Some of the cutest and most hilarious comments in life come from our innocent children. I’m always amazed at their perspective and their interpretation of events and things in their world.
For instance, Cooper has decided that his curly-headed cousin has “wrinkled hair”, and that his mom’s “kind of looks like a bale of hay”.
Brisco is busy deciphering the many catch phrases that sneak into our daily conversations. He was practicing hitting the baseball one evening and although he was getting close, he was still missing on every swing. I couldn’t convince him to switch to a lighter bat, so I told him to choke up on the one he was using. He looked at me for a second and then immediately lifted his bat, turned his face toward the sky, and let out a great big cough.
It took me a minute before I realized what he was doing, but then I saw it, as plain as the big, yellow bat in front of my face. He was literally, “choking up”.
As I thought of these things, I came across a collection of similar statements by other innocent, young minds and thought they were certainly worth sharing.
Jack, age 3, was watching his mom breast-feeding his new baby sister. After a while he asked, "Mom, why have you got two? Is one for hot milk and one for cold?"
Melanie, age 5, asked her Granny how old she was. Granny replied she was so old she didn't remember any more. Melanie said, "If you don't remember you must look in the back of your panties. Mine say five to six."
Steven, age 3, hugged and kissed his mom goodnight. Then he said, "I love you so much, that when you die I'm going to bury you outside my bedroom window."
Brittany, age 4, had an earache and wanted a chewable aspirin. She tried in vain to take the lid off the bottle. Seeing her frustration, her mom explained it was a childproof cap and she'd have to open it for her. Eyes wide with wonder, the little girl asked, "How does it know it's me?"
Susan, age 4, was drinking juice when she got the hiccups. "Please don't give me this juice again," she said. "It makes my teeth cough."
Diane, age 4, stepped onto the bathroom scale and asked, "How much do I cost?"
Marc, age 4, was engrossed in a young couple that was hugging and kissing in a restaurant. Without taking his eyes off them, he asked his dad, "Why is he whispering in her mouth?"
James, age 4, was listening to a Bible story. His dad read, "The man named Lot was warned to take his wife and flee out of the city, but his wife looked back and was turned to salt.” Concerned, James asked, "What happened to the flea?"
Jamie, age 4, was listening intently to the minister one Sunday morning. This particular Sunday, the preacher began, “Dear Lord,” with his arms extended toward heaven and a rapturous look on his upturned face. "Without you, we are but dust." He would have continued but at that moment sweet Jamie leaned over to her mother and asked quite audibly in her shrill, little girl voice, "Mom, what is butt dust?"
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Just say yes
It’s amazing how one tiny word can make or break the spirit of a child. Three little letters. One small syllable. But oh what a difference it can make. Whether it’s snack time or play time or tucking into bed time, finding a way to say yes to my boys seems to make everything right in their world.
I’ve learned my consent is actually my friend-an ally in times of traumatic, toddler terror. Like those trips to the grocery store when escaping from the buggy-belt is the only item on my boys’ list. How easily a simple “yes” could quell those agonizing, shopping fiascos.
Brisco is my storybook hero when it comes to celebrating the affirmative. It takes so little to make him happy, and he is always ready to tell the world and celebrate at even the smallest of victories. Typically, he is most excited when his snack time requests are met with a yes. From granola bars to graham crackers, his eyes start popping and his feet get to hopping and he’ll yell at the top of his lungs, “Cooooo-paaa! Mom said YES!!!”
We can forget containing his excitement if his desire is for sweets. He’ll dance in the aisle and sing in the streets for a dip of ice cream or a glass of strawberry milk. And if a piece of candy is what he’s eying, there’s nothing in life that could be more exhilarating than a nod of concession from mom.
Even in the midst of bowl full of Crispies, he’s asking about his next helping. And if mom says yes to a second yummy portion, that sweet, milky smile will slip across his face leaving a mom to revel in the joy she’s created with one simple word.
Sometimes no is a necessity; it simply can’t be avoided. But if the risk is less serious than injury or death, I’m willing to give my approval. After all, the grass will grow back and the windows can be washed and I really didn’t need that third pair of old tennis shoes. But the warmth in my heart when two proud, smiling boys bring me a dead Dandelion, planted in an old Reebok full of mud is a memory I’ll always treasure.
So when my gut starts to turn and my head starts to spin and I feel that old tug of reason, I just think of the fun a couple of brothers can have when the boundaries are lifted and the limits are stretched. I picture big, brown eyes and ear-to-ear smiles that no mother could dare disregard. And I hear the excitement in their voices as they shout in jubilation, “She said YES! She said YES! She said YES!”
