Tuesday, September 8, 2009
My Little Monsters
Aukai and I just started some sort of creative activity each morning with the boys. This morning they wanted their faces painted as a dinosaur and "dark blue monster." (With Ashton, everything has to be "dark blue.") Isaac and Ashton spent about 5 minutes scaring themselves as they roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws. They then went to show off to their sweet friend next door who quite decidedly did NOT want to be painted like a monster.
Friday, September 4, 2009
She's done it again
Zion made this whimsical 8-layer birthday cake for an eight year old girl. Her parents were out of town getting medical treatment for her brother, so Zion wanted to bring her an extra-special surprise. The flavor is white cake with raspberry syrup and milk chocolate truffle. Each layer of cake is a different color inside.
Zion had lots of helpers. Two friends came in the morning to learn how to make cakes. I came in the afternoon to help with the best part: rolling fondant and decorating the cake. Thanks Zion!
Zion had lots of helpers. Two friends came in the morning to learn how to make cakes. I came in the afternoon to help with the best part: rolling fondant and decorating the cake. Thanks Zion!
Peach Picking
Last week, Aukai went on a 50 mile bike ride with the scouts, leaving the boys and I home alone. What's a girl to do? Grab her two wonderful neighbors and go peach picking, of course. We had a blast, and the boys LOVED having their friends along. Unfortunately, my camara died after only a few of pics, but here are some that turned out well:
Classic Isaac
Grandma gave Isaac a compendium on insects, affectionately known in our house as "the bug book." Isaac LOVES the bug book. He poors over it and stays up at night looking at the pictures.
Isaac now knows more about bugs than I do. He loves repeating, in his best super-hero voice, phrases like "Mom, this bug is the Master of Disguise!" or "This spider is an eight-legged shredding machine." Move over batman . . . it's pretty hard to top that.
A few days ago, Aukai was eating lunch with the kids when Isaac ran to the screen door and yelled something to our neighbors. Yesterday, we found out why.
After a grasshopper narrowly escaped the up-close-and-personal inspection of our little friends, their mommy explained that the grasshopper "flew away." This launched a heated debate about whether grasshoppers jump or fly. Suddenly Isaac swung open the screen door, mouth full of PB&J, and yelled, "Actually, some grasshoppers can fly!" He shut the door and ran back to finish his sandwich. That's Isaac for you . . . ridding the world of injustice and, umm, misconceptions about bugs.
As Annie said: "It was just classic Isaac."
Isaac now knows more about bugs than I do. He loves repeating, in his best super-hero voice, phrases like "Mom, this bug is the Master of Disguise!" or "This spider is an eight-legged shredding machine." Move over batman . . . it's pretty hard to top that.
A few days ago, Aukai was eating lunch with the kids when Isaac ran to the screen door and yelled something to our neighbors. Yesterday, we found out why.
After a grasshopper narrowly escaped the up-close-and-personal inspection of our little friends, their mommy explained that the grasshopper "flew away." This launched a heated debate about whether grasshoppers jump or fly. Suddenly Isaac swung open the screen door, mouth full of PB&J, and yelled, "Actually, some grasshoppers can fly!" He shut the door and ran back to finish his sandwich. That's Isaac for you . . . ridding the world of injustice and, umm, misconceptions about bugs.
As Annie said: "It was just classic Isaac."
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Exercise partner
I (Aukai) went on a run this morning with Ashton because everyone else in my family was asleep. It started out with me asking him if he wanted to go on a run, to which he replied yes. His yes, however, meant that he run with me and not in the running stroller. Since I can run a little faster than his 3-year-old legs will take him I was forced to negotiate. So we took a scooter ride around the block first and then we went on our run, after which he would run outside of the stroller.
When we got back, I took him out for the cool-down walk afterwards and let him know that it was his turn to run. So he walked; and about halfway through he wanted me to carry him. I didn't feel like it, so we played the walking, walking, hop, hop, running, and stop game on the way home. When we got home I needed to stretch on the grass in front of our house, and during my stretching he wanted to sit on my lap. I gave in after I suggested that he sit on his own lap and he put me in my place by informing me that he doesn't have three laps but I do. It is somewhat difficult to stretch with a little kid climbing on you as you try to think up ways to distract him so you can actually get some good out of it; but it sure was cute.
When we got back, I took him out for the cool-down walk afterwards and let him know that it was his turn to run. So he walked; and about halfway through he wanted me to carry him. I didn't feel like it, so we played the walking, walking, hop, hop, running, and stop game on the way home. When we got home I needed to stretch on the grass in front of our house, and during my stretching he wanted to sit on my lap. I gave in after I suggested that he sit on his own lap and he put me in my place by informing me that he doesn't have three laps but I do. It is somewhat difficult to stretch with a little kid climbing on you as you try to think up ways to distract him so you can actually get some good out of it; but it sure was cute.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
I met Death yesterday.
