Anthropology and Religion

First of all, I am sorry posting has been so infrequent. Work has kept me pretty busy of late, and when I'm not working, I try to spend time with the kids (a common refrain with them these days is "Mommy, why are you working when you could be playing with us?") But my Mom sent an email today to nag -- oops! I mean "remind" me that it has been awhile, so here we go. (I'm just giving you a hard time, Mom.)

The kids have been coming with me to church on Sundays. I'm not sure why -- Daddy stays home and cleans up the kitchen and sometimes does yardwork, so maybe it seems the lesser of two evils. Anyway, sometimes Gwen will sing with me. Often Xavier needs to "use the potty" in the middle of the sermon (it's shocking how often he needs to do that, and equally amazing is how many other parents of four-year-olds I find waiting in the hall outside the bathroom at this time). But most of the time, the kids just sit and read magazines and focus on other things. They do like the children's sermon, though. This Sunday, Xavier made it from the back of the church to the front for the children's sermon before any of the other kids could get there; indeed, before the Pastor managed to get down from the pulpit. The Pastor said, "I think that's a new world record in the back-pew dash."

Anyway, Xavier asked Adam today, "How come we can't see God's grave?"

Adam replied, "You mean Jesus's grave? Well, no one is really sure where Jesus is buried."

Xavier asked, "Why not? And why can't we see him?"

Gwen piped up (with something she surely heard at Vacation Bible School), "We can't see God, Xavier, because he is invisible. He's like the wind."

"We can feel him, but we can't see him," Xavier agreed. Then, turning to Adam, he asked, "But why can't we see God?" Then, assuming a tone as if he were telling a joke, he answered his own question: "Because he is dead!"

Adam is not the most devout Christian (hence his absence at the service), but he did explain to Xavier that God is not mortal, so therefore he can't be dead. It'll be interesting if Xavier shares his controversial new views at preschool in the fall (which he has at the local Catholic church.)


The kids are pretty obsessed with jokes, although the fine line between "humor" and "mundane" (or, as we see above, "offensive") is a little beyond them. Still, we went to a birthday party for a neighbor yesterday, and we got to see all kinds of dynamics between the kids, a little anthropological study of its own. What we learned was:

• If a child is in a different grade in school from another child due to the age cutoff, he is considerably younger (practically a baby) even though he is only four months younger.
• If three girls are playing together, and one girl (Gwen) is excluded, it is because she "doesn't like to play princess."
• Brothers and sisters become shockingly uncool at a party setting.
• Boys are shockingly uncool at a party setting where two-thirds of the children attending are female, and yet ...
• The loudest, most obnoxious boy at the party is perceived to be of great wit, and ...
• The loudest, most obnoxious boy at the party is still the most irresistable to women ...
• ... especially the ones who think they are princesses.

Except when Gwen was clinging to me because she was the outsider, a good time was had by all. And I should add that even when the loudest, most obnoxious boy (Xavier) was shut out by the girls, he didn't dwell on it -- there was some important TV watching to catch up on, after all.

Ah, to be that confident.

Happy Dependents Day!

Whew! What a day! This morning I took the kids to a neighborhood parade (which meant racing around, trying to get their bikes and faces decorated before 9:00 am), then I actually took them to the parade, came home at 10:15 or so, just in time for a phone call from a neighbor inviting the kids to "Slip-and-Slide" in her yard. Back home, into the bathtub for the kids (because Gwen is allergic to grass.) Now it is late for lunch, but there is a parade downtown at 2:00 pm ... so lunch downtown, and on to the parade! Then back home, then a trip to Food Lion (with my assistant Xavier) ... tonight's agenda includes searching for fireflies and watching the fireworks from our front yard ... I'll need a vacation after today!

But it was all fun. The parade around our neighborhood was fun for all, but for my kids (who were near the front) it was way too short. ("Is that all?") Of course, my kids have also come to associate parades with candy-throwing, so despite my warnings that this parade would not be like that, they were a little disappointed.

I have lived here twenty years and have never gone to any of the town parades ... but I did today. We go to the Fourth of July parade in Reedville (where my parents live, a very small town) every year, and our (much larger) town's parade is pretty much the same, except a lot longer. Although there was candy-tossing and the kids enjoyed that a lot, by the end of the parade, I was tired of waving, Xav looked about to fall asleep, and even Gwen looked a little tired.

I looked up and saw that at the end of the lengthy line of emergency vehicles that were passing, the policemen were starting to reopen Main Street behind them. "Look, guys!" I said (although they were surely deaf by now from all the sirens), "The parade is over!"

Gwen looked relieved, but Xavier suddenly perked up and leapt to his feet. "Mommy! Mommy! Look!" he cried, pointing. Behind the emergency vehicles was a Street Sweeper machine, cleaning up leftover candy. "It's a street sweeper! It's a street sweeper!" he screamed happily, jumping up and down.

For him, it was by far the most exciting part of the parade.


Well, I have to go. Gwen just finished supper, and she has just informed me that it is time to "catch fireflies and fireworks." Hopefully, she means we are going to watch the latter.

Drat! Where did June go?

I meant to get at least three postings in June. Oh well.

The kids and I called Grammy (my Mom) on her birthday on Friday. I took a day off to spend with the kids, so we called in the morning, forgetting (of course) that Mom might actually be working. Gwen sang "Happy Birthday" to you, and had a pleasant chat with her Grammy. Xavier started off on the right foot: "Happy Birthday to you ... um ... (starting over) Happy Birthday to you -- cha! cha! cha! You - uh -- you -- uh, (starting over) Happy Birthday to you -- cha! cha! cha! You, uh, you ..."

It suddenly occurred to me that he was trying to remember the less flattering lyrics to this song (which I believe his sweet, charming sister taught him): Happy birthday to you, You live in a zoo, You smell like a monkey, You look like one too. Fortunately, he lost interest before he got the hang of it and ended the conversation with a wild squeal and ran off.

Mom, now that the truth is out, please don't take offense. We hope you had a wonderful birthday and official retirement day!


Thanks to the train recall, Xavier suddenly has a renewed interest in all things Island of Sodor. Poor Gwen spends hours enduring the antics of that train-smashing wonder, Hurricane Xavier. And I do mean endure -- it is not enough that she play with him, he dictates the plot in its entirety:

Xavier: Donald says, "Get out of my way!" And you said, you said, you said, "But I want to go that way!"

Gwen: "But I want to go that way."

Xavier: Okay, now you drive over here, and you said, you said, you said, "See, I'm going that way!"

Gwen: "See, I'm going that way!"

