My best friend from college days got married on Saturday. I hoped and prayed and hoped and cried it would come to fruition, and it finally did. I am overjoyed for them, and their boys. Now T scan be their legal guardian, too. Another friend has a son who is Briar's age, and gravely ill in a startlingly short amount of time. And they don't really know why. He was fine, healthy, normal...and then, in a blink, full of fluid his lymph nodes will not stop producing. He is in hospital, sedated to keep the pain at bay.
Henry, who says the word "sexy" more often than I'd like (thank you, "Gangnam Style") used it when describing his playmate Comfy. He defines it as "when you want to marry that really pretty person."
Jakey and B were critiquing Ryan's fashion choices New Year's Day, and J told him to "get into the spirit of skinny jeans."
Monday, January 6, 2014
Monday, December 23, 2013
Rude
The children were playing "zombie attack" this morning, and part of Charlie's costume involved his "Bad Toro" hat, and a sparkly blue scarf tied around the base. Henry looked him over and said "Charlie, you look awesome!". As soon as C was out of earshot, Henry said to me, in a mock stage-whisper (he covers his mouth with a cupped hand when he does this) "I only said this to make Charlie feel really cool...but Charlie is not actually cool, Mom."
Thursday, November 7, 2013
From the Mouth of Jake
Tonight we decided on the movie Anastasia. Jacob was asking what type of movie it is, specifically, whether or not it is scary. I said it's a little bit scary, in some parts. "Good," said Jake. "Mom, I like movies that are romantic and a little bit scary...you get a big gun, you load it up with romance, and you shoot it into the air. Then, you load up a pistol with darkness and shoot it up into the air. Then they mix together." Sounds like the recipe for an excellent movie.
Musings from Henry...
Whenever we discuss a snack, he often tells me: "I want x, y, z...and whatever else you want to give me. Exactly whatever you want me to have - like that."
Like his siblings, he arranges his food on the plate, calls it a masterpiece, and demands I admire it. He enjoys their habit of munching on a piece of food, showing me the resulting shape, and asking me what it looks like. It's hard to come up with a fresh response.
In the course of a two-minute conversation, we covered My Little Ponies plot recaps, names and habits, and favorite quotes, closely followed by "I am a werewolf...a boy one. But not a werewolf who would kill my owner."
Like his siblings, he arranges his food on the plate, calls it a masterpiece, and demands I admire it. He enjoys their habit of munching on a piece of food, showing me the resulting shape, and asking me what it looks like. It's hard to come up with a fresh response.
In the course of a two-minute conversation, we covered My Little Ponies plot recaps, names and habits, and favorite quotes, closely followed by "I am a werewolf...a boy one. But not a werewolf who would kill my owner."
Saturday, October 26, 2013
UNO!
I adored UNO as a child, a teen, and a single adult. It was only natural to start teaching Briar, at the ripe old age of 5, to play. We had to wait until Jacob and Charlie were sleeping, because they were too young to participate, but old enough to hinder the play. So our night time card games on our bed with B were born. She caught on quickly, and soon began beating us, without any help or dumbing down of the game.
Jacob began playing at age 4.5ish, and like most things he wants to excel at, he did. He was (and still is) a bit of a petulant loser. When the tears start, I threaten to end the game. I can't handle it. Charlie didn't really show any interest until kindergarten, and he's not competitive about it, but he enjoys it.
Henry at 4 is easily distracted, and hasn't caught on to what the cards that aren't numbers actually do. He can partner with someone for a while, but often makes a nuisance of himself.
Tonight we were attempting to relax before bed with a few games while Ryan tiled the front porch. It's been a stressful last week since discovering not on,y was the waterproof layer on the porch cracking, but water had collected and seeped down under the plywood to warp and rot most of it, some of the joists, and leave a residue of mold on the insulation. It's been expensive, labor-intensive, and anger-inducing considering we've lived here less than a year and purchased what we thought was a finished remodelled home. We paid a shit-ton of dinero for it, to boot.
