Remember....this is my family we're talking about here, so absolutely nothing is normal...not even the way we kill a wasp.
We (the kids and I) were a having a nice leisurely morning, hanging out playing, when all-of-the-sudden, out of nowhere, a wasp comes flying into our life (inside the house). This, of course, totally freaks out the kids. Gavin is not just afraid of wasps, bees and the like - he is petrified. At the mere sight of them he starts shaking and crying. So, I immediately switch into 'mother bear' mode and must protect my precious cubs..uh, I mean children, from imminent danger. Thankfully, I don't have to really protect them (meaning kill the wasp) I just have to keep him at bay until Daddy gets home. I, too, am terrified of those flying little creatures and prefer to lock my self in a closet until they are no more. So, I stood guard and kept a keen eye fixed solely on the menacing little creature, with my cubs securely in place behind me, until Daddy got home.
Chuck had already planned to come home at lunch - little did he know, he was also going to be our hero during our darkest hour today. He comes in the door and everyone screams at once, "THERE'S A WASP IN THE HOUSE!" Since I never once lost sight of the little thing, I knew his precise location and movements. The only problem was the wasp was hovering in a window 25 feet up in the air with no way to reach him. Chuck decided, that since the wasp was staying put for now, he may as well eat his lunch and decide on his modus operandi of attack to use for the challenge that lie ahead.
Lunch has culminated and two of the three children have been put safely in their rooms for a nap. Now I only have one cub left to worry about and Chuck has decided to recruit him to help fight the wasp. I was shocked that Gavin didn't run in the opposite direction flailing his arms wildly at the mere mention of such an atrocity. I think the thrill seeker in him came out and he was able to subdue his intense fear long enough to be 'Daddy's Special Helper' - plus the fact that he knew his Dad was there to protect him probably helped a bit too.
Chuck thought long and hard and decided that the best thing to do would be to throw balls at the wasp to scare him down from the lofty window sill. Thankfully, he was thinking more in-line of the Nerf type balls. Breaking a window would only be an invitation for the entire wasp colony living outside of it, to come in all at once and join their little trouble maker friend wreaking havoc already, inside our house. So, it was my duty to round up all the Nerf-like balls we owned. Can you believe we own 6 of them? Gavin was stationed at the top of the stairs that has a direct view of the window sill (yet, is about 15 feet away). I was crouching behind the sofa - no, that's what I wanted to be doing, instead, I think I was probably doing the dishes. Something, anything to keep my mind off the drama currently unfolding in the room adjacent to me.
So, there's Chuck, all dressed up in his work clothes, throwing balls at our windows. I was given the new role of 'ball catcher' at this point. It's about 100 degrees outside and maybe 80 degrees inside. After about the 40th pitch he finally scares it away from its hiding place. Chuck told me later in confidence (after his bout with near death was over) that he went way over his pitch count without a warm-up first. He is now drenched with sweat but running like a mad man up the stairs to try to kill this wasp before it heads straight for Gavin who is still obediently standing at the top of the stairs watching his greatest fear fly right at him.
I was not an eye witness to the events that unfolded after this point, but I heard everything. Above me I hear boom, boom, bang, wham, blatt, bonk. It sounded as if Chuck & Gavin are bouncing off the walls while wrestling the poor creature to a sad and scary death. Finally, Chuck comes back down with a look of triumph on his face, with his dress shirt and undershirt completely off and only his slacks and dress shoes on and sweat dripping down his forehead. I don't know what that wasp did - but it DID NOT win!! My husband the wasp killer!!!! Way to go, baby!
From what Gavin tells me, after the wasp was coming at him, Daddy leapt the stairs three at a time to save his precious first born and took a flying leap at him (not Gavin, the wasp) with the powerful fly swatter. Gavin ducked and Daddy continued after the thing until he had him cornered, where Chuck then used his powerful precision skill of fly swattery to hit the insect up against the wall. This blow only stunned the wasp for a brief moment - but enough for Chuck to gather more momentum for his next and final blow which prematurely ended the life of the wasp who, during his dying moment, surely regretted ever trying to come into this crazy house.
Gavin asks me 21 questions at least once a day. His mind NEVER stops. He can't go on if he doesn't know the answer. I feel bad for him that I am his only point of reference right now. The answers he gets come from me - for better or for worse.
When he first learned to start talking, that is when the questions began. They would come out in two and three at a time. Here are some samples from my actual journal entries titled, 'Gavin Questions - Just the Beginning of Things to Come':
- Starting at 2 years old, he would point to random people in the aisle at the grocery store and ask, "What his name, Mom?". I would then respond with the obvious, "I don't know sweetie." This did not cut it. He MUST know the answer, any answer. So, his response to my feeble attempt to evade the question would be, "Guess his name, Mom." From that point on, I wasn't safe in any store. I had to come mentally prepared to bestow new names on everyone we met in the aisles. The pressure even got to me many times and I would just break down and ask the poor soul who was unfortunate enough to be in the isle with us, "Excuse me sir, what is your name? My son would like to know." That is the beginning of when I began to not care what people thought of me - my son has a question and dog-gone-it, I'm gonna give him an answer!
