Me:  You’re still friends, right?

            Jack:  Yeah.

            M: Because you can be mad at someone and still be friends.

            J:  I know.

            M:  Just like when you get mad at Jill but she’s still your sister.

            J:  Yeah, but I want to sell her.

            M:  You want to sell Jill?

            J:  Yeah, for $100.

            M:  Oh, you could get much more than that for her.

            J:  Like $10,800?

           M:  Maybe, but you’d have to really make her sound good to get someone to pay    that much and I’m not sure if you can do that.

            J:  I can try!

Luckily, Jack doesn’t know how to use eBay or craigslist because if he did, he might actually try to list his sister for sale. In the meantime, I keep picturing him in the front yard with a lemonade stand that says, “Sister for Sale, $10,800. Inquire within.” Good thing for Jill that her brother doesn’t have the final say in the matter.

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Communicating with my children was relatively easy when they were babies. I talked, they babbled and cooed. They cried and, depending on the sound of their cries, I fed, diapered, burped or soothed them. Jill had a toy that said the words: mommy, daddy, bottle, doggie and baby. “Baby” could be changed to say whatever we wanted and so we recorded “Jill.” Before Jill could speak she used the toy to communicate with us. She would press the buttons to say, “Mommy, Jill, milk.” She’s a pretty smart kid as far as we’re concerned.

As Jill grew, her interests and her vocabulary expanded. Holding conversations with her is generally easy. Once in a while she thinks she’s given you all of the information you need to answer a question and she gets frustrated when you don’t understand what she’s asking. Suddenly she’ll say something like, “Remember the other day? What color was that?” Somehow we’re supposed to know what “that” is because she’s explained it fully in her mind. Even with these confusing conversations, I still usually understand what language she’s speaking. When she was little I understood Polly doll. I knew who Ariel and Aurora were. Hey, I even knew who that Dora chick was. I still understand Jill, but then she hasn’t hit her teen years yet.

Jack is another story though. I am a woman. I was a little girl. While I had a tomboy side, I was never a boy. Therefore, I have had to employ my best acting skills to look like I understand when Jack talks. Our family only speaks English so imagine my surprise when my son started saying things like, “Mom, who do you like better, Makuta or Mata Nui?” (I have since learned that those are names of Bionicles which are Legos. I liked Legos as a kid but they were blocks then and didn’t have storylines and a language to learn!) Or “Guess which Star Wars guy this is?” Umm, Princess Leia? Darth Vader? Yes, I’ve watched the movies, but I haven’t earned my master’s degree in Star Wars and you try to identify a little Lego Star Wars guy!

I guess I should have expected this. When Jack was just a little guy he asked, “What’s your favorite dinosaur?” I answered, “I like the big one with the really long neck.” Jack asked, “Which one, the Brachiosaur or the Diplodocus?”

I’m learning but you can see by the look in Jack’s eyes that it takes a great deal of patience to explain things in terms I can understand. Luckily I’m a quick learner but it does make me wonder what subjects we’ll be covering in the future.

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Hubby is the artistic person in the family so Halloween costumes fall to him to create.  If the task were left to me the kids would have store-bought costumes, which means they wouldn’t be EXACTLY what they want, or they would be amoebas.  I don’t think my kids would actually choose to be an amoeba (or maybe they would) it’s just that something wrong happens when I try to create something with my hands.  I guess my hands and my brain don’t communicate well because no matter what image I have in my mind, my creation always ends up looking like a blob.  Needless to say, the kids have figured out that their dad is the person to consult.

October is also the beginning of hockey season, so while Hubby has been making costumes, the kids and I have been watching the games on TV. So one night I got up to take care of a few things while commercials were on and Jack came running in yelling that if I went online to a local hockey store’s website I could get everything I needed to look like a hockey player for Halloween. I thought he was buying into a commercial, but I later found out it was all Jack’s idea. He was so insistent that I check out the site immediately that I decided to entertain his idea. Now, let me be clear here, I had no intention of dressing up for Halloween or of buying anything.  However, the jersey I had been eyeing happened to be on sale. It also happens that the next night we were going to be in the area of the store anyway so I thought maybe I would go to find out what size jersey I wanted just in case I decided to buy one sometime.

