Conversation between Jeremy and John while changing a diaper:
Daddy, you're a daddy.
Yes.
And Mommy is a mommy.
Yes.
And Maggie is a girl?
Yes.
And James is a boy?
Yes.
[Thoughtful pause from John.] Then what am I?
You're a boy, too.
Oh. ... I want to be a Daddy, like you.
Monday, December 21, 2009
John's conversation style is growing up
Jeremy reported that John (2.5 years) and he had a very interesting conversation on the way to pick up pizza the other night.
John: I was frustrated this morning.
Jeremy: Oh, really? Why?
John: I don't know.
(To be fully appreciated, the "I don't know" needs an audio file. John currently says this in answer to most questions, with a certain repeated inflection: an emphasis on the "I," and a dip on the "know,"with an effect that is somewhere between surprise, frustration, and indignation, and resignation.)
John: Does Mommy have a hammer?
Daddy: No.
John: Does Daddy have a hammer?
Daddy: Yes.
John: Does Grandma have a hammer?
Daddy: No.
John: Does Grandpa have a hammer?
Daddy: Yes.
[Pregnant Pause]
John: Does John have a hammer?
So, he has already learned sophisticated ways to drop hints (subtle and not so subtle), such as for his Christmas wish list.
For the record, Mommy does own a hammer. It is part of the Do It Herself Toolkit I received as a high school graduation present. While the name still makes me cringe, I have used the surprisingly well-stocked little blue kit on more than one occasion over the years.
John: I was frustrated this morning.
Jeremy: Oh, really? Why?
John: I don't know.
(To be fully appreciated, the "I don't know" needs an audio file. John currently says this in answer to most questions, with a certain repeated inflection: an emphasis on the "I," and a dip on the "know,"with an effect that is somewhere between surprise, frustration, and indignation, and resignation.)
John: Does Mommy have a hammer?
Daddy: No.
John: Does Daddy have a hammer?
Daddy: Yes.
John: Does Grandma have a hammer?
Daddy: No.
John: Does Grandpa have a hammer?
Daddy: Yes.
[Pregnant Pause]
John: Does John have a hammer?
So, he has already learned sophisticated ways to drop hints (subtle and not so subtle), such as for his Christmas wish list.
For the record, Mommy does own a hammer. It is part of the Do It Herself Toolkit I received as a high school graduation present. While the name still makes me cringe, I have used the surprisingly well-stocked little blue kit on more than one occasion over the years.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
peace
John: Pshrum! Pshrum! I hit the bad guys! (Waving big stick in empty air, with enthusiasm.)
Mom: No, no, John, stop. It's not nice to hit any people.
John: Oh. [Long pause.] Bang! Bang! I shoot bad guys!
Mom: No, no, John, stop. It's not nice to hit any people.
John: Oh. [Long pause.] Bang! Bang! I shoot bad guys!
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Fast food
"I want Daddy make our car go fast!" says John, age 2.5 years.
"He is making it go fast, John. He's going 40 miles per hour," Mom replies.
John gives a very doubtful look, as if to say that 40 mph is not the kind of speed he had in mind. Mom decides to try to give him some perspective.
"Well, John, could you run this fast?"
"Yes."
There was no hesitation while he thought about it. No uncertainty. Just an unequivocal, confident "yes." He may not know how fast 40 mph is, but he has no doubt that he can run that fast. And to be honest, there are times when I am not so sure but that he is right. Like yesterday, at the grocery store.
I had stopped off at our nearby D&W for a gallon of milk. Unfortunately, it was 2:30, the kids were hungry, and I was in tired, desperate appeasement mode. So, we ended up with $26 worth of food, instead. D&W knows what it is doing by putting the milk in the back corner of the store. We bought clementines, bananas, pistachios, sunflower seeds, corn on the cob (really, in December!), yogurt. Even with this haul, the kids were disappointed because I turned down requests for fresh raspberries ("Too expensive." "Aww, you always say that." "Well, it is always true.), apple cider, and a vat of christmas-tree-shaped, chocolate-covered pretzels.
As we passed the bakery area, the kids started clamoring for the "free kids' cookies" - a basket of extras that are kept behind the counter. Unfortunately, the area was unstaffed and the basket was not in sight. So, I broke down and let them all choose a doughnut. John, of course, chose chocolate.
I have heard the strident claims of those who say that children's behavior is not affected by what they eat. I don't buy this for a minute. Within 60 seconds of John inhaling his treat, he was on "full speed ahead." I was headed for the checkout. John leaped from the cart and took off. I followed at a quick trot as he rounded the corner down the bread aisle at the far end of the store.
By the time I got to the meat department at the back of the store, I could no longer keep up with him as he dashed around shoppers. I abandoned the cart (and James and Maggie, too, to be honest) and took off at a full run through dairy and bakery. He dashed behind the one register at the side entrance into the attached shopping mall. (We've now run a 3/4 circuit of the store at full-tilt.) As the clerk and patrons waiting to pay gasped in surprised, he squeezed past a stack of baskets and was out the door. As I flew past in hot pursuit (also rudely slipping behind the clerk and leaping over the baskets), I heard chuckles and comments, "Wow, he's fast." Yeah, thanks for that helpful observation. I rounded the corner down the hall and finally scooped him up before he made it to the exterior door.
Did he express surprise to be stopped? Chagrin? Anger? No, he just laughed with glee and delight. "Mommy, I run fast!"
"He is making it go fast, John. He's going 40 miles per hour," Mom replies.
John gives a very doubtful look, as if to say that 40 mph is not the kind of speed he had in mind. Mom decides to try to give him some perspective.
"Well, John, could you run this fast?"
"Yes."
There was no hesitation while he thought about it. No uncertainty. Just an unequivocal, confident "yes." He may not know how fast 40 mph is, but he has no doubt that he can run that fast. And to be honest, there are times when I am not so sure but that he is right. Like yesterday, at the grocery store.
I had stopped off at our nearby D&W for a gallon of milk. Unfortunately, it was 2:30, the kids were hungry, and I was in tired, desperate appeasement mode. So, we ended up with $26 worth of food, instead. D&W knows what it is doing by putting the milk in the back corner of the store. We bought clementines, bananas, pistachios, sunflower seeds, corn on the cob (really, in December!), yogurt. Even with this haul, the kids were disappointed because I turned down requests for fresh raspberries ("Too expensive." "Aww, you always say that." "Well, it is always true.), apple cider, and a vat of christmas-tree-shaped, chocolate-covered pretzels.
As we passed the bakery area, the kids started clamoring for the "free kids' cookies" - a basket of extras that are kept behind the counter. Unfortunately, the area was unstaffed and the basket was not in sight. So, I broke down and let them all choose a doughnut. John, of course, chose chocolate.
I have heard the strident claims of those who say that children's behavior is not affected by what they eat. I don't buy this for a minute. Within 60 seconds of John inhaling his treat, he was on "full speed ahead." I was headed for the checkout. John leaped from the cart and took off. I followed at a quick trot as he rounded the corner down the bread aisle at the far end of the store.
By the time I got to the meat department at the back of the store, I could no longer keep up with him as he dashed around shoppers. I abandoned the cart (and James and Maggie, too, to be honest) and took off at a full run through dairy and bakery. He dashed behind the one register at the side entrance into the attached shopping mall. (We've now run a 3/4 circuit of the store at full-tilt.) As the clerk and patrons waiting to pay gasped in surprised, he squeezed past a stack of baskets and was out the door. As I flew past in hot pursuit (also rudely slipping behind the clerk and leaping over the baskets), I heard chuckles and comments, "Wow, he's fast." Yeah, thanks for that helpful observation. I rounded the corner down the hall and finally scooped him up before he made it to the exterior door.
Did he express surprise to be stopped? Chagrin? Anger? No, he just laughed with glee and delight. "Mommy, I run fast!"
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
John at 2.5 years
I kept a summary of the older kids' favorites, on paper calendars. I don't have that for John, so I am trying to digitally record a few things like that for him, instead. So, for John at two-and-a-half:
Favorite foods: oatmeal, goldfish crackers, cinnamon graham crackers, cheese, yogurt, Altoids mints (no, really, he will eat as many as he can get, even if he has to steal them)
Favorite toys: any tool (real or toy), any gun (Bang! Bang! I a bad guy! You a bad guy! Bad guys comin'!), anything that makes noise (drum, electronics, etc.), any truck (but especially monster trucks), any lego creation (but especially one that James would rather he didn't take away and break), Maggie's glitzy dress-up clothes (heels, necklaces, wands, etc.)
Famous quotes: "Daddy, you poop on the potty and get a mint!"
Bedtime: A struggle. He really needs a nap. If we don't give him one, he will fall asleep during afternoon carpool driving. But he won't go to bed. We start with pjs at 7:30 for all the kids. Maggie is almost always asleep within minutes of lights out around 8:00. James will fall asleep anywhere between 8 and 10:30. John will pop in and out of bed, staying awake at least until 8:30 but often until 10:30, and occasionally (like last night) until after midnight.
Favorite activities: Being outside. Bakin' (working in the kitchen on anything with food - mixing, dumping, spilling, etc.).
Favorite clothes: No shirt. No shoes. No socks. Occasionally, no pants. Strips himself regularly, at least to the waist. This includes when he is outside, even though it is December. Yesterday I convinced him to wear a sweatshirt over his T-shirt to run errands, since it was 45 degrees out. He reluctantly agreed, but as soon as we got in the grocery store, he was stripping it off as if suffocating from the heat.
If he must wear a shirt, he prefers the bright yellow one with Cookie Monster fishing from the pocket. He has worn it the last 3 days. Every time we dress him in clean clothes, he pulls them off and finds the yellow one. Last night, while avoiding bed, he appeared at 10 pm with his pjs nowhere in sight, but wearing that t-shirt with his diaper. The t-shirt is looking pretty gross now. At least, it is a shirt he will keep on. In winter, that might be good enough.
Favorite foods: oatmeal, goldfish crackers, cinnamon graham crackers, cheese, yogurt, Altoids mints (no, really, he will eat as many as he can get, even if he has to steal them)
Favorite toys: any tool (real or toy), any gun (Bang! Bang! I a bad guy! You a bad guy! Bad guys comin'!), anything that makes noise (drum, electronics, etc.), any truck (but especially monster trucks), any lego creation (but especially one that James would rather he didn't take away and break), Maggie's glitzy dress-up clothes (heels, necklaces, wands, etc.)
Famous quotes: "Daddy, you poop on the potty and get a mint!"
Bedtime: A struggle. He really needs a nap. If we don't give him one, he will fall asleep during afternoon carpool driving. But he won't go to bed. We start with pjs at 7:30 for all the kids. Maggie is almost always asleep within minutes of lights out around 8:00. James will fall asleep anywhere between 8 and 10:30. John will pop in and out of bed, staying awake at least until 8:30 but often until 10:30, and occasionally (like last night) until after midnight.
Favorite activities: Being outside. Bakin' (working in the kitchen on anything with food - mixing, dumping, spilling, etc.).
Favorite clothes: No shirt. No shoes. No socks. Occasionally, no pants. Strips himself regularly, at least to the waist. This includes when he is outside, even though it is December. Yesterday I convinced him to wear a sweatshirt over his T-shirt to run errands, since it was 45 degrees out. He reluctantly agreed, but as soon as we got in the grocery store, he was stripping it off as if suffocating from the heat.
If he must wear a shirt, he prefers the bright yellow one with Cookie Monster fishing from the pocket. He has worn it the last 3 days. Every time we dress him in clean clothes, he pulls them off and finds the yellow one. Last night, while avoiding bed, he appeared at 10 pm with his pjs nowhere in sight, but wearing that t-shirt with his diaper. The t-shirt is looking pretty gross now. At least, it is a shirt he will keep on. In winter, that might be good enough.
James's Thanksgiving, Age 8
Since this is my place to electronically immortalize what I cannot keep physically, here is James's Thanksgiving school project summary. They had a paper pumpkin with a pocket that they stuffed with other paper vegetable cutouts. (Don't ask me why the pumpkin is stuffed with vegetables. When I was a kid we used a cornucopia. Maybe they are harder to photocopy and cut out?) On the back of each vegetable, James was to write something he was thankful for. His list (in unknown order) is:
a home
parents
church
school
soldiers
Nice that I made the list. :) Some days, I wouldn't necessarily expect to. Especially after I have cracked the whip behind him all day. "James, put your clothes on. James, get dressed! James, eat. James, shoes! James, do you have a snack packed for school? Shoes, James!"
I am not sure how much prompting of suggestions they might have had from the teacher. The "soldiers" was the slightly surprising one to me. He is a kid who notices the body count in every radio news report that wafts by his ears. I am not sure whether to be proud of his appropriate thankfulness for the soldiers, or sad that this reflects a child born into a country that has been at war since he was 3 months old. Both, I suppose.
a home
parents
church
school
soldiers
Nice that I made the list. :) Some days, I wouldn't necessarily expect to. Especially after I have cracked the whip behind him all day. "James, put your clothes on. James, get dressed! James, eat. James, shoes! James, do you have a snack packed for school? Shoes, James!"
I am not sure how much prompting of suggestions they might have had from the teacher. The "soldiers" was the slightly surprising one to me. He is a kid who notices the body count in every radio news report that wafts by his ears. I am not sure whether to be proud of his appropriate thankfulness for the soldiers, or sad that this reflects a child born into a country that has been at war since he was 3 months old. Both, I suppose.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Urgent bedtime questions from James - a sampling
8:52 PM:
"Mom, sometimes I have doubts and I just have a hard time believing about Jesus. Is that bad?"
8:59 PM:
"Mom, when I told Trenton at school that I fight with words and not actions, he just laughed at me. What can I do?"
9:06 PM:
"And Mom? What's a gamma ray?"
"Mom, sometimes I have doubts and I just have a hard time believing about Jesus. Is that bad?"
8:59 PM:
"Mom, when I told Trenton at school that I fight with words and not actions, he just laughed at me. What can I do?"
