"I want to marry David"

Claire told me the other day that she wants to marry David when she grows up.

I'm trying to figure out what her concept of weddings and marriage is.

I'm also becoming more acutely aware of how when Jon and I interact (verbal, nonverbal, etc), we are also forming this concept.

Switch-er-roo

This past week we switched the kids' bedroom to the room that's been our guest room.

It was scary to find all the "treasures" that ended up under and behind the bunk beds (we learned what Claire and David do after we say good night to them).

The plan is to have the three kids in the same room and then have the other room be the guest room/office for me.

The trouble is that the kids' dressers don't quite fit.

We briefly mentioned to Claire that she might have her own room someday.

To this she vehemently disagreed. "I would be lonely without David" she said.

Fence Fest 2008

Fence Fest 2008 was a success.

We had over 100 people attend our second annual backyard Fence Fest, a celebration of the fence that we share with our backyard neighbors the Johnsons.

The day started with wiffle ball (Jon's highlight). Then we had opening ceremonies (a reading of "Mending Wall", a liturgical dance through the fence gate, a retelling of the fence story) and feasting and frolicking.

The kids had a blast and managed to eat more junk food in a few hours that they probably have had in the past year (already at such young ages they have learned that when Mom is busy and preoccupied they can pretty much get away with whatever!)

We're already looking forward to next year's celebration.

Are kids really that different ?

I've been thinking a lot about how so often we, as adults, make comments or observations about kids and write it off as just a development stage or something of the sort.

Here's some examples:

Middle school girls are so cliquey.
Kids love attention.
Kids love to show off.

Claire and her friend Noel were playing in the backyard and were talking. This is what I heard:
Noel: I have to go. OK. Bye.
Claire: I have to go too. I have to go to the parade.
Noel: I have to go to the parade too.
Claire: I have to go to the parade and the wedding.
Noel: I have to go to the parade and I'm in a wedding.
Claire: I'm in a parade and in a wedding.
Noel: I'm the flowergirl.
Claire: I'm in the parade and I'm going to play the tuba.
It's hard to capture the conversation in print because with each new idea, the girls were raising their voices a little more and standing closer and closer to each other.

As I heard this, I smiled and thought that kids sure do love to play "one up" on each other.

And then I remembered that in different but not so different ways adults (me) do this too.

I don't have time right now Mom

Here's another "I heard this from Mom and now I'm using it on her" saying from Claire.

I asked her to help me find David's pacifier. She retorted:

"I don't have time right now Mom. I'll get to it when I'm finished with this."

Tell me a story when you were little...

Claire still loves to hear stories about when I was young. So, I tell her what I can remember.

When I was at my parents' place this past weekend, I asked my parents for their version of the stories I told.

Their versions were quite different. For some of the stories, I got people, places, dates and times mixed up. It's made me reflect on memories and how subjective our experiences really are.

When my mom flushed her glasses down the toilet during our trip to Niagara Falls, she remembers being much more angry at herself than sad. My version, as a 8 year old (or so), was that it was one of the most traumatic things that could have happened to her, to our family.

It makes me wonder how Claire and David will remember the memories we are creating each and every day.

Building up our repetory

Claire and I finished reading Ramona Quimby the Pest.

It seemed apt to be reading it while we were hanging out with my sister Danielle who had many Ramona-like moments in her childhood (I must admit that as we were looking at some of her old pictures and laughing about her funny experiences I was jealous as my childhood memories seem to typify the Beezus character in the book, the "boring" older sister).

In one of my books about children's literature, the author writes that reading books together with your kids is important to do because it increases your repertory of shared experiences/stories/names/places etc.

It's true.

Claire and I have shared quite a few laughs lately as we've referenced characters/stories that we've read in the last few months. We "boinged" Auntie Dan's hair (just like Ramona does to Susan), Claire pointed out a little piece of Kleenex and said it would be perfect for Stuart Little, and we made "mushy gushy Valentines" like what Junie B. Jones got.

Here's the gang.

What a fun week we had together. An Iranian restaurant. A thrift store buying extravagance. Garage sale treasure hunting. Happy hour every afternoon. Good walks, talks, eats, treats.

I'm already looking forward to doing this again (maybe next time with Danielle, Ruby and Sarah and her gang of three!)

The eye of the storm

The kids and I just came back from spending a week with my parents in Toronto, ON. We met up with my sister Danielle and her darling baby Ruby (3 weeks older than Jacob).

Somehow I managed to survive the 8 hour drive with the kids. In fact, for much of the trip there, I felt like I was not only surviving but was, in fact, thriving. I remember looking at the clock at 4pm (after having been on the road all day) and wondering why so many people commended me for trying to accomplish such a daring feat.

Then I hit the eye of the storm, or perhaps better described in the plural: Toronto rush hour traffic on hour 7 of our 8 hour trip, pouring rain, car on empty, a screaming infant, a 4 year old who somehow got her seatbelt unbuckled and who couldn't buckle it again and so was screaming "The policeman is going to give me a ticket", a 2 year old who dropped his pacifier, AND no place to pull over.

I managed to find an on ramp with extra shoulder space and so pulled off to feed Jacob. While I was doing this, a tow truck pulled up in front of our van and a guy came out and popped his head in our window. I assured him that everything was fine though I'm sure he wasn't convinced. In fact I don't think the kids were convinced either. They were probably still processing some of the new four letter words that they heard me say. After this frantic feeding fest, rebuckling and pacificer reuniting, we got back on the highway and had the worst luck trying to find a gas station.