And that’s All in a day’s work!
I’ve learned my consent is actually my friend-an ally in times of traumatic, toddler terror. Like those trips to the grocery store when escaping from the buggy-belt is the only item on my boys’ list. How easily a simple “yes” could quell those agonizing, shopping fiascos.
Brisco is my storybook hero when it comes to celebrating the affirmative. It takes so little to make him happy, and he is always ready to tell the world and celebrate at even the smallest of victories. Typically, he is most excited when his snack time requests are met with a yes. From granola bars to graham crackers, his eyes start popping and his feet get to hopping and he’ll yell at the top of his lungs, “Cooooo-paaa! Mom said YES!!!”
We can forget containing his excitement if his desire is for sweets. He’ll dance in the aisle and sing in the streets for a dip of ice cream or a glass of strawberry milk. And if a piece of candy is what he’s eying, there’s nothing in life that could be more exhilarating than a nod of concession from mom.
Even in the midst of bowl full of Crispies, he’s asking about his next helping. And if mom says yes to a second yummy portion, that sweet, milky smile will slip across his face leaving a mom to revel in the joy she’s created with one simple word.
Sometimes no is a necessity; it simply can’t be avoided. But if the risk is less serious than injury or death, I’m willing to give my approval. After all, the grass will grow back and the windows can be washed and I really didn’t need that third pair of old tennis shoes. But the warmth in my heart when two proud, smiling boys bring me a dead Dandelion, planted in an old Reebok full of mud is a memory I’ll always treasure.
So when my gut starts to turn and my head starts to spin and I feel that old tug of reason, I just think of the fun a couple of brothers can have when the boundaries are lifted and the limits are stretched. I picture big, brown eyes and ear-to-ear smiles that no mother could dare disregard. And I hear the excitement in their voices as they shout in jubilation, “She said YES! She said YES! She said YES!”
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Monday, October 6, 2008
Lessons learned the hard way
The differences in children can be so vast that it boggles the mind. Simple things like the way they eat and the way they play prove it’s true: no two are alike. So it comes as no surprise that they must be disciplined differently as well. For Cooper all it takes is a rational explanation, but Brisco is determined to keep things interesting. From always attempting to get the last word to learning every lesson the hard way, this kid is certainly preparing to make life a challenge.
When little boy Brisco was a little bit younger, it seemed he knew just how to get us in a tizzy. Each time he was corrected, he had a “But…” or a “Well…” just waiting in the wings to defend his behavior.
We tried to control his endless excuses by accepting one simple response to our chides: “OK.” However, he has since learned to anticipate our admonishment, and it seems he will use this comeback to quickly cut-off his parents’ counsel, even before we’re finished giving it. He’ll throw out a lively “OK”, and with a smile on his face, hurry along with his business.
And the number of times this child has refused his parents’ forewarnings are far too numerous to count. From hot stoves to hot wax to the crack in the refrigerator door-apparently if pain doesn’t accompany the admonition, a parent’s warning is simply unheeded.
I know all about truth and consequences and letting kids reap what they’ve sown. Lucky enough, it seems the cause and effect of almost any situation has a way of finding my baby and teaching him the lesson no time out or leather belt could ever match.
Small lessons that even Cooper can comprehend are far more effective when they come crashing down around him. Last night, for instance, I told Brisco not to shoot baskets on his goal when there are clothes hanging from the rim. He decided not to heed my warning until the five-foot goal, wet laundry and all, came tumbling over on top of him.
Other lessons, while somewhat painful, are still best learned the hard way. And if I’ve told him once I’ve told him a thousand times, we don’t go outside naked. But he refuses to listen and has the absurd inclination toward playing outdoors in the buff.
Aside from the laws of modesty and decency, I’ve tried to explain that a boy could get hurt playing unprotected from the elements in these late-summer days in Oklahoma. He refuses to listen, playing happily in the bushes, grass and dirt-enjoying being one with Mother Nature.
I had mixed emotions, then, when he came inside last week, itching and scratching from head to toe. It seemed the mosquitoes had found his stark-naked body the perfect milking ground for their last feast of the season. I hated to see him all spotted and whelped, and I felt my heart sink at yet another lesson he’d chosen to learn the hard way. But in spite of my feelings and empathy for the boy, I felt a twinge of satisfaction knowing that he had gotten just what he asked for. I reminded him gently and with a great big hug that “This is what happens when we play naked in the yard.” Through his tears and discomfort, he simply replied, “OK.”
While a parent can often let logical consequences be her guide in raising children, there are certain times when we simply must intervene. We’re just not willing to let a steak knife to the toe or a semi to the face be a teacher to our sweet baby boys.
