At the DIA with a four-year-old

We wandered down to the DIA this weekend. We have a membership, it's air-conditioned, and they were having a free presentation titled "Dragon Dreams and Daring Deeds"--yes, geared to kids.

We got there in time to wander over to the temporary Egyptian setup--the usual one was being remodeled or some such, so we went through the Asian/Indian exhibit to our goal. There was a statue, about three feet tall, in the Indian section that caught the girls' notice:

Rachel almost shouted. "Wow, Mom! Look at the size of her--"

Madeleine shushed her, a touch embarrassed.

My curiosity was piqued. Would she use the correct anatomical term? Exactly what had she noticed?

"Rachel," I whispered, taking a knee, "what were you going to say?"

She started to turn pink and flustered, afraid of getting in trouble. Big sister had shushed her, after all. "Honey, it's okay. I'm asking you, so you won't get in trouble. What did you notice that were big? Her what?"

My precious sparkly girl screwed up her courage and looked me in the eye.

"Her earrings."

Just varia

More to remind myself than anyone else.

I don't know if I posted it here, but it's been elsewhere (Husband's blog, Facebook, the old-fashioned telephone, announcements by my mother) that we're expecting a girl come October, no later than the 19. Elizabeth Christina is, according to ultrasound, a little on the small side but not so much so as to engender worry. Otherwise everything is textbook and problem-free. Aside from having twenty extra pounds strapped to my abdomen, that is. Roughly ten more weeks to go.

I've read two books in the past month. The first was Robert Spencer's Religion of Peace?: Why Christianity Is and Islam Isn't. It's a delightfully un-PC romp through the history and current status of two of the world's biggest and most influential religions. He doesn't ignore the wrongdoings of Christians, but points out that if you have to go back to the Crusades (which, if I may point out, were a defensive move to begin with--and not a pre-emptive one either) or Galileo to cite them, perhaps a more modern examination is in order. Followers of a certain other monotheistic faith are daily making the papers, and not for their missionary work. I got this book of his because I have the feeling his other stuff would keep me up at night.

The other was for my birthday last Wednesday, and I finished it over the weekend. Lenore Skenazy's Free Range Kids: Giving Our Children the Freedom We Had Without Going Nuts with Worry is a breath of fresh air. Her writing style reminds me a lot of Vicki Iovine's (another one of my favorite reality-check writing moms). She takes a common-sense approach to motherhood and protecting our children. She's pro-car-seat, -bike-helmet, and -sunscreen but thinks playgrounds where tag is outlawed are ridiculous. So she ridicules them.
I remember during my first pregnancy I picked up What to Eat When You're Expecting. I figured I had a pretty healthy diet; this would just be refining and a few tips. Whoa, was I wrong. Two chapters in or something and the discussion on the evils of white flour had me feeling like I was abusing our child and she hadn't even been born. I wept; the book went.
Here's a sample:
This is a mat you put on the bottom of the tub. Turn the water on, and if the words TOO HOT! magically appear in a bubble near the duckie's head, you know that the water is, indeed, too hot! Because who can trust her own wrists anymore?
Oh wat a sec. We all can. Dip a wrist in the water, and you yourself can tell if that water is warm, cold, or boiling hot. (Key word: YEOW!) So why on earth is there not only this heat sensitive bath mat for sale but also a competing turthle you can put in your tub that will indicate TOO HOT! too? (Not a real turtle, who would indicate that by turning into soup.)
She cites statistics, anecdotes, and real-world experiences. I laughed my way through this one and intend to lend it out to friends.
Dear husband, though, did have a quibble with her point. Where yes, stranger kidnapping is exceedingly rare (noncustodial parent being far more common), our society now has sexualized children more than in the past. The steady pornification (I think I made that word up) of the general population has made it more possible, or even acceptable, for the perverts.
He may be right, but that doesn't change the fact that a child is 40 times more likely to die in a car accident, ten times more likely to die in a fire at home, twenty times more likely to drown in a pool, and eighty or ninety times more likely to be molested by someone they know than kidnapped and murdered by a stranger. (Those are her stats, not mine; I'm cribbing from page 184.)

So now you know what else I've been up to. Gestating, reading, keeping the other kids alive. Now your turn--go. Read.

Daddy kept his poker face.

