Famous Last Words
Friday afternoon, we finally make it to the Westin Ka’anapali Ocean Resort Villas and unfortunately, our room won’t be ready till 4. We sit down at the Ocean Pool Bar & Grill for “dinner.” It’s located next to a large koi pond full of baby whales. I had no idea baby whales come in orange, but it looks like they do.
The boys are completely taken with trying to catch minnows and bugs and other creepy crawlers and James and I just stare off into space and wait for sustenance. The waiter notices our jeans, “Did you just get here?” Yep.
I walk over about 10 yards to check on the boys and warn Nate. They’re shielded from direct view by a garbage can and quite a bit of tropical foliage. “Now Nate, be careful you don’t fall in. It’s pretty deep and slippery. I don’t have any dry clothes for you because our room isn’t ready yet and our clothes are in the car.”
Famous last words.
Maybe three minutes later I see him stumbling around with his arms out— the kind of extended arms you see from anybody with underwear full of pond water. Turns out he fell in completely up to his waist in his socks, Captain America shoes, and shorts. His Superman shirt remained carefully protected.
Slightly panicked, he tried to remove his drawers several times in the restaurant. Not twenty minutes after arriving he falls into a pond and then expects me to dine while he runs around half naked? We finally got him to sit on a pool towel and distracted him with pizza.
Oh yeah, and on the way up to our room in the elevator Nate pushes the alarm button.
AloHA!
Hawaii
On Friday we packed up and headed to the airport. Before we left the house, Nate asks me, “Are we going to Hawaii?”
“Yes! We’re going to Hawaii!”
We board a plane for Maui and fortunately, the ride was fairly uneventful. Jake receives an A for this last flight, especially because he gave up his window seat at the first sign of tears from his brother. Nate receives an A- for those very tears, and about five minutes of monkeying around mid-flight. After about twenty jumps in the aisle, he was re-mesmerized by the $10 digEplayer.
Every few hours on the plane Nate turns to me and asks, “Are we going to Hawaii?”
“Yes, we’re going to Hawaii.”
The plane lands and as we’re taxiing to the airport Nate then asks, “Are we landing?”
“We already landed.”
On our way to the gate, I explain all the things that are about to happen… getting the rental car, driving to the hotel, taking our suitcases up, etc. As we’re walking along the outdoor corridor to baggage claim, Pokey is taking his sweet time, as usual. He likes to walk along touching every dusty handrail, greasy vending machine and sticky looking bench along the way.
“Come on Nate, let’s go. I want to get to the hotel.”
He stops and stomps his light-up Captain America shoe, “I don’t want to go to the hotel. I want to go to Hawaii!”
“This is Hawaii. This whole place is Hawaii,” I say, with additional sweeping hand gestures.
Fortunately the rental car place has a flock of semi-wild chickens and baby cheeps running around. Jake tries to catch them, but only succeeds in driving them across the parking lot to relative safety. We have an eventful afternoon, which I’ll post later. Then we crash at 6:30pm, waking-up at 3:45am.
The next morning Nate asks, “Are we going to Hawaii?”
Come on, kid.
Two and a half days later, we FaceTime Grandma and Granddad. During the conversation Nate declares, “This whole place is Hawaii.”
Fifth time’s the charm.
Flash
I just had another flash of brilliance: Sea Monkeys.
Project Puppy Postponment
I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again… we need a puppy like we need a hole in the head.
And every chance they get, both boys tell me how many puppies they “need.” Last night Jake told me he’s going to have five or six dogs and Nate informed me of a more reasonable two.
Fortunately, Hot Lava and Boobooboos are doing swimmingly. Boobooboos is so cute. Every morning she greets me and swims around excitedly when she sees me. Really? Yes, I wouldn’t have believed it either, but a fish can be both cute and excited. She swims like she’s wagging her tail.
And in the spirit of puppy postponement, we’re now the proud owners of TWO Uncle Milton’s Fascinating Ant Farms.
The ant farms were a Christmas gift from Uncle B and Auntie T. They may have been my idea. But when Jakey found out we were going to have to wait 4-6 weeks for the ants to show-up, he went with Plan B, which is to catch your own ants.
I think he caught four or five, got them in the farm, and got them inside the house. Unfortunately, it appears he miscalculated the size of native San Joseants. All of the captives went missing overnight. We had to revert to Plan A.
