Love is in the Air

On Wednesday afternoon, Milo got a package in the mail from a classmate.  Yeah, she and her family live in town and she sees him three times a week, but the novelty of mailing something to your friend is, well, pretty novel to an almost-five-year-old. 

Oh, did you catch that I typed "she" and "her"? 

That's right, Milo's current BFF is a girl -- she's a cutie, for sure.  The package she sent contained a foam visor, a photo of herself, and a sweet little note, which concluded "I love you Milo."

Aww, my baby got his first love note!  Her mother assured me that she told her daddy that "we're just friends" -- which is good because, as much as I adore her parents, we're not planning to arrange a marriage between our preschoolers.

I cannot tell you how thrilled I am that he's really warmed up to his classmates in the last couple of months.  One of the statements his preschool teacher made at our parent/teacher conference was that he had a tendency to join an activity and relate to the kids doing the activity, rather than seeking out a favorite friend and joining an activity together.  She also said that he plays well with other kids, takes turns and shares easily.

Does that sound strange to you?  I asked Milo about it and he said "I play with everyone, Mom.  They're all my friends."  Instead of taking this as a sign of anxiety, like his teacher did, I took it to mean that he is open to all kids and not a clique-y mean boy.  I'm not so sure that playing with everyone is a bad thing. 

Back to the topic on hand -- after receiving the package, Milo said, "We need to have her over to play and have a sleep-over!"

I told him, "Let's take this slowly, but.  How about a playdate -- you don't want all the pressure of committing to a sleep-over to soon, you know.  That's a pretty long-term commitment."

The Birds and the Bees and the Flowers and the Trees...

Last night, during our after bath snuggle on my bed, Milo looked at me, his clean face starting to look sleepy-sweet.

"Mom, I want another girl baby, another baby sister."  (Me, too, little buddy -- or a boy baby, either would be fine.  And soon would be great!)

"That would be nice, wouldn't it?  You'd like having two little sisters?"  (So you don't have to share your Star Wars guys.)

"When I was a baby, I grew in here, your tummy, right?"  His hand gently rested on my abdomen.  "Do you have a baby in here right now?"

"Uh, no sweetie.  Not right now."  (That's the bacon cheeseburger I had for supper you're feeling, Ace.)

"How did I get into your tummy?"  (Dun, dun, dun....)

I so was not expecting to have that conversation last night.  Not at all.  Not for a while -- maybe when I am pregnant and he can see evidence of a new sibling, but not a random conversation, sparked by genuine curiosity.  Nope, didn't expect that.

"Well, Daddy has a seed and Mommy has a seed and they meet," I said, pressing the tips of my index fingers together lightly.  "The seed goes in Mommy's tummy and the baby grows."  (I hope he doesn't ask more, this seems appropriate, right?)"

"It goes on your tummy and makes a baby?"  (Only if Daddy misses.)

"No, honey, IN my tummy."

"How does it get IN your tummy?" 

At this point, I notice that Scott has appeared in the doorway, looking at me quizzically and starting to chuckle.  He knows that I'm unsure of how to answer this question, but he's going to leave me high and dry and choose to smirk, rather than to help me out, I just know it.

"Umm...  Mommy and Daddy have a special hug that puts the seeds in my tummy."  (Please, please, please buy it.  Please?  I'm begging more than you do when you want a new toy...  Please?)

"Is it a hug no one sees?"  (I sure hope so...)

"Yep."  Scott is shaking with silent laughter now. 

Milo recaps, "You have a special seed and Daddy has a special seed that go like this (he does the finger thing)  in your tummy when you do a special hug that no one sees?"

"Yep, that's it!"  (Please be OK with this explanation, pretty please with a Ben Ten figure on top?)

"OK.  Do I have school tomorrow?"  (Whew!  Saved by the bell...)

And, so, mothers of the other preschoolers, please forgive my son if he's talking about special seeds and special hugs tomorrow.  That was the first time I had to explain the birds and the bees and I think I did OK, don't you?

