There is one thing I know with absolute certainty.  I will always be thankful that I've spent so much time with my children, and I will always look back on it wishing I'd spent even more.  They are silly little monkeys who sometimes don't listen at all and I can go hoarse trying to get them to clean up.  But, on the other hand, they're marvelous little creatures who love with wild abandon, show a strong sense of security/pride/courage/and will, and have an openness that stuns me and makes me feel like they can see right through me sometimes.

Tonight we were playing Go Fish together, and the cards are fish shaped and are unique colors (like cafe au lait, buttercup, hot pink, indigo, jade, and turquoise) so often the boys would ask someone if they had the card they were looking for and they would stop and whisper out of the corner of their mouths, "What do you call this color again?"  Henry asked that once, and then Walter asked forever afterwards.  So cute.

Henry eventually started asking for "leparcot" in place of buttercup - which had me rolling.  And when you're with a 5 year old and a 2 year old and one person starts giggling, well, it's basically all over after that.

So, there are times when I want to pull my (or someone's) hair out, but in the end, I just wanna hang with the boys. 

It's winter and my thumb split by the nail.  It happens every winter, and as winter seems to never end around here, we stock up on antibiotic ointment and band-aids.  Tonight, it bled, so Henry doctored me, but every time he got the ointment within a 2" radius of my thumb I winced, shrunk back, and hollered.  He smiled a weird smile like he wanted to help, but was a little freaked out about my reaction, and I think maybe wondered what it might be like when he actually touched me.  I kept it up, and the poor boy never touched me.  Then, he placed a very gentle and loving hand on my shoulder and told me to stop doing that and be normal.  So, I did, and he was so worked up over the whole scenario that he left telling me that I would have to put the band-aid on because he wasn't going to touch it.

We were at the library.  The boys were doing their own thing while I looked for books.  Henry was at the computer mucking about and Walt was at the train table.  A few other kids mulled around, and among them was a little guy, about 1 1/2 years old.  Walter looked like a big kid next to him, and that shook me up a bit.  All of a sudden, I looked up from where I was looking at children's books and I looked over at Walter, about 20 feet away from me.  He stood there with a frown on his face and his hands on his hips.  He just stood there, and I looked at him trying to understand what he was unhappy about, when it occurred to me that he didn't have his nuk in his mouth.  I followed his gaze to the little boy who was rather rapidly moving toward his mother - and he had a nuk in his mouth (my child's nuk, to be precise).  Then, I heard his mom exclaim, "Oh!  Did you take his nuk?"

Why, yes, he had. 

The mother was very kind, offering to wash it for us, but we were on our way out and I told her not to worry and that I would take care of it.  Walter made damn sure I did too.  I was so surprised at his lack of reaction, but I suspect you could've knocked him over with a feather over this whole scene.  Walter's no pushover - ask his brother - so this kid is either too young to know what he was doing, or he's a force to be reckoned with himself.  In any case, I hustled out of there before a brawl broke out.

2 Silly Boys

I heard Henry say to Walter, "I never thought I would say this, Walter, but you're the best."  Then he said, "I'm going to pretend I never said that."


----
Tonight Henry refused to eat his carrot, big surprise.  Walter announced that he likes carrots to which Henry told him that they taste like worms.  Walt leaned over the table with his carrot and said, "This not worms, Henry.  This carrots."

Walter

Every night, after we go through our normal ritual of reading books, brushing teeth, yelling at everyone to get back into bed numerous times so that we can complete the ritual, we all trundle into Walter's twin bed to read yet another book and then sing songs.  I lay on the bed with Walter beside me snuggled between myself and the wall, and Henry lays on top of me. 

Walter is the song director, he organizes the song list, and so he'll announce what song we are to sing, we follow his direction, and then he calls out the next song.  If we don't follow direction, or deviate from his orders, he whines - loudly - through the song we've chosen until we stop singing and return to his repertoire.

