So Mom walks in about four o'clock and announces that we are going out to dinner. "We" being me and my husband. By ourselves. Just because... well, Grandma feels like watching the bairns. God Bless Grandma.
After few minutes of settling boys (quite the feat- this is the end of Spring Break, and Joey is definitely ready to go back to school), we raced out the door and into the car. We toyed for a minute with the idea of going to France. Or back to India for a spell. Las Vegas would do. But we decided to just go on to dinner instead.
We had three Indian places in town for a moment, and it was lovely. But the one I liked closed down, the second one the food was terrible so it closed, and now we are left with only one. We decided to chance it. Ah, mango lassi and lamb korma... yum yum yum. It turned out great. We ate, we chatted about possibilities for the future, we came home.
It lasted an hour and a half.
We need to learn to take our time. Maybe drink more. Breathe.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Knock-knock: Joey style
"Knock-knock."
"Who's there?"
"Blue."
"Blue who?"
"We are crying."
"Knock-knock."
"Who's there?"
"Yellow."
"Yellow who?"
"Knock-knock."
"Who's there?"
"Yellow."
"Yellow who?"
"Yellow is not orange."
"Knock-knock."
"Who's there?"
"Red."
"Red who?"
"The cherries are red."
"Knock-knock."
"Who's there?"
"Red."
"Red who?"
"Knock-knock."
"Who's there?"
"Blue."
"Blue who?"
"Blue is the crying."
Hey, he's trying... and at least he's understanding its supposed to be funny.
Knock-Knock jokes are one of those things most parents take for granted, and just "suffer" through the early years when kids are playing with language. Here, it's speech therapy.
We are very, very proud of him.
"Who's there?"
"Blue."
"Blue who?"
"We are crying."
"Knock-knock."
"Who's there?"
"Yellow."
"Yellow who?"
"Knock-knock."
"Who's there?"
"Yellow."
"Yellow who?"
"Yellow is not orange."
"Knock-knock."
"Who's there?"
"Red."
"Red who?"
"The cherries are red."
"Knock-knock."
"Who's there?"
"Red."
"Red who?"
"Knock-knock."
"Who's there?"
"Blue."
"Blue who?"
"Blue is the crying."
Hey, he's trying... and at least he's understanding its supposed to be funny.
Knock-Knock jokes are one of those things most parents take for granted, and just "suffer" through the early years when kids are playing with language. Here, it's speech therapy.
We are very, very proud of him.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
An excellent morning
Although Spring Break started on Friday, today was the first day Joey realized he was on holiday, and not just one of those funny Friday-off weekends school sometimes has. He's going to be home all week. I had to think fast. How to help him get through an entire week with no schedule? One day at a time...
Today's solution was the pool at the gym. Our gym has a lovely children's pool, and its rarely used, especially in the morning. I can see both boys at once, and no one can get in over his head.
Usually, this venture is an adventure. Go to gym, get two small boys into dressing area before clothing removal commences. Get two small boys into swimsuits. Get mom into swimsuit. Gather clothing from all over the room, including the sink and toilet. Get towels at top of bag. Get children to swimming pool. They usually keep their suits on OK. Breathe while they play. When it is tim e to go, transition appropriately to avoid meltdowns. Begin at least 15 minutes before you really need them out of the pool. Herd small children back to changing area before removal of bathing suits commences. Get wet bathing suits off of small, wet bodies. Get own bathing suit off. Chase down small, naked children who have escaped back to pool area. Hope you have suit still on, or towel handy when this happens. Hence, I always get dressed first to minimize opportunities for escape while mommy is still naked. Get two small, wet bodies back into normal clothing, without anyone slipping and hitting head on wall or floor, or water from sink flooding same floor. Gather up towels and suits from all over changing room, including sink and toilet. Herd small children back to car with various offers of positive reinforcement.
I have noted this exercise and its delights before, much to my pain and a mountain of unfortunate email comments (to the point I had to remove one of the posts). However, I have considered the work worth it, because both my boys LOVE the water SO MUCH. Ecstasy is the emotion when I announce to these two, whilst they bounce upon my bed this morning, that we are going swimming today. Pure bliss.
Today, I was rewarded for my generosity. Two boys entered the gym, and headed to the changing area without losing any clothing on the way. They patiently got into their swimsuits, and gathered their own clothes and put them in the bag. THEMSELVES.
Then they walked patiently out to the pool, and commenced immediate fun.
And it got better.
Time to go? No problemo. Five minute warning, ONe minute warning. One countdown and one count up, and they were out. Very impressive. All the way to the changing room, no lost clothing. I spread a towel on the floor, and they patiently sat criss-cross-applesauce waiting for their turn to get out of wet clothes and into dry ones. They sang the ABC song (over and over) while they waited. They helped put their wet suits into a plastic bag, then marched out to the car with proclamations that it was time to go find Grandma (which was perfectly true).
Who are these children, and where have they put mine?
Today's solution was the pool at the gym. Our gym has a lovely children's pool, and its rarely used, especially in the morning. I can see both boys at once, and no one can get in over his head.
