Archive for the ‘The Kids’ Category
August 12 2010
I say this with only a touch of obnoxiousness, because it’s mostly none of my doing, but Jedi is very smart. The majority of his information has been picked up on his own or from the computer. For instance, he’s had an interest in countries and state capitals for as long as I can remember. Noticing his exuberance, we bought him a globe, tacked a map in his room, and let him do the rest. He now knows more about the world around us than I do.
The other afternoon, after searching the internet, Jedi asked, “Mommy, can you help me find M-A-L-E on the globe?”
“I don’t think that’s a place, sweetie. You spelled male, and that’s a boy. You know, like you. You’re a male, and girls, like me, are female. OK?”, I replied with a condescending pat on his head and a silly sweep away. Kids are so funny, I thought.
“But here, on Google Maps, it shows M-A-L-E,” he continued, undaunted by my dismissal.
It appears it did. Surely Google Maps is funny, too, I thought. I tried to be supportive, however, and had him zoom out to it’s exact location.
“There it is!”, Jedi exclaimed. A tiny speck in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Malé, the capital city in the Republic of the Maldives. Obviously an island and not a boy. I learn something new every day, now courtesy of my 6 year old. I’m still trying to teach him, but more often than not he teaches me instead. Funny how that happens.
August 06 2010
August 04 2010
I’m sorry if you read this yesterday. I hit publish instead of save draft by accident.
My daughter is now 2 years old and it still gives me heart palpitations every time she climbs on the couch. I immediately worry that she’ll fall. Abby’s just so tiny and her balance still isn’t completely up to par and that’s my baby, darn it. Don’t hurt my baby.
I’ve been trying to let it go, however. Because now, I have greater worries. She’s been following in her brother’s footsteps again, right on top of tables.
I was on the phone with my mother a few days back when she not only scaled the living room table, but then began jumping on top of it. With phone in hand, I immediately sprang into action, swooping her off the slippery surface. “No, Abby! No, no, no!”, I scolded. Right in my mother’s ear. “Don’t do that again, you’ll get boo-boo’s!”
My mom has to love our phone conversations these days. Though it’s her fault for not understanding email.
No sooner did I put her down than Abby runs for the couch. I try to breathe and let it go, continuing our conversation. When I glance again, my daughter’s hopping from cushion to cushion on all four’s. Then bounces herself off with a splat to the floor. I screeched and lurched as fast as I could, but she still came away with her first fat lip. “Boo-boo’s, Abby! BOO-BOO’S!” Right in my mother’s ear.
If I could circle a moment in bold red marker it would be that, right there, that is why I should just invest in a toddler-sized bodysuit of bubble wrap.
August 03 2010
There once was a boy who had a few favorite toys who leaped straight from of a movie. They were part of a group, a Roundup Gang they were called. A space ranger, a sheriff, sometimes a cowgirl, too, and their trusty kid keeping them in tow. They were friends for years.
Then one day, a tragic event ensued. The space ranger lost his head.
We tried to affix it back together with super glue, even duct tape a time or two. His top just wouldn’t adhere. Still, every now and then, the parts are handed off for another attempt to please make him whole again. But it isn’t any use.
It goes to show no matter how loved, a boy can be rough with his toys.
Sooner or later it was bound to occur when another limb would fall. This time, the boy ran in with the sheriff’s boot in his hand. It’s hard to chase down bad guys with only one pad, so we tried in vain to attach him again. Super glue, duct tape, the usual tools. But it wasn’t any use.
The boy didn’t mind, he didn’t care. He might have whined momentarily, wishing them the way they were. But a friend is still a friend, after all.
A space ranger without a head, a sheriff without his foot, each dirty with age and fingers chewed. The same boy and his favorite toys. Still the familiar Roundup Gang. Just not nearly as new.
July 29 2010
“Hi!”, I eagerly called to Buzz as he strolled in from playing with his toys.
“Hi!”, he happily offered in return before bending down to rest his head in my lap.
This is lovely, I thought. It’s not very often that I can think that with him. He’s always either on the go or into something and when he does sit with me, I end up with a concussion or bruised rib. Being his parent can be a full contact sport. But here we were, gazing contentedly into each other’s eyes.
He then took his hand and tenderly stroked the side of my face. How sweet of him, I continued to think. It’s moments like this that make all my hard work as a mother worth it. I’m definitely going to have to remember this for later. I could almost eat him up right now except, what’s that smell?
I look at his hand. The hand he seconds ago caressed my cheek with. Is that…?
It couldn’t be. But there’s a lot of it.
I’m sure it’s chocolate or crayon or dirt. I’ll be glad to go with dirt.
Maybe I should smell it? There’s no other way to know for sure.
KID, YOU WIPED MY FACE WITH POOP ON YOUR HANDS?!
All my hard work as a mother goes right back to this moment, indeed.
