back in time

I have been deeply absorbed in family video recently!  For my birthday, CD and Pook gave me equipment and a "coupon" to transfer all our old mini DV tapes onto the computer. One hour-long tape at a time, six years of video. Randomly, the first tape transferred was the most recently recorded. Bug was three, Pook six. This means Bug will gradually get younger, until he disappears like an ice cube held in a warm hand.

We're enchanted. The boys laugh, barely recognizing themselves, hearing their little boy voices. Bug refers to himself as "he" instead of "me."

Bug is usually in dress-up clothes in these videos. In one of the first we watch, he's asked me to interview him (with my 2lb weight as a microphone) about his "Aklympic" experience. He "mostly does fencing. And hurdles." He used to do swimming. And gymnastics. When he got too old for being an athlete he coached. Now he talks about the sports (he's dressed in a suit to be a commentator) but then he'll be a minister before he's a president.  I keep a mostly straight face during the interview. He's adorable.

He wasn't always adorable. I filmed a couple tantrums of Bug's. I reassure him that we don't have to watch them; they were filmed so I could appreciate how much better he became. They're tough to watch even for me. I may not ask him, but I'd kind of like him to see at least one.

In many of the videos, Bug is doing something loud and silly. Pook shows up and pushes into the scene for some attention too. Either Pook tries to outdo his baby brother or Bug begins to copy Pook. Soon, they're both wild and silly.  The Pook videos will be quieter. All the attention from both parents, but a quieter, calmer kid too.

I'm addicted and can't leave the computer. I'll be back in six years.

brotherly love

Is this a sign of brotherly love or what? Older brother to younger brother:

"That's just my spit. Here, I'll wipe it off for you."


Bug's school starts all the fourth graders on instruments (band or orchestra) in the second semester. They put in three top choices and are assigned an instrument based on the rest of the kids' preferences and the musical balance of the group.

Bug requested trumpet, trombone and clarinet, in that order. I had strongly encouraged him to take saxophone off his list. The child is too competitive with Pook already and having something else in common seemed like a big mistake. The band instructor had already told Bug that, due to his height, he would be a great trombonist. This clearly influenced him, but not enough to put the instrument on his list as number one. But now he's assigned the trombone and he's very happy and all is well.

We sent out a couple of emails to friends and quickly were offered the use of three trombones. CD and Bug went to pick one up and then dropped it off at the music store for some TLC. It was collected Saturday. Bug has picked it up each day since and tried to make some music.

The dying duck has not left the house, but he's sounding healthier.  Enough healthier that Pook is interested. And, I must say I'm thankful that Pook couldn't make much sound from the trombone and allowed Bug to instruct him. Even with the educated guidance of the two-day-experienced player, Pook couldn't do much with it.  Bug glowed.

Then Pook surprised me by pulling out his saxophone and suggesting that Bug give it a try. First he demonstrated how to suck on the reed. Then he wiped off his spit and gave it to Bug to use. (I tell you, brotherly love!) He leaned over and around Bug to help him put his fingers just so, and demonstrated the mouth position a few times before, finally, a saxophonish noise came from the instrument.

Both boys acknowledged the difficulty of the other instrument performance and traded back to get their own. A few saxophone enhanced duck calls later, both instruments were packed up for school tomorrow.

hopes dashed (and wet holiday stuff too)

And just like that, Bug ruined his future.  And possibly mine, because I'm kinda hoping at least one of these kids of ours will support us in our old age.


The conversation:

Bug: How long do I put the pizza in the microwave?

Me: You don't put pizza in the microwave. The crust gets all tough.

Bug: But I don't like it cold.

Me: You can't go to college if you don't like cold pizza.

Bug: Then I won't go to college.



*****

You'd think they'd sell fewer Christmas trees in the rain. But eventually you just have to give up and go get it because I'm not sure they deliver them. (Although, come to think of it, actually, they do. My cousin ordered one from somewhere like Maine and they delivered it to her in Florida.) I know we shouldn't complain about our rain, because we don't have ice or snow, but we've had both warm and rainy and cold and rainy and, really, neither is good for the Christmas Spirit.

