energized, or something

I woke up yesterday morning with an unfamiliar feeling. I had ... something ... that I hadn't had in awhile. I got up and fed the kids. I fed myself. and not just by foraging for food in the pantry, either, I did this thing where I sliced fruit and toasted wheat bread. It was amazing. Is this how we used to live? I can hardly remember.

after that I was still feeling that weird feeling, so instead of falling on the couch inert, I read to my kids. Outloud. With my raspy, squeaky non-voice, and we all thought it was hilarious. We laughed, our laughter rusty with disuse. it scared Ivy, who wasn't sure what that sound was, but after we sorted it out, oh, how we laughed.

And THEN! after that! I did that thing that people do, you know that thing where they clean themselves? In, like, a shower? And this is the best part: after I was finished, I put on clothes, actual clothes that I hadn't slept in. then I did the same to my kids. "why aren't we wearing Pajamas today, Mom?" they wanted to know, but at that point the strange feeling had vanished and I couldn't answer. Why were we wearing clothes? Was there a point? also, who am I?

So after that I took a nap.

but still.
I guess this means I'm not going to die after all.

project reject

earlier this week, when some plans I had for the weekend were postponed, I was overcome by a wave of what then I would have termed "ambition" but now I would call "total raving lunacy," and I decided to paint my house.

Here's the problem. I have a crafty, do-it-yourself type husband, who has crafty do-it-yourself type relatives, plus I now have many crafty do-it-yourself type friends, and with their encouragement/support/example, it doesn't take long for me to go from thinking about what I want done to my house, to thinking, hey, maybe I could do that to my house. because what kind of moron can't paint their own house?

So I start, and I get about halfway though the project before remembering that I am the kind of moron who can't paint their own house. that kind of moron is me.

it has been quite the weekend. my elbows may never forgive me.

and if I ever, ever again, intimate in any way, any way at all, that I want to learn more crafty, do-it-yourself type skills, please shoot me.

the end.

love

chris and I finish having a "discussion."

him: I'm sorry.

me: I'm sorry.

him: I'm sorry, too.

(pause)

me: I'm really sorry, Chris ... I know I'm impatient, and frustrating, and thoughtless. and a huge pain in the ass.

him: ...well, yes. but you're pretty, so that's okay.

me: nah. I've decided to stop being so pretty all the time. it's exhausting.

him: oh. then you're definitely going to have to work on that other stuff.

broke it

first of all, why does everyone who reads my blog hate poetry?

what's that all about?

you probably hate puppies, too.
and rainbows.
and smiling.
you are all philistines, and it is weird.

but whatever. We'll move on.

My little brother, Daniel, came over tonight. Daniel is by far my favorite sibling, mostly because he called me up at noon today and said, "Hey, do you want me to come babysit tonight?" and I was like "YES! YES! YES! LOVE! YES!" because it is hard to be articulate when overcome with shock and joy.

(yes, joy. I'm just saying. Sorry other siblings, but having someone offer unsolicited baby-sitting might be the best thing that has happened to me since...ever.)

(i'm such a nerd. It hurts me, it really does.) (but wait! I'm about to get even nerdier.)

So, thanks to Dan, Chris and I went out, had a lovely time, and then after some debate decided what we really wanted to do next was go home and play a board game.

(you didn't believe me about the nerdier part, did you? you should never underestimate my powers of nerdiness.)

So we came home and challenged Daniel to a round of Ticket to Ride.
(It's a great game by the way.)

And our boys, up in their beds, heard us come home and decided this meant they don't have to stay in bed. We could hear them running and jumping and giggling and hiding upstairs in their room.

Neither of us really wanted to deal with it. We both sat there with our heads cocked, one ear towards the staircase, when Chris turned to me and said, "Hey! Why don't they ever get along like this during the day?"

and I laughed.

here's the thing: Michael and William are 19 months apart. They are best little buddies, and play together pretty much all day long, but their play is punctuated by fights and tears and "He took my toooooyyyy!!!"s and "He won't shaaaaaaaaaareeee!"s and "He touched meeeeee!"s.

and on and on and on.