- Also at age two, I'm already being asked on a daily basis, "How dat work, Mom? Teach Nanan (that's how he says his name) how that work."
- At 3 his questions progressed to more substantial, thought provoking quandries such as, "Mom, is a toot kinda like a tummy cough?". Are we as parents supposed to have answers for such things? I think I just matter-of-factly responded with "Yes, honey, that's what they are." If I were to make a big deal of such matters, it would only spawn further questions and debate and I don't think I have enough education under my belt - yet.
- Upon entering his 4th year of life, he continues to be amazed with bodily functions and the how's and why's of those functions. My newest question from Gavin to ponder and then answer would be, "Why do we close our eyes when we sneeze?" Excellent question, my son! My intelligent answer was, of course, "Because we're surprised, honey". Thankfully, that sufficed for now.
- Still at the humble age of 4 he comes out with doozies such as this one, "Why are baby birds born in eggs and not in their mommy's tummy & why are baby's born in their mommy's tummy & not in eggs?" To which I smartly replied, "Because, honey, Mommy birds' tummys would be too heavy to fly."
Those were apple pie compared to the onslaught I receive on a daily basis now that he is 6. They come at me so fast, I don't even have time to write them down, normally. But today, I did. Here is a small sampling of the daily drill I am subject to from sunup till way after the sun goes down (often times I'm researching on-line at night so I can give an intelligent answer to him the next day):
- "Mom, why can't you close your mouth when you yawn?" Gavin asks as I'm driving back from Walmart. First of all, I just used every last brain cell I had to manuver my way thru that place they call a 'super center' - we're just lucky I have the way home memorized and don't have to think too much. Life questions or science questions just send my mind into a tail spin at this point in the day. I'm getting smart after all these years though. I'm starting to answer him, by asking him a question first (if you can't beat 'em, join 'em). So, I ask him, "Why do you think that is, Gavin?". He has deduced, after not having any human anatomy or physiology classes what-so-ever in his short life, that it is because your jaw is locked when you yawn. I was astounded at his reasoning skills and told him we would consult the computer when we got home. AskJeeves.com comes in pretty handy these days.
- We were not even a mile away from home on the same car ride from the previous bullet point when he brings up another question he has obviously been mulling over for some time now. "Mom," he asks, "how are bricks made?" My state of mind is still shaky being that I'm still just minutes away from the whole 'Walmart experience', it's late afternoon and I've got one thing on my mind, "what am I going to cook for dinner?", and lastly, I just evaded the last question and still appear to him to have enough authority of earthly matters to answer yet another key question in his pursuit of 'the whys of life'. The first thing my mind thought of when I heard the word 'brick' was, (and I know this is stupid, so just bear with me and follow my train of thought) how the Israelites back in the Old Testament were slaves to the Egyptians and spent their days making bricks. So, I tell him about that and am successful, yet again, at evading the real answer. I ended up asking him after my little story telling session what he thought they were made of and his answer was quite remarkable. He believes that you mix sand, concrete and dye and freeze it to make a brick. Way to use your mind Gavin!
- Lastly, as we're walking in the door from this same aforementioned shopping trip, I get another question, "Mom, how do hills get so high?" I just broke down and admitted that I really wasn't all that sure and he responded with, "Mom, that's okay. I just think that's the way God made them."
I love you Gavin! I love your endless questions and your boundless curiosity! However, I think I need to start subscribing to the latest Science Journals and do a little 'light reading' nightly before bed so I can start to give more accurate answers. But until then, I think that just trusting that "That's the way God made it" is the best thing for now. The faith of a child - it's a beautiful thing.
Normally, every night before bed we play a game with the kids. It's always something fun like, 'Go Fish', or 'UNO', maybe even 'Memory' if we want to go out on a limb and try to shake things up a bit. The point being, the kids love repetition and sameness. So, we were a bit surprised when Bennett suggested a game that was not on the 'pre-approved list' of fun family games. Throwing caution to the wind, we all agreed to play Bennett's game of choice: 'Let's Go Fishing'. I know, it sounds like we're getting wild now, but bring it on!
