Art imitates life

In the past few months, the boys' fine motor skills have really picked up. 

Dean, especially, is really taken with drawing, writing, coloring, cutting, creating.  He's always making something. Paper airplanes. Wall decor for the playroom. Little pictures to mail to Nana and Granddad. It's really very cute. 

Since we moved into the new house, he's drawn a lot of pictures of houses, usually with a chimney with smoke coming out (because we now have not one but two awesome wood-burning fireplaces! Holla!) 

This week, he drew a picture that was totally cute, of a house with a car parked next to it.

Isn't that little car the cutest?

He made it for Miss Arlene, our after-care provider, but I asked him if I could have it, because 1) It was the first time he ever drew a car on his own and 2) For some reason, it made me get all filled up.

I brought it to work and put it on my desk, where I've been thinking about why Dean's picture moved me so.

And I think it's this:

I once read somewhere that if you own a car, you are in the top 10-percent of wealthiest people in the world. 

Dean drew a picture of a house (likely ours) and a car (also likely ours) which means he associates the two -- a house and a car go together. 

I imagine that an average child in Haiti or Zimbabwe would maybe draw a picture of a happy yellow sun, some grass and a house, but probably NOT a car.

But Dean did. And it reminds me how incredibly privileged we are. 

Sometimes -- even with the new house and the promotions and the private schools -- I know I can feel poor. (Well, maybe that's because of the private schools...lol.) I dream of more, more, more - better vacations, pricier summer camps, the (good ol') days when I used to get my hair done once a week. I think about the things I wish I had, as opposed to being grateful for the things I do.

For example, we went into credit card debt for the first time in our marriage to pay for some of the renovations to the new house. And because of that, we're not going on our beach trip this year. This not infrequently makes me sad. But HULLO -- you renovated a house, Tanika! You're not going to the beach this year because you installed soft-close cabinets and an induction range and office built-ins! Not because you make the equivalent of $2 a day like many, many people in this world. Also, it's the BEACH. Not a necessity. Get over yourself!

(I have to talk to myself this way sometimes. Tough love from me to me.)

The truth is we have a house - a modest, but beautiful, well-stocked, love-filled one. We have a car. We have two, actually. We are blessed beyond measure. We are rich in so many ways, figuratively and, compared to so much of the rest of the world, literally. It's an embarrassment of riches, actually. I mean, really, our cups runneth over.

My son's rudimentary drawing is a wonderful reminder of my blessings. It makes me think of the goodness of God and the arbitrary nature of birth. Why I happened to be born to educated, middle class parents in the wealthiest nation on Earth is beyond me. I didn't do anything to deserve it. But it happened. And I'm thankful. 

My children are growing up safe, comfortable, educated, loved (adored and pampered even). My children are free.

We are so very blessed. 

And I've got the picture to prove it.

(Thanks, Dean, for the reminder!)

Oh the irony - a post about haircuts and spankings

My Mom and Dad went to New York this weekend to be present at the very, very small wedding of my Dad's cousin, Johnny. It was so small, that with the addition of my parents, the total people present at the wedding - including the bride and groom and pastor -- was 5.

On the way back, Dad and Mom stopped at our house for breakfast. Lester made pancakes from scratch. I made cinnamon apples. We ate until we were stuffed, and sat around the table talking about the latest NFL scandal involving a football player who "disciplined' his 4-year-old by beating him with a switch until he tore the skin and left marks that were visible three days later. This turned into a debate about spanking vs. not spanking.

While we were debating, the kids were entertaining themselves, sometimes watching TV, sometimes playing with toys, sometimes running through the house making a lot of noise. We pretty much ignored them, because we keep trying not to hover quite so much -- "benign neglect" for their benefit and ours. And the discipline debate was pretty passionate, so we also kinda forgot about them. (Just being honest.)

And then Dean decided to play barber shop and cut two huge chunks out of the side and back of Clair's hair:

This is more hair than it looks like, because her hair is so tightly coiled. Today, my poor daughter has a combover -- a look she will be rocking for many months to come.

I posted this status message on Facebook about it:

Parents and grandparents downstairs at the breakfast table, passionately debating old school vs. new school ways of disciplining children. To make the discussion less hypothetical, my helpful boy decides to cut huge chunks out of Clair's hair. Grandparents leave after breakfast -- smug.

Which makes the irony of it all seem kinda funny. Oh, kids -- they sure have good timing. Ha. Ha. Ha. And I suppose I can see how at a certain point, it will be funny. But believe me, as I combed through her hair and more and more curls kept coming out into my hand, I was almost in tears.

Here's my dirty little secret: I wanted to spank Dean. I really did. I wanted to yell and scream and really punish him. I felt like he needed to know how serious what he did was. I could totally identify with that parental urge to make him understand his crime, and instill in him a fear of repercussions that would make him never, ever do that again.

But I didn't --WE didn't, Lester and I. Instead, we made him go to his room and lie down - separated from us, his grandparents, the TV and the cinnamon apples. He stayed there for three and a half hours (he fell asleep).


If I had not just been arguing with my parents about my belief that we can raise our children to be well-behaved, respectful and good decision makers without spanking them, would I have chosen that way of punishing him? I think I would. I hope I would. And here's why:

Aside from the obvious arguments about respecting a child's personhood, and about the hypocrisy of teaching children not to hit when we, ourselves, him them, I just don't believe in my heart of hearts that spankings work. I think they make children fearful, yes, but not of the thing parents hope. In fact, I think they only serve to make them fear YOU.

I don't want Dean to fear me. What I want is for him to learn to better regulate his impulses. I want him to try harder to remember that scissors are for cutting paper and paper only. And that he is not supposed to even handle scissors when an adult is not around. We've told him these things many times, but I believe this kind of learning takes place over time -- not by dealing a swift blow to knock it out of him once and for all.

I don't want my children to fear me. I want them to love, respect and trust me.  And that won't happen if they think I will hurt them.

Cary, Dean and Clair: I will not hurt you, my littlest loves. I will love you and guide you and teach you and, yes, discipline you. I will make mistakes, that is a guarantee. But I will try my absolute hardest not to ever hurt you. Even when you do ridiculously stupid things like CUT YOUR SISTER'S HAIR, WHICH TOOK THREE FRIKKIN' YEARS TO GET LONG ENOUGH FOR ME TO ACTUALLY STYLE!!!

