Category: 5 years old
Thanksgiving
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
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.
Gratitude
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.
Special Daze
We just got home from a great night out with friends and were chatting with the babysitter, Alex.
As most of you know, the boy loves wearing his suits whenever he can, though he hasn’t worn them quite as frequently these days.
Alex told us that she’d noticed this and had a conversation with the boy about it.
Alex: “So, I’ve noticed that you haven’t been wearing your suits as much these days.”
Boy: “Yeah, I only wear them on special days.”
Alex: “Oh, okay.”
(after a pause)
Boy: “When I wake up, I can feel if it’s a special day or not.”
Click Beep Whirr
How do you make one VERY happy 5 year old?
It’s easy.
Just add hat.
Recognize R2D2? I have to say I think this is the coolest hat EVER. I’m still missing a few details–the black dot in the large blue patch and a few white lights. I wasn’t going to add the second projecting bit since I don’t like how it looks on the hat, but the boy is a stickler for details and noticed its absence immediately. Here’s a shot of the left side, and then a closeup:
Pattern: R2D2 Hat
Yarn: Loops and Threads Impeccable Worsted
(Note to non-knitters who read this blog: Feel free to skip the next paragraph of knitting minutiae.) The hat is created as a basic striped hat and then the details are done in duplicate stitch. I didn’t find this nearly as tedious as other knitters seemed to, though I used a bit of intarsia for the blue rectangle area and it really does look much better that way. I also used cheapo acrylic yarn because I wanted something that can be easily washed and dried. I could not get the red spot to look good in duplicate stitch, so I knitted a circle out of red Cascade 220 and then felted it before stitching it on, which is what I plan to do with the large black spot as well. Also, the sizing of the hat as the pattern is written didn’t work–the first hat I made was HUGE, and thus gifted to a friend with a big-headed child. I also added a few extra rows of gray for a deeper hat to cover the ears.
Of course, now the boy is asking for a matching C-3PO hat.
Decay
For a few weeks, it was this:
after this:
after this:
after this:
Then it got cooler and the aphids moved in, and things looked a little less happy.
The dahlias finally bloomed, though, adding a nice fall surprise.
I’ve tried to plant for a fall crop as well, radishes, spinach, mache, chard, broccoli, and brussels sprouts, with some sprouts coming up. Other than the radishes, though, it’s all a bit small and I’m not sure if I’ll get much.
There’s still a few cucumbers holding on, so I haven’t pulled that out yet, but I with the freezing temperatures coming next week that’ll have to go, too.
I was hoping to leave the beans to dry on the vine, but I’m not sure how that’ll do with the freeze. I may have to dry them in the oven instead.
All in all, I was pretty happy with how everything turned out considering that I have no real idea what I’m doing.
Things I learned this year:
1) I am the major consumer of tomatoes in this household. The girl only eats the small ones fresh off the plant. The boy only eats the “big juuuuuicy red” ones. Eric hates tomatoes. There were days I ate a LOT of tomatoes. I never had enough to can, and, let’s be real here–I’ll never can anything. (I did find them useful to barter. I got a few delicious acorn squash for a bag of tomatoes–I clearly got the better end of that deal.) So next year, maybe not 3 tomato plants and definitely not the grape yellows. Those were blah. Oh! There was what I’m calling a Darwin tomato in the backyard that sprouted from seed dropped from last year’s plant. No water, fertilizer, anything, and it still grew. I’m planting those seeds next year.
2) I need new topsoil. Next year, we are borrowing a truck and getting better dirt. This is one of the reasons I’m not planting a cover crop since I’m hoping to get largely new dirt next year anyway.
3)Peas. I’m planting a LOT more peas. They were very tasty.
4)I might give squash another year, but if I plant squash one more year to yield 2 tiny little fruits, it’s sayonara.
5)Who knew that the boy would love swiss chard so much?
6)Sad, but true: the pesto from Costco tastes better than the fresh pesto made from homegrown basil.
Anyway. We’ll see if we get any fall/winter veggies, but I doubt it.
And now, for a few cute pictures of the girl because it’s been a while.
CSI: Denver
Time: Last week
Scene: The boy’s bedroom
Crime: Deep scratch marks on the dresser.
Suspect #1: The boy.
After what had been an EXTREMELY trying afternoon with the boy, he’d been sent to his room to calm down. (Apologies to any parents who witnessed the spectacular meltdown at the local school playground, involving hitting, screaming, kicking, and running away.)
Eric and I went up to get him dressed as he was going out to dinner with his grandparents. In his room, I glanced at his dresser and saw that there were deep grooves carved into the bottom drawer.
“Did you do this?” I asked the boy.
“No….” he replied, with his lips doing funny twisting things. He’s such a terrible liar.
“Well then, who did it?”