Hey, Mom! Discovery

Walking Milo to school this afternoon was just what my spirit needed -- ten minutes with the joy of discovery.  After being initially reluctant to head out the door, he perked up the minute his feet hit the sidewalk.  Talking a mile a minute, stopping low to peer under bushes, dancing randomly, dashing ahead of me to peer between his legs, grinning.  Meeting his classmates happily, exclaiming over the equipment for an obstacle course.  Reading six or seven other student's names as he skips to the peg with his name atop.  Such lightness, such fun, such joy...

Here are some of the things he said as we meandered through campus to his school:

Hey, mom!  Why are the steps so tall?
Hey, mom!  These pink flowers came from that tree!
Hey, mom!  Why does he have short pants and long sleeves?
Hey, mom!  That guy looks like Will's dad!
Hey, mom!  What would happen if I ran down that hill?
Hey, mom!  I can jump over this crack really high!
Hey, mom!  There's paper on the ground!  That's rude!
Hey, mom!  What is this?  (seed pods from a tree)
Hey, mom!  If I plant them, will a tree grow?
Hey, mom!  They're playing frisbee!
Hey, mom!  There's a ball under this bush!  And a can, that's rude!
Hey, mom!  Those people are smoking!
Hey, mom!  Do you know any of those people?
That's good because they're smoking and that's gross!
Hey, mom!  I can count by twos!  Two, four, six, eight, ten -- like that, mom!
Hey, mom!  Let's go this way today -- I've never been this way!
Hey, mom!  I want to wear my backpack upside down!
Hey, mom!  Is that the building with your office?
Hey, mom!  I don't want to wear my backpack upside down anymore!
Hey, mom!  Can we listen to "Rolling on the River" again on the way home today?  (Proud Mary, naturally)
Hey, mom!  We're right on time to school!
Hey, mom!  There's Ben's name!  And Lucy!  And Evan!  And Moorea!  And Lydia!  And Ben N!  And mine!
See ya later, mom!

Socially Inept Mama Braces for Impact

T-30 until Milo's first non-family birthday party.  He's been invited to a classmate's celebration.  Beyond excited, he exclaimed, "Mom!  let's go now!  I want to be the first one there!"

Uh, sorry, sweet potato, your socially inept mommy doesn't want to be the first one there.  It's my first birthday party, too...  Am I supposed to stick around?  To drop you off?  To hang out with the other pre-school moms?  Only a couple really talk to me...  I'm an anomaly -- the working mom who drops her kid off at school.  The other working moms don't.  I know this because the "daycare mom" arrives with four of them in tow. 

Am I dressed OK?  I probably shouldn't wear my cute kitten heels, What Not to Wear be damned -- the party is in a gym.  Oh, I hope they don't ask me to do anything athletic -- as you recall, I'm quite the klutz.  Gotta go brush my teeth.  Should I wear lipgloss?  My hair's not quite dry, but if I were to dry it I'd look like an electrocuted Ewok.

I have always had birthday party anxiety.  I remember one party, when I was 7 or 8, the host forgot to give me a spoon or fork for my cake and ice cream.  Too embarrassed to ask for one, I ate with my fingers -- even the bite that had a burnt match stuck to the bottom.  I didn't eat the match, but some of the ash stuck to the cake and as I swallowed that bite, I willed myself not to vomit in front of everyone, thank goodness that worked.  If I couldn't manage to ask for a fork, barfing in front of a room full of kids might have sent me into hiding for longer than J.D. Salinger...

We've reviewed birthday party etiquette.  He signed his name to the card and wrote the birthday boy's name on the front.  When did my kid learn to write the alphabet?  He says he can write every letter but K and Z and I believe him because he randomly wrote the A-J, and L-Y the other day.  Not scratched on my car with a stick, though, he saved THAT trick for his name.  In case he forgets which side of the car holds his car seat.

OK.  T-22... 

