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.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
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."
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