The Barefoot Kitchen Witch

Must Have Been a Monday

 

Pencil in hand, and lined paper folded into four columns?  Check.  He's writing out his spelling words, four times per word. 

Wet hair?  Check.  Just got home after swim class.

How did swim class go?  Judging by the little star stamped on his hand and the giant lollipop dangling from his mouth, things went pretty well.  His swim teacher brought the giant lollipops back from her recent trip to Disney.  Alex didn't finish it, but he wore it well - especially the blue - all over his face.

Big Icicle

Overheard Just Seconds Ago

(Alex and Julia are coloring in the other room)

Alex:  "Okay, little poparoo!"

Julia:  "What's poparoo?"

Alex:  "It means 'pardner'."

Julia:  "Oh, okay."

(They watched "Toy Story" earlier this morning.  I believe Alex means "buckeroo.")

At the Window

 

The cats are watching seagulls circle above our house.  I'd finally tossed out the remaining cookies from Christmas - threw them onto the ice-encrusted snow in our back yard, and as I was doing so, a crow, high in a tree several houses down from ours, notified every large bird in a ten mile radius.

Soon the gulls arrived, circling above the house, then above the yard, and finally, a few at a time, dropping down to grab pieces of lebkuchen (I made waaaaaaaaaaay too many), sugar cookies, and crusts of stale bread.

While that was going on behind the house, the kittens and Alex enjoyed the air show at the front of the house.

 

 

Well, the cats were enjoying it until the gulls landed in the yard and weren't circling any more.  After that things weren't as exciting for them.

 

Alex loves the cats.  He's the only one who can hold Scratchy for more than a few seconds without Scratchy struggling to escape. 

But it's not THAT much more than a few seconds.

 

And by the way, Alex's smile just cracks me up.  He's got several adult teeth in various stages of growing in, two that grew in last year, and the rest are baby teeth. 

He's six and a half. 

That can't be possible.

And It's No Use Crying Over It

Do not walk too closely behind a 6-year-old boy while carrying a bowl of cereal and milk.

6-year-old boys are unpredictable and will sometimes whip around, flailing an arm or other appendage.

This could result in said bowl of cereal being whacked from your hands, flung into the air, and flipped over perfectly onto the table. 

The cereal will remain hidden from view, but the milk will leak out in a multitude of white streams and rivulets which will make their way to the edge of the table and pour down the tablecloth to the floor.

The little flailing boy will laugh.  So should you.

And when you lift the upturned bowl to reveal the pile of Golden Grahams, the little boy will say "I'm not eating that!" as if it's oh, assorted insect larvae, you will say "Oh yes, you will!" and you will scoop the cereal back into the bowl, add more milk, and plunk it down in front of him with a look that just dares him to object.

And then you will have to clean up all the spilt milk.

That's what will happen, should such a thing happen to you.

Hypothetically, of course.

The New Linus

Alex and Bill are looking through an "I Spy" book.  It's a large, Christmas-themed book. 

They're currently looking for a magnet, a wooden toothpick, a seagull, two pennies, and some other items.

Bill just told Alex he was having a hard time finding things because the page was kind of dark.

And Alex told him, matter-of-factly,

"That's what Christmas is all about.  Being in the dark."

Meet Bluey

 

We went to the pet store last night and Alex picked him out of the many little Betta males and females in their little plastic containers.  Bill was pushing for one of the Crowntail Bettas - very frilly and exotic looking - but Alex remained steadfast in his choice. 

As of this morning, Bluey is still alive and has eaten food.  Keep your fingers crossed for us.

 

Apparently He Didn't Read the Fine Print

Lately I've started writing down the funny (or bizarre) things my kids say because frankly, my memory is overcrowded with trivia and commercial jingles from my childhood, and there's no room for new stuff.  I can recite the whole "Challenge Yahtzee" commercial from who knows when- the one done by Tony Randall and Jack Klugman as their "Odd Couple" characters Felix and Oscar, but if Alex said something funny half an hour ago, don't ask me what it was because like I said, there's just no room for it. 

Anyway, I was rearranging some piles of stuff on my overcrowded "office" work table in the kitchen - piles consisting of cookbooks, kids' homework and artwork (LOTS of that), holiday catalogs, bills, recipe ideas, and those coupons the registers spit out at the grocery store for things that seem to have no connection to anything you just purchased.  While I was rearranging said piles, I came across a piece of paper on which I'd scribbled one of Alex's recent utterances.

I should also make a point of writing a brief synopsis of the situation, because I have no idea what prompted this, but I know I am safe in saying that I must have asked/told/ordered him to do something that was clearly NOT as much fun as what he'd been doing previously, and clearly I was infringing on his life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness.  

I think I'd asked him to clear the table before dinner.

As he trudged to his doom, he muttered "This is NOT what I expected."

Oh, and, by the way...

And Another One Gone (a Tooth, I Mean)

 

 

 

Oh, he's a happy boy this morning. 

He's been waiting and waiting for this top tooth to fall out so that he can have his name added to The Chart in his class at school. 

This morning after a breakfast of Raisin Bran Crunch combined with Smart Start, he was on his way up the stairs to brush his teeth and get dressed.

Halfway up he stopped and said "Hey, Mom, guess what.  I lost my tooth!" 

I didn't believe him at first - he likes to play little jokes like this - but he smiled and showed me his new cerealy gap-toothed look and yep, he lost the tooth.  Finally!

I told him to go brush his teeth so I could take a picture - or two or ten.

And so here we are.  Another little milestone - the first of the top front teeth is gone.  The other one is wiggly, too, so eventually he'll have that lovely fang look kids his age get.

Hee hee hee.  I love this stuff.

Voting in the 7th Ward, First Grade

Alex's class has been learning about elections and voting for president.  He knows the names of the two main presidential candidates (didn't realize there were so many - something like 9 on my ballot this morning) and also knows that you have to be 18 to vote, so he's got a few years to go yet.  His cousin, on the other hand, who just turned 16 "will get to vote in two years!  First he'll be seventeen, and then he'll be eighteen!" 

One day in Alex's class they went around the room and each child told everyone what sorts of things they would do if they were president.  Alex told me the teachers really liked his idea of "opening more schools AND opening more grocery stores!" 

They've also had a couple of elections in class.  In yesterday's election, Alex told me he voted for Barack Obama - "and he won!"  Now, we don't really talk politics much at home.  Bill and I are pretty much of the same mind about most things, so there's nothing really to discuss.  And so hearing Alex discuss politics is pretty entertaining. 

I asked him why he voted for Obama, and he told me, in a solemn voice usually reserved for important topics like Star Wars and Santa, "Because he made a promise!"

He didn't tell me what the promise was.  It didn't seem to matter.  Just the fact that this man had promised something was a big deal to my six-year-old boy.  Promises mean something.  They are serious business.

Bill brought Alex with him to vote a little while ago.  I went first thing this morning.  We vote at Alex's school - just a couple of blocks away and today was a perfect day for a walk.  Alex was pretty excited to go with Bill, and mostly excited that the voting was done AT HIS SCHOOL!

Apparently Bill wrote Alex in as a candidate against this one local man who was running unopposed.

I think if Alex was in charge, all homeless animals would be adopted and zoos would receive extra funding for improvements and expansion.  And all cats would receive lifelong supplies of salmon-flavored cat treats. 

Composer

 

Bill has about 4 different beginning guitar books he uses with Alex.  Not all at the same time, of course. 

Yesterday Alex composed his first piece, using the notes he's learned thus far. 

I am not a musician, so I can't really tell you much about it from a critical standpoint.

 

As the totally unbiased mother-of-the-composer, though, I can say that the piece is perfect and brilliant. 

And the title is "Scratchy, Scratchy, Don't Scratch Me."

Composer

 

Bill has about 4 different beginning guitar books he uses with Alex.  Not all at the same time, of course. 

Yesterday Alex composed his first piece, using the notes he's learned thus far. 

I am not a musician, so I can't really tell you much about it from a critical standpoint.

 

As the totally unbiased mother-of-the-composer, though, I can say that the piece is perfect and brilliant. 

And the title is "Scratchy, Scratchy, Don't Scratch Me."

Beth - You May Want To Skip This Post

Hmmm...you may be wondering.  Who is Beth, and why would she want to skip this post?

Well, I'll tell you. 

Beth is a dear friend who met my sister in their first grade class and have been friends ever since.  And s

~~~

Okay, I have to interrupt myself here.  I'm sitting on the loveseat in our living room and Scratchy has crawled up between the loveseat and the slipcover, and he's moving around under the green fabric like a cartoon gopher digging a fast-moving hole in the dirt, you know, where you see the dirt kind of bumping up in a mounding trail as he zips along...

Anyway, he was becoming disruptive to my typing.  Had to make him stop.  I whispered "neuter" at him as he sped along, and he quickly exited the slipcover and fled the room. 

~~~

Anyway, back to Beth.  So Beth has been friends with us for a lifetime.  It's that kind of lifelong relationship where even if you're all married and have been for a while, you still refer to each other using maiden names.  Because that's who you are to each other.

Anyway, some people have things about mice...or bugs...or snakes...or (sorry, Sheila) spiders.  With Beth...it's eyeballs.

And that's why Beth might want to go read something else now. 

Because yesterday, Alex and I got a bit goofy.   With a gummy eyeball.  Blue, like Alex's own real ones. 

And the pictures crack me up, so I must share them.

But to give Beth one more chance to switch over to Facebook or something, I'll put the photos after the jump.  Because I'm nice that way.

That Circle of Life Thing Again

 

Remember this guy?

Last February we brought Reddy home and Alex, after much begging and pleading and understanding of responsibilities, had his first "very own" pet.  He's taken good care of Reddy all these months - food, cleaning the tank (with Daddy's help), and bestowing as much love and affection as one can on a fish.

Now...do you remember this guy?

 

That's a photo (mid-shed) of the late Dinoraptosaurus, who passed away last March.  Apart from the anonymous neons and hatchet fish and so forth that have died, this was the very first time Alex experienced the death of a pet.  He was very broken up about it, and we had a rather emotional funeral.  In time, of course, the pain lessened.  And we still have the other lizard.  And, of course, the kittens.

And Reddy.

Well.  About that.  About Reddy.

This past Monday while the kids were at school and Bill was at work I was doing something uncharacteristically productive around the house, I think, and as I passed through the living room, heading for the kitchen, I glanced at Reddy's tank.

