Brad and Claire

Recent Happenings

noreply@blogger.com (Claire) — Sun, 26 Oct 2014 21:25:00 -0400

I am finding in my vast experience of approximately 3 months of homeschooling that some of the best activities are the ones I didn't plan. Like the topographical map of Egypt we made out of Legos. Or the puppet show about the Assyrian emperor where he decapitated the ( Lego) heads of those he conquered.
( Are you sensing a theme here? This homeschool venture made possible by Legos.) Whereas the activities provided in the text...? Not so much. The paper mache mummy? It's resting in pathetic pieces on the ash heap of history. The clay "stamps" in the chapter on Hammurabi? Utter failures. But nothing is really a waste of time when you get to play with clay. That's my philosophy anyway.

But on to other things. I have got to do better at recording memorable events. Because as memorable as they seem now, I'm sure they will fade into blurry haze before long.

So- we've been working really hard on this potty training thing with W. And I thiiiiink we've just about got it. She's been staying dry about 95% of the time, and just in the last two days, she has produced solid waste into the potty. I want to throw a giant party for the entire WORLD. This has been a long time coming. ( This was partly my own fault b/c I started trying to potty train her while I was pregnant. Dumb. Colossally dumb.) So she'd be sitting on the potty, and I would be there, trying to encourage her to "do stinkies." And I'd say, "When Mr. Stinky is at the door, you have to let him out." But she took that and ran with it. "Mr Stinky already left for work, but Mrs. Stinky is still at home with the two children." WHAT?! A FAMILY of EXCREMENT? This child can make ANYthing into a story! This evening, she wanted to help me water the ferns on the front steps. I gave her the watering can and as she tipped out its contents onto the fern, other liquid appeared, spilling out from under her dress. Apparently, the sound and sight of the water had inspired her to let loose with her own waterfall. Poor thing. I think she was quite startled. She is not quite used to wearing underwear I guess... But if she had to have an accident, that is the perfect place to have one- OUTSIDE. I just took all her clothes off and hustled her indoors to rinse off in the bathtub. She had such an anguished look of bewilderment on her face.

And then the other day, she was playing near a fire-ant hill. I told her to move away so the ants wouldn't get on her, and she did, but apparently not fast enough because pretty soon, she started taking her shoes and socks off. I asked her what she was doing ( expecting her to admit that she'd gotten an ant in her shoe). But no. " I'm being Eve." WHAT?! I guess Eve had bare feet too. Well, she had a lot more bare parts than just her feet, and that was duly mentioned too ( " she had nakedness"), but fortunately I was able to restrain her from fully getting into character. She then proceeded to "look for fruit" and encourage A. to "be Adam." This child may have a little too much education at this point.

All for now. The youngest child needs pre-slumber sustenance.

Highlights from Week #3

noreply@blogger.com (Claire) — Fri, 22 Aug 2014 23:12:00 -0400

So we finally got to some GOOD STUFF in Social Studies this week, leaving behind those nebulous nomads and "early farmers" and Fertile Crescent stuff. Bleh- who needs those guys?

This week we arrived at EGYPT! Exciting stuff! We went to the library on Tuesday and got out an armload of books. Oh, I was in heaven! Pyramids! Mummies! Sphinxes! Pharoahs! Turns out the - friendly- librarian has taught using "Story of the World" curriculum that we are using. We had fun talking about projects. I had been trying to make friends with the librarians and now I feel like I have something in common with ONE of them at least. Anyway- A and I lay on the bed after lunch and read about Egypt. He enjoyed it as much as I did. It was absolutely delightful. One of the books I got was a book about crafts and projects. He wanted to build a cardboard pyramid. Sure! Let's do it! It was amazing how that was an incentive to get his other work done the next day: we're going to make a pyramid after lunch! It was a pretty small thing - five inches tall, made out of cardstock, but it was like we were creating a masterpiece. He was looking at the book, and noticing how there were paintings and carvings on the inside of the pyramids and he asked if we could decorate the inside of ours! So - on the reverse side of the card stock - the part that ended up being the inside when we glued it all together- we drew some Egyptian type figures. I should say- I drew them, and he colored them. He even talked about gluing it to a base and hiding some little toys ( ones that no one cared about anymore, he was careful to specify) inside, as he remembered talking about how the ancient Egyptians included things inside of the pyramids to take to the afterlife. I was so impressed with this original idea and even though we didn't actually do it, the fact that he thought of it makes me so proud of him. This kind of thing makes all the whining and grunt work in phonics and math seem worthwhile.

And then there's the reading. After lunch, when I'm feeding J, and W is taking her nap, I read aloud to him. We finished the Borrowers, and now we're reading Mr. Popper's Penguins. Sometimes it's the best time of the day. He doesn't want me to stop reading, and neither do I, most of the time.

In other news, W cut her hair this week. I found her in the pantry, looking guilty, with scissors and curls on the floor around her. Oh my word. Thankfully, her finished hair cut the next day, left her looking adorable. Much tidier, and curly, kind of like a couple years ago when she was a toddler. I miss her ponytails but this is cute too.

Today we had our first field trip! We went to Nash Farms; this weekend marks the 150th anniversary of the battle fought there during the Civil War and there is going to be a re-enactment there either tomorrow or Sunday. But today there were all sorts of little exhibits and people dressed up in Civil War uniforms etc. We went with Kristi & Connor ( and Cody and Christopher) and Jenny & Anna Boyd ( and her other kids). It was fun but it was HOT and A was not in the mood to listen to a bunch of adults droning on about artillery or whatnot. ( I'm starrrving! Can we eat yet? I want to go play...!) I felt like an annoying mother, telling him to LISTEN! LOOK AT THAT! BE STILL! But we had a chance to play and eat lunch together at the end and he seemed to enjoy himself. Oh those poor people wearing heavy woolen uniforms etc. They probably lost ten pounds today, just sweating. I remember dreaming about having a job where I could dress up in period costume and get into character but I didn't factor in the necessity of A/C in my dream. That heat today was enough to kill an ox. My eyelids were sticky from sweat.

There was a lot that I learned - everything from how a cannon was fired - eight guys working together - and all the little pieces of equipment that make it work. And then there was the museum which gave us a chance to get cooled off and had some really interesting stuff, like the little Bible carried by a soldier in his pocket, which stopped a bullet and saved his life. And the black mourning dress, with veil, worn for up to two years after the husband or son was lost. It was a fearsome looking thing. And the shells and cannonballs and bayonets... talk about fearsome. They fired off the cannon a couple times while we were there and it was bone shattering just to HEAR a blank. I cannot imagine the confusion and terror of multiple cannon on the battlefield. The thought of this kind of destruction, even for a good cause, seemed horrifying and surreal, especially in the presence of children. "Let me put hand sanitizer on you, dear. Oh, look over there at the implements of death and dismemberment that were used at this place 150 years ago." As a mother, touring a battlefield made me feel and think things that I have never experienced before. Oh, the preciousness of each life. The unbearable sacrifices.

And seeing things from a Confederate perspective is a new thing for me too. I am a Yankee, and there's no way to change that, but having lived here in the South for nearly ten years, I have come to appreciate the Southern perspective and things are not as black and white as they used to be for me, in terms of the Civil War. Made me really think - what are we to take away from this? Why are we here, seeing these things? What are we celebrating? What is the value of learning about these things? I'm glad we went - it gave me much food for thought.

There was a man there who was a direct descendant of a man who fought at Nash Farm - a confederate who was captured and sent to a prison camp. He had a picture of his great grandfather that he held up. It was fascinating to hear him tell his story.

Well...I could go on...but that's enough for now.

