From North of Here

Birthday Wishes

2009-02-17T19:27:48-05:00

Since Will's official birthday is on a Wednesday and Wednesdays are busy around here with homework, church, choir, etc, we determined to celebrate Will's birthday a day early. The four of us went out to eat at the restaurant of his choice - Chick-fil-a - and then came home for cake.

I lit the candles and then Gigi blew them out. I lit them again. Gigi blew them out.

"No Geeg! It's my birthday!" Will explained.

"Oh, ok." She sat back while I lit the candles a third time. "You make a wish, Willie?"

"Yeah." He said, still frowning at her for blowing out his birthday candles. There are few things more irritating to a seven year old than having ones birthday candles blown out by someone else, especially if that someone else is a 3 year old sister.

Gigi began singing "Happy Birthday" to her brother. When we finished singing he looked thoughtful and then bent forward carefully to blow out all of his candles. I took the cake and began cutting it. The kids made small talk while they waited for their cake.

"You make a wish Willie?" Gigi asked.

"Yeah." He answered.

"What was it?" Chris asked.

"I wished that Geeg would get a pony." He said, smiling.

"That's really sweet." I said, handing him a piece of cake. I hugged him. Gigi beamed. She loves horses. She loves ponies. And, since he used his birthday wish on her getting a pony, she loved her brother. A lot. She was elated with the idea of getting a pony.

"Oh!" She smiled. "Thanks! I love you!' She hugged him. As she was hugging him, Will's sweet smile turned into an evil smirk.

"And then," he smiled sheepishly, "I wished I had a dinosaur so it would eat her pony."

Tooth Fairying

2009-02-13T18:06:53-05:00

Wilson was a year old before he ever got his first tooth. Seeing how it took him so long to get the teeth in the first place, I sort of thought they would hang around for a while. Not so.

"I have a loose tooth." He said last Sunday.

"No you don't." I said.

"Yeah, I do." He said. And he came over to where his father and I were sitting to show us. Chris winced and looked away. Apparently Chris doesn't do loose teeth.

"Do you want me to pull it?" I asked. Chris got up and walked off.

"Yeah. I guess so." Will said.

"The Tooth Fairy will come." I said.

"Alright then." He said.

I got a washcloth, the boy, and the special tooth holder for the Tooth Fairy. I pulled the tooth and he held the washcloth in his mouth. We checked out the tooth.

"Will, you haven't been really flossing."

"So."

"So - you need to do a better job here."

"It doesn't matter." He said. And then he looked at the washcloth, saw blood, and freaked out a bit. I got him settled and he went to bed, tooth in special holder under pillow. Chris and I began discussing the going rate for a central incisor in 2009. It was decided that we'd pay out a dollar.

The next morning Will showed up in my bathroom.

"Hey bud." I said.

"Hey." He was unenthusiastic.

"Tooth Fairy come?" His dad asked.

"That fairy only left me a buck." Will said, clearly disappointed.

"Brush better." I said. "You get paid for quality and your quality is lacking."

He wasn't motivated. The thing is that I know what motivates. My brother found a picture of some guy dressed up like a fairy. A very dirty fairy with a yellow stained t-shirt, a pink tutu, a monobrow, chatting on a cell phone, wearing work boots and a bowler hat. My brother said "Tell him not to complain about the dollar because it could be this gentleman leaving him the money. He should just take it and be happy."

Will came home that afternoon with a second central incisor.

"I lost another tooth!" He exclaimed. "I'm making MONEY!"

"Here's the thing Will," I said when I noticed this tooth, too, probably only earned a B+ on the brushing and flossing. "There's a Tooth Fairy Union. You get assigned a fairy based on your brushing habits."

"So?"

"Let me show you the photo of your fairy." I said. I pulled up the picture. Will looked worried.

"That's not my fairy." He said.

"Yeah he is. You're not doing a great job of brushing and flossing, so this is the fairy you're stuck with until you do a better job."

Will eyed the picture. He studied it.

"He looks like he smells bad." He said. "And why is he on a cell phone?"

"Um... You know, they have to call him when they have a tooth for pick up."

"He looks smelly."

"Uncle Nate says he smells like old hot dogs." I said.

"Yuck." Will said. A few minutes later I heard him in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. Later I walked by his bathroom and saw him flossing away.

As I tucked him in later that night we put his tooth under the pillow.

"Mom, if you hear a cell phone ring and smell old hot dogs, please can you shoot my fairy?" He asked.

"You can't kill the Tooth Fairy."

"I just hope I don't see him." Will said as he snuggled into his blankets. "We're out of floss by the way. I'll need some for tomorrow."

The next morning a dollar was left along with a note scratched out in poor handwriting that said "Hey buddy - you're lucky I left a dollar because you need to do a better job on your teeth. See you later, I'm off to get a hot dog. Your Tooth Fairy."

Nativity

2008-12-19T16:17:57-05:00

I get tired - really tired - of the kids leaving the back door open. The weather is pretty nice outside here, so the kids are in and out, in and out, in and out. And apart from that stupid beeping noise that alerts me to the fact that someone has just gone in and out for the one millionth time, the most annoying thing in the world is when I know they have not shut the door because the lack of beeping lets me know that a door is still open.

So I fall into the trap of yelling typical mom things at the kids: "Shut the door! Were you born in a barn?!"

I suppose it was just a matter of time until one of the kids got smart about a retort to that question. It happened today.

"Will! Were you born in a barn?!"

He didn't hesitate. "Jesus was and that worked out pretty well."

Ornamental Artifacts

2008-12-10T21:18:11-05:00

Many Christmases ago, many more than I first realized, my parents took us to their friends' house for a Sunday School Christmas party. I remember it pretty well - the highlight of the night was when we kids got to open presents. I was extremely excited, until I opened the gift and saw I had received an ornament. I was ten. Ornaments didn't really wow me, I suppose. First of all, you only see it once a year, and at the age of ten I didn't have my own tree. So I handed the ornament over to Mom and said "Thank you" to our host who said "I chose this special ornament for you."

I found it sort of hard to believe. There wasn't anything terribly special about the ornament. It was a white carousel horse. It was fuzzy. It had a red saddle with gold trim. I tried to imagine what was special about it, but I just couldn't see it. At all. For one thing, I wasn't the sort of kid who liked horses. Or carousels for that matter. Each year the tree went up and I looked at it remembering "there's something special about that horse", but never figuring out what that was.