The ant farms started off quite well. I wasn’t there for the initial set-up, but I’m told an ant crawled up JJ’s arm and he freaked out because at the wise old age of 5, he already has gained the knowledge that red ants bite. And Uncle Milton makes ’em big and red. The harvester ants were industrious as expected, except for a few unfortunate souls that seemed to have lost their heads either in transfer via US Mail, or in transfer via the hole that is the gateway to the farm.
Over the last few weeks, visiting the ants first thing when you wake up and last thing before you go to bed has become a new routine. There was one suspenseful evening when an ant was buried alive when a tunnel collapsed. We watched and cheered and breathed a sense of relief when he finally dug his way out, one grain of sand at a time, unharmed. And whenever it’s quiet and I can’t find James, it’s because he is silently leaning over the kitchen counter… watching our fascinating ants. Uncle Milton delivers on his promises.
Although things started out well, the ants have slowed down and the burial grounds have grown, turning the majority of the farm into a cemetery. We recently came across the care-taking instructions that we should have been following. I don’t think the ants are going to make it through our trip to Hawaii. The last survivors may be destined to buy this farm.
That said, Project Puppy Postponment is going well and I’m pleased with the progress. Next up: Butterflies!
They have a kit for everything.
Except puppies.
Thank goodness.
Ratted Out
I’ve started a bit of a tradition. Every night when I come home I greet all my boys with a kiss. The littlest ones are usually mesmerized by Wild Kratts, but I can generally get them to break eye contact with the TV for a quick smooch and a hello. I also seem to have taken on the persona of Chief Confessor.
The first thing they do is blurt out a summation of the day in terms of the latest behavioral improvement we’re working on. For Jacob, we’ve been working on managing emotions… for the last five years. Jake usually exclaims, “No tantrums! No incidents!” And of course I dole out significant praise.
Nate eagerly shares things like, “No accidents!” or “Behavior, Mama! I had behavior.” He’s missed the relevance of adjectives. Nate almost never has any incident reports to confess… though last week he had an altercation over a book with his buddy Logan, and Logan ended up with a bruise near his eye. Apparently neither kid would talk and Logan wouldn’t rat-out Nate; clearly he’s a keeper.
So yesterday I come home and the boys are watching Team Umizoomi. James says something like, “Jakey, are you going to tell Mama what happened?”
I brace myself for the worst. Did he misbehave at school? Over the last few months, the reports have been glowing— he’s really worked hard to calm himself down quickly anytime he feels frustrated or upset.
And Jake says, “Granddad caught a mouse at his house in the grotto. (This is the garage closet under the house where my dad generally keeps his hunting gear and other things that you shove into the earthen crawl space under your home over the course of 30 years.) He brought it today to show us. Nate put his finger inside its ear and touched its tail. Then I tried to touch it and it bit my finger. I got blood on my shirt.”
Yes, my mom and dad brought over a wild, possibly disease-carrying rodent into our house and let my kids touch it.
No… I did not see that coming.
Big Mom
Last night I came home from soccer and Nate eagerly greeted me on the porch. He was wearing his size 2T Buzz Lightyear pajamas, which might be more aptly described as his Pixar halter top and leggings. He still likes these because they depict someone that flies.
He followed me into the laundry room and helped me remove my socks.
“Did you play football games?” (He calls soccer futbol. He’s got a bit of a knack for Spanish. Even when I say soccer, he continues to call it futbol.)
“Yep.”
“When I grow-up I’m going to play futbol, too.”
“I bet you will.”
“And when I grow-up I’m going to be a big mom like you.”
“You are?”
“Yesh. I’m going to be a big mom like you… I’m going to be your mom!”
“You are? But Grandma is my mom.”
“I’m going to be your big mom.”
“Wow. OK. So when I tell you I want to eat ice cream for breakfast, what will you say?”
“Yeah.”
“Really? Can I wear my Superman shirt every day?”
“Yeah.”
“Great. And can I watch TV all night long?”
“Yeah.”
“You seem like a really fun mom.”
“Yesh. I’m going to be a really fun mom.”
I’m going to take this entire conversation as a compliment… even that last part.
It’s It
Recently I was poking around in our basement and came across our old TV tables. They look totally better than that sounds. I still remember when we bought them— they’re very sleek, made of dark wood and they fit into this rectangular base that turns them into a slim, streamlined vertical rectangle of pure apartment living bliss.