Throughout that night and the next day Jack worked on me to dress up for Halloween.  “But, Mom, it would be AWESOME if you dressed up for Halloween!” He was so excited by the idea, how cold I disappoint him? So we went to the store, I tried on jerseys and then agonized over whether or not to spend the money. Those jerseys are not cheap. Hubby put in his two cents saying, “Well, which will enrich your life more, the jersey or the money?” I finally gave in to Jacks wishes and my desire to show my team loyalty. I was handing the clerk my money when Hubby stepped in, handed over his credit card and said, “The kids and I were going to get this for you for Christmas so I guess I’ll pay for it now.” Oh, how bad I felt. I hadn’t thought about Christmas. Hubby just laughed and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll be taking it from you on Christmas Eve to wrap. Remember to act surprised.”

I have to admit that I didn’t feel bad for long about ruining their surprise. After all, Hubby knew Jack had been working me to dress up for Halloween. Hubby’s a smart guy; he should have manipulated the situation by making other costume suggestions. Isn’t manipulating your children a natural part of parenting? I think Hubby secretly wanted to make a mock hockey stick and add more to his already full costume agenda. In the meantime, Happy Halloween and Merry Christmas to me!

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We seem to have fallen into a routine that may sound familiar to at least some of you.  About a half an hour before we leave I say, “Kids, put your socks and shoes on, go to the bathroom and get your things together.” They hear, “Kids, keep playing and completely ignore me.” Fifteen minutes before we leave I yell, “Are your socks and shoes on?”  To which they reply, “Why, are we going somewhere?” At the time set for leaving our house, I walk to the door and listen to the kids yell, “Wait, I need to find something to take with me!” or “Don’t leave yet!  I need to put my shoes on!” No matter what I do, this is the pattern.

Hubby and the kids take martial arts classes and the pattern usually only differs in the items they take and that they have a uniform to put on. The other night Hubby came home and got dressed for class. The kids were at the fifteen-minute point so they made the mad-dash uniform change and when all was said and done we raced out the door for a quick dinner and then off to class. Imagine the laughs that ensued when the kids discovered that in Hubby’s hurry to get out of the house he put his pants on backwards and left his jacket at home! (Yes, yes, gi for those of you martial artists out there.)

With all of my planning and organizing it seems as parents we forget things too. Yes, I have to admit I’ve left things behind too. Parenting takes patience. Oh, and lots of to-do and to-bring lists too!

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Thank you,

Tammy

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Recently I gave the kids chalk and let them loose on the driveway and they started drawing yin and yang symbols and scribbles and quickly progressed to drawing people.  This may sound innocent enough, but remember, we’re talking about my kids.

Jack and Jill have a warped sense of humor and sarcasm is our family trait (if you can’t tell already) so they thought it would be fun to draw a person with a broken arm and leg.  After the broken person, the kids moved on to drawing a person in front of my van so that I would have to drive over it. The chalk person in front of the van came complete with the eyes X-ed out to indicate the person had already died.  The kids finished the scene with a half of a person drawn next to my tire giving the appearance that the rest of the body was actually under the tire.

I made the comment that the police would be coming soon to investigate and that I didn’t think I was that bad of a driver.  Jack said, “Don’t worry, Mom, I’ve got you covered.  They’re only chalk people.”  I’m not sure whether to worry about him “covering” me or about the potential of chalk police showing up.  You just never know at our house.

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A few minutes after I answered Jack, he said, “Mom, this week is Easter Week, then it’ll be Star Wars week, then Make-a-Cozy-place-in-your-bed week, then Workout week and that lasts ten weeks, then it’ll be playing week and after that I don’t know what week it is.

I didn’t realize I’d created a week but Jack certainly had a plan for us moving forward.  Luckily, kids also have a short attention span so he hasn’t held me to this schedule.  However, knowing Jack, he’s likely to remember right around Workout week and I’m not sure I’m ready for that.

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So while the mom and I were talking, her 2 ½ year-old son was eating raisins. Every so often he would hand her the box so she could tear a bit off. She would then hand it back to him and he would resume eating. This pattern was repeated several times until suddenly he looked at the box she’d given him and said, “No!  Fix, please!” She told him she couldn’t and he then asked for scissors. I obviously looked puzzled because she explained that he likes to have the box torn as he eats so that he can better reach the raisins.  Unfortunately, she didn’t tear the box evenly so he was asking if she had scissors to correct her mistake. At this point, the boy looked at me and asked, “Have scissors?”  I told him I didn’t. As moms, she and I obviously should have been equipped to handle a situation like this and he was disappointed that we weren’t.

