When Kevin takes off in an airplane, we make sure to go outside around the time of take-off and look for his plane to pass by. Do we see it? Probably not, but that's not the point.
We also offer simple prayers for the safety of the plane and the success of Kevin's mission, whatever it may be. Peter's particularly concerned that the pilot will stay awake during the flight and request "coffee and soda and candy for the drivers."
So.
Thomas will, when he wakes in the morning, leave me and go find Peter and Lucy. Now that he can open doors himself, he's happy to climb out of bed, open the door, and look for his best friends.
And frankly, I'm glad that he can do this himself and that I don't need to leave the down cocoon warmth of my early-morning bed. Sometimes, I pretend I don't hear him leave. Sometimes, I really don't hear him leave.
Sometime - perhaps two weeks ago - Thomas must have woken crazy early. Around 3? Anyway, this is what I know: I know that he came back into bed with his shoes. One was wet, the other was dry. The only source of water was the toilet, so I have to assume that he dunked his shoe in the toilet, pulled it out, and then brought them to me.
Aside from pee-shoe shenanigans, playing in the toilet isn't exactly the safest of toddler pastimes. I put one of those door handle locks on the inside of his bedroom door, which has thoroughly frustrated him. (He's pointed to it and cried "no!") I have to believe it will keep him a little safer, even if I will have to rouse myself from the warmth to let him play in the morning.
Our backyard woods offers some great birdwatching. It's offered hours of entertainment as we sit at our dining room table and do school, eat meals, and craft.
Even the littlest Davis-Ross loves it. He'll climb up on a chair and cry "bird! bird!"
We don't spot anything tremendously unusual: many blue jays (accompanied by Lucy's "there's a gorgeous bird outside!"), woodpeckers, mourning doves, robins, and hawks.
"Mischief baby" is Peter's nickname for Thomas, and it fits. He's about as mischievous as a toddler can be, plus he's so darn cute that it's easy to let him get away with so much more than his brother and sister at this age.
Last week Aunt Jen asked us if it was hard to tell him no, given how cute he is. Oh, oh yes. It also helps that he's generally happy. All in the name of mischief.
This weekend, at the John Heinz Preserve, a kind older woman oohed-and-ahhed over Thomas's cute blue eyes and bouncy blond curls. And, as Thomas ran ahead of us, she commented: "but you better be careful! someone is going to steal that baby."
You can imagine my complete heart-stopping terror when I lost him for about ten seconds later that day. He's run out to another room to see the giant blue heron.
some days, you just gotta kennel the kids
There are so many parts of being a parent that are crappy, crappy, crappy. A reasonably creative non-parent can imagine most of them: sleepless nights, poopy diapers, messy mealtimes.
Lately, though, I've been thinking about the parts of my job which I never anticipated. File these under: were they on my job description? because I may have had a second thought:
Being leaned upon. Not in the warm-fuzzy "lean on me! when you need a hand!" way. In the literal, "I'm kind of standing on my own feet but really I'm leaning upon you and if you dare to move I'll topple over and probably bash my head on something pointy, so you're really trapped in this very awkward spot in the tiny space between the washing machine, dryer, pantry, and refrigerator. I hope your legs don't fall asleep."
Constantly walking an obstacle course. This goes hand-in-hand with being leaned upon, as little kids just don't know where they are in space. I get it, I really do: they don't try to paralyze you with their bodies. Yet: how many minutes have I spent paused on one stair, squirmy baby (probably with poop squeezing out of his diaper) in hand, waiting for the parade of preschoolers to make their slow, distracted descent down the staircase.
Yesterday, we made cookies. I smelled burning in the oven (always a good sign, right?) and bolted for the kitchen. I had to push past Lucy and Peter to do so, much the way an agile running back makes his way past the defense, except I'm not exactly what you'd consider agile. I literally shoved Lucy's head out of the way to make room for my body running down the hallway. It took an extra cookie for her to forgive me. (But you forgive me, right? You see, Thomas was sleeping on the sofa, and the smoke detector was three seconds away from going off.)
Vomiting in bed at 3 a.m.
Getting into the car. Why, why, why is this such a challenge? Why are the thirty yards of space between our front door and the car so very interesting? Why does the backseat of our car remind the children of a playground?
The helpfulness of children who, upon spotting something of yours placed in a safe spot, promptly hand it to you and in the process lose it forever. It's hard to begrudge them their helpfulness, but it's also annoying knowing that the slip of paper I needed (or my insurance card, or my last $5 bill, or my car keys) were just where I'd left them, handed to me, placed somewhere else in the frantic "your brother is going to tumble down the stairs!" mayhem, and lost to the clutter.
I came upstairs to get something - probably more wipes and diapers for some amazing poop explosions* - and heard a little voice call up the stairs:
"Mama, are you? Mama, are you? Mama, are you?"
Kevin reported that earlier in the day, he and Thomas had gone looking for socks with the similar sing-song approach: "socks, where ARE you?" It didn't take Thomas long to integrate it into his vocabulary.
We used this song first with Peter, who would freak out when he couldn't find cuddle bear. We'd sing, "cuddle, where are you?" and he'd join in with his little baby voice: "cuggle, are you? cuggle, are you?"
*We've been saying this. Over and over. Peter was confused that I barked "stop pooping!" at him, but when I explained it was from a show that Kevin and I had watched, he understood. Then:
Peter: Is it a show that's good for kids? (I'm sure he's thinking, if it has poop, it has to be good!)
Me: No, not really.
Peter: Is it scary?
Me: No, but I just don't think you'd understand it. It's funny, though.
Peter: I think everything is funny.
Me: It would be like when we go to church, and you just don't understand everything the priest is saying, even when you try hard.
