise), then turned to the stove to tend to the pepperoni. When I turned back around, there was basil everywhere ... all over his chair, his clothes, his fingers and his face. And he was licking it up like candy.


"Please, no paparazzi. Not now. I've got dried spices all over my chin."

One more thing: My perfect little handsome guy isn't quite 'perfect' anymore. He slipped in the tub a couple nights ago and chipped his top tooth. I spent a day totally sick over it, but I'm getting used to the sweet, lopsided smile. Now if only the fat lip and gash on his chin would heal, and fast ... or I'll have some explaining to do at his 15-month appointment tomorrow...

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