"Kiddo, it's time to get dressed and brush your teeth."
"Is it a school day?"
"Yes."
"Already?! I only had two stay home days!"
"Yup. The weekend is only two days."
[frowns] "But I only had two"
"Hey, if it makes you feel better, I only had two stay home days too. I have to work today when you go to school."
"Only two stay home days is unfair. We should have a hundred stay home days a week."
WARNING: This post is filled with shameless bragging about my son.
Darius is a little fish. I'd like to take some credit for it. For one, I was a little fish when I was a kid. Second, I've been dunking the kid in water the moment his umbilical cord fell off. I couldn't think of anything worse than a kid who was afraid of water. I wasn't gonna be the mother of the child who screamed bloody murder whenever a drop of water splashed on his face.
I took Darius into the pool when he was 8 weeks old and never turned back. He's had swim lessons since he was a year old. At three and half he could already swim half the distance of a 25yd pool. So this year, I decided to put him into swim team. We are lucky to live in a neighborhood with a cabana club. That club had a swim team of roughly 130 kids. Darius is the youngest kid on the team. So far, in the competitions we've had with other teams, I think he may be the youngest kid in the league.
There's a cautionary tale in my family about gifts. When my Aunt Sue was a little girl, she told everyone that she wanted feety pajamas. It was the only suggestion that she gave whenever anyone asked her what she wanted for Christmas. Imagine her shock and disappointment when she opened gift and gift of... feety pajamas. I mean, how many feety pajamas does one girl need?
Be careful what you wish for because you might just get it all.
I feel like I'm reliving the feety pajamas with Darius. Only this time, instead of too many PJs, he received a ton of Legos. He got Star Wars legos, race car legos, and two giant tubs of lego pieces.
Unlike Aunt Sue when she received her multiple pairs of feety pajamas, Darius is thrilled that he has so many legos to play with. I, on the other hand, am getting mighty sick and tired of "reading" the universal instructions (aka no words, just diagrams) of how to build Darth Vader's ship. Or God forbid something breaks off, and something always breaks off, then I have to go and try to figure out where the damn piece came from and how to make it look like the pretty picture on the front of the instruction manual.
Next year, I might just tell my family that all he wants his feety pajamas. At least those don't come in a thousand pieces.
Darius had his birthday party on Sunday. I wasn't planning on having a party this year. After all, I spent a small fortune going to Disneyland with our extended family. And we did have a great birthday party at Big Thunder Ranchthat included special appearances with Woody, Jessie, and Bulls-eye from Toy Story 2. At the time, there was no convincing me that we would have a party with 20 kids less than month later.
"What the..."
"Don't say anything else, young man. I don't like that language."
"What? I just said 'what the'...?"
"I know what you are going to say and it isn't appropriate."
"I wasn't going to say 'what the hell' like Ya-Ya. I was going to say 'what the heck' like Julia at school."
[holding back a laugh] "I see. Well, either way I don't think it's a very nice thing to say to your mother."
"Okay. From now on, I'll just say 'whaaat.' Is that better?"
No, we don't live on a farm. We've never visited a farm. The closest that Darius has ever been to real farm animals is at a local petting zoo.
So can someone please explain to me how he keeps drawing farm animals and then saying it's a picture of me. First, I was a fat hen. Now, I have a pig nose.
"Momma, is god still hanging from the plus?"
"Huh?"
"You know, the big plus that god gets hanged from?"
"Oh, you mean the cross?"
"Yeah, the cross. Is he still hanging from it?"
"Nope, kiddo, god isn't hanging from the cross."
"You know, they killed his son. They put him in handcuffs and then killed him."
"That's right."
"You know that he rose from the dead. Like a zombie."
"I don't think that's quite how it happened."
"Yes, that is the truth. The easter bunny told me all about it."
If I wasn't crazy enough to have all of Neville's family from India stay in our house, I probably should be committed for suggesting that they, us, and a big part of my extended family take a weekend trip to Disneyland to celebrate Darius' birthday.
I know, I'm crazy. But in a good way.
totally worth it, right?