This is how it goes, in pretty much this order, every night:
"BCED"  (or the ABC song)
We sing it.
"Tinkle, tinkle little tar" (twinkle, twinkle little star - we all love the way he says this with an emphasis on the word "tar.)
We sing it, sometimes the exact way he says it.
"Baa baa sheep sheep."
At this point we're done with that tune and are all ready to move on.
"Moon moon"  We all break out into Laurie Berkner's Moon, moon, moon.
And, it goes on.
"Sunshine."  We sing You are my sunshine.
"Ram Sam Sam."  We sing that. 
Usually that's the end, but sometimes we have to sing The Lion Sleeps Tonight...  which is ironic as no one here is sleeping...

On occasion, Walter doesn't want to sing, so he goes through the entire repertoire, but with the word "no" in front of the title, and without giving us time to sing.  That always makes me sad, because it's a little like listening to a depressed person speak:
"No BCED, no tinkle tinkle little tar, no baa baa sheep sheep, no moon, no sunshine..."  You get the point.

My Rant on Facebook and Politics

(Forewarning:  It's late and I've taken the liberty to swear in this post, so there.  You've been forewarned.)

I've been thinking about cutting out of Facebook.  It's sort of a weird thing, this Facebook business.  If I respond to "friend requests" from all the folks I've known, I get this odd mishmash of "friends" - some I hardly know, others I know well, and some are people I'm certain I never spoke with in high school but they got an exhaustive list of their graduating class and sent a bulk friend request to all.  On one hand, it's nice to have a diverse group of "friends", but on the other hand, some of them I wouldn't be very likely to be friendly with, and I'm pretty sure we would never meet up for coffee.  So, in reality we're not friends. 

I was surfing through Facebook tonight and a high school acquaintance wrote a very eloquent piece defending her daughters' rights to express their political opinions and then she respectfully requested that people just un-friend them if they couldn't be kind in their commenting.  She admitted that the girls aren't engaging in "extensive fact checking", like the "Fox News Network", as they write their thoughts on the social networking site.  I giggled.  Because Fox is so busy in extensive fact checking, I'm sure.  I de-friended her.  No, I'm actually kidding, but I'm thinking about it because to be perfectly honest, that's just a stupid thing to say about Fox.  I will agree with some other points though, and I applaud (truly) her choice to defend her kids.

But, I think the ability to just defriend willy nilly is, quite honestly, ridiculous.  I'm not saying I haven't done it, because I have, but nonetheless, it's a bizarre concept in the world of friendship.  What other sort of friendship is like this, other than a "virtual" friendship?  Now, to be fair, I've reconnected with some folks I value and respect enormously, and am thrilled to have these folks in my life, even if it is mainly through this site - but then there are those I simply defriend and think no more about.  Weird.

And then, there's the politics.  Which I know precious little of, and cannot keep my nose out of.  (By the way, I recognize that I've completed a number of sentences with prepositions.  Sorry.  Of.  At.  In.)  I was "friends" with this guy who, I swear to you, I never uttered a word to in my entire life and wouldn't have been caught dead talking to in high school (he was a conservative, republican, hunter, while I was a punk liberal non-hunter).  And he was all distraught when Obama's health care act was passed.  I commented that I was glad - probably not appealing to the most supportive audience.  Then, some angry guy I've probably never met started "yelling" at me (I know this because of his use of caps...  and this is making me laugh, because really, why do we ever assume to have any insight regarding one's tone in these short, usually oddly written, out of context blurbs people jot down on Facebook?), and - now I'm finally getting to the point I meant to make at the beginning of this post - upon warning me of the almost certain destruction of all that is good and meaningful in our current health care system, he said, "You'll see".  Ok, I thought, I guess I will.

But, here's the weird thing:  I've now heard that exact quote 3 times in the past couple months - all said by conservatives.  Is this part of their rhetoric, like the "Yes we can!" of Obama's first campaign?  What does this "you'll see" statement mean?  Is it meant to freak me out?  Because it's beginning to.

