Naming rights

Carter has informed us he doesn't want to be called Carter anymore. This isn't the first time he has lodged this complaint.

It started in kindergarten when they sang that lovely song to get everyone to know each other's names: "Carter, Carter, bo-Barter, fee-fi-fo Farter, Carter ..." You see the problem.

So every time he hears the ol' Carter Farter thing, we get a new round of protests. "Why did you name me that?! I don't like my name!" What kid does?

Some do. And good for them. There will always be some mean rotten little kids who make fun of people's names. In my family, our names were punishment enough (well, for some of us).

I got lucky with Robyn and have learned to tolerate seeing it spelled with an I instead of a Y. My brother Ron and sister Rachel had "normal" names. The others were just unique: Rayna, Romey, Renell, RoAnn and Raylene.

See a pattern? Yes, my mom had a thing for R's and her sister did with L's. I guess I continued that with our 3 C's: Casey, Clayton and Carter.

As parents, we have a huge responsibility when it comes to naming rights of our children. To be fair, we asked Carter what he'd rather be called. C.J. for Carter Joseph? or maybe Carla, says Dad.

Carter isn't sure but he likes "Snipe."

I guess we're still in negotiations.

What's up, Dude?

If you ever wonder if you've lost the connection with the next generation, just spend an hour or two with a group of teenage boys at their finest. We quickly discovered we are so not hip ... er, cool ... or whatever the juvenile jargon is for being in tune with their language.

Last night we had a campfire and invited Jim's sister, her husband and son, and our older boys. Casey, our new licensed driver, brought an entourage -- 6 kids, 3 vehicles. So much for a quiet, relaxing evening by the fire.

We sat around the fire, Carter and the adults on one side and Casey, Clay and their friends on the other. It was entertaining to listen to them ... and scary to think we were once that immature. And was our vocabulary that limited?

Every sentence, and I am not kidding, had the word "dude" in it. "Dude, did you see that?" "Who's that dude who ..." "Cut it out, dude!" At one point I turned to the mature side of the fire and said I was going to start counting the "dudes."

I guess we all had our words and phrases we interjected into everything. In the '80s is was like totally the words "like" and "totally" and "psych!". Then there was "whatever" and "as if" and "not" in the '90s. Now, I don't know the skinny on what's dope to say. If I could score me a translator, maybe I could follow. You know what I mean, dude?

Undomestic Goddess :: Part 1

My husband called me an "undomestic goddess" today and frankly, as they say, I resemble that remark. For the sake of time and space, I will stick to the kitchen for this blog.

Since we are finally home for a weekend, I decided to get some spring cleaning done over this long holiday weekend. Yesterday I tackled the kitchen. I was throwing out old stuff, like torn bags and cracked plastic containers, and trying to organize things.

Our counter space is cramped so I finally put that huge food processor in storage. I have this challenge at Christmas time that I never know what to ask for from Jim's family, so I always put some appliance or trendy gadget on my list. And I usually get it. The food processor is everything I could ask for ... If I ever had need for one. I've used it once and now I know where it is for the next time.

I came across some bags of M&M's, too. Christmas colors. And mint, too. My favorite! I decided I better get those made into cookies today. I checked for ingredients. As usual, my brown sugar is a brick since the last time I needed it. And I thought I had everything else.

I started making them today and when I pulled out the shortening, thinking of the brown sugar, I thought I should check for a date on the can. Sure enough. "Best used by 09/06." Who knew shortening had an expiration date?!

Well the old phrase of borrowing a cup of sugar is more of a challenge in these times, I found. It took me calls to two neighbors to find -- and subsequently borrow a cup o' shortening. Not everyone keeps it on hand. People just don't bake like they used to. I love baking. I do! I just don't think about it much between Christmas and Thanksgiving. And then I have to buy all new "fresh" ingredients.

I'm sure the M&M's expired, too, but the cookies taste pretty darn good -- if I do say so myself. I used my handy-dandy brand new Pampered Chef scoop -- another gadget I HAD to have -- and I can't wait to use it again, come Christmas.

Domestic or undomestic, I should just be thrilled Jim called me a goddess. Usually he calls me Martha Stewart ... but that's only because I make a mess when I'm baking and he wonders when my TV crew will be by to clean it up!

U.F.O.

You've heard it said that "It's the thought that counts" and "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth." In plain English, they mean: Don't be ungrateful when you receive a gift. ... Even if you don't know what it is.