For those not familiar with this silly game, let me paint a picture for you of all the outlandish fun that was just waiting inside that box for us. I think the box says its for ages 3-6. We got that requirement covered. The actual game itself consists of a circular type thingy that has like 30 quarter-sized holes covering the top of it - this is meant to represent the pond or lake or wherever we are supposed to be 'fishing' from. Next, someone is supposed insert the enclosed brightly-colored, plastic, piraña looking fish into these openings in the 'pond'. I swear, the teeth on these little critters are sharp - and yes, they have teeth. I'd like the thank the guy who thought that would be a nice touch for a game geared to 3-6 year olds. Lastly, four plastic fishing poles are handed out to each player. I could probably catch these fish easier using floss than these flimsy plastic poles, but hey, they wouldn't let someone create and sell a game who didn't know what he/she was doing. So, we push on and trust the game makers that the poles they have provided us will actually catch the biting fish.
Competition is a strong trait in our family. We love to win. We are serious about our games - even 'Let's Go Fishing'. In order to start the game, someone switches it on and the little pond, with the little piraña, goes around and around and around whilst also pushing the little fishies up to open their mouths not quite wide enough for the 3-6 year olds and the 32 year olds to try to maneuver their dental floss fishing poles into their mouths in order to 'catch' them. Whomever has the most pile of pirañas at the end is the fishing champion. Sounds like a fine activity for two young children to compete against two grown, competitive adults in.
As the game ensues, chaos abounds. Gavin throws aside the 'fishing pole' and opts to use his finger instead. Good thinking, but nowhere in the rules does that say that using your finger is an option. Since when did game-makers encourage children to 'think outside the box' - this is a game for goodness sakes - we must follow the rules. We have to tighten the reigns on proper game playing procedures, so we make Gavin use his pole yet again and chastise him for coming up with a better way. Bennett seizes this exact moment to choke up on his fishing pole and find out that with a lower grip, one can actually catch a fish or two. Although this is not in the rules, we deem that it is definitely better than forsaking the pole altogether and we amend the rules to include this new 'fishing style'.
This little pond thingy, that is probably only 6 inches in diameter, now has four hands holding onto four very flimsy poles all trying to get 30 fish at one time. Again, I'd like to praise the game creators for their foresight. Naturally, pushing and shoving ensues. Once I got Chuck to stop pushing the kids out of the way, the boys decided to follow suit. Not to be left out, I joined in and was amazed at how much more fun the game seemed to be by just adding a little more physical exertion to it. I also failed to mention that Chloe was also 'playing' this game with us - or so she thought. During the fast paced tension of the game, I find it highly challenging to play at my optimal level while someone is laying across my lap trying to put all my little fishies back in the moving pond. Not only was she putting the fish I caught back into the pond, she was putting them in upside down. I guess we have a little environmentalist living with us.
I can already see more family fun in our future the older the children get and the more 'challenging' the games become. Until then, I vote for UNO.
I am plagued with this dilemma too many times in one day to know how to respond appropriately anymore. Take today for example....
I just got a beautiful new bookcase delivered today. We placed it in the living room (down the same hall that the batcave is located, incidentally). The very first thing Gavin said when he saw it was, "Wow, Mom, this shelf is great! We can use these two bottom shelves to put all our Super Gavin & Super Bennett stuff (i.e.- capes, masks, socks and all other necessary superhero paraphernalia).". And then he proceeds to take off his all important SuperGavin cape (which is a very old Tigger blanket) and shove it into the new space he now assumes is his.
I have not yet had this bookcase for an hour and it is already being defiled with 'kid stuff'. I bought a bookshelf to place my books upon, not to stuff full of superhero gear. I have not yet had the time to sit and muse over the innate beauty of the wood, how the hues work perfectly with the tone of my other furniture, how it completes our living room with such elegance. Instead, I am already having to hoard my stuff, call it mine, and tell my sweet 6 year old that he may never use those two shelves for his stuff because it is only for my stuff. I believe in sharing as much as the next guy. I teach my kids to share (obviously not by example), but you've just got to draw the line somewhere.
Another daily sharing predicament I find my self in begins first thing in the morning with breakfast. First, to understand the dilemma I find my self in, you need to understand my pathetic food frustration. I have been destined to not enjoy most good food in this life. My food choices are extremely limited. There seem to be way too many foods in this world that either give me a migraine or an ulcer. Either way, if I find one, little, tiny morsel of food that I can eat and enjoy (that is not green and grown in the ground), it becomes mine ONLY. Everyone knows to stay away from 'Mommy's food'. I told you I was pathetic.
So....the ONLY food I eat every morning for breakfast is an english muffin occasionally with some fruit on the side. Undoubtedly, everyday, as soon as Bennett sees me eat my food he says, "Can I have a bite mommy?". Now, I hate to deny my child food, but its not like he doesn't already have his own yummy breakfast in front of him (that I can't eat, but can prepare). He looks at me with those puppy dog eyes and that little bit of drool running down his cheek. What's a mom to do? I have two tiny little circles of a bread product, smothered in butter and peanut butter and that is it for me all morning. Yet, invariably, Bennett always ends up with one of my tiny little circles of bread product while I chew real slowly in order to make the other last as long as possible (but not too long otherwise Bennett will want the rest of that one too).
