life choices

While tucking Bug into bed, after his first ever band concert, I complimented him on being so well rounded. I love that he plays the trombone AND the piano, plays baseball, basketball, and swims, plus likes to read, write and draw. He seemed uncomfortable at the compliment, but apparently not for modesty.

"I know. But when I'm good at so many things, how do I choose a career path?"




**********
Thirteen years ago when CD and I turned off The West Wing and headed up to bed, my waters broke. Many hours later I became a mom. Tomorrow I will have a teenager. Pook, I couldn't love you more.

got pants?

"Hey, guys, your piano recital and band concerts are coming up. Do you have dress clothes and shoes that fit?"

"Uh, mumble, mumble, uh huh"

"Can you pull them out for me to see?"

(multiple sighs)

Bug has his bedroom organized these days into the following piles (to the best I can discern): dirty clothes in hamper, dirty clothes under the bed, baseball clothes in milk crate and the floor around the milk crate, cardboard box of shorts and swim suits which I pulled out but which are getting worn without ever being put in a dresser, clean laundry still in a laundry basket, dress pants on a shelf in the closet, a scattering shoes on the closet floor (mixed with toys and clothes which have fallen off hangers.)

He pulls out the dress pants and says "Here, see" in that 'duh, mom' sort of way. I clearly decided to torture him because I then said, "Try them on."  (ack, horrors!)

Pook's floor looks better, there is only a hamper of dirty clothes and a cardboard box of shorts and swim stuff but if you look in his closet you will see scores of shoes from years gone by, clothes I hardly recognize because they have collars and therefore are never worn, and well, you really can't get in the closet to see what else is there. That might be for the best.

"Try 'em on guys."

(multiple sighs, groans and "aw, mom"s)

Bug: "I just wore them. They fit fine."

"Prove it."

"See?"

"Why don't you button them?"

"Uh, maybe they're too small."

"What size are they?"

"8"

The next pair was the same. The third pair fit. Size 12. They get pulled off and left, inside out on the floor. I'm picking my battles, so I fold them and set them aside on top of the khakis he's planning to wear to the first concert.

"How's it going, Pook?"

He hasn't started trying on clothes but is instead standing in his underwear playing with the Electronic Pocket Distraction (EPD) he removed from his pocket when he took off his pants.

We find him pants which fit, but he can't locate the dress shirt he says he owns. Turns out, it is two sizes too small and I'd put it in Bug's closet. Nevermind, he needs a tux shirt one night and anything with a collar the other.

Now to Pook's shoes. He pulls out five pairs of black dress shoes, two pairs of holey running shoes and two pairs of sandals from his closet. I immediately throw some in the trash can. He begins to try on dress shoes. Bug grabs a pair and puts them on.

"They're fine."

I suggest socks be added to the try-on process. They begin an argument over who owns which black socks.

Pook is still working on shoes. Bug is now at the top of the stairs looking classy, wearing shorts and t-shirt, black dress socks, and shoes which maybe would fit Pook better but Bug got to them first. Their feet may be the same size.

"Hey everyone!"  My mom is standing at the bottom of the stairs. (Holding a cookie jar!)  "The garage door was up and the door was unlocked and no one heard me, so I just came in."

I'm trying to avoid losing control now. "No cookies until you're wearing clothes!"  She eases herself away and I get them back to the business of trying on shoes. Finally, success. I put aside the remainder and offer them online to Friends With Boys.

If I had a chance to do it again, I'd join with a few families of boys and suggest we buy one pair of black dress shoes in every size. We could swap them around for 18 years.

**************

It is ten minutes until we should leave for the recital.

"Mom!  My pants don't fit! I can't button them!"

Sure enough, the khaki pair Bug wanted to wear today (did I ever see him trying them on?) is too tight. Size 12. Super mom that I am, I locate a pair of 14s.  I'd cut off his head but it wouldn't make the pants fit any better.

**************
5 minutes later:

We will never get out the door.  Bug came down in khakis (which fit, with a belt) but black socks.

"But I don't have any khaki socks!" (Clearly I am guilty.)

I find the child some khaki socks.
**************
 in the car, running about five minutes late:

"I guess these shoes are a little too small."

***************
between the car and recital hall:

"My shirt is missing a button."

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.

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. 

he gets it

We decided to spend part of our Labor Day weekend visiting Stone Mountain Park. I was feeling a desperate need to use our membership passes at least one more time before expiration, and last time we'd attended the ropes course had been closed. This time we planned to do the ropes course and stay long enough for the nighttime laser show.  We had chairs, bug spray and dinner packed and in the car. 

"Prepare yourself for being in crowds guys. The lines could be really miserable."

We headed in, taking a parking spot near an exit, anticipating the departure to be just as tough as the rest.

