It's Not Worth Much But It's Pure

Summer camps are a must for our family: with two full-time working parents, the boys are in camps from almost day one of summer through day zed, with a couple days off for vacations. Every week is something new: rocks and minerals, basketball, creepy crawlers, zoo, soccer, superhero gymnastics, and, one of the boys’ favorite camps, traditional outdoor summer camp nestled in the farms and vineyards of the Willamette Valley.

If you’ve seen Hayley Mills (or her prettier twin sister) in Parent Trap, you have an idea of how the boys spent their week: giant swings, canoes, hikes, learning goofy jokes, skits, and swimming but without the family reunion capers. Truth be told, it’s one of Mommy’s less favorite camps because it’s a guaranteed 40-minute drive each way twice a day during peak hours of the workday. But, the boys look forward to it every year so…what’s a parent to do? Make it work, of course.

We make it home by 4:30 pm every day and the boys are filthy and exhausted. Dinner is eaten by 5:30 and they’re normally in bed by 7:00, with two hours of daylight still left. They’re still tired when they wake up but manage to leave the car happily supplied with fishing nets, lunch bags, sunscreen, and swimming trunks. Wash, rinse, repeat all week.

By Friday, we’re all exhausted. Thursday night is Family Night at camp and the entire family hangs out until about 9:00 doing what the kids do all week long. We crawl into bed around 11 wondering how the kids manage to do this eight hours a day the rest of the week. Friday dawns early and ruthlessly. At pick-up, we pile our dusty kids into the car and look forward to the weekend when we can wipe down the insides and our city family cars can say goodbye to unpaved roads…at least for a little bit.

Helios shuffled to the car, dragging his drawstring bag behind him and shouting farewells to children and counselors. Hesperos lagged far behind him, bag over his shoulders, dusty from the neck down, and face startlingly clean.

“How was camp today?”

“Good,” offered Helios. “I caught a newt by its tail but it got away and then I found this huge fat bullfrog and then I…” When Helios gets into a story, he is a non-stop run-on sentence. Hesperos and I sat quietly. Eventually, Helios ran out of air.

“And how about you, Buddy? How was camp?”

Hesperos looked out the window, glassy-eyed and oblivious.

“Buddy, are you okay?”

He heaved a shuddering sigh and then the lip trembled. Without another sound or gesture, tears poured forth like his internal cup runneth over.

“Helios, what’s wrong with your brother?”

“He doesn’t want to leave camp.”

“Oh, is that all? Buddy, you’ll be back next year.”

More tears flowed and, soundlessly, his shoulders started to shake.

“He knows, Mommy, but he misses Chai.”

“Who?”

“Chai, his camp leader.”

Hesperos sobbed the truth. “I might come back next year but what if she’s not here?”

“Oh, Buddy, it’s okay. You’ll have other camp leaders you’ll like just as much. Remember Mr. Sunshine last year?”

That straw broke him. The remainder of the 40-minute drive home, this little tow-headed 7-year-old wept his heart dry. While he was distracted now and then by dinner, bath, and toys, there would be moments over the next few hours when he would pause and, without warning, curl into a little ball and cry. At bedtime he offered his prayers: “Please let me see Chai again.”

For the rest of the summer, Thursday night has been the highlight of Hesperos’ week. All families are welcome to attend Family Night, registered or not. As soon as we park in the dirt lot, Helios jumps out to find a frog or a kayak or hike a trail or hunt for blackberries. Hesperos’ first thought is “where is Chai?” When he finds her and embraces her in one of his incomparably loving hugs, he lights up like sunshine – and so does Chai. The affection is mutual. This Thursday was the summer’s last Family Night. As Helios takes us on another hike to a zip line and explains the ghost story of the deer that died one night in the lake, Hesperos whispers to me, my hand held by his soft one. “Mommy, I’m really worried.”

“Hesperos, stop interrupting!” Helios snaps. “I’m telling a story!”

I lean in closer, hiding our conversation from Helios. “Why are you worried, baby?”

“What if I never see Chai again? I mean, after this summer. What if she doesn’t come back to work here at camp?”

I try to shift focus. “Do you know Chai’s real name?”

“It’s Emily. She’s in college. She lives in Seattle. Emily’s a pretty name, isn’t it, Mommy?”

“Yes, it is. Maybe we can get her address and you can write her after the summer is over. Would you like that?”

He squeezes my hand.

We walk to the main building where the camp counselors are gathering to begin their skit. Helios wanders, checking to see what might’ve changed since last week when he visited. Hesperos holds my hand with eyes for only his friend. When they’re done, he hurtles forward, a pigeon returning to its nest. They hug, and Hesperos is so, so happy.