Lessons learned:
1. wake up at the crack of dawn to eat breakfast before the kids get up
2. eat breakfast in the pantry with the light off so the kids don't know I'm in there
3. learn how to share by watching my 1, 3, and 6 year olds - they seem to have the concept down better than I do. :)
We were in the process of having a wonderful fourth of July celebration. Our tummies were full, the sun was hot and the pool was perfect. We were at Grandma & Grandpa's, so we could be wild and crazy in the pool - as is our typical custom. We had been swimming for quite a while when Bennett decided he had had enough and was ready to go inside for a snack. Before I tell you what he did, let lay the backdrop...
Grandma & Grandpa's pool is surrounded by a very hot, aggregate, rock deck . So, Grandma had the brilliant idea of laying down a bunch of old towels and wetting them down with the hose. This ensured that when anyone got out of the pool they would step on a nice cool surface of wet towesl and not burn their little piggy toes. All the other dry towels were hanging on the backs of various patio chairs. With that being said...
So, as we last saw Bennett, he was on his way out of the pool, intent on drying off and heading inside. All the rest of us were in the pool. As he exits the pool, he immediately bends down and picks up the sopping wet towel off the hot pool deck and starts wiping his face. We were all laughing so hard we couldn't even form the words to tell him that there were dry towels sitting on the chairs. He used that towel for a bit, then layed it back down on the soaking wet patio and picked up yet another drenched towel and wrapped it around his sweet, innocent, wet three year old little body and sat down on the steps to continue his 'drying off process'. If he had a clue that the towel was sopping wet and as heavy as him, he didn't let on.
The reason this 'Wet Towel Syndrome' didn't bother Bennett is, unfortunately, because that's all he ever seems to get at home too. Poor kid, all he's ever been used to are wet towels - I don't think he even knows what a dry towel feels like. Since we normally bathe all three kids together at bath time, by the time we're done drying the first two off, the last one (usually Bennett) is left with a rather soggy towel. To him, this is perfectly normal. You may be thinking "why don't you just use 3 towels to dry off each child individually?" and that is a very valid question. The answer however, isn't as simple as you may think. First of all, the towel rack in the bathroom only holds two towels (neatly). Second, two of the little people in the tub are really only 'half-sized' (Chloe & Bennett), so logistically speaking, you should be able to clean off two half-sized persons with one large, big person sized towel. Are you following my train of thought here? And lastly, I'm just not a big fan of washing two or three loads of towels a week, so the more we can 'recycle' our towels - the better. We even have a rallying cry we use as an incentive to get our kids out of the bath, it goes like this, "The first one out gets the dry towel".
You can only imagine what kind of family we are when having the chance to get a dry towel after your bath is an incentive! My children are going to be in awe as the grow up and visit other kids' households and find out that other families do not have the same customs and traditions as we do. But until that day, we will continue to hold fast to our family's traditions and pray our children will pass them down to each generation.
I'm afraid my precious middle child and I are not connecting. I fear this primarily because of the forthcoming actions he displays on a pretty regular basis. Either he has no clue that I am speaking to him or he totally disregards my words. Either way, I am baffled because I have have no clue where he learned to growl at people when he is frustrated with them. I know children are great imitators of their parents, but it would be a false assumption to think my sweet Bennett boy picked this habit up from watching his mother handle her frustration. Granted, I am not a perfect role model and I often blow my top, but I don't recall a time where I have growled (accompanied with the 'growling face') at my children. I do remember letting out a very large sigh at one point...but I don't see how that could be confused for a growl.
How am I supposed to explain to the other mothers that "my son only growled at your child out of frustration, don't take it personally". That won't fly. I (along with my husband - who also doesn't growl) have been given the huge responsiblity of training these little people that follow us everywhere, how to become functional, contributing members of society. (I pray this happens by 18, but I have a feeling we're on the 'extended plan' with Bennett). I own more child rearing books than the library, you would think I could find an answer or explanation of how to handle a growler, or what spawns a child to growl in the first place, or the 5 steps to growl-free children. But no, the answer is not to be found. I am breaking new ground here.
And it's not like this behavior just began last week. I remember an instance when Bennett was an infant and sitting in the cart at the grocery store; a sweet lady came up to admire him when all of the sudden a loud grumbling sound starts coming out of no where and when I look down to my sweet baby, I see the 'growl look' on his face and notice that the sound we all just witnessed was my child growling at the nice lady. The lady looked at me with disdain and said, "Did your son just growl at me?". How was I to respond? I was lost for words. No mom is prepared for a moment such as this. It was obvious to me that he just was't in the mood to be looked at. But I still had to figure out a way to explain this nicely to the lady and also apologize.