Anyhow, we needed to do something together, so we decided to break out the cards.it started off okay, but Henry bored quickly, and began bothering everyone he could by rolling over them, massaging them, talking centimetres away from faces, depositing his legs on their arms, etc. Then Jacob, true to form, questioned every rule I dared to enforce in the game, not being satisfied with the 30 years plus of experience I have with the game. We had to google the rules, and only then was he satisfied. I shrilled at them more than once for petty behavior, and strong language was spoken. I'm bummed I lost it with them. I really want them to look back fondly on our card games together. I think they will. I have wonderful memories of my family playing games together growing uo, and I'm sure we were just as prone to fighting, being poor sports, and general unkindness.
Jacob began playing at age 4.5ish, and like most things he wants to excel at, he did. He was (and still is) a bit of a petulant loser. When the tears start, I threaten to end the game. I can't handle it. Charlie didn't really show any interest until kindergarten, and he's not competitive about it, but he enjoys it.
Henry at 4 is easily distracted, and hasn't caught on to what the cards that aren't numbers actually do. He can partner with someone for a while, but often makes a nuisance of himself.
Tonight we were attempting to relax before bed with a few games while Ryan tiled the front porch. It's been a stressful last week since discovering not on,y was the waterproof layer on the porch cracking, but water had collected and seeped down under the plywood to warp and rot most of it, some of the joists, and leave a residue of mold on the insulation. It's been expensive, labor-intensive, and anger-inducing considering we've lived here less than a year and purchased what we thought was a finished remodelled home. We paid a shit-ton of dinero for it, to boot.
Anyhow, we needed to do something together, so we decided to break out the cards.it started off okay, but Henry bored quickly, and began bothering everyone he could by rolling over them, massaging them, talking centimetres away from faces, depositing his legs on their arms, etc. Then Jacob, true to form, questioned every rule I dared to enforce in the game, not being satisfied with the 30 years plus of experience I have with the game. We had to google the rules, and only then was he satisfied. I shrilled at them more than once for petty behavior, and strong language was spoken. I'm bummed I lost it with them. I really want them to look back fondly on our card games together. I think they will. I have wonderful memories of my family playing games together growing uo, and I'm sure we were just as prone to fighting, being poor sports, and general unkindness.
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
Up all night...
I've been a terrible blogger. More accurately, I haven't kept a consistent record of my wee ones growing up. That's why I began all of this...to have a record of what they say and who they are. I've been up nights lately, having what might be described as panic attacks about how quickly their childhoods are whistling by...I reach out to grabs moment, and they're already gone. Truly, "the days are long and the years are short." I resolve, tonight, to do better. And perhaps, in the writing, I can recall some of what I missed and being it forth. The camera we accidentally tossed in the trash two years ago, along with two years of photos, is never coming back. But I pray I can resurrect the memories. Reading over the sparseness of our blog tonight I was achingly grateful for the bits I have recorded.
Briar is 10 this year, and adolescence, along with a hint of attitude, is blooming. She craves her independence, but still loves to be cuddled and spend time with just me or Ryan. She is thrilled with her increased freedom this year and last, which began with our move last September to a tiny town. She is allowed to go sola to the library, pick up small quantities of groceries, shop at the craft store, ride her bike, transport herself to a friend's house, etc. She wants to spend more and more time with friends, but she still plays elaborate make-believe sagas with her brothers all over the house and out in the yard. Ryan started putting together the colossal play structure we bought 4 years ago to put on the acreage we decided to sell, and so far the decks with the small playhouse areas are up and usable. The children now have a clubhouse, which last night was the medieval castle from which they spotted dragons and other mythical creatures.
