Communicating with our children can be one of the most engaging, entertaining, and gratifying moments of parenthood. It’s true, kids do say the darndest things, and they often light up our world with the simplicity and frankness of how they choose to say it. In truth, it is more often when grownups attempt to communicate on a child’s level that we encounter confusion. And it’s during these challenging times that we parents show our intelligence, or lack thereof, according to the words of wisdom that we choose to impart to our offspring.
It begins when they are still babes, oohing and ahhing at them in high hopes of making some sense out of the bubble-blowing we call babbling. “I think he said, ‘Mama!’ He just said, ‘MAMA!’”
No, he had an excessive amount of slobber building up on that oversized tongue God gave him, and the only way to get rid of it was to push it out with a grunt. We just wished for the word “Mama”. Besides, everyone knows a baby’s first “word” is DaDa. It’s the universe’s way of rewarding fathers for all the hard work they did during labor and delivery (cue sarcasm).
But we don’t really mind. It is still fun to listen to our kids as their language develops and help them learn about words and the way they work together… and then of course make lists of all the cutesy things they say as they are growing up just in case we need them some day when they are full of teen angst and rebelliousness…just as motivation. To encourage them in the right direction.
As they get older, our communication turns to necessity. Keeping our kids safe. Informing them of the dangers of their world. Even in this, though, we sometimes miss the mark. I remember long ago, explaining to the boys about a hot iron.
“This is hot. Do. Not. Touch. It will hurt you very badly.” Well, it seems that much blatancy was not enough for Brisco. He still had a few questions.
“Will it burn your skin?”
“Yes.”
“Will it burn Cooper?”
“Yes.”
“Will it burn Daddy?”
And out of nowhere, I heard myself say, “Yes, Brisco. It will burn us all. Fire is no respecter of persons.”
Oh. Well, that certainly cleared things up for him. Words of Wisdom.
Sometimes our communication can be an attempt to teach simple logic. All children have moments when they just want (not need) our attention. And while being attentive to our kids is important, I believe it is just as important to teach them to “self soothe”; to understand that there are times when a parent simply must do what needs to be done.
Case in point: when a mom’s hands are buried inside a roasting hen, preparing supper for the family, and the youngest child comes in for the third time with a want, a request, or a complaint, all sympathy on this mother’s part tends to fly out the window.
Brisco: “Mom! I need you!”
Me: “What do you need? My hands are in a chicken.”
Brisco: (pulling back his index finger as far as it will physically go) “It really hurts when I do ‘this’”.
Me: “Well, then don’t do that.”
Simple logic.
Similarly, after the third or fourth band aid of the day, put onto a skin abrasion that can only be seen microscopically:
Brisco: “When is it gonna feel better?”
Me: “I don’t know, Brisco. I guess whenever it stops hurting.”
It’s true, folks. And it requires no formal training.
Sometimes parents communicate during a moment of frenzied irritation, the worst possible time for the brain to configure a gentle, responsible, parental statement. And it is usually in these moments, that our kids let us know how un-wise we really are. Many times, these words of genius come in the form of a question. Unfortunately, it doesn’t always occur to our kids that these questions are rhetorical.
For example, after trying ceaselessly to gain our child’s attention, a parent might have a slight, politically incorrect slip of the tongue:
“Child! I’m talking to YOU! ARE YOU DEAF?!”
Now, I’ll admit, this probably isn’t one of those items one might find in “The Good Parent’s Guide to Proper Communication with Children”, but let’s face it, we’re all human, and when haven’t we said something to our child in a moment of frustration that wasn’t really in the best of taste, let alone something we’d want them to repeat to their Sunday school teacher?
And our child’s innocent response? “Mom, what does ‘deaf’ mean?”
Here’s another jewel. From the farthest reaches of our minds, we never envisioned ourselves asking our children the mother of all ignorant questions. The dumbest of the dumb. You know it. You’ve said it. Here it is:
“Do you want a spanking?”
I always remember my mom saying, “Ask a dumb question…get a dumb answer.” I suppose I should have heeded her advice. After all, do we really expect them to pipe up and say, “Spankings? You’re giving out spankings? I’ll take two, please!”
So much wisdom; so little time.
Yes, there are definitely occasions when parents are put to the test when it comes to effectively communicating with our kids. But no matter how challenging our chats might become, they are the moments parenting is made of. From the toddler’s first “NO!” to the day he discovers sarcasm, we parents are truly at our best when we learn to say what we mean and mean what we say, and when we willingly accept the seemingly impossible task of instructing our children with words of wisdom.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
Brisco turns five
Dear Brisco,
Today you turned five. Hard to believe, I know.
The past year has brought many new and exciting experiences for you and our family. No matter how old you are when you pull out this paper, yellowed and crinkled with age, I hope it brings joyful memories of your youth and serves as a reminder to you of who you are, where you came from, and how very much you are loved.
To begin around your previous birthday, last March we got iced in at Uncle Derik’s in Norman. It was a fun couple of days, aside from one small item: you were given your first tattoo. Nothing like “MOM” inked on the back of your shoulder to give a kid a little feeling a toughness, and his first taste of “body art”. And from that moment, you haven’t looked back. From baseballs to bulldogs to bright orange images of “The General Lee”, you usually have some crazy design that you can’t wait to get imprinted onto your body. Thanks Uncle Derik.
In April, you met your newest cousin, Baby Caleb. It was then, I suppose, that your obsession for a baby brother began. I’m fairly certain you have no idea how much of a crimp in your style a baby brother would be, but I do. So the answer is still no.
Springtime was spent going to ballgames, learning to ride your Harley bicycle, and hunting Easter eggs at Martha’s. And of course we can’t forget the occasional dance in the rain.
The heat of the summer finally rolled in, and none too soon for you. Sometime in the last 12 months, you morphed into a walking, talking, dimple-flashing fish. At first you used the floaties, but not for long. By the end of the summer you were jumping off the diving board all by yourself.
The summer months were filled with even more firsts. You played your first season of coach pitch, experienced your first airplane ride, saw your first big league ballpark, and rode your first rollercoaster. I’m sure all of these experiences are ones that will stay with you for many years to come, whether you want them to or not. It’s quite possible that the words “Fire in the Hole!” may give you tremors and night sweats far into your twenties.
