11 October 2011

Wow. Every time I post here I feel I have to apologize for being away so long. But, you know, it's just so much easier to pop a couple sentences on facebook than to blog several paragraphs here.

Well, here's the quick update: Aa just returned from nearly 2 weeks in UG. He had an amazing time there, and we didn't do too bad here ourselves. Even though the bigs' 3-week fall break coincided with Aa's trip. Thankfully, my mom retired this year and was able to be here the whole time Aa wasn't. Otherwise, I might have pulled all my hair out.

This is the last week of the bigs' break and they are doing okay at finding ways to entertain themselves, even though it's been rainy out. This morning, Punk started one of his lists. This one is all about his future home. I had to share it here, spelling preserved (he did ask about a few words).

Home
1 Log cabin
2 tvs
2 wiis
1 snakeskin carpet
1 bear skin carpet
2 laptops
1 desk with scientist stuff on it
10 frames with snake on it
1 snake skin curtin
3 cats
2 dogs
1 small bed
2 cunfy chairs
1 soafa
walls painted green, red, blue
floors are bamboo
ferrari
river
5 fish
2 globes
1 hot tub
a picture of mom dad sister brother
laser guns surounding house
pretend fruit
camras outside
satalight dish
securaty (security) room

Job (second list)
working for the presadent as a scientist
invenchins (he hasn't gotten these written down yet)

I just thought we'd all have fun looking through these lists again in a few years...or 50. :)

31 March 2011

Dear Tooth Fairy,

Somewhere, somehow things got mixed up. For some reason, people have got it in their heads that KIDS get money in exchange for the teeth they lose. Unfortunately, it seems that you simply transfer this money from the parents' pockets to the children's pillows. This is the part I have a problem with. I mean, look at this kid's mouth! Look where you put that adult tooth! It's like a half an inch behind where it should be! If you want to take money from my purse to put under her pillow, make sure you also put some magical money under MY pillow to start a fund for her braces.

Sincerely,
Rachel

23 March 2011

This afternoon Punk was playing with Pup. Ever the sentimental, expressive, emotional, drama prince, he was gushing about how fun Pup is, how sweet and cute he is, etc. This fountain of love culminated in a plea for another baby ("A GIRL!!!" Pea interjected) soon! This isn't a new request. A few weeks ago Punk and Pea settled on the number of babies it would take to make our family complete: 15. That's 15 new babies. It doesn't include the three children we have now. A family of 20, apparently, is a complete family!

But, I digress. In response to Punk's effusions, I decided to unveil a little plan I've been cooking up. I said, "Well, you know, Punk, the more babies there are, the less time Mama has for doing things around the house. And, since they still have to be done, that means that the big kids get to do them."

He was excited, "Yay! I get to boss Pea around!"

"Well, no, because this still doesn't mean you're the parent. It just means that you'll get to help the family more. In fact, I'm going to teach you both some new chores during Spring Break. We'll do lots of fun things, too. But, each week (they get 3 weeks off because they are in year-round school) I will teach each of you a new job and we'll spend the week learning it. Then, when you go back to school, you'll be experts and you'll be able to do the jobs yourselves!"

I didn't get as much flack as I expected (hooray!), but that doesn't stop me from expecting it when we get busy with it! Aa and I will be deciding on some jobs that Punk and Pea can be taught to do and I'll be making a chore chart. I'm actually looking forward to it!

Anyone out there got some suggestions for jobs a 5.5 and 6.5 year old can do? They already help set the table, feed and water the dog, take the dog to the yard to do his thing, and put away their own laundry. They've also been helping me wipe down their bathroom and I think they are ready to have that handed over too. So, what do your kids do for chores?

So, Punk comes up to me and hands me a pair of his Lightening McQueen underpants. "I'm sorry, Mama. It was an accident," he says. "What happened?" I say calmly and cautiously, seeing nor feeling anything requiring me to freak out just yet. He retrieves them from my ginger grasp and hunts and hunts for something. These are not large underwear--they belong to a rather small and adorable pair of biscuits. Eventually, he finds it. And reveals it. It is a samll, thin patch of slightly chunky poop. "What happened?" I say again, setting aside the evidence and gathering up the penitent in my lap. "Well, I sorta forgot to wipe. And, then. . . sometimes. . . when I sit down, my underwear goes up into my butthole." I couldn't help it. I giggled. So matter-of-fact. Hee hee! I questioned him a bit further to ensure that everything was now as it should be and told him not to worry about it anymore. "I'll take care of it, honey." And then I got an anaconda hug.

We had an interesting conversation at dinner tonight. Some background:
--Punk is studying the North and South Poles in his class.
--I served macaroni and cheese (yes, from a box) to the kiddinkies tonight.

Punk: "I know how they make macaroni."
Me: "Oh really?"
Punk: "Yup. They capture a penguin (see photo of Macaroni Penguin below), lift up his hair and take out the macaroni. Then, they fry and put it in a box. Then you cook it and it becomes really small. And you can eat it."
Me: "Oh, I see. Are you sure that's how it's done?"
Punk: "Well, no, I don't really know. I's just making a prediction."