Reddy was sort of snuggled into a nook near the root system of his tank plant, which was not unusual, as he and his brethren like to be cozy like that.  I've even been fooled in the past into thinking that because he is tucked in there, motionless, he is dead, but when I'd tap on the tank (which you're not supposed to do because it stresses the fish but hey, he was stressing me by being motionless, so fair's fair, I say.  Anyway, I looked at him in the tank this past Monday and something in my head said "Um...I don't think he's just playing tricks on you this time."  I tapped on the tank right near him, and sure enough, he didn't move.  So I tilted the fish-shaped tank a bit and his poor little body just floated away from the plant...on its side.  Pretty strong evidence that he wasn't faking it this time.

And all I could think of, besides "aw...poor Reddy" was "OH NO.  This is going to send Alex into a several-day period of mourning and crying and I just don't know if that's really NECESSARY right now."  Alex, at least at this age, is very sensitive and emotional.  And I didn't want him to cry.  I really didn't.  I didn't want him to be sad and heartbroken that his first very own pet had died, and I didn't want him to think that somehow it was his fault. 

So I called Bill at work.  I don't do that very often, because, as a teacher, he can't just take a break mid-lesson and chat with me for a few minutes.  So I save the calls for the important things.  Like dead fish.

"Bill...Reddy's dead."

"What?"  He had to ask his students to quiet down a bit.  "What did you say?"

"Reddy is dead.  Alex's fish."

There was a silence and then "OH."

Yes.  We had an understanding.

"I'll see what I can do.  Does he know?"

"No, he's at school.  And then I figured I'd bring him with me when I bring Julia to gymnastics.  So he won't be home for a while."

"Got it.  Okay, I'll take care of it.  Did Reddy have any other colors on him?"

"No, just all red."

"Okay.  I'll see you later."

And thus the plan was made.

While I was watching Julia do forward rolls and walk on the balance beam and Alex was writing all the numbers from 1 to 100 just for his own fun in a little notebook I keep in my purse for times like that, Bill was going to a couple different pet stores in search of a Reddy substitute.  He left a couple of messages for me on my cell, updating me on his progress.

When we got home, I got the kids sorted out first and then headed into the living room.  Reddy's tank had been cleaned out and re-filled and there, swimming around like he owned the place was...Reddy II.  Bill had also cleaned the big tank in the basement, and told Alex later - when Alex commented on how clean Reddy's tank was (not that it was filthy before, mind you, but it was clear that the Fishy Merry Maids had come by and spruced the place up) and Bill casually (as casually as he can - he's not a good liar, really) that he was cleaning the big tank and figured he might as well clean Reddy's, too.

A bit later, Bill was building a fire and I was hanging out in the room, reading, while dinner cooked.  Alex came in to check on the progress of the fire - he and Julia had helped carry logs in from the stash outside - and then he turned away from the fireplace and gazed over at the little fish tank.

"I just love Reddy so much," he said.

Bill kind of froze for a second where he was rearranging logs.

"I know you do, Alex."  I said.

It had worked. 

Bill and I both felt a little...wrong...about this bit of deception.  But...it's a fish.  He knows that things die - he's been to both human and pet funerals in his little life, and there will be enough of them to come throughout the rest of his life.  So yes, we lied by omission, I guess.  We skipped over reality just this once.

But, you know, he believes in Santa and the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy, too, right now. 

When you're six, magic is a good thing.

Meet Reddy II.

 

Extremely White. Mostly.

 

Homey probably shouldn't be eating red fondant right before school. 

Cuz, you know, if he didn't have that pink tongue, he'd be oh, so intimidating.

 

Tru dat.

 

Kno'm sayin?

 

Word.

Dating Rituals of the Younger Set

My daughter, as of several minutes ago, has nine boyfriends. 

It took her most of the ride home to get the number sorted out.  First she said five, then seven, then six, and finally, just a block from our house, she settled on nine.

I knew of one.  A little boy in her Pre-K class.

Yes, Pre-K.  Just in case you are new to this site, my daughter is four.

Back to the boyfriends.  There's the one, Z, in her class.  She said the others "don't live there any more; they live next door."  To the daycare.  Oh.

She is so casual about them.  She speaks as if nine boyfriends was the norm.  And, I guess, if  you're a pre-schooler, maybe nine IS the norm. 

Their names, besides Z, are, if I remember correctly, Chewie, Lar, Pretty, Cutie, and four others that rhyme with each other but I can't remember the rhyming root, so I couldn't even make them up.  I don't think she's known them as long.  Pretty and Cutie are, as boyfriends for my daughter, a bit questionable.  Lar - I don't know where he came from, his name sounds Skandinavian or something, except he's missing the "s" I expect to hear on the tail end of his name.  And Chewie...well, I guess a big, strong, gun-toting space pilot is someone good to have in your corner...but I would have hoped she might have gone for Han instead.  Ah well.  And that brings us back to Z.  The only one with a "regular" name, which is why I'm just giving you the initial.  He's real.  And she's been with him the longest.

She and Z like to climb trees and - according to Julia - lick the bark.  I would bet he's a sweet, quiet boy who is perfectly content to let her boss him around.  Just a guess.

O, to be four and in love.

Of course, that's all going to change in a couple of years.

Alex, my son, who is six, is no way in heck going to hang out with a girl if he can help it.  At least not at school.  At this age, girls are icky.  He and his friends spend some of their recess running from the girls.  You know, so the girls can't touch them and give them cooties, or whatever it is the toxic girls are icky with these days.

Just last year, when he started Kindergarten, his first best friend in the class was a girl.  He attended both boy and girl birthday parties, and boys and girls attended his.

But that's all changed now.

And I wonder how they handle it.  This sudden separation of the sexes.  After all, kids grow and change and - eventually - mature at different rates, and how frustrating and sad and confusing it must be, as a girl, especially, to discover that you are no longer just a kid, playing with whoever was in your neighborhood.  Even if you were the only girl and played with a whole mess of boys - first it didn't matter, and now, all of a sudden, this year, when you are six, it matters.

You are no longer invited to play ball, but you haven't figured out how to play with the girls, because before, it didn't matter.  So you stand there, on the playground at recess, fitting in nowhere. 

And then, because you started out playing in the rougher world of boys, you communicate as best you can in a way you think maybe they'll understand.

You shove one of them.  Or you hit one.  Because, well, he's a sweet boy and you thought he was your friend.

You say HEY, look at me!  I want to play ball, too!

Unfortunately, they no longer understand what you're saying.

I tried to explain this, sort of, to my son yesterday. 

He, the recipient of physical miscommunication this year. 

But he's gone over now.  He's six, and a boy, and if there are other boys around, he can't be friends with or play with a girl.  Not right now, anyway. 

She will have to figure out how to play with the girls.  At least for now.

Until the boys learn - again - that girls aren't icky at all.

Asthmatic Response

Yes.  Apparently that's what my son had early yesterday.  Don't know what caused it, but the result was very shallow breathing, coughing, misery, and whimpering.  Very not like my loud, energetic little boy.

Brought him to the doctor yesterday, and they put him on the nebulizer twice and gave him a dose of steroids to start cleaning out the gunk from his lungs.  He's on the steroids for a few more days, and he's got an inhaler to use as well, as needed.

So that pretty much chewed up yesterday for me. 

I also had Julia in tow during the doctor visit/go have x-rays taken/back to the doctor's office adventure.

She was fine initially, but once she realized that telling me "I'm sick too...cough cough..." wasn't working, she resorted to other attention-getting methods. 

Things like...oh, annoying Alex with faces and a stuck-out tongue...then crawling around under the chairs in the x-ray lab waiting room.  And later, back in the doctor's office, waiting in the exam room, she parked herself in the old leather office chair in the corner and spun herself around in wild circles.  The chair only ALMOST fell over.  And that time she got her foot hooked in the cord dangling from the otoscope...well, nothing bad happened, at least.

And once things were winding down, and our fabulous pediatrician was writing up Alex's prescriptions, I looked over at her, finally, and said sympathetically "You really want some attention, don't you."

And she said "Yes!  I want some attention from THAT man!"  And she pointed at the doctor.  Who was laughing as he scribbled. 

And he said (because he has known Julia her entire little attention-craving life) "Well, Julia, as soon as I'm done I'm going to give you a TON of attention."  And he did.  He sat down to go over Alex's inhaler schedule with me and had Julia stand there beside him to "Help explain this to Mommy."  And after that, when Alex was on the nebulizer one more time before leaving, he sat Julia up there next to him and showed me, by comparing my two kids, how to spot the smaller signs of breathing problems.  "Here, and here, you can see that Alex is using the muscles in his neck to breathe, but if you look at Julia, you don't see it at all." 

And Julia was finally content.

Besides, she got two lollipops out of the deal and she wasn't even sick.

The doctor said there was a very slim chance that once the effects of the nebulizer (the medicine Alex was inhaling would hold his airways open for a while, but not more than 4-6 hours...then it would be time for the inhaler, probably.) wore off, I might, maybe, have to bring him to the hospital.  Probably not, but it was possible.  And the doctor told me he was on call that night and to call him if I was unsure of anything.

Well.  Slim is still a possible thing, so I dozed for two hours in Alex's bed, listening to him breathe.  Then I went back to my own bed for a few hours.  Then I woke up around 3:00 and went to check on him and listen to the breathing some more...and while I was in there, Julia had some kind of bad dream and woke up calling for me, so I took her out of the room so Alex wouldn't wake up, and consented to let her watch a cooking show for a little while.  I think all she really wanted was my undivided attention - she chattered on and on through the whole show while I tried not to fall asleep.  Back to bed at 4, and I crawled back into Alex's bed (it's a double bed, so there's plenty of room) and listened to the breathing some more until I fell asleep.  I woke up to find him watching me.

"Good morning, Mommy," he said with his usual good cheer, and patted me on the blanket.

Clearly my technique of briefly sleeping (or not sleeping) in a variety of locations kept him breathing well through the night.

Alex Cuisine!

Meet the next Iron Chef.

 

My Two Little Boys

  

 

A Sense of What's To Come

Yesterday afternoon.

Bill and the kids and I are hanging out in the basement watching Star Wars.  The original one.  We've all been kind of on a Star Wars kick for the past couple of months.  (Julia was calling it "Star Was" for a while.)

Anyway, we are heading into the final third of the movie.

Soon, everyone will converge back at the Falcon.

For now, we only see Obi Wan entering...silent...wary...ready for whatever may come.  (Alex sometimes refers to him as "Oobi" Wan.  We are trying to correct this.)

And then we see Darth Vader.

And Alex asks, "Mom, is he gonna show Oobi Wan the Power of the Dark Side now?"

Good, Gooder, Goodest

I baked some bread yesterday, and Alex was practically eating the handle off the oven door in his desperation to have some.

