The Classics

Last night, Joe-Henry and I sat on the floor of the living room getting his class Valentine's together. He wanted to watch a Charlie Chaplin movie, so I put on "The Great Dictator". We had just watched "Modern Times" a few nights before, and he literally fell off the couch from laughing so hard.

Even though he couldn't really grasp what it was about, he knew it was funny about something serious. After watching intently for a while, he said "Mom, Charlie Chaplin is my favorite actor. Well, him and Winnie-the-Pooh".

High praise indeed.

Sturdy Love

Last night, Joe-Henry was coughing up a lung, that horrible, deep, wracking, wet cough, when I went in with my bottle of pink medicine. He would rather get hit by a bus, eaten by a dinosaur, get poked in the eye with a nasty eye-poking stick or cough all night long than take that medicine. He's never even tried it, but he knows it tastes like "burning fire".

But I am the mother, and I will not be moved, and he must. He MUST. So he wails and flails, and tells me he hates it, and I am a "mean mom", and then, he DOES. He opens his mouth, his face red with anger and effort, his cheeks wet with tears. There is the requisite "YUCK", and the thrashing of sheets, and "Why are you so MEAN?!" And after a few minutes of sniffling, he settles down again, as I smooth his covers and rub his back. It's quiet again, no coughing, no tears, just his arm around my neck, his warm hand on my cheek.

"Mom, you and Dad love me so good. Your love is as sturdy as the Great Wall of China".

And with that, we both went to sleep.

Now THAT'S Optimism....

Tonight, at bedtime, with the lights off, we chattered sleepily about a bully at school, having just watched "He's A Bully, Charley Brown". They always fill the second half hour of any Charley Brown special with the odd, sloppy seconds Charley Browns, the ones without the charming voice overs, the ones that you suspect might have been dashed off on a cocktail napkin over martinis made with expensive vodka.

Anyway, I was trying my best to explain the difference between defending yourself and being mean. I said, "Well, defending yourself is like saying firmly 'stop doing that - it's not okay', and being mean is saying 'stop doing that - it's not okay BUTTHEAD".

He was quiet for a moment, then he said, "wow, mom. If my butt were on my head it would be so much easier to wipe."

Thank God I have this kid, because I could never in a million years make up anything that funny by myself.

Perfect Description

Tonight, in the bath, Joe-Henry was lamenting the fact that his older neighbor friend doesn't listen to him, and then JH gets really mad, and gets physical with him, and then his friend tells on him and JH gets in trouble. I posited that, because his friend has a big brother and gets teased a lot, that maybe he thought of JH as a little brother.

To which he replied, "Mom, he's not acting like a big brother. He's acting like an 'OH brother'".

Just killing time

Conversation overheard at bathtime...

Joe-Henry: "Dad, I want to live until I'm 7,000 years old."

Charley: "Wow. What are you going to do with all that time?"

Joe-Henry: "Smoke a pipe."

When My Own Words Bite Me In The Ass

I've been on Joe-Henry lately about putting things away, making sure to hang up his coat and backpack when he comes home, and pick up his toys when he's done playing. He'll throw his jacket on the couch, and I'll ask him if that's where it goes.

Today when we got home from work and school and meetings and I plopped my tired booty on the couch and flipped off my shoes, letting them land with a thump onto the floor, he cocked his head, folded his arms and said:

"Mom? Is THAT where your shoes belong?"

At least he's listening.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

I love my new job so much.

Helping one of the little guys I work with do a yoga pose today, he looked up at me and said "You're not ugly!"

Thanks kiddo!

How to Deflate My Ego In One Sentence...

"Are you his grandmother?"




The thing is, the kid who asked was so young, and so well meaning, and he was so mortified when I laughed and told him that, no, although he is Grand, he is not my Grandson, I thought he might actually implode. I couldn't get angry at him for being so tactless, because I have stories about things I said to people when I was that age that still keep me awake at night. Perhaps now that I've been asked this question (twice), I can let myself get over my long-ago mistakes. Apparently I need that missed sleep.

I still feel kinda like I want to cry, though.