This year Punk made his own, illustrated Christmas wish list. He had help with the spelling!It says: "For Christmas I would like a fast dirt bike and a T-rex and a rocket ship [and a] dragon." The illustrations clockwise from top are: the rocket ship, a dirt bike, the dragon, and the T-rex.
He said, "I'll write the candy on the back." It says, "Candy cane, chocolate" The illustrations clockwise from top: the candy cane, the chocolate, and two more dirt bikes.

One thing led to another and somehow Punk landed on the topic of whom he will someday marry. We do not encourage our kids to romanticize marriage or dating, emphasizing instead the weightiness of choosing a mate and the fact that marriage is fun but challenging. However, although Punk knows he will need to be at least 20 years old before he weds, he sometimes likes to speculate upon who will fill the role of the bride. The forerunner has always been a little girl from church who is two years his senior. However, things took a major turn tonight when he realized that Daddy is much (3 WHOLE years!) older than Mama. Despite the fact that we gave him numerous examples of lovely families in which the wife is older than the husband, he became adament that he must marry someone at least 3 years his junior. He asked, "Who can I marry who is MUCH younger than me?" A and I threw out the names of some younger girls ranging from age 6 months to 3 years old. Finally, A quipped that Punk could marry the unborn daughter of our friends. This being the youngest possible alternative, he declared that, indeed, he will marry this girl who is due in November. Even if it means putting off marriage til he's 25 instead of 20.

Pea's preschool class did a unit on dinosaurs last week. Each student did an "oral report" which the teach wrote down for them. Pea's reads, "Dinosaurs eat meat. They are big. They chew Bubble Gum." She cannot be dissuaded. *grins*

We were driving along a dandelion-laden median when Punk announced, "I'm gonna pick ALLLLLL those flowers and give them to God. Because God is a lover." (To be fair, this is the chorus of a worship song I play sometimes.)

Saturday morning, A told the kiddinkidinks that we'd be going to our friends, the Blacks, for dinner that night. A couple hours later, Punk asked, "Who's house are we going to? I can't remember their name.... Is it... Is it... the Darks?" We went over this 3 or 4 more times before he threw up his hands and declared, "I just can't remember that! I'm just gonna call them the Darks!"

The kiddinkidinks are mostly past funny pronounciations of words, but I realized that I hadn't recorded one of Pea's prizes. Lem'lade. Care to guess?

Last night, the four of us headed downtown to enjoy some of the Azalea festival. First stop, Kilwin's for some killer ice cream. Punk scoped out all the varieties through the glass and settled on the rainbow-looking one. When he found out it was called "Superman" ice cream, he was elated! After his first bite, he mused, "I bet this can make me fly high!" :)

Anyway, we wound up parking out in the neighborhood of historic houses. I could walk those streets and day-dream about those houses--their histories, their many families, the amazing stories and secrets they hold--for days on end and never tire of it. On the way back to the car at the end of the evening, we passed a magnificent porch with a lovely house attached. It was set back from the road with a glorious garden between. I stopped in my tracks to admire it. It was just gorgeous. Aaron remarked, "I bet you'll have something like that for your mansion in heaven."

Oh! I sure hope so! I would so enjoy eternity in a home like that! I would spend hours in the heavenly library researching wallpapers and paint colors. I'd lose entire afternoons in the antique shops (where every thing would cost only a smile!). I'd sip sweet tea on my veranda with each lovely visitor, sharing the story behind my latest and greatest finds. My garden would either bloom victoriously without a thought from me, or else, I'd have heaven's most charming gardener, probably an old soul, to work magic there. Then, zhe and I would sit in our rocking chairs and admire zir work together. I hope my gorgeous mansion could be like a bed-and-breakfast. I would so enjoy entertaining like-minded travellers from other places and times within heaven, getting to know them for a little while before they moved on. I'd especially enjoy a little quiche lorraine or my signature eggs florentine with repeat visitors.

As we were driving away from our parking spot, I realized that the grand mansion we'd parked next to was a real bed-and-breakfast. It was on the corner of Nun St. and 2nd Ave. I looked it up on the web and it's real name is "The Verandas" (click here to see why), but if it were my little slice of heaven, I wouldn't be able to resist calling it "Second to Nun"!

Last night we ran around town for this and that (the most important stop was Cold Stone, of course) and along the way Punk entertained us with his non-stop prattle.

At the Home Depot, I was looking at pulls/handles for the storage armoire Aaron is building me and Punk was amusing himself nearby. An orange-apron-clad elf came by and asked how I was doing. "Fine, thanks. Just browsing." Then, she addressed Punk, requesting his name. "It's S...Cark!" he said. "Er, mmm, Kirk?" she smiled and glanced at me. I smiled back as my suddenly shy boy darted behind my legs! "I guess he's shy now that I know his name," she continued. Probably with a look that could be interpretted as guilt, I replied, "Mmm. I guess so!"

