Birds

Just before we came to London a friend of ours was telling us that he was irritated by some children who were chasing birds.  He had been talking about his recent vacation, and I assumed that he meant the kids were screaming and carrying on outside his hotel room balcony while he had been trying to relax.  Then he continued his story to say that he was further appalled as the children’s parents watched their kids chase the birds and did absolutely nothing about it.  It wasn’t that the noise had bothered him, but the simple fact that the children were chasing the birds.

I must admit that I have often allowed my boys to do just that.  They are thrilled by the endeavor, and I just figure that the birds are at a great advantage as they have wings and will never become close to being caught by my children (or any other children for that matter).

I like birds and wouldn’t allow my boys to chase them if I thought the birds were in danger or even afraid.  I clearly remember a small yellow canary that my family was watching who literally died of fright from our cat.  Even though it was protected in a cage, the canary was terrified because it thought it was at risk from the cat. That experience  had a deep effect on me.  It shocked and upset me and I would never wish that fate on any animal. 

But I do not feel like wild birds are at that disadvantage. It seems to me that the birds my boys chase are not at all afraid – but are, at most, mildly irritated by the situation. When my boys cause them to fly, they usually land just a few feet away. (I have even thought the birds might be mocking the boys a little…)

What I haven’t thought/realized is that the birds have been plotting for some time now.  In London, while waiting in line to enter the aquarium, they exacted their revenge. (Apparently, oceans are not too wide for birds to send their messages…)

Owen was kneeling by the wall of the aquarium, playing with some small pebbles when I heard him exclaim.  I glanced at the lady’s face with whom I had been talking (she was facing Owen while I had my back to him), and there was a look of horror.  When my eyes made it over to Owen, he also had a look of horror on his face, but it had the quality of a toddler who has just fallen, and is surveying the adult’s faces to see if he should cry.  So, I laughed.  A large pile of bird  excrement was on Owen’s shirt, and another was sliding down his arm.  But I laughed, hoping Owen would too. (he did)  "It is not your lucky day!” I piped while I wiped him up with wet wipes, gave him a new shirt,  and doused his arm with hand-sanitizer (many times).

The woman I had been talking to, who thought we were interesting Americans just a few short minutes before, flashed me a dirty look, turn her back to us, and pulled her children in front of her.  At first I thought the lady reacted this way because she was worried she and her family would get caught up in the cross-fire of the bird retaliation.  But later I wondered if it was my reaction that was what really bothered her.  Maybe that was part of the birds’ plan – the attack itself coupled with the lack of sympathy of the British people for my unfathomable American reaction!?!

Now that I have considered this situation more fully, I must say that I am not a little confused.  I would have guessed the birds would have chosen Jack as their target.  He certainly is the more aggressive chaser.  It could be that Owen had racked up more points since he is older and thus, has earned at spot closer to the top of the Birds’ Most Wanted list.  Since I am not privy to the list’s criteria, I cannot say for sure.  Some things we are not meant to know.

I do know one thing, I must revisit the wisdom of our friend’s disdain for chasing birds.  It may be a wiser decision that I had initially understood.  Perhaps he is not so worried for the welfare  of the birds as much as for the cleanliness of his children…

Hangin’ With Daddy

Full Summer Days

I just fell asleep TWICE while trying to talk to Owen as I put him to bed.  But that is not a complaint.  It was one of those really good tireds that you feel after a full summer day.

The boys and I went to Lisa’s house this morning.  I was going to help her tidy up since she had just found out that her company was going to arrive a day early and she still had a few things she wanted to get done. ( Before you give me too much credit as being a good friend, I must divulge that we had been planning on going to the pool with her family today and I really really didn’t want to have the plans canceled.  Helping her finish faster meant that we could still go together!)

When I arrived at her house, Lisa’s trainer was there so we started by doing an hour workout together.  Now that should get me points on the “good friend” list…Just kidding – the workout was an added bonus – it was really motivating and just what I needed.  I even did 30 push-ups!! (pause for applause)

We spent a few hours on Lisa’s company preparations, fed the kids, and went to the pool - YEA!