I came to the very troubling, yet real realization that we may never need our beautiful TV tables ever again. Or at the very least, we’ll remember them just in time to notice that Jacob has smuggled them into his hatchback as he takes off for college…
Back before kids, I think we ate dinner in front of the boob tube almost every night. What extravagance. What luxury. What indulgence! Clearly, we had no appreciation for the freedom of eating over carpet.
Speaking of indulgence, last night might have been the first night James and I have been home in our own house, at night, together, while both boys enjoyed adventures at Grandma and Granddad’s.
We ate in the kitchen, but we didn’t even need to Swiffer the floor or scrub down the chairs. We watched the Americans on super high volume, without closed captioning. James even made a quick trip to the corner liquor store to bring home It’s It’s. We ate them on the couch and stayed up till 11. What extravagance. What luxury. What indulgence!
I wish I’d thought to bring up the TV tables…
Lotto
I’m kind of ready for 2014 to be over.
Wait, it’s only April— how can I wish away almost an entire year of my life? It’s not so much that I want to hurry the days along, Lord knows I’m the youngest I’ll ever be right this very second.
It’s more that 2014 has gotten off to a rocky start.
Black cats are darting out in front of me day in and day out. Every restaurant we frequent Nate spills the salt, and then licks the shaker (stop doing that). Or maybe it’s Nathaniel’s unwavering determination to open umbrellas inside. Or all that crack-stepping Jakey does is finally taking me down?
Whatever it is, let’s just say that I am in no position to be playing the lottery. I should be calling State Farm and upping my coverage. The gods are pissed and I have got to find a way to make it up to them if I’m going to make it to 2015.
Here’s how it’s going so far. Exclamation points for bad luck, dollar signs for good:
!) We started the year with a bizarre and overinflated incident at preschool that stressed us out for two weeks. Fortunately it evaporated, but I could have done without those two weeks.
!) I was then sick for two weeks… turned into bronchitis. Then I went to Vegas for work for a week with bronchitis and an inability to drink alcohol. So fun.
!) I got a summons for jury duty. As did my boss, my HR manager and all three people on my team.
!) I took the train home early with exactly 15 minutes to get home so James could go to an evening appointment. Upon arrival to my car, the battery was dead and I had to walk-run home so he wouldn’t be late. I left my car parked near the station for the entire weekend.
!) We got a flat tire on 280 with everyone in the car. James’ car. He had just bought new tires. He bought another new tire.
!) That very day I went home, looked at my car (which we had moved from the station) and found a tack in my tire. I sucked it up and bought all new tires, too. I also had to buy a new battery.
!) One of my key partners at work resigned.
$) I got some good news regarding Lionel Richie, which I had hoped was a sign my luck had turned. Yes, I know this one sounds a bit wackadoo… but you don’t know how much I love Lionel Richie.
!) My dream bilingual immersion kindergarten that I have been thinking about for almost ten years was a major disappointment. Back to the kindergarten drawing board.
!) I missed our neighborhood school kindergarten (read: default) tour because… I was in Jury Duty.
$) We booked that trip to Hawaii we’ve been contemplating. Turns out early May is actually a good time to go— strategically positioned between Spring Break and summer vacays.
!) And then yesterday we got our kindergarten lottery letter and we’ve landed lucky #109 on the wait list for our new dream kindergarten. Plus I got a parking ticket for being too close to a fire hydrant while drudging back to my car in a torrential downpour perfectly timed for when I detrained.
I really thought our luck was going to change when it came to the kindergarten lotto, I really did…
So… what do you think I have to throw into a Hawaiian volcano to appease the gods?
I sure hope it’s not Lionel Richie.
That Guy
About three weekends ago, it was late afternoon and I was enjoying some quiet time with my iPad in the living room. Then, I heard the most amazing and wonderful thing…
Scrape, thunk… flush, running water… little pounding footsteps. And then Nate’s smiling, sleepy face.
In my best southern accent: I do declare, this one is officially daytime potty trained!
Natesy’s learning curve has sky-rocketed in just a few short weeks, quickly decimating my Girl Scout stash of Samoas. There’s just one hitch— he will not go at school.
I’m a bit worried that he is holding it in all day. When Daddy come to pick him up at 5, he wants to immediately go home to use the facilities. Plus he’s always crazy thirsty. The other day I heard James whisper under his breath, “Come on Buddy, don’t be that guy.”
