Flies on the Wall

The kids and I were sitting out in the yard enjoying a beautiful spring day when I heard an obnoxious buzzing sound.

Flies. They've begun their buzzing, but this was a little louder than usual.

Upon closer inspection, I discovered it was two flies. Mating.

"Oh, no," I exclaimed. "Those flies are making baby flies!" I looked around to grasp something I could swat them with. If I could get them both, then I could prevent hundreds of flies from being born, perhaps hundreds of generations of flies even!

I needed something quick. A towel! Swat!

Dammit! I missed. (To my credit the naughty word stayed in my head.)

I sighed audibly and sat back down.

Nicky, who had been watching the excitement, asked, "Mommy, are those flies annoying because they are making babies?"

"Yes, very."

"Don't they know they shouldn't make babies? It is annoying to people."

Oh, honey. There are PEOPLE in the world that don't get that.

Boys will be boys

When you are the parent of a son,

one who is obsessed with Spiderman and Star Wars,

one who shuns dolls and soft toys in the daytime,

one who will one day grow to be a man. . .

there is something incredibly sweet about coming in to do the last tuck-in for the night and finding him curled up with a stuffed elephant.

I bought that elephant when I was about eight months pregnant. The reality of the fact that I was about to be mother of a little boy was sinking in. I didn't have a "lovey" type item for the baby, and this one was so soft. . .and blue. It's one of those that when you pull the tail in the back, classical music plays. I'm not sure why I can remember buying this elephant so clearly (Sears in the Santa Maria mall, must have been June). In many ways, I guess it was the first gift I bought for him. Clothes, crib, diapers, blankets -- those are things baby needs. A stuffed blue elephant -- I bought that just because I wanted the little boy I was carrying to have it.

I remember many a sleepless night with Nicky, laying in bed with him, pulling the little tail, desperately hoping the music would soothe him to sleep. It worked. . .once, maybe twice. Most times it didn't, because the music only lasts 10 seconds. Pulling the tail a hundred times a night was soothing for no one.

Not so long ago, he saw me packing it away. I have a small plastic box for both children with a few firsts -- the outfit they wore home from the hospital and a few other small soft things. When I was packing the elephant into the box, I told him how we used to lay together and listen to the music. (I left out the part about Mommy being beside herself, stressed and near tears, with a baby that wouldn't sleep through the night).

He didn't want me to pack it up, and that night I found him curled up with it as he slept.

The gliding chair

Seven bought me a gliding chair and ottoman shortly after Nicky was born.

We had a big living room, not a lot of furniture, and a baby that wouldn't ever let us put him down. Nicky and I spent A LOT of time in that chair. The chair faced the sliding glass doors to the backyard. Much of my time after Nicky came into the house was spent looking out those windows and at the big shady tree we had in back.

Sometimes I resented it. I spend my whole life in this damn chair. Other times, I reminded myself to appreciate it. I will only spend this one small part of my life in this chair. . .and soon it'll be gone.

For whatever reason, a few weeks ago, Nicky couldn't sleep. He asked me to lay down in bed with him, so I did. He began whispering to me about the dreams he had had -- one a scary one in which one of his toys had come to life in the box. I let him talk, knowing that these moments would be fewer and further between, and suddenly it was very much past his bedtime.

"Can we rock in the rocking chair," he asked me quietly when I told him I was to go. I thought about it for a minute. It was already so far past his bedtime, so I figured that a few minutes wouldn't hurt.

The glider sits in the corner of the kids' room loaded down with stuffed animals and other miscellaneous toys and stuff. We never found the right place for the chair in this house -- too many small rooms, too much clutter. Laney and I never quite got the same use out of it.

I took down the stuffed animals and threw them in a heap on the floor and sat down. Nicky crawled into my lap and we rocked in the chair the way we used to do. Sort of. He is much too big to sit comfortably on my lap now. He turned this way and that, curling his feet up, then stretching them out, trying to find a comfy spot and never quite finding it. We rocked for a few minutes anyway and then, content, he went back to bed and fell quickly asleep.

I think it was a little bittersweet for both of us -- that moment Nicky understood that he was just too big for the rocking chair. It was a part of his past -- a part he'd long-since outgrown. We can't have those moments back, even when we want to, even when we try really hard.

