This is a picture of the baby’s first birthday party.
But where is the baby?
Upstairs, asleep. He nodded off an hour before and missed the whole thing.
parenting
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The Lonely Cupcake
Monday, August 10th, 2009Why I Lie
Friday, August 1st, 2008I now lie to strangers when they ask me (and my alarmingly enormous midsection): “Do you know what you’re having?” I say: “Nope.”
(I do know, though. It’s boy #3.)
The top five reasons to lie–especially when Boy #1 and Boy #2 are with me…and listening:
5. “Another boy? Well, you can just keep trying!”
4. “Oh, no–you are going to need plenty of patience!”
3. “I hope it’s a little girl in there!”
2. “Don’t lose hope! My [insert family member or friend] had 3 boys before finally getting a girl!”
1. (And my favorite–from just last week…) “Oh, God is playing an evil little trick on you!”
But to the lady at the plant store yesterday: I forgot to lie to you when you asked, but you said: “Oh, that’s wonderful, because you make such adorable boys.” Thanks.
***
I hope that Kris will not mind if I add these excerpts from Garden Varieties. Often, when I get frustrated with all the boy/girl/expectations stuff–especially when a poor baby hasn’t even been born yet, I think of these two so perfectly-put ideas from her blog:
From her post called Three:
[I could substitute "boy" for "girl" in the following...or keep "girl"...either way...it's just so right on.]
I’ve never understood why people want a girl. You don’t get a girl, you get someone so unique, so unexpected, so utterly and completely themselves, there’s not much connection to whatever it is we think a girl will be.
I wanted a child and I got a Lu, and she is exactly the right Lu for me.
And, also, from her post called “Forces of Nature,” which I love:
As Lu and Nell grow older cultural expectations will become more pressing, throwing acceptable differences between boys and girls into sharp and disappointing relief, but I love that at the moment they are simply themselves with no thought of what they ‘should’ be.
Thank you, Kris. These posts have always stuck in my mind…
My Kitchen is Spotless
Monday, March 24th, 2008Trying to get my kids to pick up their toys and put them in the basket usually involves various manipulations: “How many can you put away in the time I count to ten?!” “Who can put the books away the fastest?” and, the unfortunate, “I swear, I will throw all of these out in five seconds if you don’t put them away–here I am going to get a trash bag! Seriously, here I go! I’ll do it!”
But when they saw me scrubbing the kitchen molding with a toothbrush, you would have thought that I was eating fistfuls of jellybeans. “Please, me do that?!” “Mine, mine?” and “Can I help? Can I have a toothbrush? Can I do this part, too? Look at how clean I got this!” And the next day: “Can we clean with toothbrushes again?! Please?!”
Damn right you can…but do you know how weird you guys are?
And two little vacuum cleaners have whipped these children into a daily cleaning frenzy. The dog doesn’t even have time to coat the kitchen floor with fur since these guys have started their vacuuming obsession.
Not that I don’t love this…but I still think they’re weird.
Although…not really. It’s remarkable how sometimes I see something as a chore while they see an interesting task–pulling weeds, washing the car, picking up sticks from the lawn… I’m really buying into the “practical life” part of the Montessori school that Martin will go to next year after watching them.
I vaguely remember thinking how cute the flashing-light-colorful-plastic toys were when Martin was a baby until he showed me that they might interest him for a minute, but a shovel and some dirt, some soapy water–or a vacuum cleaner–is where it’s at.
Quirks? What Quirks?
Friday, March 21st, 2008You pegged us, bluemilk–we’ve got quirks. Thanks for tagging me for this meme. I should be writing down my kids’ quirks all the time–I think I’ll never forget this stuff, but then I do…
Right now, our quirkiness includes…
1. Chris says “crocogator” for crocodile and for alligator. Crocodiles are discussed ad nauseum in our house, and never once have I heard him say anything but crocogator. I use the word myself without thinking sometimes…
2. The reason we talk about crocodiles so much is that Martin fancies himself a “creature adventurer.” Every day, he dresses himself in “creature-adventuring” gear; he’ll change to everyday clothes before we go somewhere, and as soon as we come in the back door, he steps into the bathroom to quick-change back to creature-adventurer. A creature-adventuring outfit includes animal-themed shorts and shirts, a giant backpack, creature-adventuring sandals, and often, flippers and a diving mask. Flashlights, sunglasses, nets, a raincoat, and/or head lamps often complete the look.
*Creature-adventure is a term coined by his creature-adventuring heroes–Martin and Chris Kratt of PBS’s Zooboomafoo and their Be the Creature DVD. And I guess this is an insight into one of my quirks–I have either named my children after Martin and Chris Kratt, or I have commandeered their names for my kids’ blog-names…you decide…
3. Martin vehemently refuses balloons whenever one if offered–then explains that he’s concerned an animal will eat it and choke.
