cat named pig

Siena slept over at her grandma and grandpa’s house last night, and won’t be home until later today. Matt and Elliot are playing”choo-choo trains” and a minute ago they called me into his room to show me a long fire truck completely loaded up with Fisher Price Little People .

“Tell Mama where the train is going.”

“Ma ah-MERICA!”

“They’re going to the Mall of America?”

“YEAH!”

(That’s right. That’s how we play here in Minnesota. Nothing symbolizes a fun outing like the MOA.)

Elliot then entertained us with some standing on one foot (holding onto door: several seconds. Not holding onto anything: less than one second.) and a BOONGA BONGA song and dance, which, if you’re not familiar with the art form, involves singing BOONGA BONGA and similar loudly while dancing and stomping in circles.

It occurs to me that Elliot has hardly ever had both parents’ attention all to himself since he was born. I think he’s enjoying it.

I’m crazy about this guy.

It’s time for another Catnamedpig Fashion Extravaganza, complete with photos and tips so you can recreate these looks at home. (You’re welcome.)

Q: What to wear when your friend comes over for a play date and your father puts you to work washing windows?

A: Doesn’t matter — get back to work! (But rain boots are a nice touch.)

An elephant hat goes great with anything. . .

. . . including camouflage pants.

I can’t believe I’m posting this, but yes, back in early March we were hanging out in our pj’s when we decided to go on a walk around the block. We all put on some boots (the louder the better, in my case) and went outside. Where people could see us.

The kids added bike helmets, for a little extra fashion flair, and I stole Matt’s jacket to complete my look. Yeah, you really do lose all dignity when you have children.

To relieve boredom in style, simply build a swimming pool, complete with water slide, out of couch cushions. Instant pool party! But what to wear?

Anything from pajama pants (top optional) to a swim suit. Dive on in!

And finally. . .

Sometimes, it’s not what you wear (polka-dot tights with sneakers, a sun dress and a hoodie?) but how you pose.

A few thoughts, bearing no particular relation to each other, and joined by my favorite device for organizing unrelated thoughts: the list. Enjoy your Sunday.

1. We had a bat in our wall the other night. Matt calmly ignored this and peacefully fell asleep, despite the simmering heat of my fury warming the bed next to him. I hated that bat so much I’m surprised the walls did not catch fire from the white-hot intensity of my hatred. I fell asleep thinking that if I could have one superpower, it would be the power to melt a bat into a sizzling little puddle of bat-wings and bat-snout, just by thinking about how much I hated it.

Didn’t hear anything the next couple nights, so maybe it’s moved on. Or maybe it plans to return at intermittent intervals to torment us for the rest of our lives. It seems like the kind of despicable creature that would do that. Pretty sure that’s where the term “batshit crazy” comes from. From lying awake for hours next to a person who can sleep through all that scritching and all those sonar-y little bat noises.

2. We had a lovely day with Matt’s family yesterday and a lovely morning today of Easter eggs, Easter brunch, and a walk to the park. Then all the loveliness caught up with us and we had some epic meltdowns right before nap time. After nap, it will either be more loveliness or they can go live in the wall with the bat, eating insects and dodging burning hate-rays shooting out from my eyeballs. But they’re usually in a good mood after nap.

3. I’m pretty sure Siena is on to us about the Easter Bunny and Santa stuff. I think she just doesn’t want to hurt our feelings by telling us she knows. Evidence for this theory includes her recent detailed questioning about they get in and out of the house, a friend at school who apparently told her “Santa doesn’t come to his house — his parents just put presents in his stocking while he’s sleeping,” and a patient smile when I explained that we put all the Easter stuff away in a box every year, and the Easter Bunny gets it out and sets it up on the table while we’re sleeping — that’s why we have the same baskets and bunnies and whatnot. She did not look convinced. Also, she recently told me her American Girl doll “smells just like Grandma’s house,” which would be surprising if it came from Santa’s workshop. (But not that surprising if it came from my old closet, which, in fact, it did.)

So the jig might be up, holiday-wise. I think it’s pretty decent of her not to call us on it, or risk spoiling it for Elliot. She was a very good big sister during the Egg Hunt this morning, letting him “find” equal numbers of eggs and even letting him take the one hidden on WALL-E. Maybe I won’t send her to live with the bat.