Needless to day, Gwen can only endure so much of this before she throws her hands up and goes off to do something else. Xavier always cries as if the world has ended, unable to realize that, really, he has been playing by himself all along.



I've also been trying to make the kids more aware of the environment and being "eco-friendly." When we went to the bookstore the other day, I told the kids they could each pick out a toy. Xavier picked out the Thomas the Tank Engine "Recycling Cars" because, as he put it, "They are good for the environment." Well, as much as a toy made out of plastic and wood (and probably leaded paint from China) can be.


Gwen, on the other hand, is now obsessed with bugs. She got a "Bug Habitat" toy as her choice. Never before have I seen a toy that generates so much grief and woe. It has a fake plastic tree with cardboard leaves inside, and it is amazing how quickly once the bug gets in there that it becomes listless and inert, almost as if it is depressed at this sudden shift its environment has taken. It's funny how the makers of this toy think that a frankly fake representation of a natural environment can fool people into thinking it is a "natural" toy, when even bugs, with brains the size of the head of a needle, can recognize the difference in less than a second.

The Habitat also has a weak spot around the hinges, where the opening is a little wider than the air holes. Several of the bugs have attempted to escape through this space, and some of the flatter ones (a firefly and another beetle of similar stature) have succeeded, which has led to many tears. Today a caterpillar managed to commit suicide trying to escape that way, which led not only to tears (on the part of the girl) , but complete loss of appetite for me, the lucky one who got to try to pick those remains out of the hinge with a toothpick. Ugh. Adam says -- in his euphimistic way -- that this will "harden" her to the realities of bug mortality more quickly, so while we may have more tears in the short-term, in the long-term she will be happier. I say, you're better off with the peanut butter jar with holes poked in the lid.



We went to the pet store the other day with my next door neighbor and her kids. We stopped to look at a display of birds that are allowed to wander around a "sandbox" on the counter, and my neighbor commented that she would never have a pet bird (because she didn't like to see them in cages.) No sooner had she said this, when her daughter started chorusing that she wanted a bird. We went to look at the fish ("I want a bird, I want a bird!") , the gerbils and hamsters ("I want a bird, I want a bird!"), the other display of caged birds ("I want a bird, I want a bird!") and back to the fish ("I want a bird, I want a bird!"). She wasn't really being obnoxious about it, and I don't think she really thought she would get a bird, but she's four and I think it was in the forefront of her mind.

My neighbor decided to get a treat for their sick cat, and we got in line for checkout; a line quickly formed behind us. One of the birds in the "counter sandbox" had reached out and picked up a dog toy that had a cardboard tag on it (the bird's real point of interest.)

As my neighbor finished paying, the cashier reached over and snatched the toy from the bird and said, "You can't have that." The bird rose up on its legs on the edge of the counter and spread its wings, squawking angrily. The cashier thrust another toy at the bird, but the bird recoiled from the toy ... and backed off the edge of the counter.

Now, this bird can fly, but it took itself a little by surprise, and flapped its wings wildly, grasping at anything with its feet -- and found my neighbor's daughter's pants.

This, of course, let to complete chaos -- my neighbor's daughter was jumping around, screaming her head off; her brother was also shrieking in terror; my neighbor was frozen in place, her eyes wide, trying to figure out what to do; the bird was squawking and flapping its wings; and Gwen was jumping up and down, yelling, "Fly to me! Fly to me!" The bird let go of my neighbor's daughter's pants and dropped to the floor, where it was rescued by the cashier.

A few minutes later, we were all outside. My neighbor's children were still crying (the daugher was fine, by the way), clutching their mother. My neighbor was babbling to me, "I didn't know what to do, I didn't know whether to hit it, but it wasn't biting her, and --" Gwen was grumbling, "I wish I had a turn."

"Look at the bright side," I said when my neighbor stopped for breath. "At least she probably won't be asking for a bird anymore."

A Bad Day for the Island of Sodor

I might have used this title before, but it seemed apt, so I had to use it again. I woke up this morning -- as usual -- to the dulcet tones of National Public Radio's Morning Edition. I usually doze in blissful comfort while my husband does his exercises and gets dressed, under the pretence that I don't want to get in his way, but let's face it -- it's really all about getting a few more minutes of sleep.

No rest for the wicked today, though. I had been awake for only a few minutes when the announcer came on and said something like this (not a direct quote, but as close as I can get): "Do your kids like Thomas the Tank Engine? Well, you'd better pry those wooden trains from their chubby little fingers, because RC Toys has announced a recall of those Thomas Trains because their paint may contain dangerous levels of lead. Have a nice day!" (Okay, it probably wasn't quite that gleeful, but I was barely awake.)

My eyes sprang open, and I reached over and grabbed my computer -- my daughter comes by her "white and nerdiness" honestly -- and quickly scanned the web for the recall information, then threw on my clothes and slipped downstairs for some covert train-purging operations.

As luck has it, of the approximately three million or so trains Xavier and Gwen have acquired over the years, only five were covered by the recall (despite the moniker of "the Great Thomas the Tank Engine Recall," Thomas was mercifully spared. All four or five of them in our train box.) We put the affected toys in a (much smaller) box which we will ship off to RC Toys tomorrow for replacements. I think we are actually getting the better part of this deal, because most of Xav's trains look like he has been reenacting every great train wreck since the dawn of time. We counted our lucky stars that the decimation had been so light. Out of three million trains, the kids would never notice that five of them were gone.

Of course, five minutes after I left for work, Xavier was crying to Adam, "Daddy, I can't find my Island of Sodor fire engines!" Thank goodness he hasn't noticed that James, the Splendid Red Engine, has also been decommissioned.


This afternoon, I was working with our QA guy to try to get a release pushed out by the end of the day. The QA guy also has a four-year-old boy who is hooked on Thomas, so I had let him know about the recall and we swapped a few gripes.

Anyway, he had just sent me a request for some data which would normally take me two minutes to generate, when Gwen wandered up and said, "Mommy, I want to watch a movie."

"Um, okay, hon. What do you want to watch?" I asked as I logged into Oracle.

"Thomas and Friends!"

"Um, okay. Can you put that on yourself?"

"No, I need help."

"Okay, just a minute."

Now, Gwen wasn't complaining or anything, but it was a little distracting having her hover there, and I realized (as I noticed I was logged into the wrong instance of Oracle) that I would probably get the query run faster if I helped her put the movie on, so I did.

When I returned to the computer, I typed a quick instant message to the QA guy that said, "Sorry for the delay -- someone was suffering from Thomas Withdrawal over here."

He wrote back, "I understand, and I'm really angry about it."