When the bread was finally cooled enough to cut into, I have him and Julia each a slice with a little butter, and they scurried into their little holes (just kidding) to eat it.

A little later, Alex came back to me, eyes wide, rubbing his belly.  "Mom!  I just loved that bread so much, I'm still hungry!  Can I have another piece?"

And as I went back into the kitchen to cut him another slice, he told me

"That's the best bread you ever made!  It's even gooder than sushi!"

And if you've read this blog for any length of time, or if you know my son, you will know that he could bestow no higher compliment on a food.  Or the cook.

Gooder than sushi.  I think, if I ever were to open a bakery or a restaurant, that's what I'd have to call the place.

You're right, we don't have any.

I was about to start writing a new (and overdue) bunch of posts just now, but Alex came in from playing outside and said "Mom, I'm hungry, do we have any bread?"

"Yes...." I said.

"Good, then can you make me that lettuce and strawberry jam sandwich?"  He curled, grub-like, on the chair in the living room.

(It's something he invented yesterday but we only had soft tortillas so it was a lettuce and jam wrap instead.)

"You want that AGAIN?" 

"Yes!  Cuz' I haven't had it as a SANDWICH yet."  He studied his knee for a moment.  "Cuz' I know we don't have any meatlope."

Cakes - Dinosaurs and Volcano - Alex's Birthday - 2008

Voila!

The dinosaurs themselves are plastic, but everything else is edible.  And I apologize for the bizarre light quality in these pictures. 

But enough of that stuff.

To make this one, I made very orange flavored pound cake with an orange-flavored simple syrup, which I painted on each layer as I built this little scene.  I used two 13 x 9 inch pans, a small bundt pan, and another high-sided cake pan (used to be Bill's mom's) about 6" in diameter.  The bundt pan was for the upper portion of the volcano.

As you can see, the volcano is currently at rest.  Inside, however, the lava is red and, interestingly enough, looks a lot like 3 pints of mashed up strawberries macerated in a little bit of sugar.  The "lava" is layered between the two rectangle portions and the mountain/volcano sections, with the remaining strawberry mixture in the hole of the bundt cake.  There's also some chocolate icing here and there, because hey - chocolate and strawberries, right? 

I dug a little depression out of the cake for the little pond.  Then I painted the whole thing with strawberry jam, colored and rolled out the fondant (that tan color was supposed to be brown - I should have added more color.  Oh well.) and draped it over the cake and patted it into place.  I trimmed it along the bottom in a free-form pattern.

To make the water, I used clear piping gel and blue food coloring.

BUT - that didn't work - the blue looked black against the green fondant.  So I scraped most of it back out and then just put stirred-up CLEAR piping gel in there - the traces of blue beneath gave the rest of the gel just enough color without becoming too dark.

I added a bit of black to the blue piping gel and figured I could use it as some of the lava.

I used green royal icing and the little grass or fur tip (Wilton #233) to edge the fondant with tufts of grass, and also added it around the pond and here and there on the rest of the green.

I used black royal icing and a #9 (I think) tip to do some of the lava, and the black piping gel for the rest of the lava and the "Happy Birthday Alex" part.

Why two kinds of lava?  Funny you ask.  Because there ARE two kinds.  Or, rather in Hawaii they have two names for the two above-ground forms of lava flow.  There's a'a (prounced ah-aah, if I remember right), which is kind of rocky and chunky...and pahoehoe (I think that's prounouced pa-hoy-hoy, but it's been a while since I've heard it spoken so my memory could be faulty), which is smooth and kind of pillowy to look at.  From a safe distance. 

Anyway, I used the two forms of "lava" and then used the piping gel version to write the "Happy Birthday" message. 

When it came time to bring the cake out and sing, I put the candles (appropriately) at the top of the volcano. 

Alex loved it.  And everyone else seemed to like it also.  And it tasted pretty good, too.  Nice and moist and orangy.  Oh - why orange?  That's what the birthday boy requested.

And for your entertainment, here are a few more photos of the cake, from other angles. 

And that's about it. 

Well, except for the most important part...

Time flies, huh? 

I can't believe he's six.

(Cue orchestra:  "Sunrise, Sunset")

Sigh.

This is his third dinosaur cake.

I think he may be asking for the same theme when he's twenty. 

My little guy.

The Peddlar

My Mother's Day came early this year, actually.

On Friday I attended the Mother's Day Tea at Alex's kindergarten. 

I thought about bringing my camera, or our little DVD camera.  But I decided not to.  I didn't want to be so wrapped up in getting good shots that I missed out on the actual event.  So no photos of Alex or the other little kids.

The mothers waited outside in the hallway until Mrs. Z, the kindergarten teacher (the most fabulous teacher in the universe), opened the door and told us to "form a straight line, no cutting" with a faint smile and a twinkle in her eyes.

One by one, she announced us:  "Alex's mom is here!" and each mother's child would come up to the door and escort (or drag) the mom to her tiny seat at one of the low tables throughout the room.  Each table was decorated with a pretty little tablecloth and a clay pot with flower-framed photos of the two children at that table.  At each mom's place was a small pile of papers, on top of which was something like this:

Funny thing is, Bill is usually the one who cooks the rice in our strange and glorious division of kitchen duties by food and part of the world.  Except I make the risotto.  Which Alex doesn't like.

Anyway, there were a few copies of tear-jerky poems with child-sized handprints, but since they weren't actual handprints made by Alex, they didn't jerk my tears at all.

There was a storybook he apparently thought up and illustrated. 

And there was my mug.

That's his name...a blue swordfish, a red giant squid (which he pronounces "squood"), and an octopus, all swimming above some seaweed.

And that black thing is a shark, and there's a snail and the gray thing with a pointy arrow thing is a stingray.  And down at the bottom, not that his class studied them at all during their Ocean Creatures month, but those are Patrick and Sponge Bob.   

And up high is a blue jellyfish, and way over on the top right, a penguin (I think)...then a blue whale, and underneath, a lobster and a crab.

Hee hee hee!

Anyway, the "Tea" began with a kind of demo of how the class begins every day - first a Helper is chosen, and this person helps out with listing the day of the week, the date, the weather, and so on...they practice their reading words...take a head count of girls and boys and then the total...all of them sitting in their places on the rug in front of the board.

Next they sang a bunch of songs, and after each song, Mrs. Z focused on some other part of the song - like, "And what punctuation mark is this?"  "And what does it mean?"  and so on.  They sang with gusto, especially songs like "Polar Bear, Polar Bear, Do You Wear Long Underwear?" 

After about 8 songs, they launched into the acting portion of the event.  I'd been waiting for this.  I overheard Alex reciting a familiar line from a book I remember seeing on The Captain Kangaroo show, of all things, and when I mentioned the book to him, he sort of froze, and then said they were "doing" that book for the Mother's Day Tea.

Anyway, a few kids were called up and held up sea creature masks, while the kids sang the song for it...(in which, one by one, sea creatures eat smaller sea creatures and are then eaten by the next sea creature up the food chain.  It ends with a humonguous whale who burps.  Naturally it is a hit with the kids.)  Then there was a song about astronauts...and then...the moment I had been waiting for.

Caps for Sale, by Esphyr Slobodkina.

And Alex was the Peddlar.

"Caps!  Caps for Sale!  Fifty cents a cap!"

Four other kids wore monkey masks and perched on top of a table, behind a small tree. 

As Mrs. Z read the story from a huge copy of the book perched on an easel, Alex recited all the peddlar's lines and acted out his portion of the story.

It was adorable, and yeah, of course it was adorable because it was my own kid, but also - just - the little sweet voice of a five-year-old (almost six!) portraying that of the increasingly annoyed peddlar as he tries to get the monkeys to give him back his caps (which, SPOILER ALERT! they stole while he was sleeping under the tree) is priceless. 

Oh - and the caps?  They used five straw cowboy hats.

Anyway, the peddlar falls asleep under the tree and the monkeys steal all but the peddlar's own cap.  Then they stick around up in the tree to taunt him, basically, as he demands the caps back:

"You monkeys, you!  Give me back my caps!"  And the monkeys, of course, just make noises at him.  So he gets angrier and angrier.

First, as he's hollering (in such a tiny little stage-frightened-but-the-show-must-go-on sort of voice!) again and again "You monkeys, you!  Give me back my caps!" he shakes one fist.  Then two.  Then he stamps one foot.  Then two (jumping up and down), until finally, he throws his hat down in frustration and, (ANOTHER SPOILER ALERT!) the monkeys copy him and throw down all the hats they'd taken. 

I can hear Alex's little peddlar voice...and see him shaking fists and stamping...or - earlier in the story - just walking around on the carpet, hawking his wares. 

It was the most wonderful production I have ever seen.

Anyway, there were some more skits after that, and some songs about mothers, and another really great song called "I am a pizza" - the second verse was sung in French - and then finally the kids all got to join the moms and eventually we had either tea or coffee (in our mugs) and some cookies and brownies and Dunkin Munchkins.  Mrs. Z had impressed upon the kids that they could take ONE OF EACH item, rather than as many as they could hold. 

So we sat together and ate our sugar and drank our beverages and I couldn't even think of a thing to say because I was just smiling too hard and my face sort of froze like that for a while. 

And when we were finished with our snacks, we gathered up our things, and said goodbye to his teachers, and headed to the car.

On our way out the door, Mrs. Z said something like "And didn't our little peddlar do a great job?" and I agreed heartily, and she said "We can always count on Alex."  And I wished her a happy mother's day, and that was the end of the Mother's Day Tea.

And besides imagining ways he might phrase his "thank you" to me when he accepts his first Oscar, or Tony, I felt kind of happy and content and good about life right then, because it's nice to know Alex is someone they can count on.  He told me that morning that he was nervous about performing in front of all the moms.  Actually, he told me that several times over the few days leading up to the Tea.  And I told him just to look at me when he was saying his lines, and pretend no one else was there.  But when it came time to do it, he didn't look at me.  He just did his job, tiny voice and all.

Afterward, he told me he didn't think he was loud enough for all the moms to hear.  And I know that feeling.  Like your mouth is forming the words, but instead of coming out, they seem to drift back down your throat, no matter how hard you try to project them.  But actually, I think he was heard just fine.  All the moms were silent.  For every kid who spoke a word or a sentence or made monkey noises that day.  All the moms silently cheering on every kid.

It was a lovely Tea.

May Breakfast

Yesterday morning my Dad's Rotary Club held their annual May Breakfast.  We went down, and saw my father there, resplendant in his bright red apron, while we stood in line.  My mother and my sister and her son arrived a little later.