P.S. Later we found out that Cary was in on the cutting game too; he snipped a little bit of fabric out of Clair's prettiest pink tutu. (Clair was far more upset about that than she was about her hair). By the time the full story unfolded, I was too tapped out from having to put my money where my mouth was to really grasp what happened. Thankfully, Lester had his wits about him and sent Cary to bed too. So when the boys woke up at 3:30, they both had missed lunch. It was too early for dinner, and they both wanted snacks. But I held my ground and didn't give them anything, and I patiently explained why: They missed lunch because they had to go to bed while the rest of us ate, because they both did something very bad. And now they had to wait until dinner to eat. Let me tell you -- this was probably the best punishment I could ever have dreamed up. These kids love to eat -- snacks especially! So I think they got the message. I hope so anyway.

I didn't have to spank them; their little growling bellies were pain and suffering enough!

Three photos that tell you a little something about my children

I am often snapping photos of the kids with my iPhone. Most of them are pretty crappy, because it's the iPhone (and an old one at that -- with the sucky camera) and I'm not a great photographer.

But a photo isn't all about the technical execution of it, right? Beauty, lighting and composition are important, yes, but what's even more important is what the photo means to the viewer.

So when I was looking back through my collection of phone photos and came across these three photos, I felt really proud of my incessant snapping. Because somehow, I captured something really core about each of my children -- without even really trying.

 Clair:

 
At first glance, this looks like a photo of Clair sleeping sweetly in her crib. She is a pretty champion sleeper, but that's not what got me about this pic. Look carefully. Do you see the green and pink things decorating her blanket and sheets? Yes, well those are supposed to be decorating her wall! Remember that tree I spent 90 minutes applying to the wall behind her crib, when I was pregnant with her - and had a raging head cold, to boot? This is what has become of it. She peels the stickers off the walls and tosses them around her crib, or flings them on the floor. Why? Because she can.
My Clair is always, always getting into things. She is always doing something stereotypically toddlerish. She is a silly, mischievous little rascal, and I LOVE it that this photo of serenity is accented by evidence of the A+ she gets every day in Advanced Level Nuisance.
Also...I just love her so much. I crept into her room to take this photo and -- even though she had clearly just been destroying my decorating work -- my heart just overflowed watching her sleep.

Dean:

I have said before that Dean is a do-er and a helper. But the older he gets, the more and more those traits show through. He is SUCH a help to me and to everyone around him -- even when you don't actually *need* his help, he insists on giving it. He has been asking and asking to help wash the dishes (I know right? Who does that?), and I usually say no because ...ain't nobody got time for that.
But on this night, I said yes. And lo and behold -- this child actually paid attention when I showed him how to wet the sponge, turn off the water, soap up the sponge, wash all the surfaces of each dish, rinse the dish and then put it in the dish drain. After I showed him ONE time, he did it himself with such precision and conscientiousness, I was shocked. He did a great job! And he was so proud of himself. I love how helpful my little boy is, and how much he enjoys being a caretaker. Lester and I still could do much better finding activities that satisfy his need to be cutting, banging, fixing, fiddling, doing. And we are going to really make an effort to do that, because he really loves being up in the mix so much. But in the meantime, until we find some kind of toddler shop class or some such, we have a ton of chores he can do! :-)

Cary:

I love this photo -- which I took because Clair was being so silly, pretending to sleep in the kitchen (fake snoring and all). I snapped it because of Clair, but then I realized that it is really illustrious of Cary's wonderful bookworm personality. At night before bed, he reads. In the morning, when he is supposed to be getting himself dressed, he reads. In the middle of craziness (baby sisters sleeping on the kitchen floor?), he reads. He reads books, magazines, catalogs, pamphlets, the local pizza shop flyer. If it has words on it, he studies it, every page, brings it to bed and hoards it. When it was his turn to pick something to bring to school to share with his class this week, he chose his High Five magazine. And when he is into his "reading," it is SO hard to tear him away. I can't tell you how many timeouts we've had to threaten because he gets so engrossed in whatever he is reading and it's like he honestly just blocks out everything else. He reminds me a ton of the way my mother describes herself at this age. Lazy as a lima bean; not the most social child; always, always with her head in a book. How did I give birth to my mother, y'all?

I love these three little human beings. And it is SO much fun getting to know who they are.

Boys' first day of school (sorta); a wedding, a hangover and other tidbits

Today the boys had their orientation /first day at their new school!

We met their new teacher, toured their beautiful classrooms, watched as they selected cubbies, played with toys, did some spin art, and met new friends. They also saw their friend Marcus, and fell right in together, like old times.

This is the multi-purpose room. We were waiting to go up and tour their classrooms.

Their new teacher, Mr. Valle.

The Three Amigos. That's Marcus - in the stylin' hat.

Making spin art.

Their masterpieces! (And my toes.)

Guys - it is such a nice building, with all the things you think of when you imagine what a pre-school should look like. I got all teary thinking about how blessed we are to be able to provide this kind of place for our kids - and about how this is the kind of school ALL kids deserve. I don't know how the years will go -- or even this year -- but I can tell you that I really felt good when I left there today.


This week is another crazy week, with weird schedules and introducing the new aftercare sitter to the routine, so I'm not completely out of the "I need a Xanax" woods just yet. But I'm getting there.

Speaking of the new aftercare person, Friday was officially Michelle's last day with us, after four years of being a total member of our family. WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH! :-(
 

We'll miss you, Mi-Mi!

I am so sad about it. She was a Godsend, truly. I don't know what we're going to do without her. We made a special dinner for her, and gave her flowers and a balloon, and we had chocolate cake to celebrate our time with her. We were all really sad (but cake helps!) and we're determined that Michelle will not be gone for long. We'll still have her come hang out with the kids for some date nights, etc. And she wants us to Skype with her from time to time, too. I love it that she loves my kids so much, especially because they ADORE her. So, for us, it's just see you later, Michelle, and not good-bye. You can't get rid of us that fast!

This weekend, as a matter of fact, we would have used her to go to my friend Andrea's wedding, but we decided to let them stay with my parents overnight so that we could enjoy the wedding and not have to get up at the crack of dawn the next day.