Our tree is sitting in the garage, dripping dry a bit. We considered a hair dryer (probably not a great plan) and we considered the leaf blower (possible, but it seemed like work) and we went with drip drying. Maybe we can bring it in soon. We hope there will be time tonight to decorate it.  The remodeling of our house changed our Christmas tree location this year. I hope it works without being in everyone's way.

Last weekend we had a respite from the dampness and we did some yard cleanup. The leaves can still be mowed into mulch, even when wet. I put pine straw all around my new Swiss Chard plants, pansies and parsley. It looks pretty good.

We ate one meal of chard already. A bug crawled (spun?) to the top of the salad spinner, so I let the dizzy thing out. Then Pook peeked in the pan to see what was cooking and announced that there was another desperate bug. We let that one out too. So, no bugs were killed in the making of our meal. (Although later Pook did discretely mention a crunch he'd encountered. He didn't want Bug to know. Good kid. When I was their age I turned down a lot of garden grown meals because of the "extra protein" crawling around in it.)  

While we were doing yard work last weekend, the boys decided we should decorate an outdoor evergreen of the Christmasish shape. Pook hauled two long extension cords around to get power to the area. They checked all the bulbs for the non-working ones. Then they got a ladder. At that point CD and I abandoned our attempts at working to participate (and keep them from killing themselves). It isn't easy to lean a ladder on a slope in the mud up to an angled tree side. Eventually CD strung the lights and the boys lobbed dollar-store ornaments at it. It looked great. For one day.

The next day only the bottom strand of lights would light. Mind you, they're all attached and plugged in as one.  We still have no idea why it isn't working-- because it has rained every day since, and neither adult in this house is really eager to explore this electrical problem in the rain. So, the lights are off. Hopefully it will stop raining before Christmas.

The chances of me blogging again before the holidays is not great, so let me wish everyone a wonderful Celebration that you Celebrate, if you haven't already celebrated it. And a Happy New Year.

shooting for the stars

We've hit that stage I was warned about for so many years: "Two boys? Better get a second refrigerator!"  Pook, while still eating at the pace of a sloth, is now going in for seconds regularly and thirds sometimes. He's put on almost four inches since May.

I bought him a bunch of long pants a month before the warm weather came last spring but I suspect none of them will fit. I don't see much change in his waist, so I also suspect it will be very hard to find anything to fit him until he eats thirds more regularly and fills out a bit.

I told him he could wear shorts all winter, then the length of pants won't matter this year.  He's never cold, so he might just do it. We've had a few mornings as low as fifty degrees already but he hasn't decided against wearing shorts yet.

This morning I went for a lesson on giving tours of the middle school. Although they want us to take parents to the library, which is on the eighth grade floor, they want us to spend most of our time around the sixth graders. The reason made me laugh: they don't want to let the size of the eighth grade boys intimidate the parents who are still thinking about their fifth graders as little kids.

This is not to say that Bug hasn't grown. He usually puts a good three inches on each year and stands a good head above most of his friends. For him though, its the feet. Maybe Pook will have his feet grow soon, but right now the boys wear the same size shoe (7.5 for both my 9 and 12 year olds, if anyone cares.)

I've decided that the perk of all this is that as they outgrow clothes before wearing out clothes, I will try the best ones on and see if I want to keep them for me!

bits and pieces

The eye doctor appointment did indeed lead to glasses for Bug. He picked out frames over the weekend, put them on an hour later, and hasn't taken them off since. He wore them in a baseball game to pitch two innings and at school for picture day Monday. After school he said to me, "I may be like Pook and wear them all the time. I mean, I can, like, see stuff!"  The frames are very modern and somewhat bold, but he knew as soon as he put them on that he liked them best. My job then was to back away and say OK. I'm not used to seeing him in them yet, but in another week he'll look familiar again.

