Little Logic

Every parent knows that it is impossible to reason with a child under age four.  Toddlers do what they want to do when they want to do it, and we, as parents, are there to stand guard and keep them alive.  But once they are four or five, they can begin to understand logic.

Cael, for example, understood at age four that if he cleaned up the toys, he would get a treat.  If he didn't clean up the toys, Mommy would clean up the toys and within an hour she'd forget about the deal and give him a treat anyway. 

It wasn't until he was five that I trained myself. 

So, despite Cael's strong-willed nature, I can often use logic to explain situations and behaviors in a way that he can understand.  But every once in a while, that logic just doesn't sink in.

"Here is your pizza, Cael." 

"And here is yours, Graham.  I cut it in half for you so that it wouldn't be so hard to handle." 

"But Mom, he got two!"

"No, he didn't get two.  He got the same amount in two pieces." 

"That's not right. He has two pieces of pizza."

"Yes, but they are half as big."

"But that's twice as good!"

Sometimes being the only adult in the house means that the boys' bizarre logic starts to make sense after a while, and I find myself explaining to Joel that he can't use my towel because "I had it first!" or because it's my "most favoritest ever!", but this time I wasn't buying Cael's botched math.  Maybe what he needed was a different visual aid.

"Look at it with a cookie, okay?  One whole cookie is the same amount of cookie as two halves."

"Or even four pieces.  Because no matter how many pieces I have, it's still the same as one regular cookie."

"So if I have ten cookies, it's the same as one cookie?  Then I want ONE cookie in TEN cookie-sized cookie pieces, Mom!"

As much as I wish that were the case, and I could cheat my calorie-counter app with that sort of disjointed logic, my grown-up logic couldn't work it out.

But if I melted down a pint of ice cream, there'd be no way to know for sure, right?...

A Cut Above

As many mothers do, I feel as though my boys are something special.  They are creative and smart and never cease to amaze me with their boundless energy.  Graham is a really calming influence and always wants to snuggle.  "Mommy, come snuggle me.  This pillow is scratchy and your tummy is soft and squishy."

Even when I spend several days feeling under the weather and coughing nonstop, I can always count on Cael to boost me up by saying, "Mommy, quit being sick.  You've been sick too long and I want some cookies."

He's a motivator, that one.

But just as much as I have come to expect great things from them, I have also come to expect the unexpected.  My kids don't commit the cliché offenses, like drawing on the walls (except that one time) or flushing things down the toilet (well, not recently).  So when Cael reached another problematic childhood milestone, I didn't see it coming.

Out at lunch with Joel last week, we noticed a small lock of Cael's curls on his coat, which I assumed had been severed by his zipper.  But throughout the meal we saw another, and another.  When we left the restaurant and a gust of wind forced a large tuft of hair to take flight, we got concerned.  Joel tousled Cael's hair and began pulling handfuls of blonde curls out, effectively removing a few years from the end of Daddy's life as he thought it was all falling out at the root.  Even the restaurant owner came rushing outside, wondering if our clearly near-death son was okay.  But I knew better.

I'm exceptional too.

"Cael, did you cut your hair with those scissors you had earlier?"

First came the denial, but I've learned how to see through that.  When Cael is truly innocent, his repeated cries of, "It wasn't me!  It really wasn't me!" show me that he wasn't at fault.  But when he is lying, the response is always the same.  "Mommy, I would never do that."

Clearly, he would.  And he did.

Further inspection proved that he had not only cut his hair, but he had nearly scalped himself in three separate spots.  I tried my best to employ the balding man's favorite comb-over move, but his ringlets bounced back into place and nothing I did could cover up the holes.  So we went to the sink and I did my best to even out his disheveled mop. 

"Mommy, I'm going to look funny at school.  I don't look like me now."

"Well, then I hope you remember how you feel so that you won't do this again.  When it's time for a haircut, I will take care of it, okay?"

"Okay."

I think we both learned a lesson.  Cael learned that cutting his hair with safety scissors and an unsteady hand leads to goofy stares and sideways glances. 

And I learned that, when it comes to my boys, anything is possible.

Up All Night

I'm sorry for my absence yesterday, friends, but by Tuesday night it was clear that this cold and cough I've been sporting for a while now had no intention of leaving.  In protest, I decided to take the day off to rest up, which was a good idea because by the time I visited my doctor I was coughing nonstop and feeling generally awful.

Mercifully, along with the chest infection diagnosis I got, I received a prescription for Codeine cough syrup to help me get to sleep, stay asleep, and not cough so violently during the night as to wake up Joel. 

After nearly eight years of listening to him snore, I think the man has it coming, but in my weakened state I'll let that slide.

So last night, about 30 minutes before I wanted to be asleep, I took my cough medicine, made the same sour holy-crap-this-tastes-like-death face that I've made since childhood while ingesting cough syrup, and went to bed to finish watching my DVRed coverage of Mariah Carey and Nicki Minaj battling for the title of "Biggest Diva".  And right on cue, I closed my eyes.