Andrea's wedding was fabulous! She looked beautiful, but she's asked us not to share photos of her, so I won't. Just trust me when I say her dress was gorgeous! And it was great to get together with her and so many friends and drink and eat and cut-up and dance the night away. We had so much fun!!

"Ussie" with my girls Kelly and Shreya

Me and my sweetpea. Check him out in his new tux -- and 35 lbs. lighter! I hate him.

Why am I so short? I blame my parents.

The fellas, stylin'!

By the end of the night, women were bringing out bottles upon bottles of spirits, with fireworks coming out the top. Yes, it was that kind of night.

I might have done a little too much cutting up (ahem) because the next morning, Lester and I both needed this -- in copious amounts.

But it was great to get to go out to brunch with my sweetie and ease into the day. Many thanks to my Mom and Dad for watching the Davis crazies for us! We love you!

Cary and B.O.B. are becoming friends

Some of you mentioned the B.O.B. books for Cary when I mentioned a while back that he was showing some very preliminary early reading signs.

I was doubtful that he was ready, so I didn't get them. But lately, Cary has been poking his bottom lip out, lamenting that "I don't know how to reeeeeeaaad," and "I can't reeeeead!" so I figured it couldn't hurt to at least try the books and see how he does.

We got the first set of books last week, and he is doing so great with them, I can't even tell you!

I don't know why the sound on this video is soooo incredibly low, but if you turn your computer speakers ALL the way up, as far as they'll go, you can hear him sounding out words phonetically, like a big boy! So proud of him! Most of all, he is really proud of himself!

Dean is also doing very well with the books, though he is not as adept just yet as his older, book-loving brother in this area. But what has surprised me about my builder/doer/helper boy Dean is that --  once he saw Cary "reading" --  he immediately took a serious interest in the books, and has been asking me every day to read them to him and help him sound out words. And unlike Cary, who is easily frustrated when he doesn't quickly master something, Dean is undeterred by mistakes and just wants to keep trying and trying and trying. I SO admire that trait in him. (Not sure who he gets that from, but don't look my way...)

It's nice to see them both excited about these books. Generally, Dean has his "thing" and Cary has his, and they both sorta don't care what the other one is into. But with this, both boys are equally psyched about at least trying to figure out what those darn words on those little pages are actually saying!

Looking forward to them learning even more about reading this school year! Maybe by this time next year, they'll be reading bedtime stories to us.

I've got 99 problems and my kids are 3 of them

Sometimes all my kids are going along swimmingly, being insane but normally so, nothing special to report. Same ole, same ole. Another day another diaper.

But these days, I have issues with each one of them. Issues I honestly am not sure how to handle.

Let's start with the oldest, shall we?

Cary: He wore his glasses for two days without problems. Then, all of a sudden, when people are around, he refuses to wear them. At my mother's house, he donned a Batman mask to avoid having to put on his specs. At church, he wouldn't go into his classroom with them on - just flat out refused. And today, when I made him put them on, he took them off and flung them to the floor.
I know part of the problem is that we made a huge tactical error by making a big deal out of the glasses and how cool they were in the beginning. My Dad came by and oohed and aahed; we even asked the hostess at Gertrude's to tell him how handsome he was in his new glasses, which she was happy to do (because he DOES look cute in them!) Turns out, Cary doesn't love all the attention his glasses bring. He told me, "I don't want people to say things about them!" But why he doesn't want to wear them even at home all of sudden, I have no idea. And I don't know what to do to convince him that he has to wear them. I don't want to turn the idea of his glasses into a sore spot, but I keep finding myself threatening him with timeout if he doesn't put them on. The doctor was adamant that he has to wear them full-time or else his vision could get worse. So what else can I do?
Color me stumped.

See? Here he is lying in the bed "reading" a book WITHOUT his glasses.

Dean: Did I post here before about the time Dean stashed a lollipop under his pillow, to eat, I suppose, after the rest of us had gone to bed? I can't remember if I told you all that story. But nevermind that because guess who did it again? This time with a STOLEN piece of candy from Target? Yes, you guessed it. My middle child. While I was in North Carolina for my friend Laurie's 50th birthday, Lester had to take all three kids to Target. At the checkout counter, apparently, Dean spied a piece of candy he wanted, tucked it into his pocket, carried it all the way home, put the candy under his pillow, got undressed, put his pajamas on, and said not. a. word. the whole time about his contraband. Lester only discovered it because the child who has the sophistication to swipe candy, stash it away, DELAY GRATIFICATION (helloooo!) and keep a poker face the entire time is still only 4 and too young to realize that he had to pick up his pillow (hey dumb-dumb, move your hiding place next time, eh?) to get in the bed after our nighttime prayers. Of course, after Lester found the candy, there was a long conversation about stealing and what that means and about honesty, etc. Lester told me later he was "crestfallen" about it. And I am too. I know that Dean doesn't really understand what "stealing" is, but the fact that he is capable of that kind of planned-out deceit is ...unnerving. Not totally surprising -- he's always been the child who looks for things to get into to. But still, it's alarming. Even if he is only 4.
Color me flummoxed.

No cavities at this last check-up, but I don't know what will happen if he keeps stashing candy under his pillow at night. Also, how can I get him to use his powers for good?!?!

Clair:  The first day of summer camp went OK. The next day, not as well, but still OK. By Day 3, she was in tears from the time we started getting her dressed until after Lester dropped the kids off at school. She cries great big, sad tears, and pleads with us with her eyes not to send her to school. "I don't want to go to camp!" she wails. "I want to stay here with Mommy and MiMi!" It breaks my heart. And now, I guess because she's so freaked out by being left at summer camp, she also has reverted back to acting the fool at children's church. Yesterday, for the first time in forever, they flashed us on the screen during service to come get her from her class. Some of it has to do with the fact that yesterday was the day they moved all the pre-school kids up a level, so the boys went from the 3s to the 4s and Clair went from the 18-24mos. class to the 2-year-olds class. So the change wigged her out, I know. But she was crying at home before we even left for church, once she ascertained where we were going. She refused to put her shoes on, thinking that would prevent us from taking her. And at one point, she even started climbing, barefoot and resolute, up the stairs, saying, "I want to stay here - by myself." It rips my heart out the way she cries, and it also affects my mood for a good part of the day. She's just so highly-anxious! I also really worry now about what will happen when we (hopefully/prayerfully) find a new person to take care of the kids afterschool. She LOVES Michelle and will likely flip the funk out when her time with us is up.
Church, camp, school in the fall, a new caregiver -- I just think this whole transition is going to suck suck suck. 
Color me defeated.

