At 2 a.m., on night five of six nights of fever, the over-heated one woke for the nth time.
knock, knock
who's there?
silly chickens.
silly chickens, who?
Aoow, aaow, aaoowwooo! (coyote howl, as per the Toddles and Mary Jr.)
Almost worth waking up for, I thought.
***********************
Yesterday, I took the Eldest to a psychologist specializing in kids with chronic illness. In the five minutes I had, I tried to explain what we were seeing and why I was worried. She tried to soothe me about things I wasn't worried, but instead of leaving, feeling frustrated, I ended up with a hopeful note: nice lady. We'll see what she thinks, two, three sessions down the road.
I have the habit of dressing carefully for doctor's visits. I heard a talk once by a psychologist that explained that children who are attractive in some fashion (appearance, behavior, etc) get better medical care than children who do not appeal to their caregivers in some fashion. It's a thought I've filed under 'nasty but probably true,' and I've always dressed the boys and myself carefully for these visits, for much the same reason.
Admittedly, years of dressing with the concept of tzniut, or modesty in mind have made me into someone who overthinks when she yanks out clothes for the morning. Different communities approach the question of modesty differently, some are okay with women wearing pants, others advocate for women in skirts. Necklines, hemlines, length of sleeves - all of these come into play in the delicate dance of what is considered appropriate. I'm usually quite happy to go beyond my personal standards to suit the community's when I visit friends more religious than I - I figure that I'd rather have people talk to me than fret about what I'm wearing. For a religion that builds sexual satisfaction into our marriage contract, we certainly get anxious about it on our streets.
The concept of appropriate dressing taken to such detail, such attempts at precision strikes me as faintly silly even as I do it. And do we get better medical care this way? Who knows - at least it makes me feel settled, which is probably worth something.
Let's see: we want to look nice, but not as if we're trying too hard. We'd like to look presentable, but not stiff and starchy, hmmm. The Eldest ended up in a soft, pale blue t-shirt and some ever so slightly raggedy (but fashionably so) khaki shorts. A leetle preppy, but not too bad. On the way out the door, though, he snagged a bright yellow pair of warm-up shorts.
They're mine, he informed me.
We got to the car, and he plopped them on his head. It's my pants-hat! he shrieked, and doubled over in giggles. His tidy-but-boyish image was ruined, replaced by a tidy but quirky look that is all Eldest's. Beneath the awful yellow of the shorts, the Eldest's grin caught fire with delight.
It was, I mused, the perfect ensemble.
******************
Well, she's packed and we've said good-bye.
As I noted here, our dear Mary Jr had a personal reversal sprung on her. She's gone home to, as the Eldest put it, "heal." The Toddles is wandering around the house, calling her name, asking if she's in the other room. The Eldest, suddenly realizing that he'd said good-bye to her for the last time (we meant it when we'd told you so, kid), panicked and asked to call her.
This morning, we declared her an honorary auntie, after she completed our Auntification Course, a rigorous affair including a written exam, visual identification, a visual interpretation section, and a practical exam. She passed with flying colours, and after deliberation by the committee, we awarded her a certificate of Honorary Auntieship. It was sweet, silly, and entirely appropriate. Families, after all, are as often made as they are born.
The Toddles, however, is worried about his newly named auntie. 'Mary boke?' 'He boke Mary?' Listening to our worried conversations about the situation, the Toddles is trying to fit the language he knows to the concepts we've been expressing. The Eldest, somehow a bit wiser in the ways of injuries and healing, is less worried. He knows that people can be bent, or broken, and yet heal. In the throes of healing himself from a bleed into his left hand, the Eldest holds faith.
Healing will come. But oh, will we miss her.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
customizable? Well, got Sharpie?
knock, knock.
Who's there?
Mummy.
Mummy, who?
Mummy's churn [turn] knock knock!
Ah. Now if only I could think of one to tell...
***************
I hate Candy Land.
Yes, I know it's a childhood classic, and I appreciate that it's a board game designed for the pre-literate, so yay. But it's all about the candy: the peanut brittle, the candy canes, the gumdrops, molasses swamp, the ice cream sea, blah ditty blah ditty toothache.
