Tricks of the Trade

It doesn't take much to entertain a little boy.

Chasing him in circles with a Triceratops made out of a paper bag and plate will do.

















So will letting him run around the house with his hands and feet inside of Daddy's socks.

Hey, Your Sand is Touching My Spider

We continued to enjoy the unseasonably warm weather by spending the afternoon at Nana’s house. Nana has a nice big yard and a sandbox. The sandbox has a lid, but we learned that the lid being in place does not stop small spiders from seeking refuge in the warm un-freezable sand. Nana had exiled close to a dozen of them before I had to go inside to tend to the baby. Another note to sandbox-owning readers: after a nice summer rain don’t mistake those little flat black things in the sand for twigs; they are actually dried out worms that crawled in under the lid during the rainfall. Worms do not survive as well in the sand as do spiders.

Shocking Weather

It is a mere thirteen days after Christmas. Some people have yet to take down their outdoor holiday decorations, and there are still small clumps of snow here and there. At least there were yesterday. Here in eastern Pennsylvania the temperature should be hovering around freezing; however, today is was a balmy sixty-five. I have always wondered why sixty-five feels so much warmer in the winter than it does in the summer. This time of year it seems like t-shirt weather, but in August if the thermometer dips that low it feels like wool coat weather. Very odd. Nana and I took the kids to the park today. Poor BoBeans has been trapped in the house for so long he behaved like a veritable prisoner set free, running all over the place and shouting with the other children. I do wish that I had remembered to bring my camera along to capture some of the delightful hair-raising static electricity moments.

Just Feeling Warm and Fuzzy All Around

The little guy’s stomach was gurgling last night. It must have sounded like a quack to him because he very seriously informed me that there was a duck in his shirt.

BoBeans has perfected his fake/forced cry. I picked up the baby the other night because she was fussy; this upset my son so he started with the waterworks. The poor kid just wanted some undivided mommy attention. At any rate, the baby thought that he was playing with her. Every time he would open his mouth to renew his wail she, in her naiveté, would mistake it for a laugh and would chuckle and squeal in return. The little Cheekers was having a ball, but my son grew very offended before attempting to drop the charade completely when he saw it wasn’t working. In an attempt to make up the baby reached for her brother’s head to stroke it; unfortunately she forgot herself and grabbed a tiny fistful of his hair. Thus the crying commenced again, a little more in earnest this time. More shrieking laughter; more forced tears.

The baby received a brand new toy for Christmas from a dear friend and it was so neat to watch them play with it together. Of course a six month old is only so coordinated: she would push it off of the tray on her walker and my son had to keep picking it up. My daughter makes this happy face where she scrunches her nose up and exhales through it in a sort of snort; the two of them “talked” back and forth in this snorting language, she dropped the toy, he picked it up, and they had a grand old time together smashing and exploring and organizing the monkeys in their plastic green grass hut.

Our family belongs to the genus of people that cannot help but resort to baby-talk when within two miles of a baby. Even the men do it. That includes my son. It is with a happy smile that I watch my little gentleman crouch down to his sister’s level and check on her with his own special brand of toddler baby talk, “Watcha doin’?” A baby talking baby-talk; if that’s not something to smile about, I don’t know what is.

You can have my truck, but you can't have my hugs!

To watch a child become more independent is bittersweet. This past weekend my son stayed in the church nursery all by himself for the hour our pastor delivered his sermon. Anytime we tried to do this in the past it failed miserably: he would become hysterical.

He has never been in a daycare situation before, so I am sure he felt insecure about whether his needs would be met if neither his mommy nor daddy were with him. Being touched by other children would upset him greatly; another kid could snatch his toy and he would be fine, but if he were hugged he’d freak out! If another child started to cry or became agitated it would send my son to the roof! He’s very sensitive like that.

Over the last few weeks I have watched him grow more confident and show a healthy interest in playing with other children. It was time to try the nursery again. This time he settled in quickly; he explained to his new little friend that her doll was wearing a “shirt”, and then he began to drive some trucks up and down the table. When I told him that I was going to go back upstairs with Daddy he looked at me briefly and continued with his game. I stood outside of the nursery door for a couple of minutes watching him play: he didn’t look around for me once. His number did not appear on the LCD screen during the whole sermon and I am told that he was totally fine. When we went downstairs to collect him he didn’t even throw himself at my feet and say, “oh, Mother, how good of you to come for me. I missed you so!” He just looked at me with an expression that said, “oh, there’s Mommy, I knew she was around here somewhere. I think I’ll go find another truck to play with.”

While part of me is excited to be able to listen to our pastor teach here and there as the baby allows when she doesn’t need to nurse, part of me is wondering where I left the portion of my little boy that was stuck in “I NEED MOMMY AROUND ALL THE TIME WHEN STRANGERS ARE PRESENT” mode.

It is important to me that my children grow into healthy adults with their bag full of marbles, so I guess I’ll just have to cope. My son recently entered the “I love to give Mommy kisses” stage. That helps.

Snakes and snails and puppy dog tails

I don’t remember
what I did
as a little girl
when I played
outside in the yard.

I’m pretty sure
that I didn’t
run though the mulch,
throw sticks around,
or fall in the dirt.

I can’t recall whipping
the bubble wand around
like a saber,
or putting my chalk-covered
hands in my mouth.

I doubt that I squashed
any ants
with my thumb or maimed
any spiders
crawling along.

I probably played
house or played
school or
sat under a big
leafy tree.

Perhaps I played
hopscotch or skipped
or jumped rope,
but I rarely skinned
both of my knees.

Maybe the reason that I can’t
recollect exactly what it is I have done
is because it just isn’t
as fun or as memorable
as the things that I just didn’t do.