Poppa's Day

My dad will go down a slide and yell 'wooo!' at 55 years old. 

 

My dad will teach you things. Yes, you. 

My dad will line up chairs in the living room and pretend he's driving a bus. 

My dad will dress up for a road trip.

My dad will make sure you aren't hungry.

My dad will always be there to lend a hand.

Or play 'Poppa's Hat'. 

Or build a snowman. 

Or play 'Got your nose!'

Or teach you how to burn ants with a magnifying glass. 

Or pretend to like your awesome presents

In fact, he'll pretty much do anything for anyone at any time. 

But he won't let you call him 'dad'. Happy Father's Day, Poppa!

 

 

Bad Guys

 

I don't know how much to talk to my kids about 'bad guys'. I mean, of course they know they exist, but I don't see any reason to fill them full of ideas that the world is a horrible place with terror at every turn. We don't talk about it much. They know simple things. Don't open the door to strangers. Don't get in anyone's car. Blah Blah Blah. I don't think I've ever told them not to talk to strangers, but this is probably because I'm with them all the time. And they see me talk to strangers all the time. Is this bad? I don't know. I have a hard time believing that a)they would talk to strangers, shy as they are and b)talking to a stranger is going to make the difference between kidnapped and not kidnapped. 

So we're going on our walk today. It was h.o.t. HOT out. The girlies had their sunglasses on, we were sunblocked up, ready to go. The boys decided to stay behind and play football in the yard, so it was just the ladies. We get less than a quarter mile from home and girly wants to go back. Tiny and I have been planning all day to go ALL THE WAY TO THE SWIMMING POOL (about a mile, which is a lot for a 5 year old in the heat, but she wanted to go, so), so I said 'well, we'll just take girly back and then we'll go on our own.' 

Tiny: I'll just stay here. If a bad guy comes, I'll say "go away!" 

me: Nope. We all have to stick together.  

Tiny: I'll tell the bad guys I have chicken pox! Then they won't want to pick me up!

Girly: Psh. You don't even have a marker to make the spots. 

 

So. Bad guys. Should I be telling my kids all about the horrors of the world? I mean, my mom told me every 3 minutes that I could end up dead in a ditch if I waved at people driving by. And I turned out alright. *eyes you all suspiciously* 

 

Procrastination

When I was young, I pretended that this was innovation rather than procrastination. Of course, as I got older I saw that the only time I really felt like working on that story or fixing that frame or reupholstering that chair was when something else I didn't really want to do needed to be done. Fifteen minutes into cleaning their rooms, my children started coming up with great ideas. 

Maybe we should build a bookcase. Maybe we should sew up this teddy bear. Maybe we could turn this wagon into a sailboat (brilliant idea, tiny heathen). 

Just put the toys. in the toy box. It's so simple. Just do it. 

'Where does this go? *holds up broken handle of something*'

It's trash. Put it where trash goes. Identify the object and then place the object where it goes. Repeat. 

I hear myself saying this and I remember my dad saying the same thing. "I shouldn't have to stand over you and tell you what you should be doing!" 

I don't know why it's so hard to get things done. Maybe if I tell them all that their chores are to make sailboats out of their toys, they'll decide they should clean their rooms instead. 

Mom Update (overdue, obviously)

 

A few weeks ago, now, I spent the day in doctor's offices once again. Reminds me of a year ago. But this time it was all good news. My mom is still cancer free (thank goodness). I'm thrilled. Thrilled isn't even the word. I don't think there is one. The word that is happier and more excited than the happiest and most excited word you can think of. That's how I feel about it. Last year was hellish. This year is grand, so far. 

In other news, my mom's hair has gotten longer now. She's always had long, straight hair, but when it grew back in after falling out it was curly as can be. 

This is apparently pretty common among the lost-my-hair-to-chemo crowd. For the past couple of months, she's been going the 'get my hair wet and smush it down' route to hair magnificence, but I noticed today that the longer it gets, the closer she gets to 

(note: I'm mostly kidding. I think her hair is really cute, and if anything she looks more like Rick James than Lionel Richie, for sure). 

So that's my mom-news update. Her hair is cute and her cancer is still gone. Big yay. 

Precise Language

Using the words 'anything' 'any time' 'everyone' 'anyone' 'always' 'never' or 'only' is a type of challenge to my kids. If I say one of these words, they do everything in their power to make me take it back. 

'You can always give me a hug!' -> Hello, 4am hug time!

'We have to share, guys! Everyone gets the same amount.' -> 'Even Santa?' 'Even Elvis?' 'Even Dora?'

'I'll only be gone for a few minutes.' -> 'What if you die?' 'What if you get lost and lose your memory?'

 

Kids are excellent for teaching you to say exactly what you mean.