After bedtime, though, it's another story. A fantastic story, full of sunshine and puppies and rainbows. (probably poetry, too.) it's like some magical friendship switch has been flipped, and all of a sudden there's no fighting, no pushing, no tears. minimal arguing.
just lots of laughing and conspiring.
It's a beautiful thing to see.
(sure, they're conspiring against us, but still.)

However. It is after bedtime, and they are supposed to be in bed. So the next time I went upstairs, I made it clear to William that he is NOT to get out of bed again. And even clearer to Michael that if (ha! when) William got out of bed again he is NOT to participate.

The next thing we hear from them is William crying like his heart is broken.
because he tried to sneak into Michael's bed again.
And Michael kicked him out.
With his foot.

...I broke the magic friendship switch.

that's just shoddy mothering, right there.

the destruction OF MY SOUL

There are two things you should be aware of if you're going to continue reading this blog:

one, I am prone to hyperbole.

(what? I know.)

two, I am not using hyperbole when I say that the sound of my children throwing up makes me want to die. It causes my brain to liquefy, my heart to shrivel and my soul to crack.

(maybe a little hyperbole.)

Since that remarkable day some four years ago when I first became a mother, I have suffered indignities you would not even believe, including, but not limited to:

• being spit up on
• being yelled at
• finding someone else's food smeared in my hair
• being kicked
• pregnancy
• working 115 hour weeks
• being used as a human tissue
• being woken up at least once every hour in the night
• being head-butted
• having feces leaked onto my clothes

and I can honestly say it hasn't particularly bothered me. even though in any scenario other than motherhood, this list would constitute torture.

however. HOWEVER. I cannot be so blase about the vomiting. it is not possible. Kids throwing up is the one part of motherhood that I simply can't (won't?) pretend is okay, none of this stoic "we're just fine, just keep going, tra-la-la" for me. as far as I'm concerned, they start gagging and the whole entire world is ending. may as well curl up under my comforter and let the agony of parenthood carry me to an early grave.

...wait, where was I going with this?

Oh, right.

hey! guess what happened today?

definition

So tonight I looked up the word nemesis. (Because sometimes I get suspicious that words don't mean exactly what I think they mean) (and tonight was one of those times)

nemesis:

1. something that a person cannot conquer, achieve, etc.
2. an opponent or rival who a person cannot best or overcome
3. an agent or act of retribution or punishment.


huh.
well.

I guess this means I have a nemesis.

and his name is William.

because William is kicking my ass.

and my dad is pretty sure I had it coming.




we will now return to our previously scheduled non-posting.

whine

hello, and welcome to my three-hundredth post! In honor of this very special occasion, I'd like to become almost unbearably whiny. Doesn't that sound exciting? good, because I'm not kidding. Prepare to be whined at. Everyone else around here gets to whine constantly and receive good-humoured responses, and it is MY TURN:

<>

I'm sick of the grocery store

It's annoying when you hold my leg everywhere we go

For the love of heaven, just stay in bed at night, when will you learn that SLEEP IS BEAUTIFUL

I hate cooking

Big cars are hard to park

that is MINE, STOP TOUCHING IT, YOU WERE TOO TOUCHING IT LIAR

I miss high heels

and I don't even like duck, duck, goose.
I didn't even like it when I was your age.
(Probably.)
(because it's a stupid game.)

<>

And this is where you guys attempt jolly me out of my bad mood while I stare at you and then respond by either (a) laughing, or (b) screaming really loud and throwing something at your dumb face.

thanks. I feel better.

yesterday

it's four o'clock in the afternoon and William has not had a nap today. I can hear him banging up the stairs to the sliding door, which he flings open fiercely, before stopping completely. He's framed in the doorway, letting his eyes adjust, but as soon as he sees me he runs over and stands practically on my toes. And as he runs he starts shouting:

"MOM MOM MOOOOM MOMMA, MICHAEL HIT ME, AND THE TRAMP HURT, HURT MY HEAD, IT GOT HURT AND I, I, I HUNGWY, I REALLY HUNGWY, I WANT SOME CHEESE, AND YOU TURNED OFF THE MOVIE, IT WASN'T OVER YET, MICHAEL SAID THAT, MICHAEL TOOK MY TOY AWAY, AND I GOING TO THROW THIS TOY AT YOU, YOU, I, I, I NEED A TUB, I DON'T WANT A TUB, AND YOU SAID NO PONIES, NO MORE PONIES, AND THAT MAKED ME SAD.