My hubby likes symmetry too so I relayed the story to him saying, “I met you at 2 ½ years old today.” He agreed with the boy wholeheartedly but said he doesn’t think he was into symmetry at 2 ½. Right, like hubby would remember.

As the little boy grows his need for symmetry will probably drive his parents crazy. Once he’s an adult though, that attention to detail will serve him well.

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Once they sat down with E. Bunny the kids were suddenly at a loss for words. Since E. Bunny can’t speak, it was up to me to break the ice. I said, “Why don’t you tell Mr. Bunny how you’ve been?” Jill took a clue from the big whiskered one and kept her mouth shut.  Jack, on the other hand, felt a need to be truthful without sounding bad so he ventured to say, “I’ve been medium.” E. Bunny made a gesture that showed he was questioning the comment, but Jack just repeated, “I’ve been medium.” 

Hubby stepped into the act and said, “I hear that Santa and the Easter Bunny talk to each other and compare notes.” E. Bunny gave thumbs up to Hubby and so I pushed a bit and said, “Yeah, I hear they’re good friends.” This is where things get interesting. Now, I’m not trying to start any rumors, but the Easter Bunny indicated that he and Santa are doing so-so in the friend department. I had it on good authority that they were pretty close so I don’t know if they had a recent falling out or what.

Anyway, we managed to get a picture. Jill refused to show her teeth and Jack seemed determined to show every tooth in his mouth. The Easter Bunny kind of had a blank look. He must have been running over his to-do list in his mind.

Now all we have to do is find the Santa and Easter pictures from the last couple of years, trim them and dole them out to family who have been complaining about us never sending pictures. They might actually get the pictures this year.

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Jill’s boots still fit as we got them a little big last year. Her gloves were a bit snug, but would work for this one more trip. Last but not least, there’s Jack’s stuff. Poor Jack. He’s the second child so as often as possible we’ve tried to use hand-me-downs. Yes, Jill is a girl and Jack is a boy but we’ve been able to make it work much of the time. It helps that he admires his big sister and that she likes dark-colored clothing.  Don’t freak out on me here - we’re not making him wear her girly clothes, but when she was younger, you couldn’t tell if her jeans were boy’s or girl’s jeans.  (Plus, we sometimes put her in boy’s jeans anyway.) Hey, I’m not cheap; I just have better ways to use money.

So last year Jack wore a pair of magenta-colored snow boots. He couldn’t have cared less, he was just happy to play in the snow. This year he liked the blue gloves that were handed down, but was finally showing signs that he cares about what colors he’s wearing. So when I pulled out the pink boots, he laid down the law for me. ”I will NOT wear pink boots!” Now, I did feel for him. Honestly, I can’t blame him but I’m not going to pay roughly $30 for a pair of boots for one day’s wear. I told him to try the boots on which he finally agreed to, telling me how tight the boots were and that he couldn’t even get his foot in. Fine. 

We’re in California, so even though it’s our cold and rainy season and the snow is nearby, the stores are ready for us, stocked up on bathing suits. So I’m not happy about what the selection will be in trying to find boots, but I’m going to try. Darn it, my kid’s feet will stay DRY! So I was telling (or yelling, you choose) the kids to get their shoes and jackets on and Jack asked where we were going.  I told him we were going to find new snow boots for him which is when he showed me that men are born the way they are. He, like most men I know, doesn’t like to shop unless it’s for toys (and tools) so he takes the opportunity to say… “Shopping! Well maybe those pink boots aren’t as tight as I thought.” What!?! So I calmly, yes calmly, asked, “Are you telling me that you would rather wear tight pink boots than go shopping?”He looked at me as if I’d just said the dumbest thing a person can say and he replied, “Well, yeah!” (Read some attitude into the statement - think teenager attitude and you’ll have the moment nailed.)

To make an otherwise long and trying (for me that is) story short, my husband checked the boots on Jack’s feet and decided they would work for one day. We skipped the shopping, went to the snow and Jack wore his tennis shoes the whole time. His feet stayed dry, we saved the time and money that would have been spent chasing after snow boots that fit and next year we’ll either buy new boots or he’ll wear tennis shoes and we may deal with wet feet. Regardless, I now know that my son, much like his father, cares what he wears as long as he doesn’t have to shop for it.

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