So when curiosity calls and the devil on his shoulder is tempting him to go against the laws of nature and the commandments of mom, I pray that my child will use a little more discernment and a little more restraint. I hope that he will hear his mother’s voice giving sound advice in his head. And I certainly hope his big brother is nearby, to yell for help if it’s needed.
But most of all I hope we can teach him to rely on the counsel of those whom he loves; to trust that mom and dad will never lead him astray; and to believe that sometimes in life, there’s a better way than the hard way.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
When little boy Brisco was a little bit younger, it seemed he knew just how to get us in a tizzy. Each time he was corrected, he had a “But…” or a “Well…” just waiting in the wings to defend his behavior.
We tried to control his endless excuses by accepting one simple response to our chides: “OK.” However, he has since learned to anticipate our admonishment, and it seems he will use this comeback to quickly cut-off his parents’ counsel, even before we’re finished giving it. He’ll throw out a lively “OK”, and with a smile on his face, hurry along with his business.
And the number of times this child has refused his parents’ forewarnings are far too numerous to count. From hot stoves to hot wax to the crack in the refrigerator door-apparently if pain doesn’t accompany the admonition, a parent’s warning is simply unheeded.
I know all about truth and consequences and letting kids reap what they’ve sown. Lucky enough, it seems the cause and effect of almost any situation has a way of finding my baby and teaching him the lesson no time out or leather belt could ever match.
Small lessons that even Cooper can comprehend are far more effective when they come crashing down around him. Last night, for instance, I told Brisco not to shoot baskets on his goal when there are clothes hanging from the rim. He decided not to heed my warning until the five-foot goal, wet laundry and all, came tumbling over on top of him.
Other lessons, while somewhat painful, are still best learned the hard way. And if I’ve told him once I’ve told him a thousand times, we don’t go outside naked. But he refuses to listen and has the absurd inclination toward playing outdoors in the buff.
Aside from the laws of modesty and decency, I’ve tried to explain that a boy could get hurt playing unprotected from the elements in these late-summer days in Oklahoma. He refuses to listen, playing happily in the bushes, grass and dirt-enjoying being one with Mother Nature.
I had mixed emotions, then, when he came inside last week, itching and scratching from head to toe. It seemed the mosquitoes had found his stark-naked body the perfect milking ground for their last feast of the season. I hated to see him all spotted and whelped, and I felt my heart sink at yet another lesson he’d chosen to learn the hard way. But in spite of my feelings and empathy for the boy, I felt a twinge of satisfaction knowing that he had gotten just what he asked for. I reminded him gently and with a great big hug that “This is what happens when we play naked in the yard.” Through his tears and discomfort, he simply replied, “OK.”
While a parent can often let logical consequences be her guide in raising children, there are certain times when we simply must intervene. We’re just not willing to let a steak knife to the toe or a semi to the face be a teacher to our sweet baby boys.
So when curiosity calls and the devil on his shoulder is tempting him to go against the laws of nature and the commandments of mom, I pray that my child will use a little more discernment and a little more restraint. I hope that he will hear his mother’s voice giving sound advice in his head. And I certainly hope his big brother is nearby, to yell for help if it’s needed.
But most of all I hope we can teach him to rely on the counsel of those whom he loves; to trust that mom and dad will never lead him astray; and to believe that sometimes in life, there’s a better way than the hard way.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Watch this!
“Watch this mom! Did you see me? Did you watch it?”
There may be no other phrase in the history of parenthood that is so well weathered by children under five than the redundant and exhausting, “Watch this!” It seems that kids will master the expression and utilize it every chance they get.
Our boys engage in a lot of independent play. But sometimes, it seems a kid just needs an audience. Whether it’s “shunting cars and hauling freight”, driving racecars around the card-table race track, or just having a buddy to color with, our boys apparently receive more satisfaction from the activity if an adult gives a watchful eye.
Sometimes a brother is enough of a crowd to play up to. After all, one can always count on the other to laugh at whatever nonsensical joke has been uttered, as long as the punchline is (predictably) “poop”. And the ear-piercing, obnoxious, dying-pig snorts never fail to elicit a great big belly laugh from one another when all a parent wants to do is say “Shhh!”
Other times, nothing less than the full attention of a grown up will do. Last week Cooper asked me if I wanted to sit down at the table and watch him eat his breakfast. I told him, no thanks, that I thought he had it covered, and he continued on with his boiled eggs and bacon.
