All Creatures, Great and Small

Yesterday Porter asked, "Are there doctors for fish?"

"Yes, some fish see doctors, I'm sure."

He concluded "I bet they just have to call 1.888.FISH.VET."

Looking Out for Baby Sis

We went to Costco right around noon today. I didn't realize I wouldn't have to feed my children lunch after the smorgasbord we encountered–bonus! We finished the gluttony off with a smoothie provided by some road-trippin' gal on a microphone trying to sell some $400 blender...right.

It was pink and frozen, so the kids were all over it. They held their nectar in small plastic cups, and, naturally, Po finished his ten times faster than Cam.

Once we were separated at more than arms' length at the check stand, Po grabbed Cam's little cup, licking it, and declared "Don't you think baby sis' has had enough sugar for one day?"

Inspired by Pink

I still can't get over Pink's Grammy performance, so since the kids and I are doing a youtube music dance party tonight, I decided to show them the video, thinking they would be mature enough to handle it.

They were. And Po was quietly enthralled, just like I imagined. Until Pink stripped and got up on the silks and he said...

"BOOTY!"

The Airplane Situation

I have to make quite a few key copies in the pet sitting business, so our family frequents Ace Hardware. They have a small but mighty shelf of toys near the check stand that always entices Po. For several weeks, he has been checking out a particular Hawaiian Airlines-looking yellow airplane with doors that open, and last week the lovely greeter told him he could get it next time we came to Ace, pretty much forcing my hand. When I announced this morning that we were going to Ace to make key copies, thinking this promise would have been forgotten, he immediately jumped up and down and said "yeah! That man told me I could get the yellow airplane today! I get to get the yellow airplane!"

No getting out of this one. If the guy had been there, I would have made him pay for it.

We came home with the airplane.

Needless to say, he's been playing with it all day and cuddled with the sharp iron weapon during nap time. At dinner tonight, with the airplane looking over his meal, he said "Mommy, I think we need to have a little talk about the airplane situation."

Nearly spitting out my beverage all over him, I confirmed "situation?"

"Yes, the airplane situation. Why did you get me the airplane?"

"Well," I began, leaving out the part about the presumptuous sales clerk, "You've been consistently wanting it for several weeks, and you've been a pretty good boy lately, so I thought you deserved it."

He pondered for a split second, and then asked, "Well, why did I want the airplane? You tell me."

"No, you tell me why you wanted the airplane."

Giant grin..."No, you tell me about the airplane situation."

I'm so not winning this.

Po on Corn Dogs

I try not to disguise crap as a meal most of the time, but an occasional kid-requested corn dog that's easy for mommy is right up my alley. I just served them, and Porter declared "corn dogs are like hot dogs in a cocoon."

Um, yeah. I was totally thinking the same thing.

For Certain

I pointed out a small, private airport to Porter today while we were driving. He asked "when is the airport open?"

"Day and night, pretty much," I said.

"Can we go?" he asked.

"Well, it's a private airport, which means only certain people can use it." I tried to explain.

"We're certain," he concluded.

Cuties

Porter asked to have a "Cutie" with his dinner this evening. He told his big brother, B, "Cuties are really little oranges, but they call them 'Cuties' because they're cute, like Campbell."

A-ha! So there is a wee bit of love in there somewhere!

Sometimes Sisters Don't Make Sense

We were trying to read bedtime stories tonight, and Campbell kept hauling out her baby doll stroller. She was pushing it up and down the hallway outside the kids' room...back and forth. She insisted it be empty. Then she decided she wanted to try sitting in it. Po agreed to push her around. She was having some real trouble getting in, but wouldn't let anyone help her. She starting picking up the stroller and throwing it like the Incredible Hulk.

Po started shaking his head and said, "crazy kid."

Cute Kids

We're sitting around at lunch today, and I asked Brennen "How did we get both of the cutest kids in the whole wide world?"

Porter explained "We came out of your tummy."

A Chart

Porter has been potty trained for a while, now, but recently we've seen a bit of regression. I'm not sure if it's the move, or just excitement or forgetfulness, but he has been needing quite a few more changes of underpants each day than should be normal for someone who knows how to use the toilet.

