Mary has a wiggly tooth! I can't believe it. I know she is five and in Kindergarten, but I haven't really processed that my baby is old enough to lose teeth. She bit into a marshmallow at school and saw red on it. Her teacher said, "Mary! Your tooth is going to come out soon!" Mary said, "Mommy, I want that tooth to come out because I like dollars." That's Mary for you--ready to analyze the situation in terms of personal gain. Mary is a quantifier.
Sometimes I enjoy comparing Mary and Garrett's reactions and perspectives because they have such different strategies for happiness. Garrett is happy-go-lucky and wants to win every game he plays. Whether it's a computer game, Wii game, soccer game, guessing game, he wants the taste of victory. He's rather coordinated and often puts me to shame. He bowled a 180 on the Wii and I got a less than impressive 124. Mary doesn't really care about winning, but she does like to come out ahead. She's the kind of kid that counts Christmas presents. She also totally gets the concept of delaying gratification for a bigger reward. If Garrett has Halloween candy left over in December it's because he forgot about it (after he went to as many houses as his legs could stand); after he accomplished the task of filling his pumpkin, he no longer cared about the candy. If Mary has candy left over in December it's because she is rationing it, making sure few people have access to it, and literally squirreling it away somewhere. She knows how to make a good candy trade with Garrett who thinks it only matters to have a full bucket. On Halloween night Mary stopped collecting candy at least 30 minutes before Garrett and opted for a ride in the wagon. She's no fool--When we got home, Garrett was wiped out and Mary was ready to take inventory and plan her trades. Garrett lives in the moment and Mary is always thinking ahead. It makes complete sense that Mary's wiggly tooth is a signal to start counting cash. All Garrett cared about was how much blood would be involved. Garrett hates blood. Mary thinks the only injury worth getting excited about is a paper cut.
Mary loves to do everything herself. She is rather impressed with herself most of the time. If she asks me to open something for her, such as a new puzzle, and I say, "Not right now," she will quickly move on to plan B. The next thing I know she has the scissors out, the box opened, and the pieces sorted. Mary has been making books and zines. She got 1000 sheets of printer paper for her birthday and some tape. We're almost out. I also have about 700 pages of handmade "art" that I don't know what to do with.
Garrett hates to do things by himself, particularly his homework. He usually wants help or company and is willing to wait for it. If he wants Mary's help or company she will sometimes use this as leverage for something she wants. This all amounts to having a very sweet boy and a very clever girl.
The other difference between Mary and Garrett that is remarkable is their memory. Mary remembers everything she's ever heard or seen. She knows when we're getting close to a destination even if she's only been their once before. If we take a different route, she'll say, "This isn't the way!" She hides little objects around the house and remembers where she put them. The other day I asked, "Where is the Lego cat for Hogwarts castle?" She said, "Oh, I know" and went over to a silver sugar cup in the living room and dug it out. Because of her memory we have to be very careful about what we promise her. If I tell her that next Christmas she can have the red stocking and Garrett can have the green, you can bet that 11 months from now she will say, "Mommy, remember what you said about those stockings....." If I tell her something twice she'll say, "Mommy, I know that! You already said it!"
Garrett is another story. Somewhere on the list of Top 10 Phrases Frequently Said by Garrett would be, "Oh, yeah, I forgot. Ha ha." Another one on the list would be, "What? I didn't hear you." Garrett has to deal with his audio processing disorder, which makes it very hard for him to process new information. When you add the APD to his easy-going personality, only a few prized bits of information have staying power. Like his daddy, he's a creature of habit. He wants to eat the same thing for breakfast every day and the same thing for lunch. Once something becomes his favorite (food, color, activity, etc), it's very hard to displace it (for Mary, variety is the spice of life). This makes him loyal, forgiving, predictable, and somewhat stubborn. He has a great sense of humor and loves to tell jokes when he can remember them.
Both Mary and Garrett are extremely loving. They give us hugs all the time and are good to their friends. They are also very loving to each other. Garrett thinks Mary is "so funny and so cute," and Mary thinks Garrett is "good at lots of things and cozy." Usually they enjoy playing together or doing their own thing side by side. When Garrett does something that Mary doesn't like, she says, "No thank you, Garrett!" If Mary does something that Garret doesn't like, he'll say, "C'mon, Mary! Don't be mean!" I bet you can guess which one of them says, "I love mommy 110," and which one says, "Mommy is the best mommy of any kind of mommy."
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Use Your Button Wisely
My sister gave me a wonderful Christmas gift. She had all of my blog posts printed in a book. Now I feel all published and everything. It's like my own personal yearbook. She didn't realize this, but I have secretly wanted something like that because I have never really read my blog entries. I have wondered what kind of shape they would take when pieced together. When I make an entry, I write it, post it, and move on to the next thing I need to do. I have this weird fear that one day Miss Moo and Mr. Mo will vanish. All of our memories will just be gone, like scrapbooks lost in a fire. Having a tangible copy of Miss Moo and Mr. Mo helps me to know what I will grab if my house ever does catch on fire.
I didn't write a single word for any blog in 2010. Why? Not because my kids weren't cute enough, or funny enough, or blog worthy enough. They had many shining moments. There were many times I wanted to preserve the incidental things they did or said, or memorialize their achievements and milestones. Nor was it because I lost interest in writing. I often wished I could do it, but couldn't quite find that happy place in my heart that allows me to share my thoughts and feelings.
It was just a hard year. I have started working part time, which feels like full time because I am learning the ropes and getting accustomed to my new lifestyle as a working mom. Being a working mother is an energy sapping endeavor. I wish I could say that my fulfillment from working gives me a renewed energy at home. It does not. I'm tired all the time. Mary and Garrett want for me not to work because they feel the difference. My "what can I do for you?" pleasantry can quickly become a "what do you want?" snap.
