Agree to Disagree

This is my life lately.  It's been rough.

But I'm gentler to you than my children can be to me, so for your sake I'll make Cael's words bold.  I don't want you to feel as though your brains are going through a centrifuge like mine did when I had to listen to it firsthand.

"Mommy, look!  Dat way is right."

"You're wrong, Graham."
 "No!" 
"Yes."
"No." 
"Yes."
"NO!" 
"Yeeeeeees.
 "No, no!" 
"Yes!"
"No, Cael!" 
"Yes, Graham."
"NO!" 
"YES."
"No, dat's mean, Cael!" 
"Yes.  Yes, yes, yes."
"Nooooo." 
"Yep and yes."

Time to change the subject, right?  Surely that will make them stop, right?

"Look, a train!  We're gonna drive right over it.  Do you see it, Cael?"

"No."
"Yes you did, Cael!" 
"No I didn't!"
"Yes." 
"No!"
"No.
"Wait, Graham.  Did you just say 'no'?"
"Huh?  No.  I mean 'yes'!"
"Yes or no?"
"YES?" 
"No, Graham."
"Yessssssss." 
"No!  That's not true!"
"Yes it is, Cael." 
"No!"

"Enough, boys.  I can't listen to any more of that arguing."

"Yes you can, Mommy."
"No, I really can't." 
"Yes!"
"No, Cael."
"Yep.
"Nope."
"Yes!"

Seriously, no.

Ism of the Day

"Mommy, I think I want to be the President just like the man that was here yesterday."

"You do?  That's a ton of work."

"Yeah, I could do that."

"And there are always people that don't like the President very much because they don't agree with his decisions."

"I would make good decisions."

"And the President doesn't really make that much money, at least not as much as you'd think."

"Really?  Oh.  Then maybe I will just be a baseball player.  Ooh-- or an elephant!"

Good call.  Elephants really are commanding big bucks these days.

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner-- Er, Town

My tiny town is on the map today because President Obama is in town speaking at the college Joel and I attended.  And as cool as that is, people are acting as though the sun might crash into the earth.  Roads are being closed off, crowds of people sleeping on the sidewalk in hopes of catching a glimpse and a good seat, and nearly every yard is littered with signs promoting their candidate's cause. 

Photo credit here.

Although I hadn't explained it directly, Cael could tell that something was up.

"Mommy, what is going on?  Why are there so many people walking around?"

"Because the President is coming today."

"Who is the President?"

"His name is Barack Obama.  He's the man that is in charge of our country."

"Mt. Vernon?"

"No, that is our town.  Our state is Iowa, and our country is the Unites States."

"That's not right, Mommy. Umbrella is not charge of the whole country."

"Obama, honey.  And yes, he is our country's leader."

"No, Mommy, Jesus is in charge!"

"Haha, okay, Cael.  But people are very excited because he is an important guy and he doesn't come around here very often."

"Does he have a beard?"

"No.  Why?"

"Because he's in charge like Jesus, and he's really important.  He doesn't come here a lot, and everybody is excited.  Umbrella must be Santa!"

I hated to break it to him that Obama isn't Santa Claus.  If the candidates dressed as fantastical childhood characters it just might improve their chances, however.  You think Romney would be the Easter bunny?

Hypotheticals

Cael speaks an entirely different language.  I mean that metaphorically, of course, because while he tends to chatter endlessly about drumkins and other indecipherable things, he does seem to be gaining a reasonable grasp on the English language.

What I mean in this case is that, while I often speak the language of sarcasm and Joel often speaks the language of bathroom humor, Cael has begun expressing himself through the use of hypothetical questions.  And just like my husband would say, the more graphic, the better. 

"Mommy, what would happen if a mountain lion came down from a mountaintop and jumped on the top of a car that was driving to a big city.  And in the big city, the mountain lion found a bunch of animals at a zoo and they danced around and broke out of the zoo and got on a train.  And what if the train was moving really fast so they couldn't jump off and the train finally stopped in our town and the animals fell off of the train in a box?  It would have to be a really big box to fit all of those animals.  Or maybe each animal was in a different box.  So what would happen if they got loose in the town and started eating people and the police tried to stop them and then they got eated too?  And then there was nobody left and the animals came after me and I tried to fight them with my toy bat but I wasn't fast enough and the bear came after me?  Did you know there was a bear?  He came from the zoo in the big city.  He wasn't with the mountain lion at first but he was one that got on the train, that train that came to our town.  And then what if that big, big bear came after me and wanted to eat me in my socks?  Would you still like bears?"

