I had such fun telling about Miles' reindeer project that I want to briefly share his vocabulary Christmas tree from the last day of school before break. (Yeah, yeah... so I'm on the road to "Insuffereable Mom Bore." I got it. I'll exit soon....)
On green construction paper in the shape of a tree, next to glued-down shapes of the following images, he carefully printed their names:
star
gift
reef
sadta
gigr
bred
men
krismstre
My favorite is "reef" -- either that or "sadta." It sounds like someone with a head cold or a SERIOUS accent. :)
Oh, one more thing comes to mind to share -- a cute moment from the Rm 201 Christmas Party.
I took baby Owen to Miles' school, so every girl immediately became my friend. (I had no idea 5-yr-old girls were so into babies! 'Cause 5-yr-old boys? Sometimes yes, sometimes no...) A little round-faced, shaggy haired brunette named Rachel took me under her wing and started pointing out notable things about her class and classmates. Eventually, she went to another girl's backpack, lifted out a small jewelry box, opened it and said: "See what Jordan bought Tiernan for Christmas?"
(Ed Note: Jordan = boy. Tiernan = girl. These things aren't always clear.)
Inside were two pink snowflake earrings and a snowflake necklace. "It's for the marriage," Rachel said, matter-of-factly. "Jordan asked Tiernan to marry him, and she said yes, so they'll be getting married when they're adults."
Jordan's mom overheard this and made eye contact with me -- a bit surprised, a bit amused and a bit alarmed. She said, "He didn't tell me that." I said, "Oh, I believe it!" She leaned down toward her son's intended, the sweet smiling, blond-banged Tiernan, and say, "Did Jordan really say that, honey?"
First she just nodded. Completely serious-faced. Then she smiled, shyly, and said: "Yep. And I got JEWELRY!"
OK, then! Deal sealed....
Any of you single friends out there, who may want to get married "when you're adults," can take this as an encouraging tale. Always remember the power of jewelry and chutzpah. Offer up something sparkly (pink snowflake... pink diamond...) and the girl just might say yes!
Just a girl, asking for grace, to survive her happily-ever-after.
12.22.2007
12.21.2007
Cracking the K-Code
A feml rader has begr huvs.
Rad(lowercase b erased behind the d) r hav white pup.
Rader hed the(word since erased and replaced with) tuo alrs.
(All periods added.)
What is all this, you ask? Why, boy genius at work, of course! :)
Miles brought home a kindergarten coloring project yesterday -- a paper reindeer booklet made by folding square pages into triangles and stapling down the longest side. Cut-outs of his little hands were stapled along the long edge for antlers, and the point of the triangle became a little red nose. Voila! A Cubist Rudolph.
Inside were crayon and pencil drawings of an angel and a reindeer face, plus these hieroglyphics.
Each side of a page had a different statement. I asked him what his words said, and he couldn't remember. He looked at the pages a long time... squint-eyed and silent. Then he burst out with his characteristic drama: "This is crazy! I can't read one of these words! They do NOT even make sense! I don't EVEN know what I was thinkin'!"
I said that's OK, and he continued... "But, really, Mom, I didn't even do that today. It was two days ago!"
So, two days ago he could have read it back to me, I guess. But I have some ideas.
A feml rader has begr huvs. ...A female reindeer has bigger hooves? I could be insulted, but it has a sort of logic to it. His teacher and I are both females with kinda big feet.
Rader is definitely reindeer, as I asked later and Miles suddenly recognized the word.
The second line is still something of a mystery -- "reindeer have white pup?" The word "white" came out perfectly because the class has spent a lot of time on colors. Sometimes, Miles writes the word of a color, in the proper color, inside an image rather than coloring it in.
On to the last line: Reindeer had two antlers?
I'm not sure I'll ever know where his boy mind was wandering as he scribbled away, but how precious that I got to read (and I get to keep) the evidence of early writing in process!
...Also, on an aesthetic note: He traced and cut out his own antler hands, so one side is rather stunted while the other is freakishly puffy. I don't mind at all, because...
Rader hav cute atlrs!
Rad(lowercase b erased behind the d) r hav white pup.
Rader hed the(word since erased and replaced with) tuo alrs.
(All periods added.)
What is all this, you ask? Why, boy genius at work, of course! :)
Miles brought home a kindergarten coloring project yesterday -- a paper reindeer booklet made by folding square pages into triangles and stapling down the longest side. Cut-outs of his little hands were stapled along the long edge for antlers, and the point of the triangle became a little red nose. Voila! A Cubist Rudolph.
Inside were crayon and pencil drawings of an angel and a reindeer face, plus these hieroglyphics.
Each side of a page had a different statement. I asked him what his words said, and he couldn't remember. He looked at the pages a long time... squint-eyed and silent. Then he burst out with his characteristic drama: "This is crazy! I can't read one of these words! They do NOT even make sense! I don't EVEN know what I was thinkin'!"
I said that's OK, and he continued... "But, really, Mom, I didn't even do that today. It was two days ago!"
So, two days ago he could have read it back to me, I guess. But I have some ideas.
A feml rader has begr huvs. ...A female reindeer has bigger hooves? I could be insulted, but it has a sort of logic to it. His teacher and I are both females with kinda big feet.
Rader is definitely reindeer, as I asked later and Miles suddenly recognized the word.
The second line is still something of a mystery -- "reindeer have white pup?" The word "white" came out perfectly because the class has spent a lot of time on colors. Sometimes, Miles writes the word of a color, in the proper color, inside an image rather than coloring it in.
On to the last line: Reindeer had two antlers?
I'm not sure I'll ever know where his boy mind was wandering as he scribbled away, but how precious that I got to read (and I get to keep) the evidence of early writing in process!
...Also, on an aesthetic note: He traced and cut out his own antler hands, so one side is rather stunted while the other is freakishly puffy. I don't mind at all, because...
Rader hav cute atlrs!
12.19.2007
Braking Slightly for the Curves
So we've turned a corner in my house. We no longer have a newborn. And -- holiday deviations notwithstanding -- we have something of a routine here, too.
I knew this would happen! NEEEVER doubted for a moment! (OK, maybe a couple seconds... Here and there. And most of November...)
But we've arrived at something. Our little game-of-Life car, with the pink and blue plastic pin heads in front and the two blue pins in back, is on the road again! We may not be on cruise control (to push the metaphor), and we certainly aren't speeding, but I think we're keeping up with traffic.
I manage to provide clean clothes, folded into drawers, each week. I semi-regularly clear the living areas of clutter. Most days, our bed gets made. Every day, the dishwasher gets emptied and reloaded (if for no other reason than to clean lots & lots of bottles). Between us, Jer and I feed the family evening meals (of a sort... in some fashion) and feel no guilt over regular outings to Chick-Fil-A.
Miles' backpack is always cleared, his classroom notes read; his lunches get made and his outerwear matches the changeable Texas weather. The baby is always bundled when we head out in the chilly a.m., and we're never late to school.
Of course, the big kid often looks like Huckleberry Finn when he gets there -- too-short pants and messy bed head, resisting any effort to be "sivilized." And I have not always showered when my day starts. But these are details -- pish, posh!
We're (basically) making it as a family with 2 working parents and 2 kids.
...Did you hear that? I have.... TWO kids! Count em: ONE. TWO! It certainly feels like an achievement, and I'm giving myself the right to celebrate.
(Don't think I haven't noticed that what comes most naturally to a lot of people is actually hardest for me. I know plenty of folks who seem to make babies and dinner and tidy beds as a matter of course in life. Me? Not so much!)
BTW, all you far-flung relatives and friends who may occasionally lurk about: I DID think of you this card-sending season! Swear!
I dug out Christmas cards and had wallet-size pictures printed. I sorted and contemplated and even decorated the family room floor with stacks of stationery and lists (some on the backs of envelopes) of names. I was going to combo a birth announcement and a holiday card in one envelope to each dearly loved one.
...I guess you already know, by the absence of any mail received, where this is going. I haven't even gotten the "Owen has arrived" cards mailed!
I think it will happen -- but I beg your right pardon now: 1.) if you prefer and generally maintain more timely communication in your own life; 2.) in case you never actually receive anything from me and start to think you are not remembered; and 3.) should I misspell your name or any common words/ not write in complete thoughts/ actually make no sense at all. ...We've got a routine, true enough. It just doesn't involve all that much sleep or brain food for the Mama.
OK. Enough for now. The bridal biz calls. Kitchen duty whispers my name every time I walk through. And that BIG stack of addressed envelopes, waiting on personal notes, is a siren song in the middle of a work day. Too, too much to do! ...But what a privilege that I get to try!
One stretch of road at a time -- with detours and exits and tricky on-ramps -- I think we just might be headed somewhere good in this family!
MERRY CHRISTMAS, my fellow journeyers!
I knew this would happen! NEEEVER doubted for a moment! (OK, maybe a couple seconds... Here and there. And most of November...)
But we've arrived at something. Our little game-of-Life car, with the pink and blue plastic pin heads in front and the two blue pins in back, is on the road again! We may not be on cruise control (to push the metaphor), and we certainly aren't speeding, but I think we're keeping up with traffic.
I manage to provide clean clothes, folded into drawers, each week. I semi-regularly clear the living areas of clutter. Most days, our bed gets made. Every day, the dishwasher gets emptied and reloaded (if for no other reason than to clean lots & lots of bottles). Between us, Jer and I feed the family evening meals (of a sort... in some fashion) and feel no guilt over regular outings to Chick-Fil-A.
Miles' backpack is always cleared, his classroom notes read; his lunches get made and his outerwear matches the changeable Texas weather. The baby is always bundled when we head out in the chilly a.m., and we're never late to school.
Of course, the big kid often looks like Huckleberry Finn when he gets there -- too-short pants and messy bed head, resisting any effort to be "sivilized." And I have not always showered when my day starts. But these are details -- pish, posh!
We're (basically) making it as a family with 2 working parents and 2 kids.