Lisa was a swim teacher in a former life (aka - before children).  She still has it though, because she worked magic with my monkeys today.  She encouraged the boys to get comfortable in the pool, blow bubbles, put their faces totally under water, then kick their feet out behind them.  Jack totally did all of this and Owen mostly did.  Mind you, Lisa accomplished this from the comfort of a lounge chair while drinking a cold diet coke and reading a magazine! (and, no, I am not kidding about any of it.)

After a few hours, she said something to the effect of, “Oh look, he’s ready!”  She suddenly popped in the pool and helped each boy to relax- floating them on their tummies and backs (something I can never get them to do for me!) She taught them to breath in a way that helps them stay under water longer; and they did it!  By the end of the short time she played with them in the pool, she had them both pushing off the edge, arms out front, bodies totally submerged.  Jack got especially into it, and would go farther and farther each time, then pop up with a HUGE smile on his face, both arms up for double high-fives.

We all had a great day and the boys were so proud of themselves.   Jack called himself a “great swimmer” and while Owen is more careful about details – stating that he need arm strokes and proper kicking to be “really swimming”, both monkeys were so excited to tell Daddy of their accomplishments.  

The boys were very tired and having a hard time keeping awake much past 8.  (They wouldn’t agree with this statement, but it’s my blog…)

Poor Owen, he has been so into reading lately and really wanted to practice, but he was so tired, he kept reading some of the words backwards.  Luckily Owen is a trooper, and laughed at himself and  finished the entire story.

I, on the other hand, am not a trooper.  I didn’t even make it through telling Owen about the events of his day – his favorite bedtime ritual.  When I felt the lull of sleep hitting me for the third time, I had to just kiss him goodnight and promise that tomorrow brings another summer day.

Learning Curve

I came across this quote from Jack that I had written down in March:

(I had been taking the boys outside to ride their bikes – we were all ready to go in the garage.  When we opened the door, I pointed out the rain.)

Jack: Oh, that’s ok Mama, it’s just jokin’.

I explained that you still get wet even if the rain is just jokin’.

Jack tried his line a few days later, after he hit his brother, but found out that you still get a time out even if you are just jokin’ when you hit.

Blast Off!

My dad (known to my monkeys as GK) bought Owen a model rocket kit with engines for his birthday in May.  It was raining on his birthday, so we couldn’t launch the rocket, and have been away for awhile…

But today we assembled the rocket and the launcher and went out to “The Blue Park” to set it off.  Of course, as with any trip to the blue park, we started by inviting the monkeys’ Godparents, Nana and Doc.

First Daddy explained the safety rules… 

Then, 5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 .. BLAST OFF!

 

Oops.  Thanks, Doc.

Owen had three engines with the rocket, so we were able to launch it three times.  I think we will be going out for more engines in the near future…    Owen says, “Thanks, GK!”

I had to include this photo of Jack and Nana  just because it is so cute.  Jack’s first real connection with Baby Carlisle.

A Title

I was thinking of my blog today and what part of me it shows.  I have never had an agenda with my blog; no specific audience, no goals, or anything like that.  I just really enjoyed reading my friend’s blog, and thought it would be fun to do my own. 

But, I am the author of my blog, so naturally – some part of my personality shows through.  Whether I want it to or not, it makes some kind of statement about me.  So I was wondering today, what does my blog tell about me – is it what I want to be putting forth?

Probably the only thing that I have tried to be purposeful about is being honest.  I knew from day one (when I wrote that my husband was “serious” and he highly objected it) that I was not going to have everyone’s agreement on what is “true” about my life.  But I do want to be honest about what is happening, what my thoughts are, and how I am feeling.