Jock Itch

It should surprise no one that I am not, umm, athletically gifted.  I'm a complete klutz -- and I'm not really exaggerating.  Oh, sure, I have really good body awareness and rhythm -- I did ballet for 15 years and figure skated and have a blue belt in Aikido -- but when it comes to sports involving balls, nets, racquets, goals, or bases I am useless.  I'm totally OK with that.

Scott isn't a natural athlete, either.  He admits to being fairly average when it comes to athletic prowess.  He's fine with that, too. 

Unfortunately, this has led to a deficit regarding athletic instruction and our children.  They don't know the rules for baseball, basketball or football.  They've never played Minnows and Sharks on a soccer field.  Milo has a baseball glove, but has never used it.  He steps with the wrong foot when he throws.  It just hasn't been a priority for either him nor us. 

Are we doing him a disservice?  Milo has never expressed any interest in learning athletic things, but I'm starting to feel like I need to give him a crash course in Catch to keep him from being the last kid on the bench.  This weekend he had a playdate with a preschool classmate, who stands a full head taller than Milo and probably outweighs him by 15 pounds.  And throws a football better than either Scott or me.  Definitely better than Milo, who was embarrassed and frustrated. 

As a kid, I had opportunities to participate in group athletics, and I did, though I greatly preferred my music and dance lessons.  I had more fun chatting with my teammates and cheering for them than I did actually playing the game.  I wasn't aggressive or physically competitive with the kids and my hand-eye-coordination was appalling.  I suffered through gym class the way other kids suffered through spelling. 

We have tried hard to model for our kids that there is not one be-all-end-all defining characteristic in people -- that just because you enjoy doing something it doesn't mean you can't enjoy doing something else, too.  You can like BOTH swimming and playing the guitar.  You can go skating AND like painting a room.  We do work at a liberal arts college and have always connected with the liberal artist's mindset -- that learning about everything in the world is better for your mind and spirit than just focusing in on one thing.

I'm pretty sure that we're raising a couple of nerds-in-training, but I guess I'm hoping that they won't be the last nerd chosen on the team.  With that in mind, I think I'm going to have to find my ball glove and teach the kids the very, very little I know about sports.  So they can soundly kick my butt in any game they take up.

Success!

If you're stopping by from the Ultimate Blog Party 2010, here's my party post!

We survived Kindergarten Round-Up!  I am thrilled with the way it went last night and so very proud of Milo! 

You see, he can be kind of hesitant in unfamiliar situations.  Like the first week of preschool when he cried every time I dropped him off?  Yeah, like that.  In fact, when we talked about how the night was going to go (all together in the gym, then kids got with teachers, then kids come back from teachers) he flat out told me that he "didn't want to leave me and would be shy if he had to."

I patiently told him that he was going to be fine, that his friend L. was going to be there and she would love to sit by him, that all they would do is go play for a bit and have a snack, etc.  And he was still balking.

On our drive into town, he sat alert and silent in his car seat, his hands tightly clasped in his lap.  He looked very, very nervous.  He said he was nervous.  This made me nervous, though I tried not to show it.

We came in practically at the same time as L. and her family, so we sat near them in the gym.  Milo and L. chatted a bit until the principal came in with an introduction.  After introducing all of the kindergarten teachers, he dismissed the kids.

This was it,  I was fully prepared to have to nudge my little buddy into going, to pry his clinging fingers from my hand and hand him over to the teacher, apologizing profusely and reconsidering our decision to send him to Kindergarten even though he'll be young in his class.  I turned to him and...

He was gone.  He was skipping happily to the outstretched hand of the first teacher in line.  He called over his shoulder to his friend, "C.mon, L.!  Let's go to Kindergarten!"  She followed and he left the room at the head of the line, smiling from ear to ear.

I looked at Scott and saw some of the same amazement reflected.  Did he just go away willingly?  Happily?  Eagerly?  And first in line?