2010 was a year in which several awesome mothers that I know faced the reality of raising their kids alone. Witnessing this has motivated me to do whatever it takes to build my own career. I know that I could be in the same position (we all know that Chris refuses to wear his bike helmet, for example) as these women. There are no guarantees. So, now I have two jobs and I have to deal with the uncomfortable and unfamiliar feeling that both of these jobs do not get done to my usual standards. Fostering creativity and fulfillment in my family and in my community is my passion, but when I'm working I feel like the most I can hope for is clean underwear, a sustainable pantry, and kids that wake up with a smile and go to bed with a story. There is not much room for blog writing among those goals.
2010 brought the passing of my beloved Grandma. I spent the first part of the year anticipating her death, the middle part of the year facing it, and the last part of the year coping with it. To summarize Grandma's influence on my life and my parenting would be an entire book unto itself, but suffice it to say that it's hard to write about your children's childhood when you are completely absorbed by memories and reflections of your own. My feelings for my grandma cannot be separated from my feelings about my childhood. My grief cannot be set aside for joyful writing, even though I certainly had many quiet moments of joy and gratitude throughout the year. I have been creatively wearing black for the past year. It's no wonder that Mary frequently says, "I miss Grandma Lee so much"; she is keenly aware her mother's inner storm. I think she misses her happy mother as much as she misses the warmth of her great grandmother.
Elaina's real gift to me was the reminder that time flies and we're having fun. I read over some of my past entries and was amazed by how little I remembered writing. I found myself eager to learn about Mary's first few days home from the hospital and Garrett's struggles with speech and his very early fascination with the computer. I had not realized that while I was busy trying to keep all our lives running smoothly I was having a lot fun. My kids are an absolute pleasure to raise--even on their most grumpy and inconsolable days. The daily hassles and stress of parenting put a tarnish on what is actually a very shiny and beautifully etched experience.
I did not name the book Elaina published on my behalf. She called it, Use Your Button Wisely--a saying we invented in our own childhood when Mary Rose and I were 12 and Elaina was 8. We were making the long drive back from Disneyland and were quite bored. Without the luxury of hand held gaming devices and iPods, we were left to our own imagination (no, not that!) to come up with ways to pass the time. Having played all the travel games multiple times, Mary decided to invent a new game. She distributed game pieces from all the games as well as any other materials that she could find in the car. From our materials we were instructed to invent something. We all had plenty of game tokens, dice, spinners, and so forth. Mary was distributing the final material by dismantling a hotel sewing kit, which came with 3 buttons and some thread. Mary held up the button the way a priest holds up a host at Sunday Mass and issued us all some sage advice: "Use your button wisely, girls! You only get one." I immediately valued the button and made it a central part of my invention. I used a cardboard bucket (previously used to separate tokens from a game board) and the button and thread to create a pulley system that would carry people (game tokens) from one end of the car to the other (fastened on car door coat hooks). Mary was impressed with my use of the button and it was decided that I had won the game.
After that trip we would frequently use the phrase use your button wisely to emphasize the value of something, especially when you only get one chance. I often use it to refer to making the most of time. I have a day to myself and I want to use that button wisely.
The loss of my grandma prompts me to think about how wisely my grandmother invested her time and energy; I know of no one else on this earth that loved so deeply, honestly, and consistently. I think about how my sister's life was as short as my grandmother's was long and how they both managed to live such full and meaningful lives. After I wallow in my selfish loss of these women, I ask myself, "Am I using my button wisely?" Elaina's gift reminds me that I am. In taking the gifts and blessings that I have been given, particularly my children, and using every joyful, glorious, sad, and aggravating moment to celebrate the fullness of life I use my button wisely.
The new year brings a lot of new hope and excitement. Mary is in Kindergarten and does something to amaze me every day. Garrett is turning 8 this month. He looks more and more like a boy who will become a man rather than a baby who has become a boy. I'm getting the hang of this working life with the help of Chris who is always supportive and even. He's the balance that keeps the scales from tipping too far in one direction. With the legacy of those that have lived their so fully, and with the encouragement of those in the here and now, I'm ready to write it down again.
Now, where to begin....?
I didn't write a single word for any blog in 2010. Why? Not because my kids weren't cute enough, or funny enough, or blog worthy enough. They had many shining moments. There were many times I wanted to preserve the incidental things they did or said, or memorialize their achievements and milestones. Nor was it because I lost interest in writing. I often wished I could do it, but couldn't quite find that happy place in my heart that allows me to share my thoughts and feelings.
It was just a hard year. I have started working part time, which feels like full time because I am learning the ropes and getting accustomed to my new lifestyle as a working mom. Being a working mother is an energy sapping endeavor. I wish I could say that my fulfillment from working gives me a renewed energy at home. It does not. I'm tired all the time. Mary and Garrett want for me not to work because they feel the difference. My "what can I do for you?" pleasantry can quickly become a "what do you want?" snap.
2010 was a year in which several awesome mothers that I know faced the reality of raising their kids alone. Witnessing this has motivated me to do whatever it takes to build my own career. I know that I could be in the same position (we all know that Chris refuses to wear his bike helmet, for example) as these women. There are no guarantees. So, now I have two jobs and I have to deal with the uncomfortable and unfamiliar feeling that both of these jobs do not get done to my usual standards. Fostering creativity and fulfillment in my family and in my community is my passion, but when I'm working I feel like the most I can hope for is clean underwear, a sustainable pantry, and kids that wake up with a smile and go to bed with a story. There is not much room for blog writing among those goals.
2010 brought the passing of my beloved Grandma. I spent the first part of the year anticipating her death, the middle part of the year facing it, and the last part of the year coping with it. To summarize Grandma's influence on my life and my parenting would be an entire book unto itself, but suffice it to say that it's hard to write about your children's childhood when you are completely absorbed by memories and reflections of your own. My feelings for my grandma cannot be separated from my feelings about my childhood. My grief cannot be set aside for joyful writing, even though I certainly had many quiet moments of joy and gratitude throughout the year. I have been creatively wearing black for the past year. It's no wonder that Mary frequently says, "I miss Grandma Lee so much"; she is keenly aware her mother's inner storm. I think she misses her happy mother as much as she misses the warmth of her great grandmother.