The newer versions have Gingerbread Plums, a clear sop to health nuts like me. Gee thanks, guys. But consider it also from this angle: when your kid(s) has food allergies, candy is a problem. Dairy allergy? There goes all of the chocolate, even most dark chocolate has traces of milk. There also go most caramels, and even some of the nicer peppermints. See ya. Nut? peanut allergic? You lose so many chocolates (not to mention the yummy nougats and Turkish Delight) that there is a whole cottage industry of nut and peanut-free chocolate. Soy allergy? whoops. Soy is a major emulsifier - and don't get me started on corn, America's favorite source of all things sweet. Sigh.
So forget the dreadful disregard for good eating habits, in this day of childhood obesity and diabetes, if you have food allergies, Candy Land sucks.
Ooh, look! I got to go up Gumdrop Pass! Not for you, though hon - you are allergic to those. You'll have to go around...
The Eldest and I found ourselves in a staring match this afternoon, while the Man was off taking one of his mega-walks. What to do? Glowing from buying our first new mattress in over eleven years, I almost missed it.
Mum, let's watch the library DVD.
I started to nod, then caught myself.
Mneh? Wha? The Magic Schoolbus DVD?
The kid nodded enthusiastically. I considered: the laundry was spinning in the machine, the Toddles asleep, dinner was leftovers..this seemed to offer an opportunity too good to miss.
Hmm. We could watch it, but I'd prefer to spend some time with you.
The kid hunched into a sulk.
How about a game? I suggested
He uncurled, and looked thoughtful. We debated it back and forth, and settled on Candy Land. Evil, evil Candy Land.
I held it together for a round (he won), then broke. I need to fix this game, I informed my triumphant offspring. It just doesn't work the way it should. He stared, half horrified, as I grabbed a Sharpie.
Okay, let's see...
When we were done, you gained a turn for eating the yummy plums, you lost a turn for peanuts being in the peanut brittle, you gained a turn for careful label reading in Gumdrop City, but lost it for the dairy in Frostina's candy. And so on. We debated each change, we balanced lost turns against free turns, and we tested it out. And I won.
Somehow, it felt symbolic.
**************************
Mary Jr's Painted Rooster, Sans Chicken
Serves 4-6, quantities vary according to availability of ingredients.
Note: this meal costs an estimated $6.00, assuming that you are using some of already owned items. It pleaseth the budget and the tongue.
3 cups cooked rice
salad:
2 tomatoes, chopped roughly - or the equivalent in cherry. grape tomatoes. Fresh only, please!
2-3 scallions, or the equivalent in red onion, chives. Thinly sliced.
1 cucumber, cubed/roughly chopped
2 Tb cilantro/parsley, if not both
1 can beans (I used black, but most kinds are good)
1 avocado (if you have it)
Optional: fresh corn, bell peppers, barely steamed green beans, chopped celery
dressing:
2 tsp cumin
2 limes, juiced or juice of 1 lemon
slightly more olive oil than lemon/lime juice
1.5 tsp salt
.5 tsp black pepper (coarse ground, please, if not freshly ground)
Optional: .5 tsp ground coriander (the coriander combines with the cumin for a felafel-ish flavor, I like that. Skip if if you prefer), 1-2 cloves garlic
Mix ingredients, blending in a food processor/mortar and pestle if adding fresh garlic, adjust flavors to suit you.
Toss salad with dressing, serve over rice. Delicious! All the flavors of summer.
Who's there?
Mummy.
Mummy, who?
Mummy's churn [turn] knock knock!
Ah. Now if only I could think of one to tell...
***************
I hate Candy Land.
Yes, I know it's a childhood classic, and I appreciate that it's a board game designed for the pre-literate, so yay. But it's all about the candy: the peanut brittle, the candy canes, the gumdrops, molasses swamp, the ice cream sea, blah ditty blah ditty toothache.
The newer versions have Gingerbread Plums, a clear sop to health nuts like me. Gee thanks, guys. But consider it also from this angle: when your kid(s) has food allergies, candy is a problem. Dairy allergy? There goes all of the chocolate, even most dark chocolate has traces of milk. There also go most caramels, and even some of the nicer peppermints. See ya. Nut? peanut allergic? You lose so many chocolates (not to mention the yummy nougats and Turkish Delight) that there is a whole cottage industry of nut and peanut-free chocolate. Soy allergy? whoops. Soy is a major emulsifier - and don't get me started on corn, America's favorite source of all things sweet. Sigh.
So forget the dreadful disregard for good eating habits, in this day of childhood obesity and diabetes, if you have food allergies, Candy Land sucks.
Ooh, look! I got to go up Gumdrop Pass! Not for you, though hon - you are allergic to those. You'll have to go around...