Later in the car, Punk began blathering (he may look like A, but he's mine on the inside!) about when he was a tiny baby inside me. He was thrilled to tell me how he checked out my bones while he was in there. He remembered how big they were and gestured to show me. Apparently my femur is approximately the same size as his entire leg at it's current length and girth. He told me about lots more of my bones, ending by telling me, "For some reason, they were all red..." And he drifted off to further introspection.

"Oooooow!"
"What happened, Punk?"
"(sob) I stepped on the (sniff) ca-aaar!"
"Oh, Sweetie, I'm sorry. I know how much that hurts. Do you want me to kiss it and make it feel better?"
"Mo-o-o-o-o-om! You can't make it feel better. (sniff) Only God can!"
So, we prayed, and yes, indeed, God did make it better!

On the funny side of life, Punk told us that he was angry at us for giving him the name we chose for him. He said that he knew what name he should have had since he was a baby inside me (he's been fascinated lately with pictures of his birth and pregnancy). He should have been named Cark (or Kark?), followed by the names we gave him. Gotta love that imagination!

When I do remember to call him Cark, he gets a proud, goofy grin on his face. I got me a pretty fun boy!

Yes, we are the kind of people who don't believe in Santa. We tell our kids about "the real St. Nick" and his wonderful kindness and generosity. We read the history of St. Nick on Christmas Eve and the biblical Christmas story on Christmas morning. We allow "Santa" to fill the stockings as a way of keeping the legend going without letting it get overboard.

So, the other day, we were driving and a Santa song came on the radio. Punk piped up from the back seat: "Mama...Santa is dead right?"
Me: "Yes, St. Nicolas was a man and he's dead now, but mamas and daddies keep the tradition of his kindness and generosity alive at Christmas."
Punk: "Okay. So, if Santa is dead, then someone else will have to bring us our gifts... ...like... GOD!!!"

We were reading Dinosaur Bob yesterday and in the book Bob had a snack of something like 450 double-Dutch chocolate cakes. Punk broke into the story and blurted, "MAMA! Can YOU make us THAT?!"
Me: "Well, I think I could, but I would probably need some help. Do you know anybody who could help me with that?"
Punk: "Pea can help you because she's tasty chocolate! And I can help you because I'm yummy peach!"

This week is Fire Safety Week at preschool (not sure if it is bigger than just our school?), so the kiddinkidinks are learning all kinds of wonderful safety information. Like how to call 9-1-1. And, then what to say when you do! When asked what his last name is, Punk confidently stated, "Punkinhead!" (truly, no nickname masking involved!).

As we were driving our cart around the grocery store today, he was also instructing me on the meanings of the different colors of traffic lights. "Green means go. Red means stop. Yellow means wait, even if you're late!"

Just a moment ago as I was reading an email aloud to my husband, Punk kept trying to interrupt until his dad told him to stop. He promptly came over to me and started rubbing my arm with empty banana peels. Eeew! So, in a moment of unloveliness, I snapped at him for escalating his interruption to a swabbing of my arm with fruity refuse. His broken heart was written all over his face as he said, "I just wanted to know if there are any monkeys here."

Okay, interruption successful; discipline irrevocably screwed up. "Monkeys?"
P: "Yeah, are there any monkeys here?"
Me: "Uh...nope, no monkeys here."
P: "Oh. Cuz I thought they might want these. ... If we had any monkeys here."

Added 10/07 AM:
Punk, eating eggs and bacon for breakfast: "Mama... I LOVE this bacon! Thank you SOOOOO much for buying me bacon. Mama, if you give me two pieces of bacon every morning to eat with my eggs, then I will be really, really well-behaved!"

OOOOOOOh! So BACON is the key I've been searching for... ;)

Aaron and I got to go out on a date last night. It was fabulous to be able to devote our attention to one another, enjoy some very good food (we got a steal-of-a-deal coupon in the mail), and, of course, dress up a bit. Not having all that many opportunities in this present life to doll-up and look my best, I enjoyed pulling out the drawer-o-make-up and painting myself up. I finished a few minutess early and while we were waiting for the babysitter to come, Punk climbed up into my lap and looked me over.

"Mama, you look pretty!"
"Aw, thanks, Punk."
Staring at my mouth, "Your lips are really pretty."
"Thank you."
Running his fingers through my hair, "Your hair looks really pretty."
"Thanks, buddy."
Feeling my blouse with his fingers, "I like your shirt, Mama."
"Thank you." Pause. He's looking at my face again, somewhat critically. "Do my eyes look pretty tonight?"
"Uh,... um... yeah, your eyes are... kinda pretty too."

Dear Future Mrs. Punkinhead,
By the age of four, your beloved was already trained in the fine art of complimenting his leading lady's beauty. Right down to the all-important skill of avoiding the direct answer to a question to which he, if he was honest, would have to admit your failure. I do hope you appreciate it.
Lovingly as ever,
Your Future Meddler-in-Law
PS--A little tip, apparently Punk is one of the millions of men who do not appreciate all your efforts to beautify yourself, preferring rather, the au-naturale beauty you were born with.