Elaina's real gift to me was the reminder that time flies and we're having fun. I read over some of my past entries and was amazed by how little I remembered writing. I found myself eager to learn about Mary's first few days home from the hospital and Garrett's struggles with speech and his very early fascination with the computer. I had not realized that while I was busy trying to keep all our lives running smoothly I was having a lot fun. My kids are an absolute pleasure to raise--even on their most grumpy and inconsolable days. The daily hassles and stress of parenting put a tarnish on what is actually a very shiny and beautifully etched experience.
I did not name the book Elaina published on my behalf. She called it, Use Your Button Wisely--a saying we invented in our own childhood when Mary Rose and I were 12 and Elaina was 8. We were making the long drive back from Disneyland and were quite bored. Without the luxury of hand held gaming devices and iPods, we were left to our own imagination (no, not that!) to come up with ways to pass the time. Having played all the travel games multiple times, Mary decided to invent a new game. She distributed game pieces from all the games as well as any other materials that she could find in the car. From our materials we were instructed to invent something. We all had plenty of game tokens, dice, spinners, and so forth. Mary was distributing the final material by dismantling a hotel sewing kit, which came with 3 buttons and some thread. Mary held up the button the way a priest holds up a host at Sunday Mass and issued us all some sage advice: "Use your button wisely, girls! You only get one." I immediately valued the button and made it a central part of my invention. I used a cardboard bucket (previously used to separate tokens from a game board) and the button and thread to create a pulley system that would carry people (game tokens) from one end of the car to the other (fastened on car door coat hooks). Mary was impressed with my use of the button and it was decided that I had won the game.
After that trip we would frequently use the phrase use your button wisely to emphasize the value of something, especially when you only get one chance. I often use it to refer to making the most of time. I have a day to myself and I want to use that button wisely.
The loss of my grandma prompts me to think about how wisely my grandmother invested her time and energy; I know of no one else on this earth that loved so deeply, honestly, and consistently. I think about how my sister's life was as short as my grandmother's was long and how they both managed to live such full and meaningful lives. After I wallow in my selfish loss of these women, I ask myself, "Am I using my button wisely?" Elaina's gift reminds me that I am. In taking the gifts and blessings that I have been given, particularly my children, and using every joyful, glorious, sad, and aggravating moment to celebrate the fullness of life I use my button wisely.
The new year brings a lot of new hope and excitement. Mary is in Kindergarten and does something to amaze me every day. Garrett is turning 8 this month. He looks more and more like a boy who will become a man rather than a baby who has become a boy. I'm getting the hang of this working life with the help of Chris who is always supportive and even. He's the balance that keeps the scales from tipping too far in one direction. With the legacy of those that have lived their so fully, and with the encouragement of those in the here and now, I'm ready to write it down again.
Now, where to begin....?
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Brush Your Teeth--Carefully!
I have inadvertently created an urban legend: the Tale of the Blood Spewing Toothbrush! I expect that this tale will be all over our neighborhood by the end of tomorrow's school day. But that's okay because the end result will be that the children of our town will learn to both fear and respect their toothbrushes.
You see, I was talking to my friend, Emily, on the phone today and I simply asked, "How are you doing?"
She said, "Oh fine, except I was up late worrying about my friend."
"What happened to your friend?"
"She was getting her kids ready for bed and her 2 year old got her toothbrush stuck in her throat and she had to take her to the ER because when she finally pulled it out, blood was squirting out of her mouth."
I'm sure my gasp was heard 'round the world. "What?! How in the world did that happen?"
Emily quite calmly explained that the tot had fallen while brushing her teeth and the toothbrush got jammed in her throat. The mother had to take her to ER to make sure that she hadn't punctured an artery or something.
Now here's a true dilemma. I think I've heard that one should not remove an object that has impaled a body because of the gushing blood problem. The object serves as a kind of plug. But, what if that object could also cause you to choke? I can only imagine the terrible choice between air and blood. The mother in this story instinctively chose air (and let's face it, probably didn't think that the toothbrush had gone through the back of the throat), but she second guessed herself when she saw the blood. To make matters worse, the poor woman is 8 months pregnant and her husband was away on a business trip. All I can say is he owes mommy a night out when he gets back.
After I got over the shocking reality of the Tale of the Blood Spewing Toothbrush, I began to realize the potential power of this story if retold carefully to my unsuspecting children. Just last week my mother was reminding me of the time I asked why the lady in the store had only a few black teeth and my mother had said, "Because she didn't brush them." You can bet my brushing improved from that day forward. If I've only learned one thing from my dear sweet Army-trained mother, it is that fear has its uses.
Perhaps my mother's greatest attempt at using scare-shock tactics to encourage good behavior happened one day while my sister and I were passing the time in church. We were about five years old and tended to suffer terrible giggling fits in quiet places. My mother had asked us to be quiet, but we were unable to control ourselves. There comes a time in the Catholic Mass when the priest is blessing the Host and the wine. As part of the ritual he raises up each one of these symbols and a bell is rung. Up goes the host and there go the bells: jing-a-ling-a-ling... jing-a-ling. If the bell ringer is feeling particularly celebrant, he rings the bell longer than he should. Since my sister and I were short and could barely see over the pew, we had not yet figured out the identity of the bell-ringer. So, we turned to our mother--knower of most things-- to solve the mystery.
"Mommy, who is ringing those bells?" She very matter-of-factly turned to us with squinted, determined eyes as if she was about to swat a fly, and said, "Jesus Christ is ringing those bells and if you don't sit up and be quiet, he's going to jump down from that cross and slap you across the face."
I wish I was joking. We stared at her, shocked by the news that Jesus could hop off the cross. We stared at Jesus. We expected him to glare at us the way our mother did. The bells stopped ringing and we didn't utter another sound. But, I did have a lot to think about. Jesus did not look like he was in any condition to discipline me. But, he is Jesus so I imagined he could do anything. I spent the next 30 minutes avoiding my sister's gaze and seeing if I could detect any signs of movement in Jesus's fingers, toes, or eyelids. I thought about how embarrassing it would be if Jesus had to single me out and ask me to be quiet during His Mass. I think I was 7 before I figured out that the alter boy rings the bells.