* * * * *

We paid for cable. We upped our cable bill from "technically your service comes from a cable but no, you don't receive any channels which are worth charging you extra to receive" to getting channels showing baseball. We set ourselves up for an October of Braves Baseball! Maybe we'll invite over friends! We can have a playoff party!  When the Braves play the World Series we'll... we'll... Sigh. Over before it could start. We'll probably keep the cable long enough to watch anyway.

* * * * *

Pook has been wanting to understand the news he hears on the radio.  This seems all good and well until you try to explain it. I told  him that some people don't believe that anything but black or white are ok. If black is right then white is wrong. If white is good then black is bad. All gray is compromising your values and not to be considered at all. "Well that seems dumb" was his first response. And actually quite the fitting response to much of what has been going on in Washington. 

eye see you

I’m procrastinating in taking Bug to get an eye check.

CD has had thick glasses since the beginning of time and I've had perfect eyes until I… um, got old.  Humbly, I admit I have prided myself on having good eyesight and having attractive eyes.  When we decided to have kids, we made a deal.  CD would give any future children his hair (thick, blond and curly whereas mine is thin, mousey and straight) and I’d give them my eyes.

Well, Pook came out with straight auburn hair and then got glasses at age 7. Fail on both our parts. We admitted it and moved on. His hair is pretty awesome anyway and his eyes, although hidden behind glasses, are a lovely pale blue. I remember looking down at him when I fed him as an infant and noticing that every eyelash was a different color.  I was sad when he needed glasses.  But, he looks like his daddy in glasses and well, I like the way his dad looks, so its all ok.  Maybe he'll try contacts someday.

Bug got my boring hair but hasn’t YET needed glasses. Recently he mentioned that it was hard to see the writing at the front of the classroom.  So now I’m worried that he might need them. But I don’t want to put those darling baby blues behind glass. And I haven’t made the appointment I think he needs.  If he gets glasses then we’ll have both failed on both hair and eyes with both children and I’ll be so disappointed!

The upside would be that he'd be able to, you know, see.

off season

Technically Sunday was the off-season.  Bug had his last basketball game -a very exciting one- on Saturday and now we're starting baseball. I say "technically" because the first baseball practice was rained out, so really we have till Thursday without any sports on the calendar.

Sports won't be quite as crazy this spring. Pook isn't playing ball this year.  He wanted to, and I want him to, but we were all really concerned about the scheduling. I think I'd have lost my mind, to be honest. He'd have had some super late nights doing homework.  His school lets out at 4:00 but his bus doesn't get him here until 4:35, as the last kid off.  Most coaches ask the team to come at 4:45 to warm up for 5:30 games.  I'd be picking him up, trying to let him change into his uniform and eat a snack and run to the ballpark all in that small window. Once a week he has a piano lesson after school, so anytime a game or practice fell on a Tuesday we'd have to find someone to swap lessons with.  Ugh.

But this is making me see the end of the tunnel. I realize that they just keep growing up and even though I like going down to the ballpark to watch, this won't last forever.

metaphorically

Do you have Laura Ingalls books around?  I shall quote from On the Banks of Plum Creek:

"Ma" (Laura) cried. "There is a Santa Claus, isn't there?"
"Of course there's a Santa Claus," said Ma. She set the iron on the stove...
"The older you are, the more you know about Santa Claus" she said. "You are so big now, you know he can't be just one man, don't you? You know he is everywhere on Christmas Eve. He is in the Big Woods.... and here. He comes down all the chimneys at the same time. You know that, don't you?"
"Yes Ma"...
"I guess he is like angels" Mary said....
Then Ma told them something else about Santa Claus. He was everywhere, and besides that, he was all the time.
Whenever anyone was unselfish, that was Santa Claus.
Christmas Eve was the time when everybody was unselfish. On that one night, Santa Claus was everywhere, because everybody, all together, stopped being selfish and wanted other people to be happy. And in the morning you saw what that had done.
"If everybody wanted everybody else to be happy, all the time, then would it be Christmas all the time?" Laura asked, and Ma said, "Yes, Laura."

