It used to be that people took my boys for twins all the time.

They do resemble each other a bit, I guess; they both have blue eyes and blondish hair. For a long time, they were even the same height, although I think one has finally passed the other for good.
Lately, though, people think Sam is the elder. They refer to Jim as “your little brother,” and it’s not difficult to understand why. It’s not their stature, or even their relative level of accomplishment. It’s the dynamic between them.

Sam takes care of Jim – not in the way of a parent or adult, but in the way older siblings have. He looks out for him. He encourages him. And Jim, in turn, looks up to him. (When he’s not trying to bait him or otherwise drive him nuts. They are siblings, after all.)

I started thinking about this a few days ago, when I was trying desperately to accomplish a certain task during the evening. Jim was getting frustrated about something; I could hear it in his voice, and I made a mental note to help out as soon as I had my hands free. Then that note of frustration ... vanished.

I glanced over and saw my boys, heads bent together as the younger showed the older how to figure out the problem he’d been having. He demonstrated, then had Jim do it for himself, correcting him when necessary. Then he went back to what he’d been doing before the whole thing started.
It was over in minutes. I’ve been thinking about it ever since.

It can’t be easy, being the sibling of a child with special needs.

It is easy, as a frazzled parent, to simply be grateful when you see scenes like the one I described, to realize that you now have a little bit of extra backup in the form of the sibling. And it’s all part of working together as a family, after all.

But there are times things are complicated by that difference in the family. Times plans are derailed because of issues with crowds and sensory issues and the fact that one child needs that constant supervision. Times when the more self-sufficient sibling doesn’t get quite as much attention because the other sibling simply needs it more. And, unfortunately, times when you just have to say, “I’m sorry. We can’t do that because your brother couldn’t handle it.”

And because they help out so often, it can be so easy to take them for granted, to forget that they’re only kids too. They’re held to a higher standard. As parents, you get so used to the younger child acting as the older that sometimes you forget he’s only in elementary school himself.

So, what’s a parent to do? All I can say is, we try really hard to make sure we don’t expect him to step up too much. We say “thank you” and “I appreciate it” when he does. We find ways to work around the things his brother can’t handle, even if it means Jim gets to hang out with his grandparents for a day while the rest of us do something else. If we can’t give full attention at one moment, we always try to do it as soon as we can.

Here’s to the siblings. They’re growing up with an extra dose of compassion and understanding and self-sufficiency. It’s not always easy, but they shoulder the task.

And they’re going to grow into better people because of it.

+Jill Keppeler thinks we could use more compassion in this day and age. Follow her on Twitter @JillKeppeler or email her at jillmkeppeler@msn.com.

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We’ve hit all the notes, this week.

We’ve read a lot of books. Played a lot of videogames. Baked a lot of cookies. Built a lot of LEGO gadgets and buildings, and watched a lot of movies. There’s even been a snowball fight or two.

Thank heavens February break is nearly over.

Don’t get me wrong; it’s good to see the kids. But they are bored right now, and I can’t blame them. They like school. They like seeing their friends. And they hate being cooped up, which has been a necessary part of this week, with the temperatures and the precipitation being what they were.

It happens every year. One day off here and there isn’t a problem. By Easter break, the weather will, we hope, be nice enough to get outside a bit more. Summer vacation is just fun. Christmas break is busy.

February break is one big blah.

There are local organizations, such as museums, that have programs for break, and those can be good. We tend to avoid them during this week, unfortunately, after a particularly crazy day at one site.
(Don’t ask. It wasn’t the fault of the venue)

But some good things have come out of the week. I have a wonderful hand-drawn picture of a Dalek created by my younger son, especially for me. (He’s into Doctor Who right now.) I have (OK, had) three kinds of cookies, baked over the course of several days with my older son, who is very interested in cookies. And I have one particular priceless mental image.

After I’d ... OK, hidden ... in the back room for a few moments of peace one day, I emerged to find both boys sitting on the couch, one reading to the other, both rapt and focused. It was the perfect picture of brotherly love ... and one little boy’s desire to help.

We all survived another year.

Happy Monday.

*

The boys will already have been back to school for a week by next Saturday, but I’m sure a bit of cabin fever will remain. Family Fitfest at the Buffalo Museum of Science might be a good remedy for that.

The museum promises information and demonstrations from 10 local sport and athletic groups for the event, which will take place from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. Feb. 27. The University of Buffalo will even host a game of Quidditch, which is enough right there to get me and Sam to attend.

There will also be a toddler obstacle course, presented by Rolly Pollies of WNY, and more. The activities are included with general museum admission. Visit sciencebuff.org for more information.

*

I reiterate my plea for recommendation for your favorite non-chain, locally owned kid-friendly restaurants. Let me know at jillmkeppeler@msn.com.

Thanks!

+Jill Keppeler has a bit of cabin fever herself. Follow her on Twitter @JillKeppeler or email her at jillmkeppeler@msn.com.

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So, happy St. Valentine’s Day.

We don’t do much for the day. My husband and I will probably go to dinner sometime next month, when the craziness has worn down. Sam dutifully wrote out cards for his classmates. Jim has moved past that.

Partly because they don’t make Valentines cards for kids in the subject Sam wanted this year (Doctor Who) and partly because we sort of forgot to even look for an alternative, I helped him make handmade cards this year. Nothing fancy, just heart shapes cut out using a scrapbooking gadget, which he then decorated with crayon and glitter glue. I was ... uh, he was ... quite proud of them.
It happens every year, though. He takes his cards in to school. He brings home cards ... and an absolute plethora of stuff. Candy, including heart-shaped lollipops and Valentines-themed Starburst and other random pieces of sugar. Trinkets. Pencils. (Which are, at least, useful.) The stuff can get quite elaborate. We parcel out the candy, horde the pencils and, feeling somewhat guilty, tend to pitch the rest. (Which also happens with most of the candy.)

What gives, parents?

It’s not just St. Valentine’s Day. It happens on Halloween, some birthdays, occasionally on Christmas. Cheap plastic trinkets (including, a few times, whistles ... who thought that was a good idea?) and sugar. It’s enough to make a parent feel inadequate (for not sending in all the extras) and exasperated at the same time. (Because we neither want, nor need, all this stuff. Neither do the landfills.)

Maybe it has to do with the crackdown on taking in treats for class parties and birthdays. (I understand when it’s an allergy issue; I shake my head when it’s some notion of “healthy” choices. Moderation and an occasional treat are healthy choices.) The decision of what to take (I tended to lean toward Rice Krispy treats or Jell-O Jigglers – remember those?), the moment of proud unveiling in the classroom ... it was a big deal in my elementary-school days.

Perhaps today’s parents remember those days and want to give their kids a modern-day equivalent. I don’t know. But I wish it would stop.

By all means, continue the tradition of St. Valentine’s Day cards, whether they’re Batman- or Star Wars-themed or simply cut-out paper hearts.

But enough with the stuff.

*

So, I could use a hand.

I was talking to a friend about how our go-to picks for dining with children tend to be chain restaurants. It’s logical, really ... you generally know what you’re going to get, they almost always have children’s menus and there are a lot of them around.

But there are also so many good local restaurants in Western New York. Given the choice, I’d much rather patronize them than just another chain.