Neville reminded me last night that Darius' preschool is closed today. I have the closure on the home calendar, my work calendar, my blackberry calendar... and still it didn't even register until Neville said that he had a ton of meetings on Friday and wouldn't be able to watch Darius... and wanted to know if I was planning on watching him or if we need to call in for reinforcements (aka his semi-retired father).
How could the school possibly be closing for Staff Development Day? How could I possibly be so together to frickin write the date down on every calendar I manage and still forget about it until the night before?
"Momma, I like it when you are nice to me."
[silent]
"I don't like it when you get mad."
"Oh, you don't?"
"I think you should just calm down."
"I'm not mad at you now."
"I know. I like when you are nice to me."
"Well, why does mommy get mad?"
"Sometimes I don't listen and you get mad because I don't listen."
"So if I agree to stay more calm, what do you think you can do better too?"
[silent]
"Do you think you could try harder at listening?"
[silent]
"Hello?"
I think the ruffles detract from my giant yellow belly, don't you agree?
Today I took a long hard look at the picture and asked Darius why I have cat-ears. He responded that these are mom and dad CHICKENS. Hence the red tongue thingy coming out of Neville's neck. It's a rooster gobbler (is that what it's called?). And those arms of mine... those are really chicken FEET.
I'm still trying to figure out if this is art depicting life or if Darius is trying to tell us something...
"Why do girls hurt boys?"
"Who is hurting boys, Darius?"
"Not. hurt. Carry. Why do girls carry boys?"
"Who's carrying boys?"
"Remember when I was in your tummy and you carried me."
"Yes, I remember."
"Well why do girls get to carry boys? Why don't daddies carry boys and the mommies carry girls?"
"Only girls have the body parts inside of their bellies to carry babies. Boys don't have those body parts."
"But I have a tummy."
"But you don't have the same one as a girl. Girls have special parts inside their bodies that hold the baby."
"I can see my belly. See my belly?!?"
"I think it's time we check out a book at the library."
I read this article in the NY Times last week and realized just how lucky I am to have the opposite situation. The story is about uninvolved Grandparents. I'll give you an excerpt because if I know one thing I know that my readers hate to click over and read just about anything I link (yes, I'm talking to you).
"Women with young children are looking for guidance from their mother or mother-in-law, but these days they are often looking in vain.... In other words, it may take a village to raise a child, but these days the village may be more heavily populated with nannies than nanas."
"Momma, boys and girls have different private parts right?"
"Yes."
"But why?"
"Because that was how we are made."
"But why don't girls have penises?"
"Because you can't push a baby out of a penis."
Darius started a love affair with Thomas the Tank engine when he wasn't even yet two. There was a gorgeous wooden toy shop in our area that had a giant train table set up with Thomas and his friends. Darius and I frequented the shop often on my working-from-home Fridays. I would sit on the floor checking email on my blackberry while Darius played for hours at the train table. With each visit, we'd expand our set at home. One train here, a curvy track there, and suddenly we had enough tracks to compete with the set at the toy store.
Lately, Thomas is frequently getting passed over for Star Wars Lego's. His once-beloved toddler bed that my dad painted to look like Thomas the train, has been covered up with a hand-me-down Power Ranger sleeping bag.
Darius at a Tinkerbell party. I had to convince him that it was a PETER PAN party not a Tinkerbell party. From the looks of it, I think he caught a clue when every single girl arrived in a princess dress.
We got our
nose toes wet at the Circus.
.
.
.
Then dived head-first for Disney on Ice.
In March it will be Thomas the Tank Engine.
I'm not sure what comes next...
High School Musical? Or losing my sanity (plus a chunk of my wallet on the merchandise)?
Darius came home yesterday, arms filled with Valentines. He had to show me just what everyone had given him. At the top of the list was the Valentine from Mr. Kevin, a student aide at the preschool.
I figured it was his favorite since Mr. Kevin's valentine was attached to a Tootsie Roll Pop (which just so happens to be Darius' favorite lollipop). But no, it was the valetine itself. Some sort of superhero that I hadn't seen before. When I asked him about the hero, he shrugged and said...
"It's Ironing Man."