After the presentation by the principal (who thought he was doing stand-up comedy), school secretary, and school counselor, the kids returned.  Milo came back beaming with a paper sack full of stuff from the evening.  "Mom, dad, we talked about bugs!  See, I made bug shapes and colored them.  This one is a spider, see all of his legs?  Then I put stickers on this page..."  He went on and on and on.  While he was explaining this, the teacher whom he followed approached us and told us how excited she was to have Milo in Kindergarten next year.

Scott teasingly said, "Wow -- you must have talked a lot about Star Wars to get him to talk so much!"

She smiled and shook her head, "No!  He was eager to participate and excited to learn.  He answered all of our questions cheerfully and was just charming!"  I think my jaw bruised my knees when it fell into my lap.  Mr. "I'm going to be shy" was confident and charming?  Yay, Milo!

As we left, he told us, "I thought I was going to be scared, but it was fun!  I like Kindergarten!"

Sunshine, Lillipops...

Hello!  If you're checking me out from the Ultimate Blog Party 2010, here's my party post!  

It is Sunday morning, and I'm awake at 6:37 for no real reason, so here's some Sunday fun!

This week, the kids and I took advantage of an unusual day off for me and went to lunch with a friend and her children.  Her daughter is in Milo's preschool class and er son is about 6 months younger than Violet.  After an enjoyable and humorous lunch, we walked with the kids the three and a half blocks to the preschool.  Well, we walked.  Milo and his friend ran up the street, stopping appropriately to wat for us at corners, giggling and holding hands, swinging their connected limbs like a jump rope.


They were so blissfully innocent, all pink-cheeked and shiny-eyed.  They looked timeless darting up the street -- this could have been me and my friend or even my grandparents holding hands and skipping.


Our town is pretty sleepy, but there were a few other people out for a stroll on a lovely spring day, including a couple of city workers, who happened to pass the kids just as Milo pulled ahead, calling over his shoulder, "Missed me!  Missed me!  Now you gotta kiss me!"  The city workers chuckled and smiled at them, clearly as charmed as we were.

The kids had so much joy, so much energy, so much life that they may as well been trailing a rainbow wake behind them, maybe one with unicorns and butterflies dancing along...  What a magical spring moment!

Ultimate Blog Party 2010

Hello!  Although I am not really a new mom blogger (I have been blogging since August of 2008), I am a sort-of-newish public blog mama since February of 2010.  Don't ask me why I felt the need to suddenly go public with my blog, I'm not sure I really have a reason for it.  I do know that it seems like a fairly healthy way to have a midlife crisis, right?

Anyway, if you are dropping by to join the party, please overlook the dog fur and kid toys -- I've got two of each and trying to pretend they don't exist is pointless.  Grab a seat, but don't be surprised if my son begs to play Star Wars guys with you or my daughter drags you to the kid-sized table where she's sticking glittery stickers to a piece of pink construction paper.  Or if my husband kidnaps you to the basement where we're keeping our first brood of Buff Orpington chicks, at least until he gets the coop built.  Did you know that they have automatic chicken coop doors?  I didn't know that until yesterday, either.

My life is pretty ordinary, and I'm sure that is the biggest reason I didn't go public with my blog when I first started writing.  I was a good student, married my college sweetheart, moved to a mid-Atlantic state when he was in graduate school, returned to Iowa when he was offered a job about 35 miles from where he grew up -- a big surprise for us because he's a theatre designer and this is, well, this is Iowa.  We got a dog, bought a little house, gutted it, got another dog, and renovated the house.

Then we decided to start a family.  After an ectopic pregnancy, we had our wonderful son in June of 2005 and made him the big brother of a little sister in September of 2007.  We are currently battling unexpected secondary infertility.  I swallowed my first dose of Clomid about an hour ago.  I don't feel any more fertile yet...

This past November, we bought a big old farmhouse out in the country.  This has been a bit of an adjustment for us (mice.  Mice.  Mice!  MICE!), though we are eager to put in a gi-gundous garden this spring and, as I said, we have a small flock of chickens started in the basement.  Because organic brown eggs sound super, don't they?