The Eldest and I found ourselves in a staring match this afternoon, while the Man was off taking one of his mega-walks. What to do? Glowing from buying our first new mattress in over eleven years, I almost missed it.
Mum, let's watch the library DVD.
I started to nod, then caught myself.
Mneh? Wha? The Magic Schoolbus DVD?
The kid nodded enthusiastically. I considered: the laundry was spinning in the machine, the Toddles asleep, dinner was leftovers..this seemed to offer an opportunity too good to miss.
Hmm. We could watch it, but I'd prefer to spend some time with you.
The kid hunched into a sulk.
How about a game? I suggested
He uncurled, and looked thoughtful. We debated it back and forth, and settled on Candy Land. Evil, evil Candy Land.
I held it together for a round (he won), then broke. I need to fix this game, I informed my triumphant offspring. It just doesn't work the way it should. He stared, half horrified, as I grabbed a Sharpie.
Okay, let's see...
When we were done, you gained a turn for eating the yummy plums, you lost a turn for peanuts being in the peanut brittle, you gained a turn for careful label reading in Gumdrop City, but lost it for the dairy in Frostina's candy. And so on. We debated each change, we balanced lost turns against free turns, and we tested it out. And I won.
Somehow, it felt symbolic.
**************************
Mary Jr's Painted Rooster, Sans Chicken
Serves 4-6, quantities vary according to availability of ingredients.
Note: this meal costs an estimated $6.00, assuming that you are using some of already owned items. It pleaseth the budget and the tongue.
3 cups cooked rice
salad:
2 tomatoes, chopped roughly - or the equivalent in cherry. grape tomatoes. Fresh only, please!
2-3 scallions, or the equivalent in red onion, chives. Thinly sliced.
1 cucumber, cubed/roughly chopped
2 Tb cilantro/parsley, if not both
1 can beans (I used black, but most kinds are good)
1 avocado (if you have it)
Optional: fresh corn, bell peppers, barely steamed green beans, chopped celery
dressing:
2 tsp cumin
2 limes, juiced or juice of 1 lemon
slightly more olive oil than lemon/lime juice
1.5 tsp salt
.5 tsp black pepper (coarse ground, please, if not freshly ground)
Optional: .5 tsp ground coriander (the coriander combines with the cumin for a felafel-ish flavor, I like that. Skip if if you prefer), 1-2 cloves garlic
Mix ingredients, blending in a food processor/mortar and pestle if adding fresh garlic, adjust flavors to suit you.
Toss salad with dressing, serve over rice. Delicious! All the flavors of summer.
Monday, July 02, 2007
games and markers
Summer is now here. Except in the shady bits, and when the wind blows. Still, sunscreen is on the kids (most of the time), and we're off to the playground.
A notorious slacker as a playground parent, I found myself unexpectedly at loose ends one day, with the Toddles staring wistfully at a playground full of happy kids. I gave in, we went.
It was actually rather fun. The other kids were fascinated by the Toddles, some patting him gently and murmuring, 'baby, baby,' others hugging him, some completely ignoring him and shoving past on their way to exciting heights on the climbing structures. Watching the Toddles stagger back on a high platform, as a bigger kid whisked by, I muttered, 'I'm not cut out for this. I'm just not.' But the Toddles recovered his footing and failed wholly to fall to a terrible fate on the woodchips below. So maybe he's cut out for this, even if I'm not.
It seems that there's a happy ignorance in illiteracy. Though able to competently count to eleven (don't ask me how, I can barely do that myself), the Toddles breezed right past all the signs saying 'This structure is designed for children ages 5-9 years' and started climbing. Fearless, he attained great heights, and calmly surveyed his options. He chose one slightly less nerve rattling (my nerves, not his) than the rest, and whoosh! down he went.
A small boy came up to me, and asked for help with his wristwatch. I spotted the Toddles on the ground nearby, then turned to help. Moments later, I looked up and saw empty air where the Toddles had been. Well, okay, no problem. I scanned the rest of the playground area below my knees: no kid. I walked around, refusing to be the sissy mom who panics, and eventually found the Toddles, staggering slightly at the base of a slide. I looked up: it was the biggest, twistiest of the slides, from tippity top of the school-aged children structure.
Hi, I said, determined to be calm.
He looked up at me, wavering slightly. Side! he informed me.
Slide? I asked, really? Slide?