...Did you hear that? I have.... TWO kids! Count em: ONE. TWO! It certainly feels like an achievement, and I'm giving myself the right to celebrate.
(Don't think I haven't noticed that what comes most naturally to a lot of people is actually hardest for me. I know plenty of folks who seem to make babies and dinner and tidy beds as a matter of course in life. Me? Not so much!)
BTW, all you far-flung relatives and friends who may occasionally lurk about: I DID think of you this card-sending season! Swear!
I dug out Christmas cards and had wallet-size pictures printed. I sorted and contemplated and even decorated the family room floor with stacks of stationery and lists (some on the backs of envelopes) of names. I was going to combo a birth announcement and a holiday card in one envelope to each dearly loved one.
...I guess you already know, by the absence of any mail received, where this is going. I haven't even gotten the "Owen has arrived" cards mailed!
I think it will happen -- but I beg your right pardon now: 1.) if you prefer and generally maintain more timely communication in your own life; 2.) in case you never actually receive anything from me and start to think you are not remembered; and 3.) should I misspell your name or any common words/ not write in complete thoughts/ actually make no sense at all. ...We've got a routine, true enough. It just doesn't involve all that much sleep or brain food for the Mama.
OK. Enough for now. The bridal biz calls. Kitchen duty whispers my name every time I walk through. And that BIG stack of addressed envelopes, waiting on personal notes, is a siren song in the middle of a work day. Too, too much to do! ...But what a privilege that I get to try!
One stretch of road at a time -- with detours and exits and tricky on-ramps -- I think we just might be headed somewhere good in this family!
MERRY CHRISTMAS, my fellow journeyers!
12.06.2007
Hunka Hunka Baby Love
So Owen has officially reached 2 months old, and he weighs 14 pounds. (OK, OK, not the chart-topping number I was expecting, given my exhausted frame at the end of each day. My back hurts; my arms ache. I think the lesson is: I am actually a weakling. Must accept and move on...)
But the baby does have a big head! (Of course, they all do. I've seen the growth charts.) Owen began life with a 13" diameter head and has added 3 inches in just 8 weeks. I find this pretty impressive. I mean, really: When was the last time your HEAD GREW? Bellies, yes. Craniums, no.
If you'll allow a paragraph of gushing, Owen is JUST. SO. PRECIOUS, what with his big blue eyes and his ready smile. His quizzical brows and his quivering chin. He is a glory to behold, and even the rough spots I count as joy, brethren...
It is a great stage when little babies come into their own personalities. It's powerful to watch them "turn into people" all of a sudden. Jeremy used to say about Miles that, if you sat and watched long enough, you could actually see the baby grow. That appears to be true this time around, too....
Oh, and speaking of Miles: Guess what? He knows a story about Jesus. One I don't think I told him or read to him. One that goes beyond "when Baby Jesus was born." And he thinks it's COOL!
...Now, I do realize that kids exposed to church at a young age are bound to pick some things up, and I have known toddlers with better Bible chapter recall than my own, so I've got no bragging rights here -- but seriously, I am so proud! :)
Miles just recently got a "real" children's Bible (as opposed to the board books for babies, or the ones with a single story in them). And he brought it into the TV room yesterday. He flipped through, looking at the pictures, then suddenly stopped and started an animated ramble (with hand gestures) that goes pretty much like this:
"Oh, I know this one! This is the story of when Jesus took those fish. You know those fish? He made, like, 5 fish into, like A THOUSAND fish!! Because, actually, he just had 5 fish and, like, 2 pieces of bread. It was just a little bit of food. But then he made food for ALL THESE PEOPLE -- like, EVERYBODY who was there. And it was a lot. He turned those fish into THOUSANDS! All by himself.
...That is SO AWESOME!"
I had to keep from laughing out loud at, "That is SO AWESOME." It was exactly the same voice he uses to tell me about how General Grevious can kill two people at once, because he has 4 arms and two lightsabers.
I've been a bit worried about the embracing of the Star Wars violence -- and I might need to be -- but when a picture of a cartoon Jesus and the memory of a Bible story can illicit such a response, I guess we're all right here.
And that's the round-up from my daily life. More happens. Lots every day, really. And some of it even matters. ...But right now, nothing matters more than the health and well-being of those two little boys who grace our lives.
Amen and Emmanuel.
But the baby does have a big head! (Of course, they all do. I've seen the growth charts.) Owen began life with a 13" diameter head and has added 3 inches in just 8 weeks. I find this pretty impressive. I mean, really: When was the last time your HEAD GREW? Bellies, yes. Craniums, no.
If you'll allow a paragraph of gushing, Owen is JUST. SO. PRECIOUS, what with his big blue eyes and his ready smile. His quizzical brows and his quivering chin. He is a glory to behold, and even the rough spots I count as joy, brethren...
It is a great stage when little babies come into their own personalities. It's powerful to watch them "turn into people" all of a sudden. Jeremy used to say about Miles that, if you sat and watched long enough, you could actually see the baby grow. That appears to be true this time around, too....
Oh, and speaking of Miles: Guess what? He knows a story about Jesus. One I don't think I told him or read to him. One that goes beyond "when Baby Jesus was born." And he thinks it's COOL!
...Now, I do realize that kids exposed to church at a young age are bound to pick some things up, and I have known toddlers with better Bible chapter recall than my own, so I've got no bragging rights here -- but seriously, I am so proud! :)
Miles just recently got a "real" children's Bible (as opposed to the board books for babies, or the ones with a single story in them). And he brought it into the TV room yesterday. He flipped through, looking at the pictures, then suddenly stopped and started an animated ramble (with hand gestures) that goes pretty much like this:
"Oh, I know this one! This is the story of when Jesus took those fish. You know those fish? He made, like, 5 fish into, like A THOUSAND fish!! Because, actually, he just had 5 fish and, like, 2 pieces of bread. It was just a little bit of food. But then he made food for ALL THESE PEOPLE -- like, EVERYBODY who was there. And it was a lot. He turned those fish into THOUSANDS! All by himself.
...That is SO AWESOME!"
I had to keep from laughing out loud at, "That is SO AWESOME." It was exactly the same voice he uses to tell me about how General Grevious can kill two people at once, because he has 4 arms and two lightsabers.
I've been a bit worried about the embracing of the Star Wars violence -- and I might need to be -- but when a picture of a cartoon Jesus and the memory of a Bible story can illicit such a response, I guess we're all right here.
And that's the round-up from my daily life. More happens. Lots every day, really. And some of it even matters. ...But right now, nothing matters more than the health and well-being of those two little boys who grace our lives.
Amen and Emmanuel.
11.14.2007
Owen Alert!
All together now, let's say: "Awwww...."
Yes, I have an angel baby. This is Owen at almost 4 weeks old. He's now 5 weeks. And, I think, about 1.5 times heavier! (OK, I jest... but not by much. I am sure to amaze, dazzle and possibly alarm some of you with the stats from his upcoming 2-month check-up. Stay tuned, 'cause this one's a bruiser!)
Anyway, I have not the time to actually write, right now. I NEED to catch up on much-ignored work. But as I just peeked in on the (actual) Sleeping Angel Baby and found him looking like this (only bigger), I had the overwhelming urge to find the picture and post it. He does that fingers-to-the-face thing a lot. He also conducts imaginary music when semi-asleep. One arm sways and the fingers splay out and bob slightly in the air. Oh! And, he curls one side of his lip before he smiles. Makes him look like Elvis.
He likes overhead lights and the sound of running water and being outside. He doesn't mind the extra noise of a 5-year-old brother. He makes baby pig snorts when he's hungry and baby warthog (or starving-stray-dog-over-his-bowl) noises when he eats. He makes loud baby eagle chirps -- usually just one at a time -- when he needs to burp, and he makes THE BEST faces ever! (A tiny little "o" mouth or two raised eyebrows mean he is totally into you. A dumbfounded expression means you are his dad and have put him into Baby Trance.)
He's also getting quite fat. Did I mention?
Anyway, enough for now. Mazel tov to us! A Good Thing has arrived, and we are much pleased...
11.11.2007
The Public Clamors For News!
So, my faithful friend Susie asked for some baby stories. Because, shout for joy, I have stories to tell! THE BABY'S HERE! James Owen is actually a whole month old and I have not posted once since his emergence.
But I've got the stories! Yep, they're ALL right up here (taps noggin). ...And they're fading fast due to sleep deprivation!
Actually, it's not that bad. I'm just tired. Tired, tired, tired. And a little addled/ mentally impaired much of the time. I put my contacts into the opposite vials (R to L, etc) the other day and didn't figure it out until I put them back in and couldn't see straight. I tried to brush my hair with the BACK SIDE of a brush and seriously wondered, "What happened to the bristles!?" I've mysteriously lost two rings that hold nipples on bottles (we've looked everywhere; did I throw them away?), and I once completely forgot to offer Miles breakfast before school. (My car console now holds granola bars just for slow-brain days.)
I've been trying to post for several days now, but this was the week I started working again, and Owen doesn't sleep much during the daylight hours, so I've had my hands full.
But here are a few amusing moments that stand out as I sit here typing...
But I've got the stories! Yep, they're ALL right up here (taps noggin). ...And they're fading fast due to sleep deprivation!
Actually, it's not that bad. I'm just tired. Tired, tired, tired. And a little addled/ mentally impaired much of the time. I put my contacts into the opposite vials (R to L, etc) the other day and didn't figure it out until I put them back in and couldn't see straight. I tried to brush my hair with the BACK SIDE of a brush and seriously wondered, "What happened to the bristles!?" I've mysteriously lost two rings that hold nipples on bottles (we've looked everywhere; did I throw them away?), and I once completely forgot to offer Miles breakfast before school. (My car console now holds granola bars just for slow-brain days.)
I've been trying to post for several days now, but this was the week I started working again, and Owen doesn't sleep much during the daylight hours, so I've had my hands full.
But here are a few amusing moments that stand out as I sit here typing...
