#144 As Old as Dinosaurs.

 You know how we as parents will make jokes about ourselves, or rather, we joke about our kids and how they might view us? We might say,  “Back when I was a kid and dinosaurs roamed the earth...” I’m starting to think I need to clarify that joke. 

I’m going to keep these children’s names anonymous. They can read, and occasionally DO read this blog. (In case you’re wondering, that rules out Tommy because he can’t read, and Sammy, because he doesn’t read this blog). I’m not positive, but I think one (or both) of them might appreciate a little anonymity.

Now, I’m not sure what context I missed as I walked in on this conversation, it might clear the whole misunderstanding up. But this is what I did hear:

Child 1: They didn’t have printers back then!

Child 2: Yes, they did!

Child 1: No, they didn’t. 

Child 2: Yes. They did. They had prints. They printed stuff. Dinosaur prints? 

Child 1 (as though that presented a logical argument now stumping him or her): Huh. Oh yeah. 

Child 2: See? They had printers back then.

Child 1 (now convinced): Yeeeeah. 

It’s a joke. It’s 100% not possible that I, or your father, anyone you know, or anyone you did know, or heard mention of, ever lived when dinosaurs roamed the earth. We are joking when we say that. No human ever lived with dinosaurs. And despite (un)popular belief, humans invented printers. 

#143 Weeding

 As I was going over Jack’s lesson with him, it was time for him to answer questions about the story I had just read. You know, the part where you learn whether or not your child was paying attention. 

“So, Jack. What would the little girl do in the garden?”

Jack looked lost, but he gave it his best effort. Most stories we read together try to send subliminal messages about how reading is good, kids love it, it’s fun to do everywhere, yada yada, so he gave it a shot, “Rrrrread a book?” he asked skeptically. 

(He hadn’t been paying attention.) “No, good try. Listen again to this part of the story as I read it. ‘She would weed in her garden’...” 

“Oh. Weed a book?” 

You know how you never want to burst out laughing at a child when you’re trying to teach him something and he makes a simple and honest mistake? It’s hard. It’s very, very hard. 

#142 Go Fish

 Last Summer we went from being a no-pet family, to owning two fish—in two separate fishbowls. A goldfish, and a beta fish. 

Jack had won “Freedom” at a 4th of July  carnival and was doing a spectacular job of keeping the goldfish alive. Tommy had been given “Sea World” for his third birthday (and, quite frankly, did nothing to keep him alive).

One fateful morning I awoke to sadness. There was Freedom, dead on the counter. The three-year-old culprit had awakened before everyone and had been overcome with temptation. He had wanted to play with the fish—like, PLAY with the fish—the way three-year-olds play (not the way fish play, because, let’s face it, fish don’t play).

Ah, poor Freedom... and Jack; poor Jack. It was a hard day.

That story gives an ounce of context for the following. 

Sea World was dead—in his bowl—but dead. (And, no, I hadn’t been relying on Tommy to keep the fish alive.)

Naturally suspicious, I turned my interrogation to Tommy. 

Me: Tommy, do you know what happened to Sea World?

Tommy: (eyebrows furrowed in sincere contemplation)(eyebrows un-furrowed in conclusion)(also, nonchalantly): Probably someone came in and shot him with a gun. 

....

....

Me: Tommy, that’s ridiculous. There would be fish guts all over the place. Not to mention, a shattered bowl. There’s no way a bullet would kill a fish without destroying its bowl into a thousand tiny pieces—we’d be seeing rock, glass and guts everywhere! And think about it, if somebody really had it out for your beta—which is highly unlikely—poisoning the water would have been WAY easier and much more probable. Spray a little windex and BAM. The job is done  

Ah, I’m just kidding. I didn’t say any of that. But I thought all of it. Really, I had no response... but a smile. 

#141 What’s in a Name?

 When Aladdin came out, Grandpa did the heroic and took all the boy cousins to the theater. Jack came home bubbling with excitement. Thinking I had never heard of, or seen anything like, what he had just seen, he began to recount the entire tale to me. Two minutes into his narration, the following occurred:

Jack: And then there was this bad guy...

Me: Jafar?

Jack: (completely confused) Who? 

Me: The bad guy? Jafar?