So, this is my take on Santa. At our house we all fill everyone's stockings. Even when the kids were tots, they contributed "some pieces of money" to buy something to put in the stocking of each person who would be there Christmas morning. They get all excited about planning and executing this, which matters to me more than what they give. Bug likes to give mixed whole nuts, Pook goes for lifesavers candy often. One year Bug picked dried fruit to put in them.

We take turns Christmas eve just before we go to bed, each person in the room alone to fill them privately. After taking a turn as Santa, each person gets to ring the sleigh bells before heading up to bed.  We usually go by age, but I get to go last, which is good since by then things sometimes spill out onto nearby chairs.

Since all of us have been Santa for all of their lives I have hoped for a smooth transition. Last year the boys were still adamant that the big guy in a red suit living at the North Pole would be leaving gifts. This year we seem to have fewer gifts (perhaps each is bigger?) and I don't have anything easily left to be "from Santa."  And so, I'm not going to leave any out, unwrapped, on the hearth.  I have lots of fun gifts to cram into stockings but I think the big guy is leaving the room.  Metaphorically!  I'll keep all the unselfishness.

Merry Christmas to all. And to all, a good  night.

group vote

The boys voted today. I've heard of people being told they couldn't bring their young children in the polling room with them, that no one under 18 was allowed in, but the poll workers here were happy to see my boys helping me. And help they did.

Our new city is in need of a mayor and city council-folk. I may have not wanted the city to be formed, but now that I've got it I care who runs it. Or maybe mostly I care who doesn't run it. But we put in our two cents. Pook touched the screen for mayor, Bug voted for the councilperson.

I got to vote for President, which in the grand national scheme probably counts the least. (Should have heard me trying to explain the Electoral College earlier....) But here in our little city? You bet every vote will count. I want to see real numbers tonight. Real 1,234 numbers. So that I can tell that each person was counted. All three of us!

****
update:
Our local election resulted in runoffs all around. The folks the boys voted for both made it into runoffs however, one by only 100 votes. This means that for the rest of you, the political signs will come down and the calls will stop. For us, I expect it will increase for the next three weeks. Help!

ain't nobody happy

"When Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy."  So they say. But when nobody ain't happy, Mama ain't happy either.  And it seems like my babies are not happy.

School is too long. The bus takes forever. He has no time to play or read. Pook is adjusting to middle school, but grudgingly. He's right; his schedule is much changed from the past years. He isn't getting off the bus until 4:45 (instead of 2:30) and he needs to fit in homework plus saxophone and piano practices. He's used to his homework being done before dinner, but it isn't working that way.  He liked getting some free time.  It may settle out, or he may just get used to it.

Bug's dissatisfaction is more global. "Everything" is wrong. "Everyone" hates his teacher.  It is true that his friends are mostly in other rooms. He has the only teacher in the grade that I didn't want him to get. She taught Pook in 3rd grade too, and I wasn't thrilled with her "old school" style. I think she's probably starting the year very strict (no smiling until Christmas) but I also think she'll mellow out soon. Bug doesn't seem to know what she wants. He thinks this is the directions on the homework but he also thinks he needs to do things like this or he'll "get in trouble." He's intimidated by her and isn't asking for clarification.

Yesterday at the triathlon, the kids were treated as capable, independent beings. No adults were allowed in the transition area before, during or after.  The kids set up their bike, towel, socks shoes and shirt, and a box for goggles and bike helmet. I never even saw how they laid it all out. The kids were lined up by age and number and marched to the aquatics center where we waited to watch. Pook had two hours to wait while Bug ("juniors division") raced. CD and I saw them both swim then we ran outdoors to catch snippets of biking and running. We saw them pass through the finish line. The miles they covered they covered without us.

