Tammy Whine-ette

Today my life could be a country song. I have the flu. My refrigerator broke. My cat has worms. And I got hit in the pubic bone with a golf ball.

Down the Drain

Sunday morning both boys were full of vim and vigor, running in circles through the house, giggling. I left them alone because they were getting along, but I soon found out what was causing all the chaos. According to Jake, they had flushed a 'zombie rocket' down the toilet. I tried to get him to explain what a zombie rocket was. No luck. Sam did his best to describe it. It took me awhile, but I soon realized they had flushed an unused tampon down the toilet.

"From now on, nothing but pee and poop go in the toilet."

"What about toilet paper?"

"Yes, and toilet paper."

"What about other kinds of paper?"

"No, only toilet paper."

"What about vomit? Can vomit go in the toilet?"

"Yes, pee, poop and vomit."

"Rocks? Can rocks go in the toilet?"

For whatever reason I have always imagined my kids more rational and logical than they probably are. Occasionally there are reminders that, yes, Jake is only 3 years old. And Sam, despite his lanky body and big feet, is always seconds from running into a busy street or jumping off the roof of the car. For the most part I assumed we had emerged unscathed from the curious daredevil phase. But I'm beginning to realize it's not that we have emerged from it, it is that we have not yet entered it.

Stumping

When we sit down to dinner we go around the table and tell our High/Low - the high point of our day and the low point. Jake doesn't get it just yet, so his typical response is "I had a little bit of timeout. I played in centers. I ate lunch and sleeped. I waited for you. And that's it."

Sam is getting much better at High/Low. It's not only interesting, the things that are important and noteworthy to him, but I've found it's a good opportunity to catch him being honest. I've learned what happens on the playground, what he prefers in his lunch and what girl he likes from playing High/Low.

Last night at dinner, he asked me to go first.

"Well, the high was probably that I had a good day at work. It was a tense day and there were a lot of firedrills, but we handled it well, and at the end of the day that's a good feeling, a job well done."

"And the low?" Sam asked.

"Well, I would've liked to see Barack Obama. He was in Dallas today for a rally. Do you know who Barack Obama is?"

Sam and I have talked recently about Obama and Clinton. He's been studying Abraham Lincoln and George Washington in school so the timing is right. But I also think it's important for him to know.

"See Sam, whoever is elected our next president may be the president for 8 years. That would take you into your teens. That person could make decisions that impact our family, your cousins Tyler and John Wyatt, your grandmas and Meams. That person could make decisions that set the stage for the life you lead as a young adult."

"I know who Barack Obama is," he told me. "He thinks we have to fix Washington to fix health care."

What A Pair

Jake: Do you think she's trying to say something about me by making me wear a skull and crossbones?

Abby: At least you don't have to wear pink everyday.

Jake: 'Cause maybe if she didn't feed me pancakes and chocolate milk all the time, I wouldn't be such a handful.

Abby: My shoes, my pants, my shirt. Even the band in my hair. Pink.

Jake: I can be really sweet. Last night I helped her unload the dishwasher.

Abby: SHE never wears pink.

Jake: And I went to bed last night without any trouble. Slept all night too.

Abby: At least you aren't wearing PINK.

Jake: I tell you what. When we're teenagers, I'll start wearing pink and you can wear the skull and crossbones.

Abby: You are SO on.

Love Stories

Story 1: Off and on for a couple of years Sam has been smitten with Katherine. She used to be in his day care class but kindergarten tore them apart and now they only occasionally see each other at church. The other day though they both were at day care while I picked up Abby and Katherine's mom picked up Katherine's sister, Libby.

As girls are inclined to do, Katherine sometimes completely ignores Sam, despite the ear-to-ear grin he flashes whenever she's around. This time, however, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, twice.

"Sam, how about that? You got a kiss from Katherine!"

"Two kisses," he said. "It made my tummy all wiggly."

Story 2: Jake came bounding down the steps on Valentine's Day morning.

"Happy Valentine's Day sweet cheeks," I told him.

"Happy Valentine's Day Mommy. Thank you for the love."

Thy Neighbor's Fruit

Saturday afternoon I sent Sam and Jake next door for some Band-Aids. I gave them explicit instructions to knock, ask for a couple of Band-Aids and come home. Don't invite yourself in to play and don't dawdle too much. (I really needed the bandages).

I watched them cross our front yard, go up on the porch and ring the doorbell. As soon as the door opened, they both stepped inside. Fifteen minutes later they were back with the Band-Aids and a bag of fresh-cut pineapple.

Now maybe any food procured at someone else's house is better than what you have at home. (When I was in high school, the Diet Coke at my friend Pam's house was the best Diet Coke ever. And she always said the milk at my house was the best.) Or maybe my kids are suffering from scurvy and needed a citrusy boost. But the three of them hovered over that bag of pineapple like cavemen protecting a fire. Like hyenas. Like vultures.

So I'll add pineapple to our next grocery list and it is likely no one will eat it. Maybe the kid next door.

Wake-Up Call

My kids have an internal clock that goes off every seven days, at approximately 6:00 Saturday morning. Because Jake and Sam went to bed later than usual last night and because Abby had a little mid-night fit, I thought, perhaps, silly me, that everyone would sleep later today. But in the pre-dawn darkness, I heard the unmistakable padding of footsteps and sure enough, there was Jake, inches from my face, "Mommy, is it wake-up time?"

At this point I'm not even sure what time it is. I only know that is it pitch black outside. Not even the little bird who nests outside the bedroom window is warbling. Perhaps her chicks are letting her sleep in. Perhaps the Daddy bird has taken them to birdy IHOP to give the Mommy Bird a break. All I know is it is very wrong to be up before the birds on a Saturday morning.

"No, Jakey, it isn't wake-up time. It's still dark. I have to drag you out of bed every weekday, now I want to stay in bed."

"You want me to punch you in the face?" he asks as if he's offering me a cup of coffee.

"Jakey, I'm getting up. It just takes me longer than you."

"One, Mommy. Two, Mommy. Three, Mommy." (Jake is fond of the countdown these days. Everything from making his breakfast to wiping his behind to getting a cup of chocolate milk elicits the countdown.)

But I have a theory about the early Saturdays. It's part of a larger theory really. Like my theory about how I know God is a man, it is based in biology. Here it is: I think children purposefully hasten parents through the aging process.

Parents don't age because time passes. Parents age because they don't sleep, they worry, they eat poorly. Our kids think we're out of touch but it's actually their fault: We opt out of popular culture for years to listen to Raffi and Eddie Coker (if you're lucky, Dan Zanes), to watch Barney and the Wiggles and Justice League. We stop dressing stylishly or professionally in favor of comfortable, patterned clothes that don't show stains or wrinkles. Years of half-witted answers and baby talk and Dr. Suess books mush the brain, and you soon find yourself cutting your husband's steak at a black-tie event or spending an entire adult lunch hour praising the Backyardigans. Decades later, when the kids are grown, we know nothing about popular culture, fashion, this crazy thing called MTV that the kids all talk about (is it even MTV anymore?).

Don't get me wrong. Kids do keep you young at heart, and they keep things in perspective. For example, is an extra few minutes of sleep really better than spending the morning making valentines or eating pancakes or wasting rolls of toilet paper to make mummies? Probably not.

Maybe once in a while.