Jack: (in a tone suggesting a complete lack of caring, and a slight hint of annoyance at being interrupted) Yeeeah... I don’t know. Anyway, there was a bad guy...

Yep. That’s my boy. He had just watched all of Aladdin—paying enough attention to recount the entire tale, and he didn’t recognize the name, Jafar. To be fair, though, I have read entire books, and couldn’t have told you the main character’s name. As Shakespeare once said, “What’s in a name?” (or, whoever that girl on the balcony was, that said that). 

#140 Not to Be Rude

Here is an oldie from Jack’s days as a five-year-old. 

Life hands us what we call “light bulb moments” from time to time; one such time was Haircut Day. 

I had cut Jack’s hair first, and he scurried off to Grandma’s to dawn the new ‘do. Shortly after, I followed with Sam—sporting the same new look. When Sam and I walked through the door there was Jack. He promptly burst into a laughter that only Jack can produce (it's a sound somewhere between complete joviality and heartless cruelty—you’d know it if you heard it). 

He not only laughed but lifted a pointing finger and said to Sam, “You look weird!” with his continued Jack laugh—and then an abrupt stop. “Wait. Is that what I look like?” As quickly as he had burst into laughter, he ran to the nearest mirror. “I look weird.” And he burst out laughing.

And that is when life handed me a light bulb. All these years I had thought Jack loved saying things to hurt people’s feelings—just for kicks. It turns out, he’s just saying whatever thought crosses his mind. If he thinks your hair looks weird, he will probably say so. And if he thinks his hair looks weird, he will also probably say so. 

#139 Crosswalk

Sometimes, children in large numbers complicate simple tasks—like crosswalks. As my mom and I were attempting to herd more than a dozen small children through a crosswalk, Jack somehow began to lag behind (this was not caused by large numbers, this is normal for Jack—the large number of children merely kept me from keeping pace with Jack to urge him forward). 

As Jack was about three paces behind me, I crossed paths with a man walking in the opposite direction—his speed was unusually fast (I can’t say for certain, but I attribute it to the high number of children, and a desire to leave them quickly behind). About one and a half seconds after he passed, I heard a thud, followed by the sound of Jack crying—a collision. As I turned to help Jack, the man was now to the other side. It was a hit-and-keep-speed-walking. 

Upon closer examination, I could tell the man had been wearing a watch—I would guess made of metal—and I would conclude that the band was woven—a fact not important, other than it had left a perfect imprint on Jack’s forehead, where blood was now collecting (I’m telling you, unusually fast). 

Confused at how this could have happened I asked Jack (of course, only after offering comfort, making sure he was okay, getting him safely out of the middle of the road, yada, yada), “Did you not see the man?” He replied that he had not. So I asked, “Were you looking down at the street?”

And then Jack said something that shed light on SO many of my dealings with him, “I was looking right at him. I just didn’t see him.” 

Yes. Yes, that’s exactly it. You are looking right at me... 

#138 Observations.

Getting to observe the qualities and strengths of my children is one of the most rewarding aspects of motherhood. Hallie observes everything. If an item is lost in our house, we have only to ask Hallie. “In the basement, next to the buckets, under the purple dress that was  thrown on the floor,” she might say. And she would be right. (In fact, she did say, and she was right.)

Jack, on the other hand. 

As a four-year-old, he stepped outside one morning...

 “Mama, who put the mountains there?” He said,  gesturing to the beautiful snow-covered peaks that span the horizon and fill our view each time we open the front door. Assuming he was wondering how mountains came to be, I answered, “Jesus created them.” 

In an enthusiastically shocked tone he asked, “Last night??!”

Ope. Nope. He’d just never noticed them before. 

#137 Put My Little Shoes Away

It’s been too long since I’ve written. Many, many cute things have been said and forgotten. But, I begin again.

A song that has been handed down from my grandmother to my mother, and from my mother to me, I now sing to my children. It’s Jack’s favorite. He requests it as often as as he requests a lullaby. It tells of a small boy who is dying, and he wishes for his mother to put his shoes away—saving them for his baby brother when he grows bigger.  It is sung from the boy’s perspective and some of the repeating lyrics are,  “Do this one thing for me, Mother; put my little shoes away.”

One night, after I had finished the song, Jack sat in silence a few moments. Then, sweetly he asked, “Mama, did that really happen?”