The Definition of Sexy

Joe-Henry has been allowed to watch a few shows on commercial television, which is like Pandora's Box to him. If Pandora were a slutty Victoria's Secret Model selling everything from shrimp to mattresses to tires. Honestly, we let him watch "Jeopardy" & Nick. Jr., which has the same programming as Noggin, but because Noggin is advertised, thusly, "It's like Preschool on tv", he suddenly won't watch it because he's NOT in preschool anymore dammit, he's in FIRST GRADE, and he's not going to get caught watching a channel for babies, even if it does have EXACTLY THE SAME SHOWS, but with a bazillion commercials.

Somewhere in all this madness, he's learned the word "sexy", and like it's predecessors FUCK and CRAP, it's just tooo tempting a word, and he knows it's not a good word for him, even though I've never said anything about it. It's like he heard it associated with some image, and knows instinctively that he shouldn't say it. Anyway, tonight we were getting ready for bed and he asked if he could say it. "We're in my room mom - I won't say it anywhere else!". I give him the go ahead, and he lets loose with "Oh, I'm so seeexxxxy, I have a seeeexxxxyyy face!" and bursts into a fit of giggles. "Only in your room, Bud. It's not an appropriate thing for a six year old to say to other kids or grownups". Then I say to myself, "I'm so glad you don't really know what it means yet."

"But I think I do, Mom."

I bite. "Okay, what does it mean?"

"It means beautiful, but in a way that isn't appropriate for six year olds."

After I related this story to my husband, and said "Hell yes, I'm going to blog about it", he said this:

"Tell them I think you're beautiful, but in a way that isn't appropriate for six year olds".

He's a kissass, but in a good way. I'm such a lucky girl.

tastes like...

I chaperoned the kindergarten class fieldtrip to the park, which is about 50 yards from the school. It was a roaring success with no blood spilled, and fun had by all. But my favorite moment came when a little boy who has become a favorite of mine took a bite of a sour cream and onion potato chip and said...

"Yuck! That tastes just like the stuff that comes out of my ear!"

It confirms my belief that six year olds write way better jokes than anyone else.

now THAT'S funny

Snuggling in bed tonight after reading and chatting about this and that...

We talk about one of his classmates who had been absent for a long time and was back today for the first time, and had a hard time. I guess he had a tantrum when his parents left. Joe-Henry felt really bad for him, and we talked about ways he might be able to be a good friend to this little boy.

"Mom, I'm so proud to be me. Are you proud to be you?"

I guess I'd better be, huh. So I answer in the affirmative, and we lay on the pillow, and I tell him how proud I am of him, of his smart brain and good, good heart.

He's quiet a moment, then says in a voice filled with real emotion

"Mom, I love you so much.

I love it when you smile at me, your big smile.

And of course, your nostrils....



Come on! It's comedy!"

It's not fair, but it doesn't matter. I'm a sucker for the funny guys.

Words

Joe-Henry is such a vocabulary nut that the other day I got really nostalgic for the old days, when his words were new. He had kind of a parallel language to the one we speak, like most babies do, doing his best to match up the sounds he could make with the words he wanted to say. The way he grabbed at language, lustily, giving name to every person, place and thing in his world. The first word he actually communicated (besides mama and daddo) was "Lello", for yellow, which meant "Cheerios". He was babbling from his highchair, and I was absentmindedly saying "yes, sweetie!" in what I'm sure to him was a completely unconvincing impersonation of a mother who actually understood what he was saying. So he very forcefully said, while pointing directly at the BRIGHT YELLOW BOX OF CHEERIOS "LELLO!!!" It was like a lightbulb went off over my head, and I realized that those noises he was making might actually mean something. Something important to him, and perhaps I should try to listen instead of just babbling back. Soon after "lello" came "lalo" which meant "balloon", which he would shout every time we drove past the Union 76 Station with their big orange ball out front.
And from there it was like we were on a waterslide of words, shooting around every hairpin turn at breakneck speed, laughing all the way.

The reason I was thinking about all of this is that he actually mispronounced something yesterday. He hasn't done that in such a long time, and it was so endearing to me, and so embarrassing to him. He asked me when "Memotional Day" was. I stopped in my tracks and the lightbulb went on again over my head, but instead of lighting up new ideas, it was shining a light on all those memories. The memories of my baby, so grown up, but still....

