Restored

Last night about 10 p.m. I was sitting in bed, working on my laptop, flipping through channels. It was warm and windy so I had the windows open. All of a sudden I heard a car and voices and our back gate open. "The bike stealers are back!" I thought.

Instead, it was our wonderful neighbors, Blackie and Cathey Ann. Earlier in the day over the fence I'd told her about Jake's bike. And that night she and Blackie drove our alley looking for it. Sure enough it was parked near the end. No one had taken it. We'd just left it.

I am overwhelmed by their gesture and ashamed that I immediately assumed someone had taken it.

As I said yesterday, it would restore my faith in humanity if someone would bring the bike back. And someone did. Faith in humanity restored. My cup overflows.

Heartsick

Last night Sam, Jake, Abby and I were riding bikes in the alley when our neighbors asked us to come over to play in the backyard. The kids were playing, the adults were sharing some wine. After an hour or so we parted ways and came home for dinner, baths and bedtime.

Fast forward to this morning. The first thing Bryon asks me is "Where is Jake's bike?" And sure enough, we either left it in the alley or someone took it from our backyard. I haven't told Jake. With him it's hard to tell if he flip his lid or take it in stride. The promise of a replacement bike will probably help.

All that said, this bothers me on so many levels. First, if we left it in the alley, which I think we did, it was clearly left by accident. It's not like we put it on the curb with a 'free for the taking' sign. Real life isn't finders keepers. On another level, is our alley full of people each night just looking for stuff to steal? And what bothers me the most is it's a kid's bike - a small one at that, with its training wheels still attached. I hope whoever took it is proud to be stealing a bike from a 4-YEAR-OLD. A bike he got for Christmas. A bike that matched his older brother's.

To top it off, this morning when I was asking Sam to help me retrace our steps to possibly find the bike, I whispered under my breath, "That bike cost $200." Sam's reaction? "Aha, there really ISN'T a Santa Claus."

On this of all days, it would really restore my faith in humanity if someone would call or knock on our door to let us know they saw the bike in the alley last night and held onto it until morning so no one would take it. Of all days, please.

Poetic

Last night Sam handed me a piece of paper and said, "I am supposed to be a poet." On the paper he had written:

On the ground I see ...

I see on the ground. An ant.
A roly poly.
A root on the ground.
What do you see on the ground.
Especially dirt.
Sometimes mud.
Grass on the ground.
Houses outside.
Especially friends.
I see my mom.
I see my dad.

Look out e.e. cummings.

Scary Spray

A couple of nights ago Jake woke up screaming. He'd had a nightmare about the movie Madagascar 2. He told me what the nightmare was about, and at the time, as I sat on the side of his bed trying to console him, I remember thinking, "Geesh, that is pretty scary." But all I remember now is he thought things were crawling on his walls.

Long story short, he ended up sleeping with me. With me, Abby and Bryon actually. Between Abby's wet cough and Jake's feet fidgets, I didn't sleep very well, needless to say.

So last night when Jake pre-empted the whole nightmare issue by asking outright if he could sleep with me, I told him it wouldn't be necessary because I had ... Scary Spray. Scary Spray is actually a can of Oust, which works particularly well because 'oust' makes sense and it is odorless. You don't want to have to explain why Scary Spray smells like an evergreen tree.

I told him once he got into bed, I would spray Scary Spray around the windows and the door and it would keep all scary thoughts out. I even turned on the ceiling fan and sprayed some into it, to spread it around the room for safe measure. He seemed convinced until I started spraying some under the bed to keep away monsters and on the stairs to prevent anyone but Dad from walking up. At that point I realized I'd probably introduced some fears he hadn't had on his own, so I quit spraying.

I don't know if it was the spray or the fact that he was worn out, but he slept all night long and said he didn't have any scary thoughts.

Now if there could be spray that gave you a good night sleep while sleeping with a squirmy kid, a hacking baby and another adult in a queen-sized bed.

Idle Chatter

One thing I've realized as an adult is there are a few topics you can talk about to anyone, just about anytime. If you find yourself in an awkward elevator situation or unexpectedly in step with a coworker on the way into the office, you can always make a comment about the weather, sports and/or your local sports teams, or your lack of energy or interest in the job you are about to go do.

Example. Sam and I were actually running early this morning so I parked and walked him into school rather than drop him off in the drive-through lane. He literally SKIPPED the entire way from the car to school. Probably 50 yards. I had to ask him to slow down. As we passed the crossing guard she said, "Well, good morning. Oh to have so much energy." To which I replied, "I wish I felt like that going to my job." To which she replied, "Isn't that true?!? But it looks like it's going to be lovely day." To which I could've said, "Sure does. Go Mavericks!"

