Conversation tonight:
Kevin: "Sorry Kyle, you can't have your cat and eat it, too."
Ruth: "Cat? You mean cake?"
Kevin: "Oh yeah. It's cake, huh?"
And from there, the conversation went on to eating cats and various other unappetizing things. Only in our house would a conversation like this take place.
We attended Kyle's first soccer game today. I use the word "game" loosely, because as anyone who's watched preschoolers play soccer knows, it's not much of a game. It's more of a huddled mass of players running across the field, out of bounds, and not necessarily after the ball.
Nevertheless, it was quite a sight to watch my little boy run around that soccer field. There's no way to describe the adorableness of that little blue jersey that matches his big blue eyes. Or the look of concentration on his face a
s he raced after the ball. Or the pride on his face each time he announced, "I'm number eight!" Yes, it was a proud day for momma.
Of course, the ball went the wrong way the majority of the time he kicked it. And when he threw his first "throw-in," the ball flew behind him, rather than onto the field. And we won't mention the fact that our opponents scored a multitude of goals, while we failed to score one.
But none of that matters because Kyle had a blast. He's learning. And loving it. And that's what's most important.
Apparently, we no longer need words to communicate in our house. Now, that's not to say that we're communicating by an intelligent method, such as American Sign Language. No, ours is a simple method which Kyle created solely by himself.
For some time now, Kyle's been communicating with "the glare." The little furrow of his brow can mean many things: he's not pleased with something we've said, he's losing a game, he's not terribly fond of what he's eating, and so on.
But now we have the "thumbs up." An antithesis for the glare, the thumbs up is used to respond positively to any situation. For example:
Q: Do you like that dip, Kyle?
A: (silent) Thumbs up
Q: How would you like to go outside after lunch?
A: (silent) Thumbs up
Q: Did you have fun at preschool?
A: (silent) Thumbs up
Q: Should we turn off the movie and go clean your room?
A: GLARE (oops, wrong example)
Tonight he even gave me the thumbs up when I asked if he was ready for bed. Now, that's one thumbs up I can agree with!
One of Kyle's favorite methods of amusing himself while I'm on the phone is wrap himself up in the telephone cord (no, we do not have a cordless phone). He'll wind the cord around and around his body until there's nothing left to wind. He'll then slip it over his head and walk away, leaving a mangled, knotted mess on the floor.
For obvious reasons, this drives me absolutely nuts. And he knows it. Yet, he continues to do it over and over again.
After he repeated the offense for the umpteenth time today, I hung the phone up and said, "Kyle! Why did you do that? You know I don't like it!"
To which he placed his little hands on his hips and said, "Well mom, if you get mad at me, I'm just going to keep doing it!"
My response? Silence. I was stupified. What was left to say? He'd already said it all.
Upon pulling out of the parking lot today, my husband noticed a nondescript minivan sporting a pair of particularly tacky fuzzy dice hanging from the rear-view mirror. He turned to me and said, "Why in world would anybody hang those in their car and where did they come from!?"
Well my dear hubby, I've tried to find an answer to your question, but haven't had much luck. According to Wikipedia, they became popular in the 1950's, but we don't know why. What we do know is that they haven't been popular for quite some time, so I can safely say that the only reason why somebody would hang those in their car is that they have a particularly tacky sense of style.
However, I did find something interesting. Fuzzy dice are not only tacky, but against the law. Oh, the law isn't aimed directly at fuzzy dice. It just prohibits hanging anything from your rear-view mirror that could potentially obstruct your vision.
So perhaps the driver of this minivan isn't tacky after all. Perhaps he's just taking a drive on the wild side.
I had a flashback today. A flashback to junior high. Those are never good.
In search of future careers, our preschool paid a visit to the local fire station. We checked out the kitchen (four refrigerators!), the sleeping quarters, the workout facilities, and the TV room (did you know the firemen have to pitch in to buy their own TV?).
The best part of all, without a doubt, was the fire truck. The kids were free to roam and climb all over and they did a fine job of it. Here's my little guy "driving" the truck.
But as much as the kids enjoyed it, I think the moms might have had more fun. We peppered them with questions and even got to try on the 100 lb. gear. Who in the world was brave enough to give that crazy woman an ax? I think it's safe to say that I won't be abandoning my day job.
While most spring break vacationers head for the sun, we headed for the snow. We headed up to the mountains with some friends and enjoyed a few days of games, food and fun in the snow.
Stuck
This is no special effect. Kevin really is stuck chest deep in the snow. Can I say "Avalanche Danger?"
Kyle also got stuck - only he ran into a tree. Luckily, his Daddy managed to crawl out of his hole and rescue him.
Sledding
We took a few runs down the steep driveway. At one point, I flew off my sled and front-flipped into a tree. All part of the fun, right?
And this is me beating Kevin with my sled after he tried to repeat the before-mentioned accident. Don't worry, he wasn't hurt.
I'm teaching my son all sorts of nasty habits. Case in point: squirting whipped cream directly into his mouth.