I can’t say enough about your first season of baseball. Not that you were the best hitter or stole the most bases, or turned the most double plays. No, not this year. You were only four, playing with and against seven and eight year olds. You’ll have your chance to be one of the strongest and fastest. This year was about finesse. It didn’t matter where we were or who we were playing, by your second at bat, everyone in the stands was cheering for “the little guy.” You were definitely the crowd favorite.
The end of the summer brought your first, big family vacation where you hiked, explored caves, and did lots of fishing—although none of us ever caught a fish. In fact, to this day, I don’t think you have caught a single one. You still have fun trying though.
You spent the better part of a week in July at the first annual Granma Camp. Six of the oldest Smith cousins and Granma all to “yourself”. It put you in hog heaven. And you haven’t stopped asking if you get to go again next summer. We’ll have to check with Granma about that.
Cooper went back to school in August, and after thinking long and hard about sending you to PreK, your dad and I decided we wanted to keep you with us for one more year. You were a little disappointed at first, but we managed to craft our own little existence out of the eight hours we were forced to be without our Cooper. You might have even learned a thing or two in the process.
We started having a little school of our own, and I must say, you are definitely the smartest little five year old living in this house! You’ve decided cutting and pasting is better saved for Ms. Johnson’s class, and you have promoted yourself to learning on the computer. Though I fought giving you the reigns, you have proven yourself quite proficient. I could feel the tears welling up the first day I heard you reading out loud. (You know how I get with the tears.) I was so proud.
With October came camping trips, roasting marshmallows and playing on the creek. You were Superman for Halloween, and you flew all over the house in that tiny red cape.
Somewhere along the way, you decided to take up photography. From knotholes and blades of grass to the close ups of yourself that we have all come to love, you are becoming quite the little Olan Mills. So much so that you got your very first camera for Christmas and have your own special little spot on the computer for your digital creations.
Star Wars ruled the holiday season the year you were four. Santa brought you the spinning blue and green light saber you wanted, and he brought a red one for Cooper too. The battle between good and evil was on from that moment forward, and no one was safe from those swinging blades.
During a weekend getaway in January, we discovered the Oklahoma Science Museum, a place that unexpectedly was to become one of your favorite spots in Oklahoma City. You have quite a mind for solving problems. It sure is fun to watch you work.
We finally got a good, deep snow in February, and somewhere along the line, you toughened up to the cold weather. Typically it takes longer to get you bundled up than you actually spend outdoors, but not this year. We played for hours in that thick, white stuff, sledding and jumping through the drifts. Daddy pulled you through the streets like a sled dog. By the way, this was the only time I ever let you play in the street.
As soon as it thawed, Dad decided it was time to say goodbye to the trees that littered the backyard and interfered with your homeruns. You boys sure were excited to have them gone.
You may or may not remember the bike you got for your fifth birthday. It was gold and black. “Golden” you called it. Of course, if you’d have had your way, Cooper would have been the one with a new bike. You just wanted to ride his.
And that was a pretty typical way of thinking for you at this age. I suppose if there was one thing I’d want you to remember about yourself at five it would be the way you loved your brother. There’s no bigger hero, no preferred playmate, no greater friend in your eyes than Cooper. You imitate him in every way, from the clothes you sneak out of his dresser drawers, to the kind of cereal you pick for your breakfast. It is one of the things I admire most about you, and one of the things I hope you never grow out of.
Another thing I hope you never outgrow is your willingness to give THE best bear hugs imaginable. “Berra hugs” we call them. Nothing hits the spot quite like a Brisco Berra hug.
I can only imagine where your handsome, sweet face and your charming personality will lead you in life. I hope you know that I’ll always be your loudest cheerleader and your biggest fan.
Happy Birthday, B.
Love ya,
Momma
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Today you turned five. Hard to believe, I know.
The past year has brought many new and exciting experiences for you and our family. No matter how old you are when you pull out this paper, yellowed and crinkled with age, I hope it brings joyful memories of your youth and serves as a reminder to you of who you are, where you came from, and how very much you are loved.
To begin around your previous birthday, last March we got iced in at Uncle Derik’s in Norman. It was a fun couple of days, aside from one small item: you were given your first tattoo. Nothing like “MOM” inked on the back of your shoulder to give a kid a little feeling a toughness, and his first taste of “body art”. And from that moment, you haven’t looked back. From baseballs to bulldogs to bright orange images of “The General Lee”, you usually have some crazy design that you can’t wait to get imprinted onto your body. Thanks Uncle Derik.
In April, you met your newest cousin, Baby Caleb. It was then, I suppose, that your obsession for a baby brother began. I’m fairly certain you have no idea how much of a crimp in your style a baby brother would be, but I do. So the answer is still no.
Springtime was spent going to ballgames, learning to ride your Harley bicycle, and hunting Easter eggs at Martha’s. And of course we can’t forget the occasional dance in the rain.
The heat of the summer finally rolled in, and none too soon for you. Sometime in the last 12 months, you morphed into a walking, talking, dimple-flashing fish. At first you used the floaties, but not for long. By the end of the summer you were jumping off the diving board all by yourself.
The summer months were filled with even more firsts. You played your first season of coach pitch, experienced your first airplane ride, saw your first big league ballpark, and rode your first rollercoaster. I’m sure all of these experiences are ones that will stay with you for many years to come, whether you want them to or not. It’s quite possible that the words “Fire in the Hole!” may give you tremors and night sweats far into your twenties.
I can’t say enough about your first season of baseball. Not that you were the best hitter or stole the most bases, or turned the most double plays. No, not this year. You were only four, playing with and against seven and eight year olds. You’ll have your chance to be one of the strongest and fastest. This year was about finesse. It didn’t matter where we were or who we were playing, by your second at bat, everyone in the stands was cheering for “the little guy.” You were definitely the crowd favorite.
The end of the summer brought your first, big family vacation where you hiked, explored caves, and did lots of fishing—although none of us ever caught a fish. In fact, to this day, I don’t think you have caught a single one. You still have fun trying though.
You spent the better part of a week in July at the first annual Granma Camp. Six of the oldest Smith cousins and Granma all to “yourself”. It put you in hog heaven. And you haven’t stopped asking if you get to go again next summer. We’ll have to check with Granma about that.
