Fingers Crossed

I got in a disagreement with my sons today on the way to school; perhaps you all can help us determine who is right.

Son #1 was saying something and had the fingers on both of his hands crossed, as a way of not meaning what he was saying. (You know, like "Wow, mom, I LOVE these brussels sprouts. Not.)

So I told him that he was only supposed to have ONE set of fingers crossed if he, in effect, wanted to say a big ole NOT; two sets of fingers crossed is a double negative, and therefore, a confirmation that he does in fact love brussels sprouts. Or whatever it was, because the actual content escapes me.

Thus started the argument. The boys say no, two hands with crossed-fingers means you are basically lying, but you don't get in trouble for lying. One hand with crossed-fingers means you are telling the truth.

I tried to reason with them: What is the point of telling the truth and crossing one set of fingers? Isn't that the same as not crossing any fingers at all?

I was holding firm, until Son #2 said: "Mom, you need to get out in the world more!"

What a smart aleck. Wonder where he gets it.

OK, fair enough. So I'm reaching out into the world via my blog. Which is it people? Which gesture means the speaker is lying, one hand crossed or two?

I don't care who is right about this, I just want to know. (Guess how many fingers I'm crossing right now?)

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7 Quick Takes: Vol. 3

1. I read a beautiful post this week from Kelly at Student of the Year, a nice reflection on winter. Give yourself a treat and read it. You'll probably find yourself hoping for a little more cold weather so you can snuggle up with blankets, pillows, and people.

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2. This is sort of reverse book review. As in, I'm looking for people who have read NurtureShock: New Thinking About Children, by Po Bronson and Ashley Merryman, since I have not...yet. I admit that all I know of it so far is the blurb I read that goes like this: "[The] central premise is that many of modern society’s strategies for nurturing children, from toddlers to teens, are backfiring – because key twists in the science have been overlooked." I hope to get the book soon and give it a read. Just that blurb alone seems to match many of my recent thoughts about raising kids. I've become increasingly convinced that much of what we do in the name of our kids is a load of crap. My new insight is that we need to treat our children like people we love instead of like people we need to raise every minute of every day. If you are familiar with this book, please let me know what you think.

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3. We watched Inglourious Basterds the other night. Wow. It was quite different than I expected. What did you think of it?

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4. This week, we say goodbye to J. D. Salinger. When I was growing up, possibly the most dog-eared book in the house, beside The Red Pony, was The Catcher in the Rye. Hats off to The Onion (America's Finest News Source), for the best tribute to Salinger I've seen in the past two days. I am looking forward to re-reading the Salinger canon, and I've done my share of speculating: maybe we'll get some more treasures published posthumously? Wouldn't that be something?

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5. My 3-year old demanded The Beatles this morning in the car. Further proof that I may, in fact, be doing something right with these kids. If she grows up to read The Catcher in the Rye and The Red Pony, I can call my work with her a success. One out of five ain't bad.

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6. I still haven't sent out my Holiday cards. I purchased them, addressed them, and sealed them. I have yet to put stamps on them. If you're in my address book, look for a great picture of the kids sometime between now and July 4th. I'll do my best.

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7. On the way to school this morning, my kids were loud. This is absolutely nothing new, of course, but I was trying to be more accepting of it this time. They were having a great time, being goofy and fighting and telling me fascinating things like "Mom, did you know what the Vanderveer Collection is? A collection of DIAMONDS!" and elbowing each other and generally being both hilarious and exasperating. Lots of times, I yell at them in the morning because the noise is hard to take. This morning, I tried really, really hard to think about what my car is going to be like in another few years when I have teenagers. Silent and sullen, I'm guessing. I am sure I will miss this mayhem then. So I just tried to ride the wave.

I had also driven them to school in my PJ's, so I didn't get out of the car this time, just pulled over and let them tumble out in a big pile before they disentangled their arms and legs and backpacks and lunchboxes, blew them kisses, told them I loved them, told them to have a good day, and then sped away with my last remaining tot. The sudden silence made me laugh...which prompted my 3-year old to look at my strangely. And now, I am spending the morning still in PJ's, in a warm house, watching Flipper with Tallulah. And blogging. Noise and quiet: both are beautiful.

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Go visit Conversion Diary for the original 7 Quick Takes, and links to others.

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Hallelujah, She's Learning

My 3 year old has taken awhile to get used to the whole "Mass behavior" thing. By this, I mean that we go to Mass every most Sundays, and while I would hope she would be used to the routine by now, she seems to be stuck with the idea that the pews are her personal jungle gym and the high ceilings are her personal echo chamber. The climbing is one thing, a nuisance to believers in our immediate vicinity. The loudness, however, well, she shares that with everyone from the slackers in the back to the cantor to the altar servers.