That said ... sometimes a recommendation makes all the difference.

So, folks, let me know. What’s your favorite kid-friendly, non-chain restaurant in the area? Email me at jillmkeppeler@msn.com.

Thanks!

+Jill Keppeler misses the days of sending in school treats. Follow her on Twitter @JillKeppeler or email her at jillmkeppeler@msn.com.

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I’m taking a brief break from kid hijinks to write a bit about my thoughts on new parenthood and baby showers ... specifically, do’s and don’ts as far as presents go. As always, this is my opinion alone. (Albeit opinion informed by years of parenting.)

So, last week I rattled on about what I saw as four don’ts. Each came with disclaimers. I’m sure these will, as well, but they’re things we found useful, once upon a time.

ONE: Practical clothing.

This was going to be divided up into two or three items, but it really does depend on the time of year and, to some extent, on the baby in question. It definitely did with ours.

Two words: Bodysuits and sleepers. You can never have enough.

(Note: By bodysuits, I mean those little one-piece outfits often called “onesies” – a term that’s actually trademarked.)

They often go under other clothing, but in the summer (or with a child who runs warm, like one of ours did), a onesie alone can be the garb of the day. They wash well, you’ll almost always need one and you can pick up a pack of five or so plain ones for $10-$15.

Want to be fancier? Get them in patterns or colors. Need something a little warmer? You can get them with long sleeves. You can find them with cute sayings on them, or characters. (The boys had one, passed on from older brother to younger brother, with Darth Vader emblazoned on it.)

On the flip side: Cozy one-piece sleepers.

Nothing fancy or frilly. Just a good ol’ terrycloth or fleece or something lighter weight for warm weather. When the parents are too exhausted or too busy or too ... whatever ... they’re a great way to say “Hey! The kid is clothed!” and move on to more pressing things. And I’m pretty sure that they must be more comfortable then many fancier items.

And, as I said before, it’s nice to get an array of sizes. When the kid is moving into size 9-12 months and all the tiny, adorable things don’t fit anymore, the parents will thank you.

TWO: Cloth diapers.

Bear with me. This isn’t just for those dedicated folks who decide to use these for their intended purpose. (Although good for them.)

You’ll see lots of so-called “burp clothes” in baby supply aisles and stores. They tend to be flimsy, colorful, sometimes decorated, and you might pay $12 or more for a package of four.

Skip these. Head for the cloth diapers.

They’re not pretty. They’re just white. They’re sturdy and they’re less expensive. They probably won’t be on anyone’s registry.

They’re the best.

Think about these things will be used for. (And believe me, they will be used.) Do you really want the pretty, embroidered, thin ones? Or do you want the sturdy ones that can be washed frequently without falling apart? With plenty of bleach?

It sounds silly, but these were one of the most useful things we received.

THREE: The little things.

Babies need a lot of big stuff. They need cribs and car seats and highchairs and strollers. But not everyone can pony up the cash for that sort of baby shower gift.

The thing is, babies need a lot of little stuff, too. New parents will find a need for a steady supply of baby wash (for sensitive baby skin) and lotion. Those soft little washcloths are good, too. Again, however, I suggest you go for the simple, inexpensive ones. These things tend to get lost.

So do baby spoons, when the kid is old enough to sample food. We had a pack of study plastic spoons in bright colors that someone bought us. They washed well and if one went missing (perhaps hurled across the room after Sam decided he hated carrots), it wasn’t a big deal. We kept a handful in the diaper bag at all times. Very useful.

If you’re looking for a baby gift and can’t spend a ton, a basket stocked with an assortment of the little stuff can be very helpful and useful. I still remember some of these types of gifts, many years later.

FOUR: Musical toys.

Big disclaimer here: Make sure it’s not too obnoxious and that there’s a volume control. And I’m sure that, as with all these items, it partly depends on the baby and the personality involved.

But if you’re the sort of person who likes to buy toys, even for an infant who hasn’t the foggiest grasp of what a toy really is, music tends to catch their attention. At least it did with my two.

To this day, Jim’s musical frog, purchased for him when he was 5 months old, is still a soothing companion for him. Just the other day, I found him sitting with it, listening to a lullaby. (And now that I think of it, I can hear it in the other room as I type this ...)

That leads me to another note: Make sure the batteries can be changed. He had a beloved teddy bear once with which that wasn’t possible. The demise of the music led to many tears and a lengthy (and not entirely successful) hunt for a similar model.

So, there you have it. But remember, every baby, every parent, differs. What we found practical and useful may not work for everyone.

However, nearly seven years after my youngest turned 1, these are still the things I remember. That has to count for something, right?

+Jill Keppeler cannot say enough good things about the practicality of cloth diapers as burp clothes. Follow her on Twitter @JillKeppeler or email her at jillmkeppeler@msn.com.

RELATED LINK: 

• DOUBLE TROUBLE: What not to buy ... for babies

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I’ve been thinking about baby showers lately.

Oh, don’t give me that look. There’s no news here. (Except for the fact that there seems to be a lot of other people’s baby news around me recently.) It’s led to some musing about the time when my boys were infants, what we thought we knew before they arrived, and what we learned. These days, I feel like an old pro ... of babyhood, if not the challenges inherent in older kids. (AKA, “Your friend told you WHAT?”)

I mused to some co-workers that I should write a column about the things new parents really aren’t going to need that they nonetheless love to register for, and the things a potential baby-gift buyer can purchase that will actually be the most use. The response was enthusiastic. So I tried to step back in time 7 or 11 years or so, and remember when the boys were tiny.

New parents (and baby-gift purchasers), in no particular order, I suggest you reconsider the following:

ONE: Anything newborn or 0-3 month size.

I’m not suggesting that you never buy the kid anything in this size. Heck, you might wind up needing a number of things. But I do suggest waiting to buy a great deal of clothing in the tinier sizes until after the child in question is born.

Why? Two words: Nine pounds. My eldest son, who was predicted to be quite small, wound up being a whopper. Anything designed for newborns never fit him at all. His brother, a bit smaller, only wore that size briefly.

The new parents certainly might need smaller clothing. But I’d wait to make those purchases until after the baby has arrived. Also, people seem to like to buy tiny clothes. When the kid is entering size 6-9 months and they don’t have near as much in the closet, they’ll thank you.

TWO: Anything complicated or frilly.

Sure, it looks adorable. The parents might get a few cute photos out of it ... before it’s spit up on, peed on, pooped on or other desecrated. Babies produce a tremendous amount of bodily fluids, more than you might ever think possible. And they seem to have a sixth sense for when this will damage a delicate outfit beyond all repair. (Anything that can be described by the word “delicate” should probably be considered a bad idea in general.) You can buy a lot of cute things that are far more practical.

Oh, I’m not going to recommend anyone try to stop grandma from buying the baby’s first suit or Easter dress. (I mean, just stand back if my mom ever gets the word she’s going to have a granddaughter.) But for the most part, this sort of thing might be nice for a few “oooooh and aaaahs” at the shower, but it’s not going to help the new parents out much at all.

THREE: A baby carrier.

I’m finding most of these items come with disclaimers. Some kids love these things. I’ve certainly seen my share of contented babies snoozing away in them while strapped snugly to mom or dad. But they’re one of those things that are best purchased after the baby has arrived and you have a feel for his or her personality.

