Further evidence....

Last night was kids' night at the local Silver Diner, complete with pony rides. We had a pony ride, dinner at the diner, and then another pony ride. It was the best dinner out EVER.

When I was just out of college, I dated a man who thought I wasn't serious enough about important things like biking long distances, hiking, or rock climbing. I recall a weekend when he wanted to go out to the mountains, and I objected that it didn't sound like fun to me. Somehow my irritation at being forced into an outing that I wasn't interested in became known as my "search through the state park for a carousel." I wasn't really looking for a carousel -- I just wasn't interested in sitting quietly for hours while he attempted to scale every vertical face of rock we found. This was before it dawned on me that I could actually ALSO learn to rock climb -- a phase in my life that was very short, and ended when I turned out to be innately better at it than my first husband, but I digress.

In retrospect, that trip would have been a lot more fun, if there'd been a carousel. Or a 4-y-o to hang out with.

My secret is out....

Over lunch the other day, a girlfriend pointed out that I needed to have a child so that I'd have someone to hang out with who shared my interests. I stand guilty as accused.

We had the most fun I can imagine yesterday. A leisurely morning, but then a trip to the Smithsonian's Ripley Center to see Jim Henson's Fantastic World. A small exhibit, overall, and crowded on its final weekend, it let me briefly worship at the shrine of a 1970's-era Kermit the Frog, along with Bert and Ernie, Gobo Fraggle, and a variety of characters and props from movies such as The Dark Crystal.

There was a great resource room with books of material for the adults while children could draw storyboards, add features to velcro faces, and play with puppets on a real puppet theater where they could see through a glass panel to a monitor that showed them what the scene looked like on camera, and which was televised to 1970's era tvs in other parts of the exhibit.

I came away inspired to start making puppets, something I've always wanted to do, but hey! Now I have a partner in crime who will work on it with me! My girlfriend is proven correct in her assessment of my reasons for having children....

We left there and went to the Natural History Museum for a quick bite to eat in the Fossil Cafe ("Don't go extinct!") and a quick trip around the dinosaur exhibit, then a quick romp into the new Sant Ocean Hall, and a trip to the gift shop resulting in two more members for the ever-growing dinosaur collection.

What trip to the Mall is complete without a spin on the Carousel? Someone beat us to it on our first trip, but we were able to cleverly wait out an entire cycle so we could pick FIRST and ride the "dragon" -- and there was much rejoicing.

I carried a very tired 4-y-o and his two new friends through the Ripley Garden on the way back to the car, and a very sleepy boy conked out during the ride home. We were just too tired to do anything else for the rest of the day, and it was a quiet evening.

It'll be a tough act to follow, but I think maybe the zoo is juuuust the thing!

Struggling.

I am struggling to write about the death of my much-beloved father-in-law. There is so much to say, and I'm not ready.

In my search for the text of El Male Rachamim, though, I came across a new blog, Velveteen Rabbi, that I immediately wanted to add to my links; I've done that.

Jews take care of business quickly after a death, and the logistics and details of my father-in-law's burial are complex and taking forever. I begin to understand that the healing process of actual mourning simply can't begin until the logistics of returning the body to the earth is complete; all the more reason that I pray that when the time comes, I'm buried where I fall. If it's abroad, so be it.

I dusted off my copy of my book of Psalms, bought before the funeral of a congregational friend years ago, used again at the funeral of a close friend of my stepmother's. I wonder if it's morbid to keep a list of the funerals that this small blue book has attended.

So two weeks after our loss, I feel like we've been waiting, hovering slightly above the ground, waiting for our next intake of breath, before we can begin to move forward. I wait for the crashing impact of our loss when we finally get to take in that breath, realize what's happened, and move forward.

It is still too hard to fathom.

There's a WHAT in the yard?

Our morning routine is pretty predicable. I get up, I shower, I wake Noah, we go downstairs, I make breakfast, he eats breakfast and watches a cartoon while I eat breakfast and check my email before leaving, and take care of a little bit of home business, including cleaning up the kitchen. Occasionally, Noah wakes up early and blows the plan slightly -- this was one of those mornings. So he prods me awake by dragging his Coca-Cola polarbear clock into the bed with me to tell me "the hand is on the 4, so it's time to wake up." The FOUR? Oops, forgot to move the clock forward, and yes, it is in fact between 5 and 6 -- but "time to wake up?"