Carter had a field trip this week to the Milwaukee Public Museum, which is considered one of the top American museums of natural and human history. After visiting a museum while we were in Texas, he was very excited to go and had a great time.

I told him he was lucky to go. The grade-school field trips I remember included bus rides to Crex Meadows (a wildlife preserve) and the Shrine Circus. A little mix of education and fun.

The best part for me was that I got to pack a lunch (including a can of pop. Wow!). I also got to buy a small souvenir. I still remember that laser gun-shaped flashlight I bought at the circus. That was cool ... even if the battery was dead by the time I got home.

This week Carter had no interest in carrying money for the museum gift shop so we didn't send any with him. Much to our surprise, when he got home, he presented us with a "very fragile" gift.

I carefully unwrapped the tissue paper and there it was ... a ... what? It was about an 8-inch long white crystal-like rod that reminded me of those krypton things from the Superman movies. I didn't want to offend the gift-giver and ask what it was, so I just said, "Oh, that's pretty!"

Carter's the one who 'fessed up. "I can't remember what it's called but I think it starts with an S."

So now we have this Unidentified Fieldtrip Object that we don't know what it is or where we'll put it. But we'll always remember Carter thought enough of his parents to borrow $3.75 from a friend to buy us a present -- and leave the toy flashlight on the shelf.

Athletic supporters

Sometimes, it's a tough job sitting in the stands, watching your child play a sport and trying not to get "too involved." Sometimes, it's really an exercise in self-restraint. Sometimes, I fail.

Last night I realized this is going to be one long baseball season. I think this is Carter's sixth year playing ball, but it's his first year in REAL baseball -- kids pitching, not coaches.

Some kids on his 9- and 10-year-old team have experience; some don't. The result: a lot of walks and not too many hits (unless you count the batters getting clocked by wild pitches ... I saw that a half dozen times last night).

When games get long, the comfort level of sitting in the bleachers rapidly diminishes. And the kids, well, they get bored out there. I see Carter staring at the grass and have visions of a line drive connecting with the top of his head before he looks up and knows there's a batter at the plate. I want to yell to him but realize he has to learn to pay attention -- even if it hurts. So I do a generic, "OK, Tigers, get ready out there!"

Then he gets behind the plate and has to catch for an inning or two. Now the poor kid is only 15 feet away from Mom, so I can't hold back (and I'll note, neither can Dad). "C'mon Carter, you gotta catch that ball! Don't let anything past you!" and so on and so on. I knew he had heard us because he mentioned after the game how heavy the catching equipment was.

You know, it's not worth taking it that seriously at this level. In fact, only the kids were keeping score. What's wrong with us parents?! We know the right thing to do (or not do), but sometimes it's hard to put that knowledge into action.

I heard one mom yell, "(Insert name here), quit dancing!" Then she says under her breath, for all of us nearby to hear, "Oh my gosh, he's doing jazz squares out there!"

I wanted to snicker or say something, but for once, I kept my mouth shut. Yes, it's going to be a long season.

Sign of the times

The good news about being an editor is that I have an appreciation for the written word. The bad news about being an editor is that I don't appreciate it when others don't. Actually, I don't care if others appreciate the English language. I just want to see them use it correctly.

The violations are everywhere: newsletters, menus, road signs. I often find myself groaning over a dangling modifier or misplaced apostrophe. (OK -- I'm not a nerd. I just like saying "dangling modifier" because it sounds funny. And where else could I write about them?)

The apostrophe thing, though, that bugs me. People love apostrophes and they have to use them all the time. "Congrats to the Jensen's!" "Let's cheer on the Viking's tonight!" People don't get it.

For years I have been bothered by the sign at right, posted a mile down the road from my parents' house. I just want to scratch out an "l" or paint in a "y" at the end. I should probably carry an industrial-size tub of WhiteOut in my purse and take care of these things.

I'm pleased to report I am not the only one consumed by this righteous effort. My friend Sandy at work, also an editor, calls us "guardians of the English language." I like that. We have a cause!

My mother is a fellow guardian. That Rustic Road sign -- which she sees daily -- has probably pushed her to her limits. At least I know what to get her for her next birthday. But do they even make WhiteOut anymore?!

Church ladies

Now I know how my mother feels when she wonders if her blogging daughter will reveal family secrets to the world.