I blinked a couple times before I realized that he was talking about the recall, but I figured it would be quicker to just run the query and let him know later that there was no child lying prone with grief at my feet, bemoaning the loss of his toys.


By the way, if you are the parent of a young child and feel that his Thomas the Tank Engine set could do with a good spring cleaning, here is all the excuse you need: http://recalls.rc2.com/recalls_Wood_0607.html


In happier news, Xavier's red bicycle arrived after all, so he didn't have to settle on the yellow. He was a little apprehensive at first (most of his riding yesterday consisted of him clinging to the handlebars with a death grip while his sister pushed him around the driveway), but today he was warming to it. By the time we came in, he was riding it like a Pro (which seems to mean occasionally "accidentally" crashing into Mom or Gwen's bike).

Thank God it's at least another twelve years before he starts driving the car.

A Pox on Our House!

No, we aren't dead. We've just been very, very busy between work, vacation, and Xav's asthma (actually, all has been quiet on that front for about a month. Knock on wood.)

Anyway, on the work front, I shouldn't have had time to post tonight because I should have been getting ready for my annual business trip, to the little shindig my employer Kronos likes to call "FedWorks." I have to admit (and, unfortunately, did admit to my boss) that I was not excited about going. None of the customers I deal with on a day-to-day basis are going, and I hate to leave my kids for a day and a half (I miss their funny stories.)

But lo! Be careful what you wish for. Gwen had her six-year wellness visit on May 30th (normal, healthy, needs glasses, for those of you keeping score), and she also had her chicken pox booster that is supposed to bring her immunity level up from the standard 71% chance that most single-vaccine takers get of avoiding the pox. The sheet they gave me assured me that "only one in twenty" people will get a mild rash or a few bumps, and that "extremely rarely" one of those one in twenty can infect another person.

Well, Gwen is a winner! We noticed a suspicious-looking bump on her chest yesterday. Now, Xavier, as an asthma patient, is on Pulmicort, and the warning label on that medication reads, "If you are exposed to chicken pox or measles, contact your pediatrician immediately." No indication of why ("exposure may cause one's head to fall off or spin around?"), and the closest we could find on the web was that Pulmicort suppresses the immune system, making you more susceptible to infection (always a good thing for a kid who's one and only trigger is colds.) So being responsible parents, we called the pediatrician this morning.

The nurse who talked to Adam initially assured him that Gwen was no threat to herself or others, and even with the Pulmicort, Xavier's chances of infection were practically nil, but she would talk to the pediatrician and get back to us. No problem, we thought, reassured, and on my way home from work I picked up our babysitter, who is twelve years old.

I was not alarmed when I saw the light flashing on the answering machine. I was not alarmed when the message asked me to call the pediatrician's. My defenses were down when I spoke to the Dolores-Umbridge-like nurse, who assured me that Gwen was just as contagious as if she actually had the chicken pox and that she should not come in contact with other children. "We've actually seen a large number of children with the booster showing symptoms of the pox," she said gleefully. Great.

Ten minutes later, my childcare strategy was crumbling around me as the babysitter's mother picked her up, I realized that there was one silver lining. I desperately hope Xavier does not come down with chicken pox, but I have to admit, I am glad I am not going on this trip.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, Xavier is trying to convince us that he needs glasses, too.


Another funny Kronos story ... Kronos (not my office) recently released a major upgrade to their Workforce Management software. One of the promotional items they mailed to all the employees were little sheets of magnetic words that you are supposed to use to write poetry on your fridge. Most of my coworkers have posted them -- unseparated -- onto the refrigerator at work. I gave mine to Xavier, who can't read and can't write much, so he uses it kind of like blocks to create magnetic buildings (or, more likely Transformers) on the fridge.

So I was really surprised when I was looking at the words today, trying to come up with a sentence that would look funny magnetically "written" on my car, when I noticed that someone had used some of the words to write, "you don't want to go to www.kronos.com".

"Adam, did you write this?" I asked.

"I did," Gwen replied with a smile. I'm not sure what message she is really trying to convey with that, but ...


On Xavier's side of the world, we are in the process of buying him a bicycle. He is the same age Gwen was when we bought her bike, he paid the price (clean room for a week.) The only problem is, Xavier is pretty petite. We tried the smallest bike at the bike store (a sixteen-inch model), and even with the seat lowered all the way, the bike salesman had to admit it was still too big; I can only think Gwen was a giant at his age. So we had to special order the next size down, and the only silver lining was that at least Xav could have his first choice of color -- red -- instead of settling for the green sixteen-incher.

Well, the time of delivery came and went ... nothing. It finally reached the point that even Xavier could perceive he had been waiting too long, so I called today and they checked the status.

When they called me back, the woman said, "Here's the deal -- that red bike was just put on the truck in California today, so it won't be here for two weeks. But we do have a yellow one on the way that should be here by Friday -- you could have that one."

Life is full of hard choices, and I did not feel comfortable making this decision without input from the big man himself. With the woman on the phone, I pulled Xavier over to my lap and explained the situation: "Look, Xav, your bike has been delayed, but the red one you selected is on it's way now. You can either wait two weeks for that bike, or you can have a yellow one they are expecting to have at the end of the week. So, which would you prefer -- to wait for the red one, or take the yellow one when it gets in?"

Without hesitation, Xavier replied, "I want the green one."


In other Xavier news, yesterday the kids went to church with me, and, as usual, we were running late. After I got my dress on, but before I combed my hair, I stepped into their bathroom to check their teeth-brushing progress. Xavier looked up at me and smiled, and said, "You look boo-ti-ful, Mommy!"

"Why, thank you, Xavier!" I replied.

Then he added, "Now, go put on your lipstick!"


One more story (to make up for the month and a half of silence) ... Adam dropped the kids by my office today at lunchtime because he sometimes plays cards with one of my coworkers. My office is on the third floor. When they arrived, they walked past the elevator (which they usually beg to take), assumed superhero poses, and cried, "Let's take ... the stairs!" Laughing and giggling, they ran chattering up to the third floor, mostly discussing how taking the stairs is good for the environment.

I'm glad I've managed to teach them something.

White and Nerdy

The kids are big fans of the Weird Al song "White and Nerdy". If you haven't checked out the video, you must. Anyway, the kids have worked out a little dance, and they like to say, "I'm White and Nerdy!" even when the song isn't playing. Since they are our kids, they don't have a negative connitation with the word "nerdy" (yet).