Splitting up, we managed to get one to the bathroom and a spot in line reserved. When we were all gathered again, we noticed the "You are 1 hour from your turn" sign approaching.  Yikes. I smiled at the man behind me, on his own with three children under seven. They all had duck quacking noisemakers in their mouths. "You may be regretting those duck quackers on the ride home!" I laughed.

Oh holy duck quackers! Ten minutes of that noise was all I needed before I felt my jaw tighten up.  I forced a smile and remembered how bored the kids must feel.  Deep breath. 

I looked at my boys. Half an hour in line now and still not a complaint. Why was I so lucky?

The dad was beginning to regret his purchase too.  "Stop it. Don't bump your sister. Be quiet. Stop that now. Be quieter."  I cringed as his tired voice began to criticize their not really bad behaviors.

Then it got worse. "If you do that again, we'll have to leave.  Stop that or I'll take it away. Stop it. Stop it now or we'll leave."

I caught CD's eye.  He and I think alike when we hear that sort of tired, ineffective parenting. But then something unexpected happened.  "He just needs to really do it, not just say it," whispered Pook.  CD and I looked at each other again.  "He gets it!" All those years of following through, no matter how unpleasant it became. It pays off. Our baby is growing up.

cereal pantry

This is an interpretation of the cereal aisle, or in some cases how the cereal aisle should be, according to Pook and Bug. 

• Unspecial K       ("Breakfast for the rest of us!")
• Hi-Caffeinated Fructose Flakes
• Corn-syrup Krispies
• Sugarless Grain Puffs
• Count Drabula
• Soggy Lumps O'Fiber
• Crazy Carbohydrate Calorie Crunchies
• Captain Mush
•  Hi-fiber Flax Flakes
• Sugar Frosted Chocolate Bombs
• Cardboard Clusters
• Floppy Flakes
• Carbonated Sugar Pops
• Sauseating Nutty Nougats
• Bland Bombs
• Mustard Frosted Weat Squares
• Garlic Puffs
• Honey Bunches of Goat
• Red Pepper Flakes

And I told them that these two might actually sell:

• Coffee Crispies
• Cappuccino Clusters

 

selling him

This is a transcript of an actual conversation I had with my child. I'm thinking the child should remain anonymous so that if I ever try to sell him give him away someone might still want him.

# I need a whatchamacallit for school.

* Go look in the cupboard.

[20 second look through cupboard by child]

# We don't have any. (said with a whine, implying blame that Mom has not supplied him with any whatchamacallits)

[30 second look through cupboard by Mom]

* Here are a pile of whatchamacallits for you.

# glare (honestly- he was that annoyed that I'd found them)

[half hour later when child has used the whatchamacallits and is otherwise occupied]

* Please put away the things in the cupboard.

#  But I didn't get them out!

Selling him. Definitely selling him.

all in one paragraph

"I hate you. You are the worst parent in the whole world."

"You hafta help me with my homework because I can't do it otherwise."

This all came out in one paragraph. There might have been a few more sentences in the middle. I tuned out.

I was not declared the worst parent in the world -- the "whole world"-- for not helping with homework. In fact, it was because I was helping that I earned that label.  I went above what had been asked and tried to help a bit extra. I suppose it wasn't what he'd expected and when Bug is confronted with something he hasn't prepared for he usually dislikes it. 

I left the house and took a fifteen minute walk in the nearby park.

I returned to a Bug with his hands on his hips and a mouth puckered in anger.  I heard "you hafta" again and I left the house again. This time I took a book and my glasses and hung out at a picnic table in the park.

Is this being eight years old or just being an intense kid?  Or, perhaps I'm the worst parent in the whole world and the rest of you can relax now that the title is taken.

life: a big topic

Where have I been? Mostly at the pool, the only logical place to be in this weather. Perhaps all my good posts melted away into the depths of my overheated brain.

Today however, my kids came through with blog fodder for me. Maybe the amount of time they've spent underwater recently has saved their brains from melting.

We'd gone to a relatively new science museum in north Georgia, the Tellus Museum.  In addition to a big mineral exhibit, a dinosaur exhibit and one on the history of transportation, there was a planetarium. We had tickets to see a show about Black Holes.  It was after lunch, and those lovely reclining chairs were a bit too much for me, so I missed a few bits and pieces of the presentation.  The kids must have absorbed it all.

Over dinner, unprompted, Bug declared that "Isn't it cool that every moment is eventually in the past, present and the future?" He went on to say that he thinks the past and future are the same length of time. He proceeded to get paper and pen and draw a timeline. Seen from the beginning of time, the distance to the present (and yes, he called it "A") was the future. Now it is the past.

Pook disagreed with the assumption that there is an end to time. He compared it to someone who is immortal. They were born at a specific time but if they aren't ever going to die then they have an infinite future.

And then we had root beer floats.

cheese, wishes, messes and fairies-- oh my!