I left Carter in the care of my parents -- and as it turned out, the church ladies -- on Saturday while I attended a conference. There was a bake sale and rummage sale at my old church and my mom had to help. Rather than hang out with Grandpa, doing what boys and grandpas do, Carter opted to stay with Grandma at the rummage sale. I learned later that he probably did this for two reasons: One, he became their best shopper, and two, he was the only youngster there and therefore, the center of attention.

On Sunday, we went to church with my parents. I love my old church and I knew Carter would get a kick out of how small it is -- only 6 pews on each side.

Well he did enjoy himself, and with good reason. All these church ladies he met the day before were saying "good morning," "peace be with you," and giving him high fives. They all said they learned a lot about Carter the day before (I thought: Uh-oh) and told me what a delightful child I have.

Now I know I can put that Charm School tuition to some other use. If Carter had his way, it would probably be something at the next garage sale!

Dust to dust

I scolded Carter last night for drawing on the coffee table. No, he wasn't using a crayon or marker. He was using his finger -- creating a visual masterpiece with the thin layer of dust.

I should have scolded myself. It's obviously time to clean ... although that table is made out of some strange magnetic material that attracts dust. I'm serious. And our TV is the same way.

I do realize that yes, I need to grab a dusting cloth and wipe down the room one of these days soon. Probably sooner so I don't see a "Wash Me" popping up somewhere.

As timing would have it, though, I received a fact-filled e-mail today -- call it divine intervention -- about reasons we shouldn't dust! I think I forwarded it to everyone in my address book!

Basically, it states that we shouldn't waste precious time dusting and cleaning when we should be out living life! When people come to our houses, they want to see US and hear about how we are living our lives. They're not going to do a white-glove test (unless it's your mother or mother-in-law ... then it would be best to grab the Swiffer cloths before their arrival ).

I think the message is great. Of course, my house shouldn't be a pigsty. It should just look "lived in" and be lived in.

Yes, I will dust tonight. But it's a good thing I didn't do it any sooner. What would Carter have used for his creative outlet?!

He's a poet and didn't know it

Today I witnessed firsthand that a love for garage sale-ing isn't the only thing I passed down to my son. He can write, too.

No, I won't take full credit. One would hope that having two parents as writers, he would be able to piece together a noun, verb and clever adjective or two. And he can.

I had the privilege this afternoon of attending the Grant School third-graders' Poetry Cafe & Coffeehouse. The children set the coffeehouse atmosphere. Desks were put together and covered with table clothes and homemade paper flowers. They served us coffee, tea and cookies -- then proceeded to entertain us.

They have been learning about the various formats of poetry and each student in Mrs. Klingforth's class presented two of theirs before a captive audience. Carter read one with words and phrases tied to his name and another that didn't rhyme but told a funny story.

Here they are. Enjoy (maybe a Carter blog will be coming your way soon!)

"Me!"

Cool
Amazing
Runner
Tiger Woods fan
Exciting
Really humorous

"Midnight at the Supermarket"

The cookies jump on the bread
like a trampoline
to plug the burglars' mouths.

The orange juice sprays the burglars' eyes
the make them blind.

The popcorn tips the machine over
so the popcorn can shoot out like bullets.

The carrots use themselves as knives
to scare the burglars against the wall.

The pretzels choke the burglars
while the forks dial 911 to talk to the cops
and send them to jail.

The next day
everything is back to normal.

(Whew! Now I know not to take Carter on any late-night shopping trips!)

Music to my ears

We got a dose of culture this weekend when we attended a Mother's Day Concert presented by the UW-Marshfield/Wood County Symphony.

Yes, this is the same family who spent last Friday night at the races. And no, no one died of culture shock!

We had intended it to be a night for just Jim and I because the guest pianist, Jeffrey Panko, was a high school classmate of Jim's. When the babysitter situation became a nightmare, we had to take Carter with us. Surprisingly, he enjoyed it. He was able to identify some of the instruments because of music class and couldn't wait to tell his music teacher he saw a real, live orchestra.

All three of us were impressed with Jeff, who has come a long way since the days at Assumption High School when he played piano while Jim was in swing choir. He has made a career out of tickling the ivories -- and deservedly so.

There's not even a word to describe his talent. Carter liked it when he played fast, while we adults thought it was a moving performance. When it was done, we couldn't help but say, "I wish I could play like that!"

For Carter, there is still hope. And Jim does know how to play the organ already -- with both hands! All I have to cling to is my attempts at playing our "play by number" keyboard when I was a child.