In 1999 Chris and I had been married for about two weeks when Christmas rolled around. Mom packed up all of my Christmas ornaments and sent us off with them. The carousel horse came with. Each year it hangs on the tree with all of the other ornaments.

This year I hung it on the tree. Will helped me put it up. Every day I sort of see him over there by the tree, looking at the carousel horse, touching it's fuzzy white mane and twirling it around by the stick.

"Mom," he said tonight, "this one is my favorite."

"The carousel horse?" I was shocked.

"Yes. I like it. It's special." He said. I blinked hard several times.

"Why?"

"It's special." He said and shrugged, like if I couldn't see why it was special than it was my problem, and he didn't need to justify the carousel horse's specialness to me if I couldn't get it on my own. "Whose horse is this?" He asked.

"Look at the bottom." I said. My mother wrote our names and dates on every ornament we kids ever received. I think it was because she wanted to make sure those ornaments left her house when we all did. Never before in the history of motherhood has a woman been so determined to get all kids grown up, successful, and out of the house with all of their stuff. Not that she doesn't love us, she just doesn't like us storing our things in her basement.

"It says 'Jolene 87'."

"That means it's mine and I got it in 1987." I said.

"When was that?" He said.

"Twenty years ago" I said, not believing it myself. "I was ten."

He touched it more carefully now, like it was not only special, but worth something.

"So it's an artifact." He breathed the words in awe. I have to admit, I don't think anything in the 80s is really ancient, but apparently he does. He kept looking at it and admiring the ornamental archaeology on my Christmas tree. I watched him while working at my laptop so he didn't notice me watching him. He doesn't like to be "studied" by his mother these days, but I couldn't help it. I felt overwhelming joy that after twenty years the ornament, for me, had finally reached its "specialness".

"Tell you what," I said to him "I'll let you have it."

"The carousel horse?" He smiled. "You'll give it to me?"

"It's yours. And when you leave home you can take it with you. It's yours now."

"I can take it to college?"

"Sure. You can take it to college... Though I doubt the eighteen year old you is going to want some silly old carousel horse." I tried to imagine him packing for college and me bringing in his carousel horse and the look the 18 year old Will is going to give me for suggesting he take that off to college. I tried to imagine my future daughter-in-law's horror when she saw the carousel horse and the pain of putting it on her perfectly decorated tree.

"I am too going to want to take it when I'm eighteen." He proudly stated. "It was yours when you were a little girl and now you've given it to me, your little boy. It's special."

"Ok." I said.

Gigi came bounding down the stairs. Will moved the carousel horse up a few branches, out of reach of the two year old ornament toucher.

"This one is mine." He told her. "This is my carousel horse. Mommy is giving it to me. And when I leave for college it comes with me. I'm going to take it to the very first Show and Tell I have in college." He said.

I don't have the heart to tell him that they don't have Show and Tell in college. I also don't have the heart to tell him that there's no way an eighteen year old boy is going to give a second thought to what will then be a nearly 40 year old carousel horse with "Jolene 87" written on the bottom of it.

But this year, and maybe for a few more Christmases, it will be the most special ornament on the tree for him. And that makes it forever the most special ornament for me. Finally.

Party Central

2008-12-04T13:27:10-05:00

Satellite radio is wonderful. Our family loves satellite radio. We listen to all sorts of music together. Will and I were folding laundry the other night with the 80s station.

"Mom, can you turn the station?" He asked.

"What?" I was clearly singing and dancing to the song. He was exasperated.

"Mom, I don't like this song. It's too loud."

"Will, how can you not like You Gotta Fight For Your Right To Party?"

"I don't get it."

"You know, it's like turning the song up really loud and singing loud with it and telling your parents that you've got a right. You've got the right to paaaaarrrrrrtttttay!"

I sing and dance and fold the laundry to the anthem of the Right to Party. He puts the socks in the laundry basket while looking at me, his 31 year old mother, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that says "Mommy". My hair was in curlers. My feet were in fuzzy slippers. He hitched up an eyebrow and watched me sing for my right to party.

"Will, you gotta fight for your right to paaaaaarrrrrttttay!" I sang. I tried to get him to dance with me.

"Um, you know -" he looks at my outfit and the laundry. "I don't know that you really need to fight for a right to 'PAR-TAY' if your Mom is at that party. And not if that's what your mom wore to the 'PAR-TAY'". He picked up the laundry basket and left the room.

I looked at what I was wearing. Oh well. It's better to be told by your grade school aged son that you're too old to party than having someone else tell you that, I reasoned.

Later I caught him singing and dancing. He was really into "1999". He sang at the top of his lungs "Tonight we're going to party like it's 1999!"

I continued folding the laundry as he sang and danced. The song ended. He collapsed on the bed.

"Mom, when do we get to party like it's 1999?"

I smirked at him.

"You're about 10 years too late for that party." I said.

"So - you want to change the station now?" He asked.

"Yeah. What do you want?" I asked him.

"That Big Band stuff is fun. We can both dance to it."

"Amen."

Passing Notes in Prison

2008-11-19T14:42:00-05:00

One bi-product of Will entering the literate world is how much he loves to write and sketch. I bought him a notebook. He sketches and writes in what, I'm sure, is his very own graphic novel (comic book). I'm proud of him.

Last evening the Will/Gigi relationship was at a low point. Both kids were seperated until they could behave. I noticed as I passed Will's door that there were scraps of paper in front of it. I picked up one.

"I'm in here." It said. I crumpled it up and threw it in the trash. Minutes later I passed by again. Another piece of paper was on the floor.

"Help me." It said. I shook my head and threw it in the trash. Later I passed the door again. I saw a third scrap of paper.

"I'm here and I want help." It said.

"Will!" I hollered through the door. "I don't know who you think is reading these 'Help Me' notes, but I'm the only one home. That means, your prison guard is reading these and I'm not inclined to help!"

Silence from the other side of the door. A while later I passed by his shut door. A larger piece of paper was now out in front of the door. I looked at it. A drawing of a mother hugging a child and several large hearts were on the paper with the words "I love you Mommy. You are the best!" I smiled.