But this week, I finally saw some progress. She still tried to climb, although maybe not quite so much. But the beauty part? As she sat in my lap, squirming away and trying to charm the folks behind us, she kept coming in close to my face, taking my face in both of her hands, and then leaning up to my ear to whisper, mercifully, "Yo-wuh breath smells so gwoss." Approximately 8 or 9 times.

It's true: I ran out of the house without brushing. She was right. I am so glad she didn't feel the need to make the rafters ring with her proclamation. I said a few heartfelt prayers of thanksgiving for her hushed tone.

She is, ever so slowly, becoming civilized. I, on the other hand, am backsliding. Ewww.

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7 Quick Takes: Vol. 2

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1. I had a rather nice idea last night, as my daughter was having difficulty going to sleep. I thought it would be nice to give her some ways to help herself to get to sleep, instead of falling back on my usual "GO TO SLEEP NOW!" refrain. I, in my most encouraging voice, said "Why don't you make up stories in your head? Or think about things you want to do? Or think about people you love?" Nice, right? Well, she picked the story idea, and then came out of her room every few minutes to tell me another story she had made up. All of them involved a princess and her dog. Sometimes the dog was named "Ruff." Sometimes the dog was named "Ruff Ruff." It sort of backfired on me, and kept her up for more than two hours past her bedtime. It ended with me losing my patience. It was not pretty. Note to self: Do not encourage creativity past bedtime.

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2. My son went on a two day trip with his 5th grade class to the Marin Headlands, for a little outdoor education. There were many highlights of the trip, but for me, the best is that he came home and announced that being outside in a place like that is way more fun than playing video games. Right on.

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3. My youngest is almost totally potty-trained. This is mind-boggling. I've been trying for over 6 months to accomplish this. As it turns out, it's hers to accomplish, not mine, and this latest attempt has been awesome. I am -- she is -- so close. What am I going to do with all that money I'll save not buying diapers? I guess that means I can increase the amount I put aside each month for the kids' therapy fund. College? They're on their own. But I'll pay for the damage I've done over the years with that fund.

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4. My five year old wants to be a cheerleader when she grows up. See? I must be doing something wrong, which necessitates the fund mentioned above.

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5. I find myself completely overwhelmed by freelance projects at the moment. It's going to be a wild ride between now and mid-March. If you are the praying kind, please pray for my kids for the next 6-7 weeks, as their mother will be even more crazed and scattered than usual. I am hoping I at least remember to feed them more frequently than my 9 year old remembers to feed Beans and Bella, his fire-bellied toads. Those things are practically on a starvation diet, and he doesn't even DO freelance work. I'll report back in mid-March on how many of the five kids have survived.

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6. Dinner tonight: Mushroom Barley Soup. Good for the soul. Having a spouse and two kids that love it as much as I do? Even better for the soul. The other three will exist on toast and bananas tonight, as far as I can tell.

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7. Tonight we were sitting in front of a fire with our brood. It was total chaos. It was nice, but it was chaos. One kid was cuddling up to dad, one was jumping up and down on the couch singing for Simon Cowell, one was talking jibberish on purpose LOUDLY, one was yelling from the next room for someone to rescue her from the bunk bed (she can climb up, but not down), one was jumping up and down on dad, and one was playing a computer game with the volume up too loud. Wait, that's six kids. Well, I swear all those things did happen, maybe not at the same time. Rick remarked: "This is the stuff we can't explain to anyone, isn't it?" Yup, that's the stuff. The level of crazy love and activity. This family is not for the weak or squeamish or lazy. Except that we're kind of lazy sometimes, hence the state of the house. But otherwise? This is hard work. And it was still nice to sit there together, and let the loudness wash over us, and look at each other like "What the hell is going on here," and hear stories about the trip to the Marin Headlands and kissing a banana slug, and let this family moment happen. Soon enough, the kids were arguing over the wii, and mom and dad were off in different parts of the house trying to ignore the fighting. For a few minutes, while the mushroom barley soup was simmering, we savored the chaos.

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Go visit Conversion Diary for the original 7 Quick Takes, and links to others.

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Teach Your Children Well

Here is a question. To smuggle, or not to smuggle? Do you take snacks into the movie theater? I did, yesterday. I was taking 5 kids to a movie, and seriously, the total cost of providing movie concession snacks and drinks to five mouths might have landed me in Chapter 11.

So my choices were: (a) take them and do not let them have anything to eat or drink; (b) take them, and smuggle; or (c) don't take them. I went with Option B.