When the growling happens at home, which I've come to find out is actually quite frequent, Gavin just growls right back at him (from what he's told me). Somehow, they have a system they've worked out. However, this system only involves gutteral sounds and no words. Not that I haven't repeatedly told my little sweethearts 7 or 12 times that 'when you're frustrated with your brother you need to use your words to tell him - don't growl'. I can just see it now...Bennett in college, trying to assimilate in with the rest of society, someone accidently pushing Bennett's buttons and then - the growl! I will then be summoned before some board on bad parenting techniques or they might try to invoke retro-active consequences for parents who didn't teach their children how to handle frustration adequately enough. They may as well charge me for failing to teach him proper potty training while their at it. Actually, come to think of it, that's probably where this whole growl thing must have originated. I can actually see how I might have accidently let out a growl or two in the midst of the 3 years of potty training duty Bennett and I went thru together. Now it's all making perfect sense....
I guess all that to say, if my son ever growls at you please:
1. take 3 steps back, slowly
2. make a funny face at him (this works every time)
3. be patient with him and show him grace.
As with all of us, God isn't finished with him yet. For him, right now, it's learning how to handle frustration without growling. As for me, I'm still in the process of learning how to handle my frustration on a daily basis. I'm just glad we have a wonderful loving environment (family) to learn these lessons in.
You know how moms like to discourage undesirable behavior by making it sound like a really bad idea? Well, that's kinda how this whole 'moldy pits' thing began.
As all the kiddos were in the bath this morning, Gavin began to lament about how he has to always take a bath. Which I knew would soon lead to a 'what if' question. Right on cue he asks, "Mom, what if I never took a bath?". Oh how I love hypothetical questions. So, I decide to give a hypothetical answer. Mind you, I have zero medical background knowledge to draw from here; so I let my imagination run wild.
I go on to explain to my wet, spell-bound audience of 3, that if you were to choose not to bathe, then you would probably grow mold in your pits (otherwise known to most as the underarm area). They were aghast. My plan is working. I knew multitudes of questions were forming in Gavin's mind, so I just waited. "What is mold?", Gavin asks. He knew it must not be something good, but he wasn't quite sure how truly yucky it is. I inform him that mold is green and gross and grows where it is dark and damp and stinky. I think I have just driven my point home. Since they are so awe struck with mommy's knowledge of moldy pits, I decide to wrap up my dissertation with, "...and if you had moldy, stinky pits none of your friends would probably want to play with you.".
There, I think I have totally curtailed any notion of never taking a bath again. On the other hand, I also probably just created an obsessive compulsive monster with Gavin. Now my poor, conscientious child will probably scrub his pits raw the rest of his life to avoid the moldy pit syndrome that his over zealous mother informed him about during his most formative years.
I actually had forgotten about our earlier hypothetical scenarios from this morning's bath time. That is, until we were having a lovely time playing 'doctor' on the floor after lunch. Mommy was the patient and the boys were the doctors. Bennett was armed with an infant medicine dispenser (empty, of course), while Gavin's doctor tool of choice was an extra computer mouse we had laying around. At first he would stick it in my belly button and try to blow me up (typical 6 year old boy stuff). Then, out of nowhere, he lifts my arm, inserts the end of the mouse into my 'pit area' and tells me he's checking to make sure I don't have moldy pits. Thankfully, I passed the test.
Gavin decided that last Wednesday was the precise moment he was to learn all there is to know about the drive-thru window at the bank. So, I pull my minivan thru the designated lane and park comfortably as I fill out my deposit slip. Over my shoulder I hear "What'cha doin' mom? Can I do that for you? Why are you writing those numbers, mom? What does that mean, mom? Where are we going after this, mom? Mom, when can I do this all by myself? Where does your money go in those tubes?" Lots of questions and very few answers. I have a rather hard time concentrating on one thing (especially numbers that are connected to my money) while hearing voices in the background. However, I was able to respond to most of the questions in a manner that satisfied most of Gavin's loquacious curiosity.
He was just thrilled to no end that I allowed him to open the cylindrical tube and place all my necessary belongings inside. A flood of questions ensued, of course....but that is bound to happen when one is learning. I had no clue this lesson was to take place today, therefore, I did not prepare and had no lesson plan outlining the steps of instruction to take when teaching a 6 year old all about the drive-thru bank teller. I was just winging it here. And he seemed to be loving it.