Anyway, it turns out that one of the kids falls firmly into this category. Gwen's teacher called yesterday to let me know that out of a possible 102 points possible on the PALS (I don't know what it stands for, but it is some achievement test they give kindergarteners), Gwen scored 101. They say it ain't braggin' if it's true, so I'll say it -- my kid is smart. The thing that blows my mind about this score is that we are not the kind of parents that push-push-push our kids along -- we don't have time. Sure, we read to them, we encourage Gwen to practive reading, and we help her with her homework (what little she has, and most of that is optional), but we don't go out and get study guides for her to work through. Okay, I did buy study guides a couple of years ago -- after all, my nerdiness probably approaches geekdom -- but I never got around to taking them out of the bag, let alone applying them. And Gwen positively loves school -- to the point that I worry that Xavier is an underachiever when he is mostly indifferent (not white and nerdy, that one.) I don't know where she gets it. But I am really, really proud of her.

Anyway, if that high score was not enough, she's been hinting that her vision's bad because she wants to get glasses. She was flipping out that she would miss a week of school when we go to the beach later this month -- much as she wants to go, Grammy and Grandpa -- until we assured her that her kindergarten teacher would be sending a stack of homework for her to work on (clearly, we had to ask her teacher to put that together.)

Yup, she's a chip off the old blocks.

Hypothesis Proven and Other Sad Tales

Yesterday, when I went to check on "that thing in our holly bush" that we hypothesized was a Praying Mantis egg case, I got the surprise of my life. I picked up the jar containing the "thing" (we have been keeping it in our garage) while the kids were riding around on their bikes, and thought, "Where the heck did all of those thorns come from?"

I quickly realized that those "thorns" were baby praying mantises. They look remarkably like the grown-up versions, but only a quarter inch long. The egg case was probably a quarter hatched, and it still looked like there were a hundred of those little guys in the jar.

The kids were ecstatic. Xavier did his little happy dance, which consists of leaping from foot to foot like Rumplestiltskin, while Gwen proudly carried the jar down to the "hazelnut island" (formerly the Weed Garden), babbling all the time about how she knew from the beginning that it was a Praying Mantis egg case, and it was her idea, no one else's, the whole nine yards (none of which was true, but no point in kicking a kid during her moment of glory.)

We put the Praying Mantises and their egg case next to an old tree stump in the middle of the Hazelnut Island, and the baby Praying Mantises -- evidently short on instinct at this point -- were crawling all over the kids' arms, much to their delight.

Suddenly, Gwen's eyes were filling with tears, and Xavier was wrapping his little arms around her, trying to comfort her. "Gwen, what's wrong?" I asked.

"I don't want them to go!" she cried. "I love them so!"

At this rate, she would be in no condition to go to karate, so I suggested we get the Bug Catcher and take one of them to karate class to show the instructors. As luck would have it, there was a small beetle lounging sedately inside the jar -- all the better. Baby Praying Mantis could go on a whirlwind tour of the karate school, have a quick bite to eat, then return to his new home in Hazelnut Island. Gwen and Xavier were excited again.

The Kempo Karate instructors did an appropriate amount of ooh-ing and ah-ing, but the funny thing was, the baby Praying Mantis would not go anywhere near that beetle. The beetle, on the other hand, was not wild about having that Praying Mantis in there, and was making a whirlwind tour around the bug catcher.

So, as it turns out, no beetles were harmed in the making of this blog. We got home from karate, and we took the praying mantis out to the backyard. Tears streaming down her face, Gwen released the little praying mantis -- and the beetle. The praying mantis rapidly climbed back onto her arm, and lingered there until a stray breeze happened by and it either flew or was swept away. Gwen was hysterical, and cried all the way back to our house (I'm sure the neighbor -- who was mowing his lawn -- thinks one of our cats has gone to that giant scratching post in the sky.) She cried through her bath, and made me late for karate.

And the whole time, I couldn't help but think, "That'll be me in twelve years, sending you off to college."

We went out to the Hazelnut Island today in search of baby praying mantises. We found one (or possibly two), but they had no interest in crawling on the kids' arms today, much to Gwen's disappointment. At least this time there were no tears.

Well, not until a bee flew too close to Gwen and she was afraid to go into the garage.

Knock-knock

Last Saturday (the 14th), I had the sinus infection from heck, and Adam let me sleep in late. I was lounging around in bed in my pajamas, and he, while dressed, was midway through brushing his teeth, when the doorbell rang.

Well, I wasn't about to go downstairs in my jammies, so Adam ran into the bathroom and ditched the toothbrush. Still, there was someone even faster, because as Adam hit the top of the stairs, I heard an adult female voice say, "Well, hello!"

Yes, it is exactly as you feared -- Xavier had opened the door to the Jehovah's Witnesses.

Adam is actually pretty tolerent of the Jehovah's Witnesses, especially for someone who does not go to church, and after a few minutes, he managed to get rid -- I mean, he walked them out. No harm done.

When they were gone, I came downstairs and talked to Xavier about the incident. "Xav, you can't open the door to strangers."

Blank stare. "Why?"

"Well, because they might have been bad people."

"But they weren't."

"Well, no, but they could have been. And sometimes strangers do bad things to people."

"But they didn't."

"But they could have. They could have been dangerous, and they could have done something scary."

Xavier smiled. "It's okay, Mom. They were Chinese."

I'm not sure where he came up with the assumption that Chinese people are automatically safe -- although, admittedly, the ones we know are very nice. His theory crumbles somewhat, however, when one considers the fact that they were not Chinese: one white man, one African-American woman.

Xavier's powers of observation aside, I stressed that opening the door to strangers was unsafe behavior, and he seemed to take it to heart.

So, the next day, we went to a play, a Sunday matinee, an hour from our home. Our babysitter was running a little late, and I was getting a little anxious -- we were driving three other people who were also waiting -- when Xavier shouted. "She's here!"

Looking up, and seeing through the window that this was in fact the case, and seeing Xavier dancing by the front door, I grabbed my coat and said, "Okay, Xavier -- it is Miss Erica -- you can let her in."

So Xavier opened the door, and Gwen -- who had evidently missed this exchange -- gave a blood-curdling scream and shouted, "Xav! You never open the door to strangers!"

On that note (or on the flip side) ...

I was in the backyard mowing the lawn today. I was about halfway done, and I decided it was time to take a break and get a drink. I walked up onto the deck to the backdoor; sitting just inside, filling out thank-you cards, was Gwen. Sitting about ten feet past her was Xavier, playing with a game. The backdoor was locked.

I knocked on the door. Gwen turned, waved, then returned to what she was doing. Xavier showed no sign that he had heard.

I knocked again. Same thing: quick wave from Gwen, then her back was to me again. No response from Xavier.

I knocked again. "Gwen!" I called. "Unlock the door!" No response from either kid this time.