First Week

noreply@blogger.com (Claire) — Sat, 9 Aug 2014 17:54:00 -0400

So - I survived the first week of homeschool. Or I should say, " WE" survived. There were rough spots, as I anticipated, but there were also some surprisingly good moments. Like when I buried some little flotsam and jetsam of household items in the little sandy patch in the backyard and we simulated being archaologists on a dig. It was one of the lamest things I've EVER DONE...and yet Aiden was very entertained by it. Same thing with pretending to be nomads and constructing a "shelter" with dead branches and a couple of trees. in the backyard. He said with enthusiasm, " This is fun!" Oh my goodness - it was LAME CITY. But he loved it! I think part of this success was due to the fact that, with a new baby in the house this summer, the bar was set VERY LOW in the fun department. It doesn't take much to entertain or impress my kids these days.

This is not to say it was all rainbows and lollipops. By no means. A and I are figuring each other out as teacher and pupil and that is not always a smooth experience. I was impressed when, at one point, he was able to articulate the problem: "You're going too fast for me!" I was grateful he had the emotional intelligence and wit enough to express that. To me, he was just zoning out, becoming disengaged with the process ( which I now realize was a result of me going too fast, but at the time, I was clueless. It's so funny how we take for granted things that seem so basic to us as adults, and think that this is all review for THEM TOO. It's not. Even if some of it was covered in kindergarten, it's still Very New.) So I was getting frustrated. And more intense. Which freaked him out, I think. Blaggh. Anyway. Whatever. Live and learn. I think part of it - and this was in Phonics - was that he CAN do and already DOES these things - blending consonants and vowels - but having them couched in new ways intimidates him and he loses confidence. He actually reads pretty well for a first grader, but we're backtracking a little...so I think that has thrown him a little.

And Math. Oh my heart sinks. He is so like me - NOT a math person. It's going to be a long, harrrrd slog, I'm afraid. Oh well. At least he has a teacher who can sympathize.

But there is a plus side to his being like me! My heart was happy when he said, as I pulled out S. Wise Bauer's "Story of the World" for Social Studies, "This is my favorite part." YES! MINE TOO! A history major in the making, perhaps?!

In other news this week, W started preschool, and just today, completely unprompted, she attempted to write her own name. She got everything except the L's - and in an odd order, but it was pretty exciting stuff for me.

And in other news, J found his thumb this week. He has been sucking it assiduously.

The night before the First Day

noreply@blogger.com (Claire) — Sun, 3 Aug 2014 22:30:00 -0400

The other day we were reading in the book of Exodus, about Pharaoh and how he wouldn't release the people of Israel. Aiden said, "It's just like North Korea." My brain raced. I guessed and wondered if I was understanding why he said that. So I said with curiosity, "How is it like North Korea?" And he said, "The government won't let the people go." Oh my heart - you could have knocked me over with a feather. I can't even remember the last time we'd talked about North Korea. I know at some point in the murky past I had explained about some of the issues in that country and what the government was like. But that he would pull that out of his brain and make the analogy between that and Pharaoh...?! I was blown away. I LOVE seeing him make connections.

It was like a thesis statement or a topic for a Humanities essay. Ancient Egypt vs North Korea. Compare and contrast Pharaoh and Kim Jong Un.

Someone asked me recently why I'm going to homeschool. I have enjoyed my son through all of his first six years. It was pure magic seeing him for the first time. I was over the moon when he started to walk and talk. Watching him grow has been a joy. But we're just getting to the good part now. Now he's asking questions - good questions. He asked the other day why there was fighting going on in Israel. Talk about opening a geo-political can of worms... But the fun thing was I could answer him - to some degree. Six year old type answers, but answers. We're starting to scratch the surface of exploring the world, life, God, all this big stuff ... It thrills me like nothing else. THIS is why I'm going to homeschool. I get to be there when he makes these connections. I get to witness his life.

Yes, it will be hard. I have no illusions about that. We've spent the summer together, me trying to motivate him in several areas and that has been a challenge. I have stared at the stark ugliness of my own limitations as a parent. This kid certainly takes after me in the "I'm going to give up! This is too harrrrd!" department. I know I'm going to pull my hair out with him. I know. Baldness, here I come.

Maybe we won't always homeschool. Maybe someday he'll go to regular school. I am going into this with the mindset that every year is different. Who knows how circumstances and providences may change our situation in the future. Life is never the straight line you thought it would be. But right now, I have this chance. I get to be here, at the beginning with him- at the foundation. And I'm almost overwhelmed with the privilege, and the potential. I pray I don't blow it.

Blog...RESURRECTED!

noreply@blogger.com (Claire) — Sun, 20 Jul 2014 22:52:00 -0400

In order to document a new phase of our family's life...namely...having three children...and homeschooling one of them... I hereby resurrect this blog.

We're about two weeks from the start of school. I started lesson planning for reals this afternoon after church, spreading out books, planner, phone etc along with the sometimes napping babe, on our bed. I haven't used my bed as a desk like that since college. It was fun and exciting. It was time consuming. It was a little overwhelming, bringing all these different ideas, books, resources together into a coherent plan. I wanted to have the whole MONTH of August mapped out a LONG time ago...but it just didn't happen. Having a new baby has trumped most other stuff recently. But we are getting to the point of sometimes sleeping through the night now, and so more things seem possible. I know it's going to take some tweaking, this whole homeschooling thing. I know it will be a fluid, dynamic thing, a work in progress, for years to come, perhaps. But I've been looking forward to this for so long... it feels GOOD to finally start DIVING IN. Almost. Two more weeks...

Big Brother... being nice.

noreply@blogger.com (Claire) — Thu, 9 Feb 2012 22:02:00 -0500

I took Aiden and Willow to the doctor's office this morning for Willow's 9 month check-up. It was the usual long wait which threw off my schedule, feeding and otherwise. I don't know why I even try to HAVE a schedule on days like this - the world conspires against me. The nurse called us back to wait in our own little examining room after weighing Willow in ( and that is a tale all of its own as Willow is not gaining weight as she should- rrrgh - I felt like the most miserable failure of a mother) and we proceeded to wait, wait and wait some more. Aiden popped his head out of the open door and saw another little boy down the hall, doing the exact same thing. He struck up a conversation with this boy, who was about eight years old. It is so funny to watch Aiden interact with people - especially with strangers. He asked this boy all sorts of things, including what color his house was, and divulged strange trivia about his own life, such as the fact that "Brad put a fire in our fireplace." (BRAD?!) Later as we left, he said to his new friend, "See you next year!"

When the doctor came in and began to poke and prod Willow, of course she cried. I did my best to comfort her, but Aiden stepped in between me and the doctor, as if neither of us were doing our jobs right, put his hand on Willow and poured forth a stream of compassion that amazed me. He was saying things like, "It's okay, baby girl. Aiden's right here..."

Then the doctor sent us to a lab down the street, to take some blood from Willow. Oh. Great. I told Aiden what we were doing, and he said, "They have to take her blood? Oh that's so sad!" I quickly explained that they weren't taking ALL her blood - just a little bit to do some tests...but that it would probably hurt her. He was quite adamant that he wanted to stay in the car, because he didn't want to hear her cry. And then when we were in the lab, and the woman was getting ready to draw blood, he turned his face to the wall because he didn't want "to see the blood." He would have hid under the chair if I'd let him. Precious boy. It was a tough morning for all of us.

Aiden's report to Brad later was, "She had blood on her!"

Swimming in new waters

noreply@blogger.com (Claire) — Sat, 27 Aug 2011 15:01:00 -0400

Went to the pool one evening this week. Aiden has been getting a little bolder about getting in the water, for which I've been grateful.