I'm finally getting around to reading some of the journals, etc. that came home at the end of the school year.

Bug always has some stories worth a chuckle.

George and the magic Mozzerella
1. George finds some mozzerella in his house
2. George wishes he had a Pet dinosaur. Suddenly he is riding a triceritops.
3. Hes still holding the cheese
4. It charges his mom and dad, he said Woah! Stop! It does
5. He wishes he had a Pet griffin, cyclops, and centar he gets them
6. he goes to bed with the cheese on his bed-side table
7. Years pass and George takes good care of the cheese

Also by Bug:

If I had three wishes one would be that I could fly. I would be able to get places in a hurry. My second wish would be that I could turn invisible. It would be useful to be able to sneak around. My last wish would be to have the ability to walk into a book and trade Places with a character. That would be really fun.

 I was entertained by Pook in this one. He knows himself well.

Messyish Me

When Mrs. Lavender walks into my bedroom she thinks that "this room is fairly cleanish." She thinks that it is cleanish because there is not things all over the floor. The beds are sort of made. I share the room with my little brother. It is clean because the toys are in the Toy Room. The closet is not very neat though. I am not as neat as that room is.

Pook has doodles in his notebooks which crack me up. He has another which involves a boxing glove triggered by an closed circuit. At least they were in the science notebook! (I have approximated his drawing, not copied it.)

the looney bin

"Where did we get you?!" is a common, exasperated question we pose to the boys here.  At some point we provided the answers:  Pook is from the Funny Farm and Bug is from the Looney Bin.  Really, it explains so much!

I can't remember how it came up, but at some point on our vacation, Bug decided to tell us about his memories images of the Looney Big.  "It's like a gigantic tea cup with a fence around it and people running around inside it." 

Enough said, right?

giving our kids some street cred

CD and I spent dinner last night teaching our children swear words.  They know nothing!  (Or they were really good fakes.)

I started it by saying, as I scratched a bug bite, that some booger had bitten me (in April--I had a right to be angry!)  They boys both fell apart in squeals of laughter.

"What did you call the bug?!"
"I called it a booger.  A booger bug!"

We all enjoyed laughing, then I pointed out that I'd thought to call it something else but I wasn't sure what swear words they'd heard before.  (And as a mature adult had not wanted to be the one to teach them.)

"So, what cuss words do you know?"

"Uh.  None."
"What's a cuss word?"

We had to push them.  Pressure them even, to get them to tell us any swear words at all.  Bug never did in fact.  Do first graders not swear on the playground at all?  

Pook had heard "um, I think it sounds like crab" and "um, I think it sounds like beach."

"What does that mean?"

CD and I dutifully gave them the dictionary definition of each one Pook came up with (a sure way to make the word meaningless) but also explained how the word was used as a swear.  I even used bitch as a verb, a noun and an adjective for them to demonstrate.  Because I am such a good parent.

And then, remembering that I was supposed to be a good, mature parent, I told them that they couldn't use these words in front of teachers, other adults or me.  And CD told them not to hurt someone's feelings by calling them a bad name.  And I kind of diluted that by saying that if it came to it, I'd rather that they got in a fight that was verbal and not physical.  --But to not use these words.

(Oh, and he also knew "hell" and "damn," so the bug that bit me (in April!) could have been a damn bug after all.)

the accidental shoplifter

Pook decided that he wanted to get a Webkinz for Bug's upcoming birthday.  The ones he has are expiring.  (insert grumbles here)  We've intended to get out to go shopping alone, but it just hasn't happened and we're running out of time. Having not gotten it done this weekend (yard work Saturday, trip to the zoo Sunday, both in spring-like weather) there was no easy opportunity left.  We could let Bug know what we were doing and ask my parents to babysit, but that would take more time, interrupt homework a bit more, and be less fun. 

I told him I'd run a few errands this morning and find a source so we would only have one store to go to at least, and if necessary, I could tell him the choices and return to the store myself to make the purchase while they were at school. I stopped to pick up a prescription for CD.  Since there were two cars in line at the drive-up window, I parked to go inside.  After picking up the eye drops, I browsed the toy aisle and found just what we needed- the smaller version of Webkinz that Pook could more easily afford, in about a dozen choices.  The problem of when to purchase it was still an issue.

Later in the day I decided that tonight was a good night for a steaming hot baked potato.  The warm weather wasn't completely gone, but it was supplemented all day by rain and felt chillier than the thermometer implied.  We had no potatoes around, and my thoughts of going to pick some up coincided with my need to get back to the drug store right next door to the grocery.  I'd take the boys with me after school and somehow get Pook an opportunity to shop alone.  We'd split up and he'd go get the gift while Bug and I got foodstuffs.  Now, how?

Not having any cash myself, I got his wallet. Just in case we couldn't talk privately, I wrote him a note.  "Go to CVS. Webkinz are in the back by other toys on the bottom shelf." I shoved note and wallet into a tote bag that could conceal the gift. My hope was that Bug would come out to carpool considerably slower than Pook. 

