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Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Dirty Little Secret #109
I didn't start sewing for Henry until 6 o'clock this morning.
You see, I have this thing about sewing for babies whom I know are coming. It makes me nervous, and my sister, your beloved Mrs. Chicken, has had such a tough time these past few weeks and months that I didn't want to take any chances on superstitious matters.
But she did mention to me recently that she was not feeling the love: "Shaggy has no burp cloths with his name on them. When the Poo was born, all her stuff was ready and waiting for her."
Now, I beg to differ. I waited with the Poo, as well. But, this morning as I was embroidering my way through a stack of shirts for babies I do not know, I threw one under the machine and put a large, crimson H on it. And it's a good thing that I did.
Because now he's here.
He and Mrs. Chicken are doing great. Henry Aloysius is a whopping 9 pounds and 12 ounces, and he is 22 inches long.
In other words, he could crush most babies.
Mrs. Chicken is in recovery, both grandmothers are on their way, and the hospital has wifi access.
In other words, all is well, and you'll hear from the woman of the hour herself sooner, rather than later.
You see, I have this thing about sewing for babies whom I know are coming. It makes me nervous, and my sister, your beloved Mrs. Chicken, has had such a tough time these past few weeks and months that I didn't want to take any chances on superstitious matters.
But she did mention to me recently that she was not feeling the love: "Shaggy has no burp cloths with his name on them. When the Poo was born, all her stuff was ready and waiting for her."
Now, I beg to differ. I waited with the Poo, as well. But, this morning as I was embroidering my way through a stack of shirts for babies I do not know, I threw one under the machine and put a large, crimson H on it. And it's a good thing that I did.
Because now he's here.
He and Mrs. Chicken are doing great. Henry Aloysius is a whopping 9 pounds and 12 ounces, and he is 22 inches long.
In other words, he could crush most babies.
Mrs. Chicken is in recovery, both grandmothers are on their way, and the hospital has wifi access.
In other words, all is well, and you'll hear from the woman of the hour herself sooner, rather than later.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Dirty Little Secret #108
I fear disaster.
In London and New York it was terrorists. Much scarier than that, in Minnesota it was tornadoes. Nothing strikes fear into my heart like the sound of the tornado siren. The neighbors would stand outside and watch, hopefully, while I cowered with the children, the cat, the dog, the tortoise, and the weather radio in my split-level's basement bathroom. And it wasn't even a real basement! Dude!
And please don't ask me to ever consider living west of Buffalo, or south of the Mason-Dixon line. It's just not going to happen. Do you people know what's out there? Hurricanes! Earthquakes! Wildfires! Drought! Dude!
I always appreciated John Irving's novel, The World According to Garp. When Garp and Helen find their dream home, a small airplane crashes into it just as they leave with the realtor. Garp is delighted: it's pre-disastered! Nothing bad can happen here again, because we all know that lightening doesn't strike twice.
Sadly, for Garp that just isn't true.
So I freaked out a little when Cory Lidle crashed his plane into a building on E. 72nd, near Dirk's prior place of employment. We no longer lived in Manhattan at the time of the accident, but still, the notion of familiar environs touched by catastrophe is disconcerting. This leads Dirk to believe that I am C-R-A-Z-Y, as he is not in the least bothered by the thought that if this exact event had occurred three years prior, and he happened to be walking by, that he would have died a fiery death.
Nope, not bothered at all by that.
He likes to point out that, in the incident in question, no one except the pilot and instructor were killed. "See?" he says, "I would only have been INJURED in your imaginary world." He points out, as well, that on any street you'll ever walk down, someone is bound to have died there. He's helpful, that way.
So today, a crane collapsed in Manhattan, at E. 91st and First Avenue. A BLOCK AND A HALF FROM OUR OLD APARTMENT.
Dude! I walked by there! With my stroller! And my newborn! And Dirk is reading over my shoulder convinced that I need to be institutionalized!
Unlike Garp's pre-disaster, I am post-disastered. Either way, I don't like it.
In London and New York it was terrorists. Much scarier than that, in Minnesota it was tornadoes. Nothing strikes fear into my heart like the sound of the tornado siren. The neighbors would stand outside and watch, hopefully, while I cowered with the children, the cat, the dog, the tortoise, and the weather radio in my split-level's basement bathroom. And it wasn't even a real basement! Dude!