How can you be so cute and independent and fearless sometimes and so fearful and anxious and maddening other times? Quit breaking Momma's heart, girl!

Dean - an adult trapped in a child's body

Tuesday night, Lester and I decided to go out to eat with the kids. We went to a really fun restaurant, Clementine, that serves adult food, but also has a kids' area, so parents can sit and enjoy their meals without having to constantly police the children.

At one point toward the tail end of the meal, while we were finishing our drinks (margarita for me; sangria for Lester) and talking about how we would change the public school system if we were in charge, Lester noticed Dean chatting with the hostess. She was a really friendly woman, with a bright smile and a way with kids, and Dean likes to talk to adults, so we didn't pay it much attention.

But then, she came back to our table with a little ramekin of strawberry mousse with a sweet basil coulis, sprinkled with oatmeal crumble.  We'd ordered one of those earlier and the kids demolished it; it was delicious!

Here, they're destroying the lemon tart, which was supposed to be Lester's. The strawberry mousse is beside Dean, as yet undiscovered. But it soon will be -- and will last about .3 seconds after the vultures get their first taste.

Only problem was - we didn't order a second one.

You know who did? I'm sure you can guess.

Mr. I-Think-I'm-a-Grown-Up.

The hostess was apologetic. "You told me your Mom and Dad said you could have it," she very sweetly admonished Dean, while we glared at him.

"Dean," we said. "Why did you do that?"

"I just ordered it!" he said, quite pleased with himself.

Not wanting to be "those" people, we chose not to send the dessert back. After all, it wasn't their fault that our child thinks he can just order food in restaurants like a man with a job and a 401K. (Also, it really was delicious and you know me and desserts.)

If he were older, and had an allowance, we would probably have made him pay for the dessert. (It was $6.) 

But all we could do was have a talk with Mr. 4-Year-Old about what is appropriate for him to do in a restaurant and what is not.

He nodded at the appropriate times and seemed agreeable, but knowing Dean, this is not a lesson 100-percent learned. No doubt, we will constantly have to remind him that he is not a grown-up, is not the boss, has no money, makes no rules, is not Cary or Clair's parent, cannot do everything he wants to do whenever he wants to do it, does not know how to operate kitchen appliances, should not try to take the (full) gallon of milk out of the refrigerator and pour a glass of milk, cannot put Clair's shoes on if she doesn't want them, is not the decider, cannot order extra desserts at restaurants and -- to sum up -- is A CHILD and has to do what we say.

So far, he does not seem to understand very much of that. In his mind, he IS the boss - of everyone. All I can say is, let's hope he uses his confidence and leadership skills for good someday.

Three things

Three things happened this weekend that made me stop and take note.

The first one is that we decided to keep Clair home from church on Sunday because she has a troublesome cough and a runny nose. The weather was super crappy -- cold, sideways rain, ridiculous winds. It seemed better to keep her home in her jammies. But I really wanted to go to church, so Lester agreed to stay home with Clair, and the boys and I braved the wind and rain and went.
When I got to the screen where you sign up the kids for Children's Church, I noticed that in parentheses next to our kids' names, it says "expected." Some of the other names say "guest" and others don't have a label. So I took from that that the church expects us to be there on Sundays.
This made me feel really good, for some reason. We're expected to be there. We'd be missed if we weren't. This is how I know this is the right church for us. At other points in my life, that one word, expected, might have made me feel pressure. But the church is so welcoming and warm, instead I felt good -- like a part of the family.

It's a really nice feeling.

Secondly, at tumbling class on Saturday, Clair didn't screech like a dying cat when another child entered into her play space. And at a birthday party for a friend's 1-year-old, she actually TALKED to a 3-year-old girl who was near her. She spoke to her, people. Willingly! The girl had a magenta party hat, and Clair's hat had rainbow stripes. Clair looked at the girl and said, "Das yours? Das your hat?" The little girl, Gabriella, said, yes. And then Clair said, "What color yours?"

Hellooooo, do you see what just happened there? She expressed interest in another human being, and initiated -- INITIATED -- a conversation!

I almost fell over. My child might not be a total misanthrope her whole life.

This face fools people all the time. She is really not that friendly.

Lastly, Dean seems to have grown 100 inches over the last few months. And his bossy (yes, I said "bossy!") caretaker, I-can-do-it personality has only intensified.

Birth order notwithstanding, it is so clear who the Big Brother is in our family. 

Hand, foot and zees

Playing with their Spiderman toys this morning, Dean tells me, "Spiderman is sick. That's why the other Spiderman has to take care of him."

"Oh no!" I say. "What's wrong with Spiderman?"

Dean: "He has hand, foot and zees."

Ha! That cracked me up.


P.S. Did I ever post this photo of Clair holding her nebulizer, like a pro?

Isn't that the cutest and saddest little thing ever? I'm so glad that icky cold is over and we have packed the nebulizer up -- for a little while, at least.

Bye-bye, cold! Bye-bye hand, foot and zees! Good riddance.

Showing my love with a green smoothie

Even though we couldn't readily see any evidence of the "mouth" part of Dean's hand, foot and mouth disease, our doctor could see postules forming in our baby boy's mouth and said his throat looked like it was raging. He said he was surprised Dean wasn't complaining that his throat was killing him.

And when friends told us about other kids who'd had HFM (thanks, LauraC for the shorthand) and had trouble eating or drinking, I worried about Dean. Maybe his recent (somewhat) loss of appetite  was because his mouth/throat was hurting him. Maybe he was STARVING!

So I did what I do best. I shopped!

I went to the grocery store after work to purchase the ingredients to make my version of a green smoothie. I figured a smoothie would be good for him because it is cool, easy to swallow, tasty and chock full of healthy stuff.