Here are some of my quirks:
1.  I like to be funny.  Sarcastic, even -- I know, SHOCKER!  If you don't want to read a blog where the author admits her shortcomings and pokes fun at herself, you shouldn't read mine. 
2.  I like to write.  I've never hosted a give-away, nor have I monetized my blog.  Yet.  If I end up pregnant with Clomid quintuplets, I might have to change that policy.
3.  I am a fan of the chain description: words-tied-together-with-hyphens-to-make-a-funny-run-on-point.  Yep.  I like me my hyphens...  And ellipses...
4.  I like comments.  OK, who doesn't.  I follow up diligently. Really, I do!
5.  I'm a lunch-hour blogger, so if my schedule gets keee-razy, I don't get a chance to give my blog or bloggy friends the love.  I hope you can forgive me, but I gots-ta pay the bills.  My hubby works in arts education, 'nuff said.
6.  I try to be positive and witty and clever, but the struggle we've had trying to conceive baby #3 has stretched my good humor to the limit.  Some of my more recent posts were a little darker than I would normally write.  But, since I am above all an honest blogger, writing something that was all cheery and rah-rah-rah when I was feeling blah-blah-blah was resoundingly fake, so I didn't do it. 

Here are some of my most favorite posts:
Malfunctioning Bedroom Devices
Brontophobia: Fear of Storms
Sleep

In case my blog gets pulled for a prize, here are my top three choices:

US6 – Hand Stamped Personalized Necklace valued at $48 The Double Stacked A Lot Of Love.
Provided by: Kristen’s Custom Creations  I lved this design and don't have any mother's jewelry!


US97 – One winner will receive a beautiful handmade wire and colorful bead necklace from the mission-driven company, Ana Patricia!  just thought this was so much fun!

USC 10 – One winner will receive a beautiful handmade glass pendant with their choice of chain. The piece is made by me with care using glass and paper.  The design I will give away is called “Lilac“.  I fell in love with this -- so very pretty!

Other prizes in which I'm interested: US39, US44, US66, US110, and USC19.  My son is 4 and daughter is 2, so anything appropriate for them is fine, too!

Alice! Oh, Alice! Wherefore Art Thou, Alice?

There are two times of day that I just detest:  the fifteen minutes before we leave the house in the morning and the hour before dinner when we get back from the day.

Our mornings went so much more smoothly when, when...  well, I don't think they have ever gone smoothly.  Except when I'm home alone with the kids and that's because I organize like I have OCD.  When daddy's around, I don't set every little thing up the night before.  I don't shower before bed, hoping that my hair doesn't dry overnight like a flock of seagulls.  I don't put breakfasts on the plates, ready to zap in the microwave.  I don't order two cups of milk to stand at attention in the fridge all night, and I don't leap out of bed the first time my alarm announces morning.  I do all of that when he's gone and morning's go smoothly.  Hmmm...  *Smacking my own forehead* I think I just taught myself something here.

And that hour between work and dinner?  Ugh.  Ugh.  Ugh.  I can't think of anything more coherent to say about that witching hour.  Ugh.  I do completely understand that my kids miss me and clamor for my attention.  I know this because I miss them, too. I wish that we would walk in the door and Alice from The Brady Bunch would greet us, wearing her starched blue uniform, asking to pour me a glass of wine or a margarita or something, supper simmering happily on the stove.  If that were the case, I could devote that time to kids-on-the-couch snuggling or sliding-across-the-floor-in-our-socks contests, or even blowing-bubbles-in-the-driveway time.  But, last I checked, I don't have a maid.  Ugh.