At the pool several weeks ago, we ran into his friend Joey, a couple years older than Aiden, and he proceeded to show off to Aiden how well he could jump into the water, and swim. I'm not sure if it was a male thing, or just a competitive thing, or a personality thing - maybe all three ( and maybe it is foolish to try to differentiate/separate these things)- but suddenly, Aiden's tentative movements in the water ( and pleas to get out and go in the kiddie pool) gave way to more daring ones, even going so far as to actually jump and submerge his head underwater. I was expecting more of the same this week as we trotted over to the steps that lead down into the pool...but shortly after his initial splashings were done, he got out and proceeded to launch himself, with radical abandon, from the edge of the pool...fearlessly flinging himself into the water over and over. He probably did this for over half an hour at least. Of course, he was wearing floaties and so every time he plunged in, he immediately popped up like a cork. But it left me totally incredulous and stunningly proud. At his age...well, I don't have many memories of my life at three and a half years old, but judging from my memories of a few years later, I know I was not this courageous. I liked playing in the water, but I hated "going under." I think I was 20 years old before I got up the courage to jump off a diving board. Even today, jumping into a pool takes some mental preparation. (Yes, I am a wimp.) Aiden wanted me to jump in with him, and if the pool had been just a little deeper, I don't think I would have. Being in water over my head just gives me the hibbly jibblies. But I did jump. Well, okay, not jump exactly...but allow myself to step into the water from the edge of the pool, next to my wildly flailing son.

Just thinking about it all now, I feel dazed...and a little breathless...but mostly grateful. Grateful that my child has already surpassed me in one aspect of courage. Grateful that he is already more comfortable in the water than I am.

It makes me realize in a fresh way that this child is not just an extension of myself. I once read something about child development that mentioned something about babies seeing their mothers as extensions of themselves...or maybe it was themselves as extensions of their mothers...I can't remember exactly now. But vitally connected as one entity, in any case. I don't know about him - but this experience revealed to me that I'm the one who unconsciously felt as if he was an extension or continuation of me. As I watched him repeatedly hurling himself into the water, I felt suddenly awakened to the fact that he is his own person - completely separate from me. He has strengths and abilities that I will never have. He will tackle challenges of which I never dreamed.

This has been a summer where his baby ties have been snapping left and right - from finally being successful at potty training to becoming a big brother. My heart simultaneously rejoices and breaks.

Putting Aiden to work

noreply@blogger.com (Claire) — Sat, 20 Aug 2011 23:29:00 -0400

Must document this milestone: today, Aiden uttered these words: " Mama, I'm bored." Oh horrors. I thought three year olds never got bored. Their brains are too fertile for that. It struck fear into my heart. Bored children get into trouble. Bored children need structure and challenges... and this at a time when my creativity seems to be at an all time low - just when I need it most! In desperation, I roped him into what I happened to be doing at the moment: washing dishes. The absolute NADIR of domestic chores. (No wait- that would be cleaning the hair out of the shower drain. Hmmm...how can I get him to do THAT?) I leaped on the idea that since playing in the sink or bathtub with toys is fun, that washing dishes is a close cousin to that enjoyable past-time. I feel like some sort of nefarious trickster. I taught him how to do wash dishes under the guise of FUN. Oh, I am a wicked woman.

This all comes on the heels of harnessing the capitalist/entrepreneurial spirit yesterday when I offered him a dime to clear the table after dinner. ( Oooo- I know. A dime. Wow. Sweat shop management, here I come. ) He was hankering after the bouncy ball collection of his friend and neighbor Joey, and I suggested that he could earn some money so that next time we go to Walmart, he could buy his own bouncy ball. I have never seen a table get cleared so fast. It was truly miraculous, but not without some hazards - falling silverware etc. It made me smile; I had thought he might be too young for this kind of incentive program, but lo, the capitalist spirit shows up strong at even this tender age. Well, really, it's more of the acquisitive spirit, and that knows no age barrier. This child is the most nakedly materialistic person I have met in my life - he wants almost EVERYTHING he sees that isn't already his. It's a little exhausting. ( Reminds me of this engraving by William Blake.) But anyway, he finished his chore with amazing speed and looked up at me eagerly and said, "Can I have my diamond now?" I had to laugh. From dimes to diamonds. If only! Good luck putting THAT in the bouncy ball machine at Walmart!

My poor baby

noreply@blogger.com (Claire) — Fri, 14 Jan 2011 12:53:00 -0500

We just returned from Aiden's first visit to the dentist. Brad can take him to every single appointment in the future.

It started out with normal issues of wriggling and not opening wide enough for the technician to cram the x-ray plates in his mouth... The cleaning went fine, but then when the main dentist arrived to address my concerns with one of his front teeth which was showing a gray discoloration, the real nightmare began.

Apparently, some time in the last couple months, Aiden fell and bonked his mouth on something - not too hard to believe, considering he is a three year old. Well, according to the 2 X-rays that the technician was able to take, his front two teeth were fractured, enough for one of them to sustain damage to the root...and an infection had set in, which could negatively affect the adult tooth behind it...so the dentist declared that we pull the infected tooth. WHAT?! He's barely three years old! After my initial shock, I arranged for the extraction to happen immediately. They said they couldn't sedate him because he had already eaten breakfast, but they would have to use a local anesthetic, with a "papoose board" for "behavior management." So basically, they were going to strap him down. Greeaat. It just gets better and better.

And then they told me that I had to wait in the waiting room. That reduced me to tears. I know it was probably all for the best, but still - it was hard. I don't know what would be worse - watching the necessary torture and not being able to do anything, or being separated from the situation, like I was. The people in the office were so nice. One of the back-room paperwork ladies let me hang out in her office and gave me tissues.

I am still recovering from being a little bit of a mess. I don't like pain much myself - but dealing with my child's pain - even the PROSPECT of his pain - is a whole new world of awfulness that I did not handle very well. I feel a little stupid - like I over-reacted. It was just a tooth pull, for Pete's sake. But, at the same time...my mother instincts tell me I'm NOT over-reacting. He's a three year old. It was a little traumatic.

Oh my poor baby. He had obviously shed a few tears, and was quite confused about his numb lips...And now he has a gaping hole in his mouth...which is sort of cute, and also sort of gives me punch in the gut whenever I glimpse it. Weird combination. The adult tooth won't grow in for quite a while...

The dentist has given us the option of a temporary fake tooth thingy - mostly for aesthetic reasons, (but he also mentioned speech development as a factor to consider) but because Aiden still sucks his thumb at night, it probably won't happen - at least not right now. So he'll be sporting a premature jack o'lantern look for a while.

We went to Wal-Mart and I let him pick out some ice-cream. He picked strawberry.
( Really? Strawberry? Okay. Whatever.) He fell asleep on the way home.

So we've had quite the stressful morning. Quite the week too- what with ice-storms and potty-training. And I thought January would be boring.

The Great Gender Revelation

noreply@blogger.com (Claire) — Mon, 6 Dec 2010 20:14:00 -0500

So...today was the great Gender Revelation - VERY eagerly anticipated in our household.

I had heard of this great idea of how to tell your family about the gender of the baby: make a cake - blue if it's a boy, pink if a girl - and frost it white. When the cake is cut, all is made known in the twinkling of an eye.

So I bought two cakes today - a white one to mix with blue food coloring, if required, and a strawberry cake mix.

Brad had today off and so he got to accompany us to the ultrasound. HURRAY! When we went in to the doctor's office, the nurse welcomed us and said to Aiden, "So...! A boy or a girl... Which do you want?" Aiden said with a big smile, "I want a lollipop!" He has always gotten lollipops there before, so it was perfectly logical to expect one today. The nurse was quite amused...and Aiden got his desired lollipop.

At one point in the ultrasound before the gender had been revealed, I squinted at the screen and said, " Oh... are they ( I don't know why I used THAT pronoun because it was clearly ONE person there) sucking their thumb?" And she said, "No... that shows...that you're having a girl." Okay! Talk about getting the WRONG end of things! I guess I will not try to take up being an ultrasound technician anytime soon! I really don't know how I got THAT from THAT. But you know ultrasounds - to the layperson, it's kind of anybody's guess most of the time.