I. Proof that 5-year-old Boys CAN pay attention.
The setting: Sometime during Week One.
The Mama, in baby’s room, is trying to soothe some crankiness on the verge of crying. Miles, in the adjacent bedroom, appears to be in a world of his own making, where Jango Fett is the hero of an epic Star Wars battle being raged across a vast, messy swath of carpet.
Me: “I think we should change you, Owen. What will I find, do you think? Just pee or poop?”
A crystal clear, raised voice from another room: “I VOTE POO!”
Owen & I went to Miles’ school for lunch this past week. It was a big outing for O, who is generally a perfect specimen in public places… but who has never experienced anything like the eardrum-piercing cacophony that is an elementary school cafeteria.
Come to find out, there’s an outdoor picnic table area where parents can take their kids. And there are ALWAYS parents on campus for lunch -- about 5 pairs when we showed up. Once we settled in, another kindergarten student (a girl who incidentally knew Miles’ name but whom he claimed not to recognize) moved from her table across the patio, next to us.
She was SUCH a cute little wisp of a thing! Olive skin and black hair cut pixie style with straight bangs and swinging straight sides. Bright, dark eyes and small, delicate features.
The Cute Girl says: “Hi, Miles!”
(No response from the boy except to look down and frown slightly.)
CG: “I like that little baby you have.”
Me: “Hi. That’s Miles’ baby brother, Owen.”
(Ed Note: Which is a sweet, sweet sentiment, but can’t be all that true as Owen is completely, unfortunately fair skinned and bald except for some golden-red wisps on the sides and back. Plus he has baby acne and huge blue eyes. I don’t think dark-skinned babies like this darling girl come out looking like tiny old Irish men with a rosacea.)
…But now she’s three, and she looks just like me.”
Oh, girls of the world: Thanks be for you, sweet things -- and please keep trying with that Miles! He'll appreciate you talking to him so much more later.
...I wonder if I'll get lunch visits during middle school?
III. A Bit of Earthy Theology, or Miles' Ode to 21st Century Technology.
So Miles and I were working on a drawing project for church – kid art to be included in this year’s Advent devotional booklet. I showed him last year’s book, which used stock clip art, as a comparison. This conversation ensued…
Me: So, where we have grown-up art in last year’s book, we want kid art for this year’s book
Me: Yeah, I guess he is. Hey, Miles, do you think baby Jesus cried?
Me: What do you mean -- like, pacifiers?
Me: No, you’re right. That’s why the Bible says Jesus was wrapped in swaddling clothes when he was laid in the manger.
Miles: What’s that?
Me: Strips of cloth, or white fabric sort of like our cleaning rags.
8.27.2007
Later... That Same Day
Here's another email excerpt -- this one to my darlin' Jer -- to document the state of mental affairs around here at the end of Miles' Big Day.
------------------------------------------------------------------
Ginger wrote:
So, the conquering hero (and his mom) have returned home from war... er, kindergarten.
The day seems to have gone very well. Remarkably, Miles is a lot the same kid as he was yesterday. ...I don't know why this is still getting to me, but I remain surprised.
When I saw him completely dressed this morning, he seemed to have grown tremendously. When I put his backpack away in his classroom and turned back to his table, to find him hard at work, head bent over his coloring page, he seemed suddenly bigger than in the moment before.
But, he's still our Miles. He told me lunch "was NOT that easy, nope... NOT AT ALL" (use drama voice here) because he couldn't open his Go-Gurt without scissors, and there were none available, plus no one to help him, in the cafeteria.
He next told me he will be wearing a name badge all week, "so everyone gets used to my name... and can learn it better." After a glance at his current name badge, he proudly relayed, "I already know what this new word says: WALK-UUR" (painstakingly enunciated, the word is "walker," as opposed to "rider").
While on the sidewalk, on the way to the car, he observed, "I think that girl is the principal... over there, that one dressed nice."
And, in a moment to melt any Mama heart, he SMILED and nodded (head down, eyes averted) when Ms. Trpkosh asked if he would come back tomorrow.
My heart is actually hurting I am so pleased! My chest feels pain. And it's all good....
------------------------------------------------------------------
Ginger wrote:
So, the conquering hero (and his mom) have returned home from war... er, kindergarten.
The day seems to have gone very well. Remarkably, Miles is a lot the same kid as he was yesterday. ...I don't know why this is still getting to me, but I remain surprised.
When I saw him completely dressed this morning, he seemed to have grown tremendously. When I put his backpack away in his classroom and turned back to his table, to find him hard at work, head bent over his coloring page, he seemed suddenly bigger than in the moment before.
But, he's still our Miles. He told me lunch "was NOT that easy, nope... NOT AT ALL" (use drama voice here) because he couldn't open his Go-Gurt without scissors, and there were none available, plus no one to help him, in the cafeteria.
He next told me he will be wearing a name badge all week, "so everyone gets used to my name... and can learn it better." After a glance at his current name badge, he proudly relayed, "I already know what this new word says: WALK-UUR" (painstakingly enunciated, the word is "walker," as opposed to "rider").
While on the sidewalk, on the way to the car, he observed, "I think that girl is the principal... over there, that one dressed nice."
And, in a moment to melt any Mama heart, he SMILED and nodded (head down, eyes averted) when Ms. Trpkosh asked if he would come back tomorrow.
My heart is actually hurting I am so pleased! My chest feels pain. And it's all good....
Firsts
My firstborn son is in the middle of his first day of kindergarten.
...And, yes, this post is going to be ALL about me. :)
(I'd feel bad about that, but actually, I'm the Mama and I'm allowed a few such days in the life of the boy. Today is a red-letter one of them.)
Oh, I'm doing pretty well, thanks. Handling it all. Accepting the drop off/pick up hassles. Feeling out my stride. Judging myself to be reasonably calm. And yet. And yet...
He just seemed to grow so much between 6:58 and 8 a.m. this morning! At 6:50 a.m., Miles' dad left for his school and I stopped outside the boy's closed door, wondering how much longer I could possibly let him sleep. The rustlings on the other side told me Miles was already awake, all on his own.
I knew he'd be prepared for today. After a year of full-time preschool, this kid is ready! Plus, we've done our homework (so to speak). Practice runs. Meet the teacher. Pre-packed, shrink-wrapped school supplies delivered to his desk. Clothes and lunch all laid out the night before.
So, when I heard the familiar mutterings and shaking off of the bedclothes, I had SOME inkling the child would emerge from slumber an Eager Public School Beaver. But when his door opened at 6:59 and a half-grown boy appeared at the edge of the living room-- fully dressed down to the sparkling white socks and silver & blue Sketchers, flashing me a thumbs up & big, posed grin -- the transformation left me stunned. I felt like a dad in a Hallmark commercial, just before time to give away the bride.
This is my boy, you see. My rag-tag, unmatched play clothes, barefooted boy who lately likes affect baby talk as he squints his eyes, stretches out his arms and garbles, "Mom-MEES! Dad-IEEEES!" (This is code for "come here & give me a hug, you big lugs!") This is my boy who loves nothing better than to hang out at home in his underwear all weekend, who spends HOURS playing with action figures in his rooms, who still asks for Spot books, who follows the words to Cat in the Hat with his wee little index finger, who still wads his security blanket in his mouth when tired or in need of comfort.
This is MY boy, you see. Mine, whom I greatly love. But today I had to loosen my grip and give him, my son, into the world. Or at least into the world of Rice Elementary School. (Lordy; how many kids go to this place, anyway!? The cars! The children! The sheer number of backpacks and strollers to dodge!) Despite the crowd, despite the steamrolling, teacher-monopolizing parents, despite my inherent dislike of the over-efficient PTA Squad policing the halls... I think it's all going to be JUST FINE. In fact (and I fight the urge to whisper this next thought, for the irrational fear of jinxing it), things are probably going to be better than fine.
For lack of time, I'll close with a bit of an email exchange my very dear, extremely indulgent & understanding mom friends started. They made it OK for me to unload all about MY day, as they shared their perspectives on their own. And, they showed me, even as the kids get older, we Moms are a lot the same....
----- Excerpt From Original Message ----
Shea wrote:
Ginger wrote:
Yeah... I want to hear from me, too! I'm curious to see how I'll be doing by then. :)
I still have to process a lot of this "big kid school" stuff. Miles was fine with the traffic and hordes of parents/ strollers/ siblings -- at first, anyway -- because as he said, "Well, kids do go here until they're 10, Mom. And that makes a lot of kids!" But I noticed how much harder he squeezed my hand the deeper we walked into the building, the more bodies we had to dodge to get into his room.
He was so calm and so much the Young Man when I walked him to his table, though. He let go of my hand as soon as I let go of his... and he hardly ever lets go in new places. He asked me to "handle" his backpack, and when I turned around again, he was already coloring, head down and wearing a name badge on a string around his chest.
I hope I'll always remember what he looked like in that glance -- one of only two kids at the yellow table so far, his summer haircut growing out a little shaggy, his new polo shirt buttoned to the very top hole, his intense concentration on a coloring page quarter-filled -- yellow crayon only, and all within the lines. He seemed bigger than the last time I looked down.
And I was very proud of him.
...And, yes, this post is going to be ALL about me. :)
(I'd feel bad about that, but actually, I'm the Mama and I'm allowed a few such days in the life of the boy. Today is a red-letter one of them.)
Oh, I'm doing pretty well, thanks. Handling it all. Accepting the drop off/pick up hassles. Feeling out my stride. Judging myself to be reasonably calm. And yet. And yet...
He just seemed to grow so much between 6:58 and 8 a.m. this morning! At 6:50 a.m., Miles' dad left for his school and I stopped outside the boy's closed door, wondering how much longer I could possibly let him sleep. The rustlings on the other side told me Miles was already awake, all on his own.
I knew he'd be prepared for today. After a year of full-time preschool, this kid is ready! Plus, we've done our homework (so to speak). Practice runs. Meet the teacher. Pre-packed, shrink-wrapped school supplies delivered to his desk. Clothes and lunch all laid out the night before.