Assuming that most folk songs have been inspired by people’s real experiences, and hoping for the feeling to sink deep into Jack’s heart I said, “Yes. It did.”

He was quiet a few moments and very thoughtful. With the sincerity of a sweet five-year-old he said tenderly, “That’s sad.”

It worked; the sweet sentiment had touched him. He continued, “And weird that he would sing about it.”

Annnnd.... back to five-year-old-boy logic. Clearly, Jack was right. If the boy had actually sung his request, it would have been strange—I should have clarified. Jack, you are too lovable!

#136 I'm Never Wrong

I had my brother's kids over for the afternoon. His little girl, Constance, is absolutely adorable. The type of adorable that speaks like an adult,  acts like teenager, and is in the body of a four-year-old. This was a snippet of conversation I overheard:

Luke: (speaking to someone else) Connie thought it was a girl and I thought it was a boy. So I was right and she was wrong.

Constance: I wasn't wrong... (tilting her head and raising her eyebrows) I just wasn't right.

I hadn't realized that sentiment started so young. But I am definitely familiar with the sentiment.

#135 That's Mean of You

While Jack was in the bathroom his attention was on the footstool by the sink. He asked, "Mama, did you get that stool just for me?"

A reasonable question, since he's the only one that needs it. But not wanting him to be territorial I kindly said, "No, I got it for everyone."

He replied his usual, "Oh." and asked, "Is it the one from the church."

Misunderstanding. I assumed he meant like the one from the church. He didn't. He was legitimately questioning if I had kifed the stool from the church bathroom.

I said, "Yep, uh-huh."

And casually he responded, "That's mean of you. Jesus wants his stool back."

#134 I'm Hungry

You know the child who is always hungry? That's Jack. Only, he's not actually always hungry. But years down the road, I want it remembered that he always said he was.

At least, he almost always says he is. There are two times in his life when Jack uses this phrase. When he is actually hungry (which is rather frequent), and when someone, to whom he doesn’t wish to speak, speaks to him. In other words, at all social gatherings.

Stranger (or rather, good friend or relative, who has seen Jack a dozen times, and is more than friendly): Hey, Jack! Wow, you're getting so big! How are you?

Jack: (ignoring stranger) Mama, I'm hungry.

We all have a coping mechanism, I guess.

Most people gain weight over the holidays because of the surplus goodies, snacks, and feasts. Jack gains weight because of the surplus social gatherings and parties and people wanting to converse. Oh, I love my "hungry" Jack!

#133 Cow Hair

Me: Alright, Hallie, it's your turn to get your hair done.
Hallie: Are you going to put a cow in my hair today?
Me: (complete confusion) Uh, no. Nope, I'm not. (still confused)
(a few moments of silence as I brush her hair)
Me: (still confused)What do you mean, put a cow in your hair?
Hallie: Wait. What's it called? Oh, a moose! Are you going to put that in my hair?
Me: (OOOoooh! I get it now! inward laughter--outward try-to-conceal smirk) Mousse! Oh, mousse!!! I see, it's called 'mousse.' And, nope. Not today.

#132 Wipe Away Kisses

Jack, out of the blue, came up to me and said, "Mama, I can give you a kiss and I won't even do this," and then he wiped his mouth off with his arm (which is his custom whenever I've given him, or he's given me, a kiss). This was completely at random. I've never said ANYTHING about him wiping kisses away.

So, Jack leaned in and gave me a kiss—to which, I said, "Jack! That is so sweet! And you're not even gonna wipe your mouth?" But, to appreciate the fullness of what happened next, you have to realize that after I got the word “sweet” out, Jack froze—his arm halfway to his mouth. He realized he couldn't do it! He couldn’t not wipe his mouth, but the rest of my words had already spilled out, and he felt an obligation to keep his promise. 

He stood frozen about six seconds, slowly turned around, and with his back to me, discretely wiped his mouth. He then turned around, pretending nothing had happened, grinning as though he'd just done the sweetest thing. And, kind of, he had.

#131 What's on Your Hands?

Jack's face was covered with... something shiny and sticky. He held up his hands like he was showing me something. Assuming it to be more shiny and sticky I asked him, "Jack what's on your hands?" He lifted his eyebrows in an "are you seriously calling yourself an adult and asking me THAT" kind of way and said, "Fingers," in a tone to match. Yeah, asking him to name body parts is so ten months ago... WHAT was I thinking?

