Shooting and peeing, an analogy.

The first time I went to the shooting range, my friend gave me some much needed directions as to what not to do with a gun in your hand, one of the things he said was “if you’re going to talk to someone behind you or you want to look around you put the gun down first”.  At first I wondered at this seemingly strange piece of advice, but then the first time I did it I understood his warning, because though you may think you’re only turning your head you’re actually turning your torso shoulders and arms right along with it and that’s how you end up accidently pointing the gun at someone.

Today I realized how similar shooting and peeing are; or rather, guns and penises in this analogy. Because the Boy, he never, ever manages to just pee in the toilet. It gets on the seat (which he invariably forgets to lift up), it gets on the floor, it gets on his socks and only a marginal amount actually hits the toilet bowl. And today I had an epiphany, it’s because he isn’t physically able to just pee, he has to fiddle with the flusher, or talk to his sister, who is, inexplicably, always in there with him, he turns around to see who’s walking past the open (what else?) door, and his torso, shoulders, arms and hips go right along with him. Which all just begs the question: why don’t we just make men pee sitting down?

Big Boy Blues

You’re four years old today. Halfway through your party you had a mini meltdown, the excitement was too much for you, your batteries were probably running a little low, so we headed to your room to hang out on the bed for a minute, just the two of us. You just wanted me to hold you, and you looked up at me, tears in your eyes, and said Mama, I’m still little. I guess hearing how you’re such a big boy now all day long must have scared you a little bit. You have no idea how much it scares me. If I could fold you up and turn you back into that black-haired baby, screaming at me in the OR four years ago, I would. In a New York minute.

When grown ups have babies they spend a fair amount of their time wishing for their babies to just grow up already, to sleep, to crawl, to walk, to eat independently… I never did, and I still don’t. There must be something wrong with me, but when you walked I was so proud of you, and yet I felt like you were taking your first steps away from me, even though you walked toward me. I don’t want you to grow up. But you will, you are, and all I can do for you is cheer you along and teach you some things and then stand on the sidelines, bated breath, and hope and pray that you grow up well, and that you’re happy and healthy.

It’s so frustrating and sad and joyous and exciting, this growing up think that you’re doing. So I said to you today, you’re still little, and you’ll always be my baby, even when you’re all grown up, but you’re also a big boy. You’re exactly right, right now, and I will love you all the way.

Happy Birthday darling boy, your smile lights up my life, you make my heart sing.

Tales from the bedside

As I seem to have mentioned at least a few times we were all sick last week. And when children are sick, as you well know, it means getting up 1,253 times a night despite how the parents are feeling. 

So a few nights ago, at 2.30am the Boy calls to me for water and I head off on one of my many treks to the kids’ room. He guzzles his water, and I realize he has a temperature of 39.8°C (103.6°F) which explains his delirium. As I’m giving him a fever reducer he turns to me, eyes still closed, asleep, one would presume, and says to me: “Mama, I’m a bird, you know? A big, strong bird. Like that famous eagle.”

A few weeks ago, in Houston, we went to the Zoo. And we saw a rather large bald eagle.

As I showed the bird to the boy, I explained that that bird was pretty special because it was on the seal of the President of the United States of America. (I'm trying to teach give him some sense of american-ness without boring him into hating it.)

So there you have it, he really does listen to me when I talk. My Boy, the Eagle.

I need bigger arms

I have two kids, one comfortable lap and two arms, sounds like that should be enough, shouldn’t it? Apparently, It is not. I need bigger arms. I’ve already mentioned the hell that is bedtime at our house; recently the situation has taken a significant downturn with the introduction of a new point of contention: my lap. Used to be that I would hold the girl for a while, sing to her, cuddle a bit while the boy hung out with daddy, brushed his teeth and did secret “man stuff” (I don’t know either, do they wrestle, have burping contests, lie there staring vacantly into space with their hands down their pants?) and then I’d put the girl down and hold the boy for awhile, sing, cuddle and whatnot.

Now for some reason everybody wants to sit in my lap together, like when they were teeny tiny, except now they’re quite large, and wiggly. So now at the tail end of the entire, exhausting, infuriating ritual we have an additional five minutes of pushing and shoving on my lap, of elbows in my ribcage, of heads banging against my shoulders, my chin, and occasionally my nose. Let me just say that it is in no way pleasant or comfortable for anyone involved, but for some reasons they need this further reassurance that I do, indeed, love them the same.

