Tidbits

I'm grateful that I am not generally one of those people who frightens easily in the night. For instance, when I woke up because I felt something on my back, I did not freak out and start swinging and screaming, unlike my husband might. (We will get a a husband-shrieking story in a minute.) Instead I laid still with my eyes open and thought, what could this be? If I had turned and aimed a punch, Elias would have been out cold on the floor. But as it was, he was only trying to wake me gently by lightly scratching my lower back in a small circling motion. He had had a bad dream, and he was thirsty.

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Kindred recently, while I was sitting on the floor next to him, turned, put both hands on my cheeks, looked into my eyes and breathed out, "I love your face."

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Music plays a big part of my time spent with the children. Usually my iPod is on shuffle on the "Kids' Music" playlist. There is a plethora of songs on my kid's playlist-- anything from Sesame Street, Sandra Boynton and the Little People to Woody Guthrie, Elizabeth Mitchell, Dan Zanes, REM, Peggy Lee and wordless lullabies. Elias is much more apt to sing along loudly and follow the directions the songs give "If you're happy and you know it cover your eyes," than Kindred is. There is a song that was remade by Dan Zanes that has a bunch of kids singing, "I don't waaaaaaaant your millions, Mister. I don't waaaaaant your diamond ring. All I waaaaaaant is the right to live, Mister. Give me baaaaack my job again." Kindred's take on the lyrics are remarkably different:

"I don't waaaaant your million sisters," he wails.

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Elias has a few favorite songs, one of which is Three Little Birds-- the Bob Marley and the Wailers version. Elizabeth Mitchell has covered this song on one of her albums, and although it is enough to make Michael visibly gag (it's not that bad, but it's not that good either), Elias shouts delightfully, "It's the gonna be alright song!"

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Two boys stand at the potty, crossing streams (I think that's what males call it). Kindred says to Elias, "I'm taller than you, Elias, My penis is taller than yours."

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For Mother's Day, Michael's parents sent me a little package that had a number of hygiene items in it-- mostly fun and foofy stuff like face cream and fancy soap. There was a flower-shaped green sponge (you should click the link just because the commercial will make you chuckle. We should all be so happy in the shower) in there that's tagline says something like "A home spa treatment for your feet." Oooooh, now that's what I'm talking about. I tucked it away in the vanity for a special occasion. Yesterday Michael mentioned to me that his feet hurt. Here's my opportunity!" I thought. I offered to give us a "home spa treatment for our feet." He looked at me warily, then said, "Sure, why not?" I probably giggled and clapped, but my memory on that part isn't clear. We put the kids to bed, then I set myself on the edge of the tub, barefoot, and Michael sat on the toilet with his feet dangling over the tub. I sampled the sponge out on my left foot first and found the result delightful. Ahhhh.... My version of heaven. Michael wiggled his toes at me and I gingerly took his foot in my hands, wet the sponge, and touched it to his heel to begin my scrub-down. He laughed out loud, a belly-shaking laugh. I ignored him and kept on going, working on the callous parts of his foot. Elias entered the bathroom, having to pee, and curiously took in the event. He stood next to Michael in the dimply-lit bathroom when I ventured onto the apparently more sensitive parts of Michael's foot.

Michael straight-up screamed like a child. A loud child. After bedtime.

Elias jumped 3 miles out of his skin, turned and slapped Michael's thigh with all his might. Hoo-wee he was so mad! Michael just kept laughing and laughing.

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Me and the boys went to the park one day after work and left Daddy at home to finish dinner. While I practiced pitching the ball to Kindred (so he could hit it 100 feet with his wiffle bat), Elias drove around the kiddo-sized driving course on his tricycle. At one point he stopped nearby and got off the bike. He approached me. When he got close enough he informed me, "I'm going on a trip. But I need some money." He stuck his hand out, waiting.

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Baseball has become a major theme in our home lately. If I don't hear, "Mama, can you throw the ball to me?" 800 times in a single day, it hasn't been a complete day. Elias gets bored easily, but Kindred can bat for hours. And he hits like a champ. We had practiced in the park behind where I work last week and the maintenance man who had been watching us through the window made certain to pull me aside and tell me without any wavering or uncertainty (and that's saying something because this man is the most gentle, unassuming man I've possibly ever met) that I needed to always have someone working with that boy of mine because he's going to be famous someday.



I wanted to take Elias' picture while he sat on the bed reading yesterday. He kept doing this funny thing with his hands. When I asked him what he was doing, he didn't say a word. He just stood up and showed me more clearly what he was doing:





Oh, right. The baseball stance. You've got it too, kid. Just like your big brother.

