Pumpkins Resurrected!

The day began like this. And it didn't really stop. I'm not kidding, I gave this child a 15 minute time out at one point. (I am not sure you call them "time outs" when it's over 3 minutes.)

So I wasn't sure that the evening would go very smoothly, and I was pretty sure that I shouldn't put oodles of time and energy into a costume that Kindred would likely refuse to put on his body when the time came. What he said he wanted to dress up as changed by the minute, although he did stick with "a boat" and "Mama" for several days. But finally he decided he wanted to be "his pumpkin" because he was sad to have lost it. So I ran with that. And he ended up being a fairly pieced together pumpkin person, sort of. With his pumpkin's face. And thanks so Daddy, he agreed to put the costume on.


I stuck with the pumpkin idea for Elias too. And since Kindred was being such a bum, I put energy into Elias's costume. I actually sewed it. By hand. And I drew the face on it. And I cut out the "stem" and tied it on. I had a great time and was pretty proud of myself, despite its simplicity. (Anyone could have done this, but I actually made an effort instead of just sticking him in his overalls with a handkerchief around his neck.)

After they got dressed, the boys conspired together about who would hit what block and where they would meet to divide up all the goods. Kindred took notes.

Kindred gave his hat to Dada and they left together to start with our block.

Elias and I stayed out on the porch to hand out the candy.

Kindred and Dada came back after a while, and we rested and yelled "Happy Calloween" and "Trickotreat" to everyone, and admired costumes. (Michael's favorite was the three little girls dressed like The Supremes.)


Elias decided he didn't want to go door-to-door after all, since there was so much good stuff right at his fingertips. So he stashed some goodies in his shoe. Sneaky sneaky.

Here's Kindred posing as an odd Anabaptist child.


Goodnight everyone! Happy Halloween!

One of My Sons

I want to remember this stage of Kindred's. I mean, there are parts I admit I would like to forget presently, but I am choosing to name them now because I think I will appreciate the memory of them later.
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Kindred goes to school (pre-school) 2 days a week, Tuesdays and Thursdays. He claims to like it a lot, and I think he does. When his dad drops him off in the mornings, Kindred frowns and is glad for the attention of a teacher who scoops him up and loves on him while his expression threatens total hysteria. When I drop him off, however, the threat is not empty, and total hysteria usually ensues before I even pull him into the classroom. Nothing distracts him, nothing calms him. He is sobbing and wailing as I pull the door shut behind me and leave. Now, don't think he's been kicking and screaming the whole morning. He gets into the car at our house happy, with his lunchbox and Lamby, then he runs down the sidewalk after we arrive and tries to hold the big door open for me. He greets everyone he sees cheerfully as we walk down the stairs. Then we go through one door and the mood is wrenched away and drama-boy emerges, chock full of "mommy-don't-leave-me-ness." And of course I'm trying to keep it together as I walk back up the stairs and to my car, alone, as I can hear his cries from a floor above. I smack myself around a little: "Why do you leave him here? He hates it. This is so bad. If you could just get it together to have structure to your days and schedule some playgroups, maybe this could all be avoided....." And on and on I go.

Then of course when I return to get him, I cannot pry him away. Nearly the same level of hyteria ensues. "Mama, NOOOOO! I need to play in the sandbox FOR THE REST OF MY LIIIIFFFFE!!! Go AWAYYYY!!"
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Kindred's quite the chatterbox. No, that isn't the best description. That image makes it seem like he never stops talking and talking and talking no matter who is listening. Not the case. Let me see. Maybe we don't need a metaphor. I will just give you an example of how he catches me off guard, often. (I would add that he blows my mind, but that sounds so cliched and mom-ish, even though it is completely true.)

We were headed to church on Sunday. He is pretty used to the sights on this drive, and he calls out, "There's the trains!" or "I see the big balloon." etc. As we approached a major landmark, I realized he wasn't saying anything about it. I reminded him: "Kindred," I said, "There's the big bridge. Look out your window." His reply was very deliberate: "I'm looking out Elias' window, Mama. It's too bright out my window."

