James is anxious to start preschool—even though he has awhile. In the meantime he likes to walk around our house with a backpack on while waiting to pick Sophie up.
“I did not have a chance to write novels until my youngest child started school fulltime.” —Anne McCaffrey
(OK, so that quote has more to do with me than James and preschool and backpacks but, I like it.)
James is obsessed with bubble gum, even though he’s not allowed to have it. If I leave my purse or the diaper bag on the floor he makes a beeline for it, as soon as I’m not looking. He dumps everything out in search for his treasure. He’s fast at unwrapping. And then he sits there and chews, this look of utter contentment on his face—until I discover him and pry the gum out of his mouth.
What follows is a pictorial essay of the lengths he went to get some of Andy’s Double Bubble (yes, I realize it’s ridiculous we have a tub of Double Bubble in our pantry—it involves Andy shopping alone and Sam’s club), which he calls “Daddy’s gum.”
First, he moved both training potties to the other side of the half bath, and scooted the rug over as well. This gave him bare hardwood floor to push the stool across.
Next, he took all our paper towels, reusable grocery bags and plastic garbage bags (which we have because we never seem to remember our reusable grocery bags) out of the pantry.
He must have carried the (heavy) wooden stool over the above items because there was no clear path. But there the stool was, perfectly positioned.
Double Bubble sighted.
Success. He managed to open several pieces before I caught him. I only found one piece in his mouth (I don’t think he swallows them, but who knows).
“Once in a young lifetime one should be allowed to have as much sweetness as one can possibly want and hold.” —Judith Olney
I love everything about this festival. I love how kid-centered it is. I love how inexpensive it is (although as the kids get older, we’re discovering it becomes more and more costly). I love how everything is run by volunteers. I love how all the money earned benefits the school. I love how excited my kids get over cheap plastic rings and lollipops. I love that we can walk to it. I love the community feel of it. I love that afterwards, we can walk to a local park and meet good friends and then walk to Anita’s with said good friends for good Mexican food.
I spent most of my childhood living in houses on land. That land was surrounded by more land and everything was so open. Views, from everywhere, included fields and tree lines and yard, yard, yard. Often, in Fort Thomas, I feel closed in. The neighbors (as much as I love them) seem too close. The traffic from 27 sounds too loud. The lights from the gas station on the corner seem too bright. The fact that there’s a pseudo-junkyard behind our privacy fence, which you can see from our second-floor windows when the leaves are down, drives me insane. I lament how few stars I can see—my children can see—and that it’s impossible for my children to play tag football or softball in my backyard. As much as I’m crazy-in-love with my house, I wish I could move it to LAND. (Although, while I’m wishing for things, a first-floor laundry room and garage would be nice, too.)
But there are advantages to living so close to the city. A short work commute for Andy (something I strongly believe in). Sidewalks. The ability to walk to parks, restaurants, the library, school, the local Y, farmers’ markets and shops. A sense of community (we will long be newcomers in Fort Thomas but already I feel like I know—and am friends with—many). Accessibility to everything Cincinnati has to offer (the zoo, museums, restaurants, sports, the river). Afternoons and evenings spent like the one pictured here.
It could be better, I say. But I think, no matter where I was, I’d think it could always be better. I’m working on that, about myself. It’s slow-going. And the truth is, it could also, easily, be a lot worse. Practicing, working on, gratefulness.
“The grass is not, in fact, always greener on the other side of the fence. Not at all. Fences have nothing to do with it. The grass is greenest where it is watered. When crossing over fences, carry water with you and tend the grass wherever you may be.” —Robert Fulghum
My dad was sick—we think it’s the first Pork Festival he’s missed since his dad helped create it. The kids walked away with homemade Barbie clothes and wooden trucks (thanks Aunt Ellen), as well as full bellies. Despite the missing family, it was a fun—and beautiful—day.
“Life is a festival only to the wise.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson
Place: living room
Time: boys’ nap
Game: Candy Land
Game No.: three, I think (we play it over and over and over and over …)
Situation: I took a break to go to the bathroom. When I came back, it was Sophie’s turn.
Sophie: “Hmmm, what’s this card under here? I think I’ll pick it. Oh! It’s double yellow! Just what I needed!” (Her honest-to-God exact words.)
Sophie’s Candy Land game piece: hopping along the board, taking the shortcut Sophie so coveted
Me: “Sophie. Did you hide that card under the game instructions while I was in the bathroom so you could take the shortcut?”
Sophie: “No. I mean yes.”
Talk: about cheating and lying and truth-telling
Game No.: four, after I told her game No. 3 had to be abandoned because of cheating
Cheating Since Then: zero, unless she’s simply gotten better at it
“A lie has speed, but truth has endurance.” —Edgar J. Mohn
“It would seem that something which means poverty, disorder and violence every single day should be avoided entirely, but the desire to beget children is a natural urge.” —Phyllis Diller
Last year I wrote an essay for The New York Times Motherlode blog titled “The Perfect Backpack.” You can read it here.
