Sunday, September 21, 2008

On Insects and the Internet

I have started riding my bicycle to work when I am not sick (which means I drove a lot last week -- one of the hazards of having kids who bring bugs home.) When I am not riding my bicycle, however, it lives in my garage. Since it is relatively dark when I ride to work in the morning, I have lights on the bicycle to keep me safe.

A couple of weeks ago, when I arrived at work, I started to remove the headlight (so it doesn't get stolen) and I noticed that it looked like there was something underneath the light. As I watched, a wasp crawled out from under the light and began walking back and forth across the top of the top of the headlight. Given that I didn't have anything handy to swat it with, I opted to abandon the light, figuring that the wasp would keep anyone from stealing it. Still, I marvelled at my good luck at not getting stung.

When the kids called while they were waiting for the bus, I told Gwen the story about the wasp.

"Did you swat it?" she asked.

"No, honey, I didn't have anything to swat it with."

"What about a flyswatter?"

I laughed. "Honey, I don't carry a flyswatter around in my backpack."

"Well, you should," she said sternly. "From now on, you need to start carrying a flyswatter with you in case this sort of thing comes up again!"

Well! I guess the Gwen has spoken!


Today we were playing outside, and Xavier suddenly announced, "I think it is time to decorate the driveway again!" He ran into the garage and came back out with a box of chalk we keep in there just for this purpose.

As he got to work, he said, "Today's driveway decorations are brought to you by Xavier! If you have any questions, go to www.chalk.com for more information."

Friday, September 19, 2008

Girl's Night Out

I recently started a new job. An email circulated inviting the women of my company to dinner and a movie, a "Women's Night Out," as it were. I decided to go, as it would be a good opportunity to get to know my coworkers better.

The kids were not thrilled with this.

As I was heading for the door, Gwen said, "So, this is a Women's Night Out?"

I replied, "Yes, it is."

"Well, you know, I'm a woman," she countered. "Can I come?"

I smiled. "Well, this is for women who work at XYZ Company. You don't work there."

"I work real hard at school!" she replied hopefully.


Xavier was making a card after his snack today. "Mom, how do you spell, 'Get'?"

"G," I began.

He started to write, then suddenly handed me the card and a pencil. "Why don't you write it for me?"

I gave him a look, then said, "Okay, 'get': G-E-T. What's next?"

"Well."

"'Well': W-E-L-L. What's next?"

"Mom."

Ah, the height of discretion, that one. Next he'll be inviting me to make out checks to myself.

Saturday, September 13, 2008

Stay on Target!

Well, it took three weeks into a school year for Xavier to catch some kind of respiratory virus. That may be some kind of record for him.

On the bright side, so far he has been taking it pretty well. Last night, however, the quality of his cough changed to more of a painfully bronchial sound and he developed a fever, so this morning Adam bullied the receptionist at our pediatrician's into granting us a visit (they work really hard to keep you from coming in -- I think they must have more patients than they can handle.)

Of course, by the time we got to the pediatrician's, his cough had subsided for the morning and the fever from yesterday never resurfaced, so he was a livewire by the time we were called back, and the only way I could get him to settle down was to give him a pen so he could draw on the paper on the examining table.

The pediatrician on call came in a few minutes after Xavier had begun work. He started off, "So tell me what's going --" then glanced at Xavier's work, then the chart. "Wow, his artwork is really advanced for his age!"

I glanced at Xavier's work, and candidly thought that they mostly looked like scribbles to me, but I didn't say so. Instead, I launched into my status report: "Well, he has had this cough since Monday, but last night he got a fever and he sounded more bronchial, and with his asthma --"

"Does he draw a lot at home? Have an easel?"

"Umm, yeah, he draws a lot at home, no easel. Anyway, we were worried about his asthma --"

"You should really get him a sketchbook or something."

I finally managed to get him to focus more on the subject at hand -- Xavier's cough. Now, I don't mean to downplay Xavier's love of drawing -- his work is very cute, and I would need a building the size of the Louvre to store all the "art" he tries to send with me to work -- and while I would agree that he is probably ahead of his grade, I guess my expectations are tempered by the work of, say, my niece Chloe, who is a really talented painter and has been painting since she was three.

The pediatrician completed his examination (after I took my pen away from Xavier and got him to focus on the pediatrician, at least until he snagged the pediatrician's pen), and stepped back with a thoughtful look. "It's just a bad cold," he said. "Give him his asthma meds every four hours for the next couple of days." He looked at Xavier thoughtfully for a couple more minutes. "I guess we don't know anything about his biological parents?"

"No, I'm afraid not," I said, thinking, once again, how nice it would be to know more about their medical histories.

"Too bad," he said. "It would be interesting to know if they were artists, too."


Whew! As if Xavier's head wasn't big enough already!

Case in point: as we were waiting to go in for our visit, we walked around the parking lot (we were a little early), and as I noted another woman leaving with a small boy, I said, "Look, Xavier, there is another little boy seeing the doctor today, too!" As he looked up, I noted, "I guess he is a little smaller than you, though."

"Yeah," Xavier agreed. "But not as cute!"


And, one more Xavier story ... tonight, as Adam was kissing Xavier good night, Xavier asked, "Daddy, why is my nose squashed and my face round, while your face is oval and your nose is stuck up?"

Kids say the darnedest things.