Friends and Enemas

Most of the time I can excuse Sam and Jake's behavior by convincing myself that is how boys play. There is the expected amount of sword play, roughhousing, tussling, name calling and poop jokes. But I can't really explain Sunday. They spent most of Sunday outside drowning fire ants and spraying each other in the butt with the garden hose. Dear, sweet, observant Abby stood about 2 feet away, pointing at them and looking back over her shoulder at me like "Are you seeing this?"

Still Crazy After All These Years

I think I will spend my lifetime trying to understand Jake. He's going to be our rebel, our heartbreaker. He's chocolate-covered espresso beans. He's a kitten with a switchblade.

Just the other night he came home from school, announced he was hungry, sat at the table and ate dinner. Broccoli. The entire time Bryon and I had one eye on him and one eye on our food, thinking that at any minute it would all come to a screaming end. (Don't look directly at it, don't acknowledge the good behavior, don't make any sudden movements.)

When he was done I gave him a hug and told him that was the best 'dinner Jakey' I had ever seen. "I was happy all day," was his response.

Apparently his 'day' ended about 20 minutes later when, beguiled by his good dinner behavior, I took him to the grocery store for the odd combination of fish food, milk and tampons. He thought that list should've included Army soldiers. I literally - literally - had to drag him from the store.

I stopped only to consider that the incident would've made an interesting What Would You Do episode of Dateline because although he was screaming and kicking and yelling, no one asked questions or tried to stop me. Apparently it would be fairly simple to abduct a child from my local Minyard.

But, back to Jake. I got him home, Bryon got him calmed down (after looking at both of us like "What the hell happened?"), Jake went to bed voluntarily. As we tucked him in, he looked up from his pillow and said, "Mommy, I love you all day."

Except from 6:15 to 6:45.

Lothario

Last night Sam, Jake and I were watching a TV show about the world's funniest commercials. I should've known it would be raunchy when Kathy Griffin appeared as the host, but the humor in most of the ads was lost on the boys. And some of them were really funny.

In particular there was a spot for a cell phone (I do not remember which one) that featured a young, sassy wife sending a video of herself stripping to her husband's cell phone. Unbeknownst to both of them, one of the husband's colleagues was watching the video as he'd answered the cell phone instead.

I think we watched that commercial 20 times. Sam's at the age where he rolls his eyes and covers his ears. But Jake, Jake wanted to watch it over and over, and each time he realized something new he liked about the girl.

"I like her shirt."

"I like her hair."

"I like her undies."

"I like her bubs."

What am I going to do when he's a teenager?

So Funny I Forgot To Laugh

So last week was Sam's spring break and my mother graciously offered to fly down and spend the week with him (and various combinations of Jake and Abby) so that Bryon and I wouldn't have to take the entire week off. Even though Sam had a great week, I am a little saddened that I have yet to start thinking like the parent of a school-age child and plan a little better so that our family could've enjoyed some time off together.

But Thursday I called home to find that my grandmother had been hospitalized in Illinois, and the doctors said she was suffering from congestive heart failure. My grandmother is 90 but no matter how old, when you hear congestive heart failure, a few things come immediately to mind. My first reaction was regret - regret that I haven't asked her more questions, listened to more stories, talked a little longer on the telephone. And regret that I have to get one particular photograph - a photo of her, my mom, Abby and me. Four generations.

My second reaction was to get all of us on a plane and home as fast as possible. United Airlines had a different reaction. Apparently they wanted us to wait in a busy airport for 9 hours and push us from flight to flight. (For added fun, they went ahead and sent our luggage.) But over the course of the day we had a better idea of my grandma's condition and my mom had planned to leave the next day anyway, so we gave up. I also realized that spontaneous travel with 3 kids is not ideal.

At the end of the day, we did stop to recognize that if it hadn't been so stressful, if United hadn't been so rude and if the kids hadn't been so rambunctious, it would've almost been funny. Almost.
In the end my grandmother is stable, my mom made it back home, the luggage was returned. The point of the story? Maybe it's just to call your mom and say Hi.

Cloudspeak

Saturday we were spoiled with no-shoes, sleep-with-your-windows open temperatures. Today, there is a possibility of snow.

Driving to school this morning I told Sam I thought it was fascinating that the same sky that brought us such lovely weather one day could bring us such soupy weather the next.

"It's not the same sky," he told me.

"Really? You think there are many skies and they just move around dropping weather on whoever is underneath?"

"Yes. I think our blue sky is in California."

"Probably, but who tells the skies where to go?"

"God. He speaks cloud."

"What does cloud sound like?"

"It is wispy. And windy."

I bet he's right.