I liked the independence required of them. When Bug wanted to find the bathrooms and I wanted to see Pook finish, I sent him to the opposite side of the place on his own. If he can race a triathlon, he can find a port-a-potty on his own. And, they handled it-- mostly.  I did step in when Pook came out from the pool without having found the volunteer holding his glasses. He had to bike (6 miles) without them, but I found the woman who had them and was able to return them to him before the run. Sometimes Mama still needs to help.

But with Bug at school, I don't want to step in yet. I want him to figure out how he can work with his teacher. I want him to learn how to ask for help, both from her and from us. I want him to learn to explain his worries more clearly. I want him to feel independent and successful.  Then Mama will be happy.

try tri

I mentioned the triathlon briefly last week without giving any explanation.  Sorry. School has filled my brain and summer activities are getting quickly squeezed out by things like new schedules, homework projects and fall baseball.

The triathlon is an extension of our summer swim team. For a few years I've heard neighbors talk about kid triathlons-- one in particular called the Iron Kids. It sounded like something they could handle, coming right off swim team particularly. But, the Iron Kids was huge and not timed well for our schedule last year and we never got around to looking into it seriously.  Yet as the boys climbed out of the pool, barely winded after swimming for hours, it kept coming back to me.

When a parent mentioned a kids triathlon sponsored by the YMCA, my ears perked up. I picked up the brochure when I was there next. The cost was low, the location convenient, and most of all, the distances were perfect for a first triathlon.

Juniors ages 6-10
swim 100 meters
bike 3 miles
run 1/2 mile

Seniors ages 11-15
swim 200 meters
bike 6 miles
run 1 mile

We have a team of friends who are all participating. The boys have taken some runs with CD, since running is probably their weakest area. We tried putting wet bodies into socks, shoes and shirts.

They're ready for the sport. They're ready for the transitions. The crowds may be intimidating, but assuming we find their buddies, they can stick together. The point isn't to win this, and they know it. Bug put it well:  "When they talk about me on the Olympics they can say that 'He did his first triathlon at age eight.'"

So this Sunday morning at before-the-sun-rises-o'clock we will be heading to the triathlon. I'm pretty excited for them. Me, I'll be doing what I do best. Participating as a member of The Audience.

bedrooms part ending: pictures!

I have some before and after pics!  I love before and after pics! The room as a two-kid-bedroom had little space for more than the beds. Bug kept his dresser in it, and all his stuffed animals and books.  All other toys were in the playroom. 

The room as seen one night last year when I found Bug sleeping upside down in his bed Pippy Longstockings style. I see that Teddy was kicked off the bed. Pook is sound asleep like a straight little log in his neighboring bed.


The paint stamped jungle animals which were put along the chair rail by my MIL and pregnant-with-Bug me.

 Mid paint job.


The new room, with the new home for stuffed animals on the trundle.

The walls are covered with tons of posters and art. Bug wanted all the old returned up and the new added and we didn't argue.

It didn't take long for Lego to spill out everywhere, making this a pretty honest look at his room.


Pook's room is almost finished and will be shown next week.

bedrooms part next-to-last before the pictures

I was going to write today about the problems between the boys, dividing up the toys, but as you can see from the conversations below, they ARE able to work together:

"That's my poster. Ms.F in the library gave that one to me." "Well then I get the one of Tim Hudson." "No way! The other Braves one has Bobby Cox and stuff on it. It's ancient!" ...."Mama!" (in unison)

"You know that spear that came with the dude from the XYZ Lego kit? Do you know where it is?" "I used it for my new creation." "Well I want it back." "But the other one I put in your guy's hand is even better."  No it's not."  ... "Mama!" (in unison)

See? "In unison" means they are doing something together.


The good side of splitting up the toys is that Bug has been playing with toys he hasn't used in ages. There they were, sitting on his closet shelf, calling to him from up high. Nothing at all like having them on the bottom shelves of the playroom, ignoring him.

bedrooms part next: Bug on board

For eight years the boys shared a bedroom and had a room to leave messy as a playroom. I always assumed we'd need to change this at some point, but wasn't sure when.

