Done the Deed

It was common knowledge that Elias needed a haircut.


I tried once to cut it myself many months ago, and decided that for several reasons: 1) I value his eyesight, cute ears, scalp and brain; 2) I don't have good haircutting scissors; 3) He looked kinda cute with a wispy mullet; that I would wait as long as I could to try again. But as you can see, it was getting a little out of control. The fuzziness factor was developing, and he was starting to get (gasp) split ends. I figured he'd gotten Easter money so I could use it to take him to the overpriced kids hair cutting joint (NOT the crazy chain one we took Kindred to in FL) up the road from us if my second attempt didn't work.

Elias was calm all morning on Sunday, so I approached him with my kitchen scissors-- pointy and big, sharp. I was nervous, but they were my only option. He sat in his high chair, eating his cereal. I combed once, I snipped once, he didn't flinch. His only request was that I show him the hair as I was cutting it off. I obliged and he let me continue.



Everything went pretty well until I ran out of room in the back to adequately cut against the back of the seat. So I poured him another bowl of cereal and transferred him to another smaller seat.


When I was finished, I had a little pile of soft, wonderful baby hair. Looking at it, touching it, looking at my "new cutie", I got a little sad, which completely surprised me. I knew Elias would look older and not so baby-ish when I was done, and I thought I was ready for that. It seems I wasn't entirely ready.

I didn't do a completely thorough job, and it isn't professional grade, but I am pleased with how it looks.


And Elias keeps touching his hair. It seems unlikely that his head would feel lighter like some people experience after a major haircut, but I think he can tell it's gone. He's my little man.




E Post Haircut from THE BRICKS on Vimeo.

Sillies and Beauties

As I was sorting, discarding and swapping out clothes-- an endless activity that begins afresh with every changing season-- I found the collection of summer hats. The boys could not have been happier.

To occupy the boys while I did the obligatory clothing swap out, I put their tent back up in their room-- the one that isn't really age appropriate and might cause one of them some sort of perilous injury. I have kept it up, and Daddy has made good use of it.

Due to a general surliness on Kindred's part, Elias got to take an evening bath all by himself. He enjoyed the solitude so much I think he forgot several times that I was in the bathroom with him. After he got out of the tub, he stood peering out the window with his towel, of course, on his head. I got the camera, and he turned around. He really wanted me to take his picture, and I told him he needed to cover his...ahem. So he did.

I planted bulbs on a dark evening in the fall. When Spring came, I anxiously searched every morning for a sign that my bulbs would emerge from the earth and present their gorgeous faces to us, because, well, everyone else's were. I lamented when my neighbor's daffodils sprung high and mighty, taunting the mere leaves that were poking lamely up from my crusty, naked front lawn bit. But not to fear. My lovely flowers broke the surface after everyone else's had past their prime, and then they had their heyday! I took pictures of them today so that I could remember their placement for next year. Elias, in his impeccable timing, managed to get into almost every picture.

This picture is my thanks to Lindsey for choosing glorious tulips.

And finally, I present to you "Elias and Abigail."

Abigail, if you haven't guessed it, was my doll, my favorite doll, from my girlhood. I found her at my parents' house the last time I was there and felt obligated to bring her to my new home. She has taken so much abuse. Her hair used to be orange, she used to have a nose, and I don't remember what her eyes and mouth looked like before she got the surgery. Anyway, Elias found her today and refused to put her down without a fight. I don't mind him having dolls to play with, but the problem was that he clamped her in his arms just as we were going out the door. To pick Kindred up from school. On the bus. I had to draw a line. Abby is not quite fit to be seen in public. So instead he took Baby Matt.

After we'd collected Kindred and the bus appeared at the stop to take us back home, Kindred climbed aboard and greeted the driver: "Hey there, mister bus driver man!" And off we went.

Deeper Breaths

I haven't felt this sensation in a very long time, and I've never described as I feel it now, but it seems to be the best way to describe it: Sometimes I feel my mind taking deep breaths.