This time I knocked continuously until Gwen finally turned and stared at me with a look of irritation. She got up, unlocked the door and opened it. "What?!? I'm busy!" she snapped. Xavier still kept playing his game, as if nothing had happened.

I guess someone has learned the lesson a little too well.

Spinning

Sorry it has been so long since I have last posted. We were busy, busy, busy, and I meant to post Monday, but that ended up being a very bad day. I wanted to post yesterday (Gwen's birthday), but it still didn't feel right. I'm not sure it feels right today, either, but I wanted to let everyone know we are fine, don't worry about us, but please pray for those who are not fine: those who are gone, those who are grieving, and those who are still afraid.

During times like this, children are a blessing. You can't leave the TV or radio on, because this is too much for them, but this keeps you from getting too consumed in it as well. And since they don't understand tragedy, they continue to do the funny, normal, day-to-day things that bring laughter into our lives, despite everything.

Gwen and Xavier have done some very funny things in the past couple of days, but I am not ready to write about them yet. Instead, I will let you know that they are "camping" upstairs in Gwen's room in a tent that Uncle Ez gave them for Christmas a couple of years ago (Gwen is really too tall to be sleeping in that tent, and her head and feet are poking out of the walls.) They are dreaming they are on an adventure camping on the moon, but they are mundanely, boringly safe, as safe as they ever were, and as safe as any of us can hope to be.

Terminology

Adam spent an evening with the kids last night while I went to karate class. Our usual Instructor is abroad (not "a broad" but overseas) right now; the visiting Instructor is also very good, and we have all been having a good time with her. But I digress ...

Although I enrich the kids' lives by reading them Calvin and Hobbes at bedtime (a practice I may need to discontinue because it is making Gwen anxious), Adam decided to try National Geographic for a change. He kind of skims over it, making it fun for the kids by giving people (and animals) funny voices, but they are both pretty intrigued by some of the science facts as well.

Anyway, last night Adam asked the kids if they knew the difference between archeologists and paleontologists. This is kind of funny, because Xavier has a dinosaur shirt that reads "Young Archeologist" on the back, which makes me cringe every time I see it.

Gwen responded, "Of course I know the difference, Daddy!"

Impressed, Adam said, "Really? What is the difference, then?"

Gwen replied patiently, "'Archeology' begins with 'Ark,' and 'Paleontology' begins with 'Pale.'"

Xavier was especially fascinated by an article they "read" which talked about rock formations in Guatemala. As he was brushing his teeth, he asked Adam, "Daddy, when we grow up, can we go to guacamole and see some rocks?"

Just Joking

Gwen and Xavier have become obsessed with telling jokes (especially Knock-Knock jokes.) The problem is, they aren't very good at it yet. A typical exchange with Gwen and me runs along the lines of ... oh, okay, I'll be honest -- this is a SPECIFIC exchange we have had again and again:

Gwen: Knock knock!

Me: Who's there

Gwen: Dinosaur!

Me: Dinosaur who?

Gwen: Dinosaur doesn't know where to lay her eggs! HA! HA! HA! HA! Isn't that funny?

Adam keeps trying to explain to them what makes good humor. ("A joke is funny because it is true." "A joke is funny because it is ironic." "A joke is funny because it is a play on words.") This is still above their heads at this time. They don't even quite understand that delivery matters. For example, I might tell them a joke that runs along the lines of "Knock knock ... who's there? ... Cows Say ...Cows Say who? ... No, cows say moo!" and Xav's version will be "Knock knock ... Who's there? ... Cows say ... Cows say who? ... That's not what a cow says!"

The other day, to illustrate how jokes work, Adam told them the following joke:

Two penguins are standing on an ice flow. One penguin says to the other, "You look like you are wearing a tuxedo." The other replied, "How do you know that I'm not?"

You can tell Xavier is trying hard to get it, because when it was his turn to tell a joke, he said, "Knock knock!"

Adam: Who's there?

Xavier: Two penguins standing on an ice flow.

Adam: Two penguins standing on an ice flow who?

Xavier: You look like you are wearing a tuxedo!

Poor kids, they'll get it sooner or later. If they only knew how funny they are without trying.


Gwen is about to keel over from excitement: she has her first loose tooth! She is so proud of it that she is telling everyone about it. The problem? It is (probably) loose because she slipped crawling across the tile floor yesterday and smacked her mouth. In fact, I think it is less loose tonight than it was yesterday, which probably means her body isn't ready to give it up.

Hopefully the Toothless Sixes will kick in before she figures that out.

Gardening

Ah, Spring. The reemergence of green things (except our lawn), insects ("Mom, what are those yellow things? I'm worried about yellow jackets!"), and children ("Mommy! Let's get the Bubble Blasters and ride our bikes and we can play Teacher!" Teaching ... what? Luckily they usually lose interest in this game pretty quickly.)

This weekend we went through the annual ritual of clearing out our weed garden (a patch of ground that the previous owners had planted a lush garden on, which quickly went to pot when we moved in (and I don't mean we planted marijuana -- or "weed" -- I mean WEEDS.)) Every spring since we moved in, we have cleared that out with the thought that THIS YEAR we would defeat the locust tree forest that keeps trying to reestablish itself there, and make it a lovely oasis in the otherwise wide open expanse that is our backyard (sadly, I am from Indiana, so I like wide-open areas, so I haven't been strongly motivated to change.) We have lived here for three years now, and despite best intentions, by the end of the summer that spot is more of a blemish than a beauty spot. Ah, but enough flowery language.

This year, we planted some hazelnut trees we received from the Arbor Day Foundation in the weed garden. For the most part, the kids were happy enough to play by themselves, but after awhile they decided that there were more fun things to do than shoot Mom with the Bubble guns -- I mean, "Bubble Blasters" -- such as:

• Ooh and aah over a locust shell Mom found while yanking out weeds;
• Ask Mom to refill the Bubble Guns;
• Cry bitter tears over the loss of the locust shell when the wind blew it out of Gwen's hand;
• Argue over whose fault it was the locust shell was lost;
• Ooh and aah over a grub Mom found (that is one of the most disgusting things I have ever seen, but I digress);
• Beg Mom for rides in the wheelbarrow.

They only became interested in this last activity when Mom had only two or three loads left to take, so by now our allergy-infested Gwen was getting pretty stuffy. At one point, when I was cleaning out the wheelbarrow in preparation for giving them a ride back to the Weed Garden, Gwen sneezed a terrible sneeze. There was a whine of disgust from Xav, who then said, "Mo-om! Gwen just bless-youed all over me and the wheelbarrow!"

