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“But it’s special to me.”

24 Dec

I’m so proud of Bean. She and I spent Christmas Eve afternoon going through her older toys and she was so giving and honest. Her giving pile grew and grew and at one point she said, “I don’t want to look back at the give away things because then I might change my mind.”

I know this is hard for her. Usually we’ll go through things and each time I hold up something she’ll say, “But it’s special to me. So-and-so gave it to me.” This time though, she told me it was special then said, “It will be special to another kid now.”

Maybe she knows Santa is watching? Sounds like a Christmas Eve tradition has been born!

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Pants on Fire

24 Nov

Is lying a learned behavior/trait or are people born knowing how to fib? At four years old, it seems Nate is doing his best to improve his tall tale skills.

The most recent lie attempt involves a big “N” scrawled on bed sheets. We noticed it after we were addressing the broken fan light that Nate had caused by throwing a marker in the air (I’m envisioning, like a wild man).

When confronted about the graffiti-ed sheets, he started to stumble over his words and eventually told us:

“I didn’t do it. I threw the marker and it hit the light and then it came down and made that mark on the bed!”

Andrew responds, “Son, are you trying to tell me that the marker made an “N” all by itself?”

My mom and I: muffled, then explosive laughter.

Nate, rethinking his story: “No. That’s not what I said …(undig, undig, undig).”

Here is the mark the marker made by itself, according to Nate:

image

Here is the damage done to the lamp, caused by Nate:

image

That is one amazing and disastrous marker.

 

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I’m Stricken with NKOTBSB

22 Nov

I find myself dealing with mixed emotions about the comeback and combination of two boy bands from my younger years.

When I first heard that New Kids on the Block were reuniting, I felt nostalgic and wanted to be a part of the fun and frenzy. I got to go to their concert with a good friend and other fans and it was great. Singing and dancing along, screaming like we did when we first saw them years ago (minus the tears). It was a nice trip down memory lane.

It’s also how I felt about watching my first loves from afar share the stage with some other former teenage heartthrobs, the Backstreet Boys, during the 2010 American Music Awards. At first, I laughed. I loved. I sang along. And then it hit me. I know all of these words. I’ve lived through two generations (plus) of boy bands. I’m now rejoicing in reunion concerts. I’m older.

I felt a little bummed for a minute but then I realized, I may soon have Nia’s generation of bands to (quietly) sing along with too. I’ll get to see it through her eyes. That might be my favorite concert yet.  (With the addition of ear plugs to minimize the screaming damage.)

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I Chose Nightmares

17 Nov

I just got another lesson in Well, Duh from my seven-year-old.

On our way home tonight, Nia asked me, “Is it true that if I say Bloody Mary in the mirror three times and spin around that I will DIE? That’s what So-n-So says.”

After I hesitated to reinforce my knowledge that it is false, I replied that it’s just a scary story people tell each other and there are other versions of it as well. I also added that I heard it when I was young. (Candyman!) She then inquired if it made me scared or if I ever tried it.

I paused to think about how to answer – it also added a nice dramatic effect – and then told her that it did scare me and I did try it. She questioned, making it seem so simple, “Why didn’t you just ask your parents about it like I’m asking you?”

Right.

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Nia’s Thoughts on Drugs

11 Nov

Nia recently had a very serious discussion about drugs with me – all within the 11 minutes it takes to drive home from her after-school.

She read the word “tobacco” on a store’s sign and gasped, exclaiming in tattle-tell voice, “Ooo, they sell drugs at that store!” She then went on to tell me that drugs and alcohol are BAD and she will NEVER have any of those things because she doesn’t want to become ADDICTED.  (Yes, all caps are needed for those words to reflect the level of seriousness and drama she was displaying.)

After telling her it was wonderful that she doesn’t want to do those things and that some things are legal at a certain age even if unhealthy, I asked her where she learned all of this information.

Red Ribbon Week. The just-say-no-week of wearing crazy socks, pajamas and crazy hair to school. Behavior that sometimes raises concern about a person’s well-being got through to a seven-year-old. For now anyway.

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Make babies, but don’t bring ’em to church

7 Nov

That’s pretty much how Andrew and I are feeling about our church right now. This is not the first time a Catholic church has made us feel this way either. We’re disheartened and it all stems from the perceived attitude our church has toward children.

Here’s why: after church today, we were very nicely told that, “Father doesn’t want the children to color or draw in church anymore.” The usher said even the most neat kids can accidentally color on the pews. Ok, sure. But now what?

Coloring has been the one way we’ve been able to keep Nate calm, quiet and well-behaved in church. He colors during certain parts of church and participates in the prayers, peace and singing. He’s too little at four years old to be able to pay attention – it’s hard enough for some adults to – and there’s no children’s liturgy or nursery at our church. He’s supposed to just sit there without making a peep for an hour. Right.

The congregation has already been continually reminded about the “cry rooms” for noisy kids. You might as well not even go to church if you have to be in there. You can’t hear anything that’s being said and kids get the idea that it’s ok to talk loudly in church.