The Wisdom of the Mudders

It is the springtime. Rain falls, flowers bloom, allergies flare up (even for Kindred, poor guy), and our family visits my family in western PA. Usually our visit somehow coincides with both my brother Caleb's birthday as well as Mother's Day. (Elias repeated throughout the day on Sunday, delightfully, "Happy Mudders Day Mommy!") This year we had our little celebration of both events together with my parents, my brothers, Great Aunt Martha who is 87, and my paternal Grandmother (we call her Gram) who is 95. Aunt Martha is in a wheelchair when she feels too worn out to use her walker, and is staying (temporarily) in a care facility. Gram, on the other hand, although she doesn't go out as often as she used to and she's pretty tiny, is still pretty spunky and active. She doesn't hold back on sharing her perspective with anyone. I suppose she has earned the right.

When we picked her up from her house, Gram talked the entire way to my parents' house (at least 20 minutes) about her church and how unhappy she is there with the pastor, specifically how he wants to get rid of the traditions and replace them with more modern ideas of how to do church. She ranted about how he got rid of the pulpit because, she reasons, he thinks it obstructed the congregations' view of him and he feels too important to be hidden behind any type of structure. She was upset that the pastor is advocating to build a new church building equipped with a gym. She asserts that the fellowship hall that exists is completely sufficient for games and sports. For example, there is already a dart board on one of the walls. At one point in the conversation, when she was talking about the worship time, she turned around in her seat and informed us, "They call it gospel rock. Gospel. Rock." She paused for emphasis. She was incredulous. But she flatly refuses to leave and go to a more traditional church because she has gone there her whole life and she is the oldest living church member. Although I find it somewhat amusing, I respect her stance and her insistence that the old ways not be allowed to be callously discarded. And I respect her even more when she gets to the point near the end of her rant where she sighs and says, "The problem is probably mostly with me, not anyone else." She is strong and stands on principle, but she is not beyond self-reflection.

However, the best Gram-moment came later on in the evening, long after she'd coached Aunt Martha on how to do exercises with her legs while sitting down, and following our rendition of "Happy Birthday" to Caleb who turned 22. Cake was being passed around and the noise level was low. Someone recalled their own younger years, citing an event that happened when they were 15. Then Gram spoke. "Caleb, can you remember back to those years?" The room quieted in anticipation and respect for the matriarch's words of wisdom, love and support. Gram continued. "Do you ever think about how you wasted them? Well, you're a man now. You have to take some responsibility...." She went on for a minute, ending after she encouraged Caleb to "just think positive." Oh man, it was hilarious.

So I am going to end myself with this picture from Michael's trip to Florida which I also think is hilarious.

I'd Rather Be Stargazing

But it is raining. No stars. It is nearly 5:15am. I am awake, and have been since around 2am when Kindred came into my room quietly wailing about his nose running. He climbed into bed, fell asleep on my chest, and stayed there until an hour later when he rolled over into the crook of my elbow and continued to rest.

I was not resting. I was trying to figure out how to get comfortable in all of the 5 inches that remained on my side of our double bed. I never figured it out, and exited the bed with Kindred taking up then all of the remaining available space while I took an extra pillow to the office. But I still was not, am not, ready to rest. I mean, I'm ready. I'm probably a little delusional. (I just had a conversation with a big moth flying around the bathroom, imploring it to not fly anywhere near my head while I was stuck on the toilet, unable to adequately run or duck.) But up until this very minute, I wasn't sure I could actually fall back to sleep. But as the yawn escapes from my mouth, I am realizing it's time to give sleep a shot. (See? I'm sleepy! I just started the last three sentences with "but"! Hooray!) So instead of sharing endless ramblings about the biggest moth I have ever seen that was on the back of my bedroom door in a house I was staying in in Utah while the owners vacationed who had two large dalmations who lived in the basement that had access to the back yard through a sliding glass door that they never closed but there was no door separating the basement from the rest of the house so I had to chase out not only the huge moth, but also a bat and a few frogs during the span of the time that I stayed there, and come to think of it, I think I left the moth there, opened the window and left for work and it was gone when I came home, (pause for breath), I will lie down. Good, um, morning ?

Thees is the Pot of the Sheow....

While getting ready for bed tonight, Kindred announced in a sing-song voice, as much to himself than to anyone else, "Thees is the pot of the Sheow where Kindred comes out and kicks Tuna!" and with that, launched his teddy bear across the room with his foot.


I laughed at him, and that's when he repeated, more show-like, "Thees is the pot of the sheow when when Kindred comes out and puts his haaaands into his paaaaants and pulls them up to his boobies!"







Elias, imitating as he must, tried his own antics. Only he went the opposite route:






Then he got it right. "This is the show!" he called out....