This is a real conversation that happened after dinner tonight; my beloved husband and I were talking after the kids had left the table.

Dale comes back and picks the drain cover from the coffee maker out of the dish rack and puts it to his lips.
Me: "Dale, that doesn't belong near your mouth."
Son, looking at it: "What is it?"
Husband: "Something we use to clean the cats' butts."
Pause.
Son, quietly: "I'm going to wash my lips."

We'll tell him the truth eventually. Like puberty, high school graduation, his wedding...

Don't try this at home.

Louie is a masterful teacher and avid experimenter. What we have discovered together:

1. Spaghetti-O's are an ineffective cellulite cream. Whether because he doesn't have cellulite on his thighs or because Franco-American is short on the ingredients remains undetermined.

2. Fifteen-month-olds do not digest green food coloring. It passes right through to the diaper and will cause Daddy to metaphorically do the same, making Mom laugh too hard to explain. The results resemble green tempera paint, but don't stain.

3. Removal of either nostril-clogging green nose goblins or mostrous earwax potatoes results in screaming akin to Egyptian brain treatment before demise. I think he's sure I'm going after his brain.

4. Dishwashing bubbles, while entertaining, are not a filling snack food.

5. An eight-year-old dog can be very patient and gentle when it comes to stealing chocolate chip cookies.

Whoda thunk...

that dolphins are kufr?

Did you know...

that if you mix mashed grilled cheese sandwich, tomato soup with Italian diced tomatoes, and whole milk it looks suspiciously like vomit?

It doesn't smell nearly as bad, though. And it cleans up more easily, too.

"Go out and play" can be... messy.

"Mom, Louie is messy!" Understatement. He's soaked from the waist down. Including his shoes.

"Mom, I think I destroyed my pants." They are destroyed. Yes, you need to change clothes before dance class. The irony? The Boy is cleaner than his sister.

"Mom, I think I need to change my... things." Her vagueness is telling. She needs to change from the skin out.

Ah, spring has sprung.

Like a redheaded stepchild...?

We went on a playdate today. The other two families have adopted and biological children and the topic came up; I finally learned which were birth and which adopted for the Freeman clan; I already knew for the Mabes.
At dinner, the kids were asking about adoption.
"Is James adopted?" asked Madeleine.
"Yes, honey, he is," I told her.
"I thought so!" declared Dale. "With that red hair and all those freckles!"
"Sweetie, Mrs. Freeman has bright red hair and freckles, as well."
"Maybe she's adopted, too," he answered.

Laugh or cry?

I had my annual girl exam yesterday. The receptionist, married a year or so ago, looked a little more rubenesque than I remembered; she was sitting, so I couldn't be sure. There on her desk was the ultrasound picture.
"Yes, that's mine," she confirmed.
"And what is this baby's name?"
"Carter," she responded with pride.
"Not after Jimmy, right?" I said in jest.
"Who?" she said sincerely.

And some folks wonder why we're homeschooling.

Where have I been?

In a word: Facebooking. I just started sometime the week before Christmas. When I have the chance to sit at the computer, that is.

Otherwise, I've resumed teaching my kids. And preparing their meals. I squeeze in laundry when they complain they're low on socks.

Another big drain on my time is twenty-one pounds of kamikaze toddler. Lou is determined to kill (or at least maim) himself in some creative way like one of the following.
1. Putting a blanket on his head and walking into walls until brain damage sets in
2. Trying to eat one of his older siblings' toys and choking on it (Lego and Littlest Pet Shops seem to be his favorite flavors)
3. Carrying around Gladys our Christmas Kitten, who still has all of her claws and thus might just disembowel him in an escape attempt
4. Climbing on the kitchen table, with that inherent risk of falling off, and trying to injure himself with something he finds there--like a knife or pencil, or choking on an eraser or some leftover bit of food
5. Contracting some bizarre species-jumping disease from the pets' water dish (yes, he has drunk from it), or the cats' litter box, or the human toilet (no drinking, just splashing and dropping)

I've actually gotten out the Pack-N-Play so I can wash dishes.

I hope to recommence regular posting when this phase is over, which may be just in time for potty training. Wish me luck.

Ah, homonyms...