It didn't seem like a great big deal to Aiden - whenever we've asked him in the past, he has always said, "A gol." ( Translation: a girl.) So he was very matter of fact about the news - it wasn't news to him.

So we came home and I mixed up the strawberry cake, feeling very, very happy.

Now comes the fun part of deciding on a name. We had decided on a boy's name but in the girl department, we are far from decided.

This evening when some of our family assembled for the cutting of the cake, we were joined via the miracle of video Skype by Liane and her kids...who had assembled with great big signs, voting for the gender of their choice; the majority leaned towards the male persuasion. Sorry, nephews - girls are making a comeback in the family!

So - there's our big news! Thanks for sharing our joy!

Lessons my Son Taught Me (about how wrong I can be)

noreply@blogger.com (Claire) — Tue, 17 Aug 2010 22:29:00 -0400

Sometimes I think I have amnesia. Like the time I awoke about one o'clock in the morning and heard sounds of crashing and running coming from downstairs. Brad was beside me, asleep. I instantly concluded it was ROBBERS. Of course! And then the robber started running upstairs...and in my half-wakeful, fully terrified, totally illogical state, I suddenly knew it was a dog. Yes, a dog had somehow broken in to our house. This was not my finest hour in the reasoning department. And then, I heard the dog open Aiden's door. So I went back to thinking it was a robber. Only it was about to become a kidnapper! All this happened in the space of about three seconds, it seemed, and I was shaking Brad's arm, trying to wake him up. He knew instantly that it was just Aiden. Why couldn't I have thought of that? Seriously, the thought had hardly even entered my head. Oh yeah. I have a child. Children do these things. The only thing is, when heard in the dead of night, the pitter-patter of little feet tend to transmogrify into the clump-clump of burglars.

Aiden came in all distressed and disoriented and I was still sort of in terrified/angry at the kidnapper/fight or flight mode...which weirdly and instantly turned into comforting, motherly mode as soon as I heard his voice. A wrenching and disconcerting transition for one o'clock a.m.

It turns out that Aiden had woken up, was thirsty, didn't have his drink beside his bed ( my fault), and so got up, opened his door, closed his door ( both of which should have woken me up), and went downstairs to forage. It's not quite been two months since he graduated from a crib to a big boy bed, and even though he has gotten up out of bed several times, this was the first time he had done it after I was asleep. That is all to say, in my defense, I'm still getting used to another person around the house who is potentially nocturnally mobile.

And then there was the time I found a small piece of plum sitting on a kitchen chair. I looked in the fruit bowl and lo and behold, there was a plum with a small bite missing. For some reason, my brain instantly condemned Brad. I formed this mental picture of him taking a bite and deciding it wasn't ripe enough and spitting it out. I don't know why I had this rush to judgment - it's not like he does this kind of thing often! And as I held the plum in my hand, I shook my head and said in a quiet, slightly exasperated tone, "Brad...!" Aiden looked up at me and said quite penitently, "I bite it, Mama." It reduced me to hysterical laughter on the spot. I just love that he owned up to it immediately, when he could have gotten away with it. When I told Brad, he thanked Aiden for not throwing him under the bus. ( Hmmm- a violent idiom for a two year old to puzzle over.)

I just felt like clonking myself over the head - DUH, CLAIRE! You have a two year old boy! Those are the kind of creatures who climb up on kitchen chairs and take big bites out of plums and spit them out. That's practically in their job description!

It's just funny how our brains are constantly trying to solve mini-mysteries, struggling to instantly make sense out of what we see, or hear ( as in the case of the midnight marauder who turned out to be my son), and in my case anyway, the conclusions are not always correct.

And on a totally unrelated note - we were reading a Dora the Explorer book tonight before bedtime. ( For the lucky few who are uninitiated in the ways of this fictional wunderkind, I will explain. Dora is a bilingual cartoon child who leads a shrill crusade to teach the Spanish language to young Anglo urchins everywhere.)(No un-politically correct comments from the peanut gallery, please. Yes, I agree, we shouldn't have to press 1 to hear something in English... but on the other hand, it really doesn't send our beloved country to the dogs to learn a little Spanish. Trust me. ) I was reading a Dora story to Aiden about how Dora says goodnight to a host of animals, bilingually, of course. "Goodnight snakes! Buenos Noches, culebras!"( What normal little girl says Goodnight to snakes? Well, at least now I will never forget the Spanish word for snakes. Oh goodie - another useless brain wrinkle.) Anyway- with each "goodnight" I would prompt Aiden to say, "Buenos noches!" And his utterance of the phrase was so cute, that I knew if I could bottle that cuteness and sell it, I would be an instant millionaire. As I wrote on my Facebook status: " I think the sound of Aiden saying "Buenos Noches" as I turn out the light is sweet enough to melt the stony heart of the cruelest despot."

Seven years with Brad

noreply@blogger.com (Claire) — Sun, 25 Jul 2010 13:49:00 -0400

Tomorrow ( July 26) we celebrate our seventh anniversary. Seven sounds like a big number to me, for some reason. I was looking at our wedding pictures this morning and shaking my head at the different world we were in back then...Serious and silly differences: in 2003 there were a few less pounds on both our frames, more hair on his head, fewer nieces and nephews, and a brother... to name but a few of the most glaring items. But, together we have weathered the changes that have come, have grown and changed together, and I am so grateful to have Brad with me. He is truly my best friend and understands me in a way that no one else does. And I don't think it's just because he's learned my quirks over seven years of tribulation; sometimes I believe he was born with an innate ability to "get me." I'm so lucky and thankful for that - it has saved so much wasted time. I have been spoiled.

It's not just that he understands me - although that is a huge virtue. He's a thoroughly good man - good in a way that I believe is rare. Funny, hardworking, considerate, having a decided opinion yet diplomatic, people skills coming out his ears, responsible with money, an encourager, unpretentious, honoring to my parents as well as his, gives grace and space to others to be different and yet still accepts them, a wonderful father who loves and has fun with his son and also is attentive to his child's behavior and consistently follows through with discipline and training, appreciates beauty, is not loud, annoying or smarmy, is faithful to the things he believes, has good boundaries with others, doesn't run with scissors...the list goes on and on. Yeah, I got a good one.

And it's funny because I used to think choleric people were borderline evil... and then I married one. I actually didn't even know he was choleric until I had already fallen in love with him. So the joke's on me, I guess.

Something New in the Way of Breakfast Food

noreply@blogger.com (Claire) — Sun, 20 Jun 2010 08:20:00 -0400

I know that Solomon said that there was "no new thing under the sun." Not to refute willy-nilly the wisest man who ever lived, but I beg to differ - and I have proof. I think that there is something new under the sun sitting on my kitchen table - a breakfast concoction that I am sure has never before existed.

I made Aiden's oatmeal and added a few typical toppings - yogurt, raisins, some sliced banana, some fresh peach slices... and then proceeded to prepare some green beans for the Father's Day family lunch we are going to attend later. Aiden spied the beans, and asked for one. So I picked a steaming green bean out of the mix, and laid it on the edge of his cereal bowl. He asked for it! He's a notoriously slow eater, so moments later, to speed his snail-like consumption, I added the piece de resistance to his oatmeal - a scattering of mini-marshmallows. Those disappeared pretty fast...but the bulk of the oatmeal remains.

I refuse to believe that there has ever before been a dish that contained oatmeal, green beans, and mini-marshmallows.

Treasure

noreply@blogger.com (Claire) — Wed, 9 Jun 2010 18:46:00 -0400

Now Aiden has started saying, "You're my special treasure" to me, which makes more sense (than just "You're special") because I actually say that to him. There is something about the word "treasure" coming out of his mouth that makes me want to scream for the cuteness of it.