Peter: Hmmmph.
Our winter fun list this year is full of snow activities, and my winter preschool plans require days below 32 degrees. Yet the weather has other plans for us this year, and while I'm not at all complaining, I do find myself missing the two-foot snowfalls of the past two winters.
It snowed a bit this weekend - only a few inches, enough to remind us that snow is fun and then to quickly melt away as the falling snow turned into rain in the following days.
The kids were out in the snow at 7 a.m. If you're wondering why these photos seem underexposed, it's because they were taken in the gloomy, barely-morning, cloudy-sky hour when we'd finally - finally! - agreed to let the kids go out in the snow. I made the groggy deal that if they could get themselves dressed (snow pants, boots, hats, mittens, coats), they were welcome to go outside.
The littlest one heard "outside" and began a sprint for the door, so my plans of letting Peter and Lucy play while I snuggled under the down blankets fizzled. We all five bundled up and headed out to the three inches of snow waiting for our footprints and sled tracks.
Our slight downhill slope toward the creek, such a problem in the summer with spilled drinks and tossed paint cups, is perfect for preschool sledders. They gain surprising momentum for such a little hill. It's fast enough to be fun and slow enough to not be dangerous, although the rate at which they purposefully steered themselves into obstacles made me rethink putting helmets on them.
Kevin and I tried the sled too. I made it an embarrassing four or five feet before the sled stopped, but Kevin made it nearly to the woods on his effort.
And all snow outings end with hot cocoa. Even Thomas knows that by now.
Our homeschool group had a blast last week riding our bikes/trikes/scooters/skates at a giant sports complex. The kids were able to ride around on the hard floor, bounce in an obstacle-course style bouncer for a while, and enjoy snacks in our own lunch room.
Uncle Sean helped set up the event, since he coaches at United Sports, and since we were in the area Aunt Brey made sure to stop by with Maelynn. We'd also invited our neighbors to come. It was almost too much excitement to bear! As we were loading up our car the night before, Peter was nearly shaking with excitement: "tomorrow is going to be SO MUCH FUN."
And it was! So much bike and scooter riding, generous friends sharing their other ride-on toys, about a million trips through the obstacle course (Peter and Lucy made a quick recovery after a rough start), and some much-needed exercise in advance of the weekend's snow.
And, a conversation from later that night:
Kevin: Was it as fun as you thought it would be?
Peter: No. (Pause, mischievous smile.) It was MORE fun.
We visited Longwood Gardens earlier this week to study winter trees. Which trees were dormant? Which trees still had leaves? How did these leaves compare to tree leaves we see in the spring, summer, and fall months?
We gathered some evergreen samples, posed some questions (why does ivy stay green all winter long?), drew in our nature journals, and enjoyed a cold day out in nature.
While at the fish pond, we spotted fox poo! Lucy waited no time finding a stick to poke the poo, and we examined it (as closely as we could) to see what clues it gave us. Of particular interest was the animal hair inside, which gave us a clue that it was some kind of meat-eating animal. We also looked around to find fox prints on the deck and nearby muddy banks.
Oh! And no visit to Longwood is complete without a thorough drenching in the children's garden. Since it is January, I asked the kids to please not get their hair wet. They did a great job listening, perhaps because they had carte blanche for the rest of their bodies.
Our visits to Longwood became so much easier with the addition of a strip of private bathrooms near the children's garden. Love, love, love these bathrooms. It's amazing how simple things (a private, close, warm bathroom) can really make a trip exponentially easier.
We visited on MLK Day, and Longwood hosted a series of events for children. I'd thought perhaps the cold weather would keep some visitors away, but it was still crazy-crowded. Since my tolerance for crowds tends to be zero (and "crowd" can mean more than ten other visitors), we were happy to spend the rest of our visit outside, cold weather or no cold weather.
A week or so ago I found a copy of Mothering your Nursing Toddler at the thrift store. I never really expect to find good books there, but always look on the off-chance I'll find a gem.
This was just what the doctor ordered. I love this child dearly, but I'll be the first to confess that toddlerhood is not, at all, in any stretch of the imagination, my strength. I fatigue of the silly games, the battle of wills, and the irrationality of it all. It's especially hard now that I'm a few years out of practice.
It's specifically dealing with this age (15-18 months?) which makes Kevin and me really rethink any notion of having a fourth child. Newborns are easy-peasy. Night waking is fine. Explosive poops are just part of the game. But the endless climbing on the table, shouting for hand washing, throwing himself backward in furious protest when it's time to put on his coat: I could do without.
I'm especially fatigued because of our nursing relationship. I know the moment I go downstairs after sneaking in these few moments of early-morning productive time that he'll see me and immediately cry "tap tap!" (His words for nursing, because I've taught him to "tap tap" my chest rather than pull down my shirt.) He follows me, cries for me, pulls on my, screams for me. After a long night of the same types of behavior, it's tiresome.
Thus, the lucky thrift store find. It's a good reminder of the investment philosophy of parenting: give a lot at the beginning, get a lot in the end. And like all people, I love to read material which bolsters my philosophy, so this book makes this endless night-waking and nursing seem normal.
Maybe it is. My next "project" is to look into anthropological studies of nursing, including the nursing and reproductive patterns of great apes. This, however, involves poking into academic journals, so perhaps I'll wait until I have a good night's sleep to begin. Estimated start date: 2015.
