cat named pig

It’s been a while since Halloween, so why not break out the costumes for Father’s Day?

Siena (and now Elliot, too) has been singing non-stop a song she picked up from school last week.

What you don’t hear, because Matt cut off the camera to help, are the cries of, “My booty…ow, ow, OW…my booooteeeeeee.”

I would just like to add, in case it seems callous to post a video of my child falling down and hurting her booty, that this short clip has become our household’s most popular form of entertainment over the last few days, with Siena herself usually being the one to request another viewing. They both laugh themselves silly at the part where she falls down.

I would also like to point out the more subtle hilariousness of what Elliot is doing at the beginning of the video — carefully rifling through Siena’s backpack looking for Tic-Tacs or pieces of gum that might have fallen out of their packages and gotten lost in the bottom of the bag. The only reason he is getting away with this is because she is too busy singing and marching around to notice.

[The poem (or statement of fact) below was transribed letter for letter from the original document, which was written in brightly colored marker on lined paper. All random capitalizations reflect the author's original stylistic intent.]

My aMaganary Frend
Is a Drem SckArer It SckAers
Bad Drems oway
He Is vary sckary

Siena falls asleep as I’m reading our nightly chapter of Betsy Tacy. I give her a kiss and whisper, “I love you,” before getting up to leave the room. She wakes up and asks, sleepily, “Will you give me some cuddles?” I lie back down and pull her close.

As I’m lying there my mind wanders. Work, and then other things we have going on, and I find myself thinking about languages. The kids have been making great progress learning Spanish. Elliot adds vocabulary at a rate that amazes me, and his conversation is peppered with random Spanish words for shapes and colors. This morning he casually asked, “Where’s my oso polar?” We all knew he was looking for the paper polar bear he made in class on Wednesday, but I hadn’t realized he had even picked up on the Spanish name for it. Siena, for her part, corrects my pronunciation of almost any Spanish word I might try to say. Her accent, at least to my ears, sounds amazingly close to the real thing.

I remember that feeling, when I studied in Paris, of finally starting to sound like I had some business speaking French, like I wasn’t just a tourist looking for a buttery croissant and a halfway-decent free public restroom. (The former, easy to find. The latter, not so much.) I loved being able to really converse with people, asking questions not formulated by a textbook and actually understanding the answers. I loved being able to use slang without everyone chuckling, like “Oh, cute, the foreigner just said a slang word.”

When I started dreaming in French, I was hooked. I wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of my life moving from country to country, staying long enough to develop a certain level of fluency, or at least competence, in the language and culture. France, Spain, and Italy were first. Four days in Morocco gave me just enough time to learn the Arabic alphabet and start recognizing letters in street signs (it helped that all the signs were also in French and Spanish), and I wanted to stay much longer. I was fascinated by how different it seemed from Spain, just a short ferry ride away. And I have always wanted to learn Japanese. And Greek. And Portuguese — similar to the languages I’ve studied, but just different enough that I’m intrigued.

I crave travel, but not just visiting — I crave living abroad, meeting people, becoming a regular at the corner bar, fumbling around in an unfamiliar language and city until suddenly it feels less fumbley and more like regular life.

***

It’s been a little bumpy lately, with the new job(s) and reconfiguring of routines. Not all bad, necessarily, just up and down. Siena, as I’ve mentioned, told me she didn’t want me to ever get another new job again. Or words to that effect. We had a rough couple of days this past week when she was home sick and Elliot went on nap strike. I couldn’t get anything done; we were all pretty unhappy with each other. Even when Siena felt better and went back to school, she seemed extra-emotional and would fall to pieces over every little thing.

I decided she and I needed an afternoon outing, just the two of us. No work, no boys. I weighed the options — we could go out to lunch, see a movie, go to a museum/zoo/library. All fun, all worth doing. I’m not sure why I suggested instead that we go get her ears pierced. I mean, it sounds insane as I’m typing it. Who takes a child who’s tired, emotional, and recovering from a cold (and possibly seething with resentment about Mama’s new work commitments) and brings them to a crowded mall store for a procedure involving sharp objects being jabbed into soft flesh? I do, apparently.