So, when I heard the familiar mutterings and shaking off of the bedclothes, I had SOME inkling the child would emerge from slumber an Eager Public School Beaver. But when his door opened at 6:59 and a half-grown boy appeared at the edge of the living room-- fully dressed down to the sparkling white socks and silver & blue Sketchers, flashing me a thumbs up & big, posed grin -- the transformation left me stunned. I felt like a dad in a Hallmark commercial, just before time to give away the bride.
This is my boy, you see. My rag-tag, unmatched play clothes, barefooted boy who lately likes affect baby talk as he squints his eyes, stretches out his arms and garbles, "Mom-MEES! Dad-IEEEES!" (This is code for "come here & give me a hug, you big lugs!") This is my boy who loves nothing better than to hang out at home in his underwear all weekend, who spends HOURS playing with action figures in his rooms, who still asks for Spot books, who follows the words to Cat in the Hat with his wee little index finger, who still wads his security blanket in his mouth when tired or in need of comfort.
This is MY boy, you see. Mine, whom I greatly love. But today I had to loosen my grip and give him, my son, into the world. Or at least into the world of Rice Elementary School. (Lordy; how many kids go to this place, anyway!? The cars! The children! The sheer number of backpacks and strollers to dodge!) Despite the crowd, despite the steamrolling, teacher-monopolizing parents, despite my inherent dislike of the over-efficient PTA Squad policing the halls... I think it's all going to be JUST FINE. In fact (and I fight the urge to whisper this next thought, for the irrational fear of jinxing it), things are probably going to be better than fine.
For lack of time, I'll close with a bit of an email exchange my very dear, extremely indulgent & understanding mom friends started. They made it OK for me to unload all about MY day, as they shared their perspectives on their own. And, they showed me, even as the kids get older, we Moms are a lot the same....
----- Excerpt From Original Message ----
Shea wrote:
Ginger, I want to hear from you after school today.
-------- Excerpt From Reply ----------- ----Ginger wrote:
Yeah... I want to hear from me, too! I'm curious to see how I'll be doing by then. :)
I still have to process a lot of this "big kid school" stuff. Miles was fine with the traffic and hordes of parents/ strollers/ siblings -- at first, anyway -- because as he said, "Well, kids do go here until they're 10, Mom. And that makes a lot of kids!" But I noticed how much harder he squeezed my hand the deeper we walked into the building, the more bodies we had to dodge to get into his room.
He was so calm and so much the Young Man when I walked him to his table, though. He let go of my hand as soon as I let go of his... and he hardly ever lets go in new places. He asked me to "handle" his backpack, and when I turned around again, he was already coloring, head down and wearing a name badge on a string around his chest.
I hope I'll always remember what he looked like in that glance -- one of only two kids at the yellow table so far, his summer haircut growing out a little shaggy, his new polo shirt buttoned to the very top hole, his intense concentration on a coloring page quarter-filled -- yellow crayon only, and all within the lines. He seemed bigger than the last time I looked down.
And I was very proud of him.
6.25.2007
Language Barrier
Miles had strep throat over the weekend. Not such a good time!
(Incidentally: How can a THROAT ailment affect both the stomach and bowels? One of life's little mysteries, for sure.)
Anyway, we were in a doctor's office on Friday, waiting and waiting in our exam room, when we heard a baby crying in a room nearby. I said, "That sounds like an upset baby, huh?"
M: "Yeah. He probably doesn't like going to the doctor's."
Me: "Hmmm... Maybe. He just doesn't understand what's happening to him. But you're not crying. You're being GREAT, and very patient, because you know coming to the doctor will make you better faster. It's too bad we can't explain things to babies like we can to 5-year-olds."
M: "Yeah. It's because we don't speak their language."
(Incidentally: How can a THROAT ailment affect both the stomach and bowels? One of life's little mysteries, for sure.)
Anyway, we were in a doctor's office on Friday, waiting and waiting in our exam room, when we heard a baby crying in a room nearby. I said, "That sounds like an upset baby, huh?"
M: "Yeah. He probably doesn't like going to the doctor's."
Me: "Hmmm... Maybe. He just doesn't understand what's happening to him. But you're not crying. You're being GREAT, and very patient, because you know coming to the doctor will make you better faster. It's too bad we can't explain things to babies like we can to 5-year-olds."
M: "Yeah. It's because we don't speak their language."
6.20.2007
I Got Tagged!
So... I got tagged! How exciting! I think these things are to be followed up upon a bit faster than 4 days later :) -- but I'm on Internet break this week, as I'm not working and I'm trying to stay busy BEYOND the home office.
So, anyway, thanks to Kieva (a newfound blogger!) for tagging me with the Five Things I Dig About Jesus meme. Here are mine:
1. He cried -- and He laughed.
2. He forever tied together food + conversation/ conversion.
Just a thought: Where would "church" be today, if not for the power of social events -- usually centered around food -- to forge connections we couldn't make in an hour of worship, to give us common ground and a greater level of comfort around each other, to generate good feelings and shared experience? You see how -- bad casseroles completely withstanding -- potluck is truly a Divine idea! Seriously, I know of no matching example in history where communal dining becomes such a life-changing, sacred force. It's not just symbolism -- Jesus really did bring "bread for the soul."
3. He sought out the not-so-polished people. And He made them his crowd -- because instead of merely loving them, He actually LIKED them.
...I bet the disciples -- being crusty, fisherman and tax-collector types -- were apt to get lost in the middle of an all-day walk and forget they were striding next to the Son of God. I bet, sometimes, they told inappropriate stories. Sometimes, they said crazy and crass things. And I bet, sometimes, Jesus laughed. I'm pretty sure He smiled.
4. He didn't have to do anything on earth, but He did.
He didn't have to prove anything to be the Divine, Fully-God Self He was and is -- but he did something very, very big nonetheless.
Suspend the question of sin for just a moment: How else would human beings know, really KNOW, that someone so unlike us loves, loves, loves us -- silly little us! -- except that He lay down his life to call us "brothers" and "friends?"
5. He's alive.
It's just good to know, that the Jesus I pray to isn't frozen in time
or stuck in one place or even confined to the pages of a very great book. He's alive, and one day I'll get to be in His crowd... eating tacos, I hope, and listening to the BEST conversation!
So, anyway, thanks to Kieva (a newfound blogger!) for tagging me with the Five Things I Dig About Jesus meme. Here are mine:
1. He cried -- and He laughed.
2. He forever tied together food + conversation/ conversion.
Just a thought: Where would "church" be today, if not for the power of social events -- usually centered around food -- to forge connections we couldn't make in an hour of worship, to give us common ground and a greater level of comfort around each other, to generate good feelings and shared experience? You see how -- bad casseroles completely withstanding -- potluck is truly a Divine idea! Seriously, I know of no matching example in history where communal dining becomes such a life-changing, sacred force. It's not just symbolism -- Jesus really did bring "bread for the soul."
3. He sought out the not-so-polished people. And He made them his crowd -- because instead of merely loving them, He actually LIKED them.
...I bet the disciples -- being crusty, fisherman and tax-collector types -- were apt to get lost in the middle of an all-day walk and forget they were striding next to the Son of God. I bet, sometimes, they told inappropriate stories. Sometimes, they said crazy and crass things. And I bet, sometimes, Jesus laughed. I'm pretty sure He smiled.
4. He didn't have to do anything on earth, but He did.
He didn't have to prove anything to be the Divine, Fully-God Self He was and is -- but he did something very, very big nonetheless.
Suspend the question of sin for just a moment: How else would human beings know, really KNOW, that someone so unlike us loves, loves, loves us -- silly little us! -- except that He lay down his life to call us "brothers" and "friends?"
5. He's alive.
It's just good to know, that the Jesus I pray to isn't frozen in time
or stuck in one place or even confined to the pages of a very great book. He's alive, and one day I'll get to be in His crowd... eating tacos, I hope, and listening to the BEST conversation!
6.14.2007
Just Bursting...
So I'm catching up on work a few feet away from the TV room, and my boys are starting a movie. A few bars of opening music should be all it takes to ID the film. Let's see... how to approximate?
Da-da-da DUUUM-DUUUM. Da-da-da-DAH.....
Or, if this makes it easier:
Miles has -- and has had for a couple of years now -- a total Star Wars fixation. For the longest time, he'd never even seen one of the movies; the gear and the action figures were enough to get him hooked.
We finally let him view A New Hope at age 4 1/2. Since summer began, he's moved on to episodes 5, 6 and 1, courtesy the VHS collection of our local library.
We parents have decided he can't complete the series, at least for a couple of years, because things are about to take a much darker turn on screen. Fortunately for us, the boy seems content to REWATCH all the episodes he's seen thus far. Unfortunately for us, he would watch nothing else if we let him.
This is how I have come to memorize large chunks of Episode 4: A New Hope. Need examples?
"They've shut down the main power converter. We'll be destroyed for sure. This is madness!"
"Secret mission? What are you talking about?!"
"We seem to be made to suffer. It's our lot in life." (C3P0)
"But I was going to the Tashi Station to pick up some new power converters!" (Luke)
"Help Me Obi-Wan Kenobi -- you're my only hope." (Leia)
"These are not the droids you're looking for." (Obi-Wan)
"Never heard of the Millenium Falcon? It's the ship that made the Kessel run in less than 12 parsecs!" (Han Solo)
"I should have expected to find you holding Vader's leash. I recognized your foul stench when I came on board." (Leia)
...Need I go on? It's a little disturbing that I have become a total SW nerd so late in life. But, for the loves of boyhood, what's a parent to do?
Anyway, I'm just typing away in here, listening to the soundtrack of our recent lives out there, when I stop to observe the backs of my two boys on our couch. They look so much alike from this angle -- the bigger red head and the littler red head. Both shirtless in the summer heat, Jer's legs propped on the coffee table and Miles long, skinny limbs splayed over his dad. Miles is completely focused, and Jeremy is patiently sitting through his umpteenth viewing.