(pause)

DON'T MAKE ME SAD!

(pause)

OKAY?"

He stares at me for a few seconds. Then he turns around, snags my phone, hides it behind his back, and leaves the room.

...

I maybe should have insisted on naps today.



(and by the way, that pony thing? happened a week ago.)

blog I never finished back in April

ever since Easter Michael has been really into Jesus, and I phrase it like that not to be disrespectful, but because I'm not really sure how else to say it. He's been talking about Jesus all the time lately, and things are getting a little weird.

him: where are we going, Mama?

me: to the airport to pick up dad.

him: why?

me: because he needs a ride, and also because we love dad and can't wait to see him.

him: oh. (to william.) we're pickinng up dad at the airport. Jesus wants us to.

me: wait. what?

him: Jesus wants us to pick dad up.

me: that's, um...not what I said.

him: when we pick Dad up at the airport, it makes Jesus so happy.

me: ...

and that's pretty much how most these conversations end, with me at a loss. I don't know how to respond to that. I mean, on the one hand, I'm pretty sure Chris getting picked up from the airport was not really the focus of His message and ministry. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure "Jesus doesn't care if we pick dad up from the airport" isn't striking the right tone either.

I've tried elaborating. "Well, Jesus wants us to love one another. So when we love each other, and do kind things for each other, that's good."

And he's all, "right. Jesus is happy when we pick up dad at the airport. He told us to."

and this is where I usually just give up and let it go. I mean, there are worse things to believe. Right?

tuesday: a dramatization

6:00: William comes into bedroom, says he lost his binkie. Chris goes to help. I go back to sleep.

7:30: Chris gets up, goes downstairs, leaves for the gym. I go back to sleep.

7:45: Michael comes in. I let him in bed. He goes back to sleep. I go back to sleep.

8:00: William comes in. I let him in bed on the other side. He goes back to sleep. I go back to sleep. Michael wakes up.

8:10: Michael pokes me. "mama..." he says.
"shhhh," I say.
I go back to sleep.

8: 15: Michael props his head on his hand and pats my hair. "Mama," he says, "I love you so much."
I pat his hand on my head. "shhhh," I say.
He puts his head down. I go back to sleep.

8:20: Michael gets out of bed. "I'm just going to go to the bathroom," he stage-whispers, and runs out of the room. He slams the door. William wakes up.

8:20-8:30: William pokes me repeatedly in the face and calls me Bobo. I give up and get out of bed.

8:35: get Ivy. She's just hanging out in bed, staring at the ceiling. sometimes life is no fair.

8:45: "mama, I hungry," William says for the first time. I start making breakfast. "I'm working on it," I assure William.

8:46: Of course, I use the term "making breakfast" loosely. We slept in, so cheerios and strawberries all the way.

8:47: It's hard to do anything with William singing "I hungry, mama, I hungry. Mom. Mommy. Mama. Mama. I hungry." he's hanging on my leg. he becomes increasingly strident.

8:48: I stop reassuring him that breakfast is coming and begin vigorously ignoring him. so i can, you know, get breakfast.

8:50: William falls down in a puddle of tragic neglect in the middle of the kitchen floor. I stop getting breakfast, pick him up and reassure him that I do in fact love him, and, for the love of heaven, if he will just stop whining, I can finish getting breakfast for everyone.

8:55: William is consoled.

8:56: but now Ivy is crying. She wants her breakfast, too.

8: 57: William is crying again. Michael took his toy? or something?

8:58: Michael is crying now. He didn't do it. Do what? he doesn't know.

9:00: I sit everyone down on the couch and explain firmly that if everyone will STOP CRYING AND/OR FIGHTING I can finish getting breakfast and we can eat OR they can NOT stop crying and/or fighting and we can all go back to bed, instead.
everyone stops crying. even Ivy.

9:03: Ivy's drinking a bottle. boys are eating cheerios with strawberries on top. success! I make toast with peanutbutter to celebrate.

9:05: The boys are swordfighting with their spoons. I ask them to stop.