Lately, they have both come home from daycare as hungry as hyenas -- I'm afraid to leave my hands near their snapping mouths, lest I lose a finger.  I somehow cannot cook dinner fast enough for spring days of outdoor play, running, climbing, swinging, laughing, and growing.  I offer a nutritious snack and it is inhaled before I turn back to the stove.  I give a big glass of water and it is drained before I turn off the tap.  Unfortunately, because I spend so much time hurling string cheese and apple slices at the ravenous vultures, I barely have time to tend the food for the meal I'm preparing to serve.  Things boil over or get stuck crisply to the pan, the microwave beeps endlessly to alert me that the veggies are done steaming.  I can barely slice a strawberry before a small pink hand plucks it from the cutting board.

I have learned that I cannot put the food on the table until we are ready to sit down because my children will climb up there and eat it before I can get there.  They have suddenly become very self-sufficient, dishing up their plates while I try to assemble silverware for all of us.  They empty the fruit bowl, gnaw on pork chops, and slurp up spaghetti before my bum even meets my chair.  And if Scott doesn't come the instant before I call him?  The kids are done eating, flying off their seats to wash their hands and scurry about their activities.  Leaving me sitting there, utterly bewildered, blinking at my husband as he sits down to his plate and we survey the wreckage left behind.  I just can't wait until they are teenagers...

Hello World! Remember Me?

Hello, world!  It's me again!

Still not pregnant.  Although, I did get my appointment with my doc moved up a whopping whole week.  Which, at this rate, will put me visiting right about ovulation time.  I'm guessing there will be bloodwork involved, maybe an ultrasound, I dunno.  I'll be rooting for the "hubby in the bathroom with some questionable 'reading' material and a cup" test, too, to see if the gout meds he was taking caused any issues with his swimmers.  Of course, he's been off the gout meds for a year with barely a flare-up, so maybe he can ditch them after all?  But of all the tests, that one seems at least pleasurable -- way more than having a KYed ultrasound wand poking around my innards.

Milo asked me to teach him how to tie his shoes yesterday and has figured out how to open a web browser and type "pbskids.org" and find some wholesome, educational computer stuff to do.  He attended a brass concert yesterday with his preschool class and says he now wants to play the trumpet -- or a cow horn.  They used one as a demonstration and now I think he thinks that there are cow horns in the brass section of a marching band.

Violet is turning into an adept staller at bedtime: she asks for one more song, one more book, new water in her sippy, and a different noise on the white noise machine every night.  Last night she added, "My go potty" and "Daddeeeee there are ladybugs in my room!" to her ever-expanding list.  She's such a cute little bug when she sleeps -- all curled up, bum in the air.  She also got a new spring coat and was eager to show it off to anyone who looked, telling them proudly, "My got a new spwing coat at Tawget!  See!  There's a wibbon and a bow on the back!  My cute now!"  I guess she didn't think her winter coat was cute?

Anyway, I hope to get caught up on all of the bloggy stuff I've neglected, so keep an eye out for me!  I'm a rampant commenter and will find you somewhere, bwah-hahahaha!

Running in Pumps

I made a big boo-boo today.  I was in a meeting and lost track of time until a co-worker asked me, "Don't you have to take your son to school?"

"Yes," I said.  "At 12:15."

"It's 12:32."

PANIC!  Danger, Will Robinson!  And then that crazy sqwaking alarm from "Emergency!" AAAh-oooh-EEEEE!

Then mama was slamming her feet into her shoes, jamming her arms into her sweater, and cramming her coat under her arm.

Clack, clack, clack, clack as I speedwalk through the student union so that I don't look like a complete dork in front of the entire student body, or at least the ones waiting in line for food service.

Stamp, stamp, stamp, stamp as I climb the steps of terror.  You can see the ground in between the steps and I have a fear of heights, so it was a Major Accomplishment for me to haul up this staircase, right up the middle and without clinging to the handrail like it was a ski tow rope.

Click, click on the tile for the two steps until I hit the doors.

Then SPRINT!  Mama's running across campus in heels.  Mama's running downhill perilously fast in pumps.  Mama gets to the car, does an illegal U-turn while buckling her seat belt, drives three blocks to the sitter's, where an anxiously waiting man-child greets me at the door.