“My sister.”
I called for the girl, who was in her room, and asked, “Did you do this?” while pointing to the dresser.
“No.” She said definitively. “Brudda do it.”
I look back at the boy. “This would be a good time for you to choose to tell the truth. Who scratched your dresser?”
“I…I…she did it! I know she did!”
“How did she do it?”
“Ummm…I don’t know…a sharp pen…or something…” By now he’s shifting uncomfortably from side to side and still doing the funny lip twisting thing.
“Where’s the pen?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, then how did she do it?”
“Well, maybe like this.” He proceed to pick up a ruler nearby with a sharp corner, sit next to the dresser and start to carve another deep line into the bottom drawer, at the exact same height as the others.
I then hand the ruler to the girl and tell her to use it on the dresser like she did before. She lays the ruler flat on top of a half-open drawer and slides it around for a second before losing interest.
I look at the boy again. I’m really trying hard to get that badass Mom look down, you know, the one where kids eventually talk about “The Look” that sent shivers down their spine. I don’t think I’m there yet, but this was a good try.
Eventually, the boy sort of fesses up. He loses a variety of perks, including desserts and TV watching, and gets a good talking to.
I think the worst thing about it is how angry it makes ME. Like, I feel I’ve somehow failed as a parent because my kid is lying.
Some consults to the parenting expert, Mr. Google, have yielded a few thoughts about how to handle stuff like this in the future. First of all, I shouldn’t have asked IF he had scratched the dresser since it gives him an opportunity to lie–I should have just said all the stuff I did at the end of the whole affair–about how even if we’re angry we don’t destroy things, etc. The other tidbit I gleaned was that all 4-6 year olds lie as part of their normal development.
How do you deal with it when your kid lies? (Or have you done a better job than me and they simply never do?)
Coda: While making his bed today, I turn over a pillow to find his name written on it. In black Sharpie. Here we go again.
Jiffy Jaffy Smiley
Knitting takes a bit of a backseat over the summer, what with gardening, hiking, the triathlon, and the fact that it just seems so warm. Still, I don’t think I could stop entirely and did manage to get a few things done over the summer.
Meet the newest member of the family, Jiffy Jaffy Smiley, or just Jaffy for short.
This little giraffe has a lot of personality and is very popular. He gets chair rides, gets read to, and goes swinging.
Jaffy was well loved and fought over by both children. I intended him for the girl (hence the pink/purple), but the boy LOVES him. He carries him around and took him on our recent trip to Moab. On the way home, the boy uttered those dreaded words, “Mommy, I have to throw up. NOW.” I’m going about 75 mph on I-70. I try to pull over as fast as possible, but as I’m swinging the car over, I feel a few splatters of vomit on my neck. I get out of the car and look at my poor boy, covered in peanut-butter scented disgustingness. Awesome. I stand there for a moment, not sure what to do, and then a 16-wheeler rolls by me and I realize that I’m standing in a really, really dumb spot. I quickly get back in the car and we get off at the next exit, thankfully only a quarter mile ahead. In the parking lot of the gas station, we do our best to clean up the floor of the rental car and change the boy’s clothes. My parents are in the car with me, so I have help.
That’s when the boy sees Jaffy. He’d been holding Jaffy and the poor giraffe had taken the brunt of the projectile.
You know those scenes in war movies, where there’s two buddy soldiers, and they get through a firefight? At the end, one of them looks forward and says to the other something like, “Jimmy? Man, I didn’t think we were going to make it through that one.” He then turns to look at Jimmy, and sees that his head’s been blown off. “Jimmy?! Jimmy?! Nooooo!!!!!”
That’s what it was like when the boy saw Jaffy, soaking wet in slimy goo. Up until that point, he’d only seen the clothes and the book that he’d gotten wet. “Jafffffyyyyy!!!” he cried. I did my best to rinse the toy off in the gas station bathroom, stuck him in a plastic bag and tied the top. I tried not to cry as I thought about the months of work that could be lost in one fell swoop. Worst case, I supposed, I could take him apart and restuff him.
Back at home, I hosed him off in the utility sink and then stuck him in the washing machine. I love Lion Brand Cotton-Ease for this exact reason–you can just toss it in the washer and it looks brand new when it comes out. He’s stuffed with a synthetic fill so that was okay in the wash, too.
After 45 minutes, out he came, smelling clean and fresh and ready for more play. I think of it as the resurrection of Jaffy.
I’m delighted that he survived and is so well loved. It’s really fun making toys, like you’re creating this new being, though it felt weird to be sewing into him, like it hurt or something.
Or maybe I’ve watched Toy Story one too many times.
Five
Year 0
Year 1
Year 2
Year 3
Year 4
Year 5
Happy Birthday, little guy!
fretzes on the loose 