Seriously, that's my kinda super hero. I'd like to know if he works with Laundry-Man, Dusting-Man, and Mopping-Man to rid the world of clutter and bacteria.
If so, then I am Ironing Man's biggest fan.
I wasn't ever a lovey-dovey child. Actually, I'm not a very lovey-dovey adult. I rarely hug others. Like really, wrap your arms around another person's body and hug them. I'm much more inclined to give the one arm hug. I don't like being in close physical proximity to others. I don't like holding hands with my spouse and I think PDA should be against the law.
Some of my former co-workers can attest to witnessing my sheer horror when as business associate would want to hug. Why does a business meeting include hugging? Isn't that what handshakes are for?!?
When I was a child, I would often get mad when my mother asked for hugs or kisses. Affection came on my own terms. When I wanted to cuddle, I would cuddle. But if I wasn't in the mood, then there was no way you were going to wrap your arms around me. Honestly, this has caused problems in my relationship with Neville from time to time. He is sort of the same way and often, the timing of our need to have physical touch in our relationship often comes when the other person is not in the mood. I'm not talking about doing the nasty - just everyday touching, hugging, holding hands that most couples do in their everyday lives.
Darius is the only person on this earth who I want to hug and kiss and cuddle and smooch and smother. Like all the time.
"Are you my only mom?"
"Yes, I am your only mom."
"But you can have more than one mom, right?"
"You can only have one birth mom. But you can have more than one mom that takes care of you and is your family."
"Momma, you have two dads."
Last weekend, we made the trek up to the snow with some family and close friends. A long drive up I-80 and we found ourselves at a lovely snow park. To say that Darius loved the snow would be an understatement.
Catching air. Doesn't he look like a pro with those sunglasses?
I'm learning how to deal with the fact that it is only a matter of time before Darius buys (and rides) his own motorcycle. I don't blame my dear sweet child for his passionate obsession. It's his dad's fault.
There is something in his father's DNA that makes riding a motorcycle seem like a really great (and safe) idea. Neville bought his first motorcycle before he was 18 yrs old. In fact, he didn't even tell his parents until he showed up one day with it.
Both of Neville's brothers own motorcycles. Darius thinks this makes them the coolest Uncles ever. Darius already talks about how he's going to buy a motorcycle when he's grown up. After he buys his house because afterall he is the son of the Neville, Mr. "You-have-to-buy-a-house-before-anything-fun-in-life."
The idea of my son riding a motorcycle sends chills down my spine (and not in that good chills down the spine way). It's not like I'm a big prude or am afraid he's going to join the Hells Angels.
It all started in the wee hours on Monday morning. Darius had crawled into our bed sometime in the middle of the night. The clock read 4:something when I heard that wreching sound.
Darius puked on me. Screamed bloody murder and then puked again.
On me.
Thank god he had an empty stomach and the puke was more bile-like water than anything else.
Well, isn't that the prettiest picture I just painted for you, eh?
There is too much "boyness" going on in my household. I am severly outnumbered. Okay, there is only one more male here, but still.
First, what is it with guys not being able to find anything unless it smacks them in the face? When Darius goes looking for something, he literally stands in the middle of the room and then looks up at the walls and ceiling. Last time I checked, buddy, your stuff is always on the floor. And it's not just Darius. Neville is constantly putting something down in some random spot and then getting mad at me when I "move" it. But we know that the reality isn't that I moved it; he just can't remember the damn random spot where he set it down.
And the bathroom talk is at an all time here. I am so sick of hearing about who has to poop, how long they pooped, or the size & color of the poop. I HAVE NO INTEREST IN YOUR POOP.
Darius is learning how to ride his bike without training wheels. In all honesty, the job of helping him learn does not fall on my shoulders. It is a Daddy Duty. I mean, don't we all have memories of our dads running along side us while we nervously pedaled without the safety of our trusty training wheels? Beside which, I'm not a fast runner and I don't think I could do much to save Darius from falling. Or hitting a tree. Or cycling right into the street. I can just see it now - Darius falling, me dashing to save him to only trip or miss, and fall on top of him and the bike. And believe me, I weigh just a smidge more than his bike.