The Toddles, drunkenly righted himself and pointed. Slide. Big. He explained.
I looked up. Oh, my. Yes, it *is* big. Time for mommy to go get that valium, I told him. Nearby, another mom heard me and laughed, as the Toddles managed to fall over his own feet.
******************
As the Toddles blooms and becomes daily more delicious, the Eldest is passing an emotional milestone - the prickly kind. I'm spending a lot of time throwing my hands in the air, and saying to him, I just don't know what to do here. I don't know how to explain this to you as he stares at me blankly, stubbornly.
Right now, my sweet boy is primarily interested in the question of power. He'll play with his brother, but mostly just by having the Toddles sit and watch him. He'll do things to help around the house, and enjoy it, but at the first sign of parental insistence, will balk. A reminder of looming consequences only makes things worse, as parental threat breeds youthful threat, and tempers flare. If we provide consequences (that being the currently in-vogue term for 'punishments), we only prove our power over him, and demonstrate that the strong exercise power over the weak. He then turns around and tests this theory on his sibling...snatching toys, and occasionally casually clouting the Toddles. He doesn't behave this way at school, he doesn't treat his friends so, it's a glory and wonder saved for we at home. Joy be ours.
Power breeds power? Power breeds envy? All I know is that, right now, the exercise of power breeds the exercise of power, and it's making everybody miserable. I'm reading books, looking for ideas, looking for wonderworkers and magic wands, while secretly hoping that time will do the trick, and that haplessly we will watch the Eldest complete this particular transformation into whatever comes next.
And that whatever it is, doesn't go around roaring and whacking his brother.
*******************
Today, the Man and I have been married for eleven years. We got married young, so young I'm faintly astonished that our families didn't flatly forbid it (not that they could have), so young that I'm persuaded that we just got lucky that we grew up into the kind of people who still love and cherish each other. Eleven years. It's hard to explain what that means - it's a combination of love and the ordinariness of that love, of taking each other for granted and appreciating each other, of trust and small irritations and did I mention love? Oh yes, and a lot of work.
Thanks to a heroic effort by Mary Jr, we spent a good part of the day at Marblehead , a little New England town that I happen to adore, complete with phenomenal toy shops (because what adults-only outing is complete without the guilt toy?), some cute and inventive craft/oddment shops, and a lovely park bench, placed solely for the purpose of eating takeout and having the Man explain 'pull hitting' to me. Apparently, Big Papi is a pull hitter, and how could I live in the Red Sox Nation and not know this?
Mysteries abound.
We returned to collect our children, cook dinner and lavish them (briefly) with affection before Mary Jr returned and we disappeared again for dinner and a movie. Oh, the luxury. Eleven years apparently comes with some perks, hmn?
Smug, that's me. And I suppose that I get to be a bit self-satisfied - if you'd asked me four years ago, if we'd have made it this far, I'm afraid I would have laughed at you. Bitterly. We've worked for our eleven years, and I'm glad to be here.
Oh yes, and the movie? Our first in many, many moons. Knocked Up was fun, I laughed a lot, and the Man didn't think it was that funny. But then again, he didn't read the baby books, either...
Meanwhile, a dear friend was being told that her partner wants out. I'm appalled, and I want to be furious for her, but am badly hampered by actually liking and (less now than before) respecting her erstwhile partner. I keep talking, trying to find the words that help me to understand what's happening, to believe it, to say something that will help her. Really, I should just shut up and listen. Really, I should stop trying to fix this. But mostly I just want things back the way they were, and I truly, ruly (as the Eldest says) ought to know better.
*****************
Next post: rewriting Candy Land
A notorious slacker as a playground parent, I found myself unexpectedly at loose ends one day, with the Toddles staring wistfully at a playground full of happy kids. I gave in, we went.
It was actually rather fun. The other kids were fascinated by the Toddles, some patting him gently and murmuring, 'baby, baby,' others hugging him, some completely ignoring him and shoving past on their way to exciting heights on the climbing structures. Watching the Toddles stagger back on a high platform, as a bigger kid whisked by, I muttered, 'I'm not cut out for this. I'm just not.' But the Toddles recovered his footing and failed wholly to fall to a terrible fate on the woodchips below. So maybe he's cut out for this, even if I'm not.