I'm proud to say, though, that I still know how to play Silent Night ... 5-6-5-3, 5-6-5-3, 9-9-7 ...

Mother's Day

I was privileged to grow up with two mothers: My birth mother and my "upstairs mom."

That's what I call my oldest sister Rayna who, technically, is old enough to be my mother. As the babies (and almost 17 years younger), it seems my twin and I have always called her that.

And not because she was bossy. She really has been like a mother to us. She nurtured us, took care of us when Mom needed a hand (which was often enough with 8 children!), supported us, advised us and has been a positive role model for us.

Although Rayna doesn't have any children of her own, she deserves just as much recognition today as all the other moms. We still run to her sometimes as adults. Though now it's not for a skinned knee; sometimes it's for a broken heart. Sometimes we just need a hand or hug or listening ear. She's always there for us.

When I called my mom tonight to wish her a happy Mother's Day, she told me about something Rayna did yesterday that once again illustrates her giving and supportive nature. Her week-long visit home from Texas coincided with our nephew Zachary's very first horse auction.

Zach owns his own farrier business, Quick Draw Equine Service, and some of our family attended this event to show their support. I guess Rayna took it a step further and actually bought a horse! I don't have the details yet because she was flying home today, but I doubt the horse was in the pet cargo area.

I realize there are lots of Texans with horses, so maybe she's been in the market for one for awhile. Part of me thinks because there was a small turnout, she was just doing what she could to help one of her "babies" out.

Either that or she wanted her husband, Paul, to know what a real nag was like!

Happy Mother's Day to Rayna and all the mothers out there who would do anything for their babies!

I brake for garage sales

Over the years I have gotten my mother things like a T-shirt that says "Garage Sale Goddess" and a bumper sticker that says: "I brake for garage sales." I remember many times when we'd be going somewhere and she's spot a bright sign and say, "LeRoy, pull over."

I used to make fun of the way she and her sister or girlfriends would always have to go "garage sale-ing." Now I find I am following in my mother's footsteps ... or tire tracks ... in the quest for the perfect bargain.

Actually, I'm not addicted to it or anything. I could stop going at any time. I could ... I honestly don't do it for the love of it. I do try to find a good bargain and I only go when I need something. For example, I'm sure I've saved hundreds and hundreds of dollars over the past 9 years getting clothes for Carter. When he was younger, finding 3T or 4T clothes was my mission. Now, if we run across something that fits, great.

We don't make special trips. But once in awhile in the summer, I'll say, "Carter, do you want to go garage sale-ing today?" He'll grab his coin bag and off we'll go. (Yes, I've passed it on to another generation. Stop the cycle!)

Of course, we had to go today. It was the community garage sale weekend so there must have been 50 of them! Garage sale utopia!

My mission today was to get some books. I usually buy a ton of books in May that I can read over the summer and winter then I sell them in the spring at my babysitter's sale. Today was my lucky day -- of course, I had pretty good odds. We stopped at maybe 5 or 6, though, before I found some books.

Carter wasn't even buying his usual junk. He found a few books, too. At the last sale we stopped at he bought a dictionary for 50 cents and a small globe for a quarter. He mentioned something about staying smart. I guess if you can get that at a garage sale, I'm going to keep "braking" at those bright pink signs!

R is for Responsibility

Sometimes I think there's a wise old man living inside the body of my 9-year-old.

Last week, Mommy spilled the beans to the blogosphere about how Carter feels it's his duty to gather, organize and put carts away in the Wal-Mart parking lot.

Last night, while unloading our purchases, he informed me that he is no longer going to do that.

His reason: "I want to see if people can be responsible on their own."

We'd all like to see that, Carter.

Enough said.

Lazy days of spring?

I love the smell of fresh-cut grass. The problem is that we have to actually cut the grass to get it.

We have about an acre lot. I seriously don’t mind pushing the mower around the front and side yards. I actually volunteer on sunny days so I can multi-task: mowing, tanning and walking all at the same time.

The backyard is another story. Thanks to some friendly moles, it’s like a dozen land mines went off back there. It is very lumpy mowing and hard to push. I am still recovering from mowing three days ago. (Cue the violins, please.)

With my chronic back problems, I usually just leave the backyard to my big, strong husband. But I was trying to be nice this weekend since he was suffering from allergies. I never did finish and now I’m sitting here at the computer, avoiding the physical labor and, essentially, watching the grass grow.