9:06 PM:
"And Mom? What's a gamma ray?"
How much is five?
John is excited about the number five right now. When I served him a slice of zucchini bread, he protested. "I want FIVE zucchini bread." I cut his slice into five pieces and he ate it contentedley. Okay, so we have some volume concepts to work on.
But, he does realize, apparently that five doesn't work for everything. He, like the bigger kids, occasionally likes to eat frozen corn (right from the freezer bag to the bowl - go figure!). Tonight, after downing TWO bowls of frozen corn for dinner, he asked for more. Picturing the future diaper consequences of this, I tried to talk him into something different.
"No, I want more corn!"
"Well, okay John, how much corn do you think you want?"
(Long pause with a thoughtful look on his face, then...) "I want FIV..." Pause and a slight look of concern on his face. Is he realizing that "five corn" is not enough? Then, I could almost see the relief wash over his face. He continued confidently, "I want BIG MUCH!"
Whew! A close call, but another number value crisis solved.
But, he does realize, apparently that five doesn't work for everything. He, like the bigger kids, occasionally likes to eat frozen corn (right from the freezer bag to the bowl - go figure!). Tonight, after downing TWO bowls of frozen corn for dinner, he asked for more. Picturing the future diaper consequences of this, I tried to talk him into something different.
"No, I want more corn!"
"Well, okay John, how much corn do you think you want?"
(Long pause with a thoughtful look on his face, then...) "I want FIV..." Pause and a slight look of concern on his face. Is he realizing that "five corn" is not enough? Then, I could almost see the relief wash over his face. He continued confidently, "I want BIG MUCH!"
Whew! A close call, but another number value crisis solved.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Seasons - written in early November
I started this post in early November, then put it aside to finish later and didn't get back to it until today....
My favorite season is late spring. Each day is a gift, when you can step outside unencumbered by the winter coat that has weighed you down for months. Dreaming of the sun warming my bare arms can keep me warm and contented nearly year-round. Still, I have never been one who liked to choose favorites. So, I sometimes choose summer as my favorite season, especially now that summer is likely to be my least-busy time, when I can slow down and enjoy my kids.
As I raked leaves today, with no coat on and the sun shining down, I relented and decided that I don't really dislike fall. It is just the looming weeks of sunless winter that autumn foretells, that I don't like. It seems so ominous. As the days grow darker and colder, I know the bleakness is coming again. I know that I will enjoy merry December, even if we never see the sun. I know that January will be fun because we'll play in the snow and see some sun. But by mid-March, I will be weary of my winter coat and of the alternating dirty snow and bare mud.
And so if I must be pushed on the matter, I really don't dislike winter either. I will never love winter, the way Jeremy does. But I appreciate the brisk feeling of frozen air, and the comfort of a warm house when it is cold outside, and skiing and skating, and the beautiful clear winter days when the sun is actually shining and snow is new, or the days when the air is thick yet silent with fluffy, new-falling snow.
So if you ask me, I will say that I don't like winter. But I don't mean that. I do love living in Michigan, with the full seasonal display and variety. I have been to Memphis in December: It was warm during the days, and the sun shone (weakly), but I wouldn't really prefer the dull brown landscape to the snow-covered vistas of Michigan. And now I have been to Orlando and St. Augustine in March. Nice, but kind of thin. And so that hardly makes a good trade for year-round cockroaches and mold. And I have been to Miami in November, and...well, okay, that was pretty nice, actually. I wore a sundress and sunglasses. I jet-skied in the ocean. I could adjust to that, if pushed. And I have been to Southern California in several seasons, and ... well, okay, who wouldn't like that weather? Especially sun-starved, vitamin-D lacking, Michiganders in mid-March? BUT, it is southern California. I am sure I wouldn't really want to live there. There are lots of reasons why, and I can tell them all to you, on a day when I have had enough sunshine.
My favorite season is late spring. Each day is a gift, when you can step outside unencumbered by the winter coat that has weighed you down for months. Dreaming of the sun warming my bare arms can keep me warm and contented nearly year-round. Still, I have never been one who liked to choose favorites. So, I sometimes choose summer as my favorite season, especially now that summer is likely to be my least-busy time, when I can slow down and enjoy my kids.
As I raked leaves today, with no coat on and the sun shining down, I relented and decided that I don't really dislike fall. It is just the looming weeks of sunless winter that autumn foretells, that I don't like. It seems so ominous. As the days grow darker and colder, I know the bleakness is coming again. I know that I will enjoy merry December, even if we never see the sun. I know that January will be fun because we'll play in the snow and see some sun. But by mid-March, I will be weary of my winter coat and of the alternating dirty snow and bare mud.
And so if I must be pushed on the matter, I really don't dislike winter either. I will never love winter, the way Jeremy does. But I appreciate the brisk feeling of frozen air, and the comfort of a warm house when it is cold outside, and skiing and skating, and the beautiful clear winter days when the sun is actually shining and snow is new, or the days when the air is thick yet silent with fluffy, new-falling snow.
So if you ask me, I will say that I don't like winter. But I don't mean that. I do love living in Michigan, with the full seasonal display and variety. I have been to Memphis in December: It was warm during the days, and the sun shone (weakly), but I wouldn't really prefer the dull brown landscape to the snow-covered vistas of Michigan. And now I have been to Orlando and St. Augustine in March. Nice, but kind of thin. And so that hardly makes a good trade for year-round cockroaches and mold. And I have been to Miami in November, and...well, okay, that was pretty nice, actually. I wore a sundress and sunglasses. I jet-skied in the ocean. I could adjust to that, if pushed. And I have been to Southern California in several seasons, and ... well, okay, who wouldn't like that weather? Especially sun-starved, vitamin-D lacking, Michiganders in mid-March? BUT, it is southern California. I am sure I wouldn't really want to live there. There are lots of reasons why, and I can tell them all to you, on a day when I have had enough sunshine.
Simple gifts and thanksgiving
Some weeks just feel longer than others. But just as illness can help us better appreciate our restored health, so can the pressure of our routines lead to greater enjoyment of the respite times.
Friday afternoon was like an unearthly gift to me yesterday. I had been feeling unusually crabby this week, snapping at the kids quite unfairly, and out of proportion even for my irritable self. But Friday afternoon arrived and stretched out before me with no deadlines and nowhere to be. I changed out of work clothes (dry-clean only skirt, too-tight pantyhose, too-tall heels) and decided to wear sweatpants and a big t-shirt: almost as good as pajamas, and it was barely afternoon.
John and I read books in bed until he fell asleep in my arms. Dozing in a warm bed, with the late autumn sunshine beaming through the window on you, and with a warm, snugly toddler clutching you for dear life, is about as pleasant as life gets, I think.
Then James and Maggie got home, as I was still upstairs with sleeping John. As I heard the door open, I first enjoyed a private smile that I wasn't driving carpool today. The kids could just magically appear at our house. Then I grinned as I heard James say, "I don't think there is anyone home." I might not have grinned if he had sounded concerned, but actually, he sounded excited, and downright conspiratorial, as he informed Maggie of their potential freedom.
Still, I thought I had better bring them up to speed quickly. Not wishing to rise and wake up John yet, I knocked on the wall above my head to get James's attention below me. He came bounding up, and confirmed my suspicions by the slightly disappointed look on his face to discover me at home. (As if we had ever let them come home to an empty house before, and they would expect it?) Still, James's good spirits rebounded quickly when I whispered to him that I was staying put a bit longer so John could have a better nap. "Okay, Mom!" And off he scampered to inform Maggie that they had hit the jackpot.
Sure enough, I next heard the TV flip on. The kids were sure they were home-free to vegetate as long as they wished. "And why not?" I thought to myself. That was exactly how I felt myself, on this Friday afternoon. Shouldn't they have a right to feel that way sometimes, too? So they enjoyed PBS and I enjoyed lounging in bed with my arms around a sleeping two-year-old. Decadence and indulgence all around.
Of course, even justified (?) decadence demands payment eventually. My arms fell asleep and my toddler-furnace was baking me. So, I snuck out from underneath him and went to fetch the big kids. I enticed them away from TV with a suggestion of baking zucchini bread. For one enchanted afternoon, they baked with me not only enthusiastically by cooperatively. They took turns. They took their time and spilled less than usual. They fetched ingredients from downstairs without griping about having to do "all the work." Half-way through the process, John awoke and staggered out to join us. Though groggy at first, he quickly joined in the fun and stuck with the program of good behavior. For a while I just sat back and basked in the vicarious glow: my three favorite little people lined up across the counter from me, all getting along, having a good time, and working hard.
Jeremy arrived home late, and I wasn't even frustrated or bitter or fuming, for once. I didn't need to - we were all doing fine. And dinner was leftovers, so no stress of trying to cook while adjuticating disputes. We had a quiet, if bizzare, dinner of chicken enchiladas and zucchini bread. Not actually a combination I would recommend again, but the kids loved it.
Then, our perfect Friday afternoon was extended into evening when Jeremy built a fire in the fireplace, the kids put on pjs, and we ate popcorn while reading bedtime stories on the couch.
Nothing remarkable in our day. And yet, more refreshing in a few hours than many of our vacations. The simple truly is a gift.
Friday afternoon was like an unearthly gift to me yesterday. I had been feeling unusually crabby this week, snapping at the kids quite unfairly, and out of proportion even for my irritable self. But Friday afternoon arrived and stretched out before me with no deadlines and nowhere to be. I changed out of work clothes (dry-clean only skirt, too-tight pantyhose, too-tall heels) and decided to wear sweatpants and a big t-shirt: almost as good as pajamas, and it was barely afternoon.
John and I read books in bed until he fell asleep in my arms. Dozing in a warm bed, with the late autumn sunshine beaming through the window on you, and with a warm, snugly toddler clutching you for dear life, is about as pleasant as life gets, I think.
Then James and Maggie got home, as I was still upstairs with sleeping John. As I heard the door open, I first enjoyed a private smile that I wasn't driving carpool today. The kids could just magically appear at our house. Then I grinned as I heard James say, "I don't think there is anyone home." I might not have grinned if he had sounded concerned, but actually, he sounded excited, and downright conspiratorial, as he informed Maggie of their potential freedom.
Still, I thought I had better bring them up to speed quickly. Not wishing to rise and wake up John yet, I knocked on the wall above my head to get James's attention below me. He came bounding up, and confirmed my suspicions by the slightly disappointed look on his face to discover me at home. (As if we had ever let them come home to an empty house before, and they would expect it?) Still, James's good spirits rebounded quickly when I whispered to him that I was staying put a bit longer so John could have a better nap. "Okay, Mom!" And off he scampered to inform Maggie that they had hit the jackpot.
Sure enough, I next heard the TV flip on. The kids were sure they were home-free to vegetate as long as they wished. "And why not?" I thought to myself. That was exactly how I felt myself, on this Friday afternoon. Shouldn't they have a right to feel that way sometimes, too? So they enjoyed PBS and I enjoyed lounging in bed with my arms around a sleeping two-year-old. Decadence and indulgence all around.
Of course, even justified (?) decadence demands payment eventually. My arms fell asleep and my toddler-furnace was baking me. So, I snuck out from underneath him and went to fetch the big kids. I enticed them away from TV with a suggestion of baking zucchini bread. For one enchanted afternoon, they baked with me not only enthusiastically by cooperatively. They took turns. They took their time and spilled less than usual. They fetched ingredients from downstairs without griping about having to do "all the work." Half-way through the process, John awoke and staggered out to join us. Though groggy at first, he quickly joined in the fun and stuck with the program of good behavior. For a while I just sat back and basked in the vicarious glow: my three favorite little people lined up across the counter from me, all getting along, having a good time, and working hard.
Jeremy arrived home late, and I wasn't even frustrated or bitter or fuming, for once. I didn't need to - we were all doing fine. And dinner was leftovers, so no stress of trying to cook while adjuticating disputes. We had a quiet, if bizzare, dinner of chicken enchiladas and zucchini bread. Not actually a combination I would recommend again, but the kids loved it.
Then, our perfect Friday afternoon was extended into evening when Jeremy built a fire in the fireplace, the kids put on pjs, and we ate popcorn while reading bedtime stories on the couch.
Nothing remarkable in our day. And yet, more refreshing in a few hours than many of our vacations. The simple truly is a gift.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Irony
I have watched this video several times and it still makes me giggle. Please don't judge me as a bad mom because of this.
John has been learning a few songs in his Sunday School class, and loves to perform them for us. I decided to try to catch one on tape. In case you can't decipher the words, that is "I've got joy like a fountain" and "I've got peace like a river."
John has been learning a few songs in his Sunday School class, and loves to perform them for us. I decided to try to catch one on tape. In case you can't decipher the words, that is "I've got joy like a fountain" and "I've got peace like a river."
Thursday, November 12, 2009
School daze
James came out of school today and handed me his report card. He was really anxious for me to read it, right away, so I took it and quickly glanced at it before pulling out of the parking lot for home. MISTAKE. I was expecting to see "the usual:" all good stuff. But instead, this report had lots of "satisfactory," just a few "exceeds expectations" and a few "not meeting expectations."
The marks were bugging me. I kept glancing over again at red lights to see what I was missing. Meanwhile, James kept asking me, cheerily, if I had finished reading it and what did I think? Ah, the honesty test. "Very nice, James. What do YOU think about it?" He responded that he thought it was good and he was happy. Well, that was my main concern, I suppose, that he would be discouraged to have so many unusually low marks. Obviously, he was taking it okay, so I should be fine with it, too.
But I wasn't fine. It was the particular categories where he fell short: "Independently begins and pursues a task" and "Organizes self, materials and belongings" all "need improvement." So, he is doing fine academically, but has apparently hit a wall with his behavior/study skills/self-management. Parent-angst was building rapidly. Is this it, I thought? Will his ADD catch up to him this year? It looks like he is finally having trouble controlling it. Will we have to consider medication? Will I have to face a reality that he may not ever succeed in school, even though he is more than bright? You can see my thoughts were quickly getting out of hand.