These aren't "I can get through the chaos of this moment" deep breaths. These are breaths wherein I can feel my mind extending, my perspective broadening, my headspace expanding. It feels like breathing deeply and getting that extra little stretch I didn't think I had capacity for. Most of the time it caches me by surprise. So often I just don't "get it." Whatever it is, I watch concepts, ideas, arguments fly right over my head. It's tiring trying to figure things out when I feel like my mind is an oval shape and certain concepts are looking for corners that don't exist in there. It's hard to not be influenced by the emotions of a moment. It is much harder for me to be taught by intellectual debates or just hearing or reading something in a new way.

And then there are these moments that happen, and maybe I don't understand everything they bring clearly and succinctly, but I can let them in and give them a place to rest and be. I take a deep breath in my mind and suddenly there's room for them stay.

I will mention a few things, thoughts, topics in my life right now that are nudging me for space. The Dance of the Dissident Daughter, by Sue Monk Kidd, is stretching out for a spell. The latest issue of Geez Magazine on Art in the Age of Brutality is making a place for itself. And finally, last week's This American Life episode called "Leaving the Fold", primarily the portion about Jerry Springer, is taking up some space. (I was floored, absolutely floored by the story of this man's life. I am revolted by his TV show and have thought of him with total disdain for years. Finding out about his past brought me to tears, in an "I can't believe what I'm hearing" sort of way. Here's a guy who went from law student to star politician who fought for justice and social change to journalist/newscaster who ended his commentaries with the signature phrase, "Take care of yourselves, and each other.")

I am going to take a retreat in a few weeks and try to nurture these places in my mind, stretch them a little, make them feel welcome, and try to take deeper breaths. Just a little deeper.

Win some, Lose some

Losing

In March I got inspired to start seeds for our garden. I put them in a "greenhouse" seed starter (Thanks, Carol!) and cardboard egg crates. The boys helped plant some too. In a few days, just as planned, tiny green buds appeared! (At least most of them popped right up.) They grew and were happy looking. And they grew, taller and taller. And taller, and taller still. Some even got their second set of leaves. Then, without real warning, they bent their heads, prostrated and shriveled up to a wisp of green-white lying unhappily on the dirt. They were fragile and perhaps undernourished. Or maybe they didn't get enough light close to their faces. But whatever the problem was, I now have very few remaining seedlings that have the potential to turn into real viable plants, and it is too late to start more seeds and it is even too late to plant many of the seeds outdoors. I have a renewed respect for farmers, and admit my own ignorant defeat. But I will try again next year. And in the meantime, plan to purchase more plants.

Winning

When I give my children the option of choosing what they would like to eat for a given meal, I expect them to eat what they have asked me to prepare. (Ok. I will concede that Kindred can make requests while Elias merely shakes his head or says "Nyo" or "YESSSHH!!" to a list of choices I rattle off.) It drives me completely bonkers when I make their food, present it to them, make my own meal and join them at the table and they, inevitably, beg desperately for what I have prepared for myself.

So I made Kindred lunch one day last week-- something I was sure he wasn't going to enjoy even though he claimed to want it. Then I made myself (and him, but I didn't tell him) a cheese quesadilla. I cut it into 4 pieces and sat next to him with it at the table. Sure enough, here comes his little finger, reaching over, poking at my food. Then comes the whine: "Can I have a little bite, Mama, just a little tiny bite of that?"

I said, "Kindred, please do not touch my food and do not whine."

He straightened up and pulled his hand back. "Mama," he put forth with dignity and maturity, "can I have some of your food?"

I said simply, "Yes," and I placed one triangle on his plate and went back to eating. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him watching his plate. Then I saw his head bobbing up and down. He took a breath, looked at his plate, and said to it, "She said yes." I looked over at him, and he looked back at me, wide eyed and (I'm embarrassed to admit it) a little shocked. An enormous grin burst on to his face and he nodded vigorously while he exclaimed, "You said yes! You shared! Good job, Mommy!"

He was so proud of me.

