My friend Vicky sent me a book for Christmas called "Skulls" that is full of pictures of, well, skulls that are artistically created from non-bone media (for example, organic eggs, watermelons, seagulls, etc.)*
Anyway, Xavier happened on this book today and started leafing through it. It did not take very long for him to get excited. "Look at this, Mom!" he crowed. "It's a Skull-O-Lantern!" and "Look! A coconut skull!" Soon he gave up all pretence of being selective and was calling things out consecutively:
"A spilled milk skull!"
"A cocoa skull!"
"Oooo, Mom, look at these skull pancakes!"
Finally he set the book aside with a sigh. "Wow, I love this artist!" he murmured in tones of awe. "She's AMAZING!" (The artist's name is Noah Scalin, but gender issues aside, he's clearly won Xavier over.)
Now inspired, Xavier is creating his own skull out of the more mundane medium of Model Magic clay.
*If this seems like an odd gift for Christmas, well, you probably don't know me very well. And, Vicky, I will make time to send you a more traditional thank-you card :).
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Piper Sees All
This Christmas, we spent the holiday with Adam's family, which was a nice opportunity for me to see my niece Piper and my nephew Riley. Ann (their mother) and I agreed to share stocking stuffers between the four kids. My contribution to the effort was a box of chocolate-covered gummy bears for each child from the local candy store.
Adam's brother Matt posted the following dialogue on Facebook today:
A transcript of a conversation with Piper this evening:
Piper (eating Chocolate covered Gummy Bears): Um, it was nice of Aunt Mandy to give me these gummy bears.
Matt: Yes, it was. You know what? I think she loves you.
Piper: Yeah, but sometimes she is silly too.
I'd say it isn't bragging if it's true, but ... well, this would be a pretty silly thing to brag about.
Well, the sands of 2009 have almost run out, but that's okay, because early in 2010 we can expect to get --
A NEW CAR! No, we didn't win it, and, no, the Honda Fit would probably not be my first choice, but it is on the top of our list because the money we have spent in home improvements over the past couple of years has pretty much limited our options. The one question was, did we want the manual or the automatic transmission?
Well, we were pretty sure we wanted the manual, but for some reason our local Honda Dealership could not seem to keep them on the lot long enough for us to test-drive one (and by "us," I really mean "me" -- Adam has pretty much left me in charge of car-vetting.) Finally, today I managed to catch them when they had one on the lot ... but they could not guarantee that it would still be there at the end of the day.
You know what that means ... Backseat drivers.
I have never taken the kids with me on a test-drive before (of course, last time we bought a car, we only had one kid). It was about what I expected.
First ... I had to stop the car, climb in the backseat and take Xavier's shoes off so he would not leave muddy footprints on the back of the driver's seat.
Second, I thought the gear shift was kind of noisy, in a clicky sort of way, but it wasn't too irritating because I could hardly hear it over the kids screaming at each other in the back seat:
Gwen: Get out of my face, Xavier!
Xavier: Gwe-en! But you start--
Me: Do you guys want me to drop you off at Daddy's work?
Gwen & Xavier: Waaaaaah! We don't want to go to Daddy's work!
Xavier: ... but she started it!
Finally, when the kids quieted down from that little spat, Gwen went on to more traditional backseat driving: "Are you going to crash? I'm worried you are going to crash. Are we almost done yet, because I am really afraid you are going to crash."
The good news is, I think the Honda Fit Manual will work out for us (clearly there will be more than enough noise in the car to block out the clicking of the gear shift.) The bad news is, that particular Honda Fit will not work out for us, because it is orange, and that is a color Adam is not willing to live with. Oh, well, at least we creep forward another step ...
On that note, Happy New Year! I know 2009 was good for some of us, not so good for the rest of us, but, nevertheless, I hope that 2010 is better for ALL of us!
Adam's brother Matt posted the following dialogue on Facebook today:
A transcript of a conversation with Piper this evening:
Piper (eating Chocolate covered Gummy Bears): Um, it was nice of Aunt Mandy to give me these gummy bears.
Matt: Yes, it was. You know what? I think she loves you.
Piper: Yeah, but sometimes she is silly too.
I'd say it isn't bragging if it's true, but ... well, this would be a pretty silly thing to brag about.