So, here I was today thinking about the toothbrush story and how I could use it. We've been having a little trouble with silliness and goofing off at bed time. Certain people in this house don't want to focus on their bedtime procedures. Well, you know what happens to little children who goof off while brushing their teeth, don't you......
We picked up Chris after work for a family Target run. While my audience was captive in the car, I said, "Oh my God! Guess what Emily told me today?" I began to retell the tale of the disobedient child who ran amok with her toothbrush in her mouth and got it stuck in her throat. I carefully explained that when the mother pulled it out blood squirted everywhere and the child had to be rushed to the hospital to before she bled out. Everyone is fine now, but that just goes to show you that when your mommy and daddy tell you to stop goofing off and brush your teeth, you should probably do it, unless you want to die a horrible bloody death.
Mary said, "I don't like that story."
Garrett said, "You mean about how that little girl was running around and fell down and then choked on her toothbrush and had blood squirting everywhere?"
Mary added, "Yeah, about how she didn't listen to her mommy and daddy and died."
SUCCESS!
Perhaps you think I'm cruel. You have not had my week of rowdy bedtimes. And guess what? Jesus gave me a sign that I did the right thing because after Target we all went to Burger King and saw a lady with terrible black teeth and Mary asked, "What's wrong with that lady's teeth?" And of course I said, "She didn't brush her teeth every day. Don't point."
You see, I was talking to my friend, Emily, on the phone today and I simply asked, "How are you doing?"
She said, "Oh fine, except I was up late worrying about my friend."
"What happened to your friend?"
"She was getting her kids ready for bed and her 2 year old got her toothbrush stuck in her throat and she had to take her to the ER because when she finally pulled it out, blood was squirting out of her mouth."
I'm sure my gasp was heard 'round the world. "What?! How in the world did that happen?"
Emily quite calmly explained that the tot had fallen while brushing her teeth and the toothbrush got jammed in her throat. The mother had to take her to ER to make sure that she hadn't punctured an artery or something.
Now here's a true dilemma. I think I've heard that one should not remove an object that has impaled a body because of the gushing blood problem. The object serves as a kind of plug. But, what if that object could also cause you to choke? I can only imagine the terrible choice between air and blood. The mother in this story instinctively chose air (and let's face it, probably didn't think that the toothbrush had gone through the back of the throat), but she second guessed herself when she saw the blood. To make matters worse, the poor woman is 8 months pregnant and her husband was away on a business trip. All I can say is he owes mommy a night out when he gets back.
After I got over the shocking reality of the Tale of the Blood Spewing Toothbrush, I began to realize the potential power of this story if retold carefully to my unsuspecting children. Just last week my mother was reminding me of the time I asked why the lady in the store had only a few black teeth and my mother had said, "Because she didn't brush them." You can bet my brushing improved from that day forward. If I've only learned one thing from my dear sweet Army-trained mother, it is that fear has its uses.
Perhaps my mother's greatest attempt at using scare-shock tactics to encourage good behavior happened one day while my sister and I were passing the time in church. We were about five years old and tended to suffer terrible giggling fits in quiet places. My mother had asked us to be quiet, but we were unable to control ourselves. There comes a time in the Catholic Mass when the priest is blessing the Host and the wine. As part of the ritual he raises up each one of these symbols and a bell is rung. Up goes the host and there go the bells: jing-a-ling-a-ling... jing-a-ling. If the bell ringer is feeling particularly celebrant, he rings the bell longer than he should. Since my sister and I were short and could barely see over the pew, we had not yet figured out the identity of the bell-ringer. So, we turned to our mother--knower of most things-- to solve the mystery.
"Mommy, who is ringing those bells?" She very matter-of-factly turned to us with squinted, determined eyes as if she was about to swat a fly, and said, "Jesus Christ is ringing those bells and if you don't sit up and be quiet, he's going to jump down from that cross and slap you across the face."
I wish I was joking. We stared at her, shocked by the news that Jesus could hop off the cross. We stared at Jesus. We expected him to glare at us the way our mother did. The bells stopped ringing and we didn't utter another sound. But, I did have a lot to think about. Jesus did not look like he was in any condition to discipline me. But, he is Jesus so I imagined he could do anything. I spent the next 30 minutes avoiding my sister's gaze and seeing if I could detect any signs of movement in Jesus's fingers, toes, or eyelids. I thought about how embarrassing it would be if Jesus had to single me out and ask me to be quiet during His Mass. I think I was 7 before I figured out that the alter boy rings the bells.
So, here I was today thinking about the toothbrush story and how I could use it. We've been having a little trouble with silliness and goofing off at bed time. Certain people in this house don't want to focus on their bedtime procedures. Well, you know what happens to little children who goof off while brushing their teeth, don't you......
We picked up Chris after work for a family Target run. While my audience was captive in the car, I said, "Oh my God! Guess what Emily told me today?" I began to retell the tale of the disobedient child who ran amok with her toothbrush in her mouth and got it stuck in her throat. I carefully explained that when the mother pulled it out blood squirted everywhere and the child had to be rushed to the hospital to before she bled out. Everyone is fine now, but that just goes to show you that when your mommy and daddy tell you to stop goofing off and brush your teeth, you should probably do it, unless you want to die a horrible bloody death.
Mary said, "I don't like that story."
Garrett said, "You mean about how that little girl was running around and fell down and then choked on her toothbrush and had blood squirting everywhere?"
Mary added, "Yeah, about how she didn't listen to her mommy and daddy and died."
SUCCESS!
Perhaps you think I'm cruel. You have not had my week of rowdy bedtimes. And guess what? Jesus gave me a sign that I did the right thing because after Target we all went to Burger King and saw a lady with terrible black teeth and Mary asked, "What's wrong with that lady's teeth?" And of course I said, "She didn't brush her teeth every day. Don't point."
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Divine
I have been reading a book to Garrett and Mary with the word divine in it. A little girl tastes her father's pasta sauce and says that it is divine. When I first read the word Garrett asked, "What does that mean? Divine?" I said, "Well, in this sentence it means that the pasta sauce is really, really good." The next day I was reading the story again and when I read the sentence, "Mmmm...mmm, divine!" Garrett asked again, "What does that word mean?" Mary chimed in and said, "It means really, really good, remember?" Garrett said, "Oh yeah."