He really is a sweet little boy, I thought. Just as I was about to open the door a scrap of paper was pushed out from underneath. I opened it and read "Now can I get out?"

Sneaky.

Halloween - Who Are You (Who-Who, Who-Who)

2008-11-01T15:37:00-05:00

Will is an out-of-the-box costume kid. That means each year he tells me what he wants to be for Halloween and I have to tell him that no one is going to understand who he is supposed to be. So each year he goes dressed as something conventional and obvious and he spends the night heartbroken that he isn't what he asked to be.

This year I decided it's supposed to be about fun. He's supposed to get to pretend to be the person he's dressed as. Who cares if no one really gets what - or who - he is? So, this year I said "Ok" and dressed my child up as his favorite character. Doctor Who.

Will went as the 10th Doctor. You're probably not aware of who Doctor Who is. That's ok. Neither was anyone during our trick-or-treating adventure. However, since you're reading this on the internet I have the ability to guide you here http://www.bbc.co.uk/doctorwho/ so you can learn about the 10th regeneration of a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey. Last night people just said "You're a doctor? What kind?" And Will would roll his eyes and say "THE Doctor. I'm THE Doctor." People just smiled and passed over the candy and then said hello to Gigi who was dressed as a conventional cheerleader.

Some people assumed he was a stockbroker. Some thought he was a door-to-door salesman. I started to feel bad for him, but he never picked up on having won the award for Most Obscure Halloween Costume. He was in British Sci-Fi Trick-or-Treat heaven.

I have to say, this costume was pretty easy to put together. We had his Easter suit, Converse high tops, and we'd purchased a Sonic Screwdriver and Psychic Paper from a UK toy store online. (Everytime I say Sonic Screwdriver or Psychic Paper my Mom shakes her head and wonders why we can't just let the kid watch Spongebob.) We were missing a suit jacket and a wool coat, but the thing is that The Doctor fights bad guys in space and in London where it's not 85 degrees while you're walking around in October. So our Doctor Who dressed to avoid a heat stroke.

While a lot of kids want nothing more than be a Jedi, a ninja, a pirate, or a superhero for Halloween it's never been the case for Will. Here's a list of who he has requested for the past several years:


Arthur Dent The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy	Phillip J. Fry Futurama	Captain Malcolm Reynolds Firefly	The Tick The Tick	The 10th Doctor Doctor Who

I have to say, I love his creativity.

Crazy

2008-09-23T15:51:40-05:00

We were working on math homework while Gigi took a nap.

"How was school?"

"Fun."

"What did you do at recess?"

"Played Ninja. Some of the girls who usually chase me weren't at school today so I got to play Ninja all recess instead of running away from girls."

"Why do they chase you?"

He looked at me. He takes a deep breath.

"They want me to be their boyfriend."

"And?"

"And I told them no. I keep telling them no."

"Ok." I am relieved. I am not putting up with a gradeschool romance. No way. We've had this discussion - me and Will - and I'm relieved he was listening. Unfortunately Will hasn't yet learned that when Mama is relieved Son should stop talking. He nibbles his brownie.

"Yeah, I told them 'I can't be your boyfriend. My mom is a little nuts. My mom will go crazy if I have a girlfriend.' I keep telling them they don't want to make my mom crazy."

So now I have a vision of homecoming 2019 and Will is unable to get a date because everytime he asks a girl she says "No - remember in 1st grade you told me your mom was crazy? No way I'm going with you."

Seven Years Ago Today

2008-09-11T15:48:53-05:00

On September 11, 2001 I woke up early for work. I put on a blue dress and black small heel shoes. It was going to be a day I was never going to forget, I knew that for sure as soon as I opened my eyes that morning.

Chris and I drove to work together. It was a beautiful day. The sky was so blue. I remember I loved that it was such a beautiful day. It was going to be such a special day. I had barely slept the night before. I cannot tell you how excited I was. I wore my favorite dress, my favorite shoes, I made sure to remember everything about the weather and the perfect color of the sky. I wanted to make certain that I never forgot what I was wearing, what the air felt like – I wanted to make sure I remembered everything, every minute of that morning.

At 9:30 am, 9/11/01 I was going to see my first child via sonogram. I remember everything about that day, not for any reason I could have possibly imagined when I woke up in the morning. The world was changing, but there on the screen in black and white I saw a heartbeat and little fingers – little feet attached to little legs.

“The baby is sleeping” the doctor said.

It’s been seven years since I saw Will for the first time on a black and white screen. Each September 11th I stare at him in the morning before I wake him up. Each year I watch him sleeping and I remember the first time I saw him, sleeping that Tuesday morning. A miracle in the middle of chaos.

It was love at first sight.

The Student Becomes the Teacher

2008-09-09T10:09:30-05:00

In first grade we have homework. We have homework every night. Mondays and Wednesdays bring language homework. Tuesdays and Thursdays show up with math. Spelling and reading happen all week long. AND we're to read with the children 30 minutes a day. The reading was already happening here, so that's not added work. I'm reminded each time I open his take home folder why I had to leave the workforce - homework.

We have a routine. Gigi and I walk to the bus stop, we walk home with Will who gives us the highlights of the 1st Grade Society Scene - some of it is rather amusing. When we get in the house we turn on the 50s and 60s music and shoop-shoop our way through the homework whilst eating the snack-o-the-day. It's all been pretty easy and pretty nice. Until yesterday.

I read the instructions to the homework. I understood each individual word but the meaning of the instructions made no sense whatsoever. I looked at the clock and saw it was only 3:30. Chris wouldn't be in for three more hours. Both of my neighbors are teachers - I could wait for them to get home, but still, we'd have to wait a while since neither of them get home before 5. I re-read the words in the instructions.

"Huh?" Was all I could manage. I started to get nervous and started twisting my hair around the homework pencil. I shook my head and closed my eyes and read the instructions again, but there wasn't any new message coming from the paper.

"What?" Will asked.

"I'm just going to read these instructions to you so you can do your homework." I said. That way I saved face because the truth of the matter was "Mommy can no longer help you here with this homework and I need to call your granddad and tell him to call my alma mater and demand his money back because he spent a lot of money and they did not prepare me to help my 1st grader with homework."

