Happy Birthday, Faja!

"It was times like these when I thought my father, who hated guns and had never been to any wars, was the bravest man who ever lived."  To Kill a Mockingbird

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD - I LOVE YOU!

 

My Life with a Banshee - Eli at 19 Months

This post will take a different direction than previous monthly letters.  I feel that the story I'm about to tell will sum up our month with you, my sweet Eli.  Prepare yourselves, Internet, for a harrowing tale.

 

I feel that as an English teacher, it is only fitting that I would want to pass on my love of books to my son. So, I have made every effort to make sure your library is fully stocked. You usually migrate to the ones that were free or came in a happy meal despite my best efforts to steer you toward the ones that cost me money or took thought on my part.  But I digress.  I love reading to you.  You are such a fun audience.  Whenever I used to read to my students, I felt as if my voice mimicked the lulling sound of ocean waves, as half my students used that time to catch up on sleep.  Not you, my friend.  You revel in my voices and my gestures.  You laugh, you indulge me, we discuss themes and motifs with excitement (and by we, I mean me).  Granted you don't really sit through an entire book, but I don't care; you at least stay in the same room.  You grab stacks of books and put them in my lap.  Reading is definitely FUNdamental in our house. 

With this in mind, I decided that perhaps you would have fun attending the story time half hour at our local public library.  To make sure that this half hour of literary bliss would be appropriate for someone of your energy level, I went to the library a week ahead of time to ask about this story time.  Is it appropriate for your age group?  What did they do?  Were they aware that my child's record for sitting still was 1.2 seconds?  The librarian reassured me that they had several young children Eli's age who rarely sat through an entire story.  She said that by the end of the story, she is usually reading to herself while the young ones walk around.  The half hour consisted of reading a book, dancing, and coloring to mix it up for those with the attention span of an Eli.  I thought, "This will work."  And the following Wednesday morning, we set out for the library eager with the anticipation of a new social outlet. 

 

When I inquired about story time, the librarian told me there were usually six to eight kids who attended.  At this session, however, there were two: you and a three year old girl...who was afraid of you.  I noticed that there were six books out...all about cats.  Okay.  Eli likes cats.  Maybe we'll draw pictures of cats or make cat sounds.  Whatever.  This should be fine. My friends, the situation progressed very rapidly to DEFCON 1 status.  The sweet librarian (who was not the librarian I spoke to the week before) began reading one book.  You were not interested.  If I tried to keep you on my lap, you would make a sound that can only be described as a pig/cat hybrid being murdered.  So I set you down.  You walked over to the sweet three year old girl and began patting her on the head.  She recoiled in disgust/shock/horror.  Her face conveyed all these feelings.  So, I tried to steer you toward the table to draw.  That worked for 2.1 seconds.  You took the crayon bucket and dumped it on the table, made your pig/cat cry and got back down.  Then you decided to help the librarian with turning the pages in the book (a fun activity at home)...before she was done reading the page -- she was not amused.  So then I steered you toward some puzzles...pig/cat cry.  Finally, the librarian was done with the first book.  "Good," I thought, "we'll sing a song or act like cats or something."  Nope.  She asked the three year old to pick out another book. 

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" I screamed to myself.

By this time, you picked up one of the cat books and took it over to the the three year old's grandpa.  He did NOT want to read to you.  So I took it and tried to show you the pictures...pig/cat cry.  You found a baby doll in the corner to occupy you for 1.3 seconds.  After you hugged the doll, you took it to the three year old to have her kiss it (you're so cute).  She did NOT want to kiss it.  So I kissed it...pig/cat cry.  Finally, book #2 was done, but not until you tried to rearrange some of the library books on the bottom shelf. 

"Okay, now we'll sing a song or color or clean toilets...anything besides reading another story out loud," I thought.  Wrong. 