A snowstorm had just started brewing when I left the office, which usually means mayhem and mass consumption in the area grocery stores. But the grocery store on my way home is in the middle of the city, not the yuppie or hipster part, but the city-city part, so I was really surprised to get there and find that there was not a bag of fresh spinach to be found. The salad aisle was completely empty. Who buys up all the spinach, kale and spring mixes in a snowstorm? Wonders never cease.

So I had to buy frozen spinach, which was a bit of a bummer. But other than that, I was pretty happy with what I was able to pull together.

Here's what in it:

• Spinach
• Frozen fruit (mangoes, pineapple, strawberries, grapes, raspberries and blueberries)
• Plain Greek yogurt (and then one small peach yogurt cup from TJ's for a little added sweetness)
• A banana
• A little applesauce
• Two heaping scoops of vanilla ice cream
• Milk (to help with the blending process)

It turned out really, really good! And it's almost all non-acidic stuff (because I used milk and not orange juice or pineapple juice as a blending agent) so it should, in theory, not bother his mouth at all when he drinks it. And it was easy! I'm a green smoothie convert!

All the kids loved, loved it, but because nothing can ever go the way you envision it (new parents, write that down) Cary was the one who tried to inhale it like it was going out of style, and Dean lost interest when he realized I was essentially giving them treats, and so started whining for all manner of snacks to eat. And Lester probably drank the most of it.

Such is life.

Of course, post snowfall here, today's temperature has been around 13 to 17 degrees, with a wind chill that makes it feel closer to 5 to 10. So instead of ice cold smoothies, what I should be making for Dean is a nice hot soup, jam-packed with veggies and wheat germ or something.

But one step at a time, people. One step at a time.

Grow, shamrocks! Grow!

So far, 2014 has see-sawed in, with some ups and some downs. Already.

The ups:

Staying true to our goal of raising children who understand that they are contributors to this family, not celebrities in it, we gave the boys a new daily responsibility: making their beds.

Yesterday, we walked through the easy steps of straightening their blanket as best they can, placing their pillow on top of the blanket, and arranging their stuffed animals on the pillow however they want. (I'm going for a very non-Type-A, loose interpretation of bed-making here. We'll work on technique [many] years from now.)

Both boys did really good jobs!

Dean:

Cary:

Not surprisingly, Dean has embraced this chore with exuberance, and Cary has complained, three times in the span of 24 hours, that "I don't want to make my bed nice and neat, no thank you." Once, he even said to me, in the middle of doing something else altogether, "Mommy, I have an idea. You can make my bed nice and neat, OK? I don't want to. You can do it."

See how he thought he could convince me that I was getting the better end of that deal? Hahaha. Umm, nice try kid. But no dice.

I'm determined to make this a daily task, until it becomes a habit. Lester is understandably worried about the added time this will take in the mornings when we're usually rushing like crazy people to make it out the door. So our compromise is that they don't have to make their beds until after nap, putting the onus on Michelle to see to it that it gets done during the week. If this doesn't work, I'll have to insist that they do it in the morning. Pray for us.

We also started off 2014 by "doing a science," as the kids call it -- planting shamrock seeds in little eggs. This was one of their Christmas gifts from Santa.

About every hour, the boys ask if their plants have grown yet. Sometime next week, I should be able to tell them "yes!"

I'll be glad to have some 4-leaf-clovers growing in our house. We could use the good luck. Which brings me to the "downs" of 2014.

Poor Dean complained that his ear hurt on Monday. I took him to the doctor and sure enough, he had an ear infection. He's on Augmentin now (can we ever be rid of that damn drug??!) and copious amounts of Motrin, because Dr. Bodnar said he had a lot of pressure built up in his ear. He also is on the nebulizer three times a day because, unbeknownst to us, he had a little wheeze going on. (Clair's been wheezing too, so she's also on the nebulizer, although she doesn't make it easy on us like Dean does. Holy refusal-to-sit-still, Batman! That girl is such a warrior.)

Anyway, we figured a little wheeze and some antibiotics weren't too bad to start off the year. After all, last year we were all sick as dogs from late fall 'til Spring broke.

But last night, just after Lester and I got settled in to watch season 1 of "Game of Thrones" -- a Christmas gift from my Dad -- Dean came into our room complaining that he couldn't sleep anymore because his feet hurt. Huh? His feet?

Sure enough -- the soles of his feet and the palms of his hands are covered in red splotches, and he's rashy on the backs of his hands, his lower arms, and his feet and legs. He stayed in our bed, because he was convinced that this made him feel better, and this little boy tossed, turned, kicked and swatted at us LITERALLY every 10 seconds until about 3:30 a.m., when Lester finally saved us all and carried him back to his own bed. It took some convincing, and a lot of crying, to get him to stay there, but finally he fell asleep. Of course, by then, I was wide awake and couldn't drift off until sometime after 4.

And yes, today is my first day back to work. Zzzzzzzzzz.

We called the doctor (again) and he suspects hand, foot and mouth disease (which Lester had surmised) so poor Deanie has to go back to the doctor (again) this morning. Poor baby boy.

So that's one ear infection, two kids on nebulizers, one case of (possible) hand, foot and mouth disease, one sleepless night and two visits to the pediatrician.

Yay, 2014!

But actually I'm not all that bummed. Such is life with kids. Such is life, period. And in fairness, the high of possibly having two kids (somewhat) making their own beds this year is enough to carry me through the lows of stupid illnesses and interrupted sleep.

And when those shamrocks sprout - watch out! I'm predicting nothing but rainbows in our house after that!

Yay, 2014!

UPDATE: Diagnosis is back - It is definitely hand, foot and mouth and Dr. Bodnar says it will likely make its way through all the children. What did I say earlier about rainbows and all that crap? Ugh. Those shamrocks need to GROW, dammit.

Parent-teacher conference

Lester and I went to our first ever parent-teacher conference last night.

We sat in tiny little chairs in the boys' classroom and heard all about how great our sons are. According to their teachers, Cary and Dean are "so sweet" and very "polite" and almost always on task when they've been asked to sit criss-cross applesauce with their hands in their laps. They are "bright" boys and know their letter sounds, shapes and colors -- and even a couple of Spanish words (rojo and azul). They also take their "jobs" very seriously, we were told, even though that's something we already knew. "Door holder" and "line leader" are tasks we hear a lot about in our house.