Pook had gone to bed an hour post-Bug for a year without conflict, but several factors made it seem like it was the right time to make a change. Bug, as crabby in the mornings as a crab with a claw caught in a trap, needed to be alone. Middle school starts for Pook this fall/next month and with it comes a change to a later schedule. Someday he will hit puberty, learn to sleep in, want privacy and enjoy having a place to get away. Now seemed like a good time.

Only they were reluctant to get it. Pook, while getting the brunt of the crabbiness, didn't really want to move out. Sweetly, he told me he "sort of likes to hear Bug snore." Bug said he was unsure he wanted change. Pook didn't need to say it. Neither wanted us to get rid of the Bouncy Bed. No one could decide how toys (read: "lego") would be split.

I put the Bouncy Bed up against a wall to see if anyone asked me to lay it flat again. A month went by and no one cared. I began to talk up the change and the New Stuff required to make two rooms. Bug got on board. We had an incident involving a stomach bug and the need for carpet cleaning. While the furniture, including the bouncy bed, were displaced, I decided That was It. Out went the huge and in-the-way mattress. Someone picked it up from the curb within hours.

Hoping to get Pook excited, CD and I assembled the double bed frame we'd had in storage (my father's from childhood) and a double bed mattress was purchased. We agonized over sheet purchasing. He finally found some with navy blue and tiny red stars on white that "were fine." Still not into the whole thing. He began to sleep in his new room. It was "a bit lonely."

Meanwhile Bug was picking out paint colors. His room has the chair rail, so he decided he wanted blue under it and yellow above. I convinced him to go lighter than he first wanted; his side of the house is very dark. Finally a clear but deep sky blue and a butter yellow were chosen. The schedule was consulted. Vacations and other plans necessitated a wait until July.  July came.

next up: photos before and after

bedrooms part one

This needs to be part of a series, since it is happening slowly and involving both much work and much stress.  Today is mere background.

Our home has three bedrooms-- all we needed when we were dual income no kids people. We had a guest room and an office. All worked great.  Then we gained a Pook and we put the queen bed in the office. Then we remodeled the space above our garage and made a new office. Then we gained a Bug. We bought a trundle bed set for Pook and put the crib next to the queen bed and all was fine. We had a choice of moving Bug to a pack-n-play and giving guests the queen or popping up the trundle to full height, putting a king sized sheet over the whole thing and giving guests Pook's room.

It was after a period of house guests when tiny three year old Pook spent the night in the queen bed bed. When Bug awoke he stood at the end of the crib, calling out his brother's name with excitement. Pook loved it and remained in the queen bed for a while.

One day I realized that keeping a toddler in a queen bed and having a twin trundle in an unused room was ridiculous. I decided to make one room a playroom and move the twins into the bedroom.  As I began to  haul the queen mattress out, my mother came up with the brilliant idea of keeping it on the floor of the now-playroom.  For Bouncy Bug, this was fabulous (and saved our furniture ten times over). The Bouncy Bed was created.

Covering the mattress with a carpet colored fitted sheet made it inconspicuous. Kids played toys on it, they certainly bounced on it and when we needed to move them for guests, they slept on it (short-ways!).  And so it continued for eight more years. (Except Bug finally got a bed frame for the now popped-up trundle.) One room for sleeping, one room for toys.

-----
next up: big change ahead

log ride

I have found my desk.  And emptied my email inbox.  And the kids won't be home from school for an hour still. (I just want to pause now while you gasp with amazement. Thank you.) (And don't look in the laundry room. That doesn't count because it wasn't on my desk.)

I've started picturing April as the long climb up a roller coaster. Every time you blink someone adds something to your May calendar. You see it filling fuller and fuller and see the multiple conflicts which you don't have time to adjust. And then comes May. You might as well enjoy the ride because there is no stopping it.  Until June. And June feels like the water at the bottom of the log ride, stopping the action quickly. If you can make it to June you're home safely. If.