It was bugging me that I didn't completely define divine the night before so I said, "Well, it means even more than that. It means that it's so good it comes from God." Garrett wrinkled his eyebrows in thought and said, "Like, OH MY GOD! That's so good!?" I said, "No, like God created it--God in Heaven."
Garrett thought some more. "You know what I think would be divine? A BIG, HUGE cup of hot chocolate that I could swim in. And I could float on a big marshmallow and sip chocolate from a straw. And then I could put on my goggles and go swimming and dive for chocolate chips and eat them too."
Wow, that really would be divine! Incidentally, since I haven't kept up with blogging I will tell you that our little Miss Moo has an incredible memory. It doesn't surprise me that she would remember my definition of divine word for word. Later, as I was laying with her she said something clever and told her, "You know what, Mary? You are really smart." She looked at me with a big grin and said, "K-Mart smart!" I asked her, "Where did you hear that?" She said, "From that man on the television and he's carrying a lot of presents from a store and he says, "Smart. K-Mart smart. I like the sound of that."
It was bugging me that I didn't completely define divine the night before so I said, "Well, it means even more than that. It means that it's so good it comes from God." Garrett wrinkled his eyebrows in thought and said, "Like, OH MY GOD! That's so good!?" I said, "No, like God created it--God in Heaven."
Garrett thought some more. "You know what I think would be divine? A BIG, HUGE cup of hot chocolate that I could swim in. And I could float on a big marshmallow and sip chocolate from a straw. And then I could put on my goggles and go swimming and dive for chocolate chips and eat them too."
Wow, that really would be divine! Incidentally, since I haven't kept up with blogging I will tell you that our little Miss Moo has an incredible memory. It doesn't surprise me that she would remember my definition of divine word for word. Later, as I was laying with her she said something clever and told her, "You know what, Mary? You are really smart." She looked at me with a big grin and said, "K-Mart smart!" I asked her, "Where did you hear that?" She said, "From that man on the television and he's carrying a lot of presents from a store and he says, "Smart. K-Mart smart. I like the sound of that."
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Young Love
This morning Garrett and I walked to school with Isabela who, as usual, had a lot to say. She started telling us about her baby brother and how fussy he's being this morning. Garrett was jumping up and down behind her, dying to share his morning report. Isabela said, "Garrett, it's not polite to interrupt. I'm telling you about Santiago!"
"Garrett has big news to share with you," I said.
"Well, I'm almost finished, and then he can speak." She told us about all the food Santiago was refusing this morning.
"Can I go now?" Garrett asked, and then started in without an answer. "LOOK! Isabela, I lost my tooth!" Garrett gave her a big grin so that she could see the space where his tooth once was.
"Oh, huh. I have a very wiggly tooth, Garrett!"
"Isabela," I shamefully interrupted, "When Garrett's tooth came out, he jumped up and down and said, 'Now I can have a tooth necklace.' What do you think of that?" There is a little girl in our neighborhood, Natalia, who wears a necklace, made by her grandmother, that features her first lost tooth. It hangs on a fine gold chain, like precious jewelry. I am deeply disturbed by this, but the kids think it's great.
"Well, I don't want a tooth necklace, but if Garrett does, he'll have to go to Spain to get one. I've been to Spain and France and I can speak 3 languages like my daddy. BONJOUR!"
I like to encourage Isabela. "Oh, that's really cool. Do you know what Oui means?"
"No."
"That means yes in French. So if I ask you, 'Are you a very smart girl?' you can say, 'Oui!' Now, how did Natalia get a tooth necklace? Did she go all the way to Spain?"
"Natiala is Spanish and they took her tooth to Spain and brought it back and now she can have it for 100 years." Oh wow, and pass it down to her children, no doubt.
Isabela was ready to move on from the tooth discussion. She said, "I have 4 boyfriends and so does Natalia and Garrett is not one of them."
Garrett interjected, "I'm not one of them?"
I'm sure this was disturbing news to Garrett, who thinks of himself as belonging to Isabela. "Who are they?"
"Well, I have a Spanish boyfriend, and Robert, and I guess Garrett's the fourth."
"Garrett, did you hear that? You'll have to get in line! But, Isabela, who is the first boyfriend? And I thought you said Garrett didn't make the list."
"Well, now I can't remember the first, so I guess there's only three, but Garrett is still the fourth." She must be saving #1's space.
"And who are Natalia's boyfriends?"
"I told you they are the same! I have 3 and Natalia has 3."
"Yes, but who are they?"
"THE SAME! A Spanish boyfriend, Robert, and Garrett."
"Garrett, did you know you have a second girlfriend?"
Garrett shrugged and blushed. "No."
"If you get one more, you'll have as many as Isabela."
All this talk of love makes me laugh. Last Saturday I took Garrett to a birthday party and one of the mothers told me that her daughter just loves Garrett. When she plays the "Who are you going to marry" game, Garrett is always on the list. I hate to tell her, but there may be a waiting list. Let's not forget Olivia, who I hear tells her kindergarten class across town that Garrett is her boyfriend and she's going to marry him.
Whether or not Isabela is going to be Garrett's wife remains to be seen, but she is busy prepping him. He is already being trained to wait for her to finish speaking before he speaks. When they were about 3 years old, she taught him how to slow dance to classical Beatles music. She even put a sport coat on him for the occasion. And, most notably of all, she has taught him how to spoon. Yes, that's right: spoon.
One day they were having a play date and had disappeared for a few minutes. I honestly dont' know what I was doing while they were off on their own. They put their heads over the top of the stairs and said, "We learned how to do something cool and we want to show Mary."
"Mary is sleeping," I told them, "But, you can show me."
"Okay, c'mon Garrett!" Isabela and Garrett sprinted off to an unknown location. I followed their footsteps and giggles and then I found them, laying perfectly still on Garrett's bed, spooning. Garrett was behind Isabela, with his head behind her head, his hand around her waist, and his knees tucked into hers. I didn't know whether to laugh or scream.