The Anniversary Weekend (including bloopers)

Michael and I had a lovely weekend together at the B&B. Since there was no one else renting the other room, we had the whole house to ourselves for 2 days. (The owner leaves breakfast-y items for guests in the kitchen and assumes we can take care of ourselves in that regard.) Waiting for us in the foyer of the (unlocked) house when we arrived was a bottle of wine, a cooler full of cheese, crackers, the yummiest cookies and other snacks, a dainty bouquet of flowers and a beautiful card, all placed there earlier by my father. It was so nice of he and my mother to put this together for us. (My parents were the heroes of the weekend. They did this, watched our children, and bought us tickets to a mystery dinner theater-- more on that later.) Michael and I rented bikes on Saturday and took a 15 mile ride, which might seem like very little to some, but I have not been on a bike since before I got pregnant with Kindred, so this was a big deal. We ate pizza, watched movies, talked and laughed together. Sometimes he would mention missing the children, and this would catch me off guard. "We have kids?" I would ask, shocked? (I'm actually pretty serious about this. Might be the clearest indication that I needed a little break.)

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, those phantom kids of mine were having themselves a great time, adventuring in the woods, playing in the park, sleeping in and being gluttons. I'm sure they wore Grammie and Pappap out.

On Sunday, Gram (my grandmother-- she's 94) came over. During her visit she taught Kindred how to do the church and steeple game. I'm proud of Kindred for letting her teach him. He is usually a little frightened by her because she can't hear very well so she tends to sort-of squeal at the kids in this very high pitch. I guess she thinks that's best for the kids to hear her since it's the best way for her to hear herself. It's so unlike how she acts every other minute. She is one of the most together women I know. I want my boys to get to know her, but I can't get them past the voice. Kindred took a deep breath and approached her, and loved his lesson.

Kindred also got a haircut. (Thanks Grammie!)

Elias did not get a haircut. (Grammie gets points for trying and eventually valuing his brain and ears and eyes over the option of short hair.)

The boys are very sad. They miss Grammie and Pappap and Uncle Mike very much already.

Ok, now for the bloopers of the weekend.

My folks live in not-quite rural, not-quite suburban western PA. They'd heard that the mystery dinner theater at the restaurant/bar/diner/banquet hall down the road was pretty good, so they bought us tickets, arranged special vegetarian fare, and sent us on our way, all of us with our fingers crossed just a little. Michael remarked that he really wanted to just be in the audience. He didn't want to play any roles if the play was interactive. He didn't want to win any prizes. He wanted to blend.

Then he wore this:

The ultimate "blend right in shirt", right? For a much duller town, perhaps. Needless to say, he did not get his heart's desire. Within minutes, the actors honed in on him in the audience of 40 people. He didn't give much to the first character, tried to refrain from witty exchanges with the second couple, and just lost it with the third. When he returned from a run to the bar for drinks, waiting for him at the table was an actor holding a laminated portion of the script with his lines and a hat for his head.

Did not blend.

So after he played his role and the mystery was unfolding, we got to the part where everyone in the audience gets a chance to fill in a ballot on who they think "dunnit." Then the actors acted out the rest of the show, revealing all the perpetrators.

Would'ja guess who won? Yep. My husband. He got the right character the right reason why. Can you imagine the irony when they were announcing his win and giving him his prize: 2 tickets to the next mystery theater show. (Back atcha, mom and dad!) All in all, it was a fun time, and my parents have promised to win too so that we can go again.

On to the second blooper of the weekend. My father-in-law (aka Ffil) recently returned to the Holy Land for a trip and brought me back a package of mud from the Dead Sea. Like, cosmetic body mud. It supposedly treats your skin like gold, healing it, refreshing it. The directions say to heat it up in the microwave for a few minutes, spread a thick layer over your body and let it dry for 15-20 minutes. After it's dry, you're supposed to rinse it off in warm water and feel invigorated.