So I need bigger arms, à la elasto-girl, just until they realize that they don’t actually both fit in my arms at the same time and the previous way was better. Which should be any day now cause we all know how reasonable toddlers and preschoolers are, right?

Silent Sunday - a Story in Photos {2}

Hyped up on Halloween

Today I finally understood the meaning of the words “sugar high”. I had always been one of those people who scoffed at other mothers’ tales of crazy kids hyped up on sugar, my reasoning was that if your kid couldn’t handle a little sugar without bouncing off the walls then you should probably start testing his blood sugar levels cause we do have a pancreas for a reason and more than likely the hype about sugar was due to the fact that most kids overindulged at parties and what was making them bat-shit crazy was being with twenty other kids, that just hyped each other up by association, not the sugar. Eh. Well, tonight I stand corrected.

I mean I still believe the above, to an extent, but we also don’t have an awful lot of sugar in our house. I’m not a food nazi by any means, I just try not to give them to much junk since they’re little enough that I still have some sort of say in the matter, I just had no idea what happened when they got a little… ahem… extra sugar in them.

Tonight, well tonight, I had three kids bouncing off the walls (my two plus a friend). The girl was mostly whiny and tired, the boy and his friend were like two whirling dervishes - on crack. Even after I finally managed to get him settled down enough to get in bed he still laughed maniacally, and frankly a little eerily, for a good ten minutes.

Anyway... one of the things I had always regretted most about living and raising my children in Italy was that they wouldn’t share the same experiences I had growing up in America. No Saint Paddy’s day, no Fourth of July fireworks, no Cinco de Mayo, no fall activities, no Halloween, no Thanksgiving with family (we do celebrate thanksgiving but just our little family and the occasional friend) and more… so many no’s… let’s not even talk about all the stuff they’ll be missing as they get older (like sports and high school stuff), but one of the no’s I regretted most was Halloween cause I loved it growing up, it’s the biggest kid’s holiday in my book. So to be able to take them trick or treating was so exciting (and a little emotional, but I’m just a total emo lately).

To be honest it was a little depressing too, from my point of view. When we lived in Milan no one trick or treated (save for one lone kid in my building, who I fussed over every year), but since moving to Cuneo a few kids have come every year, actually it seems that every year there are more. So I figured it was “done” here and since this year my kids were old enough, the weather was acceptable (you can read about last year’s Halloween experience here), and we had a couple of friends to join us, off trick or treating we went.

Very few houses opened their doors, those who did basically handed one kid out of the group a small handful of “grown-up candies”, clearly stuff they happened to have lying around their house at that very moment, and grunting went back in. No comments on costumes, no pretense of being frightened, no acknowledgement of the kids (and grown ups) in their get ups, honestly it would almost have been better if they hadn’t opened their doors at all.

Thankfully all the shop owners in our little town square were handing out candy and making a big deal of it so the kids were happy and excited and I managed to swallow some of my anger. But it got me wondering if all the trick or treaters I get (and there are many, considering we’re in Italy) just go to the shops and then my house cause I’ve got it decked out (relatively, just a few cobwebs and spiders and a couple jack’o’lanterns) cause ringing at all the other houses is frankly pretty depressing.

The husband, ever the problem solver, suggested next year we put letters in all our neighbors’ mailboxes explaining what Halloween is about and what they’re supposed to do possibly adding a Halloween themed sticker in the letter that they can put out on their doorbell if they want to participate (and actually hand out candy – not last Easter’s tiny easter eggs) so the kids know where to go. A sort of Halloween handbook if you will.

I’m totally doing it, I’m also pretty sure they’re going to hate us... but what the hell, just look at these faces:

The Boy had his pirate costume from saturday's party on and decided at the last minute he wanted to be Thor.

The Girl is a cat today because saturday's wonder woman costume would've been covered by her coat (there's a tail back there too...)

Our first "Trick or Treat" or as they say in Italian: Dolcetto o Scherzetto.

We'd had no luck so far, you can tell by our dejected pace. Also, that red thing on my butt is my tail...

This is where we got stale easter eggs

no answer

No answer, just some curtain twitching.

So sad... where's my candy... meow...

Life is looking up... got some candy! (also, this picture was taken about 30 seconds before she threw up all over me and herself. Though after a quick wardrobe change - ears and tail still intact - we joined the others again and finished up at the shops.)

We're happy here, we got a decent stash!!

P.S. Tomorrow you’ll find me guest posting at Taming Insanity, check it out!