Jacob is fiercely himself. I have to give him space and try to figure out how to discipline and guide without trampling on that...difficult for someone who doesn't deal well with loss of control. He is in a mind-frame of questioning, and complaining about, most things. I have to carefully sift through what to stand my ground on and what to let go, lest our battles become epic, and we both lose, because the love is absent. He is smart, articulate, and stubborn. Sometimes I keep him home when he's just a little sick because we get on so much better when it's just the two of us. He wins because he's not in school and has my undivided attention, along with some coveted electronic time. I win because the sweetness returns and he is my happy boy again, free to tell me his thoughts and ask his never ending questions.This happens every few months, and I don't worry about the school he misses because he is always ahead of the game. We need these little breaks, Jacob and I.
Charlie is warming to the idea of school, bit by bit. Two years ago, while in an incredible kindergarten (more about that later), he routinely sobbed about having to leave home, me, and Henry, grow up, and go to school. It made my heart seize up with both sorrow and tenderness when starting at the age of 3, he would sadly cry into my clothing about not wanting to grow up. In kindergarten, he had friends, and loved his teachers, but he didn't want to be there with the structure and the demands. Charlie is bright and observant, but on his terms, and regarding only what he is interested in. If something doesn't strike his fancy, he will play the clown and turn his ears and his brain off. He loathes most fine motor activities, and has been known to hide his school agenda, telling his teacher he lost it, just so he doesn't have to write down the notes of the day. Right before we left the kids with my parents for a two-week trip, he disappeared from his classroom for a while, his teacher noticing when another staff member knocked on the classroom door and asked whether or not she knew Charles was out in the hall. After recess they were to be doing writing exercises, and so he hid on the playground, and then roamed the halls. Our first year here was difficult for him; he had to make new friends, and this is a right-knit community where most children have known each other since long before 1st grade. He also recognized that he wasn't part of the "cool boys" as he dubbed them. I don't even remember that cropping up in my school years until about 4th grade, but he sensed it at 6. We considered holding him back to repeat kindergarten since many of the children in his class are nearly a year older, and he was so frustrated with writing, colouring, cutting, etc. the teachers advised us against it, given that although younger, he towers over most of them, and his size, coupled with his pronounced speech impediment, would only be more noticeable if held back. He's making friends, and even occasionally expresses a desire to go to school, so there is progress.
Henry is a doll. He is animated in most things when comfortable, and while all of the kids love our dance parties, he really dances with abandon. The latest is "this is my elephant dance number 9", or "fairy dance number 6". He is friendly, enthusiastic, cuddly, and sometimes petulant. Lately, he has taken to hitting his siblings when frustrated, and last week, when I refused him a cookie because he hadn't even attempted to eat his lunch, he gave me a daring, frustrated little punch, watching my face carefully to gauge my reaction. This is his second year of preschool. He began last year at three in order to get a head start on some brewing speech issues, and he thrived in the social atmosphere there. He attended a preschool in Lethbridge because at the time of registration we were not planning on moving, and the commute was short. Move we did, and I spent a great deal of time driving him the 1/2 hour each way back and forth to school. That isn't much in urban areas, but here in the country it is, considering I have a school less than a kilometre from my house. This year he's local. He was nervous about the new atmosphere and lamented "I'm really gonna miss my old school, and all of the kids...Backinley (McKinley, who incidentally, has parents named Cupcake and Bob, according to Hen), Abigail, Eli, and my teachers...except Mrs. Strong." This surprised me, as I thought he and Mrs. S got on quite well. "Why won't you miss her, Hen?" "No, I WILL miss her, I'll miss her the mostest." He meant especially instead of except, and we have had this same syntax discussion a few times since that conversation. Today, while eating lunch with "sick" Jacob, he was waxing poetic about the mutual love he shares with all of his preschool friends. He is "in love" with all of them, and they with him. Jacob want buying this picture of perfection and queried "yeah, but who do you *hate*, Henry?" I didn't love this line of questioning, since it seems to conclude that Henry must have someone he doesn't like, but I let it play out. So hen, after much prodding, gives a name, calling said child his "worst enemy". I wanted to know the reason for such strong language, and asked him why. "Because she eats her BOOgers." (That's how he pronounces it). Jacob was surprised, and responded "But Henry, so do you...and so do I." Uhhh, gross. And, let's stop that.