But, then we got to my parents. And then everything was fine. I'm 33 and it still feels so good to have my parents take care of me!

The ride home wasn't as bad. A 1/2 hour wait at the border and a few minor meltdowns here and there but overall, quite a fun adventure.

What does this say about my life?

I couldn't be happier (well, ok, I'm using hyperbole but only as an important rhetoric device to make my point).

Jon installed closet organizers in the 3 bedroom closets, fixed the crumbling plaster on their walls and primed each closet.

I love it. I absolutely love it. I got great pleasure today putting clothes in these closets. I even tried out new and different ways of organizing clothes in the organizers.

What does this say about my life?

(and, this, my readers, is also a rhetoric device as the question does not beg an answer however witty or smart)

"Daddy says so"

The latest David-ism is his assertive retort: "Daddy/Mommy/Papa/Nana/whoever else says so"
He loves to use this line when someone is getting him in trouble for doing something he's not supposed to.

What you said?

The latest Claire-ism is something she says whenever she doesn't quite hear what someone says. She asks:
"What you said?"

Ms. Deb and Mr. Jon

The kids have started calling Jon and I, "Mr. Jon" and "Ms. Deb".

We're not quite sure why but they think they're quite funny.

We did too,

at first.

Wonder

Children should have “a sense of wonder so indestructible that it would last throughout life, as an unfailing antidote against the boredom and disenchantment of later years, the sterile occupation with things that are artificial, the alienation from the sources of our strength”
Rachel Carson – The Sense of Wonder (p. 42-3)

Today, the kids and I went to one of the Tulip Time parades. Both kids were wide-eyed at the shiny instruments, the colorful flags being waved about, the horses, the music.
It was magical for them.

What can I do to help make their sense of wonder "indestructible"? How can I regain my own?

Of taking Tulip Time photos

This evening Jon and I dressed all three kids in Dutch costumes and tried to take a few photos of them.

We got a few good shots but I have to admit that it was not exactly a fun experience for me.

First of all, I couldn't figure out what went where. Claire's dress had a white lace thing that didn't seem to fit anywhere and her lace hat had two parts to it that didn't seem to go together. David's outfit was five sizes too big. We could barely get Jacob's on without him trying to put the entire shirt in his mouth. We had to enlist Grandma Elaine's help from across the street.

Then, I got stressed out at trying to get all three kids to look at the camera at the same time. After this proved to be next to impossible, I tried to make sure that nobody was crying while Jon snapped a few pictures. That stressed me out too.

Here's the kicker.

My favorite picture of the unsuccessful and overly stressful photo shoot was one that Jon took right outside our front door (right after I yelled at him for taking a picture of the kids in their incorrectly assembled Dutch costumes). It's of David looking at a tulip. Nothing fancy. Just a great shot of a kid checking out a beautiful yellow tulip.

Nothing stressful about that.

A prisoner of hope...

I've been reading Katherine Paterson's essays on reading and writing for children (Gates of Excellence and The Spying Heart).

Gosh. So many great things in them.

Here's an excerpt from an essay entitled "On Hope and Happy Endings":

"So the hope of my books is the hope of yearning. It is always incomplete, as all true hope must be. It is always in tension, rooted in this fallen earth but growing, yearning, stretching toward the new creation. I am sure that it does not satisfy children in the sense that Cinderella or Jack the Giant Killer will satisfy them. I know children need and deserve the kind of satisfaction that they may get only from the old fairy tales. For children whoa re still hungry for happily ever after, my endings will be invariably disappointing. Children need all kinds of stories. Other people will write the stories they can write, and I will write the stories I can write.

When I write realistic novels, I will be true as best I am able to what is. But I am, as Zechariah says, a prisoner of hope. My stories will lean toward hope as a sunflower toward the sun. The roots will be firmly in the world as I know it, but the face will turn inevitably toward the peaceable kingdom, the heavenly city, the loving parent watching and waiting for the prodigal’s return. Because, by the grace of God, that is truth for me and all who share this hope."

Stuart Little

Claire and I are now reading E. B. White's Stuart Little.

As I read it to her, I catch glimpse of myself as a child, reading this story and absolutely delighting in it. I vividly remember examining the illustration of the little cigarette box that Stuart uses as a bed. I remember being disgusted with Snowbell the cat. I remember wishing that I could somehow be transported into Stuart's world and drive around in his little car.

I long for that childhood experience again. My adult sensibilities push out my 9 year old self. They bring up annoying questions and comments: It's not possible for Mr. and Mrs. Frederick C. Little to have a son who is a mouse. Why is it that nobody steps on Stuart's car? Where does he get gas? The storekeeper smokes a cigarette? How does Stuart age so fast?

David's pacifiers

Claire's a thumb sucker. David's addicted to his pacifiers (plural indeed).

I can't tell you how many times Jon and I have lost and then tried to find his pacifiers...right before leaving for a trip, in the middle of the night, and so on.

A few months back, we thought we'd be smart and put all 3 of his pacifiers in bed with him.

The trouble is, however, that David started getting used to holding all 3 pacifiers. One in his mouth. One in his left hand. One in his right hand. When we give him a pacifier now, his immediate response is "three"

At least he now knows how to count up to three.

...in the whole wide world

"Mommy, what's your favorite color in the whole wide world?" Claire asked me as we were driving home from grocery shopping.

"Well, I think it's red" I replied. "What's yours?"

"I like purple." She said. She quickly added, "And pink. And blue. And green. And yellow. And red. And white. They're all my favorites."

And why not?