A Love Letter

Dear Sausage from Meridian Grocery,

I love you. There, I said it. There's no reason to beat around the bush or play coy. Let's just get that out in the open and let it breath.

I must admit, I've never felt this way about a food before. Sure there have been mild lapses in judgment inspired by fetching foods. Ice cream binges. Macaroni and cheese gorgings. Pizza gluttonings. Candy corn fixations. Marshmallow Peep face-stuffings. But these were never more than flings--the basest kind of short-sighted and self-destructive whimsies or cavings to cravings.

Never before have I wanted to make a food part of me. Don't take this the wrong way, but I want you inside me. All the time. I want your hot, spicy tube. In. Side. Me. Now. Always.

Don't let anyone turn this into something disgusting. It's beautiful. You're beautiful. And perfect. You are a perfect food.

Shh. Don't talk. Just get in my belly.

Love,
Pat

My Napping Theory Is Shot to Hell

You know how I said Gabe was a complete mess on the days when he doesn't take a nap--and since he's not taking naps very often anymore, he's been more of a mess than not for awhile now. Yeah, turns out it wasn't the naps that were making him normaler.

Yesterday he took a good, long nap. Almost three hours. But from the time that he woke up until he went to bed he was non-stop spaz. We went outside to work on the playhouse some, and very little actual work got done because I spent most of my time unwedging him from things.

First, he decided that he needed to climb a tree.

This tree. A redbud. Maybe. I'm never very clear on tree names because, on the whole, they all do about the same thing in my world: provide an obstacle to mow around.

I have to admit that my feelings towards tree climbing are a bit dubious. On the one hand, tree climbing is a good, wholesome, traditional "boy" thing to do with an afternoon. Norman Rockwell would have approved of the activity. It also, I suppose, trains some coordination skills and teaches kids valuable lessons about planning ahead and gravity. On the other hand, Gabe is terrible at planning ahead and gravity has never been his friend. We've so far managed to avoid breaking any of his limbs (I say "we" but his role in the prevention has been on an unwilling participation level only), but we've also managed to keep him from being higher than a couple feet off the ground. Now that he's branching out . . . ha ha . . . it's probably only a matter of time before a trip to the hospital.

Especially if he keeps going after it like he did yesterday. He tackled this tree with gusto if not exactly prowess or skill.

Really, I have nobody to blame but myself because I'm the one that pointed the ideal climbing nature of that particular tree out to him. It seemed like an innocent enough move at the time, and I was doing it to protect another, smaller tree from Gabe's wrath. The tree he originally picked out is only about four feet tall and just a couple years old. He would have destroyed it. And when I spotted him trying to "climb" it (he wasn't able to do anything more than straddle one of the small branches that was close to the ground because the tree is only about an inch thick at its base), I pointed him to the far more substantial redbud. I thought, "No worries. That first fork is a few feet off the ground, still too high for him to get into."

So he asked me to put him up in the fork of the tree to start off. "Nope," I said. "Tree climbing isn't a team sport. If you're going to do it, you'll have to do it on your own." I thought this would buy me a few more months, anyway. Or, if nothing else, keep him discouraged enough that he would find something else to do and I could work on the playhouse.

Except he found a chair. So he used the chair to get into the fork of the tree. But that was as far as he was ever able to make it. And, obviously, it was too high for him to get down from--which he couldn't do anyway because as soon as he got in there he wedged either his crotch or his shoes into the fork in such a way that he couldn't move anymore. I have to give the kids props for trying, though, and sticking with it when it didn't work. Every time he got stuck, he yelled to me to get him down, and when I put him on the ground he declared that he "needed to try it again," always with the same result. So, every five minutes or so for a half an hour I was called over to free him up, and eventually he gave up.

After the tree, he decided to feed the chickens some "salad," one of his favorite things to do right now. He walked around the yard, picking grass and throwing it through the fence to the chickens. But this time it only kept him busy for a few minutes.

I was cutting a piece of particle board for the wall and out of the corner of my eye I saw Gabe on the picnic table. He sort of seemed to be jumping up and down. Dancing maybe? Or just being weird. Who knew. Because being on top of furniture is pretty common for him, and I didn't see where he could really hurt the picnic table being up there, I instantly dismissed it and went back to my own business.

Not a minute later I heard, "Uh, Dad? Help?" in a not very loud voice--as if he knew he needed help but REALLY didn't want to face the lecture that was going to come attached.

This was another stuck-in-a-rocking-chair moment for Gabe as he was forced to remain stuck until I had time to go inside and get the camera (which I should have done anyway to get a picture of him wedged in the tree, but I figured I would have LOTS of opportunities for wedged-in-tree pictures as the years go by). Here's what I found:

For some reason, he refused to smile for the picture.

He didn't REALLY need my help, as he pulled it out this way on his own, but I'm glad he called me all the same because I wouldn't have gotten the picture of him if he hadn't. Really, he does a great job of letting us know when he's done something he knows he's not supposed to do. I guess that's the advantage of there not being huge, terrible consequences from me whenever he screws up. He knows the worst he'll get is an earful or maybe some time out, so he hasn't discovered that it's easier just to act like something didn't happen and then lie about it when I inevitably discover it. That's good, right?

And here's his explanation of what he was doing when he punched a hole through the picnic table.

Or maybe he just doesn't lie to cover things up yet because he's not very good at it. I'm reasonably sure that he was actually just stomping on this soft spot in our picnic table--which we've known for a couple years needs to be completely rebuilt, but who wants to take the time to pull apart and then put back together a picnic table when it can still SORT OF perform its function? Now, I guess, we're not going to have much choice.