I look at them and I shake my head... in wonder or awe or I don't know what. But I look at them, in this very ordinary everyday moment, and I think my heart just might burst out of my chest.
I am bursting for these two people who share my life. Who make my life. And now we get another! Can a girl even ask for more than this?
Da-da-da DUUUM-DUUUM. Da-da-da-DAH.....
Or, if this makes it easier:
Miles has -- and has had for a couple of years now -- a total Star Wars fixation. For the longest time, he'd never even seen one of the movies; the gear and the action figures were enough to get him hooked.
We finally let him view A New Hope at age 4 1/2. Since summer began, he's moved on to episodes 5, 6 and 1, courtesy the VHS collection of our local library.
We parents have decided he can't complete the series, at least for a couple of years, because things are about to take a much darker turn on screen. Fortunately for us, the boy seems content to REWATCH all the episodes he's seen thus far. Unfortunately for us, he would watch nothing else if we let him.
This is how I have come to memorize large chunks of Episode 4: A New Hope. Need examples?
"They've shut down the main power converter. We'll be destroyed for sure. This is madness!"
"Secret mission? What are you talking about?!"
"We seem to be made to suffer. It's our lot in life." (C3P0)
"But I was going to the Tashi Station to pick up some new power converters!" (Luke)
"Help Me Obi-Wan Kenobi -- you're my only hope." (Leia)
"These are not the droids you're looking for." (Obi-Wan)
"Never heard of the Millenium Falcon? It's the ship that made the Kessel run in less than 12 parsecs!" (Han Solo)
"I should have expected to find you holding Vader's leash. I recognized your foul stench when I came on board." (Leia)
...Need I go on? It's a little disturbing that I have become a total SW nerd so late in life. But, for the loves of boyhood, what's a parent to do?
Anyway, I'm just typing away in here, listening to the soundtrack of our recent lives out there, when I stop to observe the backs of my two boys on our couch. They look so much alike from this angle -- the bigger red head and the littler red head. Both shirtless in the summer heat, Jer's legs propped on the coffee table and Miles long, skinny limbs splayed over his dad. Miles is completely focused, and Jeremy is patiently sitting through his umpteenth viewing.
I look at them and I shake my head... in wonder or awe or I don't know what. But I look at them, in this very ordinary everyday moment, and I think my heart just might burst out of my chest.
I am bursting for these two people who share my life. Who make my life. And now we get another! Can a girl even ask for more than this?
6.11.2007
Monday Musing...
So I started the day behind and things aren't exactly looking up from here. I think I might not actually be so good at the fabled multi-tasking as I thought, because today I have (really, not hyperbole here) about 50 different things, in probably 5 different categories of "thing," to do for work. Instead of feeling good that I have these multiple jobs afoot, and not the sort of redundant day that used to get me down, I feel more like my head might explode.
Ah, well... "out of the frying pan," as they say. Or, "the grass isn't always greener." Or, "if it ain't one thing...." Or, "another day, another dollar."
(Um, this was supposed to be a lift-my-spirits and get-me-back-in-the-writing-groove break, but the words have gone so far south so fast, I hesitate to keep typing. Soon, I'll be SPEAKING these overused little ditties and sounding very much like a traveling salesman.)
Anyway, I was thinking: This is the kind of day I ALMOST wished I worked at The Office in Scranton. Yeah, so while my soul might be slowly compressed by the futility of my professional life, at least I'd have Dwight around for amusement, and Pam and Jim with whom to quip.
...Interruption while I help Lori in Louisiana log into our web site, email Rachel in Ohio a credit card authorization form, and leave a gushy message for Donna in Virginia. (I think she's put out with me.)
...2nd interruption while I walk Jess in Oklahoma through our online ordering process. (Deep sigh. Much time lost. This person is NOT a fan of the computer age...)
Hey! Maybe I DO work in The Office. Of a sort. Plenty of small, not-that-dramatic moments accrue every day, and I bet I could turn them into something more interesting -- poetic license and all. I should perhaps start compiling my stranger interactions, in the hopes of a TV deal to fund my children's higher education.
So I have no visible co-workers or clients... just a small glitch to overcome for a visual medium, RIGHT?! Maybe America really DOES want to see a fictionalized account of a home office Lone Ranger, daily fighting the good fight with a slew of testy/ needy clients & quirky co-workers (so far -- all too familiar, right?) ; ever glitchy, old house technology coupled with charming ineptitude for dealing with said technology; a mound of volunteer tasks including food for dead folks (Bereavement Committee) ; regular familial and/or household interruptions -- not limited to but including bouncing balls gone over cinder-block fences and rotting rat carcasses on the patio; plus never quite enough time or hot coffee.
I bet I'd make good radio theater, anyway....
Ah, well... "out of the frying pan," as they say. Or, "the grass isn't always greener." Or, "if it ain't one thing...." Or, "another day, another dollar."
(Um, this was supposed to be a lift-my-spirits and get-me-back-in-the-writing-groove break, but the words have gone so far south so fast, I hesitate to keep typing. Soon, I'll be SPEAKING these overused little ditties and sounding very much like a traveling salesman.)
Anyway, I was thinking: This is the kind of day I ALMOST wished I worked at The Office in Scranton. Yeah, so while my soul might be slowly compressed by the futility of my professional life, at least I'd have Dwight around for amusement, and Pam and Jim with whom to quip.
...Interruption while I help Lori in Louisiana log into our web site, email Rachel in Ohio a credit card authorization form, and leave a gushy message for Donna in Virginia. (I think she's put out with me.)
...2nd interruption while I walk Jess in Oklahoma through our online ordering process. (Deep sigh. Much time lost. This person is NOT a fan of the computer age...)
Hey! Maybe I DO work in The Office. Of a sort. Plenty of small, not-that-dramatic moments accrue every day, and I bet I could turn them into something more interesting -- poetic license and all. I should perhaps start compiling my stranger interactions, in the hopes of a TV deal to fund my children's higher education.
So I have no visible co-workers or clients... just a small glitch to overcome for a visual medium, RIGHT?! Maybe America really DOES want to see a fictionalized account of a home office Lone Ranger, daily fighting the good fight with a slew of testy/ needy clients & quirky co-workers (so far -- all too familiar, right?) ; ever glitchy, old house technology coupled with charming ineptitude for dealing with said technology; a mound of volunteer tasks including food for dead folks (Bereavement Committee) ; regular familial and/or household interruptions -- not limited to but including bouncing balls gone over cinder-block fences and rotting rat carcasses on the patio; plus never quite enough time or hot coffee.
I bet I'd make good radio theater, anyway....
6.07.2007
Oh, yeah, I have a BLOG!
So, I'm pretty much a loser. A big, blog-ignoring loser. A blu-ger. (Not to be confused with those little things... oh, nevermind me & my middle school humor.)
It's just that a lot of small, neat, adorably precious moments have passed in my life since March -- not that any of you would know it, the way I fail to post even the slightest mention of them!
I'm determined to do better. Really. Seriously. I have this long list of Miles-isms in my head (if only I could remember the file name under which said document is saved!?) that I could post throughout the summer, even if nothing else happens. But then, something is always happening. Like today, at lunch, when Miles stuck his tongue out at me. I thought he was being rude until I began to glean a word and a gesture in his antics. "See? See dere?" He retracted the organ and said, clearly, "I know what all those little bumps on my tongue are called. Do you? They're called taste-testers. And, BOY, do they work!"
So, see? See dere? Funny stuff happens all the time! I just have to get myself in gear to WRITE IT DOWN when it does.
I have been working on a rather long essay for about half a month now, and I finally decided, just tonight, to just send it out there not quite polished. It's what I can do for myself today. And I need the feeling of having done SOMETHING today. I miss my blog! I miss the very imperfect effort of writing for my blog. I want it all back! And so I will begin, again. Hopefully, I can retrain my family and friends to stop back by on occasion. As any of you do, enjoy the post below. It's nicely (that is, I hope "nicely," and not "overly") personal. And it's been percolating for a while. :)
Hugs and kisses, friends!
It's just that a lot of small, neat, adorably precious moments have passed in my life since March -- not that any of you would know it, the way I fail to post even the slightest mention of them!
I'm determined to do better. Really. Seriously. I have this long list of Miles-isms in my head (if only I could remember the file name under which said document is saved!?) that I could post throughout the summer, even if nothing else happens. But then, something is always happening. Like today, at lunch, when Miles stuck his tongue out at me. I thought he was being rude until I began to glean a word and a gesture in his antics. "See? See dere?" He retracted the organ and said, clearly, "I know what all those little bumps on my tongue are called. Do you? They're called taste-testers. And, BOY, do they work!"
So, see? See dere? Funny stuff happens all the time! I just have to get myself in gear to WRITE IT DOWN when it does.
I have been working on a rather long essay for about half a month now, and I finally decided, just tonight, to just send it out there not quite polished. It's what I can do for myself today. And I need the feeling of having done SOMETHING today. I miss my blog! I miss the very imperfect effort of writing for my blog. I want it all back! And so I will begin, again. Hopefully, I can retrain my family and friends to stop back by on occasion. As any of you do, enjoy the post below. It's nicely (that is, I hope "nicely," and not "overly") personal. And it's been percolating for a while. :)
Hugs and kisses, friends!
Joining the Club
Openly or inwardly, I think we all enjoy belonging to things. I myself love being "part of the club." I love nothing better than uncovering some fascinating new group of humans and discovering that I, too, can play their reindeer games.
...Well, I love nothing better unless it's uncovering a new person I can co-opt for an existing group, someone whose shiny qualities I suddenly happen to notice and whom I immediately, mentally consign into membership, in some society where I also plan to be.
I like being part, and I like making people feel a part. I'm a big fan of "joining the club."