Grown ups are fun.

If Not Now, When

You know how you might say you'll start dieting after Thanksgiving or you'll start saving money after Christmas? Well, I've been putting a lot of things on my 'when the kitchen is done' list. In no particular order, these are the things I'm expecting to happen once the remodel is done. (Bryon has cautiously reminded me that I have "a lot riding on the remodel.")

1. My whole house will become clean and organized.
2. I will become a better cook.
3. My relationship with Tag the Dog will improve.
4. My kids will eat better.
5. I will have time to read the paper with a cup of coffee in uninterrupted silence each morning.
6. My kids will enjoy nightly crafts at our new kitchen table.
7. My family will develop an interest in board games, which we will play at our new kitchen table.

Not that I'm a pessimist but it is highly likely that the only thing that will be done ... is the remodel itself.

Estoy Con Stupido

By the time I finished high school I was fluent in Spanish. To my 17-year-old mind that meant I didn't have to study Spanish another day for the rest of my life. My 30-something mind wishes I would've taken more Spanish classes.

Now that Sam is in a Spanish program at school I find myself reading, writing and speaking beginner Spanish again. Maybe as he learns it, I'll re-learn it. My reluctance with speaking Spanish (or any foreign language really) is the same as my reluctance about learning golf. There's no real way to practice - you just have to jump in and hope for the best, knowing there will be stumbles along the way. Even when I could speak, read and understand Spanish I rarely spoke it in public. I'm not fond of voluntarily making a fool of myself.

Shortly after Bryon and I married we took a trip to Costa Rica and one night, after a few cocktails, I tried to talk to the cab driver. At one point he was giggling hysterically and I, after replaying the conversation, realized I'd been referring to Bryon as my wife the entire time.

Fast forward to today. Much of our remodel has been done by Spanish-speaking electricians, plumbers, painters and cabinet makers. I have tried speaking to them in English but most of our conversations consist of me yelling and gesturing and them smiling and nodding. As we neared the end of the remodel I really wanted to tell them how great their work has been. So, today, after they finished all the cabinets and took down all the paper and tape that had covered the kitchen, I thought I would try to express my thanks - in Spanish.

All I wanted to say was "the kitchen is beautiful and I love it." I thought I could handle that much. But the contractor looked really uncomfortable and eager to end our conversation.

That's probably because in my anxiety and inexperience I told him, "The kitchen is beautiful. I love you."

Sock It To Me

On the way home from school each day Sam and I play a game I've started calling Quid Pro Quo. I tell him something about my day he wouldn't otherwise know, and he reciprocates. We do this until one person runs out of news and that makes the other person the 'winner.' My only goal is to get him to talk about his day. This game has sparked some tangential conversations and occasionally, he finds my news funny - like the other day when I admitted I ate an entire package of mini Oreos for lunch.

Yesterday during our game I shared that Jake had a wobbler on the way to school. I honestly don't remember what it was about. (I got them Lego car kits the other day so it was probably about a lost Lego piece. Whoever invented and continues to manufacture Legos secretly dislikes parents and children.) And instead of reciprocating, Sam said, "There is something we do in our classroom when someone has a tantrum that may help with Jake."

"Really? What's that? 'Cause I could use some advice."

"Respect him."

"What? What do you mean?"

"Respect him. That's what works in our classroom."

I pressed but he couldn't explain any further what he meant. But, the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Respect the tantrum, respect the emotion, respect the kid.

So today when Jake had a wobbler on the way to school - this time because Sam mistakenly took one of Jake's Lego cars to school - I tried a slightly different approach. I respected the tantrum.

I let him walk 20 feet behind us into school. Let him check himself in. I didn't try to talk him down or talk him out of it. I didn't reprimand him. I only said, "It's OK to be upset. Just don't be mean."

And by the time I left he was smiling, having a snack but not a wobbler. It's probably a fluke. Jake and his wobblers are as unpredictable as ... well, life. But this time, taking the advice of a 7-year-old worked.

Maybe I'll share that with Sam this afternoon.

Ditto

Abby's talking a lot more these days. It's probably the kind of talk only we can decipher, but one thing's for sure, she understands us.

Until now, whenever you tell her you love her, she has responded with "I too" except it sounds like "eye-uh tewwwww."

But last night I picked her up to carry her downstairs and she put her little hands on each side of my face and said "I too." I would like to think it was her telling me she loved me, without me telling her first.

There's no punchline, no pithy ending comment. Just a sweet moment I want to share and remember.