Brisco, on the other hand, is not so easily appeased. Just this morning, my attention was required as the boy spent 20 minutes trying to trap dust particles that were floating in a ray of sunshine coming through the living room window. It was a first discovery for him, and it seemed he needed a spectator for this special “Watch this!” debut.
Sometimes, a parent’s attentiveness is not so much required as it is just needed for an added laugh. Our kids have a habit of making silly faces, and the more eyes that are upon them, the sillier they seem to be. It’s become an actual contest to see which child can contort their bodies and faces into the most ridiculous of shapes and grimaces.
There are certain times when our kids are dying for us to watch, but only at their command. One day Cooper was playing in the equipment room at the ball park. I went to check on him, but he quickly shewed me away. It seems he didn’t want anyone to see him until he was good and ready, fully dressed-out in his “chesty” and “leggers”, with only his big brown eyes shining beneath that huge mask to identify him as the catcher.
Then there are the times when a parent’s attention is simply expected. Like the countless hours they spend rounding those bases in front of a crowd full of people-beating those throws and sliding into home. You can bet when the dust clears, the first face they are looking for in the crowd is mom’s. And with a wave or a thumb’s up and a baby-Bulldog smile, they are off again, without a care in the world but getting dirty and being safe at home, knowing that mom and dad are watching nearby. These are our prime-time “Watch this!” moments.
I know we’re lucky that they still want our attention. In another few years, they’ll focus on, “Are we there yet?” And soon after that, it will be all grunts and moans and the answer to every question we ask will be, “Fine.”
But these early years are the innocent ones when something as senseless as a finger up the nose or a double back flip with a two-dollar monster truck seems like the re-invention of the wheel, and there’s nobody with whom children wish to share these experiences more than the ones they love.
So for me, there’s no better way for a mom to spend her time than keeping one eye on the kid and one on the clock, as a simple reminder that before I can blink, these uncomplicated, unpredictable and unsurpassed days will be a thing of the past. “Watch this!”
And that’s All in a day’s work!
There may be no other phrase in the history of parenthood that is so well weathered by children under five than the redundant and exhausting, “Watch this!” It seems that kids will master the expression and utilize it every chance they get.
Our boys engage in a lot of independent play. But sometimes, it seems a kid just needs an audience. Whether it’s “shunting cars and hauling freight”, driving racecars around the card-table race track, or just having a buddy to color with, our boys apparently receive more satisfaction from the activity if an adult gives a watchful eye.
Sometimes a brother is enough of a crowd to play up to. After all, one can always count on the other to laugh at whatever nonsensical joke has been uttered, as long as the punchline is (predictably) “poop”. And the ear-piercing, obnoxious, dying-pig snorts never fail to elicit a great big belly laugh from one another when all a parent wants to do is say “Shhh!”
Other times, nothing less than the full attention of a grown up will do. Last week Cooper asked me if I wanted to sit down at the table and watch him eat his breakfast. I told him, no thanks, that I thought he had it covered, and he continued on with his boiled eggs and bacon.
Brisco, on the other hand, is not so easily appeased. Just this morning, my attention was required as the boy spent 20 minutes trying to trap dust particles that were floating in a ray of sunshine coming through the living room window. It was a first discovery for him, and it seemed he needed a spectator for this special “Watch this!” debut.
Sometimes, a parent’s attentiveness is not so much required as it is just needed for an added laugh. Our kids have a habit of making silly faces, and the more eyes that are upon them, the sillier they seem to be. It’s become an actual contest to see which child can contort their bodies and faces into the most ridiculous of shapes and grimaces.
There are certain times when our kids are dying for us to watch, but only at their command. One day Cooper was playing in the equipment room at the ball park. I went to check on him, but he quickly shewed me away. It seems he didn’t want anyone to see him until he was good and ready, fully dressed-out in his “chesty” and “leggers”, with only his big brown eyes shining beneath that huge mask to identify him as the catcher.
Then there are the times when a parent’s attention is simply expected. Like the countless hours they spend rounding those bases in front of a crowd full of people-beating those throws and sliding into home. You can bet when the dust clears, the first face they are looking for in the crowd is mom’s. And with a wave or a thumb’s up and a baby-Bulldog smile, they are off again, without a care in the world but getting dirty and being safe at home, knowing that mom and dad are watching nearby. These are our prime-time “Watch this!” moments.
I know we’re lucky that they still want our attention. In another few years, they’ll focus on, “Are we there yet?” And soon after that, it will be all grunts and moans and the answer to every question we ask will be, “Fine.”
But these early years are the innocent ones when something as senseless as a finger up the nose or a double back flip with a two-dollar monster truck seems like the re-invention of the wheel, and there’s nobody with whom children wish to share these experiences more than the ones they love.