As we pulled into the driveway, I had worked myself into quite a stew, trying to look cheerful for James as I dissected all these thoughts internally. I was so involved, actually, that it took James several tries to make me understand. "Just kidding, Mom." "Mom, no, really, that isn't my report card. That is a fake one that Mrs. A used to explain them to us. Here is my real card."
Hmm. I have to give him credit for convincingness. Or whack myself for gullibility induced by an over-eagerness to embrace bad news, I guess. It was a pretty good joke. (And thankfully, no need to deal with all this angst quite yet.)
The marks were bugging me. I kept glancing over again at red lights to see what I was missing. Meanwhile, James kept asking me, cheerily, if I had finished reading it and what did I think? Ah, the honesty test. "Very nice, James. What do YOU think about it?" He responded that he thought it was good and he was happy. Well, that was my main concern, I suppose, that he would be discouraged to have so many unusually low marks. Obviously, he was taking it okay, so I should be fine with it, too.
But I wasn't fine. It was the particular categories where he fell short: "Independently begins and pursues a task" and "Organizes self, materials and belongings" all "need improvement." So, he is doing fine academically, but has apparently hit a wall with his behavior/study skills/self-management. Parent-angst was building rapidly. Is this it, I thought? Will his ADD catch up to him this year? It looks like he is finally having trouble controlling it. Will we have to consider medication? Will I have to face a reality that he may not ever succeed in school, even though he is more than bright? You can see my thoughts were quickly getting out of hand.
As we pulled into the driveway, I had worked myself into quite a stew, trying to look cheerful for James as I dissected all these thoughts internally. I was so involved, actually, that it took James several tries to make me understand. "Just kidding, Mom." "Mom, no, really, that isn't my report card. That is a fake one that Mrs. A used to explain them to us. Here is my real card."
Hmm. I have to give him credit for convincingness. Or whack myself for gullibility induced by an over-eagerness to embrace bad news, I guess. It was a pretty good joke. (And thankfully, no need to deal with all this angst quite yet.)
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Sick kids
Family:1 , Flu: 4
As of this writing, only Dad is still standing. I cancelled classes today. Spent the morning working from home (catching up on grading and downing 2 pots of herbal tea). Tried to hide in our "home office" (the desk in the corner of the family room) but the kids were a bit of a distraction. Funny how kids who have been raised every bit as much by Dad as by Mom, when sick, suddenly retrench so that they only want MomMomMom all the time.
When Jeremy left for work at lunchtime, the kids and I went into full self-pity mode: oatmeal for lunch, at 1:30 PM, in our pjs. Books on the couch. Books on tape. PBS. Circle the wagons. Kind of nice change of pace, really, if we didn't all feel so yucky.
Fortunately, the misery seems to come and go. One kid at a time would be perky, while another was apparently in a Motrin-energy-low and in the throes of unbearable suffering. So, my lap was big enough for the one (sometimes two) neediest child at any given moment.
Seemed a bit strange. I can't recall the last time I actually took a sick day and cancelled classes. I always figured if I can stand up, I may as well go to work. But this year, with the Provost encouraging us to all do our part to stop the spread of H1N1 flu, I decided to join in the pandemic-mania. It may have been a fatal mistake. It is like falling of the cold-turkey wagon. I have tasted a sick-day, and I may never go back. :)
As of this writing, only Dad is still standing. I cancelled classes today. Spent the morning working from home (catching up on grading and downing 2 pots of herbal tea). Tried to hide in our "home office" (the desk in the corner of the family room) but the kids were a bit of a distraction. Funny how kids who have been raised every bit as much by Dad as by Mom, when sick, suddenly retrench so that they only want MomMomMom all the time.
When Jeremy left for work at lunchtime, the kids and I went into full self-pity mode: oatmeal for lunch, at 1:30 PM, in our pjs. Books on the couch. Books on tape. PBS. Circle the wagons. Kind of nice change of pace, really, if we didn't all feel so yucky.
Fortunately, the misery seems to come and go. One kid at a time would be perky, while another was apparently in a Motrin-energy-low and in the throes of unbearable suffering. So, my lap was big enough for the one (sometimes two) neediest child at any given moment.
Seemed a bit strange. I can't recall the last time I actually took a sick day and cancelled classes. I always figured if I can stand up, I may as well go to work. But this year, with the Provost encouraging us to all do our part to stop the spread of H1N1 flu, I decided to join in the pandemic-mania. It may have been a fatal mistake. It is like falling of the cold-turkey wagon. I have tasted a sick-day, and I may never go back. :)
toddler translations
- John, take the truck off the table.
- Hunh?
- John, no toys on the table while we are eating.
- Hunh?
- John, take your monster truck off the table.
- Hunh?
- John, remove your truck or the monster truck confiscator is going to swoop in and take the truck away for you!
- My truck shoot it, BANG, BANG!
Well, at least he finally acted like he understood me, even if he still didn't obey. Apparently I just need to stick to baby words like "confiscator" for him.
- Hunh?
- John, no toys on the table while we are eating.
- Hunh?
- John, take your monster truck off the table.
- Hunh?
- John, remove your truck or the monster truck confiscator is going to swoop in and take the truck away for you!
- My truck shoot it, BANG, BANG!
Well, at least he finally acted like he understood me, even if he still didn't obey. Apparently I just need to stick to baby words like "confiscator" for him.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
A man's gotta be free...
John has decided to be two. He is asserting his indepent status in a variety of ways.
1) He swore off socks some time ago, so we had resigned ourselves to just leaving him barefoot. For leaving the house, it was actually kind of handy, because there would always be a pile of socks under his carseat in the van, where he will promptly deposit them if we try to shod him before arriving at a destination.
2) Now, he also refuses to wear clothing, much of the time. PJs - a big No. He appears in diaper only within minutes of being changed into nightclothes. (Which is better than the rare times when he takes the diaper off, too.) I wouldn't mind this so much, except that he then wakes in the middle of the night, frozen solid, and climbs into bed next to ME to get warm.
He won't wear a shirt. Really. Not at all. I put it over the head, turn around, and it is coming right back off. Doesn't matter that the rest of us are in two layers - he is bare-chested. It is odd - he seems a bit odd to be so vain about showing off his physique.
3) When he is getting dressed (which is still just an exercise in putting on clothes to entertain us all so that he can promptly take them off) - he must choose the clothing now. If it is our idea, it is going to be stuffed right back in the drawer. He has an uncanny knack for finding my least favorite clothing items, paired in the worst possible way.
4) He likes to get his own cup of water to drink. Now that he has figured out the water dispenser on the fridge door, in fact, we may have to disconnect it. Today, during the time it took me to fix and serve his dinner, he filled 4 separate cups of water for himself, with one sip taken from each. Which is better than yesterday, when he filled a cup to the brim, then dumped it in the "drain" under the dispenser. Except it isn't a drain - just a very shallow reservoir. Much smaller than a full cup of water, it turns out.
5) He has liked to get his own snack for months. We have one lower cupboard that we have always kept stocked for the kids - plastic dishes, crackers, raisins, etc., so that they can help themselves sometimes. Worked great for James and Maggie. John, on the other hand, has been trouble with that from day 1. First, we had to move the raisins out of there (found the whole carton spread about the kitchen). Then, we discoved him eating a whole BOX of crackers, right before dinner. Today, I walked into the kitchen to see him putting something in the trash.
"What are you doing, John?"
"I'm having popcorn!"
"Oh. [I notice he is putting the empty popcorn cardboard box in the trash.] Well, may I take that box and put it in the recycling instead of the trash? "
"OK!"
In the 5 seconds it takes me to cross the kitchen to do this, he doesn't wait patiently for me. He doesn't ask for me to cook it. He just goes about his business. He pushes a chair over to the stove, climbs up, opens the microwave, and tosses in his bag of popcorn. I just managed to stop him from pushing "go" - with the plastic wrapper still on the bag. Not sure, but I think that might have left the kitchen smelling even worse than usual for microwave popcorn.
1) He swore off socks some time ago, so we had resigned ourselves to just leaving him barefoot. For leaving the house, it was actually kind of handy, because there would always be a pile of socks under his carseat in the van, where he will promptly deposit them if we try to shod him before arriving at a destination.
2) Now, he also refuses to wear clothing, much of the time. PJs - a big No. He appears in diaper only within minutes of being changed into nightclothes. (Which is better than the rare times when he takes the diaper off, too.) I wouldn't mind this so much, except that he then wakes in the middle of the night, frozen solid, and climbs into bed next to ME to get warm.
He won't wear a shirt. Really. Not at all. I put it over the head, turn around, and it is coming right back off. Doesn't matter that the rest of us are in two layers - he is bare-chested. It is odd - he seems a bit odd to be so vain about showing off his physique.
3) When he is getting dressed (which is still just an exercise in putting on clothes to entertain us all so that he can promptly take them off) - he must choose the clothing now. If it is our idea, it is going to be stuffed right back in the drawer. He has an uncanny knack for finding my least favorite clothing items, paired in the worst possible way.
4) He likes to get his own cup of water to drink. Now that he has figured out the water dispenser on the fridge door, in fact, we may have to disconnect it. Today, during the time it took me to fix and serve his dinner, he filled 4 separate cups of water for himself, with one sip taken from each. Which is better than yesterday, when he filled a cup to the brim, then dumped it in the "drain" under the dispenser. Except it isn't a drain - just a very shallow reservoir. Much smaller than a full cup of water, it turns out.
5) He has liked to get his own snack for months. We have one lower cupboard that we have always kept stocked for the kids - plastic dishes, crackers, raisins, etc., so that they can help themselves sometimes. Worked great for James and Maggie. John, on the other hand, has been trouble with that from day 1. First, we had to move the raisins out of there (found the whole carton spread about the kitchen). Then, we discoved him eating a whole BOX of crackers, right before dinner. Today, I walked into the kitchen to see him putting something in the trash.
"What are you doing, John?"
"I'm having popcorn!"
"Oh. [I notice he is putting the empty popcorn cardboard box in the trash.] Well, may I take that box and put it in the recycling instead of the trash? "
"OK!"
In the 5 seconds it takes me to cross the kitchen to do this, he doesn't wait patiently for me. He doesn't ask for me to cook it. He just goes about his business. He pushes a chair over to the stove, climbs up, opens the microwave, and tosses in his bag of popcorn. I just managed to stop him from pushing "go" - with the plastic wrapper still on the bag. Not sure, but I think that might have left the kitchen smelling even worse than usual for microwave popcorn.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Kids say...
John's speech continues to increase exponentially. He has been the slowest of the three to speak, so this feels like past due. And yet, he is also the only one to breastfeed this long, and this has interesting results as he learns to talk.
At six o'clock this morning, he padded in to my room and climbed up in bed. "Mommy, I want milky." He silently nursed away while I dozed off, then I heard him mutter something.
"Hmm, what was that, John?"
"How you doing?!" and right back to nursing.
Fancy that, he is learning manners, too.
At six o'clock this morning, he padded in to my room and climbed up in bed. "Mommy, I want milky." He silently nursed away while I dozed off, then I heard him mutter something.
"Hmm, what was that, John?"
"How you doing?!" and right back to nursing.
Fancy that, he is learning manners, too.
Friday, September 25, 2009
A day in the life...
Thursday dawned with great promise. I was up early and ready to go. I got James out the door even a bit early for carpool to pick him up. I was all geared up to spend the day working - first to catch up a bit on grading, then to get a few days of lecture prep caught up, then finally to work on my research project.
Of course, we can't leave an empty day on the calendar. So, we had decided to use this "non-teaching" day to fill in a few errands. We took the van in for an oil change/transmission fluid change/tire rotation, then I dropped Jeremy, Maggie, and John back home and went in to the office, feeling virtuous.
A couple of hours later, I got the call to reverse the process and take everyone back to get the finished van. As always, these things take a few minutes longer than I expect. I had a routine doctor's check-up that I didn't want to be late for, so I was in a bit of a hurry. And the van was parked on a hill, so the door swung open more quickly than I expected. But neither is really an explanation as to why I managed to smack myself soundly in the face with the door when I pulled it open.
Ouch! And then, OUCH! Wow, that really smarts. Still, I was a bit surprised to pull my hand away from my cheek and find it covered in blood. I still don't know if there was something sharp on that door (that I haven't since found) or it was an impressive impact wound (like splitting a melon?). But there was a gash about an inch long across my face, and it was spurting.
So, I was already late to see my doctor - what could I do but press an old McDonald's napkin to my face and drive away? Sounds convenient, but unfortunately, this appointment was with a neurologist. They are apparently not so savvy with trauma wounds. About half-way through the appointment, as he noticed the dripping blood on my face, he asked if I might like to have a band-aid. Being a very old-fashioned, patient-centered doctor, he actually went and got it himself! Of course, that took a while for him to find one, but I thought it was quite sweet of him.
The check-out process had me sitting with a nurse, so I was finally able to get some medical advice. (Grin.) After she had scheduled me for a follow-up test the doctor wanted (there is an opening at 1:15 today - do you want it? Sure, why not. Things are not gong so well at work now, anyway), she looked under the band-aid and recommended stitches and a tetanus shot. Oh. Rats.
Finished checking out ("$30 copay, please." Umm, I thought it was $15? "Nope, this is a specialist." Oh, that is right. One of the insurance increases this year. )
So, out to the car, armed with my cell phone. The call record is something like this:
1) Ring. Hello, Kim? I am sorry, but I have to cancel our lunch date.
2) Ring. Hello, Dr. Primary Care? (Oops, I apparently still have her old office number programmed in my cell, but she changed practices a year ago.) Yes, thanks, I would like the new number.
3) Ring. Hello? Oh, okay, press 3 to speak to a nurse. Okay, press 2 to speak to my own doctor's nurse. Hello? Oh, voice mail. "If this is an emergency, hang up and call 911. Otherwise, leave a message and the nurse will return your call by the end of the business day tomorrow." Tomorrow? I need another choice! Option A and B don't work for me. Aack! Can I talk to a real person?
