Author: sajbat

Baby

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The girl LOVES dolls.  The girl has a few dolls, all of whom are called “Baby.” They’re all on the smaller side, except for an old Cabbage Patch Kid that used to be mine growing up.  (Her name is Colette Kate and she’s from Scotland, in case you were wondering.)  The babies use the toilet, eat, get their diapers changed, and when they are asleep the girl runs around the house shushing everyone so they don’t wake up.  We’ve actually had to leave the room not to disturb the babies.  While that may sound like we’re being pushed around by a two year old, you’ve clearly never seen the girl’s insistent side.

Still she didn’t have a soft cuddly doll to play with, so I thought I’d knit one for her for Christmas.  The other part of this is that I wanted her to have  a little doll that looked like her with tan skin and blond hair and they simply don’t exist for purchase.  American Girl comes close but I wasn’t going to buy her a $90 doll.

Look! She even has toes!

Here’s a closer picture of her hair, which I made using a light tan color and a butterscotch yellow twisted together so it looks as if there’s highlights.

Pattern: Baby Doll Set

Yarn: Takhi Cotton Classic (doll and hair), Knitpicks Felici self striping (dress), Lion Brand Cotton Ease (underwear)

The tricky thing about knitted gifts for kids is that you have to prepare yourself for the very very likely chance that they will refuse to wear or play with whatever you’ve spent so much time and care making and throw it aside for whatever battery-powered toy shows up under the tree courtesy of Santa, who then gets all the credit for the cool toy.

I hope she loves her new baby–I’ll report back after Christmas and let you know if she does.

Conversation Starters

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Ever try to talk to a 5 year old about how his day was?

The typical exchange goes something like this:

“How was your day?”

“Good.”

“What happened at school today?”

“Ummmmmmmm……I don’t remember.”

I thought I had at LEAST another 7 years before I got that response, which is essentially a more polite version of “nothing.”

So I’ve been trying something different lately, which has worked well. Try it yourself and see how it works.  Instead of asking how his day was, I say, “Tell me something happy that happened today.” Then I go on to ask about something sad, surprising, funny, and something that made him mad.  I usually get an actual story from his day with these questions.

Today’s responses–

Happy: Playing with my friend N.

Sad: When my sister was mean to me.

Surprising: Nothing today.

Mad: When C was mean to me at school.

That led to the follow up question of what exactly it is that C does, which seems to be looking at the boy’s private stuff in his cubby, which he only allows other kindergartners to do.  Eyeroll.

Then I ask, “Is there anyone else at school who is mean to you?”

“Well, H and E are sometimes.”

“What do they do?”

“They make fun of my name.”

Now this I was NOT expecting.

“What did they say?”

“They keep making fun of my name ’cause it has the word ‘kiss’ in it and they keep saying it over and over  again. And I don’t like that and it makes me sad.”

“So what do you do?”

“Well, I use my words and I tell them to stop and if that doesn’t work I tell the teacher.”

He looked so sad talking about this.  I gathered him in my arms for a hug.

“You know, ” I whispered in his ear, “I think you have the best name in the world.  I love your name.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling, “me too.”

“Don’t you ever let anyone make you feel bad about your name, okay kiddo?”

“Okay.” I guess the talk was over then, because he moved onto “can you help me build this Star Wars rocket?”

I wonder what tomorrow’s conversations will bring.

(If any of you try this, I’m curious to see if you have any interesting chats from it–let me know!)

 

 

Peace Heart

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I had just come down the stairs and heard Eric talking to someone on the phone. “Sure,” he was saying, “you can come over at 11 on Friday.”

I started to wave to him to tell him something, but he’d already hung up.

“J is coming over on Friday,” he said to me.

“But…” I tried to be neutral. “The girl has a doctor’s appointment at 11.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that!” he protested.

“Yes, you did. We had a whole conversation about it.  Remember? I said, ‘Hey can you take the girl to the doctor this Friday because I’m working?’ and you said, ‘Sure, no problem, just put it on the calendar.’ and then I said ‘Are you sure?” and you said, ‘Yes of course.'” I waved my hands frantically at the calendar we keep in the kitchen. “See?! Here it is, right here, in orange sharpie. 11AM, doctor.”

“Well, how was I supposed to remember that?” he said.

This is when my head starts to feel like it’s exploding because, you know, there’s no one around to remind me when I have to take the kids to appointments.  I just do it.

I don’t remember exactly what was said after that, but our voices were getting raised and I’m sure a few “You always” were thrown around.

In the midst of this came the boy, scowling, who shoved a small purple construction paper heart up at us.

“You have! To use! The peace heart!!!” he shouted at us.

Eric and I stopped and stared down at him, and then looked at each other and smiled.  I reached out and took the peace heart between two fingers.

“Okay,” I said, “How does this work again?”

“You hold the peace heart! And you talk about your feelings!” he shouted at us again.

Since I was holding the peace heart, I looked at Eric and began in my best marriage counseling voice, “I am upset that when I discuss plans with you and you agree to them you do not remember them later.”

Eric started to interrupt me, but the boy snapped at him, “You can only talk when you’re holding the peace heart!”

I handed the peace heart over to Eric. “I am sorry that I did not remember the doctor’s appointment.”

We kept handing back and forth and, well, got over the relatively minor argument. Of course, it’s hard to keep fighting when your 5 year old is standing between you, arms akimbo, with an expression of combined anger, disgust and disappointment on his face.  I felt like I was being dressed down by a little league coach or something.

