I saw Aidan's teacher this past weekend, and she told me what Aidan's reaction to Tuesday's earthquake was: "It feels like our trailer is being pulled by a semi!!" [a semi-automatic truck, that is, one that's designed to haul such items as trailers, a.k.a. "learning cottages."]
****************************************
Leo was looking at the belly cast (made when I was pregnant with him) that we have hanging on the wall of the nursery. He asked me why it was there, and I said, "Isn't it so fun to look at and remember that you were in my belly one time?"
He responded, "It wasn't fun for ME because I got squished!"
****************************************
After preschool, I was grilling Leo for details. He seems to have particular troubles with a boy in another class; they have squabbled before on the playground. Apparently, he wears striped shirts a lot. Leo said,
"There's a striped boy who's BAD, so you know what I said to Connor? I said, 'There are GIRLS to save.'"
***************************************
Pax is as reluctant as ever to speak, yet his receptive language continues to grow exponentially. Sometimes I feel like a fool, talking to a near-mute at such great lengths, but then he demonstrates his clear understanding of everything I've said. I've had to devise clever ways of saying "I'm leaving" because he clearly understands I'm out the door, I'm heading out, I'll be back soon, I'm going now, I'm on my way... now I say I'm vacating the premises, I'm exiting the abode, I'm traveling elsewhere, choosing different and more creative expressions of the bottom line: Mommy's outta here!
He is patient and persistent in his efforts to communicate to us non-verbally, which makes his silence much more tolerable; there are no tantrums over misunderstanding the desire for coffee, not apple juice; for banana bread, not bananas; for the car keys, not the sunglasses. And I'm encouraged by his creativity. After an earthquake aftershock woke him up, I was telling Jeff what happened. Jeff asked him, "Did the shaky thing wake you up?" His eyes got big as he nodded, then made his body rigid while he shook his hands forcefully, illustrating the "shaky things." Similarly, he's grown fearful of big thunderstorms, and has devised a sign for "Boom Boom Thunder." He strikes his fist to his open palm several times, quickly, showing "Boom Boom!"
We like to joke that our kids are on a need to know basis when it comes to plans that are iffy, or when uncertainty is likely to upset the carefully-constructed balance in our lives. We think the joke's on us, though. We think Pax has decided that WE are the ones on a need-to-know basis, and he'll speak to us only when he decides we need to know whatever it is he has to say.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
My Greatest Teachers
One of a child's greatest gifts is his ability to teach us.
This afternoon provided some entirely unwelcome excitement - we experienced a big earthquake, 6.0 magnitude. When the earthquake started, I was in the basement. I raced to the main level to find Leo, happily sitting on the couch, wondering what that rumbling sound was. Calm and quiet as could be, he was unphased by the significant shaking and loud rumbling; Pax remained sound asleep, and Aidan was kept safe and calm at school by his wonderful teacher. Later when he got off the bus, he was excited and amazed that we had felt it, too. I asked him what he thought of the earthquake and he replied enthusiastically, "It was COOL!"
I, on the other hand, was all shook up. But as I helped the kids process the event during the afternoon and into the evening, I realized that for them, this was very exciting. They didn't know to be scared. Aidan wanted to know all about how the plates beneath the ground shift, and what the ground looked like when it was shaking. He wondered about other places in the world where earthquakes are more common, and remembered hearing about the ones in Japan. He was excited to remember that earthquakes that happen in the ocean can cause tsunamis. Leo wanted to watch the weather, to find out when the next earthquake would be happening. He was convinced that our local forecasters had all the answers to when the next time the "shaking thing would happen." And Pax, blissfully oblivious to the shaking and quaking, laughed and giggled his way through the evening, jumping from the arm of the couch onto the cushions and crouching against the pillows - his version of hide-and-seek.