Our last visit to the Garden State Discovery Museum (a.k.a. Grammy and Poppy's museum, since it's just down the road from their house) was much, much quieter than our last visit. At times, we were the only ones in an exhibit! It's exactly how I like our museum visits to go. With Grammy on hand to play with the kids (and escort them to the restroom, as needed), it was one of our easiest museum outings ever.
some highlights:
Playing with the blowing air in the wind machine; Peter looked like a contestant on America's Next Top Model gone awry, while Thomas loved to watch the balls fly
The "ballet" room, as Lucy calls it, or the dress-up stage. I caught Peter and Lucy having a secret pow-wow backstage while getting dressed.
The newscasting room, where Thomas read the news and Lucy tried to not get eating by the lions.
Ice hockey! For some reason, it's Peter's favorite sport. He was recruited (against his will) to play goalie, but loved it.
This museum is older, and it shows. But we really have a great time with each visit, and we might even learn a thing or two. Later that night, in the comfy-coziness of our own home, I heard a coyote howl outside the window. For real!* Peter was later able to identify the animal sound for me, thanks to a "nighttime sound mixing board" activity at the museum.
*Kevin heard it too. We hear all manners of curious animal noises outside, but I think this was our first coyote.
While Kevin was off soaking up the sunshine in California last week, the kids and I took a mini-vacation to New Jersey to spend some time with Grammy and Poppy.
I'd floated the idea of a sleepover at Grammy and Poppy's house as a way to spend the time while Daddy was away, hoping to give the kids something fun! to look forward to, rather than focusing on the sad parts of no Daddytime. Also, I thought it could be a good test-run to see if such a crazy adventure would be possible: to leave the kids alone? Overnight?
In talking about this day with Peter and Lucy, they established some ground rules. (1) I was to be there the entire time. (2) They would happily pretend I wasn't there, but know that I was. (3) If it stopped being fun, they were welcome to come find me. (4) I had to be there for Thomas, obviously, because he needs me a lot. But they need me too.
It went well. No tears at bedtime, although Lucy said she tried to listen for me on the other side of the wall and Peter confessed to being sad. When asked if we could do it again, Lucy said "sure!" and Peter said "NO!" It's not a surprise, really, but it went well enough that I don't feel so guilty asking Grammy and Poppy to watch the kids one night while Kevin and I enjoy some much-needed adult conversation free from the threat of screaming, waking, peeing children.
The kids definitely appreciated the chocolate chip pancakes Grammy made them for breakfast, and the hot chocolate with whipped cream. That alone may be enough to request a return visit.
"first" day of "school"
Here's a little overdue post about how the kids kind of started preschool in the fall but then dropped out. Two times!
First, we joined a new preschool co-op at a nearby Friends' meeting house. My hopes were so, so high for this: a dedicated space with indoor, outdoor and kitchen; lots of other homeschooling mamas and young kids; and a heap of motivation, too.
It didn't work out. Not for us, and, a month later, not for the co-op either. Peter and Lucy loved it, for the record, and still talk about the friends they made there. In talking about our experience (and, specifically, why we don't do it any longer), they were able to see why it wasn't a good fit and why it didn't work.
(griding spices for applesauce)
Second, we enrolled the kids in our church's preschool program. We were definitely excited about this one, as it would be a chance for Peter and Lucy to hear other children and adults talking about God and our faith.
Except...it wasn't. See, the preschool program takes place during mass, and it was less "preschool" than "babysitting." Also, it chopped up our Sundays in such a way as to make them then difficult to fill. We more than once cursed, "church preschool!"
In thinking about these experiences, and about pulling the children out of these experiences, I've been able to reaffirm and re-articulate our desires for homeschooling and for the children more generally. We homeschool because we want to help craft a type of childhood learning and playing environment for the children that's in keeping with our own beliefs. The types of activities, influences, and expectations our preschool experiences offered were not in keeping with what we hope for the children.
fingerpaints!
Just a for instance: in church preschool, from my quiet seat in the hallway*, I overheard one of the teaching aides badgering Lucy to color in her worksheet. "Just color it in, Lucy! And connect the dots!" Because, clearly, if she doesn't fill in the worksheet, how will I know she learned anything?
A large part of participating in these preschool classes was to give the kids some extra socialization: to listen to other children and adults in the way that we think children ought to be trained.
bread making
But this socialization issue? I'm completely over it. I saw, first hand, how in looking for more socialization I opened the door to exactly the types of negative social influences I'd wanted to avoid all along. Little girls talking about the brands of their clothing; boys running around shooting and killing at attacking with violence; children not being taught (or shown) to listen respectfully or find another activity with with to fill their time.
School isn't about socialization, not at least after the preschool years. And the socialization kids "learn" in school is of the classroom management sort: sit in chairs, listen to the teacher, ask to use the restroom, fill in your worksheet, don't get us off topic, that's not on the lesson plan. In living our regular, daily lives, we can give the children more than enough opportunities to respectfully interact with adults in their environment, to mind their bodies and voices in keeping with where we are, and to play with other children.
Peter and Lucy and Thomas are not perfect. Not by any stretch of the imagination. At times, they were the obstreperous ones in our preschool experiences. Lucy may have left one church preschool class screaming, in tears, clutching a marker she wasn't willing to put away.** I simply hope for so much for them. Don't we all?
*Because Peter didn't want to be alone in the first three or four weeks, which isn't a reason we stopped attending, as I'm sure by now he'd gladly attend on his own with a quick "see you later!" tossed over his shoulder.
**Because she wasn't done coloring, and in the abrupt way school environments operate, when it's time to be done it's time to be DONE. Sure, it's coloring now, but what about a lively discussion about the Grapes of Wrath in high school? When the bell rings, it's over.
I said: Look, let's make a deal. You try not to get too messy, and I'll try to not get too cranky about the mess. OK?
Lucy and Peter agreed.
Thomas did not.