I read the instructions and he said "Oh, that's easy." He picked up his pencil and marked away, putting symbols over words that looked strangely like hieroglyphics, but they weren't hieroglyphics because I can understand those. This was something weird and new. I watched, trying to learn something without appearing to be stupid. I nodded as he marked things and asked "Now, why did you do that?" learning from his explanations.

"Ok, you check it." He said. I hemmed and hawed. I suggested that we just go play a game and let Daddy check it when he got home.

After dinner I pointed Chris to the homework. I figured somewhere in his MA program they must have covered this. He looked it over and said "Looks good. I think you missed this one though." Will corrected it. Chris sent him on his way.

"You know how to do that?" I asked.

"No idea, but I'm not telling him that."

There are a lot of similarities between playing poker and parenting. Chris is the bluffer. Apparently I'm the folder. Someday Will will be able to read this blog - probably sometime next week by the pace he's going, and I just want to say here to him, Son, it's not that I'm trying to mislead you or trying to lie to you - it's just that one day you will look at me and think "I used to think that woman had all the answers" and you will realize how many of the answers I don't have. I know that day is coming. I welcome that day - I just don't want that day to happen in gradeschool. One day you'll be a parent and you won't know how to help with your 1st grader's homework. You and I can sit down and eat a cookie and sing the only comforting words I found to help during times like this:

You gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, know when to run. You never count your money when you're sittin at the table, they'll be time enough for countin when the dealin's done...

His Mother's Keeper

2008-09-04T15:06:00-05:00

A while back somehow the idea of going out with friends or going out on dates came up at some party the four of us were at. I suppose I said to someone that I don't go on many dates and I guess it may have come up that all of my friends were at my job, so since quitting work I haven't gone out with any friends. Will came and got me the other day. He had paused the commercial on tv.

"I paused this for you because I think it would be a good way for you to get out and meet people who share your interests."

I was interested. I sat down as he pushed play and an E-HARMONY COMMERCIAL came on.

"Ummmm." Was about all I could say. When Chris got home later I told him we needed to go out on more dates before Will learned how to sign me up for an online dating service.

Then, last night we were in line at a drive-thru window and Will said "Hey, remember when you used to go get manicures and your nails were really pretty?"

"Yeah."

"You really ought to think about doing that again. Have you seen your nails?"

I'm not sure if I should be flattered that he's worried about me or if I should be worried that he's worried about me.

Things That Weren't on the School Supply List

2008-08-25T20:58:53-05:00

Everyone woke up early for school this morning. I went in to wake Will up: "Good morning first grader!" (in an annoying sing-song voice that made me cringe). He opened one eye and said "You're kidding."

He did get up and get ready and he ate his raisin bread and his orange and drank his milk. Gigi was there too. We went outside for the obligatory 1st day photo. At some point Gigi realized Will was going to school and she wasn't.

"My go too!"

"No, you stay here and play with Mommy." Will said.

I could see her pause and think of all of the things in Will's room she could ~~break~~ play with while he was out of commission. We pulled up in the carpool line and waited. And waited. And waited. Finally we were able to drop him off and sit in a traffic jam on the way home.

Today Gigi and I baked cookies for Will and for our neighbors who are teachers. She made cards for them and learned to spell her name. ("G-I-G-I!" she yells loudly, like it's a cheerleading competition.) We tried to watch Sesame Street but she freaked out with the muppets. She screamed and cried because Cookie Monster is too scary. So instead we turned on CSI and colored Tinkerbell coloring books while we did the laundry.

We walked to the bus stop to pick up Will only to wait and wait in the hot sun to learn he had gotten off at the other end of the neighborhood. So we walked home and found him sitting on the couch watching the CSI marathon.

"How was your first day of the first grade?" I asked. He sat up and leaned toward me. In a very serious, hushed voice he said "We need to have a talk. A serious talk."

Ok....

He got his backpack and brought it to me. He took a deep breath.

"You know how you put my lunch money in this front pocket? Well, I reached in during class to get my lunch money ready. I sit by girls, you know, that's my assigned seat. So I reach in to pull out my lunch money and guess what I find!" He whips his hand out of the back pack front pouch and is holding two pairs of Spiderman underwear. "Do you know what this could have done if anyone had seen? I mean, why did you send me to school with two pairs of underware?"

"I guess I didn't do a good job of unpacking from when you got back from Nana and PawPaw's." I said. I felt terrible. I could have ruined his whole year with the Spiderman underwear. But apart from that he had a really great day. And so far he hasn't noticed that Gigi ~~ruined~~ played with his toys some today.

First Day of the First Grade

2008-08-25T10:50:02-05:00

Wilson heading out for his first day of school in the First Grade.

Upper-Middle Class Kids Playing House

2008-08-12T12:57:00-05:00

Will's friend, a girl, came over to play. They played Wii for a while and then decided to turn the game room into their "apartment" and play "House". I set up shop in my bedroom, folding laundry and "not interferring" since Chris told me that I "cramp Will's style" when I "interfere". Since I don't exactly know how you can interfere with a 6 year old and his friend, nor have I come to terms with the idea that a 6 year old can have a "style" to "cramp", I figured I would just fold the laundry and remove any temptation on my part to "interfere" or "cramp".

What unfolded was a series of mini-acts in the Theatre of Upper Middle Class School Children Playing House.

Scene 1 - The Big Game

"Ok, you're at my football game."

"Yeah, I took your motorcycle and I'm going to watch you play. You're the star. Okay?"

"Yeah, and you have to make sure you watch my motorcycle so my fans don't steal it or anything."

"Ok."

"But you still have to cheer."

"Maybe I should leave the motorcycle at home and take the Mercedes instead."

"Yeah, that would be better."

"Ok."

Scene 2 - Back at "The Crib"

Play phone rings

"It's your boss on the phone."

"Ok. Yes.... Yes coach.... Ok.... You need me to play in 28 games so we can win the big one? Yes... Yes... I know I'm important to the team..."

"Ask if it comes with a raise!"

"Do I get a raise? Oh.... Oh yeah? Really? More money than I can imagine?"

"Hooray! I can get my nails done and go shopping for new furniture!"