And, no matter how much of a dork he is, I'm still going to keep trying to force naps on him until he's in school. It's just my way.

The Hits Just Keep on Comin'

Gabe has become a completely unreliable napper now. Two, maybe three times a week, I can either browbeat or guilt him into staying in bed long enough for him to accidentally do what his body really wants him to do and fall asleep. But most of the time he just hangs out in his room, making noise, and coming out every fifteen minutes or so to pee or poop or shout down the stairs to ask if it's "waking up time" yet.

At this point, it's worth noting that I recognize it would be easier--and there would be fewer problems with him waking Norah up--if I just abandoned his nap time altogether, let him play downstairs, and dealt with the fact that the only quiet time I will get for myself will come when I have a complete meltdown and lock myself in the bathroom. But I am loathe to give up my Me Time without a bitter, knock-down-drag-out fight. I have also maintained throughout that my kids are not going to grow up expecting the world to bend to their whims. It is vitally important--to my way of thinking, at least--that children learn to keep other people happy. It is, after all, what they're going to spend the majority of their working life doing every single day. Nobody gets to whine and cry and tell the boss they have to poop to get out of doing something they don't want to do. That's just not how the world works. That doesn't mean that my kids don't eventually erode away my resolve (sometimes quicker than normal if my tolerance for whining is particularly low that day) and get what they want, but they have to work a little to get it.

So, in my effort to at least make things more difficult for Gabe as he transitions into a napless world (which just seems preposterous to me--who wouldn't LOVE to take a nap every day and have the world resigned to take care of your every need and deal with all your problems so you can sleep carefree), we're doing "quiet time." In theory, quiet time starts when I put them both up in their rooms (Gabe sleeps in the extra bed because otherwise there's no chance Norah will go to sleep either) and it lasts until Norah wakes up. Since Norah can now nap about three hours, the odds that Gabe will be able to entertain himself quietly in his room for that long without major disturbance is about the same as of having your winning lottery ticket struck by lightning. It also doesn't help that he can't tell time, so I can't tell him to stay in his room until, say, 2:00 (there is a pretty good chance that he WILL be able to tell time before he gets to kindergarten, though, because I show him the clock and try to explain how it works with some regularity hoping to get him to recognize what two hours of quiet time looks like).

But I try anyway. And when he comes down every fifteen minutes, I inform him that he needs to go back upstairs until Norah wakes up. And I repeat that mantra every fifteen minutes until I get bored with it and let him stay up.

Yes, I realize that my Me Time is already non-existent because I'm spending all of it coaxing him back to bed. Yes, I know I'm just wasting all of our time in a futile effort to establish myself as the alpha in our household. But, so far, I haven't given up the pipe dream that I'm the one in charge around here.

But that is beside the point of my post today. One sort of advantage of Gabe not napping is that his mildly sleep deprived brain comes up with some pretty amusing stuff from time to time.

Today, for instance, he was sitting at his computer . . . .

Did I mention that we found an old lap top and gave it to Gabe for the express purpose that he could play games on an online educational site called abcmouse.com? I have to admit, the notion of letting my four year old play computer games sounded like a TERRIBLE idea when I first heard it. I already feel bad enough that my kids are borderline TV junkies (OK, probably no "borderline" about Norah's relationship to TV programming). The last thing I needed was to feel even guiltier that my kid was also addicted to video games before he can even read.

But, I tell you what, we've seen some pretty astounding results from him playing this game. Put aside the basic computer skills he already has (he can work a mouse and perform any of a number of drag/click functions, he's becoming quite familiar with the setup of the keyboard, and he's starting to come to terms with the reality of having to deal with ten year old technology being completely obsolete for doing something as basic as playing a pre-K game on the internet). He's made HUGE strides in learning his alphabet and numbers. Considering just a couple months ago we couldn't even tell if he recognized half the letters of the alphabet, now he not only recognizes them, he can identify most of their sounds, can find them on the keyboard, and he's beginning to grasp basic economic concepts (he wins tickets for playing the games on there then can buy items to decorate his "house" in the game). I'm still not saying that it's the best method out there, and it's almost guaranteed that he's going to be a video game nerd when he gets older, but so far I think the positives outweigh the negatives.

Anyway, sitting at his computer. He had a little sheet of paper that he'd stuck several different stickers on. He peeled one of the stickers off and put it above his lip like a mustache, and then he started to make up and sing a song to me. I grabbed the camera and coaxed him into doing it a few more times (he had to keep using different stickers and moving them around, too, I guess to find the perfect costume). Here's what I got.

I can't understand what he's singing about half the time, but that kind of lyrical styling is perfectly acceptable in most forms of popular music, so I think I'm going to nurture this phase.

Boys Are Weird

By now everyone should be aware that my kids are weird. Funny weird, not creepy weird. Well, maybe a LITTLE creepy weird:

I have no idea what prompted him to think this was a good idea, but, then, the male brain prior to about age 25 is full of bad ideas that seem good.

Oh, and at soccer practice the other day, Libby taught Norah how to do this:


It started off innocently enough. Norah had a boo boo on the finger and was showing it to everyone. She's actually got pretty good form already--she's a natural bird flipper, if you will. She doesn't have to hold down her other fingers or anything, just BAM, the finger. Fortunately, she wasn't grasping what she was doing, so I won't have to worry for a little while longer that she's giving me the finger when I tell her to clean her plate or go to bed. My only hope is that I can convince her that she can only flip off the devil and she'll sit down here flipping off the heat registers some day (for relevant context, go here). Then the circle will be complete.