I thought since Michael and I were alone with some time on our hands, it might be nice to slap some of this stuff on my body after our bike ride. I invited his help and we headed to the small bathroom on the second floor of the B&B. He assisted me with my mud coating (a process which was probably more gross than sensual for him, and just goofy for me) and jumped in the shower while I stood stark still in the bathroom, waiting to dry up, looking like Mysti'que. (**Author's note, added later: I had originally linked to a picture of this well-known character from the xmen, but I got over 700 hits in a week because people searching for images of this actor and got sent to my blog. It was my most popular moment since the simple way fire, but I didn't think it was an appropriate link to keep up.)

After a few minutes of him remarking to me about what a great shower he was having while I'm wiping muddy streaks off anything I accidentally bumped, he says, "Um, you aren't going to like what I'm about to tell you." I braced myself for the worst. "You know how some houses just have little tiny hot water tanks?"

Oh, you are KIDDING!

Nope. Not kidding. Michael exited immediately, and I took a deep breath and talked myself into taking a lukewarm shower. But the water gushing from the faucet by that time was not slightly lukewarm. It was cold. Really cold. I couldn't do it. I wailed. Here I am, covered in mud from head to toe, unable to even sit down because there's mud on my butt, having to wait "maybe an hour?" he says, so that I can get water warm enough to rinse off. What kind of vacation is this??

Michael went downstairs and started micro-waving water and running the coffee maker without coffee. I gave the faucet ten minutes while I stood in the empty tub, dripping brown, then I turned it on to check its progress. I plugged the drain and let the water fill to my ankles, but the hot water only lasted until I counted to seven. I had only rinsed my feet when I noticed the color of the water I was standing in. It was as if I had decided to go out into a field after it had rained for 2 days straight and bathe in a puddle. Striking similarities in temperature and hue, I'm sure. Michael came up shortly and added his handmade hot water (about 15 cups) to my tub supply. I splashed around to get some of the grime off of my body. I was convinced I was starting to get itchy and that my skin was changing color. The bathroom smelled like a combination of the beach and a swamp. I felt like a swamp woman. This was not, I concluded, the way I had hoped the afternoon to have gone.

After a little while longer, I decided that I could not sit in nasty water for another 45 minutes. I put one of the B&B towels where I could reach it and surmised that I would rinse as much as I could in seven seconds and then dry off, filthying a towel, then put on my pajamas so that I could at least sit down somewhere while I waited. But fate was pulling for me, because after I'd waited a mere 20 minutes, the shower blessed me with so much more than seven seconds. I got a full five-minute blazin' hot shower while I squealed and squawked about that shower winning the "Best five minutes of my life, so far" award. Invigorating, indeed. Thanks, Ffil.

That's all the adventures I'm sharing tonight.

Gorgeous Day to Celebrate Nine Years

Well, believe it or not, Michael and I have stuck it out for 9 years of marriage. (He's a stubborn man.) I celebrated our anniversary by taking Elias to chase chickens at the zoo with Erika and Chrissy and their boys. (Yes, I left Michael at home.) But not to fret. We are actually going away-- as in leaving the children with my parents and going away-- to a bed and breakfast out in western PA. Not a hot spot or anything, but since we went there for our 7 year anniversary, we decided to go back. Hopefully it won't f-ing snow or anything, and I will give you a rundown of the weekends event (okay, a censored rundown) when we get home on Monday.

Until then, enjoy the chicken-chasin' pictures.

On Elias, 18, um, 19...?

Elias and Kindred met their new pediatrician this past week, a wonderful woman who spent nearly 2 hours with us for our initial visit. She got to know the kids and they loved her. (We were sad about leaving our old doctor but we wrote him a goodbye letter and colored him a picture and he promptly responded, so we feel a little better about the switch.) But the reason I bring this up is because I kept telling her Elias is 18 months old. But he isn't. He's 19 months. Which is a pretty big misstep when you still describe your child's age in months. Shows you how "on" I've been lately.

There are many things I love about where Elias is in this stage of childhood. Things I, like any mother who uses her blog as a baby book, don't want to forget.