Kevin is absolutely disgusted that:
- I would do this myself.
- I'm teaching (or at least not discouraging) my son to do it also.
I hereby promise to open a brand-new container of whipped cream each and every time we have guests over for dessert.
It's midnight. And I'm awake. I'm awake because my little boy is having nightmares for the second night in a row.
"That place...I don't want to play in that place! I don't want to play..."
Some experts say that nightmares can be manifestations of stress in everyday life. I've never thought Kyle's life was particularly stressful, but perhaps I'd better take a closer look. For now, we'll to chalk it up as another stage in my growing boy's life. Because afterall, experts also say that nightmares are most common in preschool-age children with active imaginations. And my boy's definitely got an imagination.
Let me make something clear. I understand that my child can be a monster once in awhile. We all have our moments. But when my child's displaying angel-like behavior, I don't want to hear any negative comments. Especially from crotchety old ladies with a chip on their shoulder.
We were standing in the check-out line at Walmart today, patiently waiting our turn. Kyle was standing in the cart, helping me put groceries on the belt. Periodically, he would "rearrange" the groceries by size or color. And that's exactly what he was doing when he (gasp!) moved the little divider stick between our groceries and those of the frail (or so I thought), elderly lady behind us.
The moment Kyle's hand touched that stick, she yelled out,
"Young man, put that back! Why don't you keep your hands to yourself!"
She then proceeded to grumble to herself about rowdy children with no manners. As if we were trying to trick her into buying our eggs and milk.
You should've seen the look on my little boy's face. He turned around, sat down, and wouldn't make eye contact with anybody. And you should've heard the thoughts going through my head:
"Misbehaved? At least he was sitting in my cart!"
"He could've been running around the isles, knocking items off shelves!"
"Since when were grandmothers mean and nasty?"
And most of all, "How DARE you yell at my little boy!"
However, I kept these thoughts to myself. I didn't say anything. I didn't even give her a dirty look, much as I wanted to. I just gave my boy a reassuring kiss and made a quick exit before my mouth got me into trouble.
A close friend and mentor always tells us, "Don't judge. Just assume people are doing the best they can."
It's good advice. And I'm trying to follow it. I really am.
It's official. New Orleans has just moved to the #1 spot on our list of "Places to NEVER Live."
When you're visiting New Orleans for business or pleasure:
Maybe it's a boy thing. The determination to figure out how things work. The idea that anything is "fixable." The idea that it's absolutely fixable if you have a few tools around.
Or maybe it's just my boy's thing. He definitely takes after his handyman daddy. He spent three hours outside with his dad helping to "fix" the neighbor's truck. And the moment I mentioned that our garbage disposal was broken, he said:
"Let me get my tools!"
Every house needs a handyman (or two) around.
"Mom, I love dogs."
"Do you, Kyle? What kind of dogs do you like?"
"Umm, I only like small dogs."
"Not big ones?"
"No. Just small ones. And white ones."
"Not black or brown?"
"No, mom! I only like Ponch! He is my best friend."
And so went the conversation on our walk today. We encountered dog after dog, only to have Kyle reaffirm his affection for small, white dogs like Ponch.
Ponch is my parents (well, really my brother's) dog. And unfortunately for Kyle, he only gets to see his "best friend" 2 or 3 times a year. But one boy's misfortune is another dog's blessing, as Ponch spent the first 2 years of his life being chased by kicking, rock-throwing, tail-pulling toddler. As Kyle's grown older, Ponch seems to have surrendered to his affections. He no longer quakes when Kyle walks into the room, although Kyle's still disappointed that his buddy doesn't play "fetch."
As non-animal lovers, Kevin and I are reconciling ourselves to the fact that we just might have an animal lover on our hands. We just might have to get a dog someday. The things we do for our kids.
There's an infamous photo circulating somewhere out there within our family. It captures a tow-headed 4-year-old boy cleaning the toilet. And we're talking cleaning, complete with the yellow rubber gloves and a toilet brush.
The subject of the photo is my brother, Paul. And 20 years later, he continually refers to that photo as proof of his miserable childhood (just add it to your memoirs, bro). To listen to him complain, you'd think he was the male version of Cinderella.
Well, as a mother of a child about that age, I've been enlightened. And I'm about to share that enlightenment with my brother. Are you ready for this, Paul?
Children that age LIKE to clean! They do! Probably even toilets, if you give them the chance...
Take my child, for instance. You give him a Clorox wipe and he'll go to town. Hand him a bottle of Windex and a rag and he'll be in hog heaven. I might find puddles of the lime-scented cleaner on my windowsills and floors, but he'll be happy.
I've decided to take advantage of this stage for as long as possible. I'm sure one day I'll hear complaints. He might even accuse me of child labor. But I can assure you, once he gets married, he'll know how to clean house.
Who doesn't love to eat? I, for one, do. And personally, I don't understand people that don't. Sometimes I wish that I were one of them, but that doesn't mean I understand them.