While we were there, I snapped few pictures, and this one just cracks me up.  So I figured I'd share.  Alex clearly enjoyed his breakfast.  Especially the blueberry pie.

Yep. It's Strep.

I just knew.  There was that notice that came home from kindergarten in his backpack - the generic "a child in your child's class has tested positive for strep" form to give all the other parents a head's up.  That was earlier in the week. 

But there could have been other causes for the sore throat - at least I thought so initially. 

First of all, there's this:  Peppa Pig.  Just watch - or, rather LISTEN to - the beginning part of one of the little "Peppa Pig" videos.  Where she introduces herself and her family.  Hear the British accent?  My son can do this whole bit perfectly.  And has been doing so.  All the time.  Complete with loud piggy snorts.

And it makes me laugh every time.  Not only is it hysterical to hear an English accent piped out in my American son's little voice, but there's also the snorting.  Done with great gusto.  And not just any old piggy snorting, either.  No.  If you listen to the little video clip there, you'll note that Peppa pig has one small snort.  Her little brother George - two quick little snorts.  Her Mummy pig - a louder, grown-up piggy snort.  And Daddy Pig?  For Daddy Pig's great loud piggy snort, Alex has to take a great gulp of air first and then he releases a loud Daddy Pig snort with every ounce of energy in his skinny little body.  He actually goes up on tiptoe and clenches his fists and trembles a bit with the effort.  It's quite a show. 

Anyway, he'd been doing that over and over and over lately - so much so that he'd sometimes have these little coughing episodes after the Daddy Pig blast.  I kept telling him not to do it so much (while giggling, so I admit, I wasn't all that effective) because he'd get a sore throat.  But sore throat was so hypothetical as to be just one of mommy's caffeine-induced halucinations (much like her dreams of typing for five minutes without one or the other kid hollering about what the other one just did...dream on) that he just ignored me and kept on with the Peppa Pig rehearals.

So there was that.

And then, let's see...Wednesday night.  I put them to bed, read them a couple of stories, but Julia, as usual, just wasn't ready to lie down quietly and go to sleep.  I warned her.  And left.  Went downstairs and was making a late dinner/snack for Bill and myself, and then suddenly I could hear it.  The Crying.  Sigh.  I aimed myself at the stairs and flew up to the second floor and hooked a right, toward the kids' room.  Julia was in her bed, crying.  Alex was in his bed, looking worried.  I asked what had happened. 

"Alex bit me on the hand!" Julia wailed.

"Well she was messing with my bed!" Alex countered.

"You BIT her?"  I looked at Alex's little face, peeking out from beneath his blankets.  He cowered a bit.  Julia stopped crying.  It was clear that messing with Alex's bed was the lesser crime and she was probably safe from THE WRATH.

I was just plain tired and fed up with all the (very typical) sibling squabbles of the day, and I just pulled the blankets down a bit and snapped "DON'T!  BITE!" at Alex and then flipped the blankets back up.  And left the room.

And before I got to the stairs, the real crying began.

If it had been Julia doing the biting (which used to be the case), she would have said "yeah, whatever," snapped her gum a few times and swilled some apple juice from her pink leather flask.  She tolerates me because I'm tall enough to cook scrambled eggs for her.  Once she can see the top of the stove, we're done.

Alex, on the other hand, is very sensitive.  So even though he's perfectly capable of doing horrible big brother things to his annoying little sister (who, to be fair, often deserves what she gets), he feels enormous remorse afterward.  Even when we don't get all that mad at him.  He just takes it upon himself to feel terrible, beat himself up ("I'm just not a very good big brother!" he will wail), and basically condemn himself to one of Dante's 9 circles of Hell.  The one for not very good big brothers, whichever that one was.  I don't remember.

So he cried.  Loud, aching, unrelenting sobs of anguish.  For a long time.  With no sign of stopping.  Ever.  Until the end of time. 

And I was (still) trying to put together dinner (I tried making Coconut Shrimp, and it didn't come out the way I'd hoped, but that had nothing to do with Alex) and so right before I started frying up the coconut-battered shrimp, I went upstairs to check on Alex. 

He was still crying.  Sobbing.  Loudly.  From the gut.

Julia was snoring.

So I hugged him and tried to get him to calm down and breathe deeply and stop crying.  His face was bright red, his eyes were bloodshot, and there were slime trails running from his nostrils and the corners of his gaping mouth.  It took some time, but I finally got him to relax and breathe and stop the crying.  And we talked about how even when your little sister is very, very annoying, you still can't bite her.  But even though he did bite her, it didn't make him a bad big brother.  It's normal to get angry because of things your baby sister does.  Just like it's normal for her to sometimes get upset about things her older brother does.  That's just part of being brother and sister.  And it's not okay to hurt each other...but it's understandable, sometimes, to want to.   And then I tickled him a bunch of times to make him laugh and snap him out of the last of his self-flagellation phase so he could finally fall asleep.  And so Bill and I could have our dinner.

The next morning, Alex woke up with a sore throat.  I assumed, then, that it was because of all the crying he did the night before, so I figured it would sort itself out over the course of the day.

But it didn't.  He still had a sore throat after kindergarten...still had it later in the day.  I tried looking in his throat, but he wasn't all that cooperative.

Next morning, Friday, I kept him home from school because it wasn't any better and he was wincing every time he swallowed.  And even though he hadn't had a fever, I made an appointment with the doctor to have THE DREADED STREP TEST.  But I didn't tell him that part.  Because of the last time. 

Well, we went.  And the nurse took his temperature and took a peek in his throat...and then she gave him the bad news.  "I'm just going to tap the back of your throat..." Alex's face squinched up and he pressed his lips together resolutely.  He wasn't buying it.

And the nurse tried.  She really did.  But reasoning won't work on a five-almost-six-year-old veteran of the throat culture.  Once swabbed, twice stubborn.  I could tell she was getting frustrated.  "We could have been done by now" she pointed out, a bit of strain in her voice.  So we had no choice but to put Alex in my lap.  He's pretty tall.  I turned my head away so that when he jerked back reflexively he wouldn't break my nose.  I crossed my arms around his body and pinned his arms to his sides.  And the nurse approached with the second or third sterile double-q-tip stick...and it was no use.  He would not open up.  The nurse tossed the wasted swab in the trash and said the doctor would have to do it. 

And there were the two warring parts of me.  There was the part of me that knew exactly how he felt.  If I wasn't an adult (at least in theory), I'd clamp my mouth shut at the approach of a giant double swab, too.  But I can't really get away with that sort of behavior any more.  But once upon a time...when I was probably his age...the chair I sat in was big and red and high-backed and either leather or vinyl.  But it was red.  And my doctor - our family doctor - the doctor who had delivered both me and my sister - a kindly older gentleman with a Gregory Peck voice (as I remember it) - just wanted to look in my throat.  Not even a throat culture - he just wanted to look.  With a tongue depressor.  From the glass jar of tongue depressors on the little table opposite me.  Along with a glass jar of cotton balls.  And I don't remember what else.  He was tall, and I was very small in that big red chair.  And I did NOT want that yucky dry wooden stick pressing on the back of my tongue and making my stomach clench and my throat tighten in that awful gagging feeling, like I might throw up.  No way.  And so I didn't cooperate.  And no amount of sweet talk or logic could change my mind.  And so eventually my mother and the nurse had to hold me still so Doctor Gregory Peck could shine his little tiny flashlight on my squirming throat and see that it was fine and normal and pink.

So here we are, thirty-some years later, and it's history repeating itself.  So I really sympathised with Alex during all this.

And at the same time, I just wanted to get this DONE so we could know for sure that yes, it's strep, and get our prescription for whatever antibiotic the doctor would put him on, get some apple juice and go home.  Just suck it up and do it!!!  That's what the other part of me was feeling.  I'm not proud of it, but I just knew that if he didn't open up and let someone swab him, it would turn ugly.

The doctor came in slow and friendly and just wanting to talk.  She was casual.  "So, what are you here for?" Feigning ignorance.  "Does your...leg hurt?"  With a slightly exaggerated look of puzzled concern on her face.  And so she went on like that for a bit, soothing and hypnotic.  Not even the least bit interested in his throat at all.  No sirree, Bob.  Not one bit.  And then she asked, hands behind her back, if she could just peek in his mouth for a second.  Just look.  So he opened up, and she could clearly see what I had seen and what the nurse had seen.  It was red.  And yucky.  And most likely it was strep.  But.  She still needed to do the test.  So she started laying the trap. 

"You know, I've got two boys and a girl, and they don't like having it done, either." she said, wrinkling her nose and shaking her head.  (I love all the doctors in this office.  They are all so patient and caring and understanding and wonderful.  By the way.)  "So," she continued, "when they have to have it done, they lie down on here,"  she tapped the exam table he was kneeling on, poised for flight, "and it's just a quick tap and it's over with.  That's how they do it and it's much easier."  And I'm nodding along with her, encouragingly, understanding that this way they have no where to back up.  Hmmm...maybe. 

We got Alex to lie down...and the doctor had me hold his hands down alongside his hips, and she took the point position near his face.  Tongue depressor in her left hand, swab in her right.  Still purring that it would be just a tap - and then all done with.

"But it'll still make me frow up" Alex said.  He's no dummy.

"Well, no, it'll just make you cough a bit - ek ek - but that's it" she told him.  (Okay, I know "ek ek" looks funny but how would YOU write it?)

"Ready?" she said.  "On three.  One.  Two.  THREE!"  And he didn't open his mough.  Of course. 

She tried again.  "Okay, this time we'll do it and then it will be OVER with.  One.......twoooooooo.....THREE!"  Nope.

Well, there's no way to cut this long story short, but I'll cut to the end of this portion of it.  I don't remember how many tries it took - maybe four - but finally at one point he opened the right corner of his mouth about an eighth of an inch, and the doctor was in like a flash - tongue depressor and giant q-tips, working blind because he wouldn't open his mouth any further than that, and also he was squirming away and the only reason this worked at all was because he was smashed into the corner where the exam table met the wall, and he had nowhere left to go.  I hung onto his arms, and the doctor and I were sort of laying on his tiny squirming little torso, and I felt, once again, like a human manacle.  And like crying.  I'm so sorry for helping to pin you down, my baby boy.  Motherhood is not for the faint of heart.

Anyway.  Success at last.  The doctor pulled the double swab and tongue depressor from Alex's mouth - and she and I both stared at them in silence for a moment.  They were all bloody.  Oh great.  She's poked a hole in his trachea and now he's going to drown in his own blood.  Just great.  But of course, no.  She just said "I think he's sick," and left to have the swab checked for strep.  I figured since she wasn't freaking out about the blood then neither should I.  So I remained calm (so Alex wouldn't freak out any more than he already was) and I grabbed some tissues and caught the red drool as it dribbled from his quivering lower lip.  He cried and cried and finally slowed down enough to voice his real concern:  "I'm really not gonna get to pick a lollipop now!"