Case in point: Sam. I purchased a nice carrier before he was born. He was a summer baby, and I had mental images of happy days walking around sunny Buffalo festivals with him safely tucked inside, or peering outside with interest.

Big fat NOPE.

Sam hated the carrier. He hated it with a white-hot passion. When he was small enough to have to ride facing me, he hated it because he couldn’t see anything, and he wanted to see everything. And then when he was big enough to face outward, he wanted to be out, damn it, and preferably mobile.
By all means, think about it. Do the research on the variety and the safety standards so you know what you want. Just wait until you have an idea of the kid’s personality before you actually buy.

FOUR: Stuffed animals.

Again, a disclaimer. I’ve purchased stuffed animals for babies that the kids still love years later. I had a number of precious one in my own childhood. Like most things, stuffed animals in moderation are great.

But though many are purchased, few are chosen. The stuffie that gets picked as a child’s utter favorite companion will be only one of a pure avalanche of plush critters from well-meaning family and friends. And when the kids are, say, 7 and 11, and the time has come to clean out some of the old toys, you have a dilemma.

You’ll find that no one really wants old stuffed animals ... and it really doesn’t feel right to just pitch them. (I’ve seen “Toy Story” too many times.) So, I beg you, make sure you really want to buy that stuffed puppy and that you’re not just picking it as a default present.

There are better things you can buy in the latter case. Check back in next week for my thoughts on that.

+Jill Keppeler doesn’t really miss the baby stage. Much. Follow her on Twitter @JillKeppeler or email her at jillmkeppeler@msn.com.

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I’m a worrier.

I come by it honestly. My dad is a worrier. My grandmother, his mom, was a worrier. Other relatives are worriers. I grew up watching it, and I still can’t help it. I worry.

Now, everyone worries, right? It’s normal. But we sort of take it to extremes. I don’t think there was any medical use of the word “anxiety” when Grandma Morrison was growing up, but that’s what it is. I can worry myself sick. I’ve done it before.

Eventually, you recognize it. You deal with it. Maybe you try therapy, or medication, or other methods. You carry on. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and that’s something I’ve come to recognize over the years.

With all this family history, I knew that there was a good chance that when I had kids, I’d have another generation of worriers on my hands. My older son bucked that trend. (Trend-bucking is something at which he is very talented.) The main thing he worries about, as far as I can tell, is if he can have yet another helping of dinner when I’m trying to cut him off.  (Ridiculous metabolisms: Another thing that runs in my family. Unfortunately, I didn’t get those genes.)

Then there’s the other kid.

He worries. It’s not to the extent that I’m worried (ha) about it yet, but he worries. He tries to take care of people: me, his dad, his brother, his friends. That’s the good part of worrying. I think we could do more with a bit more worrying about other people in this day and age.

But ... when does it become a problem?

While stressing about the weather forecast a few weeks back, I pulled open our living-room curtains to find big, fluffy white flakes floating through the sky to coat our lawn. He peered around me, let out a chortle of pure glee and exclaimed, “Snow! Awesome!”

I let him know that I did not, as a matter of fact, consider this to be awesome. He asked why.
Well, I said, it’s a pain to walk in, and to shovel, and it can be dangerous to drive in it. So, no, Mommy is not a big fan of snow, these days. Then I completely forgot about the exchange.
Last week, when there was finally enough measurable snow on the ground to make a small child happy, we bundled up for me to walk him to school that morning. He sighed as he stepped out into the brisk air.

“Ugh. Snow.”

“I thought you were looking forward to the snow?” I asked him as we set off hand-in-hand for school.
“Well, I was happy that there was snow. But I didn’t think that was right, because you said it can be dangerous, so I’m not happy about snow anymore.”

I felt about two inches tall. I’d taken away all his glee in the season ... a glee that I remember sharing at that age.

“It’s OK to be happy about the snow, buddy. There are a lot of good things about snow. You can have snowball fights, and build snowmen. I bet you’re looking forward to that.”

He perked up. We chatted away all the way to school, him extolling the joys of fun in the snow ... me lying through my teeth about how much I looked forward to it. It was a small price to pay to see that grin.

So, I’m going to try harder to not pass on the worry to the next generation. I may not always succeed, but it’s worth the struggle. I don’t want anxiety to be my son’s everyday companion.

Although I wouldn’t mind if he worried a little more about the state of his room.

+Jill Keppeler is trying not to worry about her kids. Of course. Follow her on Twitter @JillKeppeler or email her at jillmkeppeler@msn.com.

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I am now, officially, a hockey mom.

Or is it a floor hockey mom? I don’t think it matters. My younger son is now playing floor hockey in a small local league, and that makes me a hockey mom, as far as I’m concerned. Maybe there are different of hockey-momness (I’m sure there are), but I’m finally in the ranks. This is a day I’ve seen coming to some extent for just about 12 years now.

I’m pleased, and I think my husband may just as excited as the kid is. This should be fun.

But all the excitement, we have our limits. I was talking to my own parents (who revel in their own new status as hockey grandma and grandpa) and I uttered the following solemn vow: We will not be those parents.

“Those parents?” my mom asked me, amusement in her tone. “Who are those parents?”

Given how much they supported the athletic endeavors of my brother and me when we were kids (swimming for me, a variety of things for him), I hastened to reassure her that “those parents” wasn’t a measure of support or enthusiasm. Not really.

But we’ve all seen them. The ones who don’t seem to realize that these are children out there, or that this is a game. That many coaches are volunteers, and so are many officials. That this isn’t the NHL, but a small local league in which the most important thing, right now, is learning.

As a former sports journalist, my husband has seen and dealt with some stellar (by which I mean, not stellar) examples of the breed. As a former schools reporter, so did I. Never, we promised ourselves. We will never, ever be like that.

We will not yell at the coaches. We will not scream at our child. We will not contradict coaching decisions. If we feel strongly enough about something, we may not register him for the league again, but we will deal with it as mature adults.

I’m all for encouraging my child to do better, to learn more, to play harder. But he’s 7, and this is a game, and he’s still learning the ropes. Do I want him to score? Do I want him to win? Oh, yes. He wants to, too. But right now he’s coming off the floor with his face shining, his hair sweaty and rumpled, and saying “I had so much fun! I want to play again tomorrow!” ... and we’re looking at the 0-6 score and saying, “Great! I’m glad.”

He’s learning to work with a team. He’s learning to listen to a coach. He’s learning the rules and strategy and keeping his commitments. These are all good things. He’s learning to be a good loser. He’ll learn to be a gracious winner. (Eventually.)

It seems like a good league. It seems like a good group. We’re excited. He’s excited. I think this is going to be a good time for all of us.

But this, I promise. We will not be those parents.

+Jill Keppeler is proud to be a hockey mom. And a taekwondo mom. And a track mom. Follow her on Twitter @JillKeppeler or email her at jillmkeppeler@msn.com.

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Happy New Year!

At least, I hope it’s happy. For our family (and from casual observation, a lot of other families out there), 2015 really ... kind of stunk.

There was the loss of a beloved family member. The loss of a long-time job. Stress. Grief. Uncertainty. This sort of thing can mess with the very core of who you are and what you want out of life, and it’s never easy to deal with.

