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?"
Sunday, November 22, 2009
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.
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