Oh, I don't tend to join many official entities, like the Junior League or the Rotary. I'm more of an ad-hoc society gal -- the Circle of Friends from college, the "high school girlfriends" group, the "scrapbooking chicas who occasionally email each other" club. I'm always on the lookout for another card-carrying member of Watches Too Much Bravo Reality TV, or an impromptu meet-up of Good Blog Reading + Good Links. I'm a proud participant in two not-so-churchey church groups: "Girls' Night Out" and "Super Secret Girls Night Out." (OK... that second one was actually just a joke; But I like the way it sounds.)
I also maintain membership in clubs I haven't courted, but to which I've been assigned. I hear I'm part of the Rebel-Rouser Sunday School Class. (I probably don't deserve the credit, but I do like a little rock-n-roll in my praise & worship songs!) I'm on both the "Inside Circle" and the "Outer Track" at work. (True, and not worth explaining.)
I've even been known to make up my own clubs. I've recently become part of a somewhat secret society known as Occasionally Bucking the Extended Family's Expectations. (Ah, great fun! The coolest co-members, plus: less guilt/ more free time!) I am definitely part of the Garden-Variety Crazy Club (we can recognize our own insanities, but far from wanting to cure them all, we sometimes prefer the kind of strange that puts us in good company with all the other, everyday crazies).
And then, there's the most recent group I've joined: the Mom-of-Two-Boys club!
Yep, you read that right. I am with child. All gestating, all the time. I am hatching a human egg. And, as we recently found out, the New Baby Brandt (NBB) is definitely a "he."
*
So my favorite club ever -- we who call ourselves family and live at Sherry Lane -- will be adding another male member sometime early fall. I'm still weaving that thought into my reality. Not that I'm so deeply shocked about the "male" part (surprised, yes I was -- but readily and happily adjusted). Instead, I am flabbergasted about the I-have-an-actual-baby-in-here part. I'm absolutely gobsmacked that IT WORKED! That IT'S REAL. That our tribe increases; that my cup overflows. Surely mercy and goodness will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever!
Actually -- this is full disclosure, friends, only for those who want the unvarnished truth -- I tend to draw my references for this event as much from J.K. Rowling as the Bible. Sacrilege? Maybe. But I definitely think of this child as the Harry Potter of my womb. After two little lives began their days in there and then, abruptly, ended them.... Well, this one is "the boy who lived."
He yawned during the 20-week sonogram. And I could see that he has perfectly formed lips, and a tongue. Can you imagine? First, at about 8 weeks, this kid defied my personal odds and began to grow... LEGS! The Boy Who Lived started with tiny little stumps and a pulsating grain of rice for a heart, and then by 12 weeks he had grown LIMBS and CHAMBERS and ORGANS and... and... everything! Now he has a full bladder and skin behind his spine and 71 other things the sonogram technician checked for and found not wanting.
He's a person in there, and he's perfectly healthy. He's both miracle and magic. In his clever, compact, 15-ounce form, this tiny little thing is, even now, increasing my portion of blessing.
When he comes out, I wonder this... How will I ever stop looking at him, now that I know so much? How will I ever make a bed or type an email or pick up a stray sock, for staring at the baby?
In a flash, I know, he'll be a 5-year-old boy. He'll still have the softest cheeks and the same, quizzical eyes, but suddenly his nose will be a mass of fine freckles in need of UVA protection, his mouth two rows of Chicklet teeth to be examined after nightly brushings, his hair a thick and unruly wave in endless want of grooming.
Having this baby spurs me to confess: I have earned none of the good and beautiful I've been given in this life. I don't deserve Jeremy; I'd never have merited our Miles. And yet here I am, again, the beneficiary of God's largesse. I don't deserve all that I have. But -- just so I say this out loud, too -- I have suffered for what I want. I have been very, very sad as I've held pieces of me in the palm of my hands, wondering how I came so undone and at a total loss for how to put myself back together.
It feels over now, that period of time marked by "want" and "empty." It isn't just that we're having a baby, who will help fill in our house and fill up our family. It's that I have somehow managed to refill myself. I felt dry for a long time. Less than me. I was pinched and "dour," as someone recently described that me. But I'm not that now. Not at all. And I think the real news story of the past 2 years -- my "faith story," if ya wanna call it that -- is that all my reassembled, not-perfectly-fitting shards of self actually increase my abilities as a human vessel. Oh, I'm a cracked pot, to be sure. Much less "all together" than before. But the jagged edges somehow soften my own. The cracks make me more graceful, I hope. Gentler on the judgments. Willing to bend and to let go and oh-so-readily to forgive -- myself as well as other people. It's fascinating, really, how the leftover, empty spaces actually make me heavier. They give me gravitas. They allow my soul room to grow.
To put this into local color perspective, it's like my insides are one of those discarded, brown cicada shells you find sticking to the sides of houses and tree trunks and patio furniture all summer long down here -- if the bug were still in the skeleton. Instead of one pristine crack down the back and the perfect outline of a missing insect, I'm more of a bigger cicada with multiple cracks in my exoskeleton... basically a bug busting out all over!
One thing I've noticed about this particular me: I've make peace with "afraid." I don't live in fear, but I face up to having fears. I know, now, what it means to be the father of the possessed child, both believing and unbelieving, all at the same time.
*
For a moment at the beginning of the sonogram -- just a split-second, really -- I turned my head to the screen and I didn't see anything. Oh, I mean, I saw a baby -- a well-formed, unmoving little image of a human baby -- but I didn't see the living, pulsating animation I expected from the magic machine. There was no movement of any sort. Just a picture -- immovable -- like a seared memory. No words had yet escaped the tech, and I went, hyper-drive, from cool and sober to a sweaty pool of mess. I stilled my breath and clenched my lungs against the tone of pity I could almost hear breaking the silence. But then she did speak, and I could hear in her voice that we were fine. The baby and I, both... just fine. I had no idea I was that scared until it was over.
But when it was over, it was over. We're fine. I don't fear for this baby anymore. I'm not tentative about his existence or his entry into the world. He's here. Now. He's real. And -- just for the moment -- he's all mine.
So welcome to my club, New Baby Brandt. I can't remember how I've waited this long to add you to the ranks of the world, but here you are, now, and I think you're timing's just fine. You should know the first group you'll join is fairly exclusive -- I've picked the absolute best boys I could find to be your dad and your brother. They set the bar high. Along with me, and now you, the four of us make up a family. A tribe. ...We are our own Super Secret Society.
You're part of it, NBB, and we're glad to have you join. Participation is at your will, but we do think you'll be willing, all in good time. For now, my sweetest little life, just know that no matter what happens -- ever -- to you or to me -- you are in my club. And membership in this society can never be revoked.
...Well, I love nothing better unless it's uncovering a new person I can co-opt for an existing group, someone whose shiny qualities I suddenly happen to notice and whom I immediately, mentally consign into membership, in some society where I also plan to be.
I like being part, and I like making people feel a part. I'm a big fan of "joining the club."
Oh, I don't tend to join many official entities, like the Junior League or the Rotary. I'm more of an ad-hoc society gal -- the Circle of Friends from college, the "high school girlfriends" group, the "scrapbooking chicas who occasionally email each other" club. I'm always on the lookout for another card-carrying member of Watches Too Much Bravo Reality TV, or an impromptu meet-up of Good Blog Reading + Good Links. I'm a proud participant in two not-so-churchey church groups: "Girls' Night Out" and "Super Secret Girls Night Out." (OK... that second one was actually just a joke; But I like the way it sounds.)
I also maintain membership in clubs I haven't courted, but to which I've been assigned. I hear I'm part of the Rebel-Rouser Sunday School Class. (I probably don't deserve the credit, but I do like a little rock-n-roll in my praise & worship songs!) I'm on both the "Inside Circle" and the "Outer Track" at work. (True, and not worth explaining.)
I've even been known to make up my own clubs. I've recently become part of a somewhat secret society known as Occasionally Bucking the Extended Family's Expectations. (Ah, great fun! The coolest co-members, plus: less guilt/ more free time!) I am definitely part of the Garden-Variety Crazy Club (we can recognize our own insanities, but far from wanting to cure them all, we sometimes prefer the kind of strange that puts us in good company with all the other, everyday crazies).
And then, there's the most recent group I've joined: the Mom-of-Two-Boys club!
Yep, you read that right. I am with child. All gestating, all the time. I am hatching a human egg. And, as we recently found out, the New Baby Brandt (NBB) is definitely a "he."
*
So my favorite club ever -- we who call ourselves family and live at Sherry Lane -- will be adding another male member sometime early fall. I'm still weaving that thought into my reality. Not that I'm so deeply shocked about the "male" part (surprised, yes I was -- but readily and happily adjusted). Instead, I am flabbergasted about the I-have-an-actual-baby-in-here part. I'm absolutely gobsmacked that IT WORKED! That IT'S REAL. That our tribe increases; that my cup overflows. Surely mercy and goodness will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever!
Actually -- this is full disclosure, friends, only for those who want the unvarnished truth -- I tend to draw my references for this event as much from J.K. Rowling as the Bible. Sacrilege? Maybe. But I definitely think of this child as the Harry Potter of my womb. After two little lives began their days in there and then, abruptly, ended them.... Well, this one is "the boy who lived."
He yawned during the 20-week sonogram. And I could see that he has perfectly formed lips, and a tongue. Can you imagine? First, at about 8 weeks, this kid defied my personal odds and began to grow... LEGS! The Boy Who Lived started with tiny little stumps and a pulsating grain of rice for a heart, and then by 12 weeks he had grown LIMBS and CHAMBERS and ORGANS and... and... everything! Now he has a full bladder and skin behind his spine and 71 other things the sonogram technician checked for and found not wanting.
He's a person in there, and he's perfectly healthy. He's both miracle and magic. In his clever, compact, 15-ounce form, this tiny little thing is, even now, increasing my portion of blessing.
When he comes out, I wonder this... How will I ever stop looking at him, now that I know so much? How will I ever make a bed or type an email or pick up a stray sock, for staring at the baby?