So for me, there’s no better way for a mom to spend her time than keeping one eye on the kid and one on the clock, as a simple reminder that before I can blink, these uncomplicated, unpredictable and unsurpassed days will be a thing of the past. “Watch this!”
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Animal house
I had a moment last week, between diapers and dishes, to sit leisurely and gaze out the back window, pondering the big picture of life. As I watched the boys and the dog chase each other tirelessly around the yard, it hit me that there are some aspects of raising kids that can be compared to nothing better than that of training animals.
It’s a given that with kids, especially when they are small, it often feels like we’re living in a zoo, talking to the animals, or attempting to “train” mindless creatures to perform culturally acceptable tricks. Let’s be honest, sometimes it’s just simply a circus. From standing on their heads in the middle of the kitchen to practicing their tightrope walking on the back of the couch, sometimes a mom just prays for a top hat and an elephant whip to appear out of thin air.
It seems there is all kinds of help out there these days. For horses we have the Horse Whisperer, for dogs, the Dog Whisperer. I think a Kid Whisperer sounds like an oxymoron, but I bet some of those talks they have with the animals would probably work on my children.
Brisco is a prime example of a child who is harder to train than a dog. Inevitably at bath time, I spend the entire time telling Brisco to “Sit!” He simply refuses to stay seated. So I squat there on my knees, wishing I had a pocket full of dog treats to give him if he should decide to obey. I’ve got a dog who can sit with just a hand signal. I could do the Macarena and my kid would still be standing there in the tub, just trying to find a way to fall and bust his head wide open.
I house trained my dog in a week. Our oldest kid was three years old and still pooping in the floor before he finally decided potties weren’t so bad. Now we’ve got a two and a half year old to convince.
I’ve seen people who dress their dogs in clothes. Heck, I’m ashamed to admit it, but before we had kids, I was guilty of putting Halloween costumes on our labs one year. But deep inside, I knew that my two, 80 pound Labradors would have rather been snipped than to face another canine in their bumble bee antennas and lady bug capes.
Evidently my youngest child feels quite the same about the garments I choose for him to wear, although it doesn’t take a humiliating insect costume to cause this boy to shed his gear. One day last week I told him to stand at the front door and watch for Daddy to come home. When I went to check on him, he was out in the front yard, naked from the waist down, singing, “Daddy’s home! Daddy’s home! I’m thinking his nickname should have been Free Willy.
I went to the ball field to pick the boys up on Sunday afternoon. I guess they needed a spot to cool off in, much like our dogs do in the heat of the summer when they dig in the dirt until they hit moist ground. They boys were shirtless and covered from head to toe with thick clods of mud-and splatters of mud-and mud they’d sucked right off their thumbs. I brought them home and pulled out the garden hose, much like I would do to their four-legged sister after a nice romp in the flowerbed. All I needed was a dog brush and a rawhide bone to shine up their coats and freshen their breath after a long hard day in the dirt.
It seems the similarities between kids and animals are endless. Maybe it’s because kids really are animals until we as parents tame them and train them to be the sweet little angels God created them to be. I’m hoping we start to see progress soon.
One thing’s for sure, much like the love of a good pet, there’s nothing better than a couple of little boys who like their ears tickled, their bellies rubbed, and give wet slobbery kisses. Even if they are a couple of animals.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
It’s a given that with kids, especially when they are small, it often feels like we’re living in a zoo, talking to the animals, or attempting to “train” mindless creatures to perform culturally acceptable tricks. Let’s be honest, sometimes it’s just simply a circus. From standing on their heads in the middle of the kitchen to practicing their tightrope walking on the back of the couch, sometimes a mom just prays for a top hat and an elephant whip to appear out of thin air.
It seems there is all kinds of help out there these days. For horses we have the Horse Whisperer, for dogs, the Dog Whisperer. I think a Kid Whisperer sounds like an oxymoron, but I bet some of those talks they have with the animals would probably work on my children.
Brisco is a prime example of a child who is harder to train than a dog. Inevitably at bath time, I spend the entire time telling Brisco to “Sit!” He simply refuses to stay seated. So I squat there on my knees, wishing I had a pocket full of dog treats to give him if he should decide to obey. I’ve got a dog who can sit with just a hand signal. I could do the Macarena and my kid would still be standing there in the tub, just trying to find a way to fall and bust his head wide open.
I house trained my dog in a week. Our oldest kid was three years old and still pooping in the floor before he finally decided potties weren’t so bad. Now we’ve got a two and a half year old to convince.