I, on the other hand, was all shook up. But as I helped the kids process the event during the afternoon and into the evening, I realized that for them, this was very exciting. They didn't know to be scared. Aidan wanted to know all about how the plates beneath the ground shift, and what the ground looked like when it was shaking. He wondered about other places in the world where earthquakes are more common, and remembered hearing about the ones in Japan. He was excited to remember that earthquakes that happen in the ocean can cause tsunamis. Leo wanted to watch the weather, to find out when the next earthquake would be happening. He was convinced that our local forecasters had all the answers to when the next time the "shaking thing would happen." And Pax, blissfully oblivious to the shaking and quaking, laughed and giggled his way through the evening, jumping from the arm of the couch onto the cushions and crouching against the pillows - his version of hide-and-seek.
Admittedly, I haven't been able to fully embrace the "curiosity" viewpoint of my children, nor the oblivion. But taking a step back from the worry and the stress and the adrenaline rush that the afternoon provided, they have a valid point.... what did the ground look like? Do the plates settle back into their former positions after the quake? Why can't forecasters predict the quakes? And what kind of wonderful poem might one write from the perspective of the "fault lines," who always take the blame?
*****
Browsing through children's books at the library earlier today, a story I've searched for many times but have been unable to find literally jumped off the shelf at me. (My recall of the title was just slightly off, and I assumed it was out of print.) As I child, I read it obsessively, loving the illustrations, the tender story, loving how very full-circle it is, loving the sweet bond between Bobby and his grandfather, Bob. Now One Foot, Now the Other is told with poignant and gentle elegance. Tomie de Paola weaves together the past and the present as the grandfather describes to Bobby how he first taught him to walk on his own, how to build large towers of blocks, how to eat with a spoon. Bobby especially loves to hear the story of how he learned to walk - now one foot, now the other. Later, after Grandfather experiences a debilitating stroke, Bobby slowly teaches his grandfather each of these skills again, ending with- now one foot, now the other.
*****
Close to a year ago, I shared the story of Pax's recognition of communion during church. Months later, Pax has created a place for himself at that table. Although our church is very clear that all are welcome, it was my own reluctance that prevented Pax from taking communion with the rest of us. But then, it happened - quite by accident, the first time. The pastor held the bread, intended for me, a little too close to Pax's graspy fingers. Too late to stop him, he snatched the bread from her fingers and clutched it in a white-knuckled fist. Pastor and I exchanged a glance, she quietly tore off another piece for me, and the meal continued. All were fed.
Since that day, Pax has continued to commune with us at the table. He has made a place for himself, insisted that he be a part of the meal. The squirming, fussy, busy almost-two-year old turns into a calm, focused, quiet child when we kneel down at the altar. Perched on my knee, he carefully holds out his tiny hands in a gesture similar to his sign for "book" as he waits for the bread. Patiently he watches for the chalice to be brought to him, where he dips his bread into the wine before he carefully eats. Each week, bearing witness to this tiny child who is so serious and so intentional in his communion, I become verklempt. In "Communion," "to share," Pax has taught me, has helped me to understand - all are welcome. He has opened my eyes to a new perspective, a new understanding of what it means to belong, to be welcome, to be accepted.
Close to a year ago, I shared the story of Pax's recognition of communion during church. Months later, Pax has created a place for himself at that table. Although our church is very clear that all are welcome, it was my own reluctance that prevented Pax from taking communion with the rest of us. But then, it happened - quite by accident, the first time. The pastor held the bread, intended for me, a little too close to Pax's graspy fingers. Too late to stop him, he snatched the bread from her fingers and clutched it in a white-knuckled fist. Pastor and I exchanged a glance, she quietly tore off another piece for me, and the meal continued. All were fed.
Since that day, Pax has continued to commune with us at the table. He has made a place for himself, insisted that he be a part of the meal. The squirming, fussy, busy almost-two-year old turns into a calm, focused, quiet child when we kneel down at the altar. Perched on my knee, he carefully holds out his tiny hands in a gesture similar to his sign for "book" as he waits for the bread. Patiently he watches for the chalice to be brought to him, where he dips his bread into the wine before he carefully eats. Each week, bearing witness to this tiny child who is so serious and so intentional in his communion, I become verklempt. In "Communion," "to share," Pax has taught me, has helped me to understand - all are welcome. He has opened my eyes to a new perspective, a new understanding of what it means to belong, to be welcome, to be accepted.