The peace heart, clearly a product of his Montessori school, is back on the refrigerator and the boy has pulled it out for us a few times since then.

Strangely, it always seems to work.

Even if I’m not feeling particularly peaceful at the time.

Cozy Winter Sweater

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New sweater.  Fastest sweater ever knit.  Bulky yarn goes so fast.

I don’t remember what I was yelling at the kids about here, but I look like my father’s sister.  That’s sort of a scary thing.  Maybe I need to reconsider my anti-Botox stance.

Pattern: Iced by Carol Feller

Yarn: Malabrigo Bulky

It really is so warm and cushy.  I see in the pictures that one of the fronts is a bit uneven–that’s just button placement and I’ll fix it.  I found the cool bamboo buttons (and the yarn, for that matter) at Fancy Tiger, and I love them.  My only complaint is that this super soft yarn already has fuzzed and looks a bit pilly, even after just wearing it a few times.  And I think I could have made the shawl collar a bit bigger. Overall, though, it’s exactly what I wanted and I plan on getting a lot of wear out of it this winter!

Thanksgiving

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Eric had had a tradition of watching “The Last Waltz,” The Band’s last concert, on Thanksgiving and chose to resurrect it this year.

We watched it downstairs with the boy.  The girl had long since fallen asleep in our bed in her monkey-print fleece footie  jammies.  After the second interview segment in which band members talked about their lives in the 60s (think sex, drugs, rock and roll) we skipped the spoken bits and went straight to the musical performances.

The boy loved watching Van Morrison high kick around the stage in a sparkly purple jumpsuit.  He got a bit tired after that and laid down with his head in my lap.

Then The Band started to sing “Forever Young,” and, looking down at my bigger-than-I-thought-possible son, I realized that I’m not really all that young anymore.

(May God Bless and keep you always, may your wishes all come true)

The lyrics have a poignancy when you’re a parent.

(May you always do for others and let others do for you)

It’s the wishes I think every parent would have for their child.

(May you build a ladder to the stars and climb on every rung)

I looked down at the 5 year old nearly asleep in my lap, and think about all the love he brings to my life.

(May you grow up to be righteous, may you grow up to be true.)

I think of  how he wants to be a “scientist and learn everything about everything.”

(May you always know the truth and see the lights surrounding you.)

How the girl loves to touch noses, and insists on “Cheers!” and glass clinking at every meal.

(May you always be courageous, stand upright and be strong)

How proud the boy was of himself at not crying when he got his latest shots.

(May your hands always be busy, may your feet always be swift)

The mayhem on a daily basis as the kids run from the “zoo” to the “toy store,” both populated with stuffed animals.

(May you have a strong foundation when the wind of changes shift)

How the girl would scoot over to me when I went to bed and touch foreheads with me as we slept.

(May your heart always be joyful and may your song always be sung)

She wakes up with a big smile in the morning, looks at the sunrise and excitedly chirps, “Wainbow, Mommy, Wainbow!”

(May you stay forever young.)

May they both stay forever young.

May I never forget how much I have to be thankful for.

Nightmare

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Last night I went up to bed, and just as I crawled under the covers I heard screaming from the boy’s room.

I ran down the hall to find him quaking in his bed, half-awake.

I climbed into his bed and held him.  “What’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream?”

His head just nodded, small movements and fast.

“What was the dream about?” I asked.

He shook his head from side to side, and covered his mouth with his hands.

“You couldn’t breathe? Oh, honey that’s–” I started, but then saw he was shaking his head “no.”

“What was it?” I asked again.  I was getting worried that it was something bad involving ME, and that’s why he couldn’t tell me.

“I couldn’t,” he began.  “I couldn’t…”

“You couldn’t what?”

“I….I couldn’t get all the cereal out of the cereal box.”

“Oh, honey, I think that’ll be okay.” I patted him on the back, he rolled over and went back to sleep.

Another crisis averted.

More Good Hair Days

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It had been a decidedly un-cute morning.

First came the refusal to poop in the toilet, followed by an enthusiastic pooping in the underwear.

Then came the screaming fit because the “zeeba skut” (or “zebra skirt” for those of us with good enunciation) was dirty and could not be worn.

Then the tantrum because I hadn’t put enough “puh-puh pinkows” (or “purple sprinkles”) on her oatmeal.

But then she seemed to calm down and said, “Do pigtaows mommy? Teggie?” (Do pigtails mommy? Steggie?)

You may remember the ponyhawk, popularized by Sanjaya and worn well by the boy in this earlier post.  The girl calls this her “Steggie” hair because then she looks like a stegosaurus.  Of course, I obliged.

 

And thus was cuteness restored.

Gratitude

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To get an expression of gratitude from my son for ANY gift usually requires the obvious prompt of “What do you say?” After which a “Thank you” is uttered, with varying degrees of sincerity.  Even if he loves a present, it just doesn’t occur to him to say thanks.

Recently, I decided it was time to upgrade from the 13 year old smallish TV and get a flat panel.

The TV was delivered in the morning, but I was working the evening shift so I wasn’t home to see their reaction.

At the hospital, my pager buzzed and I looked down and saw my home number.

I called back.  The boy picked up, “Thank you Mommy. I love it,” he said in hushed tones. He then handed the phone back to Eric, who told me that the boy insisted on calling me, all on his own.

So that’s what I have to do to get some gratitude around here.