Sam read to me last night, each word precious and halting, a hard won battle of chosen sounds. I didn’t learn like this.… Read the rest
My kids were with me on Friday, December 14. It was my birthday, and the opening night of the Nutcracker, in which they both performed.… Read the rest
“Told you.” Scott was lacing up his own shoes.
We went back out together. Sam poked his penis through the tree house slats and shook it at us. “Wanker!”
“Oh God, I thought the ‘wanker’ phase was over.” I stalked to the base of the tree. “You’re going to get splinters if you keep that there.”
I could feel Scott’s eyes on my back.… Read the rest
“No!” The hedgehog took another swipe at Caroline.
“Sonic, we need to talk about control.” I plucked the toy out of Sam’s arms and hugged it close. Sam roared and leapt, trying to steal it back.
Scott offered, “At least he’s quit hitting.”
“This weekend was incredible. He had to come down sometime.” Sam held up one hand but didn’t jump again.
“Did he have to crash?”
“That’s the real question, isn’t it?” I returned Sonic and waited to see if Sam would continue using his toy as a weapon.
I just took some chocolate chip cookies to the neighbor’s house. Normally, I do that to express sympathy. I eat for comfort. Surely you do, as well. But today, I was saying, “Thank you.” We barely know these neighbors, a married couple with teen kids. In the three years we’ve lived here, we’ve exchanged maybe thirty words.… Read the rest
When we got home, we tried to slow things down with a viewing of Wall-E. Scott and I enjoyed the movie. What little we saw of it between “hug attacks” and “What’s that?” bombardment. (NB: This is a kid who can follow Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen so I know he’s full of piss and vinegar when he claims to be unclear about a Pixar plot.… Read the rest
There’s an art to finessing these things so we don’t feed into them while still trying to force the little monster to gain some control. I don’t honestly remember what set him off either time, and once he’s in the heat of one, it doesn’t really matter.
If he were older, just a little older, I could comfortably put him in his room and, barring his own ability to confine himself to its four walls, lock the door and leave.… Read the rest
I swear to GOD my four year old can’t read. So I KNOW he didn’t see your blog entry about The Professor’s laundry today. Besides, he was in school. And he was still in school when my husband and I were talking to each other and saying it was exactly the kind of thing he might try, nevermind that your professor is five years his senior.
Nonetheless, we seem to have jinxed ourselves.
We put Sam to bed at 8, and he was back to annoy us at 8:15, 9:15, and 9:30. When things quieted down thereafter, we hoped it meant he’d finally gone to sleep.… Read the rest
Things got off to a rough start, because the shape of our house made it impossible to drag the beds in ahead of time, meaning we had to plan to deliver them as a middle-of-the-day-work-in-progress surprise. Only when we woke up, it was shiver in my bones pouring rain. Queue Ten Thousand Maniacs. Scott checked the radar, identified a brief hole when we could drag everything in from the shed, and as soon as the predicted letup began, we raced inside with a thousand parts.… Read the rest