I cajole him into watching BETWEEN THE LIONS for 20 minutes while I get a little more sleep -- after all, the adrenaline rush I experience after fencing on Thursday nights normally means that I don't get to sleep until unnaturally late; being awakened before 6 is just cruel. He acquiesces. I snooze. BETWEEN THE LIONS is over, it's 6:20. I'm up. We go downstairs. I make breakfast.

Now I have to do the "leave child alone downstairs while I go up and shower" fandango, which is a little stressful. Noah hasn't ever been an escape-from-the-house-unsupervised artist, but that doesn't mean he won't TRY it one morning. I set up WALKING WITH DINOSAURS for him to watch; he likes the disc where the man goes back in time and is chased by dinosaurs, in particular the episode where he goes down in a diving cage and is attacked by a protoshark. I sneak upstairs to get cleaned up and ready for work.

A few minutes later, I'm just about to get into the shower, and I hear not just noise, but actual crying screaming downstairs. I throw clothes back on and dash madly downstairs. "I have to show you something!" he wails, and drags me by the arm urgently to the window. "There's a DINOSAUR in the front yard!"

I look out the window. Now, perhaps I failed to mention that after fencing last night, I arrived home to the big fuscia notice at the entrance to our pipestem that "they" would be repaving the road starting at 7am, and so ended up parking 4 blocks away on the main road, schlepping my equipment, bag with clothes, briefcase, take-out dinner, and purse back to the house at 9:30, muttering about what a pain in the butt this was going to be. Now it's 7:10. An lo, here are the guys with the big machines, tearing up the road. And I had not considered it until I saw it with my son's eyes, but one of the pieces of equipment looks shockingly like a brontosaurus. Another looks amazingly like a tyranosaurus rex. It's true. And when you're four, and you've never seen this before, and it's right in front of your house, well, I guess it's pretty darned shocking. Because unlike the ones at the museum, these are MOVING AROUND. DOING THINGS. TO OUR ROAD. LIKE TEARING IT UP. DINOSAURS! ARE EATING! OUR ROAD!

Eventually I got him to calm down. Can't wait to hear what he tells his class today at school! "Really? Dinosaurs ATE YOUR ROAD?"

I love seeing the world through his eyes.

The perfect gift for a 4-year-old boy....

I saw myself type this to a girlfriend asking for suggestions for her 3-year-old son's birthday, and thought it deserved to be saved for posterity:

The highlight of our trip to the Natural History museum a couple of weeks ago was seeing fossilized dinosaur poo. He was beside himself. So if anyone asks what I think they should give Noah, I tell them "a coprolite." They just stare at me like I'm nuts. "You want me to give your kid dino dung?" Yeah, really, I do.

Mommy Superpowers!

I just tripped over the Mommy Superpowers test.

I have the power of Unstoppable Creativity:

Fun, inventive moms like you know that life is what you make it — and you make it as colorful as you can. Whether you're sewing your kids' one-of-a-kind Halloween costumes, helping them write school book reports, or planning an off-beat weekend outing for the family, you are always full of big ideas and a bright energy that keep your brood smiling broadly.



Your unique approach to the world around you probably carries into other aspects of your mothering as well, and you're likely known for coming up with great solutions to your kids' problems. You're definitely not like the other moms — and your kids may sometimes wish you didn't stand out so much — but really, they like the adventure that comes with living with such a creative force, and the way you always encourage them to be themselves.

I'm pretty happy with that superpower. Though I wouldn't mind the ability to be in two places at one time.

You want me to draw WHAT?

My son is dinosaur-happy. I'm pretty sure it's not my brother's fault, because he hasn't spent nearly enough time with his nephew for me to be able to blame him for this obsession. Perhaps it's genetic. Maybe we are a family of dinosaur-obsessives.

Last night, we were on the driveway playing with the chalk, and he asked me to draw dinosaurs. "Draw me a stegasaurus!" I did. "Draw me a triceratops!" I did. "Draw me a pachycephalosaurus!"

There was a long pause.

Me: "Honey, a what?"

Him: "A pachycephalosaurus!"

Me: "Hang on."

I went inside, grabbed the phone, and called my paleontologist brother. He was not available. I left a message. "Just calling to make sure I"m drawing the right thing. Pachycephalosaurus -- that's the one that looks like it's part Benadictine monk, part Jean Luc Picard, right?"

I went back outside. He started trying to explain. "You know, it walks up right, and has a round head with a ridge around it, and it goes BANG BANG BANG with its head..." (he's running into my thigh with the top of his head to demonstrate) "...and it can RUN..." and he runs off.