Once the wheelbarrow rides were over, so was Xav's interest in planting trees, so he came in and I gave him a bath. Despite allergies and sunburn, Gwen stayed with it until the bitter end. Hopefully, we have actually planted trees -- they were so tiny that they often got lost in the twigs on the ground. It may be that this is the first year that we seed the Weed Garden ourselves.

Young Scientist

Spoiler alert: this is more informational than funny.

There was a Science Fair at Gwen's school tonight. We had to overcome some obstacles to get there, specifically because we did not get the information packet to prepare for it until Monday night, but this is something Gwen really wanted to do, so we worked hard Tuesday and Wednesday to whip our concept into something viable.

I won't spend too much time on the project itself (except to say that it involved something we found in our holly bush, and that after theories, research, revised theories, and so on, we came to the conclusion that it was a Praying Mantis Egg Case.) We documented the process and put it on posterboard, and that (along with the egg case, which took a brief trip out of its home in the garage) was all we had, going into the Science Fair.

Judging was done based on grade level. There was probably a total of ten kindergarteners participating. One of the kindergarteners was set up across from us, and her project -- quite frankly -- daunted me. She had all kinds of numeric statistics and graphing, she had a nice presentation display (much fancier than our posterboard, which Gwen tore when unloading it from the van), and I thought, oh boy. Luckily, the numbers and graphing were beyond Gwen, or she would have been way too intimidated to talk to anyone. But after some initial shyness, Gwen told anyone who would listen about her experiment, why our original theories were wrong, and why she is pretty confident that our mystery object is a Praying Mantis egg case.

In the end, Gwen was a winner! The judges told her that of all the kindergarteners, she had the best oral presentation, and she got a prize. She may not have been the only kindergartener who got a prize (a science pin), though she may have been; I do know that not all of the kindergarteners got pins, so she did well. She was so happy, that when I took her picture with her pin and ribbon, she looked like she was going to cry. I'm surprised she fell asleep tonight, she was so excited when she got home.

Xavier also had an incredible time at the Science Fair, although Adam (the one delegated to watch "the boy") was exhausted by the end. I stayed with Gwen most of the time, but I am fairly confident that the sound of breaking glass I heard was not caused by him. However, as Adam pointed out later, "While Gwen was receiving her award for best oral presentation, Xavier was eating ice cream with his fingers. I guess that tells us a lot about the differences between our kids."

Life, Death, and Birthdays

We went to visit my brother Ezra, his wife Ginger, and my niece Chloe on Sunday to celebrate Chloe's birthday (which was a week ago.) Chloe just turned four (and is "Almost five!" as she told one of the kids) and a good time was had by all, playing in the backyard, eating lunch out, and opening birthday presents. The kids played on the swingset, Ez showed me his guitars and played some music, Ginger and I talked about kids and traded stories, and the dog ate some grass and threw up. As I said, a good time all the way around.

One of the things I bragged about was how well Gwen is coming along with her reading. Unfortunately, this came back to bite me when she came across the stone Ezra and Ginger had posted over the grave of their beloved cat (referred to as "Mommy Kitty" by little Chloe). "Is this a gravestone?" she asked, then read (if my memory is true), "Goodbye Mommy Kitty -- A Good Friend." Well, that got her waterworks going, and she cried for awhile until Uncle Ez introduced her to their new cat Cosmo.

I hoped that was the end of it, but as Adam and Xav did what men do best on long car trips -- slept -- on the way back, Gwen asked me some questions about "Mommy Kitty" and "Cosmo" and the mortality of our cats. She cried some more, but I managed to distract her by talking to her about her upcoming birthday party (I am getting a lot of mileage out of this party. I only hope she isn't sick of it before it happens.) Eventually we got home, and she and Xav ran around the yard with "bubble blowers" Aunt Ginger gave them and seemed to be reasonably happy. By the time bedtime rolled around, though, I got apprehensive.

Shortly after Gwen went to bed, she got up and called downstairs, asking me to check on a Praying Mantis egg case she has in the garage (because I don't want five hundred little praying mantises sitting around the house, watching TV, playing video games, and drinking beer). I checked (no babies yet!) and went upstairs to report. She was crying, of course (no surprise.) So we talked about life (Praying Mantis eggs), death (cats, Ruby the Tiger from the local zoo, and Aunt Tania's mother), and birthdays, and she seemed to settle down again. I guess death is a pretty heavy topic, and one day kids just "get" it, and it can be overwhelming. In the meantime, what my big fear is what I will use to distract her off these whims once her birthday is behind us.


On the life front ... my husband (yes, it pains me to tell you this) is a huge Abba fan (okay, Abba isn't that bad.) There is a song on one of his compilation CDs that is called "I'm a Marionette" that is from an Abba mini-operetta (or movie or something) called "The Girl with the Golden Hair." The gist of the song is that the singer is effectively a puppet -- she's steered through life by those who would have her do as they want (beginning to sound kinda apt in light of the whole Anna Nicole thing).

Anyway, Xavier also "translates" the meaning as "she is a puppet" and calls it "the puppet song." In his case, however, he envisions the singer as being some kind of REAL puppet that can talk and sing. He has expanded the "plot" of the song to the point that it is now about a puppet that is alive and is talking to a little boy. It is very funny to listen to him talk about this and expand the plot, but sometimes he asks you questions in the context of his made-up premise, and he can't understand why your answer bears little resemblance to his version. For example:

"Why does the puppet tell the little boy that it is not married yet?" (Marionette = Married-not-yet.)

"Why does the boy find a talking puppet in his room?"

"Why is the puppet telling the boy he is a puppet?"

"Why is the puppet telling the boy he is alive?"

("Xavier, the song is about a 'real' person.") "A real person who is a puppet?"

"Can we watch this movie sometime? I want to see the movie about the puppet."

To paraphrase another Abba song, he can "go on and on and on" about this topic. I wonder if I can check out Pinocchio and convince him that this is the theme song?

(I wonder if it is too soon to start talking to him about his birthday?)

Bond, James Bond

Adam and Xavier were listening to some music today, and a tune from the James Bond 007 movies came on.

"Daddy, what's this?" Xavier asked.

"This is called 'In Her Majesty's Service,'" Adam replied. "It comes from one of the James Bond movies."

"You mean, James the Splendid Red Engine?" Xavier asked, citing his beloved Thomas the Tank Engine series again.

"No, sweetie. James Bond is a spy."

"You mean like when we play Superspies?" Xavier asked. This is a game where the kids sneak up on us, then pretend to be statues when we look in their direction. Gwen came up with this spin, and it never seems to occur to them that most people worth spying on would notice the sudden appearance of a realistic statue in the middle of their kitchen.