Oh.
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It is not unusual for him to be quietly observing a situation and have a perfectly clear and reasonable explanation for what is happening. And when he doesn't know how to explain it, he tells me. Like yesterday.

"Mama, Dada had to go to a meeting, and then, and then, I don't know the words." Michael had gone to a workshop. It wasn't really work and it wasn't really a meeting, so he didn't know how to say it. "I don't know the words" is a phrase I've been hearing often. It makes me think I need to teach him, well, everything. He's two. He's two. He's only two, I keep reminding myself.
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And then there was this, Saturday. "Mama and Lindsay, that's a K for Kindred. Kay, eye, enn, dee, owr...," he says. Lindsey and I held our breaths in amazement. He didn't continue, even when we pushed him to keep going. Then later, on his own, he started again, "Kay, eye, enn, dee, orw, ee, ESS!" About fell over, I did. He spelled it again today. Correctly.
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But lest he get a big head, let's drop him back down off the pedestal. He pooped himself tonight. (Yeah, who's the big boy now, huh?) What's worse is he was standing outside the bathroom door when it happened. Before you think he was trying to get there and just didn't make it, you should know that he'd been standing and playing in that very spot for 10 minutes while I nursed Elias and put him to bed. The rascal. I gave him a shower, sort of. The faucet for the bathtub is so high up that I really just gave him a spigot bath. He much preferred that.
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And finally, the dreaded time of the evening. Bedtime. It's completely irrational how calm and loving and wonderful and obedient Kindred can be for the 30 minutes before 8pm. But when we try to continue the mood on the way upstairs, the child loses his scruples. He can't hold himself together. It's like he's nuts. I will scoop him up after wiping away a tear on the last line of "Guess How Much..." and carry him gently up the stairs. He's lying comfortably in my arms and yawning. We enter his room, quietly now because Elias is sleeping, and attempt to lay him on his big boy bed. He barely touches his PJ's to the mattress before he is up and running from the room. If I grab him to stop him from escaping, he begins shrieking. Not "I'm sad and don't want to go to bed" shrieking. More like "I'm sabotaging Elias's sleep" shrieking. There's a big difference. Trying to put him back into his bed is useless. He just gets louder.

Depending on my state of mind, I will either yank him out of the room and give him the glare of: severe punishment is looming you'd better straighten out, which he of course isn't even mildly threatened by, and sometimes even has the audacity to giggle at. Or, like tonight, I just silently pick him up, shut the door behind me, walk down 2 flights of stairs and deposit him into the playpen that is set up in the basement. Then I pat his head, turn and walk myself back to the first floor and click off the light when I get to the top of the stairs.

This tactic brings about the desired results: I'm not feeling violent, and he feels suddenly submissive to my rule.

(I probably need to clarify, lest I be regarded on par with the mom in A Child Called "It." The basement is finished. It is warm, comfortable and completely safe. Sure it's dark, but the boys sleep in the total dark every night. The only reason this works is because he really is tired and would rather be in his bed, or at least have the freedom to run around like a little antagonist. Here, the only way he secures attention is by crying, but he's probably not even sure I can hear him once I go upstairs.)

After about 3 minutes, I turn the lights back on, go downstairs, pick him up, and remind him that I am the boss, and although I respect him and his feelings, I will always win. (I'm never sure that that phrase will always pan out to be true, but I say it with confidence regardless.) And we go back up to the room.

And now it's quiet.

The Doing and Undoing of Pumpkins, Pt. 2

The Undoing

The finished products:

While I cut and sawed away, Kindred and Dada were busy baking cookies. Flower and heart shaped cookies. Very Fall-ish.

Kindred was very helpful.

When darkness fell, we placed the glowing pumpkins outside on our porch with pride and satisfaction.

And then, five days later....

No folks, it was not marauding pumpkin smashers.

It was not over-excited sons being too rough with their jack 'o lanterns.

It was...

80 degrees F. Then swarms of fruit flies. Followed by fuzzy gray mold. Then, mushed to rest by a soothing warm Autumn rain.

