Pocket Change

(Giant Donut kind of like this, but different)

We have a handful of nickels,

pennies and dimes between us

to go to Winchell’s -

the donut shop

with the gigantic tractor tire

in the parking lot

painted like a chocolate donut

with a lot

of sprinkles on top.

Five cents for cake

or plain or raised,

eight cents for raspberry

custard

or lemon-filled,

glazed.

Making a choice

is sweet agony

hopping in place

(one foot

to the other)

barefoot

on the other side

of the glass case.

We pedal our bikes furiously

with a hunger

deep and craving,

an urgency borne all on the wings

of sacred

pocket change.

I remember when they raised the price of specialty donuts from eight to eleven cents a piece. That’s all we could talk about for days! It seemed like a terrific injustice. In our minds, we were the core clientele of this tiny, paint-peeling little donut shop on Saticoy, just around the corner from Jellico. Executing our donut runs almost exclusively on a Saturday, we were accordingly unaware of the week day early morning business they must have been doing just fine without any of us penny-pinching neighborhood kids.

Winchell’s is an international donut chain. We didn’t know this. We thought Mr. Winchell was the old guy in the stained white apron and the little paper hat behind the counter.

Donuts 2011: 89 cents each

"The Donut King"

Verne H. Winchell

October 15, 1915 - November 26, 2002

Founder of Winchell's Donuts in Temple City, CA, 1948, graduate of Alhambra High School, CA.

* Excerpt from Station Wagon Wars ~ Growing Up in the 60s by cTanner

Final Answer

"Be Prepared" is the Scout motto. They have a systematic way to do just that - lots of camping, knot-tying, outdoor survival skills, responsible citizenship and practical leadership training that really is the ticket for boys to be prepared for almost anything.

I have pondered what a parenting motto should be. How about, "Forget About It", "Ignore It", or "Be Perpetually Surprised" ~ ?

Tonight, two of the five progeny posed a question over pork and funeral potatoes that I was not prepared for. It wasn't the 'where are babies from?' question. I was prepared for that! All the kids roll their eyes and tell their friends how their crazy mom drew them pictures and used correct terminology to answer that one. The brand new 20 year old said, "Mom, which is your favorite?"

I said, "horses." After the spasmodic laughter and the high-fives died down, she rephrased the question: "No, I mean which kid is your favorite?"

"Oh," I said, embarrassed. "Well, I honestly don't have a 'favorite'..."

This was unsatisfactory to both girls, who obviously seemed to know something I didn't.

"I think most parents really do have a favorite, but just say that they don't to spare hurt feelings," observed the highly confident 20 year old. The 15 year old stopped texting just long enough to raise her face and say, "Yeah."

"No," I continued, "really, I love all of you for your own selves, for who you are." This totally set them off. In unison they cried, "you like Robin the best!" Then, gaining steam, they looked at each other and fired away again. "And Leiland! Robin and Leiland!" There was fire in their eyes.

"Look," I said in a measured way, emphasizing my superior maturity and life-experience with lowered vocal tone and a meaningful pause; they were listening. "Are you trying to tell me how I feel? Because if you are, why did you bother asking?" They agreed maybe they had not perfected mind-reading just yet.

"O.K.," I began, feeling very philosophical, "It's like me asking you, who do you love more - Jack, or Bitsy?" (The two grandchildren, who are the stars and the moon of our world)!

"JACK." They both said again, in unison.

I was shocked. This wasn't working out so well. Quickly they explained the only reason they like fantastic 3 year old Jack more than adorable 8 month old MaKenna is because Jack can talk and do things with them.

"Y'know," big sister said matter-of-factly, "it's always easier to relate to kids when you don't have to carry them around anymore." Hmm. Interesting. I hadn't thought about this myself. "When MaKenna is older, we will like her a lot more, too." Now that we had the relationship thing established, I finally answered their very serious question.

"I absolutely do not have a favorite. I love Bi for how she can tell a story with all the character's voices and even the sound effects, like when Spongebob's eyelids close - 'doink!' (Yes, they agreed, she's really super at that), I love James for when he tells me about a book he's read, or a story he's written, or an idea he has - I love to listen to his brain! I love Leiland for his musical creativity - well, all of you are creative, but I also enjoy how he seems to be careful about my feelings. I used to stand in the kitchen and listen to you (Asia) play the piano, when you didn't know I was listening, and I love how you come up with such deep thoughts sometimes, like you're 30 instead of 20. I don't know where you get the sudden insight. And Rachel- wow! Who wouldn't want to hear her sing full blast to the radio? You make my day."