The librarian asked YOU to pick out a book.  You pondered over the selection for 1.1 seconds and picked up three of the books and started walking to the door.  "I hear ya, kid," I thought.  So I grabbed you (pig/cat cry) and took one of the books to the librarian with a pleading look that I hoped she would pick up on.  Alas, book #3 began.  You tried helping her turn the pages (before she was done reading the page), but she looked like she could handle it, so I picked you up...pig/cat cry.  I took you to the back of the library to show you the biography section, hoping a diversion would calm you down.  You informed me, however, that I should not take you away from your audience ever again and topped off your complaint with a Meryl Streep performance of falling down on the ground and writhing as if I had poisoned you.  We should hear about your acceptance into Julliard any day now. 

I decided it was time to go.  But, I had to pick up the crayons you spilled, collect your jacket that you tried to put on the librarian and get you out of the building without you pulling a Rosemary's baby.  So I set your writhing body down by the door, hoping you would look out and see the fire station across from the library and day dream about the fire trucks housed inside.  Big mistake.  As I was picking up crayons (mind you, the librarian is still reading, three year old is trying to listen, and three year old's grandpa is dialing Super Nanny), you began to roll the computer chair across the tiled floor very conspicuously.  Dear Jesus, give me patience.  I quickly picked up the crayons, grabbed your jacket, put the computer chair back, picked you up, and ran out of the library.  I didn't say goodbye.  I just left vowing never to return until you were in college. 

Now let me explain a few things to you and my readers who may think you are out of control and you probably smoke and run dog fights in our house.   This month has been a challenge.  I think you have made your transition into the the terrible twos (ahead of schedule).  You like to say no.  You like to throw your pacifier in a fit of frustration when you don't get your way.  You like to gently lay yourself on the ground (thank you, by the way) and fake cry when we tell you, "I'm sorry, you cannot eat that Twix bar...how about a banana?"  And we are learning how to deal.  We send you to your room, we try so hard to be consistent, we try to speak calmly to you.  We're all new at this.  And don't get me wrong, 80% of the time you are a pleasant child who is in love with life.  And I probably should have thought twice about taking you to library story time so close to your nap.  But again, we learn. 

It's hard for me to accept that you're not really a baby any more.  You have this strong desire to be more independent.  And honestly,  you have been strong willed since the womb.  But, you have to know that I may know a little more than you and when I tell you to put down the bottle of toilet cleaner, it's for a good reason.  I really am looking out for you.  I know that these next years are going to be challenging, so please bear with me--I'm just as new at this as you are.

Please know that I love you so much and only want the best for you.  And even when you're doing your best Kraken imitation, I don't love you any less, my sweet Eli-eli-oh.  

Happy Birthday, Mater!

Mater - A Haiku

Bathroom humor fan

Hey don't forget, I don't know

Awkward times abound

Happy Birthday, Marmee! We love you!  Oh, and don't forget!

This Little Piggy Went to Therapy??

The other day, whilst Eli and I were patronizing our local Taco Bell, Eli befriended a little girl in line with us. As I was admiring the hospitable nature of my child, I looked down at the little girl's bare...BARE!!! feet...(on the gross Taco Bell ground) and noticed she had six toes on one foot.  She had five on one foot and six on the other for a grand total of eleven toes.   After I quickly recited a line from The Princess Bride in my head, I began to wonder about Eli's little eleven toed friend.

How does she find shoes that fit?  Is that why she's not wearing shoes? How do her parents modify the "This Little Piggy" game?  Does the actual pinky toe have pinky toe envy?  Why is she NOT WEARING SHOES WHILST WALKING ON THE TACO BELL GROUND?  She will have a great 3 lies and 1 truth bit for youth group.  Could she have it removed if she wanted?  Or is it integral to her balance?

That's all I got for you, Internet.

Also, I was in the mood for pumpkin bread when I selected the latest color layout for my blog.  That's why.

Another Post Wherein I Plagiarize Rachel Parton's Blog

 Lately I've been...

