Tonight I asked an obedient Jack to let Dinah (the dog) outside. As he watched her scamper across the yard, he noticed that the stars were out in the prematurely dark sky (don't get me started on Daylight Savings).
"Oooh, a star! The only star in the sky!" he crooned.
"Make a wish!" I urged.
What followed can only be described as the most precious and simultaneously weird Christmas sentiment ever.
"Star, star, I wish on you ("woo")," he sang. "Please give a Merry Christmas to me and my sister."
At this point my eyes were tearing up...mostly because of his innocent sweetness and partly because I was holding a hulking 20-lb. baby over my shoulder.
"...andalsopleaseasnowshovel." He added under his breath.
I guess my Christmas wish should be for some snow for this child. PLEASE LET IT SNOW.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Daily Drama
As Dan is on a business trip this week, I am... what can only be described as SADDLED, with two small bamas. ("Small" only when compared to the size of the sun.)
So I have to hoist/cart/haul Sydney around in her carrier (don't get me started on how THAT word is all wrong for the torturous device that she rides in) when taking Jack to and from school. Jack loves this because he can show off his sister to his friends, who are not allowed to touch the baby (his rule). He preens over her like a proud parent in front of his friends, daring them with his baby-cheek pinches and prideful boasting to just try to touch her. (Do not doubt that he will dole out smacks accordingly.)
This afternoon when I went to retrieve him, some of the children in his class were (smartly) still inside listening to stories told by Ms. Emily (quite possibly the cutest human being ever to live), so she told me, "Jack is playing outside, but you can leave the baby in here!" Before she had a chance to reconsider that statement, I ran through the classroom to exit to the playground at the rear. Quickly I plucked Jack from the screaming mass of 4-year olds playing "volcano" and we went to go back to the classroom.
But the door was locked.
And I could hear screaming.
So could Jack.
We watched through the window in the door, me with pity, Jack with debilitating consternation, as Ms. Emily was attempting to comfort the Nugget of Terror while 8 four-year-olds covered their ears.
I rapped on the window, but Sydney is just THAT deafening, and our attempts to get Ms. Emily's attention went unnoticed.
It starts to rain.
Jack throws himself against the door, screaming "MY BABY!!!"
I start to laugh.
He looks at me, prostrate with anxiety, and not a little hysterical, and screams, "OUR BABY IS IN THERE!" (He will make an excellent mother.)
Finally Ms. Emily notices us at the door and runs over to let us in, and Jack immediately rushes to Sydney's side to inspect her.
"SHE'S OK!" he exclaims with evident relief. (I wonder if he suspected that maybe someone took a bite out of her. She is very fat and juicy.)
Crisis averted, we make a hasty exit, and of course Sydney is fine once I am lugging her down the long hall of the school; this child's happiness is directly proportionate to my discomfort.
So I have to hoist/cart/haul Sydney around in her carrier (don't get me started on how THAT word is all wrong for the torturous device that she rides in) when taking Jack to and from school. Jack loves this because he can show off his sister to his friends, who are not allowed to touch the baby (his rule). He preens over her like a proud parent in front of his friends, daring them with his baby-cheek pinches and prideful boasting to just try to touch her. (Do not doubt that he will dole out smacks accordingly.)
This afternoon when I went to retrieve him, some of the children in his class were (smartly) still inside listening to stories told by Ms. Emily (quite possibly the cutest human being ever to live), so she told me, "Jack is playing outside, but you can leave the baby in here!" Before she had a chance to reconsider that statement, I ran through the classroom to exit to the playground at the rear. Quickly I plucked Jack from the screaming mass of 4-year olds playing "volcano" and we went to go back to the classroom.
But the door was locked.
And I could hear screaming.
So could Jack.
We watched through the window in the door, me with pity, Jack with debilitating consternation, as Ms. Emily was attempting to comfort the Nugget of Terror while 8 four-year-olds covered their ears.
I rapped on the window, but Sydney is just THAT deafening, and our attempts to get Ms. Emily's attention went unnoticed.
It starts to rain.
Jack throws himself against the door, screaming "MY BABY!!!"
I start to laugh.
He looks at me, prostrate with anxiety, and not a little hysterical, and screams, "OUR BABY IS IN THERE!" (He will make an excellent mother.)
Finally Ms. Emily notices us at the door and runs over to let us in, and Jack immediately rushes to Sydney's side to inspect her.
"SHE'S OK!" he exclaims with evident relief. (I wonder if he suspected that maybe someone took a bite out of her. She is very fat and juicy.)
Crisis averted, we make a hasty exit, and of course Sydney is fine once I am lugging her down the long hall of the school; this child's happiness is directly proportionate to my discomfort.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Conversations...
In a rare moment of grace and understanding, Dan took me to see the new Twilight: New Moon movie on a rainy afternoon a few weeks ago. Now, Dan has seen bits and pieces of the first movie and they always make him laugh, so it was quite a feat for him to sit through this movie after promising not to make nasty comments or laugh inappropriately. I'm sure the huge bag of popcorn helped, and the movie provided lots of new fodder for my derision.
Since we saw the movie, there has been a lot of conversation in our house about it. Apparently some aspect of it sparked his curiosity, albeit he still does not miss a chance to make jokes, especially about the sparkles.
Dan: Did something happen to you as a teenager to make you love all of this Twilight junk?
Me: Yes.
Dan, after a long pause, and a little more seriously: Did you have those dreams where you woke up screaming like Bella did?
Me: Not until I got married.
Since we saw the movie, there has been a lot of conversation in our house about it. Apparently some aspect of it sparked his curiosity, albeit he still does not miss a chance to make jokes, especially about the sparkles.
Dan: Did something happen to you as a teenager to make you love all of this Twilight junk?
Me: Yes.