On the walk back to the car, Helios runs ahead, up hills and down hills, grabbing walking sticks and looking for frogs and newts. Hesperos walks alongside me.

“Mommy, when can I write to Chai?”

“Whenever you want, baby.”

“I’m going to make her a card and it’s going to have a drawing of camp and of Chai and me in the canoes.”

“That would be beautiful. I’ll send it to her for you.”

“Mommy?”

“Yes, baby.”

“Can we go to Seattle sometime and see Chai?”

“You mean a play date? Maybe we can.”

“Mommy, can we go to the rock museum next week?”

“Sure but why do you want to go to the rock museum?”

“They sell gold there in little bottles. If I spend five dollars, I can buy one.”

“Why do you want a bottle of gold?”

“I’m going to send it to Chai with the card and the picture I’m going to make her. Do you know what it’s going to say?”

“What, baby?”

“It’s going to say, ‘Dear Chai. I made this card for you of camp so you’d remember me. I really had a lot of fun with you. I bought you this bottle of gold from my favorite museum. It was only five dollars. It’s not worth much but it’s pure. Love, Hesperos.’ Is that okay, Mommy?”

“I think it’s beautiful, baby. She’ll love it.”

He smiled. “I think so, too.”

First Day of School...Again

Where has the summer gone? For that matter, where have our two little guys gone? Was it really so long ago (yes, yes it was) that Hesperos was a Michelin-man style baby with tires around his middle, his arms, his legs, and Helios was a spunky pipsqueak?

Even so recently as this spring things have changed. When last we saw Hesperos, he was a fresh-faced preschool graduate ("A Graduate Is Made"). Now, a few months later, he is an accomplished reader and member of the kindergarten class attending the same school where Helios is the big boy around the second grade town.

Hesperos has been waiting to join kindergarten at his brother's school for two years. He knows the Helios' teachers, the classrooms, the principal, the office administrator. Hesperos knows the routine, the ins-and-outs of the building, the rules (whether or not he chooses to follow them). He even knows about half of his classmates as they are the two-year-younger siblings of Helios' classmates. He's ready.

So probably it's no surprise that on the first day of kindergarten for Hesperos and the first day of second grade for Helios that they both strode in, full of confidence and happiness, not a single tear shed.

Helios entered his second grade room, a little shy and timid, because that's his way. When he's in his element, he's full of ornery spunk but he struggles to connect with other children meaningfully and high activity, high energy situations make him crawl into himself a little bit. Mommy relates.

Hesperos, on the other hand, was full of pride and determined to show that he is in his element. He showed off his full spirit and immediately tackle hugged with boundless enthusiasm a couple of the children he knew before school began -- before sitting down and showing off his sassy face.

It's great to see them together during the day. Helios takes pride in being the authoritative second grader with longer breaks and more friends than Hesperos. Hesperos enjoys the relative freedom of having a bigger pond to swim in as well as finally being able to do all the big kid things his brother does.

It's a good year.

Saintly Homework Projects

Helios came home a few days ago with a charming project. Inspired by a school mother who had recently traveled to Vatican City and shared her photographs and experiences with the class, the second grade teacher assigned the children a project to choose a saint and study him or her. Each child would turn in a few handwritten sentences about their favorite saint and a crafted representation which would be hung up on November 1, All Saints Day. It's a perfect project for creative, inquisitive Catholic children who are being prepared for First Communication and Reconciliation.

For this project, Helios chose St. Francis de Sales and there were really only two rules for putting it together. First, that this is a parent/child project to be done together. Second, and this one was so important it was stressed in capital letters, was that we should use materials readily available at home. Oooohkay. We have it in writing so there should be NO fear of creating a disrespectful-looking saint.

Before looking at the picture below, we hope you understand two things. First, we followed the letter of the assignment. Second, we're not sacrilegious -- really, we're not! But we have a thread of irreverence running through us. Our only hope for sharing a heavenly hereafter with any deity is that God has a slightly irreverent sense of humor Himself.

So we share with you Helios' interpretation of St. Francis de Sales, complete with Wikki Stix hair, beard, and ears; hippy beaded crucifix necklace; tissue paper robe and stole; puff ball nose; googly eyes; and jazz hands and feet.

St. Francis de Sales was a pretty trendy dude for a 55-year-old 17th century saint. And Helios' reaction? "That saint is simply hi-lar-ious."

Indeed.