She’s been talking about wanting pierced ears since her fifth birthday, with equal parts dread and longing. Terrified of pain, she agonizes over every doctor’s appointment where she might get a shot. I didn’t know when she’d actually want the earrings badly enough to go through with the piercing. But I know my daughter, and I know that she is as tough as she is dramatic. And she could use something to feel proud of and excited about, after the week we’d had. And she really, really loves earrings. . . .

***

We watch two other girls go first, one slightly older than Siena and one a teenager. No one cries or screams or faints, but Siena still tugs my arm and steps out of the store. I kneel down; we confer.

“I’m not sure I still want to do this.”

“You don’t have to do this. It’s your choice, but I want you think about whether you’ll be sad when we leave if you don’t do it.”

She wavers. “Can we go back in and think about it some more?” I say yes, but when we step back in, they’re ready for us. She climbs reluctantly into the chair and the Ear Piercing Specialist (this may not be her actual job title) shows her the equipment, then gives her a teddy bear to hold, a large bear with five earrings pierced into one ear. I find this both hilarious and heartbreaking — who are these mothers, taking girls young enough to still be comforted by stuffed animals to get their ears pierced? Oh, right. What am I doing? And then, suddenly furious with myself, This was a terrible idea.

I sign the forms and Siena chooses her earrings. Tiny round rubies, her birth stone. Then follows a long analysis of the precise placement of the marker dots showing where the earrings will go — I’ll say this, the Ear Piercing Specialist is more meticulous about her job than I could ever be. Siena grips my hand, squeezes the bear, and click, one ear done. A handful of women in the store murmur approvingly about how great she’s doing and click, the other one is done. Siena looks shocked that it’s over for about half a second before her face explodes into smiles.

The whole way home, it’s all she can talk about: “I didn’t think I’d even be able to do it; I thought it was going to hurt sooo bad, and I did it! I feel like such a really big girl now. Like my big girl cousins. I can’t believe I can wear earrings now!”

I grin back, relieved that it went OK, thrilled to see her so excited and proud of herself. Maybe I did make the right call, after all. Maybe I do know what I’m doing.

After weeks of fumbling around, there it is: that feeling of fluency.

Matt hates how bad my hearing is. I’m constantly asking him to repeat stuff, or just plain hearing it totally wrong.

Like just now, for example, when I overheard him talking to Siena, who was watching a travel show about Paris on public television. (That’s right, my daughter chose to spend her Saturday afternoon watching a TPT travel program about Paris. And also one about Barcelona. I consider all my goals as a parent officially accomplished.)

So when the show featured a nightclub with cancan dancers, I thought I heard Matt say:

“When this is over, I’ll let you watch a movie about Paris called Moulin Rouge that has lots of singing and dancing like this.”

Needless to say, I was shocked. I flew into the room shaking my head and gesturing at Siena, who was curled up in the armchair by the TV.

“Moulin Rouge? No way — she’s WAY too young for that!”

Matt rolled his eyes and peevishly repeated what he had actually said, which was:

“WHEN YOU’RE OLDER, I’ll let you watch a movie about Paris called Moulin Rouge.”

He then glared at me until I apologized. Well, excuuuuse me for not wanting to explain to my five-year-old what a prostitute is. Or why Nicole Kidman keeps coughing blood into her handkerchief.

Every year, we have the kids dictate letters to Santa. This year, Siena wrote her own, complete with phonetic spelling and inventive punctuation. Elliot dictated his and then signed it with a bunch of capital E’s. Because if one is good, several more are better. Kind of how I feel about chocolates, or hundred dollar bills.