My children are my greatest teachers.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Quotes
Several drafts are in the queue, so check back soon. In the meantime, I simply love this tidbit from our afternoon together......
Thursday, August 4, 2011
To Have and to Hold
Ten years ago, on August 4, 2001, Jeff and I began our life as a married couple. At our wedding reception, we chose to dance to Israel Kamakawiwo Ole's version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow. At the time, we chose it because it was lovely and beautiful. Now, a decade later as I listen to the song, the words have gained a whole new meaning....
...and the dreams that you dreamed of
Dreams really do come true...
Dreams really do come true...
Yes - dreams really do come true. We are making our dreams come true....
I hear babies cry and I watch them grow,
They'll learn much more
Than we'll know
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world...
They'll learn much more
Than we'll know
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world...
Yes - our babies - yes - what a wonderful world.
And yet it was the rainbow that really struck me, when listening to this song anew. Significant and poignant, the image of the rainbow, a promise.
Originally, in the story of Noah's Ark, God sent a rainbow as a sign of God's promise to all God's people. The rainbow in our song choice represents the promise we each made,to love one another for all the rest of our days. My beloved is mine, and I am his.
And so the song inspired the creation of this montage, celebrating a decade of our lives together.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
I Don't.
I think it's probably the insatiable inner student within that compels me to respond in turn to this blogger's recent post. I mean, it pretty much demands a response, right?
Things I Don't Do -
1. I don't do Marble Run. We "lost" all the pieces and I can still play the "marbles are dangerous" card for awhile longer, but the truth is that Marble Run has the potential to reduce me to tears as I struggle to make runs that actually work. "I went to an honors college, I went to an honors college," I chant to myself as I try to force impossible combinations of plastic together as the kids try to avoid telling me, again and again, how good Daddy is at Marble Run.
2. I don't sort the toy bins. Pretty much ever. Contents of one tote, pulled randomly from under the table: Handle (only) to toy vacuum; drill, missing the bit; giggling cow that moos and shakes; two out of three pieces of a Happy Meal game; an infant inchworm musical toy, long outgrown; 10 Matchbox cars; 2 tiny dolls; 5 pieces of a puzzle; 1 bottle of "pop" from the kitchen set, originally given to me as a child. I rationalize this disorganization by reasoning that this kind of jumble promotes creativity and out-of-the-box thinking, because who know what kind of wonders could be created with an oversized inchworm and undersized dolls?
3. I don't serve tater tots. I'm not about to get all high and mighty and Jamie Oliver-y (even though I adore the man - and his mission) but I find them gross and weird. (Upon reflection, my perspective on tater tots is particularly strange to me, because I have no problem serving chicken nuggets - in the shape of dinosaurs, no less - but I draw the line at a reconstituted potato??)
4. I don't make my kids stop drinking coffee. Secretly - or not so secretly - I revel in the fact that Leo and now Pax are both Java Junkies. After all, it originated with the effort to get them to drink more milk, and has evolved into a morning - and afternoon - ritual that I absolutely love.
5. I don't do couponing - you know, the kind with binders and organizers and Double Dollar Days. I find grocery shopping torturous enough as it is, and I cannot fathom adding to the agony by visiting multiple stores, kids in tow, to save a buck. I feel mildly guilty at the register, knowing I could have had 15 boxes of saltines for the price of 5 if only I were a savvier shopper, but that guilt lasts only as long as it takes me to devour the bon-bons and brownies I bought at full price.
Things I Don't Do But Would Like to Do:
6. Golfing. I don't play golf, but I'd like to learn. Did I really just say that? I like to joke that I am a "golf orphan" since my parents have become such avid golfers. But I fear that I'll eventually become a "golf widow/golf childless person" since the male members of this family are so enthusiastic to hit the fairways. Hypothetically, it's a very appealing game - it's outside; it's a lot of walking; it's an individual sport, and most importantly of all, the outfits are adorable!
