Archives for: April 2008
Ships passing in the night
Do you ever get the feeling that you're speaking a different language than your children? I'm pretty sure that most parents in my tiny audience know what I mean. I'm saying, "Pick up your toys," and my children are hearing, "Keep playing, and what ever you do, don't put anything away! I LOVE stepping on tiny, sharp toys in my bare feet first thing in the morning while I'm letting out the dog!"
However, what happened last night, was, I think, a simple failure to communicate.
I'd just gotten my hair done (which, if I'm only allowing myself a few indulgences, this is one that is WORTH IT!), and we still needed to have supper, so we splurged a little on the new buffet in town. After his standard mac and cheese, Kid asked if he could have some Antelope.
Now, granted, this is a really good buffet. Still, antelope seemed like a bit much to expect. Some more questioning was in order.
An antelope is an animal. Is what he was looking for some kind of meat? No. Kid then offered a description of a food item that is "sometimes orange, and sometimes green." A fruit, then?
Now I'm sure you all probably have it figured already, but yesterday was the end of a long, cold, snowy day, and I just wasn't hitting on all cylinders. It was Lion who finally realized that Kid wanted some cantelope off of the salad bar.
Hmmmm....maybe I need to try and grow some antelope this summer?
Keep the change
Permalink 04/11/08 10:17:32 pm
We hit a milestone of sorts the other night. It wasn't necessarily one that I'd hoped to ever encounter, but I guess that into every life, a little change must fall.
Wednesday nights are always a little hectic, with all the rushing around to make sure that we're in time for choir practice. (Don't get me wrong, several other nights are also busy for one reason or the other, but Wednesday nights are the most reliably busy.) This past Wednesday was no exception, and as we pulled up to the train crossing to wait for a train with only a couple of slim minutes between us and late, I was already feeling a little agitated. Then, from the back seat, a whimper. Taking into account that this same whimper had been heard about 30 seconds before because Cub was convinced that Kid was obviously doing something horribly unfair to her, like, touching her side of the back seat, I asked, "What's the matter?"
"Mom, I swallowed a penny."
"Wait. What?!?! You WHAT?!?!?! Really?"
Now, I'm not a mom given to panic, to taking her kids to the doc at the first sign of sniffles, so I was pretty sure that penny swallowing wasn't an emergency. Still, when your mom is a nurse, it never hurts to take advantage of a little free medical advice, especially when thrown for a loop, so I called Mom, who assured me that, well, this too shall pass.
Of course, Cub got more than one very stern talking to about not putting things in her mouth and neither Lion nor I were terribly pleased with the "change" that had come into our lives so suddenly, but with distance, comes humor. You can bet this is one that I'm saving to reminisce about to that special boy sometime in the distant (far distant, I hope) future.
For now, though, I think if Cub offers me a penny for my thoughts, I may just decline.
This just made me laugh out loud. But then, I'm sort of a geek.
They mean it when they say it passes fast...
I would like to take this opportunity to wish a belated Happy Birthday to Kid, who woke up yesterday morning as a freshly minted 7 year old! Congratulations! Another year, a few more grey hairs for me to cover up.
The weather for the last several days has been much the same as it was the week after Kid was born, cloudy, grey, with occasional rain and below normal temperatures, making me think a lot about his birth.
I‚Äôve been blessed that both of my pregnancies were pretty uneventful. I think the biggest issue with either baby was the external version that had to be done to turn Cub the right way around when I was 8 months pregnant with her, and even that wasn‚Äôt any big deal. The problem with being so hospitable to my little womb dwellers is that they both signed on for the extended stay, and I ended up being induced at 2 weeks past due with both of them.
Despite Cub being the larger baby (just over 9 lbs), Kid was the more difficult labor, probably because he was our first child. During labor, the doctor ended up using the vacuum extractor to help ease Kid on out into the world, leaving a huge bruise that resembled nothing so much as a giant hickey on the top of his wee, pointy noggin.
The thing about April showers is that while they may bring May flowers (which then in turn bring Pilgrims?), is that they don‚Äôt necessarily help baby boys overcome jaundice. It is very hard to hold your new, yellowish baby in a sunbeam when such a thing doesn‚Äôt seem to exist, and so it was that less than a week after Kid was born, we were in the hospital again, with Kid enjoying his own personal UV tanning bed in the NICU, and me enjoying an extreme bout of post-partum fueled mothering guilt at the bottom of a big, soggy basket case, because I was absolutely certain that I had managed to blow my very first mothering gig in record time.
Looking back now, it‚Äôs almost comical how over-the-top new mommy I was. He‚Äôs getting to be such a big boy now that I almost have to look at pictures to recall our little orange kakarroto (carrot).
Seven seems like such a turning point, age-wise. Six is still little boy. Seven is the beginning of boy-boy age. Seven is when boys bring home snakes, toad, frogs, puppies, and anything else they can get their hands on. Seven is use-a-bedsheet-as-a-cape-and-jump-off-the-garage-roof age. Seven is when the easiest way to find a boy is to look up, since he‚Äôs sure to be climbing something. Seven may give me a heart attack.
Seven also seems to be when snuggling Mom loses quite a bit of its cool. So quickly he‚Äôs gone from being a cute, squishy toddler to being all knees and elbows, topped off by an unruly mop of hair. He still likes to give and get hugs, but I can‚Äôt hold on too long. He still wants hugs and kisses at bedtime, but just a few, and don‚Äôt get too carried away. He needs me less and less, and does more and more things by himself, for himself. Seven may also break my heart, just a little.
Happy Birthday, you sweet, awesome, beautiful boy. (Yes, I just called you beautiful. I‚Äôm your Mama. Deal with it.)