And please don't ask me to ever consider living west of Buffalo, or south of the Mason-Dixon line. It's just not going to happen. Do you people know what's out there? Hurricanes! Earthquakes! Wildfires! Drought! Dude!
I always appreciated John Irving's novel, The World According to Garp. When Garp and Helen find their dream home, a small airplane crashes into it just as they leave with the realtor. Garp is delighted: it's pre-disastered! Nothing bad can happen here again, because we all know that lightening doesn't strike twice.
Sadly, for Garp that just isn't true.
So I freaked out a little when Cory Lidle crashed his plane into a building on E. 72nd, near Dirk's prior place of employment. We no longer lived in Manhattan at the time of the accident, but still, the notion of familiar environs touched by catastrophe is disconcerting. This leads Dirk to believe that I am C-R-A-Z-Y, as he is not in the least bothered by the thought that if this exact event had occurred three years prior, and he happened to be walking by, that he would have died a fiery death.
Nope, not bothered at all by that.
He likes to point out that, in the incident in question, no one except the pilot and instructor were killed. "See?" he says, "I would only have been INJURED in your imaginary world." He points out, as well, that on any street you'll ever walk down, someone is bound to have died there. He's helpful, that way.
So today, a crane collapsed in Manhattan, at E. 91st and First Avenue. A BLOCK AND A HALF FROM OUR OLD APARTMENT.
Dude! I walked by there! With my stroller! And my newborn! And Dirk is reading over my shoulder convinced that I need to be institutionalized!
Unlike Garp's pre-disaster, I am post-disastered. Either way, I don't like it.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Dirty Little Secrets #106 & #107
106) Sometimes I take stupid online tests.
107) I was truly delighted with the results.
When I was little, I loved this guy. It made me very upset that he couldn't be seen by others.
And it's not a half-bad description of me.
107) I was truly delighted with the results.
When I was little, I loved this guy. It made me very upset that he couldn't be seen by others.
And it's not a half-bad description of me.
Your Score: Snuffleupagus
You scored 50% Organization, 50% abstract, and 61% extroverted!
This test measured 3 variables.
First, this test measured how organized you are. Some muppets like Cookie Monster make big messes, while others like Bert are quite anal about things being clean.
Second, this test measured if you prefer a concrete or an abstract viewpoint. For the purposes of this test, concrete people are considered to gravitate more to mathematical and logical approaches, whereas abstract people are more the dreamers and artistic type.
Third, this test measured if you are more of an introvert or an extrovert. By definition, an introvert concentrates more on herself and an extrovert focuses more on others. In this test an introvert was somebody that either tends to spend more time alone or thinks more about herself.
You are somewhat organized, both concrete and abstract, and both introverted and extroverted.
I bet you didn't think you were Snuffleupagus. Let's find out why.
You are both somewhat organized. You have a good idea where you put things and you probably keep your place reasonably clean. You aren't totally obsessed with neatness though. Alloyius Snuffleupagus (and all Snuffleupagus') is not sloppy by nature, but he moves so incredibly slowly that it is impossible for him to be totally organized.
You both are about equally concrete and abstract thinkers. You have a good balance in your life. You know when to be logical at times, but you also aren't afraid to explore your dreams and desires... within limits of course. Snuffy generally has very basic interests, but he explores his abstract sensitive side when he plays his snuffleflute.
You both are somewhat introverted. Originally Snuffleupagus was very shy and was only Big Bird's invisible friend. However as he has aged he has started to build new friendships with new characters. Like Snuffy, you probably like to have some time to yourself. However, you do appreciate spending time with your friends, and you aren't scared of social situations.
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
Monday, April 07, 2008
Dirty Little Secret #103 - #105
103) I just ate a twinkie.
A bona fide Hostess Twinkie.
It wasn't good. But it was satisfying.
104) I'm terrible at responding to memes. But my sister requests that I do this.
Here are the rules:
Pick up the nearest book of at least 123 pages.
Open the book to page 123.
Find the 5th sentence.
Post the next 3 sentences.
Tag 5 people.
I am reading The Pillars of the Earth, by Ken Follett. I read it in high school, but it has been many years. From page 123:
"So it's just a traveling knight or a tinker every day or two. Then on holy days, when people come from all over the country to hear services in the cathedral, we gather farthings galore."