He was nothing like you see in the movies. He did not wear a hood or carry a seive. Nor did he wear the face of an aged man gasping for air. No, yesterday he chose to meet me in a baseball cap and high tops. As if embracing the irony he laughed. I breathed it in, tried to cleanse my soul of the truth that was coming.
He was taken for a walk "so he doesn't have to listen." I watched his parents hand the doctor his living will. She read it out loud: "Do not resuscitate, do not intubate, no antibiotics . . . " And then the questions. Will he be able to start swallowing better? Will he be get out of his wheelchair? Are there any more tests? Any more medicines?
And as I stood and listened to talk about comfort care and autopsies his father looked at me, the black fly in the corner, as if to plead for some sense of doubt. I closed my eyes, trying to pretend he wasn't calling out for something, anything to save him from this nightmare. Because I didn't want my eyes to lie.
Death doesn't come to torture the dying. We have medicines to treat pain, nausea, breathlessness. Death comes to torture the living. And as I watched this man pound his fist against the wall and sob, all I could think of was the silence that would fill his 6 AM breakfast when it was no longer interupted by a child's desire to spend a few minutes with Dad.
He was nothing like you see in the movies. He did not wear a hood or carry a seive. Nor did he wear the face of an aged man gasping for air. No, yesterday he chose to meet me in a baseball cap and high tops. As if embracing the irony he laughed. I breathed it in, tried to cleanse my soul of the truth that was coming.
He was taken for a walk "so he doesn't have to listen." I watched his parents hand the doctor his living will. She read it out loud: "Do not resuscitate, do not intubate, no antibiotics . . . " And then the questions. Will he be able to start swallowing better? Will he be get out of his wheelchair? Are there any more tests? Any more medicines?
And as I stood and listened to talk about comfort care and autopsies his father looked at me, the black fly in the corner, as if to plead for some sense of doubt. I closed my eyes, trying to pretend he wasn't calling out for something, anything to save him from this nightmare. Because I didn't want my eyes to lie.
Death doesn't come to torture the dying. We have medicines to treat pain, nausea, breathlessness. Death comes to torture the living. And as I watched this man pound his fist against the wall and sob, all I could think of was the silence that would fill his 6 AM breakfast when it was no longer interupted by a child's desire to spend a few minutes with Dad.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Toe Tales
So I'm sitting there minding my own business when this 11 year old toe-head boy comes up to me and says:
"Excuse me Maam, but did you know your toes are stuck together?"
Now apart from the fact that I resent being old enough to be called "Maam," there was the potential for so many ridiculous responses:
1. You know, thanks for pointing that out, I'd never noticed that I my toes are fused together.
2. Yup, I had the doctor do that so that I could swim better. I almost swam in the Olympics, but they disqualified me based on the operation.
3. I know I'm a freak, just leave me alone!
But instead I smiled politely and said, "Why yes, I did know that."
The smile spread to his face as his mom explained that he had the same thing and was starting to feel self-conscious about it. So I had him bust off his shoes and show me. Sure enough, we matched.
I explained to him that it is called incomplete simple/soft-tissue syndactyly and that about 1 in 200 people have it. Many people in my family bear these toes and it has become a source of "Mead pride." At the age of 4, my twin sister and I were shocked to learn, after arguing with our friend, that we were the "freaks" and not she. I learned at about his age that I could have an operation to separate them, but couldn't understand why I would want to.
Most importantly, I counseled him to severely mock anybody who thinks they were the first person witty enough to ask "Can you swim better?" to which he sincerely and quickly replied, "But I can! I swim so much better!"
That's fine. Whatever helps you embrace your identity, Kid. In the mean time, I'll keep embracing mine, even if I do sometimes wonder what it would feel like to spread my toes out wide.
"Excuse me Maam, but did you know your toes are stuck together?"
Now apart from the fact that I resent being old enough to be called "Maam," there was the potential for so many ridiculous responses:
But instead I smiled politely and said, "Why yes, I did know that."
The smile spread to his face as his mom explained that he had the same thing and was starting to feel self-conscious about it. So I had him bust off his shoes and show me. Sure enough, we matched.
I explained to him that it is called incomplete simple/soft-tissue syndactyly and that about 1 in 200 people have it. Many people in my family bear these toes and it has become a source of "Mead pride." At the age of 4, my twin sister and I were shocked to learn, after arguing with our friend, that we were the "freaks" and not she. I learned at about his age that I could have an operation to separate them, but couldn't understand why I would want to.
Most importantly, I counseled him to severely mock anybody who thinks they were the first person witty enough to ask "Can you swim better?" to which he sincerely and quickly replied, "But I can! I swim so much better!"
That's fine. Whatever helps you embrace your identity, Kid. In the mean time, I'll keep embracing mine, even if I do sometimes wonder what it would feel like to spread my toes out wide.
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