4. A baseball is almost exactly the size of the cupholder in our stroller. And once it’s in there, only wee toddler fingers can get it out without having to turn the whole stroller upside-down.

5. And finally, this exchange that took place just after brunch this morning:

Laura [noticing the clear color of Matt's mimosa]: So what do you call a mimosa that doesn’t contain orange juice?

Matt: Bunny juice.

So, if you’re having a really slow day at work and you just got done reading Part 1 of this little blogathon and you’re still around, here is Part 2.

Siena had started crying over a reference to dying in the song “Dixie” at the end of Little House on the Prairie. I mean, crying. Sobbing. And then she told me she didn’t want to hear the song lyric about dying because she doesn’t want to die. And she knows she is going to die one day and she doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want to go in the ground.

It was at this point that my eyes threatened to overflow with tears.

She went on, “I don’t want you and Daddy and Elliot to die. And what if you and Daddy die while Elliot and I are still little and we have to get new parents?”

Before I could swallow the giant lump in my throat and formulate some sort of response, she kept going:

“And Grandma is really old. And Grandpa and the other Grandma and Grandpa. They’re going to die soon because they’re old and I don’t want them to die because I love them.”

[Apologies here to my parents and parents-in-law. It's not like Matt and I regularly discuss your old age or decrepitude in front of the kids or anything. We think you are all very young and healthy and we look forward to many years of asking you to babysit, which we know takes energy -- we wouldn't ask you if we thought you were too "old."]

The conversation continued in this vein for some time. I choked back my own tears and did my best to reassure Siena, without lying to her, that all her loved ones would be around for quite some time and that she herself had many years of playing princess (and reading more age-appropriate bedtime stories?) before she needed to reflect on her own mortality.

But when I had finally closed her door, I walked upstairs to where Matt was watching videos on Comedy Central and burst into tears as I relayed the conversation to him.

…..

A few days later, I came across this post in the NY Times Motherlode blog. And I thought about this reluctance to discuss hard subjects with our kids, as I had just experienced so vividly. Matt and I have always taken the approach that it’s best to be open and honest about everything that comes up. (At the same time, it’s not like we’ve gone looking for opportunities to introduce topics such as death or where babies come from — but we’ve agreed not to shy away from honest answers if our kids ask the questions.)

So, while I wanted to lie to her (”You’re not going to die! And Daddy and I will never die! We’ll always be here for you!”), I didn’t.

I told her that everyone dies, but most people live for a long time first and get to do many great and exciting things. I told her that when I think about dying, I remind myself of all the neat things I get to do first. Of all the wonderful people we have in our lives, friends and family we get to spend time with.

I talked about my Grandpa Charles, whose funeral she remembers attending, and Matt’s Grandpa Butch, who passed away when she was Elliot’s age. I told her that, yes, it was very sad and we miss them very much. But they were old, much older than her grandparents are now. They had seen wars and careers and children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. They had traveled. They had had great adventures. And we still tell stories about them, so they are still with us in our memories. And when someone dies, that’s what you do — you keep them with you in your memory, in your heart.

Siena seemed somewhat reassured by all this (or maybe just too tired to keep talking). But I came away full of doubts and second-guessing. Maybe I should have just gone for easy reassurance, for now, and saved all the honesty for when she’s old enough to handle it better? (When is old enough to handle it better? I don’t want to die! I don’t want my loved ones to die! Agh! Where’s the chocolate?)

Maybe being matter-of-fact is not the best way to handle these hard topics with my sensitive daughter. But she’s perceptive, too — maybe if I hid too much she would see that I was being evasive and then the whole thing would be even more stressful for her. I don’t know.

All I know is, I went with my gut, which has been responsible for pretty much every other parenting decision I’ve made so far, from deciding to get pregnant in the first place to making waaay too many Wall-e cupcakes for Elliot’s second birthday. And while some decisions have been better (having the kids) than others (going up a pants size in a week), it feels better to me to be as honest-yet-reassuring as possible rather than hiding grandma’s china out of sight and praying my kids never think to ask where my grandmas are.

I guess my question to anyone still reading, if you can prop your eyelids open long enough to type a response, is what do you think when it comes to talking about death with kids? And seriously, where’s the chocolate beer?