It was especially fun when he was laying across my lap trying to put the cylindrical tube back into the outside, drop holder thingy (I know there is a name for that, but my technical description will have to work for now). Then he had to know which button to press. He really wanted to push the button that allowed you to talk to the teller, but I told him it was only for questions. Come to think of it, I should have pushed it and asked Gavin if he had any questions and let the teller finish his lesson. He kept teasing me like he was going to push the teller button. So, here comes my fatal mistake. I told him, "See that thing right there, that is a camera and it's watching you." Thinking that maybe that would cause him to not be quite so jovial about the random button pressing.
My mistake. The mere mention of the word 'camera' incites such untapped excitement in Gavin that he morphs into some weirdo without even knowing about it. The minute he realized that a camera was on him he starts making the goofiest faces you can imagine and starts trying to jump up and down and do little twirls (all while standing next to/partially on me and my driver's seat). Words cannot do this scene justice. I wish I could buy the footage off of that camera from that day at the bank and insert it in here. My creative writing abilities can only go so far. He was far funnier than I can write about. I was laughing sooooo hard. I imagine everyone around the camera monitor in the bank was too.
Last night, as I was far, far away in the Land of Nod, I felt a nudge coming from that 'other world' that felt like a little person that I knew must belong to me somehow. Not being of the highest cognitive functioning ability while deep in slumber, I managed, miraculously, to determine it was Bennett (I must have felt his face with my hand) and pulled him into bed with us. I'm not exactly sure how I managed to exert such physical activity while not even being awake. The children NEVER, EVER go over to Chuck's side of the bed. That's probably because it is IMPOSSIBLE to awaken him from his comma like state anytime he is in the horizontal position. That, and they just can't seem to handle the deep rooted emotional side effects that come with trying to wake their Dad in the middle of the night, only to be rejected by his lack of attention in the wee hours of the morning. This is an area he knows needs some improvement. Anyways...all that to say...Bennett crawled in bed with us for whatever reason last night.
In the middle of the night, when one decides to crawl in bed with us, I never think to ask why. I just pull them in and try to find that 'comfy place' I was just in. But that 'comfy place' is no where to be found...the rest of the night. Instead, I have a little person now sharing my pillow (remember, they steer clear of Dad during the night hours) and my personal space. I'm left with 6 inches on the far edge of the bed. When I attempt to reclaim that part of the bed and pillow that are rightfully mine, I end up getting shoved in the gut with little knees. At that point, I manage a deep thought for that time of the night and remember that I'm bigger than Bennett so I can just pick him up and place him in the exact spot on the bed where I'd like him (right next to Daddy). However, Chuck has already siezed the whole right side of the king sized bed, leaving Bennett and I to share "my half". Chuck has done this on purpose, you see, because he knows I cannot move him to save my life. Me trying to move my dear husband over an inch, would be somewhat similar to an ant trying to move a Redwood tree - it just can't happen.
So, my little pillow sharer and I are facing each other most of the night. I love my children, but not bad breath. It's cute for puppies and babies - but not 3 year olds. And Bennett has no qualms telling me the condition of my breath either. So now, I'm self conscious about my breath and turn my head so as not to offend him. Yet I have to be ever so careful not to fling my hair in his face as I'm repositioning. The whole hair in the face, tickle thing seems to annoy him in the middle of the night and he gets rather grouchy with me. I wouldn't want my sweet boy to be inconvenienced in any way while he is trying to sleep where I should be.
Somehow, I drift off to sleep for a few minutes only to awaked by Chuck kissing me good bye at 4am when he heads out to work. I am excited because that means I can now lay claim to my porition of the bed once again. But Bennett has other plans. He would rather do the 'perpendicular lay' that children are so famous for. Now, I am still in my 6 inches of space, but instead of cuddling little knees I'm being pushed away by little feet. I cannot complain about this practice because there is pleny of proof that I once did this very thing to my parents. So it seems only fitting that I would have the opportunity to experience the joy I placed upon my parents many years prior.
At 6:07 sharp, I feel a tap on the shoulder and am a little confused because I thought I already had a child in bed with me. I then remember that I have more than one child and try to pull him into bed. But I am met with resistance and talking. That means I have to open my eyes. Once I do, I see Bennett, who I thought was in bed with me. He greets me with his sword and asks me if I can read his Bible to him. Well, I can't say no to that.
Before I read though, I asked him why he came to sleep with me last night and in typical Bennett fashion he announces, "I was scared that I couldn't read". My mind, still being hazy with sleep, just couldn't seem to process this. He is 3. He doesn't know how to read, nor should he be scared of that fact. This fear that acosted him in the middle of the night made no sense to me. Yet, for some crazy reason, it made sense to him and he needed my comfort (all night, evidently). So that's exactly what I gave him. I assured him that he would indeed be reading soon enough and in the mean time to enjoy Mommy reading to him. I guess my words immediately dispelled all fears since he responded with a quick, "okay". Or, maybe there never really was a fear there in the first place. He just felt that he must placate us with some reason, any reason to be scared in the middle of the night in order to justify coming to cuddle us. Whatever the reason, I still treasure all the I must endure during the middle of the night while "cuddling" one of my children, for it means I am blessed to be a Mom and make these once in a lifetime memories.