Dan, after a long pause, and a little more seriously: Did you have those dreams where you woke up screaming like Bella did?
Me: Not until I got married.
Lingo
In the words of Jack...
- hush puppies = hubbies or hush chubbies
- granola bars = canola bars
- coins = circle money
- paper money = foldin' money
- Sydney Michelle = Cindyshell or CINDY A'SHELL
- potatoes = tatoes or matoes
- noodles = noodoos
- chocolate = chock-o-wit
- yeah = weah
- you = woo (as in, "Mommy, WOO do it!" and I'm all, "Who is Woo?!?!?!")
Thursday, December 3, 2009
It takes two...
Two hands. To handle this enormous baby. 16lbs of enormous baby. SIXTEEN POUNDS. At the age of 2 months. I am still reeling from our visit to the doctor, and judging from the nurse's comments, so is she. There was a brief moment in there that I thought we were going to have to buy a scale. It literally CREAKED when I laid her on it. I have no idea what we're going to do when she's 4 months.
We have had/are having a super holiday season with a pretty steady trickle of awesome through this place since September 30. I've had all sorts of amazing people visit and stay, and I really miss them all already. I'm thinking turning the house into a very messy (and authentic!) bed and breakfast. We have lots of beds and cereal.
Last night Jack and I wrote our letter to Santa, and I have to share a few quotes:
"Santa I am sooooo 3."
"This year I was bad. And good!"
"For Christmas this year I would like a snow shovel."
I don't really know what he is going to do with the shovel, as we get snow maybe once/year here, and even then it's dubiously shovel-able. Mostly we just wait for it to melt by noon. But I was really impressed that he limited his Christmas requests to only three items, and bonus, they were all ones I could find for him.
We have had/are having a super holiday season with a pretty steady trickle of awesome through this place since September 30. I've had all sorts of amazing people visit and stay, and I really miss them all already. I'm thinking turning the house into a very messy (and authentic!) bed and breakfast. We have lots of beds and cereal.
Last night Jack and I wrote our letter to Santa, and I have to share a few quotes:
"Santa I am sooooo 3."
"This year I was bad. And good!"
"For Christmas this year I would like a snow shovel."
I don't really know what he is going to do with the shovel, as we get snow maybe once/year here, and even then it's dubiously shovel-able. Mostly we just wait for it to melt by noon. But I was really impressed that he limited his Christmas requests to only three items, and bonus, they were all ones I could find for him.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Thank You
Thank you for checking in today! On Thanksgiving I remind myself that I am so thankful for the many things that I take for granted 365 days of the year: my safe home, my beautiful, healthy (and LOUD) family, the means to take care of them, and a wonderful job that I love (most of the time). I'm thankful that I can do so much because of the opportunities that I have access to, which in most part are the benefits of a good education, good health and a wonderful upbringing. I hope that I am able to give all of this to my kids, and help others in their endeavor to do the same. (Oh, and I'm also especially thankful for beer, and the inventor of earplugs.)
Happy Thanksgiving everyone, and God bless you and your loved ones today, and every day!
Happy Thanksgiving everyone, and God bless you and your loved ones today, and every day!
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Family (a four person word)
Jack is in love with his sister. I can remember feeling that exact sentiment...when they are little and can't talk, or steal (and ruin) your stuff, or rat you out to Mom and Dad. When they let you hold them and smile at you as opposed to accusing you of hitting them when you're in the next room, or making you watch the My Little Pony movie 269 times, OR getting out of their bed in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve only to vomit the lovely combination of fudge and olives all over your bed (with you in it). No, all of those things are in Jack's future! For right now he is content to occasionally hold his sister, to talk to her constantly, and to squeeze her chubby cheeks. Soon enough he will be complaining about her, and I will empathize, the way that my father did with me, about the pains of having a younger sibling, and attempt to comfort him with the same notion my dad tried: that imitation is the highest form of flattery. And Jack will undoubtedly say to me what I said to my father, which is... "DON'T GIVE ME THAT BOLOGNA, and WHEN CAN WE GET RID OF HER?"
But when he gets older he will be so glad to have someone who understands exactly what it was like to have parents like us, good and bad. Someone who he can commiserate with about how we tortured them, and who will agree that we no longer behave like "Mom and Dad" but like two batshit-crazy old people who dress ridiculously and like to embarrass them in front of people that they're trying to impress. They will watch each other's kids, pay our nursing home bills, and have us over on the holidays to tell funny, exaggerated stories of how ridiculous it was to grow up together under this roof. And we will yell, "WHAT?" and make them repeat themselves, give them unsolicited parenting advice, and refuse to take our Beano. I can't wait.
These are all of the things that I think about when I am lying in bed listening to Dan snore, Jack snore, and Sydney do her semi-conscious mating-shed bit. I remind myself that building a family is like building a house, brick by brick, day by day, into a place that you can live and feel loved forever. And also have someone painstakingly record your childhood on the internet. Forever.
But when he gets older he will be so glad to have someone who understands exactly what it was like to have parents like us, good and bad. Someone who he can commiserate with about how we tortured them, and who will agree that we no longer behave like "Mom and Dad" but like two batshit-crazy old people who dress ridiculously and like to embarrass them in front of people that they're trying to impress. They will watch each other's kids, pay our nursing home bills, and have us over on the holidays to tell funny, exaggerated stories of how ridiculous it was to grow up together under this roof. And we will yell, "WHAT?" and make them repeat themselves, give them unsolicited parenting advice, and refuse to take our Beano. I can't wait.
These are all of the things that I think about when I am lying in bed listening to Dan snore, Jack snore, and Sydney do her semi-conscious mating-shed bit. I remind myself that building a family is like building a house, brick by brick, day by day, into a place that you can live and feel loved forever. And also have someone painstakingly record your childhood on the internet. Forever.
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