There's a tired mommy in the rocking chair and a baby who curled into her just so.

Mommy better watch herself. . .

Yesterday, Nicky threatened me with the following:

"If we don't play one more game of Uno, I won't snuggle with you tomorrow."

I can't tell you how hard it is to keep a straight face when you're being threatened with the word snuggle.

A conversation

Kids say the weirdest things when they think you're not paying attention. We were lying in bed this Sunday morning and Nicky crawled in with two favorite characters. The following is an excerpt from their conversation.

A conversation between Spiderman and a transformer called Bulkhead

Plllllllllllllwwwwwwwwwwfffffftttttt. (Extreme farting noise)

Bulkhead: Æsj! Gross! Spiderman, why did you fart?
Spiderman: I just wanted to.

Suddenly, the two begin wrestling. Conversation moves on.

Imagining this conversation taking place in real life between the real Spiderman and Bulkhead sent me into peals of laughter.

Kids are just goofy.

Mommy, are you a dwarf?

We caught the end of a documentary about a woman with restricted growth disorder, i.e.- dwarfism, coming to terms with her condition and meeting others like herself for the first time.

I explained to Nicky that she had a condition that did not allow her to grow to a normal adult height and that she was very small, not much taller than he was.

He asked me, in all earnestness, "Mommy, are you a dwarf?"

Hmpf.

What's he trying to say? I am 5'2", first thing in the morning at my full height, thank you very much. Dwarf, indeed.

I didn't take it personally, as later, he asked, "Mommy, am I a dwarf?"

Personally, I prefer the term vertically challenged.

Cats

We were at a small country fair not so long ago and went for the kids' activities. They had face-painting. Nicky held back and didn't want to participate at first, but after seeing Laney all done up as a kitty cat, he decided he wanted to be a tiger. Once he had his fierce tiger stripes in place, ones he didn't have to draw on himself with ballpoint pen, he was so careful with his make-up that he didn't even want to eat cake lest he mess up his tiger mouth. This post is here simply for gratuitous "look at my adorable children" reasons.

Have you ever seen a cat ride a horse?

This month, five years ago. . .

When the month started, I waddled when I walked, could no longer sleep on my back, and desperately missed a regular an occasional after-work beer. It had been a long time. . . My pregnancy had come easily, unexpectedly, and had gone smoothly. My life was still my own, and it felt familiar to me, even if my body didn't.

By month's end, it was a completely different life. I was a different me. I was mother to a beautiful baby boy. My first child. A baby boy with a head full of black hair and eyes the color of the deep blue ocean. I had wondered what he looked like. Now I knew. I didn't realize he'd have so much hair. I didn't think his eyes would be so blue. He had a cut on the side of his perfect little nose, we still don't know what from. He had all his fingers, all his toes. He had the sweetest, smallest ears. I had never seen him before, and yet he was instantly familiar to me. It was quite remarkable to me that all those baby parts had fit inside my body not so long ago.

Who was this child? The one who seemed to know his place was with me, despite my own ambivalence and uncertainty about being his mother. I was so scared. He wasn't. He simply was. He quieted when I held him. He cried only when I didn't. He was so clear in his eyes. He seemed to look knowingly at the world around him. He didn't have that cross-eyed newborn look.

Although he could get that, too.

I wondered if I'd be a good mother. . .if I was worthy of him. I wonder that still. Sometimes, deep down near the core of me, I worry that I'm not. I can only hope that I am. At the very least, I try. I've never tried so hard at anything else in my life. We've had our ups and downs, Nicky and me. He's taught me a lot. I hope that I sometimes return that favor.

When he was born, I didn't think I knew him. How could I, I thought. I've only just met him. I see now that I knew him better than I thought. In the womb, he didn't punch or kick me often. He rolled and pushed. If his foot was tucked uncomfortably under my rib, I could push it softly, and he'd move it. Ever gentle and agreeable. He's not about big movements. He rolls when life pushes. He doesn't kick or punch his way through. He's often content to sit quietly and get lost in his drawing or in his own imagination. He doesn't clamor for attention or go out of his way to make himself noticed.

They say still waters run deep. This child is still waters. You could drown in the depths of him, and he's still so young.