I had to apologize to the neighbors and Michael shoveled them to the back yard.

Next year we paint pumpkins?

The Doing and Undoing of Pumpkins, Pt. 1

The Doing

Pumpkin carving this year developed a bit of a pattern. We had planned a Fall Fun Day for Friday of last week, but sickly friends, an itchy and sleepy husband and unmotivated mama threw a wrench in that plan. So Saturday we started fresh. Hooray Fall Fun Day! Pop pop joined us for the occasion, although we missed Erika and Kadence.

Daddy's job (traditionally) is to de-gunk the pumpkins. Here's Kindred being impressed by Dada's incredible skill at his job. "Look at what my Dada can do! He's the best."

Elias smacked his pumpkin, trying to wait patiently in the wings for the de-gunking. "Bah! Bahhh!" he yelled.

Then Mama went to work. After asking detailed questions about the desired facial features of Kindred's pumpkin, I drew with marker, got approval, and began the sawing. (I'm not actually very good at this part. Next year I'm making Michael switch traditions. Why can't I be the de-gunker?)

Here's Elias showing off his dad's talent to the camera. The face drawn on his was based on the noises he made and expressions that formed on his own face while I questioned him on his pumpkin preferences.

Then things just got goofy...

Next up: The Un-doing

I Wish I Had A River...

Here are the boys, enjoying the warm weather on their new picnic table outside, having lunch sometime last week.

Wednesday morning, I left the boys eating breakfast downstairs while I went upstairs to wake Michael. When I came down, alerted to some foul play by Elias' wails, I found Kindred standing on the table, waving his arms over Elias' head.

In his hands? The salt and pepper shakers.

There was salt, and pepper, everywhere, including in the cereal box, and in every nook and cranny around. And that was at 9am. Can you imagine how the day went from there?

Don't be fooled by darling appearances...

Veer left

Some of you know that I've taken a job in addition to raising the children. Now I'm a Working Mom Plus. I was planning on jumping back into the working world with retail, or something that would get me used to a schedule and life around other adults who actually dress and comb their hair (heck, look in a mirror) before they leave the house to be a member of civil society. The type of job that I didn't have to take home with me. Nothing overly emotional or heart-wrenching. Let's put the social worker away for a minute and be a professional something-else.

So I'm at work tonight, and here's the scene. I'm sitting with my friend and cohort/translator, Robb, on a stoop on a dark block in Kensington. I'm waiting to meet a realtor who is supposed to show us a house he is renting out, and he's 20 minutes late. By now it's clear he isn't coming. The woman who was supposed to be looking at the place to rent it also didn't make it, which was fine with me. There was no way I was going to let her rent this house. So here we are, waiting, knowing this trip was in vain but enjoying our quiet conversation. We sat there sticking out like sore thumbs on this block where it was obvious we didn't belong, and not because of our race. We listened to the lady across the street sitting on her own top step, screaming at someone on the phone. We saw the group of young people sitting on their steps, braiding hair and laughing at the guy who kept sticking his paintball gun out the door and shooting off loud pops of air at them. We answered "Nah, man, we're good" to the guys who walked past twice asking us if we needed anything. And we noticed the steady stream of folks of all different genders and walks of life hurry past us to the hand behind the fence across the street, make quick introductions and hurry back past, pushing their small purchase into their back pockets. Only one had the audacity to call back, "Do ya know when you'll get more?" No answer.

I didn't get that retail job.

I'm working for the simple way. This in and of itself it ironic, because this is the organization and community that I lived in and worked for as a full-time volunteer for nearly 7 years. Now I'm paid staff. I've been hired to help the families that lost homes or had homes damaged from the warehouse fire in June to rebuild or reboot. They asked me to do the job because of my social work background and because I am familiar with neighborhood and the people there. I'm also pretty good at logistics, and I don't have a fear of calling people I don't know.