And when the toddler's splattering you with shaving cream (his preferred technique: slapping Peter on the head with the wooden spoon we'd used to smooth out the shaving cream), it's hard not to jump on the messy bandwagon.
This did start as a lesson about why some animals are white, and we had a great conversation about why it helps some predictors to be white, and why perhaps a reindeer isn't' white. We also talked about why people who live in snowy places might chose brightly colored sleds, mittens, and hats.
Speaking of mittens, at one point Lucy looked up at me with foam-smeared hands and said, "look at me! I'm Nicki! I lost my mitten!" Peter followed suit, and they spent the next few minutes trying to fill their "mittens" with animals.
We celebrated Christmas as FDR on the Feast of the Epiphany.* As Kevin and I decorated the downstairs and set out a few presents for the kids, Kevin noted that it was, in a way, Surprise Christmas. "What kid doesn't know when Christmas is?" he asked.
I think the idea of Surprise Christmas is kind of amazing, and I'm not one for surprises at all. (My biggest nightmare is that I'll arrive home from some errand to find a surprise party. Or even a pop-in. I'm getting hives thinking about it now.)
Family Christmas, as we called it, was great. I'll be the first to admit I often have high hopes for some of our plans, hopes which just don't materialize. From the sweet, sleepy-eyed appreciation of our decorating efforts to the surprise and glee of their presents, the kids didn't disappoint.
Our presents were mostly spot-on, too. I'd made a few of them: dress-up jewelry for Lucy, a superhero cape and mask set for Peter, and a ball for Thomas. We also assembled a sewing kit and a tool kit for the kids, gifted them a few more Schleich animals, and there was even a child-sized soccer ball under the tree for Thomas.
After breakfast (of buttermilk pancakes, a gift mix from our neighbors and a frequent breakfast request), we headed to the Zoo for some sunny-weather family time. The highlight of the day was the weather - it was nearly 60 and sunny and almost too warm for January. (Is there such a thing?)
I made up a new family rule on the spot: if it's warm enough to go without winter coats in January, then FDR gets ice cream. One member of the family almost missed his turn with a cone, but he managed to wake in time to finish my cone.
This is our third family Christmas, and I'm a big fan. For one, it allows us to experience Christmas at our home, even as we travel on the holiday itself. Also, it spreads out the joy of the season, so that Christmas isn't over December 26. It also helps to keep Christmas itself from being a big ol' pile of presents. The drawback is that the presents continue for a few weeks, but it's not as if the kids become conditioned to expect a heap of new gifts every three days.
*Well, the day before. Close enough, considering three little ones can't read a calendar.
(He'll come over and ask "help! help!" with the face mask. He needs no help with the cuteness, though.)
We've had a new series of "posing faces" recently.
Lucy: willing to look at the camera and smile!
Peter: a sweet closed-lip smile
Thomas: pure silliness
Lucy came over to me today, carrying a basket with some play fruits and vegetables inside.
"This is Jesus," she said.
"Excuse me?"
"This is Jesus, the fruit of my womb. See the fruit? It's Jesus."
Oh. It makes more sense. (Or does it?)
If Thomas had his way, he'd spend his days in one of a few manners. At the top of the list: washing his hands.
And why not? It's everything this age loves: water, soap, and trash. "Trash" is one of Thomas's most clear words, by the way.
Many a day has been interrupted by a little boy's screams "water! wash! happy birthday!" If the bathroom door is left open, he'll storm in, climb up the tall stool at the sink, and wait for the water to turn on. I've also found him sitting inside the sink.
Then again, he never complains when it's time for his bath (bath! splash!), and he's always willing to wash off his hands after he splashes in the toilet.
At Grandpa's house, the kids opened a desk drawer and discovered my sister's and my childhood stash of Barbies.
A little part of me died this day.
On the plus side, every "lovely outfit" the girls wore were for going to church.
(Also, I love this video of Peter and Lucy at play. At the end, Peter finds a shooting toy. Which suggests: (1) gender stereotypes have won and (b) we really need to screen these toys.)
Our car drives are, for the most part, fine. We have a routine, Peter and Lucy understand (even if they don't like) how long we'll be in the car, and we all buckle down and get through the 650 miles the best we can.
But we have to go back. That's the problem, you see. We make it out with so very few issues, but we have to go back.
Which brings us to these photos, which I will explain thusly:
For reasons I don't quite remember, excpet perhaps sheer exhaustion, we let the children pick out any snack they wanted from the turnpike convenience store where I purchased a gallon of coffee. These were their choices. At first, they picked somewhat healthy snacks, until they realized we really did mean "almost anything." Then, gummy bears and cheesy poofs. I really waited for someone to throw up. Thankfully, no one did.
this was not taken during the freak-out
(he's crazy that I won't let him have the camera)
At some point - outside a grim travel outpost in mid Pennsylvania - I lost it. Thomas was going nuts, we were all exhausted, and we still had hours to go. After a pajama change and a seat re-arrange, the kids all happily fell to sleep and I could finally, finally relax.
(It turns out that sitting by Thomas in the back of the van was not helping, but rather making him crazy. Once I relocated to the front, I was out of sight, out of mind.)
This post should be titled, "why FDR makes for the worst house guests, ever!" But we'll focus on the cute baby. You only read for the photos anyway, right?
Since Uncle Jason and Aunt Jen live so close to my father, we knew we needed to stop up for a visit before heading back to Pennsylvania.* But here's where I stop and say: it's "close" in a relative term. You know, how Venus is close to Earth...compared to Jupiter. So, yes, they leave near my father, but it's still nearly four hours to get there, and not the 45 minutes I apparently kept dreaming up in my head.