4) Ring. Hello? Okay, this time I will press 1 to schedule and appointment. Oh, a real person! Hello! Yes, I need to know if someone in your office can do stitches, or should I just go to the Urgent Care center right across from where I am now? Yes, I already tried to ask a nurse, but I got voice mail and I need to know now what to do...(Receptionist assures me to just hold on; she is transferring me to the "live line" for the nurses so it won't go to voice mail.) Hello? "If this is an emergency..." Aack! She lied! Voice mail again.
5) Ring. Hello? Yes, it is me again. Please, can you find a real person for me to talk to? Yes, I'll hold. (new person comes on the line)
Hello? Yes, I need stitches. Can I come to your office now, or can I get approval to go to the Urgent Care center right across the street from where I am now? What? My face. I need stitches on my face. Yes, I'll hold. (Now person #2 has agreed to go find a nurse and ask in person - this is progress!)
Hello? Oh, you don't do stitches in the office if it is on the face? So, I should go to the Urgent Care? No? Oh, I see, because it is the face you won't do it and you recommend the E.R. so I can get a plastic surgeon if needed. Okay. Can you at least look up my record and tell me when my last tetanus shot was? Great. What? Oh, of course not. You don't have my records, because it has only been a year since my doctor changed practices; you couldn't possibly have found my records there yet. Yes, thanks anyway.
6) Ring. Hello? Yes, I need to cancel my 1:15 appointment. Yes, I know I just made it an hour ago, but I need to go to the E.R. instead. Yes, thanks for understanding. I will reschedule soon.
7) Ring. Hello? Jeremy, um, I guess I need to go to the E.R. I'll let you know when I am done. Yes, well, it is a long story...No, I don't think I should just come home and let you put a butterfly bandage on it. Yes, you did do a great job with a butterfly bandage that time I got my temple split with a canoe paddle, but a nurse just told me I should have stitches.
I then proceeded to the E.R. I decided to try the closest hospital (Blodgett). I had never been there before, but I knew that the E.R. downtown (Butterworth) could be a bit busy. My doctor's office told me to go to St. Mary's because they are affiliated there, but I have never been there and that was just as far as Butterworth. So, Blodgett it was. After all, how hard can it be to get a tetanus shot and some stitches?
Well, I got the quick part, actually. I walked in and was ushered immediately into triage. (Hah! My blood pressure was fine, despite that series of phone calls.) So they weren't really busy, good for me. Even better for me - the entire computer system had just gone down. So, they couldn't do any of the official registration procedures that usually take forever. I was in an examining room, meeting my nurse, within 5 minutes of arrival. A person from admissions actually came and sat down in my room with me, with a clipboard, because she couldn't sit at her computer and have me come to her. How pleasant!
Of course, I then discovered that my repairs would be handled by Tom, the Physician's Assistant. Now, I have nothing against P.A.s. I have been treated by them often. But I thought the point of going to the E.R. was to find a plastic surgeon, not a P.A. Argh. Then, he had a P.A. student tailing him, so I got to hear the whole thought process out loud.
"Well, 90% of the time, I recommend stitches. But that is for areas under tension. I don't think that spot on your cheek is under much tension; I think I will glue it instead." Ummm, okay. "I just need to get approval from the Attending ... be right back!" I had grading along, so at least I was getting some work done, in between all the popping in and out.
The P.A. returned quickly. "So, actually, a change in plans. I think we will do stitches after all, just because it is on your face." (Hmm. The Attending changed your plans without even looking at me? Should this give me confidence in your ability to assess, diagnose, and choose treatment?)
So the stitching up went pretty smoothly, except for a few more reassuring monologues from the P.A. to his student. "You see, as I flush with this saline, how the cheek swells way up? [In an aside to me, "Don't worry, your body will re-absorb all that fluid eventually." Good to know.] That is where the wash fluid is being taken up by the subcutaneous tissue. So that is an indication that the laceration actually affected the tissue much deeper than we had realized." [Well, gee, that is more reassurance that diagnosis skills are spot-on.]
Time to check out. Amazingly quick and smooth with the computers down. "Sign here - Bye!" says my nurse. Bye? Is that all? Okay. "Oh, wait, the computers just came back online. You better stop in here and see if they need more info." Well of COURSE they do.
"Co-pay, $100, please." What? It is only $50! "Nope, it says right on the card..." Oh, of course, another bit of inflation in insurance this year. Note to self: next time I whack myself on the face, do it last year, when the copay is only $50.
Aah, so just a mere 4 hours after I left the office to pick up the van, headed back to get some work done. Another productive day, underway. Well, nothing can stop me now. Except why do I suddenly feel a headache coming on, I wonder?
Of course, we can't leave an empty day on the calendar. So, we had decided to use this "non-teaching" day to fill in a few errands. We took the van in for an oil change/transmission fluid change/tire rotation, then I dropped Jeremy, Maggie, and John back home and went in to the office, feeling virtuous.
A couple of hours later, I got the call to reverse the process and take everyone back to get the finished van. As always, these things take a few minutes longer than I expect. I had a routine doctor's check-up that I didn't want to be late for, so I was in a bit of a hurry. And the van was parked on a hill, so the door swung open more quickly than I expected. But neither is really an explanation as to why I managed to smack myself soundly in the face with the door when I pulled it open.
Ouch! And then, OUCH! Wow, that really smarts. Still, I was a bit surprised to pull my hand away from my cheek and find it covered in blood. I still don't know if there was something sharp on that door (that I haven't since found) or it was an impressive impact wound (like splitting a melon?). But there was a gash about an inch long across my face, and it was spurting.
So, I was already late to see my doctor - what could I do but press an old McDonald's napkin to my face and drive away? Sounds convenient, but unfortunately, this appointment was with a neurologist. They are apparently not so savvy with trauma wounds. About half-way through the appointment, as he noticed the dripping blood on my face, he asked if I might like to have a band-aid. Being a very old-fashioned, patient-centered doctor, he actually went and got it himself! Of course, that took a while for him to find one, but I thought it was quite sweet of him.
The check-out process had me sitting with a nurse, so I was finally able to get some medical advice. (Grin.) After she had scheduled me for a follow-up test the doctor wanted (there is an opening at 1:15 today - do you want it? Sure, why not. Things are not gong so well at work now, anyway), she looked under the band-aid and recommended stitches and a tetanus shot. Oh. Rats.
Finished checking out ("$30 copay, please." Umm, I thought it was $15? "Nope, this is a specialist." Oh, that is right. One of the insurance increases this year. )
So, out to the car, armed with my cell phone. The call record is something like this:
1) Ring. Hello, Kim? I am sorry, but I have to cancel our lunch date.
2) Ring. Hello, Dr. Primary Care? (Oops, I apparently still have her old office number programmed in my cell, but she changed practices a year ago.) Yes, thanks, I would like the new number.
3) Ring. Hello? Oh, okay, press 3 to speak to a nurse. Okay, press 2 to speak to my own doctor's nurse. Hello? Oh, voice mail. "If this is an emergency, hang up and call 911. Otherwise, leave a message and the nurse will return your call by the end of the business day tomorrow." Tomorrow? I need another choice! Option A and B don't work for me. Aack! Can I talk to a real person?
4) Ring. Hello? Okay, this time I will press 1 to schedule and appointment. Oh, a real person! Hello! Yes, I need to know if someone in your office can do stitches, or should I just go to the Urgent Care center right across from where I am now? Yes, I already tried to ask a nurse, but I got voice mail and I need to know now what to do...(Receptionist assures me to just hold on; she is transferring me to the "live line" for the nurses so it won't go to voice mail.) Hello? "If this is an emergency..." Aack! She lied! Voice mail again.
5) Ring. Hello? Yes, it is me again. Please, can you find a real person for me to talk to? Yes, I'll hold. (new person comes on the line)
Hello? Yes, I need stitches. Can I come to your office now, or can I get approval to go to the Urgent Care center right across the street from where I am now? What? My face. I need stitches on my face. Yes, I'll hold. (Now person #2 has agreed to go find a nurse and ask in person - this is progress!)
Hello? Oh, you don't do stitches in the office if it is on the face? So, I should go to the Urgent Care? No? Oh, I see, because it is the face you won't do it and you recommend the E.R. so I can get a plastic surgeon if needed. Okay. Can you at least look up my record and tell me when my last tetanus shot was? Great. What? Oh, of course not. You don't have my records, because it has only been a year since my doctor changed practices; you couldn't possibly have found my records there yet. Yes, thanks anyway.
6) Ring. Hello? Yes, I need to cancel my 1:15 appointment. Yes, I know I just made it an hour ago, but I need to go to the E.R. instead. Yes, thanks for understanding. I will reschedule soon.
7) Ring. Hello? Jeremy, um, I guess I need to go to the E.R. I'll let you know when I am done. Yes, well, it is a long story...No, I don't think I should just come home and let you put a butterfly bandage on it. Yes, you did do a great job with a butterfly bandage that time I got my temple split with a canoe paddle, but a nurse just told me I should have stitches.
I then proceeded to the E.R. I decided to try the closest hospital (Blodgett). I had never been there before, but I knew that the E.R. downtown (Butterworth) could be a bit busy. My doctor's office told me to go to St. Mary's because they are affiliated there, but I have never been there and that was just as far as Butterworth. So, Blodgett it was. After all, how hard can it be to get a tetanus shot and some stitches?
Well, I got the quick part, actually. I walked in and was ushered immediately into triage. (Hah! My blood pressure was fine, despite that series of phone calls.) So they weren't really busy, good for me. Even better for me - the entire computer system had just gone down. So, they couldn't do any of the official registration procedures that usually take forever. I was in an examining room, meeting my nurse, within 5 minutes of arrival. A person from admissions actually came and sat down in my room with me, with a clipboard, because she couldn't sit at her computer and have me come to her. How pleasant!
Of course, I then discovered that my repairs would be handled by Tom, the Physician's Assistant. Now, I have nothing against P.A.s. I have been treated by them often. But I thought the point of going to the E.R. was to find a plastic surgeon, not a P.A. Argh. Then, he had a P.A. student tailing him, so I got to hear the whole thought process out loud.
"Well, 90% of the time, I recommend stitches. But that is for areas under tension. I don't think that spot on your cheek is under much tension; I think I will glue it instead." Ummm, okay. "I just need to get approval from the Attending ... be right back!" I had grading along, so at least I was getting some work done, in between all the popping in and out.
The P.A. returned quickly. "So, actually, a change in plans. I think we will do stitches after all, just because it is on your face." (Hmm. The Attending changed your plans without even looking at me? Should this give me confidence in your ability to assess, diagnose, and choose treatment?)
So the stitching up went pretty smoothly, except for a few more reassuring monologues from the P.A. to his student. "You see, as I flush with this saline, how the cheek swells way up? [In an aside to me, "Don't worry, your body will re-absorb all that fluid eventually." Good to know.] That is where the wash fluid is being taken up by the subcutaneous tissue. So that is an indication that the laceration actually affected the tissue much deeper than we had realized." [Well, gee, that is more reassurance that diagnosis skills are spot-on.]
Time to check out. Amazingly quick and smooth with the computers down. "Sign here - Bye!" says my nurse. Bye? Is that all? Okay. "Oh, wait, the computers just came back online. You better stop in here and see if they need more info." Well of COURSE they do.
"Co-pay, $100, please." What? It is only $50! "Nope, it says right on the card..." Oh, of course, another bit of inflation in insurance this year. Note to self: next time I whack myself on the face, do it last year, when the copay is only $50.
Aah, so just a mere 4 hours after I left the office to pick up the van, headed back to get some work done. Another productive day, underway. Well, nothing can stop me now. Except why do I suddenly feel a headache coming on, I wonder?
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Progress On My New "Get Healthy Plan"
7:00 AM: ate 2 slices whole wheat toast with homemade raspberry jam
7:30 AM: large mug of Earl Grey black tea - fully caffeinated
12:15 PM: 25 minute jog and 15 minute walk, pushing the stroller with a 30 pound toddler
1:45 PM: 1 pita, 1 sliced radish, 3 Tbsp hummus, 1 apple
3:00 PM: 1 cup mini-pretzel rods. Make that 1.5 cups. Oops
6:00 PM: healthy vegetarian dinner of brown rice with fresh-veggie ratatouille (eggplant, zucchini, bell peppers, onion, tomato, a bit of parmesan cheese). Pretty.
6:45 PM: 2 squares of premium chocolate bar. Dutifully split the entire bar between 5 people in the family, to avoid overeating.
10:00 PM: found giant-size premium imported milk chocolate bar with almonds. Pkg claims it is 5 servings, but I only split it with one (very aggressive) toddler who had climbed out of bed, found mom binging, and was demanding, "Chocolate! Mommy, chocolate!" as if he hadn't just learned how to pronounce that word at that exact moment. I probably got more than a healthy percentage of the 950 calories in that bar.
Aah, well, tomorrow is another day.
7:30 AM: large mug of Earl Grey black tea - fully caffeinated
12:15 PM: 25 minute jog and 15 minute walk, pushing the stroller with a 30 pound toddler
1:45 PM: 1 pita, 1 sliced radish, 3 Tbsp hummus, 1 apple
3:00 PM: 1 cup mini-pretzel rods. Make that 1.5 cups. Oops
6:00 PM: healthy vegetarian dinner of brown rice with fresh-veggie ratatouille (eggplant, zucchini, bell peppers, onion, tomato, a bit of parmesan cheese). Pretty.
6:45 PM: 2 squares of premium chocolate bar. Dutifully split the entire bar between 5 people in the family, to avoid overeating.
10:00 PM: found giant-size premium imported milk chocolate bar with almonds. Pkg claims it is 5 servings, but I only split it with one (very aggressive) toddler who had climbed out of bed, found mom binging, and was demanding, "Chocolate! Mommy, chocolate!" as if he hadn't just learned how to pronounce that word at that exact moment. I probably got more than a healthy percentage of the 950 calories in that bar.