The kids learned hard lessons on how friends can betray you, that life isn’t always fair, and that parents can be sad and angry, too. We reassured them as much as we could, but some of their foundations had been shaken (just like ours) and they knew it.

We found our feet. We carried on. But it’s nice to start a new chapter and close the door on 2015.
And sitting here, writing this, I’m forced to admit that it wasn’t all bad. There’s a great new job. (Far better than the old one, to be honest.) And through it all, we had each other, in our warm, safe house, with plenty of food to eat and no shortage of friends and family members to help us through it all.
I’m thankful beyond belief for them. We’re lucky. There were times we didn’t feel that way, but we are.

I’ve never been one to make New Year’s resolutions, but I’m going to try this year. I resolve this: To try to look on the bright side a little more. To try to be a bit more optimistic. To appreciate what I have. To worry, just maybe, a little bit less.

I asked Jim for his resolution. “I want to call Grandma and Grandpa!” Well, OK. More contact with loved ones is always good.

Then I asked Sam.

“My New Year’s resolution is to make sure I wash my hands after using the bathroom.”

Well. That’s good, but not what I was looking for.

“OK. My New Year’s resolution is to take over the world!”

Uhh ...

“Just kidding. My New Year’s resolution is to make everything better. Instead of all those people who are grumpy and mean. I want to help.”

Now that’s a resolution.

Here’s to 2016. May it be better for all of us.

***

I’m sure I’ll write more about this next week, but I had to confess: I’m about to become a hockey mom. Sam starts a local floor hockey league next weekend.

It was sort of inevitable, in our family. Still, there is some trepidation (on my part, not his). How will he take to team sports? How will I take to team sports? I’ve always sworn I wouldn’t be that parent. And I won’t, I promise, but how tough will the temptation be?

I have a feeling this will be a challenge for all of us. Stay tuned.

+Jill Keppeler hopes your 2016 is awesome. Follow her on Twitter @JillKeppeler or email her at jillmkeppeler@msn.com.

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I hope you and yours had a great Christmas on Friday, if you celebrate such things.

Ours was good, from the moment the boys woke up and remembered what day it was (6:27 a.m., which isn’t bad as such things go) to the moment they staggered back into the house, exhausted, after a long day of festivities and then passed out nearly immediately. There were family members we don’t see very much, an introduction to a new (canine) cousin, lots of good food and far too many presents.

And the certain knowledge, even in the middle of all the fun, that there was someone missing.
There was no attempt at a facsimile of a traditional Polish Christmas Eve meal. (What can I say? My family is mostly Scottish. But I did my best in previous years.) No Christmas tree at the house down the street. No outfits for the boys that might fit them in two or three years. (That was a family joke at this point.) No presents wrapped quite as meticulously as only my mother-in-law could wrap them.
We still have the Christmas present my mother-in-law brought Sam, the earliest of what would have been a plethora of gifts for the beloved grandkids, and it’s doubly precious now. In a few days, we’ll give him that art set and explain what it represents. There are worse ways to deal with grief than art, I figure.

The edges are only starting to get rubbed off the pain. Jimmy has stopped asking to see her; I think he understands, a little, now. Sam is fiercely protective of his father’s feelings, and will only talk about his own when Dad is not around. He admitted as much while taking a stroll on Christmas Day with my mom.

“But at least I still have you,” he told her.

She cried. I cried.

But even through the tears, there was that knowledge this Christmas that you appreciate the time you have, while you have it. The boys got a painful object lesson in that this year. It’s a lesson that we all have to learn at some point in our lives.

So hug your loved ones closer this holiday season. You never know when you’re getting one last Christmas.

Make them all count.

***

For years, we’ve attended the Kids Zone of the New Year’s Eve festivities in the City of Tonawanda, part of the Twin Cities’ ball drop event. This year, we regretfully decided that the boys had finally outgrown the event, which was run by amazing volunteers at the Salem Church.

So it’s time for something new. This year, we’re going to try out First Night Buffalo.

The event runs from 5 to 10 p.m. Dec. 31 at the Buffalo Niagara Convention Center. There are indoor rides, music, characters, shows, even a laser maze. For more information, visit www.firstnightbuffalo.org. Presale tickets are $10.

But we’ll never forget the wonderful people at Salem Church. Thanks for everything.

+Jill Keppeler and the Keppeler family wish you all a happy and healthy 2016. Follow her on Twitter @JillKeppeler or email her at jillmkeppeler@msn.com.

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I’ll do my best to keep this spoiler-free, but I just saw “Star Wars: The Force Awakens.”

You have been warned.

I walked into a movie theater today, hand in hand with my younger son, to watch a Star Wars movie. I can’t believe I just typed that. I gushed about my feelings on that matter last week, so I won’t go on for long, but suffice to say that I had tears in my eyes when the familiar John Williams fanfare played and the text started to scroll across the screen.

Plenty of people have reviewed the movie. I tell you that I loved it (except for one certain part that I nevertheless saw coming), and I think J.J. Abrams did his job well. As a parent, here’s what I can offer you that might be a little more unique.

Should you take your kids to see “The Force Awakens?”

If they’re already huge fans, they’ve probably already done so. If you’re on the fence, here’s what we thought.

Timid kids may not like this movie. Sam isn’t fazed by much (“Jurassic World” is his current favorite, and he’s seen all the prior Star Wars movies multiple times), but there were two times, once near the beginning and once near the end, where he hid his eyes for a few minutes. And there is torture here, and pain, and it’s not quite as bloodless as the similar tactics used by Darth Vader in the earlier films. People get hurt. People die.

I know many fans are avoiding spoilers like the plague right now, but if you’re uncertain about taking a child to the movie, my opinion is that you owe it to yourself and your kid to go look for reputable spoilers before making a decision. There was one notable plot point that we sat down to talk to Sam about before we entered the theater. He did better with it knowing that it was coming.

Some of the imagery used for the bad guys evokes Nazi Germany even more than the original movies did. That might lead to some questions. (Which might not be a bad thing as a springboard for a discussion, actually.)

There are some definite moral quandaries, and characters on both sides of the spectrum handle them in different ways. If you have a kid who chews on things like that (I do), keep that in mind. You’re probably going to have to talk about some things.

Now, all that being said, it’s a really good movie. There’s a lot of good action, and some familiar and favorite characters make a return. Sam, who never sits still, barely twitched for the entire two-plus hours. There are space battles, and lightsaber fights, and more humor that I thought would be present. And if your kids have seen the originals multiple times like mine, there are a lot of references they might catch.

Don’t take my word for it. From Sam:

“I loved the lightsaber fight between (censored) and (censored). I loved the music. (Jill’s note: We’ve raised this kid on John Williams.) I thought (a certain moment) was really funny, although (another moment) was really sad. And I really liked BB-8!

“Mom, do you think we could get a BB-8 for Christmas?”

Uh oh.

***

From my household to yours, Merry Christmas!

+Jill Keppeler may be watching “The Force Awakens” again as you read this. Follow her on Twitter @JillKeppeler or email her at jillmkeppeler@msn.com.

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By the time you read the next incarnation of this column, I’ll have watched a Star Wars movie.

A new Star Wars movie.

In the theater.

With my son.