I fell asleep.

I did not cough.

But unfortunately, I did not stay asleep.  Four hours later I woke up in an apparent attempt to dislodge one of my lungs, and discovered that while the medicine's cough-reducing power had timed out, the Codeine's near-hallucinogenic properties were still fully functional.  I coughed my way into the kitchen to get a glass of ice water, and stumbled back to my room and turned on the TV, and for an hour, fell down a rabbit-hole of Codeine-laced infomercials.

I think I tasted colors.

Sure, it might have been the fact that it was 2:30 in the morning.  It might have been the fact that my achy head and chest clouded my judgment.  But one thing is for certain...

I must have a leopard-print Snuggie.  And a matching one for the dog.

And just maybe, a few milliliters of Codeine cough syrup for Joel, just in case that snoring comes back.

Discrection Session

There are a lot of tough parts of parenting.  But beyond bandaging scrapes and soothing hurt feelings, the toughest part for me has been teaching the boys discretion. 

Especially if your husband is my husband.

And if your husband is my husband, then your children are exactly like your husband, inheriting an appreciation for bathroom humor and a unique ability to tell it like it is.  What Joel has that Cael and Graham don't, however, is an understanding of the line between goofy curiosity and just plain rude.

Knowing this about my kids, I am always nervous when we find ourselves in the presence of a person whose appearance is confusing or unfamiliar to my children.  As if it wasn't bad enough when a three year-old  Cael told an obese woman that she had a huge belly, or as if I wasn't sufficiently mortified when he informed an African-American man that "all black mans are bad drivers" (referring to the color of the man's shirt), my boys will take every opportunity to confront people who look different.

Since those incidents, I have drilled into my kids' heads that it is okay to ask questions, and that the best course of action is to wait until we are alone to ask me about them and I that I would do my best to explain.  And while Graham didn't absorb that advice, recently asking me in a very loud voice if a man with one leg forgot the other in his car, Cael demonstrated discretion for the very first time this week.

While out to dinner with my Dad, we found ourselves in line to pay directly behind a "little person", who bantered back and forth with Cael while I dug my fingernails into my palms, terrified that Cael would break character at any time and ask the guy, "How come you're little like me but your face is old?"

But miraculously, Cael smiled and chatted until we were in the safety of our car before having me explain that some people are born different than others.  Some are different because they have a different look, while others are different because of an illness or an injury, but that it is most important to be kind to everyone, no matter what you see.

I was so proud of my boy.  He really got it.

I thought he really got it.

"Mommy, I think I was born different too."

"How were you born different?"

"There was something wrong with me when I was in your belly, and when I came out, I had curly hair."

So close.

iPost

"Mommy, why is it called an 'iPad'?"

"Well, it's shaped like a pad, and the company that makes them likes to put a little "i" in front of the things they make, like the iPhone, or an iPod."

"So any machine has an "i" in front of it?"

"Not all machines, just certain ones."

"Like an iRefrigerator?"

"No, not a fridge." 

"Or an iLight?"

"Nope, not a light either." 

"What about an iCar?"

"It sounds like something that Apple would make, but no, that's not what we call it."

"I know one!  An iDog?"

"Dude, you know that's not right."
 

"But there aren't very many, Mom."

"I guess not."

"Hey, you thought of one!  But what's an iGuessNot?"

Interior Design

My husband, the proverbial Craigslist killer, struck again yesterday.

"Mommy, I'm sad that the pool table is gone."

"I'm sorry you're sad.  But we weren't using it. Now we can put something in here that we will use."

"Like a pool table?"

"No, we didn't use the old one, so I don't think we should get another."

"Or like a boat?"

"Do you think a boat goes inside the house?"

"No.  Well then maybe a really tall side?  Or a swing set?"

"Those would probably get used a lot.  But they're also things that shouldn't be inside the house.  They belong outside."

"Okay, how about a really, really, huge couch that's so big that I look tiny, like a really tiny thing!"

"How would we get that in the room, Cael?"

"You could build it!"

"Have you ever seen me build something like that?"

"Yes."

Crap.  Memories of cardboard trains and airplanes flooded my subconscious.

"Well, I think that's a little above my skill level, Cael.  Plus, cardboard cushions wouldn't feel too great."

"Okay, then, I know what to do.  This is it!  I've got it.  Ready?"

"Yeah, I'm ready."

"You can use all of the cardboard to build a big table.  Like one that has four legs and that you can put stuff on.  And we can roll balls on it and they can go under the top if you roll them right.  And would could even hit them with a stick!"

"So you want me to build a pool table to replace our pool table?"

"Great idea, Mommy.  You're very smart."

Ism of the Week

"Mommy, I made a card for you."

"Cool, Cael!  And you wrote, 'Mom' on it for me!  But what is this green part?"

"It's a worm."

"Oh, okay... but why did you draw a worm?"

"Because I love you.  And because I know you really love worms."

Mommy also loves Starbucks, but she loves Cael more.  Worms it is.