We went to pick up Steph's car from the repair shop where we paid a few hundred bucks for a timing belt this afternoon. Of course, the guys had to use the bathroom, so the whole family traipsed in. The shop owner, a nice guy named Scott, gave the boys pens with racing helmets.
So on the way home, the boys are playing with their pens and chattering. I pay no attention to the content of their chatter until I hear Eddie say, quite sternly, "Stop saying that, Chas! Only grown-ups say that!" So as calmly as possible, I asked Chas what he said. "No-sing." Hmm. This must be really bad. Did he use the F word? Or one of its cousins, the S or D words? So I asked Eddie, figuring him to be a willing little snitch. "What did Chas say, Eddie?" Now comes the adult language part. Cover your ears (or, actually, your eyes) if you're sensitive to such things. "He said, 'Be careful,'" Eddie reported -- quite seriously.
And, I guess he's right. It is kind of a grown-up thing to say.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Thursday, January 25, 2007
A,E,I,O, U and ALWAYS WHY
We have now entered the why portion of our development, the boys have made clear. Why. Why. Why. WHY!!! I know it's a sign of growing intellect but it's also freakin' annoying. I've decided that all - -ALL -- the world's religions were created by the mothers of 3-year-olds, mothers who finally just needed to say "because that's the way God... Allah ... Yaweh... Krishna... L. Ron Hubbard made it." It also reminds me of one of my least favorite (and oh, it's a crowded field) religious bumper stickers. "God said it. I believe it. That settles it." I HATE that. And yet, I find myself longing for children who could be that blindly accepting of any of my explanations if only for an afternoon.
And speaking of my children's oddities... Today Eddie announced that "letters should sound like what they are. So W, DUH-bul-ewe (he said for emphasis) should make the duh sound." Then he began complaining about the word giraffe starting with a G instead of a J. I started to tell him that would actually work under his new rule but decided better of it. So we've now decided that from now on, in our family, the 23rd letter of the alphabet is officially "wubble-ewe." Eddie said it. I believe it. That settles it.
And speaking of my children's oddities... Today Eddie announced that "letters should sound like what they are. So W, DUH-bul-ewe (he said for emphasis) should make the duh sound." Then he began complaining about the word giraffe starting with a G instead of a J. I started to tell him that would actually work under his new rule but decided better of it. So we've now decided that from now on, in our family, the 23rd letter of the alphabet is officially "wubble-ewe." Eddie said it. I believe it. That settles it.
This is what rejection looks like in a 3-year-old.
So yesterday it was sunny. So we went outside to play and eventually the neighbors came outside, too. One problem. Daniel, who lives next door and is about 6 months older than the boys, pretty much ignored them. They kept excitedly asking him if he wanted to come in and see the new steam engine their auntie bought them. No. No. No. Eventually, when Daniel shrieked and ran away from Chas, Chas decided he thought they were scary. So they tried to reassure him that they were not, in fact, scary.
Then Daniel did it. He told them he didn't like them and didn't want to be their friend anymore. There was a bit more chasing -- Chas was running to keep up with Daniel who was tearing around on a trike -- and then finally it sank in. And Chas' face crumpled. And I felt like someone had reached down my throat, grabbed my heart and squeezed until it burst.
I did my best at reassuring him -- we were in the house making valentines within minutes. But the nagging fear that I was the cause of this rejection simply wouldn't go away. Daniel's family is Eastern European. Dad runs a construction business and is very friendly -- he put our fence up for us a few months ago. Mom doesn't speak much English. I believe they are very religious -- in a Halloween is an evil holiday kind of way. Anyway, not that long ago, Daniel had started coming over and spending hours at our house. Then it just stopped. And my fear is that mom finally figured out that Steph and I aren't sisters or just good friends or something.
I could not possibly care less about it when it comes to me and Steph. Heck, we have another neighbor who has until recently had her kid avoid us presumably for the same reason. But by God the homophobia is hurting my boys and it's not O.K. with me. I mean, I knew they would probably face it at some point. But when they were older and somehow could understand it more. (Is there ever such an age?)
Now I'm probably reading waaaay too much into this. I'll bet Daniel is just doing that fickle four-year-old thing. But it's the fact that I even worry about it being me that really gets to me.
Then Daniel did it. He told them he didn't like them and didn't want to be their friend anymore. There was a bit more chasing -- Chas was running to keep up with Daniel who was tearing around on a trike -- and then finally it sank in. And Chas' face crumpled. And I felt like someone had reached down my throat, grabbed my heart and squeezed until it burst.
I did my best at reassuring him -- we were in the house making valentines within minutes. But the nagging fear that I was the cause of this rejection simply wouldn't go away. Daniel's family is Eastern European. Dad runs a construction business and is very friendly -- he put our fence up for us a few months ago. Mom doesn't speak much English. I believe they are very religious -- in a Halloween is an evil holiday kind of way. Anyway, not that long ago, Daniel had started coming over and spending hours at our house. Then it just stopped. And my fear is that mom finally figured out that Steph and I aren't sisters or just good friends or something.