Around the Indiana/Michigan border, Lucy began coughing in the backseat. When we stopped for lunch, she perked up enough to down her lunch and an ice cream cone, so I didn't really think much of it. Alas, when we finally arrived at Uncle Jason and Aunt Jen's, she was in rough shape. If we'd been at home, I would have given her a nebulizer treatment, some Ibuprofen, and put on her cozy jammies for some snuggle time, but we had only two of the three. Plus, Lucy was getting sick-sweet, which is a sure sign she's truly sick.**
I didn't think she was really, really sick, but we were far from home and on the cusp of a holiday weekend and what would happen if she were really, really sick? It's hard to not feel preemptively guilty for what you've failed to do in taking care of your children, especially when the risks are so unknown.
So: to the hospital we went! You get treated fast when you bring a little girl and say, "she's having trouble breathing." Lucy was a trooper and did a great job in all that she was asked to do. It came with so many fun perks, too: riding in the bed to her chest X-ray, using a breathing machine just like her brother, a new coloring book and crayon set, and getting offered juice and graham crackers all afternoon long!***
At the end, it was waaay too much for a sick, tired little girl. I'm not sure if they discharged us because she was doing better or because her screams were freaking out the other patients. (Kidding. She was doing better. And her treatment was exactly what I would have done if we'd been at home, so I left feeling a little more confident in my disease-diagnoses skills and $150 lighter.
Oh, and it gave us this amazing story. As Lucy was receiving her nebulizer treatment, the breathing specialist noted how exceptionally polite Lucy was - and it was true, she was so polite and kind and it was all "please may I" and "would you please?" Lucy and I both said "thank you," for the compliment, and on the specialist's way out the door - before the door had closed behind her - Lucy turned to me with her fever-glazed eyes and heat-pinked cheeks and said, "she's really fat!"
So polite.
Back at the Ross estate, Kevin kept the boys entertained and enjoyed the company of Lilly and her dogs. We're told that Peter missed Lucy and Thomas missed me and we all missed the extra time with Lilly and her family.
The next morning, Thomas woke at - no lie - 4:30 a.m. I came down with a killer migraine later in the morning and spent a good portion of the day reading back issues of Martha Stewart and waiting for my head to stop exploding with every beat of my heart.
The rest of our time with the Michigan Rosses was much less eventful and much more fun. Some lunch, some dinner, good Lilly time, no major dog-freak-out-issues, hot fires in the fire place, and s'mores. Plus, the chance to talk and finish sentences, despite one or another mother (and sometimes father) running upstairs to tend to whichever baby had decided to wake.
The thought of having another baby kind of gives me the cold shivers and shakes. But, seeing the children love Lilly as much as they do gives me pause. But not so much pause. Just a little pause.
*Actually, we weren't planning on it. I guess we'd figured they would be busy with Christmas hoop-de-doo. Then at Thanksgiving, Jen causally bribed us to visit by dangling a ski trip in our laps. "Come, come ski!" she beckoned. "You can do it for free!"
**With any fever, Lucy becomes the sweetest, kindest, more heart-breakingly adorable little girl on earth. I think it's because the fever takes all of her spunk away. It's not that she's typically mean-spirited or unkind, but rather that she (a) knows what she wants and (b) how to get it and (c) will stop at nothing until it's hers.
***One of the nurses asked if she'd like some juice. Lucy said yes. The nurse asked what kind she wanted, and when Lucy failed to reply (perhaps because the thought of juice choices was too much to handle), the nurse jokingly replied "how about prune?" Lucy said, "oh, yes!" And everyone laughed. In the end, she got grape juice. By the way, we now know that she doesn't like grape juice.
Before we left Indiana, we hid a few dozen secret notes for my dad to find in the days after our stay. The kids wrote some, I wrote most, and we all shared in the fun task of finding easy and super-tricky hiding spots. Peter especially excelled at finding the trickiest spots ever (under the refrigerator, anyone?), Thomas may win for most un-findable notes: most of his ended up in trash.
I love some of the notes Peter and Lucy wrote (or took dictation for, or asked me to write). If they were thirteen year old girls, their words would be almost harsh. Instead, they are just small children trying to express sad feelings in the ways they know how. Thus, Grandpa will find "I'm sorry you live so far away" and "I'm sorry you live alone" among the many "I love you" and "I miss you" notes.
We talk often but never really visit the Indianapolis Zoo when we're visiting my family. On this visit, however, everything fell into place, and we enjoyed a nice December day out with the animals.
Our highlights:
- the shark touch tank; Lucy was nervous (they are sharks, after all!), but it turns out she didn't want to fall in the shark tank. Peter was able to reach the sharks himself. So. Big.
- the sea lions and seals; we still sit in amazement that we lived so close to them in the wild for so long.
- the walrus
- the cheetahs, who probably wanted to eat Thomas, the tastiest and most tender of FDR.
- the baby elephant! Holy cow, I didn't even know to expect a baby elephant, and then BAM! Even though this baby was bigger than some cars, it was pretty adorable.
- checking out all of the venomous snakes. Lucy's mighty curious about venomous snakes lately. (She also uses the word "venomous" as a noun, verb, and adjective.)
- running off some energy at the playground. I'm pretty sure as a child I would not have been allowed to play at the zoo playground. (I can hear, "we didn't pay to come to the zoo for you to play at the playground!") At the same time, can I tell you just how much of a difference in attitudes a little free run-and-play makes for small children? No, we didn't come to the zoo to play at the playground, but playing at the playground allowed us to go to the zoo.
- and, most importantly, spending time with Aunt Kimberly and Grandpa! The kids loved peeking at animals with them, and we appreciated their extra hands and eyes on deck.