"It seems to me that we might man the bridge on holy days only, and give you a fire out of the proceeds," said Philip.
I don't know five people. I'll ask Kara, Sandy, Kurt and Heather, and hope that they'll forgive me for never answering their memes. Although, I don't know if Kurt does memes. He can just make fun of me instead. That's more entertaining.
104) I struggle with faith.
(Did that come out of nowhere, or what?)
The quotation from The Pillars of the Earth seemed unenlightening when I was typing. But its actually rather relevant. I am a lapsed Catholic, and I disagree with many tenets of organized religion in general. It seems that faith and love and God are lost in the church's search for money and power and membership.
Between my own unshakable liberal social values, the co-opting of religion for political gain, mega-churches with millionaire ministers, and bad things that happen to good people, I am adrift. If only my Catholicism or American Christianity today resembled Prior Philip's version of faith and church. But it doesn't, so I do not attend.
My husband believes himself to be an atheist. He's good to his core, and he believes that good comes from inside of himself, not needing the motivation of heaven or hell, salvation or damnation. He believes that needing that external motivation to do good on Earth negates the act in some small way. Why not do good, seek justice, make peace on Earth because it is right, not because it is demanded?
And he is right.
But I lack something. I believe in the Divine. I do not believe in Hell or eternal damnation. I believe that the Bible and other holy texts are inspired by the Divine but are the work of men and women. I do not believe that they are inerrant. I believe that whatever God is, God loves everyone.
Everyone.
So I am thinking about exploring the local Unitarian community in my neighborhood. My sister scoffed, "Unitarian is church for people who don't believe in church!"
Exactly, I said.
Exactly.
A bona fide Hostess Twinkie.
It wasn't good. But it was satisfying.
104) I'm terrible at responding to memes. But my sister requests that I do this.
Here are the rules:
Pick up the nearest book of at least 123 pages.
Open the book to page 123.
Find the 5th sentence.
Post the next 3 sentences.
Tag 5 people.
I am reading The Pillars of the Earth, by Ken Follett. I read it in high school, but it has been many years. From page 123:
"So it's just a traveling knight or a tinker every day or two. Then on holy days, when people come from all over the country to hear services in the cathedral, we gather farthings galore."
"It seems to me that we might man the bridge on holy days only, and give you a fire out of the proceeds," said Philip.
I don't know five people. I'll ask Kara, Sandy, Kurt and Heather, and hope that they'll forgive me for never answering their memes. Although, I don't know if Kurt does memes. He can just make fun of me instead. That's more entertaining.
104) I struggle with faith.
(Did that come out of nowhere, or what?)
The quotation from The Pillars of the Earth seemed unenlightening when I was typing. But its actually rather relevant. I am a lapsed Catholic, and I disagree with many tenets of organized religion in general. It seems that faith and love and God are lost in the church's search for money and power and membership.
Between my own unshakable liberal social values, the co-opting of religion for political gain, mega-churches with millionaire ministers, and bad things that happen to good people, I am adrift. If only my Catholicism or American Christianity today resembled Prior Philip's version of faith and church. But it doesn't, so I do not attend.
My husband believes himself to be an atheist. He's good to his core, and he believes that good comes from inside of himself, not needing the motivation of heaven or hell, salvation or damnation. He believes that needing that external motivation to do good on Earth negates the act in some small way. Why not do good, seek justice, make peace on Earth because it is right, not because it is demanded?
And he is right.
But I lack something. I believe in the Divine. I do not believe in Hell or eternal damnation. I believe that the Bible and other holy texts are inspired by the Divine but are the work of men and women. I do not believe that they are inerrant. I believe that whatever God is, God loves everyone.
Everyone.
So I am thinking about exploring the local Unitarian community in my neighborhood. My sister scoffed, "Unitarian is church for people who don't believe in church!"
Exactly, I said.
Exactly.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Dirty Little Secrets #101 & #102
101) Today, the children can eat as much as they'd like from their Easter baskets.
Tomorrow, I will put them away and dole out the pieces: one each day.
102) About a month from now, I will systematically begin eating my through whatever remains.
Tomorrow, I will put them away and dole out the pieces: one each day.