Short-term solution: I gave Jim some allergy medicine so he can finish. I realize, though, this is my responsibility, so I am hoping it will be sunny after work tomorrow so I can tackle it before I need a scythe.

Long-term solution: I’m hoping our friendly woodchuck will chase away the moles so we can have our yard back!

It also would be nice if someone invented a candle with the fresh-cut grass smell. (Heck, they’ve got them for everything else!) That way I can burn the candle while relaxing in the hot tub and feel like I’ve accomplished something without moving one lazy bone in my lazy body. Ahhh …

Dirty laundry

I've always followed the rule that I shouldn't write anything for publication that I wouldn't want my mother to read. In other words, keep it clean.

Well Mom found out what I've been doing on the Internet. She happened to stumble upon a meet-and-greet with my fans this weekend (a.k.a. family get-together).

My siblings, bless their hearts, were talking about some of my blogs and how much they enjoy them. Just as my head started swelling to enormous proportions, Mom breaks in with "You're doing what?!"

Helpful sibling #1 says, "Robyn's got a blog!"

"A what?" asks Mom.

Helpful sibling #2 says, "A blog. She's just writing about her childhood and our family secrets." (Ha. Ha. Thank you, supportive family.)

One, you can't joke like that with my mother. Two, how do you explain what a blog is to someone who still uses a rotary phone?

After getting past the fact that a blog was nothing like a tumor or any medical condition, I just explained that it was like my old newspaper column I used to do ... just little light anecdotes about life -- not airing our family's dirty laundry!

Besides, I said, the only people reading it are family or people sitting within a 10-foot radius of my desk. It's not like my commercials on Lifetime have started airing yet.

I don't think she grasped the concept. Of course, now that I know Mom thinks the World Wide Web is a sequel to Charlotte's Web, I might just write what I please.

Nah. One of my siblings would tattle!

Siete de Mayo

Happy Siete de Mayo! Yes, I realize it is two days past Cinco de Mayo but I had something to celebrate today.

I ran 4 miles! That's cuatro milas for you Espaniolers -- the farthest this little senorita has ever run.

I have been trying to run every day since about mid-April when I met Jim's cousin Sally, a marathon runner from Chicago. She mentioned running 1,200 miles last year. I was so impressed.

No, I am NOT planning on running a marathon, but I realized later that she basically had to run a 5K a day to accomplish that. Jim said "I bet you could run 900 miles in a year." So I said "OK, I'll start keeping track on the calendar."

I try to run some each day. When I have energy, I'll do 3 miles or 3.2 (for a 5K) and if I'm tired I'll just go 2 (or hit the snooze and roll over).

Over lunch hour today (after my Tab Energy Drink, of course), I decided to see how far I could go. I went as far as the 2-mile mark, turned around and figured I could always walk when I got to 3 miles if I needed to. I made it there and kept going.

I was getting pretty tired and contemplating walking when Satan happened by. That's what I'm calling him. He was a big ugly dog. I don't like big dogs and I don't like ugly dogs, either -- especially those I don't know.

To be safe, I decided to ignore him. Right. My strategy: I didn't go faster or slower -- just maintained my speed and kept looking straight ahead while my heart was palpitating in fear. I don't even remember the last half mile. I didn't dare stop and in the end, I guess that's a good thing. Thanks to Satan (or Diablo en Espaniol), I can say I ran 4 miles.

Maybe he could be my new jogging partner. Isn't there a song about "running with the devil"?

License to drive

Jim and I had the unusual opportunity for a Friday night date this weekend. As it turned out, Carter was at a sleepover so we were free to do as we pleased.

We had already planned to go to Golden Sands Speedway outside of Wisconsin Rapids to see Jim's nephew Colin Reffner race. My stepson Casey also wanted to go so he volunteered to pick us up and chauffeur us to the races. Now that's going out in style!

I didn't remember until I got into the backseat that this was the first time I had ridden with him. (He just got his license a month ago.) He seemed pretty relaxed and handled the stick shift well. I was impressed until he pulled out from a stop sign in the path of a car I (and Dad) thought was going pretty fast. "What? I had all day," he said. Teenagers know everything, don't they?

We enjoyed the races. Colin, who is only 13 (talk about worrying your mother) and racing a 4-cylinder car, finished fifth in his race. And I'm happy to report we made it to and from the races safe and sound. I white-knuckled it a bit, but I think it will get better. I'm sure I put my parents through the same thing.