9:08: the boys begin swordfighting with their spoons again. I confiscate their spoons. "spoons are for big boys who use them to eat," I say. A little piece of my soul dies. and Michael sobs.

9:10: I watch them try to eat soggy cheerios with their fingers. I reflect that taking their spoons away was maybe not the best way to make my point.

9:15: oh, well.

9:30: Michael is cleaned up. William is cleaned up. they ask to go outside and jump on the tramp. sure.

9:31: begin cleaning cheerios off the chairs and floor.

9:32: and walls.

9:38: wait, where's Ivy?

9:38:30: Ivy is in the front room, chewing on Michael's flipflop.

9:40: Now Ivy is trapped in the highchair eating cheerios. She is happy. William, on the other hand, is outisde screaming.

9:45: It would appear that Michael shut him out of the tramp. Also took away his ball. Also his bat. Also his ability speak at normal volumes.

9:47: I try to discuss this with Michael while William is on my lap. "Michael, that wasn't ..." I'm saying, when William jumps in. "Don't TEASE ME, Michael!" He yells. "That NOT NICE."

9:48: and what else is there to say, really?

9:50: William is happy. Michael is happy. I look at the clock. GAH!

9:51: I run frantically up and down the stairs looking for swimsuits and towels and sunscreen. "Everyone, please take your PJs off," I say, and dash back upstairs for more swim diapers.

9:52: William follows me upstairs. Michael wanders off to look for his lightsaber.

9:53: "Boys! pajamas! off! now!" I order. William starts to go outside. Michael asks me to tell him a story.

9:53:30: I stop moving. "Alright guys, here's the deal: we can either take pajamas off now, or we can just stay home from swim lessons." everyone starts whining, but at least the pajamas come off.

9:54: I put William in his swim diaper, swimsuit and shirt. I ignore his protests and cover him in sunscreen. Michael gets himself dressed. I cover him with sunscreen, too.

10:00: I hand Michael his shoes with instructions to put them on and run upstairs to get dressed.

10:05: I hear William crying in the backyard. I run to the window. Michael has shut him out of the tramp again.

10:07: I run downstairs and begin gathering kids.

10:08: wait, where's Ivy?

10:08:30: Ivy is still in the highchair where I left her, eating cheerios and also Michael's shoe.

10:09: "How did Ivy get your shoe?" I ask Michael as I buckle him into the car. "She wanted it," he answers.

10:12: Everyone is in the car. We will not be late. "Mama. Mom. Mommy. MOOOOM," William calls. "Yes, William?" I answer patiently. "I stinky," he tells me.

10:18: We're really leaving this time.

10:35: Arrive at pool. Pull out stroller, kids, diaper bag, pool bag, run inside.

10:40: Whistle blows to indicate beginning of lesson. Michael runs for the pool. William belatedly realizes he can't think of anything more wretched than being forced into the water to play with his teacher, his friends, and all the great pool toys he's been telling me about. He glues himself to my leg.

10:41: still won't let go.

10:42: still won't let go.

10:43: teacher sees us, comes to help. William holds tighter.

10:44: wait, is Ivy okay?

10:45: still strapped in the stroller, just licking Michael's shoe.

10:46: finally manage to get Williams arms off long enough to run away.

10:47: William is back to loving the pool.

10:48: sit by Ivy. Hand her my (tightly closed) water bottle. Pull out a book.

10:50: I love swim lessons.

11:10: whistle blows. wait, what? done already? how did that happen?

11:13-11:25: dry, dress and move kids. Wrestle them into car. Leave swimming pool. Answer "can we go down the slide?" approx. 6 million times. suspect my kids never really listen to a word I am saying.

11:30-11:50: "Mama, I hungry. I hungry, mama. MOMMY! MOMMY! I HUNGRY."


Will William's hunger ever be satisfied? Did I ever manage to hide all the shoes somewhere Ivy can't find them? And why, exactly, did it take me so long to get a blog posted today?

...I guess you'll never find out, because I'm going to go to bed instead of finishing this.

family

I do not come from a large family. I mean, by most standards my immediate family is fairly large -- I have four siblings and two cousins who lived with us -- but my extended family is quite small. I have exactly six first cousins: the two that were wards of my parents, and four more that lived in Texas, who we saw once a year for a few days. I have two aunts and one uncle, and between the three of them, only my dad's sister and her husband like us much.