Lost Teeth & Fairy Dust

Every child has those milestones he or she looks forward to: turning 21 (legal drinking!), turning 16 (legal driving!), turning 13 (finally a teenager!), and 67 (collect Social Security!). Hm. Maybe not on the last one.

But before any of that, the first real milestone a child eagerly anticipates is losing his or her first tooth. This event happened for the first time in our home tonight, 07/22/2011, around 6:55 p.m. Pacific time. The event almost felt like it deserved its own press release or perhaps a notification in the New York Times: "Mr. & Mrs. of All Trades are pleased to announce the loss of tooth previously occupying residence in the mouth of their son, Helios of All Trades."

Unfortunately, with the suddenly legally allowed increase in New York marriages (with sincere thanks to Mayor Cuomo and the NY legislature), the competition for announcements in the New York Times is even more intense than before. And we're no match for ridiculously well-dressed couples.

So a blog post it is, to announce that Helios is one toothy loss down the pearly white path of shedding his deciduous teeth and gaining his permanent chompers. To say that Helios was excited is a grave understatement. He has been working his two loose teeth for weeks and, at the wise age of nearly 7, has bemoaned the fact that he is the last child in his 2nd grade class to lose any teeth at all. It took the intervention of his dentist, Dr. Anticarie, to remind Helios to not try to force his teeth out before they were ready. (A similar reminder will need to be given to Hesperos soon since he is two years younger and already trying to furtively loosen his little fangs.)

The Tooth Fairy does visit our home in the same way she/he/it visited Mommy and her sisters: The fairy leaves a limerick and a small toy with a coin or two. Tonight's limerick is a shared composition written by Grandpa Wil (verses 2 and 3) and Mommy (verses 1 and 4) and is accompanied by a gold dollar (William Henry Harrison, if you want to know), and a much-desired Beyblade. Mommy would shake her head with incredulity that a Beyblade is a much desired item among the 6-8 year old set, but then she remembers that she desperately hoped for Polly Pocket lockets around that age.

In close, we offer you this first edition Tooth Fairy Poem:

Dear Helios:

It only takes on quick little look
to see that little tooth you've shook
has popped out so clean and quick
that I had to bring you a gift, lickety split.

It came about so very fast
the tooth you had is of the past.
In its place a gaping hole
almost big enough to insert a pole.

But very soon, Helios dear,
a brand new tooth will appear.
You'll look so great, you'll look so grand
which is all part of God's good plan.

Enjoy your money and toy machine
and remember to keep all your teeth very clean.
Because tooth fairies worthy of trust
take only the best teeth for fairy dust.

Love,

The Octagon Tooth Fairy

(The tooth fairies in our childhood were always of some kind of shape. Don't ask. It's tradition. Just go with it.)

Hopefully we can find more milestones to celebrate together. Mommy and Daddy are in no rush to see the next milestone of 13 happen any time soon.

Learning from Selling Raffle Tickets

Okay. In my world, there's really no joy in raffle ticket selling. But, because it's important for Helios' school, we do it. On behalf of his small private school, Helios sold raffle tickets for several weeks. We reached out to our family and friends, inviting them to participate and many have generously supported Helios' efforts. Helios, however, is competitive and he wants to sell more in hopes he'll be one of the top 10 sellers and win a prize. So, one afternoon we took advantage of an opportunity to sit outside a local grocery store to sell tickets.

My feelings are quite mixed when it comes to having our children sell things on behalf of the school. Although the most successful children do directly benefit through winning prizes, we would arguably rather pay higher tuition or do it ourselves rather than have the children do it. I'm not sure what is behind my prejudice except it probably is a combination of the way I was raised (my parents were dead set against children ever selling) and a preference that children spend time...you know...learning. Not selling, in spite of how cute they may be behind a table.

That said, Helios wanted to sell so we helped create those opportunities for him. And I was quite inspired, to be honest. Here is a 6-year-old little boy who, without fear, boldly approaches strangers who barely acknowledge his existence and politely asks, "excuse me, may I tell you about my school's raffle?" No matter what response he receives, whether someone ignores him entirely or simply declines, Helios promptly replies with, "thank you for your time."

Sure, Helios was coached in how to be polite and what to say. We figure if he wants the prize, he's actually going to do the selling, not the parents. And we're not going to passively sell by sitting behind a table - we're going to actively sell by engaging with others. So Helios has received help -- but it's his touching observations, his inquisitiveness, and the good conversations we've had that really makes a somewhat unlikeable task worthwhile. His questions have ranged from "why won't people stop to listen to me?" to "why wouldn't they want these great prizes?" to "should they be going to a grocery store and spending money if they're telling me don't have money to buy tickets?" Each question carries with it the opportunity to impart a small lesson, a little value that hopefully will stick.