I’ve seen people who dress their dogs in clothes. Heck, I’m ashamed to admit it, but before we had kids, I was guilty of putting Halloween costumes on our labs one year. But deep inside, I knew that my two, 80 pound Labradors would have rather been snipped than to face another canine in their bumble bee antennas and lady bug capes.
Evidently my youngest child feels quite the same about the garments I choose for him to wear, although it doesn’t take a humiliating insect costume to cause this boy to shed his gear. One day last week I told him to stand at the front door and watch for Daddy to come home. When I went to check on him, he was out in the front yard, naked from the waist down, singing, “Daddy’s home! Daddy’s home! I’m thinking his nickname should have been Free Willy.
I went to the ball field to pick the boys up on Sunday afternoon. I guess they needed a spot to cool off in, much like our dogs do in the heat of the summer when they dig in the dirt until they hit moist ground. They boys were shirtless and covered from head to toe with thick clods of mud-and splatters of mud-and mud they’d sucked right off their thumbs. I brought them home and pulled out the garden hose, much like I would do to their four-legged sister after a nice romp in the flowerbed. All I needed was a dog brush and a rawhide bone to shine up their coats and freshen their breath after a long hard day in the dirt.
It seems the similarities between kids and animals are endless. Maybe it’s because kids really are animals until we as parents tame them and train them to be the sweet little angels God created them to be. I’m hoping we start to see progress soon.
One thing’s for sure, much like the love of a good pet, there’s nothing better than a couple of little boys who like their ears tickled, their bellies rubbed, and give wet slobbery kisses. Even if they are a couple of animals.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Sunday, September 14, 2008
"Brotherly love"
I get lots of stories from people like us who have raised little boys who are close in age. Almost always and seldom without fail, they are stories of love or hate: two little guys who can’t get enough of each other and grow into best friends for life, or a competitive, get outa my way, I’m doing this first and best kind of relationship that follows them all the way to the grave.
It seems when people speak of brotherly love, it is either the genuine, loyal, protective variety, or it’s the tongue in cheek, sarcasm that arises when they see two siblings duking it out in the school yard. A mother’s obvious choice is door number one, but sometimes-although it may be hard to believe-kids have a will of their own.
We’re trying to mold our boys into being the kind of brothers that the other can’t live without. Sometimes it seems to be working. From the time he was tiny to this very day, it never fails: the first words out of Brisco’s mouth every morning are, “Where’s Coopa?” And if Brisco dares take too long a nap in the afternoon, Cooper is beside himself for his first and best mate.
They play pretty well together, most of the time. They mimic one another at the drop of a hat, and that door swings both ways. I always tell Cooper his little brother is watching, but the truth is, Cooper is watching too. If the little show-off does something to get a laugh from the crowd, you can bet the big show-off will try the same trick.
They are starting to display their manly nature and wrestle with each other as boys enjoy doing. Cooper is bigger and can do more damage, but Brisco is really pretty tough; he always takes more than I expect. They call their game (created by dad) “tackle down” and it helps fill the baseball off-season with a little mid-winter football fun in the yard. All bundled up in mittens and layered down to their skivvies, they get out in that cold winter air, dad on his knees, and play football-one man per team. I guess Brisco will be big enough to really take some hits this year.
My favorite shows of brotherly love are those precious moments when I catch them hugging, in genuine adoration and appreciation for each other. It melts a mother’s heart-but it doesn’t leave a mess-because this Hallmark moment never lasts more than a second before one of them is squeezing too tight in an effort to “smash his head like a pancake”, or some other fun experiment that boys seem to like to try.
On Saturday we were at the ball field helping Dad with some field work. He put out the slip and slide so the boys would have something fun to do, but when the excitement of that wore off, all they really wanted to do was “help”. I could only admire the way they were working together to pull out a couple of hundred pound push mowers: one in front pulling away, and one in back pushing and spouting directions. It reminded me a lot of me and their dad. But they were working together toward a common goal, and they’d had no intervention from the grown ups.
I glanced at them once, and they were pushing those lawn mowers around the bases as fast as their tiny legs would move. Then next time I looked up I saw that Cooper had high-centered on the infield grass and Brisco was halfway to the centerfield fence. But they had done it together, and you can bet they thought they were doing their part to pitch in.
On those rare occasions when I hear them say, “I love you” or when I witness kindness and compassion after an accident or a fall, I know that God’s plan to give us these two little boys-so closely together in time and space-was just another example of His mark of genius.
After surviving the craziness of that first year, I can’t imagine today having one without the other following closely behind. The first saying, “Come on, Bisco, I’ll teach you how to pee off the porch.” And the other saying, “But Coopa, I want to wash the window.”