The job tonight was to find Nancy a place to live. To get her out of her current temporary situation that she hates. But she only speaks Spanish and I only speak English. Thus, I needed Robb, who is bilingual, and a current member of the community, to help me figure out what she really needs. Only she didn't show up to talk about it. Yesterday I met with a woman, Felicia, who's porch roof was leaking and needed repaired, and negotiated with a contractor. Then we went to see about the roof of another woman who's name is Sunshine who has roof damage because the firefighters shot lots and lots of high powered hoses onto her house so that it didn't go up in flames with everything else around. When I went inside, she handed me the lid of a tin she'd been saving because she said that the woman on it looked just like me and she wanted to put it in a frame or something nice to give to me. Her kitchen ceiling was falling down and insulation was sticking out of the paneling by the front door.

It's strange and exhilarating and exhausting to be back in this world of the simple way. To be back in Kensington. To be back in the reality of the suffering. To be sitting on drug corners and talking with sketchy landlords. To be meeting with shady loan sharks.

But this time for me it's different. I have a role, a job description. And I have access to money. A lot of money. (After the fire, tons of people donated money to help the affected families.) That access means I have a lot of power, having been given the go-ahead to spend this money how I best see fit. I have a great gift for the families. I can pay off their debts. I can subsidize their rent. I can give them a downpayment for a new home. It's impossible to wrap my head around. And it's also sometimes hard to remember that money alone doesn't fix everything. I cannot give them back their home and their old life. It's wonderful to be able to fix Sushine's house, but it doesn't mean her sweet son is cured of a mental illness that makes him violent and scary. It doesn't mean she won't be in financial crisis again soon. It brings one bright spot to a devastating situation that cannot really be fixed or undone.

I'm telling you. Retail. I could've witnessed injustice from a whole other angle.

Punkin' Pickin', 'gin

We went back out to the farm to pick some pumpkins for the fall and let the kids play around the "Old Fashioned Play Area" this farm advertises. It is a really great, family-friendly place (no scary stuff), and we've made it a tradition to go there, even though it takes more than an hour in travel. So we left after church and hoped the boys would sleep for the long car ride. They did.

Apparently there was a barn fire this past year and a lot of the decorations they had used for years for their fall festival were destroyed. So the picture pumpkin looks a little different.

Instead of a corn maze, there was a "Jungle Maze." Kindred took off running down one of the paths, and I literally lost him. The grass was so high and the paths were so narrow that I couldn't see the little 3-footer anywhere if he wasn't right in front if me. But I wanted to let him have an adventure, so I tried to stay as far back from him as safely possible for the beginning. Later, I caught up to him and he gave me a little tour. "This," he said, holding his arms out to a patch of grass in the middle of the jungle, "is where I sleep." Then he would walk another 5 feet. "This is where I get up." Another few steps. "This is where I call for Dada." Then he stuttered a little on his next one. Pointing again: "This is where I, this is where I, this is where I..." and on and on until the words made it from heart to brain to mouth, "This is where I sing songs."

Elias enjoyed so much of the day. One of his favorite activities was riding the tractors made for little people. Not as little as Elias, but he was determined to ride them anyway. I would push and he would steer, making a joyful "brrrbrrrbrrrbrrbrrrbrbrbbrbrbbrbbbrrrrbbb" sound.

The boys rode "horses." They didn't really get into that. They looked cute trying though.

Then off to the fields to find the pumpkins that were calling to us. Elias went crazy. "Ball! Ball! Ball!" he would yell out, delighted. Kindred got to ride the wheelbarrow up to the picking area, which he totally loved. Kindred found us some good pumpkins, and explored a lot of the rotting ones. "What's that one doing?" he would ask, crouching over a mushy mess of moldy pumpkin. Over and over. And over.

At one point, Elias decided to crawl into the wheelbarrow all on his own to hang out with the "ball."

There was a pile of hula hoops in the play area. Kindred picked one up and was actually pretty good at keeping it spinning around him. I was floored. Then Elias cracked us all up by trying to walk around hanging on to one. He kept falling backwards, but he wouldn't let go of the hoop, so he would sorta roll, stuck in one position until he was flat on his back or face, his arms high above his head.