However, what's most rousing is his willingness to keep trying no matter how many "nos" he receives that truly makes the experience worthwhile. Although he's occasionally felt discouraged and had his head down, he will pop back up again and approach the next person, eventually getting a sale that allows him to ride on that success through all the "nos" until he gets another sale.

And that's where I find a learning experience in these raffle ticket sales - not because it's important to the school or because Helios will likely earn a prize that we could've purchased for him at significantly less than our time is worth. But because it has surprised me by providing an opportunity to help my son have a different perspective and watch him manage his own disappointments and insecurities. It's also been inspiring to me -- having a 6-yr-old be told "no" many times in an hour is so much harder for him than life's daily pitfalls are to me, and yet he keeps plugging away at it far better than I sometimes do.

That said, I still look forward to the next fundraiser -- a jog-a-thon!

=====

Postscript: Thanks to the generosity of Helios' friends and family, not to mention his hard work, he was ranked #3 in overall sales, bringing in almost $700. (The first and second place sellers each brought in more than $1100.)

Run, Boys, Run!

There are few things that come more naturally to children than running (unless it's depositing a thread of toilet paper still attached to the roll directly into the toilet, flushing the toilet, and watching it pull the toilet paper in...but that's another post). Genius was the (wo)man who invented the school jog-a-thon fundraiser where a child's energy can be put to good use (on a school day, no less!) and every lap around the track equals a little bit of money out of a hapless relative's wallet.

Living in the land of Nike and Adidas, running is the trans-generational activity for the trendy. Having seen 3.5 of my (somewhat sedentary) relatives convert into running enthusiasts, I am fairly sure that a pair of sneakers has an evangelical power second only to one of Jesus' disciples. Is it any wonder that given such an influence, combined with their own natural competitive enthusiasm and zeal for activity, that both boys would be good little runners?

May was jog-a-thon month for us (yes, this post is tardy) with events sponsored by each child's school. Helios' school featured a (standard?) 1/4-mile marked grass-track where the children ran during a full lunch hour. Mommy even took a break to join Helios for a bit, shedding flip-flops where necessary to run along. (Although flip-flops are an appropriate handicap for an adult racing with a 5-yr-old.) Helios completed his race at 3.25 miles or 13 laps, a distance we feel is very respectable for a child his age. We also learned that when Helios races, he immediately puts himself into the "Speed. I am speed." mentality of Lightning McQueen, complete with imagining his fellow contestants are other race cars trying to force him into the pit.

In that respect, Hesperos is not that different in that he, too, experiences delusions of being a Disney-fied dolled-up race car with non-functioning headlights. However, his motivation was more to either catch-up with or show off to the little 4-yr-old girl with the bouncy curls just a little ahead of him. Hesperos raked up an extremely ambitious 25 laps on a 1/8-mile course at a park...which just goes to show his generous relatives that before making a "per lap" pledge, first confirm the size of the course and check that against the anticipated energy of the child. Intelligent was the supporter who made a flat pledge, and generous was the supporter who didn't begrudge the per lap payment.

Impressively, the Saturday after their jog-a-thons, both boys ran with Mommy and Daddy in the local 10k. By "ran" we mean that Helios had to be cajoled, encouraged, blackmailed, and slightly threatened to make the last two miles of the ~6.25 mile run -- and Hesperos was carried on Daddy's shoulders alternating half miles. The chips reveal that Mommy and Judah came in fifth/sixth to last. But, given we beat Daddy/Hesperos (who came in second to last/last, preceded immediately by the man pushing his pregnant wife in a wheelchair and the other man running on a prosthetic), we felt pretty good.

All told, the boys managed to raise about $700 combined for their two schools. And they felt a great sense of accomplishment. We're feeling brave enough to have them both run with us for the Thanksgiving 10k fundraiser for the local food bank, although we'll probably park a car halfway just in case.

The Rice and Beans and Cheese and Chips Place

As I went through photographs tonight, seeking pictures of experiences that should've been blogged about but were not, I was struck by the number of photographs taken at ... of all places ... Chipotle.

At the risk of sounding like a corporate endorsement, there are few dining places that get the kids as excited as the "rice and beans and cheese" place. For the uninitiated, this magical place is Chipotle, mecca of affordable (albeit high sodium) customizable meals, the most important of which is the a la carte selection of rice, beans, cheese, and a little fresh tortilla. Preschooler heaven!