102) About a month from now, I will systematically begin eating my through whatever remains.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Dirty Little Secret #100
The boy who broke my heart is one of my Flickr contacts.
This, in itself, isn't all that newsworthy. While it's true that he and I avoided contact for many years, I believe that the people who were important in your past were important for a reason. Dirk and I have always kept in touch with our old flames. The woman from Wellesley he dated for three years? We attended her wedding and she attended ours. I'm proud to call her my friend. The boy who only thought he loved me? Ditto, and I buy hair bows from his wife. The boy who wasn't good enough? We argue about politics via email.
They all get holiday cards.
Including the boy who broke my heart. For a loooong while, even after falling head over heels for Dirk, we wanted nothing to do with each other. Well, he wanted nothing to do with me.
I kept in touch with his brother and mother, especially after his dad passed away. But through the years, contact dwindled to little but season's greetings. I reached back out when my own Dad died, and learned that he would be married. I garnered his address and sent the latest holiday letter to him and his fiancee.
She sent a lovely card back.
Recently, while sending a link for photos to his brother, I learned that he had a Flickr account.
Which leads me to the current situation. I'm aware that he looks through the public photographs of our life. He's mentioned my beautiful children and dog and house in an occasional email. I'm aware, through viewing his "favorites" page, that he also surfs through some of the less palatable and family-friendly options available on Flickr.
That freaks me out.
So last week I posted a self-portrait, semi-intended for HBM's truth project.
You can only imagine my surprise when I received the automated notice informing me that the boy who broke my heart had marked it as one of his favorite photos. There I am, sandwiched in between all the naked ladies with body paint and girls in bars posing lewdly. Semi-horrified for a variety of reasons, I showed Dirk.
He laughed maniacally for a good five minutes. When he wiped the tears from eyes, he burst into song, to the tune of Benny and the Jets:
"K-K-K-Karen and the porn..."
I guess it's only appropriate to roll this out on the day of my one hundredth secret. I've finally given all the google searchers what they've been looking for.
This, in itself, isn't all that newsworthy. While it's true that he and I avoided contact for many years, I believe that the people who were important in your past were important for a reason. Dirk and I have always kept in touch with our old flames. The woman from Wellesley he dated for three years? We attended her wedding and she attended ours. I'm proud to call her my friend. The boy who only thought he loved me? Ditto, and I buy hair bows from his wife. The boy who wasn't good enough? We argue about politics via email.
They all get holiday cards.
Including the boy who broke my heart. For a loooong while, even after falling head over heels for Dirk, we wanted nothing to do with each other. Well, he wanted nothing to do with me.
I kept in touch with his brother and mother, especially after his dad passed away. But through the years, contact dwindled to little but season's greetings. I reached back out when my own Dad died, and learned that he would be married. I garnered his address and sent the latest holiday letter to him and his fiancee.
She sent a lovely card back.
Recently, while sending a link for photos to his brother, I learned that he had a Flickr account.
Which leads me to the current situation. I'm aware that he looks through the public photographs of our life. He's mentioned my beautiful children and dog and house in an occasional email. I'm aware, through viewing his "favorites" page, that he also surfs through some of the less palatable and family-friendly options available on Flickr.
That freaks me out.
So last week I posted a self-portrait, semi-intended for HBM's truth project.
You can only imagine my surprise when I received the automated notice informing me that the boy who broke my heart had marked it as one of his favorite photos. There I am, sandwiched in between all the naked ladies with body paint and girls in bars posing lewdly. Semi-horrified for a variety of reasons, I showed Dirk.
He laughed maniacally for a good five minutes. When he wiped the tears from eyes, he burst into song, to the tune of Benny and the Jets:
"K-K-K-Karen and the porn..."
I guess it's only appropriate to roll this out on the day of my one hundredth secret. I've finally given all the google searchers what they've been looking for.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Friday, March 07, 2008
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Dirty Little Secret #98
I ruined the jam bars.
I was so anxious to eat their sweet oatey goodness, that I dumped the whole bowl of sugar, butter and oat mixture right into the good ol' 9 X 13, coated them with jam, and slammed the oven door behind them.
Of course, the recipe outlines that one should calmly spread HALF of the sweet oatey goodness in the bottom of the pan, then serenely add a restrained layer of jam, and then TOP them with the other half of the sweet oatey goodness.