Whew! Dodged that bullet. But not for long. Back inside, he informs me that he IS a pachycephalosaurus. I found a book about the physiology of prehistoric animals, no kidding, that I read when I was on a business trip in Utah, years ago. One page of line drawings of dinosaurs. Yep, I was right -- it looks like Jean Luc. Noah pronounces this "his favorite page" of the book, and carries the book off.

I wish I had this much gusto, when I take on a subject. When he gets excited about something, I swear, he just rolls in it.

The difference between boys and girls....

...was demonstrated to me twice this morning. Maybe three. It was pervasive.

First:

I hear my son coming up the hall, and as he does each morning, he trips lightly into the bathroom off my bedroom, and I hear the toilet seat go up. "AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!" he exhales in relief as he pees. His visceral satisfaction with the first pee of the morning is impressive.

Second:

He crawls into bed with me. "Mommy! Good morning! I want you to come downstairs and make me pancakes with chocolate chips in them. But first, I want to give you a hug." He hugs me tightly and makes happy hugging noises. And then turns, and points his rear bits toward me. "Honey, what are you doing?" I ask. "Now," he says, "I am going to fart on you." We have a discussion of how Mommy does not play the fart game. "But Daddy and I do," he informs me seriously. "Yet Mommy does not play. Understood?" He nods sadly.

Third:

I then get up and go into the bathroom. "I want to come with you," he says, and joins me as I pee. Oh joy -- I wonder when I'll ever have privacy in the bathroom again. "I do that when I go poopy," he tells me. "Yes, dear, but I sit down to pee, too" I explain. In an unexpected Brittish accent, he trips, "Yes, because I have a PENIS, and you only have a BUTTOCKS!" His sing-song ends, and he marches out of the bathroom, and waits impatiently for me at the stairs. A moment later, a voice shouts back: "If you don't come down right now, I'm going to have to spank you!"

God, I love having a son.

And now, a quiz about your child's learning style!!

What is your Child's Learning Talent?

by Montessorimom.com: Educational Resource

My son's results:

Your child has exceptional linguistic ability. Your child could be the next president. Also, your child may be the next Dale Carnegie, Dr. Suess, or JK Rowland.

Your child can hear things and remember them easily. They are often advanced readers and learn to talk quickly. They enjoy telling stories. They learn other languages easily. They can generalize how their language is put together in written and spoken form readily.

I'm an artsy mother hen!

I get Montessori Mom's mailings, and tripped over a quix to find out what kind of Montessori "Mother Hen" I am. I'm an "Artsy" mother hen!


What type of Mother Hen Are You?
by Montessorimom.com: Educational Resource

Lord of the Ants.

In the last two days, Noah and I've done a couple of longer-than-usual car rides, because we had to shuttle Spherical Dad back and forth to take his motorcycle in for service. So we had more time in the car to talk. And sing songs. And stare out the window. And talk about our day.

During one of these rides, he told me about finding ants on the playground, and the kids all like the ants on the playground, and they also like the caterpillars, but if Monica or someone with a name like that steps on the caterpillars, then the juice comes out of their butts, and that's gross. So we ride along in silence contemplating that profound disgustingness, and I hear him begin to recite something.

Now, I'm getting used to Noah launching into songs that I didn't know he knew. He hit me with "Shoo Fly, Don't Bother Me" the other day, and heck, I didn't know the words to it! He broke out into "You're a Grand Old Flag" at full voice a few weeks ago, and I have a feeling that that one's for his end-of-year school program, coming up in a week. But this wasn't a song. This was fervently whispered in a rhythmic cadence, with a little extra gusto on the last line.

I listened carefully. Couldn't make it out. Something about an ant.

So I asked him to say it louder, and with very little invitation, he bursts forth with this poem, which he says "all the kids on the playground say" while they watch the ants.

Hey little ant down in the crack

Can you hear me? Can you talk back?

See my shoe? Can you see that?

Now it's going to squish you flat!

Much of the rest of the ride was a discussion of not hurting God's creatures unnecessarily. We'll have to see if it's getting through.

Creative Blessings

Noah had his 4th birthday blessing at our synagogue earlier this month. He's in a phase of being vaguely afraid of the dark, and starting to get the hang of some of the Hebrew prayers. So when I was signing cards to go to servicepeople from our congregation and sick congregants, Spherical Hubby took Noah out toward the parking lot to wait.