Nope.  Bug came to the car first and there was no chance to talk to Pook.  I told them we were going to the grocery and drug store.  When we parked I suggested that we split up.  I managed to give Pook a wink and show him the note.  He seemed excited to attempt this plan.  But then I confused things.  I wanted to distract Bug, so I told Pook to "get Daddy's eye drops. When you tell them his name they'll be able to give them to you."  At the time I was thinking that a bit of detail was important. In fact, Bug was paying no attention and it wouldn't have mattered what I said as long as I avoided the words "birthday" and "Webkinz".

Just as Bug and I came toward the front of the store, Pook appeared.  I peeked in his tote bag and saw brown fur.  Success!  "Did it go ok?" I winked at him.  "Well, they said I needed a note from you to get the eye drops."  Ooops.  He didn't seem terribly flustered by the error, so I sent Bug to find us an open register and quickly explained to Pook that there was no need for eye drops.  He started to run off anyway.  "Don't worry about going back.  They won't care if you never explain the confusion." 

And then he dropped the bomb, "But I haven't paid for the present yet."

I'll save this until he's a teen

It has been a long time since I included a good Bug quote.

background:
Yesterday he biked with a friend and scraped his arm and knee. I was bandaging him.

Bug: I was just going over the speed bump but I went too fast I guess.

Me: Now you've learned how fast is 'too fast' and next time you'll be fine.

Bug: Yeah, like teenagers have to learn a lesson that way a bunch of times cuz they don't listen when you warn them.

getting there

Bug smashed stepped on my foot last night.  It really hurt and I sat, holding it for a while.  He kissed my head sweetly and apologized.  But when I didn't immediately hop back onto it, he questioned me.  "Didn't it get there yet?"


I know this is an odd segue (I just really had to share his words), but twice this week I have made really good driving decisions when I thought there was a chance that I was either getting myself lost or at least making my drive much longer than needed.  Both times I "got there" and was pretty amazed at myself.  I have lived in Atlanta, within 8 miles of here, since 1992.  I still get lost all the time. 

I blame Indianapolis for this.  I learned to drive in Indy.  In Indy the roads make a grid, with a few diagonals tossed in for Midwestern fun.  If you miss a turn, you just make three more and four rights can make it right. When I first started driving in Atlanta, I always got turned around.  There is a street near the Fernbank Science Center where I have made U-turns so many times that it just feels natural to turn onto the street yet again.  I've seldom made the correct turn there, so the correct street is unfamiliar.  I soon learned that it took me seven right turns to get from my home to my job.  No lefts at all.  Two area streets crossed each other in two locations, adding to my confusion.  Four rights in Atlanta?  Definitely make a wrong.

And here I am, eighteen years later (wow, that's a long time!) and I still have trouble getting from point B to point C.  But this week I trusted myself (well, I questioned myself, but I kept going) and it turned out well, even better than the route I'd intended, both times.  Maybe I'm making progress.  I know I certainly can never move.

politics by Bug

"Why does medicine cost money? What if someone didn't have money and they got sick and would die?  I think medicine should be free."


"If there was a peace army instead of a fighting army they could shoot Cupid's arrows at each other."


Maybe he should enter politics.  On second thought- no.  I'll just enjoy having a kid with empathy.

next year's misunderstanding

Me:  Bug, tomorrow is your last day of school!  Then, it will be 2010 when you go back.

Bug:   Really?!  Wow!  I get to be in First Grade!

time for quotes

Kindergarten is a good source for quotes.  From Bug:

"I learned how to spell APPLE at school today!"
(me)"How do you spell it?"
"I don't know."

"Did you know that the word TREE is not spelled with a CH?  You should really say, chree, not chree."

"Is there a low school, like there's a high school?"

"If I'm really doing all this work I really might as well get an M&M. I'm doing so much work it's like I'm the servant."

"My concern is this: If we do that first, will we still be able to play?"

writing for money

I cannot get enough of early writing.  It's just like that awesome first year of talking, but you get to keep samples of it written.  Pook and Bug's school is holding a Fun Run fundraiser.  Usually I keep family and friends out of school fundraising, but since my parents will be visiting the weekend of the race, I figured they were fair game to hit up for donations.  Plus, trying to write a coherent letter on the computer is great practice for both kids.  This is Bug's request for a donation:

DER NANA AND PAPA WEL U HEP US PAY FOR THE FUN RUN. THE FUN RUN WIL BE WIL U R VISIDEN.  U CEN CUM WOCH. FOR $10 I CEN RAS AND FOR $20 I GET A TESHRT.
LUV (BUG)

Now, what grandparent could resist that?  (Now I have to tell them that it starts at 8am....  You reading, Mom?)