Scene 3 - Hired Help and Family Members: How to Kill Two Birds with One Stone

Play phone rings

"Will, it's your mother."

"Tell her Yes, I made my bed. Tell her Yes, I am dressed."

"She wants to talk to you."

"Tell her I'm dressed and my bed is made. That's all she ever wants to know."

(Mom in real life doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. Mom in real life thinks about abandoning ideas of special desserts from now on since no one seems to notice anything other than my preference for making beds and not running around in ones underwear all day.)

Pretend knock on pretend door.

"Will, your sister is here again."

"Tell her to leave."

Gigi starts singing One Republic's song "Apologize" and annoying the crap out of big brother who is now a star football player living in an exclusive apartment, making a ton of money...

"Wait, maybe she can stay. We were looking for a housekeeper -"

"Tell my Mom to do that job. She cleans stuff."

"What about someone to walk the dogs? Can Gigi be the dog walker?"

"Yeah, but make sure she doesn't steal anything."

"Ok."

"Awesome."

To be continued after lunch, I suppose....

Stage Mama

2008-05-21T22:41:00-05:00

As I write this I'm sitting in an auditorium waiting for my son to perform in a musical. I'm scribbing this on the back of an old grocery list. I'm having "a moment". "A moment" is one of those times where events are taking place, things are not living up to your expectations, and you may burst into tears but you may not so you occupy yourself so the crying in public does not happen.

I've waited since June 11, 2001 - the day I found out I was pregnant - for the opportunity to watch my child perform in a musical. Yes, that's strange. But I've waited and waited for the chance to sit back and watch my child perform.

The kindergarten musical where he was Dish-Who-Ran-Away-With-Spoon was my first opportunity. He had a costume and a part. I was so excited. Nevermind he was the second choice for Dish-Who-Ran-Away-With-Spoon, the Dish Understudy as it were, I was excited. And Will was excited. We practiced running and waving styles. We talked about the Dish's motivation for running away with The Spoon. We practiced and practiced. Then, the day before his stage debut his part was cut. No more running across the stage - the music teacher cut out several "bit parts" for lack of stage space. Understandably the stage in the cafetorium of the elementary school was a little snug for all of the kindergarteners, but the other bit parts were still introduced at the end of the performance - but Dish-Who-Ran-Away-With-Spoon was forgotten. He was devestated and I was dejected. Will is the un-credited Dish understudy. That was his stage debut. Uncredited. Dish. Understudy.

No matter though because I had another performance to look forward to. Church Choir musical.

He didn't have a part for this musical, but we practiced and practiced. He loves singing and dancing. We both were extremely excited about the musical on the way to church. I gave him a big stage-mom kiss as I dropped him off in his room. He said he'd see me later. My son, on stage, singing and dancing. So much to be proud of.

I grabbed several programs. His first program. My son's name in print in a program. I considered framing one with a photo of him from the musical. I had big plans for those programs.

I looked for his name. It wasn't in the C's where it should be alphabetically. Then, I found it. At the end he was credited as "Wilson". Unless he's gone the way of the one-named celebrities - Cher, Madonna, Oprah - which I seriously doubt, it means my son, my treasure, my remarkably talented performer, is so unremarkable they haven't learned his full name after a year of practice. They don't know him. He doesn't stand out. He's just another 6 year old with dirty sneakers and a messy shirt. I imagine the program committee: "Oh, and there's that brown haired kid. Um, Will, William? Something like that..."

I'm swimming in the Sea of Disappointment.

The couple in front of me has just realized neither of them picked up a program. I handed them two of mine. The couple behind me has just realized their daughter's name is misspelled. The husband consoles the wife by saying "At least it's not like that 'Wilson' who doesn't have a last name." It's always horrible when your misfortune consoles other people.

It's not a big deal. I keep telling myself it's not a big deal. Of course, the more I tell myself that this is really not a big deal, the bigger of a deal it becomes and the more I want to cry. Granted, it's been an emotional week - I'm training my replacement, preparing to leave a job I've had for 5 years and to leave a place I've worked for the last 7 years - but I refuse to have Stage Mom breakdown.

Chris arrives and I show him the program. He says "He's not in here." I point to the end where "Wilson" is typed. Chris laughs. I am not laughing.

The musical starts and I'm about 8 feet away from Will. He scans the crowd and finally we make eye contact. I wave at him and smile with the pride only a mother feels. He mouths "I love you!" And I feel like even if no one else knows who "Wilson" belongs to, I do. And in a week and a half I will belong to him, and his sister, full time. I am elated and cannot wait to belong to them, even if the part of Full-Time-Mom goes un-credited, just like "Dish-Who-Ran-Away-With-Spoon".

The Most Terrible Thing

2008-01-14T20:45:13-05:00

Two and a half years ago we sat down with Wilson and explained he was going to be a big brother. He was 3 1/2. He didn't say anything for a while and then said "Why did you do this to me?" I told him Mommy and Daddy weren't going to be around forever and we wanted him to grow up with someone so that when we were gone, a long, long, long time from now, we didn't want him to be lonely. He said "I wasn't lonely, but now I'm mad."

Two years ago we discovered we were having a little girl. We told Wilson in a few weeks he was going to have a baby sister. He burst into tears in the backseat of the car and said "That's exactly what I didn't want!"

Since then he's proven himself a very loving, very doting, very patient big brother to a pesky little sister. There are times when I admire his patience with the nearly 2 year old Gigi, long after my own patience with her has taken off and left no forwarding address. She is so much fun. She's a handful, but she's so full of life and energy that she draws people to her. She gave herself the name "Gigi" - I've often wondered who gets away with creating their own nickname, now I know.

Tonight Gigi started in as soon as we picked Will up after school. She spilled his candy treat from the grocery store on the ground. She spilled his drink in his supper. She turned off his video game while he was playing it. She tore up an art project from school. She whacked him on the head with her broom. She took his GI Joe dolls and has them held captive in her dollhouse.

He only shrugs and goes about his business - which she usually gets into as soon as he's found something else to do and someplace else to be. I admired him. Most big brothers would have whacked her back long before now. He never got angry. He never got frustrated. He just keeps on. I was so proud of him. Inspiration in my son.