Because he thought he hadn't been a good boy.  A brave boy.  Someone older than five-going-on-six.  He had done what he considered, in retrospect, the cowardly thing of trying to avoid the people with the long sticks who were hell bent on jabbing these sticks at the back of his throat.  He fought with all his might to get away, and it took two adults to beat him. 

The doctor was back very soon.  "The test showed positive for strep in twenty seconds" she said.  She knew just looking, and so did I, but now we had the official scientific proof.  She wrote out a prescription and told me if Julia showed signs of having it, just to call and they'd call in the prescription for me.  No need to go through another round of this. 

And I asked her if Alex could have a lollipop.  And she said "Of course!"  And he asked, in his little shaky voice "Can I get a lollipop for my sister, too?"  And yes, of course you can, she said.

Alex was pretty well worn out after that.  He didn't want to go to the store.  He didn't want to pick out juice.  He didn't want to pick out something yummy for dinner.

He just wanted to go home. 

 

   

 

Wednesday With Alex

Yesterday (Wednesday) I was a chaperone on a field trip with Alex's kindergarten class (the morning K class) and also the afternoon K class.  Teachers and chaperones and kids combined, there were 63 of us on the bus that went to and from Mystic Aquarium in Mystic, CT. 

The..........kiddies on the bus make

Lots of noise, lots of noise, lots of noise

The kiddies on the bus make

Lots of noise

All 45 minutes each way.

Actually, mostly on the ride TO.

By the time we rode back, all the kids were worn out by sun and aquatic creature overload and lunch, so the ride was quieter.

I had two kids to keep an eye on.  My own, and one of his friends.  We all squished together on the bus seat and the two kids kept each other entertained for the ride there.  On the ride back, Alex dozed against my shoulder, and his buddy fell asleep leaning his head against the back of the seat in front of us. 

The kids had fun.  We saw the 3 beluga whales - two females and a male on loan from another zoo.  And the kids got to pet small rays (not the stinging variety) in a shallow pool.  Alex loved that - he got to pet 4 of them.  We also saw the sea lion show - 3 sea lions: two adult males, one was 21 and near a thousand pounds, and a "teenager" male - 16 years old.  The third was a rescued baby from California.  They'd tried to rehabilitate him after they'd found him malnourished and on a beach, but he showed up again, in worse shape, so they decided he belonged in an aquarium.  And that, in a little tiny nutshell, is how he ended up at Mystic.  He was adorable - about a year and a half old.

And we saw all sorts of fish and other sea creatures, including sharks, and the tentacles of an extremely shy octopus. 

All in all it was a fun trip for the kids.  We ate lunch in the blazing 85 degree sun (isn't it April?) and then rode the bus home.

Alex had a blast. 

Then last night, I took him to his T-ball practice.  Bill's taken him in the past, so this was my first foray into the world of organized athletics for young 'uns.  And it was fun.  All those little kids.  They practiced running the bases as fast as their assorted-lengthed little legs could carry them...they broke into two teams and played a practice game, so they all had opportunities to hit and run and field and throw to first.  They're still learning that it's not so important WHO gets the ball as long as SOMEONE throws it to the first baseman. 

Alex did well - and by that I mean he did just as well as the other kids.  He's average, but that's fine. 

At the end of practice, they took turns throwing balls at an overturned bucket on top of the T stand.  It represented the first baseman, and the idea was to hit the bucket, which represented his glove.  So they all had turns at that and then their coach's wife (our friends across the street) gave out little baseball magnets to all the kids.  She has also instituted four weekly awards - given to players who demonstrate various examples of good sportsmanship in the previous week's game.   She'd told me about the idea a while ago - I think it was based on some team she'd been on and the coach had done that...I don't remember exactly, but it was a way to reward and motivate the kids.  And at this age, it's a really nice bonus.

Alex was the 4th kid to get a ribbon (it says "Super Star") - his was for "Super Running" - because he ran the bases so hard in their first game. 

His face was priceless.  His eyes widened and his mouth mad an "O" of complete surprise.  He hadn't expected it at all, and was so very thrilled about it that I wanted to cry.  A bit.

On the ride home he told me "I'm starting to like T-ball a little bit more now." 

Excellent.

And that, for the most part, was my wonderful Wednesday with Alex.   

Fisherman - The Next Generation

Bill took the kids fishing this morning.

I could have gone, but I stayed home to enjoy a couple hours of peace and quiet, and to start catching up on all the blog posts I've been meaning to write this week and haven't.

About 11:00 or so, Bill called to say they'd be leaving in about ten minutes or so, and could I start heating up the charcoal for the grill.

Alex caught a trout.

And apparently just as they were pulling in the lines, Alex's pole got a bite and so then there were two trout.

Bill cleaned them on site there, so all he had to do was rinse them off and slap them on the grill when he got home.

And so today we had fresh caught, fresh cooked trout for lunch, and some rice.

And,

of course,

Julia ate the eyes.  All four.

Bill told me the kids were kind of bored there until they got a fish on a line. 

They also lost one - it got right up near the shore and then got off.

Bill told Alex to tell me how hard the next fish fought while he was reeling it in.

And this is the picture I took of that epic struggle.

Fishing.

It's not a sport for the faint of heart or the weak of spirit.

"It was hard," he told me through gritted teeth, "but I never gave up!"

 

Camera-Happy X 3

Okay, I've set up a couple of flickr badges over on the left so I can share my kids' photos.

The first sets (and, like their mother, these children are not hesitant picture-takers, so the sets are rather large) are from this past weekend - Saturday, when they first got their cameras, and Bill and Joe caught some awesome fish, and then Sunday when we took the kids fishing in the morning and to Southwick's Zoo in the afternoon.

I still haven't posted my own pictures from the zoo or the fishing trips - yeah, I'm a slacker.

But - I have to share this - the coolest creature we saw at the zoo on Sunday?  An albino peacock.  Tail feathers on full display.  Stunning.  Just stunning.  Just wandering around outside the zoo.  With an albino hen and a couple of guinnea hens. 

And so now we have three sets of shots of the same bird.

Here's one of Alex's:

And one of Julia's:

And one of mine:

Okay, make that two of mine.  It's my blog.

Amazing, isn't he?

Another Dollar Richer

From Friday afternoon.

I Have a Son

Yesterday I took the kids out to lunch and then shopping for new shoes for their fat little feet.  Okay, not fat.  Just, you know, always growing bigger, for some reason.  Why is that? 

Anyway, after finally finding sneakers that were acceptable and fit right, we headed to one more store before the promised trip to the carousel in the food court.  (The carousel was my bribe for good behavior.)

We went in to this last store, and I waited while the sales clerk finished ringing up another customer.  Then I spoke.  "Um, my son is playing T-ball...and he needs a cup."

First Day of T-Ball Practice

Alex had his first T-Ball practice this afternoon.  Bill helped him get his gear together, and the two of them headed to the field while I stayed home with Julia and made dinner.  It's cold and windy today, and we just didn't think Julia would be all that thrilled to sit on the bleachers for 45 minutes.

Anyway, I took a few pictures of Alex before he and Bill took off....

Hungering...for an E

I was working out in the garden this afternoon, and when I came in a little while ago, Alex greeted me in the kitchen, holding this sign in front of him and grinning proudly.

So I said "Well, I'm glad someone did." 

And I went back outside.

I know it was harsh of me, but dammit, if he's going to get into a good college one day, he needs to stop making these childish mistakes. 

He's nearly 6, for pete's sake!

Casting Practice

He practiced casting that line out over and over and over and over yesterday.

And he caught a salmon and a tuna, among other things.

Who knew such creatures could be caught in our back yard?

We ate quite well last night.

Dangerous

Alex has recently become aware that zippers pose a potential threat to his, um, delicate areas.  It's on his mind a lot, for some reason.  Not sure what started it, but I know I'm not going to ever let him watch "There's Something About Mary" - it would traumatize him for life.

Anyway.  He has concerns.  He will ask - "What if I got my pee-pee caught in a zipper?!"  And I cringe, and Bill curls up in the fetal position, and we tell him if he's CAREFUL, it won't.

So anyway.

Last night when I brought the kids to bed, Alex pointed out that there were holes in the soles of his feetie-pajamas and he needed new ones.  Which he does, but I don't want to buy new feetie-pajamas at this point in the year, since he'll need NEWER new ones next winter. 

So I said "I could cut the feet off," and he looked at me in fear until I said "the feet of the pajamas," and he thought that was a good idea, so I cut the feet off and gave the pajamas back to him so he could put them on.  Julia was dawdling in the bathroom, so I went in there to urge her along, and then Alex called to me from the bedroom.

"Mommy...it's kind of hard to zipper this up because the legs won't stay down."  Ah, true.  The feet parts aren't there to offer resistance when he pulls on the zipper. 

"I'll do it," I said, "just get your arms in."  I held the bottom of the zipper taut and began to zip up, and then, as the zipper traveled north, Alex cautioned me:

"Be careful zippering, Mommy.  I have a dangerous pee-pee."

He's such a cute little male.

Overheard

"Camping is like...having a sleepover in the woods!"

Greatest Show on Earth

We went to the circus last night.

It cost twenty cents per person, and for that we each got a green construction paper ticket and a seat on Alex's bed.  As we entered the arena we could see animals of every kind perched and poised and ready in their designated spots throughout.  This was not your run-of-the-mill Barnum & Bailey deal.  This was different.

Alex was the ringmaster.  He shut off the bedroom light once we were seated and switched on his flashlight.

All animal acts - no clowns or acrobats or things like that.

"And now!" our ringmaster boomed "The giant teddy bear will do A SOMERSAULT!"  And sure enough, that giant teddy bear executed a perfect forward roll.  We applauded enthusiastically.  The ringmaster blinded us for a moment with his flashlight as he moved over to where the next act was.

"And now!  The lion will roar THE LOUDEST ROAR!"  "RRROAWWWRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!"  It was terrifying, I'll tell you.  We applauded again.

A flash of blinding light, and then

"And now!  The cow...will do a stampede...WITHOUT THE OTHER GUYS!"  And sure enough, that little holstein stampeded across the floor all alone.  We were so amazed that we forgot to appload, so we had to be reminded.

"Clap!" Alex ordered, breaking out of his ringmaster role for a moment.  But then, with a retina-damaging wave of his flashlight, the ringmaster returned.