I will admit to a little artistic license in some of the blogs (for instance, in the Scotland Elcho Castle entry, a fair maiden did not actually enter any kingdom nor was she immediately loved by all of the knights.  In fact, the youngest knight was not sure if he even recognized the fair maiden, and had to be persuaded it was indeed me…)  But I hope that my readers will forgive such necessities for good storytelling and be satisfied to know that all quotes are exact to the very best of my knowledge.  And I try not to embellish stories.    I tell the stories in the way (I see) them happen, and I try not to put forth something  because I think it will show me or my family in a certain light.

But in addition to being honest, is there something about me that I want the blog to show?

One of the things that I really like about myself is that I can usually look on the bright side of something.  Your toy broke?  We can find a way to fix it!  The bananas are overripe?  Let’s make banana bread! It’s raining?  Lets go on a Puddle Hunt!

And as I was thinking about my blog today, I realized that I hope that part of me comes through in my writing.  And I didn’t get much further than that thought, when I noticed my title.  My blog is titled, Three Steps Forward, Two Steps Back.  “Yikes,” I thought, “ Isn’t that a little big negative?!?”  And I began to worry. “ Will people get the impression that I am looking at life mostly as a struggle?  Isn’t this a focus on the negative part of the journey?  Will people think I am not satisfied with my life?”

Then I thought, “If I take three steps forward, and two steps back, I will still be taking those five steps with my family.  And, if I take three steps forward, and two back, then that must mean that I have the opportunity to fix a mistake I made.”

I ridiculously felt much better, then smiled at myself, because at least those thoughts meant that my “look on the bright side” gene had kicked in. (even if it meant an enormous stretch of imagination on my part.)

I finally decided that I was spending far too much time analyzing the title of my blog.  Sorry about that.

But, if you must think about the title of the blog…um, could you think of it in one of the latter interpretations?

Things Jack Found Worthy of Notice

Jack took my camera at the farmers’ market the other night, and I just looked at his photos.  These are most of the photos that he took (minus doubles and a few people that I don’t know sitting next to us)

grass we were sitting on our stroller (he loves it) bark (there were LOTS of these)

the lady sitting next to us (later Owen asked this lady if she was the Grandma?! ? I think that must be a compliment for my mom/MIL ?)

my hair (could we all agree that it is brown now that we can see it against my black shirt??)

Lisa’s

more Lisa

um, I’ll let that remain untitled

Farmers’ Market food (that Jack ate most of)

Food Experiment

I have been looking forward to take the boys camping this summer, and have been looking up fun recipes to take with us.   One that looked fun was a popcorn packet recipe.  It called for 1 teaspoon of oil and one Tablespoon of un-popped popcorn  to be wrapped in a 4 inch square of tinfoil that is hung over the campfire.

I was pretty sure that the size of the tinfoil must have been misprinted.  I wanted to know what a better size would bes, and thought it might be a fun experiment for  me and the boys to do.

I cut the foil in 4 inch squares (small), 6 inch squares (medium, and 12 inch squares (big).  We used a muffin tin to make a little cup shape, then Jack put in the popcorn and Owen put in the oil.

I explained that we were going to put the packets over a flame to heat up the popcorn and make it pot.  I asked the boys which packet they thought would end up with more popcorn after it was heated.  Both boys thought that more popcorn could pop in the big packet.  Owen said it was because there was more space in the bigger packet. 

Jack was sure the bigger one would have more popcorn “because there is more popcorn in the bigger packet.”  Even though I had made a big deal about how all the packets were the SAME except for the size of the tinfoil (hoping the concept of variables would be planted in their heads) – this explanation was not cutting it for Jack.  Even after I asked him if he put more popcorn in the big pack (he said no) he was still convinced that big packet must have more popcorn.  I guess three-year-olds aren’t ready for a lesson on variables.  (Maybe next time I will focus on Conservation of Matter…)

so, we hung up one of each size packet from a string and hung them from a long skewer to hang over the heat.

As I was about to move on to heating the packets over a burner, Owen suddenly ran outside.  I told him that I didn’t want to light the fire pit for this experiment, and he yelled back, “Oh, that’s fine, I was just going to rub two rocks together.”  Oh, ok.  He came in a few minutes later saying that he wasn’t sure how to do it without help… we tried the stovetop instead.