After all that, we ended up getting Sophie a new backpack this year. Two reasons: (1) Last year’s backpack was too small for a regular size piece of paper—and her preschool teachers suggested that students have bigger backpacks at this year’s orientation. (2) Sophie’s obsessed with princesses. Disney princesses, specifically.
So I asked Andy’s talented Aunt Susan to make her a new one.
Sophie loves it. I do, too. It has Disney princesses on it but is still homemade. Her name is embroidered on it. It has adjustable straps and a pocket inside. It fits regular size papers perfectly.
Susan sells her work on Etsy here, and she’s very much open to custom work, such as this backpack.
Thanks, Aunt Susan.
“The best thing about doing needlepoint for very small children is that they are so uncritical. The don’t say things like, ‘I see you’ve missed some stitches over here on the leg, was that intentional?’ or ‘Was this creature blinded in a fight?’ They will clasp it in their little arms and love it besottedly, inseparably as the thing becomes more and more rancid.” —Carole Berman and Jennifer Lazarus
A couple days ago, in preparation for winter, we pulled all the tomato plants out of our (tiny) garden bed. Late this spring I went to pick up lunch at a restaurant for my family and in-laws, who were visiting. It was a Sunday—I didn’t realize the restaurant didn’t open until noon on Sundays. It was 11:45am and I had time to kill. On the way to the restaurant I noticed a man selling plants in a parking lot where the Highland Heights Farmers’ Market usually takes place. I hadn’t bought tomato plants yet—and wanted some—so I turned around.
I so wish I had taken a picture of the man—and his car. It was an old car with a rickety wooden greenhouse attached to its roof. The man had a ton of plants, knew everything about them, pulled seeds out of his pocket when explaining their beginnings to me—we talked for 20 minutes.
I bought six tomato plants.
When I got home, Andy said we didn’t have room for six tomato plants.
I disagreed.
He was right.
Still, we got some beautiful tomatoes.
James and Sophie loved to eat them straight from the garden, warm from the sun, the insides spilling (and staining) their summer shirts. At times I wondered how it was possible James could fit that many tomatoes in his belly, yet he did. And I let him.
Even when it was close to dinnertime.
“It’s difficult to think anything but pleasant thoughts while eating a homegrown tomato.” —Lewis Grizzard
I was switching laundry in the basement when I heard yelling—from all the way up in the boys’ bedroom. The boys yell a lot and I’m pretty good at noting the difference between a he-took-my-toy yell and a I’m-hurting-for-real yell. James’s yell became louder and louder so I abandoned the laundry and ran up the (many) stairs and saw this:
Owen wouldn’t let James out.
Now, I felt bad for James, I did, but just look at their faces! I laugh every time I see this picture.
“Siblings that say they never fight are most definitely hiding something.” —Lemony Snicket
Picked up Sophie from preschool, dropped her off at play date.
Came home with both boys and found a half-eaten plastic sandwich bag in living room.
Realized bag had been filled halfway with raisins.
Made lunch.
Vaguely remembered something about dogs + raisins + toxicity.
Marveled how the brain pulls out bits of long-ago information when most needed.
Googled.
Questioned legitimacy of search results.
Got Owen more cheese.
Visited Snopes: “Raisins and grapes can be harmful to dogs.” TRUE
Called Ft. Thomas Animal Hospital.
Talked to tech.
Called Andy.
Left half-eaten lunch on table.
Loaded both boys and Tucker into van.
Drove to Animal Hospital.
Took both boys out of van, stood them in front of a stone wall, made them touch stone wall and insisted they do not move.
Went back to van to get Tucker.
Ran behind Tucker across the (thankfully small) parking lot while both boys followed, waving their arms and screaming with glee.
Got inside Animal Hospital without dog or child running into street.
Witnessed boys go crazy over a small dog and four cats.
Watched small dog immediately seek shelter from screaming boys.
Realized Tucker just peed all over the floor and a wooden bench.
Waited for receptionist to get off phone so I could ask for paper towels while reminding boys over and over and over again the location of the pee while they ran around screaming “CAT! MEOW MEOW MEOW! CAT! MOMMY, CAT!” as if they’ve never seen a cat in their life (we own a cat).
Talked to receptionist, found roll of paper towels.
Ran into Andy while trying to keep Tucker out of the pee puddle. Thankful.
Let Andy handle Tucker while I cleaned up pee.
Reminded boys that cats have small ears and loud noises can scare them.
Wondered if boys’ ears were working.
Talked to tech, who claimed more than six raisins for a dog Tucker’s size could be toxic.
Learned that they needed to induce vomiting.
Asked for reassurance about outcome, which was given.
Filled out form.
Wondered about cost.
Vowed never to keep raisins in the diaper bag again.
Drove home sans Tucker (who is being kept for monitoring).
Put boys down for a nap.
Wrote this while listening to boys scream and jump up and down in their cribs.
Thought about 8pm.
And a glass of wine.
“A well-trained dog will make no attempt to share your lunch. He will just make you feel so guilty that you cannot enjoy it.” —Helen Thomson