Yes, there is something almost perfect about having a live-in playmate-one who adores your every move, will follow you to the ends of the earth, and will sell you out to mom in an instant for five seconds with his favorite race car. But that’s brotherly love for ya.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
It seems when people speak of brotherly love, it is either the genuine, loyal, protective variety, or it’s the tongue in cheek, sarcasm that arises when they see two siblings duking it out in the school yard. A mother’s obvious choice is door number one, but sometimes-although it may be hard to believe-kids have a will of their own.
We’re trying to mold our boys into being the kind of brothers that the other can’t live without. Sometimes it seems to be working. From the time he was tiny to this very day, it never fails: the first words out of Brisco’s mouth every morning are, “Where’s Coopa?” And if Brisco dares take too long a nap in the afternoon, Cooper is beside himself for his first and best mate.
They play pretty well together, most of the time. They mimic one another at the drop of a hat, and that door swings both ways. I always tell Cooper his little brother is watching, but the truth is, Cooper is watching too. If the little show-off does something to get a laugh from the crowd, you can bet the big show-off will try the same trick.
They are starting to display their manly nature and wrestle with each other as boys enjoy doing. Cooper is bigger and can do more damage, but Brisco is really pretty tough; he always takes more than I expect. They call their game (created by dad) “tackle down” and it helps fill the baseball off-season with a little mid-winter football fun in the yard. All bundled up in mittens and layered down to their skivvies, they get out in that cold winter air, dad on his knees, and play football-one man per team. I guess Brisco will be big enough to really take some hits this year.
My favorite shows of brotherly love are those precious moments when I catch them hugging, in genuine adoration and appreciation for each other. It melts a mother’s heart-but it doesn’t leave a mess-because this Hallmark moment never lasts more than a second before one of them is squeezing too tight in an effort to “smash his head like a pancake”, or some other fun experiment that boys seem to like to try.
On Saturday we were at the ball field helping Dad with some field work. He put out the slip and slide so the boys would have something fun to do, but when the excitement of that wore off, all they really wanted to do was “help”. I could only admire the way they were working together to pull out a couple of hundred pound push mowers: one in front pulling away, and one in back pushing and spouting directions. It reminded me a lot of me and their dad. But they were working together toward a common goal, and they’d had no intervention from the grown ups.
I glanced at them once, and they were pushing those lawn mowers around the bases as fast as their tiny legs would move. Then next time I looked up I saw that Cooper had high-centered on the infield grass and Brisco was halfway to the centerfield fence. But they had done it together, and you can bet they thought they were doing their part to pitch in.
On those rare occasions when I hear them say, “I love you” or when I witness kindness and compassion after an accident or a fall, I know that God’s plan to give us these two little boys-so closely together in time and space-was just another example of His mark of genius.
After surviving the craziness of that first year, I can’t imagine today having one without the other following closely behind. The first saying, “Come on, Bisco, I’ll teach you how to pee off the porch.” And the other saying, “But Coopa, I want to wash the window.”
Yes, there is something almost perfect about having a live-in playmate-one who adores your every move, will follow you to the ends of the earth, and will sell you out to mom in an instant for five seconds with his favorite race car. But that’s brotherly love for ya.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Supermom
I was never really into superheroes as a kid. I guess I liked Superman alright, but something about a bat-man and a spider-man just didn’t peak my interest. I came along after the days of the real comic book heroes, so all I knew of them growing up was whatever was still being printed in the Sunday paper, or whatever had been adapted for the silver screen.
It wasn’t until I had kids that I realized how far off those super heroes of the past (and present) really are. Sure, they can reverse time, sleep upside down in a cave and shoot webs out of their wrists. But can they raise kids? This is the kind of super hero I’m interested in.
The kind of heroine who cooks supper, sews a prom dress and gives the baby a bath all at the same time. The kind of superwoman who never runs out of milk and eggs, remembers to send birthday cards to all four of her best friend’s children, and takes hand rolled cannoli to the homeless-all in her spare time. Yes, Supermom, as I would call her, could do all of these things and more.
This Superwoman of motherhood brings to mind a good humored, but all so true email I received from a fellow Supermom friend of mine. I’m sure any mother (or father) can attest to its accuracy.
“Why I love mom”
Mom and Dad were watching TV when Mom said, “I’m tired, and it’s getting late. I think I’ll go to bed”.