It’s just so disheartening because we are trying to do something positive for our family, as a family. They should be encouraging that, not making it more difficult. You’d think they’d be happy that a young couple is bringing their children and their monetary support to the church. I mean, they have this big “Catholics Come Home” campaign going on now and they are always reminding us that the children are the future of our faith and we need to be tithing as the Bible says. I know it’s wrong but, right now, I feel like making my children the future of another faith and informing this church that my tithe is going to find a place that practices what they preach. (We were born and raised Catholic but I went to Greek Bible school, a Baptist Pre-School and adult Bible study and Nia went to a Methodist Pre-School. We are not boxed in our denomination.)

I just want to be a part of a church community that is genuinely happy that youngens are in the pews or at least provides a Sunday school/nursery where they can learn about the Bible age-appropriately. Somewhere where I’m uplifted and leave feeling a little better about things. Not helpless and unwanted – for coloring inside or outside the lines, no less.

*Editor’s note: Since I wrote this, I’ve received a few comments/concerns and I’d like to clarify that my feelings are not directed toward the entire Catholic faith. We’ve been a part of some wonderful Catholic churches that never made me cry after Mass. The cases I’ve written about don’t always reflect the priest’s attitude either. Once it was an usher. Another time, a member of the church – a church we loved. The last priest of our current church was great toward children, actually picking Nate up and playfully throwing him in the air after Mass. He gave high fives out to the kids as Mass ended. Nate was happy to go to church and wanted to pay attention to what Father was saying. The funny thing is, Andrew and I actually enjoy/learn from our current priest’s homilies. We even recently signed up to volunteer. We are trying and will continue to try – and hope for understanding.

Silly Boy

26 Oct

First, he was running around the house with his baseball glove – back and forth in the hallway and living room – diving and sliding on the floor. I suppose he was perfecting his baseball moves but it just looked painful and extreme. Then, came the cup music.

Nate made for some funny entertainment while I tried to do the dishes. I would have to stop to laugh and then to, of course, get his silly version of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” on camera. Thanks for making mommy shake her head in confusion one minute and then laugh out loud the next, you silly boy.

My Future Bumper Sticker

26 Oct

Instead of plastering my car with bumpers stickers like, “My child is an honor student” or “My child beat up your honor student,” mine might say, “My child rejected your honor.” It’s something I’m not sure how to handle.

I try not to take the whole school gifted program too seriously. Sure, I see the benefits. They seem to offer students a more extensive focus on a topic and it seems the students enjoy them. I just never worried or aspired for my kids to have that label tied to them. For example, how some parents will tell you that their kids are gifted before they even tell you their names.

When Nia was tested in Kindergarten, we didn’t make a fuss about it. She needed to pass three of the four areas and only passed two. They told us then that she was pretty young to be considered and they were sure other teachers would recommend her in the future. We weren’t sad, mad or disappointed. In fact, we didn’t give it another thought until last week when we got another letter saying she’s being considered for the program but they need our permission to test her. I thought, sure, why not? She could take the tests again. Well, it turns out, she doesn’t want to.

She told us that the tests were boring. They take too long. She doesn’t want to miss class. She doesn’t care about the field trips that the gifted kids get to go on because that would mean she would have to miss class. She doesn’t want to do those projects. She likes to do her classwork.

She outsmarted/out-answered us on every response we gave her. She definitely passes my gifted test.

Specifically Unspecific

24 Oct

It happened the other day. (To me, everything always does, even if it happened last month.)

It’s on the thing. (Whatever it is, it’s always a thing to me.)

Can you please hand me that whatchamacallit? (Because can’t you tell I need that whatchamacallit so badly that I can’t even think of its name?)

As terrible as it is, this is how I communicate. Andrew has learned to translate so I’ve always been able to get away with it. Not anymore though. It seems my lazy language is not sufficient for Nia. I thought that whole “why” phase was rough – and don’t even get me started on her past “I wanna listen” fits – but this is just plain painful for me.

The most recent exchange went like this:

Me: Nia, please get your cheer bag.
Nia: Where is it?
Me: It’s on the thing – the chair. (Where we usually leave bags and such.)
Nia: What chair?
Me: The dining room chair.
Nia: Which dining room chair?
Me: (Head explodes in exhaustion and defeat)

She will even correct me now if I’m not specific enough.

“You didn’t tell me to shut the door behind me.”
“1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Five seconds are up. Can I watch tv now? You said five more seconds.”
“Are you driving about 20 fast or is it 18?”
“It’s not 9 o’clock, momma. It’s 8:58.”

It all makes that thing in my whatchamacallit between my ears hurt.

He cried, then I cried – in baseball

18 Oct

I thought he made it. He thought he made it. It was such an exciting sight. Cheers from both sides erupted as we all watched him take off for Third base as the Second basekid on the other team chased him. That Second basekid had to dive for Nate to even have a chance at catching our speedy number 8. Nate was almost there. I screamed and jumped. The other child dove. I screamed and jumped. “He made it! He made it!”

“You’re OUT!” The umpire’s call proved me wrong.

My arms fell to my sides. Nate stood on Third in shock. He shook his head in disbelief and sadness.  His head folded under the weight of his helmet as he was guided off the base. Tears slid down his cheeks. Tears slid down my cheeks.

I’m sorry, Buddy. I know it won’t be the last time you are disappointed on the diamond. I can only hope your little heart doesn’t break each time – for both of our sakes.