And I had to include this goofy picture.

Punkin' pickin' with the family. We missed having Grandparents with us, but the timing just didn't work. Maybe next year?

Extra support required

I don't need the support so much as these:

Punk Rock Mommy Andrea had a double mastectomy this morning to help her fight against IBC (Inflammatory Breast Cancer). She has 6 kids and she nursed every one of them. She is grieving this loss and is trying to be hopeful for the future.

My sister- and brother-in-law are starting the first night of their transition into a new life tonight, since they will be relocating to Maryland/DC from central Florida. They will be spending many days apart while they try to find a place they can be together. It will not be easy for any of the family.

Finally, in big news of the day, my parents' neighbor, a good friend of my brother's and a kid I grew up with, got arrested this morning for trying to solicit sex online from an undercover agent posing as a 13 yr old girl. Doesn't that make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside? Anyway, his family is probably going to lose all footing, not to mention his poor wife. Just bad bad bad all around.

So if you are of the brand to offer extra support, these folks need it, in whatever way you can offer.

Getting settled

Everything is going pretty well with getting ourselves situated properly in our new house. Kindred did not know exactly what to think about it all at first, but now wherever he goes he tells people about his "new house" that has a "room just for playing". Elias loves exploring outside and will scoot out the door any chance he gets. There are kids who live all around us, and within 2 days of our move, I already had children on the porch asking if Kindred could come out and play. I love being in a neighborhood again. I enjoyed being tucked away on a side street with no other houses around while we lived in our apartment, but I was not excited about the idea that my boys wouldn't have other kids around to play with besides the ones who lived in the house. It feels good to have some life and diversity around us.


Now that Elias is walking (he practices all the time), he sleeps more frequently and longer. He's a tired boy. But he is getting less aggressive, I think. It has only taken him 13 months to realize that he shouldn't fight me to the bitter end every time he has to have his diaper changed. (That's over 1100 fights in his short life.) He also is throwing fewer fits and hasn't banged his head on the floor in a really long time. When he gets mad, he expresses it by blowing raspberries. When he gets really mad, there's the arm-stiffening full body shaking scream. But he isn't hurting himself. He is starting to try to talk, and he is experimenting with shaking his head "no." I have been continuing to use sign language with him, and he has picked up on several words that way. The latest thing I have to work on is how to get his to stop associating the words "no" and "shhhh" with screaming. He thinks that he is supposed to scream when I say them, because I always say them when he screams just for fun. It's ridiculous. I still nurse him every morning and night, and I love that snuggle time, because I can still curl him up and hold him close like he's still a tiny baby, when in fact he is growing into such a little boy.


Kindred's latest favorite phrases are "What's that ______ doing?" and "Where did ________ go?" He is relentless when he wants to know. He goes from being sweet and gentle, taking care of Elias and being excited to help and learn to...


being a little tyrant. When he is sweet, he is brilliant. And I don't really mind it when he is feisty. But I do tend to mind when he is shrieking and head-butting me. What the heck is that about? He just gets out of control, and it's bewildering. Unfortunately all of my child-rearing books are packed, so I'm going to have to dedicate some time to finding them before I lose it. In those moments when I could probably have made my approach different, I think about what lousy mother I am and how I have no idea what I'm doing. Sobering times, those Kindred freak-outs. Sobering and exhausting. And he's only 2. But the good times are really really good.

A Fantastic and Amazing, Uh, Feet

Lower your expectations

I'm blogging. But don't get hopeful. It won't be long. It's a

catch-up-we're-still-alive-and-unpacking-and-adjusting-and-meeting neighbors

post. So there you have it. We are doing all of those things. The kids are OK, Michael and I are OK, and the world is turning. I have much to say. But we don't have Internet until the 10th. I'm currently stealing an airport signal from someone on the block, so I don't know how long it will last.

Anyway, thanks to everyone who helped us haul boxes and furniture, and you're all welcome to visit. Anytime. We have room.