Fond Memories

As we waited for a table for breakfast on Sunday, which happened to be Mother’s Day, the boys grew bored, even with their uncles standing right there to amuse.  But what’s more fun than messing with your brother?  Not much.  So my boys were touching each other, pushing each other, making jokes about each other, getting into each other’s faces to make weird noises, hugging/strangling each other, just messing with each other.  Nothing turned into a fight, it just hovered there.

My Mom: Your boys like messing with each other.  A lot.

Me: (shrugged) Most siblings do.

My Mom: You kids didn’t.

A montage of childhood antics flashed before my eyes.  The Face crying when the swing knocked him in the back of the head.  The Friendly Giant dropping and breaking my piggy bank as I wrestled The Face.  Turning and seeing The Friendly Giant with a clump of my hair in his hands.  Wrestling for hours over the damn remote.  Arguing over the green glass.  Fighting over the green glass.  Holding a finger just an inch away from the other person. Swearing I would break that finger if it wasn’t removed.  Walking into my room to find the Great Beheading Barbie Massacre of ’89.  Swearing unholy revenge on behalf of those Barbies and Skippers.  Trying to make the others talk during the Quiet Game.  Trying to mime that my brothers were cheating on the Quiet Game.  Complaining about being near each other in the car.  “His leg is touching mine!”  “Her hair is touching me!”  “He’s over the line on my side!”   The lecture we all received about how wrong it was to punch or kick someone in the groin; and our mother telling us she wanted grandchildren one day.  Breaking into a clean-underwear fight during our chore of folding the underwear.  (Much like a snowball fight but with underwear)  The Face asking if I wanted to see time fly as he threw my glow-in-the-dark watch across the room.  Learning that heads bounce off dry wall.  Telling the Friendly Giant if he didn’t get in the pool and play with us the vulture would get him.  Ferocious fights during Shark games or Water Polo.  Screaming s/he is cheating!  Never finishing a game of Monopoly because someone always stole from the bank and we end up throwing pieces and money at each other.  Fighting over video games.  Tons of cut-downs.  Tons of name calling.  Tons of pulling faces.  Tons of tattling.  Tons of pushing, hitting, kicking, shoving, scratching, and pulling hair.

Me: Yeah, we did.

My Mom:  You’re obviously misremembering.

Me: One of us is.

Spelling and Eating

There is only one casserole I will eat.  Sour Cream and Chicken Enchilada Casserole.  I adore the stuff.  Apparently so does my baby brother because he asked for it for his birthday dinner.  (I guess when you always eat out, a home-cooked meal is a treat, and I’m just the opposite.) 

Saturday we all gathered to have dinner in honor of my brother’s 29th birthday.  I looked over mid-meal to Aidan who sat next to me.  My little vegetarian (weird for a meat-eating family, right?) was digging into the casserole.  It was almost gone.  I made eye contact with my mom and, in a discreet manner, pointed to Aidan.

My mom: I know.  I’ve been watching him eat.  I can’t believe me.

Me: I know, right?  (giggle)  No one tell him there’s M-E-A-T in it.

Aidan: I eat the chicken!

Oh God. 

Please Lord, in Your infinite mercy, let that be a fluke.

Me: (sound normal; don’t panic; it was a fluke; it was a fluke.)  Is it good?

Aidan: WAY!  I like chicken!  I eat chicken now!

We’ll see next time I give your chicken strips.

The Church Match

It’s pre-summer here, and the days are starting earlier, so the boys are starting earlier, which means, hell, if we’re up, we might as well go to church. 

Round 1

So the other day I leaned over the rail and called to Evan.

Me: Go get dressed!  We’re going to church!

Evan: If we’re going to church, I’m going to wear this!

He spread out his arms, so that I could feast my eyes on his outfit.  A blue hooded-towel to resemble a penguin and black pajama pants with skulls and crossbones.  I cocked an eyebrow.  Pssht.

Me: That’s fine!  God doesn’t care what you wear!  Do you care?

I turned and walked into my room to finish getting ready.  I heard someone stomping up the stairs.

Round 1: Winner: Fae!

Round 2

I placed a plate with biscuits and a glass of milk on the table in front of each boy.  I drank my shake.

Evan took a bite of biscuit, lost in thought.  Then he leaned forward on his elbows.

Evan: Mommy.  You know I don’t believe in the same things you do.

I cocked an eyebrow.