Adam replied, "Yes, kind of like when you play Superspies."

Xavier pondered this for a moment, then asked, "So, James was a spy before he became a Splendid Red Engine?"

Bond ... Splendid Red Engine Bond.

Cultural References

This year, every kid from eight years old to eighty is looking forward to the new Harry Potter movie and the new Harry Potter book. And the pre-school crowd?

I asked Xav today what he did at school, and he said, "Me and Victoria were playing 'Peter Pan and the Goblin of Fire!'"

We're still here!

Wow, what a month. Work has been hectic, we took the kids to my in-laws, and we've all taken turns at being sick. But we're back, and as dangerous as ever!

Xavier took his test for his Kempo Karate Yellow Belt this past weekend. I was afraid that he would be the little maniac we all know and love, and that he would fail his test. Much to my surprise, though, he was very focussed and listened closely to what his testers were telling him; that was when I realized that he must be sick. No, seriously, he was fine, and he got his yellow belt, and he is very proud and psyched about it.

Gwen is getting over her second cold in as many weeks, but it hasn't slowed her down much. Although I allowed her to "skip" karate yesterday, she had to tag along because Xavier went, and she ended up standing on the sidelines, showing Xavier how to do things. She still wants to be a paleontologist, though, and not a karate instructor like Xav.

The kids have said and done many funny things in the past month, but none come to mind immediately -- perhaps I need more sleep. In the "funny in an expensive sort of way" category, it appears that Xavier's tricycle and the garage door had a disagreement, and that the tricycle won. We don't actually know for sure that the garage door broke because it hit the tricycle (for that matter, the trike doesn't have a mark on it), but when I look at the facts:

• Garage door seemed fine when I pushed the button and went in the house
• Garage door was bent when I went back in the garage later to collect my purse, and there were pieces of garage door all over the floor
• The tricycle seemed to be in the path of the garage door

... the circumstantial evidence seems overwhelming. Moral of this story? Don't trust a four-year-old to park the car (or anything else on wheels.) That's okay, we'll just take the cost of the new door out of his allowance.

Gwen finally got the coveted honor of being Star of the Week in her kindergarten class the week of Valentine's Day. This is good, because even though we assured her that this was a "turn" thing and not based on merit, every Friday she was having a meltdown because "she hadn't been good enough." Hopefully she will continue to bask in the glow of this award until the end of the school year.

Gwen also is continuing on her quest to become a paleontologist. She brought home the Encyclopedia of Dinosaurs from the school library over the weekend, and you can guess what lucky individual got to read it to her. She started making connections (even though we started with the A's -- and, now that I think about it -- are still in the A's), so she was screaming out "meat!" and "plants!" as she listened to the beasts' scientific names as she indicated what each ate (and she was actually frighteningly reliable.) Every time she screamed, though, Adam would jump and have a heart attack or a migraine. Maybe we should have gone light on the expresso.

Anyway, take care! I'll try to be more observant so I can post more soon!

Snow at last

This past week has been a hard one on the old work front. Last Thursday, the kids' day care center was closed early due to a storm that failed to materialize (for us, anyway), and today it was closed because they had no power (due, I believe, in some way to the bone chilling (and, for us, pipe-freezing) cold we had last night). The cold led also to a school delay for our county, so Gwen was late going to school and Xav never did go to school. Tomorrow we will almost certainly have another day off school, courtesy of the first real snowstorm of 2007 (well, 1-3 inches, but we'll take what we can get.)

All in all, though, this may have been a good thing, because it allowed them to have more "quality time" with their Dad on his birthday. They like playing this game they call "Super Spies" where they try to sneak up on you and watch you. Today, they played a variation on that where they would sneak up on Adam and break into a chorus of "Happy Birthday to You." Adam said that after the first couple thousand times, the song was firmly lodged in his head, but that they were too cute for him to get tired of it.

So, as I said -- the first real snow of the season. For weeks and weeks, we have been promised snow that failed to materialize. I bought the kids a sled at the beginning of the season, so for a long time I felt I was somehow personally responsible for our warm winter. In any event, today when I went to pick Gwen up from school, it was starting to flurry a little. "Look, guys, it's snowing!" I said.

"Yeah, whatever, mom," Gwen said. "It's not like it will really stick this time."

"I think we're supposed to get a little bit of snow," I pushed.

"No way, Mom, we NEVER get snow. For real," Xavier chimed in. Only five and four, and already jaded. Sigh.

Then we got home, and it started to snow a little harder. "Hey, guys!" I suggested. "Let's go outside." This, knowing I have a deadline to meet at the end of the week and that I have lost almost half a day to babysitting Xav. But, hey, this may be THE snow of 2007!

"No thanks, Mom," Gwen says, studying a calendar she just received in the mail. "It's too cold outside."

"Yeah, too cold," Xav agreed. I started to wonder if my kids were sick or something -- turn down an invitation to play in the snow?

"Mommy," Xav chimed in, "I love the X-men video. I'm going to be an X-man when I grow up ... if I can get any X-man powers." He said this with the same sincerity with which I might say, "I'm going to get my Oracle DBA certification, if I can find time." Except that there is probably an equal chance of either of these things happening. Maybe I can fudge the odds by seeing if they have a special on mutant powers at K-mart.

At this point, my neighbors stopped by to drop off a thank-you note for the gifts we gave her daughter on her fourth birthday. They hadn't thought we would be home, but when I invited them in, her two year old said, "Sure, okay," and clambered in, shedding his jacket, before the two females in the group had a chance to respond.

Anyway, so they came in, and in short order Gwen decided she wanted to do a "Science Experiment" on the back deck. Now, all of a sudden, playing in the snow was cool. My neighbor and I decided it would probably be safer to play in the level front yard, rather than the deck with its eight foot staircase to the ground. As we were getting the younger kids ready to go out, I glanced out the window onto the deck and saw Gwen dancing around in a little circle.

"That's odd," I remarked. "She doesn't look like she's doing a science experiment at all. She looks kind of like she needs to go --"

Just then Gwen started chanting something I could just barely hear, but she said it in kind of a sing-song way, like:

Bathroom! Bathroom!
I need to go to the bathroom!
Bathroom! Bathroom!
I need to go to the bathroom!

Anyway, all emergencies were averted, and soon all four kids were in the front yard. For awhile, the neighbor kids were making snow angels in my driveway as Gwen and Xavier looked askence ... until their mother noticed that the asphalt was leaving black marks on their coats. Then they ran over and started making snow angels on their own driveway, while my kids just ran around like maniacs. Every time I took a picture, Xavier made a karate pose -- not sure if that is related to his upcoming belt test or if he is just practicing for his future career as a superhero.