He'll be five this month. This sweet baby of mine. He's growing up. Much too fast. I try to savor every moment, but it's like trying to catch the falling rain. The drops come so fast and just disappear. Time just flows. Quickly. By.

Home from the hospital
At two months

At four

At six months

And more. At one year

Two years

Three years

And four

Happy Birthday, Sweet Child!

*Quick note. Today is not Nicky's birthday. July is just his birth month.

Sounds like fun

We were playing hide-and-seek. Nicky hid under the bed. When I found him, he kicked his leg out. I moved my head so as to avoid a black eye.

"Mommy, can you put your head back," he asked me.

"No, Nicky," I responded. "I don't want you to kick me in the face."

"I won't kick you in the face really hard. Just a little."

Gee, kiddo, sounds like a win-win situation all 'round. . .

Silly me. I didn't actually think he was aiming for my head.

Bedtime Stories

Once upon a night, I told the kids I was too tired for bedtime stories. They decided they would tell me bedtime stories instead.

Nicky:

There is Red Spiderman and Black Spiderman. They fight, fight, fight, fight, fight. Black Spiderman dies. Wait, first, there is Junior Goblin and Venom. And they die. They are bad. And then. Then. Um. Then. Red Spiderman fights all the bad guys. And they all die. Just Red Spiderman doesn't die. And then. Um. Then. That's all.

Laney (this is a princess story):
The bear ate all her chips. Nam-nam-nam. (Lots of chewing sounds). The princess had no chips. Then she ate poo poo! Noooooooooooooo (said in a sing-song voice). Blech!

That was fun and those beat my lame old stories any day. They lived happily ever after. That's all.

Like father, like son

One of my favorite stories about Seven is from when he's five or six years old. One night, his mother read him the story of The Ugly Duckling. When she came to the part about the other ducklings making fun of the young swan, little Seven began to cry. His innocent heart just couldn't understand how anyone could be so mean. How could they tease the swan and call him ugly? Seven's little heart hurt because the 'ugly' duckling's heart hurt.

I love that story for many reasons. Mostly because I can still see the sensitive little boy in the grown-up Seven. The small boy who cared so much for the feelings of the ugly duckling grew into a kind-hearted man who is caring and considerate of the feelings of people around him.

Seven has a son.

A few nights ago, Nicky, Laney and I sat down to watch Piglet's BIG Movie. Nicky was very drawn into the movie. At one point, I asked him how he was doing. He turned to me and I could see that something was wrong immediately. His whole face began to crumple and his eyes filled with tears.

"Mommy, why did Piglet lose his scrapbook," he wailed, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Well, I hate to give away the exciting climax of the movie to those of you who haven't seen it. . .but at one point Piglet's treasured scrapbook is lost. Piglet kept a book filled with carefully-drawn pictures of happy memories and good times he'd had with his friends. It was very obviously something precious to Piglet. Nicky was simply heart-broken that something so special had been lost. His mind reeled at the unfairness of it all. At the end of the movie, Piglet's friends made it up to him, drew him new pictures and everything was fine again. For Nicky, it was not quite so simple. He understood the value of the original book and wasn't as easily satisfied as Piglet. He wanted Piglet to get his precious original back! In the end, though, Nicky, too, came to terms with the loss.

I can only hope the little boy who cared so much for Piglet and his scrapbook will grow into a man who cares deeply for the people around him. On those days I worry most about my son's sensitive heart and wonder how much I should protect him from a world that sometimes plows right over people, I remember that Seven was just like him as a little boy. Seven turned out just fine. My son could do much worse than to grow up to be like his father. Actually, he'll be all the better for it.

Photographic Genius

Nicky loves the digital camera. He's actually quite good at taking pictures, and the instant gratification of seeing his work on the display screen in the back has instilled quite a love of photography.

His first attempts ended in blurry images of his hand or the floor. The digital camera is perfect, because we could delete those pictures immediately rather than spend the money to have them developed only to be tossed out. The delete function also works nicely when he's taken an unflattering photo of my ass. Thankfully, those pictures will never see the light of day.

In a post that I guess I can file more for memory-keeping rather than for its interest to others level, I thought I'd display some of his work.

Here, notice the composition, the careful attention to detail.

See how Lightening McQueen is placed on the mousepad just so?