Out of the mouths of babes... my babe in particular

noreply@blogger.com (Claire) — Sat, 5 Jun 2010 22:22:00 -0400

As a lover of words, it fascinates me to watch Aiden's vocabulary and language skills develop. He has been speaking fairly complete sentences for a few months now, but just in the last week, he has had a few firsts in his repertoire of speech. For instance, he came out with, "I miss Grampa" clear as a bell, the other day. Not "Where Grampa?" as he usually does; I had never heard him say, " I miss" before.

And he's picked up on the word "sweetie," which is not that surprising, as it is bandied about our house quite a lot. But to hear oneself referred to as "sweetie-Mama" or "sweetie-Daddy" is quite charming. As we were leaving a store the other day, he called out to the cashier, "Bye, sweetie!"

And the word "why" has suddenly appeared. Oh boy. I find myself going down all sorts of crazy rabbit trails in response to this word, trying to answer his "why" questions as much as I can. Veteran parents will probably chuckle in mild scorn at this statement. I know sooner or later, probably sooner, my ability and desire to answer the why questions will be exhausted. ( KJ, he was asking "why" in regards to rain the other day, and I thought to myself, "The water cycle! Condensation! Evaporation! Precipitation!" Perhaps not in that exact order, and perhaps I have left something out, but... I didn't go there.I think I took the cop out route, which was something about how plants need a drink...which didn't totally satisfy him.) I have a feeling that this word is here to stay for a while. It simultaneously brings me thrill and dread because the word "why" is a vehicle of mysterious origin that carries you through gates of curiosity, into all kinds of realms of knowledge of good and evil. And he's just boarded that vehicle.

But the most memorable one to me this week was, "I love you, Mama!" He has said the words, "love you" before, but always in response to when I said, "I love you" to him. And a lot of times, he used to just make a kissing noise after I told him I loved him, and I understood that was his way of saying it. This time, he said it out of the blue, joyfully, when I had not said anything to him. A moment and feeling I will never forget. And he has been following it up with, "You're special, Mama!" I just about DIE every time. I don't really know where he got that, because I don't really use that exact phrase, so he can't be copy-catting me. I'd always heard that it is a powerful moment in a parent's life, when they first hear their child say, "I love you." And all I can say is Yes, it certainly is.

It is good that his cuteness to me is on the increase, because these days, as he leaves babyhood farther behind and moves upward into the pre-schooler phase, his tendencies to whine, manipulate, throw tantrums and generally make mischief are steadily on the rise as well. I guess it is to be expected - he is two and a half, after all. ( Expected, but not accepted, of course. I will not bow to this stage. I am definitely opposed to brats.) Only this evening, he came to me, and calmly deposited a dirty diaper from the pail into my disbelieving hand. Thankfully, he had not opened it up or littered his room with the rest of the contents of said pail. I know more than one story of fecal malfeasance by children. (Knock on wood - he could still do it, I know.)( And I know that as of right now, this is more of an "exploring the world" thing, not a naughtiness thing. The diaper pail is right there in his room, after all. Hmmmm.) I still think he's not quite ready to tackle potty-training full force ( we have had a few fruitless sessions on the potty), but I think it's a sign that once the child goes dumpster diving in the diaper pail, that the plot is thickening in the potty chapter. But I digress...I WAS talking about vocabulary. How did this become a treatise on toilet training?

All this to say, as the stakes increase and the game becomes more complicated, it's nice to have certain compensations, like hearing, "I love you, Mama! You're special, Mama!"

The Beginning of Summer

noreply@blogger.com (Claire) — Sun, 30 May 2010 17:15:00 -0400

I saw a promotion by Ransomed Heart Ministry ( John Eldredge's ministry)where if you promised to read and blog about his new book about marriage, entitled "Love and War", that they would send you a free copy of the book. I was all "sign me up!" but when I signed up, they then informed me that the promotion was over. Wah. I'm a day late and a free book short. But I had to leave my blog address and check a box letting them know if I wanted any other promotional info in the future ( YES, PLEASE), and it made me think..."Hmmm... are they going to come over here and check out my blog to see if I am worthy of investment?" And that made me think I should be more faithful in updating, no matter how mundane the posts.

So - here's the latest from our world.

As most of you probably know from Facebook, we were on vacation last week in Savannah. I was a little nervous b/c the weather forecast showed thunderstorms for EVERY single day we were there, and there were a few scattered showers, but my fears of a hotel-bound vacation did not come true. We were able to do everything we had wanted. Huzzah! We went to Tybee Island and enjoyed the beach a couple times, went on a dolphin cruise, and explored the city on foot. We did a LOT of walking and LOVED it. Last time we were here, it was December of 08, and we didn't have a real chance to explore and take pictures to our hearts content, which we did this time. Wandering the quiet streets and squares, especially in the evening, enjoying the giant oak trees hung with Spanish moss and the beautiful architecture of the city, I could feel that my beauty hunger was being fed...and at the same time, making me more hungry. That's the thing about steeping yourself in beautiful surroundings - it makes you want more. It's like scratching a bad case of poison ivy on your arms - it feels so good, and yet, the more you scratch, the more you need to scratch. As I read in the book I got for my birthday ( Captivating - by John and Stasi Eldredge), "Every experience of beauty points to eternity." - Hans Urs von Balthasar

My parents have moved back north. I miss them. Aiden keeps asking where Grampa and Grandma M. are and saying he wants to hug them. We plan on going up this fall for a visit, and I know the time will fly between now and then, but still, September seems like a long time away right now.

That's it for now.

Reflections on my 32nd

noreply@blogger.com (Claire) — Thu, 20 May 2010 22:26:00 -0400

My birthday was last week. I turned 32. It sounds middle-aged and boring. Hmmph. I can't wait til next year - 33 is a much better number. But I digress; it was a great day, nonetheless. I was going to blog about it and then I got really busy and lost inspiration, blah, blah, blah. But a few little things happened that I want to remember for the ages, and plus, I also heard that Aunt Gladys recently fell and sprained her ankle, so I thought I would seize the day and write this out, partly for posterity, and partly for Aunt G, so she'll have something to read when she checks my blog.

On my birthday's morning walk, Aiden and I saw a turtle on the sidewalk, and I LOVE turtles. We stopped and conversed with it for a while. When we got home, I saw a long, black snake slithering off into the bushes in front of my house. I surprised myself and actually chased it - or tried to - just to see where it went, not from an overflowing love of all God's creatures ( sorry, the other Claire Pass - who DOES have an overflowing love of all God's creatures) but just from morbid curiosity. But it eluded me.

Then I got a call from a total stranger, wishing me a happy birthday. Well, really it was one of Brad's co-workers and I found it quite charming. There is some sort of tale, no doubt, behind this, but the details are fuzzy in my brain at this point.

One of the highlights of the day was a birthday lunch in the park where many friends gathered and shared superior vittles and gave me gifts and made me feel special. There was a playground right next to the picnic tables so all the kids could play, and I have to confess that for a few minutes, my attention was distracted from Aiden and I lost track of him. I suddenly couldn't find him anywhere. Dread in my stomach. And then, I remembered him ranting on about wanting to see the train, which was in another part of the park... and so I zoomed over there, and yelled his name, and sure enough, he was all alone, on the train. Oh my heart. Shudder, wilt, dissolve. Thankyou, God, and guardian angels, for keeping him safe.

Round about here, I got a text from Nicole who was with Philip. To understand this part, I must backtrack into last year or thereabouts. I had made a birthday page for Philip's Dynavox, with options of phrases like, "Did you get any cool gifts?" "How old are you now?" and "You're over the hill!" and then there's a button that is a recording of me singing Happy Birthday. ( At one point, there was a version of me singing it in my silly voice, but then that got really annoying when you heard it played seventeen times in a row. Well, really, it was annoying the second or third time. Also, fun fact to know and tell: Philip laughed so hard while I was recording it, that I had to go into another room to record. ) Anyway...somehow, Philip had realized in recent days that my birthday was coming up. So Nicole texted me that Philip was using the Happy Birthday song button and then clicking on my name. I thought that was so sweet.