Fortunately, he rarely has accidents. My hyper-vigilance has faded and I almost never bring back-up clothes anymore. It seems he will use any restroom, as long as we’re with him… including the restroom at school.
His teachers still put diapers on him at nap time, but he can be trusted at home, even in the top bunk. At school I guess it makes sense because it’s his once a day pit stop.
On Sunday the boys had quite an adventure at their cousin Devon’s house… catching chickens, crawling out the dog door three hundred times, hugging Scruffy. I warned Angela and Nate that he needed to take a restroom break while we were gone. When James and I came back, Nate quickly took me up on my offer to use the commode.
I’m following his little curly towhead through their sunroom and Nate has his arms out to the sides with a big, overexaggerated shrug and a skeptical furrow of his eyebrows, “There’s no potty here?”
Auntie Angela assures me she showed him at least one of their two-and-a-half baths. “Nathaniel, you really think Uncle Geoff’s house doesn’t have a bathroom?”
“No?”
He’s totally that guy.
Happiness is a Warm Blanket, Charlie Brown
Late last year, when Nonna learned of my book blogging project, she generously scoured her Christmas stash and gave me the annual editions of Kohl’s holiday reading. It was a significant philanthropic addition as I tried to rack-up 25 books worth reading.
I’m familiar with this retail holiday tradition because every year, our preschool gives each child a book from Kohl’s and a corresponding stuffed animal. In years past we’ve received There’s a Wocket in my Pocket and a wocket (creep-ee), The Velveteen Rabbit and a rabbit that was not velveteen, The Wizard of Oz and Toto (also referred to as Puppy-o), and a kitten that is still around but we don’t remember what story she went with. A number of these stuffed animals have “run away from home.” Let’s not talk about it.
This year Kohl’s struck a deal with the Peanuts franchise and we received two identical Snoopies and two of the same book, You Can be Anything!
Nonna had already helped the Christmas elf holiday budget by contributing a copy of You Can be Anything! as well as Happiness is a Warm Blanket, Charlie Brown.
Let’s just say, it’s unfortunate that we have three copies of You Can be Anything! As Jake put it, “It’s not a story.” Basically it’s just a bunch of unimaginative and, at times, questionable professions such as pirate, skateboarder, surfer, and bowler. It mentions career possibilities such as lawyer and grocery clerk. And then it makes an exceptionally weak case for just being “plain cool” as a roller derby star, bungee jumper and flash dancer. I’d add one last page, as a specific aspiration for this particular book— You can be anything… a doormat, a Goodwill donation, landfill! Don’t worry Nonna, you and thousands of other consumers couldn’t have known.
So I had fairly low expectations for Happiness is a Warm Blanket, Charlie Brown. Fortunately, I was completely surprised and my faith in Charles Schulz has been restored. It has become one of my latest bedtime favorites.
In a nutshell: It’s the story of Linus and his close relationship with his blanket. “It made him feel safe and secure. It soaked up all of his fears and frustrations.” He’s starting to get quite a bit of flack from his friends and big sister about still having a blanket. I do have to warn you, there are a number of references to “that stupid blanket” which I surreptitiously replace with “silly.” But, Linus’ biggest problem is that his grandma is planning a visit and they are certain she is going to unceremoniously and cold-heartedly impound his trademark lovey. The only one who understands is Snoopy, who frankly just wants Linus’ blanket for himself.
Lucy warns her brother that when Gramma comes to visit, she’s going to cut his blanket into a thousand pieces. Lucy devises a blankie-cessation program. Then, in an unfortunate and highly suspect kite mishap, Linus’ blanket floats off into the sunset. Just when you think this story is taking an insensitive and ruthless tough love stance on security blankets, Linus receives good news.
Then Gramma shows-up. Linus makes a compassionate appeal to the fact that everyone has something that helps them get through their day, even Gramma with her coffee. As expected, Gramma (aka She Devil) won’t listen. She takes his blanket and of course we never see her. She can’t even show her face.
Spoiler Alert: Linus has swapped his blanket with a dish towel, tricks Gramma, and lives happily ever after.
Families can talk about: What is going on with Linus’ hair? And with Charlie’s hair for that matter? What kind of loveys do you have? How many loveys should you realistically bring to school? Three puppies seems like overkill, doesn’t it? Why does Sally call Linus her “Sweet Babboo”? What does that even mean? How can you tell if it’s Linus’ blanket or a dish towel? Do you think Grandma would ever take your lovey? Are you sure about that? How sure?