Plagiarizing: Rachel Parton's ideas...can you blame me?  Check this gal out.

Excited About: Hanging up pictures in our apt...naked walls are unsettling.

Not Looking Forward To: Hanging up pictures in our apt

Procrastinating: Unpacking Ben's box o' sweatshirts.

Thinking: What's so great about Mad Men and Breaking Bad, Emmy Academy?  Huh?

Reading: Sense and Sensibility and, starting tomorrow,  The Help

Cooking Eating: Subway's buffalo chicken sandwich...well done, Jared, well done.

Watching: The Emmys

TiVoing: Public Access television (what, TiVo?)

Listening To: Woodpigeon and Barbara Streisand

Missing: the buffalo chicken sandwich I ate earlier...

Laughing At With: Heather Wikler...I just talked with her on the phone. 

Wishing: I wouldn't have watched Confessions of a Shopaholic last night.  Be ye not so careless with your Netflix queue.

Also, that Sara Luke and I can be reunited sometime this week. 

Dreading: Getting 3 cavities filled on Tuesday.

Being Adventurous: ...and cutting my own bangs.

You may now rest easy, Internet.  You're caught up on the life and times of Jeanette Parker. 

I Likes Me Some...

In my latest Eli post I neglected to highlight his recent likes.  These are more precious than silver to not write down, so here's a bulleted list for all you type Aers.

• Hugging.  Eli has always been an affectionate child, but he has stepped it up.  Any time he sees children, he squeals with delight and runs over to welcome them to his vicinity...by hugging them.  Tonight at Cottage Inn, these two little boys walked in with their dad.  Eli's kid radar immediately started going berserk.  He ran over to them after clawing his way out of our booth, leaving none alive, and started laughing, like they had just quoted a line from 30 Rock.  Then he followed them to their table and started hugging them.  First the older one, then the younger one (who returned his hug).  Then was inconsolable the rest of our time there, when I insisted he stay at our table and let his new found BFFs eat their dinner.
• (Not a new one, but warrants mentioning) Tractors/Trucks.  He is so in love with tractors and/or trucks, he is able to identify one, just by hearing it.  
• Elephants.  He loves pictures of them, seeing them on t.v., the one that came with the building we're living in now.  Okay, so that's the only thing this building does not come equipped with (dp).  
• Fire trucks (this deserves a bullet aside from the truck bullet).  He sees one and will make a siren sound.  If we even walk by the fire station and don't go see the trucks, he has a melt down...it's so sweet to see a writhing child on the side of M-60.  I mean, it's just beautiful.

Ummm...so I think that's it...I can't think of anything else...ahem (Pringles).  What?  Who wrote that?

I Am 18 Months Going on 18 Years, Ladies will Fall in Line

Well, it seems this blog's sole purpose is to communicate your growth to the fans (the fans being your grandma).  18 MONTHS!!!  That's how many you are. Yesterday, I had to buy you a new pair of sandals (thank you, Kohls for still having sandals) because 1.) your feet have grown to such gigantic proportions we have Big Foot hunters camping outside our building and 2.) your old sandals smelled like road kill wrapped up in some bigger road kill that had been wedged in a locker next to a urinal in a boys' locker room for the last six months.  Anyway, I was looking at these size 7 sandals and thinking, "my little baby has turned into a big boy."  And as I was silently weeping, you jarred me back to the present by a squeal that indicated you were, in fact, tired of sitting in the same spot for more than 10 seconds and I needed to move, Jeeves.  Oh, the things that have changed over the last two months.