Cooper went back to school in August, and after thinking long and hard about sending you to PreK, your dad and I decided we wanted to keep you with us for one more year. You were a little disappointed at first, but we managed to craft our own little existence out of the eight hours we were forced to be without our Cooper. You might have even learned a thing or two in the process.
We started having a little school of our own, and I must say, you are definitely the smartest little five year old living in this house! You’ve decided cutting and pasting is better saved for Ms. Johnson’s class, and you have promoted yourself to learning on the computer. Though I fought giving you the reigns, you have proven yourself quite proficient. I could feel the tears welling up the first day I heard you reading out loud. (You know how I get with the tears.) I was so proud.
With October came camping trips, roasting marshmallows and playing on the creek. You were Superman for Halloween, and you flew all over the house in that tiny red cape.
Somewhere along the way, you decided to take up photography. From knotholes and blades of grass to the close ups of yourself that we have all come to love, you are becoming quite the little Olan Mills. So much so that you got your very first camera for Christmas and have your own special little spot on the computer for your digital creations.
Star Wars ruled the holiday season the year you were four. Santa brought you the spinning blue and green light saber you wanted, and he brought a red one for Cooper too. The battle between good and evil was on from that moment forward, and no one was safe from those swinging blades.
During a weekend getaway in January, we discovered the Oklahoma Science Museum, a place that unexpectedly was to become one of your favorite spots in Oklahoma City. You have quite a mind for solving problems. It sure is fun to watch you work.
We finally got a good, deep snow in February, and somewhere along the line, you toughened up to the cold weather. Typically it takes longer to get you bundled up than you actually spend outdoors, but not this year. We played for hours in that thick, white stuff, sledding and jumping through the drifts. Daddy pulled you through the streets like a sled dog. By the way, this was the only time I ever let you play in the street.
As soon as it thawed, Dad decided it was time to say goodbye to the trees that littered the backyard and interfered with your homeruns. You boys sure were excited to have them gone.
You may or may not remember the bike you got for your fifth birthday. It was gold and black. “Golden” you called it. Of course, if you’d have had your way, Cooper would have been the one with a new bike. You just wanted to ride his.
And that was a pretty typical way of thinking for you at this age. I suppose if there was one thing I’d want you to remember about yourself at five it would be the way you loved your brother. There’s no bigger hero, no preferred playmate, no greater friend in your eyes than Cooper. You imitate him in every way, from the clothes you sneak out of his dresser drawers, to the kind of cereal you pick for your breakfast. It is one of the things I admire most about you, and one of the things I hope you never grow out of.
Another thing I hope you never outgrow is your willingness to give THE best bear hugs imaginable. “Berra hugs” we call them. Nothing hits the spot quite like a Brisco Berra hug.
I can only imagine where your handsome, sweet face and your charming personality will lead you in life. I hope you know that I’ll always be your loudest cheerleader and your biggest fan.
Happy Birthday, B.
Love ya,
Momma
And that’s All in a day’s work!
The unhurried child
I constantly find myself telling our youngest child to hurry up. No matter where we go or what we are doing, that boy is always last in line.
He seems to live in his own world and on his own time, and it almost never coincides with mine. It’s irritating beyond words when the child has two hours to get ready for a ball game, yet as we are walking out the door, he still doesn’t have his glove.
I’m always telling him to “get ready” and “be prepared”, and I know he hears me because lately, almost every time we reach our destination, he yells to me from the back seat of the car, “Mom, I’m preparing to exit!” But we always seem to be left waiting.
Not only then; I find myself hurrying that child along almost everywhere we go. At the grocery store when he’s eyeballing the candy aisle, appreciating all the delicacies that he can’t wait to try “when he grows up”. Or on our walks when there’s really no reason to hurry, yet I can’t seem to let him go at his own pace.
I was doing my usual, “Come on, Brisco!” the other day, when I found myself feeling a little ashamed of my impatience, while admiring the little man’s ability to appreciate the beauty of the moment.
It was evening, getting too cool to be outside, yet no matter how many times I banged on the window or yelled out the front door, I could not convince him to come inside. So, as we mom’s sometimes do, I stomped out with a belt in hand and a promise of a good spanking to go with it. It was at that moment that my four year old dawdler brought to my attention the most beautiful sunset I’ve seen in quiet some time. “I just wanted to watch the sky change colors,” he said.
As if that slap in the face wasn’t enough, the next morning, I awoke to find this email in my inbox.
“In Washington, DC, at a Metro Station on a cold January morning in 2007, a man with a violin played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time, approximately 2,000 people went through the station, most of them on their way to work. After about three minutes, a middle-aged man noticed that there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds, and then he hurried on to meet his schedule.
About 4 minutes later:
The violinist received his first dollar. A woman threw money in the hat and, without stopping, continued to walk.
At 6 minutes:
A young man leaned against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk again.
At 10 minutes:
A three-year old boy stopped, but his mother tugged him along hurriedly. This action was repeated by several other children, but every parent-without exception-forced their children to move on quickly.
At 45 minutes:
The musician played continuously. Only six people stopped and listened for a short while. About 20 gave money but continued to walk at their normal pace. The man collected a total of $32.
After 1 hour:
He finished playing and silence took over. No one noticed and no one applauded. There was no recognition at all.
No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before, Joshua Bell sold-out a theatre in Boston where the seats averaged $100 each to sit and listen to him play the same music.
This is a true story. Joshua Bell, playing incognito in the D.C. Metro Station, was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and people's priorities.”
The article noted several possible conclusions that one might draw from this experiment, but the one that caught my attention the most was this: If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world, playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ever made. . .how many other things are we missing as we rush through life? A little like an unhurried four year old and a sunset, I suppose. Thanks, Brisco, (and the Washington Post) for the lesson.
Enjoy life now...it has an expiration date!
And that’s All in a day’s work!
He seems to live in his own world and on his own time, and it almost never coincides with mine. It’s irritating beyond words when the child has two hours to get ready for a ball game, yet as we are walking out the door, he still doesn’t have his glove.