The home-made dragon is very well-centered, I might add.

He is very proud of his new rainboots. Laney was too, so they both wore them around the house. (Fresh out of the bag and not after they'd been trekked in through the mud) Laney's color-coordinated look is straight out of the magazines.

Here he experiments with varying basic elements in order to best tell the story. First, posing without the Spiderman mask.

Then the same pose again with the mask in place. (Nicky loves his Spiderman costume)

No experiment in photography would be complete without up-the-nose self-portraiture. Note how he plays with various expressions.

No more Norwegian

I was getting ready to go to my Norwegian class when I heard Nicky running up the steps.

"Mommy," he said a little breathless. "You have to call me if you see any invisible bad guys at your school."

"Um, okay."

"Don't forget, you have to call me, okay? (pause) Why do you have to learn Norwegian?"

"Lots of reasons. One day, you'll go to school and have homework and stuff. I'll have to help you and Laney with your homework."

"Pappa can help us with our homework. Don't go! Don't go to your class!"

Aha! The real reason for this conversation.

I think he thought that settled matters, because when I was about to walk out the door, he reminded me, "Pappa is going to help me and Laney with our homework. You don't have to learn Norwegian anymore."

Sigh. I wish it were that easy.

Spring Cleaning

Nicky cleaned his room yesterday -- ON HIS OWN INITIATIVE. Doesn't sound like a big deal, but it was -- especially since many of our conversations go something like this. . .

Nicky: Mommy, I have to pee.

Me: Well, go pee. You're four-years-old and can do that yourself.

Nicky, very put out: Why do I have to do EVERYTHING myself?!

Nicky: Where is my Spiderman?

Me: I don't know. Why don't you go check your room?

Nicky, letting out a big, tragic sigh: Why do I have to find EVERYTHING myself? You NEVER help me!

I heard the kids up and about Sunday morning. I heard Nicky tell Laney that they were going to clean their room, which incidentally was a toy-strewn nightmare. I heard Nicky directing the action and the opening and closing of cabinet doors, scraping and pushing. Finally, I heard Nicky come in to my room and announce, "Mommy, I cleaned my room! Come and see!"

I did see. They managed to do a pretty good job, Nicky and his little helper/sister. Someday, I'll teach them that shoving everything under the bed is not really cleaning, but for now, I was so very proud of the effort. I made a big to-do about what a great job they did and how happy I was. Nicky was thrilled with the praise and asked several times throughout the day if his room looked nice just to hear more.

Today before bed, he says to me, "Mommy, you know what makes me glad?"

"What, baby?"
"I'm glad when you are happy I clean my room."

May it always be this easy for us to make each other happy.

Say Cheese!

Raise your hand if you ever sat in front of the Christmas tree while Dad set the timer on the camera, which was on a tripod, then raced back to take the family Christmas card photo.
(Raising hand)

Now raise your hand if your parents got really mad at you, because you refused to smile for said photo. . .or you smiled really goofy-like. . .or you made a weird face. Raise both hands if you did more than one.
(Raising two hands)

The thing is that I hated having my picture taken as a kid. I don't know what it was, but it was. I can remember one Christmas that my mom was so angry at me because my dad took about ten Christmas card photos and in five of them, the rest of my family smiled at the camera and I glared. In the other five, I smiled, too -- not a normal, pretty smile, but this really weird, freakish smile. Oh, my mom was pissed. In the smiling pictures, I think I thought I was smiling. I didn't mean to ruin the pictures. I just didn't have a natural smile when the camera was on.

I understand now that it's a genetic thing. (See, Mom! It's really your fault I'm like this. Or Dad's. Whatever. I was born destined to smile like a weirdo for family photos).

My son has this thing. When he tries too hard, his smile comes out awkward and unnatural. Thankfully, it's not the freakish smile from my Christmas card photo days. His father's genes must have balanced that out. I have to give Nicky credit. He does try even though he hates having his photo taken, and it's better than when he would just glare at the camera (also there on that X chromosome from me).

This is his smile-for-the-camera face. You never see this face unless he is genuinely trying to smile for the camera. I think it's so very adorable, but it's obviously not his natural smile. Capturing an image of one of those beauties is rare, especially with the 10-minute delay on the digital.