I could not possibly care less about it when it comes to me and Steph. Heck, we have another neighbor who has until recently had her kid avoid us presumably for the same reason. But by God the homophobia is hurting my boys and it's not O.K. with me. I mean, I knew they would probably face it at some point. But when they were older and somehow could understand it more. (Is there ever such an age?)
Now I'm probably reading waaaay too much into this. I'll bet Daniel is just doing that fickle four-year-old thing. But it's the fact that I even worry about it being me that really gets to me.
Monday, January 22, 2007
Whoops, there it is....
Ok, granted that this is a little phrase that's just old enough to mark us as dangerously unhip and aged -- not old enough to be funny just old enough to be lame. But ignoring that, just know that yesterday Steph and I were putting the boys in the car and for some reason independent of our age and lack of cool (or whatever you kids these days are calling it) we started saying, "Whoop, there it is..." Eddie repeated it a couple of times, then added his own, quite logical take on it. "Whoop there it is. Whoop where is it now?" We burst out laughing because, well, trust me -- it was really funny live and in person. Eddie was justifiably flummoxed at our laughter.
This was almost as funny as two days ago when the boys wandered into the back yard (yes, I DO watch them, in between checking on my internets pages) and began screaming and yelling. I stepped out to see what was up once the racket became loud enough to disturb me/get my attention. Chas was looking into the trees behind our yard and yelling, "Birds! Get down from there! Get in your birdhouse!!" I asked him what he was doing and he pointed to the trees and told me the birds were up there. And apparently they were supposed to be in the bird houses that the boys made for them in August. Now, the boys, and the birds, have ignored said bird houses since construction day. But apparently it was move-in day and the birds weren't cooperating. Stupid birds. Stupid, bird-brained birds.
This was almost as funny as two days ago when the boys wandered into the back yard (yes, I DO watch them, in between checking on my internets pages) and began screaming and yelling. I stepped out to see what was up once the racket became loud enough to disturb me/get my attention. Chas was looking into the trees behind our yard and yelling, "Birds! Get down from there! Get in your birdhouse!!" I asked him what he was doing and he pointed to the trees and told me the birds were up there. And apparently they were supposed to be in the bird houses that the boys made for them in August. Now, the boys, and the birds, have ignored said bird houses since construction day. But apparently it was move-in day and the birds weren't cooperating. Stupid birds. Stupid, bird-brained birds.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes...
Actually, it was snowflakes on the eyelashes and run-of-the-mill snot leaking from the nose, but Julie Andrews' version just sounds better.
The downside to snowball fights with older kids.
This is Eddie's reaction to a nice soft snowball right to the old kisser. On the up side, he's now willing to grow up so that he can get bigger than our neighbor, Marcus, and hit him with snowballs of his own.
More snow!
OK, so the meteorologists are 0 for 2. We started getting tons of snow last night. Went out and played with our neighbors, knowing that we'd wake up to a lot of snow. We got 2 to 3 inches, conservatively. Probably closer to 5 but I'm giving some allowance for snow having blown down from trees etc.
Anyway, Steph pulled the fellas on their sled and they quite enjoyed it. Until Eddie found out that picking a snowball fight with the neighbors sometimes gets you snow in the face. Then he was done.
Anyway, Steph pulled the fellas on their sled and they quite enjoyed it. Until Eddie found out that picking a snowball fight with the neighbors sometimes gets you snow in the face. Then he was done.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Spermcake! Yum!
Today was supposed to be Chas' special day at school so we made cupcakes for him to bring. Of course, we knew it would probably snow and cancel school, but ya gotta plan ahead. Anyway, cousin Heather the Magnificent came to decorate them with, um, ah, balloons. But as Steph pointed out when she looked, the squiggly little strings made them look like, uh, well, sperm. Which is, after all, special. Because I'm fairly certain no other kids will be bringing sperm anything on their special days.
Working from Home: The cubicle sucks, but the coworkers are awesome.
So today, due to a smattering of snow on the ground, Steph got the OK to work from home. This is what working from home looks like. Until I corralled the boys. But personally, I think they probably had as many good suggestions as her normal colleagues. But what do I know?
Sunday, January 07, 2007
The boy just puked.
So I'm trying to find pictures for Chas' Special Day book and the boys are playing and I start to hear coughing. Not just coughing, really, more like the beginnings of retching. So I look just in time to see Eddie gagging. Then voluminous quantities of puke began pouring out of his mouth. He whimpered. I yelled for Steph, still largely in disbelief at how quickly this came on. Eddie recovered for a moment, then puked again. As this is happening, somehow and for reasons I can't begin to understand, let alone explain, I pointed him back toward our leather couch. Maybe I was thinking he'd already gotten vomit on it, might as well keep it there. But during the second round, I suddenly realized this was insane and pulled him toward the hard floor, where the ending vomit landed. As this was happening, I watched a giant pile of the stuff slide down the arm of my side of the couch.