"No."

"No?  Oh, okay."

I learned a long time ago that I can't tell him these imagined scenarios would never happen because in his fast-paced psyche, they happen daily.  Plus, I simply don't have the time.  There's laundry to do, and bears to shoo away.

"Mommy, do you think there will be a big, huge bomb that will blow up our car?  Like, one day we'll get in the car to go to Walmart because you want to get pop and milk and bananas and maybe some bread even though I like HyVee better and they have those carts with the steering wheel that look like cars.  I like the blue one, but Graham likes the orange one.  But I'm bigger and smarter so I always win.  So what if we got in the car to go to Walmart and we went  down the road a little bit and all of a sudden there was a huge bomb in the car right on the seat and it blowed up and we went flying through the air and we landed on the roof at our house and maybe Graham was ouchy and maybe my hair was on fire?  And what if Oscar was on the roof too and there was dog poop everywhere?  What would you do?"

"That would never happen, Cael." 

"But what if it did?"

"It won't."

"But what if it did?"

"No one is going to put a bomb in our car.  We're good guys.  Oscar too."

"But Graham isn't!"

"Yes he is.  And even if there was a bomb, we wouldn't land on the roof."

"Why not?"

"Because bombs don't work that way."

"How do they work?"

"I don't really know, but not like that."

"So you don't know.  I don't want to go to the store because there is a bomb in the van!"

"There's no bomb.  That won't ever happen.  Never.  You understand?"

...

"But what if it did?"

After a couple of weeks of this, his strangeness lost some of its allure and went from quirky to just plain irritating.  I have four children to watch during the day, meals to cook and escaped zoo animals to guard against, and I simply don't have time to indulge him in his twisted, hypothetical fantasies. 
 
I do, however, have time for my own.

"Mommy, what are we having for lunch?"

"I'm not sure yet.  What would you think if I cooked a bird for us to eat today?  But I don't think I could catch one here on the grass or in a tree, so what if I got a huge balloon, kind of like a hot-air balloon, and flew it way up high into the sky?  And then, using a butterfly net woven from the many hairs which have left my head as a result of your fiendish behavior, I trapped a bald eagle or maybe a pterodactyl and brought it back down here to our house.  I think I would put it in a room with Oscar and hope that the dog could take all of the feathers off-- wait a minute, Oscar isn't strong enough or confident enough to take on a large bird.  I'd put the bird in the bathroom with the cat, so that if it got messy I could put the bird and the cat in the bathtub and clean them off while they played with your Lightning McQueen bathtub toys and arranged the bubbles so they both looked like Santa.  And then, I'd cook the bird (and maybe the cat) in the toaster with some chocolate sauce and peanut butter because everything tastes good with chocolate and peanut butter.  So if I did that, would you want applesauce or yogurt for dessert?" 

"That would never happen, Mommy."

"But what if it did?"

"I'd have yogurt."

Me too.

Photo Follow-Up

Remember a few weeks ago when I waxed poetic about Cael's school pictures and my fear of him not producing a realistic smile?  I sure do.  Those were the good ol' days.

As it turns out, I had nothing to fear about Cael's smile.  After an hour of translating preschool-speak in which my son informed me that the photographer told him he looked like a gopher, I deciphered that the employee coaxed an authentic smile out of him the same way I did.  But where I called Cael a "mugwump", the photographer simply told him he was goofy and guffawed just like Mickey's favorite dog pal by the same name.

Goofy, not a gopher. 

Unfortunately, the story doesn't end there like I thought it would.  When Cael came home from school on Picture Day, having promised me that he had indeed smiled for the camera, I could practically picture the shiny prints that I would soon slip from the envelope.  In my mind's eye, I could see Cael's bright blonde curls accented by the bright red plaid shirt I'd chosen for him.

But last Friday, when the moment I'd anticipated finally arrived, I tore into the envelope only to see that Cael was not wearing that red plaid shirt I had put on him and made him swear on a stack of Iron Man comic books that he would leave the shirt on.  So instead of the beautiful, colorful pictures I'd envisioned holding in my hand, I found myself staring a picture of my son in a flesh-toned t-shirt covered in splotchy dinosaur facts.

And I call myself a photographer!  Well, actually I don't.  Clearly I shouldn't.

I guess I got carried away by the idea of professional photos of my son taken by someone who doesn't incite misbehavior and doesn't rush through his photos because dinner is on the stove and the cat is licking the chicken.  Someone who doesn't have the  entire dialogue to Tangled memorized and doesn't feel anxiety over farts and buttcracks.