Aah, well, tomorrow is another day.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Vocabulary
John's vocabulary has grown by leaps and bounds this week. He went from calling all his uncles (and male babysitter) "Kee-Kee" to calling them "Oncle." He even tried "Oncle Jeff." His aunts all became "Suey" since Aunt Sue was the first one he got down. Thus, "Aunt NaSuey" (Nancy) and Aunt Sasuey (Shannon).
Today, for the first time, he said "Maggie" very clearly. Later, he reverted to Sissy, but now it sounds nostalgic and cute. With encouragement, he also repeated James instead of saying Joey. And, he can put about anything he wishes (which is not everything) into a sentence, now.
Today, for the first time, he said "Maggie" very clearly. Later, he reverted to Sissy, but now it sounds nostalgic and cute. With encouragement, he also repeated James instead of saying Joey. And, he can put about anything he wishes (which is not everything) into a sentence, now.
John the eating machine
Here is John with his birthday cake. Notice he takes no prisoners. Two fisted is the way to go.
Return to the scene of the crime
A few days later, we returned to the restaurant for breakfast. Before we could get through the door to find a table, John was marching around the counter again, grabbing another doughnut. Eating that didn't stop him from consuming 2 sausages, 2 scrambled eggs, 2 pieces of toast. And after the meal, when his siblings got doughnuts, he took another one. I think our food bill is in trouble in 10 years.
The very hungry caterpillar
I have to record this or I won't believe it myself in a few months. While at "the lake," we headed into town with the whole family. Left a couple of hours after breakfast so figured we could be home in time for lunch. On the way there, John got very hungry and ornery. We changed the plan and stopped at the restaurant for second breakfast.
John ate:
1 plate-sizzed slice of ham
1 piece of bacon
1 sausage link
2 scrambled eggs
2 pieces of toast
As I was paying for this, he noticed the pastry counter. He marched behind it, reached in the open door, and helped himself to a doughnut. He stuffed half of it in his mouth before anyone even reached him.
That afternoon, John took a very good nap.
John ate:
1 plate-sizzed slice of ham
1 piece of bacon
1 sausage link
2 scrambled eggs
2 pieces of toast
As I was paying for this, he noticed the pastry counter. He marched behind it, reached in the open door, and helped himself to a doughnut. He stuffed half of it in his mouth before anyone even reached him.
That afternoon, John took a very good nap.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Potty training woes
Happiness is NOT...when the 24-month-old that I put to bed 30 minutes earlier appears standing next to me stark naked, holding his diaper in his hand, saying, "Mama, I go pee!" Would that be past, present, or future tense, I wonder instantly?
Maggie sends emails to James
James and Maggie each have their own gmail accounts, now. They don't use them much, of course. But when one gets on, the other wants to. Today, Maggie wanted to send lots of emails to James. Since she can't type (or read, for that matter) I take dictation for her. I thought these emails were worth immortalizing in my blog.
margaret to james July 16 11:30 AM
Dear James,
On the next Christmas, I might give you a present. It's pretty likely that I will. It's pretty likely that you'll like it. I like it that you care and love for people. I hope you'll give me a present on my birthday and Christmas. Dear James, I love you. It's so nice to be your sister.
Love, Maggie
margaret to james July 16 11:31 AM
Dear James,
I hope you like Star Wars movies. I like Star Wars movies. Maybe we can watch some at home if it's okay with Mom and Dad. I would be happy to watch one with you if it's okay with Mommy and Daddy. I like how you care for us and I will help you care for John. I like you and I love you so next Christmas I'll give you a present.
margaret to james July 16 11:33 AM
Boo! Boo! Boo!
James, those are all ghosts saying "Boo!" I hope you aren't afraid of ghosts!
Boo! Boo! Boo!
James, those were ghosts, too. Tell me if you're afraid of ghosts or not. Send me an email when you are on your email account and tell me if you are afraid of ghosts. Thank you.
Love, Maggie
margaret to james July 16 11:30 AM
Dear James,
On the next Christmas, I might give you a present. It's pretty likely that I will. It's pretty likely that you'll like it. I like it that you care and love for people. I hope you'll give me a present on my birthday and Christmas. Dear James, I love you. It's so nice to be your sister.
Love, Maggie
margaret to james July 16 11:31 AM
Dear James,
I hope you like Star Wars movies. I like Star Wars movies. Maybe we can watch some at home if it's okay with Mom and Dad. I would be happy to watch one with you if it's okay with Mommy and Daddy. I like how you care for us and I will help you care for John. I like you and I love you so next Christmas I'll give you a present.
margaret to james July 16 11:33 AM
Boo! Boo! Boo!
James, those are all ghosts saying "Boo!" I hope you aren't afraid of ghosts!
Boo! Boo! Boo!
James, those were ghosts, too. Tell me if you're afraid of ghosts or not. Send me an email when you are on your email account and tell me if you are afraid of ghosts. Thank you.
Love, Maggie
Tired baby
John sat in my lap, just after waking from a nap. He wore his fiercest scowl, but only half-heartedly because he was so tired. He gave many long, slow blinks, looking as if he hoped he could blink enough so that he could open his eyes and discover he was really still asleep.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Vocabulary of Maggie
"Dad, can a person in a wheelchair go down the steps?"
"No, they use a ramp, or an elevator."
(Long pause.) "What's a ramp?"
"It's an inclined plane."
"Oh!" (Relief and understanding flood Maggie's face.)
This one is really not her parents' fault. She learned all about inclined planes at age 3, at her daycare center (Aquinas College Child Development Center).
A few days later, in a plaintive tone:
"Mom, when can James and I have an inclined plane to play on?"
"You have already had lots of them."
"When?!"
"When you lay the camping mattresses over the stairs and slide yourselves or toys down them."
"Oh, yeah!" (Big smile of contentment.)
"No, they use a ramp, or an elevator."
(Long pause.) "What's a ramp?"
"It's an inclined plane."
"Oh!" (Relief and understanding flood Maggie's face.)
This one is really not her parents' fault. She learned all about inclined planes at age 3, at her daycare center (Aquinas College Child Development Center).
A few days later, in a plaintive tone:
"Mom, when can James and I have an inclined plane to play on?"
"You have already had lots of them."
"When?!"
"When you lay the camping mattresses over the stairs and slide yourselves or toys down them."
"Oh, yeah!" (Big smile of contentment.)
James: Self-portrait, age 6
We are cleaning the kids' rooms today. Beyond shoving the junk under beds and in closets, we are trying to actually purge. But, before recycling a poster I ran across, I wanted to record the contents.
James made the poster as part of an activity at Gilda's Club in the spring of 2008, when he was 6 years old. The poster had fill in the blank statements pasted on, along with cut-out pictures from magazines. So, here is James, in his (partially) own words, at age 6:
If I had a magic wand, I would wish for: my own genie lamp
If I had an ice cream factory, I would make a new flavor called: Tiger Swirl
One day I hope to: be a marine biologist, historian, paleontologist, astronomer, or Egyptologist, or study insects.
The cartoon character most like me is: Mike from Fetch [with Ruff Ruffman; a kids' reality TV show on PBS]
My favorite time of day is: school, because: I can see my friends.
If I could guest star on any TV show it would be: Fetch
James made the poster as part of an activity at Gilda's Club in the spring of 2008, when he was 6 years old. The poster had fill in the blank statements pasted on, along with cut-out pictures from magazines. So, here is James, in his (partially) own words, at age 6:
If I had a magic wand, I would wish for: my own genie lamp
If I had an ice cream factory, I would make a new flavor called: Tiger Swirl
One day I hope to: be a marine biologist, historian, paleontologist, astronomer, or Egyptologist, or study insects.
The cartoon character most like me is: Mike from Fetch [with Ruff Ruffman; a kids' reality TV show on PBS]
My favorite time of day is: school, because: I can see my friends.
If I could guest star on any TV show it would be: Fetch
Friday, July 3, 2009
Mrs. Frisby and her children
Funny how context changes everything. A mouse in my house? Totally disgusting. I would be the first to put out the traps (though please don't make me empty them). But a mouse in my gardening shed? It is too reminiscent of all the propagandizing children's stories. I think of Beatrix Potter's friendly little mice families, or Mrs. Frisby (and the Rats of NIMH). A mouse just belongs in the gardening shed, and it would seem an improper violence to hurt her.
Of course, the image of the personified, loving mouse mama is built up by the fact that this mouse was with her family. It all began innocently enough. It was long past time to transplant the tomato plant to a bigger pot. Jeremy ventured into the shed for the leftover bag of potting soil. My attention was drawn from across the yard by the way he simultaneously jumped a foot in the air and grabbed John and tossed him backwards. Fortunately, it was not too fearsome a beast that had so startled Jeremy by moving from inside the bag of dirt.
Jeremy poked at the bag a bit until the mouse hopped out. What we hadn't expected was to see her baby clinging to her belly as she jumped, lightning quick, out of the bag and back into the depths of the shed. The kids kibbitzed a bit about the excitement and Jeremy turned again to pour out the dirt. The mouse was back already! Wondering what would lead to such quick persistence to occupy an obviously imperiled space, he looked more closely and discovered not one but four mouse babies nestled in the bag with their newly returned mom.
Now, what to do? I don't care what the species; who could hurt an infant? And almost worse, who could chase away a nursing mom, leaving the helpless infants to a slow and certain death? But, we needed the potting soil. And, Jeremy protested, these were pests; vermin infesting our shed and living fat on our bag of grass seed. Certainly we didn't want to nurture the next generation of them, as well?
Well, the kids were on the scene, so there was really no debating to be done, and Jeremy knew it. He set about first fishing out all the fluffy bits of fabric, grass, whatever, that the mama had collected into the potting soil bag to make a large soft nest. He transfered these back to the shelf next to the grass seed, where the bag of soil had been. One baby was found in the nest and went along for the ride.
For better or worse, our kids can count to four. That was only one baby mouse. I certainly didn't want to go fishing for critters, but I felt a bit creepy about having tiny baby mice buried in the pot with our tomato plant. This was one of those times that I am happy to be married to a man who doesn't mind playing the macho man when I need him to. Armed with thick leather work gloves, he began slowly pouring out the bag of soil, sifting throuh each layer.
"I see another baby!" shouted James. Sure enough, just when I thought the other three had simply vanished from the bag. Jeremy scooped it up with a bit more fluff and plopped it down with its sibling on the shelf. Now we knew there was hope if we kept looking, and the very last bit of dirt in the bag revealed baby number 4.
"I wanna see baby mouse! I wanna see baby mouse!" screamed John, in one of his most complete and clearly spoken sentences to date. Jeremy held up the poor, tiny thing for inspection - his eyes still closed and his mouth vainly searching for milk from his mother. Much as I am not an animal fan, it was hard not to root for the little guy when you saw him in that state. John demanded to see him back in his nest, where just a nose poked out of the pile of fluff.
Confident that we would not find an animal skeleton in our tomato pot, the transplant was quickly concluded. I shooed the kids inside to wash their hands for PBJ sandwiches while Jeremy cleaned up. He came in for lunch with a happy report - the mama mouse had been spotted running along the shelf near her newly transplanted nest and babies, and all should be well in the family again.
Now, if only they will stay outside and out of sight, so I don't regret encouraging (ordering?) Jeremy to spare them! They aren't nearly as cute as a cat, and I only tolerate those from a (non-sneezing) distance.
Such drama for a summer afternoon.
Of course, the image of the personified, loving mouse mama is built up by the fact that this mouse was with her family. It all began innocently enough. It was long past time to transplant the tomato plant to a bigger pot. Jeremy ventured into the shed for the leftover bag of potting soil. My attention was drawn from across the yard by the way he simultaneously jumped a foot in the air and grabbed John and tossed him backwards. Fortunately, it was not too fearsome a beast that had so startled Jeremy by moving from inside the bag of dirt.
Jeremy poked at the bag a bit until the mouse hopped out. What we hadn't expected was to see her baby clinging to her belly as she jumped, lightning quick, out of the bag and back into the depths of the shed. The kids kibbitzed a bit about the excitement and Jeremy turned again to pour out the dirt. The mouse was back already! Wondering what would lead to such quick persistence to occupy an obviously imperiled space, he looked more closely and discovered not one but four mouse babies nestled in the bag with their newly returned mom.
Now, what to do? I don't care what the species; who could hurt an infant? And almost worse, who could chase away a nursing mom, leaving the helpless infants to a slow and certain death? But, we needed the potting soil. And, Jeremy protested, these were pests; vermin infesting our shed and living fat on our bag of grass seed. Certainly we didn't want to nurture the next generation of them, as well?
Well, the kids were on the scene, so there was really no debating to be done, and Jeremy knew it. He set about first fishing out all the fluffy bits of fabric, grass, whatever, that the mama had collected into the potting soil bag to make a large soft nest. He transfered these back to the shelf next to the grass seed, where the bag of soil had been. One baby was found in the nest and went along for the ride.
For better or worse, our kids can count to four. That was only one baby mouse. I certainly didn't want to go fishing for critters, but I felt a bit creepy about having tiny baby mice buried in the pot with our tomato plant. This was one of those times that I am happy to be married to a man who doesn't mind playing the macho man when I need him to. Armed with thick leather work gloves, he began slowly pouring out the bag of soil, sifting throuh each layer.
"I see another baby!" shouted James. Sure enough, just when I thought the other three had simply vanished from the bag. Jeremy scooped it up with a bit more fluff and plopped it down with its sibling on the shelf. Now we knew there was hope if we kept looking, and the very last bit of dirt in the bag revealed baby number 4.
"I wanna see baby mouse! I wanna see baby mouse!" screamed John, in one of his most complete and clearly spoken sentences to date. Jeremy held up the poor, tiny thing for inspection - his eyes still closed and his mouth vainly searching for milk from his mother. Much as I am not an animal fan, it was hard not to root for the little guy when you saw him in that state. John demanded to see him back in his nest, where just a nose poked out of the pile of fluff.