"And now!  Those two animals...the leopard and the chameleon...will walk on a type rope (tightrope) walk WITHOUT FALLING!"

We watched, holding our collective breath, as the leopard moved forward from one end of the multi-colored construction paper bridge/tightrope, then, at the other end, the iguana inched forward.  Our view was partly obscured by the ringmaster, who was standing between our seats and the tightrope, bent down, encouraging his animals along, unaware that his jeans were slipping down over his skinny hips, affording us a partial view of his Sponge Bob Square Pants underwear.  Eventually, as tension mounted, the leopard and the chameleon met in the middle and we wondered how they would manage this.  Would the chameleon hang by his tail so the leopard could pass?  Would the leopard eat the chameleon?  Wrong both times.  With grace and amazing balance, the leopard leapt majestically over the chameleon and landed safely on the other side.  Both brave creatures made it to the opposite ends without falling. 

More applause.

There were about 367 more acts, and really, it was a wondrous event.

The only annoying thing - and this happens no matter where you go - was this girl seated next to me.  She's brought her baby, and every two seconds the baby whispered "I have to go potty."  So the girl would sigh or groan - not again! - and wiggle from her seat, out the circus door, and into the bathroom.  At one point, I heard the toilet lid bang against the tank, and heard "psssssssssssss" as the baby was apparently held above the toilet.  Shortly after that the overworked little mommy returned, baby in tow, to her seat.  Moments later I heard a baby-voice whisper something and the little mommy asked, incredulously, with a sigh of resignation, "Again?"  And out they went again.  This happened at least 5 times and then apparently the baby was dehydrated enough to stop.

But apart from that, it was a glorious evening.

Looking for a Japanese Leprechaun

Alex's kindergarten teacher asked the kids what they would ask for...and this was Alex's answer. 

Circle of Life, Part 2

After we brought Julia to daycare this morning, Alex and I set about the business of mourning Dinoraptosaurus.  Alex had the day off from school because the teachers have a professional development day, and the timing couldn't be better in light of last night's traumatic event.

Alex wanted pictures of Dinoraptosaurus (henceforth to be known as D because it's quicker to type) "so I can always remember him," so we went through the digital stuff I had on flickr and on this site, and printed up about 10 pictures.  Not just of D, but also of the gecko we had briefly (I don't remember his name.) and the two frogs that we had before we got the other anole...the remaining anole...the vicious killer anole.

Anyway, while the printer slowly spit out the pictures, Alex said he wanted to draw a picture of ALL the lizards and frogs, so he did that while I waited for the photos.  I cut the photos apart, and Alex showed me the picture he drew.  Sort of a fantasy amphibian/reptilian family portrait.  We put that picture on the wall near the lizard tank.  So the other lizard can look at it.

Brief detour for a moment:

It's a darned good bet that the other lizard, whom Alex has named Cricket-Catcher but I prefer to call Brutus, couldn't care less about the recently deceased D or any of his predecessors.  He just wants to eat.  He does not miss D, or think about D at all.  But if Alex wants to believe that CC (or B) is grieving, then so be it.  I'll play along. 

Okay, back to this morning.  Next project was for Alex to put up the pictures we'd printed.  I told him he could hang them on walls, but not on furniture.  His thing was he wanted to put them in the rooms he usually is in, and in places where he could see them easily.  To remember.

He started in the dining room.  There is one picture on the back of the pantry door.  Alex faces this door when he's in his seat at the dinner table. 

Next - two in the kitchen.  One on the fridge, and one taped to the back door.

Two in the living room.  One on the wall next to his bed.  One in the basement on the wall near the light switch.

And, my favorite, one in the main floor bathroom, on the wall next to the toilet, about eye-height for anyone who might be spending some quality time in there.

I'd say he covered all the bases.

At one point during the picture hanging, Alex had to put them down and watch cartoons for about fifteen minutes, just to compose himself.

And the last thing we needed to do was the burial.

I told Alex I'd put D in a box and we'd bury him in a flower garden.  Alex wanted to make a sign.  A marker.  So I had to figure out how to go about that.

Oh, and it was pouring rain all morning. 

We started with the coffin.  Alex took the ziploc body bag out of the fridge (I've been re-reading Patricia Cornwell lately - it seems fitting) and I removed D from inside, and set him down on the table, on his tissue. 

Alex cried and said goodbye and cried some more while I taped a Children's Tylenol box together for a coffin.  I wrapped D in a sheet of paper towel, slid him inside - perfect fit, by the way - and taped the box closed.

Alex cried some more and I tried to figure out how to make some sort of marker that wouldn't disintegrate in the rain. 

I melted a popsicle under hot water so I could use the stick.  And I used D's ziploc body bag to cover the construction paper marker (which I glued to the popsicle stick).

Alex dictated the words to me and I wrote them down as he spoke.

The marker (in case you can't read it clearly) says:

"Bye, Dinoraptosaurus.

I'm gonna bury you at my house.

You had wonderful friends.

I am crying."

I wrote "Love," and Alex signed his name.

Beside the marker is D's coffin.

D was laid to rest outside in front of the sunken boat in the big garden in our front yard.  Alex held the umbrella while I dug cold mud with a trowel and my fingers.  I placed the box in the hole and covered it back up with dirt (okay, mud), and stuck the marker behind the mound.  We placed a stepping stone that Alex made last summer on top of the mound, and once again we bade D farewell.

There have been more bouts of crying as the day has gone on, but already they are coming with less frequency and for a shorter duration.

In between the tears, he wants to know when we can get another lizard - "another friend for Cricket Catcher."  I'm leaving that timeline up to Bill.  He's in charge of all the fish, frogs and lizards in the family.

I'm in charge of their funerals.

Circle of Life, Part 1

Bill got home later than usual last night.  He'd worked all day and then met with a flute player to rehearse for a couple of upcoming concerts.  So he arrived here around seven thirty and I reheated some dinner for him, and after Alex showed off the tooth in the zip loc bag and the gap in his mouth, Alex went back to watch Max and Ruby on Noggin and Bill and I sat in the living room and rehashed events from our respective days.

Bill sat in the oversized chair and I was on the loveseat by the window.  Bill had finished the risotto I made and had taken his brown socks off and draped them over his shoulder.  Quite the fashion statement.  The lizard tank and the betta tank are over in the corner to the right of Bill's chair, and during one lull in the conversation he glanced over at the tank and asked "Do we still have two lizards?"

See...we have two anoles (Beth - that aNole, not that other spelling.  heh heh), and the second one that joined the family started out roughly the same size as the first, but over time he has grown. 

I've been calling him Brutus lately.

Ever since that one morning when the kids were at school/daycare, Bill was at work, and I had a couple hours of absolute peace and quiet to myself.  I was sitting on the loveseat (my home office), probably typing up a post, when all of a sudden there was a lot of rustling and commotion in the lizard tank.  I saw what looked like something falling or rolling, and then the motion stopped.  I figured one of the lizards had gone after a cricket they'd missed when Bill fed them earlier (if he had - I wasn't sure), but no...as I peered intently at the tank from my spot halfway across the room, I realized that something disturbing was going on.

Big lizard guy had little lizard guy in a head lock.  In other words, big lizard guy had little lizard guy's head in his mouth.  They were frozen like that, like something you might encounter on Animal Planet right before a commercial break. 

I hurried to the tank and tapped rapidly on the glass, but big lizard guy did nothing.  So I grabbed the spray bottle we use to "rain" on the plants in the tank, and sent a tsunami at the little lizard tableau. 

That worked - they separated and went to neutral corners.  Well, little lizard guy scurried away and hid somewhere and big lizard guy sullenly ambled up to a leaf near the top of the tank and glared at me.  I dumped a few crickets into the tank to keep him busy and immediately told my sister about the drama.  She'd had a similar experience with the two anoles at her house and had to separate them WITH HER BARE HANDS and now that tank is divided into two chambers by a tight-fitting piece of cardboard.

Eventually my heart stopped racing that day.  But ever since then, there has been a look in big lizard guy's eye....

So back to last night. 

"Do we still have two lizards?"  Bill asked casually, looking over at the tank.  Sometimes it's hard to find the lizards, as they blend in with the leaves, or sometimes with the chunk of bark glued to the back of the tank.

"Yeah, I saw the little guy earlier..." I said, squinting and trying to find his tail somewhere in there. 

And then I could see the shape of little lizard guy - it looked like he was moving up the side of the bark, maybe to sit on top of it. 

"There he is," I said, and before the words were entirely out of my mouth, Bill was out of his chair, brown socks in his hands like sidearms pulled from hidden holsters.  "Hey!" he yelled at the tank, and attacked the tank with his socks.  Next minute, the socks were on the floor and he was taking the heat lamp off the top of the tank and pulling up the screen top. 

"Well," he said grimly, "now we only have one."

What I'd thought was the little guy going up the bark was actually big lizard guy dragging little lizard guy (who was now dead little lizard guy) up the bark - most likely to eat him. 

We have small children.  We don't need THAT much reality going on.  So Bill removed the still-intact corpse of little lizard guy from the tank.  Little lizard guy - also known as Dinoraptosaurus - was still green and fortunately not in bad condition.  Big guy hadn't done anything to him yet.  One of the little guy's legs was bent under his body at an unnatural angle, but otherwise he could have been sleeping.  Bill placed him on a tissue and called for Alex.

I thought - oh, let it wait til tomorrow, he's had such a good day with the tooth falling out and all....  But it was too late.  Alex came upstairs.  Bill told him, without preamble, that Dinoraptosaurus had died.  And he held out the tissue so Alex could view the body.

Alex, naturally, burst into tears.  He bawled.  And just when he seemed to finish and collect himself, he would start in again.  It was the first time he really and truly felt that kind of loss.  We've had a couple of deaths in the family (people, I mean) in 2007, and he knew the people who passed away, but this was different.  This was a pet he'd had as long as he could remember.  And now it was dead.  And that's a sad, sad thing.

Bill started to bring the lizard into the kitchen, and Alex hollered out frantically, through tears and drool, "I don't want you to throw him in the garbage!!!"  Bill assured him he would not.  He was just putting him in a plastic bag in the fridge, and I told Alex we would bury him in the morning.   

What got to Bill and me the most was when Alex (who was not a witness to the ugly drama earlier and will not know anything about it until he's, oh, in his thirties, if I have my way) went over to the tank and spoke to big lizard guy. 

"I'm sorry your friend died..." Alex said.  "I'm sad, too - " and then he started crying again.