Let me preface this with: I swear to tell the whole truth, nothing but the truth, so help me God - and I promise not to embellish. These phrases really did come out of the mouth of my adorable 3 year old son Bennett, without any prodding, encouragement or arm twisting on behalf of his older brother. With that being said....
We were doing our nightly ritual of "Thankfuls" at the dinner table. I asked Bennett, "What is your thankful tonight, sweetheart?". With utmost seriousness he responds, "I'm dankful for my butt" and didn't even crack a smile. At first Daddy disciplined him and told him we don't need to use those kinds of words in our thankfuls. Gavin was failing miserably at trying not to smile which would incite Bennett to come up with even more candid things to be thankful about. I was hiding comfortably behind a napkin, while tears were streaming down my face. However, after the moment passed, it hit Daddy at what true humor that really was and eventually joined in as we all started rolling on the floor with laughter. Chuck & I find ourselves repeating that phrase every once in a while. What kind of parents are we?
The second Bennett-ism happened just the other evening - again, over dinner. Evidently, his mind is sharpest at dinner-time. Earlier in the day the boys and I were reading a Magic School Bus book about weather. They loved it because one of the children decides to make a hero out of the Weatherman and dons a costume and appears to have superhuman strength. Right up my kids' ally.
So, we're just all sitting and eating away, pretty much in silence when Bennett declares "I am double wuu man!". Gavin had to explain to us lesser mortals, that the character in the book who turns into Weatherman calls himself "W Man" and has a lightening flash across his chest. Evidently, he is one of the lesser known superheroes of our time. But a superhero none-the-less. Can you guess what the children played once we got home?
The last Bennett-ism, oddly enough, occurred the same day as the 'poopie incident'. Hmmm, I wonder if there is a connection? The kids and I were driving along when Bennett decides it's time to share his thoughts on my parenting ability. He says (and I quote), "It seems to me, every time God is nice, you are not." To which I promptly reply, "Excuse me? What are you saying? Let me try rephrasing this to see if I understand what you're trying to tell me. From your vantage point, whenever God is nice, Mommy is mean. Is that right?" His answer was clear and distinct and is still ringing in my ears today, "Yes".
Although my mind is screaming at me not to take this personally, I'm having trouble listening. Children are the best about speaking the truth - the bare, honest to goodness truth - whether you want to hear it or not. I realized that he was talking about my outburst of frustration earlier in the day. I ended up apologizing and telling him that even Mommy's make bad choices sometimes. That answer sufficed for the time being.
As it turned out, I have been in the process of falling off of the little 'Mommy pedestal' he has kept me on for some time now, next to the 'God pedestal' and he's realizing that I am not like God. Way to go Bennett!! I'm so glad he can see me fail, apologize and try again. I don't want him to think he has a perfect Mommy or Daddy. If he continued to think that, he would probably go on to think that he could attain perfection. Then where would his need for God be? I'm so glad that my failures can help point him to his need for Jesus.
Doesn't that sound like the most loving thing a mother can do? I actually discouraged drawing on one's self with a marker for quite a long time. That is, until my friend let her boys draw a mustache and beard on her face and I didn't even see a trace of it anywhere. I was flabbergasted! I always thought of her as normal. If she could do something so outrageous and....(gulp)...fun, with her kids, who was I to deprave my children of such a creative outlet? It was at that point I decided to join the ranks of 'fun moms' all over the world and indulge myself in a little body art - only on my children, of course. You will NEVER see me with a purple mustache and a beard (at least I pray). If you do, you know I've gone completely senile and have done it to myself because in a normal frame of mind, I just don't find that too fun.
Anyways, back to the point of the story. The fact that my boys love to be superheroes should be ingrained into everyone's brains by now. Therefore, what, might you guess, do they want me to draw on them? You got it....superhero logos. They LOVE logos. I have actually found a hidden talent I didn't know I possessed....drawing logos on children's chests. They are quite picky, so I must practice my art with great detail and precision. We cannot be confused for a fake superhero. Oh no - that is not acceptable. The logos I can pull out of my sleeve at any given moment with any type of drawing medium would include (but not limited to): flash, batman, superman, green lantern, supergavin and superbennett.