Confident that we would not find an animal skeleton in our tomato pot, the transplant was quickly concluded. I shooed the kids inside to wash their hands for PBJ sandwiches while Jeremy cleaned up. He came in for lunch with a happy report - the mama mouse had been spotted running along the shelf near her newly transplanted nest and babies, and all should be well in the family again.
Now, if only they will stay outside and out of sight, so I don't regret encouraging (ordering?) Jeremy to spare them! They aren't nearly as cute as a cat, and I only tolerate those from a (non-sneezing) distance.
Such drama for a summer afternoon.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
John "Independence Day" Daniel
Funny how you can have three kids, think you raised them about the same, and yet they have totally different personalities.
John is, hands down, my independent child. He can wander happily about the house, entertaining himself for great lengths of time. At just 2 years old, he can outlast Maggie (nearly 5 years old) for self-sufficiency. (And James was no better than Maggie until he learned to read to himself.) But it doesn't stop with entertainment.
John helps himself to snacks. Our attempts to keep him out of the snack cupboard have been in vain. He broke the safety latch via sheer brute strength, and now just helps himself to raisins, crackers, granola bars, whatever. I have had to draw the line with his new trick, though. He now opens the fridge and pulls out whatever looks interesting - a dish of butter, a gallon of milk, a hot dog.
John also likes to be left alone to eat overnight. He climbs out of his bed, pads into my bed, and demands "milk-uh." When he has switched sides 2-4 times and is sated, he throws the covers back, cries out "My Bunk-y" and pads back to his own bed to go to sleep. Seriously. James and Maggie would eventually learn to sleep on their own, but they even now wouldn't voluntarily return to their own beds once ensconced in mine!
John is, hands down, my independent child. He can wander happily about the house, entertaining himself for great lengths of time. At just 2 years old, he can outlast Maggie (nearly 5 years old) for self-sufficiency. (And James was no better than Maggie until he learned to read to himself.) But it doesn't stop with entertainment.
John helps himself to snacks. Our attempts to keep him out of the snack cupboard have been in vain. He broke the safety latch via sheer brute strength, and now just helps himself to raisins, crackers, granola bars, whatever. I have had to draw the line with his new trick, though. He now opens the fridge and pulls out whatever looks interesting - a dish of butter, a gallon of milk, a hot dog.
John also likes to be left alone to eat overnight. He climbs out of his bed, pads into my bed, and demands "milk-uh." When he has switched sides 2-4 times and is sated, he throws the covers back, cries out "My Bunk-y" and pads back to his own bed to go to sleep. Seriously. James and Maggie would eventually learn to sleep on their own, but they even now wouldn't voluntarily return to their own beds once ensconced in mine!
Summer time, and the living is easy...
I am amazed at how well the kids are behaving this summer. With a very little bit of entertainment, they are being cheerful, helpful, and self-entertaining most of the time. Maybe the "old folks" are right about kids just needing more down time than they get in our times. With the stress of the school schedule off, they seem much happier.
James is really excited about gardening. He has always had an interest, but this summer, he is devoted. He is out every day watering, weeding, plotting. He has planted corn, beans, carrots, watermelon, pumpkin, cucumber. For his birthday he asked for two things - legos, and an azalea bush with yellow flowers.
James's enthusiasm has spilled over to John. For John's birthday, Grandma Di brought a plastic wagon pre-filled with sand toys. She had also purchased a few extra plastic gardening toys to add to the wagon before wrapping it for him. When John pulled off the wrapping paper, he squealed, grabbed the gardening rake, and ran (pell-mell) for the vegetable plot to begin raking, just as he had seen James doing. No doubts in his mind what the new tools were for. When Grandpa Glen hurried over and explained that he couldn't rake the plants that were sprouting because it "hurts the plants," John looked stricken and immediately looked down at the plants, saying "I sorry! I sorry!"
Maggie is on the cusp of learning to read. She can read some words already, but won't most of the time. She prefers to be read to, because she wants to hear chapter books and obviously can't manage those on her own. In fact, she complained the other day, "How come James has way more chapter books than I do?" I explained that she hadn't been interested in them for as long as James, but she looked dubious about that as an answer.
Jeremy picked out the Susan Cooper series to read to the big kids most recently. They both seemed to enjoy Over Sea, Under Stone and The Dark is Rising. That surprised me a bit, because I don't think Maggie understands most of the books, and James certainly not all of it. But they beg for more every night.
I am loving that this summer is more relaxed for us. I loved our travels last year, but I am also really enjoying having time to take all five of us for a bike ride to the ice cream store, or to swim lessons. I have been self-teaching myself piano from James's lesson books, and loving being able to really make some (elementary) music. The kids and I (Finally!) went strawberry picking - the first time since I had kids, I think. My fears that the kids would just whine to watch TV or play computer games all day has not born out, mostly. They actually play very well together, pretend games, and out in the yard, and with board games. We are all discovering enough time for them to enjoy the toys and games they have but never have the energy to use.
James is really excited about gardening. He has always had an interest, but this summer, he is devoted. He is out every day watering, weeding, plotting. He has planted corn, beans, carrots, watermelon, pumpkin, cucumber. For his birthday he asked for two things - legos, and an azalea bush with yellow flowers.
James's enthusiasm has spilled over to John. For John's birthday, Grandma Di brought a plastic wagon pre-filled with sand toys. She had also purchased a few extra plastic gardening toys to add to the wagon before wrapping it for him. When John pulled off the wrapping paper, he squealed, grabbed the gardening rake, and ran (pell-mell) for the vegetable plot to begin raking, just as he had seen James doing. No doubts in his mind what the new tools were for. When Grandpa Glen hurried over and explained that he couldn't rake the plants that were sprouting because it "hurts the plants," John looked stricken and immediately looked down at the plants, saying "I sorry! I sorry!"
Maggie is on the cusp of learning to read. She can read some words already, but won't most of the time. She prefers to be read to, because she wants to hear chapter books and obviously can't manage those on her own. In fact, she complained the other day, "How come James has way more chapter books than I do?" I explained that she hadn't been interested in them for as long as James, but she looked dubious about that as an answer.
Jeremy picked out the Susan Cooper series to read to the big kids most recently. They both seemed to enjoy Over Sea, Under Stone and The Dark is Rising. That surprised me a bit, because I don't think Maggie understands most of the books, and James certainly not all of it. But they beg for more every night.
I am loving that this summer is more relaxed for us. I loved our travels last year, but I am also really enjoying having time to take all five of us for a bike ride to the ice cream store, or to swim lessons. I have been self-teaching myself piano from James's lesson books, and loving being able to really make some (elementary) music. The kids and I (Finally!) went strawberry picking - the first time since I had kids, I think. My fears that the kids would just whine to watch TV or play computer games all day has not born out, mostly. They actually play very well together, pretend games, and out in the yard, and with board games. We are all discovering enough time for them to enjoy the toys and games they have but never have the energy to use.
John-ish (language rosetta stone)
John's speech is building up fast. It is hard to keep track of what he might be able to say now. He really has his own language right now:
"K-car" is "big truck"
"K-kuck" is "Fire truck"
"Sissy" is Maggie
"Joey" is James
"Boppa" is Grandpa
"Kee-Kee" is Uncle Jim (first), or any tall youngish man with a beard, second.
"tweet-tweet" is a bird, but he now recognizes robins as specific, and calls them "rob" (which then requires a rendition of "rocking robin" by the nearest adult, to avoid much screaming and unhappiness)
"-uh" is the universal suffix: bike-uh, milk-uh, seat-uh, etc.
"K-car" is "big truck"
"K-kuck" is "Fire truck"
"Sissy" is Maggie
"Joey" is James
"Boppa" is Grandpa
"Kee-Kee" is Uncle Jim (first), or any tall youngish man with a beard, second.
"tweet-tweet" is a bird, but he now recognizes robins as specific, and calls them "rob" (which then requires a rendition of "rocking robin" by the nearest adult, to avoid much screaming and unhappiness)
"-uh" is the universal suffix: bike-uh, milk-uh, seat-uh, etc.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Business trip - no kids!
It was strange to be away from my kids for 5 days. John is not quite 2, so this is the youngest yet that I have left one of them overnight. All 3 of them stayed with Grandma and Grandpa. Not that they seemed to suffer. For weeks before the trip, all I heard was, "When is it time to go to Grandma's house?" Maggie and James, anyway, couldn't kick me out the door fast enough. "They" say that a strong attachment leads to security during separation. I will have to hope that is the reason the kids don't really seem to care that I am gone. :)
I called the first night, feeling dutiful. "Oh, hi, Mom!" James sounded cheerful. "Yes, I am fine. Here, would you like to talk to Maggie?"
"Mom! Hi!...Yes, I'm fine. Oh, John wants to talk. Bye!"
"Hi Mommy! Doggy! Bye Mommy!"
Apparently the sheepdog was out across the road, moving the sheep into their overnight pen. I can't really expect to compete with that for excitement or attention. So, I hung up satisfied that though I missed them, they were doing fine without me.
Overall, I thought we all did quite well with the time apart. Except I failed at packing. I was feeling smug at getting everything into a carry-on so I didn't have to check luggage. Perhaps I should have recognized that this was a bit too easy. It was quite distressing to discover at the start of a 5-day trip that I had forgotten the breast pump. Okay, I wasn't trying to save milk or anything. But we were talking about some serious discomfort. Also, I was left worrying if my milk would dry up in that amount of time, leaving John weaned more abruptly than he might prefer. Just a little something to add to my mommy-guilt about being gone for so long in the first place.
Despite that, we managed to have a good trip. We got good work done. We went out for a nice dinner to celebrate our 15th wedding anniversary. We caught up on sleep. Our presentations went well. We networked and schmoozed and all that stuff I hate. We came up with new ideas to bring home. We worked early and late and got tired.
We flew home through the most amazing thunderstorm. Towering clouds filled with lightning on either side of the plane - it reminded me of a movie set from Tim Burton (a bit frightening, a bit comical, a bit surreal). We landed safely and slipped into bed without waking the wee ones. In the morning, they didn't even come looking for us (their cousins were still in the house and a bigger pull). John was happy to see me, at least. I was surprised that he didn't even ask to nurse as he sat sleepily in my lap. Until James suggested it, anyway. Then there was no stopping him. Fortunately for both of us, the forgotten breast pump didn't seem to have caused any long-term problems. So, one mommy-guilt episode assuaged.
I called the first night, feeling dutiful. "Oh, hi, Mom!" James sounded cheerful. "Yes, I am fine. Here, would you like to talk to Maggie?"
"Mom! Hi!...Yes, I'm fine. Oh, John wants to talk. Bye!"
"Hi Mommy! Doggy! Bye Mommy!"
Apparently the sheepdog was out across the road, moving the sheep into their overnight pen. I can't really expect to compete with that for excitement or attention. So, I hung up satisfied that though I missed them, they were doing fine without me.
Overall, I thought we all did quite well with the time apart. Except I failed at packing. I was feeling smug at getting everything into a carry-on so I didn't have to check luggage. Perhaps I should have recognized that this was a bit too easy. It was quite distressing to discover at the start of a 5-day trip that I had forgotten the breast pump. Okay, I wasn't trying to save milk or anything. But we were talking about some serious discomfort. Also, I was left worrying if my milk would dry up in that amount of time, leaving John weaned more abruptly than he might prefer. Just a little something to add to my mommy-guilt about being gone for so long in the first place.
Despite that, we managed to have a good trip. We got good work done. We went out for a nice dinner to celebrate our 15th wedding anniversary. We caught up on sleep. Our presentations went well. We networked and schmoozed and all that stuff I hate. We came up with new ideas to bring home. We worked early and late and got tired.
We flew home through the most amazing thunderstorm. Towering clouds filled with lightning on either side of the plane - it reminded me of a movie set from Tim Burton (a bit frightening, a bit comical, a bit surreal). We landed safely and slipped into bed without waking the wee ones. In the morning, they didn't even come looking for us (their cousins were still in the house and a bigger pull). John was happy to see me, at least. I was surprised that he didn't even ask to nurse as he sat sleepily in my lap. Until James suggested it, anyway. Then there was no stopping him. Fortunately for both of us, the forgotten breast pump didn't seem to have caused any long-term problems. So, one mommy-guilt episode assuaged.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Helpful munchkins
Monday night I was tired. I went in to "put John to bed." Right now, this requires laying on the floor next to his bed so he won't get up and wander around instead of falling asleep. Fortunately, it is allowable under this job description for me to fall asleep.
Jeremy had to leave for a meeting about 20 minutes after I laid down with John. He apparently got James and Maggie set up with a mop and bucket of water. When I awoke an hour later, I had a reasonably clean kitchen floor! I clearly need to think of more things to ask these great kids to do. It is so hard for me to remember that they are growing up so fast, and that includes growing in their abilities to help!
Ever since then, Maggie has been dropping hints... "Mom, if you have any chores to do, I will just do all of them for you." (SURE!)
James can also get motivated when interested in the outcome. Today he asked, "When can we plant a vegetable garden?" I of course told him we would wait a few weeks until the frosts were over. But I also implied that I wasn't sure I was up for a garden. He insisted he could do all the work. And he promptly set out to prove it. He and Maggie disappeared almost instantly, and when I looked up, they had the vegetable patch completely cleared of the overgrown weeds and the soil all turned over for planting.
Even John would like to get in on the act. When an unnoticed piece of cheese in the middle of the kitchen floor (HOW DID THAT EVER GET THERE? And just after the kids mopped!) attracted a pile of ants, there was John, ready to help. I found him down on his belly, squishing ants systematically and cheering.
Jeremy had to leave for a meeting about 20 minutes after I laid down with John. He apparently got James and Maggie set up with a mop and bucket of water. When I awoke an hour later, I had a reasonably clean kitchen floor! I clearly need to think of more things to ask these great kids to do. It is so hard for me to remember that they are growing up so fast, and that includes growing in their abilities to help!
