Art For Kids

This morning, I heard Todd and Rollie talking about one of Rollie's paintings from school. We get about three per week. They are . . . interesting. I didn't hear the whole conversation, but Todd came in with eyebrows raised, looking a little speechless, then asked if I had overheard what they were discussing.

"Rollie, come in here and show Mama your painting from school," Todd said, staring at me eyes wide and unblinking.

"Look, Mama!" Rollie said, holding up the painting.

I could not discern what he was portraying in the painting. I was scared to ask what it was.

Todd said, "Tell Mama the name of the painting, Rollie," keeping his voice calm and level, and somehow free of laughter.

Rollie beamed at me, holding it up higher for me to see.

"It's Rollie's Blood Monster!"

Zombie Princess

So, we got all zombified on Saturday night, and the kids were enthralled with the whole process. I guess we did a pretty good job, because Tiller would not kiss me goodbye when we left. And when Rollie saw me, his reaction was, "You look like a really, really not-very-good Princess."

And let's be honest, I would never make a very good Princess, makeup or no.

What Tire Spells

After opening gifts at my in-laws last night, Rollie was sitting around the table with Todd, Todd's father, and Todd's brother Lyle and his wife. Rollie was playing with a Cars drawing tablet that included pencils, crayons, paints, and stickers. It also has a workbook section, where he can practice writing and spelling.

Rollie was trying to sound out and write the word "Tire," with Todd's help.

"T . . . ," Rollie said, looking at Todd for help.
"Sound it out," Todd said. "What sound does T make?"
Rollie: "Tuh."
Todd: "Okay, 'tuh.' Then, 'I.' What sound does 'I' make?"
Rollie: "Ih."
Aunt Denise: "Long 'I' sound, Rollie."
Rollie: "I."
Todd: "Right. Ok, 'R.' What sound does 'r' make?"
Rollie: "Ruh."
Todd: "Right. So, put it together." Rollie looks like his brain is
hurting.
Todd: "Sound it out. Tuh - I- Ruh. Tigh-ruh.
Rollie stares at Todd with a look of concentration on his face, then
realization dawns. "Tigh- roll! Roll Tide, Roll! Right down the toilet
bowl!"

Nobody in my in-laws' household was about to tell him for a second that he was wrong. We just laughed.

Finding My Voice

On the way to school, I was vainly pleading with Rollie to simply ignore his screaming, writhing sister, rather than egging her on by continually yelling, "no!" (Where on earth did he learn that?) The cacophony made by their voices combined with the radio was making my ears bleed at this point. I woke up with a sore throat and barely any voice.

Me [voice at a whisper]: "Rollie, please just don't talk to her. Just ignore her."
Rollie: "Mama, you're losing your voice."
Me: "Yes, Rollie, I am."
Rollie: "Tiller and I need to find it."

Sweetie, y'all already helped me find it.

Here, There Be Dragons

Conversation with Rollie yesterday:

Rollie: "Mama, if I see a dragon, you will give me a knight, and I will knife the dragon."
Me: "Um, okay, if we see a dragon, I will let you have a knife and slay him. But you realize that we don't play with knives, ever, without Mama's permission?"
Rollie: "But, we do if there is a dragon."
Me: "Well, yeah, obviously. Also? A 'Knight' is the guy who wears the armor, and who holds a sword or a lance, or throws down the gauntlet, okay? 'Knight' just sounds like "knife." And you use a sword to slay the dragon, not a knife."
Rollie: "Right," he says, nodding his head vigorously in the affirmative.

Okay. It's a plan.

Pooped Out

From last night, because I forgot to click Publish . . . .

Todd, the kids, and I went to visit friends in Lake Lure, NC this weekend. We had a great time, although kids change everything about vacation. I was up by 8 am every day we were there, even today when I woke up with a hangover. Kids do not slow down for hangovers.

We hit the road about 10:30 am and when we walked in the door, i am surprised that Todd and I didn't burst into tears at the sight. It seems that someone showed our house over the weekend, but forgot to leave the door open to the room containing the cats' litter box.