#130 Bugs and Bald

This entire scene was... sweet humor. There wasn't a particular punch line that got me. It just captured my two-year-old, Jack, perfectly.

The sun was shining and our family was sitting on the lawn with Grandpa and some of the aunts and uncles. Jack was stomping around acting like... something that roared. And stomped. Grandpa was lying on his stomach so Jack naturally took his course right on top of Grandpa's back, stomping and roaring all the while.

He finally settled right in front of grandpa so that their heads were level with each other. You know the scenes from the movies where the wanna-be-macho-man is in the middle of demonstrating his machismo when a spider, or other such device, produces from him a scream akin to that of a little girl? You think to yourself that it is perhaps a little over-the-top dramatized, because even most little girls don't really scream like that... I'm convinced writers of such scenes have witnessed events such as the one I was now beholding.

Jack, turning to talk to grandpa, found himself face to face with a mosquito resting on grandpa's forehead. The scream described burst forth from Jack lasting no less than seven seconds. Simultaneously he slapped the mosquito-and grandpa's forehead.  Leaving his hand there after about three seconds he began rubbing soothingly grandpa's head. His look went from sympathetic to confused. He kept rubbing and asked, "Grandpa? Where did your hair go?"

If you are curious as to how he responded, I will simply tell you that about a month and a half later we found ourselves in severe wind, Jack clutched his hair and frantically tried to find shelter. I will let your imagination draw conclusions.

#129 Burping?

Jack wanted to be potty trained. I was not in the mood to potty train. Don't get me wrong, I eventually want him in underwear, but we have a trip to Disneyland planned, and boarding on It's a Small World would be the wrong time to hear, "I need to go potty!" (not to mention the ten accidents I cleaned up after last potty-training attempt).

That being said, I was willing to let him wear underwear until his first accident. Why not? I thoroughly explained the cans and can'ts of underwear (toilet, yes-underwear, no) gave him some undies, and said, "have fun!"

Ten minutes later he was mid-sentence about something else when he froze, he looked around himself and asked, "Can I...." he paused for about ten seconds and then resumed, "...burp in my undies?"

We hadn't been over that one.

#128 Goat Head

My children were playing with cousins. One of them stepped on those aforementioned goat-head thorns. Those hurt. Her terrible cry prompted her affectionate sister to ask what had happened. I told her, "She stepped on a goat-head), to which she produced a look of consternation and asked,

"Was it alive?"

Don't worry. I told her it wasn't alive. 

#127 The Bike Tire

Jack got a new bike. His enthusiasm for it is almost unequalled. But, alas, the notorious goat-head-infested fields and roads with sharp pebbles, have had their way with it. Jack somewhat grasped the situation; his tires flat and his voice melancholy as he said, "Mommy, my bike is tired." Yes—his bike was not functional. And yes—it had something to do with his tire. Considering I’M not exactly functional when I’M tired, I'd say he got it just about right.

#126 New Glasses

Taylor went to the eye doctor not long ago, and to her delight needed a pair of glasses. She felt the transformation was as drastic as Superman morphing into Clark Kent, and was satisfied when she had proof of it.

In her own words, "Mama! Mama! Guess what! I went to the barn to feed the chickens and they didn't even recognize me with my glasses! I am so serious. They couldn't EVEN recognize me! Seriously."

And there you have it. If our chickens started behaving how we all know chickens behave when they don't recognize a person... the change must be drastic indeed.

#125 My Head

Hallie is a unique character. She has never been one to give or receive physical affection without obvious disdain. At least, I thought so, until there was a baby in the picture. Now I can say that Hallie requires the same amount (or more) of physical affection as your average four or five-year-old—only, she fills her entire "affection pool" by loving on the baby. She still squirms away at kisses from Mama, and hugs from Daddy. For Hallie, it's all face smashing, cheek pinching, body squeezing loving on Sam. Lots and lots and lots of it.

She said it best when she said, "It's like he's afraid of my head or something."

Of course, she said it in cheerful oblivion, in complete denial of the truthfulness of it. Yes, Hallie. It's like he's afraid of your head. Or something.