The sole disappointment may be that the dolphins were off exhibit. I'm a little relieved, though, since there are many signs in the dolphin pavilion asking us to whisper in the viewing dome, and I know at least one little boy who is incapable of being in an echoing room without testing out all of its reverberation. I'd hate to know the dolphins went deaf thanks to the little boy who loves the sound of his own voice.
*Mostly we're cheap and don't want to pay, but the winter features a reduced rate since many animals are off-exhibit. Also, my dad paid for our trip. Thanks, Grandpa!
I'm not even sure why this happened, why the face paint was brought out Friday afternoon, except perhaps that it was Friday afternoon and who doesn't need a good distraction just as the work week is closing down?
Things went from funny and cute to overwhelmingly messy in a frighteningly short amount of time. When faced with similar problems, I ask myself two questions. First, will a lollipop fix it? If not, how about a bath?
And to the bathtub we went. Even if Kevin hadn't found us upstairs with wet hair and suspiciously clean clothes, he could have sussed out our location from the bounty of clues we left behind for him, including the trail-like smear of red paint left on the staircase walls as one little one made her way up the steps.
I couldn't quite get all of Peter's superhero mask off. He left the bath looking a little like Robert Smith. Later, I put his hair in tiny pigtails and he looked almost exactly like a moody, middle-school me.
(photo courtesy of Aunt Kimberly)
I found a book at our local thrift store with a title along the lines of "messy, gooey, slimy, gross science experiments." Later that night, Peter and I were pouring over it, planning which experiments to try first.
Our first experiment was a total winner. In the days after, I saw the Internet light up with a similar experiment involving Alka-Seltzer, in one of those weird cosmic-timing things, but our version involves no fancy (or expensive) ingredients, unless you count the organic vegetable oil I used.* The night before, we'd frozen a mixture of baking soda, water, and food coloring in an ice cube tray. Then, we poured vegetable oil atop vinegar in a clear glass cup. We dropped the ice cube in and boom: little lava lamps.
The effect was pretty impressive in the world of baking soda and vinegar reactions. I was willing to change my mind once the kids asked to - and then did - taste the solution. I'm pretty sure they took giant gulps of grapeseed oil. Ugh!
And, because we just can't get enough science, how about more volcanoes? Thomas especially liked this one.
*I have an issue with how much food waste goes into kids crafting/science/"sensory tubs." I'm as guilty of it as any other mother, but it never stops my heart from sinking. I try to buy the cheapest materials for our crafts and save the good stuff for our food, but is this really a solution? The kids will eat our crafts anyway (tasting is a big part of our experimenting process), plus I'm still feeding into the consumer machine.
We've known of a small geocache at a park in Swarthmore, near our friends' house. I've never been eager to go because it's listed as a microcache, which seems way trickier than I need right now. Plus, won't Lucy be disappointed when we arrive to the prize box to discover there's no room for the necklace she knows is waiting for her inside?
In preparing to visit our friends for a playdate, Peter remembered the cache and suggested we give it a try. And so I wrote down some coordinates, grabbed my GPS, and hoped for the best.
What's the best in a situation like this? We tried our best, we really did. I tried to triangulate our coordinates while Lucy stuffed puffed kamut in Thomas's mouth. Peter wandered with the GPS unit, giving me steady updates as the numbers in the corner kept changing. "10, 12, 85, 52." Really, he could have been rattling off that week's Powerball numbers for all I know.
Thomas: restrained by the stroller, dulled by the cereal,
and convenienced by the snack cup
(not a proud parenting moment)
In the end, no prize boxes were found. But also: Thomas didn't wander into the street; Peter learned a bit about moving in two dimensions, and Lucy got to capture it all on (digital) film.
Also: we filled enough of our afternoon so that when we arrived home we did so with the reassuring knowledge that Kevin would be home sooner, rather than later. Filling those critical clawing-up-the wall hours was the prize we collected for not finding the prize box that day. It's no princess sticker or bouncy ball, but I'll take it any day of the week.
There was a fair amount of Christmas anticipation this year, although it wasn't of the opening presents sort. There certainly was some appreciation for and understanding that presents would be involved. It's hard to keep that message at bay when you're setting your little elves to work crafting gifts for others. I remain so pleased and proud that Peter and Lucy don't seem to be too caught up in the gimme-gimmes at Christmastime.*
where we found Thomas, Christmas Eve, hiding as still and quiet as could be
We woke Christmas morning earlier than early. Possibly around 5 a.m. There's a reason I'm blocking this from my memory, and it only has a little to do with the lack of early morning coffee. I pulled out the Charlie Brown Christmas special to babysit Peter and Lucy while Kevin and I struggled to work ourselves into Christmas cheer.
Here's where I should clarify: 5 a.m. on Christmas Day in central Indiana is dark. Dark, dark, dark. The sun rises around 7:30 a.m. So, at 5 a.m., when our children seemed so eager to great the day, it's still twilight outside. There were still coyotes roaming the streets.
headed into 6 a.m. mass - oh, I mean 8 a.m. mass.
The upshot of the early rise is that we were on time for early church! No crowds, no getting shoved to the middle of the pew, and some weak singing: it's all part of the early church experience. We were disappointed by the Christmas carol selection, as Peter and Lucy could really have crooned along with many in the songbook.**
After church (and a fancy coffee drink for me - Kevin took pity on my bleary-eyed delirium), we returned to Grandpa's house for some present opening and exchanging.The gifts were well selected and little eyes were wide with wonder and amazement as they opened boxes filled with special things, just for them. Peter again stole the award for "most joyful look opening Christmas present" when his eyes lit up at seeing a sword and shield.***
I cooked breakfast for our small gathering, and it was here that my mother's presence was really missed. Her touches at Christmas were always so nice, so thoughtful, so perfect, and showed her love for her family. These things are missed, to be sure. Decorations are festive, cookies are delicious, and well-wrapped presents look lovely under the tree. But it was a breakfast that I realized I'd stepped into a role I didn't quite want, whose shoes didn't quite fit me, and whose kitchen I've never really been allowed to cook in.