In a flash, I know, he'll be a 5-year-old boy. He'll still have the softest cheeks and the same, quizzical eyes, but suddenly his nose will be a mass of fine freckles in need of UVA protection, his mouth two rows of Chicklet teeth to be examined after nightly brushings, his hair a thick and unruly wave in endless want of grooming.
Having this baby spurs me to confess: I have earned none of the good and beautiful I've been given in this life. I don't deserve Jeremy; I'd never have merited our Miles. And yet here I am, again, the beneficiary of God's largesse. I don't deserve all that I have. But -- just so I say this out loud, too -- I have suffered for what I want. I have been very, very sad as I've held pieces of me in the palm of my hands, wondering how I came so undone and at a total loss for how to put myself back together.
It feels over now, that period of time marked by "want" and "empty." It isn't just that we're having a baby, who will help fill in our house and fill up our family. It's that I have somehow managed to refill myself. I felt dry for a long time. Less than me. I was pinched and "dour," as someone recently described that me. But I'm not that now. Not at all. And I think the real news story of the past 2 years -- my "faith story," if ya wanna call it that -- is that all my reassembled, not-perfectly-fitting shards of self actually increase my abilities as a human vessel. Oh, I'm a cracked pot, to be sure. Much less "all together" than before. But the jagged edges somehow soften my own. The cracks make me more graceful, I hope. Gentler on the judgments. Willing to bend and to let go and oh-so-readily to forgive -- myself as well as other people. It's fascinating, really, how the leftover, empty spaces actually make me heavier. They give me gravitas. They allow my soul room to grow.
To put this into local color perspective, it's like my insides are one of those discarded, brown cicada shells you find sticking to the sides of houses and tree trunks and patio furniture all summer long down here -- if the bug were still in the skeleton. Instead of one pristine crack down the back and the perfect outline of a missing insect, I'm more of a bigger cicada with multiple cracks in my exoskeleton... basically a bug busting out all over!
One thing I've noticed about this particular me: I've make peace with "afraid." I don't live in fear, but I face up to having fears. I know, now, what it means to be the father of the possessed child, both believing and unbelieving, all at the same time.
*
For a moment at the beginning of the sonogram -- just a split-second, really -- I turned my head to the screen and I didn't see anything. Oh, I mean, I saw a baby -- a well-formed, unmoving little image of a human baby -- but I didn't see the living, pulsating animation I expected from the magic machine. There was no movement of any sort. Just a picture -- immovable -- like a seared memory. No words had yet escaped the tech, and I went, hyper-drive, from cool and sober to a sweaty pool of mess. I stilled my breath and clenched my lungs against the tone of pity I could almost hear breaking the silence. But then she did speak, and I could hear in her voice that we were fine. The baby and I, both... just fine. I had no idea I was that scared until it was over.
But when it was over, it was over. We're fine. I don't fear for this baby anymore. I'm not tentative about his existence or his entry into the world. He's here. Now. He's real. And -- just for the moment -- he's all mine.
So welcome to my club, New Baby Brandt. I can't remember how I've waited this long to add you to the ranks of the world, but here you are, now, and I think you're timing's just fine. You should know the first group you'll join is fairly exclusive -- I've picked the absolute best boys I could find to be your dad and your brother. They set the bar high. Along with me, and now you, the four of us make up a family. A tribe. ...We are our own Super Secret Society.
You're part of it, NBB, and we're glad to have you join. Participation is at your will, but we do think you'll be willing, all in good time. For now, my sweetest little life, just know that no matter what happens -- ever -- to you or to me -- you are in my club. And membership in this society can never be revoked.
3.08.2007
Following What Happened
I have a minute to breathe just now, and so it seems a good time to post the obituary for my tiny little nephew, Caleb. I wrote it at my brother's request, and I end it in words my brother said to me.
An explanatory post on this topic is just below.... I'm still sort of wrapping my head around the whole situation, and I thought posting the obit might help. One day after the funeral, I still feel kinda "busy" in my head. It's a good amount of mental work, I guess, registering what the loss will mean to Betsy and Shannon in days to come, looking out for them and, as much as I can, watching over them. I find myself suddenly flashing back through our smallest conversations, seeking out signs that our collective grief is "going well." (Having been depressed for a good part of 2006, I'm also on high alert that I myself allow the good and healthy kind of sad but don't let any emotions slide to the dark side. I might be needlessly concerned and over-analyzing, but there I am.)
I also need to give myself a break, to sleep more, and not let the tragedy of people I love become MY tragedy. It really doesn't belong to me. I'm working on all that, too, and I think I'm doing OK. I think I'm watching out for myself. (And if I'm not, Jeremy is. He's already pushing a massage and spa day. When he sends me forth to shop, I'll know I have been exhibiting too many signs of stress!)
Anyway... here are the words. They're kind of like a sermon, I figured out later. Which is probably good, because anyone who reads about a tiny baby who died probably needs a dose of theology. May the God-words comfort us all...
A final thought: If anyone wants to post a message of support the parents can print out and save, our local newspaper allows comments in their obit postings. Here is the link: Caleb's online guestbook.
Peace. --Ginger
An explanatory post on this topic is just below.... I'm still sort of wrapping my head around the whole situation, and I thought posting the obit might help. One day after the funeral, I still feel kinda "busy" in my head. It's a good amount of mental work, I guess, registering what the loss will mean to Betsy and Shannon in days to come, looking out for them and, as much as I can, watching over them. I find myself suddenly flashing back through our smallest conversations, seeking out signs that our collective grief is "going well." (Having been depressed for a good part of 2006, I'm also on high alert that I myself allow the good and healthy kind of sad but don't let any emotions slide to the dark side. I might be needlessly concerned and over-analyzing, but there I am.)
I also need to give myself a break, to sleep more, and not let the tragedy of people I love become MY tragedy. It really doesn't belong to me. I'm working on all that, too, and I think I'm doing OK. I think I'm watching out for myself. (And if I'm not, Jeremy is. He's already pushing a massage and spa day. When he sends me forth to shop, I'll know I have been exhibiting too many signs of stress!)
Anyway... here are the words. They're kind of like a sermon, I figured out later. Which is probably good, because anyone who reads about a tiny baby who died probably needs a dose of theology. May the God-words comfort us all...
JOHN CALEB BARRY
John Caleb Barry passed from Earth to Heaven on March 4, 2007. He was born March 2, 2007 at Presbyterian Hospital in Plano, Texas.
Caleb was the son of Betsy and Shannon Barry of Tyler. He is survived by his parents; by his brother, Joshua Isaac; by his grandparents, Sarah and John Beene of Tyler and Kay and James Barry of Longview; by his aunts and uncles, Melissa and Bentley Ford, Meredith Beene and Ginger and Jeremy Brandt, all of Tyler; by his cousins Katie Beth and Anna Ford and Miles Brandt; and by his three great-grandmothers and one great-grandfather, Barbara Jones, Dorothy Barry and Kathleen and Edwin Hamilton.
Caleb was known to his God well before birth, each of his days counted before one of them came to be. Those who saw him testify: He was wonderfully made. His parents believe Caleb was called by God just as God calls to all people of faith, throughout all time. Quoting the words spoken to the prophet Jeremiah, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you; before you were born I set you apart.”
Caleb’s life was a powerful witness to his family and many friends, showing us how deeply our faith can sustain us through difficulty, and how present God is in our hurts.
Graveside services for Caleb were held Wednesday morning, March 7 in Henderson, Texas.
John Caleb Barry was a real live little boy who came to bless his family in a life of a few, short days. He now lives perfected, in a place of constant fellowship and joy, because of the sacrifice made for all by Caleb’s Savior, Jesus Christ.
A final thought: If anyone wants to post a message of support the parents can print out and save, our local newspaper allows comments in their obit postings. Here is the link: Caleb's online guestbook.
Peace. --Ginger
3.05.2007
Something Has Happened
Something happened this weekend -- something so big it shakes me out of silence and verily compels me to type. I can't exactly name the thing, but it's something.
I'm still not even sure what happened, really, though I've endless repeated all the facts and raw details.
It's something very bad.
And, yet... here's my confusion, because it was also something, well, sometimes beautiful. And affecting, in the way that some things have the power to make you IMMEDIATELY a different person, right there on the spot, usually in the middle of something horrible and tragic and prayerful and God-covered.
I stood in the same place Jesus was standing this weekend, in the midst of something very bad happening.
It was not good. And yet, and yet...
My brother and sister-in-law had a baby on Friday, 3 1/2 months before he was due to be born. The baby lived and breathed and died on Sunday.
His name was John Caleb Barry, and he was wonderfully made. He had tiny fingernails and toenails, and two long, pretty feet. He wasn't as skinny as you might think at just 1 pound, 12 ounces. He had such nice, pink skin. Smooth. No hairs anywhere. That meant no eyelashes, though, as they weren't due to form until later. His eyes were fused shut; they never got a chance to open. He was about as long as a ruler and weighed less than 2 cans of soup.
Can you believe we live in a world where any mother would have to see her baby so almost -- so heartbreakingly almost and not quite -- complete? What the hell kind of world is this, anyway?
I guess I have an answer for that, since I asked. It's the "here below," where we live. It sure isn't Heaven. That's all I can say about why any baby ever has to be born at 25 weeks. Why any mother waits 12 hours to be put in a wheelchair, tethered to IV bags and monitors, for her first trip to see the plastic womb that sequesters her child from the rest of humanity. Why any dad must stand in sick rooms and waiting rooms and hallways for days, not sleeping or eating, losing even the ability to speak in a fog of prayers and hope against all the damage in the world.
It sucks. This place called Earth, where people suffer and life is not perfect. It just sucks.
But it's also the only place I've ever seen good happen. It's the only place I've ever been, so it's my only frame of reference for how people can show one another love. How God can be felt when He cannot be seen.
And it's the place I saw all manner of love reign down this weekend. Right here, below.
More later, as I have the time and space to process just how I feel. We're all pretty hurt, but I don't see us being broken.