Very quickly, the small packet’s string burned off.  The medium one burned off after about a minute.  The large packet lasted much longer, but the foil did briefly catch on fire.  The fire went out quickly, but, I decided that should probably be the end of the cooking part…

Before we could analyze the results, I had to stop fire alarm that was raging – by opening windows and fanning the smoke detector.  (This happens so often – because the thing is sensitive, NOT because I burn things! -  that I swear my kids are going to wake up to a fire alarm in the house at night, and run downstairs to fan the smoke alarm with a kitchen towel!!)

Anyway, here are the results:

Owen: In the small packet – there’s none to eat.  The middle one has a few- I think 3 or 4, and the big was has lots to eat. (he tries a piece)  But I think they all need butter to taste good, and I think we should use the twirly popcorn maker to make a lot more if we are going to have all of us camping...

Our “twirly” popcorn maker

3-year-old Heartbreak

 

His Scottish sword…

Garbage Truck Theory

Jack was mad at me the other night.  I made the grievous error of telling him that he needed to get into bed right away  if he wanted me to tuck him in. He narrowed his eyes, crossed his arms, and leaned against the wall.  As I made a move to leave,  Jack burst into tears and jumped into bed. As soon as I sat on the bed however, he felt the need to make sure I knew he wasn’t happy about the situation…

Jack: I am going to throw you in the garbage can and the garbage truck will pick you up and dump you inside and drive away!

Mama: (After giving Jack the most sad furrowed-eyebrow look I can make.)  Oh, no.  Is that what you want to do to your Mama?

Jack’s eyebrows furrowed too – looking sad himself – and I wait for him to verbally remove me from the garbage truck… 

Jack (in his slow, “comforting” voice):  Oh Mama, it’s okkkaayyy.  You won’t get hit by a can on your head when you fall in the truck.  And it won’t be a smelly truck, so you won’t stink. (he notices this is not clearing away my furrowed brows, so he continues) And I will ride with you in the truck. And we can climb a ladder to get out.  We can have two ladders, and we can climb out together!  It’s ok Mama. 

I was a little concerned at first that I was not immediately saved from the garbage truck.  I was eventually allowed to climb out of the truck, but I was definitely still thrown in, and driven away!

But, as I thought more, two things hit me.  One: A garbage truck is one of Jack’s  favorite things on the planet. And two:  the world must often seem  this way to Jack.

1. Jack finds himself in a situation that he wants to get out of.
2. He tells Eric and/or  I his problem.
3. We smile and look like we understand and are going to “save” him. 
4. But instead we leave him right in the middle of it, and just talk more.  Maybe telling him some more pleasurable details, but not usually “saving” him the way he hopes for.
5. In the end, things are fine or even good, but not in the way Jack expected.

For example, most new situations fit this pattern –like going to the dentist for the first time…

1. Jack saw the new surrounding and the chair he was expected to sit in.
2. He promptly asked to leave.
3. I smiled and called him over to me.
4. But we didn’t leave; I just kept talking.  I described all of things the dentist was doing  and pointed out all of the fun thing in the office like the big stuffed dog with unusually large teeth that Jack can practice brushing with an enormous toothbrush.
5. The dentist trip ending up being pretty cool; nothing hurt and the funny stuff they put in your mouth actually tasted good, AND he got a little toy in the end.

Even seemingly fun things can end up with this pattern: Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Euro Disney for example.  Jack wanted to get off!  To Jack it must have seemed like Eric and I wanted to help him, but then just end up talking about the less scary parts of the ride.  But we didn’t “save” him and get off like he wanted - until the end, of course.  That was probably a little hard to understand for him.

I do not wish to change the pattern that we have made.  I think it is a necessary evil – if you will.  I definitely think it is good for Jack to experience new things and to learn that he can get through them, and maybe even enjoy them.  But seeing these experiences in this way is a perspective that I had never thought of before and I like thinking that I understand Jack a little better.