I’m always telling him to “get ready” and “be prepared”, and I know he hears me because lately, almost every time we reach our destination, he yells to me from the back seat of the car, “Mom, I’m preparing to exit!” But we always seem to be left waiting.
Not only then; I find myself hurrying that child along almost everywhere we go. At the grocery store when he’s eyeballing the candy aisle, appreciating all the delicacies that he can’t wait to try “when he grows up”. Or on our walks when there’s really no reason to hurry, yet I can’t seem to let him go at his own pace.
I was doing my usual, “Come on, Brisco!” the other day, when I found myself feeling a little ashamed of my impatience, while admiring the little man’s ability to appreciate the beauty of the moment.
It was evening, getting too cool to be outside, yet no matter how many times I banged on the window or yelled out the front door, I could not convince him to come inside. So, as we mom’s sometimes do, I stomped out with a belt in hand and a promise of a good spanking to go with it. It was at that moment that my four year old dawdler brought to my attention the most beautiful sunset I’ve seen in quiet some time. “I just wanted to watch the sky change colors,” he said.
As if that slap in the face wasn’t enough, the next morning, I awoke to find this email in my inbox.
“In Washington, DC, at a Metro Station on a cold January morning in 2007, a man with a violin played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time, approximately 2,000 people went through the station, most of them on their way to work. After about three minutes, a middle-aged man noticed that there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds, and then he hurried on to meet his schedule.
About 4 minutes later:
The violinist received his first dollar. A woman threw money in the hat and, without stopping, continued to walk.
At 6 minutes:
A young man leaned against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk again.
At 10 minutes:
A three-year old boy stopped, but his mother tugged him along hurriedly. This action was repeated by several other children, but every parent-without exception-forced their children to move on quickly.
At 45 minutes:
The musician played continuously. Only six people stopped and listened for a short while. About 20 gave money but continued to walk at their normal pace. The man collected a total of $32.
After 1 hour:
He finished playing and silence took over. No one noticed and no one applauded. There was no recognition at all.
No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before, Joshua Bell sold-out a theatre in Boston where the seats averaged $100 each to sit and listen to him play the same music.
This is a true story. Joshua Bell, playing incognito in the D.C. Metro Station, was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and people's priorities.”
The article noted several possible conclusions that one might draw from this experiment, but the one that caught my attention the most was this: If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world, playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ever made. . .how many other things are we missing as we rush through life? A little like an unhurried four year old and a sunset, I suppose. Thanks, Brisco, (and the Washington Post) for the lesson.
Enjoy life now...it has an expiration date!
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Put it on the list
For the last several weeks, the count down has been on for Brisco. He’s putting actual X’s on the calendar, and in 14 days (and counting) it will finally be his birthday. He thinks about it at least once a day, and then goes directly to his OG&E keep-our-country-clean-calendar and puts a mark on the current square, bringing him one day closer to the date of his birth. The boy is pumped.
He’s not near as pumped about marking his calendar, though, as he is about making his list. His birthday list. Apparently he decided that if a child is supposed to make a Christmas list, why not one for his birthday as well? And so, he has been busy creating one spectacular wish list for a soon to be five year old boy.
He started off slowly, seeming to put some thought into each and every item. Usually, his ideas would come after seeing one of the zillion commercials marketed directly to his precise demographic, prompting him to come running to me wherever I might be.
“Mom! This is what I want! A Play Dough ice cream thingy!”
And with my hands in a bowl of raw meat I’d reply, “Ok. I got it. Play Dough. Ice Cream. Wait. You do know that it isn’t edible, right?”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means you can’t eat it.”
“Oh. Yeah, I know. Can you just put it on a list?”
And so it began. First the Play Dough. Then the Grave Digger Monster Jam Flip and Crash unit. Then the Hot Wheels speed racer ramp. Simple items most any little boy would be happy about receiving; definitely five year old boy stuff.
But soon after, he started coming up with items that seemed a little less age appropriate. And at random times. After a week long tribute to the Rocky series on AMC a few weeks back, he decided he needed a pair of “punching gloves”. Understandable, I suppose after being all energized by the impetus and perseverance of ole Sly Stallone. “Eye of the Tiger” and all that.
Then last week, he informed me he wanted a golf cart. This from a child who has never set foot on a golf course. OK, maybe once or twice. After I questioned him to make sure he knew what he was asking for, he said, “Of course I know! Or I’d take one of those little gators or go carts that kids can drive. Put it on my list, Mom, OK?” OK, Brisco. Sure thing.
A couple days later, things just started getting weird. He barged into the bathroom while I was in the shower to tell me he wanted a pogo stick for his birthday. “Did you hear me, Mom? A POGO STICK! PUT IT ON THE LIST!” A pogo stick. You got it.
The kicker came at lunch on Friday. He’d had a light bulb moment, that I could see as clearly as the melted American cheese smeared across his left cheek. “A museum, Mom! That’s what I want for my birthday! We can put it right over there!” he said pointing out the back window.
I explained that purchasing a museum might be a little harder than simply putting it on a list or checking the “for sales” on eBay, and by the time he’d finished his last pretzel, we’d negotiated a possible visit to the museum over moving a real one into the back yard.
Even random board games he’s seen on TV have made him mad with birthday greed. “I want Sorry Sliders, Mom!” he demanded. “Put it on the list!”
It wasn’t until Saturday afternoon, after a few hours of fishing (or so it was called) that I finally had to set the boy straight. As we left the lakeside, we passed a little kid on a moped, and Brisco jumped half out of his seat and said, “I want a dirt bike for my birthday!” Well, I certainly didn’t feel the need to respond to that kind of request, but Dad, sitting behind the wheel said casually, “OK.”
Wow. That was easy. So he tried again. “I want a little four-liter (i.e. wheeler) for my birthday.” Again, Dad’s reply? “OK.”
Third time’s a charm with this kid, so he pushed further. “I want a dirt bike, a little four-liter, and a big four-liter!” And Dad said…“OK.”
Brisco looked over at me, eyes spinning with anticipation and I could tell that for a split second, he actually believed it might happen. “Mom! Can I really?”
And without an ounce of fear or worry over crushing his birthday dreams, I said, “No way. Not a chance. Not gonna happen.”