"Uh, what are you doing?" I asked, ignoring the obvious.
"We're laying down like married people. This is how they do it. I showed Garrett how and he's a really good learner." Garrett looked proud.
Oh dear, God, please tell me that's all of you've learned, I thought. "I see." I struggled for words. To freak out, or not to freak out?
Isabela continued, "Yes, they lay down like this and the man hugs the woman like Garrett is doing now. Good job, Garrett. When Garrett and I are teenagers, we can be boyfriend-girlfriend, but we won't be married, and but we can watch movies like this."
"Okay, well, we don't have to learn those thing yet. You're a long way from being teenagers or married people. Let's go downstairs and have a snack. Who wants to play Disney Bingo?"
They sprung from the bed, "I DO!"
So, you can see that Isabela is way ahead of.... well, everyone. Garrett is like this little love sponge, and wants to know how he's supposed to express himself to people. He seems to have decided that he wants his kisses to come from girls, and not boys. Last week Chris asked to kiss him good night and he said, "No, daddy because you're a boy and I want girls to kiss me." Chris was crushed. I think they agreed on a hug. Garrett is clearly working out some rules for how he wants to express his love. Maybe he can give Isabela his tooth necklace as a symbol of his devotion to her. She can wear it around school like some kind of varsity jacket. I wonder what boyfriends 1, 2, and 3 will think of that.
All I can say is that losing a tooth is all of Garrett's manhood that I can stomach right now.
"Garrett has big news to share with you," I said.
"Well, I'm almost finished, and then he can speak." She told us about all the food Santiago was refusing this morning.
"Can I go now?" Garrett asked, and then started in without an answer. "LOOK! Isabela, I lost my tooth!" Garrett gave her a big grin so that she could see the space where his tooth once was.
"Oh, huh. I have a very wiggly tooth, Garrett!"
"Isabela," I shamefully interrupted, "When Garrett's tooth came out, he jumped up and down and said, 'Now I can have a tooth necklace.' What do you think of that?" There is a little girl in our neighborhood, Natalia, who wears a necklace, made by her grandmother, that features her first lost tooth. It hangs on a fine gold chain, like precious jewelry. I am deeply disturbed by this, but the kids think it's great.
"Well, I don't want a tooth necklace, but if Garrett does, he'll have to go to Spain to get one. I've been to Spain and France and I can speak 3 languages like my daddy. BONJOUR!"
I like to encourage Isabela. "Oh, that's really cool. Do you know what Oui means?"
"No."
"That means yes in French. So if I ask you, 'Are you a very smart girl?' you can say, 'Oui!' Now, how did Natalia get a tooth necklace? Did she go all the way to Spain?"
"Natiala is Spanish and they took her tooth to Spain and brought it back and now she can have it for 100 years." Oh wow, and pass it down to her children, no doubt.
Isabela was ready to move on from the tooth discussion. She said, "I have 4 boyfriends and so does Natalia and Garrett is not one of them."
Garrett interjected, "I'm not one of them?"
I'm sure this was disturbing news to Garrett, who thinks of himself as belonging to Isabela. "Who are they?"
"Well, I have a Spanish boyfriend, and Robert, and I guess Garrett's the fourth."
"Garrett, did you hear that? You'll have to get in line! But, Isabela, who is the first boyfriend? And I thought you said Garrett didn't make the list."
"Well, now I can't remember the first, so I guess there's only three, but Garrett is still the fourth." She must be saving #1's space.
"And who are Natalia's boyfriends?"
"I told you they are the same! I have 3 and Natalia has 3."
"Yes, but who are they?"
"THE SAME! A Spanish boyfriend, Robert, and Garrett."
"Garrett, did you know you have a second girlfriend?"
Garrett shrugged and blushed. "No."
"If you get one more, you'll have as many as Isabela."
All this talk of love makes me laugh. Last Saturday I took Garrett to a birthday party and one of the mothers told me that her daughter just loves Garrett. When she plays the "Who are you going to marry" game, Garrett is always on the list. I hate to tell her, but there may be a waiting list. Let's not forget Olivia, who I hear tells her kindergarten class across town that Garrett is her boyfriend and she's going to marry him.
Whether or not Isabela is going to be Garrett's wife remains to be seen, but she is busy prepping him. He is already being trained to wait for her to finish speaking before he speaks. When they were about 3 years old, she taught him how to slow dance to classical Beatles music. She even put a sport coat on him for the occasion. And, most notably of all, she has taught him how to spoon. Yes, that's right: spoon.
One day they were having a play date and had disappeared for a few minutes. I honestly dont' know what I was doing while they were off on their own. They put their heads over the top of the stairs and said, "We learned how to do something cool and we want to show Mary."
"Mary is sleeping," I told them, "But, you can show me."
"Okay, c'mon Garrett!" Isabela and Garrett sprinted off to an unknown location. I followed their footsteps and giggles and then I found them, laying perfectly still on Garrett's bed, spooning. Garrett was behind Isabela, with his head behind her head, his hand around her waist, and his knees tucked into hers. I didn't know whether to laugh or scream.
"Uh, what are you doing?" I asked, ignoring the obvious.
"We're laying down like married people. This is how they do it. I showed Garrett how and he's a really good learner." Garrett looked proud.
Oh dear, God, please tell me that's all of you've learned, I thought. "I see." I struggled for words. To freak out, or not to freak out?
Isabela continued, "Yes, they lay down like this and the man hugs the woman like Garrett is doing now. Good job, Garrett. When Garrett and I are teenagers, we can be boyfriend-girlfriend, but we won't be married, and but we can watch movies like this."
"Okay, well, we don't have to learn those thing yet. You're a long way from being teenagers or married people. Let's go downstairs and have a snack. Who wants to play Disney Bingo?"
They sprung from the bed, "I DO!"