"I'm-oh-so-sorry-I-was-in-a-meeting-and-am-so-sorry-I'm-late!  Let's-get-in-the-car-fast!"  He can get in the car fast because it is still runnning and his door is flung wide open.  Like a good little rabbit, he scurries to the car and into his seat.

While I'm buckling him, he asks in a quivering voice, "How many minutes?"  As in how many minutes before we're late.

"Umm..."  I falter.  He's self-conscious enough that telling him we're late will freak him out.  "One minute!"  I say.

"That's not much time, mom..."

"Nope.  But we'll get there.  It's only five blocks and when we're on time there are always kids getting there after we do."

"Yeah, but everyone's going to stare at me."

"No they won't!  Look -- those kids are late, too!"  I had spied a daycare provider with four kids in tow arriving only a moment before we parked.  "we'll be just fine!  I'll unzip your coat when I unbuckle your carseat and we can take it off before we get into your room.  I'll even carry it and your backpack, so all we need to do is find you name over your hook and then you can play, okay?'

Thankfully, the plan worked and he was in his class a mere four minutes late (my co-worker's watch was three minutes fast). And me?  Well... I'm  not flushed and sweaty anymore and my feet aren't screaming with blisters, so I'll consider that a winning performance.  Whew!

Milestone: 100th Post

I've hit a milestone!  My 100th post.  So, in honor of that, I thought I'd try a blog hop today.  Although it is doubtful I'll grow my followers from 20 to 100 today, I'm aiming for a 50% increase so that I get to 30.  As always, I reciprocate and love commenting!

I've also decided to point you toward some of my favorite posts.

It's Raining, It's Pouring is my reaction to the news that a good friend had (yes, HAD -- now she has a lovely pair of C cups that I covet) breast cancer.  It's might not be as funny as some of my posts, but I think it one of my most revealing posts.  I still tear up over this post.

Sidewalk is one of my most wistful and bittersweet posts, also the post where I feel like I really hit my stride and started singing most clearly with my voice.  It is about my darling Violet.

Lessons is about my Milo.  It is also the moment when I started tagging my posts "Mom Lessons" when I realize I'm learning more than my kids.

Laughter is the Best Medicine might be the best window into my sense of humor and the relationship I have with my family.  It makes me giggle when I read it, so I hope you like it, too!

Hosted by One 2 Try, Hearts Make Families, and Midday Escapades.

Snow Babies!

Olympic Dreams

So yesterday, while Little Miss and Daddy were upstairs napping and I was cleaning, I flipped on the Olympics for Milo to watch because, well, they are the Olympics. He's never seen ski jumping or bobsledding or moguls. After a bit, Scott came downstairs and Milo started asking him questions about the Olympics:

"What are the Olympics? Where are they? What are they doing?" Those general four-year-old "I've never seen Nordic Combined" questions. As always, Scott answered these questions thoroughly.

After a bit, I take a break from floor scrubbing and snuggle in next to my captivated child. We watched luge for a few moments, then he turned to me and said, "I want to be on TV."

Immediately I irrationally flash forward to the moment when, in the interview with the proud parents of the Olympic Gold Medalist, they ask, "When did you know Milo was going to become an Olympian?"

I query, "How are you going to get on TV?" thinking he's about to reveal that he, too, wants to rocket down the side of a mountain in a leotard on his back, clinging to a tiny sled, luging with the big boys.

"I guess I'd just have to drive to Canada, right?"

It's just as well... there aren't any mountains in Iowa.

So, tell me what Olympic sport you have always dreamed about bringing home the gold in?

Bronze Medal

Ring-ring. (That's the phone system's way of telling me there's a call from off campus.)

"I won a brown metal."

Click.

Follow that? That was, in fact, the very recent "conversation" I had with my son. He's home sick with a tummy bug today and was playing the Wii. And apparently had to call and tell me that he won a bronze medal at something.