Ever since then, Maggie has been dropping hints... "Mom, if you have any chores to do, I will just do all of them for you." (SURE!)
James can also get motivated when interested in the outcome. Today he asked, "When can we plant a vegetable garden?" I of course told him we would wait a few weeks until the frosts were over. But I also implied that I wasn't sure I was up for a garden. He insisted he could do all the work. And he promptly set out to prove it. He and Maggie disappeared almost instantly, and when I looked up, they had the vegetable patch completely cleared of the overgrown weeds and the soil all turned over for planting.
Even John would like to get in on the act. When an unnoticed piece of cheese in the middle of the kitchen floor (HOW DID THAT EVER GET THERE? And just after the kids mopped!) attracted a pile of ants, there was John, ready to help. I found him down on his belly, squishing ants systematically and cheering.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Baby brains
Sometimes John scares me with his 23-month-old knowledge.
I brought in James's nearly-new soccer ball from the yard this evening. "This ball is falling apart!" I complained to Jeremy, as I noticed the stiching coming loose. I guess that's what we get from a cheap ball - a cheap lifetime. I left it by the door and went in the other room.
When I returned a few minutes later, John was very busy with the ball - and his toy drill. Lest I mistake this for coincidental, he looked up at me proudly and said, "Mama, ball!" Then he put the drill right on the bad spot and worked away at it.
It is good for me to be reminded (frequently) that he understands FAR more than I give him credit for. His lack of ability to speak long fluent sentences does not seem to impair his ability to understand them.
He also understands that drills are for fixing and other important work. A few months ago, after I had gotten frustrated with him trying to escape, I had locked the sliding door to our deck. He didn't whine or cry. He just went and got his drill and set to work on the lock, very patiently trying to remove the screws from the lock.
I brought in James's nearly-new soccer ball from the yard this evening. "This ball is falling apart!" I complained to Jeremy, as I noticed the stiching coming loose. I guess that's what we get from a cheap ball - a cheap lifetime. I left it by the door and went in the other room.
When I returned a few minutes later, John was very busy with the ball - and his toy drill. Lest I mistake this for coincidental, he looked up at me proudly and said, "Mama, ball!" Then he put the drill right on the bad spot and worked away at it.
It is good for me to be reminded (frequently) that he understands FAR more than I give him credit for. His lack of ability to speak long fluent sentences does not seem to impair his ability to understand them.
He also understands that drills are for fixing and other important work. A few months ago, after I had gotten frustrated with him trying to escape, I had locked the sliding door to our deck. He didn't whine or cry. He just went and got his drill and set to work on the lock, very patiently trying to remove the screws from the lock.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Maggie's vocabulary
Maggie invented a word while in a foul mood today.
"Stop it, you're just making me ornerier!"
[Would that be ornery-er? Not sure how to spell it.]
She cheered up after a meal and a nap. Then she told us,
"I was just being silly when I said those ridiculous things."
"Stop it, you're just making me ornerier!"
[Would that be ornery-er? Not sure how to spell it.]
She cheered up after a meal and a nap. Then she told us,
"I was just being silly when I said those ridiculous things."
Who wears the pants?
Overheard today by a fly on the wall during our family's lunch...
Maggie: Why does Dad always get to pray before meals? [not true, by the way, but never start a land war in Asia and never argue with a 4-year-old]
James: Because Dad is the head of our family.
Jennifer: Oh really? Who says?
James: Me. The oldest male in the family is the head.
Jennifer: So, if Dad were gone, would you be the head?
James: No.
Jennifer: You know, James, in some times and places, that is the way it was. If Dad died, people would say to you, "Young man, you're the head of this family now. It is your job to take care of them." Would you like that?
James: No, that would be hard. I wouldn't like being a dad and having to drink coffee.
Maggie: So the head of the family gets to pray most of the time so Dad prays
Jennifer: What? Why do you say that dad is the head of the family and not mom?
Maggie: Because he gets to work first.
[So apparently, last fall when Jennifer taught the morning classes and "got to work first," then she was the head of the family. That makes it a pretty tenuous position in our household.]
Maggie: Why does Dad always get to pray before meals? [not true, by the way, but never start a land war in Asia and never argue with a 4-year-old]
James: Because Dad is the head of our family.
Jennifer: Oh really? Who says?
James: Me. The oldest male in the family is the head.
Jennifer: So, if Dad were gone, would you be the head?
James: No.
Jennifer: You know, James, in some times and places, that is the way it was. If Dad died, people would say to you, "Young man, you're the head of this family now. It is your job to take care of them." Would you like that?
James: No, that would be hard. I wouldn't like being a dad and having to drink coffee.
Maggie: So the head of the family gets to pray most of the time so Dad prays
Jennifer: What? Why do you say that dad is the head of the family and not mom?
Maggie: Because he gets to work first.
[So apparently, last fall when Jennifer taught the morning classes and "got to work first," then she was the head of the family. That makes it a pretty tenuous position in our household.]
Friday, March 27, 2009
Parenting woes
"Mom, something happened at school today that is still bothering me."
Groaning inwardly, I fought the urge to roll my eyes and instead slowly finished smoothing the covers around my seven-year-old. You see, my son suffers intermittently from what I once heard described as "Eeyore Syndrome." It usually hits at bedtime, and involves a view of the world that everyone is somehow against him, and causing him grief for absolutely no reason or provocation. It is particularly perplexing to me because it is not all the time. Thus, I never know when to take a complaint seriously, or brush it off as something that he will have forgotten by the morning.
"Do you want to tell me about it, James?"
"Trenton has been beating me up at recess almost every day."
"Really?" My mom antennae have just gone up. This is my baby, after all, and I bristle even against my own will at the idea of someone trying to harm him. But I try to remain calm and cautious. I have learned that I can't rush in with both guns blazing; sometimes the story doesn't hold up to the tagline, and sometimes James is not an innocent participant. "Well, that doesn't sound very nice. What do you mean by "beat you up?"
"Well, today at recess he held me down while Gabe and Elizabeth screamed in my ears as loud as they could."
Now I am starting to lose my dispassionate interviewer mindset. I breathe slowly to remind myself to get more of the story. "Well that is a very strange thing to do. Why do you suppose they would do that?" Of course, James has no idea why.
I continue to query him.
"Did it hurt when they screamed?" Yes, definitely.
"Did they know you didn't like it? Did you tell them?" Yes.
"And you can't think of anything you might have done first that would make them want to treat you like this?" No.
"And you say that Trenton has been beating you up other time?" Yes, lots of times.
"Did you ever find an adult on the playground to tell about this?"
James gave a typically vague answer to this one. "Well, yes, but she said she didn't see it and she didn't know who Trenton was. She said I should point Trenton out to her, but it is really hard to do that from across the playground, and then it was time to go inside."
"Did you tell an adult about the screaming in your ears today?"
"Well, I tried. I hinted to the parent on the playground that my ears were really hurting."
"Hmm. You know, James, you have to be more direct than that. I don't think the person you told would have had any idea what you were talking about from that."
James nodded and agreed with me, if reluctantly, that he might not have been clear enough. But there was more. "Well, another day, Trenton held me down while Elizabeth and a bunch of other girls kicked me in the hindquarters."
Okay, now I am starting to lose control myself. Someone is holding down my seven-year-old first-born, a child who is bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh, and letting him be physically abused. I read Lord of the Flies once upon a time but I have never had to live through it. Was James?
"And did you tell an adult about this?" Yes. Of course, I don't know now how direct the report was, based on James's earlier comments, but he says the adult on the playground didn't seem interested in helping him solve the problem.
I have to buy myself time. "Well, James, I am really sorry to hear this is happening. It is never okay for people to treat each other like this. I am glad you told me about it. I will talk to your teacher about this tomorrow and try to find out what we can do to solve it, okay?"
James, feeling somewhat consoled, now drifts off to sleep. I am not so fortunate. Instead, I ache.
I ache for James, who must witness the injustices of the world at such a tender age. I ache for myself, feeling incompetent to handle the challenges of parenting now that they are more complicated than just hugging a screaming infant to my breast, waiting for the sobs to pass away. I ache for the loss of my own mother just over a year ago. I feel with the certainty that only accompanies an untestable hypothesis that she would know just what to do; how to find the right balance between protecting the cub and letting him grow up a little on his own.
Perhaps most resignedly, I ache for humanity. Why does Lord of the Flies have to be even a partially accurate portrayal of our baseness, so that even second-graders have the bullying instinct to gang up on each other and cause harm?
Groaning inwardly, I fought the urge to roll my eyes and instead slowly finished smoothing the covers around my seven-year-old. You see, my son suffers intermittently from what I once heard described as "Eeyore Syndrome." It usually hits at bedtime, and involves a view of the world that everyone is somehow against him, and causing him grief for absolutely no reason or provocation. It is particularly perplexing to me because it is not all the time. Thus, I never know when to take a complaint seriously, or brush it off as something that he will have forgotten by the morning.
"Do you want to tell me about it, James?"
"Trenton has been beating me up at recess almost every day."
"Really?" My mom antennae have just gone up. This is my baby, after all, and I bristle even against my own will at the idea of someone trying to harm him. But I try to remain calm and cautious. I have learned that I can't rush in with both guns blazing; sometimes the story doesn't hold up to the tagline, and sometimes James is not an innocent participant. "Well, that doesn't sound very nice. What do you mean by "beat you up?"
"Well, today at recess he held me down while Gabe and Elizabeth screamed in my ears as loud as they could."
Now I am starting to lose my dispassionate interviewer mindset. I breathe slowly to remind myself to get more of the story. "Well that is a very strange thing to do. Why do you suppose they would do that?" Of course, James has no idea why.
I continue to query him.
"Did it hurt when they screamed?" Yes, definitely.
"Did they know you didn't like it? Did you tell them?" Yes.
"And you can't think of anything you might have done first that would make them want to treat you like this?" No.
"And you say that Trenton has been beating you up other time?" Yes, lots of times.
"Did you ever find an adult on the playground to tell about this?"
James gave a typically vague answer to this one. "Well, yes, but she said she didn't see it and she didn't know who Trenton was. She said I should point Trenton out to her, but it is really hard to do that from across the playground, and then it was time to go inside."
"Did you tell an adult about the screaming in your ears today?"
"Well, I tried. I hinted to the parent on the playground that my ears were really hurting."
"Hmm. You know, James, you have to be more direct than that. I don't think the person you told would have had any idea what you were talking about from that."
James nodded and agreed with me, if reluctantly, that he might not have been clear enough. But there was more. "Well, another day, Trenton held me down while Elizabeth and a bunch of other girls kicked me in the hindquarters."
Okay, now I am starting to lose control myself. Someone is holding down my seven-year-old first-born, a child who is bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh, and letting him be physically abused. I read Lord of the Flies once upon a time but I have never had to live through it. Was James?
"And did you tell an adult about this?" Yes. Of course, I don't know now how direct the report was, based on James's earlier comments, but he says the adult on the playground didn't seem interested in helping him solve the problem.
I have to buy myself time. "Well, James, I am really sorry to hear this is happening. It is never okay for people to treat each other like this. I am glad you told me about it. I will talk to your teacher about this tomorrow and try to find out what we can do to solve it, okay?"
James, feeling somewhat consoled, now drifts off to sleep. I am not so fortunate. Instead, I ache.
I ache for James, who must witness the injustices of the world at such a tender age. I ache for myself, feeling incompetent to handle the challenges of parenting now that they are more complicated than just hugging a screaming infant to my breast, waiting for the sobs to pass away. I ache for the loss of my own mother just over a year ago. I feel with the certainty that only accompanies an untestable hypothesis that she would know just what to do; how to find the right balance between protecting the cub and letting him grow up a little on his own.
Perhaps most resignedly, I ache for humanity. Why does Lord of the Flies have to be even a partially accurate portrayal of our baseness, so that even second-graders have the bullying instinct to gang up on each other and cause harm?
John's words at 21 months
John is 21 months old, and his language has just exploded. Actually, he has been very verbal all along, just like James and Maggie were. The difference is that we haven't been able to understand the vast majority of the paragraphs he spouts off all the time.
Now, he likes to spend about 20-30 minutes each morning frantically bringing books and pointing at everything, impatiently waiting for someone to tell him the words to name everything. His words now include (and I am sure I am forgetting many):
Mama, Mommy
Daddy
Ba-Pa! (Grandpa)
Kee-Kee (Uncle, especially Uncle Jim, but occasionally Uncle Jeff)
John
sa-sa (pacifier)
tickle
Uh-oh!
Oww! (he has really learned the melodrama for this one. I have watched this child through multiple blood tests lay still and unperturbed. He barely flinches for a shot. But when I tried to cut his hair, you would have thought I was eviscerating him. Change a dirty diaper when he isn't in the mood, and it sounds like he has been tossed in the Lion's Den. Never just a wordless crying; always a carefully enunciated "oww" designed to express maximum hurt and pain.)
I-wanna-see...Oh.
I-want-that
I-need-that
I-want-more
I-want-milk
bite
I-want-a-bite
side (as in other side, when nursing)
cookie
cracker (includes pretzels, chips, and all crunchy snacks)
sa-sauce (applesauce)
cheese
cha-cha (broccoli)
cup
hot
NO
huh (yes)
Hi! (uttered cheerfully to anyone he walks past in public)
bye!
thank-you
'Lo! (phone, as in "hello")
truck
garbage truck
ball
car
boat
bike
door
shoe
sock
eye
ear
nose
hat
head
coat
'side (outside)
dog
meow (cat, or similar-appearing animals, like rabbits)
kitty
baa-baa (sheep, or several other farm animals like cows)
quack-quack (duck)
fishy
turkey (learned this with delight when he saw a wild turkey at close range)
Now, he likes to spend about 20-30 minutes each morning frantically bringing books and pointing at everything, impatiently waiting for someone to tell him the words to name everything. His words now include (and I am sure I am forgetting many):
Mama, Mommy
Daddy
Ba-Pa! (Grandpa)
Kee-Kee (Uncle, especially Uncle Jim, but occasionally Uncle Jeff)
John
sa-sa (pacifier)
tickle
Uh-oh!