He looked at me, dismayed for a moment, but then seemed to realize that maybe asking for motorized recreational vehicles at five is a bit too much. He gave me his best, Brisco grin and a little “Hmm,” to which I replied, “Sorry, Bub. But hey, we can still put it on the list.”
And that’s All in a day’s work!
He’s not near as pumped about marking his calendar, though, as he is about making his list. His birthday list. Apparently he decided that if a child is supposed to make a Christmas list, why not one for his birthday as well? And so, he has been busy creating one spectacular wish list for a soon to be five year old boy.
He started off slowly, seeming to put some thought into each and every item. Usually, his ideas would come after seeing one of the zillion commercials marketed directly to his precise demographic, prompting him to come running to me wherever I might be.
“Mom! This is what I want! A Play Dough ice cream thingy!”
And with my hands in a bowl of raw meat I’d reply, “Ok. I got it. Play Dough. Ice Cream. Wait. You do know that it isn’t edible, right?”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means you can’t eat it.”
“Oh. Yeah, I know. Can you just put it on a list?”
And so it began. First the Play Dough. Then the Grave Digger Monster Jam Flip and Crash unit. Then the Hot Wheels speed racer ramp. Simple items most any little boy would be happy about receiving; definitely five year old boy stuff.
But soon after, he started coming up with items that seemed a little less age appropriate. And at random times. After a week long tribute to the Rocky series on AMC a few weeks back, he decided he needed a pair of “punching gloves”. Understandable, I suppose after being all energized by the impetus and perseverance of ole Sly Stallone. “Eye of the Tiger” and all that.
Then last week, he informed me he wanted a golf cart. This from a child who has never set foot on a golf course. OK, maybe once or twice. After I questioned him to make sure he knew what he was asking for, he said, “Of course I know! Or I’d take one of those little gators or go carts that kids can drive. Put it on my list, Mom, OK?” OK, Brisco. Sure thing.
A couple days later, things just started getting weird. He barged into the bathroom while I was in the shower to tell me he wanted a pogo stick for his birthday. “Did you hear me, Mom? A POGO STICK! PUT IT ON THE LIST!” A pogo stick. You got it.
The kicker came at lunch on Friday. He’d had a light bulb moment, that I could see as clearly as the melted American cheese smeared across his left cheek. “A museum, Mom! That’s what I want for my birthday! We can put it right over there!” he said pointing out the back window.
I explained that purchasing a museum might be a little harder than simply putting it on a list or checking the “for sales” on eBay, and by the time he’d finished his last pretzel, we’d negotiated a possible visit to the museum over moving a real one into the back yard.
Even random board games he’s seen on TV have made him mad with birthday greed. “I want Sorry Sliders, Mom!” he demanded. “Put it on the list!”
It wasn’t until Saturday afternoon, after a few hours of fishing (or so it was called) that I finally had to set the boy straight. As we left the lakeside, we passed a little kid on a moped, and Brisco jumped half out of his seat and said, “I want a dirt bike for my birthday!” Well, I certainly didn’t feel the need to respond to that kind of request, but Dad, sitting behind the wheel said casually, “OK.”
Wow. That was easy. So he tried again. “I want a little four-liter (i.e. wheeler) for my birthday.” Again, Dad’s reply? “OK.”
Third time’s a charm with this kid, so he pushed further. “I want a dirt bike, a little four-liter, and a big four-liter!” And Dad said…“OK.”
Brisco looked over at me, eyes spinning with anticipation and I could tell that for a split second, he actually believed it might happen. “Mom! Can I really?”
And without an ounce of fear or worry over crushing his birthday dreams, I said, “No way. Not a chance. Not gonna happen.”
He looked at me, dismayed for a moment, but then seemed to realize that maybe asking for motorized recreational vehicles at five is a bit too much. He gave me his best, Brisco grin and a little “Hmm,” to which I replied, “Sorry, Bub. But hey, we can still put it on the list.”
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Crazy conversations
There are lots of reasons to be glad it is baseball season again. (Although personally, I’d much prefer the weather inside the gym for a couple more weeks.) Our boys, however, don’t seem to have a problem with the cooler temperatures, and as we made our first outing Monday night--against my earnest protests--I remembered one of the biggest reasons I love going to games…our crazy conversations.
Now Blair isn’t that far of a drive, but it’s amazing the chats we can have with our kids when we turn off the radio and simply take the time to listen. Some things, I’ll admit, don’t make me too proud. Others are down right ridiculous. And still others…well, I’ll let you decide.
Cooper: Mom, when are we gonna get a baby?
Me: I didn’t know we had sent off for one.
Brisco: Yeah! When are we gonna get that baby?!
Me: You people are crazy.
Cooper: My favorite word is “Mutasha”.
Me: What does that mean?
Cooper: I don’t know.
Brisco: I wish nothing cost anything.
Me: What?
Brisco: I wish everything was free so nobody would run out of money.
Me: Yeah, that’d be cool.
Cooper: Who’s on the ten dollar bill?
Me: I don’t know. Let me look…it’s Hamilton.
Cooper: How do you know?
Me: It says his name right under his face.
Brisco: How’d we get our food so fast?
Me: I don’t know. I guess it cooked fast. Maybe that’s why they call it “fast food”.
Brisco: Maybe they should call it “free food”.
Me: Yeah. If it really was free, that’d be great.
Brisco: No. They should call it “fast, free food”.
Me: Yeah. Even better.
Brisco: No. They should call it “Fast food. Free food. Just the way you like it.”
Me: Son, I do believe I see a future for you in advertising.
Cooper: My favorite word is “Chihuahua”.
Me: I thought you said your favorite word was “Mutasha”?
Cooper: Oh yeah. My first favorite is “Mutasha”. Then “Chihuahua”.
Me: What does “Mutasha” mean?
Cooper: I don’t know.
Me: Where did you hear it?
Cooper: On the first Star Wars. It’s Spanish.
Me: What? I didn’t know they spoke Spanish on Star Wars. How do you know it’s Spanish?
Cooper: I don’t know. Cause I didn’t know what they were saying. I just like the way it sounds.
Me: It could be any language, you know. There’s lots of them. French. Italian. Wookie.
Cooper: Oh. Well, I don’t know what language it is.