If nothing else, I certainly forgive him for not instantly “saving” me from the garbage truck.  Who knows, maybe I would have even enjoyed the ride in the end…

Jack’s Taste of Paris

I was going through the last of our Big Big Trip photos to make the monkey’s pages for their scrapbooks, and I realized that I had not blogged about a few parts of the trip.  I had two days in Paris with my cousin Chloe while Eric took Owen to Normandy. Jack stayed us.

Chloe and I walked around much of the city those two days going to a wonderful arrangement of cafes, art museums, and Paris sites that Chloe picked. We had amazing, sunny weather (unseasonably warm – which was typical of our whole vacation)  Jack was in heaven having two grown-ups to dote on him (and the stroller) all to himself.

We started off in a little Cafe and ordered baguettes and coffees.  The baguettes were served with freshly made butter and jam, and the coffee was served in bowls (no, that is not soup I am holding!) Everything tasted soooooo good. 

I ordered a croissant for Jack, and he was incredibly happy.  At the end of his snack, the plate – table – and child – were covered with the flaky crumbs of the croissant…

Jack had many croissants while in France after this first one.  I was happy for him to experience the delights of good food in different countries, but I think I also ruined him for anything else but a Parisian croissant.  Ever since our time there, Jack has staunchly refused to eat any other croissants.  (I later told my Aunt Lynne this story and her response was, “It is good for 3-year-olds to have good taste too.”  I am sticking to that idea.  He’s not stuck-up, he just has good taste!)

Below is Jack making his acquaintance with Le Chat Noir (the black cat)  He loves cats, and Le Chat is one of the French words that Eric taught him that he remembered.  He actually yelled, “Le Chat” when he saw this little guy in the street.

After our cat-encounter, Jack picked out this souvenir (a poster from an 1890s cabaret).  It makes me laugh, but he LOVES it!

Here is Jack’s self-portrait outside the little store where he bought the poster.

We stopped for a drink at a little Cafe that Picasso frequented in the art district.  You see artists walking around and selling their paintings in a square a few streets over. 

(not my photo)

We rode around on the Metro quite a bit, but were delighted when we found this little train that rode on the street right to the top of the basilica, the next place that we wanted to go!

During our two days, Chloe and I walked around Notre Dame and the Basilica of Sacre-coeur (the beautiful basilica shown below which overlooks the entire city).  We toured through back streets just to explore, ate more baguettes, and walked through the Musee de Orsay (a wonderful impressionist museum, where I spent two hours open-mouthed gawking at the paintings.)

Of course, despite all of these great sites, it was the normal (or not-so-normal) things what were Jack’s delights.  Like garbage trucks.  Jack loves garbage trucks so much, his third birthday had them as a theme.  This one was too funny because it was so small. I think the black car to the right is a Volkswagen Golf! 

This is where Jack learned that when kids speak another language, English just doesn’t cut it (no matter how loudly you yell).  He really wanted to play with these kids, but they weren’t too sure of him.  He kept yelling, “You have a spider on your head!” to the little boy.  I actually thought he was kidding, but I could tell he was getting frustrated as he screamed it the third or fourth time.  The kids finally noticed what he was talking about(a real spider on the boy’s head), but it didn’t exactly repair the relationship…

  

On one evening we bought cheese, fruit, meat and bread and sat and picnicked and talked right here.  Does it get any better than this? (this is Jack’s 17th attempt at the photo…)

Jack would probably not say that these two days of the trip were his favorite, but they did make a huge impact on him.  He  talks about Le Chat Noir almost daily, and is waiting to find a frame to hang his poster. He learned that the French have wonderful food(in addition to croissants).   He was also completely taken by the French language, and thinks he is quite fluent.  He will speak in gibberish, but with French intonation and sounds.  If you didn’t know better, you would think he was really speaking French!  My sister came over the other day and she started “talking” right back to him (taking cues from her high-school French lessons).  I really need to get a video of that, it is so hard to explain! 

Phone etiquette

When I was younger I was told that it was impolite to call someone before 9am or after 9pm.

