And Then Sometimes I'm Not ...

Yesterday, after impressing me with his propensity for geometry, Sam jolted me back to reality with this little question:

"If I jumped off our house holding Woo (his crocheted blanket/lovey) would I float to the ground like it was a parachute?"

"No," I told him not missing a beat. "You'd stay in the air for a minute or two until you realized there was no ground under you, then you'd look down, panic, hold up a small sign that said "Help me" and you'd plummet to the ground, leaving only a little puff of dirt."

Thank you Wile E. Coyote.

Sometimes I'm Amazed

Yesterday Sam agreed to take the training wheels off his bike. I couldn't find any tools in the garage - I think they were stolen in the Open Garage Incident of Summer 2004. But when Sam suggested I just twist off the bolts that held the wheels on, I tried to show him how tightly they were attached and explain that we didn't seem to have the right tool to remove them.

"Just a minute!" he said, running into the house. He was soon back out, holding a socket wrench.

"Sam. That's just what I needed. Where'd you find it?" I asked him, truthfully impressed.

"It was in the den," he told me, a testament to the order of our house.

"How did you know that was the right tool?" I asked.

"Because they are both hectagons," he told me.

September 11

Six years ago this morning I was about 7 months pregnant with Sam, sitting in our driveway putting on makeup (I wasn't organized enough without children to get ready in the mornings, what was I thinking would happen with three kids?) when I turned on NPR and heard a surreal broadcast. You could tell something was very wrong but it seemed like forever before the reporters explained what was happening. At that point the World Trade Center had been attacked but we hadn't heard about the Pentagon or the plane that went down in Pennsylvania.

Like I said I was pregnant with Sam and like a lot of mothers-to-be I had had those feelings of what kind of world am I bringing a child into. Those feelings were obviously worse that morning, especially when no one understood the extent of what was happening. I pictured trying to have and raise a baby in a post-apocalyptic, post-nuclear world, much like an awful nuclear education film I'd been forced to watch in junior high. Even though I was not directly affected by the events of 9-11, I had nightmares for awhile. Most of them involved me getting separated from Bryon and an infant while planes flew overhead and bombs fell, much like a science fiction movie.

So six years later I am a little saddened and ashamed to admit that the events of September 11 had little affect on me personally. Like others I may have more appreciation of the little things, knowing that things can change so quickly, so unexpectedly. But I didn't lose a loved one or a colleague, and living in Texas, I feel physically and somewhat emotionally removed from the events and their aftermath.

I still occasionally have nightmares about getting separated from my kids. But more often I fear that they will be bullied at school or have to eat lunch alone or won't have playmates on the playground. Sam cried last night because he said he doesn't have enough time to eat his lunch and he gets hungry in the afternoon. I know he was sleepy but it was heartbreaking, picturing little Sam trying to speed through the lunch I'd packed, struggling to open his pack of apples or his pudding.

That said I am fortunate I am not one those people I saw on TV this morning, holding up a picture of a loved one they lost 6 years ago today, forced to remember them in a brief moment of silence.

Give Me Patience ... Now

Thank you Nannie Jossie.

Praise Ye the Dord

Because Jake and Abby's daycare is in our church, they learn Bible stories and say prayers at lunch and snack time. Recently at dinner, Jake folded his little dimpled hands together to sing a new prayer.

"Heavenly Bother, Heavenly Bother,
Dee dank doo, dee dank doo.
For our many blessings, for our many blessings,
Amen, Amen."

It took me several days to translate the second line (I think it is "We thank Thee"), but it is still more fun to address it to Heavenly Bother.

Jekyll and Hyde

I was prepared to post something smug and precious about Jake today. About how he's basically potty trained and how he has given up his bedtime bottle (yes, at nearly 3 he still wanted a bottle of chocky milk each night before - what of it?). How he talks so much and so clearly now. And how he'll interrupt playing several times a day to simply say "Mommy, I love you."

And then this morning he had a 65-minute wobbler that renewed my concern that we are heading for years of therapy.

Despite being kicked and slapped and generally having to wrangle a child that resembled a rabid wolverine, I did not lose my cool. I managed to get him into the backseat of the minivan and just as I got one arm in his car seat, one shoe came off. I got the shoe back on and he unbuckled the seat belt. I really didn't know what I was going to do once we got to school. Would it be bad to leave sleeping Abby in her car seat so I could carry Jake in? Would it be worse to lock screaming Jake in the car while I took Abby in?

But he had calmed down considerably by the time we reached the school. Abby was sleeping and although one of her bottles had spilled in the car on the way, things weren't too bad. I carried Jake into his new classroom, Miss Felicia distracted him with Play-Doh and I went on to work, wishing the morning could've gone better but knowing that I will still get a "Mommy, I love you" tonight.