Anyway, here are their letters, painstakingly tapped out with two fingers onto my iPhone (random capital letters by Elliot and extraneous hyphens and apostrophes by Siena included as seen in the originals).

Elliot:

Dear Santa,

I have a Wall-e and I want Eve. I have been a good boy. I I OOO t
E E E EVE

Siena:

Dear Santa,
I want ‘ Eve. I want my one [read: own] computer. And I also want a magniflying glass. I love- you.

Love – Siena

Yeah. I think they’re getting Wall-e’s girlfriend Eve. And I don’t think Siena’s getting her own computer, although it would be kind of nice not to be pestered about PBSKids.org while I’m doing something important. Like scanning Facebook and giving the thumb’s up to people’s pictures of kids in holiday outfits, while ignoring the fact that I still need to order our stupid holiday cards that I made back in October and even bragged about in a fit of smugness on this very blog, before ignoring their existence for six weeks and oh, crap, they’re going to be late again and WHEN will I learn? Smug never works out for me.

In which I reveal my idiocy for your entertainment. Once again.

I realize it’s only Wednesday, so of course, there’s still plenty of time for bigger, more dramatic parenting FAILS, but the last couple days have just been a little off. Witness:

1.  Sending a whole apple to school for snack for a child with one missing tooth and one loose one.

2.  Giving same child stern lecture on need to keep better track of personal possessions (i.e. brand new mittens) while at school, only to reach into backpack and pull out missing mitten.

3.  Leaving small child’s extremely wet and messy handprint turkey at Spanish class. I am actually OK with this one, given the aforementioned wet-and-messiness, but he will be upset when he realizes it.

4.  Asking child’s Spanish teacher, in Spanish, if there is a place to change diapers. Except I say “handkerchiefs” instead of “diapers.” And, as I’m asking, I reflexively use the baby sign-language sign for “change diaper handkerchief” because I think it is somehow helping me communicate. (Note to self: It’s not. And you look like an idiot.)

5.  Falling, once again, for the fallacy that sunny skies automatically equal a warm day. Failing to dress anyone adequately for leaving the house, and failing to leave enough time to scrape frost off windshield, making us almost late to the Spanish Class of Forgetfulness and Humiliation. STUPID WEATHER. You continue to mess with me.

There are more, there are always more, but the small child is awake from his nap now and I have to go try not to screw up getting his snack and changing his handkerchief diaper.

Yeah, I know. November 17th today. And not that anyone even cares about Halloween anymore at this point, but here are some pictures anyway. I would hate to deprive anyone of seeing this sad chicken:

So I haven’t been updating for a while, because Life decided to give me the opportunity to experience first-hand what my kids go through when they (frequently) get ear infections (with great frequency). Fair enough — I hadn’t had one in years, maybe decades, so I guess it’s possible I had forgotten what it felt like.

And maybe I had gotten a tad complacent, given the aforementioned frequency with which the kids get ear infections. We know the drill by now: child has cold, child begins to act like complete jerk and/or complains of ear pain, doctor appointment (”Yep! It’s red!”), antibiotics, grouchy jerkmonster turns back into sweet, happy child and all is well again. Until the next one. So maybe I had it coming.

Anyway, rest assured, I now fully understand the specifics of the unique discomfort otitis media causes, and I promise to be more sympathetic in the future when my children suffer. (And to refrain from referring to them as “jerkmonsters.) (It is possible that I perhaps acted like a bit of a jerkmonster myself this past week. Because my EAR CANAL WAS ON FIRE.)

*Segue.*

Or Segway. Photo courtesy of this site, where I notice they sell gift certificates for their tours. (Note: I will totally do a Segway tour of the Twin Cities if you buy me a gift certificate.)

Shoot — now I need another segue.

Whatever. So tonight Siena and I were doing her reading homework (she brings home a short book at her reading level each night) and after she read it to me a few times, I went to complete the form that comes with it. The form includes some questions on how many minutes a day we spend reading, which skills we observe Siena using, and whether the book is too easy, too hard, or just right.