As a child, Christmas breakfast was the center around which the rest of Christmas spun. There were presents in the morning and playing with our new toys in the afternoon, but breakfast was when my grandparents would arrive, when we'd all sit for a moment and enjoy our shared company and the simple blessings of a special day.
We're not that family any longer, and breakfast no longer anchors our Christmas day. My sisters are adults with their own homes and families, who arrive in the early afternoon to prepare a table filled with lovingly crafted food, and who tilt our family celebration in a new direction.
chocolate covered bacon, definitely not on Grandma's menu
I suppose it's fair. It's hard not to want for your children what you had yourself. There is nothing particularly special about our "old" celebration, except for that it's what formed my Christmas memories, and who doesn't cherish those?
Baack to Christmas! My sisters arrived with their families and bags and bags of food for lunch and dinner. Lucy looked in amazement at her cousin Abby's pink hair, Peter was enthralled by Scott's stories of life in the Navy, and they were super excited to open even more presents! The kids are so easy to please, really, and bloom with just the smallest bit of attention.
This may be the last Christmas we spend away from home. It depends, in part, on where we end up next year. Kevin's school schedule makes visiting family at Christmas time such an attractive option that it's hard to pass up. Then again, isn't part of the Christmas memory magic waking up at your own home Christmas morning?
Although, truthfully, Kevin may have brainstormed a more spectacular Christmas memory-maker that has nothing to do with waking up Christmas morning in your own cozy bed. Stay tuned for Family Christmas, FDR style!
*Not watching television helps in a biiiig way. Also: a reasonably small and heterogeneous social circle. But please, please, please do not misread what I've written above. Lucy, especially, would clamor for every pink/purple/sparkly/fancy/frilly/doll-related toy on earth if she knew of them. (Actually, thinking about this, she wouldn't be that bad. But if there's a wanter in the family, it's her.)
**On the feast of the Epiphany, the kids fairly shouted "We Three Kings," verses 1 and 2. We'd practiced all Advent, thanks to this book.
***Lucy's eyes, on any given occasion, light up much more than her brothers'. She's easy to delight and highly emotive. So, sure, she was delighted with her gifts. But seeing just how much of a smile these presents could bring to Peter's face really gives shape to what the gift-giving business is about.
I'm always thankful that we have The Children's Museum of Indianapolis to visit when we make it out to Indiana. it fills our visiting days so nicely, is the perfect distance away, and the kids are happy to make a return trip or two while we're visiting.
Truth be told, however, I'm glad it's not our local museum. It's great fun, but it's exhausting! I can't imagine how the kids feel when they leave, but I know that I'm ready for coffee #3 and a nap. Preferably at the same time.
For our trips this Christmas break, we made a beeline for the Yule Slide. Oh, the Yule Slide. It gives me an appreciation for just how fun the playground can be for the kids, and why Thomas insists on climbing up (and sliding down) the little slide in our yard. Slides are fun! We made sure to arrive extra early so we'd be able to take a trip or two down the slide before the crowds arrived.This year, Lucy was able to ride down the slide by herself.
(It helped that the kids were waking at, oh, 5 a.m. A little Christmas excitement, perhaps?)
(they shut themselves in this box and put the "do not enter" sign outside)
We revisited old favorites: Playscape, where the kids splashed and played with dolls and found another slide and dumped sand. This is my favorite portion of the museum to visit if only because the kids can wander more freely and everything is age-appropriate.
We rode the carousel and played in the fun house and in the playhouses and, of course, rode Sandy the nickel horse. Even though Thomas's face said "terror!" he asked to ride the horse again and again.
And, the dinosaur dig area, a great place for a goggle-wearing photo op.
And for something new, we took in a play. Peter liked it; Lucy and Thomas were not fans. It was an overly moralistic "next chapter" of the Wizard of Oz and featured shouting angry plant people (why Lucy left the theater) and the request that we all take a seat (why Thomas left the theater). Even though Lucy didn't make it past the first scene, she didn't waste a moment in requesting to have her picture taken with "the princess," or Glenda. Peter asked the Tin Man about his hatchet: whether it was heavy (it was; Peter had a chance to hold it), and whether it was sharp (it wasn't).
the sunroom, aka the screaming room
it's not a box
sibling love
this one I titled "???"
Jessie: "you don't know who I am? I'm insulted!"
Lucy: "what do you expect? you deleted your facebook profile"
Thomas, opening Doug's present
obligatory photo in the bathroom
they figured out how to make it go black and white
GeeGee
this thing lights up!
"you don't know who Sleater-Kinney are? kids today..."
spying on the adults
and lots and lots of pictures of...upholstery
Someday, Thomas, when you're a surly teenager testing your limits (and I hope you do), mumbling about how you don't get to do anything, I can pull out this photo and say, "au contraire, my dear. I used to let you wander public bathrooms like your own personal playground!"
And then you'll say, "why were you taking photos in the bathroom?" to which I'll have no good response.
I see you've already won this battle, future Thomas. Clever boy.
We did have some snow while visiting my family in Indiana. It was perfect for building a snowman - by the time I thought to suggest it, the kids had already rolled his bottom two layers.
I'm hopeful this will be the winter where we can finally spend more time in the snow than it takes to get ready for the snow. Since Thomas has started throwing a full-on tantrum when we put on his jackets, I think perhaps not.*
*And why, why, why? He throws himself on the ground and screams. I think it's because he can.