I never thought I’d be able to type that.

As a longtime fan of George Lucas’ most famous creation, this will be a day long anticipated. I won’t say I don’t have some trepidation ... but I remain cautiously optimistic. For Sam, if not for myself.

We’re steeped in Star Wars, here. There’s a Millenium Falcon on our Christmas tree. (And a Death Star. And an X-Wing. And ... well, you get the picture.) The soundtracks are often heard in our home. (John Williams is a genius. If nothing else about the new movie is good, at least he did the music.) At any given moment, a pitched lightsaber battle may be taking place in the living room. (Pool noodle lightsabers: One of my better Pinterest finds.)

For half of the Halloweens we’ve celebrated with the boys, at least one costume has been Star Wars-related. Jim thought “The Imperial March” was a lullaby when he was a baby. We attend Star Wars Night at Coca-Cola Field every year. We have art, we have toys, we have clothing, we have kitchen supplies. (Really.)

Suffice to say that we’re two grown fans who are raising two young fans. This weekend ... it’s big. Really big.

My boys like the much-maligned prequels. They weren’t too keen on Jar Jar (although they didn’t hate him like most ... OK, all ... of the adults I know), but they loved the pod racing, the battle scenes, some of the characters. Of course, we’ve all watched the original trilogy countless times.

I don’t think Sam has quite grasped the fact yet that this is new. This is not one he’s seen a hundred times before. This is not one mom and dad watched a hundred times before he was even born. (Jim will get a chance to go a few weeks later, after we’ve vetted the movie and the chaos has calmed down.)

All new. Unfolding in front of his eyes. Maybe it makes me a geek (like the rest of this column didn’t!), but that very idea takes my breath away.

In its own way, Star Wars is modern myth. The hero’s journey, a story of good and evil, darkness and light. As human beings, we’ve told each other these stories for millennia down the line. This is the incarnation of that story for our time.

It’s led to conversations about fear and loss (“Why did Anakin go to the Dark Side, Mom?”), about friendship and honor. (“I think Han Solo came back because he knew he had to help.”) It’s been part of our lives. And for that, I’m grateful.

On Dec. 19, I will walk into a movie theater with my son. And we’ll watch a new Star Wars movie ... together.

And that’s priceless.

May the Force be with you, always.

+Jill Keppeler really, really hopes J.J. Abrams got it right. Follow her on Twitter @JillKeppeler or email her at jillmkeppeler@msn.com.

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The tree is up. The stockings are hung. The wish lists have been written. The cookies ... well, I’ll get to them eventually. (Christmas cookie-baking is extensive at our house.)

The tree skirt was made by my high school best friend. The ornaments are uniquely “Keppeler,” from quirky sci-fi references to my Celtic Santa to the boys’ school crafts and mementoes of the various vacations we’ve taken. The Nativity set has been in my husband’s family for years. Our home at Christmas is a constant reminder of family and our life together, and it makes me happy.

Some traditions are new. For example, now we watch the Phineas & Ferb Christmas vacation episode every year in addition to Rudolph and the Grinch -- the original with Boris Karloff, please, not that stupid movie. And after one memorable snowbound Christmas Eve, scampi is now a staple meal on that day.

Late on the evening of Nov. 30, I found myself digging through a closet in search of one of my own oldest Christmas traditions ... hence, once of the boys’ oldest traditions as well.

The advent calendar – in the form of a felt tree on a burlap background, with handmade ornaments that snap onto its green surface -- has seen better days. The Rudolph ornament is missing an eye. The angel’s wings are a little bent. I suppose that’s not surprising, because it’s more than three decades old. My aunt bought it for me at a church craft fair when I was only 4, and for years, it’s been a part of my Christmases.

This year, I hung it at its place on the dining room wall, and the 7-year-old ran over to help me remove the ornaments from the tree and replace them in the pockets where they’d wait until their assigned day. He unsnapped the little gingerbread man, and hesitated.

“Mom? Do they go in any order?”

Wise child. He knows me well.

Of course, they do. Throughout my childhood, I had a very precise order for the ornaments, based on which ones I thought were more “Christmas-y” than others and which ones I liked the best. The butterfly? Near the beginning of the month. The ragdoll was near the middle. The gingerbread man and Rudolph were near the end, and Santa, of course, was on Christmas Eve.

I could probably still sort them from memory. I opened my mouth to tell him so. And then I closed it.
“They go in whatever order you want. It’s yours – and your brother’s -- now.”

He beamed. And, secure in the knowledge that his brother really didn’t care what order the ornaments were in, he happily started sorting them by some internal standard that only he understood. My hands twitched to “correct” them. I put them behind my back.

Sometimes, things get even better when you pass them on.

“Mom? Can I put them on the tree in any order, too?”

Well, no, you start at the bottom left and work your way right and then ...

Sigh.

“That’s up to you, too.”

Hope your holiday season is as full of traditions, old and new, as ours is.

Six days into December, +Jill Keppeler still has to remind herself to keep her hands off the calendar. Follow her on Twitter @JillKeppeler or email her at jillmkeppeler@msn.com.

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Parenthood is full of challenges. We met a big one this month.

Telling my younger son that his beloved paternal grandmother had died was one of the toughest things I’ve ever had to do. There were tears, and tough questions, and days of raw emotions that aren’t going to go away any time soon.

Dealing with requests from my older son to “go see grandma” when he just doesn’t get it is even worse. Telling him that grandma isn’t there now just gets: “Go see grandma next week!” She’s always been there for him. How could this change? He does not understand.

I spent days going through photos for a slideshow at the wake. Eighty-some years’ worth of meticulously labeled photographs, showing a life well-lived. A happy childhood and youth, world travel as a young woman, marriage and family and happiness and loss. Here’s a photo with the first grandchild, my oldest niece. There are tears in her eyes. Here’s a photo of her cradling Jim in the NICU. Here she is, beaming, with small, cranky Sam.

There are Christmas photos, Mother’s Day photos, photos for no particular reason. Here she is reading to Jim ... he grows from a tiny toddler to a gangling pre-teen who barely fits on her lap. Here she is learning how to play MarioKart with Sam. (She was always up for a challenge.)

I am full of words. I have no words for this.

But this holiday season, hug your family members. Remember that life is short ... even when it’s long. And that none of us is promised the next breath we take. Things can change quickly. The most valuable thing of all is time, and the saddest thing is regret.

Remember that, this Christmas.

**

Our holiday traditions have changed year to year as the boys get older, but there’s one we maintain every Christmas season.

The Herschell Carrrousel Factory Museum in North Tonawanda will host its Santa on the Carrousel event from noon to 3 p.m. the next three Saturdays at the museum at 180 Thompson St. The cost is $6 per person. There are crafts and games and snacks, and Santa Claus himself rides the carrousel while listening to children’s Christmas requests. Each day also has a special show or performance at 1 p.m.
Those who wish to have lunch with Santa can opt for $10 tickets that include an 11 a.m. to noon meal and admission to the afternoon festivities. Registration and prepayment is required for lunch with Santa. Visit carrouselmuseum.org for more information.

+Jill Keppeler wants you to go hug your parents, if you can. Follow her on Twitter @JillKeppeler or email her at jillmkeppeler@msn.com.