Their teachers also talked about Cary's supreme love of books and reading, and Dean's supreme love of being the boss of everyone.

"Dean is a real alpha male," Miss Michelle told us. "He is going to be running the world one day."

That made me laugh.

All in all, it was a really good visit. If all our parent-teacher conferences go that way, I'll do a happy dance for the next 15 years.

I was slightly concerned that the school doesn't seem equipped or willing to help nurture Cary's reading readiness. But then I talked to my Mom and she reminded me that pre-school is more about helping kids develop holistically -- with a special emphasis on social, emotional and behavioral markers. Lester was already of that mindset, and he assumed as well that there wasn't much the teachers could do even if they wanted to in a class of 19 three-year-olds. (And Cary and Dean are only there half-day.)

So I'm no longer concerned. We'll just keep working with reading at home with both boys and continue to support the school in the areas that they are focused on this year -- such as using their inside voices. If they can help my two megaphone-mouthed boys to do that, I will give their teachers a million dollars.

Building blocks of contentment

Yesterday, while I was cleaning up the kitchen after dinner, Lester and Cary were reading on the couch in the living room, and Clair was screaming to be picked up.

When the screaming got to be just too much, I decided to put off the kitchen-cleaning and just sit with Clair in the living room until bath time. We were only about 20 minutes away from bath time, and if it made her happy, then the dishes could wait.

So I sat in a chair and snuggled and kissed and played with her, while Cary was happy as can be listening to Lester read "Click Clack Moo."

At some point it dawned on me that Dean was incessantly doing things he shouldn't: throwing toys across the room, disappearing into the kitchen quietly only for me to yell at him to come back in the living room where I could see him, taking things out of my purse -- just generally being mischievous. My patience with him was growing thin, and with every stern word from me, his mood got more and more sour and testy. I was this close from sending him to time-out, when I realized: He wasn't the problem.

So I said, "Hey Dean, why don't you and I do something together?"

The change in his mood was immediate, folks. I mean lightning quick. "OK!" he fairly shouted, as he scanned the room with happy eyes. "How 'bout we ummm....how 'bout we play Legos?!"

Thankfully, Clair was compliant when I put her down on the floor. She happily went over to Lester and Cary, saying "Kik kak MOOOO!"

And I sat on the floor and built castles and houses and tall towers with my boy. 

Dean's love language is Legos.

I showed him how, if you run out of rectangular pieces, you can use two squares to make a rectangle. He showed me how to make a tractor trailer, using a Lego piece that has wheels as the base. When my tall tower was two blocks shorter than his, Dean very sweetly handed me two of his blocks. He was happy as a clam.

Eventually Cary joined us, and Lester went upstairs to run the bathwater. Clair came and sat on my lap, so I had to build my towers around her. But it was fine. Even if only for 15 minutes or so, we had managed to meet everyone's needs -- and the rest of the night was a breeze, without meltdowns or defiance or excessive insanity. (For once!)

God, help me to remember that sometimes  -- not always, but many times -- the best way to correct a child who is heading down the fast lane to Nuisanceville isn't to correct him at all. Instead, the answer might be to correct myself.

Great evening at home with the kids

When I got home last night the kids were in dress-up mode.

In honor of Movember, I decided to heighten the fun and add stick-on mustaches to their get-ups. But the Davises were not as enthralled with this idea as I was. 

I had to bribe Cary and Dean to keep theirs on long enough for me to snap a picture, and Clair isn't old enough to understand bribing, so she just cried and then ripped hers off and threw it on the floor.

(Note: That dinosaur costume is really made for someone Clair's size, but Cary refused to take it off all night. He made us all call him "Dinosaur Cary" and he roared at us 'til bedtime.)

Later on in the night, the kids were all "co-wing" -- Clairspeak for "coloring" -- with pens and stray pieces of paper. This happens quite a bit; there's lots of scribbling and pen-poking and usually nothing really worth noting comes out of their artistry.

But last night, Dean drew an actual person! For the first time ever! 

"It's you, Mommy," he said. "On the beach!"

Awwww. I was really very impressed. One of the fascinating things about parenting is watching how children develop. Sometimes you can see things happening gradually, as with Cary right now and pre-reading. And other times, it's scribble, scribble, scribble, scribble, and then BAM! a stick-figure with a head, eyes, legs and curly hair!

And finally, I felt good about our decision to get our butts to church again when this conversation happened:

Clair, climbing up the stairs, whining because she thinks she's going to fall: "Ah fall! Ah fall!"
Me to the boys: "Cary and Dean, go tell your sister she's OK and that she's not going to fall."
Cary: "Clair, it's OK. Don't be scared. God is always with you."

Isn't that so sweet? I don't think Clair bought Cary's encouragement, because I had to stop what I was doing and come get my poor whining girl, frozen on the stairs. But it doesn't matter. I felt so great about Cary (CARY!) rushing to help his sister, and remembering what they're learning in children's church when he did. 

A rare moment of Cary looking sweetly at Clair. Could we be turning a corner?

And then we all had dinner together, all five of us, and there was cookie-cake for dessert, gifted to us by a friend! 

All in all, it was a really, really good night.

(Until I woke up at 4 in the morning in a full-on heart-racing, blood-coursing in my ears, can't regulate my breathing panic. But that's a post for another day.)

The 70s had it right when it comes to peanut butter. But maybe not coffee.

Do you guys remember that coffee commercial from the 70s when a woman is miffed that her husband has a second cup of someone else's coffee, but not hers? "That's funny," she thinks. "Jim (or Bill or Bob or something 70s like that) never has a second cup at home."

Maybe it was Folger's? Let's just say it was.

Well, I had my own Folger's coffee moment yesterday.

Michelle, giving me a recap of her day with the kids: "Oh, I shared some of my peanut butter with them today. They loved it."

Me: "Really? All of them? They always say they don't like peanut butter. Especially Dean."

Michelle: "No, they all loved it."

Me: "Dean, you always tell me you don't like peanut butter."

Dean: "No. I just don't like the peanut butter YOU buy."