I should probably mention here, for those of you reading who don’t have daily contact with Siena, that competitiveness is a trait we have frequently observed in her. (Almost as frequently as we’ve observed ear infection symptoms.) The child is super-competitive.

I should also mention that a few weeks ago, she came home from school excited because she had moved up to the next reading level. The excitement was short-lived, though, as she immediately went on to say that she wanted to move up another level the next day.

“See, Mom, I can totally read this book — watch.” And she proceeded to work her way through a book that I would say was just exactly at her level. ”So you can just mark on the sheet that this was waaaaay easy and then I can move up again. I’ll be the only kid to move up two levels in two days.”

Yeah. Like I said, competitive.

So imagine my surprise tonight when I went to fill out her form after reading, and I noticed that part of it was already completed for me. Specifically, the part at the bottom that says “This book was was: Too Easy/Too Hard/Just Right.” Next to “Too Easy,” in turquoise marker, someone had written, “Yes, too easy.”

Well, she clearly had to do some careful reading in order to fill that out. And some writing. Maybe she is ready for the next level.

[Only one word of the day in this here family lexicon update: humidifier. It continues to baffle (children) and amuse (me), so it gets a whole post.]

Elliot had a stuffy nose the other night, so we got out the humidifier.

OK, fine: to be totally accurate I had gotten it out a few days earlier and cleaned it with bleach to get rid of any germs/dust that might have settled on it over the summer. Because I just knew.

You see, I am cursed to go through life as a modern-day Cassandra of minor pediatric discomforts, always prophesying colds! or ear infections! yet never believed until we are handing over the co-pays and filling the prescriptions. My prophesies are often met with eye-rolling and derision, which is unfair when you consider that they are really just based on common sense. (If the month is not July, and if one or both children have been a) inside a building and b) in the presence of one or more other children, then one of them will get a cold. And if one of my children gets a cold, then he or she will develop an ear infection. Also true: if one of my children gets a cold, then the other one will also have a cold within five minutes. And within ten minutes of that, I will have a sore throat and lose all ability to perceive nuance of flavor in food and wine. After which point, why even bother drinking wine at all? Except to dull my senses as I listen to all the cold- and ear-infection-related keening, of course.)

I seem to have lost myself in a paragraph that got swallowed by the world’s longest parenthetical aside. Where was I? Oh, yes, the whole seeing-the-future thing: if you’re not prophesying colds and ear infections, you’re just not really paying attention. Ahem, Husband.

So I had the humidifier at the ready, which was convenient when Elliot came out of his room snuffling and saying he couldn’t sleep. OH YES YOU CAN. Here, have some steam.

Poor sweet Elliot had absolutely no idea what I was talking about when I said I would bring in the humidifier. He had no idea what word I was even saying.

“Fire?” he asked, looking worried as I plugged it in. “Dat FIRE in dere?”

“No, sweetie. No fire. It has water in it, and it makes steam to help you breathe.”

“Why it called FIRE?”

“It’s called a hu-MID-i-FI– Oh, never mind. There’s no fire in it. It’s OK. Now lie down.”

As I left his room I recalled how Siena, at about the same age, thought the humidifier was called “Human Fire.”

“I need some Human Fire,” she would say when she wasn’t feeling well, but also sometimes when she just felt tired. I think her mystical-sounding interpretation of its name led her to envision it misting out magical vapors of energy and good health — the Human Fire that fuels us all. I also just thought it was cute.

I kind of miss those days. Last night she told me she knew exactly what it would feel like to be in a cloud — cold and wet — because clouds are made of water vapor that condenses. OK, maybe she didn’t use the word condenses; I think she said “turns back into water” but still. Pretty impressive for a kid who thought the humidifier was magic just a few short years ago. Go kindergarten! Or go PBS Kids! Whichever. As long as she’s learning stuff.