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To all the single parents out there: I don’t know how you do it.

I really don’t. And you have my respect.

Recently, my husband and younger son had an event out of town to attend. My older son and I stayed home. This is the first time Jim and I spent a weekend alone together since March 2005. (When my husband covered the Niagara Falls High School boys basketball team’s state championship game in Glens Falls, but that’s another story.)

Now, Jim is a bit younger than his years, but how hard could it be? I thought. Maybe he’s not quite so portable any more, but it’ll be cool. We’ll see a movie. We’ll go Christmas shopping. We’ll get the groceries. It’ll be fun.

And it was. It was also exhausting.

First thing: I constantly wished I had five more hands. Maybe more. Juggling an armload of items at the store (should have grabbed that cart) and snagging/dragging a boy who’s decided he wants to introduce himself to everyone in the building is ... difficult. Especially when he announces a potty emergency when you’re both at the far corner of the store. And especially when he decides Grandma might just like that extremely fragile-looking glass vase and he needs to inspect it himself.

Second thing: Going Christmas shopping with a young boy is not fun and relaxing. Going Christmas shopping with a young boy is a mix of saying things like “No, I don’t think Grandma wants a Hello Kitty coloring pad” and “That’s a dog sweater; your brother can’t wear it” and “Oh, come ON. You just picked that at random to get this over with!”

Third thing: No matter how many fun things you have planned and no matter how many treats you arrange for, it’s never quite good enough.

In our case, I was asked when Daddy was coming home about 50 times over the course of 30 hours. Daddy got the big grin when he walked in the door. So much for the one who arranged for the movie date, dealt with his upset stomach and cooked his favorite meal. (Yes, I’m pouting.)

Fourth thing: The hardest part was after I tucked Jim into bed. The house was so quiet. Normally, this is a good thing. But there was no one there this time to vent to, to talk to about the day or with whom to hash over the plans for the next.

Eventually, I just had to read until I fell asleep. Never a bad thing, but I’m just not used to it these days.

We’re busy people, in this household. Sometimes we just don’t see each other all that much. But it’s something just to know the other person is there. I had a long, wearying weekend ... but I knew my partner in parenthood would be back at the end of it to pick up the other part of the load again.

It’s all too easy to take for granted ... and it’s something to keep in mind.

And single parents: I salute you.

I don’t know how you do it.

+Jill Keppeler  is praying for Paris. And Beirut. Follow her on Twitter @JillKeppeler or email her at jillmkeppeler@msn.com.

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Every day, I walk my younger son to school.

It’s part of the good fortunate of living a few blocks from the local elementary school, and one of the reasons we bought a house where we did. It isn’t quite so pleasant once the colder weather picks up, of course, but for now, we stroll down the sidewalk side by side, talking about his day, or mine, or Minecraft, or whatever else he’s been pondering for the moment.

As we draw closer to the front door of the school, into the thicker traffic of morning arrivals, we stop. He gives me a big hug. I tell him I love him, and to have a good day. We share a fist bump. And he runs off without a backward glance, joining the stream of small humanity rushing its way toward its day.

But, always, he stops right before he gets to the door.  He turns back. And he yells:
“I love you, Mom!”

And then he’s gone. I’ll see him that evening when I arrive home from work, when he’ll pepper me with commentary about his day while I scramble to get dinner ready or drive him and his brother to activities and errands. In the meantime, he’s left me with those four words.

Those four valuable, precious words.

I know that this will not last forever. Already, I see his friends and classmates giving him that judgmental little glance kids can do so well. He does not care much, at the moment, or even notice, but all too soon, I fear, he will.

He’ll stop yelling those words from the front steps. He won’t want the hug, or even the fist bump. He’ll request that I stop walking by his side a block away from the school, or that I allow to him to walk the entire way by himself. It’s the way of things. I know it’s coming.

(Or maybe I’m wrong. Jim, at the ripe old age of 11, still has no compunctions about saying “I love you, Mom!” Jim does not care what other kids his age are thinking. Jim, really, does not care what anyone is thinking. Many days, I think he has the right idea. As much of a challenge as it can be, there are many blessings involved with having a child with special needs, as well.)

But this happens with many kids. If you’re lucky, they come out the far side of that “I don’t want to acknowledge I have parents in front of my friends” stage ... hopefully in time for college. It’s just part of the process.

I know that. I’m prepared for it. My kids know I love them. I know they love me. A simple morning ritual makes no different to that basic truth.

But for now, I’ll listen every day for those four little words.

**

We’re all about dinosaurs in the Keppeler household right now. Since we allowed Sam to want “Jurassic Park” and its sequels, they’ve been a major topic of conversation. We have dinosaur books. We have dinosaur video games. We have stuffed dinosaurs who must go everywhere with us.
So I was pleased to see the Buffalo Museum of Science’s next special event, the appropriately named Dino Daze.

The event, which will take place from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. Nov. 14 at the museum, will feature the unveiling of the newly restored allosaurus, costumed dinosaur greeters (with photo opportunities!), a chance to become a paleontologist for the day, a giant dig pit, trivia contests and more. For more information, visit www.sciencebuff.org.

+Jill Keppeler  is feeling lucky today. Follow her on Twitter @JillKeppeler or email her at jillmkeppeler@msn.com.

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What makes a birthday celebration?

Some people like a multi-day extravaganza with parties, food and everyone they know. Others prefer no one acknowledge it at all. Still others like a quiet party with friends and family.

With kids, it’s even more complicated. Invite the whole class? Party at home or at a local venue? Cake? Cupcakes?

We’re long past throwing big whole-class parties here. (A major peeve of mine? People who don’t respond to RSVP requests. You know who you are.) Huge family parties are also a no-go; it’s just too difficult to find a time and a place where the whole extended clan(s) can meet.

A small family party at the house sounds doable, right? Some pizza, some snacks, a small cake? No problem.

But ... we still need a menu, right? Pizza does not a party make. And a few bowls of chips just don’t cut it. There should be, at least, some appetizers to whet appetites.

So, the menu’s planned. Off to the grocery store. Of course, paper plates and plastic utensils will make things much easier. Tack those on. I’m out of a few cake decorating supplies. Add on a trip to that shop.

A few things may need to be prepped ahead of time. No problem. I don’t own enough cake pans in the needed size to bake all the cake layers at once. Fine, rotate them ... even if it means staying up to midnight the night before the party.

But ... a busy family, even if they try keep up with daily housekeeping chores, doesn’t usually have time to do the kind of in-depth scrubbing you might want to do right before hosting family members you haven’t seen in a while. And all of a sudden, it’s all too easy to notice those dust bunnies you overlooked every other day of the week.

So let’s vacuum, sweep, clean the windows, dust ... everything ... and scrub the kitchen.

The day of the party, the cake needs to be decorated. Fortunately, this child wants a simple cake (the other one tries to stump me with elaborate requests). But he wants sprinkles. Lots of sprinkles. And sprinkles ... are hard to control at times. Time to sweep the floor again.

Oh, crap. It’s an hour before the guests arrive. Are the kids dressed? Quick, someone make sure Jim doesn’t open the door in his underwear. Who dumped the toy box after we just picked everything up?
Wait. Did Sam clean his room?

Did we remember to get birthday candles?

Did I shower yet?

