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.