I'm still not even sure what happened, really, though I've endless repeated all the facts and raw details.
It's something very bad.
And, yet... here's my confusion, because it was also something, well, sometimes beautiful. And affecting, in the way that some things have the power to make you IMMEDIATELY a different person, right there on the spot, usually in the middle of something horrible and tragic and prayerful and God-covered.
I stood in the same place Jesus was standing this weekend, in the midst of something very bad happening.
It was not good. And yet, and yet...
My brother and sister-in-law had a baby on Friday, 3 1/2 months before he was due to be born. The baby lived and breathed and died on Sunday.
His name was John Caleb Barry, and he was wonderfully made. He had tiny fingernails and toenails, and two long, pretty feet. He wasn't as skinny as you might think at just 1 pound, 12 ounces. He had such nice, pink skin. Smooth. No hairs anywhere. That meant no eyelashes, though, as they weren't due to form until later. His eyes were fused shut; they never got a chance to open. He was about as long as a ruler and weighed less than 2 cans of soup.
Can you believe we live in a world where any mother would have to see her baby so almost -- so heartbreakingly almost and not quite -- complete? What the hell kind of world is this, anyway?
I guess I have an answer for that, since I asked. It's the "here below," where we live. It sure isn't Heaven. That's all I can say about why any baby ever has to be born at 25 weeks. Why any mother waits 12 hours to be put in a wheelchair, tethered to IV bags and monitors, for her first trip to see the plastic womb that sequesters her child from the rest of humanity. Why any dad must stand in sick rooms and waiting rooms and hallways for days, not sleeping or eating, losing even the ability to speak in a fog of prayers and hope against all the damage in the world.
It sucks. This place called Earth, where people suffer and life is not perfect. It just sucks.
But it's also the only place I've ever seen good happen. It's the only place I've ever been, so it's my only frame of reference for how people can show one another love. How God can be felt when He cannot be seen.
And it's the place I saw all manner of love reign down this weekend. Right here, below.
More later, as I have the time and space to process just how I feel. We're all pretty hurt, but I don't see us being broken.
2.07.2007
Ring the bells! All is well!
ED. NOTE: Somehow, I stayed one wrap-up sentence shy of completing this post all of February. But, as the writing was begun that month, I am now cheating to publish the post with a date more relevant to when it was composed. And I'm not even sorry for this shameful manipulation of my readership....
I love my blog! I love blogging in my blog! (I SO don't have time for this diversion. Big developments pending at the workplace. New marketing push... serious stuff to attend to... overdue projects and correspondence and so much grown-up-ness I really want to run away to Kansas. Or... just somewhere with actual terrain and no computers.)
Nonetheless, I was thinking about the cat and the boy -- as the dual focal points of all my maternal energy, both are probably a little over-thought -- and I was thinking how nicely everything is turning out.
Two years ago, we were still dealing with Toddleritis Terriblis. Such a strong will, and so much to learn! Potty training was an ongoing battle. Entering the preschool classroom caused fits of donkey-grade stubbornness and shoes could never stay on both feet or be located in matching pairs. ...Not that those days weren't fun, really, because the baby boy face and the baby boy voice were unrivaled in their preciousness -- but oh, so much has changed! And, oh, is my daily life easier because of it!
Today, Miles turned off the TV and dressed himself in the clothes laid out as soon as I asked. He fed himself a waffle at the table, asked for milk with his lunch, and brushed his own hair before school. He told me he's looking forward to Thursday (computer day!) and that it's just 17 days until his birthday. (Keeping his own mental countdown, he is. The child is freakishly adept at math.) He's just a good kid, ya' know? A sweet, pleasant, happy, smart boy who is a JOY to be around and to help shepherd through this life.
Then, on the cat front.... Just two weeks ago, I was in full-on CAT-ASTROPHE (!!) mode over the neutering of my half-grown, horny pet. (It wasn't pretty, folks! Neither the scenes that sped up my booking of the vet appointment, nor the aftermath of cat hormone surges that followed the vet appointment.) I really should write about the rampant, er, humping of shoes and stuffed animals, ankles and calves and throw blankets. Plus, about the way my super-SERIOUS reading of the post-surgery instructions led me to completely obsess about the number of times the cat licked his surgery site. Both are kind-of crass stories, yes, but pretty funny...
Now, however, the ravages of puberty have subsided and Chester is once again a loveable puff of laziness and fur who visits my desk daily and spreads fine particles of dirt all over my work. He swishes his tail in front of my screen with no regard to my typing, and I just pretend to mind as I shoo him away. He makes these funny, abbreviated noises to let me know if he wants out, or in, or food, or water, or if he wants me to lift the toilet cover so he can play in the bowl. (OK: I don't actually encourage that. But he does have a thing about the toilets. Just LOVES them!)
It's a fun time, right now, around the house. And since I haven't felt that much carefree, light-hearted fun in a long time, I'm cherishing every moment.
I love my blog! I love blogging in my blog! (I SO don't have time for this diversion. Big developments pending at the workplace. New marketing push... serious stuff to attend to... overdue projects and correspondence and so much grown-up-ness I really want to run away to Kansas. Or... just somewhere with actual terrain and no computers.)
Nonetheless, I was thinking about the cat and the boy -- as the dual focal points of all my maternal energy, both are probably a little over-thought -- and I was thinking how nicely everything is turning out.
Two years ago, we were still dealing with Toddleritis Terriblis. Such a strong will, and so much to learn! Potty training was an ongoing battle. Entering the preschool classroom caused fits of donkey-grade stubbornness and shoes could never stay on both feet or be located in matching pairs. ...Not that those days weren't fun, really, because the baby boy face and the baby boy voice were unrivaled in their preciousness -- but oh, so much has changed! And, oh, is my daily life easier because of it!
Today, Miles turned off the TV and dressed himself in the clothes laid out as soon as I asked. He fed himself a waffle at the table, asked for milk with his lunch, and brushed his own hair before school. He told me he's looking forward to Thursday (computer day!) and that it's just 17 days until his birthday. (Keeping his own mental countdown, he is. The child is freakishly adept at math.) He's just a good kid, ya' know? A sweet, pleasant, happy, smart boy who is a JOY to be around and to help shepherd through this life.
Then, on the cat front.... Just two weeks ago, I was in full-on CAT-ASTROPHE (!!) mode over the neutering of my half-grown, horny pet. (It wasn't pretty, folks! Neither the scenes that sped up my booking of the vet appointment, nor the aftermath of cat hormone surges that followed the vet appointment.) I really should write about the rampant, er, humping of shoes and stuffed animals, ankles and calves and throw blankets. Plus, about the way my super-SERIOUS reading of the post-surgery instructions led me to completely obsess about the number of times the cat licked his surgery site. Both are kind-of crass stories, yes, but pretty funny...
Now, however, the ravages of puberty have subsided and Chester is once again a loveable puff of laziness and fur who visits my desk daily and spreads fine particles of dirt all over my work. He swishes his tail in front of my screen with no regard to my typing, and I just pretend to mind as I shoo him away. He makes these funny, abbreviated noises to let me know if he wants out, or in, or food, or water, or if he wants me to lift the toilet cover so he can play in the bowl. (OK: I don't actually encourage that. But he does have a thing about the toilets. Just LOVES them!)
It's a fun time, right now, around the house. And since I haven't felt that much carefree, light-hearted fun in a long time, I'm cherishing every moment.
1.12.2007
Where Have I Gone, Joe Dimaggio?
So Miles says today, "I wonder how hard it is to drive a school bus?"
And I say,"Oh, it's hard! I think you have to go to a special bus-driver class, and take a test and everything."
And he says, "Hmm... Yeah...."
Then, more animatedly: "But I was thinkin,' the hardest part, it's probably knowing which school to drive the bus to."
Ahh.... I have missed blogging! Many apologies if any out there (other than the kind, kind Aunt Ellen) have missed the updates. There are times in life I can live through or write about -- but not both at the same time. Daily stuff is using up all my energy right now, and there's hardly anything left for real-live people, much less for the (less-important but still demanding) task of wordcrafting.
I'm fine, though the holiday season is a blur. And, as 2007 dawns, I concede that I have finally acheieved some kind of self-sustaining, perpetual-motion Constantly-Behind-at-Work status. (Go me!)
But I have wiseman pictures, and cute Milesisms, and thoughts and prayers and coming-year hopes... all to share, as soon as I gain the bandwidth. Today (almost right now, actually), I am leaving to staff a high school spiritual retreat weekend, so any further lucid thoughts are out. I'm pretty excited about the event, I would say. But I could also just take a nap and be fine.
Stayed tuned (or just subscribe for updates, in case the untimely wait proves just too BO-RING!) for more exciting news from Days of My Life...
And I say,"Oh, it's hard! I think you have to go to a special bus-driver class, and take a test and everything."
And he says, "Hmm... Yeah...."
Then, more animatedly: "But I was thinkin,' the hardest part, it's probably knowing which school to drive the bus to."
Ahh.... I have missed blogging! Many apologies if any out there (other than the kind, kind Aunt Ellen) have missed the updates. There are times in life I can live through or write about -- but not both at the same time. Daily stuff is using up all my energy right now, and there's hardly anything left for real-live people, much less for the (less-important but still demanding) task of wordcrafting.
I'm fine, though the holiday season is a blur. And, as 2007 dawns, I concede that I have finally acheieved some kind of self-sustaining, perpetual-motion Constantly-Behind-at-Work status. (Go me!)
But I have wiseman pictures, and cute Milesisms, and thoughts and prayers and coming-year hopes... all to share, as soon as I gain the bandwidth. Today (almost right now, actually), I am leaving to staff a high school spiritual retreat weekend, so any further lucid thoughts are out. I'm pretty excited about the event, I would say. But I could also just take a nap and be fine.
Stayed tuned (or just subscribe for updates, in case the untimely wait proves just too BO-RING!) for more exciting news from Days of My Life...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)