Happy Halloween

We're off to a good start.

Dora Does Dallas

Abby is a fan of Dora the Explorer. This is fine with me. There are far more annoying shows than Dora. And I have to admit the show is probably more appropriate for Jake than some of the things he watches simply because Sam watches them.

But ... Sam's a little past Dora. And since he's developed quite the cheeky sense of humor, watching it with him is like watching Mystery Science Theater 3000. (One of the best shows ever ...)

Case in point ... We were watching last night and when Dora needed to climb a tree and asked 'you' to find an item to help her, Sam relished yelling out "A lemon! A wheel! Peanut butter!" even as the rope in her backpack is flashing.

Then, at the end of the show, when Dora asked what your favorite part of the adventure was, Sam decided to answer: "I liked it when I took off my pants!"

And then, Dora's typical response ... "I liked that too."

Say It Ain't So

I have a copy of Twas the Night Before Christmas that Bryon's mom gave me. It was Bryon's when he was a child, published 10 years before he was born. It has charming, vintage illustrations that make it my favorite version of the book.

In the past week or so I've worked it back into our nightly reading queue. The kids never tire of it and I'm sincerely hoping that one day I can have the whole poem memorized.

But last night, one page in, Sam stopped me and said, "I don't really think there's such a thing as Santa Claus."

Me, over zealously, "What? Are you kidding? What are you talking about? Of course, there's a Santa Claus."

"No. I think it's just you guys dressing up and giving us presents."

"Well, it's not. It's Santa."

"Why doesn't anybody ever see him then? And why is it that no one ever gets a lump of coal, even if they're bad?"

"Daddy got a lump of coal once. I know that for a fact." Sure, I gave it to him and it was made of licorice, but in this instance it counts. IT COUNTS.

"If I stayed up all night long would I finally see him?" Sam asked.

"I don't think so. Like the song says he knows when you are sleeping and he won't come until you're asleep."

"But how does he know?"

"He's watching all the time."

"All kids? All the time?" Clearly he's thrown off by the improbable logistics.

"Yes, Sam. All kids. All the time."

We didn't resolve anything. I don't think the conversation swayed him. But he's too young NOT to believe in Santa. He has to, for a few more years anyway. Give Jake a chance. Think about Abby.

And to me that's just one of those sweet, innocent beliefs a kid needs to hold onto for awhile. The magic and spirit and excitement and anticipation. Without that I'm not sure it's ever the same.

Perspective

Yesterday I brought Sam to work with me, and it was an eye-opening experience. By the end of the day he was convinced I work in the coolest place ever, and I have to admit, having a little companion to pal around with brightened my mood. Maybe there's something more to Bring Your Kid To Work Day than just bringing your kid. It gives you a new perspective on the surroundings that well, surround you, every day.

We started the morning by getting coffee and chocolate milk at the Starbucks counter in the cafeteria. I let him keep the change. He colored at my desk for the next 90 minutes or so while I did what required me to be in the office. At 11 we went to the cafeteria for lunch. It had just opened so it was well stocked.

"You can have just about anything you can think of. Pizza, a cheeseburger, a sandwich, yogurt, soup."

"You mean I just tell them what I want and they'll make it for me?"

"Yep. Kind of like at home."

"Kind of. But not really."

We ate lunch outside by the pond and fountain where the ducks congregate. After lunch we walked up to the visitor lobby where there's a large compass mounted to glass on the floor that lets you see the ground six floors beneath you. After a nervous security guard shooshed Sam from laying in the middle of the glass, suspended six floors up, we went back to my desk. While I listened in a conference call he played typing games and Cubis on my laptop. I gave him a gopher stuffed animal I'd received as an event giveaway. He drew a soldier costume for it, replete with helmet and walkie-talkie, and taped the costume on the gopher while I finished work.

On the way out two coworkers stopped to say hello and compliment him on the gopher. He was nearly bursting with pride.

On the way home he couldn't stop talking about the cool things at my office - my cube with our family pictures in it, the gopher, my cubemate Cindy who gave him candy, the automatic towel dispensers in our bathrooms, the cafeteria, the duck pond, the best chocolate milk ever.

And while it would take some convincing for me to believe I work in the coolest place ever, it does look a little better to me today.

I Do

Saturday I took Sam and Jake to the State Fair of Texas. It was ending on Sunday and I suddenly felt I was depriving them of something so very all-American if we didn't go. Plus I thought they were both of the age that they would really enjoy the fair. So we were there when it opened on Saturday and I was quite proud that we stayed almost 7 hours and did just about everything we could. Corny dogs (corn dogs if you are from anywhere outside Texas), nachos, fried jalapenos, the Texas Star, bumper cars, roller coasters, Frisbee dogs, Birds of the World, a petting zoo and the world's largest alligator (hopefully fake or dead, if not "Hello SPCA?")

But my fair fervor had its price. We'd had a full day by 4 p.m. Everyone was tired and frazzled. Too much sun, too much wind, too much fresh air. It made for a long evening. And to top it off the mixture of the day's elements threw Jake into an asthma attack that lasted until yesterday morning, when I finally took him to the doctor. For the next week we have to give him breathing treatments every 2 hours. Luckily it doesn't slow Jake down too much (come to think of it slowly Jake down a tad might be nice).

So this morning the alarm went off and I got up ready to face my routine after a day of irregularity. The first thing I noticed when I went into the boys' room was the smell. The second thing, Sam was not in his bed. The third thing, the puke and poo that was in his bed. Sometime during the night the dear little guy got sick. Instead of bothering anyone he changed his clothes, put the dirty ones in the hamper and slept on the bathroom floor.