She went to the kitchen to make sandwiches for the next day’s lunch, rinsed out the popcorn bowls, took meat out of the freezer for supper the following evening, checked the cereal box levels, filled the sugar container, put spoons and bowls on the table and started the coffee pot for brewing the next morning. She then put some wet clothes in the dryer, put a load of clothes into the washer, ironed a shirt and secured a loose button.
She picked up the game pieces left on the table, put the phone back on the charger and put the telephone book into the drawer. She watered the plants, emptied a wastebasket and hung up a towel to dry.
She yawned and stretched and headed for the bedroom. She stopped by the desk, wrote a note to the teacher, counted out some cash for the field trip, and pulled a textbook out from hiding under the chair.
She signed a birthday card for a friend, addressed and stamped the envelope and wrote a quick note for the grocery store. She put both near her purse.
Mom then washed her face with three-in-one cleanser, put on her night solution and age fighting moisturizer, brushed and flossed her teeth and filed her nails.
Dad called out, “I thought you were going to bed?”
“I’m on my way,” she said.
She put some water into the dog’s dish, and then made sure the doors were locked and the patio light was on.
She looked in on each of the kids and turned out their bedside lamps and TVs , hung up a shirt, threw some dirty socks into the hamper, and had a brief conversation with the one up, still doing homework.
In her own room, she set the alarm, laid out clothing for the next day, and straightened up the shoe rack. She added three things to her six most important things to do list. She said her prayers, and visualized the accomplishment of her goals.
About that time, Dad turned off the TV and announced to no one in particular, “I’m going to bed”.
And he did.~
Now that I’m a mother, I could sure use a little help from this Supermom. Leaping tall (Lego) buildings in a single bound would be kind of nice. And mom-handling my two little villains when they get out of line would certainly be easier if I was made of steel. Of course I’m sure my boys would manage to dig up a lifetime supply of kryptonite buried in the bushes in Grandmother’s yard. Oh well, a mother can always dream.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
It wasn’t until I had kids that I realized how far off those super heroes of the past (and present) really are. Sure, they can reverse time, sleep upside down in a cave and shoot webs out of their wrists. But can they raise kids? This is the kind of super hero I’m interested in.
The kind of heroine who cooks supper, sews a prom dress and gives the baby a bath all at the same time. The kind of superwoman who never runs out of milk and eggs, remembers to send birthday cards to all four of her best friend’s children, and takes hand rolled cannoli to the homeless-all in her spare time. Yes, Supermom, as I would call her, could do all of these things and more.
This Superwoman of motherhood brings to mind a good humored, but all so true email I received from a fellow Supermom friend of mine. I’m sure any mother (or father) can attest to its accuracy.
“Why I love mom”
Mom and Dad were watching TV when Mom said, “I’m tired, and it’s getting late. I think I’ll go to bed”.
She went to the kitchen to make sandwiches for the next day’s lunch, rinsed out the popcorn bowls, took meat out of the freezer for supper the following evening, checked the cereal box levels, filled the sugar container, put spoons and bowls on the table and started the coffee pot for brewing the next morning. She then put some wet clothes in the dryer, put a load of clothes into the washer, ironed a shirt and secured a loose button.
She picked up the game pieces left on the table, put the phone back on the charger and put the telephone book into the drawer. She watered the plants, emptied a wastebasket and hung up a towel to dry.
She yawned and stretched and headed for the bedroom. She stopped by the desk, wrote a note to the teacher, counted out some cash for the field trip, and pulled a textbook out from hiding under the chair.
She signed a birthday card for a friend, addressed and stamped the envelope and wrote a quick note for the grocery store. She put both near her purse.
Mom then washed her face with three-in-one cleanser, put on her night solution and age fighting moisturizer, brushed and flossed her teeth and filed her nails.
Dad called out, “I thought you were going to bed?”
“I’m on my way,” she said.
She put some water into the dog’s dish, and then made sure the doors were locked and the patio light was on.
She looked in on each of the kids and turned out their bedside lamps and TVs , hung up a shirt, threw some dirty socks into the hamper, and had a brief conversation with the one up, still doing homework.
In her own room, she set the alarm, laid out clothing for the next day, and straightened up the shoe rack. She added three things to her six most important things to do list. She said her prayers, and visualized the accomplishment of her goals.
About that time, Dad turned off the TV and announced to no one in particular, “I’m going to bed”.
And he did.~
Now that I’m a mother, I could sure use a little help from this Supermom. Leaping tall (Lego) buildings in a single bound would be kind of nice. And mom-handling my two little villains when they get out of line would certainly be easier if I was made of steel. Of course I’m sure my boys would manage to dig up a lifetime supply of kryptonite buried in the bushes in Grandmother’s yard. Oh well, a mother can always dream.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
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