Me: Now, “Chihuahua”? That’s Spanish.
Cooper: I wanna be President, but I don’t wanna die.
Me: Coop, everybody dies sometime. You don’t have to be a President to die. And if you wanna be President some day, you can. You can be anything you want to be.
Cooper: But a girl can’t be President, right?
Me: Uh, no. A girl can most definitely be President.
Brisco: Well that’s dumb!
Me: Excuse me? This “girl” sitting in the front seat might just come back there and box your ears. It is NOT dumb, and girls can do anything boys can do.
Brisco: Na Uh! They can’t be preachers!
Me: Ok. So you got me there. They can’t be preachers.
Brisco: And they don’t have wienies!
Me: Uh, No. They don’t, but what’s that got to do with anything?
Cooper: They can’t pee standing up.
Me: Ok. Right again. You two seem to be missing the point. What I’m trying to say is that if you work hard, you can be anything you want to be.
Cooper: So…if I wanna be a softball player…I can?
Me: (full of sarcasm) Sure, Coop. If you really want to be a softball player, you can.
Cooper: Ha!! No thanks.
(After listening to far too much conversation between the two boys about “poop” and the various forms it might take)
Me: Ok, that’s enough talk about poop.
Brisco: What? No more poopy talk about poop?
Me: Brisco! I’m serious!
Brisco: Ok, poop. Oops. I mean, Sorry.
Me: You guys wanna talk about poop so much, if a baby ever does come to our house, I’m putting you both in charge of changing poopy diapers. We’ll see how much you wanna talk about poop after that.
Cooper: Ooo! No!
Brisco: Oh, Yeah! Poop!
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Now Blair isn’t that far of a drive, but it’s amazing the chats we can have with our kids when we turn off the radio and simply take the time to listen. Some things, I’ll admit, don’t make me too proud. Others are down right ridiculous. And still others…well, I’ll let you decide.
Cooper: Mom, when are we gonna get a baby?
Me: I didn’t know we had sent off for one.
Brisco: Yeah! When are we gonna get that baby?!
Me: You people are crazy.
Cooper: My favorite word is “Mutasha”.
Me: What does that mean?
Cooper: I don’t know.
Brisco: I wish nothing cost anything.
Me: What?
Brisco: I wish everything was free so nobody would run out of money.
Me: Yeah, that’d be cool.
Cooper: Who’s on the ten dollar bill?
Me: I don’t know. Let me look…it’s Hamilton.
Cooper: How do you know?
Me: It says his name right under his face.
Brisco: How’d we get our food so fast?
Me: I don’t know. I guess it cooked fast. Maybe that’s why they call it “fast food”.
Brisco: Maybe they should call it “free food”.
Me: Yeah. If it really was free, that’d be great.
Brisco: No. They should call it “fast, free food”.
Me: Yeah. Even better.
Brisco: No. They should call it “Fast food. Free food. Just the way you like it.”
Me: Son, I do believe I see a future for you in advertising.
Cooper: My favorite word is “Chihuahua”.
Me: I thought you said your favorite word was “Mutasha”?
Cooper: Oh yeah. My first favorite is “Mutasha”. Then “Chihuahua”.
Me: What does “Mutasha” mean?
Cooper: I don’t know.
Me: Where did you hear it?
Cooper: On the first Star Wars. It’s Spanish.
Me: What? I didn’t know they spoke Spanish on Star Wars. How do you know it’s Spanish?
Cooper: I don’t know. Cause I didn’t know what they were saying. I just like the way it sounds.
Me: It could be any language, you know. There’s lots of them. French. Italian. Wookie.
Cooper: Oh. Well, I don’t know what language it is.
Me: Now, “Chihuahua”? That’s Spanish.
Cooper: I wanna be President, but I don’t wanna die.
Me: Coop, everybody dies sometime. You don’t have to be a President to die. And if you wanna be President some day, you can. You can be anything you want to be.
Cooper: But a girl can’t be President, right?
Me: Uh, no. A girl can most definitely be President.
Brisco: Well that’s dumb!
Me: Excuse me? This “girl” sitting in the front seat might just come back there and box your ears. It is NOT dumb, and girls can do anything boys can do.
Brisco: Na Uh! They can’t be preachers!
Me: Ok. So you got me there. They can’t be preachers.
Brisco: And they don’t have wienies!
Me: Uh, No. They don’t, but what’s that got to do with anything?
Cooper: They can’t pee standing up.
Me: Ok. Right again. You two seem to be missing the point. What I’m trying to say is that if you work hard, you can be anything you want to be.
Cooper: So…if I wanna be a softball player…I can?
Me: (full of sarcasm) Sure, Coop. If you really want to be a softball player, you can.
Cooper: Ha!! No thanks.
(After listening to far too much conversation between the two boys about “poop” and the various forms it might take)
Me: Ok, that’s enough talk about poop.
Brisco: What? No more poopy talk about poop?
Me: Brisco! I’m serious!
Brisco: Ok, poop. Oops. I mean, Sorry.
Me: You guys wanna talk about poop so much, if a baby ever does come to our house, I’m putting you both in charge of changing poopy diapers. We’ll see how much you wanna talk about poop after that.
Cooper: Ooo! No!
Brisco: Oh, Yeah! Poop!
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Conversations with kids after a trip to the museum
Me: What was your favorite part of the museum?
Brisco: The marble game. It was like a pinball machine. The marble was supposed to make music, but I made up a new game. It was fun!
Cooper: I liked the tree house. And the airplanes. And that you could shoot balls out of that one thing (i.e. a catapult). And I liked that me and Brisco could get in the airplanes and pretend to fly them. Oh, and I liked making race cars with dad. AND I liked blowing up stuff! Remember when that guy blew up that big bottle and Brisco started crying?
Me: Did you like that part, B?
Brisco: NO! I hated it! It was too loud! I hate it!
Me: Why don’t you like loud noises?
Brisco: (yelling) I don’t know! Too loud! (Oh, the irony.)
Me: What about the dome? Did you like the movie in the dome?
Cooper: I didn’t like that, ‘cause there wasn’t a movie. Just snow and stuff.
Me: You mean, there wasn’t a story to it?
Cooper: Yeah.
Me: Was there anything about it you liked?