(He also has been delighting in telling me that I'm "over the hill." Ha! My own creation comes back to bite me! )

Then I went to work and Philip serenaded me with my own voice, several times. I thought it was slightly amusing that I was singing Happy Birthday to myself from some point in time in the distant past.

And then after a trip to Lowe's with Philip, I went home and Brad took me out to dinner - while Aiden had a visit with Conner - thanks, Kristi!- at a marvelous Italian restaurant. Oh, their stuffed mushrooms are magnificent. Pretty much everything there is magnificent - all fresh, all made right there. The only slight shadow cast upon it was the super-annoying conversation from a couple of other diners whose inane, egotistical, abominational babble we could not help but overhear...( really, if you had been there, you would no doubt have wanted to wring their collective necks too, because they just epitomized what is sending this country, nay humanity in general, to heck in a handbasket!) but Brad did his level best to drown them out by telling me interesting work related stories. I shouldn't have ranted about those buffoonish diners, because I don't really want to remember them for the ages, and I really felt a little bad that I didn't feel more compassionate towards them - but I DO want to remember the fact that Brad was in total silent agreement with me about the situation the entire time (we did not utter one word about it until we were out of there but it was like there was an unspoken exchange between us of, "Oh my word." "Yeah, I know! What is with them?" "Make it stop, please!" "Can I go give them a spanking?" Okay. I just made that last one up and I don't really know who was who in that imagined conversation) and he was so nice to keep up a steady stream of talking to distract me...which is slightly unusual, because the other times we've gone to that restaurant, we are generally hushed into a blissful, reverent near-coma by the ecstasy of the fabulous food. So I recognized and appreciated his sacrifice.

We did our best to convince Aiden that it was MAMA'S birthday, NOT Uncle Brown's
( it seems that Nate's birthday made the initial birthday impression in his brain. Nate is now inextricably entwined with Aiden's own version of the Happy Birthday Song, which is not unlike some sort of martial Soviet anthem in its unique tune). I think we were partially successful in this because at one point, he did utter the words" Happy Birthday, Mama" in consecutive order, but I think it is going to take a long time to fully eradicate Uncle Brown from Aiden's association with birthdays. And just as he has disassociated the two, it will be March 1st ... and time to sing to Nate again ... which will throw Aiden into hopeless confusion once more. And Diabolous will rejoice. ( Sorry - I just got carried away by the spirit of Ethel Barrett there.) (And if you don't know who she is, just google her. You're at a computer right now anyway. What's stopping you? Yes, go down this rabbit trail. She's interesting.)( I love parentheses.) ( And ellipses....)

So anyway- for an un-interesting age, it was kind of an interesting day.

By the way - our vacation is fast approaching. Can't wait. May has truly lived up to its eye popping reputation for craziness again. I was right in my prediction. And what busy-ness I didn't have, I received by Facebook osmosis from others. So, I'm in need of a good vacation. Even if it rains the entire time ( which it is forecasted to do), we will have a GREAT time. ( Please pray that we will have good weather!)

MY TRASH DAY HAS CHANGED!

noreply@blogger.com (Claire) — Wed, 21 Apr 2010 22:51:00 -0400

A couple weeks ago, we got a card in the mail, saying that our trash pickup day was going to be changed from Monday to Wednesday. Why- I have no idea. The ways of the trash company cannot be fathomed. Anyway, I said, okay. No biggie. Then I got another notice in the mail from them, a few days later. Thanks, yep, I heard you the first time.

THEN, I got an automated PHONE CALL from them. OKAY. I GOT IT.

So I put out my trash last Wednesday. Good grief, people. What is the big deal?

And then, a couple days ago, I got yet another automated phone call. Hello!? The change has already occurred, people. I passed the test. You can stop treating me like an imbecile.

So guess who forgot to put out the trash this morning? And guess who heard the trash truck coming and was smitten with the awful realization that the trash was not out at the curb? And guess who punched the garage door opener, dashed outside, hauled the trashcan up the driveway, at the same time yelling pleadingly at the driver who was zipping past the driveway...and got him to back up and take the trash... all within the space of about fifteen seconds. Ha. Yes. That would be me. I love to provide entertainment for the neighborhood. Oh man. I wonder if the trash man has some sort of list in the truck on which he checked off my name for further remedial calls and cards in the mail.

After all that resentment over being treated like a four year old with the endless reminders...and I go and forget.

Oh the great, momentous dramas of my life.

Silly anecdotes - with a warning label

noreply@blogger.com (Claire) — Sat, 17 Apr 2010 13:40:00 -0400

Something I've been thinking about recently: I really do not want to be one of those parents who thinks that the universe revolves around their child, and talks to people ad nauseum about the most mundane minutia of their child's life, and expects EVERYONE to adore - or even just be mildly interested in- their offspring. I think this is a phenomena especially true with many first time parents. ( By the time the third child rolls around, it seems like most parents have mellowed out a good deal in their perspective.) I am fine with the fact that no one will ever love Aiden like Brad and I do. Okay- I know immediate family members love and may be sincerely interested in his progress, but beyond that, to the rest of the world, he's just another little kid. And that is as it should be. No one can be special to everyone. I think that's partly why the cult of celebrity is so unhealthy - it's based on unnatural specialness.

But I meander away from my point. Which is...No, I do not want to be one of those sickening people who goad you with silly anecdotes and heart-warming images into commenting on the preciousness of their tot...BUT...for those few who really WANT to hear stories about Aiden, you may continue reading. The vast majority of you are excused. This is TOTALLY optional. I am not foisting ANYTHING upon you. Void where prohibited. And really, the writing of this is largely for my own benefit, so I can remember certain scenes after time has discarded these small memories from my brain. Because it's not just a chronicle of Aiden - it's also a way for me to contemplate my own progress into motherhood. So...all that being said, here come the silly anecdotes.

We've had some gorgeous weather here in the last couple weeks. Well, gorgeous for those like me who do not suffer from pollen related allergies. Aiden and I have taken to going for walks almost every day, especially in the evenings because I think it helps him release a lot of energy and get ready for bed. So we toddle down the sidewalk to the park and back - which is probably about a half mile round trip. And we seem to have a lot of adventures along the way. Like meeting dogs the size of dust bunnies that tickle my ankles and jump up to Aiden's shoulders and scare him. It is funny that anyone could be afraid of such a tiny, harmless creature, but I guess it seems like a pretty good sized dog to him. We also met a girl who had three vibrant colored ducklings - one orange, one blue, and one green. I guess she got them for Easter; Aiden was quite charmed. Aiden greets any and all passersby, especially children, quite literally following in the footsteps of Buppa Charlie.

And then, there's the icecream truck. We've got two vans that regularly troll the neighborhood almost every day in search of children who are training in the sport of instant gratification, developing the habit of impulse buying, heedless of the economic folly in which they are engaging. These unscrupulous swindlers offer overpriced icecream products, and blare piercing, tinny Christmas tunes - and other non-Christmas music - and in spite of all these things which should prejudice me against this institution of summertime, I still thrill to the thought of buying from the icecream man. There's just something undeniably wonderful about the combination of the great outdoors, capitalism, and icecream. It overcomes all natural reason. I think it may be a holdover reaction from my childhood, where there was no icecream man because we lived in a place that just wasn't the kind of residential area that lends itself to such businesses...and so a mobile icecream service still seems like a fascinatingly novel concept to me. However, I have not indulged quite yet this season. It's April, for Pete's sake. The icecream man will be haunting our subdivision for a good five or six more months. If I give in now, Aiden will expect it every time. And so, Pandora's box remains closed for the time being.