Luckily, this girl with a big appetite belongs to a cooking club. Contrary to the title of the club, we don't actually get together to cook. Instead, we bring our already prepared dishes and gather to partake. What could be better than gathering with friends to socialize and eat? The only other blissful night a month that could begin to compete is book club (that blog to come later).
Well, I sit here tonight with a full belly because tonight's cooking club theme was "Dips." And let me tell you, those dips were to die for. They were so good that I'm inspired to start a new recipe category just for them. Because they deserve to be published. Try them and you'll understand what I mean.
Hopefully this is the last snow picture of the year, but I just had to show off the snowman Kyle and I made last week:
Of course, half of the credit belongs to my sister-in-law Karie, who sent us a darling "Snowman-in-a-Box" kit. The beauty is in the details, right?
As his imagination has grown, Kyle's become better about entertaining himself. But today he reached all-new high.
After hearing silence for more than 5 minutes, I began to wonder what he was doing. His bedroom door was closed, so I opened it and entered his room. Not seeing him, I turned and started to walk out. That's when I heard sounds from the closet. I opened the closet door and found Kyle standing there among his toys. But imagine my surprise when I got a scolding.
"Mom! I'm playing hide n' seek and you're not supposed to find me!"
Okay, carry on!
Kyle discovered a new hobby yesterday: Taking a shower
For some, this might be considered a necessary hygienic chore. For some, taking showers might be considered old news. But not for this water baby.
That kid stayed in the shower for over 35 minutes. He started out at the back of the tub and as his bravery increased, so did his proximity to the actual water. He splashed, he sang, and had the time of his life.
As he put it: "I love showers! They're so warm....and cozy...and HEALTHY!"
I have a long-time friend. A friend that continues to be probably the best friend I've ever had. Ours is a low-maintenance, relaxed friendship. We can talk everyday, or go for weeks without communication and still, the friendship remains strong. We also happen to have kids the same age, and therein lies the problem:
Why don't our kids get along?
In all honesty, they're doing much better (maybe it was the peace offering in the form of candy we brought last time we got together). But there was a year or two there that they spent as much time fighting as they did playing together. I know, age-typical behavior. But we always thought our children would be instant best buddies, too. My real concern falls 20 years down the road:
How are these two darling, strong-willed kids going to fall in love and marry someday if they don't even like each other?
I guess we can only hope that opposites really do attract.
Our theme for preschool right now is anything and everything "Dr. Seuss." To go along with the book "Bartholomew and the Oobleck," we made some oobleck of our very own. And because the kids thought it was the greatest thing since fruit snacks or Teddy Grahams, I decided to pass this fabulous recipe on so you can make some green slimy stuff of your own.
"Flubber" (or "Oobleck)
Container 1
1 1/2 c. warm water
2 c. white glue
food coloring (a few drops)
Container 2
1 1/3 c. warm water
3 t. Borax (found in the laundry detergent isle of your grocery store)
Mix the ingredients in each container thoroughly.
Pour Container 2 into Container 1. Gently lift and turn the mixture until only about a tablespoon of liquid is left. The flubber will be sticky for a moment or two. Let the excess liquid drip off and the Flubber will be ready.
During scripture study this morning, we read about Nephi and the Plates of Brass. This continues to be Kyle's favorite story and we've decided that we won't worry about his obsession with killing and bad guys. For now.
As we reached the part where Laban is drunken with wine and falls to the ground, Kyle asked, "Mom, why did he fall down?"
I explained that he had drank something bad and it made him fall down and go to sleep. And being able to piece things together much better than I give him credit for, Kyle replied, "Because he drank some Smooth Budlight, huh?"
There was a moment of silence while Kevin did his best to smother his laughter with a pillow, then I concurred and tried to move on with the story.
1 c. shortening
1 c. boiling water
¾ c. sugar
2 t. salt
2 T. yeast in ½ c. very warm water
1 c. cold water
3 large eggs, beaten
7 ½ c. flour
Mix in a very large bowl. Pour boiling water over shortening, sugar, and salt. Allow to melt. Meanwhile, soften yeast in warm water. Add cold water to the large bowl. Then add the eggs, then the yeast mixture. Whisk in 4 c. of flour. Stir in the rest of the flour with a wooden spoon. The dough will be sticky. Cover and refrigerate overnight or at least 4 hours.
Remove from fridge and divide dough in to quarters. Using one quarter of dough at a time, roll into a 14-inch circle. Spread with softened butter and cut into 12 wedges, like a pizza. Roll up from the wide end, like a crescent roll. Place on greased cookie sheet and let rise until doubled.
Bake at 350 degrees for 12-15 minutes or until light brown. Brush tops with melted butter while hot. Remove to cooling rack. Dough will keep for a week in the refrigerator, so you can make just enough for dinner each night.
*This might seem like a long recipe, but it’s actually really easy. There aren’t any secrets to share, I don’t think I’ve ever had them not turn out. It makes four dozen, so I usually half the recipe. And half of it will fit in a regular KitchenAid mixer. If you make the whole recipe, I don’t know where you should mix it! :)