This is the moment, folks, where I decided once and for all that children will not die if there's a little bit of yummy stuff added to some of the things they eat. And I'm not a terrible parent if their lips touch sugar sometimes.

And so goodbye ultra-bitter, gritty, oily, made-in-the-woods by free-ranging squirrels peanut butter we usually buy. Hello what Michelle gave them that they actually liked: good old-fashioned Jif.

We'll buy the "natural" Jif, just to make Lester and me feel better, though. Otherwise we'll be judged right out of our Trader Joe's and Whole Foods, organic-everything loving circles.

(I joke. But only a little.)

I'm still here! Still swamped, but still here!

Hellllllloooooooo!
Do you still remember me?

I so miss blogging, guys. I can't wait for this week to be over, which *should* mean a little downtime at work, at least during my lunch or something, to reflect on life with my kiddos and husband and the world at large.

But for the last few weeks, my work life has been jam-packed! Even when I get home at night, after the kids go to bed, I have been up till 11:30/midnight working. Total suckage.

So much stuff has happened that I'm sure I'll never remember to get down. I never did get to my post about liking my kids (there was a point I wanted to make) and I haven't even had an opportunity to share post-Halloween photos. Blah.

But I had 5 minutes this morning before a call and I wanted to share this photo of the boys, which we snapped last weekend, when we pulled up in front of our house after a lovely afternoon spent at our friend Stacey's house, turned to look in the backseat and found:

Isn't that the sweetest thing? They were just staring up at the DVD player, holding hands, peaceful, blissful and beautiful. I swear one of the sweetest things about being a parent is getting to witness that kind of love.

So imagine how torn I am today, one day after getting a message from the kids' school that Dean had been in an "incident" on the playground. I won't get into it here; it's silly, if you ask me and completely overblown. But suffice it to say, my peaceful, sweet boy Dean -- the one who runs to Clair if she falls and sings to her -- had quite a day yesterday. He was really upset about it most of the evening, and he needed lots of love and attention. I felt so bad for him.

I totally understand that schools need to be safe places for kids, and that staff needs to correct children when they do things they shouldn't. But I just wonder what we've come to that adults think 3-year-olds are supposed to behave like 10-year-olds -- never get frustrated or angry, never have emotions, never act out.

We teach our boys to be peaceful and kind. And you can tell from that photo that they *get* that.

So, I'm OK. Dean's OK. Everything is ... OK.

Three cheers for Lester! (And other family Davis tidbits)

My friend David introduced me to a video that reminds me so much of the kind of man I married. I can't stop watching this super-cute video. I love it that I married a man who I know, without a doubt, would get out there and do this with our own little spirited girl one day.

https://weallsupport.com/this-is-an-awesome-dad/

As it happens, today is Lester's birthday! So let's hear it for all the good men and great Dads out there like him. Hip-hip-hooray! Hip-hip-hooray! Hip-hip-HOORAY!

Now...let's get a little bit rowdy! R-O-W-D-Y! :-)

Happy birthday, Les!I've got big plans for us this weekend!

###

In other news, Clair and I went to Atlanta Friday through Monday. We had a great time visiting my dear friend Neelofer, her husband Anthony and their beautiful, sweet-as-can-be kids.

Suraya, Kadin and Clair at the Atlanta Zoo.

Clair looking at the flamingos, being reminded of Baltimore!

It was so great to sit up until the wee hours with Neelofer, eating chocolate chip cookies and talking about everything under the sun. We laughed, we cried, we were bleary-eyed in the morning. It was perfect.

Clair did amazingly well on the plane! She was busy, of course, up and down on my lap, peeking at the people in front of us and behind us, making a mess of snacks everywhere and playing with every toy I brought with us. But there were no meltdowns or crying jags. Everyone around us thought she was hilarious.

She was incredibly clingy though, once we were on land and hanging out with Neelofer and her family. She wouldn't let anyone hold her and swatted at the kids when they tried to come near her. She did show some moments of sweetness, like when Suraya wanted to hold her hand at breakfast.

Look how sweet they are!

But for the most part, she was attached to me at the hip and very possessive of her personal space and anything she thought belonged to her (even things that belonged to them.) I love my baby girl very much, but I will be so glad when she grows out of that phase. Sheesh.

###

My Deanie got a little recognition card yesterday from the head of the pre-school. It said, Dean is a team player!" and on the back, Miss Katie hand-wrote:"Thank you for sharing trains with your friends!" He was so ridiculously proud of that card, he wanted to carry it with him (back) to school, in his little sweatshirt pocket. So I let him. You should have seen his happy little face.

But this, unexpectedly, made Cary upset. HE wanted a card from Miss Katie, too. Nothing I offered him would placate him. I tried to explain that Dean earned his card by being a good friend and sharer. Cary was inconsolable. In order to get us out the door and to school on time, I told him I would talk to Miss Katie and ask her to give him a card.

So when I saw her this morning in the drop-off line, I did just that. I told her how much Dean loved the card but that Cary was upset that he didn't get one. She explained that Dean really went above and beyond yesterday, happily and sweetly sharing his toys with a classmate who wanted to play with them. She and Miss Michelle were both so impressed, she felt like she really wanted to recognize Dean. But she said she understood what I was saying and that she'd make an effort to spot Cary doing something good and give him a card today. It was a pleasant and sorta funny conversation, and on my way back to my car, I stopped and told Cary I talked to Miss Katie -- he was so happy! Dean was happy. And I was happy! Yay, right?

Not so much. Now, I have meddler's remorse. I thought I was doing the right thing. But now I feel bad that I did that. That was like a Supreme Helicopter Parent move, wasn't it? Like, textbook.

Here's the thing that is really ironic. I prefaced my whole chat with Miss Katie by saying, "I'm really not one of those parents who think that kids should get recognition for nothing!" And then I basically said, in so many words, "Umm, but could you give my kid something for nothing?"

Ugh!

I am kicking myself! At least Miss Katie said she would wait until she actually saw him doing something worth recognizing before giving him a card. That elevates this story from being completely pathetic to being only somewhat pathetic.

Note to self: Get it together. girl. Don't be one of "those" parents!

The Good, Racist People

Last week, Lester and I read a commentary by one of our favorite columnists, Ta-Nehisi Coates, and talked a lot about it. It's called The Good, Racist People.