I encountered another Pandora's box recently - at the outlet mall. Aiden and I went down to Tanger to get some summer sandals for him, and outside the shoe store there was one of those little kid rides where you put in the quarters and they jostle around, causing untold glee. It was a little fire truck, and Aiden was having a great time in it, even without the quarters. Oh foolish me - I wanted to up the ante and make it even MORE fabulous, because that's one of the great joys of parenthood- giving fun. So I stuck in the quarters...and there was great excitement...for about two minutes. I knew he probably would put up some show of resistance when it was time to go, but after the scene of wailing and martyrdom that followed, I thought it would be wise to post some sort of warning label above those little rides. Kind of like cigarette packs, except without the cancer and death part. "Use of this machine may cause short-term happiness, followed by excessive whining, general crankiness, and ruination of your shopping trip. Any thanks you may have expected for the outlay of your hard earned cash will most likely be forgotten in the flood of pleas for more money to buy more time on this machine. In short, this machine may cause you to claw your own eyeballs out."

( I have to say, he didn't really ruin the rest of the shopping trip. But he came close when he upset a small display of mini-skillets in the Harry and David store... but he made up for it by helping me choose a new pair of sunglasses later on. He dubbed them "Cute" so I bought them.)

So now you see why I'm wary of anything that has a Pandora-esque feel about it. Or maybe Pandora isn't the allusion that I want. Maybe anything that smells Trojan horsey...Anyway, I think my theoretical knowledge about parenting is giving way to experiential knowledge - and hence, I grow wiser. Hopefully.

P.S. And if you think that in the whole thing about first time parents adoring their children that I am writing about YOU, you are pretty much wrong. Oh yes, I'm fairly sure you are wrong. Do not sit on the fence of wondering whether you should be offended or not - you shouldn't be.

And P.P.S. I think I have been guilty of this very "everyone should adore my child" syndrome for a little while because I caught myself thinking, "Wow - He really IS wonderful and beautiful and special!" and then I realized that every parent thinks this about their children at one point or another. So I guess I'm sort of normal. And if you have thought this about your child, you are normal too...but only if you realize that your child's exceptionalism is probably all in your head.

The Manic, Manic Month of May

noreply@blogger.com (Claire) — Mon, 5 Apr 2010 22:19:00 -0400

I had this great idea for Thanksgiving in April. I was going to hold a big ol' dinner with all the trimmings and invite people from the highways and byways - figuratively speaking of course, really just family... There would be lamb or something sufficiently springy for the main course, instead of the autumnal turkey. And fancy green beans, and buttery crescent rolls and all manner of festive side dishes... And of course, pies. That was really my whole motivation - the pies. ( Not really, but almost.) But my great idea keeps running into snags. Sigh. Mostly just getting everyone together on the same day. 'Twas doomed from the start. Maybe I'll just end up eating a pie by myself at midnight one of these days. Or hold the grand fete for my guests on a Wednesday night. Which would be depressing and rushed. Just what every hostess wants.

You see, there is one thing that I don't like about spring - and that is this: once the pollen starts to fling itself far and wide, people suddenly get this strange urge to DO things. As if they have been in hibernation all winter. Suddenly the pace of life quickens and everyone just gets exponentially busier and starts rushing around like bees on drugs. Including me. It makes me ill. For instance, I've been trying to plan out the month of May and already it's stressing me out because May is a MONSTER month. I used to always LOVE May - it's my birth month. You have to love your birth month. And really, come on, it's Maaay; things are blooming and cooing their heads off. What more beautiful month could there be? ( I can hear Liane in my mind's ear, from the days of our youth, arguing that June, her birth month, is superior to May and quoting the poem, "What is so rare as a day in June?" Okay, if James Russell Lowell says it...then, it must be true. You win.)

But now I see May as a perfect storm of social gatherings, a dark time for one such as myself who has become less of a social butterfly over the years, and more of a..um...Benjamin Button butterfly who has crawled back into the cocoon and is metamorphasizing backwards into an ugly, lowly, stumpy caterpillar. ( I have not deigned to see that movie, ( Benjamin Button, not The Hungry Caterpillar) but I do know that the premise is that Brad Pitt's character ages backwards. And while I'm spoiling movies, soylent green is people, the Titanic sinks, and Old Yeller DIES.)

Every weekend in May, and on many days in between the weekends, there is some THING looming on the calendar...weddings, graduations, concerts, parties, birthdays, holidays, christenings, showers, funerals, pet adoption anniversary ceremonies...it just doesn't END! I think all of humanity should be put in strait-jackets ALL MONTH long and be told to SIMMER DOWN.

I think I'm going to block the whole month off my calendar. I'm going to put a giant post-it on the whole page of May, and write, "SAVE THE DATE - all these dates in this month - for my SANITY." Forget March madness - in my book, MAY is the maddest month. And really, Liane, what is so rare as a day in MAY?! That's what the poem SHOULD say! I know - it would throw the whole rhyming scheme off the rest of Mr. Lowell's poem, but really - the fifth month is all a frantic blur, you have to admit. And then you arrive, exhausted, at Memorial Day - a panting, ragged shell of yourself, barely able to take nourishment in the form of hamburgers and hotdogs at the holiday cookout... and you have to go on vacation to recover. That's why I think we're going to take our vacation in May this year - just to escape the madness. Too bad we can't take off the whole month. I think that's what we should do next year, Brad. Save up all your days off, take the month of May and fly to New Zealand or the Seychelles Islands.

Throwing Away Dead People's Gifts and Stuff

noreply@blogger.com (Claire) — Sat, 3 Apr 2010 13:50:00 -0400

I have a small pot/kettle/saucepan ( I really don't know what the correct name is) that has some problems. Among other things, the handle is really wobbly; it's a risky thing to carry it from sink to stove when it contains any amount of water. I wonder when I should end its life. But I don't really want to end its life. It was a wedding gift from Mrs. Eileen Sandford and I feel like throwing it away would somehow be losing a link to an amazing lady who I admired and loved. And at the same time, that pot/kettle/saucepan always makes me feel a little guilty, because she fell and hurt herself as she was getting ready for our wedding, ( I wonder if I am remembering correctly that it was as she was getting something to wrap this very gift) and passed away several days later. We didn't hear about it until the day we got home from our honeymoon, which was the day of her funeral. ( This was in the long ago dark ages before Facebook.)

I have always regretted missing her funeral and, truth be told, I've always felt partially responsible for her death, in a strange way. Which is really awful because that lady was a saint. I appreciated her genuineness. She was a woman without fear, without guile, and with plenty of feist. Okay, so maybe feist isn't a word - but why not - when feisty IS a word.

So, when we arrived home from our honeymoon and found that this pot/kettle/saucepan had somehow made its way onto our kitchen table, unwrapped, because she never got a chance to wrap it, with a note inside, from her, it was a startling discovery. An eerie, but useful, gift. For a long time, it was my only small pot/kettle/saucepan and I depended on it heavily. So, even though its working days are nearly over, I am hesitant to get rid of this thing. Who knew that such a small pot/kettle/saucepan could hold such memories?

And it's the same with my bathrobe that Andrew gave me for Christmas one year...This bathrobe is distinctly ratty now, but I don't think I could ever throw it away.

I am going through Grampa's things these days, throwing things away ( don't worry- nothing valuable - I don't think anyone really cares about long johns that are forty years old), sorting through other things, making a yardsale pile, and a keep- for-posterity pile. But mostly it's throwing things out. To tell the truth, there are certain items that I have fantasized about throwing away in recent years. But when it came down to throwing away some of his old shirts the other day, it was an odd, bittersweet moment. It just sort of felt a little wrong.

I know that things are just things - they're not the same as people. But I have a strong sentimental streak in me, and I do get very attached to things, especially when the person the thing is associated with is no longer alive.

So - to throw, or not to throw - that is the dilemma.

