Little m Long a

Maybe it’s the magnitude of deeply significant events.  Could be my complete lack of mental capacity.  Maybe I’m finally manifesting the negative consequences of poor choices at an earlier age.  Or maybe I’m just forgetful.

The raccoons, Zander and Zella, turned four years old yesterday.  Four.  Years.  Old!  Customarily on each childs’ birthday  we recount the day of their birth.  The details surrounding how each child came screaming into the world.  The kids love it, so much so that the stories are often repeated throughout the year.

I should be able to recount the twins’ birth with ease.  A multiple birth after having been through multiple births should stand out.  And yet I have great difficulty doing just that.

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“Dad!  Dad!  There’s a noise!  We heard a noise upstairs!”

The twins, bright eyed and animated as ever came running into the kitchen.  They clutched my legs, trembling.

“What do you think it was?”

(I knew exactly what it was.  I had overloaded the washing machine—again—and as it tried to start it’s spin cycle began to shake pretty strongly.)

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4 + 4 =

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He surprises me.

He’s a happy-go-lucky little boy that lives in the now.  And the now is usually happy.  Except when it’s not.

Fortunately, a return to happy is but a tickle away.  His days are filled with smiles and laughter, intents typically on nothing more than sharing that joy. Read the rest of this entry →

Sometimes it’s the small things, the seemingly insignificant acts, totally random and unplanned that make for the the most lasting of memories.

I never assisted the sun materially in his rising...

I mentioned that the flu has paid our home a little visit. Now while I love house guests and appreciate the thought, it’s definitely overstayed it’s welcome. Zander sounds the worst, his little cough almost croup-like. So this morning I pulled a page from way back in my nursing days. Read the rest of this entry →

Thirty minutes makes a huge difference. Huge! What am I saying? Five minutes makes a huge difference.

Fall back. We got to set our clocks back this past weekend and for some inexplicable reason, I only fell back 55 minutes. I gained and hour and couldn’t figure out for the life of me why I was still running behind everywhere I went. Read the rest of this entry →

Zander: Dad! I’ve got so many cars to turn over!!

Me:  (Pausing from my duties in the kitchen to listen) Really?  Why is that?

Zander:  Well.. I put all of my cars in my backpack.  Then my backpack was too heavy so I dumped them all out on the floor.

Me:  Yeah..

Zander:  Well, now they’re all over the floor and they’re upside down.  So I have to turn them over.

Me:  I see.

Zander:  No you don’t.  They’re in the other room!

It’s not acceptable to punch a little kid, right?

The evenings are long but not nearly enough.  Silent and still.  But likewise, not nearly enough.  Fatigue has taken a stronghold and is poised, ready to declare victory.  Of what I’ve yet to determine, still it rages on.

I am stirred each morning by Guaraldi but would prefer the sun.  The sun gets to sleep in.  There’s things that need being done and I can’t wait for a lazy ball of gas to illuminate the day.  There’s coffee to consume, lunches to prepare, notes to and from.  Breakfast.  Shoes to find.

Children who read and play games long into the night and far beyond bedtime do not appreciate morning reveille.  My bugling is not what it used to be.  It never was.

The excitement of the first days of school has waned, tempered by the fact that their waking hours are defined by light and by rest both of which are seriously lacking at such early hours.  I’m tired, too.  But I don’t have time to be.  My voice rises with each plea for them to.

“Please get up!  We’re going to be late!”

Today was different.  A bit more buzz, a tad more electricity.  Eager anticipation with a hint–ever so barely noticeable–of trepidation.  There were words of encouragement from Zane.  Comforting words from an older brother that knows.  Who has been there.  There were last minute tips from Zoë.  Little things.  How-to’s and what-not-to’s.  Instructions from an older sister that would do well to heed her own advice.

Zia just shoved them and told them to stay out of her way.  No special treatment from her but I suppose they didn’t expect any.

Today Zander and Zella, started preschool.  A milestone in a lifetime journey filled with stones and many, many more miles.  They stepped from the house dressed in the new carrying their Spiderman backpacks.  Their heads full of dreams.

The other children in the class were immediately friends and buddies and the classroom was their domain, their wonderland. They moved with confidence, self-assured and at-ease.  There were no tearful goodbyes or clinging,  no long drawn out negotiations.  There was no hesitation, no cause for encouragements or reassurances.

They never looked back–they didn’t need to.

They were ready.

Today, Zander and Zella started preschool and I can’t help but think of Zane’s words this morning to his little brother.  “Zander, you look different….  Bigger!”

He is bigger, man.  They both are.

A brief excerpt from a “conversation” between Zander and Zella yesterday evening.

Zander:  It’s sand.

Zella:  It’s rain.

(Truly, Zella had the upper hand in this little exchange for it was indeed rain.  Zander’s argument had it’s merits, though, as we were in fact on the beach.  Sand was plausible.)

Zander:  It’s Sand!

Zella:  It’s RAIN!!!

And so it went for quite some time, this back and forth, to and fro dialog between the real and the imagined.  Tempers flared but no blows were exchanged.  This time.