But did I do that? Evn though I've made jam bars hundreds of times?
No. I did not.
So now I have an ooey-gooey jammy mess, that can't be picked up in ones hands. Too much jam and no sweet oatey goodness to hold it all together on the top: they'll have to be tossed. But that hasn't stopped me from scooping out and scarfing down the first row of them.
No, it hasnt.
I was so anxious to eat their sweet oatey goodness, that I dumped the whole bowl of sugar, butter and oat mixture right into the good ol' 9 X 13, coated them with jam, and slammed the oven door behind them.
Of course, the recipe outlines that one should calmly spread HALF of the sweet oatey goodness in the bottom of the pan, then serenely add a restrained layer of jam, and then TOP them with the other half of the sweet oatey goodness.
But did I do that? Evn though I've made jam bars hundreds of times?
No. I did not.
So now I have an ooey-gooey jammy mess, that can't be picked up in ones hands. Too much jam and no sweet oatey goodness to hold it all together on the top: they'll have to be tossed. But that hasn't stopped me from scooping out and scarfing down the first row of them.
No, it hasnt.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Dirty Little Secret #97
I don't mind the weather.
Sure, it's March. Sure, in Atlanta and all other points south it's heading into the seventies. Sure, it's snowing here.
But really, there's something to snow and cold. After our stint in Minnesota, this is nothing. I laugh at twenty degrees and send my children out to play. I'll put on my own snowpants and hat to throw snowballs at the dog with them. When we've searched for rabbit tracks, cleared enough snow off the driveway to ride our bikes, and played king of the mountain on our snowpile, we'll head inside with rosy cheeks, ready for hot chocolate and a nap.
It's snowing today, which may well turn to freezing rain this afternoon. But I'm enjoying the flakes falling past my window. The grass and mud from Monday - when it climbed into the sixties - is covered in white again. I know that Spring will come. The crocuses are already peaking out of the ground in our neighbor's yard. Like so much else, it can't be stopped.
So for now, I'll enjoy the snow.
Sure, it's March. Sure, in Atlanta and all other points south it's heading into the seventies. Sure, it's snowing here.
But really, there's something to snow and cold. After our stint in Minnesota, this is nothing. I laugh at twenty degrees and send my children out to play. I'll put on my own snowpants and hat to throw snowballs at the dog with them. When we've searched for rabbit tracks, cleared enough snow off the driveway to ride our bikes, and played king of the mountain on our snowpile, we'll head inside with rosy cheeks, ready for hot chocolate and a nap.
It's snowing today, which may well turn to freezing rain this afternoon. But I'm enjoying the flakes falling past my window. The grass and mud from Monday - when it climbed into the sixties - is covered in white again. I know that Spring will come. The crocuses are already peaking out of the ground in our neighbor's yard. Like so much else, it can't be stopped.
So for now, I'll enjoy the snow.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Dirty Little Secret #95
When Lizzy told me that she did not want to watch Little Bear, my heart nearly broke.
My baby has gotten so big. I find myself telling her stories about "when she was little." At just six, I know that she is still little.
But she's not.
She likes High School Musical and Barbies. She rides the school bus home with her friends. She counts to one hundred. And she doesn't want to watch Little Bear anymore.
Honestly, I don't remember when we last watched Noggin. But when she was only ten months old, we started watching Little Bear, every day at 5:30. We were tired by then, waiting for Daddy to come home. We would have spent the day walking, playing, waving to the shopkeepers and pretzel vendors throughout Yorkville. So Lizzy would sit in her favorite spot, in front of her three wicker toy baskets, and we would watch Little Bear.
Later, when we moved to Minnesota, it was one of the only familiar things that held her little world together. This strange new place had grass, a lot of cars, and strangely few people, but at least there was still Little Bear.
So today, when she arrived breathlessly home from playing at a friend's, she asked to watch TV while I made dinner.
"Sure," I told her. "It's 5:30. Little Bear is on."
"Oh, I don't want to watch that," she told me. "I want Buzz Lightyear."
"Really? When you were little, you loved watching this."
"Oh. I don't remember. Can we watch Buzz now?"
She's a big girl now, and not in the just-walking-losing-baby-fat-speaking-in-sentences big girl.