Our crazy mixed-up diseased mashed-potato-for-brains but lovable dog, Kermit, now wears diapers. Not because he's incontinent, but because he truly has not much brains left over from his seizures, so he just lifts his leg on anything. He'll lift his leg on the table, a kid toy, even a kid. He has truly lost his mind, and the diapers are our protection.

So we're having all kinds of potty issues in this house.

We have recently created a chart for Po. There are three times during the day that he can earn a star for keeping his pants dry. When he reaches a certain number of stars, he'll earn something he's been wanting forever, a Hot Wheels Custom Motors..."made by you..."

The other day we came home after being out for quite some time. I let the dogs out right away, of course, removing Kermit's diaper as he exited out the slider. "Wow," I said. "Kermit's diaper is dry. Good boy, Kerm!"

Porter said, "Mommy, since Kermie's diaper is dry, we should make him a chart and he can get a star, and he can earn a new doggie bone."

So I'm thinking Kermie is not going to grasp the concept, but maybe a little healthy competition between two males in the house isn't such a bad thing for Porter's progress. Hmmmm.

Future Barista

We're sitting at breakfast this morning, and Po, as he sometimes does, starts blowing bubbles in his milk. I've given up on forbidding him completely to do it because, well, that just sets us up for a day of "you're in big trouble" that we don't really need. So I'm trying to establish parameters, instead. No blowing bubbles over the top so it makes a mess, and no blowing bubbles in a restaurant. I'm such a hard-ass.

Po starts blowing away and gives me a sly grin, knowing I don't completely approve, but confident that he'll get away with it. "It's a latte!" he declares.

I start cracking up. The latte IS my coffee beverage of choice, but I truly only get one about once a quarter, so it's not like this is something he hears every day. "How do you know what a latte is, Po?"

"I'm just a smart guy."

No doubt.

The Responsibility of Borrowing

Po and his best buddy have been working on sharing lately (er...the mommies have been working on getting the boys to share). They usually see each other a couple of times a week, so each time one brings something for the other to borrow, then gets to borrow something in return. Nothing official, but it's been working out that way. After saying "no" several times, Po finally let his friend borrow his most special possession (besides super blankie), his giant orange garbage truck that he earned when he became potty trained. In exchange, Po was loaned two Thomas books and a small Tonka dumper.

Naturally, he slept with the Tonka dumper last night.

He came to me this morning with it in two pieces, a horrified look on his face. "I don't know what happened. Please fix it." It looked to me as if two microscopic screws were missing from the bottom. I had no idea how they could have come out or how to fix it without them, so I said "Ask Daddy if he can fix it," which is what I usually say when there's no hope to repair a prized possession.

"It looks like there are two microscopic screws missing from the bottom. I can't fix it."

Sometimes Daddies don't know that a definitive "no" is not the way to go in delicate situations such as these. Po turned on the water works.

I encouraged. "Um...Daddy...could you please check again? Isn't there anything we can do?"

He took another look through sleepy eyes. "Take it to Ace. See if they can do anything."

We put the two halves of the borrowed dumper in a plastic bag and stopped at Ace while we were out doing errands. When we walked in, I pointed out the dude in uniform and told Porter to explain the issue.

"'Cuse me. My friend's dumper broke and we want to fix it."

I elaborated, "I think it's missing some microscopic screws in the bottom. Might you be able to help?"

"Go down to aisle thirteen and I'll send someone to meet you," he commanded. Po looked at me hopefully and then looked up at the aisle markers.

"What does thirteen look like?" he asked.

"1 and 3," I said.

"There it is!" He marched over as if he was going to meet "the great and powerful Oz."

"May I help you?" asked a kind looking gentleman.

Po explained "My friend's dumper broke, and I want to fix it. I need help, please."

The man took the truck without saying a word and walked down the seemingly endless aisle of screws of every size. I really couldn't imagine they would have any small enough to help our sad, borrowed dumper. We probably should have taken it to a jeweler. He looked and looked and looked and looked...tried some in the holes, then put them back, grumbled a bit, and kept going. He wasn't saying much, but he was taking it seriously, which was wonderful, since I expected him to just tell me "don't be silly. Go buy a new one for 99¢"

After about ten minutes, he suddenly put the dumper down on the ground and rolled it to Po. "I hope it holds up for you." Done. Perfect.