The trip to Chipotle proceeds like this:
- Run inside.
- Grab a few menus, preferably 3 or 4 per child. Mommy argues with children about how they're wasting paper.
- Children insist on being lifted high enough to order their own food.
- Children order their own food, may press noses or mouths against Plexiglas, leaving the Chipotle staff thankful for the health code requirement that placed the glass there. Parents' arms buckle under the weight of carrying children, employees politely indulgent even as parental ire increases.
- Mommy pays, children run away, Daddy chases them.
- Children play Goldilocks at the tables ("this one is too big, this one is too small, this one is just right"), Daddy chases after them, Mommy fills drinks, children shout orders from their table.
- Children shovel food in, liberally sprinkling rice over the floor like dandruff from a leper.

- Mommy tidies the area before the bus staff can get there (because she wouldn't want them to think her children are piglets).

- Children run to vehicle, clamber in, and immediately insist upon going there for lunch or dinner the next day.

We thought that (eventually) the children would grow tired of Chipotle (as we did so long ago). In a way, they have. They still want to go to Chipotle but now they insist we try new locations.

What Are Little Boys Made of?

Something that really interests me is what children really think about. Every night at dinner I try to get a little sense of that not only by asking them what they did during the day but who their friends are, why they like them, what their favorite and least favorite moments were, and so forth. But when there is food to be eaten, toys to play with, and a sundry shiny things to distract them, it's hard to have much of a conversation with children of this age. It winds up sounding more like an interrogation than a dialogue.

So instead I try to take clues by observing what it is that they value (beyond the toys and books they prefer). What are some of the stand-out items that rank as their own little treasures?

Each boy has his own collection of treasures in the same relative location: on the dresser surface in their room. While individual items may change from time to time, in general the type of items remains pretty static unless an external force (generally parental-enforced clean-up) exerts influence.

For Helios, our older son, this is his current inventory of treasures:

• An elephant humidifier (granted, this would be here whether he wanted it or not but he really likes it)
• A box of tissue (ditto)
• A book night-light (encased in a black zippered sleeve, upper left) that looks just like Mommy's and often is snuck under the covers
• A Nemo flashlight to scare away the monsters and create hand shadow puppets
• A white paper sack that was colored to look like a puppet; its name is Poppers 2 (Poppers 1 having been worn tissue thin)
• A plastic iron-melt airplane made at after care
• His harmonica, a gift from his paternal grandmother and grandfather just before a 10-hour flight across the country (yup, what you're thinking is exactly what we thought too)
• A token for the Loof Carousel in Spokane, WA
• A children's booklet of prayers, gift from school
• A Junie B. Jones, First Grader book (his favorite series right now)
• A Tigger wrist slap bracelet and purple airplane, both gifts from Aunt Elspeth
• A "bug's eye" loop from after school 'Mad Science' class
• A monkey head toy (how to describe this?) gifted from Uncle Thog
• A Zhu Zhu pet, train, camera, and magnifying glass from Grandma Jane and Grandpa Mel
• A Mickey Mouse playing soccer puzzle and Tic Tac Toe game, gifts from the Easter Bunny
• Shrinky-dinks, products of a project with Daddy
• Winnie the Pooh toys, harvested from Mommy's chest of treasures
• A Valentine's fuzzy head sticker with heart antennae received from a kid he likes at school
• An oyster shell given through the fence by the girl next door

Although with many similarities, Hesperos has his own array of treasures including:

• A penguin humidifier and tissue box
• Elmo slippers (Christmas gift from Santa two holidays ago and still fun to wear)
• Half of a Christmas ornament that plays "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" to put him to sleep
• His trophy from his first basketball season at the YMCA this year
• A Thomas the Tank engine watch
• The two current favorite books that he's working on memorizing: "Watch Out Mr. Rabbit!" and "Dr. Seuss's ABC"
• His "explorer" hat
• A thin version of Beatrix Potter's Peter Rabbit, retained from his Easter chocolate bunny
• A flashlight to scare the monsters away
• Various cars from Pixar's "Cars"
• A Zhu Zhu pet and its car, gifted from Grandma Jane
• A Winnie the Pooh slap it bracelet from Aunt Elspeth
• Pieces of a game received from the Easter Bunny
• Parts to a Lego construction vehicle, presumably stolen from his brother's closet and thus far unnoticed
• A pine cone (behind Elmo) from a recent preschool field trip

Though the selection may change somewhat as new treasures are acquired and old ones retired, each one is appreciated separately with a story behind it...and always noticed if repositioned without prior consent.