She doesn't sense the time passing. The memories are only mine.
My baby has gotten so big. I find myself telling her stories about "when she was little." At just six, I know that she is still little.
But she's not.
She likes High School Musical and Barbies. She rides the school bus home with her friends. She counts to one hundred. And she doesn't want to watch Little Bear anymore.
Honestly, I don't remember when we last watched Noggin. But when she was only ten months old, we started watching Little Bear, every day at 5:30. We were tired by then, waiting for Daddy to come home. We would have spent the day walking, playing, waving to the shopkeepers and pretzel vendors throughout Yorkville. So Lizzy would sit in her favorite spot, in front of her three wicker toy baskets, and we would watch Little Bear.
Later, when we moved to Minnesota, it was one of the only familiar things that held her little world together. This strange new place had grass, a lot of cars, and strangely few people, but at least there was still Little Bear.
So today, when she arrived breathlessly home from playing at a friend's, she asked to watch TV while I made dinner.
"Sure," I told her. "It's 5:30. Little Bear is on."
"Oh, I don't want to watch that," she told me. "I want Buzz Lightyear."
"Really? When you were little, you loved watching this."
"Oh. I don't remember. Can we watch Buzz now?"
She's a big girl now, and not in the just-walking-losing-baby-fat-speaking-in-sentences big girl.
She doesn't sense the time passing. The memories are only mine.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Dirty Little Secrets #91 - #94
91) I want to eat chocolate bars all day.
92) I do not exercise regularly anymore.
93) I want to sit on my bed all day and play on Flickr and Bloglines.
94) I can't make those three secrets add up to a healthy me. And that makes me want to say, "Poo."
Ed. to add:
I ate two Hershey's Kisses, a small 100,00 Bar left over from Halloween, and a snack-size Kit-Kat. I feel better.
92) I do not exercise regularly anymore.
93) I want to sit on my bed all day and play on Flickr and Bloglines.
94) I can't make those three secrets add up to a healthy me. And that makes me want to say, "Poo."
Ed. to add:
I ate two Hershey's Kisses, a small 100,00 Bar left over from Halloween, and a snack-size Kit-Kat. I feel better.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Dirty Little Secrets #86 - #90
#86) Teddy has only one friend.
It's all he needs, he tells me. The other sweet-cheeked kids at his preschool hanker for his attention - "Teddy!" they cry, when he walks into the classroom. But Teddy has eyes for only one little boy.
"My friend is W. I only have W.," he tells me.
Sometimes his conviction about needing only one friend is so strong that he pushes aside the advances of his classmates. J. calls out, "Teddy! It's Teddy! Hi Teddy!" But Teddy hides his face in my legs and screams out "No! I am not your friend! W. is my friend!"
Sweet J.'s face crumples as his mother hurried him past us in the parking lot.
I kneel down and hold his own sweet cheeks in my hands. "Teddy, all the kids in your class like to play with you. It's your job to be kind to them." And it is. I believe that kindness is our job, and that sometimes it must be taught.
"No!" he repeats. "W. is my friend!"
#87) Teddy never has a playdate.
Like many younger sibling before him, Teddy often gets the short end of the stick. Although my Flickr account attests to the fact that he is the more willing subject of my many thousands of photographs, he has not shared all the rich experiences that characterize Lizzy's early childhood.
He's been her faithful observer.
If we had stayed in Minnesota, her stable of friends had a convenient set of younger brothers. Her playdates always brought along an extra.
We'd have been ready made, baby!
But instead we finished school, moved home, and now live the good life with a real job, a big house, and no friends. In our well-established and small community with a good school district, the parents of Lizzy's new friends are older. Her school mates are all the younger siblings, who have no tolerance for little brothers.
Instead of coordinated playdates that include snacks and gossip for Mommy, we have little girls dropped off, eager to shut the door in Teddy's face and head for the dress-up trunk.
#88) I fear what the other parents think of me.
As Teddy cuts down his classmates one by one, I do my best to make excuses. "He hasn't been sleeping well. He's really cranky," seems to be the best I can come up with.
Truth be told, I can't explain to them why he's hurtful to their children. They look at me and say, "well, I was in the classroom the other day and they played quite nicely. I'm sure he's not feeling like himself today. He's always so busy, he must be tired!"