Briar is 10 this year, and adolescence, along with a hint of attitude, is blooming. She craves her independence, but still loves to be cuddled and spend time with just me or Ryan. She is thrilled with her increased freedom this year and last, which began with our move last September to a tiny town. She is allowed to go sola to the library, pick up small quantities of groceries, shop at the craft store, ride her bike, transport herself to a friend's house, etc. She wants to spend more and more time with friends, but she still plays elaborate make-believe sagas with her brothers all over the house and out in the yard. Ryan started putting together the colossal play structure we bought 4 years ago to put on the acreage we decided to sell, and so far the decks with the small playhouse areas are up and usable. The children now have a clubhouse, which last night was the medieval castle from which they spotted dragons and other mythical creatures.
Jacob is fiercely himself. I have to give him space and try to figure out how to discipline and guide without trampling on that...difficult for someone who doesn't deal well with loss of control. He is in a mind-frame of questioning, and complaining about, most things. I have to carefully sift through what to stand my ground on and what to let go, lest our battles become epic, and we both lose, because the love is absent. He is smart, articulate, and stubborn. Sometimes I keep him home when he's just a little sick because we get on so much better when it's just the two of us. He wins because he's not in school and has my undivided attention, along with some coveted electronic time. I win because the sweetness returns and he is my happy boy again, free to tell me his thoughts and ask his never ending questions.This happens every few months, and I don't worry about the school he misses because he is always ahead of the game. We need these little breaks, Jacob and I.
Charlie is warming to the idea of school, bit by bit. Two years ago, while in an incredible kindergarten (more about that later), he routinely sobbed about having to leave home, me, and Henry, grow up, and go to school. It made my heart seize up with both sorrow and tenderness when starting at the age of 3, he would sadly cry into my clothing about not wanting to grow up. In kindergarten, he had friends, and loved his teachers, but he didn't want to be there with the structure and the demands. Charlie is bright and observant, but on his terms, and regarding only what he is interested in. If something doesn't strike his fancy, he will play the clown and turn his ears and his brain off. He loathes most fine motor activities, and has been known to hide his school agenda, telling his teacher he lost it, just so he doesn't have to write down the notes of the day. Right before we left the kids with my parents for a two-week trip, he disappeared from his classroom for a while, his teacher noticing when another staff member knocked on the classroom door and asked whether or not she knew Charles was out in the hall. After recess they were to be doing writing exercises, and so he hid on the playground, and then roamed the halls. Our first year here was difficult for him; he had to make new friends, and this is a right-knit community where most children have known each other since long before 1st grade. He also recognized that he wasn't part of the "cool boys" as he dubbed them. I don't even remember that cropping up in my school years until about 4th grade, but he sensed it at 6. We considered holding him back to repeat kindergarten since many of the children in his class are nearly a year older, and he was so frustrated with writing, colouring, cutting, etc. the teachers advised us against it, given that although younger, he towers over most of them, and his size, coupled with his pronounced speech impediment, would only be more noticeable if held back. He's making friends, and even occasionally expresses a desire to go to school, so there is progress.
