“I want to read this book!” Zander emphatically stated his position to Maura. “How do you read?”
“Well, Zander. You have to sound out the letters and put them together. Ask your brother Zane how he learned to read.”
“Zane, how did you read?” he asked in his most innocent little boy voice.
“Uhm. Well.. you just…”
The boy sings constantly.
Zander.
He sings Incessantly. Little tunes he makes up in his head or a phrase he might pick up from a song on the radio that he puts on an endless loop. He’ll sing, content in his own little world, completely oblivious to what’s going on around him . Often times he will sing as he’s engaged in other activities completely unaware that he’s doing it.
It’s an endearing trait. When it’s not totally grating on my nerves, that is. But mostly, it’s endearing.
This afternoon as I was straightening up in the living room Zander entered singing one of his little songs. I couldn’t quite make out what he was singing — nothing unusual — but the tune was catchy. This one was a bit different though as it seemed a tad forced and he kept stopping and starting over again.
He let out an exasperated little huff and I asked, “What’s wrong, Buddy?”
“I can’t sing it in Spanish,” he replied the frustration clear in his voice.
“Zander,” I said. “You don’t know Spanish!”
“Oh…,” he said his eyes opening wide with the realization. “That’s why!”
The lifeguard at the pool shared with me a very interesting conversation that she had recently held with Zander. Seems Zander struck up the conversation after noticing her shiny new engagement ring.
Zander: Ooh, that’s a pretty ring!
LG: Thank you, Zander.
Zander: Does that mean you’re getting married?
LG: Yes I am.
Zander: My mom and dad got married. My dad gave my mom a ring. Then my mom gave my dad a ring. Then they kissed.
LG: Really!
Zander: Yeah, and when they kissed my egg wiggled. And here I am!
From the mouths of babes.
I’ve had visitors today. Uninvited visitors. I’m typically a pretty amicable host and will go out of my way to make sure that my guests are comfortable. OK, so that may not be entirely true. I mean, chances are you’re not going to get my last Izze and if for some reason I happen to divide the last steak, my portion will most assuredly be a tad larger than yours. But you’re not going to starve or die of thirst. Hell, there’s even a pretty good chance you can sit in my chair. (I don’t really have a chair but if I did, I’d probably let you sit in it.)
But I get to keep the remote. Read the rest of this entry →
I’m not quite sure how to file this little gem.
Parenting fail? Parenting success? Oh dear Lord what have I done? Another reason I should not be fully entrusted with the care and supervision of my children? Or simply, a proud father moment?
I suppose you could find arguments for all of them. It warmed my cockles whatever the case. (And whatever cockles are.)
I mentioned Zia’s Poetry Slam earlier this week. Well, as per the norm I attended with the raccoons in tow. Zander and Zella were actually behaving pretty nicely for a change. We were seated in the school commons area at a table. Zander to my left and Zella across the table in front of us, her back to us and facing the stage where Zia and her classmates were doing their thing.
They clapped appropriately in the appropriate places and sat quietly in the places where it was appropriate to sit quietly.
About half way through one of the poems Zander leaned toward me and completely out of the blue whispered, “BLUKA!”
I’ll be damned if Zella didn’t immediately turn around and whinny!
BLUKA!!
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.
“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.)
4 + 4 =
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.)