Tonight going to sleep he rubbed his eyes and after a moment said "Mom, is my eye bleeding?" "No." "Whew. I guess it's just my eye grease."

goodnight my little wordsmith. sleep tight.

the games people play

The other day, when Joe-Henry was home from school, we were playing pictionary in a tent we'd set up in the basement.
Playing pictionary with a 6 year old is like nothing else in the world.
Here's what transpired....

the card I drew said "blink"
So I drew an open eye -
He said "Alien!"

I drew a closed eye -
"Fluffy clouds! A chair!"

I drew another open eye -
"A fluffy, alien chair!.....
NOTES ON A SCANDAL!!!"

From 6 to 30 in the blink of an eye.

tmi & an angel named Doris

I learned too late in my life that T.M.I. stands for "too much information", and as you now know, in my world there apparently is no such thing.

Honestly though, since our meltdown, life has been seriously lovely. There were the bubbles, of course, and working in our garden, digging in the rich earth and marvelling at the brilliance of everylivingthing out my window. I'm actually really looking forward to this week with spring break. We've been snuggling a lot, reading books and talking about everything from the upcoming wedding to math problems to Joe-Henry's Halloween Costume. He's going to be Dwight Shrute.

We also got him fitted for a custom compression stocking. I can't tell you how frustrating it's been since our move to try to find ANYONE who is willing to learn about Joe-Henry's syndrome. His pediatrician is very hand's off, but mostly I think it's just the way his office works and not necessarily him. Everything seems to take longer than it should, and be more complicated and people have just been kind of, well, not helpful. But I finally found the fount of knowledge for all things vascular and lymphatic, and it was in a little dress shop that specializes in mastectomy wear and compression garments. I found them through another local kt mom. I've never met her, but we've exchanged lots of emails. She directed me to this store, where we were met by Doris. Doris is now, officially, our angel.

She's probably in her 60's, she's very tan with dark curly hair, and she has a very exact speech pattern. On the phone I pictured her to be completely humorless and librarian like, and I couldn't have been more wrong. She was a riot, a great listener (Joe-Henry had LOTS of stories to tell - more on that in a moment), and an absolute expert in all things compression: lymph flow, vascularity, types of materials, different styles of stockings, etc. She had more information and more compassion than anyone else I've met here. And if all goes as planned, Joe-Henry will have his bright orange compression stocking in about 10 days.

Anyway, she had Joe-Henry take off his pants so she could measure him, and he immediately said he had to go to the bathroom. So I told him we should probably put his pants back on so we wouldn't shock the ladies, and he said, "Yeah, I don't want to be like Daddy that one time when he forgot his robe, running naked through the house grabbing his penis yelling 'Nudiedaddynudiedaddynudiedaddy'!"

Um. No. Probably not.

I guess the whole "oversharing" thing runs in the family.

out of the mouths of babes

I was talking to my sister-in-law tonight about a million different things, but one of the topics of conversation was about their Aunt, who is in a nursing home. She got really ill last year with cancer, and then a stroke. She's truly withered away - she used to be this tall, stately blonde, and she weighs about 90 lbs and has shrunk to about 5'4''. She no longer remembers people, with the exception of her brother (my father-in-law).

Joe-Henry overheard my end of the conversation and after I'd hung up, asked me lots of questions. He asked if she was going to die, and I said that yes, probably soon. He asked why she didn't remember anything, and I said that her body was working really hard to keep her alive, so she didn't have the strength to remember some things anymore.

"Do you mean it's like a bus came along, a big bus of feelings and took all her rememberings away?"

Yes. It's exactly like that.

overheard

I heard this conversation Joe-Henry had with his dad this morning:

Joe-Henry: "Haley and her friend found a dead possum in her yard"
Charley: "Maybe it wasn't dead. They protect themselves from predators by playing dead. It's called 'playing possum'."
Joe-Henry: "What's a predator?"
Charley: "An animal or bird that hunts. Like a hawk."
Joe-Henry: "Or maybe a vulture!"
Charley: "Well, maybe. But they don't have any vultures here in Vancouver."
Joe-Henry: "They don't have them in Minneapolis, either" A pause, and then:

"But they have A LOT of them in Washington, D.C."


I tell ya, the kid is wise.