7. Allowance. I don't give the kids an allowance. For starters, who has cash these days? Before our monthly poker games, I always have to raid the kids' piggy banks for cash. One night, the tooth fairy called her neighbor/father in a panic, realizing there was NO CASH in the house and needing some money in exchange for one pretty molar. After pooling all their dollars and coins into one heaping stack, Aidan and Leo then stuffed it all into a tri-fold fabric wallet that they promptly... lost. If this isn't a reason to start instilling the value of a dollar in my children, I don't know what is.
8. Cooking with Kids. I don't do this enough. We make banana bread, or brownies, or cupcakes here and there, but it's all I can do to get a hot meal on the table, alone and in a timely manner; adding a child's help is too much. But as the kids grow older, I hope to include them much more in the daily dinner prep. Ideally, I'll cook merely 3 or 4 nights a week, and each boy in the house - including Jeff - will be in charge of dinner on the other nights. (Hmm... I better amend this to I don't cook and clean enough with the kids, because if I am going to unleash them in the kitchen, they'd better know how to clean it, too.)
9. Shopping on QVC. I've never done this, and I was too embarrassed by it to put it on my Rockin' List, but the truth is - I desperately want to make a QVC purchase. The rules I've set for myself is that it must be exceptional, something I truly love that is very unique. More importantly, I must call the show. I cannot order online, because that would be cheating. Must. Call. QVC. Bonus points if it's in the middle of the night when I should be sleeping!
10. Having organized cupboards. Unlike the toy totes, the disorganization of the cupboards can be fairly stressful to me. It is very stressful to Jeff (which perhaps explains why he'll need a few cooking lessons, too). Again, I rationalize the cupboards in our home (juxtaposed against an otherwise very tidy and organized abode) as an expression of creativity; who knows what kind of inspiration one might encounter when, reaching for a can of peaches, one unearths a bottle of mod-podge instead? But if one of the things that causes me to fuss at my children is their inability to find something because they've "put it away" in a "safe place," then I'd better be mighty sure that I can place my hands on that jar of roasted peppers or bag of risotto rice in the blink of an eye - without extracting a bunch of holiday gift bags, earbuds for the ipods, or paint brushes - in the process.
And that, dear reader, is what this Mom doesn't do.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Theme Songs
We've been busy. The good kind of busy. The kind of busy that keeps me away from the computer, my blog, as we soak up the days of summer like so many rays of sun...
When school let out on May 24, I'm sorry to admit my theme song would have been "I Will Survive." (Moms who have children who have not yet gone to school might be shocked and dismayed by this admission - I know this, because I used to be That Mom. But moms who have school-aged-kids will totally understand - week after seemingly endless week with ALL THE KIDS under one roof, with NO SCHEDULE, NO ROUTINE, and a frightening lack of "Me" time? Aaugh!!) Mercifully, my inner Aretha Franklin belted out her tune for only about a week or so....
It has been, it is a wonderful summer. Despite his Mt. Everest-climbing abilities and death-defying leaps into bodies of water, Pax is a much easier age this year than he was the past two summers. After the initial shock of having a house full of children - all day, every day - finally wore off, we settled into a summertime routine that I have come to relish. Our days are not extraordinary - pool; playground; crafts; reading; watching television, lingering over coffee, playing rounds of Uno before bed - but it's been the ordinary-ness of our days (sprinkled with some extraordinary adventures here and there) that have made this summer particularly memorable to me. Although I'll mourn the day that the summer ends (in just two and a half short weeks! waah! ), I'm excited to see what shows up in our Summer Memories Jar, to be relived and remembered during the cold winter months.
"Say what you need to say" by John Mayer seems like a fitting theme song for Pax these days. As I've detailed before, Pax is a gifted communicator - a completely nonverbal communicator, that is. We can't wait to hear what this boy has to say, if he ever decides to share his reflections of the universe with the rest of us. Hell, I'd even take "No!" or "Mine!" at this point. Say what you need to say, my boy! His receptive language is wonderful; case in point - Leo loves chewing gum, and asks for it often. Pax feels mighty put out when he's not allowed to have any, and at those times when I cannot discreetly pass Leo some gum without Pax demanding his own, I've given in and provided a teeny wad of gum for Pax to chew. The other day, I explained very clearly, "Pax, you cannot swallow the gum. You must chew it only. Understand?" Half an hour later, I wondered what kind of mulch or stone Pax had put in his mouth at the playground, only to find, to my astonishment, that he was still chewing his gum. I laughed at this tiny mute, this baby boy who refuses to speak yet who understands to chew his gum without swallowing it.