Usually, this venture is an adventure. Go to gym, get two small boys into dressing area before clothing removal commences. Get two small boys into swimsuits. Get mom into swimsuit. Gather clothing from all over the room, including the sink and toilet. Get towels at top of bag. Get children to swimming pool. They usually keep their suits on OK. Breathe while they play. When it is tim e to go, transition appropriately to avoid meltdowns. Begin at least 15 minutes before you really need them out of the pool. Herd small children back to changing area before removal of bathing suits commences. Get wet bathing suits off of small, wet bodies. Get own bathing suit off. Chase down small, naked children who have escaped back to pool area. Hope you have suit still on, or towel handy when this happens. Hence, I always get dressed first to minimize opportunities for escape while mommy is still naked. Get two small, wet bodies back into normal clothing, without anyone slipping and hitting head on wall or floor, or water from sink flooding same floor. Gather up towels and suits from all over changing room, including sink and toilet. Herd small children back to car with various offers of positive reinforcement.
I have noted this exercise and its delights before, much to my pain and a mountain of unfortunate email comments (to the point I had to remove one of the posts). However, I have considered the work worth it, because both my boys LOVE the water SO MUCH. Ecstasy is the emotion when I announce to these two, whilst they bounce upon my bed this morning, that we are going swimming today. Pure bliss.
Today, I was rewarded for my generosity. Two boys entered the gym, and headed to the changing area without losing any clothing on the way. They patiently got into their swimsuits, and gathered their own clothes and put them in the bag. THEMSELVES.
Then they walked patiently out to the pool, and commenced immediate fun.
And it got better.
Time to go? No problemo. Five minute warning, ONe minute warning. One countdown and one count up, and they were out. Very impressive. All the way to the changing room, no lost clothing. I spread a towel on the floor, and they patiently sat criss-cross-applesauce waiting for their turn to get out of wet clothes and into dry ones. They sang the ABC song (over and over) while they waited. They helped put their wet suits into a plastic bag, then marched out to the car with proclamations that it was time to go find Grandma (which was perfectly true).
Who are these children, and where have they put mine?
Heaven in a box
My mom sent me a special present for Easter: Shari's Berries.
If you can have fruit and chocolate, get some. Follow the instructions on the box. Trust me.
If you can have fruit and chocolate, get some. Follow the instructions on the box. Trust me.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
The Tough Questions
Do you have certain topical conversations you know are someday coming... ones that you think hard about what you will say when it comes time to discuss them. Yes, you know the ones. And you hardly ever say any of the things you think are necessary, or planned to say.
You may remember that in September, my mother lost her cat. The boys were fond of the cat, despite her rather grumpy disposition. Today, Joey bounced into the room where mom and I were discussing Easter baskets, and asked, "Where is the cat?"
I recovered fairly quickly- we are getting used to Joey asking questions- and this one even had a referent. Mom wasn't so quick. "What cat?" she asked- remember, the cat has been gone some months, and the children are often at her house, and this is the first time he has asked since we explained that the cat was gone.
"The orange cat," he replied as if he had been answering questions all his life. Amazing. But... what to say?
"Remember when the kitty was sick, and we took her to the doctor?" I tried to explain gently. "Remember, the doctor couldn't help her?" He looked right at me for a moment, then away, his fingers playing with something else. Most folks might take this as disinterest, or that the conversation was over, or that he had moved on- but he hadn't. He's Joey. He's thinking. What to say? What to say? As Maddy would say, I dithered.
"She died, honey," I finished simply, with no other words to provide; there was nothing more to be said.I gave him a little hug. "Do you miss the kitty?" I asked. "Yes," he replied, trying to escape me. "We do, too," I assured him with another little squeeze. "We;re sad she's gone." Then Joey was gone, too, out the door and down the hall.
That was not how that was supposed to go.
You may remember that in September, my mother lost her cat. The boys were fond of the cat, despite her rather grumpy disposition. Today, Joey bounced into the room where mom and I were discussing Easter baskets, and asked, "Where is the cat?"
I recovered fairly quickly- we are getting used to Joey asking questions- and this one even had a referent. Mom wasn't so quick. "What cat?" she asked- remember, the cat has been gone some months, and the children are often at her house, and this is the first time he has asked since we explained that the cat was gone.
"The orange cat," he replied as if he had been answering questions all his life. Amazing. But... what to say?
"Remember when the kitty was sick, and we took her to the doctor?" I tried to explain gently. "Remember, the doctor couldn't help her?" He looked right at me for a moment, then away, his fingers playing with something else. Most folks might take this as disinterest, or that the conversation was over, or that he had moved on- but he hadn't. He's Joey. He's thinking. What to say? What to say? As Maddy would say, I dithered.
"She died, honey," I finished simply, with no other words to provide; there was nothing more to be said.I gave him a little hug. "Do you miss the kitty?" I asked. "Yes," he replied, trying to escape me. "We do, too," I assured him with another little squeeze. "We;re sad she's gone." Then Joey was gone, too, out the door and down the hall.
That was not how that was supposed to go.
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