In the immortal words of Adam, the cousin of Poo, "Fuuuuuuuuuuuck."

There were piles of poop in the kitchen. There were wet spots of urine on the two rugs in the downstairs rooms, in the dog's crate, and in our bedroom. There were also some unidentified spots on the quilt in our bedroom.

After taking it all in, I was standing at the bottom of the stairs, trying to figure out where to begin, and Rollie sat down on the bottom step and said, "Dammit." At least he is using his new vocabulary in the correct context.

He then proceeded to pull the towel rack out of the wall in the bathroom.

Awesome. Totally awesome.

Pics from our trips and attention to blogging will be along one of these days. My summer is jam-packed with excitement like this.

Vocabulary

One of the most entertaining parts of the parenting thing is the rapidity with which a child's vocabulary grows; They really are little sponges, constantly soaking up everything around them, both good and bad. It is fun to watch, and a little scary, as they mirror the very things that you say and do, day in and day out, very closely. Things that adults say sound benign, but out of the mouths of babes . . . yikes.

I have written about the divided household we are running here; I am a Georgia fan, Todd is an Auburn fan, and the kids are confused. Add to the confusion trying to explain that we still love Grandma, even though she is a Vols fan, and that Uncle Mark is a Gator fan, and we hate Gators, but that he is still a good person. SEC families are a tricky road to navigate with children.

Rollie and I were having a discussion the other day about how we can like both Dawgs and Tigers, but that Dawgs are a little bit better. My mother overheard this and told Rollie that Vols were better than both. I thought that I had deprogrammed the child after this conversation, but evidently I was wrong. On the way home from dinner the next night, Rollie said out of nowhere:

"Mama, I like Gators."

"No, you don't."

"But I like Vols. . ."

"No, Rollie, you don't like Vols. They are yucky."

A pregnant pause from the backseat. I looked in the rear view mirror to see Rollie frowning and deep in thought. I was still looking at his reflection in the mirror when he lifted his face to look right at the back of my head and yelled "Vols, Damn it!"

[sigh]

Where to start? What is more offensive? The fact that he learned his first four-letter word, or the fact that he thinks he likes Tennessee?

"Rollie, where did you learn that word?"

"From Grandma."

"No, Rollie, the other word. Where did you learn that one?"

"Papaw Cecil said it when he was at the door."

I think it would be best for the child if he just didn't see Grandma and Papaw anymore.

Growing Chocolate (and Wonder and Hope)

So, one of the really cool things about young kids is their total suspension of disbelief. They don't even know what disbelief is! They just walk around, looking at the world with the belief that anything is possible. It is fucking awesome. I look at my kids and wonder where I lost that ability, but know that in me? It is long, long gone. I am one cynical, disbelieving bitch. Not so cynical that I don't let them believe, though.

Which is why I answered Rollie the way I did today when we were out gardening. I had finished what I was doing, and decided to get some of the flowering things and bring them inside to enjoy. I was cutting some jasmine when Rollie said, "Mama?" "This plant is going to grow up and up and grow chocolate."

I looked at the Hydrangea, my absolute favorite flower (Not really a flower, I know!) at which he was pointing, and I thought, well, it is my favorite flower, but it would be pretty fucking cool if it was chocolate, plus, if my hydrangeas bloomed chocolate, I think we would be able to retire to my imagined farm in the middle of nowhere.

"Yeah, Rollie. It might just do that," I nodded, hopeful for a moment, and with a slight smile on my face. "It just might."

Poop Jokes are Funny

They really are.

Yesterday afternoon, I was changing Tiller. When one of the kids has a really large poopy diaper, I exclaim "Poop-O-Rama!" Everyone gets excited. Tiller was excited about her Poop-O-Rama, and as she is starting to mimic everything we say, she let out a gleeful, "Poop-O-Mama!!!"