When I thought Obama might not win this election I promised myself that I would get much more involved and fight tooth and nail to keep women's rights in place, and fight for civil rights for all people, not just some.  I figured if Romney stepped in, I better too because whatever I could do would be at least something in the right direction (but by "right", I mean "positive"...).  Honestly, I think I'm going to have to step it up anyway, regardless of who's in office, but at least now I feel a little less pressure.  But, what I find interesting about this "you'll see" statement is that it feels like there is an ambivalence out there (which, to be perfectly fair, can be found anywhere regardless of the party one belongs to) - a sense that people are so angry that they're willing to just watch the country go to hell in a hand basket (if it were to come to that) just to prove to some how very right they were.  Well, to that I say, what the fuck?!  I get that frustration, I even get the anger. But to say, "Hey, our nation is heading for the crapper and it's gonna take us all down, and while that's happening I'm just gonna hang around and do nothing so that I can see the look on your face when you see how right I was," is absolutely crazy.  Isn't this what we mean when we say we're cutting off our nose to spite our face? 

Well, I can't make this a pretty and noble post now that I dropped the f word, but here's what I really think the parties need to be doing, and what we as individuals can be doing:  we have to work together.  I know it sounds cheesy and warm fuzzy and all that makes me want to yack, but here's the deal:  I don't have to like those I'm working with, and I don't have to agree with them either, but I do want a common goal.  I want a safe, secure,positive, polite, respectful, and healthy world for my kids and I would be happy to work with those I fundamentally do not agree with IF we could just come to some agreement like that one. 

I recognize that each individual thinks about and reaches that common goal in a different way, and that I'm oversimplifying the whole darn thing.  While we must value our diversity and differences of opinion, mustn't  we also agree that whatever we do can only be accomplished if we all do it together, and at least attempt to build bridges between the parties and compromise for the good of all people?  It seems worth it to me.
I don't want some folks working hard and others thumbing their noses at them because they're trying to prove a point.  There are all sorts of points made by that, and maybe none of them were the intended ones.  I want all of us to work toward the common good together, and maybe then we'll see something worth seeing.

My dad was visiting recently, and he stayed in Henry's room while he was here.  He really liked Henry's glow in the dark stars and moon on his ceiling.  Tonight, Henry told me that when he looks at the stars now he "can't stop thinking about Grampie". 

"Needlessness"

posted by Kevin.....


Today at breakfast, Walter got up from his seat and strolled into the bathroom.  He then reappeared with a small step stool, carrying it with a look of purpose and determination toward the kitchen.  The center island counter top was his destination, and the previous night's open bag of popcorn his prize.

Now I'm not going to go into why the half full bag of popcorn was there....sitting open all night on the counter. I'm not going to play the "blame game" or "point a finger" at anyone. I think that would be counterproductive, and in the end would not have changed anything Stace. So move on.

However, as I watch my 2 1/2 year old son going to great lengths to substitute the beautiful  nutritious  breakfast I provided him at his place at the table for a stale bag of Orville Redenbacher's  from the counter, I was struck by something.  And no, it was not food thrown in my direction from Henry.

I should have been deeply offended by the fact that Walter would simply, quietly, get up from the breakfast that I painstakingly re-heated from a Rubbrmaid container for him. But instead I was filled with pride and eggs.  But mostly pride.

For, you see, my son took it upon himself to make a change in his world.  He was compelled by his spirit of independence and an undeniable desire for popcorn.  It's what drove him to gather his inner strength, his sense of adventure,  and take a stand....on a foot stool.  He saw a need and he fulfilled it.

And he never once asked for anyone's help. He simply acted, as any one of us would hope WE would do if presented the same situation. He didn't need me to provide for him any more.  He was out there, on his own, with no net.

Walter took that chance.  And he stuffed his mouth beyond it's limited capacity, with stale popcorn.

And he slowly spit it out, little by little, as he walked back to the table and the breakfast I made for him.

I embraced him, realizing that, for a brief while longer, I might be needed.

Henry gave him one last piece of brotherly wisdom before Walter ventured off alone on his next adventure.