∆ I love his way of lying on his back with his feet crossed at the ankles, knees bent, just like he used to when he was first born. It's as though he's still most comfortable when he imitates his position in the womb.
∆ I love his hair; even though it's long and unruly, it's so amazingly soft and light. I love the streak of dark that still accents his right eye, and I love the color hazel that both eyes have become.


∆ I love the way he yells unabashed and loud when he wants to show me something: "MUMMY!" It's sort of a call and a growl and an order all tossed together, barked out like he's having a terrible emergency but really it's just to show me that he found a picture of a bird in his book.
∆ I love his laugh-- the one that catches him off guard. Not the "I'm being tickled" laugh, but the "Holy crap that was funny" laugh. It is deeper and bubblier and sure. It doesn't come often and it can't be conjured, but when it comes I want to stay in that moment.


∆ I love it when he gets all charged up and just runs from room to room, back and forth and back and forth, as though he's amusingly training for a marathon. His legs are still too short to take him more forward than downward with every step, but he is simply happy he can go that fast.
∆ I love that he can participate in songs that have gestures. Like "If you're happy..." In one version, you shout "Hooray!" if you are happy. Elias doesn't shout, but he shoots his arms right up in the air on cue. (Today he put his snack right down in the floor at the beginning of the verse because he knew he couldn't fully engage himself so encumbered.) In the same vein, I love the songs he makes up. He will climb up on a stool or step or anything that elevates him slightly and he's off, spinning around and singing. "Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah." However, it must be noted that he does not enjoy all singing. Every Sunday in church when the congregation stands to sing a song, Elias protests. The instant our mouths open with the first note, he stiffens and screams once, and then flings himself sideways, letting every muscle in his body go completely limp while he contorts his face in total anguish. It's a hilarious sight. Must say something about our singing.

And then there are all his words. He has so many new ones. He used to just stare at me when I tried to get him to imitate words, and now he tries practically everything I throw at him. (It's now one of Kindred's favorite games to yell, "Elias, say _____!") He says "blue" in 4 syllables. "Yellow" is darling. Michael taught him "yellow bus" and he's so proud of himself when he recites his new phrase. He's mastered "No," and he's finally figured out how to nod in the affirmative. He said to me, "Mummy I want an apple" clear as day. I can't get him to say it again, of course. I tried today:
me: I...
him: I...
me: Want...
him: Apple!
me: No, wahhhnt...
him: Apple!
I won't list all the words he has, but just know that he is right on track for being among those who verbally communicate soon. I'm also guessing that this new threshold makes it harder for him when he still can't communicate something he feels strongly about.

He's still in the 95th percentile for weight but is average for height. He weighs 28lbs. He's only 3lbs lighter than his big brother. I know that seems nuts but I don't think Kindred has gotten much heavier since he was Elias' age. Still, he's a solid kid. But he can still scrunch himself up in the tiniest ball. And he's still a great snuggler, when he wants to be. Still my baby.

Sometimes....

...Elias rides Kindred's bike. Vrooom vroom.

...the boys play "Ride the Bus" on the stairs. Beep beep.

...they "Ride the Train" in the bin. Wooo wooo.
(...Michael wears his robe around the house.)

...Kindred and Michael sing together. (I'm a ROCK STAR!)

...Kindred makes K's (or some version of them) with chalk on the deck.

...Elias is not a good listener. (In other words, pays little attention to the rules that chalk is for writing only on the deck or the sidewalk.)

...the kids aren't that photogenic.

Michael's Show Opens Tomorrow

Michael, my so so talented husband is directing this show as an adjunct theater professor at Eastern University. (Big time stuff, isn't he?) The show is great-- based on the translation of the gospels set in the South during the civil rights era. If you get a chance and are in the area, you might want to put it in your schedule. Info is below.

April, 2-6 2008 at Eastern University Theatre Presents: Cotton Patch Gospel in the McInnis Auditorium
1300 Eagle Road, Saint Davids, Pennsylvania 19087
Cost : $5.00 with EU ID, $8.00 Children and Seniors, $10.00 General Admission

Box office phone: (610) 225-5545