Henry is a doll. He is animated in most things when comfortable, and while all of the kids love our dance parties, he really dances with abandon. The latest is "this is my elephant dance number 9", or "fairy dance number 6". He is friendly, enthusiastic, cuddly, and sometimes petulant. Lately, he has taken to hitting his siblings when frustrated, and last week, when I refused him a cookie because he hadn't even attempted to eat his lunch, he gave me a daring, frustrated little punch, watching my face carefully to gauge my reaction. This is his second year of preschool. He began last year at three in order to get a head start on some brewing speech issues, and he thrived in the social atmosphere there. He attended a preschool in Lethbridge because at the time of registration we were not planning on moving, and the commute was short. Move we did, and I spent a great deal of time driving him the 1/2 hour each way back and forth to school. That isn't much in urban areas, but here in the country it is, considering I have a school less than a kilometre from my house. This year he's local. He was nervous about the new atmosphere and lamented "I'm really gonna miss my old school, and all of the kids...Backinley (McKinley, who incidentally, has parents named Cupcake and Bob, according to Hen), Abigail, Eli, and my teachers...except Mrs. Strong." This surprised me, as I thought he and Mrs. S got on quite well. "Why won't you miss her, Hen?" "No, I WILL miss her, I'll miss her the mostest." He meant especially instead of except, and we have had this same syntax discussion a few times since that conversation. Today, while eating lunch with "sick" Jacob, he was waxing poetic about the mutual love he shares with all of his preschool friends. He is "in love" with all of them, and they with him. Jacob want buying this picture of perfection and queried "yeah, but who do you *hate*, Henry?" I didn't love this line of questioning, since it seems to conclude that Henry must have someone he doesn't like, but I let it play out. So hen, after much prodding, gives a name, calling said child his "worst enemy". I wanted to know the reason for such strong language, and asked him why. "Because she eats her BOOgers." (That's how he pronounces it). Jacob was surprised, and responded "But Henry, so do you...and so do I." Uhhh, gross. And, let's stop that.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
The Difference Between Boys and Girls
Since the birth of my children, everything I had been taught in progressive child-development courses has flown in the face of my own conventional wisdom. I have found, in our househould, my children typically fit the mold of more traditional roles for boys and girls instead of being more "alike" and "androgynous" as my college texts and profs tried to persuade me some years ago.
My daughter is the quintiessential girl: plays house, dresses up, totes every baby around she can pry from its parents, mothers her brothers and other children, etc. My boys have been the physical risk takers, the destroyers, the builders. This was further illustrated to me at the playground after school last week.
Everyone was playing well together on the jungle gym and I was contentedly chatting with two other moms. I hear a little yelp of pain, and then a familiar cry. It's Jacob, eldest brother, but smaller in stature than his next-in line brother Charlie. He's cradling his face and tears are fallling fast. "Mom, Charlie hit me in the face." This is a common occurence around our house; my sons are often slugging one another. (We're trying to remedy this situation by fining them $2 from their piggy-banks). I examine his cheek, and it seems redder and angrier looking than I would have imagined, perhaps turning into a bruise. I ask "What did he hit you with, his shoe?" "No, his sock."
I was stumped...Jacob continues, obviously aware of my confusion. "He filled his sock up with rocks and swunged it at me." Sure enough, cowering underneath the twisty orange slide, Charles is sheepishly trying to conceal the weapon. His tube sock is more than half-full of small rocks. I imagine it packed some punch. But why does my not-quite five year-old know to choose a weapon I imagine being dreamt of in the Big House?
My daughter is the quintiessential girl: plays house, dresses up, totes every baby around she can pry from its parents, mothers her brothers and other children, etc. My boys have been the physical risk takers, the destroyers, the builders. This was further illustrated to me at the playground after school last week.
Everyone was playing well together on the jungle gym and I was contentedly chatting with two other moms. I hear a little yelp of pain, and then a familiar cry. It's Jacob, eldest brother, but smaller in stature than his next-in line brother Charlie. He's cradling his face and tears are fallling fast. "Mom, Charlie hit me in the face." This is a common occurence around our house; my sons are often slugging one another. (We're trying to remedy this situation by fining them $2 from their piggy-banks). I examine his cheek, and it seems redder and angrier looking than I would have imagined, perhaps turning into a bruise. I ask "What did he hit you with, his shoe?" "No, his sock."
I was stumped...Jacob continues, obviously aware of my confusion. "He filled his sock up with rocks and swunged it at me." Sure enough, cowering underneath the twisty orange slide, Charles is sheepishly trying to conceal the weapon. His tube sock is more than half-full of small rocks. I imagine it packed some punch. But why does my not-quite five year-old know to choose a weapon I imagine being dreamt of in the Big House?
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