Archive for the ‘The Kids’ Category
October 25 2011
With a drawing tablet and handful of markers, Abby disappeared into the bedroom. A while later, Jedi got off the computer and went to find his sister to play. He found her all right. Then came in and said in an alarmed tone, “Abby’s colored herself blue, I don’t want to play with her like that”.
Assuming she maybe marked a bit on her hands, it wouldn’t be the first time Jedi overreacted, I didn’t heed his warning right away. Because it couldn’t be that bad. Whatever it is, it washes off. “Is it just on her?”, I made sure to ask him, because I’d hate to have to wash the bed sheets or scrub color off the wall. “Yes”, he replied. Nothing to concern myself over then, so I thought.
Abby finally emerged after a few more minutes passed. Vibrantly illustrating why I should have went back to check on her.
For once, Jedi was not overreacting. She was blue. Blue as blue can be.
Smurfette blue.
I tried to scrub it off with a sponge, but it was a futile effort. It was on her face, she gave herself a mustache, all over legs, the bottom of her feet, arms, hands. You name it, she covered it with gusto. She had markered herself so extensively that I could do nothing else than give her an impromptu bath. And I was worried about washing bed sheets.
As I set my Smurf in the tub, the abundance of pigment began to rinse off of her like a backwards Easter egg. It was so plentiful that it even turned the water around her a stunning shade of ultramarine. One more memory I have to fondly recall. “Remember when you were 3 and turned yourself blue? Good times.”
October 24 2011
Last week were the boys’ parent teacher conferences, where I also received their report cards. This mostly solidified what I already knew. Buzz is a great kid but has issues and we’re waiting on his evaluations to proceed to the next step that would be a better fit, and Jedi is incredibly smart. He’s on top in every subject and likes to participate in his 2nd grade class.
There is one problem, however.
In math, they have tests that must be completed to move on to the next level. These are timed. I think it’s 3 minutes to finish 42 problems. As his teacher remarked, he knows the answers. But the time aspect stresses him out.
It was the same last year. It’s all in his head, something that I believe he just needs to work past.
His teacher, however, suggested that we could look into getting an IEP (individual education plan). Instead of finding a solution to calm the stress the clock presents, we’d eliminate it entirely.
Um, huh?
I realize his teacher was merely offering suggestions that might help, but I don’t see how this does. Maybe I’m being too hard on my son because I know what he can do and how he is. He’s an exaggerated, dramatic boy who’s beyond his years in intelligence. There are some kids that really need an IEP. Buzz is one of them. Then there are those like Jedi, who don’t. He has no issues that require special treatment. I’m more inclined to tell him to just get over it, because in my opinion, and in my heart, there is no need to let a perfectly capable child skirt the system. It may be beneficial to him for the immediate now, but it won’t be in the long run. It seems like a ridiculous idea to even consider.
Or is it? Am I wrong here?
October 20 2011
It was bedtime, and I was busy turning down Jedi’s covers as he finished his business in the bathroom. This included tucking in his stuffed teddy bear and lion on the pillow next to where he lays. When the door opened and he urged me in.
“Hey, Mommy, come in here”, Jedi ordered. “Lean in close to the mirror, like this”, he instructed, his body hunched over the bathroom counter.
Following directions while standing over his curls and mouth full of mixed-age teeth, I asked, “OK, what am I looking for?”.
My 7 year old son began to wipe across his top lip with his fingers, as if straightening a mustache. “Do you see this?”, he wondered earnestly. “Do I have facial hair?”
“What?”, because really.
“I think I have facial hair”, he repeated.
“No, you do not. Not yet. Maybe a little bit of fuzz, like on your arm.”, I told him, referring to the baby fine wisps that you have to strain to see.
“Yep, facial hair”, he declared brightly. Then, in what I can only describe as his best Austin Powers impersonation, he pronounced, “I’m a man!”.
A man who still needs his mommy to tuck him in at night and sleep with his stuffed animals to keep him safe. I don’t think I have anything to worry about just yet. We’ll deal with it sooner than I’d like, though. So my little boy, slow down. There’s no need to grow up too fast.
October 18 2011
The thing with single parenting, is that it’s not the end of the world. When confronted with the reality of it at first, it seems like it might be. But then, it gets easier. Of course it would be nicer with daily help. And I’m slowly going insane from lack of adult interaction. The daily grind isn’t much different from before, though. In fact, I kind of like being able to do what I want without having to answer to anyone.
My kids, however. They miss their dad. They’ve been to his place a few times since he’s moved about an hour out of town. This last visit happened a few weeks ago. They must have had a great time, because it’s been a prevalent topic of conversation since. Especially from my younger two.
“Draw daddy’s house!”, Buzz ordered, handing me a magna-doodle.
“But… but I don’t even know what it looks like. Why don’t we draw our house?”, I tried to decline. It was no use. He’s in our house every day, it’s boring. He wanted me to draw daddy’s house.
So I did.
No, that’s not awkward at all. Nor was how I had to draw Buzz holding his dad’s hand. Then Jedi, then Abby. Then myself. He wanted us all there. Like a happy family. At daddy’s house. I obliged, swirling in stick figures, because I wasn’t sure what else to do. Maybe it shouldn’t have been awkward. Months later and we’re all still getting used to a new normalcy of things as they are. With more time, I’m sure none of this will be. But for now, it is.
October 12 2011
Jedi called out to stop me as I walked past his room after putting him to bed. He was supposed to be fast asleep already, especially after complaining about how tired he was. There’s always a stall tactic, however.
“Hey, Mom?”
“Yes”, I whispered, not wanting to wake his brother or sister.
“So let me get this straight. Cows just have milk in their body? Like, how do they make it?”, he wondered. I had to give him credit for the inquisitive question, though.
“Well”, I considered, not sure exactly how to phrase my response for an almost 8 year old boy. “Do you remember how I used to feed Abby, with milk from my body? Cows make milk like that, too.”
Thinking a string of thoughts along, he questioned next, “So the milk we drink is supposed to be for the baby cows?”.
With my limited knowledge on the nature of farm animals, I went with the safe, flippant approach. “Yes and no”, I mustered. Then I began to worry that this may cause him to feel sad for the cows, and thus refuse to drink any more milk. To thwart this, I suggested a story of how the farmers are really doing the cows a favor, because if they didn’t empty their abundant supply they’d get sore and full. Like engorgement. A tale taken from a combined total of 5 years personal breastfeeding experience on this farm I call my life.
After we said our goodnights again and as I was making my exit, he called out one last time. “Hey, Mom? I’m glad I’m not a cow.”
I’m glad I’m not a cow anymore, either. My milking days are done.