Me: That’s fine.  As long as you made a thoughtful decision, that’s perfectly fine. 

Evan: I may not be Catholic.

Me: And that’s ok.  We all need to question our faith to find our path.  “The opposite of faith is not doubt.”  It is good to doubt and question.  But you’re still going to church.

Evan sat back in his rear and ate his biscuit.

Point.  Game.  Set.  And match.

Round 2: Winner: Fae!

Until next Sunday.  Or until I make him do stuff for religious class.  Or until I make him do Cub Scout stuff.  Or homework.

I’m Batman

I got Aidan a Batman shirt for his birthday.  Because if you can be Batman, you should always be Batman.

And of course, if you buy your kid a Batman shirt, especially a cute little toddler, then you have to teach him to say, “I’m Batman.”  Especially if you’re a nerd.  (Or go to their site because they have stuff that is so funny you’ll cry or snort out soda out your nose.  Then you can email me, and we can talk about our favorite videos.  It’ll be fun.)

So through the day, I would say, “Aidan, say ‘I’m Batman.’”  And Aidan would say “I’m Batman!”  It was adorable.

Until Evan manipulated it.

Evan: Aidan!  Aidan!  Tell Mommy where you want to go for dinner?!

Aidan: Batman want McDonald’s!

Um, yeah.  About manipulation.

Me: No McDonald’s.

Evan: But Mom-myyyyy!  You said anywhere he wanted.

Me: Anywhere HE wanted but NOT McDonald’s.

Aidan: Batman wants McDonald’s!

But then Aidan took control.

Aidan: Batman wants to go home!

Aidan: Batman play cars!

Aidan: Batman tired!

Aidan: Batman pooped!

I no longer can tell if this is cute or not.

Raising Feminist Nerds

I have a picture I printed off Pinterest taped near my computer.  (Since I have no idea what I’m doing, I can’t show you.)  Can you guess which part of the comic I have on my wall.  It’s Mulan and Eowyn high fiving.

Evan: MOMMY!  I know why you have that picture taped on your wall!

Me: What picture?

Evan: The Lord of the Rings one!

Me: Why’s that?

Evan: Because you like Mulan and Lord of the Rings.

Me: Yes.  Do you want to know what the picture is about?

Evan: Uh-huh.

Me: Well, you know what Mulan is about.  Eowyn did the same sort of thing.  She snuck into the army and saved the day.  Do you want to hear the story?

Evan: Yes!

Me: Well the forces of Sauron were attacking Gondor.  And Aragon convinced the men of Rohan to go to the defense of Gondor.  So off they went riding horses to battle.  For Glory!  (I raised my hand in salute.)  But Eowyn was to be left behind because they didn’t let girls fight battles.  And she was sad and scared.  She didn’t want the people she loved to be killed in battle.  She didn’t want to be left behind, locked in a cage, waiting for something to happen, instead of going out and having adventures.  So the horseriders of Rohan rode and joined battle with Gondor to defeat Sauron.

The boys stood there, staring at me, savoring every word.

Me: And things weren’t going well for Gondor.  Not only were there so many, many orcs.  But they had The Witch King who rode the horrible Nazgûl.  It was a fierce and ugly monster, looking like a black dragon with a long neck.  The Nazgûl’s screams sent fear in the soldiers.  No one could stand against the Witch King.  The fighting was fierce, and the king of Rohan found himself face to face with the Witch King.  And he fought bravely, but the Witch King defeated him.  But before the Witch King could kill the king, another soldier attacked.  One of Rohan’s men.

Evan was jumping up and down.  Sean’s eyes were big.

Me: The warrior and the Witch King fought.  They swung their swords, slashing and crashing.  (I mimicked sword play.)  Soldiers and orcs stopped to watch.  No other warrior had fought the Witch King this long.  The warrior sliced off the head of the Nazgûl and defeated the Witch King.  The warrior thrusted in under the Witch King’s guard.  As the Witch King laid on the ground, dying, he whispered, “No man born of woman can defeat me.”  The warrior removed his helmet, and it was Eowyn.  She said, “I am no man.”  She killed the Witch King and saved the day because if he hadn’t died, Gondor would not have stood.

I paused.

Me: What do you think?

Evan: The girls must have been so excited that it was Eowyn.

Me: The girls AND boys were excited that Eowyn defeated the Witch King.  She was awesome.  There are lots of awesome stories about girls.

Evan: Like Brave?!