Piano recitals went beautifully. In-laws had a good visit. Baseball is over for both kids. We didn't win anything at the baseball family festival.  Pook turned eleven and the sleep-over boys slept a bit. Pook has turned in three of four end-of-year projects and if he doesn't volunteer to present the fourth today I will have his head. Mother's Day got some notice.

My own mother's birthday celebration will happen Saturday. Sunday afternoon we have an end-of-baseball swim party. Monday is field day for the second grade. (I'm helping.) Tuesday is my last day of work for the year and field day for the fifth grade. Wednesday is the second grade end-of-year party. (I'm helping.) Thursday is awards day for the fifth grade and their party. (I'm helping.) But Thursday is also the last day of school.  So Friday? Friday we're sleeping.

the gene pool

I'm just gonna come right out and say it:  I think my kids are smarter than me.

I have acknowledged that they both know more about music than I do. I tried, I really did. I took Piano 011 (note that I did not qualify for 101, but 011) in college and continued with private lessons before Pook was born. I can play some things- if I know what they're supposed to sound like. But, I just can't read music.  I can't make that leap from notes to sounds in my head. I'd like to be able to see a new hymn and know what it will sound like. I can't.

My kids have their daddy's musical brain. And, while I'm a bit sad that I haven't been able to keep up with them at piano, I'm generally ok with it.  I didn't manage to keep up with them in baseball either. This is ok.

But Pook just received a major award (no, not a lamp in the shape of a woman's leg) at school for his academic achievement. A few kids were chosen from each school in the county, and his school included him.

I was more surprised than I should have been.  I know Pook gets good grades. I know he's done well on standardized tests.  He attends a public school, but there is no lack of bright kids at our neighborhood school. I guess I just didn't know he was at the top.

I shouldn't leave out Bug. His first standardized tests amazed me too. He whizzes through homework, assuming he'll know it all- which he does- and so I stay on the sidelines.

I'm not saying I'm not smart. I learn new tasks quickly. I don't remember facts like CD, Pook and maybe even Bug (the call is still out on him), instead I process information well. I tie together all the loose ends and try to make sense of facts and how they relate. Holistic. Maybe "Wholistic" even. As an adult, this serves me just fine, as long as I avoid trivia games. 

The thing is, I  think both boys have this skill too. Right now this is more noticeable in Pook's brain than in Bug's, just because of age. But they both seem to have such well-balanced brains, left and right. They love to draw, and can make representations of things they've hardly examined. Bug is our Great Explainer, able to (and always wanting to) explain how he does the things he does.

And they "get" music. And they're fact wizards.

So I've been asking myself, "where did I get such smart children?" and the answer I have accepted is that I fell in love with CD's brain and together we produced some amazing kids, possibly better than their two halves.

hum along

If you have a memory as bad as mine, you never remember lyrics anyway.  It is much easier to make them up.  Most of the kids' bedtime songs have made-up lyrics.  I remember them so much easier.

In the car tonight the boys started picking on each other and Pook told Bug, "You'd better be good."  I added "because Santa Claus is coming to town."  Pook then began to sing the song, but he'd started with his phrase, "You'd better be good" instead of "You'd better watch out."  Recognizing that he had the tune right but not the words, he was undeterred.  (You'll absolutely have to hum along or none of this will make any sense.)  "You'd better be good.You'd better be good. You'd better be good. You'd better be good.  You-ou-ou-ou had better... be good."  I was about to call the song quits after he'd sung it four or five times and Bug had joined in, but then he decided on a new tune.  Not new words, just a new tune.

(Begin to hum "We wish you a merry Christmas" now, in preparation for this new, exciting song.)  "You'd better be good. You'd better be good. You'd better be good.You'd better be good." And then I gave in and joined them.  Let me tell you, a three part harmony-ish-like-thing of "Carol of the Bells" with the exciting lyrics, "You'd better be good" was pretty awesome.  