And this, to me, seems like a pretty standard family size.

then I married Christofer.

Christofer has 8 aunts and uncles and 17 first cousins. And most of those cousins have spouses. And most of those cousins and their spouses have kids. and all of those aunts and uncles and kids and cousins and spouses know each other and like each other and get together several times a year to party.

and that's just his Dad's side.

Sometimes I still find the sheer volume of relatives extraordinary, but the truth is I've always wanted a big family. I never thought in terms of that big family being an extended family (probably because my extended family does not extend very far), but now that I have acquired one in-law, I am delighted, seriously delighted by all of these cousins and 2nd cousins and cousins-in-law and cousins-once-removed.

and it's only getting bigger.

Shelley and her girls, June 2009

clarification

just so we're clear, that last post was not meant to imply that I am, in any way, ready for another kid.

I'm not, if you were wondering.

What I did mean to imply is that however not ready for another baby I am (very. very very very), Christofer is even more not ready. I know! I didn't think it was possible either! But it's true. And now that we have passed that time when traditionally I become pregnant again, even totally innocent observations about how cute Ivy was as a little itty bitty newborn provoke from him an immediate "No, No Way, Not A Chance, You're Going to Need A New Husband For That."

even when all I meant was, Kids. They grow up so fast, sometimes.

newborn

I went over to see my friend Sandii's new baby last week, and was shocked by her smallness. I had the sudden realization that Ivy really isn't baby anymore--in comparison she's a veritable monster.

so when I came home, I said to Christofer, "Ivy's not a baby anymore. I miss her teeny tiny size."

...and that's the story of how I got myself banished to the extra bed indefinitely.

why Chris stopped asking what's on my mind

what I've been thinking about:

1. cheese
2. shoes
3. my lack of skillz, specifically relating to numbers
4. cheese!
5. if William will survive childhood
6. if Michael will survive childhood
7. if Michael and William will survive childhood, but die from the force of my wrath
8. what?
9. painted nails are distracting
10. cheese

what have you been thinking?

prodigy

Internet, did I ever tell you about the very first time I skipped school? It was in kindergarten.

Yes. That's right, kindergarten. The very first time I skipped school I was six-years-old.

It shouldn't surprise you, really. I mean, you don't get to the level of school-skipping proficiency I achieved by starting late. Literally years of dedicated practice went into making my high school career non-existent.

But I digress.

The very first time I skipped school was in kindergarten. I was standing on the playground during recess watching an older class rehearse a dance during P.E. Their teacher was wearing white and energetically demonstrating the Grapevine, her knees reaching surprising heights, her leg crosses dipping low to the ground. I was mesmerized.

I don't know what it was that made me finally turn around, but when I did my classmates had vanished. The playground was deserted, desolate, a veritable wasteland. Everyone was gone. Nobody on that huge stretch of asphalt but me, a gym class and their crazy, grapevining instructor.

I panicked.

Our house was only about three blocks away from school, and I decided to make a break for it. I had walked back and forth many times, but never alone, and never without a crossing guard. I felt very small and very unsure as I carefully navigated towards my house.

When I finally reached it, I ran to the door, planning to burst in and cry all over my mom. "Mom! MOM! EVERYONE WAS GONE AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO!"

But the door was locked. So much for that plan.

I circled the house--the back door was locked, too. I banged with my tiny six-year-old fists, but no one was home to answer. I was ready to sit down in the driveway and have hysterics when I saw the small basement window. I think I'd seen my brother crawl through it, once. I tentatively pushed it open, and wriggled my way inside the house.

It's a scary thing to be all alone when you're six-years-old. Our home seemed huge and ominously silent. I was scared to be downstairs in my room. I was scared to be in the kitchen. I was scared to hide. I walked into the front living room and sat down on the couch. I crossed my ankles. I folded my arms. I don't think I moved for five minutes.

The phone rang, and I jumped, then ran to answer it.

"Hello?" I said quietly.

"Hello, may I speak with your mother?" a voice replied urgently.

"She's not here," I quavered.