"Small bites, Walt." said Henry.

Small bites indeed my good fellow.

Pictures of the Boys

Some photos of our annual autumn St. Olaf trip.

And, a trip to the apple orchard.

Trying out a new camera...

So, now I own the tiniest camera ever, which is somewhat ironic since I own a Jitterbug like phone in large part because small buttons annoy me.  We'll see, but we needed something a little more mobile than my giant camera - so here are a few practice photos.

Beautiful day at Lake Harriet and their newly renovated playground!

And then to the streetcar!

Henry and Walter wanted me to go downstairs to get all of the splash balls that they dropped down the staircase.  Henry assured me that they wouldn't continue to drop the balls down there.
I crouched down and told both boys to put their eyes on me.  They did.
"If I go get them, will you drop them downstairs again?"  I asked.
"No," said Henry.
"Yes," said Walter.
Henry and I continued to eye Walter, who very likely intended to drop the balls back downstairs.
"No," said Walter.
I eyed him.
"Are you sure?" I ask.
"No," he replied.

And, all hell breaks loose

All was dandy until it wasn't tonight and for Walter, all hell broke loose.
He hadn't had a Nuk for much of the afternoon, and at story time tonight he said to me, "Yuckie, yuckie," meaning, "Nuk", or more specifically, "I need my Nuk NOW."
I went and got the only one I happened to find - and it had a big hole in it.  Not good.
I threw it away.
And that, is approximately the point when the aforementioned happened.

He cried, wept, sobbed uncontrollably, placed his two fingers in his mouth and stared up at me despondently.  It was AWFUL and I don't do sadness that well.  On one hand, I thought, fine, we have to get over nuks tonight and we'll all suffer through, and on the other, I thought, my poor, desperate, beautiful baby is SO SAD, and then one other lingering thought was in the back of my mind nagging at me:  tonight is going to be THE WORST if I don't find this child a yuckie.
(A side note:  While Henry is my cuddler and is lost without comfort when he is sad, Walter is the total opposite and will not allow anyone to comfort him until (and if) he is ready.  So, while he wept, staring up at me with big, soppy, sad, pathetic eyes, he refused comfort - making the incident even more painful for the rest of us.  -- I'm not going to pretend that this "quality" didn't likely originate from me.)

He and I searched.  Well, to be precise, I searched and he followed me around the house whimpering. 
I do not know how - because I think the yuckies are just on their way out and we haven't been replenishing them - but I miraculously found one. 
Walter and I ran to the bathroom and washed it and plugged him up quickly before he leaked any more. 
All was right with the world, and he was then able to curl up on my lap to read stories.

A "lovely fetch game"

I was reading on the sofa while Henry and Walter played in the kitchen.  I wasn't paying too much attention as there was no crying, no whooping, nothing to get worked up about - then certain words and phrases caught my ear.  Things like Henry saying, "sit," listening to Walter pant, and then hearing him occasionally leave and venture back to his brother.  I started peeping at them from my comfortable spot, and stifled laughing outright as they continued to play "fetch" - Henry the person, and Walt the dog.  They played their parts quite well:  Walt fetched the toy dinosaur and delivered it to Henry, happily, in his mouth.  He panted like any dog who was running around might.  Henry, prior to throwing the toy, firmly and kindly requested that Walter sit first, and upon hearing a plunk on the floor, I figured his brother followed the direction appropriately.  Hen would throw the toy and Walt would dutifully trundle after it.  This went on for longer than I think Walt should've played that role, personally, but then ended abruptly as Walter walked away saying, "No mu-ee", which translated into his language means: "no more". 
Henry said, "That was a lovely fetch game."

Henry

Tonight Henry told me that I am beautiful just the way I am.  I thought that was really cool - especially as it was on the heels of trying to differentiate his contradictory views of wanting to call me a princess while also feeling that princesses are "yuck".  He finally just gave up on the whole princess thing and went with the above statement.  And I thought it was great.  I told him and Walter that they too are beautiful, just the way they are.