So even though the photos weren't what I was expecting, I think I learned a valuable lesson.  From now on, maybe I should save the $18 and let the crazy gopher wear whatever he wants. 

And call an actual photographer. 

Ism of the Week

"Mommy, Graham isn't listening to me.  I told him that I'm better than him at everything and he said no!"

"Well that's not very nice, Cael, because Graham is good at a lot of things, too.  He's very good at building with blocks and he makes the best towers.  I think it's cool that he loves books and he reads his letters really well, just like you.  He's such a good dancer and I like it when he sings with me, especially "You Are My Sunshine".  But I think the thing I like best about Graham is that he's such a sweet boy.  He is patient and gentle and he loves his big brother so, so much."

"Dat's right, Cael.  And if you say that again I'm gonna kick you.  Hard."

I guess I need to start making another list...

Feeling Five

This is a continuation of yesterday's post.  To read the previous story, click here. 


Who needs more than four hours of sleep?  Not this chick.  Apparently I function best with no rest and high blood sugar.  And a plastic bug in my hair, which has no bearing on my activity level but is Graham's newest way of showing his disdain love for me.

Early in the morning we headed off to church, with Cael sporting his Sunday best and a serious struggle with impatience as he attempted to argue his way into a piece of unfinished birthday cake for breakfast.  And lunch.  Or brunch.

I spent most of the day putting the finishing touches on the dinosaur cake.  The river the sprang from beneath the volcano developed quickly, as well as the oozing lava, several boulders and tufts of grass and even the "long neck" dinosaur. 

But when it came time to sculpt the pterodactyl, my lack of sleep caught up with me.  My fingers were completely inept and I kept creating small, colored triangular UFOs that would put Area 51 to shame.

Eventually, I had to practically trace the bird on the screen of my iPad and what resulted was closer to a warped bat than a pterodactyl, but the clock was ticking and I hadn't finished dinner.

The cold days we've been having, coupled with the crispy leaves escaping the trees, practically shouts for soup.  If you're me, you could eat soup every day and probably embrace a liquid diet with little protest.  If you're my husband, you have to "chew your food", which requires soup to tow the line of stew before it is worth your time.  Homemade Tomato, Ravioletti and Meatball soup is a decent compromise, but also the type of soup that has to develop flavor over the course of several hours in the same pan used to cook the 115 meatballs I'd made for the occasion. 

Why, oh why, did we not just order pizza and have store-bought cake?

I have come to the conclusion that I have an undiagnosable disorder in which I just can't help but to completely overdo everything.  Maybe it is perfectionism gone haywire, but it couldn't have struck at a busier time.  The cake was mercifully completed, but there were photos to take, dinner to make, and-- oh, no!  Did I ever wrap the gifts?

I took Cael outside for a brief photo shoot as I do annually on the boys' birthdays.  Aside from his requisite fake smile making several appearances, I got a number of cute portraits to clog up my computer and managed to tie up the remaining loose ends of the day.

When it was finally time to eat, we filled our stomachs with soup, bread and salad while Cael puzzlingly eyed the small pile of presents in front of the fireplace.

"Mommy, why aren't there very many presents?"

"I think they look like really good gifts, Cael."

"But Graham had so many more things!"

It's true.  Graham had a lot of little things to unwrap, because for Graham, the thrill is in seeing new things on which he can stake claim.  Cael, although his math skills are limited, is already keeping a running tally of who-got-more and whose-are-best that is cumulative over the course of his life.  And he thinks his list is always too small.

He was pleased, however, with his dinosaur toy and army tank.

He dressed up as a fireman and I considered the merit of an axe as a child's toy.

And when it was all done, he was still a bit confused until Joel attempted to put a blindfold on him to show him just one more thing.

Outside was a brand new ride-on toy, one intended for bigger kids, that Cael can drive and enjoy even when he's outgrown the Gator.  (Which Graham quickly understood was now his domain.)  Although Joel and I had read about it and locked it in the lowest speed setting just to be safe, we had no idea just how fast our son would be cruising the yard. 

Cael Earnhart, Jr. careened across the grass and whipped around corners with the finesse of a seasoned driver-- making artful 3-point turns and coming to a halt right in front of his shocked and wide-eyed family.

We should have stopped with the dinosaur.

We finished the night by singing "Happy Birthday" and eating a slice of the cake I'd devoted a ridiculous amount of time to perfecting, just to hack away at with a knife.  Seeing Cael's face as he spied the candles lit like fire atop the volcano made all of the hours worth the effort.

And this birthday wasn't yucky at all.