Well, the sands of 2009 have almost run out, but that's okay, because early in 2010 we can expect to get --
A NEW CAR! No, we didn't win it, and, no, the Honda Fit would probably not be my first choice, but it is on the top of our list because the money we have spent in home improvements over the past couple of years has pretty much limited our options. The one question was, did we want the manual or the automatic transmission?
Well, we were pretty sure we wanted the manual, but for some reason our local Honda Dealership could not seem to keep them on the lot long enough for us to test-drive one (and by "us," I really mean "me" -- Adam has pretty much left me in charge of car-vetting.) Finally, today I managed to catch them when they had one on the lot ... but they could not guarantee that it would still be there at the end of the day.
You know what that means ... Backseat drivers.
I have never taken the kids with me on a test-drive before (of course, last time we bought a car, we only had one kid). It was about what I expected.
First ... I had to stop the car, climb in the backseat and take Xavier's shoes off so he would not leave muddy footprints on the back of the driver's seat.
Second, I thought the gear shift was kind of noisy, in a clicky sort of way, but it wasn't too irritating because I could hardly hear it over the kids screaming at each other in the back seat:
Gwen: Get out of my face, Xavier!
Xavier: Gwe-en! But you start--
Me: Do you guys want me to drop you off at Daddy's work?
Gwen & Xavier: Waaaaaah! We don't want to go to Daddy's work!
Xavier: ... but she started it!
Finally, when the kids quieted down from that little spat, Gwen went on to more traditional backseat driving: "Are you going to crash? I'm worried you are going to crash. Are we almost done yet, because I am really afraid you are going to crash."
The good news is, I think the Honda Fit Manual will work out for us (clearly there will be more than enough noise in the car to block out the clicking of the gear shift.) The bad news is, that particular Honda Fit will not work out for us, because it is orange, and that is a color Adam is not willing to live with. Oh, well, at least we creep forward another step ...
On that note, Happy New Year! I know 2009 was good for some of us, not so good for the rest of us, but, nevertheless, I hope that 2010 is better for ALL of us!
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Gwen's Christmas Poem
Adam found this written on a sheet of paper today (it was written by Gwen.) My usual disclaimer, I kept spelling and punctuation intact.
Reindeer Near Christmas
When Christmastime is near
Much thought is given
To reindeer
But Ol' Dancer and Prancer
Go upon the roof
They ruin tiles with
Each little hoof
And naughty Rudoulph
Makes some rude coughs.
All of the reindeer
Are out of control!
But then Santa must pull
A box without tips
Santa pulls out
The reindeer whips!!!
But if they're too bad
He pulls out the cables
Then the reindeer run
To their stables
There's a cute picture that goes along with this, but I don't have a scanner, unfortunately. Maybe I should put Gwen in charge of this year's Christmas letter -- if I had done it already, maybe it would have gone out on time.
Reindeer Near Christmas
When Christmastime is near
Much thought is given
To reindeer
But Ol' Dancer and Prancer
Go upon the roof
They ruin tiles with
Each little hoof
And naughty Rudoulph
Makes some rude coughs.
All of the reindeer
Are out of control!
But then Santa must pull
A box without tips
Santa pulls out
The reindeer whips!!!
But if they're too bad
He pulls out the cables
Then the reindeer run
To their stables
There's a cute picture that goes along with this, but I don't have a scanner, unfortunately. Maybe I should put Gwen in charge of this year's Christmas letter -- if I had done it already, maybe it would have gone out on time.
Tales of Babysitter Woe (subtitle: Why it is bad to teach your kids your cell number)
Last night Adam and I went to his office Christmas Party. This is an annual event that Adam's employers graciously sponsor, and every year we have to scramble to find a babysitter. This year, we asked my coworker's teenaged son to babysit. He had never babysit for us before, but he's taken care of the cats -- how much harder could the kids be?
Admittedly, I did have a moment's pause because he is a boy, although I'm not sure why. I had occasional "boy" babysitters when I was a kid, and nothing bad happened -- usually boy babysitters were actually more fun than girl babysitters -- but I guess being suspicious of boy babysitters is the "in" thing for overcautious parents these days. I was a little concerned that Xavier would be more than he could handle, but it turns out that Xavier was not the problem ... but I get ahead of myself.