Helios' Resolution

As may be recalled in an earlier post (see "Believe It or Not, They Really Do Listen (Sometimes)..."), Helios declared that he planned to eschew all cow dairy products. After a few weeks of resolve that wavered just a bit, particularly once he was informed that cheese is a cow product...as is ice cream...as is whipped cream. However, he remains fairly firm in the "no cow milk" area, preferring rice milk whenever possible. He is also very receptive to vegan cheeses, sorbet instead of ice cream, or non-milk based desserts providing he doesn't have to delay consumption of dessert for a vegan alternative to be made available. (Patience is not one of Helios' strong suits.)

In Helios' backpack daily are the products of his hard work at kindergarten. In tonight's delivery was this little gem, conceived, authored, and illustrated, by Helios himself. This is from the last couple weeks from when during the religion session, the teacher facilitated a discussion of what it means to be resolved to doing something. The result is not only Helios' declaration but also an illustration of a smiling, red-stick figure with a disturbingly long torso, short legs, and pronged hands ignoring the cow milk (X'd out at left) and reaching for the "ris" milk at right. The text reads: "My resolution is not to drek [drink] cow milk so I can help the cows."

We will entertain any offers by Chik Fil-a to purchase this drawing for their "leave cows alone, eat chickens instead" advertising in exchange for paying for Helios' college tuition.

Believe It or Not, They Really Do Listen (Sometimes)...

"For the 10th time...pick. up. those. trains," I mutter through gritted teeth, pausing between each word and casting menacing looks at both boys. My parents have been together more than 40 years and I've been with Daddy for almost 14: there's nothing about selective hearing I don't know and it's expected with two little boys, ages 3 and 5. Understanding it doesn't lessen the irritation, though, when they blithely ignore requests to do things they would rather not do and seem to intentionally not remember a request 5 seconds later. It could make any person wonder if their kids are lacking intelligence, suffering from hearing or comprehension problems, or just plain stubborn.

This is why it makes me pause with surprise when they do listen, remember, regurgitate, and understand.

"Mommy, I have lots of problems speaking properly. I need special lessons."

Recently, we started taking Hesperos to a speech therapist for lessons so he can better articulate some sounds. Although it is undeniably cute to hear Hesperos enunciate some words as though he is the offspring of a Muppet and a sock puppet, we know he needs to work past that. After every lesson (which is more like structured playtime), Hesperos gets a prize to reward him for his hard work.

Helios wants one of those prizes. He wants it bad.

So he decided, craftily, to manufacture his own speech problem. After Hesperos's last lesson, Helios shared us that sometimes he forgets parts of works like the "f" in "food" or the "t" in "train." (Note: Helios was able to correctly intone the words when providing them as examples.)

I assure you that Helios has been able to accurately express his wants for "food" and "trains" upon exiting the womb. This was not his most convincing argument. When we reminded him that he normally speaks these words just fine, illustration notwithstanding, Helios became ingeniously threatening. "Well, I want to go where Hesperos goes for his lessons so I can get a prize, too. I'll find other words I can't say!"

Well, at least we know the score!

"The fortune cookie promised me vacation!"

A couple days ago, we were driving around, running errands, when Helios piped up from the back, "Mommy, it's cold and rainy here. When's our vacation going to be?"

Wistfully thinking of my own vacation dreams, I regretfully told him that we don't have any vacation planned for a while but maybe this summer.

"But, Mommy," Helios protested, "the fortune cookie at P.F. Chang's said that I will go on at vacation soon and I'm going to have a really good time. So when will we get to go on vacation like the fortune cookie said?"

(Since that fortune cookie was received more than two weeks earlier and comprised approximately 3 seconds of an excruciatingly long 90-minute dinner at a busy restaurant, we were quite surprised he remembered it at all!)

"I am not going to drink any more cow milk, just like you."

I've been a vegetarian since a child but Daddy is not. That's no biggie; I even cook the meat for him sometimes. But the kids notice the difference, especially when we give them "chick'n" and give Daddy the kind without apostrophes. We've had that talk about why Mommy and kids don't eat animals and Daddy does, which is difficult to do without implying Daddy is wrong (ahem) but we make it work and all's well.

Recently, I decided to become a vegan and Helios noticed that, too. So he asked me why and I honestly explained that it doesn't seem "nice" to drink milk from the cow because it is meant for the calf.

This conversation was two or three weeks ago. So imagine our surprise when Helios announced out of the blue a couple days ago that he's not drinking cow milk anymore because it's "not right." When younger brother Hesperos protested with "I like cow milk!", Helios took it upon himself to convert his baby brother with arguments based on sympathy. (Example: "Hesperos, how would you like it when you were a baby if someone took Mommy's milk from you and you had to eat grass?!") Never mind that those same abilities at sympathy don't extend to sharing toys, I still appreciated his 5-year-old mind trying to rationalize and persuade.