Today, I had Rollie try to go on the potty. I try to remind him hourly and after eating or drinking. Today has been a banner day - so far, no poop in the diaper. Only on the potty. To my joy, Rollie said, "I have to go poop." I told him to go, go, go. He rushed to the bathroom, took off his pants and diaper, sat up on the toilet, and closed the bathroom door. He sat for a second, and I was on the couch waiting to hear something from him, when he opened up the door and darted out towards his toy box.

Me: "Did you poop?"

Rollie: "No, I just need to get a magazine."

Such a little man.

How to Charm Annie

Dooce has this cute thing she calls "How to Charm Me." I often think of things that the kids and husband do that are just downright charming and then I forget to share them. Not today!

How Rollie charmed Annie today:

Three year olds talk a lot. I mean a LOT. They pretty much wake up, walk out of their room, come in your room, tell you to wake up, and then bombard you with constant questions for the next, oh, thirteen hours or so. Non-stop. You don't have children and you think I am exaggerating; I am not. It is the Spanish fucking inquisition over here.

Before I have coffee, I just nod and say uh-huh, even when Rollie says,

"Mama, mama, mama, mama. I asked you a question. Mama, I asked you a question. Mama!! I asked you a question."

The question is usually,

"Mama, why do cars just bump?"

Translation: Why do cars bump into each other in races and get into wrecks? Sometimes, it is

"Mama, why do you like coffee?"

I want to tell him the truth, which is that I am addicted to coffee and I can't handle his fucking questions all day without drinking it. Instead i say,

Me: "Because it is good."
Him: "Why it's good?"
Me: "It just is. Drink your milk."

Kids questions aren't influenced by the constraints of physics in any way whatsoever. Last night, Rollie asked us

"Why can't you go outside the walls?"

We aren't sure what this means, but i think he was trying to find out why we can't walk through walls, and well, damn. The explanation for that is over my head, how the fuck am I going to explain it to him? A good answer for one like that is

"Go ask your father."

And yes, I now often answer him with only "Because," or even the dreaded "Because I said so." You may judge me for this when you have walked a mile in my shoes and listened to the incessant damn interrogation.

Biology is a remarkable thing. Survival of the Fittest actually extends to human children. In addition to their little immune systems and ability to heal from wounds quickly, they also have this neat little mechanism where, just about the time you are going to wring their little necks if they utter another syllable, they pop out with something so funny, or absurd, or clever, that you bust out laughing and forget to kill them. Case in point:

"Mama, when is bunny coming?"
"Easter."
"When is Easter?"
"Easter Sunday."
"Tomorrow?"
"No. Sunday after next."
"What is Sunday?"
"The day after Saturday."
"Is Tiller going to have candy?"
"If y'all are good, you will both get candy for Easter."
"From the Buster Bunny?

And that, folks, is what happens when you have been watching Bugs Bunny and talking about the Easter Bunny all in the same day.

Call Me Tipper

Yesterday, Tiller and I dropped Rollie off at school, then headed for the gym. We were coming through Oakhurst and were on 2nd Ave. We stopped at the four-way stop at Oakview. This intersection is across a two-lane street (Oakview) which has a grassy median in the middle. So, when you are crossing on 2nd, you go across one lane of traffic, then there is an area that cuts between the grassy median, and then you cross the other lane of Oakview. We were the first car there, then two other cars pulled up: One at the Stop to our left, and one at the Stop directly across from us. There was no one at the Stop sign to our right. We began to cross and as I reached the beginning of the middle of the intersection, a truck (Ford F150-sized, I'd say) came blowing through his Stop sign on my right. He was going about 40-45 miles and hour and didn't even slow for his Stop sign. I slammed on my brakes, and skidded a few feet in the median section, coming to a stop only a few feet from where the truck passed. I sat on the horn, taught Tiller how to give the bird, and then started shaking. If we had been one second faster, the truck would have hit the front, right side of my van. Another two seconds, and it would have t-boned us on Tiller's side of the van. Either way, it would have fucked us up, if not killing her.

