Five-year-old James Joyce

Are there always tornadoes in June?
Are there tornadoes every day in June? What about across the Great Atlantic Ocean?
What is a sharpie for? How do you get sharpie off of stuff? Is it called sharpie get-off soap? Would water work to take it off? Why would you want to write something you can't get off?
When will you be done writing? I wish I was God, because then I could do anything I wanted.

How can Meta-Knight turn into a tornado anyway?
How does Mario shoot fireballs out of his hands?
Where is this made in? Why does this kind of look like a stapler? But it doesn't do the same thing? Why does this move back and forth?  Do some things have the thing you press down and the ink comes off things and it makes the label?
What does evangelical mean?

I'm very strong. I bet I could knock a whole window down in one bash.  I bet I could throw that and it could get damaged pretty well.  I'm that strong.
Pikachu. Pikachu. Pikachu. Pikachu.
How come when I pick Pikachu on Super Squash Brothers, my controller goes "Uh-oy"?
The bullets go on the tornado. The light from the moon shines on Pikachu and that means he will save them.

How come there are different ways to label things? Can these labels stay on forever. Can the ink labels stay on forever? What if you use printer ink? How come the stuff on your calendar ink never comes off?

Squirrel noises.
For Amber's next birthday, I'm thinking we should buy her a Sophia dress.  She has all the other supplies but not the dress.
Dad? You know the thing where you sit on at Bible Study? Sometimes we use that and put some preschool clothes on it and that makes a stand because nothing else makes a stand, well I think so, but there might be something else that does, I don't know, there might be and there might not.

Dashi, I'm already on it.  I'm already on it, Captain. I'm already on it, Captain. I'm already on it Captain. I'm already on it, Captain.
Humming "Octonauts" theme.
Dad, is it okay if I erase some of your Bible Study things? I won't erase them all.  I just need a spot to draw a computer.

The lab launch will never end.  It's a good spot on the earth. But there is a spot where I can slide back to earth.

Award Night

Last Friday, I told my son he could invite his friends over today.

I delayed making arrangements this morning.  I kept hoping he'd throw up or something so I could avoid dealing with extra children and take a nap this afternoon.


Mother of the year, indeed.

The Flesh is Weak

Mom said, "Kiddo, it's time to get dressed."

After Mom left the room, he mumbled, "No, I don't think I will."
Dad asked, "What did you say?"
"I wasn't talking to you.  I was just talking to my brain.  It's trying to tell me what to do, and I'm trying to tell it I don't want to."
"Oh? What was your brain telling you to do?"
"It was telling me that I should listen to my mom, but I'm trying to tell it I don't want to."
"Maybe your brain is trying to tell you that because it's a good idea."
"No, sometimes it just says weird things like that.  Like sometimes, when I'm playing on the little computer,* it tells me that it's too loud and it's hurting my ears, and I should turn the volume down.  But I'm afraid if I do that, then I wouldn't hear what Vee* was telling me to do, so I try to tell my brain that I'm not going to turn the volume down."
"Maybe sometimes you could try meet your brain halfway?"



*Our Kindle
*The talking street lamp from Chuggingtons

Advice from the other side

I met a dear woman at a pancake feed this past Sunday.  I am grateful to her for sharing with me some of the wisdom she had learned from her days of child-rearing.  I would do well to remember it.

"When your children are doing something that makes you want to die, turn your head; you'll feel better."

Indeed, I will feel better.   We all will feel better.

50 Shades of Weird

Well I've gone and done it.  I took time today to write out preschool objectives for math and language arts, and started drafting lesson plans for next week.  Guess this means I've officially joined yet another "weird" circle- "The Homeschoolers."

Feel free to ignore me next time we're at the grocery store together.

Milestones

Before my son was born, someone gave me a lovely calendar for me to track the first year of his life.  Each page had ample space for me to add pictures of him, and included stickers to mark all his milestones, significant events, and even visits from grandparents on their appropriate date.  While I haven't yet added any pictures to the calendar, I was able to get those stickers on the approximate day each one occurred.  Approximate because I updated the thing once every few months. Grandparents were updated a bit more regularly, but usually in a nonchalant manner a week after the fact, and only because they asked.

Now that he's three, I find myself doing all sorts of little happy dances over milestones, and have to refrain from announcing to everyone I see that my kid understands that we use letters to make words.  Or that he just memorized a book so he could read it to me.  Or that he picked up a new book and told the story by looking at the pictures.  That he has phonological awareness.  That he draws people with eyes, mouths, arms, legs, and necks.  That he can draw a recognizable train.  That he can identify 5:30 on an analog clock. That he can represent the number of people in a room with his fingers.  That he can put the silverware away. That he memorized the First Commandment and it's meaning.