We loved the writing and many of the ideas in it provided fodder for lots of fun and healthy debate.
Lester thought the whole thing was a tempest in a town deli, and that Coates -- who is usually very fine-tuned in his reactions to things -- was overreacting to this particular incident. I agreed. You might recall from an earlier post that I have been feeling compelled lately to offer up more forgiveness than fury when it comes to small slights or race-related injuries, because I know that people have a lot of baggage around race and class that is tremendously difficult to overcome -- even for really well-meaning people.

But then something happened on Saturday and now I feel like I have been catapulted back to square one: Anger, sadness and worry for my kids.

To sum up the story: Dean got into the cold medicine first thing Saturday morning (this is also a potty-training story, but I'll save that for another time). I called Poison Control and the rep said based on our estimation of how much he drank, we needed to take Dean to our nearest emergency room. I asked if we could take him to our preferred hospital -- which is in a better neighborhood -- but she insisted the danger was high enough that we had to go to the closer hospital in the city.

At the registration area, techs and nurses swarmed around us trying to get us checked in as quickly as possible. A very friendly technician, who appeared Asian to me, chatted Dean up while he took his temp and blood pressure. Dean was a little bit drunk I think and was even more talkative than normal. The tech - impressed by all his toddler talking - said to me: "Hey, you might have a future rapper on your hands!"

Immediately, and without thought, my entire body heated. I was sooooo angry. A rapper? You are freaking. kidding. me.

So you see this...

 And you think THIS?

I quickly said to him, with as much measure as I could muster, "No. I was thinking maybe a future lawyer," but in my head I was thinking, "You would never, ever, ever have said that to a talkative non-black child -- even if that child was actually rapping."

I had to tend to Dean, who was frightened and not feeling all that great, so I pushed that stupid tech to the back of my mind. But as the long morning wore on, what he said just kept coming back to me again and again and again.

I have to admit that it stung. It did.

I suppose I am naive, but I keep believing that if only I can educate myself enough, and keep my kids smart, polite, neat and well-spoken enough, if I can live in the right neighborhoods and send them to the right schools, that people will look at them and see them for what they are: bright, beautiful and promise-filled.

Not criminals. Or stupid. Or scary. But valuable. Worthy. Just like them.

I keep thinking people will see their potential, and not relegate them to being basketball stars or rappers. RAPPERS. Ugh. That one just burns me up.

I wrote about this weight I carry to shield them from the world's prejudices and stereotyping here and here.

But I honestly thought I had until they were bigger, with their hoodies on as they walked through the neighborhood (Hello, Trayvon Martin)-- before I would really have to contend with this kind of kick to the gut.

I put all this down here because one day I will have to talk to my children about this country's history and what that means about how they are likely to be perceived by others. And I hope some of my friends will do the same.

Because like Ta-Nehisi said in that column I referenced earlier, "The idea that racism lives in the heart of particularly evil individuals, as opposed to the heart of a democratic society, is reinforcing to anyone who might, from time to time, find their tongue sprinting ahead of their discretion."

*P.S. Dean is absolutely fine and only had to stay at the hospital for monitoring. He even got a little tow truck from the ER doctor and now Cary wishes he had chugged cold medicine too.

See? He was fine even before we left the hospital.

We have moved all the medicines to a higher shelf. :-)

The end is near!

No, I'm not talking about the Mayan calendar.

I'm talking about the end of life as we know it. This week, Dean Davis learned to climb out of his crib.

Pause with me here while I silently mourn the era of putting children to bed and not worrying about them getting out of the bed again until we were good and ready to come get them.

....

....

....

OK. I'm working on pulling it together. (sniff. sniff. sigh.)

The thing is, we tried for a few days to just tell him to "Stop it!" firmly, and also to "indicate" (read: lie) that it was actually impossible to climb out of the crib. Unfortunately, my child never listens to a thing we say. And eventually, he made it all the way out, and fell -- with a heart-stopping thud -- on to the floor. He landed on his arm in such a way that I could readily see the soft cast he's going to have at some point, at least once, but maybe more than that, in his young life. Thankfully, we were spared a trip to the emergency room -- and he only cried for about 5 hearty minutes.

Lester tried to linger a little longer in denial, by saying, "Well, at least he won't try that again!"

But the next night, our little maverick cried real tears because we'd pushed his crib too far away from the dresser for him to get the leverage he needed to hoist himself over the crib rail. Real tears! This daredevil was determined to try it again! The night after nearly falling to his death!

So as we all know, this means the cribs have to go. Once a climber, always a climber.

So, this weekend, Lester's going to break the cribs down into toddler beds. And life as we know it will end.

Thanks, Mayans.

(Throwback pic of the boys in the little room -- which is now Clair's -- when Cary first learned to stand up in the crib and Dean was all like, "Hey! How the heck does he do that?")

The good ole days.

The good, the bad and the ugly

The good:

Clair is waving! She does it all the time, and appropriately. When you say hello or good-bye, she starts waving. Of course I tried to capture it here, and the twin tornados had to get all up in the mix. So you can barely see the wave. I'll work on getting a better video. Meantime, here she is, my happy little waver.

And now for the the bad and the ugly -- which are all in one:

Lester went to give Dean a haircut. He plugged in his electric clippers and turned to go get something he needed out of the dining room. In an instant, Dean -- who is ALWAYS looking for something to get into (seriously, 99.8-percent of the time he is into something) -- grabs the clippers, figures out how to turn them on, and gives Cary this awesome (NOT!) haircut.

Sigh.

It looks a little bit less noticeable when his hair is not wet, but I think I'm fooling myself by thinking I don't actually have to cut his hair all the way down to that newly-shorn length. But I love his little curls! And I don't want him to look like such a big boy with a big boy haircut! Waaaaaah!

Oh well. The good news is I posted this unfortunate turn of events on Facebook and got to read and laugh about all the ridiculous hair-cutting stories that have happened with friends' kids over the years. Here's the best one, from an old college friend:

Been there done that so so many times over the last thirteen years. One time the oldest shaved the middle child's hair in the middle while he was sleep and then krazy glued the excess hair to his face. True story.

Now THAT is so much worse than Cary's little reverse Mohawk, I actually do feel better. LOL!