"That's right," she said, happy to be noticed for an awesome talent. Silence at the table. I assumed this was an invitation to explore more about how much I enjoy my children.

"I always thought all of you were so fun to be with," I began. "Like when we went on walks. I never had a kid whining, 'oh, my feet hurt, why do we have to do this? When can we go home?' If I saw something curious, I'd point it out to you, and everyone would appreciate it and we would talk about it as we went along..." I noticed I didn't seem to have the same rapt attention as a moment previous. They were looking at me again with suspicion.

"Robin, right?"

"No favorites!" I said. "And another thing. I really love their spouses. It's great to be at this time in life, when your children marry, and it's like you have more children to love and admire for who they are..."

"Ug." said the older sister. "Whatever you do, please don't start crying again."

Oh. I guess we had the "in-law" discussion before.

"So, mom, whose laugh do you like the best?" Aw! This was easy. No explanations necessary. I was prepared.

"That would be Robin and you (Asia), hands-down." Having pleased the rabble with this

response, I realized I had a weird visual in my head of Regis Philbin on "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire" asking, "Is that your final answer?"

Yes, yes it is.

Dogs Can't Hear Those Notes

More in a Series of Helpful Observations

1. Bite not thine own fingernails should ye desire a different result for thy off-spring. (Oopsie.)

2. Remove ammunition from The Thrower, yea, in haste shall ye thwart his lust for mayhem. Heed not silly childhood behavior 'experts' who exhaust themselves with much advice about how to carefully explain to the child there are different kinds of throwing. The child is not stupid. He likes to throw.

3. Bite The Biter an eye for an eye. But ~ bite not the biter if it is not thine own child.

4. Employ the new babysitter with confidence. However, see that ye dismiss not thy eldest daughter's report when thou return. Thou mayest learn how one babysitter forthwith turned into "two", and they both spent much time on the phone, and used the F word to the children, and so forth. (thanks, Bi!)

5. Indulge not The Backwards-hurler into space; of such is sure calamity.

Rather seize the human cannon in mid-air, and squeeze it close. Let not go until the child responds to thy request for calm. Then apply something interesting to do immediately, distracting the child. Should it rise up and begin flinging itself again, intercept exactly the same as before. Now give warning that yonder bed await it should there be a repeat of the behavior. Do not relent. Never surrender.

6. Pretend marvelous surprise should ye hear children express in public what others piously assume is forbidden in thy home, perchance thy performance save thee.

7. Be wise, and know there are circumstances wherein the young child's natural discernment is absolutely correct:

a. Should thy little 6 year old son observe the school bus driver is mean and exerciseth much unrighteous dominion, and he say to her, "Thou Big Fat Meatball", be not angry with him, but investigate the matter. Behold, ye shall find many reliable witnesses who doth validate the driver is cruel and derelict in her duty to very young children. Protest ye the write-up given thy little son, for his assessment was indeed accurate every whit.

b. Likewise, be ye diligent when young, second-year school teacher giveth thy same little son naught but red marks all over every single paper. Yea, he doth return from class utterly demoralized. Ye shall privately remind the teacher this child has skipped Kindergarten, and has not the full school year of penmanship practice as do the other children in his 1st grade class. Ask her to mark her own records, but mark not his paper so extreme, as it doth defeat him greatly. When the pretty, fashionable young teacher receive thy words with much anger and crazy left-field emotion, ignore her. Watch only for thy son's papers returning home less marked with red, and his smiling countenance. (good boy, James!)

8. Be ye in the habit of saying often, "I'm so glad I saw that!" For verily, there are many little things in a day that do amuse and surprise, yea, enough that ye may all be filled with merriment if even for a small moment. Thy children will be quick to share with thee, and laugh much. Yea, they will be funny.

Likewise, start ye now a list posted in the house wherein all may write funny things observed or heard. Not only be ye sharing humor, but ye shall encourage awareness of legitimate language.

For example: from beautiful "Singing Bee" show hostess last week: "Well sang!" or from a Fox News reporter on the Gaza border: "...the two sides collashed!" or from a hostess on "Ramsey's Kitchen": "Mike likes to presentate his food."

Especially entertaining (or frightening) are comments ye shall find sadly posted for the world to see on blogs/news stories of all types: "I am in aw of your ignorance..." by 'Staricka'.

Ditto.