That was an hour or more ago. He is now in his undies, playing blissfully as if nothing happened. I hate to tell him this, but he still smells vaguely of vomit. What the hell is it about kids these days that they can vomit without having it ruin their day?
That was an hour or more ago. He is now in his undies, playing blissfully as if nothing happened. I hate to tell him this, but he still smells vaguely of vomit. What the hell is it about kids these days that they can vomit without having it ruin their day?
Saturday, January 06, 2007
Dog is my co-pilot.
Let the record show that tonight, Eddie was playing with magnetic letters, carrying around an "a" and a "t" and wondering where the "c" was so he could spell "cat." Then he got "d" "o" and "G" and arranged them thusly: "God." And then he read it: "dog."
So he still doesn't have the left to right thing down by by Dog, he's a smart little fella.
So he still doesn't have the left to right thing down by by Dog, he's a smart little fella.
Paradise Paved.
So the other day I stumbled across something written by someone I knew in anothe rlife. (Nothing mysterious -- just friends who discovered they don't really like each other.) Anyway, this person is working toward what I gather is a challenging graduate degree and a career change. She has two small children. She was writing on her university's website about the challenges of balancing motherhood and education. A line in it struck me hard. It was something like, "Yes, it' s sometimes hard to have to study during the weekends when I hear my children playing upstairs. But then I remember it's a short-term issue and I'm working on a long-term benefit." Or something like that. And all I can think is that your children are growing up NOW. That's what's happening in the short term. And by the time the long-term payoff is here, your children will be grown. Melodramatic, considering that we're talking about a two-year program. But still. The changes that occur in children in the first few years are astonishing. To miss any of that seems like an incredible loss to me.
Of course, I constantly feel like my children are growing up before my eyes. I swear, sometimes I see them growing with the naked eye. And I try so hard to live in the moment, to enjoy these years of wonderment, change and innocence. The funny thing is, contrary to what I've heard from so many mothers, I didn't really feel an instant bond of unfathomable love for my children. Don't get me wrong. We've since bonded the shit out of one another. But when they were born my emotions were more along the lines of fearful wariness. Probably a result of waaaay too much infertility and pregnancy losses. When I first met the boys my feelings were strong, but far more distant than other mothers describe. They were like my, what? My Faberge eggs, prehaps. Valuable in the extreme and oh-so-fragile. I'd spent months forcing myself to assume they wouldn't actually be born. Worrying and using a home Doppler machine every night. Having Steph reassure me that we were hearing two distinct heartbeats but deep down knowing it may all be a mistake. And then they were born, unexpectedly early, my two little Faberge eggs. And I wanted them. I worried about them. But it took me a while before my defenses melted and I let my heart really open to them. So unlike many parents, I can't really point to a moment when I first felt that overpowering surge of love. All I know is that it's there and it's still growing and when I think about how fragile they are or were or may be it literally makes it difficult for me to breathe.
I hear mothers yearning for time away from their children and I think they are out of their minds. You will have many, many, many years without your children. You have only right now with them at this stage, really. Not that my kids don't drive me nuts sometimes. I'd be some kind of freak if that were true. But I do remember when I'm going insane rocking them while they fight sleep that there will come a time in the too-near future when I am longing to have them willing to crawl into my lap and snuggle up with me. Life is too short. Childhood is even shorter.
They are nearly 4 years old. I'm still getting used to this.
Of course, I constantly feel like my children are growing up before my eyes. I swear, sometimes I see them growing with the naked eye. And I try so hard to live in the moment, to enjoy these years of wonderment, change and innocence. The funny thing is, contrary to what I've heard from so many mothers, I didn't really feel an instant bond of unfathomable love for my children. Don't get me wrong. We've since bonded the shit out of one another. But when they were born my emotions were more along the lines of fearful wariness. Probably a result of waaaay too much infertility and pregnancy losses. When I first met the boys my feelings were strong, but far more distant than other mothers describe. They were like my, what? My Faberge eggs, prehaps. Valuable in the extreme and oh-so-fragile. I'd spent months forcing myself to assume they wouldn't actually be born. Worrying and using a home Doppler machine every night. Having Steph reassure me that we were hearing two distinct heartbeats but deep down knowing it may all be a mistake. And then they were born, unexpectedly early, my two little Faberge eggs. And I wanted them. I worried about them. But it took me a while before my defenses melted and I let my heart really open to them. So unlike many parents, I can't really point to a moment when I first felt that overpowering surge of love. All I know is that it's there and it's still growing and when I think about how fragile they are or were or may be it literally makes it difficult for me to breathe.
I hear mothers yearning for time away from their children and I think they are out of their minds. You will have many, many, many years without your children. You have only right now with them at this stage, really. Not that my kids don't drive me nuts sometimes. I'd be some kind of freak if that were true. But I do remember when I'm going insane rocking them while they fight sleep that there will come a time in the too-near future when I am longing to have them willing to crawl into my lap and snuggle up with me. Life is too short. Childhood is even shorter.
They are nearly 4 years old. I'm still getting used to this.
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