I can remember driving with my dad when I passed a car for the first time and cut right back in front of it with little room to spare. I got quite a talking to from Dad.

Of course, this is from the same guy who when I was riding with him, coasted through a stop sign and told me the ones with white borders are "optional."

I guess for every teen with a driver's license, there is an adult with a license to B.S.

Associate's degree

I have this fear my son is going to grow up to be a Wal-Mart associate. Nothing against Wal-Mart, I mean I spend more time there than at church or on the golf course, but I am hoping he aspires to something higher ... Maybe something that will support his parents someday.

Anyway, he's got this desire to be a cart boy or whatever you may call those guys in the orange vests who corral the shopping carts so they don't get run over or take up spaces in the parking lot. Every time we go -- even if it's raining -- he offers to put our cart away after we've unloaded our groceries and other rollback pricing finds of the day.

He then proceeds to put our cart away and find any other "strays" in the area. This only takes a few minutes but I think he'd do the whole lot if I let him. "I'm helping the community, Mom," he says.

Last night I had to cut him short so I could get home in time for Grey's. Plus, he'd already done his work as an associate. If you can believe it, Carter actually did a price check!

We were in the Express Lane and the price would not come up on this Spider-Man playground ball we were buying for his friend's birthday. The cashier paged someone in toys twice and got no response. So Carter volunteered to check it out. I was surprised the cashier let him, but who could resist those dimples? He trotted halfway across the store and back before anyone answered the page!

"Maybe I should work here!" he said. I was cringing inside but then part of me thought, hmmm ... employee discount ....

Energize me!

OK, it takes me awhile to try new things. Just ask my husband. OK, get your mind out of the gutter! I'm talking about food (well, mainly).

He claims I get into a rut when we go out to eat. I always order the same thing. This is kind of true. However, we don't go out to eat very often so it's not like I'm eating Chicken Cordon Bleu or Eggs Benedict every week.

I like the fish fry at The Ridges, the Chicken Cordon Bleu at Hilltop and the chicken strips at Rusty's Backwater Saloon. If there's a good thing at a particular restaurant, chances are I'll order that good thing every time we go there ... that and a Diet Coke with lemon. I'll admit I'm in that rut.

I'm pleased to report I've been walking on the wild side lately. I was curious about these new "energy drinks" that allegedly give you a boost when you need it. I know I need a boost now and then -- I just didn't know how much they'd give me. Is it just like adding a cup of coffee to my morning routine or will they make me so jittery I won't be able to control my computer mouse?!

And what do they taste like? With names like Red Bull and Hype, that doesn't tell me anything. So while perusing the grocery story aisle (did you know there are 109 different energy drinks?) I picked a name I knew from way back: Tab energy drink.

They still make Tab? They make Tab energy drinks? Yes and yes. What does it taste like? Like someone dropped a very sour, tart vitamin into a can of Tab and let it dissolve. I'm not sure it gave me much of a burst of energy so I went with another brand I knew: Mountain Dew Amp. Same taste but I felt a little burst -- I think it's because this one had sugar!

My hope was that with the help of these energy drinks I could get up early to go running. I would slam one and be able to run just moments after shutting off my alarm.

So this morning, I wake up at 5:15 a.m., drink some Amp (I could not force myself to drink the whole thing) and go running. Unfortunately, I was running/jogging like I just rolled out of bed. I did survive the 3 miles!

I think the energy burst finally hit when I was done and in the shower already. So while my mile time was sluggish today, I can at least report I'm squeaky clean!!

May Day

Of course this day holds a special place in my heart. My baby (he hates when I call him that) turns 9 today! Where does the time go?

May Day was always a special time when I was a child, too. We'd help Mom make May baskets out of construction paper and sometimes envelopes -- she had a trick to folding them and cutting the handle to make them look like baskets. It was some pretty creative handiwork!

And why were we doing this? One of the most popularly known May Day traditions is to hang a basket full of spring flowers and/or other small gifts or candy on a neighbor's doorknob. The trick is you don't want the neighbor to see you! If you get caught, you are supposed to get a kiss.

We only had two houses with boys in the neighborhood. And, as much as we'd love for the Hacker boys to catch us and kiss us, we had to expand our mission. No, not for more kisses! We delivered a lot of baskets to elderly folks in the area who really appreciated the gesture.

Call it a spring act of kindness, if you will. That's what May Day is all about.

That, and a special "baby" who I can kiss every day of the year!