So, you can see that Isabela is way ahead of.... well, everyone. Garrett is like this little love sponge, and wants to know how he's supposed to express himself to people. He seems to have decided that he wants his kisses to come from girls, and not boys. Last week Chris asked to kiss him good night and he said, "No, daddy because you're a boy and I want girls to kiss me." Chris was crushed. I think they agreed on a hug. Garrett is clearly working out some rules for how he wants to express his love. Maybe he can give Isabela his tooth necklace as a symbol of his devotion to her. She can wear it around school like some kind of varsity jacket. I wonder what boyfriends 1, 2, and 3 will think of that.
All I can say is that losing a tooth is all of Garrett's manhood that I can stomach right now.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
You're Cool, But I'm More Cool
This is an actual conversation that Mary and Garrett had today when I picked up Mary from school. Garrett was in the car because he was home with his pink eye affliction. Mary was wearing her rainbow sweater with the hood up.
Garrett: Hi Mary.
Mary: Oh, Hi Garrett! Do you have a pirate patch?
Garrett: Yes, this is my pirate eye patch, but you can't wear it for you might get sick.
Mary: Ok. It's cool.
Garrett: Did you have a good day at school, Mary?
Mary: Yes. (Pause).... My head is a rainbow.
Garrett: Sure is.
Mary is not one to be outdone by a cool eye patch. Garrett is not one to care.
Garrett: Hi Mary.
Mary: Oh, Hi Garrett! Do you have a pirate patch?
Garrett: Yes, this is my pirate eye patch, but you can't wear it for you might get sick.
Mary: Ok. It's cool.
Garrett: Did you have a good day at school, Mary?
Mary: Yes. (Pause).... My head is a rainbow.
Garrett: Sure is.
Mary is not one to be outdone by a cool eye patch. Garrett is not one to care.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Pink Eye, Come on Down!
Welcome to everyone's favorite winter game show Catch That Illness! where you can win fabulous prizes such as Days Off of School, Your Favorite Comfort Food, and Hours of Television and Computer Games. If you win our final round in which you must infect everyone in your family and drain your mother of all energy, you'll win Endless Sympathy and the Right To Do Whatever you Want While Your Mother Recovers. Yes, in one fun filled season of illness, you can win all these prizes and more.
We'll start our show with a suspenseful round of Ambiguous Symptoms. Each member of your family will display symptoms that may or may not require medical attention. When you can name that illness, hit your buzzer. You'll earn a co-pay for each illness that you correctly identify.
The winner of this round will be asked a bonus question about a random set of symptoms: Do you need to go to the doctor? Depending on your answer, you'll move on to Pay The Doctor or Raid the Drugstore. In Pay The Doctor, you may or may not receive verification that you are sick or contagious, but you'll pay the doctor anyway. You have to play this round until you know what you have or run out of money. If after Paying the Doctor 3 times, you still do not have a diagnosis, and are still sick, then you'll have to play the penalty round: Diapers That Reek. In Diapers That Reek we'll show you disgusting diapers that must be evaluated and identified as Normal Disgusting Duds or Unusual Nastiness Indicative of Disease.
Then you'll play our final round of Spread It Around! We'll give you a bag of infections items, such as tissues, pillow cases, sneezed-on artifacts, and parcels of puke. You will lodge these balls of bedlam at your team members while they race to get ready for school. If you can infect each and every member of your family before they can get out the door, thereby keeping them home, you'll win the game! Good luck and let's get sick!
Seriously, I'm so done with the illnesses. We've all had the flu, Miss Moo and Chris have had allergy induced bronchitis, Chris has been coughing since November, Miss Moo's nose is on a constant drip setting, Chris has a new sinus infection and Pleurisy (which I'm still trying to understand as it sounds more like a board game than a lung problem). We have stocked the bathroom with inhalers, nebulizers, antibiotics, narcotic pain killers, steroids, over the counter cold remedies, a lifetime supply of tissue and throat lozenges. And I could probably fill Lake Michigan with all the water I've poured into the humidifiers.
I. Hate. Winter. Furthermore, I don't trust Winter. Winter and his BFF Illness are bad guests that don't know when to leave. Just when you think they're on their way out--the sun shines and the snow melts--they hit you again! Turns out the sudden change in weather was a recipe for a fever and diarrhea. The symptoms descend upon you just as the wind chill hits -20 so that you can take your child to the doctor looking like a Titanic survivor. There will soon be a shortage of chickens thanks to all the chicken soup I'm dishing out. You better get yours now because Winter strikes again.
Last night I tucked Garrett into his bed and he said, "Mommy, my eye hurts."
I said, "Your eye hurts? Let me see." Garrett opened his eye wide and there was nothing there that I could see. "That's a good eye. It just needs a rest."
Then Garrett really opened his eyes wide. "Arrest! I don't want to be arrested."
"No, not arrest. I mean A REST. It needs to sleep. That's a tired eye. I bet it won't hurt in the morning." The innocent child believed me. Heck, I believed myself.
After a fitful sleep last night--thanks to Mary sneaking in my bed just after I fell asleep and Chris coughing half the night--I went through the usual morning routine. We all buzzed around doing our part to get out the door on time. It wasn't until I had filled my coffee mug that I really got a good look at Garrett. His eye was puffy, bloodshot, and oozing, with icky crusty stuff cemented to his three-foot-long eyelashes. It was a bit shocking. "What happened to your eye?"
Garrett was unconcerned. "Oh, mommy, that's just my eye that needs to sleep."
"Good Lord, that eye needs more than sleep." I tried to get the crusties off with a warm wash cloth, but dried puss stuff is much more stubborn than it looks. I looked up at Chris, exasperated by yet another pox on our house. "I think that's Pink Eye. And if it is, he can't go to school."
Chris took a long sip of his coffee and rolled his own sleepy eyes. "I'll Google it." My own mommy search engine--Moogle!-- knew that Garrett was headed for the doctor. Chris came back down the stairs with his report. "It's highly contagious. He definitely needs to go to the doctor. He can't be around people for at least 24 hours. I saw pictures. That looks like it." Moogle is faster. I was already washing my hands before he hit the stairs. And I was cursing the Gods. Why couldn't Garrett get pink eye on Friday when he has "administrative inservice" day off of school? Or next Monday when he is home for President's Day? Nooooo, he has to be quarantined today, on my Monday.