Three seconds later, my darling hubby called back to tell me what that conversation was really about. I could hear him laughing to Milo and saying, "You have to tell mommy who it is -- say, 'Hi, mom, it's Milo. I won a bronze medal' Like that."

Well, daddy gets the gold medal for staying home with the wee ones today. Milo should, too, for barfing in a bowl and not in his bed, on the floor, or the furniture. Seriously -- the kid woke up and grabbed a bowl at 5:45 a.m. Way to go!

152

I submitted Milo's name to the elementary school so that he can be included in Kindergarten Round-Up information.

Kindergarten.

When I picked him up from preschool today, he was smiling and happy, full of hugs and excited to show me his craft. All of the other mothers were walking down the hall, waiting for their kids, and leaving with them and Milo and I were in the hallway, braced against the wall, digging through his backpack for his Valentine's Day headband. He was proud of it and wanted to show me. His teacher came into and out of the doorway dismissing kids three times before Milo and I finally exited the hallway.

But not before he gave me an extra hug, whispering, "Mom, I love you one-hundred-and-fifty-two." That's the magical number for him -- the most is always 152, no matter what. And I think he takes my breath away 152 times a day, at least.

152. It's a good number, doncha think?

Lessons

It seems that, of late, this blog has been mostly about my clumsiness or our stress, so here's an entry about something heart-warming!

Last night, after bath and snack and teeth-brushing, we settled in for our nightly reading time. Milo had gotten his book order from school, and the books he most wanted to read were the Scooby-Do phonics books. He has flat-out said that he wants to learn to read, so this seemed like a good opportunity.

Book 1 from the Scooby set features short "a" and short "i". I decided to focus on the short a words, so I pointed to each word on the list inside the cover, telling Milo that a-t makes the "at" sound. I read each of the keywords (at, cat, mat, and sat), then we started in on the story.

As I read, I stopped at each of the keywords and let Milo fill in the word. Most of them were "cat" as the title of the reader was "The Cat Came Back." He correctly identified cat each time, paused for a moment for "mat", and needed to be asked, "What sound does S make?" before "sat". We triumphantly reached the end of the book.

Then I pointed to the keywords on the inside of the cover and Milo read at, cat, mat, and sat correctly. He was overjoyed! And a light went off in his little head. He looked at me and said, "Hat is h-a-t, right? And bat is b-a-t?"

I beamed and said, "Yes! That's right! How would you spell 'fat'?"

He thought for a second and said, "F-f-f... F says f. So F-a-t!"

By this point, he was so excited he was squeaking and his whole body was charged, ready to fly. He hopped off his bed, came around and hugged me tightly, his sweet round face barely able to contain his pride.

"I'm so proud of you, buddy! You just read four words! And then you spelled three more!" I squeezed him tightly and kissed his hair. Violet clapped and smiled.

"I'm so proud of you, mommy, for teaching me to read at, cat, mat and sat!"

My big-hearted little boy was sharing the spotlight I'd shone on his accomplishment. Without a second though, he was expressing his gratitude and love, unabashedly affectionate and sincere. I melted. Who wouldn't?

Violet was in awe. She held the book and turned the pages reverently. "Cat, cat, cat. Cat, cat, cat. My read, too, like Milo!"

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. I hope that Milo has learned how to express gratitude and show love from us. I hope that he'll continue to show his generosity to the people he loves. he asked last night, during the kids' bath, "Mom, why does Violet always give me the Mickey Mouse when we take a bath?"

"When you love someone, you always give them the things they like!" He was thoughtful and digested that for a moment. It is true, Violet is a sharer by nature -- she always asks for two of everything and takes one to Milo. I can see that it makes her happy to give to him. He usually remembers to thank her, which tickles her, too.

I don't know if that lesson was in play when Milo so quickly shared his accomplishment with me. I'd like to think that he's learning good things from the people who love him the most -- I know that I'm always learning from him. I do know that this lesson is far more important in the long run than at, cat, mat and sat. He will learn to read when he learns to read. But learning to love is a lesson that is always being taught to any willing soul.