Thunder

noreply@blogger.com (Claire) — Wed, 31 Mar 2010 08:41:00 -0400

There was a bit of a thunder storm here on Sunday night and Aiden, who had never before seemed to notice thunder, was seriously freaked out by it. This occurred at bedtime, turning a usually simple event, and for me a joyous/anticipated/peaceful time of day, into a maelstrom of terror and tears. We did the best we could, trying to explain that the thunder was up in the sky, far away, it wasn't going to hurt him...pulling out all the tricks we could think of, including bringing in the "Special Bear" - the teddy bear made out of Buppa Charlie's fuzzy fleece- and eventually, he made it to the land of slumber.

But he has not forgotten the thunder. His pronunciation of it is "summer." It's now the first thing he talks about every morning...how loud it was, how scary it was, how it was up in the sky, how he cried...

And last night, even though there was not a hint of thunder in the atmosphere, he screamed in terror after I said Goodnight and left the room. He never cries at bedtime. I have been very spoiled, I know. After a few minutes of seeing if he would just cry himself to sleep, I went back in to talk to him. It turns out, he was of course, remembering the thunder...but this is what he said, "Scare...God." ( His use of the word scare can be interpreted "scared" "scary" or "scare." ) I don't remember equating God with the thunder in any of our earlier conversations. I didn't say that the thunder was God bowling, or God's voice, or anything. But he has been asking where Grampa ( Buppa Charlie) is a lot lately, and I always tell him that he went to see Jesus in heaven. Then he asks, "Where heaven?" and I have a hard time knowing how to answer that. How do you explain heaven to a two year old? Somehow, despite my trying to avoid the directional word, he has gotten the conventional idea that it is "UP." So perhaps he thought "Heaven/God = up. Thunder = up. God = thunder." Anyway- my impression when he said "Scare...God" was that he was scared of a mean, thundering God. Crucial moment! Impressionable, young mind alert!

Brad and I quickly did our best to explain what God is like in terms a two year old could grasp. God is like Joey... ( I felt on shaky ground comparing God to a five year old neighbor boy who wears camo and attaches a shoe box with string to the back of his bike to give his stuffed animals rides around the culdesac)because God is our friend. God is like Daddy because he's strong and protects us. God is like Grampa and Grandma because He is wise. And God is like Mama because He loves you. It seemed to help a little bit.

Transitioning to bed again was still a little struggle, but the worst was over. I loved this experience...the first time we really got a chance to communicate in words the tenderness and immensity of God's love to our son. It's easy to think, "Oh, he's two. What he thinks of God now doesn't really have a bearing on his life." And in some ways, that's true, but in another way, it is important. He is discovering the world right now and I want him to know, as early as he can, that there is a Love behind it all.

All that being said, I am trying not to dread the upcoming season of thunderstorms... I'm hoping against hope that our peaceful bedtime ritual will continue despite what the weather may bring.

Death and Taxes...for one more year.

noreply@blogger.com (Claire) — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 23:44:00 -0500

Tonight, we briefly watched a montage of some Olympic feats of wonderment, and then some commercials came on...and there was H & R Block, touting their tax expertise. I turned to Brad and said in a nostalgic tone of voice, "Awwww, this is the last year you'll be doing Grampa's taxes..." And he looked at me and said, "Nope. He lived three days into this year."

I don't know why that made me want to laugh hySTERically.

Alternate titles for this post: "Seize the cuteness" or "Higgledy Piggeldy News of the Day"

noreply@blogger.com (Claire) — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 10:40:00 -0500

I thought I would record something that just happened for posterity: We had invited some visiting Bibleschool students here last night for dinner and I had left the placemats on the dining room table overnight. Aiden swiped one off the table just now, brought it in the kitchen, dropped it on the floor, laid down on top of it and said, "Blankie. Night night." He looked like some sort of cute little Muslim with a prayer rug.

Speaking of Aiden, his latest thing is to name body parts...Mostly facial ones. I have to be very careful when dressing him, hugging him, or really any time I am within poking distance because I may find a small finger jabbing into my eyeball as he says, "Eyebrow!" ( He sometimes misses the exact location of certain anatomical parts.)

We have a guest staying with us these days - Dave Hansen. He's become Aiden's new hero, partly because he's a great guy, and partly because he has a great dog - Buffy. I thought Aiden was going to fly to the moon with joy when Buffy came along with Dave in our car last night to go to midweek meeting at church. Me - I was just ready to fly to the moon with joy because Buffy didn't throw up in the car. ( For a minute, it looked/sounded like she might.) I'm not a big dog person but Buffy is a model of good behavior. Very quiet and non-stinky. If all dogs were like her, maybe I would be a dog person.

The neighbor kids have been charmed with Dave too. He was doing some yard work around our house and apparently fell prey to Joey's visitations. Basically, if you are at our house, and outdoors, you are fair game. Be warned - Joey, approximately five years old- will descend and he has been known to talk hind legs off mules. Grampa LOVED him. Joey asked me later when I came home if Dave was my grandfather. Hmmm. In a word, "NO." For one thing, he's 23. I think. Anyway - too young to be anyone's Grampa! Maybe Joey thinks that to stay with us for any length of time - from one night up to three years - you have to be a Grampa and perhaps we were hosting interviews/auditions for a new Grampa position. That child is something else. He also said - Joey, that is, about Dave - "Thank the Lord! He found my ball that I'd lost for years! I LOVE that guy!" For some reason, all the lost balls in the neighborhood end up in our backyard down by the creek.

It's fun having Dave here. In some ways, he reminds me of Andrew a little. And that's always nice. He doesn't remind me of Grampa at all...except that he eats cold cereal.

Enough rambling for one day.

Remembering Grampa

noreply@blogger.com (Claire) — Fri, 5 Feb 2010 14:06:00 -0500

Most of you probably saw the picture and description of the Memory Bear that I posted on Facebook. If you did, skip the next paragraph ...

Volunteers from the hospice where Grampa spent his last days made what they call a "Memory Bear" for us. We gave them a couple of pieces of clothing that belonged to Grampa and they made teddy bears out of them. They made two - one for Aiden and one for Matthew, Rosanna's son. The one we got is made from Grampa's old orange fleece jacket. I love it. It's so Grampa.

The day we got it, Aiden was out in the driveway playing with some of the neighbor kids. I brought out the bear to show the kids and they thought it was wonderful. They all wanted to hold it and hug it. I thought it was a really neat way for them to remember Grampa.

And then they went about their games and I had a fabulous time watching them. There were four or five hanging around and they had this pogo stick and were timing each other to see who could stay up bouncing the longest. Then they got two pogo sticks and took turns going head to head with each other. The rest of us sat around on Grampa's swing, pretending to be Pogo-stick Olympic Judges ( or in Aiden's case, wandering around the cul-de-sac with a soccer ball). It was weird; I felt like I was one of them.

And then I thought, "Grampa should be here." And I really missed him in a way that I hadn't experienced before. This was a situation when, if he was in the house, I would have run down to tell him to come outside... because he loved this kind of thing. Just hanging out with the kids. He lived for it. If there was a cold or rainy spell, or the kids had too much homework to play outside and several days would pass without him seeing them, he'd start to get agitated and upset. If it was a nice day out, he was always hopeful that "this will bring them outside!" And as I sat there, feeling like a kid myself, I realized in a new way that was part of why Grampa enjoyed children so much - because they made him feel young. I guess I always sort of knew that, but living it myself made me know it in a new way. It made me think of how Grampa used to talk about why kids are so great. I'm putting what he would say into my own words: Kids are just real. You don't have to pretend to be anything other than who you really are with them. They talk about totally random, irrelevant things, they have no big responsibilities, they are uncomplicated, there are no hidden agendas or schemes to manipulate you ( at least, not with THESE kids...I know that's not true with all kids). It made me smile as I thought of what Grampa taught me by example; like Jesus, he knew that kids are important... and worthy of attention and investment.