It wasn't the first time a lizard pet has died, but the other one (Razzcake - we let Alex name that one too, and Alex was probably two at the time) died when Alex was younger and it just didn't hit him the same way.  Julia, for instance, did not cry last night.  She's just not at that age yet.  It didn't hurt.

Bedtime went later than usual last night.  Alex took his stuffed animal lizard to bed with him "So I'll always remember Dinoraptosaurus" and tried to settle down but the tears kept resurfacing.  I let him come downstairs to hang out with us a bit longer, but then Julia came down too, so they didn't get to bed until eight thirty. 

Finally, they were asleep, Alex's tooth in a ziploc bag under his pillow. 

This morning, Alex found the dollar that the tooth fairy left for him, and he was a bit more...comfortable...with the fact that Dinoraptosaurus had gone to that great tank in the sky. 

But a little while ago, after Bill left for work, I was sitting on the loveseat, checking email on my laptop, and Alex was about to go downstairs and hang out with Julia for a bit, but then he stopped, and I looked up.  His lower lip was trembling, and he said, in a shaky voice, "I wish there was no such thing as the "die" word.  'Cuz then Dinoraptosaurus would still be here."  He started to cry a little bit.  Not much, but some.  Because even in the morning, when the day is new, the sadness does not just disappear.  Not when you love something, or someone, and they are gone.   

"Come here," I said to him, and patted the cushion next to me.  He sat down and snuggled up next to me.  I put my arm around him and rested my cheek on his head. 

"I know, honey.  I know."  I said.

"It just...POPPED OUT!"

He ran down the school steps with his backpack over his right shoulder and a ziploc bag in his left hand, and I knew.

He lost it not long after I'd dropped him off this morning.  He was waiting in the hallway with the other kids, waiting for the bell to ring, waiting to go to his classroom.  He sat there absently pushing the tooth with his tongue.  Back and forth.  Back and forth.  And then "All of a sudden it just POPPED OUT!"  He told me this as we walked past the hopscotch outline on the blacktop.  I swung his hand back and forth, fast, and we hurried to the car.

Laughter and joy bubbled up inside of me and I felt nearly giddy.

I don't know why. 

It's just a tooth.

By a Thread

Alex told me this morning that his loose tooth is VERY wiggly and "it feels like a sharp thing is in there" - and I confess I felt a surge of excitement because I REMEMBER that sharp feeling.  It's the bottom of the tooth, it's poking his gum when the tooth is wiggled, and that means it is SO close to coming out.

I took a look and oh it was so hard NOT to just - Oops! - pull the tooth right out.  It is SO close.  I think it will fall out today.  If I don't lose control and yank it out myself. 

...I don't know why I'm so anxious to pull it out. 

It's not like the tooth fairy's bringing anything for ME....

Stepping Toward the Next Milestones

No, that tooth hasn't fallen out yet.  But we're getting closer.  I know I mentioned before that Alex has two adult teeth that have sprouted up behind his two front middle lower baby teeth - so he'd kind of like a little shark.  Well, one of the baby teeth is VERY wiggley.  He is so impatient for this tooth to fall out.  He wanted to chomp on a carrot because he saw Baby Bugs Bunny lose a baby tooth on "Baby Looney Tunes" that way and figured he'd give it a try.  Didn't work, though, because it hurt too much to bite down on the carrot with that particular tooth.

I am, naturally, leaning a bit toward the weepy "my baby boy is growing up" end of things...but that's how I am.  And I don't think it ends, ever.  (See my sister's irate-verging-on-hostile-with-a-touch-of-mania-thrown-in-for-good-measure comment immediately after this post earlier today.)  I mean, no, I don't wish my kids were tiny babies again.  In diapers.  It was an amazing time in my life, and when I look at their baby pictures, sure I get all Kodak-moment weepy...but it's pretty cool right now because they can both walk, eat, and go to the bathroom without my assistance.  So there's always that back and forth of emotion, I think.  Looking back - how little, how tiny, how amazing, and how quickly it's gone by...and no, I don't want them to grow up too quickly.  But they will.  And all those first things - those milestones of smiles and baby teeth and baby steps and solid foods and crawling and walking and running - all steps on their own roads to independence; steps on the road that takes them out of my protective embrace and into their own lives.  These are great moments, moments of pride and accomplishment.  But at the same time I feel like - no, no, not yet....

Okay, got a bit rambly there.

Anyway, so Alex is joyfully on the verge of losing his first tooth.  He will holler from another room "Mom!  My tooth is SUPER wiggly NOW!"  And I will take a peek and check the wiggle status with my own finger, and sure enough, it is even more wiggly than it was this morning.  And he will grin that little baby shark grin and sing out "Tooth Fairy!"

So that's where we are with the tooth.  I'm including a picture of his doubled up baby teeth for any of you who are curious - just keep going to the end of this post and click on the "continue reading" link thing.  I don't want to frighten anyone by posting it right up front here.

In other Alex news...he went "SUPERFAST!" the other day when Bill took the kids for another ski lesson, and enjoyed that immensely.  He didn't enjoy falling down or trying to walk sideways up the hill. 

He gets frustrated when he can't do things right off the bat.  And it's scary to me how upset he gets with himself.  He started a new level in swim class last night, and one of the things some of the kids did was to jump off the racing platforms at the deep end of the pool. 

I watched Alex from where Bill and I sat on the benches near the shallow end of the pool, and I could see how badly he wanted to jump in.  He was so excited at first - I could tell by the way he practically ran in place waiting for his turn.

But then when it was his turn, he climbed up on the platform and looked at the teacher, who was in the water, beckoning him, and...he didn't go.  He crouched down a bit, like he was about to jump, and in my mind I was urging him on, go, Alex!  You can do it!  But of course, that does no good.  I held my breath, hoping, hoping...

But he didn't jump. 

There had been two other kids before him who didn't jump either, and the teacher gave them the option of jumping from the edge of the pool instead of from the platform.  And both of them jumped.  She gave Alex the same chance, and he was there - right at the edge, knees bent, head down, looking at the water, bouncing a bit, looking like he was going to do it...

But he didn't jump.

And then the class was over. 

And he came back to our end of the pool, his face drawn and brows furrowed.  On the verge of hitting something.  On the verge of tears.

Getting to some of those firsts is daunting.  Gut-wrenching.  Stressful.  Tearful. 

No matter which end of the pool you're at.

Happy Scholar

I could gaze at him all day.  I'm so unbelievably lucky.  A thousand times over.

A Few Little Things

My left eye feels like morning has come too soon and the light is just way too bright for it.  My right eye is fine, however.  Eye strain?  Should I sit facing the other way on this couch on alternate days so each eye is exposed to the vast brightness of outside equally, and the left eye won't be so exhausted?  Perhaps an eye exam.  But then, the last time I was there, the doctor cheerfully told me that when you hit 40, your eyes start to get drier or something and you start to need glasses for reading (or typing on the laptop?).  I was not as cheered by all this as he seemed to be.

~~~~~

I brought Alex to the Dr yesterday because this cough he's had is not going away, and he's congested and snores so loudly the house shakes.  Okay, that last part isn't true.  But his voice has started getting all raspy, and his tonsils looked like little moons in his throat, and so I figured we should check it all out. 

Our appointment was mid-afternoon, after Bill got home from work, so it was just me and Alex, and Julia stayed home with her father.  Alex is fun to hang out with.  Plus he's very sweet and affectionate and cute and my son and my firstborn and an interesting and sensitive little person.  He is generous with hugs and I Love You, Mommy, and I am greedily inhaling and absorbing all of that, because I know the day will come when these things will not be dispensed with such abandon.

Anyway, we hung out in the waiting room for a while - Mondays are busy, especially Mondays after school vacation weeks.  We watched other bits of families come and go...saw a couple of little babies...he's kind of obsessed with babies at the moment.  He wants me to have another one.  I tell him over and over that we want two, we have two, and we're not planning to go beyond two.  I remind him good friends of ours have a baby that he sees on a semi-regular basis.  That should be enough.  But still.  He suggests names for this fictional third child of mine.  He has clearly given this a lot of thought.  Perhaps we should get him another pet.

Finally we were called into the examining room, I told the nurse what was going on, Alex contributed his five cents' worth (he is my child - he has more than two cents' worth of input), she took his temp (normal) and said the doctor would be in shortly.  We played "I Spy" and he showed me how he could hoist himself up on the exam table all by himself because he's a big boy. 

The doctor came in - she's not our regular doctor, but all of the doctors where we take the kids are fabulous, so I don't mind seeing someone different now and then - and looked in Alex's ears, listened to him breathe, and peered at his throat.  He's got some congestion in his right lung, and yes, his tonsils ARE big. 

She decided she'd test him for strep.  His sore throat is gone, and he hadn't had a fever.  But might as well rule it out, since it's prime time of the year for strep and related adventures.  She left the room to get the tube with the giant Q-tips, and when she came back she explained to Alex that she just needed to tap the back of his throat with these things. 

"Will they take the red off it?" he asked.  I love this age.

Well, I guess anyone reading this has most likely had a strep test.  I think I'd rather have a needle in my arm than have giant Q-tips jabbed into my throat.  Just for the record. 

Alex was sitting up on the exam table, and the doctor tried to hold his tongue down with a tongue depressor so she could poke his throat, but he didn't like that tongue depressor.  Not one little bit.  He kept pulling away, or shutting his mouth...lips firmly pressed together, eyes fearful and suspicious.  Need a plan B.

Plan B was to have him sit on my lap and have me hold his hands so he couldn't grab the instruments of torture from her hands.  That worked fine, except his head was still free of restraint, and there wasn't much I could do to keep him from pulling his head back or clamping his teeth down on the oversized popsicle stick and not letting go.  The doctor finally had to emphasize that she couldn't take it out of his mouth until he let go of it.

All this gave me horrid flashbacks to a bright, high-ceilinged office, a huge red high-backed leather chair, a kindly doctor with a big flat wooden paddle that he needed to stick down my throat (it seemed), and the fact that it took my mother and the nurse to hold me in that chair so he could take a look.  The perfume of rubbing alcohol filled the air, and I can't smell it to this day without the urge to gag.

I suggested to Alex's doctor that maybe without the tongue depressor she'd have better luck.  I told him to say "loud" really loudly (* over the weekend he was demonstrating "LOUD" and "soft" and that's when I happened to get a REALLY good look at his throat).  Eventually that worked, and I felt the tap of cotton swab in my own throat when he jerked back from the nice doctor and her giant Q-tips.  He looked betrayed and annoyed and kept swallowing, trying to get rid of that poked feeling.  I told him a lollipop would help.  I told him he deserved two.  The doctor said she'd be back in five minutes with the results.

Five minutes later.  He has strep.  Antibiotics are prescribed.  He can't go back to school til Wednesday. 

As we were leaving, the doctor told Alex he could go get his two lollipops, and he told her they weren't both for him. 

"One is for me because I'm sick and I was a good boy, and the other one is for my sister because she has a bloody face!"  The doctor looked at me but before I could say anything, Alex launched into a lengthy recap of Julia's "agony of defeat" moment on Sunday.  I tried to condense it, but Alex actually waved a hand at me, stepped IN FRONT of me and told me he could tell it because he was there and I wasn't.  The doctor listened intently to the story and then confirmed that yes, Julia did deserve a lollipop after that.