"All By Myself" - Leo's theme song, of course. As in, "I can do it all by myself, and I WILL, gosh darn it!" I love hearing Leo talk himself through his upsets. He's a veritable walking self-help book, with his ability to coach himself through his tantrums and torments. "No one will let me have any fun! I want to ride my bike outside but Mommy said No! I can't do what I want to do and I am here in my room by myself! I want to go outside! (silence) I am upset! (longer silence!) Mommy said I can't go outside! (longest silence still.)" Later, when I check on him, he is quietly looking at books, ready to move on to another indoor activity. I absolutely love this about Leo - his self-talk, his inner voice who coaches him through the hard parts of his life. And, like most other things in his life, from getting dressed to buckling his seatbelt to fixing his own coffee, he does it... all by himself.
And Aidan's theme song might very well be "The Song that Never Ends." His energy is boundless, his curiosity is infinitely greater than my attempts to answer his questions, and his enthusiasm for life is catching, just like the earworm I've just planted in your mind by mentioning this childhood hallmark tune. I feel grateful all over again for how healthy Aidan is this year, as last summer's autoimmune virus cast a dark shadow over our days. This summer, I've watched Aidan grow so much. He is most helpful in unloading the dishwasher, sweeping the floor, watering the trees, and even, on one occasion (and with the help of Leo) going so far as to change Pax's diaper and get him dressed. I love this big kid!
My theme song? That one is easy. It applies not only to this summer, but also to these tender and early years of raising our young family. "These are the days you'll remember....."
When school let out on May 24, I'm sorry to admit my theme song would have been "I Will Survive." (Moms who have children who have not yet gone to school might be shocked and dismayed by this admission - I know this, because I used to be That Mom. But moms who have school-aged-kids will totally understand - week after seemingly endless week with ALL THE KIDS under one roof, with NO SCHEDULE, NO ROUTINE, and a frightening lack of "Me" time? Aaugh!!) Mercifully, my inner Aretha Franklin belted out her tune for only about a week or so....
It has been, it is a wonderful summer. Despite his Mt. Everest-climbing abilities and death-defying leaps into bodies of water, Pax is a much easier age this year than he was the past two summers. After the initial shock of having a house full of children - all day, every day - finally wore off, we settled into a summertime routine that I have come to relish. Our days are not extraordinary - pool; playground; crafts; reading; watching television, lingering over coffee, playing rounds of Uno before bed - but it's been the ordinary-ness of our days (sprinkled with some extraordinary adventures here and there) that have made this summer particularly memorable to me. Although I'll mourn the day that the summer ends (in just two and a half short weeks! waah! ), I'm excited to see what shows up in our Summer Memories Jar, to be relived and remembered during the cold winter months.
"Say what you need to say" by John Mayer seems like a fitting theme song for Pax these days. As I've detailed before, Pax is a gifted communicator - a completely nonverbal communicator, that is. We can't wait to hear what this boy has to say, if he ever decides to share his reflections of the universe with the rest of us. Hell, I'd even take "No!" or "Mine!" at this point. Say what you need to say, my boy! His receptive language is wonderful; case in point - Leo loves chewing gum, and asks for it often. Pax feels mighty put out when he's not allowed to have any, and at those times when I cannot discreetly pass Leo some gum without Pax demanding his own, I've given in and provided a teeny wad of gum for Pax to chew. The other day, I explained very clearly, "Pax, you cannot swallow the gum. You must chew it only. Understand?" Half an hour later, I wondered what kind of mulch or stone Pax had put in his mouth at the playground, only to find, to my astonishment, that he was still chewing his gum. I laughed at this tiny mute, this baby boy who refuses to speak yet who understands to chew his gum without swallowing it.