Po started beaming and practically screamed "THANK YOU! MY FRIEND WILL BE SO HAPPY!"

I smiled at the man and told him thank you. He told me that it was a fun challenge, and that there would be no charge for the repair. Wow. Sometimes there is good in this world.

And I Thought I Knew About Beeswax

The things you think you know!

Porter is such an inquisitive kid. He teaches me things every day. How would I know that a trash truck that accepts refuse in the back is called a rear-loader or that a Brontosaurus never really existed or that the train car behind the engine that holds all the coal is called a "tender," if not for this child? He asks challenging questions every day, and I try my best to find the answers. Sometimes I'm shocked at what I don't know.

Tonight over a candlelit dinner he asked "Where do candles come from?"

"Wax." Sometimes I hope he'll accept the simple answer. Has it happened, yet?

"Where does wax come from?"

"Bees." Another cop-out on my part.

"What is the job of a bee?"

"Bees make honey and wax," I knew.

"How do they make wax?" There it was. My knowledge base had been tapped, and my three-year-old was making me feel stupid again. Am I the only one who doesn't have a flippin' clue how bees make wax? All I remember from second grade science is that bees make wax, and I don't remember questioning further. These annoying and often inconvenient genes must have come from my husband.

"I have no idea, honestly. Let's find out." We tromped over to the computer and found this:

http://www.beeswaxco.com/howBeesMakeWax.htm

And, no, I'm not going to summarize for you. If you really want to know, read the whole damn thing like I had to do. I tried to get away with the first two paragraphs, but even though Po can't read, he knew there were more words. Can't a mom just be lazy sometimes? Not with this kid.

If you don't feel like reading the whole thing, call Po and ask him how beeswax is made. The cool thing is, if you ask him how he knows, he'll tell you his mommy taught him. I'm not worthy.

A Post About Posting

Porter was just taking some pictures around the house with his toddler camera. He said "Mommy, I'm posting a picture of Campbell by the fireplace."

"Posting?" I asked.

"Yeah, on Facebook."

Your children listen and repeat. Sometimes it's foul language. Sometimes it's not, but it's equally entertaining.

Wasting Water

I'm a huge stickler about water waste. I use the minimum, and I expect my kids to do the same. I'm not some freak that doesn't take showers or doesn't water the lawn, but I do turn the water off while brushing my teeth, and I yell at my husband for admiring himself in the mirror too long while the water is warming up in the shower...a real environmentalist.

This afternoon I encountered some seriously stuck-on food on a pan while, simultaneously, one kid wanted a show on and another kid wanted some milk and another kid wanted his homework paper signed while my phone was ringing...

I just had to get that stuck-on food off the pan, but needed to multi-task to survive, so I did the unthinkable. I ran the water into the pan, and then abandoned it in order to turn on a show for Po. As I'm working the remote he says, "Mommy, I think you're wasting Wa-a-a-t-e-r-r-r!"

Guilty as charged. Why must I train him so well?

How Do You Define a "Bad Guy?"

This evening I was swinging Po in the backyard. We're all relaxed, enjoying the sunset while Cam ran around naked in the grass and N.A.S.H.A. barked her head off at the butterflies. Suddenly Po asks, "Do police have guns?" Mind you, guns are not a hot topic of conversation in our home.

"Yes, police carry guns."

"Why?" He further inquired. This seemed almost as challenging as a pre-teen sex conversation.

Totally unprepared and slightly stammering, I responded, "Well, sometimes people do REALLY bad things, like trying to hurt other people, and if they won't stop, then the policeman has a gun to stop the bad person."

"Tell me more."

"Well, sometimes bad people try to hurt policemen, so they also carry guns to protect themselves."

"Oh. What's in the guns?" Seriously. Are we going here?

"Bullets."

"What are bullets?" Why must my child be so inquisitive?

"They are the small pieces of metal that fly out of guns and go into a body. They can hurt very badly or kill someone."

"Like lions?" Where is this going?

"Well, I suppose some hunters shoot lions."

"But lions aren't mean," he reasoned.

"No they're not mean. They're just hungry." Did I seriously say that? Where the hell is this conversation going? Abort. Abort. SOS. And we're going to the zoo tomorrow. Shit, I'm in serious trouble.