4. Martin’s animal obsession and Chris’ car obsession clash when we’re in the car; Chris yells, “Go cars!” at the passing vehicles, but then Martin yells, “Go animals!” and glares at Chris. An increasingly hostile shouting match breaks out: “Go CARS!” “Go ANIMALS!” They usually wear themselves out; I’m still too dumbfounded by how weird this is to intervene.
5. They both want to wear their boots all the time. All the time. Shorts, t-shirts…and boots. Pajamas…and boots. 90 degrees out? Boots.
6. Martin considers poachers to be responsible for all of the evil in this world. If he sees a truck go by filled with logs–poachers are killing trees. A plastic bottle floating in the pond means that poachers have been littering…
I love hearing about kids’ quirks. I’m going to ask….Radical Mama, Up Popped a Fox, and not that I don’t love my kids…if they’d care to do this. I hope so, because I know we’ll enjoy more stories about hairy butts, cake-salad, and swearing three year olds…(you know who you are!).
Random Kindness
Tuesday, March 11th, 2008I was sitting with my kids in the cafe area of our grocery store the other day. Two women came up the steps, and I noticed them survey the crowded area, then make their way to a table–one stopped by our table first and leaned over to me to say, kindly: “Hello there…did you by chance leave your wallet at the check-out?”
“Probably, and most likely my keys, too, knowing me,” I said, laughing, as I checked my bag, but I had both.
“Well, I’m sorry to bother you, but when I saw you with the kids, well, I know what that’s like,” she said, with a nice smile, and joined her friend again.
I felt a sudden surge of surprise and appreciation–she did not imply that I was the most harried one in the cafe, just a simple acknowledgment that I perhaps had my hands full in a way she understood and was a likely candidate for leaving my keys behind. In fact, I looked remarkably un-harried: Before she walked up, I had just been thinking that I needed to leave soon because of the almost eerie way my children were being so still and quiet while eating in an exciting environment–this couldn’t last. (They even had their napkins on their laps–Martin because he thinks it’s funny, and Chris because Martin did it.)
This woman has probably already forgotten that moment of random kindness, but to me, she makes people who might be trolling through supermarkets scowling and judging my “spawn” fizzle up and disappear right out of my consciousness.
Give Them 30 Seconds…
Wednesday, March 5th, 2008I was quite sick this morning. So as I am literally getting sick, this is what I hear:
“Mom, can I have some grapes now?”
“Mom? Grapes? Me, too!” I feel a tug on my shirt. A more insistent tug.
Then the computer keys start getting pounded.
Then I hear papers ripping.
I’m helpless–but only for seconds. They seem to know I am helpless. More papers rip. More fervent computer keyboard pounding.
Then they’re both behind me, doing something to the back of my pants. What the hell are they doing? I hear: “Tail! Tail!” They scamper away.
They’ve accomplished so much in these seconds, and when I finally straighten up and turn around, I see two little boys holding hands, spinning in a circle, singing Ring Around the Rosy. The picture of suspicious innocence. And I have a mylar balloon floating out of the back of my pants.
Men Can Be Doctors, Too.
Tuesday, February 19th, 2008
Above picture from Marketing Alternatif
After Martin’s last dentist appointment, I complimented his behavior. He replied, “Yeah, I was really good for the dentist. And for the guy in the dog mask.”
The “guy in the dog mask” was, in fact, the dentist. His surgical mask, not nearly as creepy as the ones above, had a picture of a little dog face on it. The dental hygienist, a young woman, did the work of the cleaning and x-rays, so he assumed she was the dentist.
It may be more than that–his doctors and mine are all women, and all relatively young. So, as I’m paying close attention to how he’s seeing and figuring out gender, with the aim to dismantle stereotypes, I suppose I need to remind him that men can be doctors, too. He might not believe it until he sees it, though.
Care For a Glass of Cat Pee?
Friday, February 15th, 2008Two year old Chris talks to everyone, all the time; whether the person is already talking, sleeping, or it’s not a person at all. He’s more intent on being understood and understanding us now, too, and doesn’t give up until it makes sense. But I could swear, sometimes, that he might be messing with us.
Me: “Oh, no, don’t drink that, honey, it has caffeine.”
Chris (aghast, yet somewhat thrilled): “Cat pee?!?!”
“Caffeine.”
“Cat FEET?!?!”
“Ca. Feeeennne.”
“Cat PEE?!”
“Say ‘Ca’.”
“Ca.”
“FEEN.”
“FEEN.”
“There you go! Caffeine!”
“CAT POOP?!”
“Hmmm. Yeah, cat poop. It’s gross; don’t drink it.”
Voting…or Boating
Tuesday, February 12th, 2008This is a day of failed hopes and dreams, and near-tearful disappointment.
Sadly, somehow, my talk of going to “vote” has been (mis)understood by my two year old as going out on a “boat.” And somehow, his talk of the “boat” has been more successful than my talk of the “vote” at convincing the four year old that this morning we are due to go out sailing on a river instead of to the elementary school down the street to cast our ballot.
I’m still sorting through the details; there are indications that they believe that Hillary Clinton will, indeed, be on the boat with us. They had a far more interesting day planned than I did.