By the time people started arriving at our house Saturday, I was utterly beat. I wanted to pour a glass of wine (hey, it’s 5 o’clock somewhere) and hide in the spare room, maybe take a nap.

I didn’t. I smiled and tried to be a gracious hostess. I oversaw the consuming of pizza, the opening of the presents and the cutting of the cake.

And as I watched my eldest son bounce around with frosting in his hair and a huge grin spread from one side of his face to the other, I had no doubts.

It was all worth it.

**

I always sort of thought I’d be a hockey mom.

It hasn’t happened so far. I’m a track mom, and a taekwondo mom, and that’s OK. That’s awesome, in fact.

But my family is full of hockey fans, so when I heard about USA Hockey’s Try Hockey For Free Day this week, I immediately marked it on the calendar. The event, which takes place Saturday at locations throughout the United States, encourages kids ages 4 to 9 to visit local rinks to try out youth hockey. The participating organizations will have limited equipment available for use.

To find a location near you, visit www.tryhockeyforfree.com. One of the listed sites is Cornerstone CFCU Arena where the event is listed as starting at 9 a.m.

Maybe we’ll see you on the ice.

+Jill Keppeler is exhausted after hosting a birthday party ... and then going out trick-or-treating with the kids. Fortunately, there’s Halloween candy. (And she’s already stolen all the Almond Joys.) Follow her on Twitter @JillKeppeler or email her at jillmkeppeler@msn.com.

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I love Halloween.

I love haunted houses. I love creative costumes. I love taking the kids to Halloween parties and trick-or-treating and all the seasonal events, spooky and not so spooky. I love seeing houses all bedecked in orange and purple lights with Halloween decorations in the yard.

There’s just one little problem with this.

I stink at just about all of it.

This year, again, the boys will wear store-bought costumes for their Halloween parties and trick-or-treating. I can’t help but feel just a little bit wanting in the mommy departure.

Friends share photos of their wonderfully hand-crafted, creative costumes -- I just make sure to remove the tags.

But it’s not just the sewing skills (I can mend a tear and sew on a button; that’s about it), it’s the creativity. So you threw a white button-down shirt over your kid’s Superman T-shirt and handed him some glasses and a reporter’s notebook for an impromptu Clark Kent? Awesome, but it never would have occurred to me. (You can bet I’ll borrow the idea, though.) Decorated an inflatable pool toy so your kid could be a giant doughnut? Don’t look at me.

The same goes with the decorations. You carved a pumpkin to look like the Death Star? Awesome. Turned chicken wire into ghostly dancers on your front lawn? Cool. Made gigantic spider webs from garbage bags? Neat.

We have pumpkins on our front steps. Maybe they’ll eventually be jack o’lanterns. Maybe.

And then there are Halloween parties, which I love. There are so many awesome ideas out there for food. Glow-in-the-dark punch? Elaborate candy apples? Hot dogs done up to look like mummies? OK, then.

With a hobby background in cake- and cookie-decorating, I’ve actually managed to pull some of these off. (The broken glass cupcakes were particularly awesome.) But the party itself? Just never seems to happens.

It’s enough to make any mom feel inadequate. I distinctly remember my own mom constructing an elaborate paper mache Raggedy Anne head for me one year. I just haunt clearance sales.

But I also remember the years I talked her into just letting me get one of those (now old-fashioned) costumes that came in a box at the department store, the ones with the vinyl jumpsuit and the plastic mask with elastic ‘round the back. (Remember those things, stacked up to the ceiling in the store, and hunting through them to find your favorite character? I loved them. I bet many children of the ’70s and’80s feel the same.) And I don’t feel the lack of Halloween memories from the times I wore a storebought costume as a child, or the lack of elaborate Halloween decorations or fancy foods.

So I guess I should let it go.

To those of you who make Halloween costumes for your kids: More power to you. You’re awesome. I’ll applaud you from the sidewalk, as my kids join yours on the race to the next front door and fistful of candy.

Happy Halloween.

***

As a Halloween bonus, here’s my recipe for sugar “glass.” You can break it into shards for use as garnish for your favorite cupcake recipe (I suggest red velvet) and drizzle with corn syrup/cornstarch “blood.”

Sugar glass

Ingredients:

• 1 cup corn syrup
• 2 cups water
• 3 ½ cups sugar
• ¼ teaspoon cream of tartar

Combine all ingredients in a saucepan (preferably a reasonably heavy one). Bring the mixture to a boil and cook it, stirring constantly, until the temperature reaches 300 degrees. (Use a candy thermometer.) Pour it immediately onto a baking sheet and cool until it’s completely hardened.

Make sugar you take the mixture off the heat as soon as it hits the right temperature, or it might start to darken and you won’t have clear “glass.”

Enjoy!

+Jill Keppeler  still loves Halloween, even though she feels inadequate at it. Follow her on Twitter @JillKeppeler or email her at jillmkeppeler@msn.com.

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It’s one of those weeks when my attention seems to be fractured into a million different pieces. So that’s the kind of column you’re getting.

**

There is snow in the forecast this weekend.

Snow. I just typed that and stared at it in horror. After a lifetime spent in Western New York, you’d think I’d be a little more at peace with the notion that cold weather starts early here and snow is not unusual in October. We survived the 2006 October storm (and eight days without power) with a not-quite-2-year-old. I grew up in Cattaraugus County knowing that Halloween costumes had to be capable of co-existing with a snowsuit.

Still. There’s a shudder that runs down my spine when I see that word. But not so much because I hate the cold (I do), but because it’s a precursor to winter – and long days, weeks and months stuck in the house with two active young boys.

We try to get out. We really do. But while one kid likes to sled and build snowmen from time to time, the other hates cold enough to want no part of it. And they’re usually a package deal.

Even with the occasional excursion to some sort of indoor play place, that leaves us in the house a lot. There are toys, and games, and all the usual distractions, but at some point, it gets to be a bit too much.

And then they are, literally, bouncing off the walls.

Yes, that’s the correct use of the word “literally.” I have watched epic wrestling matches in which the living room wall was used as a springboard. And gymnastics in which the ceiling comes into play. And as mentioned a few weeks back, I have uttered the immortal words, “Why did you try to hurtle your brother?”

So if I’m disgusted with the idea of snow this weekend, I have good reason to be. Here’s hoping this winter isn’t as long or as brutal as last year’s.

**

And on that note, your Samism of the week:

We were talking about the snow in the forecast and the idea of a white-out – not being able to see because of so much snow in the air -- came up.

Sam: “I know what a black-out is.”

Me: “Oh? What is it?”

Sam: “It’s when your air conditioners don’t work.”

**

The boys and I visited a local pet store not long ago, stopping in on our way from one place to another just because they both love animals. As so many stores do now, only very small pets were for sale, but there was a section for cats up for adoption through a local rescue organization.

There were about a dozen there. We scratched ears for those who were interested, read the stories on their information cards and wished that my husband weren’t so darned allergic. Sam in particular adores cats.

On the end was Tom.

Tom was a black cat, considerably beat up from a life on the streets, his ears chewed and his face scarred. He crouched in his cage quietly, eyes closed. Sam hunkered down next to him and, when there was no fear or anger, offered his fingers for sniffing. That was all the reaction he got.