Then Zella did it.  She pulled the girl card.  You know what I’m talking about.  Every so often in an argument a girl will toss out something so absurd, so unrealistic, so far removed from anything logical as to leave a guy completely at a loss for response.  He is rendered essentially mute.

Zander:  It’s RAIN!

Zella:  It’s a Cow.

Argument over.

(We are vacationing this week in the Outer Banks of North Carolina.  My posts this week–what few there may be–will be brought to you via the painstaking and very arduous task of entering them on my cell phone.  Please be patient and tolerant of spelling and other errors.)

“Could I have another zwer-wink, please?”

“Zander.  It’s a D.  Say it.  Dah  Dah  Dah.  Dah-Rink.”

“Zwer–”

“No!  Dah.  Dah.  D.  Say the D.”

Zander has problems with diction.  Certain letters and words he is just unable to articulate correctly.  I blame his fingers.  Namely the fact that he continues to suck them and essentially has learned to speak with his fingers in his mouth.  His tongue is so used to forming words around the fingers that even when he takes them out–you can’t tell the difference.

It drives me nuts!

And so went our little lesson this evening during dinner.  He wanted another drink and I wanted him to pronounce the word correctly.  We tried.

And tried.

“Dah—-rink.  Dah–rink.  Dah-rink.”  I tried to get him to repeat it with me.

“Dih Dih Dih,” he forced from his lips.

Zoë chimed in, an attempt to help. “You could say  der—rink!.  Der.  Der.  Der.  Der—rink.”

“Or you could just say——drink!”  Zia offered clearly fed up with the whole exercise.  “Just give him some more milk, Dad.”

“Three….four….,
what comes next, Zander?”

“Se-ven.”

“No, Zander.  It’s five.  Five comes after four.”

“Oh,” and letting out a mischievous giggle he exclaimed, “there’s a red
truck!”

Maura had been diligently working with Zander putting together a puzzle
and then counting the pieces.  Zander apparently was not
cooperating.  To him, life is a game and must be treated as such
at all times.  He’s a happy kid and content.  Learning to
count is not one of the barometers by which he measures success.

And he’s pretty much OK with that, much to the dismay of Maura and me.

Zane happened into the room and asked what they were doing.  Maura
explained to Zane that they were working on counting and learning
numbers.  And then she added, “Zane, you need to help your brother
with his numbers so he can learn to count and be as smart as you are.”

Zane paused for a moment, looked at his brother, chuckled and said, “Uhm, yeah…..He’s not gonna be that smart.”

I heard the crying.  It’s really not all that uncommon.  My kids cry.  A lot.  It’s almost always about something completely insignificant.  Isn’t it always?  The thing is, what they have failed to realize is that the crying does not endear me to their cause.  Quite the opposite.

I’ve had my fill of tears and my tolerance for crying as a means of communicating your displeasure is no longer acceptable.  Seriously, I can’t take it.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve told my kids lately that if they really feel like they need to cry–do it upstairs in their room where I can’t hear it.  Then when they are done and feel like they can participate in whatever meaningless and insignificant activity that has caused them to cry in the first place, they may return.

That being said, I still have to discern the Oscar worthy performances from those that merit “parental involvement”.  We all do.  It’s the I’m hurt cry.  There’s just something about it that says you better check this one out.

And such was the case with Zander yesterday.

I looked out of the bathroom window and watched as Zoë led Zander toward the house.  I had been doing important stuff like showering and clipping my toenails.  The kids had been playing outside.  I wrapped myself in a towel and made my way downstairs.

Me:  “Zoë.  Why is Zander crying?”

Zoë:  (big sigh) “Well…we were all playing outside and Zander found Zane’s old bike.  And so he said, ” Zoë, will you push me down the hill?” and I said, “No, Zander, you’ll fall.” And so he asked Zane, “Zane, will you push me down the hill?” and Zane said, “No, Zander, you’ll fall.” and so he asked Zia, “Zia, will you push me down the hill?” and Zia said, “No Zander, you’ll fall.” and so he asked Zella, “Zella, will you push me down the hill?” and Zella said, “Sure!”"

Me:  “And?”

Zoe:  “…he fell.”

Why he would even ask Zella is beyond me.  She’s evil, that one.  (It’s always the tiny ones you have to look out for.)  For the record, Zander was fine.  He had a scrape on his leg.  I was going to take a picture of it so he could get even more sympathy but after I cleaned him up you could barely see it.

I want to believe.  In anything.  I want to blindly accept that there is mystery and wonderment and that by simply trusting it to be so I will be enriched.  I want to know that my trust, my faith is not for naught.  I want to expose emotion without fear of embarrassment or consequence.  I want to get excited about sparkly lights and candy canes.

Invariably, I tend to get caught up in everything that the holiday season is not.  Each year I tell myself that I will do better.  Be better.  And each year I find myself re-applying failed formulas expecting new and wondrous results.  I’ll tell myself, “not this year!” only to be disappointed with…well, me.

I’m supposed to be the leader, the responsible one, charged with imparting knowledge and wisdom to my children.  The thing is, no one has ever explained that to them.  Good thing.  For they are pretty damn good teachers in their own right.

This year, I want to see Christmas the way my kids do.