Blue’s Clues

1/16: Let’s go to church, find my joker, and then go home.

1/19: (when realize he’s about to get in trouble for being naughty) No!  Don’t defeat me!

1/21:  Daddy, you don’t have milkies.  Mummy has milkies.  But you still have flowers.

1/29:  (as Mack) BumbleBee, I’m poopy.  The muck is in my diaper.

2/26:  (to Paul) I’m not Boy Blue, I’m Obi-Kenobi and you Luke Skywalkie.  (Still uses “ie” for “er.”  Just makes it cuter!)

2/26:  My brain is talking to me.

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Holding on with Hawaii

Is it strange that as I watch, transfixed, the news waiting for the tsunami that I miss Hawaii even more than I did before? But I do. I love those people, I love those islands, I love the life we lived there. I remember hearing the older ones share their memories of the last big one, back in the 50s? It was a surprise back then. They didn’t have the monitoring and tracking systems they have now. Now the residents were awoken to the sirens alerting of the impending danger hours in advance. Everyone knows what to do. Hawaii doesn’t mess around with emergency preparedness. Everyone knows what to do. Everyone knows where to go. The blue pages in every phone book have maps with evacuation centers and explain the sirens and their meanings. (And I wonder, now that no one uses phone books, what fills that educational void? I also wonder if I’m the only one who ever reads the blue pages.)

I want to go back. I want to live there again, someday.

***EDIT***

whew!  What a bullet dodged there.  It reminds me of when Hurricane Dan was headed straight for us.  We were ready, waiting, and watching.  It took a right turn and lost steam.  We got rain, but no more than any other winter storm.  School wasn’t even cancelled.  (Part of me felt a little let down.  We were ready, and I was looking forward to adventure.  But I was glad we did without the devastation.)

Sometimes I’m Brilliant

See here.

Now go get your own!

Thursdays Thoughts

I decided not to blog today. I have several drafts in the works but decided not to ruin any of them by working on them today. Turns out I don’t think well on 2 hours of sleep. In case you were wondering, sleeping in a racecar bed is not as glamourous as you would think, despite it being a palindrome. My friend, Stacey, did that for two years. The woman deserves a medal. Actually, she deserves awards for many things, but sleeping in a racecar bed for two years is definitely trophy-worthy.

All I have to say is “Boy Blue finally got the cough.” Everyone knows what I’m talking about. Everyone knows how horrible it is. Everyone shares how horrible it was for them and how it never seemed to go away. i think every single person we know in LA has, or has had “the cough.” He didn’t cough once, for weeks while the rest of us were struggling, then suddenly last night awoke at midnight coughing so much it made him cry and wheezing between coughs. I spent the night listening to him breathe — was it getting better or getting worse? Was it cough-related or did I need to get him to the hospital? Once he settled down and went to sleep his temperature rose, a fever in our family is pretty rare, but as he was sleeping I just kept vigilance. Finally when he awoke at 5:30 I gave him some medicine to get the fever down so he could get back to sleep. And at 6:30 he awoke again, and told me that I could sleep in my own bed now. Which would have been great if it wasn’t 6:30 and time to make Little Red’s lunch, get breakfast going, and get the day started!

Today was rocky, but filled with little miracles. The best of all is that the boys are in bed and I will be once I fold the laundry and take a shower.

Looky here, I made a blog post after all. I guess stream-of-consciousness isn’t just for Faulkner and Karen! (although they both do a much better job than I.)

Distinguished School, yes. Distinguished me? uhhh

There’s a special luncheon at the school on Friday. The people from wherever who come to bestow upon us the Distinguished School award really like a dog and pony show. Last week in the Thursday folders we received an invitation to the luncheon. It was promptly recycled as I was pretty sure that Boy Blue and Daytime Brother were not included in my invitation, and figured it would be plenty crowded. Didn’t everyone get one of these?

Apparently everyone did not. How on earth did I get on the selection list?  It must have been a lottery.

My Sweet Stewardship

It had been a long day. It wasn’t especially bad, just long. It was a school holiday and I seem to have a soft spot for single mothers, so we took in one of Little Red’s classmates, whom we’ve watched now for a total of four days. She’s not a bad kid, but the boys find her competitive so the dynamic is much less friendly than normal. I can’t decide which bothers me more, her lack of understanding about honesty, or the constant I’m-the-victim whine.

The boys have a certain level of misbehaviour that they pull out when they’re with certain children (with a lower set of behavioural standards themselves.) She is certainly in that group. It takes a little while for the boys to detox and when such visits last for several days I usually have to do some re-wiring of my own children to get them back to normal. A solitary day usually just needs a debrief and a good night’s sleep.

As Little Red said his prayers last night he asked Heavenly Father to help him not be naughty tomorrow. And then as I tucked him into bed and asked him what story he wanted tonight (he makes up a different synopsis every night to which I fill in the blanks) he wanted the story of SpongeBob who was so naughty that his parents sent him away and didn’t want him anymore.

My heart crumbled immediately. He had only ten minutes earlier still be unrepentant of his behaviour, but he now wanted truly to be good. He was very sorry.

I drew out the bedtime story three times the length I normally do, and when it was over I reinforced the moral by telling him exactly how I felt. Spongebob’s parents (just as Little Red’s parents) did not send him away. Even if they were upset with something he had done, they always loved him and always wanted him in their family. The misunderstanding, in the story and –I hope– in real life, was quickly resolved. Everyone went to sleep happy.

And awoke happy. Today I have my sweet boy back. It was a powerful reminder to me of what a fine line we walk as parents, needing to teach them which behaviours are inappropriate, but always letting them know they are loved. As does our Heavenly Father for us, so we much parent our own.

For my part, I have a long way to go. But I think last night I did a good thing. It’s those little glimmers of “on the right track” parenting that keep me going on the days I’m sure I’m doing it all wrong.

A Healthy Dose of Realism

Zen Mama: What time would you like to meet at the park?

Vicky: Well, it’s almost 9 now, let’s say 10?

Zen Mama: That works perfectly. My extra one will be here by then and I will be completely recovered from my delusions that I can do something this morning.