"Well, do policemen shoot bad people like when I was screaming in the house yesterday?" And I thought it couldn't get any worse.

"NO, honey. No WAY. NO WAY. Policemen only shoot really bad criminals who are breaking the law in the most extreme way and making life dangerous for other people. Although I don't like you screaming at the top of your lungs in the house and you get a timeout if you continue to scream when I ask you to stop, that is not against the law, and it's not making things dangerous for other people. It just hurts mommy's head."

"Okay."

"You're not a bad person. You're a great person."

"Yeah. I have to pee."

Future Director?

We invited some friends to our home to play this morning, and Porter was quite anxious. Especially so because his buddy was going to be left by his mommy for the very first time. I spoke to Po about how his buddy might be scared and might cry, and I reminded him about how he felt the first couple of times I left him. We went over how Po could reassure his friend by telling him that Mommies always come back. Porter thought of some activities that his friend would like to do to make him feel happy, so we were pretty pumped and ready for our big responsibility.

Po kept checking the front window, then suddenly announced "Mommy, I think they're here!'

"They are? Oh, good!" I said.

Porter continued, "They're here! Places everybody! Places!"

Hawka Birds

Porter and I noticed a couple of neat-looking birds in the backyard. We were watching them as they slowly opened their wings and let them back down, and I asked him what he thought about the birds:

"Well, they are Hawka birds."

"Hawka birds?"

"Yes, Hawka birds. They spread their wings to keep cool and so you can see the white stuff on the wings. That's what Hawka birds do."

"Oh," I said. "How do you know so much about them?"

"You taught me about birds. Their names. Sizes. Feathers. The Hawka bird has long tailfeathers. See?"

"Yes, I see that. What do you think they're doing?"

"Playing hide and seek." He paused for a moment and reconsidered. "Well, I know all about the Hawka birds that you taught me, but I don't really know what they actually do."

And I thought he knew everything.

Bein' a Kid

I took the littles to the neighborhood park today, and we had a great time swinging. I swung next to Po so that I could try to teach him how to pump (selfishly, so I don't have to run back and forth so much between his swing and Cam's baby swing, which is across the whole dang playground...who designs these places, anyway?). He got the general idea. Reach out with your feet as you go forward, bend back as you go back. His timing left a lot to be desired.

He got frustrated after a few minutes and said, "Mommy, can you please just push me? That's what being a kid is all about."

At least the running back and forth will burn a few Teddy Grahams worth of calories.

The First Non-verbal Po-ism

I hooked Po up with a spoon and fork with his dinner this evening so that he'd have his choice of utensil with which to eat his pasta. Immediately after he stuck the fork tine up his nose, I confiscated it.

He was bummed, and gave me the "Aw-uh" thing.

I told him he still had a spoon to use wisely, "and you can't stick that up your nose."

He softly glared at me for a moment, and like a hippo, flared his nostrils.

F.Y.I.

I'm listening to Daddy give the littles a bath, and Po suddenly yells "F.Y.I.!"

Daddy asks, "F.Y.I., what?"

"F.Y.I. shower," then pulled the shower knob and doused everyone.

F.Y.I.

Mommy's Haircut

I told Po that he's going to hang out with Daddy this afternoon while I get my hair done. His response:

"Okay. Are you going to get a mohawk?"

Daddy's Timeout

Yesterday afternoon I took Po to Costco. It was just the two of us, which is rare, but I try to make it happen every now and again. He loves the samples, of course, so he was thrilled to get some one-on-one time with me and treats.

We had about two things in our cart when I get a call from my husband:

"Honey, where are you?"

"Costco, as I said I would be. Why?"

"How long until you come home?"

"I just started. WHY?"

"Well," he says, in way too calm a voice, "I went outside for a second and I didn't know the door would lock behind me, so I'm outside and Campbell is inside."

"WHAT?!?!?" I ripped Po out of the cart and we ran to the car, blowing past the receipt checkers. Porter wanted to know what happened, why I was mad, and why we were leaving. I told him that Daddy made a bad choice that I was upset about because it put Campbell in danger. I promised we'd go straight back to Costco once we saved the day.

He pondered for a minute and asked, "If Daddy made a bad choice, will he get a timeout?"