I began to draw on my children using your average tempera paints. We soon found out that once dried, they crack and cause a rather large rash with tiny bumps over the "logo area" for a few days. The boys said it didn't matter, that they could deal with the pain and side effects. But, being the contientious mother that I am, I did not want to accidently poison my children while coloroing on them. It only took about 6 times on intense scientific experimentation to deduce that this may not be the correct medium for us.
Next, I began using your typical Crayola marker. Note: make sure the marker says "washable" on it. Not that I have any experience with permanent markers or anything. Our medium of choice is now the small point crayola marker. The small tip is of utmost importance if you are attempting to do detail work.
I even went so far as to draw on other people's children. The boys' best friends came to spend the night, saw the amazing logos on my children and literally begged on bended knee for me to decorate their bare chests with the latest superhero fashion. How could I say no? After all, their mom is my best friend, I knew she would understand the duress I was under. However, I did not anticipate one of the little boys deciding he would try to out-do my logo masterpiece by adding his own rendition onto his tummy, below the work of art I just bestowed on his chest. This caused mass chaos among the troops and now they all decided they would rather draw on their own chests.
Thus ends my days of drawing on my children...that is until Chloe comes of age and requests my logo rendering skills. I might want to start practicing Wonder Woman, Bat Girl, and Fire Star logo variations.
We had nothing else to do today, so, why not go to the pool...again! I think we're trying to set some sort of record to see if someone can actually go to the pool every single day throughout the summer. I think we're leading in the polls. The Home Owners' Association is going to rue the day they let us move in. Unbeknownst to them, they built the community pool just for us and our daily swimming pleasure. :) So, we take advantage of that fact as often as possible. We even went 3 times in one day just recently. Do you know how hard it is to scrub suntan lotion off of children when they have been immersed in it 3 times in one day? They still have a rather oily hue to them.
Anyways, it seems that we're always the only ones up there (at least at 9 o'clock in the morning). Last night we had a horrible thunderstorm that produced alot of wind. Evidently, that wind blew most of the chairs into the pool. The boys were terribly excited about getting each and every chair out all by themselves - this way they would really be able to prove their true superhero identities/superpowers. With so much muscle around me, I only needed to stand at the edge of the pool and help hoist the chairs onto the deck once I was given the appropriate 'signal'. Well, that and keep Chloe from trying to take a running jump into the pool to help her bigger brothers. She was mistaken and thought that the 'signal' was her cue to jump in.
After successfully saving the pool from all unwanted intruders (lawn chairs) we were finally free to play. We were having a grand old time trying to jump through the inner-tube. Rather, the boys were having fun watching mommy attempt to fit her 'motherly' body through a child-sized inner-tube without getting stuck and needing to deflate the entire tube in order to wriggle free. When all of the sudden we see something else in the water with us.
Forgetting the 1st commandment of motherhood (thou shalt not scream or panic when thou seest a bug), I belted out, "QUICK - EVERYONE, OUT - NOW!!! - AND I'M NOT JOKING!". I believe they reacted to my earnestness with appropriate speed. The hibbie-jibbies are coming on strong now and I shiver as I try to regain clarity of mind. There are no rules I've every read anywhere on what to do if you see a little critter swimming in a pool. So, since my husband wasn't here and I couldn't pass the unwanted task off to him or anyone else (since we were the only ones there), I had to think of a plan - quick!
Thankfully, the boys started thinking of one for me. Their curiosty was much greater than mine. They started walking over toward 'it', whereas I was trying to walk backwards away from 'it'. I start assuming the worst, it must be a snake. The little creature is actually swimming (ughh! gross!!!). Once I start inching a little closer I realize that it's too short to be a snake, so it must be a salamander (still gross). But the boys don't seem to agree with me. Bennett makes the all important deduction that he believes it is poopie. Thank God that wasn't it!!! So, what else swims, is short, a little hairy, has little paws.... oh my gosh... IT'S A MOUSE - YUCK!!!!
That's when I put my foot down and declared, "Well, that's all the swimming for us today!" I thought my children would thank me from just rescuing them from imminent danger. Instead, the response I get is close to a full blown temper tantrum. What?? I'm totally confused. You are not happy with your mother for keeping you out of the same contaminated water that a gross mouse has been in? Obviously not since their faces are starting to contort in all strange types of ways as they try to find the right pose that will release the most amount of forlorn tears. Do they really think that that will make me change my mind? I look at them and laugh and say, "You guys can't be serious! We are NOT swimming with a mouse". To that Bennett responds with utmost seriousness, "But I like mouses. They are my pet.".
Instead of high tailing it out of there as was my original plan, I let them stay and search for our little swimming companion (out of the water - of course). I had tucked Chloe safely away in her stroller with a large enough supply of pretzels, so she was oblivious to the entire escapade. She only cried when her food ran out. Oh, how I yearn for the 'simple life' again!