Me: Yup.  When I was a little girl, there weren’t so many stories about awesome girls.  I didn’t like the princess movies.  Even now they make more exciting books about boys than girls.  I just read a writer asking a publisher, a guy who makes books, why there were still more books about boys than girls.  And the publisher said girls are boring.  Can you believe that?

Evan: That’s dumb.

Me: Yup.  That’s why I want to get you books about girls AND boys having exciting adventures.  If you read only about one, you’ll miss all kinds of stories about the other.

Sean: Princess Leia is awesome!  She fights!

Me: Yup.  She’s awesome.

Parenting.  Teaching my boys that girls are just as good as boys.  And training them to be nerds.

Bunnies! Hot Rod Flames!

We don’t have satellite.  But my parents do.  It might be the real reason my boys like going over there so much.  Add to that I release most of the TV control to my dad, and the boys are in a second heaven.  Cartoons!  On Nickelodeon!  So now they have a taste of  non-pre-approved cartoons.  God, Grandma’s and Papi’s house is awesome.

Sometime ago the boys watched Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends.  I kinda liked it.  And the boys and I really liked this scene.

Then it was Pinewood Derby time, and Evan had to design and paint his car.

As we discussed the car’s paint job, I said, “You could do hot rod flames.”

Evan: Hot rod flames!

Me: Bunnies!

Evan: No, hot rod flames, Mommy!   Not bunnies!

Me: Bunnies!

Then Evan got it.

Evan: Hot rod flames!

Me: Bunnies!

Evan: Hot rod flames!

Me: Bunnies!

Evan: HOT ROD FLAMES!

Me: Bunnies!

Evan started laughing.

Me: Well, at least the bunnies are on fire.  (pause)  No, we really should do bunnies on fire!

Evan: Mooooommmmmyyyyyyy.  (Rolled eyes)

Me: I’m going to do it to the Sequoia.  Oh, yes.

Evan rolled his eyes.

Dude, I’m so excited that Evan can play these games with me.  Wait until I tell of the time that my college best friend and I quoted Simpson lines from Orange, CA to Las Vegas.  That was at least 4 hours with traffic.  The poor girl who went with us must have wanted to jump out of the car.

Instant Friends

We had to buy a birthday present for a kindergartener boy.  As I made my selection in the Lego aisle, Aidan and I heard the familiar sounds of a toddler playing with trains and a mother telling him that he could play for five minutes, just five minutes, we have to leave in five minutes.

So Aidan did what any kid would do, he went to the next aisle and sat down and played trains with the little boy.

It’s hard to tell what the best thing is about little kids.  Their imagination.  Their wonderment.  Their need to try everything, except food.  Or this, their ability to see every child as a friend.  All it takes is someone around their size and instant friend.  Nothing else matters, not even the other child’s name.  Or in this case, the setting.

I’m not like that.  I’m sure I was once, but I grew up with little demons, who taught me not to trust, always hide, always shield.  So I play the shell game with my thoughts and feelings.  I strap on armor and pull the vizor down.  I’m ready for battle.

 Sort of like this.

I don’t want the boys to see every situation as a battle, every person an enemy waiting to happen.  So I indulge when they find playmates, even if it means hanging out in Target in the train aisle for 15 minutes.

As we watched them play, I told the mom how I am always amazed how they find friends.  She agreed and asked my son’s name and age.  We compared notes as her son was only a few months younger.  We talked train toys, and I advised her to be careful of the Thomas trains because they have a variety of different sets that aren’t compatible and told her how a friend had travel train cases.  We talked about older siblings and fighting and rivalry.  We talked about their little friends.  Then it was getting late, and we helped the boys clean up and dragged them away down opposite sides of the aisle.

Sometimes grown-ups meet a person, and it’s an instant friend.   It doesn’t matter about their name or situation or circumstance.  It’s a connection.  We’re not alone.

If It Was Juice

The boys were pretty good during sunrise mass on Easter.  It might have something to do with my parents being there.  My mom’s stern looks and my dad passing out mints when a boy wiggled. 

They even did well in line for their blessing, instead of communion.  It wasn’t until the walk back to our seats that Sean became loud.

Sean: Mommy!  That was wine, right?!

Me: (whispering) Yes.

Sean: Why didn’t you get any?!

Me: (whispering) I’ll tell you later.  Shh.

Sean: If it was juice, then you would let me have some!  Why isn’t it juice?!