Cooper: Snowboarding and hiking. Not surfing though.
Me: Would you climb a mountain?
Cooper: Yeah. Well, not actually. But I would snow board.
Me: Would you surf with a sail?
Cooper: Yeah, cause they have that stuff that sticks to your feet, and it won’t come off.
Me: What about you, Brisco? Did you like the dome?
Brisco: No
Me: Why?
Brisco: Cause all I liked about it was the snowboarding. That’s all I liked about it.
Me: Would you snowboard?
Brisco: No.
Me: Would you surf?
Brisco: No
Me: Would you ski?
Brisco: What is skiing?
Me: Going down the snowy mountain with two sticks on your feet.
Brisco: NO!
Cooper: I wish we had one of those tree houses at our house.
Me: Well, talk to Dad. Maybe he can build you one.
Brisco: Nah, he can’t.
Me: Why do you say that?
Brisco: Cause he didn’t even finish making the gazebo into a fort. Besides, he just cut down all the trees.
The day after we went to the Omniplex, I took the boys to the Cowboy Hall of Fame for a few hours. Note to self: The Cowboy Hall of Fame should probably have been on the day one agenda. It was not quite as exciting after a day at the Omniplex. However, we were able to provide each other with a few laughs.
“Conversations with my kids about the Cowboy Hall of Fame”
Me: Ok, now when we go in here, we can’t act like morons. It’s big, it’s fancy, and the floors might be slippery. Absolutely No Sliding!
Cooper: Why are the floors slippery?
Me: They are nice and polished. If I remember right, they may be made of marble.
Brisco: (After a moment of thoughtful consideration…) Why would the floors be made of marbles?
Sheriff: Ok, boys. Get in that cell and get comfortable, now. You’ve got a long wait. The circuit judge won’t be in town till next Thursday.
Brisco: (Looking at me with that confused expression on his face) Mom? What’s a circus judge?
Me: What did you like about the Cowboy museum?
Cooper: I liked the kid part where we got to dress up. I liked the cowboy boots.
Brisco: I liked wearing the fringy vest!
Me: What else did you like, Brisco?
Brisco: I liked the old town.
Me: What did you like about it?
Brisco: I liked the jail!
Me: Did you like being locked inside?
Brisco: No!
Me: I need to get one of those for the house. That way when someone is misbehaving, I can just lock them up!
Brisco: Yeah! And I could put my sleeping bag in there and have a camp out!
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Brisco: The marble game. It was like a pinball machine. The marble was supposed to make music, but I made up a new game. It was fun!
Cooper: I liked the tree house. And the airplanes. And that you could shoot balls out of that one thing (i.e. a catapult). And I liked that me and Brisco could get in the airplanes and pretend to fly them. Oh, and I liked making race cars with dad. AND I liked blowing up stuff! Remember when that guy blew up that big bottle and Brisco started crying?
Me: Did you like that part, B?
Brisco: NO! I hated it! It was too loud! I hate it!
Me: Why don’t you like loud noises?
Brisco: (yelling) I don’t know! Too loud! (Oh, the irony.)
Me: What about the dome? Did you like the movie in the dome?
Cooper: I didn’t like that, ‘cause there wasn’t a movie. Just snow and stuff.
Me: You mean, there wasn’t a story to it?
Cooper: Yeah.
Me: Was there anything about it you liked?
Cooper: Snowboarding and hiking. Not surfing though.
Me: Would you climb a mountain?
Cooper: Yeah. Well, not actually. But I would snow board.
Me: Would you surf with a sail?
Cooper: Yeah, cause they have that stuff that sticks to your feet, and it won’t come off.
Me: What about you, Brisco? Did you like the dome?
Brisco: No
Me: Why?
Brisco: Cause all I liked about it was the snowboarding. That’s all I liked about it.
Me: Would you snowboard?
Brisco: No.
Me: Would you surf?
Brisco: No
Me: Would you ski?
Brisco: What is skiing?
Me: Going down the snowy mountain with two sticks on your feet.
Brisco: NO!
Cooper: I wish we had one of those tree houses at our house.
Me: Well, talk to Dad. Maybe he can build you one.
Brisco: Nah, he can’t.
Me: Why do you say that?
Brisco: Cause he didn’t even finish making the gazebo into a fort. Besides, he just cut down all the trees.
The day after we went to the Omniplex, I took the boys to the Cowboy Hall of Fame for a few hours. Note to self: The Cowboy Hall of Fame should probably have been on the day one agenda. It was not quite as exciting after a day at the Omniplex. However, we were able to provide each other with a few laughs.
“Conversations with my kids about the Cowboy Hall of Fame”
Me: Ok, now when we go in here, we can’t act like morons. It’s big, it’s fancy, and the floors might be slippery. Absolutely No Sliding!
Cooper: Why are the floors slippery?
Me: They are nice and polished. If I remember right, they may be made of marble.
Brisco: (After a moment of thoughtful consideration…) Why would the floors be made of marbles?
Sheriff: Ok, boys. Get in that cell and get comfortable, now. You’ve got a long wait. The circuit judge won’t be in town till next Thursday.
Brisco: (Looking at me with that confused expression on his face) Mom? What’s a circus judge?
Me: What did you like about the Cowboy museum?
Cooper: I liked the kid part where we got to dress up. I liked the cowboy boots.
Brisco: I liked wearing the fringy vest!
Me: What else did you like, Brisco?
Brisco: I liked the old town.
Me: What did you like about it?
Brisco: I liked the jail!
Me: Did you like being locked inside?
Brisco: No!
Me: I need to get one of those for the house. That way when someone is misbehaving, I can just lock them up!
Brisco: Yeah! And I could put my sleeping bag in there and have a camp out!
And that’s All in a day’s work!
A day at the museum
As dad set out for a day of meetings about hitting stances and pitching techniques, the boys and I headed to the museum. The Omniplex, as it used to be called, is quite literally the cupcake dangling in front of a curious child’s nose. It is filled with games and exhibits all designed to teach kids about the wonders of science.
I wasn’t sure if the boys were really old enough to enjoy the new and improved Science Museum Oklahoma, but I thought we’d give it a shot, and who knows, maybe it would inspire one of them to become a scientist or a doctor or even an astronaut (preferably the kind who keeps his feet on the ground).