During their bath I stepped out to get some towels. I could hear Gigi making the bath a terrible experience for Will. She took all of the bath toys. She hoarded the soap. She whacked him with a wet washcloth. Then she said "Where'd Mommy go?"

"Mommy ran away. Mommy ran away because you're evil and mean. Mommy is never coming back. She's gone. Mommy ran away."

I ran into the bathroom.

"Wilson! That is terrible! You shouldn't tell her things like that!"

I picked up the girl and dried her off. Will took his towel and dried himself. He didn't say anything.

"Wilson, that is the most terrible thing!"

He shook his head.

"No, it's not. You want to know what the most terrible thing is?"

"What could be worse than telling your sister I ran away and wasn't ever coming back?!"

"She didn't even care."

And with that he walked out.

Reagan's Guardian

2008-01-03T22:14:29-05:00

Driving home from the store tonight Will decided to let me know he's been thinking about the future:

"Mom, when you get older and older and I'm an adult, I'll take care of Reagan and raise her for you, ok?"

"She'll be an adult too by then."

"No, you're having another birthday next year. I don't think Reagan will be an adult by then and you'll just be too old to care for us next year. I'll take care of her for you though, so don't worry."

I was feeling ok about turning 30. Until today.

Parent-Teacher Conference

2007-12-11T20:06:08-05:00

Immediately after Thanksgiving I attended Will's Parent-Teacher conference. The good news is that he's doing very well in school, making friends, and behaves. His teacher mentioned she needed to move him from group tables to a special table during study time. I asked her if he was having trouble and she said he just needs more room to spread out to work than the other kids. She said he takes up a lot of room and he sometimes is a little messy. She also mentioned he has a promising future ahead of him as a hostage negotiator, but I already knew that.

I left very disappointed that he needs to have a special work area because he's too messy and needs too much space to work in the location as his classmates. How did he get this way?

Then, that same weekend Chris and I both realized where he gets this.

This is his mother's workspace while researching a paper. It takes up the dining room table.

It takes a lot of space because the whole paper there is in notecards and in outline form. So this is where he gets the need to spread out and take up too much room.

And here's his dad's office, where he must have gotten the messy from.

So Chris and I took photos to remind ourselves that sometimes you just can't help how your workspace looks and to remind ourselves that productivity is the important thing. Last time I was informed he doesn't hold his pencil correctly - neither do I. I think we need to focus on what the child can do rather than how he gets it done.

Literacy Labor

2007-11-10T21:56:11-05:00

If you asked me what milestone I looked forward to the most with my children, I would have not hesitated to tell you I was anxious to see the day when they became literate. I love books. I love reading. I love that ideas and feelings can be beautifully conveyed through the written word. I look forward to the day when my children pick up Yeats, or Eliot, or Whitman and see the beauty in the written word.

Kindergarten is the first step. It's where we build the foundation of literacy and the written word. It's where a whole future of the love of education is birthed. It is all very exciting!

I can testify to this truth after nearly a semester of kindergarten: I would rather give birth to Will every day for the rest of my life than have to travel this journey to literacy with him. There are several reasons for this - the least of which is that after you have labored with childbirth the lovely nurse arrives with a narcotic and a glass of ice water.

Each evening we arrive home. Each evening we work through letters and sight words. Each evening I thank God that he has provided people with the patience and ability to do this as a career. Each evening the boy and I sit down with the best intentions of becoming literate and each evening ends in a stalemate of frustration. He knows letters, he knows the sounds. He cannot seem to make the connection between T, H, and E to make "THE". It's an important word. He's going to need to know that one.

The day Will started kindergarten, I started my Master's degree. What this means is that while I have out my homework, he has his out. Now that we're nearing the end of the semester the table is covered with books for my term papers and his sight word homework.

"You need to keep practicing those words" I tell him.

"I am."

"You're not. You're doodling on the paper. You need to learn how to read and write. I'm reading and writing. I've read these books, I've taken these notes, I'm writing these papers. I'm working very hard here and you're doodling. Look, you'll never get to the point in school I am if you don't learn those words."

He looks over at the piles of hundreds of notecards, my piles of books, he sees me wearily threading together a term paper. He hears me turn down parties at the neighbors' homes so I can finish my papers and study for my tests. He looks into my eyes, and because he is an expert at reasoning skills, he speaks to me from my own argument:

"That's an acceptable loss."

First Day of School

2007-08-27T08:52:00-05:00

Wilson waiting for the bus.

Workin' Man Blues

2007-06-14T22:27:00-05:00

Will has a job. He's 5 years old, so I'm sure we're violating some child labor law somewhere, but he's excited about working and I'm excited that he's excited. Yesterday after his job, he said he needed "two helpings at dinner. I'm sure hungry. I'm a Workin' Man, you know."

Our next door neighbors hired Will to pick up their mail, feed and water their cat, and they're paying him to do it. Lovely people, our neighbors. He has an illustrated job description courtesy of the neighbors - she's a teacher - and he carries his job description with him as he performs his duties. He reads the list off to me. I go along on the job for two reasons: 1. I'm sure, though Will says they wouldn't mind, the neighbors don't want a 5 year old in sole possession of their house keys, and 2. This is an old cat who has recently lost her appetite and has started losing weight. Basically I go along to make sure the cat hasn't passed on to that great catnip field in the sky. I've explained to Will that our job is to keep that cat alive until Monday. No matter what, there will be no death on our watch. Under no circumstance should we allow that cat to crossover. Will understood.

I asked the neighbors what I should do, should the cat decide to pass on. We determined a stint in the freezer would suffice until they returned home to give a proper burial. I'm praying very hard that I do not have to put a cat who has followed the bright light home to Sweet Beulah Land into a deep freeze next to food.

So far, the cat has not emerged from the master bedroom of the neighbors' house, though Will and I have done everything we can to coax her out. Normally I would just drop off the mail and make sure there was food and water, but these are special circumstances. Good neighbors don't allow their neighbors to return to a home where a week old dead cat has progressed along the stages of decomp. The smell alone would be enough to lose good friends over. In addition to this, Will's job description has a picture of a little boy petting a cat. It says "You can pet her." To Will, this means he is not through with the daily tasks until he has pet her. So we do our best to coax her out, Will trying to fulfill his job description and me, trying to take the cat's vitals to determine if I need to rush her 6 houses down to the other neighbor, who happens to be a vet.