These anecdotes almost make me feel badly about the one time (okay, maybe more than one time) I told Helios that naughty children get returned to the hospital where they were born for a full refund.

But here's my theory: Kids will go to the therapist to sort out their problems they blame their parents for anyway. Might as well give 'em something good (and true) to talk about.

Annie, Clarabel / Potayto, Potahto

Anyone who isn't familiar with Thomas the Tank Engine may be a bit lost on this post so here's some background. Thomas the Tank Engine, when he's not schlepping cargo throughout the Island of Sodor, has two coaches he pulls: Annie and Clarabel. They are effectively identical coaches. According to one toy site, "They were given to Thomas as a reward for proving himself to be a Really Useful Engine. Annie carries passengers and is always pulled by Thomas facing him. Clarabel carries both passengers and luggage, and always travels behind Annie."

Got that? The only way to tell between Annie and Clarabel is their position in relation to Thomas. (Women's studies majors, take note and use this as a basis for your next thesis statement - there's something here about train-oriented misogyny present in early 20th century British children's literature with a compare and contrast in the leadership styles of Winston Churchill and Sir Toppham Hatt under George VI and Elizabeth II.)

So today, when the boys were engaged in passionate debate over who should have Annie AND Clarabel, my thought, as Mommy and Chief Moderator on Duty, was to divide the two virtually identical and interchangeable trains between the two boys, giving one to Helios and the other to Hesperos.

Nuthin' doin'. The boys could handle having only one coach a piece. What they couldn't agree on is who should have which coach. Both demanded Annie. No matter that in a blind touch test or with the names obscured, they couldn't tell the difference between the two.

So how to affect a compromise and some relative peace and quiet so I could write this post and gain some sanity this cloudy Saturday?

I revealed to them the secret that Sir Toppham Hatt didn't want anyone to know but entrusted to me, which I in turn was sharing with them.

Clarabel is Annie's double, her identical twin, in disguise. Underneath the 'Clarabel' in white cursive is the word 'Annie.' So they're really two Annies, but one is in hiding.

Now they argue about who has the secret Annie and who has the visible Annie. Of course.

Slug Hunting and Pooh Sticks

Daddy's company picnic this past summer offered all of the usual fare: barbecue at a park, huge sheet cakes from CostCo, drawings for a variety of items branded with the corporate logo, and an inflatable bouncy for the children. It also featured a few not so common attributes such as an employee with an uncanny resemblance to the mayor in the cinematic version of The Wizard of Oz who also served as a comedian slash magician. This gent will probably not be giving up his day job any time soon (but possibly could consider it if he could throw in a couple lions or two and if Siegfried and Roy would take him on.


But, most of these entertainments were for adults and didn't keep Helios and Hesperos entertained for long. So, the four of us went to create our own entertainment at the wetlands at which the event was held.



For starters, we absconded with the top halves of several hamburger buns. Ostensibly to feed the ducks, the fact is Mommy and the boys prefer the top halves and we figured we might need a smackerel on our long journey around the park. Privately, Mommy suspects that no one noticed the difference - for those distressed by there being bottom bun halves only, there was beer to comfort.




After feeding the ducks and the resulting Mother Theresa-like rush of benevolence mixed with self-satisfaction at having done a good deed, we walked through the woods where we were beset by slugs. Dozens of slugs, hundreds of slugs! We could not take a step without worrying what living slime might be beneath our shoes. So, the shorter ones in our impromptu troupe (i.e. the children) took it upon themselves to go slug hunting, staring at the ground intently and letting us all know where it was safe to step. To the best of our knowledge, there were no slug fatalities that day as a result of our walk. If you suspect otherwise, it's only fair to tell you that Mommy was wearing flip-flops which have no discernible sole pattern and the boys' shoes have since been donated to Goodwill. Good luck pinning it on us!

Our adventure concluded with a game of Pooh sticks played at the stream. The boys having never played before, it took a tiny bit of explaining. Then, Hesperos' natural competitiveness took over and he decided to win by flinging himself over the bridge's edge to push his stick (also the biggest stick) through. Helios did a little stomping and fitting about how Hesperos wasn't playing fair -- but we all know that Hesperos' casual interpretation of the rules is probably what will make him a corporate success story some day when he's prestigious enough to go only by his initials.