We gave our snow gear a trial run last week when the temperature finally dipped into the 20s.
Thomas can't really stand up or walk in his snow gear, and Peter's boots are just a hair too big, but otherwise we are ready for the first snowfall of the season.
Well, maybe not. The kids wimpered about the cold the entire trek to our neighbor's house, just across the green.
One out of every two trips we make up 76 to our favorite haunts (Zoo, Academy, Please Touch Museum, Franklin Institute, Smith Playhouse), we stop here for a pee break. It's the first place we can pull over after navigating the freeway and the bridge.
It's a joke that never gets old. We pee by the port-a-potties! Hahahaha!
(This usually is followed by a few knock-knock jokes. The kids tell the best ones. You know, "knock knock." "who's there?" "poopy." "poopy who?" "poppy diaper!" Hysterical.)
I jammed my wedding band and engagement ring on my chubby little fingers again. It's been about five years since I've worn them, and it's a small miracle that they're not lost. (They were cleverly hidden in my underwear drawer.)
It sounds incredibly vain writing this, but it occasionally happens that I'm out without the children and am freshly showered and wearing two matching shoes and have brushed my hair that day and begin to have a conversation with a man only to thing good gravy he's friendly and then realize ten minutes later that perhaps he was flirting with me. (And how low are his standards, anyway? Because even if I've managed to brush my hair, I'm almost always smeared with boogers.)
Lucy spotted the ring immediately and wanted to wear it. She asked and asked and asked, not in a begging way but it a very sincere way. Then, she showed it to everyone we saw, pointing out how sparkly it is.
I might take it off again. It feels awfully conspicuous. Also, Kevin and I have changed as people since its purchase 10 years ago, and it's like a funny memory of the people we used to be. Plus, I have a feeling with our lifestyle it will end up at the bottom of Crum Creek some day, a buried treasure myth to go along with the tale of the Crum Creek alligator.
At lunch with Bridget, Sean and Maelynn this weekend, I looked over at Peter and though, "who IS this kid?"
We tell the kids every day that they're not allowed to get any bigger. They'll say something offhand about "and I'll be eight and you'll be seven and Thomas will be five," and these facts - Thomas FIVE? - just do not compute.
It's not fair, of course. They're meant to get bigger. They're meant to grow and thrive and learn and become their own people. I want them to grow and thrive and learn and become their own people.
Just slow it down, OK buddy? I'm still sweeping up pieces of my broken heart from when I looked up at you and saw what you'd look like at twelve.
(1) Peter was given a Lego building kit for Christmas. After looking at it for a moment, he commented "you can only build one thing with it!" That's my boy! (Also, wasn't this bit on Community spot on?)
(2) The kids were given Aunt Kimberly's Tickle-Me-Elmo over the summer, and he's been a major character in their pretend play. I'd be bummed out, but they call him Sam. He's managed to take on his own life.
(3) As I tackled a huge pile of dishes (with my trusty dish-duty helper Thomas), Peter and Lucy fell into all sorts of mischief. They came running into the kitchen to show me that they were pregnant! (And how - dolls stuffed under their little shirts make quite the bulge.) Then, just before it was time to go to the hospital to have the babies, they decided to get married. The wedding, for the record, involved spinning around in what I think is an imitation of a slow dance, or some intimate kind of ring-around-the-rosie.
We took a walk to the creek today, to climb rocks and poke around unexplored areas and see what sort of wildlife is left behind during these winter months.
I often talk about the creek being our backyard, and here's a picture that really shows just how close it is. On this branch of the creek, the water is shallow and there are lots of rocks for climbing and venturing.
Every so often, Peter or Lucy would get stuck in their adventure across and down the creek and call out for help. I couldn't really help - I had Thomas sleeping on my back - so I'd call out helpful bits like, "I know you can do it!" and "what's the worst that can happen, your shoes will get wet? No big deal." Really, the worst that could happen is that they could slip and crack their heads open on the jagged rocks, but my job was to keep them safe, not scare them silly. Besides, most of their navigating problems stemmed from their fear of getting wet. They could make it safely across the creek, no problem, but for that pesky water.
I'm pretty sure we startled a skunk. There was a sudden skunky smell in the air after we poked around some curious hole and stick formations. Lucy didn't want to continue down the path ("but the skunk will SPRAY US! and we'll have to take a bath in TOMATO JUICE!"), so I promised her that if a skunk did spray us, I'd take them to the ice cream shop and buy them each a 10-scoop ice cream sundae. She was placated.
Lucy was hungry, apparently, and a handful of wild onions fit the bill. She ate this whole bunch and had the breath to match it. We looked for other green plants and found some new skunk cabbage sprouts poking up out of the ground.
The kids braved a large icy puddle today, walking across in tentative, slippery steps. We listened to the ice creak and moan and break, watched the water splash under the ice, and brainstormed ways to make our own ice skates. (The consensus: tape butter knives to our shoes.)
On days like today, I know we're making the right choice to stay at home for school.
Peter wanted to take our picture at the Please Touch Museum this week. Super sweet, right?
As this moment was being captured, I heard a bunch of splashing behind me.
Me (thinking): Wow, that's a lot of pee, Lucy. WAIT A MINUTE! Lucy already went to the bathroom. That means...
(Turning around to reveal Thomas happily splashing in the toilet.) Thomas! No! Dirty! Dirty!
I mean, for real people. Elbow-deep in the toilet. Although, his arms are so little that it would be pretty tough to be anything but elbow deep. Should I be thankful he wasn't up to his neck?
(I have pictures of the other kids, too. I promise.)
(from our annual we start the new year off on the right foot by eating lots of greasy diner food breakfast)