Me: (whispering) You’re Catholic.  It’s always wine.

Sean: But if it was wine, you would let me have some!

Me: (whispering) No.  Not until you’re first communion.

We entered the pew and moved to our seats.

Sean: But what if it was juice?!

Me: (whispering) No.  Now kneel and pray.)

My Dad: (whispering) I could tell him about my church ….

Me: (whispering) Not helping,  Nazarene.

My dad chuckled.

So Sean’s obsession with communion continues from since he was a baby.  He’ll make a good Catholic some day. 

Homer: “Uh-huh. And how do I join? Do I whale on some Unitarians?”
Fr. Sean: “Well, it’s a little harder than that. It starts with looking deep inside yourself…” (Homer groans) “But it ends with bread and wine”
Homer: “Woo-hoo!”

from Season 16, “The Father, The Son, and The Holy Guest Star”

Rookie Mistake

I’m making Sean draw a picture every day because his fine motor skills need to improve and the kid is terribly behind on what he should be able to draw.  He forgets eyes and mouths.  In kindergarten!  What?! 

So any ways.  I have relented the last several days and let him draw with the fat markers instead of the triangle crayons.  I left him and Aidan drawing.  (Aidan LOVES to draw and color.  Finally a kid who likes art!)  Evan and I left the room to research environmentalists for his Boy Scout badge. 

Mistake.

Big Mistake!

HUGE MISTAKE!

I left an almost three-year-old with a big box of the markers alone. 

A-LONE!

He colored his arms.  (Fine.) 

He colored his tummy.  (Fine.) 

He colored his legs.  (Fine.) 

He colored his toes.  (Fine.) 

He colored his face.  (Um, less than fine.) 

He colored his hair.  (WHAT?  HIS HAIR?!  Less, LESS than fine.)

He colored the pantry door.  (NO.  Not Fine.  Not Fine.)

He colored the walls.  (Not Fine At All.  AT ALL.)

He colored the cloth living room chairs.  Two of them.    (NOT FINE AT ALL.  NOT AT ALL.)

I am an idiot.

So I handed him a wet sponge and taught him that if he makes a mess he has to clean it. 

And he had fun.  For the first 5 minutes.  The next 5 taught him he is to draw on paper and only paper.

I am not a rookie.  I shouldn’t make such stupid mistakes.

The markers are put away, and I will be sitting with them when they color and do art projects. 

Speaking of which. . . Sean owes me a drawing.

The Kindness Tree

Not the Giving Tree.  I hate that book.  It’s suppose to be a parent’s undying love and constant giving to a child.  No, that kid is a selfish brat.  I want to say he never says thank you, but I’m not sure.  I can’t remember.  He does kill the tree, so a thank you would be a little short of adequate.

I have created a The Kindness Tree.  A few months back, I noticed something about Evan.  That kid is a bit self-centered.  In my opinion, he’s more self-centered than he should be at this age.  I needed something to help him think beyond himself.  I needed something simple and easy, something fun that he would want to do.  I was thinking of community projects or helping out with organizations.  But everything seemed too old for him.

I needed something with a reward.  I needed something that would excite him and motivate him until kindness motivated him.  But not a reward that was toys or money or food.  I didn’t want this to become mercenary.  I needed something I could monitor and guide.

The Kindness Tree.  Every kind deed he does, he will put a leaf on a branch, growing the tree.  I would write the kind deed on a leaf and hang it on the tree.  Then one day a beautiful tree would stand as a monument to good deeds.

At first I was going to draw a giant tree with branches and draw leaves to put on it.  But then I stopped at a teaching supply store and found a cut out tree with branches with leaves to add.  I bought another package of extra leaves.  I hung the whole thing up in their room with wall putty.  The tree stands about 5 feet high all cartoonish and cute.

I explained the plan to Evan who reluctantly agreed.  Sean overheard and enthusiastically agreed.  Evan got more enthusiastic.

And it didn’t go well at first.  Evan kept forgetting to do a kind deed.  Sean kept doing a bunch.  But then I caught Evan reading to Aidan, and I ran and got a leaf.  Evan was so proud.  He started to remember to do more things.

On a perfect night, after reading and before prayers, the boys tell me about their good deeds.  Even Aidan tries to do something kind to get a leaf.  Even friends who have been over for playdates try to get leaves.  Sure, some days no one gets a leaf, but we’re trying.  We’re growing a Kindness Tree.