I shouldn't be surprised by any of this.  After all, I sat through four good years of teacher education studying how children develop and learn.  Yet, it astounds me to watch all of this unfolding.  It astounds me more than any of those other important first year milestones ever did.  My kid is an early emergent reader.  My kid is doing simple math.  My kid is understanding his faith.

I'm sure it merely reinforces the fact that I'm a complete nerd, but really, why can't we get some stickers for these exciting times?

In the time it's taken you to forget about this blog,

I've
  -lost my computer to a virus
  -lost my phone to St. Louis humidity
  -got blocked from my email
  -moved to a new state
  -settled into a new home
  -found three snakes in the house
  -joined a book club
  -watched the dog chase a cow out of the backyard
  -repeatedly bribed my child with gum to get through church services.
  

What I haven't done
  -updated this blog.

 
Consider it done.

First Real(ish) Six-String

This is by far the coolest thing I've made for my kid.

Now if I can only get him to understand it's a "Guitar," not a "The Guitar."

You Lose Some, You Win Some

Nursing was challenging.  Sleep was baffling.  Potty training my son has been surprising easy.  Almost accidental.  I guess it all evens out in the end, huh?

Hoopde doopde! You'm genuis!

Though I haven't (yet) been able to locate any scholarly articles on the subject, I'll take this as a reassurance that I ought not worry so much that my son still doesn't sleep through the night.

On Trying To Do It All

After my son was born, I went back to work.  (I thought that it was my responsibility to work and provide for my family since my husband was going to school, but that's another story)

From time to time, someone reflects on this year of working outside my home and comments, "I don't know how you did it."  To be frank, I didn't.  Our house was a disaster.  Our clothes were stained and wrinkled, if not lying in heaps about the floor.  My dishes piled up so much on the counter I would spend hours (hours!) on the weekends handwashing them.  My husband cleaned the bathroom when we expected company, which was rarely. I cried at least once a day- before leaving for school, after dropping off my son at the sitter's, while sitting in the nurse's room pumping during lunch, upon reentering the mess of my house at the end of the school day, after burning dinner because I needed to nurse my son, before going to bed- I cried about anything, and everything.

I spent my weekends trying to play catch-up.  At times, we cooked all weekend and froze meals to last a month.  I lesson planned two weeks in advance. My husband helped me grade the papers I ignored during the school days.  We washed loads and loads of clothes, and loads and loads of dishes.  I nursed on demand to increase my supply, but still, I felt myself slipping further and further behind.  So many days, I wanted to walk into the principal's office and quit.    By the end of the school year, I had composed an apology letter to the parents of my students because I felt so guilty about everything I had done poorly at school, and was relieved that we were moving away and I wouldn't have to face any of them anymore at church and pretend my life was okay.

Since I've been staying home, I've had a much different experience.  I'm not going to say that my house is never untidy, or that I never make poor parenting decisions, or that I never burn dinner.  Those things still happen from time to time.  But I'm happier here, and therefore, so is my family.  I have fewer jobs to do, and I can do them better than I could when I was working.  I can't imagine ever going back to that lifestyle, no matter how old my son gets, or how bored  and lonely I get.  I can do this,and often, I can do it well. That's a reality I'm not willing to compromise.

And back again

We've unpacked (mostly). We've installed-and used!-our washer and dryer.  I've hung some pictures on the walls, and plugged in the sewing machine.  We've entertained guests, and met some of the neighbors.  We've located the nearest grocery store, gas station, and library, but still can't find a park.  We've settled into a nice little routine, and had our son asleep by 9:00 most every night.  It's safe to say I'm starting to feel like I'm home.

Things I don't understand

I've read that children need fathers in their lives, in part, because a father is more likely to rough-house with his children than the mother.

I've read that children need mothers, in part, because a mother is more likely to be caring and nurturing with her children than the father.


So why is it that my child views me as a jungle gym and gives me a fat lip while I'm putting him to sleep?

What every father should teach his children

"Your mother is delicate flower. She doesn't take well to headbutts."

Of Home and Housework

I'm rather amazed at everything I can accomplish in one day, and still have some energy left by the time my son goes to bed.  Besides general cleaning and dinner preparation, I can go to the grocery store, walk to the post office, make bread or cookies, and do a load of laundry.  (I realize some of you may be thinking, "Well sure, she's only got one!"  Rest assured, for every ounce of cuteness in my son, there is a pound of "Hold Me!"  Most of my day is spent one-armed singing Yankee Doodle and various nursery rhymes.)

Granted, I am squeezing a lot of work into the glorious 40 minute nap, and I do a lot of kitchen clean-up after dinner, when my husband can baby-wrangle for me; but still, the possibilities are endless.  I can do my dishes!  I can scrub and vacuum the floors weekly!  I can read a book! I can clean the windows! I can shine my silver! I can make dessert!

Look out home, I'm apron-clad, wielding a spatula and broom!

After I retrieve them from my son.