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 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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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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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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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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It’s like there’s someone else living in our house lately.

My younger son invokes him constantly. “Mr. Paul said this” or “Mr. Paul said that” … all delivered with an air of seriousness that suggests that Mr. Paul knows everything.

Mr. Paul said this is the best way to build a house.

Mr. Paul said this vehicle is fastest.

Mr. Paul knows how to care for all the animals.

Mr. Paul said this is the best way to defeat monsters.

It might be extremely annoying if Mr. Paul’s authority wasn’t completely limited to the world of video games … especially Sam’s beloved Minecraft. And while Sam hangs on his every word with the devotion of the true fan, the relationship only goes one way … through the TV scene, via YouTube.

We’ve discovered the wide world of Internet videos here, particularly those devoted to the aforementioned Minecraft. It started as a way to educate both Sam and I on what we were supposed to do in this strange blocky world full of exploding green monsters and giant spiders. (I taught myself to play Minecraft before handing it over to him, so I could be sure I had an idea what he was getting into. Perhaps a mistake, because I got a bit hooked, too.)

As he’s not allowed to watch anything online that one or both of his parents doesn’t vet and approve, that meant some time spent on my part slogging online. There is a lot of Minecraft on the Internet … and lots of it is either not kid-friendly, utterly unhelpful for the level I needed, or both.

Imagine my glee to find a series dubbed “Survive & Thrive” that was just what we needed.

We watched our way through it. It grew, for Sam, as a way to see what more advanced practitioners of the game could do with it, and feats of derring-do he wasn’t yet capable of. He watched and rewatched them. He started calling the creator of all these videos “Mr. Paul,” just like he refers to family friends. He watched all the different incarnations. (The one where Mr. Paul played Minecraft with his family was a huge hit. “Mom, can we do that?”) Then he branched out.

“Mom, can I see what Mr. Paul says about ‘Lego Worlds?’” “ ‘Mom, Mr. Paul played ‘Jurassic World!’ Can I watch it?”

I’m learning this about being a parent in the digital age: It’s surreal when your children don’t fixate on the people you remember as being larger-than-life “heroes” when you were little (such as actors, musicians, athletes or, in my case, authors), but on otherwise normal human beings with the simple abilities to record video and a gift for holding an audience.

It’s a bit disconcerting, really. But it’s not a bad thing. Sam gets that Mr. Paul has a family, has a job just like Mom and Dad, has a life beyond those videos he loves so much. He likes that. He wants to do it himself, someday. He sees no reason why he can’t. And from there … well, who knows where it will go?

“Mom? How do you make video games? How do you write movies? Could I do that?”

So, Mr. Paul, if you ever see this, through the oh-so-strange conduit that is the Internet today: Thank you. You have a fan in Western New York. He eagerly awaits more Minecraft videos, he knows all your “in” jokes (spy chickens!) and he thinks you’re awesome.

And as his mom, so do I.

+Jill Keppeler hopes +Paul Soares Jr sees this … as a virtual fan letter from one hero-worshipping, Minecraft-loving 7-year-old in Western New York who plays video games with his mom. Follow her on Twitter @JillKeppeler or email her at jillmkeppeler@msn.com.

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In case you’ve been hiding under a rock lately, Target stores recently announced that they would do away with “gendered” labeling in their store aisles.

This includes toys (and bedding), but not clothes. Basically, things will just be labeled “toys.” Boys will not be steered specifically to the land of superheroes and trucks and girls will not be steered specifically to the land of dolls and miniature kitchenware.

Yay, Target.

Of course, as with all things, amidst the welling of approval from some people, there was an immediate backlash from others. Target is trying to make their boys into sissy girls who play with glittery things! Target is trying to make their girls into mannish lesbians who like cars! (I so wish I was making this up.)

And how will they know (even some of the less extreme commenters cry) what to buy their children?

Oh dear. However will they manage?

Ladies and gentlemen, you buy your children what they like.

Look, as is fairly obvious from this column, I have two boys.

Boys physically. Boys, insomuch as they tell me at this age, mentally. We have a house full of LEGOs and superheroes and Matchbox cars and firetrucks and Star Wars and Minecraft and all the things that society tells boys they should like. Their interests now just happen to match up with what society tries to tell them they should like. They’re fortunate, that way.

But a few years ago, we bought them a toy kitchen set for Christmas. Both of them love to help me cook and bake. At least a few people I know were amused by this. "Isn’t that for girls," they asked.

No. It’s for boys. Because there are two boys who wanted it and who are playing with it. Your point is?

When I was pregnant with Sam, Jim’s preschool program steered him to dolls for a while. He learned how to treat a baby carefully, how they’re held, etc. Jim was marvelous with Sam when he was an infant, and I have an idea that was a huge reason why. He can still pick up a baby doll and show how to cradle it gently.
We didn’t buy him one ourselves (I wish I’d thought of it), but if we had, all the signage and the packaging and society itself would tell us we were buying him a “girl toy.” We would not be fazed by that. Plenty of people would. And isn’t that a tragedy? Many boys grow up to be fathers, after all.

I can’t quite get away from the feeling that there’s some ingrained sexism at play, too. Girls playing with trucks and superheroes are at least grudgingly accepted. (Although they’re labeled tomboys.) Boys playing with dolls? Much less accepted. As if “girl things” are lesser and weak and foolish. (For that matter, sometimes girls who play with dolls get labeled that way, too, which is equally silly. Play with what you like, kids.)

Personally, I was the sort of girl who didn’t care for stereotypically “girl toys.” I liked Barbie somewhat because I liked her cool car. As a grown up, a woman, a wife and mother, I love LEGOs and comic books and I play video games with my younger son.

And I love to cook and bake and scrapbook and do those stereotypically “girly” things, too. (And glitter? Bring on the sparklies!)

These stereotypes so many people insist on? They’re stupid. They’re lazy parenting. And they’re limiting our children.

No one’s telling your girls they must like superheroes. Only that they can. No one’s telling my boys that they must like dolls, or kitchen sets. Only that they can. And vice versa.

And there’s nothing at all wrong with that. There’s plenty that’s right.

Jill Keppeler loves the fake Target account that was trolling the haters. (Look it up.) Follow her on Twitter @JillKeppeler or email her at jillmkeppeler@msn.com.

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