Helios' First Day of School

The first of September dawned bright and busy with Helios' first day of school as a kindergartner. He had previously visited his school the Wednesday before and inspected the room, dropped off his school supplies, and introduced himself to the teacher. This 30-minute experience afforded Helios the opportunity to demonstrate full worldliness and mastery of his environment by the time the Big First Day arrived.

With barely a passing glance, he skipped merrily to his classroom, happy with his (nearly empty) backpack that contained only his beloved German Shepherd beanie baby, Durdle. Upon arriving, we did the important tasks: found Helios' cubby and stored his backpack; checked out the bathroom and ensured the toilet could flush (checked repeatedly); found his flower name tag (to help the teacher remember him - as if she could forget!); and introduced himself to the fish. After that, he explained very solemnly to the teacher that he knows how to read - and that he will help the teacher teach the other kids, if she wants.

The prime activity of the first day (half-days only for the first week) included the creation of a hand-print folded into the American Sign Language gesture for "I love you," which Helios shows proudly here.

No tears, but a little insecure whimpering, and a lot of excitement as Helios' elementary school experience begins.

Soccer x 2

Let me take you back to fall 2007, where days dawned cloudy and full of rain, and the soccer games still started too early for Saturdays. Helios was just starting out in his first year of soccer as a jumpy 3-year-old who liked to run around the court in the same way a cat likes to chase spiders. Hesperos was his older brother's biggest fan, barely a year old, half walking, half stumbling after the soccer balls that he clutched to his chest with all his eager might.

Now in 2009, Hesperos is a stocky 3-year-old, still capering after his older brother but almost fully the same size and able to play soccer in his own right. He's still a little rough on the rules and enjoys carrying the ball -- his natural competitiveness results in him hiding it from his teammates as well as the opposing players. But, according to Daddy, who knows such things, Hesperos has a possible future ahead of his as a forward since he's quite good at running as fast as possible...and happens to kick the ball ahead of him as he goes, a 3-foot tall little blur on the indoor soccer field.

Early September brought a return of soccer season for both boys. Delightfully, each happened to be in a team whose t-shirt color is blue (light blue and dark blue) which minimizes the likelihood of quarreling over who gets to wear what shirt and whose team is best. (Yes, it's all about the color of the jersey.) Both boys are in teams coached by Daddy (resulting in very long Saturdays at the gym) but there's no sense of divided loyalties in this family. Due to the age difference between the boys, there's no risk they'll ever play against each other.

But this doesn't mean that the two brothers won't meet on the field every now and then. And afterward, there's always time for a more-or-less amicable play on the tire swing.

The Exploits of Crafty McGee

In our home, we have a little imp who is responsible for many of the events a less knowledgeable person might blame on forgetfulness, spirits from the afterlife, or your spouse. Crafty McGee, as the name suggests, is sneaky and sly -- and disarmingly charming. He rarely gets caught, and when we come close to catching him, he shows off a bright smile that would fool a lesser person.

Crafty McGee is most often seen in Hesperos. In fact, we're pretty sure Hesperos is always Crafty McGee even though evidence is difficult to collect and the suspected culprits always provide an alibi for the other. Recent examples of Crafty McGee's presence in our home:

• A slice of fresh banana bread, left outside unattended, missing. Children look amazingly content and chipmunk-cheeked.


• The removal of all the teabags from the drawer which were then lined in spooky perfect rows and columns on the floor.
  
• A bathtub filled to the brim with the foamiest of bubbles that oddly made the children's hair silkier, shinier, and more manageable (but not their temperaments). Mommy's shampoo bottle is empty. Worried that Crafty McGee might follow instruction to rinse and repeat, shampoo is now relocated to the highest shelf in the bathroom resulting in Mommy having to do the "I'm-so-cold-and-wet" dance to get it whenever needed.
  
  
• Socks regularly missing from Mommy's drawer. Innocent-faced protestations came with added information that "Mommy socks make good gloves."


• Nearly full iced tea glasses that empty quicker than one might think. Following a recent visit to a water treatment plant where we learned about the water cycle, it's been suggested that iced tea evaporates quickly.

When Mommy was growing up, Grandpa Wil would put select foods in an extra refrigerator stored in the laundry room locked with a padlock. Supposedly this is where Grandpa Wil's parents' prescription medications were kept for child safety, but Mommy and several of her siblings know without question that it contained many delights: chocolate, liverwurst (delight is a relative term), soda, beer, ice cream, and more. Mommy often mocked Grandpa Wil and his killjoy over-protection of the family edible assets.

With the knowledge gained by motherhood, Mommy now knows that Grandpa Wil must've had a Crafty McGee or two (or more) of his own.