"All By Myself" - Leo's theme song, of course. As in, "I can do it all by myself, and I WILL, gosh darn it!" I love hearing Leo talk himself through his upsets. He's a veritable walking self-help book, with his ability to coach himself through his tantrums and torments. "No one will let me have any fun! I want to ride my bike outside but Mommy said No! I can't do what I want to do and I am here in my room by myself! I want to go outside! (silence) I am upset! (longer silence!) Mommy said I can't go outside! (longest silence still.)" Later, when I check on him, he is quietly looking at books, ready to move on to another indoor activity. I absolutely love this about Leo - his self-talk, his inner voice who coaches him through the hard parts of his life. And, like most other things in his life, from getting dressed to buckling his seatbelt to fixing his own coffee, he does it... all by himself.
And Aidan's theme song might very well be "The Song that Never Ends." His energy is boundless, his curiosity is infinitely greater than my attempts to answer his questions, and his enthusiasm for life is catching, just like the earworm I've just planted in your mind by mentioning this childhood hallmark tune. I feel grateful all over again for how healthy Aidan is this year, as last summer's autoimmune virus cast a dark shadow over our days. This summer, I've watched Aidan grow so much. He is most helpful in unloading the dishwasher, sweeping the floor, watering the trees, and even, on one occasion (and with the help of Leo) going so far as to change Pax's diaper and get him dressed. I love this big kid!
My theme song? That one is easy. It applies not only to this summer, but also to these tender and early years of raising our young family. "These are the days you'll remember....."
These are the days
These are days you’ll remember
Never before and never since, I promise
Will the whole world be warm as this
And as you feel it,
You’ll know it’s true
That you are blessed and lucky
It’s true that you
Are touched by something
That will grow and bloom in you
These are days you’ll remember
Never before and never since, I promise
Will the whole world be warm as this
And as you feel it,
You’ll know it’s true
That you are blessed and lucky
It’s true that you
Are touched by something
That will grow and bloom in you
Friday, July 8, 2011
"Grand" Adventures
(Caveat Lector (let the reader beware): my creative writing energy has been focused on a more pressing issue these days - convincing our public schools to save arts and music - so I'm fully aware that this blog post is somewhat.... "ho-hum," as one beloved (yet ballsy!) reader described a different, recent post. While the content is rich, the delivery is poor. Mea Culpa.)
Once, they rode their bikes over to G & G's house - and then exhaustively explored the special trails my dad has created, winding all through their sprawling acreage. Another day, they played at the sandy, inviting lakefront (dubbed "Beach 6"). They took turns going down the steep water slide, straight into the lake.... but Leo was so hesitant and fearful of the too-fast slide that my dad spent the next day building a whole new extension to the dock in order to accommodate a less steep slide. Then there was the day that they all went to see Mr. Popper's Penguins. Grandma's enormous popcorn bucket fed the whole crew, which delighted Pax almost as much as the movie itself - he cackled and giggled with the rest of the audience and didn't fall asleep once, as he gnawed his way through a gallon of popcorn.
But this past Wednesday was a clear favorite. The older boys spent the morning creating Robots using sheets of cardboard, empty boxes, styrofoam, and other odd assorted goods (including a paper fan, some brass brads, and empty spools of ribbon). Meanwhile, Pax carted the boxes all over the house, looking important and determined to be a part of the action. Finally after hours of deliberating and creating, the masterpieces were done - and ready for their naming ceremony.
Leo announced, "My robot is named John Paul Leo. But you can just call him John."
(What a coincidence, I thought; my dad's name is John Paul.)
Aidan asserted, "MY robot's first name is Super. His middle name is Helpful. His last name is 1st-in-everything. So you can just call him SH1." Later he explained that some robots have letters AND numbers in their names, like R2D2 and C3PO. Similarly, he pointed out that his robot and Leo's robot were just like the famed Star Wars bots - one was short and fat, the other, tall and skinny.
I don't know if it is the robots, the water play, or the popcorn that the boys enjoy so much as it's the time spent with Grandma and Grandpa; the best part of my Wednesdays is getting to hear about the "Grand" Adventure. And so I eagerly await the report of this week's adventure.... Road Trip to the Science Museum!
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