I came out a moment later, and Noah rattled on about how they were lost in the dark in the parking lot, and wow, it's really dark, and they were lost in the dark, and gee, it's sure dark.... and then suddenly he launches into the blessing over wine. Huh? Blessing over wine? He's singing quietly to himself: Baruch ata Adonai, Eloheinu, Melech ha-olam.... and then bursts forth with his own special twist -- OH we got LOST in the DARK!

I guess you gotta know how to get divine protection. When in doubt, start it in Hebrew, then finish up with whatever you've got. Seems reasonable to me.

Where the heck did *I* go?

Answer: Everywhere. Since I posted last, I've been on vacation, I've been through a challenging time at work, we've had multiple colds and allergy season, we've been up, we've been down, we've been thither, we've been yon -- crazy, I tell you. Just crazy.

And like happens sometimes with good friends when you move (we're experiencing two cases of this right now, actually; one in the future and one "in arears"), and you don't talk for a week, and then two weeks, and then a month, and then two months, and then suddenly you're mindf&cking it until you're stuck in utter oblivion, I thought I'd just break the ice and post SOMETHING. So this is it. Here. Here I am.

Noah turns 4 later this month, and activities leading up to his birthday begin this evening. How could my boy be four? I can't believe it.

I Heart Hooters

It all began at Noah's first birthday. We had a party for the family and close friends, and when all of the packages were open and the cake pieces eaten, we decided to take my generation and downward out for a bite to eat. Somewhere comfortable, with beer.

"How about Hooters?" my husband asked.

Oh, what the hell. I had no idea what we were starting.

There's evidence of the moment, too. Somewhere during the evening, Noah began to show signs of exhaustion, but we weren't done yet, so my hubby schlepped the car seat in and put him in it on the table. And then someone tied a balloon to his foot. And then, bless 'em, scantily clad Hooters girls came over and posed for a photo. With one of them kissing his hand. And somehow, the photo was printed as an 8x10. And framed. And hung on the wall. At Hooters. Above what is now "our table." He's a celebrity.

Some more background: I'm a fencer. And on Thursday nights, I'm in a fencing class, and the boys go for "boy's night out." At Hooters. Oh joy.

So last night, despite the icky weather, we headed off for Hooters (the icky weather having cancelled my fencing class), and Noah was in fine form. Very enthusiastic. Very talkative. We got there. Our waitress, Victoria, came and greeted us. Noah started immediately.

"I want chicken nuggets and french fries. Chicken nuggests and french fries. I like chicken nuggets and french fries -- they are yummy for my tummy. Can I have chicken nuggets and french fries? Please?" Somehow over this, Hubby and I managed to order as well. Beer, anyhow.

Victoria brought Noah the placemat and crayons, and he began drawing, prattling away to himself while he drew. When Victoria came back with well-timed beers for the adults, Noah let loose with the first zinger of the night:

"I love you."

She laughed and said he was cute. They discussed the fact that his favorite animal is a cow. News to me! She went off to get our meals.

Meanwhile, Noah's making progress in his drawing. He points at the corner of the placemat. "Look, it says "Hooters!" My eyebrows go up. "What, honey?" "Hooters, Mommy -- it says Hooters!" Hubby moves a menu over near him. "Can you see the word Hooters on here, Noah?" Noah points to where it says Hooters on the menu. "Hooters!"

I'm holding my face, my blood running cold. "DO YOU MEAN..." I ask the universe in general, "THAT I'M GOING TO HAVE TO PUT IN HIS BABY BOOK THAT THE FIRST WORD HE COULD READ WAS HOOOTERS???" Hubby suggests I stop screaming.

Other than frequent professions of love to our waitress, dinner was generally loud but a success, and we finished up and headed for the car. At the door, Noah began doing the peepee dance, so I trotted him back in to the restroom before we got in the car.

A little girl about 7 and her mother entered and waited for us to come out of the stall. We passed shoulders at the stall door, exchanged polite greetings with the little girl. Noah walked up to the mother. "Hi! I love you!" I shook my head... "I love you too!" the mother said back. We looked at one another and laugh politely at the antics of 3-year-olds. Then Noah looked up at her very seriously. "My Daddy is a wanker!" he announced.

The mother stopped moving, and her eyes very slowly came up to meet mine. I stand crying with silent laughter. "I'm going to have to have a little talk with your father," I murmured to Noah.

And out of the stall, a 6-year-old voice: "Mommy? What's a wanker?"

Barely containing myself, I apologized for what we have wrought to the mother, and made a dash for the car that left a lightning-streak across the restaurant floor.