"Is this Elizabeth?" the voice demanded.

"...yes," I began.

"This is Mrs. Lyons, you had better HUSTLE YOUR HEINIE BACK TO SCHOOL RIGHT..."

I hung up the phone.

Let me repeat that: I HUNG UP THE PHONE ON MY KINDERGARTEN TEACHER. WHO WAS YELLING AT ME.

If I'd been scared before, now I was in a state of complete terror. I glanced out the kitchen windows, afraid I'd see the police coming to get me. I wasn't exactly sure what punishment was used on little girls who hung up on their teachers, but I was pretty sure it involved jail time.

I got down on my hands and knees and crawled back to the couch, where I sat, statue-like, until my mom came home.

She was not happy to see me.

And that's really all I remember of the story.

Although I'm happy to report I did not end up imprisoned.

Just emotionally scarred.

and that's probably why I never was very good at attending school, AREN'T YOU SORRY YOU YELLED AT ME NOW, MRS. LYONS.

the end.

trouble

You'll be happy to know that while I was not posting, William managed to survive falling out a window.

and crashing down some bleachers.

and diving into some thorny bushes.

and sliding into the oven handle.

and burning himself on a griddle.

and also several biting incidents.

so really, things have been pretty normal for him.

However, on Friday night he and Michael got in a fight in the front room. I was on the phone with my sister at the time, and trying to ask her about something, so when I heard William start screaming I just went in and scooped him up, holding him on my lap while I finished my call. After I hung up a moment later he was still wimpering so I wrapped him tighter, leaned against the couch and tucked his head under my chin.

and there was something wet in his hair.

I shifted back to look and realized he was covered in blood. It was trickling down the left side of his face, pooling in his collar. It was spattered all over my neck and shirt.

He had split his head.

And I know what you're wondering, you're wondering "How did this happen?"

but I don't really think the question is "How did this happen?" so much as "How has this not happened before?" because William is...William. I'm pretty sure I've talked about this before, but William is not satisfied unless he is actively defying someone, usually Chris or me or death.

sometimes all three.

it wasn't actually his fault, this time; Michael threw a block at his head. I'm not sure who was more surprised it actually connected. Michael's aim is improving.

In any event, I don't think it will happen again.

and the point is we're fine.

for now.

take 3

last one today, I promise.
This is a cry for help.
I'm making a present for my sister for her wedding and I'm looking for a few love poems.
It's not like I don't know any love poems-I do.
It's just that my favorite love poems tend to be about death, too.
which is not very wedding-y.
and kind of awful sounding when I type it out.
so. what is your favorite love/friendship/relationship poem?
help a sister out.

guidelines:
1. not depressing
2. not risque
3. not ... lame.

thank you.



Sonnet XVII

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

--Pablo Neruda

redacted

well. oops.

I posted a post here earlier today, and then went to take a shower (yes, at noon. don't judge me.) and while I was in the shower, I heard a voice. A voice that sounds exactly like my husband's voice, only in my head.

It is the Voice of Reason.

And do you know what the Voice of Reason said to me, in my head, while I was showering? is the suspense here killing you? could I drag it out any longer?
probably, but I won't.
The Voice of Reason said, "Elizabeth. Do you really want to leave that post up on your blog?"

At first I thought, yes, I do, SHUT UP.
because I'm not in a great mood today.
but then I thought, ooohhhh. wait. no. no, I don't.

I'm not sure exactly who reads my blog, but the people I am aware of are mostly either a)neighbors or b) relatives of my husband. Sometimes when I write here, I like to think I have an audience of complete strangers, because there's safety in distance, but this is not accurate. I am very likely to run into people who read this blog at the grocery store, or worse, at a family party. And, of course, I wouldn't want to write about things I might not discuss in real life.

So, sorry. Sorry if you saw it, sorry if you came here looking for it, sorry you've now been subjected to several sentences explaining why it's gone.

But mostly I'm sorry that the Voice of Reason has to sound like my husband.

what's that all about, anyway?

about the kids

A few days ago Michael came running, yelling, "Mama! William tried to bit me! William TRIED TO BIT ME!"