This is against the rules. A more obedient member of society would have paid through the nose or disallowed snacks all together for her young charges. Come to think of it, "through the nose" is an apt phrase, since I'm guessing the price of cocaine might rival the concessions prices at the Century Hilltop Theater. Just a guess, of course.

You know how Parents Are Their Kids' First Teachers? Apparently, that includes being the first to teach them how to get away with something.

Good thing the weather was bad, because we really needed those heavy coats to conceal our six cans of root beer, junior mints and red vines. There I was, stuffing soda cans in my son's jacket, advising him NOT to zip it up, because it would look bulkier, counseling them as to WHEN they could unload their pockets and when they most definitely could not. There I was, giving my daughter the once over to see if she looked like she was packing, and adjusting her here and there to achieve the desired effect. I found myself giving them instructions: "Just don't talk about the snacks, don't mention them to your friends (whom we were treating and therefore, bringing the goods for) until we are sitting down." It's like I was training Ozzie and Harriet, or Ringo and Yolanda. I might as well have said stay cool, honey bunnies.

But I just can't bring myself to pay those prices. Can't do it. Can you?

And I would have been even more outraged if I had paid those prices after seeing the mediocre Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel. Apologies to those who enjoyed this movie, and I know you are out there but GOD I could actually feel my brain cells giving up the ghost. I have got to stop getting the short end of the stick when it comes to kids' movies: Rick took them to Up; I took them to G-Force. Rick took them to The Fantastic Mr. Fox; I took them to the Squeakquel.

My only regret is that the root beer was warm by the time we got to drink it.

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And also, I learned something else new today, from my oldest.

Son: "Mom, did you know that great white sharks reach the age of sexual maturity at 16 years old?"

Mom: "No. No, I did not know that."

There is something vaguely disturbing about hearing the words "sexual maturity" come out of my 11-year old's mouth.

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Ice Cream: An Essay in Pictures

All while wearing big girl underwear.

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7 Quick Takes

Today, I am joining in the fun of 7 Quick Takes Friday, hosted by Jen at Conversion Diary. I've always enjoyed these on her blog and on Suburban Correspondent's, so I thought I'd give it a whirl.

1. We have nothing to fear. These words were spoken to me on Tuesday evening and have stayed with me all week, reverberating like a bell inside my heard. Think about it for awhile. Given that I usually behave as if the opposite is true, this, for me, is a revolutionary thought. We have nothing to fear. Try that on for size and walk around with it for a few days.

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2. I am within weeks of not having to change diapers anymore. I did the math on how many diapers I have likely changed in the past 11.5 years, and it's definitely hovering around 18,000. Don't think about that one for very long. It doesn't lead anywhere nice.

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3. Bonfires make everyone happy. We had another one in the backyard last night, and I swear it was good for the soul. The kids played and played and were happy and not bickering. Who knew that the secret to a happy family is a very cold night and a very big fire? (It wasn't actually a bonfire: just a huge fire in a metal drum.) Here is some art from my 2nd born that captures the evening.



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4. I am learning that I am not very good at the "quick" part of 7 Quick Takes Fridays.

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5. If you live in the Bay Area, and would like to listen to beautiful music while supporting Haitian relief, check this out: The San Francisco Boys Chorus and Oakland Diocese Respond to Haiti Earthquake Disaster with Benefit Relief Concert. Tickets can be purchased at that link.

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6. When we had our first child, we were very, very disciplined about what we let him watch (nothing) on TV. Now we have five. My fifth child's brain cells are dying by the minute with the amount of TV I use to babysit her let her watch. If I am very quiet, I can actually hear the synapses in her head collapsing. It's kind of a pphhhtttt sound.

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7. I got a flat tire on the freeway the other day. That was an adventure. But the good news is that had it not been for that experience, we would never have learned that 511.org offers a free road side service to help people with things like flat tires. Rick came to my rescue, but it was raining and miserable out (why is it always raining when you get a flat tire?), so I took the kids home and left him on the side of the road to struggle with the tire. A 511.org guy happened by and helped him! Just think, we got our tire changed and our faith in humanity restored, all in one afternoon! So if you find yourself in need, call 511 and get some help.

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Thus endeth my inaugural 7 Quick Takes Friday.

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Where Enthusiasm Gets Scary

My youngest helped me make dinner tonight. I started to wisk the eggs, but she got all excited that she wanted to do it. "ME ME ME ME, Mommy, I DO IT !"

Sure honey, you can do it! Here you go, here's the wisk, here's how you do it. Good girl!

"GOODY GOODY GOODY! I GET TO KILL THE BABY CHICKS."

She is truly terrifying.