First off, you have this amazing sense of humor.  Lately, whenever you see a camera or someone appears to be taking a picture of you, you make the above featured face.  You squint up your eyes and open your mouth into this big grin (dimples and all).  It is so funny!  Sometimes, you and I will be playing, and you'll just look at me and start giggling (like Elmo just made fun of my Jay Leno chin, and you're all like, "for sure, Elmo").  You laugh all the time, which I love.  Along with laughter, you have this joyful squeal that is usually used to indicate a dog (or animal of some sort) is within 30 miles of you.  You are such an affectionate, loving child.  My favorite is when you're sitting in my lap and  you look up at me and give me a kiss.  I love that life is mostly a fun time for you.  I love that you feel safe and content and are trusting.  And it's these times of giggling and happiness and kisses that I hold onto with every fiber of my being when I am in the midst of the OTHER times.

The other times.  So, you and temper tantrums have become BFFs.  You guys are texting all the time, especially while I'm shopping...where there are people...with eyes...judging me and my parenting skills.  I was a little shaken by the appearance of Temper Tantrum.  I mean you are my sweet little boy who usually obeys his mama. So, your temper tantrums...how can I describe them?  Well, take that joyful squeal you make around animal life, add some angst, throw in a dash of death metal and sprinkle some Jim Carrey ala Dumb and Dumber (you know, the scene where he's making the most annoying sound in the world?) and you have a resemblance of your angry squeal.  It's horribly grating.  In fact, the CIA has contacted us to see if they can record the squeal to use while interrogating potential enemies of state.  And then, you very gently and intentionally place your body on the ground (which is very nice of you) and kind of cry.  It's not a real cry because there are no tears.  I call it your Meryl Streep cry, because it is quite a performance. It's awesome.  Especially in the check out line at Ikea or in the middle of Office Max after I thwart your attempts to steal pens. 

These temper tantrums aren't a regular occurrence.  They usually take place after shopping for too long, when we you have to come inside, or when you are hungry...kind of like your dad's.  Which, honestly, I can totally sympathize.  When your friend, Temper Tantrum, first arrived, all belligerent and smacking his gum, I was distraught.  Was I a bad mother?  Am I not consistent enough?  Aside from these temper tantrums, you are usually pretty obedient.  When we tell you "no," you are pretty quick to comply.  We do have times (usually when we change your diaper or try to wipe your face after a meal) where you turn into a diva, but we are pretty good with handling these situations.  I did a lot of reading about temper tantrums.  And here's what I've decided: it's normal.  You are normal.  Toddlers throw temper tantrums (and please, random reader, don't tell me your toddler doesn't, otherwise, I may have to talk about you behind your back).  I just need to be patient and hope that when you're 13, you will have outgrown this phase.

You have had such a fun summer.  Not because we've visited exotic lands or conversed with the whales, but simply because you love being outside.  L-O-V-E it!  You swim, you run, you climb up slides, you put bugs in your mouth, you play with any ball you stumble across, you write poetry to tractors, you sing, you dance.  You are at peace outside.  In fact, I think you secretly wish you were born into the Swiss Family Robinson.  It's kind of nice for me (because isn't life about pleasing your mother?  Isn't it?).  I feel like your love for the outdoors forces me to be more fit and less couch potatoey.  It really is an all out workout to keep up with you. 

When you were a wee baby, friends, who had little boys, would look at you and comment about not remembering when their boys were as little as you were.  I remember thinking, "how can you forget what this feels like?"  And now, as I try to wedge my ginormous foot from my mouth, I get it.  You are growing up so fast.  I found one of your newborn diapers during our move (oh, yeah...we moved this month...which is a story that deserves its own post.  Look for it soon.), and could not believe that your cute little tushie (you're welcome, 17 year old Eli) used to fit in that diaper.  I feel like I write this every time I write an Eli update, but your growth and development constantly amaze me.  You can walk (and run away from us), you can talk (not in sentences, but your point is heard), you can decide that you do or don't want to do something, you feed yourself.  You are nearly self-sufficient.  Almost more than some high school students I used to know.

I love watching you grow into a little man.  And it cannot be said enough, but I love you more than I can say to you in a lifetime.  Happy 18 months, Eli-eli-oh!