"Tried to bite you," I replied. (this is the kind of parent I am. )

"No, he tried to BIT me," he emphasized. Clearly he was concerned that I failed to appreciate the gravity of his situation.

"Right," I said. "But it's not 'bit.' The word is 'bite.'"

He paused. I could see he was grappling with this response, particularly since the word was indubitably "bit." After all, hadn't he heard me say it many, many times? "You bit him!" "Whoa, he bit you!" "Dudes. Did someone get bitten?" etc.

"But...it...bit, he tried to BIT ME," he said forcibly.

"Well, that's past tense," I said.

He stared at me. William stared at me, too.

I elaborated. "If it's already happened, then yes, you would say, 'Mama bit me.' But if it hasn't happened yet, and I was obviously going to bite you, you would say 'Mama's going to bite me.'"

They stared some more. Michael was clearly distressed, sputtering for words. Finally he shot out, "NO! No, that would be so mean, Mama. Don't you do that!"

"That's not good idea," William added.

And there they stood, side by side, united against this unexpected new threat.

"oh! ...sorry," I said. "I...uh...I promise not to bite."

And reassured, they ran off to resume their game.

death wish

In the last two days, William has jumped off his bed into a headboard, been crushed by Ivy's dresser/changing table, fallen down the stairs (twice!), slammed his fingers in various doors, windows and chests, been run over by a kid car, and just generally done his best to court serious bodily harm.

it's basically all I can manage to keep him alive.

so. since I am once again in the midst of helping my mother with wedding stuff, and since she absolutely loves being reminded of this story (hi, mom!), I thought we'd take a little stroll down memory lane. this was originally written September 2005, three months after Michael was born, then posted November 2005 with the addendum, and I do solemnly swear that every word here was reproduced with unparalleled accuracy:

The Nose and the Crazy are Genetic:

*ring ring*

me: Hi Mom.

mom: Lizzie! How did you know it was me?

me: your name and number show up on my phone when you call.

mom: really! Every time?

me: every time.

mom: I should get caller ID on my phone.

me: ... Mom, how long have you had a cell phone?

mom: It doesn't happen on mine.

me: yes, it does.

mom: I don't think it does.

me: It does. I swear.

mom: Well, sometimes the number shows up, but never anyone's name.

me: that's because you have to put the names in your phonebook.

mom: my what?

me: your phone ... you know what? it doesn't matter. So, what's up?

mom: Well, I've been thinking ...

me: uh-huh ...

mom: how much more pregnancy weight do you have to lose?

me: whu?

mom: are you a lot overweight or just a little?

me: I'm not overweight!

mom: you're back to your normal weight?

me: mm, not quite.

mom: and you don't think you need to lose weight?

me: well, I do now!

mom: no ... I didn't mean that I think you need to lose weight. I just had this idea.

me: yes?

mom: Maybe I could help motivate you.

me: motivate me?

mom: I could give you money. or buy you clothes! you like clothes.

me: I do like clothes. but let me get this straight: you don't think I need to lose weight.

mom: yes.

me: but you want to help motivate me to do so.

mom: right.

me: by giving me money or clothes.

mom: exactly.

me: wow. Never what you think it's going to be!

mom: what?

me: carry on.

mom: I was just reading this book about a woman who had several kids and began eating all the time to cope with stress, and sometime after her youngest was born she was one hundred pounds overweight. Then she began walking, lost it all and ran a marathon.

me: so ... you want me to run marathons?

mom: no. I just want you to be healthy.

me: I just want you to know nothing about this conversation is healthy.

mom: I'm not trying to make you feel bad; I just worry about how you're adjusting to home life. This lady talks so much about how hard life was being 100 pounds overweight.

me: but I'm not 100 pounds overweight!

mom: Alright, I'm sorry. I just want you to be happy.

me: I know. Thanks.

*pause*

me: so ... still want to buy me clothes?

An Addendum:
Yesterday, I was helping my mom with wedding preparations and she looked at me and said, "Have you been losing weight?"
"Uh ... I don't think so," I replied.
"Well, don't. Don't lose any more weight," she said urgently.
"Okay," I said.
"I just finished reading a book about anorexia, and it's so terrible," she said.

Seriously, someone has got to take away that woman's books. They're giving me a complex.