I spent the next hour or two just thinking about the tenuousness of our existence on this earth, the preciousness of a baby girl, and how quickly the rug can be pulled out from under us, control completely out of our reach. I was FREAKED. Today, I am not so shaky and wigged out, but still kind of scared and angry when I think about it.

Anyway, we picked up Rollie from school and found out that he has been acting out in class. He is hitting, kicking, pushing, and won't stay in line. They also informed me that Rollie was the most difficult child in the class. Great. Just what a conscientious mother wants to hear. Sure, the teacher added that it was most likely his age - he is the youngest child in his class, and he is within a week of the birthday "grade cutoff" in the state of Georgia.

We have been seeing some of the same behavior at home. Todd and I have been at our wits' ends (albeit, our wits don't encompass that much distance) trying to figure out the origin and the solution. Along with this more physical behavior, he has been saying things like,

"I wanna be first."

"I win."

"I wanna be in front."

"You are a joke!"

Rollie continues to bump and cut in front of us. Not a big deal for us, as I know who is going to win if we have a Rollie/Daddy collision; A little bit bigger deal when wobbly, only-walking-for-a-few-months Tiller is the one being bumped and cut off. We have tried taking away privileges and toys. We have tried consistent time-outs. We have, on occasion, tried spanking for extremely blatant and strong physical behavior. Nothing has worked.

He has also been asking us repeatedly "Mama, why do cars bump?" We would answer, "It is not nice to bump." We had long conversations about how good cars do not bump, and that bad cars bump, and that we will not accept the behavior. In one ear and out the other. He still asked about why they do it, as if I am capable of explaining good and evil?

It became obvious to me after talking to the teachers yesterday, and giving good thought to his behavior at home. It is the influence of that seemingly-innocuous, Oscar-nominated movie "Cars." His favorite movie. The one he once watched three consecutive times in one day while sick on the couch. The one that is going to break his heart, because we are not letting him watch it anymore.

Yep, it seems that Rollie is questioning us about the behavior, because he can't watch the movie and tell that some of the cars are good, and some are bad. He is not capable yet of drawing that line between acceptable and non-acceptable behavior. And so it begins: We have now censored what he watches to the extent that we are not allowing him to watch something that he wants to watch. As I type, he is laying on the couch watching that little PBS pussy, Caillou. Sigh.

Wow. Call me Tipper.

You Are a Joke

Rollie's latest thing, other than learning the word "Dammit" from his Grandma, is to say to people, "You are a joke." The first time he said this to me, I even kind of had my feelings hurt. He just hadn't said that many mean things before. I got over that, though, and explained to him that it wasn't nice to say that to people, and that it would hurt feelings, etc. He looked at me blankly, laughed, and said, "Mama, you are a joke."

I am so good at this job.

It seems that he picked this little gem up from (where else?) t.v. He loves the movie Cars, and in fact, it was the first movie Todd ever took him to see in the theater. (He made it about 20 minutes.) We have it on DVD. It is a pretty benign movie, rated G, but the cars race and bump into each other and say things like "You are a joke." There is a laughably "mean" car, too.

It is scary how easy it is to imprint things upon the blanket of freshly fallen snow that is the mind of the three-year-old. They are without a single imperfection, and then language begins to assail them from every side, and suddenly, they are saying, "mama, You are a joke," or "We're home, dammit!"

This is a very heavy job, raising a kid. For a perfectionist, or even a failed perfectionist, it is really difficult to know that there are no A +s in parenting. Parenting involves watching the slow erosion of a perfect being into an imperfect person, and simply trying to prevent them from sliding below average into sociopath. There is no other way. It is terrifying and beautiful, and the weightiest responsibility I have ever felt.

There are small victories, though. Like getting to wipe your son's ass after he poops in the potty. Because at least he pooped in the potty, instead of in the diaper, or in his Batman undies, or crouched under the kitchen table hiding from you.