At first, it looked like this "boy babysitting experience" was going to be much the same as the ones I remembered from my childhood. My coworker dropped his son off, and the boy -- we'll call him "Edmund" -- immediately started jousting with Xavier while Gwen watched and laughed.
Chinese takeout was distributed, and we were just about to head for the door when Edmund suddenly erupted in a volley of sneezes, the like of which I have never seen before.
"Are you allergic to cats?" I asked. Of course, what I was actually thinking was, "Are you sick?" but I was trying to be diplomatic. Still, thanks to Xav, I have become somewhat of an expert on cold symptoms, and this seemed excessive for that.
"Yeah," Edmund snuffled. "On top of that, my sister just got a puppy."
"Do you need to go home?" I asked, concerned.
"Oh, no, I'll be fine," he said. So, with some trepidation (on my part -- Adam never worries), we headed out.
The party was wonderful -- the food was good, the company good, and we were in the middle of a game when my cellphone started ringing. "Uh oh," I thought, and I excused myself to take the call. I ended up having to step out into the freezing rain to hear anything, because the caller was talking softly.
"Mom," Gwen whispered, "I just used the potty, and it won't flush. I think it is backed up."
I stifled a laugh. "That's okay, Gwen, just put a garbage can on it and ask the boys to use the bathroom upstairs."
"Mom, I think you need to come home now."
"Why, is it running over onto the floor?"
"No."
"I think it will wait until we get home, then."
There was a pause. Suddenly I heard Xavier's voice on the line, whispering. "Mom, I think you need to come home now."
"Why?"
"Because the potty is backed up."
"Is that all?" I asked.
"Well, the babysitter has a headache, and he doesn't want to play. I think he might be lazy."
"Where is he now?"
"Sitting on the sofa, playing with Legos."
Only the cats' favorite piece of furniture. "Does he know you are calling?"
"Yeah, but he doesn't know what about."
Deciding it was probably best that we end the babysitter's misery, we came home, which is probably a good thing because he was still machine-gun sneezing. I felt bad, because it was clear he had been trying -- he'd been playing cards with the kids, there were other games out, he'd washed the dinner dishes, and even as he was waiting to leave he was trying to make the kids laugh. Clearly my kids have a higher expectation from their sitters than is probably realistic.
Still, in the interest of keeping him alive until he can graduate from high school, we'll probably not invite him to babysit again.
I've been really busy since before Thanksgiving, so I have been a little slack on the blog, and I apologize. Over Thanksgiving, we went to see my parents, and we took my niece Chloe with us. My parents' house is a little small to contain three active kids, so Adam took them to the playground down the street for a couple hours a day. In order to make the walk interesting, Adam suggested that they take turns playing Simon Says.
Xavier went first. "Simon Says -- run!" So the kids ran like crazy. When they slowed, my niece breathless, Gwen took a turn, then Chloe.
Then it was Xavier's turn again: "Simon Says -- run!"
Adam, noting that Chloe was already out of breath, said, "Xav, you picked that last time. Why don't you pick something else?"
"Oh, okay." Xavier thought for a second, then said, "Simon Says -- run as fast as you can!"
Well, I guess it was different, sort of.
We are late on our Christmas letter, but we do plan to work on it today. I'll be posting it here as well this year as the number of "electronic letter" requests has increased, but we will continue to send out paper copies, at least this year. Merry Christmas, everyone!
Admittedly, I did have a moment's pause because he is a boy, although I'm not sure why. I had occasional "boy" babysitters when I was a kid, and nothing bad happened -- usually boy babysitters were actually more fun than girl babysitters -- but I guess being suspicious of boy babysitters is the "in" thing for overcautious parents these days. I was a little concerned that Xavier would be more than he could handle, but it turns out that Xavier was not the problem ... but I get ahead of myself.
At first, it looked like this "boy babysitting experience" was going to be much the same as the ones I remembered from my childhood. My coworker dropped his son off, and the boy -- we'll call him "Edmund" -- immediately started jousting with Xavier while Gwen watched and laughed.
Chinese takeout was distributed, and we were just about to head for the door when Edmund suddenly erupted in a volley of sneezes, the like of which I have never seen before.
"Are you allergic to cats?" I asked. Of course, what I was actually thinking was, "Are you sick?" but I was trying to be diplomatic. Still, thanks to Xav, I have become somewhat of an expert on cold symptoms, and this seemed excessive for that.