Bug decided we should be singing a Thanksgiving song because (I have him so brainwashed) it is too early for Christmas songs. That led to "We're thank-a-ank-ful, We're thank-a-ank-ful." (Pick a tune.)

Then Bug did something in the back seat that annoyed his brother into saying,  "Don't be a jerk." (You know where this is going, right?)  "Don't be a jerk. Don't be a jerk. Don't be a jerk. Don't be a jerk...."  It took the rub off the calling-of-names.  Bug joined in, so I did too.  That had Bug in gales of giggles, Mama singing  "Don't be a jerk." to the tune I think of Jingle Bells.  He was unable to giggle and sing at the same time, so Pook returned to the oldie but goodie, "You'd better be good."

I tell you, our Carol of the Bells was good.

be nice, or else

I suppose it has happened slowly, in the boiling a frog sort of way.  Nevertheless, the arguments around here are too many and too frequent.  "But..."  "Do I have to?"  "He did it."  "Why do I always have to...?"

First I started responding to Bug's frequent "But..." sentences with the declaration that I did not want to discuss his bum/bottom/tushie.  He'd giggle and I could avoid having to respond to his excuses.  I hoped it would help him see just how often he used the word.  Maybe it helped, but (BUT!) not enough.

We tried offering arguments for 25¢.  As in, "I will have that argument with you for 25¢.  It helped too, but (BUT!) it required stamina and vigilance on the part of the adult.  That tends to fade after time.  I can stick with something pretty well for a while, but some are harder than others.

Right now we have a Heart Chart.  Five good getting-ready-for-school-mornings and they can earn ice cream after dinner. Our mornings have been better, however I put this in effect just before Halloween and the filled candy jar makes ice cream less of a draw now.

I'm not thrilled with using sweets as rewards.  They work, as does money, but they aren't my favorites.  So I'm going to use a combination this time and see if we can blast these bad habits away.

1) We'll continue with the heart chart in the mornings.
2) We'll go back to selling 25¢ arguments.
3) We will start dinner with a statement of thankfulness from each child concerning his sibling. What has your brother done today that makes you thankful that he's your brother?
4) I have decided that they will each choose an after dinner reward for their brother based on the way he was treated during the day.  In other words, if your brother has treated you well, give him candy for dessert.  If he's behaved in other ways, there are options varying from fruit to eggplant which are also available.

When I explained my ideas they were met with  "But if we have an argument with you and we win, do we get our money back?"  <>

she is not dead, but sleepeth

Here are the boys, Halloween 2011:

Bug chose to dress as a slice of Swiss cheese.

Pook dressed as his favorite thing- a Lego minifig

They'd chosen their costumes in plenty of time. My parents helped put them together with a good bit of cardboard this year. The yellow "cheese" is a thrift shop drapery.  The Lego head is made from a bucket, covered with paper and painted.

We had just the right route for Trick or Treating this year.  Our neighborhood isn't well arranged for this; the kids from their school who walk can't easily walk from street to street, making us have to choose since we live in the middle.  The loop we took included a nearby cemetery.  I've heard that the gravestones have never been identified so they can't be moved.  They're sort of between three cul-de-sacs up on a ridge. 

We visited on Halloween once before.  Every flashlight had either died or been lost by then so one dad lit the way with his phone.  This year I planned ahead and bought LED candles, which I placed on the gravestones while the kids were at school Monday.  I wasn't sure if I was making the place less creepy or more creepy, but I did think it would help us locate the stones in the dark.  I hope other neighbors visited also; we stopped on our way home and were alone there.

There are between two and five graves here.  I think.  There are enough pieces and parts of gravestones to be five, but I don't find writing on enough to be five.  In any case, the dates that are legible are of births in the late 1800's and deaths from the early 1900's, making the area just perfectly Halloween creepy.  Plus, that epitaph?  "She is not dead but sleepeth"-- yikes!

"Here lies one who in this life was a kind mother and fine wife.  She is not dead but sleepeth."