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. 

Compliments?

Out of every 5 comments I get on my hair, 3 are like this. I don't really know what it *means*, but it sounds a little like an insult. Like a 'Aw, honey. No matter what the other kids say, *I* love you'. Honestly, I think I'd prefer a 'Why the hell would you do that to your hair?'

It reminds me a bit of when you're really, really skinny and everyone's always trying to feed you. Or saying 'Oh my god. You're so skinny! You need to eat!' Once again, I get it! But would you walk up to a fat person and say 'Oh my god. You're so fat! Don't eat anymore!' (aside from on the internet)and pretend that it's a compliment? I suppose when you look differently than other people, you open yourself up to commentary on what's different about you. But still. I'm surprised by the number of people who don't know how to do this with any grace at all. 

Also, by the number of people who think that it's okay to touch me. And kiss my head?!? wtf. 

I love you

She's right. I do. On all the days. Can you say it too much? 

I try to only say it when I mean it. Sometimes I say it when it bubbles to the surface. The deep love I have inside gets to be too much to contain and it bursts from my mouth like a burp. An affectionate burp. 'And then they aaaall went back to egypt!' 'I LOVE you!'

Sometimes it comes out as more of a sigh. A reminder to myself. 'Why does the cat have pudding on her back? *sigh* I love you guys.'

Sometimes it's habit. Goodbyes, goodnights, replies to the 'i love you's of others. These are my least favorite. Once I accidentally said 'I love you' to a telemarketer. Because we were saying goodbye on the phone. 

Sometimes it's a sudden realization. I'll be talking to someone or thinking about them and BAM! LOVE! even if I've said it a thousand times and meant it. I like those ones. 

I think sometimes if I compliment people a lot or am too affectionate too often, they won't think I'm being sincere. But unless you're a telemarketer, I probably mean it. Especially if it sounds like a burp or a sigh. 

Exact Change

Yesterday I was picking up some groceries and got in the line for check-out behind an older couple. When it came time for them to pay, he pulled out three crisp bills and set them on the check counter but when the cashier started to take them he waved his hand at her. Hold on. He then retrieved his coin purse from his coat pocket and proceeded to count out the 66 cents needed in dimes, nickels, and pennies. This was adorable enough, but when I looked at his wife, it got even more adorable. She rolled her eyes, arms crossed against her chest, and sighed, as if he did this all the time and it was a horrible bother. But in her eyes and on her lips there was a deep fondness. She watched him count each coin with a look that was so loving it bordered on condescending, as if to say 'that's my love *sigh*'. They were beautiful. 

I'm probably going to be one of those people. The exact-change-counters. I'll stand at the counter counting pennies while the cashier flashes sympathetic 'sorry!' eyes to those in line behind me. And when I put the last coin down, I'll say 'look at that!' like I remember my grandpa doing, as though I am shocked to have all the coins for this large purchase. And if I'm reeeaaally, reeeaaally lucky, I'll have someone to smile fondly and sigh at me while I do it. 

 

Secrets

I hate secrets. I don't like keeping them and even more, I don't like telling them. It's too much pressure, having a secret, and I've always been one of those people who wants wants wants to tell. That said, I'm a good secret keeper. When I need to be. Sometimes that's unfortunate. 

My kids have each gone through this phase now. The phase which tiny heathen is just now entering, at five, where the best thing in the world to them is whispering in my ear. The secret is often entirely pointless (as above), and usually boils down to 'I love you' (not as above... I don't think). There's something kind of nice about the way they figure it out. How to tell a secret. They push their faces too close to your ear, sometimes right up against it, and whisper a little too loud. At times you can't even understand what they're saying. 

When I tell them a secret (usually 'I love you'), they think it is the best thing in the world to tell. 'MOM LOVES ME', with a sideways giggly glance at me, expecting my overly dramatic reaction. 'NOOOOOOOO!' 

They like getting presents for each other. And I see it then. The desire to tell. Sometimes they will tell by saying the opposite, a trick I find particularly clever. 'Hey, I didn't get you a skateboard!'. Sometimes just hoping to get caught so they can tell all. 'I'll give you a hint. It's shaped like a Barbie.' And still other times flat out telling the other, but in whispery tones. 'I got you a car.' 

I get all sentimental sometimes, thinking about how the days are slipping away and with them, the light secrets of childhood will gain weight, becoming heavier and more important to hide. I wonder if I will have taught them enough about what secrets are okay to keep and which ones desperately need to be told. 

Someday they'll keep secrets of engagement rings or pregnancies, surprise parties or shameful thoughts. I hope they will know that their secrets are safe with me. I hope I show them that every time I solemnly nod at 'Caribbean french fries'.