This is one of those days when you wish your life was only taking care of your kids. Bryon and I both had full schedules this morning and since I was out yesterday with Jake it would be even harder to take another day. So I cleaned him up, started a load of laundry and brought him to work with me. (A side note, as Eleanor Roosevelt said, "A woman is like a tea bag. You never know how strong she is until you put her in hot water." And this morning proved that. In the matter of 30 minutes I showered, got three kids ready for school, fixed breakfast, washed out dirty sheets and dirty underwear - all while wearing 3-inch heels.)

But ... none of this matters because I am running off with the bulk garbage pick-up guy. He proposed to me yesterday afternoon as I ran a wheelbarrow full of bulk garbage to the curb ... in 3-inch heels.

Potty Mouth Pie

After several months on my DVR I finally watched the movie Waitress this weekend. If you haven't seen it, throughout the movie the main character sings a song "Baby don't you cry, gonna make a pie, gonna make a pie with a heart in the middle." Although it's a little corny I challenge you to not hum it for days after you hear it. Which is what I did, all weekend long. After a day or so, Sam and Jake asked me what I was humming so I told them the words. A couple of hours later we were playing in their fort outside and Jake started singing:

Baby don't you cry, I'm gonna make you a pie.
I'm making you a pie with farts in the middle.

Not quite the same meaning, but cute nonetheless.

Tick Tick Tick

My mom and grandma just left after a quick visit. They drove down to spend the weekend with the kids and celebrate Jake's birthday. My grandma turned 91 on October 1, the same day Jake turned 4. In March she was hospitalized and she hasn't been the same since. She used to be an avid walker, now she sits a lot. And because she can't hear very well, she gets left out of a lot of conversations.

But what I noticed most, or became more aware of, this visit was how our fast-paced world, my fast-paced world, just swirls around her. Obviously part of it is physical - she just can't move as quickly or nimbly as many of us. But she also is much more prone than I to sip a cup of coffee or read the newspaper front to back or do nothing but sit, eyes closed, on the porch, listening to the birds, feeling the sun. Granted, if I did that, some things would just not get done. But, on the other hand, at the end of the day, she's sleeping under the same roof I am, having eaten the same food I did.

I don't mean to imply "We're all going to die so what's the use in running ourselves ragged." But I do mean to say, figuratively, metaphorically, if you had to get from point A to point B in 12 hours, and you knew you'd arrive there safely no matter what, would you take the scenic route or would you drive through downtown, with its construction, honking horns, fits and spurts of traffic, congestion.

Because what I'm finally realizing is that no matter how stressed I get about a clean house or unfolded laundry or an overflowing garbage can, at the end of the day, the house is generally tidy, the laundry is usually folded and the garbage can be emptied. But if you've not sipped a cup of coffee or sat in serene silence or felt the sun on your face, does the rest of it matter?

One Year Later

We had Jake's birthday party this weekend at the same park we held last year's party. I managed to get a photo of Abby in the same spot as a photo from last year. I've always said it's hard for me to remember my kids at any age than what they are right at this moment. It's strange and amazing that it happens that way, but it does. You see a teenager and deny your son will ever be that tall, or you see a newborn and forget your daughter was ever that tiny. But they will be. And they were. Here's proof.

Success

I think Jake had a good birthday. You have to admire the determination little ones have when it comes to blowing out birthday candles.

And this is what happens when you leave an empty cake and ice cream bowl lying around our house.

Are You There God? It's Me Santa

Sam's been swearing a lot lately. I say this matter of factly because I can only blame Bryon and me. I mean, I doubt he's hearing it from Miss Heath, his first grade teacher, or Mr. Harris, his Sunday School teacher.

His latest game is to have good Star Wars guys fight bad Star Wars guys and as the bad guys are dying they yell "Jesus Christ!" as they fall into a pit of hot lava (or hot 'lavee' if you're Jake).

Yesterday, after a couple of minutes of this, I stepped from the kitchen into the living room and said, "Sam, wait, can you hear that sound?"

"What sound?"

"Really? You don't hear that muffled, whimpering sound?"

"No. What is it?"

"It's God crying because you say bad words."

"Nuh uh. That's not true."

"Yes it is. He's crying because you have a potty mouth. And you know another reason he's crying?"

"Why?"

"He's crying because He's going to have to tell Santa you're being bad."

"NOOOOOO. Don't tell Santa. PLEASE. PLEASE, don't tell Santa!!!"

Apparently, God needs a PR agent.

Four

Jake was born four years ago today. We went to the hospital at 9 p.m. September 30, but he held on long enough to be born in the early morning hours of October 1, the same day his great-grandmother was born 87 years earlier.

Late in the evening October 1, I was alone in the hospital room with Jake. He was inconsolable. I was stumped and worried, pacing, alone.

But looking back it seems that night set the tone for my relationship with Jake. He puzzles me. I want so much to hug him and cuddle him and he is the most likely of my kids to push me away. He will be the kid who buys the motorcycle. He will backpack through Europe. He won't call for weeks.

I think he will break my heart.

Despite all that - or maybe because of it - I have a special love for him. He's like the stray dog you so want to love and nurture and he may get really close and seem to trust you, but when you reach out, he flinches. For whatever reason I crave a closeness with that creature.

So Jakey. My sweet, wild, precocious, sensitive, irascible Jakey. You are loved. And no matter how many tantrums you throw, how many meltdowns you have, how much you push me away, my heart and arms will always be open.