So, we went to the doctor. He stood about 10 feet away from Garrett and washed his hands with nuclear soap. He gave me the really bad news: I have to wash everything that Garrett has touched, slept on, or winked at. We trotted off to the pharmacy for the antibiotic drops where Garrett begged me for an eye patch. The eye patch and the drops only cost seven bucks. This is our cheapest illness of the season! I feel like a winner! That is until Mary gets it and we have to shell out another co-pay and buy more drops. Come to think of it, my eyes are a wee bit itchy. Pink eye x 4 = $80. I swear to you, I could have taken a trip to Paris with all the money we've put down for health care this winter.
I wonder what is the next contestant on Catch That Illness. I'm going to put my money on head lice. Whatever it is, I'm on the lookout for ambiguous symptoms, diapers that reek, and the like. For now, all I can do is dodge the germs. So far I've been safe, except for that flu. Thanks for joining us, now it's time for Wash Everything You Own.
We'll start our show with a suspenseful round of Ambiguous Symptoms. Each member of your family will display symptoms that may or may not require medical attention. When you can name that illness, hit your buzzer. You'll earn a co-pay for each illness that you correctly identify.
The winner of this round will be asked a bonus question about a random set of symptoms: Do you need to go to the doctor? Depending on your answer, you'll move on to Pay The Doctor or Raid the Drugstore. In Pay The Doctor, you may or may not receive verification that you are sick or contagious, but you'll pay the doctor anyway. You have to play this round until you know what you have or run out of money. If after Paying the Doctor 3 times, you still do not have a diagnosis, and are still sick, then you'll have to play the penalty round: Diapers That Reek. In Diapers That Reek we'll show you disgusting diapers that must be evaluated and identified as Normal Disgusting Duds or Unusual Nastiness Indicative of Disease.
Then you'll play our final round of Spread It Around! We'll give you a bag of infections items, such as tissues, pillow cases, sneezed-on artifacts, and parcels of puke. You will lodge these balls of bedlam at your team members while they race to get ready for school. If you can infect each and every member of your family before they can get out the door, thereby keeping them home, you'll win the game! Good luck and let's get sick!
Seriously, I'm so done with the illnesses. We've all had the flu, Miss Moo and Chris have had allergy induced bronchitis, Chris has been coughing since November, Miss Moo's nose is on a constant drip setting, Chris has a new sinus infection and Pleurisy (which I'm still trying to understand as it sounds more like a board game than a lung problem). We have stocked the bathroom with inhalers, nebulizers, antibiotics, narcotic pain killers, steroids, over the counter cold remedies, a lifetime supply of tissue and throat lozenges. And I could probably fill Lake Michigan with all the water I've poured into the humidifiers.
I. Hate. Winter. Furthermore, I don't trust Winter. Winter and his BFF Illness are bad guests that don't know when to leave. Just when you think they're on their way out--the sun shines and the snow melts--they hit you again! Turns out the sudden change in weather was a recipe for a fever and diarrhea. The symptoms descend upon you just as the wind chill hits -20 so that you can take your child to the doctor looking like a Titanic survivor. There will soon be a shortage of chickens thanks to all the chicken soup I'm dishing out. You better get yours now because Winter strikes again.
Last night I tucked Garrett into his bed and he said, "Mommy, my eye hurts."
I said, "Your eye hurts? Let me see." Garrett opened his eye wide and there was nothing there that I could see. "That's a good eye. It just needs a rest."
Then Garrett really opened his eyes wide. "Arrest! I don't want to be arrested."
"No, not arrest. I mean A REST. It needs to sleep. That's a tired eye. I bet it won't hurt in the morning." The innocent child believed me. Heck, I believed myself.
After a fitful sleep last night--thanks to Mary sneaking in my bed just after I fell asleep and Chris coughing half the night--I went through the usual morning routine. We all buzzed around doing our part to get out the door on time. It wasn't until I had filled my coffee mug that I really got a good look at Garrett. His eye was puffy, bloodshot, and oozing, with icky crusty stuff cemented to his three-foot-long eyelashes. It was a bit shocking. "What happened to your eye?"
Garrett was unconcerned. "Oh, mommy, that's just my eye that needs to sleep."
"Good Lord, that eye needs more than sleep." I tried to get the crusties off with a warm wash cloth, but dried puss stuff is much more stubborn than it looks. I looked up at Chris, exasperated by yet another pox on our house. "I think that's Pink Eye. And if it is, he can't go to school."
Chris took a long sip of his coffee and rolled his own sleepy eyes. "I'll Google it." My own mommy search engine--Moogle!-- knew that Garrett was headed for the doctor. Chris came back down the stairs with his report. "It's highly contagious. He definitely needs to go to the doctor. He can't be around people for at least 24 hours. I saw pictures. That looks like it." Moogle is faster. I was already washing my hands before he hit the stairs. And I was cursing the Gods. Why couldn't Garrett get pink eye on Friday when he has "administrative inservice" day off of school? Or next Monday when he is home for President's Day? Nooooo, he has to be quarantined today, on my Monday.
So, we went to the doctor. He stood about 10 feet away from Garrett and washed his hands with nuclear soap. He gave me the really bad news: I have to wash everything that Garrett has touched, slept on, or winked at. We trotted off to the pharmacy for the antibiotic drops where Garrett begged me for an eye patch. The eye patch and the drops only cost seven bucks. This is our cheapest illness of the season! I feel like a winner! That is until Mary gets it and we have to shell out another co-pay and buy more drops. Come to think of it, my eyes are a wee bit itchy. Pink eye x 4 = $80. I swear to you, I could have taken a trip to Paris with all the money we've put down for health care this winter.
I wonder what is the next contestant on Catch That Illness. I'm going to put my money on head lice. Whatever it is, I'm on the lookout for ambiguous symptoms, diapers that reek, and the like. For now, all I can do is dodge the germs. So far I've been safe, except for that flu. Thanks for joining us, now it's time for Wash Everything You Own.
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