After the job is over we sit on the back porch with our popsicles. Will noticed we have grasshoppers. He loves bugs. All bugs. Except fire ants. He hates fire ants. But these large, green grasshoppers are a source of entertainment and education for him. And since he was entrusted with the care of the neighbors' cat's life, he has taken this to all creatures, great and small.

While we were in the backyard, eating popsicles and chasing grasshoppers, Chris was in the front yard, preparing to mow. Will heard him start the mower.

"Is Dad mowing?"

"Sounds like it."

"Well you have to stop him! You have to stop him before he gets back here! You just have to stop him Mom!"

I didn't say anything. I didn't get it. He ran inside and returned with a Mason jar. He handed the jar to me and said "Follow me!" I did. He collected every grasshopper he could, putting each one in the Mason jar. He shouted explicit instructions on the opening and closing and the handling of the jar. He was a regular Schindler to these grasshoppers. He was rescuing them from the lawnmower.

Of course, I just know these grasshoppers are parasiting themselves on my new Japanese maple tree and my hydrangea bushes, but I don't have the heart to tell him this. He's saving lives. So here I sit, wondering what on earth to do with a Mason jar full of grasshoppers.

I fear he's bringing his work home with him.

The McDonald's Matinee Performance

2007-04-17T22:41:00-05:00

After the bluebonnet photos were taken we asked the kids where they wanted to eat lunch. Kerry-Lea wanted McDonald's so Lesley and Chris placed the order while I took the four kids and found a seat.

Several elderly people are sitting nearby us. The restaurant is full of serene looking elderly people who have spent a very cold Saturday looking at bluebonnets. These kind, serene elderly people comment to me on how nice and polite and well behaved my four children are. I smile, not really wanting to get into it that only two of the four are mine. I tell them thank you and my "four angelic children" attempt to keep themselves busy while waiting for food.

The boys decide to play a game.

Now the serene elderly people, tired from the cold Bluebonnet festival are enjoying a free show at the Ennis McDonalds. The boys started playing "Pretend".

Brandon held Will in a head-lock and said "Give me the money you took!"

Will said "I don't have the money, Man."

"You took my money and I want it back!"

"I don't have your money, Man!"

"Give me the money you owe me! What did you do with the money!"

Several elderly people are watching this drama unfold with an amused look. Others look a bit worried when Brandon takes out Lesley's foldable hairbrush and holds it to Wilson like a weapon. Wilson says "Dude, don't cut my face!"

"Where's the money?!"

Wilson shouts out "I lost it all at Black Jack!"

The old people are no longer smiling at my "angelic children". I take the brush/weapon away, smile and say "Only two of these kids are actually mine." I put my arms around Kerry-Lea and Reagan. The elderly people shoot Lesley a strange look when she comes back to the table like they just know she's the sort of mom who has a booky and a gambling problem.

International Bowling Birthday Party

2007-02-17T21:54:00-05:00

We had Wilson's birthday party today. We tried to think of something fun, something active, and something not in our house to do with 5, 6, 7, and 8 year olds. Not wanting to go to Chuck E Cheese again, we went for a bowling party. We invited our friends and birthday plans were made.

We have international friends as many of you know. Our South Africans and Ukrainians were happy to come to Wilson's party, but the Ukrainians seemed very uneasy about "bowling". I asked if they had bowling in the Ukraine. I received an uncertain "yes...." I asked if they had ever been bowling - that's when I learned that bowling alleys in the Ukraine are incorportated with certain kinds of dancing clubs that one does not associate with a 5 year old's birthday party. So our Ukrainians had never been to or in a bowling alley. I assured them this was a family place.

The kids all had a great time bowling, eating pizza, cake, and playing arcade games. Pictures are in the photo album.

Tonight I put Will to bed and he said "Mom, I'm going to bed a 4 year old, but I'm waking up 5." I really just can't believe he's five. Everyone said the time would pass so quickly, I just didn't want to believe it.

S is for Smarty-Pants

2007-02-02T20:48:20-05:00

Will has a favorite game we play while dinner is cooking. We say a word and he has to tell you what that word starts with and then he comes up with several other words that start with the same letter. It's a fun game and we take turns.

"Ok Mommy, your turn."

"Baseball."

"Ummmm. B. Bat. Butter. Ball. Baby."

"Good job!"

"Ok Mom, now it's my turn."

"Ok."

"Mom, does sarcophagus start with a C or an S?"

"Sarcophagus?"

"Yes."

"Well......" I was pretty sure it was a S, but then I wasn't completely sure. Then I wondered why he couldn't come up with some word like cat or frisbee. Sarcophagus? No more History Channel for him!

"Mom, do you know how to spell sarcophagus or not?"

This is it. This is the moment I've been dreading. This is the moment when he knows, without a doubt, his mom doesn't know everything.

"Can you spell it?" I asked.

"No."

"Then we can't use it in the game."

It at least bought me enough time to look up the spelling in the dictionary. It starts with a S. Just in case you ever need to know.

Change in the Wind

2007-01-26T10:58:00-05:00

I come from a long line of change haters. My dad, my sister, and I have a mantra – “Status Quo is the way to go…” It drives my mom crazy. She tells the three of us in her exasperated tone that “change is good” or “life is all about change”. The three of us sitting on a couch will usually tell her change is for people who are never satisfied. Irritated, Mom usually leaves the room – “changes” rooms if you will. We stay put – unchanging. We are steadfast.

More and more I see Will has a strong sense of “steadfastness” about him. It started when he was two. His preschool teacher moved the trash can in their classroom to a new location, but every time she went to throw something away the trash can wasn’t in its new location. It was always back in the old location. After the trash can moved back and forth several times the teacher finally saw it was Will moving it back. When she asked him about it he told her it needed to be in its place, the old location. The teacher gave up. He appreciates certainty, predictability, and order to his universe with trash can locations and most everything else. He does not respond well to change.

Chris is starting a new job in two weeks. For the last five years we’ve driven to work every day, eaten lunch together, and drove home together. We are all so use to being within yards of each other every day so while we are extremely excited about the new job and the opportunities it presents Chris – there will be changes.