Oww! (he has really learned the melodrama for this one. I have watched this child through multiple blood tests lay still and unperturbed. He barely flinches for a shot. But when I tried to cut his hair, you would have thought I was eviscerating him. Change a dirty diaper when he isn't in the mood, and it sounds like he has been tossed in the Lion's Den. Never just a wordless crying; always a carefully enunciated "oww" designed to express maximum hurt and pain.)
I-wanna-see...Oh.
I-want-that
I-need-that
I-want-more
I-want-milk
bite
I-want-a-bite
side (as in other side, when nursing)
cookie
cracker (includes pretzels, chips, and all crunchy snacks)
sa-sauce (applesauce)
cheese
cha-cha (broccoli)
cup
hot
NO
huh (yes)
Hi! (uttered cheerfully to anyone he walks past in public)
bye!
thank-you
'Lo! (phone, as in "hello")
truck
garbage truck
ball
car
boat
bike
door
shoe
sock
eye
ear
nose
hat
head
coat
'side (outside)
dog
meow (cat, or similar-appearing animals, like rabbits)
kitty
baa-baa (sheep, or several other farm animals like cows)
quack-quack (duck)
fishy
turkey (learned this with delight when he saw a wild turkey at close range)
Weaning?
John appeared nearly done with nursing by Christmas 2009 (at 18 months), showing interest less than once a day and only for about 5 minutes at a time. Then, Jeremy gave me a 4-day-trip for a Christmas present. Somehow, John knew, and began nursing again, with a vengeance. In the week leading up to my trip (at the end of March, when John was 21 months), John nursed multiple times a day, up to a half-hour at a time. Yes, he was sick, with an ear infection, fever, and possibly a virus also. But this still seemed timed as if he knew what I was up to in leaving town.
Jeremy reported that John was just fine for the 4 days I was gone. He would ask for me when he woke up, and look around a bit, but then got on with his day just fine. So, I thought he might be done when I got back, and he was over his illnesses. I arrived home late at night, after all the kids were asleep. The next morning, John saw me and asked to be picked up. He was acting groggy and cuddly, as is normal for him when he has been awoken by the household noise before he is really ready.
John asked for his "sa-sa" (pacifier), which I couldn't immediately find. After two or three requests, I decided to delicately test the water. I whispered in his ear, "Do you want some milk?" I got no response. A moment later, he repeated, "I want sa-sa."
"So," I thought, with mixed feelings, "he really is done nursing." I held him a while longer as I helped James and Maggie get ready for school. It was a good 5-10 minutes later, when his quiet little voice said, "I want milk." I wanted to be sure I had heard him correctly, so I asked, "Do you want your pacifer?" He looked at me with a stunned face, then did something I have never seen from him before. He put his fist in the air, and pumped his arm, in the style of "Rah, team, fight!" from the MSU fight song. While making this new gesture, he shouted at the top of his voice, "I WANT MILK!"
Well, I guess he just needed a few minutes to warm up to the idea. Since then, he has been back to 20 minute daily nursing!
Jeremy reported that John was just fine for the 4 days I was gone. He would ask for me when he woke up, and look around a bit, but then got on with his day just fine. So, I thought he might be done when I got back, and he was over his illnesses. I arrived home late at night, after all the kids were asleep. The next morning, John saw me and asked to be picked up. He was acting groggy and cuddly, as is normal for him when he has been awoken by the household noise before he is really ready.
John asked for his "sa-sa" (pacifier), which I couldn't immediately find. After two or three requests, I decided to delicately test the water. I whispered in his ear, "Do you want some milk?" I got no response. A moment later, he repeated, "I want sa-sa."
"So," I thought, with mixed feelings, "he really is done nursing." I held him a while longer as I helped James and Maggie get ready for school. It was a good 5-10 minutes later, when his quiet little voice said, "I want milk." I wanted to be sure I had heard him correctly, so I asked, "Do you want your pacifer?" He looked at me with a stunned face, then did something I have never seen from him before. He put his fist in the air, and pumped his arm, in the style of "Rah, team, fight!" from the MSU fight song. While making this new gesture, he shouted at the top of his voice, "I WANT MILK!"
Well, I guess he just needed a few minutes to warm up to the idea. Since then, he has been back to 20 minute daily nursing!
Monday, March 16, 2009
kids say...
John:
John has lately decided that hat is his new word of choice...especially at mealtime. He likes to pick up a dish, upturn it over his head, and proudly announce, "Hat!" If only he wouldn't always manage to find the ones with fruit juice or maple syrup in them.
Maggie:
We went to the afternoon (5 pm) church yesterday - a smaller, shorter, slightly more informal service, with no "Children's Worship" time for Maggie's age (preschool - first grade). Thus, she sat through the whole service with us.
I was feeling really impressed with her (and of course, by implication, with myself, her wise parent), that she was participating so well. When we entered the sanctuary, I asked where she would like to sit, and she enthusiastically picked the front row. When it was time for singing hymns, she asked me to tell her the words ahead of each line so she could sing, too. And she actually belted out most of the lines, missing only the ones that I couldn't tell her in advance. I found that saying the upcoming line during the end of the current one being sung is no small feat! She sat still for the prayer, then at the conclusion, joyfully gave the only audible "Amen" coming from the congregation.
Then, the sermon began. She began to wiggle a bit. Finally, she whispered in my ear, "I'm bored."
Sitting right in the front row, I began to fear that the pastor could hear this mournful plea. "Hold on, honey, and try to listen. It won't be too long, now," I whispered right into her ear, hoping I was inaudible to everyone else.
"But the pastor uses words that I don't understand."
"Yes, I know. Shhh..." I am now turning a bit red and hoping no one can hear us. I am thinking this is just a boiler-plate complaint of a child who isn't following all the logic of the complex theological arguments being made, and is too tired and restless to sit still and try to pay attention. Her vocabulary is fine, after all, even for a four-year-old.
"Mom, I don't know what he means by old creation and new creation."
Wow, that caught me up short, and properly reprimanded me. She was paying attention all right. In fact, better attention than I was paying. I was busy wondering if anyone was overhearing our conversation. She was really listening. And being honest. I started to listen more carefully myself. It wasn't just a 4-year-old who would have trouble with the vocabulary. Which of us grown-ups in the church really understood what we mean by saying things like, "sanctify these gifts, the bread of life and the cup of salvation," or "grant that we may be for the world the body of Christ, redeemed through his blood, serving and reconciling all people to you?"
Could I succintly define old creation and new creation for her? Well, maybe eventually. And I understand that is the point of using such words, of course. We as a church use these big words all the time, as a necessary shorthand. A pastor could never finish a sermon if he or she always tried to fully define words like redemption and sanctification. SoI don't mean this as a criticism of the pastor's sermon. A more complex vocabulary lets us be more precise, and more concise, in communicating a topic. And yet, we don't communicate at all if we never stop to explain what we really mean, even if it means being less concise, and maybe even less precise. Maggie had a lesson for all of us that day.
James, while driving home from church:
"Mom, what is 36 + 9?"
Dad:
"Well, what is 6 + 9?"
James:
"15"
Dad:
"So, what is 36 + 9?"
James:
"45! Hey, Mom, I know what 1 + 2 + 3 + 4+ 5 + 6 +7 + 8 + 9 is ... 45! "
(Hmm, not at all where I thought he was going with that first question. At least now I know what he thinks about when he gets bored with a sermon.)
John has lately decided that hat is his new word of choice...especially at mealtime. He likes to pick up a dish, upturn it over his head, and proudly announce, "Hat!" If only he wouldn't always manage to find the ones with fruit juice or maple syrup in them.
Maggie:
We went to the afternoon (5 pm) church yesterday - a smaller, shorter, slightly more informal service, with no "Children's Worship" time for Maggie's age (preschool - first grade). Thus, she sat through the whole service with us.
I was feeling really impressed with her (and of course, by implication, with myself, her wise parent), that she was participating so well. When we entered the sanctuary, I asked where she would like to sit, and she enthusiastically picked the front row. When it was time for singing hymns, she asked me to tell her the words ahead of each line so she could sing, too. And she actually belted out most of the lines, missing only the ones that I couldn't tell her in advance. I found that saying the upcoming line during the end of the current one being sung is no small feat! She sat still for the prayer, then at the conclusion, joyfully gave the only audible "Amen" coming from the congregation.
Then, the sermon began. She began to wiggle a bit. Finally, she whispered in my ear, "I'm bored."
Sitting right in the front row, I began to fear that the pastor could hear this mournful plea. "Hold on, honey, and try to listen. It won't be too long, now," I whispered right into her ear, hoping I was inaudible to everyone else.
"But the pastor uses words that I don't understand."
"Yes, I know. Shhh..." I am now turning a bit red and hoping no one can hear us. I am thinking this is just a boiler-plate complaint of a child who isn't following all the logic of the complex theological arguments being made, and is too tired and restless to sit still and try to pay attention. Her vocabulary is fine, after all, even for a four-year-old.
"Mom, I don't know what he means by old creation and new creation."
Wow, that caught me up short, and properly reprimanded me. She was paying attention all right. In fact, better attention than I was paying. I was busy wondering if anyone was overhearing our conversation. She was really listening. And being honest. I started to listen more carefully myself. It wasn't just a 4-year-old who would have trouble with the vocabulary. Which of us grown-ups in the church really understood what we mean by saying things like, "sanctify these gifts, the bread of life and the cup of salvation," or "grant that we may be for the world the body of Christ, redeemed through his blood, serving and reconciling all people to you?"
Could I succintly define old creation and new creation for her? Well, maybe eventually. And I understand that is the point of using such words, of course. We as a church use these big words all the time, as a necessary shorthand. A pastor could never finish a sermon if he or she always tried to fully define words like redemption and sanctification. SoI don't mean this as a criticism of the pastor's sermon. A more complex vocabulary lets us be more precise, and more concise, in communicating a topic. And yet, we don't communicate at all if we never stop to explain what we really mean, even if it means being less concise, and maybe even less precise. Maggie had a lesson for all of us that day.
James, while driving home from church:
"Mom, what is 36 + 9?"
Dad:
"Well, what is 6 + 9?"
James:
"15"
Dad:
"So, what is 36 + 9?"
James:
"45! Hey, Mom, I know what 1 + 2 + 3 + 4+ 5 + 6 +7 + 8 + 9 is ... 45! "
(Hmm, not at all where I thought he was going with that first question. At least now I know what he thinks about when he gets bored with a sermon.)
Friday, January 16, 2009
John climbs
John did something new today. I won't say "learned" something new, because he didn't do it like something he was learning. He just acted like it was something that he finally decided he wanted to do, so he just up and did it.
John climbed up to the top bunk of the bed. We have had the ladder put away for months to prevent such exploration, but today he apparently tired of the charade that we were confining his travels. So, he just up and climbed up the end of the bed, using the footboards of the bunk as an improvised ladder.
Maggie and James alerted me. They had already been up there playing and he apparently decided to join them. By the time I got to the scene, he was jumping up and down on the top bunk with a face of sheer joy, shouting gleefully at the top of his lungs.
John climbed up to the top bunk of the bed. We have had the ladder put away for months to prevent such exploration, but today he apparently tired of the charade that we were confining his travels. So, he just up and climbed up the end of the bed, using the footboards of the bunk as an improvised ladder.
Maggie and James alerted me. They had already been up there playing and he apparently decided to join them. By the time I got to the scene, he was jumping up and down on the top bunk with a face of sheer joy, shouting gleefully at the top of his lungs.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Kids say the darndest things
Overheard while the kids were playing...
Maggie: Now, let's pretend to be GOOD parents. Let's be parents that are just like Mom and Dad.
[Aww, now that is sweet music to a parent's ears.]
James at 7.5 years: Still the Eeyore syndrome appears at bedtime with some frequency.
James: Mom, I'm still having trouble at school.
Mom: What kind of trouble?
James: With getting along with other kids and stuff.
Mom: Can you give me an example?
James: Well, like with Trenton. He keeps saying I'm stupid.
Mom: That isn't very nice. Do you know why he says it?
James: He just doesn't want me to touch his ice pieces. [The kids at James's school have a busy playground economy based on collecting, hoarding, trading chunks of ice.]
Mom: Well, that seems fair, if the ice is his.
James: No, I am on his team, but he says I can't inspect the ice.
Mom: Inspect the ice?
James: Yes, I just want to look at the pieces more closely to do some research on the ice, but Trenton says we aren't doing research on the ice because that's dumb.
Ah, the trials of being 7 and having two engineering professors for parents. He doesn't really have a fair chance at being normal. Good thing we find him so adorably lovable.
Maggie: Now, let's pretend to be GOOD parents. Let's be parents that are just like Mom and Dad.
[Aww, now that is sweet music to a parent's ears.]
James at 7.5 years: Still the Eeyore syndrome appears at bedtime with some frequency.
James: Mom, I'm still having trouble at school.
Mom: What kind of trouble?
James: With getting along with other kids and stuff.
Mom: Can you give me an example?
James: Well, like with Trenton. He keeps saying I'm stupid.
Mom: That isn't very nice. Do you know why he says it?
James: He just doesn't want me to touch his ice pieces. [The kids at James's school have a busy playground economy based on collecting, hoarding, trading chunks of ice.]
Mom: Well, that seems fair, if the ice is his.
James: No, I am on his team, but he says I can't inspect the ice.
Mom: Inspect the ice?
James: Yes, I just want to look at the pieces more closely to do some research on the ice, but Trenton says we aren't doing research on the ice because that's dumb.
Ah, the trials of being 7 and having two engineering professors for parents. He doesn't really have a fair chance at being normal. Good thing we find him so adorably lovable.
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