"Yeah," Edmund snuffled. "On top of that, my sister just got a puppy."
"Do you need to go home?" I asked, concerned.
"Oh, no, I'll be fine," he said. So, with some trepidation (on my part -- Adam never worries), we headed out.
The party was wonderful -- the food was good, the company good, and we were in the middle of a game when my cellphone started ringing. "Uh oh," I thought, and I excused myself to take the call. I ended up having to step out into the freezing rain to hear anything, because the caller was talking softly.
"Mom," Gwen whispered, "I just used the potty, and it won't flush. I think it is backed up."
I stifled a laugh. "That's okay, Gwen, just put a garbage can on it and ask the boys to use the bathroom upstairs."
"Mom, I think you need to come home now."
"Why, is it running over onto the floor?"
"No."
"I think it will wait until we get home, then."
There was a pause. Suddenly I heard Xavier's voice on the line, whispering. "Mom, I think you need to come home now."
"Why?"
"Because the potty is backed up."
"Is that all?" I asked.
"Well, the babysitter has a headache, and he doesn't want to play. I think he might be lazy."
"Where is he now?"
"Sitting on the sofa, playing with Legos."
Only the cats' favorite piece of furniture. "Does he know you are calling?"
"Yeah, but he doesn't know what about."
Deciding it was probably best that we end the babysitter's misery, we came home, which is probably a good thing because he was still machine-gun sneezing. I felt bad, because it was clear he had been trying -- he'd been playing cards with the kids, there were other games out, he'd washed the dinner dishes, and even as he was waiting to leave he was trying to make the kids laugh. Clearly my kids have a higher expectation from their sitters than is probably realistic.
Still, in the interest of keeping him alive until he can graduate from high school, we'll probably not invite him to babysit again.
I've been really busy since before Thanksgiving, so I have been a little slack on the blog, and I apologize. Over Thanksgiving, we went to see my parents, and we took my niece Chloe with us. My parents' house is a little small to contain three active kids, so Adam took them to the playground down the street for a couple hours a day. In order to make the walk interesting, Adam suggested that they take turns playing Simon Says.
Xavier went first. "Simon Says -- run!" So the kids ran like crazy. When they slowed, my niece breathless, Gwen took a turn, then Chloe.
Then it was Xavier's turn again: "Simon Says -- run!"
Adam, noting that Chloe was already out of breath, said, "Xav, you picked that last time. Why don't you pick something else?"
"Oh, okay." Xavier thought for a second, then said, "Simon Says -- run as fast as you can!"
Well, I guess it was different, sort of.
We are late on our Christmas letter, but we do plan to work on it today. I'll be posting it here as well this year as the number of "electronic letter" requests has increased, but we will continue to send out paper copies, at least this year. Merry Christmas, everyone!
Thursday, December 03, 2009
Welcome to the New World
When the kids got home from school today, Xavier darted into the bathroom to wash his hands as he usually does (Mom's rule.) As he emerged, he said, "I didn't wash my hands in the bathroom, Mom -- I washed them in the 'flue'."
"What?" I asked, wondering if he meant "flue" or "flu". Neither made sense.
"The 'flue', Mom. I washed my hands in the 'flue'."
Seeing I still didn't get it, he said, exasperated, "You know, Mom -- like they say in New England. You know, the place where they call policemen 'bobbies.'"
"They call it a 'loo', Xav, not a 'flue'." I didn't tell him this was slang in OLD England -- I figured it was enough upheaval of his world order in one day.
Of course, at supper he was telling his dad how they call cake sprinkles "dozens of thousands" in New England. Maybe I would be doing him a favor to let him know ... and maybe to google that term to see if he had it right.
"What?" I asked, wondering if he meant "flue" or "flu". Neither made sense.
"The 'flue', Mom. I washed my hands in the 'flue'."
Seeing I still didn't get it, he said, exasperated, "You know, Mom -- like they say in New England. You know, the place where they call policemen 'bobbies.'"
"They call it a 'loo', Xav, not a 'flue'." I didn't tell him this was slang in OLD England -- I figured it was enough upheaval of his world order in one day.
Of course, at supper he was telling his dad how they call cake sprinkles "dozens of thousands" in New England. Maybe I would be doing him a favor to let him know ... and maybe to google that term to see if he had it right.
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