It seems that there's a happy ignorance in illiteracy. Though able to competently count to eleven (don't ask me how, I can barely do that myself), the Toddles breezed right past all the signs saying 'This structure is designed for children ages 5-9 years' and started climbing. Fearless, he attained great heights, and calmly surveyed his options. He chose one slightly less nerve rattling (my nerves, not his) than the rest, and whoosh! down he went.
A small boy came up to me, and asked for help with his wristwatch. I spotted the Toddles on the ground nearby, then turned to help. Moments later, I looked up and saw empty air where the Toddles had been. Well, okay, no problem. I scanned the rest of the playground area below my knees: no kid. I walked around, refusing to be the sissy mom who panics, and eventually found the Toddles, staggering slightly at the base of a slide. I looked up: it was the biggest, twistiest of the slides, from tippity top of the school-aged children structure.
Hi, I said, determined to be calm.
He looked up at me, wavering slightly. Side! he informed me.
Slide? I asked, really? Slide?
The Toddles, drunkenly righted himself and pointed. Slide. Big. He explained.
I looked up. Oh, my. Yes, it *is* big. Time for mommy to go get that valium, I told him. Nearby, another mom heard me and laughed, as the Toddles managed to fall over his own feet.
******************
As the Toddles blooms and becomes daily more delicious, the Eldest is passing an emotional milestone - the prickly kind. I'm spending a lot of time throwing my hands in the air, and saying to him, I just don't know what to do here. I don't know how to explain this to you as he stares at me blankly, stubbornly.
Right now, my sweet boy is primarily interested in the question of power. He'll play with his brother, but mostly just by having the Toddles sit and watch him. He'll do things to help around the house, and enjoy it, but at the first sign of parental insistence, will balk. A reminder of looming consequences only makes things worse, as parental threat breeds youthful threat, and tempers flare. If we provide consequences (that being the currently in-vogue term for 'punishments), we only prove our power over him, and demonstrate that the strong exercise power over the weak. He then turns around and tests this theory on his sibling...snatching toys, and occasionally casually clouting the Toddles. He doesn't behave this way at school, he doesn't treat his friends so, it's a glory and wonder saved for we at home. Joy be ours.
Power breeds power? Power breeds envy? All I know is that, right now, the exercise of power breeds the exercise of power, and it's making everybody miserable. I'm reading books, looking for ideas, looking for wonderworkers and magic wands, while secretly hoping that time will do the trick, and that haplessly we will watch the Eldest complete this particular transformation into whatever comes next.
And that whatever it is, doesn't go around roaring and whacking his brother.
*******************
Today, the Man and I have been married for eleven years. We got married young, so young I'm faintly astonished that our families didn't flatly forbid it (not that they could have), so young that I'm persuaded that we just got lucky that we grew up into the kind of people who still love and cherish each other. Eleven years. It's hard to explain what that means - it's a combination of love and the ordinariness of that love, of taking each other for granted and appreciating each other, of trust and small irritations and did I mention love? Oh yes, and a lot of work.
Thanks to a heroic effort by Mary Jr, we spent a good part of the day at Marblehead , a little New England town that I happen to adore, complete with phenomenal toy shops (because what adults-only outing is complete without the guilt toy?), some cute and inventive craft/oddment shops, and a lovely park bench, placed solely for the purpose of eating takeout and having the Man explain 'pull hitting' to me. Apparently, Big Papi is a pull hitter, and how could I live in the Red Sox Nation and not know this?
Mysteries abound.
We returned to collect our children, cook dinner and lavish them (briefly) with affection before Mary Jr returned and we disappeared again for dinner and a movie. Oh, the luxury. Eleven years apparently comes with some perks, hmn?
Smug, that's me. And I suppose that I get to be a bit self-satisfied - if you'd asked me four years ago, if we'd have made it this far, I'm afraid I would have laughed at you. Bitterly. We've worked for our eleven years, and I'm glad to be here.
Oh yes, and the movie? Our first in many, many moons. Knocked Up was fun, I laughed a lot, and the Man didn't think it was that funny. But then again, he didn't read the baby books, either...
Meanwhile, a dear friend was being told that her partner wants out. I'm appalled, and I want to be furious for her, but am badly hampered by actually liking and (less now than before) respecting her erstwhile partner. I keep talking, trying to find the words that help me to understand what's happening, to believe it, to say something that will help her. Really, I should just shut up and listen. Really, I should stop trying to fix this. But mostly I just want things back the way they were, and I truly, ruly (as the Eldest says) ought to know better.
*****************
Next post: rewriting Candy Land
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