But for all the lovely adoptable cats in that room, Tom is all he can talk about.

“He had a rough life, didn’t he, Mom?”

“Do you think he has a home now, Mom? Do you think he’s still there?”

“Is there anything we can do to help, Mom?”

We put some money in the donation jar when we left, but my boy still wonders what will become of Tom. He wonders about all of them. He cares.

If anyone has any suggestions for ways a soft-hearted 7-year-old (with his mom) can help out with the never-ending role of animal rescue in the area, please let me know. Most organizations require volunteers to be much older, but perhaps there is something he can do.

+Jill Keppeler  is proud to be raising a “softy.” Follow her on Twitter @JillKeppeler or email her at jillmkeppeler@msn.com.

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Much to my annoyance, I missed Banned Books Week (it ended Oct. 3), but given that ignorance and small minds aren’t confined to one week a year, I figure this column is just as applicable today.

I started thinking about the subject recently when my younger son, an increasingly avid reader, was allowed to pick out a new book at a local store. To my surprise, he didn’t go for something Minecraft, or something about dinosaurs, or even one of the many Star Wars volumes now making a play for his attention. He made a beeline for the latest adventures of everyone’s hero ...

Captain Underpants.

As we drove home and I listened to him chortle in the back seat, his nose buried in his new copy of “Captain Underpants and the Attack of the Talking Toilets,” I recalled seeing the Dav Pilkey books mentioned on a past list of challenged or banned books, and mentioned this fact to my husband.

“Are you kidding me?” he asked.

I was pretty sure, actually, but I decided to look it up. And there it was: On the American Library Association’s list of top 10 challenged books in 2013 and 2012 (it was No. 1 both years), 2005, 2004 and 2002. Reasons given were: offensive language, unsuited for age group, violence and anti-family content.

Wow. I’m not up for banning books at any time, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like to know what my kids are reading. I thought I was pretty familiar with the good ol’ captain, but was I? I snitched the book and took a peek.

Aside from wanting to get out the old red pen for the portions ostensibly written by our protagonists, George and Harold, I saw no problems.

Sure, they don’t have the greatest respect for their principal (who frankly doesn’t really deserve it) and they nearly destroyed the planet (accidentally) with an army of evil toilets when trying to win an Invention Convention award, but George and Harold are really decent, creative kids. They save the day in the end ... with the help of Captain Underpants. (And if you don’t know his secret identity, I’m not telling you.)

There is a section with the warning “The following chapter contains intense scenes showing a man in his underwear battling a giant toilet. Please do not try this at home." But given that it involves a giant toilet, I’m not giving that “violence” warning much credit for a basis in reality.

No offensive language that I saw. Nothing anti-family. Unsuited for age group? Are you kidding me?
Do these people know how hysterical underpants and toilets are to 7-year-old boys?

And there we have the (or one of the many) problems inherent with people who want to ban books – what might offend you doesn’t necessarily offend me.

And even if you’re offended? You don’t have the right to tell everyone else they should be offended, too.

Reader that I am, I have books I’m not fond of, books that I think glorify abusive relationships as romantic and encourage young women to act stupid and helpless. (I won’t go there now.) Do I want to ban them? Nope. It’s not for me to tell someone else they can’t enjoy something. Not me. Not my call. I can tell you what I think. You don’t have to think the same.

On a whim, I looked up other banned or challenged books. Among them: “Winnie-the-Pooh” by A.A. Milne, which means that Jim has read a challenged book, too, or at least had one read to him. (Some people apparently find talking animals an insult to god. Pretty petty god ...)

So we have a household full of banned-book readers.

I couldn’t be prouder.

Visit bannedbooksweek.org or www.ala.org/advocacy/banned.

***

One of my family’s favorite Halloween events will take place from 6 to 8 p.m. Saturday with the Haunted Harbor at Gateway Harbor in North Tonawanda and the City of Tonawanda.

Kids can trick or treat at boats on both sides and a haunted house will be located at Young Street in the City of Tonawanda. It’s a blast to see all the boats decorated for the event, and many of the boaters tend to have awesome costumes, too. It’s free!

For more information, visit the Gateway Harbor Facebook page.

Jill Keppeler reads banned books, and allows (even encourages) her kids to do the same. She’s damned proud of that. Follow her on Twitter @JillKeppeler or email her at jillmkeppeler@msn.com.

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Catch up quick

with East Niagara Radio news podcasts. 

“Did you put syrup on the dog?”

I was browsing online at some point within the past week or so when I came across a story about an Iowa man, a father of five boys, who collected a bunch of things he’s said to his kids over his time as a dad and made them into a children’s book. (If you’re interested, it’s called “Things I’ve Said to My Children,” by Nathan Ripperger.)

Any parent can probably relate, and reading some of the examples — like the above canine-related comment — made me laugh at out in sympathy and understanding. I’ve been there. You have to laugh or sometimes you’ll want to cry.

So, from memory with some help from Facebook, here’s “Things I’ve Said to My Children,” the Keppeler edition.

• “Where are your pants?” (This one gets said a little too often. I am, apparently, raising streakers.)
• “You do not need musical accompaniment in the bathroom.” (Presented without comment.)
• “How did the rooster get to the top of the curtain?” (It was stuffed, I swear. I never did get an answer, though. I think it’s still there ...)
• “Why did you try to vault your brother?” (I still wonder about this. I believe the answer, after all the crying and the first aid were over, was “Because he was there.”)
• “Why is there mustard in your hair?” (Sub in the food-ish substance of your choice.)
• “Land your X-wing and go get ready for school.” (I don’t recall if this referred to a video game or an action figure, but either is a possibility.)
• “Where are your pants? Again.” (Seriously, why is this so difficult?)
• “Don’t hit your brother with the lightsaber!” (This one has also been used multiple times.)
• “M&Ms are not breakfast. No, not even the peanut ones.” (We agree to disagree about this. Fruit snacks are also not breakfast.)
•  “It’s not too late to call Santa’s cell phone!” (On Christmas Eve. I’m not the parent who said it, though.)
• “Raw pork chops are NOT a good dinner!” (Uttered immediately after “I don’t care if it works fine in Minecraft!”)

Want to share your own? Email me and I’ll try to use them in a future column.

**

Now that it’s autumn, it’s time for one of our favorite family traditions.

I grew up visiting Pumpkinville in Great Valley, and now, I try to make it there with the boys at least once a year. It’s nestled in the middle of the Cattaraugus County hills, which are probably gorgeous and multi-colored right now, and admission is free.

There’s a pumpkin patch and cider mill, activities such as a petting zoo and bounce area, corn maze and hayride (and more) and lots of good stuff to eat. (I have to get a pumpkin chocolate-chip muffin every year.) The small haunted barn is much the way I remember it from childhood, although Perky the Talking Pumpkin is now a plastic gourd. (Instead of a real one containing what was probably a tape recorder.)

Niagara County is home to many awesome places to go this time of year, as well, and I encourage you to support them. But if you’d like a road trip, check Pumpkinville out.

For more information, visit www.pumpkinville.com.

+Jill Keppeler will remember a dozen more funny things she’s said to her children the second after she sends in this column. Follow her on Twitter @JillKeppeler or email her at jillmkeppeler@msn.com.

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