Meanie

I am being completely honest when I say that the last 48 hours have been the roughest in my mothering career, even considering being urgently gutted like a fish for my second-born breech baby, Cam. Over the last couple of days, my heart has been ripped out of my chest by my articulate son, Po, the subject of these writings.

My normally sweet, thoughtful, insightful kid has been the devil. Thoughtful and insightful in all the wrong ways with no sweet to lighten the load. I won't go in to all the details, but if you imagine the worst, imagine worse. After disciplinary actions I never thought I'd have to pull out of my back pocket (don't call the cops, just know that he's in bed without dinner, bath, and stories for the 2nd night in a row), I realize more than ever that with an extremely intelligent child, you have to keep things in check. We don't want intelligence veering off onto the wrong path.

So I had a little chat with Mr. Po this afternoon (clearly it didn't have the impact I'd hoped, seeing as he's on day 2 of lockdown). I said something pretty close to "Buddy, we've had a rough time, lately, and I'd like to talk to you about it." He snuggled up close. Ahhh.

"You have been really disrespectful, and that's disappointing because you are usually such a sweet boy. You've been really mad and upset, and I want you to know that it's okay to be mad and upset at me, but it's not okay to [throw all the laundry I've just folded all around the house with a giggle] disrespect my time and my belongings, [shove your sister because she has the purple crayon and that's your favorite color] touch your sister out of anger, or [allow your head to spin in circles, thrashing about on the ceiling and vomiting foul language as if Satan has...], scream the way you do when you're frustrated. It's okay to be mad, but you have to use the words you have and let me know how you feel rather than behaving like a banshee (yes, I said 'banshee,' and, yes, that is in Po's vocabulary.). What's going on? Are you upset about something? Please tell me how you feel."

Po declares, "I'm really mad at you, Mommy, because you're mean, and you hurt my feelings."

"Really?" I inquire from my [spoiled brat of a motha-] darling son. "How so?"

"Well, you say no to candy and gummy worms...and you make me eat a healthy lunch...and you say no when I want three gummy worms."

"Well, I can understand your frustration [do you even have a clue what my life frustrations are? I'm going to eat all the f-ing gummy worms right now you ungrateful little], love. I think I'm a pretty cool mom, and I think I do a lot of nice things for you. Can you think of just one nice thing I've done for you lately?"

"You bought me gummy worms."

Fatherhood?

I was watching "Olivia" with the kids today. In the episode, Olivia took her cat and dog and made them "babies," pushing them around in a stroller, putting them down for a nap (exactly what I used to do as a child), all the while, Olivia was lamenting about the trials of motherhood. Porter thought it was hilarious. I asked him, "do you want to have kids someday?" He nodded. "So you want to be a daddy when you grow up?"

He said "No, I want to be you."

There are no words for how wonderful that made me feel.

Understanding the Yield

Porter almost always walks in the grocery store while I push Cam in the cart. It can be a bit of a headache, but I think it helps him learn to follow directions, and he enjoys it, so I allow it, as long as he is listening.

He has this tendency to choose to cross an aisle RIGHT when someone is trying to pass with a cart or squeeze by to grab a bunch of broccoli, and he has had about 99 near-death experiences because of this, not to mention the fact that people almost get whiplash trying to stop in time so as not to run him over. I know this is a tough concept (the "I'm not the center of the world and there are other people who exist and move around me" one), so I'm patient, but I do make him say "excuse me" each time he narrowly avoids a collision. Thank goodness people are always friendly about it.

We were in the grocery store today and the produce section was pretty crowded, so I knew it would be a challenge. He had a couple of near misses, and, then, for the first time, he allowed someone else's cart to pass between us...in front of him...and he looked...and he stopped...he yielded! I gave him a smile, but didn't say anything.

Once the person passed and he was in the clear, he darted over to me and said "Mommy! I have to tell you something. My body was telling me that it wanted to go, but my other body was telling me that I should stop. I listened to the stop body!"

"Way to go, Po!" High 5's all around.

Mind Your Manners

Porter and Cam and I were at the fish counter at Sprouts today, and I asked for some stuffed clams, "please." Porter said, "Wow, Mommy, that was really good manners!"

I'm certain that wasn't the first time I've used the word, "please." It can't be the first time he's noticed, can it? He certainly noticed the very first time I said "shit" in front of him.