I have stuck to this rule for a loooong time.

I have often wished that telemarketers would also stick to this rule.  But that is another blog…

After I had my monkeys, I often found this rule to be very hard to follow.  9pm was fine – I was no longer coherent at that time of night anyway – so there wasn’t much need to talk on the phone.  But 9am was another thing altogether.  When your kids wake you sometime around 5, then you day seems halfway over by 9.  There were actually  many years that by 9am my monkeys had woken up, then gone down for a nap, and then woken up again! Waiting around for an “appropriate” hour seemed like torture.

I began to wonder who came up with this ridiculous 9am rule.  Surely there are no adults that are still actually sleeping by 9am!  I certainly can’t imagine any near future where my children don’t wake me up long before that.

Or, at least, I couldn’t imagine that before this morning, when I got a phone call at 9:05 that woke me up.  It  woke me up!!  As in, I was asleep, and had not woken up in the morning at all before 9am!  At first I was a little nervous.  Monkeys that don’t wake up their mama are usually up to no good…  But Owen was sleeping next to me, and I found Jack up in his own bed – sound asleep.

Sleeping in is the kind of luxury that I thought I would not experience  for a very very long time.  It is surprisingly nice, and I think I could get used to it…

I am not sure if the monkeys are going to make a habit of waking up at 9.  We shall see if it continues into the weekend. 

For now, please continue to listen to your parents and follow proper phone etiquette, and don’t call before 9am…

Baby’s Perfect Logic

Tonight, at bedtime, Jack asked me to tell him a story about when he was a baby.

Mama:  When you were a tiny, tiny baby, still inside Mama’s tummy, the doctors thought you would be born very close to, or even on Christmas day.  But later, the doctors decided that it would be the safest if you were born a little earlier.  So they decided that you should be born on Uncle Marc’s birthday (December 13th).  That would have been fun!  But do you know what happened?  Do you know what you decided instead?

Jack: What?

Mama: You decided not to wait, even that long.  You decided to be born even earlier - on the very first day of December!!

Jack: (Big smiles) So my birthday is December first!

Mama: Yup!

Jack: (Look of confusion and/or slight reproach?) I decided that because I didn’t want to be born at a birthday party; I wanted to be born at a hospital!

Grady

Jack: Wake up Mommy!  Wake up.

Mama: I’m awake.

Jack:  Mama, open your eyes.

Mama: Good morning Jack. (eyes open)

Jack:  Today is a Grady day!! Today we get to see Grady crawl!! (huge smile)

Me: that’s right.

(one more hour of sleep)

Owen: Mom, today is Tuesday.  We get to see Grady today.

It took a while to convince the monkeys that Grady wasn’t coming until the afternoon and waiting by the door would make the wait seem like a very long time indeed. 

With Grady on the brain they were more than cooperative in cleaning up all of the Lego from the floor (chocking hazard) and allowed me to sweep and mop with very little interruption. Usually they hate it when they have to stay off the floor for the two hours that it takes me to do a thorough job, but because Grady needed a clean floor to play on, they were content to play upstairs or talk from the stairs.

Owen: (one hour before arrival time) How long is an hour?

Owen: (30 minutes before arrival time) How long is 30 minutes?

Owen: (15 minutes before arrival time) Is 15 minutes a long time?

Owen: (14 minutes before arrival time) Can you set the timer for 15 minutes and then she has to be here when the timer goes off?

Jack just can’t stand the excitement…

Grady finally arrived.  He showed us his funny soldier crawl, and his big smiles we remember so well.

Owen jumped right in his big brother mode to bring toys and play baby games and love on Grady.

  (See Owen’s arm?  He is keeping Grady from falling off of the couch.)

Grady noticed someone was missing…but Jack proved too hard to wake up for a while.

Owen as Grady was leaving: Can I sleep with this nai-nai guy so I don’t miss Grady so much? (Grady’s toy monkey that lives at our house with some other toys)

Owen in bed: Mom, I just give this monkey a hug whenever I miss Grady.  I have to hug it a lot.