About a month ago, Neville and Darius went over to a local school on a Saturday morning to practice. Darius was starting to get pretty good and Neville wanted him to be able to go further distances than what our street allows. Since making a turn without falling was still proving to be a challenge, Neville thought the openness of the school would let Darius go straight longer and hopefully build up some confidence.
I stayed home to get lunches ready. Oh, and I pulled out some first aid supplies too -- just in case.
Darius woke me up early Christmas morning in a panic. He tugged at my hand and told me to "Get Up. Get Up. Get Up." He had checked out the living room before he came to me and saw that Santa had eaten all the cookies and drunken his milk... but Darius couldn't find any new presents under the tree. To think that Santa would have committed the ultimate sin of forgetting a good boy on Christmas was too much for Darius to handle alone. And so I was woken up with my child acting like the house was on fire. This was a serious EMERGENCY.
Yeah, turns out Santa left the presents next to the fireplace instead of under the Christmas tree. Apparently the man in red was in a rush and didn't have time to walk all the way across the other side of the room to deposit the presents under the tree.
Or perhaps Santa never thought that Darius would only look in one place and then end up in a morning panic which would result in waking up his mother at a time that no mother should be woken up even if it is Christmas morning. Regardless, I've already sent Santa a memo to remember to put the damn presents under the damn tree... and while we're at it, can this mother please not get woken up until after the clock reads 7:00 (or even better 8:00)??
We kept our Christmas small this year. Thanks to the Leapfrog event I attended in November, Darius opened both a Tag and a Leapster2. After the shouting match he had with Santa in Disneyland, I made sure that we had a Star Wars Lego set as well. Little did I know that the real present would be getting to put together 82 pieces of teeny tiny legos before a cup of coffee. We also raided the dollar store for lots of stocking stuffers. Neville and I continued our 9-year tradition of not buying anything for eachother. Although I did splurge with a pack of Costco underwear in his stocking. Because, frankly, Neville would wear his undies until they had holes in places that underwear shouldn't have holes if I didn't buy him new underwear.
The opening of presents was nearly over before it began. And yet, the living room still looks like we had an excessive holiday with lots of people over... which is even more strange considering we left the house at 9:30am to suprise my mom for Christmas and didn't get home until after 10:00pm.
"Darius, who are those cookies for?"
"Santa"
"Really? I thought those were for daddy."
"No. Those are SANTA'S cookies."
"Well, what if daddy eats them? What would Santa bring daddy?"
"If daddy eats Santa's cookies then daddy would get a BARBIE."
To say that our weekend at Disneyland was magical is a complete understatement. We had a phenomenal time. The weather was unbelievable (high 70s!). The lines were reasonable. And Darius is just the perfect age to get caught up in the magic. Watching him was THE HIGHLIGHT of my weekend. To see him get so excited about riding Space Mountain or taking a photo with Pooh Bear... To see him love the things about Disneyland that I loved as a child, it was more than magical for me.
I've never been to Disneyland during the holidays and didn't know what to expect. It surpassed my wildest dreams. I'm telling you, a weekend in Disneyland decorated to the gills in Christmas themes will fill you with the spirit of season.
It's a Small World had Christmas carols playing throughout.
We were serenaded by super-talented Disney singers in our hotel lobby.
But the best part was Santa
When Darius saw Santa headed our way in the Holiday Parade, he immediately stood up and started to frantically wave at him. He was so excited to see the man in red. When Santa got closer, Darius turned to me and said "I have to tell him what I want," and then shouted at the top of his lungs "SANTA, SANTA! I WANT A STAR WARS LEGO SET FOR CHRISTMAS." He said it with such sincerity and passion. So sweet. Neville and I are still getting a laugh out of it.
Good thing, I picked one up the day before. Afterall, he has been a very good boy this year.
My young Padwan is fighting "Dark Vader." I think Darius nearly peed himself from the excitement of it all. He hasn't stopped talking about how he defeated Darth Vader. This is by far the most memorable part of our trip to Disneyland so far. And totally sealed the deal on Darius being one of those total Star Wars geeks when he grows up. I see many conventions in his future.
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