The boys were curious about our agenda for the day, so I tried to tell them where we were going. But after 500 questions about what was inside and what we would do when we got there, I finally gave up trying to describe a place I hadn’t been since I was a grade-schooler, and decided if I couldn’t explain it, it might not be in their genes to become any of those noble science guys in the first place. Sorry boys. We’ll just have to wait and see.
From the moment we walked in the front door, I heard nothing but shrieks of excitement, as both boys were in awe at what lay before them. They were like pinballs, bouncing from one exhibit to the next. Everything they saw was jaw dropping and elicited that Christmas morning euphoria that caused them to yell at full volume, “Whoa! Awesome!” and “Mom, come look at this!”
They were both immediately overwhelmed by the rocket boosters from the space shuttles that sat near the front of the museum. After oohing and ahhing and snapping a few pics, it was the life-size dinosaur skeleton that grabbed their attention next. The Camarasaurus was pretty amazing, and I was warned several times that it would come to life at night.
“Everything in the museum will come to life at night!” I shuttered, making sure to play along, while assuring both boys that we’d be long gone before the sun went down.
We stopped for a moment at the giant set of human teeth. They were pretty amazed at what they saw, and a little disturbed at just what can happen to someone’s teeth after too much thumb sucking. We’ll see how long their angst holds up.
It was almost impossible to drag Cooper away from the erosion display…not because he is so concerned with solving this global, environmental problem…but because he got to dig in the rocks and the water and use logs to try and build a dam. Even though the water was ice cold, I know he would have stayed there all day if I’d have let him. It was only the promise of experiencing a real, live (simulated) earthquake that finally pulled him away.
Brisco was entranced by the game that experimented with noise...although I suppose the correct scientific word would be “sound”. Either way--not a surprise.
The exhibit was comprised of an empty pinball machine, with various objects made of different materials laying at random spots on the table. When a marble was shot out of the chute, it would hit against the objects as it rolled down the table, making a variety of different sounds.
Now, playing by these rules was fun for a minute, but what really made it interesting was when he lined up the shapes to form a tunnel into which he attempted to shoot that marble. Now this kind of fun (evidently) could last for hours.
It was a day full of firsts—experiences and activities one after another, each seeming better than the one just before. From the house of mirrors to driving the Segway, to experiencing how it feels when the space shuttle re-enters the earth’s atmosphere, that little-boy curiosity that so often gets them into trouble was let loose to run free.
And six hours later, as the time came for us to head back to get dad, they were both still going strong. “Can we go get Daddy and bring him back to see?”
It just goes to show that we never really know what our kids might be ready for. I certainly never would have guessed after eight hours of science that we’d be told by Albert Einstein himself: “The museum is closing, folks. It’s time to call it a day!”
Yes, a day at the museum was just what we needed. And apparently, the boys could not have agreed more because as we were driving home the next day, I overheard one of them say, “We should go to that place at least once every week!”
“Yeah, once every week,” the other chimed in.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
I wasn’t sure if the boys were really old enough to enjoy the new and improved Science Museum Oklahoma, but I thought we’d give it a shot, and who knows, maybe it would inspire one of them to become a scientist or a doctor or even an astronaut (preferably the kind who keeps his feet on the ground).
The boys were curious about our agenda for the day, so I tried to tell them where we were going. But after 500 questions about what was inside and what we would do when we got there, I finally gave up trying to describe a place I hadn’t been since I was a grade-schooler, and decided if I couldn’t explain it, it might not be in their genes to become any of those noble science guys in the first place. Sorry boys. We’ll just have to wait and see.
From the moment we walked in the front door, I heard nothing but shrieks of excitement, as both boys were in awe at what lay before them. They were like pinballs, bouncing from one exhibit to the next. Everything they saw was jaw dropping and elicited that Christmas morning euphoria that caused them to yell at full volume, “Whoa! Awesome!” and “Mom, come look at this!”
They were both immediately overwhelmed by the rocket boosters from the space shuttles that sat near the front of the museum. After oohing and ahhing and snapping a few pics, it was the life-size dinosaur skeleton that grabbed their attention next. The Camarasaurus was pretty amazing, and I was warned several times that it would come to life at night.
“Everything in the museum will come to life at night!” I shuttered, making sure to play along, while assuring both boys that we’d be long gone before the sun went down.
We stopped for a moment at the giant set of human teeth. They were pretty amazed at what they saw, and a little disturbed at just what can happen to someone’s teeth after too much thumb sucking. We’ll see how long their angst holds up.
It was almost impossible to drag Cooper away from the erosion display…not because he is so concerned with solving this global, environmental problem…but because he got to dig in the rocks and the water and use logs to try and build a dam. Even though the water was ice cold, I know he would have stayed there all day if I’d have let him. It was only the promise of experiencing a real, live (simulated) earthquake that finally pulled him away.
Brisco was entranced by the game that experimented with noise...although I suppose the correct scientific word would be “sound”. Either way--not a surprise.
The exhibit was comprised of an empty pinball machine, with various objects made of different materials laying at random spots on the table. When a marble was shot out of the chute, it would hit against the objects as it rolled down the table, making a variety of different sounds.
Now, playing by these rules was fun for a minute, but what really made it interesting was when he lined up the shapes to form a tunnel into which he attempted to shoot that marble. Now this kind of fun (evidently) could last for hours.
It was a day full of firsts—experiences and activities one after another, each seeming better than the one just before. From the house of mirrors to driving the Segway, to experiencing how it feels when the space shuttle re-enters the earth’s atmosphere, that little-boy curiosity that so often gets them into trouble was let loose to run free.
And six hours later, as the time came for us to head back to get dad, they were both still going strong. “Can we go get Daddy and bring him back to see?”
It just goes to show that we never really know what our kids might be ready for. I certainly never would have guessed after eight hours of science that we’d be told by Albert Einstein himself: “The museum is closing, folks. It’s time to call it a day!”
Yes, a day at the museum was just what we needed. And apparently, the boys could not have agreed more because as we were driving home the next day, I overheard one of them say, “We should go to that place at least once every week!”
“Yeah, once every week,” the other chimed in.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
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