Truth be told, they are most likely being sincere. All I read into their statements, though, is their hinted-at prediction than his "busyness" will morph into ADD.
Truth be told, what I really fear is what I am thinking myself.
#89) I was incredibly nervous when I picked up the phone to call W.'s mom: W.'s very pretty, skinny, well-put together mom who handles her two boys effortlessly.
I thought that she'd be taken aback by the invitation, unable to figure out how to say no to the mother of the boy who is always so busy and ornery. But she accepted readily.
I was more nervous when I thought about how Teddy sometimes handles the realization of his dreams. When we got to see the space shuttle launch two weeks ago, he threw himself on the ground and cried for an hour. Would he handle W.'s visit the same way?
But it all went swimmingly. They played. We talked. There were plans for more.
#90) I expect too much from Teddy.
I forget that he is a three-year-old boy. I forget that he should still sometimes have tantrums. I forget that he should have boundless energy. I forget that, at three and a half, Lizzy was just learning to dress herself and put on her own shoes.
When predicting his behavior I am usually wrong. When interpreting his behavior, I am my own worst enemy.
It's all he needs, he tells me. The other sweet-cheeked kids at his preschool hanker for his attention - "Teddy!" they cry, when he walks into the classroom. But Teddy has eyes for only one little boy.
"My friend is W. I only have W.," he tells me.
Sometimes his conviction about needing only one friend is so strong that he pushes aside the advances of his classmates. J. calls out, "Teddy! It's Teddy! Hi Teddy!" But Teddy hides his face in my legs and screams out "No! I am not your friend! W. is my friend!"
Sweet J.'s face crumples as his mother hurried him past us in the parking lot.
I kneel down and hold his own sweet cheeks in my hands. "Teddy, all the kids in your class like to play with you. It's your job to be kind to them." And it is. I believe that kindness is our job, and that sometimes it must be taught.
"No!" he repeats. "W. is my friend!"
#87) Teddy never has a playdate.
Like many younger sibling before him, Teddy often gets the short end of the stick. Although my Flickr account attests to the fact that he is the more willing subject of my many thousands of photographs, he has not shared all the rich experiences that characterize Lizzy's early childhood.
He's been her faithful observer.
If we had stayed in Minnesota, her stable of friends had a convenient set of younger brothers. Her playdates always brought along an extra.
We'd have been ready made, baby!
But instead we finished school, moved home, and now live the good life with a real job, a big house, and no friends. In our well-established and small community with a good school district, the parents of Lizzy's new friends are older. Her school mates are all the younger siblings, who have no tolerance for little brothers.
Instead of coordinated playdates that include snacks and gossip for Mommy, we have little girls dropped off, eager to shut the door in Teddy's face and head for the dress-up trunk.
#88) I fear what the other parents think of me.
As Teddy cuts down his classmates one by one, I do my best to make excuses. "He hasn't been sleeping well. He's really cranky," seems to be the best I can come up with.
Truth be told, I can't explain to them why he's hurtful to their children. They look at me and say, "well, I was in the classroom the other day and they played quite nicely. I'm sure he's not feeling like himself today. He's always so busy, he must be tired!"
Truth be told, they are most likely being sincere. All I read into their statements, though, is their hinted-at prediction than his "busyness" will morph into ADD.
Truth be told, what I really fear is what I am thinking myself.
#89) I was incredibly nervous when I picked up the phone to call W.'s mom: W.'s very pretty, skinny, well-put together mom who handles her two boys effortlessly.
I thought that she'd be taken aback by the invitation, unable to figure out how to say no to the mother of the boy who is always so busy and ornery. But she accepted readily.
I was more nervous when I thought about how Teddy sometimes handles the realization of his dreams. When we got to see the space shuttle launch two weeks ago, he threw himself on the ground and cried for an hour. Would he handle W.'s visit the same way?
But it all went swimmingly. They played. We talked. There were plans for more.
#90) I expect too much from Teddy.
I forget that he is a three-year-old boy. I forget that he should still sometimes have tantrums. I forget that he should have boundless energy. I forget that, at three and a half, Lizzy was just learning to dress herself and put on her own shoes.
When predicting his behavior I am usually wrong. When interpreting his behavior, I am my own worst enemy.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
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