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Where Stubborn Meets Ridiculous

First of all, I kind of can't believe I haven't already told this story, but I searched my blog this morning and couldn't find it. If I somehow missed it, and I'm repeating myself, please have mercy and remember that I've lost more and more brain cells and memory space with each child and I'm lucky I remember my own name half the time. Caveat issued.

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A few months ago, I was manning the controls of a routine school-night at our house. This involves making pasta, scaring up a vegetable, and keeping the little kids somehow occupied while helping the older kids do their homework. It's quite a juggling act.

At one particular moment, I was chopping carrots, correcting 4th grade math and helping my oldest figure out his science homework, when a blood curdling shriek interrupted the proceedings. I turned around to see my youngest, standing absolutely rigid, with a look beyond terror on her face, and a sound from the depths of hell spewing forth from her throat.

She was not standing near anyone, so no one could have hurt her. Everyone else was accounted for, so they couldn't have swiped a toy or lovey from her. She wasn't crumpled on the floor or recovering from a great fall. There were no tools or other implements near her. She was either in extreme pain or extremeley pissed off at someone, and I couldn't figure out what had happened.

I tried asking her what was wrong, and got screamed at for my troubles. I tried to comfort her, but she put her arms out in front of her and spit out several guttural NOs!, which I took to mean: Stay the hell away from me, lady!

Everything and everyone came to a halt. Good God in heaven, what is the matter with this child?

Diaper rash? Checked it out: all clean.

Tortured by siblings? Checked it out: they were all baffled and concerned.

The screaming continued, the rigidly stiff body remained so.

Is she hungry? Um, no, she just threw the crackers we offered her at my head. Thirsty? Um, she says no, and I'm not giving her a heavy sippy cup just to be sure, as I think it will end up in a trajectory towards my head.

Does she need her blanket? Not providing relief.

Tired? Just got up from a nap 30 minutes ago.

All I could do was gather her in my arms and hold her, screaming, angry, inconsolable child that she was. After resisting that for awhile, she finally let me. She settled a tiny bit, but was clearly just furious with the world.

With no idea how to help her, I rubbed her back, and tried to get back to homework help. After about 20 minutes, she was still distraught, and I had to do SOMETHING to break this cycle.

When in doubt, change a diaper; at least it gives you something to do. Maybe it's pinching her skin? So I took her upstairs and put her on my bed and proceeded to do the job.

When I lifted up her legs to pull the (clean!) diaper off, I got a look at the bottoms of her feet. There, lodged nice and firmly in her left foot, was a push pin. The neat red circle was flat and flush against her skin. It took a fair amount of digging to dislodge it.

OK, now tell me: WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS KID? Wouldn't a normal child indicate to her mother that her foot hurt like a mo-fo, and ask me to make it stop? She's verbal, she's not shy, she's clearly able to obtain things she wants from me, her dad, her siblings, her daycare provider, the neighbor, the mailman, and the grocery store clerk. She is, usually, the tail wagging this family back, forth, up, down, and sideways, and yet, and yet...

She left the damn push pin in her foot for over 20 minutes while I was quite obviously trying to make every effort to find out what was wrong and make it better.

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W. T. F.

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Give. And Pray.

Haiti needs us. I cannot fathom what I am seeing on the television and on the internet. We are so incredibly fortunate here in the United States. We experienced our own tragedy back in 1989, so we can relate somewhat. But our earthquake then was bigger than the one in Haiti yesterday, and the devastation there is immeasurably worse.

Haiti needs us.

The pictures speak volumes of the suffering.

We can't do anything at all except give money. So if you can, give to Doctors Without Borders, a trustworthy non-governmental organization with a proven track record for providing real help and real relief to people who are suffering.

And pray. And keep these people in your minds and hearts. Let them know that the people of the United States are with them.

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It's All A Big Joke To Her

Two toddlers walk into a bar...

... and proceed to compare stories of the ridiculous things their parents do in the name of potty training.

The ridiculous things I'VE done are paying off, I guess, sort of. The crazy bargains and the stupid songs I am ordered to sing while we are sitting, just sitting, waiting for something to happen. The time I spend sitting on the edge of the bathtub. The wierd way I end up talking about just how fabulous voiding is, and how wonderful life will be when she voids appropriately. The fact that we now visit the public bathroom everywhere we go, just to keep the conversation going and to prove that she truly can go anywhere she happens to be.

This is day three of The Great Underwear Campaign. A few accidents. A few successes. Quite a bit of time sucked up and away and out of my life, never to return.

She thinks the entire proceedings are hilarious. She thinks it's quite funny to tell me she has to go pee, and then sit there for 10, 15, 20, 25 minutes with nary a tinkle.

She mocks me.

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