To start off, I will be getting the kids ready and bringing them to school every day on my own. I will be taking the kids home on my own. I know this is no big deal – households all over the world do this and everyone manages. For Will though, this is going to be a hard thing to get used to. In order to prepare him we talked about the new changes at dinner the other night; we told him Daddy was starting an exciting new job and he would need to leave by himself. Will asked why we couldn’t ride together anymore. Chris and I told him the new job was in a different city so Daddy would drive to his city every morning and we would drive to our city every morning. Will asked why Daddy just couldn’t stay where he was at his current job. We explained this job was a great opportunity with all sorts of benefits. One of those benefits was that this new job pays more money. Will perked right up at that. “Am I getting more allowance now?” Chris said “Maybe, but I need you to be a man and help out your mom every morning. You need to get up and get dressed and help Mom by being the man for me.”

All was good. He was accepting change bravely. We breathed a sigh of relief.

You would think by now we would know better. Every time we breathe a sigh of relief one of our kids does something.

We’re still new at our church. We’re still getting to know people and people are still forming their ideas about us. We took Will to choir Wednesday night. When Chris went to pick him up the teachers looked at him strangely. Chris didn’t think much of it until later when we asked Wilson how choir was. He said “It was good. I asked them to pray for Daddy’s new job.” “You did? That was nice of you.” “Yeah, I told them I needed to be a man because my dad found a job in another city so he’s leaving my mom in the morning because this job pays a lot of money and now it’s just me and my mom.”

I liked it so much better when he just resisted change.

He's Making a List and Checking It Twice

2006-12-12T08:50:00-05:00

Last year we decided to let Will pick out the Christmas gifts he wanted to give to us. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I'm starting to see a lot of the "really great ideas" we had this time last year were the product of a 8-month-pregnant-and-tired-of-it mom and a tired-of-taking-care-of-8-month-pregnant-wife dad. In other words, it seemed like a great idea at the time, but I can assure you we weren't really in our right minds.

Last year for Christmas the boy bought his father IDog for his IPod. Will thinks it's the best invention ever, For me he picked out what every mother wants to get from her son - a diaper bag. Yes, a diaper bag. Chris shrugged and said "It's what he said you needed." And it was a lovely diaper bag. We thanked him for the gifts.

This year he already has his shopping list. The one problem is that he shared his shopping list so we know exactly what we are getting from Wilson. Here's the list:

Reagan - a Batman bottle
Chris - a ham
Jolene - cheese and crackers ,and if it's not too expensive, sausage

Why does Chris get a full ham and I get a Hickory Farms cheese and cracker basket (and if I'm lucky there may be sausage)?

The 4 Year Old Mind

2006-11-28T11:33:34-05:00

I love stream-of-consciousness writing. I'll be honest though, I never considered stream-of-consciousness to be a form of verbal conversation, but here's the one-sided conversation on the way to pick up the dogs from the kennel last night:

"Today Mrs. Dianna told me to stop running so I stopped running and she said 'Come here' and I went over to her and she said 'Tell your mom and dad hi', so 'Hi'. Cat starts with a 'c' mom. There's a 'c' on that sign over there and there's also a 'w' on that sign. I can't read. You know that? I can't read. I'm going to be happy to see the dogs but I think Reagan won't be happy to see them. Reagan's very pretty, but not when she cries. I sure am thirsty. Do you think we can get me something to drink? Are there any places with slushees around here? Dad - Dad - you know what? Um.... Ummm.... Oh, I don't have anything to say."

Really?

Double Trouble Names

2006-10-23T09:12:00-05:00

Yesterday was closet cleaning day. The weather appears to be getting cooler, which means it's time to rotate out the summer clothes and bring out the cool weather attire. I had Wilson and Reagan playing in her room while I went through her closet.

"Mom, what is Reagan's trouble name?"

"Her what?"

"Her trouble name."

"I don't know what a 'trouble' name is."

"Yes you do."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm Wilson Christopher. What's Reagan's trouble name? Is she Reagan Christopher?"

"No. She's Reagan Jacquelyn. And it's a 'middle' name. Not a 'trouble' name."

The only thing I can think of is that some of his friends at school have double names (Mary Kate, John Mark - you know) and Wilson has asked before why they have two names and I told him they had double names and he has two names too, but his is a middle name. "Double" sounds like "trouble", so I think he got those confused, but it was pretty funny for him to ask about Reagan's 'trouble" name. If my kids are in trouble, their names are so long it's not even worth it to yell using first and middle name. They don't have "trouble" names.

The (other) Man of the House

2006-10-17T16:42:00-05:00

The other night after his bath I instructed Wilson to go put on his pajamas.

"I don't need them."

"Yes, you're going to bed. You need to put on your jammies so we can read a book and then you're going to sleep."

"I'll go to bed but I don't need jammies."

"Why?"

"I'm just going to sleep in my underware. I'm a man, you know."

And he did. After we read Goodnight Moon, he went to sleep in his Spiderman underware - just like a man.

Fairy Tales by Wilson

2006-10-10T09:19:12-05:00

When we visit my parents Will's favorite part of the trip are the bedtime stories. My mom loads up with books and they read until one of them falls asleep. One of Will's favorites is The Three Billy Goats Gruff. Since we have been back home he has decided to hold his own story time during his and Reagan's baths. Of course, he's telling the stories from memory, so sometimes our bathtime versions are not exactly as I remember them.

"...and the biggest billy goat gruff decided he was going to go across the bridge and eat some grass on the other side. And he went STOMP STOMP STOMP on the bridge and the troll got mad. The troll jumped up on the bridge and said 'Who is that stomping on my bridge?!' and the biggest billy goat said 'It's me, the biggest billy goat gruff.' The troll said 'I'm going to eat you up!' and the biggest billy goat gruff said 'BRING IT ON'...."

"He said BRING IT ON?" I asked.

"Yeah." He thinks. "Or maybe he said 'GO AHEAD AND MAKE MY DAY."

"Really? I don't remember that."

"Well, he did. He said 'BRING IT ON AND MAKE MY DAY' and that troll got up on that bridge and the billy goat knocked him off into the river and went over and ate some grass."

"What happened to the troll?"

"He moved."

"Did he move to a new bridge?"

"No. He got an apartment this time."