Too cold -- or busy -- to go out in the snow? Now, that's just crazy talk!

Global Warming

Before I get into the meat of this entry ... yes, Gwen did pass her karate test. She is now the proud owner of a yellow belt. Yay for Gwen! We are very proud of her.


And Xavier is still writing his name reliably on any surface he can find. We are very proud of him, but we found a certain irony in a "report card" he got from his daycare center/preschool last week. It said, "Xavier seems to be having a hard time learning his letters." MY COWORKER TAUGHT HIM TO WRITE HIS NAME SIMPLY BY WRITING IT ON THE BOARD AND SUGGESTING HE PRACTICE! Hmmm.


Okay, the meat of the entry ... today, when we got home, I needed to go to the bathroom. I usually endeavor to do this without company by going upstairs to do it when the kids are distracted. Today, I distracted them by turning on the radio and saying, "I'm going to the bathroom. I'll be back in a minute, but if you could listen for the weather forecast, I would appreciate it." I thought this would have been a good ploy, because the kids have been dying for a good snow because they want to try out their new sled.

Well, I knew this attempt was doomed to failure when the silence was broken by a scream of, "Mom!" from downstairs.

This was followed by:

Bump, bump, bump, bump, bump, bump ....

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

Bump, bump, bump, BANG! Bump, bump, bump, bump ...

And then Xavier bounced through the door. "Mom! Mom!" he panted, jumping up and down on the tips of his toes. "It's going to snow! I just heard it on the radio! It's going to snow!"

"Wow, that's great, Xavier," I replied.

Still bouncing, "Yeah! It's going to snow -- in West Virginia!"

In case you didn't know -- we don't live in West Virginia. Oh, well, at least his listening skills seem to be better than his evaluation from preschool/daycare would imply.


In other global warming news, I got a little hot around the collar this weekend (this probably isn't sufficiently funny for you, so you can stop reading, Joel). I have been trying to set up a playdate for Gwen with a friend of hers for about a month. This is a girl she has been friends with since before she started preschool, and although we don't get together often, when we do, she always has a great time. She still has pictures of this little girl on her dresser.

I guessed maybe the handwriting was on the wall when this girl -- I'll call her "Morgan" -- did not come to our Halloween party; I understand that friendships change when kids start kindergarten, and Gwen and Morgan are not in the same class, but shortly after Christmas, Gwen said, "You know, Mom, it has been a long time since I have seen my good friend Morgan. I really miss her." And I promised I would set up a date.

When I contacted Morgan's mom, she at first seemed very receptive to having a playdate, but every week since, she has asked to postpone. All of the reasons sounded good -- death in the family, weather problems, delayed surgery -- until this weekend, when I got notice the day before (though, admittedly, it was sent two days before) that there was some event Morgan really wanted to go to, could we try for another time, or maybe the girls could just see each other at an upcoming birthday party for a mutual friend? There was no attempt to invite Gwen with them to the "event", or even a definite reschedule date (as there had been the previous weeks), and, of course my phone calls went unreturned and suggested reschedule times ignored.

Now, I may be a bit of a geek, and a tad socially inept (or even severely so), but even I can see what is going on here. The problem is, I have a sweet little girl who doesn't understand why Morgan won't come and play. You can explain illness, weather, and even death; if Morgan's mom had said, "Morgan just doesn't want to see Gwen, sorry," then it would have been sad, but sometimes these lessons have to be learned. To tell your daughter, however, "You can't see Morgan because her mom does not want to have to spend time with me," is a little complicated for an almost-six-year-old.

The last correspondence I received from Morgan's mom said, "I hope we can see you soon -- it has been too long!" I had to laugh. If she does try to reschedule, I'll probably go along with it -- I can overlook a lot for the sake of two little girls -- but I won't let Gwen know in advance this time.

And I won't let this rift in our relationship prevent me from giving Morgan's mom free Kempo Karate coupons.


PS The kids LOVE www.becomeanmm.com Thanks, Jilian!

Test

Gwen will be taking her test for her yellow belt in Kempo Karate on Saturday. Xavier would be taking his test on Saturday as well, except that he has a cold and asthma, and we don't think he is up to the physical portion. So he'll be testing next month, which is probably just as well, because this will give Gwen the impression that her hard work (and she does work hard) gives her the edge over Xavier (who, admittedly, would probably win in a fight, but doesn't pay as much attention.)

Xavier had his four-year visit to the Pediatrician's office on Friday. Despite my best efforts, he had to put his hands on every horizontal surface at the doctor's office, so it is a complete mystery how he got sick. Anyway, the day before his visit, I reminded Adam that Xavier had this appointment and asked him if he was going to be able to make it.

"Well, if you're too busy, I guess I could take him," Adam said reluctantly.

"I was planning to attend anyway. After all, we have a lot of questions about his asthma. But if you're too busy, I guess I can take him by myself."

"Well, if you could do that, it would be better for me," Adam said.

I thought for a moment, then said, "Wait a minute -- aren't you coming over to play cards with Naveed at lunchtime?" Naveed works with me, and he and Adam have a standing date to play Magic the Gathering on Fridays over lunch.

"Yes ..." Adam admitted.

"Well, if you could pick Xavier up at school and bring him with you, then that would save me some time." I suggested.

Adam looked a little crestfallen. "That will make me late for cards."

"That's okay," I said. "I'll let Naveed know."

So, that's what we did. Xavier and Adam arrived at 12:15 or so, but Xavier's appointment wasn't until 2:15. For awhile, he played cards with Adam and Naveed, but after Adam left he was more interested in hanging out with my coworkers than with me (male bonding stuff.) He really liked a white board behind Christian's desk, and Christian was amenable to him playing there, so he drew on the white board for awhile. Christian wrote his name on the board (Xavier's, not Christian's) and encouraged him to practice writing it (or "drawing it," as Xavier put it.) It was strange, because just that morning I was bemoaning the fact that Xavier could not write his name yet, and he is four years old.

2:15 rolled around, and Xavier and I made a mad dash for the pediatrician's. After the hearing test (probably normal), and the vision test (normal), the pediatrician tested his mental development. Handing him a pen, she said, "Draw a circle for me."

He did.

She said, "Draw a box for me."

He did.

She said, "Write your name for me."

"I don't think --" I started, but Xavier wrote out X-A-V-A-I-E-R. Pretty close, given that the day before he was signing things with an "X" (it's a cowboy thing.)

The moral of this story is: clearly I need to hire Christian to handle all of my preschool needs.