Archive for the ‘The Kids’ Category
August 02 2011
I don’t like to brag, but my oldest son, Jedi, is a smart kid. There was even talk last year of sending him to a gifted school. He began reading at a young age, memorizing words he saw, and can now devour chapter books far above his grade level. He also knows an obscene amount about computers and can type faster than most adults 4 times his age. He’s full of questions, sometimes too many, and wants to know how everything works.
While his intelligence is still astounding, these are areas where I already knew he excelled. What I didn’t know was how well-versed he seems to have become in the notes of classical music. One of these days, he may grow up to be a prolific composer like Mozart in his own right.
And I owe this new discovery to a redolent development.
My brother came over for a visit not too long ago, which is always a big deal. For Jedi especially. My son enjoys spending time with his uncle, and gets very excited, thus loud and animated, when he’s here. One could say he’s bursting at the seams. As such, he was jumping around, running about, when he apparently let one loose by my brother’s side.
“Did you just fart?”, my brother asked in jest, because boys of any age pick up on this kind of thing.
“Yeah,” Jedi enthused jovially, “and it was a fart in G major”.
My son. Not to brag, but I can now add musical prodigy to his list of accomplishments.
July 26 2011
We came by a wishing well recently, the coins inside the fountain a donation for a local children’s hospital. The same hospital whose doors a very sick Jedi was wheeled through upon being diagnosed as type 1 diabetic. He spent 5 days under its care in the PICU wing, the first few of which were the scariest days of my life thus far.
But they made him better. They brought him back. From that grey, dry-mouthed, sunken shell of himself then to the boy I knew and have before me again now.
So as we passed, I wanted to be sure to acknowledge the meaning. I peered into the shimmering surface, noticing the many pennies and loose change scattered on the bottom, and began to dig through my purse. There wasn’t much, but I collected what I could and handed it to Jedi.
“Throw this in and make a wish”, I told him. It was a small amount, dismal for what they do, but it was the thought that accompanied and a vow to go larger when I can. Though no amount ever enough for taking care of my son.
Jedi, however, spoke in riches.
Without an ounce of selfishness, he stepped up to the well. As he tossed in his coin he spoke loudly above the bustle nearby, openly, “I wish for no more sickness”. Not for himself, he later said, but it was for those kids there now, in the same hospital he once was.
If ever there was a wish that should come true.
July 25 2011
Dearest Abby,
Yesterday, you turned 3 years old. You had been waiting for this day for an eternity it seemed, singing Happy Birthday to yourself for months. I hope it lived up to the hype.
You are now a big girl. Not a baby, not even a toddler. You’ve crossed the threshold into preschool age.
This past year, you have surpassed all expectations. We carry on conversations, an honest back and forth, where your strong opinions are always known. You also make me laugh like no one else, your smile beams like the sun across a room. You love the iPhone and markers and that darn Curious George. You also enjoy chasing after your brothers. In fact, you follow Buzz everywhere you shouldn’t. I firmly believe you enjoy the thrill of getting in trouble, a harrowing sign of what’s to come, and you find yourself in plenty of it. Yet, you are my helper, my tail, my girl who wants to do it all.
And when your small hand hugs around my neck, your head resting on my shoulder as I inhale the strawberry scent of your curls, I think this. This is exactly how it should be.
My pretty girl. My silly girl. My Abby-mouse. You are the epitome of vibrant. Better than I could have ever imagined a daughter could be.
I love you, sweetheart. Always.
Happy Birthday.
July 20 2011
I have a bit of a potty mouth in real life, understatement of the year. I try to keep the profanity out of this here blog for the sake of you, my dear readers, and your untarnished sensibilities. If we were to meet in person, however, you’d quickly realize I can give the dirtiest sailor a run for his money.
The ‘F’ word and I have a love affair, actually. It just has so many connotations and exemplifies every emotion. It’s supportive when I need that extra boost, it’s funny when I need to laugh. It suits me, what can I say.
Of course, I try my best to curb the severity of my crassness when around my innocent youngsters. Except I’m with my children all the time, so there are bound to be slips. Or a string of slips, depending on the occasion and day. When that inevitably occurs, I attempt a meager cover-up when they’re close enough to have heard. Such as, “Mommy said fudge, Mommy likes fudge. So see, mommy’s a motherfudger.” That bait and switch has a limited shelf life until it catches on, however. If I ever had them fooled at all.
Which leads me to how I believe they’re on to me.
Abby was playing on the top bunk of her brother’s bed when the toy she held fell from her hand to the bottom. “Oh, shit!”, she blurted.
“What did you say?”, I shot up to attention to ask.
Her eyes set on my gaze as she clarified smoothly, “Shoot, Mommy. I say shoot.”
Ah, gosh fudging dang it.
July 18 2011
Dear Buzz’s speech therapists,
First of all, let me start off by saying how much I appreciate the work you’ve put into my son. I can tell how much he enjoys his sessions with you. He bounces a bit more heartily on speech class days. When we pull into the driveway, he practically jumps out of his carseat. Buzz can be a difficult child to manage, you don’t have to tell me twice, and I applaud your good-humored patience for not being related to him.
While he is only in your company for 45 minutes a week, I can sense the dedication and resolve to give him the help necessary to catch up to his peers. Which is really what we all want. When it comes down to it, I don’t want anything more than for him to be a normal 5 year old boy. It’s a simple goal that seems rather large some days.
That said, I believe your time together is paying off. Whether as a result of his weekly classes or more an advance in age is difficult to gauge, but nevertheless, your services have shown a definite improvement. While he is still nowhere near where he should be, he is speaking more clearly and in longer structured sentences. Just the other night, for example, as I was giving him a goodnight kiss as we do so sweetly at every bedtime, he roared across my cheek 5 words, strung together like a champ.
“Don’t EVER kiss me AGAIN.”
His proper use of inflection was notably remarkable.
Job well done.
Sincerely,
Buzz’s mom (who is going to continue kissing him whether he likes it or not)