~~~~~

Julia's pink elephant has gone missing.   

Yesterday we were "doing a big clean up" in the kids' bedroom, because I am just so sick of the coughing and congestion and dry air and dust and closed windows and germs and all that.  A part of me wanted to just set all the toys on fire, as that would be the quickest way to get rid of them and whatever stray germs had colonized in the fake fur.  But instead we stripped beds and dusted and cleaned doorknobs and gathered all the stuffed animals into a pile so I can wash them in vats of boiling bleach water batches over the next couple of days, along with all the sheets and blankets and all that.  As we sorted stuffed animlas (I am washing them by size), I put Julia's elephant on her stripped bed because I just washed it the other day.  I didn't want it mingling with the germy toys.  I didn't think about it again until after dinner, when I remade the beds and the elephant wasn't on the matterss any more.  I thought she'd probably been playing with it while Alex and I were at the doctor's.  But Bill didn't know where it was.  Julia didn't.  And it wasn't in any of the obvious or usual spots. 

Last night Julia woke up several times and after searching around in the dark on her bed, would start whimpering because she couldn't find her elephant.  I'd explain that we would find it the next day, and she would cry, so I'd bring her into our bed til she fell asleep and I fell asleep and then I'd wake up when she started grinding her teeth, so I'd bring her back to her own bed and wait for the next round.  Maybe that's why my left eye is so tired.

As I've been typing, the kids have been searching, giant flashlight in Alex's hands, for this missing pink pachyderm.  No luck so far.  I have a feeling I'm going to spend my entire day looking for this thing.

~~~~~

And it occurred to me this morning...Julia had a bit of a sore throat last week, AND a low fever.  So I am thinking I need to get her in to see the doctor today so she can have her throat swabbed too.

That should go well. 

~~~~~

Update:  I found the elephant.  I started loading the first batch of germy stuffed animals into the washing machine and there it was.  I would have SWORN on all sorts of holy publications that I hadn't put the elephant in there.  But clearly I was mistaken.  Or Julia stuffed it in there to be helpful.  Or I am just losing my sanity. 

That last one seems the obvious choice to me.

Haircuts

Alex's hair had been getting rather shaggy lately, so last week I brought him to my sister's house so she could trim it.  To save time, she was just going to use the electric clippers on the longest setting (so he'd at least HAVE some hair left at the end) and, knowing how expressive Alex's face can be during these events, I sat there and took pictures through the whole thing. 

If you're interested, here's how it went....

Introducing...

Reddy. 

A fish of his very own.

"When I Get a Turtle"

He wants a pet of his own. 

We have a cat, two lizards, and some fish. 

He wants a pet of his own.

He and his sister now are responsible for providing the cat with food (Julia's job) and water (Alex's job) every day without griping about it.  They're doing well.  Probably because they don't have to deal with the litterbox.

He wants a pet of his own.

Bill just gave Alex permission to squirt water into the lizard tank when it looks like they need it.  He can't feed them their crickets yet - he's too short, really.

He wants a pet of his own.

Alex tried to feed the fish one time and dumped most of the contents of the little can of fish food into the tank.  Boy, was Bill mad.  He had to do multiple water changes to get all that cleaned out.  I explained to Alex that too much food would kill the fish.  But I knew he meant well.

He wants a pet of his own.

Yesterday when I picked him up from kindergarten, he told me he would feed it and if it was sick, he'd bring it in bed and take care of it. 

He wants a turtle.

I told him if he had a pet of his own, it meant HE alone would be responsible for taking care of it, all the time, no matter what.  He was fine with that.  I said I would need to discuss it with Daddy.

He thought maybe he might want a turtle AND a guinnea pig.

I told him one at a time - IF we decide he's ready for a pet.

When Bill got home yesterday, Alex bee-lined straight for him.

He wants a pet of his own.

I mouthed "All.  Day.  Long." at Bill as he escorted Alex into the living room to talk.

Alex wanted a turtle.

Bill told him a turtle was very expensive (all the stuff we'd need to set up the tank for it) and that right now Alex isn't really ready to take care of a turtle, and it's expensive.  (Yes, twice.  Like a five-year-old can really, truly grasp that.)

And Alex shot one unexpectedly out of the park - "Isn't the money in my piggy bank so I can buy whatever I want with it?"

Um.  Yeah, but....

So we said he can save for a turtle.

In the meantime, he can have a betta. 

"They're also called Fighting Fish," he informed me while I was putting salad together for dinner.

Yes, I know.

So that's the plan for now.  And we'll see how it goes.  He understands that he has to prove he is responsible before he gets anything bigger or more interactive than a fish. 

But it will be HIS fish, at least.

Because he wants a pet of his own.

100th Day

Last week we got a notice that today Alex's kindergarten class would be celebrating "100th Day" - their 100th day of school.  There was to be a party, and would anyone be interested in making a cake.

Well.

PICK ME, PICK ME!

So I got the "job" and my brain started in on the design.  I was thinking I could somehow incorporate little images to represent all the different topics they'd covered since September...like space and the Arctic and Farm Animals and all the other weekly themes.  It would be a tour de force of a cake, I imagined.

For 18 kids.

And then I asked Alex for ideas on what it should taste like...and he said chocolate and strawberries.  (Not strawberry flavor - REAL strawberries.  He was quite specific.)  And then he said he wanted to help decorate it.

Um.  Okay.

I started trying to figure out what he could do that wouldn't interfere with my cleverly rendered images of nocturnal animals and autumn leaves.  Maybe he would be happy just to help with baking the cake.

Nope.

So yesterday we baked the two cake layers - one chocolate with chocolate chips.  One white cake with fresh (well, frozen) strawberries, sliced, and strategically placed all over the batter before it went into the oven.  Both layers smelled really good.

The strawberry layer...half of it broke when I was trying to gently slide it on top of the frosted chocolate layer.  But I patched it back together.  Still.  I admit I was getting...um...tense.

I managed to talk Alex out of helping with the frosting of the strawberry layer - it was just going to be too difficult to let him help, what with the cake all torn and patched together.  My blood pressure went up just imagining it.

So I applied a coat of white frosting to the top layer, and it looked all lumpy because of all the breaks in the cake.  So.  I put more frosting on top of that.  To make it more even.  There's logic for you.

So then I had to cover the whole thing with fondant.  Because kindergarteners will appreciate the flawlessly smooth surface...my canvas. 

Either I have become a weakling, or the fondant was stiffer than usual, or I was just cursed yesterday, but it took me A LONG TIME to roll it out thin enough and big enough to cover the cake.  I felt myself growing more and more frustrated and anguished (back of the hand to my brow - I fear I shall faint!) and plain ol' pissed off about EVERYTHING TO DO WITH THIS CAKE.  Me and my idiot ideas.  THIS WAS THE MOST STRESSFUL CAKE I HAD EVER DONE IN MY ENTIRE LIFE!!!!

When Bill got home from work I had managed to get the fondant on and trim it, and I stood there at the counter, glaring at the cake and at a sheet of paper on which I was trying to design something that Alex could help with.  Because he still wanted to.  So my elaborate artistry was out. 

I asked Bill, through clenched teeth, if he could take the kids to swim class so I could work on this...this...THING.  He shrugged and said fine, and so of course I said "Fine, never mind, I'll go too."  And he looked at me and watched my eyes spin in opposite directions and said "No, really, it's no big deal."  And I said "No, no, I'll go.  If you could just keep Julia occupied after we get back so Alex and I can do this...cake."  "Sure.  Jayne, are you okay?"

I glared at him.  What was THAT supposed to mean?????  "I'mfineIjustneedtogetthiscakedoneandit'sbeenoneofthosedayswiththem" I spat out.

Anyway.  We went to swim class, and he tried to chat with me while we watched the kids swim, but I would have none of that, because I needed PEACE AND QUIET for a few moments, WOULD YOU??? 

When it came time for the kids to jump in - it was great, truly.  Alex wanted to go first - me me me me!!!!! And when he jumped in, he leapt with everything he had and jumped far enough to reach the first line in the pool.  YAY ALEX!  And he did it a second time, too.  He will be moving up to the next level - our son will be...an EEL!  We are quite proud.  So is he.  Julia will remain a Pike - she's still too busy socializing at times to move up.  But she can move through the water pretty quickly when she wants to.  She just needs to want to more often.

Anyway, dry off the kids, come home, I threw dinner together for everyone else and then started glaring at the cake again.  And finally I came up with an idea.  Something Alex could really do. 

My grand and glorious ideas would just have to sit on a shelf.  After all, it was HIS 100th day, not mine.

And here's what the cake looks like:

I painted swirls on the fondant with water, and had Alex sprinkle colored sugars all over.  They stick to the wet surface, and we blew them off the rest of the cake.  It's colorful and festive, I think. 

Most importantly, Alex thinks it's wonderful. 

He can't wait to bring it to school this morning.

And that, really, is the point, after all.  Not my showing off.  Duh.

So now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go get dressed and cover the cake with plastic wrap.

Because, of course, it is raining this morning. 

Figures.

Happy 100th day, Alex!

We Interrupt This Photo Essay on Last Night's Dinner Preparation...

So yesterday Bill (mainly Bill - I was soft shell crab fry cook, dishwasher, and photographer) prepared this absolute FEAST of Japanese food.  Primarily sushi - related things, but not just that.  I'll post the recipes separately, because there are too many to cram into this one post.

But after the meal, and after the clean-up, I uploaded the pictures I'd taken while the meal was being prepared, and what struck me funny were not the pictures of the food, but the unexpected pictures that showed up here and there in between the chronology of the food prep.  Basically what happened was while Bill was making the soft shell crab maki rolls, and I was taking pictures of them, Alex yelled from the other room "Mommy!  Come quick!  The sky is pink!"  And so I just peeked out the kitchen window, saw that yes, the sun was setting and pink clouds dotted the sky, and took a quick step outside to take a few pictures before the pinkness was gone.  Alex knows I will to this, so he is vigilant.

So here's an example of my viewing experience...