I’m a Cub fan (they are the best team in baseball, but I was born a Die-Hard). And I used to say that the only thing worse than a Sox fan is someone who won’t commit to either team. But to tell the truth I am pretty hard pressed to find a Sox fan that I like. I’m not saying that Cub fans aren’t guilty of their share of pokes and jabs at the South Siders, but overall the Cubbies and their fans are classy. I’ve been thinking about this since Ozzie Guillen’s rant in May, when he whined about how the Cubs are beloved regardless of their record (among other things). But the other day, I overheard someone at the kids’ school gush over a little girl in a Sox jersey, telling her how pretty she looked all dolled up in black. The troublesome part is the girl was standing in a sea of Cubs shirts, and the girl standing next to her clearly did not understand why she wasn’t pretty too. It’s one thing to have team pride and loyalty. It’s quite another to put down a child. I used to think that kids naturally wanted to compete with each other, but it’s sickening that it’s the parents who teach them to say “my team is better than yours.”

Jake was in preschool when he had his first encounter with a Sox fan. “Mama, are the Cubs my team?” Yes, baby, they are.  “But K- says the Sox are better. He won’t play with me because the Cubs are my team.”

What’s a mother to do?

Well, I’m teaching The Boy to be a good sport. I tell him that when he’s confronted by one of these self-righteous little buggers (as he was today) to just shrug it off and say, “I guess we don’t agree.” I don’t know if that’s the right tactic to take in the baseball world of little boys, but he sure makes me proud that it’s not my boy out there putting other kids down.

Anna is learning to read in Kindergarten. This week, one of the ways in which the students are encouraged to read is through the use of environmental words. The child can “read” a word simply because of his familiarity of it within his environment. For example, most early readers are able to read McDonald’s just because they’ve seen it so often.

So today Anna comes from with a little booklet of environmental words that she’s supposed to read to me. She says her teacher told her to sound out the words if she didn’t know them. Turns out she was only familar with one word: Cheerios. Everything else — Hamburger Helper, Velveeta, Lucky Charms — were things she’d never seen before because I’ve never had them in the house. I’m certain she will be able to read without the ego boost of easy environmental words, but there’s a bigger question here. Are my children being deprived of American food icons? Is it a bad thing that they don’t know about Hamburger Helper? And are there really that many people who use Velveeta that it can be considered an environmental word?

Just a thought.

Jake and Anna are learning to write. Jake’s more advanced after a year in school where he learned punctuation in addition to basic letter formation. Anyway, I bought some elementary writing tablets at Target and they’ve been happily writing words and notes. Jake’s even written a “story” or two.

But as Jake was struggling yesterday to sound out a word and its corresponding letters, I thought about my first attempts at writing. I have no idea when I learned to write my letters (most likely kindergarten, I suppose), but I clearly recall chicken scratching on paper then “reading” what I wrote back to whoever would listen. I remember the overwhelming frustration that I couldn’t really write what I wanted to say, so I had to rely on my memory. And with each reading the story changed until I could no longer remember what I intended to say at all.

It’s easy to forget that frustration, the type that bewilders and crushes. If you don’t remember it, try writing a story. Now write it in Spanish or French or whatever you took for two years back in high school. Does it read the way you wanted, or are you relying on chicken scratches and your aging memory?

Watching TV with the kids for the last few months has been challenging. Every commercial sparks a fresh round of “Santa, I want that” mutterings. Today Jake dragged me in to watch a commercial for an $80 remote control helicopter. “That’s what I want,” he said. I told him that $80 was too much to spend on a toy.

“No, no, Mom. I want Santa to bring it. You don’t have to buy anything. Santa will take care of it. He doesn’t need money. The elves will make it.” He sat back on the couch, quite satisfied, and resumed viewing the tube.

I love his logic and arguments almost as much as his logic and arguments frustrate me. But I got to thinking about The Year my mother sat me in the kitchen and gave me the inside scoop on the jolly right elf. I remember feeling crushed by the knowledge, and a bit ambivalent about the lengths to which she had gone to maintain the magic for me for so many years. I remember standing up and laughing to let her know it was OK, and telling her at least there’s still the Easter Bunny. She had to call me back to the table.

I’m not looking forward to that conversation, especially not with Jake. I think Anna will be alright. Anna, who alternately pretends to be a cat and a 7-year-old named Emily, will get it. Jake, who rejects make believe and yearns to know how things work, will have a hard time. But until then, I can watch them enjoy the season with wonder in their eyes.

Yesterday, nearly THREE MONTHS after telling them they sent the wrong item, RC2Corp (makers of all things Thomas) finally mailed me the correct train with a letter that began, “It has come to our attention that we may have shipped you a Percy Hard at Work engine rather than the Mail Car. To remedy this situation please find enclosed a Mail Car. We hope your child will enjoy playing with this and all of the other Thomas & Friends products.”

So… is that an apology? We may have shipped the wrong thing? And we’re going to “remedy the situation” by sending you the correct part. Yeah, that makes me feel better about waiting for three months to get the right part. An apology and acceptance of responsibility for their ridiculously long lag time would have been much more appropriate than some intern’s sad attempt at a form letter.

Luckily, Jake has just about outgrown Thomas so I will never be tempted to buy anything else from RC2Corp. Buggers.