"Who got you this ring, Mama?"
"Daddy. It's called an 'engagement ring.' It was his way of asking me to marry him."
"What is this gem in it?"
"It's a diamond. Bigger than half a carat--it's five-eighths."
"Carrots are bigger."

While I have the computer....

Me, Madeleine, and Rachel: A Conversation of Girls.

"Mom, can I play with the Activity Scene?"
"If you can say its name correctly. Nativity."
"What?"
"Nate."
"Nate."
"Native."
"Native."
"Nativity."
"Native-ity."
"Okay, go on."
"Activity scene?"
"Hey, I just live here."
"No, you're on cleanup."
And Louie had poured his soup on the table.

Another "I have no words" post.

I thought I'd look for a clip from The Three Musketeers at Youtube. I arrive at the page and they have one of dancing storm troopers. It's only about 30 seconds. I watched it and was amused.
Then this one showed up. It's like a train wreck--you just can't look away. It's safe for kids, just not Star Wars fans.

This is the Apocalypse.

It's akin to when Alice Cooper was on The Muppet Show. And this is my first time embedding anything; I hope it works.



Yes, it is what you think it is. "It's a good thing."

"Do you know the street value of this mountain?"

Trying to briefly explain Better Off Dead to a seven-year-old who just wants her allowance is not easy.

Just so's you know.

Christmas in October!

You know how usually babies' first Christmas involves lots of blinking and noisemaking with the paper, along with general confusion and a tantrum or two? The whole "unwrapping presents" is completely beyond them, right?
Not so fast.
Lou's getting in his "unwrapping" practice with the three or four dozen rolls of Costco toilet paper in the bathroom.

Because it feels so good to stop.

R: "I'm sorry, Mom! I'm sorry! I'M SORRYYY!"
Me: "Go calm down in your room. Dale, why is Rachel screaming?"
D: "She went like this [squeezes his cheeks hard] to me." (We would call that scratching because squishing your face is too long.)
Me: "Why did she do that?"
D: "I was going to tell that she scratched me."
Me: "Why did she scratch you?"
D: "Because I was going to tell on her."
Me: "What did she do that you were going to tell on her?"
D: "She scratched me."
Me: "You were going to tell on her for scratching and so she scratched you?[Affirmative nod.] How many times did she scratch?"
D: "Once."

My head hurts.

They seem so normal.

The girls like dolls, princesses, and pretending. The boy likes cars, messes, and explosions. Then they come off with things like (and yes, this conversation really happened)...

After finishing Madeleine's rainbow birthday cake, I hear, "Rachel, you look like a vampire!" She'd apparently had the red part.
Rachel, grinning: "Bleah!"
Me: "What do you guys know of vampires?" I read Anne Rice. I know vampires.
Dale: "They're monsters that try to get you." Apparently, he's gleaned something from Scooby Doo on Bomerang--but that's a whole different post.
Me: "No, they get you and drink your blood."
Dale: "And eat your brains!"
Daddy and I together: "No, that's zombies."
Rachel: "Bleah!"
Daddy: "How do you kill a zombie, son?"
Dale: "Shoot 'em in the head!"

I can envision it now. We're at DIA for one of their family days. For ease of identification they're all wearing their Little Lebowski Urban Achievers shirts. Madeleine asks, "Is that Judith with the sword? Where is Holofernes' head?" Dale is wandering around singing to himself, "I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay, I sleep all night and I work all day..." Rachel is pirouetting about, telling complete strangers how much she likes Red 40. Lou mercifully has fallen asleep in the stroller.
A museum employee taps me on the shoulder. "Are they all yours?"
Yep. Completely.

In case you didn't know

Eight-month-old babies and Oreos are a very messy combination.

And almost-seven-year-old sisters are too generous for their own good.

Advice I've been given

If I could keep these concise statements in mind, my world would be a whole lot better. Not to mention if I'd known the truth of them when I first heard them, I might not have needed them...

When my dad proposed to my mom, he said, "It won't be easy, but it'll never be boring."

My sister, with whom I have very little in common, said, "You don't get to choose what your kid needs therapy for."

St. Teresa of Avila said,

"Let nothing disturb you;

Nothing frighten you.

All things are passing.

God never changes.

Patience obtains all things.

Nothing is wanting to whim who possesses God.

God alone suffices."